Life Before Mimi

I took this photo fall before last in a grove of gloriously brilliant autumn trees behind my house. When I found it again today, it reminded me just how wide-eyed I was - and how much I miss the dilation. Curious, peeking out into a brand new world like a babe wrapped in Eskimo mittens, I was a pencil skirt shy of breaking out of my cocoon. If I'd been wearing a shorter frock that day, I could have avoided the accident. An inquisitive time before serious boyfriends and life-altering mimisms, fresh on the scene - and yet I wanted to stay locked inside my little cabin in the woods, curl up with a book and write the imaginary novel or two.

Funny how the Universe gets your attention. But it always does.

Just a half-hour after the camera frolicking seen above, I ungracefully jumped into a pile of leaves and landed on crutches for six weeks. Frolicking came to a screeching halt. Dating became "come to my house for dinner" if you want to see me. Everybody who knows anybody knows I can't cook. Who wanted that??!!

Dating came to a screeching halt.

It was my last "fall" for a long while: then there was that unmentionable ridiculous crush #3 with a self-absorbed -creative-type-without-a-creative-bone-in-his-beautiful-body, another six months of being chased by the wrong guy,
too many one-dinner dates with somebody else's Match.com photograph and I was sauteed. Done.

So I learned to let others push me down the hallway in a wheeled chair at breakneck speed, bring my lunch from the cafeteria and carry my books. I wore crazy colored stockings to spice up the naked ankle and feigned helplessness when I knew darn well I could make it three feet across the room. It's hard to swoon on tall wooden sticks, but I managed. Life was tough.

I ventured out to the mailbox without my makeup on (horror of horrors!) - my vanity left crying at the bathroom sink I could no longer see well enough over to look in the mirror without hurting my sprain. Somehow I drove to work with one foot, blistered my arms on those medieval planks and hobbled up and down the stairs at home each night. So I let others wait on me and I.... well.....just waited.
To heal
To walk
To stop hurting

It finally did. I strapped on the Milanis and did a hallelujah dance. Then I stumped my toe on the baby-pound weights in the living room.

Broken toe. No crutches. No cast.
Just pain.

So I waited...
To heal
To walk in high heels again
To stop hurting

"No, John, I can't go out with you tonight.........(listening, filing nails) "Of course I like you, John (making note to re-evaluate that statement)..." but well....it's hard to explain." (listening, biting nails)...."Yes, I did get rid of my crutches last week but then I......oh, clumsy me....(spilling coffee onto notepad)....."but really, I think I'd better stay in." (listening to heavy breathing and curse words in his head).

"You do want me to wear shoes, don't you, John?!?

Click.
John was never good at waiting.

Blogging took over my fascination, an outlet for my writing, and an audience of new readers who began to support me with words of encouragement - many of you - since the birth of this blog in August, 2006. You didn't care if I wore shoes or not.

I dove face first into a pile of precariously non-pithy stories of what blogging brought to my life: unfinished NaNoWriMo words for all the world to see, Peace Globe revelations at midnight for all the world to see, New England frolicking, falling, frolicking and the final fall for all the world to see. A few wild and memorable adventures on a bridge that left me clicking my heels three times for home and a tailspin back to my own leafy backyard.

So I waited...
To exhale
To heal
To learn to walk

When I left my blog a few days ago to sweep the moat and clear the cobwebs - astute and faithful readers must have known what I really meant. I know this because you always "get me." In this lovely land of words, clues do not have to fall out of the sky and hit one on the proverbial crown. I need only drop a hint, leave the blogdoor cracked, and bank on the one lesson I've learned over and over here: that vulnerability may hurt for awhile, but wounds heal faster when I have company. Yours. Bloggingham is a safe place to sail.
And if I fall again, ungracefully in a pile of love leaves or even learn to be pithy and discreet as we go along, you will be here to listen to the tragic and drama-laden tale of new adventures and pain and healing - and the cycle of life in this reinvention of Mimi.
Don't worry. I won't be lonely long. The phone rang yesterday.
It was John.

"Mimi! Long time no see! (I always loved his depth). "How about you and me and a table for two " (....and his poetry) on Saturday night. Or I could come over and you could make your deliciously famous pasta dish. We all know what a great cook you are." (....and his lying).

"No, thanks, John. I have a non-date date with an old friend from college. He doesn't mind that I'm not perfect. I don't have to look fancy in 3-inch heels before he'll take me out and my current emotional crutch does not bother him.
He just listens quietly while I talk and pushes me around like any kind gentleman would do. And anyway, he reads my blog so he knows all about my current calamities. He doesn't mind that I'm a pencil skirt."
Silence.

Do you read my blog, John?".....
"John? Hello?"
"You have a BLOG??!"
Click.
John was never good at listening either.

My friend and I are going to dance this weekend. No pressure. No romance. Just fun.
And no camera.
Let's hope I don't jump this time.

At least before I fall.

Maybe I should get the crutches down from the attic.
Just in case.