On two lives

Years ago, a woman that I loved and respected very much gave me a poem to read. It was her favorite poem. I read it with all the wisdom and insight of a young woman with no responsibilities in this world.

It was stupid. And depressing. The poem was the mournful tale of a dying woman who revealed to her daughter that hanging in her closet was one spectacular red dress that she had denied herself wearing. It is the mournful symbol of a life of self-denial and repression. I thought the mother was pathetic. Wear the dress or don't wear the dress. Why hang the albatross in your closet?

Then I was hanging up clothes in my closet. And I noticed for the first time how many lovely things I have, with tags still on them. I wondered how I ended up with one life hanging in my closet and one life on my back. How did I become a someone waiting for someday to do something?

There is something funny about getting good and sick. It makes you want to hurry up and push all these lives together. If there isn't a someday then what is left is right now.

This is how it came to be that I sat yesterday in a glamorous black pantsuit completely inappropriate for day wear holding a puking toddler. The three inch pearl brooch banged his head once when he flailed around but other than that he didn't mind. An the brocade kitten heels were perfect for a day spent in a chair.

I don't know what I accomplished by this freakish display. Maybe nothing at all. But today it is 4 inch pink wedges with a black skirt and white shirt and a 1950's gingham apron and an up do. I will run out of some days. I'll be flat damned if I am going to do it with the tags still on my clothes.