Hello!
I am writing to all of you as I sit outside in a gentle breeze, overlooking a lake, one of our two girls (aka dogs) at my feet with her ears and nose actively listening and smelling as she feigns being asleep. I am on a family vacation, drinking in the joys of relaxation, time shared with some of the most important beings in my life, and I am also thinking of my gratitude to all of you who chose to read what has inspired me most recently.
I have certain things that are not lost in me, like the privilege of those who share their vulnerabilities with me, and I know I am being given the most sacred gift we give another, which is trust with one’s heart. Or that in a vast landscape of information to inform, teach, persuade, or inspire, you choose to give time to something I have written. Thank YOU!
The blueprints message this time introduces another character to you. You’ve met Edward, Linh, and Joshua. Now Patricia will introduce herself. I type this sentence as I also pause, smile, and ponder. One week the voice of the PCT. The next time a fictional character. What must you think! What do I want you to think? I guess it includes the joy of playing with creativity, being inspired by a word or sentence you read, and being offered a safe space to step away from that vast sea of information, responsibilities, and uncertainties to simply be without having to do anything with what you are reading, except enjoy.
Speaking of joy. From my perspective, each individual finds their own modality to maneuver through life with a semblance of balance. Some find a grounding in meditation. I listened to an interview recently with Christina Applegate (actress) and her balance comes in watching TV. For me, it’s Nature. Like waking this morning and thinking of things I felt I needed to get done, starting to step into a well-worn internal groove of “so much to do, so little time”, only to have a turtle start slowing crossing the sand, whispering to me slow, you have time.
Or the osprey flying over the lake, soaring on the winds as it banked left and right, searching for its breakfast below. Periodically it would fold its wings, dive straight down to the water below, and rise back up, empty beak and feet, but undeterred. Up into the winds it rose again, following its natural instincts. As I watched this majestic bird offering its graceful flight of yin and yang, I also listened to it whisper follow your north star.
As you knock on the door of summer solstice, may your soar on the winds of your true north. Undeterred. Trusting. Your arms open wide.
You matter. Always remember that.
-Christine
The Creases Now Speak
Patricia
Patricia lost her virginity to Edward on their wedding night. That was what good girls did in the 1950’s. That, and they said I do to being dutiful, doting, stay-at-home moms, and housewives.
Patricia had an older sister, Mary. The not so good girl. The one Patricia’s father would sternly demand apologize to your mother after their mom would excuse herself from the table, meekly fussing and tisk-tisking on her way to the kitchen to retrieve silverware or a condiment missing from the table. Missing meant dinner wasn’t perfect and family needs had been unmet.
It was usually after Mary had said something about how she was going to do more with her life than cleaning up after anyone or being someone whose purpose was to wait on another hand and foot. Mary could be cruel in her teenage rebellion against societal norms of the times.
To Patricia, Mary has always been stronger in her confrontation with perceived oppressions. If Mary senses someone is devalued, she becomes fierce in her fight to end it. Mary’s curse is her intolerance for the time it takes people to recognize this is happening to themselves. Mary has never had to choose between commitment and freedom. Nor has she ever known self-doubt.
Edward was the only man Patricia had made love to. And had sex with. There was a difference. For her. Patricia remembers when she started planning to change Edward being her first, but not her last. A few months after her women’s intuition told her that her husband loved her but was not in love with her.
Edward had been sitting with their grandson, Joshua, showing him photos from his Vietnam journalist days. Joshua had been living with them since their daughter Stephanie had died from leukemia. Stephanie, her strong, independent, fierce-spirited daughter who had been courageous enough to raise a child as a single mom. She had known marrying Joshua’s father would not bring her happiness.
Patricia watched the way Edward lingered on a photo, his finger gently brushing over the image. She listened to his softening voice when he answered Joshua, just someone from a coffee shop. Patricia saw his faraway look. The same look she occasionally witnessed when he closed his wallet after giving her spending money, his eyes stopping to look at the edge of a folded paper sticking out of a hidden pocket.
Edward loved Patrica like she witnessed her father had loved her mother. A good provider, kind, respectful, loyal. Edward’s vow before God as Patricia placed a wedding ring on his finger would ensure he always was. Edward was never going to disobey God. Just as Edward never disobeyed his father.
But Edward didn’t love Patricia the way she observed her best friend Carol and Carol’s husband James. She recognized in the look Carol and James gave each other the same intensity she felt when she and John, her high school crush, had looked at each other. If only John had been a man of faith, Patricia sometimes thought.
Her grandson Joshua looks at Kaylen, his new wife, like she is the most exquisite sight he has ever beheld. And he’s right. Kaylen is breathtaking. Her Black skin glows. Patrica wonders if Kaylen is pregnant. Or if her glow is simply a result of love and confidence. Kaylen is a physician. A successful career woman outside her home. Who also loves and supports her husband.
Patricia can’t recall ever seeing Edward look at her like she was the most beautiful sight he’d seen. Nor with a look of desire to whisk her away into the bedroom so they could slowly caress each other’s bodies as if it was the first time they had seen each other naked. To lock into their memories the look and feel of every inch of each other to sustain their longing when apart while they counted the hours until they could be together again.
No, Patrica can’t recall Edward ever looking at her this way. Nor can she recall ever feeling that kind of ache for Edward when he traveled. She knows that ache, though. She is grateful. A satisfaction she will take to her grave.
It was Edward’s last journalism trip before he retired to be home for Joshua. A ten-week trip. Then he would be home. For good. Every week. Fifty-two weeks a year. For Patrica to take care of him.
William was a neighbor, single. Divorced. He was kind. Funny, too. She knew this because William would joke when they both hurried to the end of their driveways with their trash cans every Tuesday morning. Race you, he once grinned as he increased his foot pace in a mock gesture.
The first time Patrica saw William in the grocery store searching for a seasoning for a recipe, she was startled, envious, and intrigued all at the same time. The only way Edward knew his way around the kitchen was when he entered asking her what time dinner was.
The third time they bumped into each other at the store, William joked they should share a ride. We could save gas. Patricia laughed as a sensation coursed through her body she hadn’t felt in a long time. Have I ever felt this? she wondered as she told William have a good night before turning her cart down the baking aisle. She needed chocolate to make the frosting for Edward’s favorite cake for his return home in a few weeks.
The following week William asked her to grab a coffee at the local diner. Just to talk. Not a date or anything. Two neighbors getting to know each other besides what we like for dinner, William winked as he looked down at his cart and into Patricia’s.
Patricia wanted to – more like yearned to – say yes. Mary would tell her, say yes. Mary would say yes. But I’m not Mary, Patricia thought as she looked into William’s eyes looking back at her like James looks at Carol.
