A hint of early morning came into my bedroom Sunday and I rejoiced, knowing I had the day to what I wanted.
It was a wide open day, no plans except to hit the Cambridge Farmer’s Market for produce. I’m fairly addicted to the strawberries and my guy from Long Days Farm told me this might be the last so I got three pints.
I’ve been eating them for breakfast in the morning with plain yoghurt. What a treat.
I also got some leaf lettuce and beets from Happenchance Farms and planned on roasting the beets along with some carrots and sautéing the beet greens with olive oil, garlic and cider vinegar.
All happy thoughts as I walked to the market.
I crossed the street and heard my name being called and my heart sank and my cone of silence enveloped me and I responded to the social greetings of “Hi. How are you”? With a mumbled “fine, thanks “ as I walked quickly away.
How do you behave in these situations? I’ve been studiously avoiding a meeting such as this because I cannot bring myself to smile and put on a face that would meet the bare minimum for a social situation.
Mostly I feel…well I don’t know. There is a whole closed box of emotions tied to this and opening the lid to try and sift through them feels like a game of pickup sticks only instead of wood, I’m grabbing sharp metal slivers that work their way under my skin.
Sadness of course. Regret of course. But mostly I feel anger. At myself. Instead of standing up and returning the greeting in a clear strong voice, I portrayed myself like a beaten dog.
When I was a kid, we had an Italian Greyhound named Mr. Jones who never got house trained. It was a losing battle with this dog. He pissed all over, but took great joy in peeing on my mother’s Oriental rugs.
She used to beat the crap out of him with a rolled magazine.
He would do it knowing he was serving himself up for another beating. He had speed on his side though. He became especially adept at leaving Mom behind in the dust. He would tuck himself behind the bolster on my bed.
He knew that Mom hated to climb stairs and my bedroom was on the second floor. So more often than not he was safe, and he knew to steer clear of her the rest of the day.
I was on Mr. Jones’s side all the way.
He came into my mind today, after my unfortunate encounter and I wished I had had the chutzpah to look the person in the eye and speak clearly and present a stronger persona.
So lesson learned. Over and over until I get it right. Every day is another chance for me to do better.
I’m going to think of my little dog who knew what was at stake but went about his business anyway.
Oh and the beet greens were amazingly good. I could just taste the green life in them, becoming part of me, sustaining me.