Sharing

It’s one of those wonderful Saturday afternoons that actually feel like a Saturday. Maybe it’s because of the fall weather, the shorter days and the long rays of the sun the peak beneath the hem of the curtains and throws their long warm beams across the floor. Perfect for cats, small children, and lethargic adults to curl up on and close one sleepy eye to the realities of job and school.

The day after Halloween is always a bit of a let down. The carved pumpkins have already begun to melt in the Texas heat, their withered visages visibly disturbed by the warmth as the flesh begin to curl around the carved out triangles and squares of the jack-o-lanterns toothy grin and hollowed out orifices. All over the country, siblings sit amid piles of last nights spoils making trades to somehow improve their lot.

“I will give you two bit-o-honeys and a tootsie roll for your M&M’s.”
“No Way! You can have the hundred thousand dollar bar, but not the M&M’s”
“Please.” She whines. “I’ll throw in a licorice.”
“No.”
“Come on.”
“MOMMY!”
“Cut it out you two!” I cried. Nothing good ever comes from these exchanges. You would think by now that they would have learned. D. has a funny way of orchestrating trades without ever letting go of ownership.

“She won’t let me play with my doll.”
“It’s not your doll, you gave it to her, remember?”
“Yeah. But I want to play with it and she isn’t sharing.”
“Well. It’s hers. She’s using it. She doesn’t have to share.” I think about this for a minute. It doesn’t sound right, but I can’t put my finger on why.
“It’s not fair! I want to play with it too!”

Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it. - Rumi

I have an idea for a painting. It is one I have been working on for a couple of weeks now, making a mental tweak here, and adjustment there. Sitting in the hot tub in the gym I suddenly feel the timer go off inside my head. The idea is done. Time to take it out of the oven. I begin making plans to construct the armature. I realize almost immediately that all the materials I need are sitting in my studio in C. No need to reconstruct the wheel. I need to go to C. I pull out the phone and begin to call J. Pausing for a minute I weigh the decision to go now verses tomorrow. I blink my eyes slowly. The lids feel heavy; there is a kind of internal comfort to keeping them closed. “I am tired.” I think. “I’ll never make the drive.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Nothing. Why.”
“I was thinking I might go to C.”
“Oh.” I can hear her thinking about this. “Why don’t I go to the gym after church and when I get home you can go.”
There issomething oddly familiar about this conversation. “Maybe a couple of the kids can come with me.”

On my way home I pick up the ingredients for dinner.

"What are you making?
"A childhood favorite, goulash"
"Oh I've had your goulash before."
"Really? I made it before."
"Yeah,but I didn't like it somuch last time. I think I was expecting it to be like one of my childhood favorites, American chop suey."
"I'll make it different this time."

The long beams of the afternoon sun creep out along the edges of the curtains, bounce along the floor and then up into my eyes. Unconsciously I close my eyes to the glare. My eyelids feel satisfyingly heavy. “I tired.” I think.