peaches, poetry, and escaping to the air conditioning
We have escaped to the air-conditioned Mandolin Café to beat the heat. Our house, since the neighbors cut down the beloved tree that shaded our home, is warmer than warm. It's the kind of hot where all you want to do is just get naked and stretch out on your bed with the fan blowing right on you.
The bartender here is singing a song about how "if you don't have an air conditioner you're not the man for me." Oh yes. How I love that. It is pretty funny. I love our neighborhood café where you can be working away on your laptop and then suddenly the bartender starts singing a cappella (microphone and all, of course).
We are consuming ginger peach tea to cool off. I thought Washington peaches were in season, so we went to our favorite grocery store to get a few, but it turns out that the special Frog Hollow peaches are not yet in season. I was craving them a tiny bit. I had to settle for two huge not-yet-ripe California peaches and the anticipation.
I had a moment earlier today that reminded me about the peaches this time of year. I want to turn this moment into a poem, but right now, I just have some thoughts and words put together…poem notes I suppose.
***
I kept the phone messages for months. The call from your daughter, Don't panic, but she's in the hospital. Your husband, She's doing better. It's gonna be okay. I listened to them daily for weeks. She was alive. I didn't mean to lose them. But one week I just forgot to hit 2 to keep them for 14 more days. Today, I opened the freezer and paused soaking in the cold, wishing I could escape the surprising northwest humidity. I noticed the peaches July 2004, Frog Hollow propped in the door shelf. That first year we lived here; I wanted to be able eat them in December, so you explained, Quickly drop them in boiling water. Take them out and peel. Slice and put them in a mixture of sugar and that stuff you can buy to stop them from turning brown. Yes, yes. You will find it at your store. The aisle where you get the Sure-Gel. You will find it. Follow the directions on the box. Then, pour them right into Ziplocs.
I realized I had not really thought about you for a few days. The thoughts to call you and then the remembering, it doesn't happen as often. I am forgetting. Time is subtle and pushes me forward without you. This makes my heart ache tonight. It hasn't hurt for months, but I want to dial, hear your voice, and ask you how to freeze the raspberries. Yes, yes, I know how. But, I just want to call all the same.
I do what I have to do to keep breathing. Three years and two power outages is too long to live in the freezer. She was alive. I do what I need to do to wade through it.
***
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on grieving (and healing), poem notes, poetry
Reader Comments (17)
Your randomness of poetry and thoughts and peaches is a pleasure. . . . I used to include references to stuff that I knew not everyone would understand--like throwing out a movie quote mid-conversation and knowing people might not get it, but thinking, "that's okay, cuz if one person does, it will have been worth it". You made me remember that rationale. So a thousand thanks for your inspiration, because now I'm going to write a poem on my blog.
oh my friend, the sweet sour taste of peaches and memories.. i understand this x
Liz, it is very hot in Delhi. So humid that one wants to be under water most of the time. Where I work, there are no fans in the classrooms and it is as hot as hell. Teaching is a chore, being taught is worse, I suppose.
Anyway, I like your disjointed thoughts in here.
This is beautiful, genre-free, writing. :)
(Great things are spilling out of you, you know? And I don't just mean cleansing beads of sweat from all the heat.)
I love the way to take such ordinary events and seemingly stop that moment in time for us as you reflect on their meaning. What a gift you have! Thanks so much for sharing from your heart and giving us a glimpse into your world and into the part of ourselves we may not even have realized existed.
Blessings,
Lisa
The way your thoughts and words and feelings seem to spill out and form this amazing work of art fascinates me. I am touched my your writing and wanted to say thank you for sharing that. I can relate...sometimes i forget and there is a glimmer of a moment where things are as they used to be and then in a second reality comes and you remember. Keep writing, and enjoy those peaches.
Peace.
This IS beautiful, liz. Maybe what you have written IS a poem!
Absolutely gorgeous...your notes are indeed like a poem.
xoxoxo
Love your thoughts on your grand. My thoughts have been going down that path too with my dad.
Peaches. Yum.
The hot is a lot, this year, in the Northwest. I was never a fan of peaches but the last two years have delivered cravings by the box. Your words are truly lovely.
I see you leaning into the freezer, contemplating the peaches, missing her. Such a mixture of emotions. Thinking of you with tenderness.
Powerful prose poetry here. It astounded me in rawness and clarity. Brought similar memories of my own forward; my eyes welled.
I have a hotter-than-normal house myself, in Portland , due to a downed (12-13-07 windstorm) 150-year Oregon white oak that used to live in my neighbors' yard. I feel for you.
August peaches should be here sooner than later, given all this heat. There are a few benefits.
Powerful free writing Liz! This was engaging, touching, and I'm certain -- very piercing for those of us who have suffered the loss of a loved one.
The peaches sounded great too... like the ones from Hood River, here in Oregon, that Kramer used to rave about on Seinfeld... ;)
Stay cool. We have the same damned heat smothering us here in Portland.
I love this post and your combination of random thoughts, poetry and longing.
thank you for this inspirational window into your process, dear one.
Your words are so beautiful and inspirational, they (and your whole blog) helps me so with the grieving process. I wish I could put into words my gratitude. I wish I could use my words as creatively as you do. Peace.
oh girl these thoughts are both heartbreaking and healing...they will make an incredible poem...start writin'...