When I set out to learn about my mother's bridge club, the Jewish octogenarians behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, their gen, and the ragged path that led me back to my mother.Where have I been? Where have you been? Who was that woman across the aisle certain she was on the wrong train? Did I help her? Did I help you? Yesterday the coffee cost less than today. I hate people who say live in the present. One day at a time. Forgive yourself. I don’t ever want to talk about the weather. I don’t need to live life to its fullest. Half full is plenty for me. Is the next stop New Rochelle?
Where have you been?
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Betsy Lerner 
“Where have you been?”
I’ve been on the local running from the Depths of Despair to the Heights of Joy, and back again (it runs 24/7), making all stops in between.
I’ve been to the place where it all comes together — yes, you can get there from here — and I’ve been to the place where it all fell apart (travel tip — if you go there, be careful you don’t stay too long, there’s some fearsome bugs in the water).
I’ve been to the building where there’s a barking dog in every flat, and I’ve been to the alley where the cat walks by itself.
I’ve been to the home on the range, and I’ve been downrange under the incoming.
I’ve been rocking in my baby’s arms on the warm and sticky sheets, and I’ve been locked out on a cold and drizzly night with a key that no longer fit the lock.
I’ve been in the back stacks, third basement down, and I’ve been on the front page, badly photographed and misquoted.
I’ve been the faceless in the crowd. I’ve been the one shining pure moment.
I’ve been here and now. Always here and now.
And yes, Betsy, you helped me.
Outstanding comment, Tetman. I loved this, and the voice here – while uniquely yours – is sublime.
Thank you, Donna. Betsy gave the cue, and once I started, it all just came out.
You keep well, now. Know we’re all thinking of you. xo
The physicists say there is no real present so you can with a clear conscience tell those people they are fucking idiots. It takes a load off. One day at a time? Animals live one day at a time. Insects live their one day and then die. Thank god. What does live life to the fullest even mean? Full of what? Full of air? Full of shit? Full of food? Full of knowledge? Full of experience? When people say full of experience they mean full of fucking, right? Looking at starving people? Expensive rugs? What the fuck does that even mean? Living life to the fullest is convincing the people that told me I’m crazy that they are no different than me they only belong to the majority loony frat. But I do like talking about the weather. That girl on channel eight is awesome. And so smart about clouds and rain and stuff. I’ve been at home staring at my computer trying to figure out a way to make some money without the FBI diggng up my back yard. Is it so wrong to write fiction?
Nowhere, everywhere, head in the clouds, down in the dumps and yes you helped me too.
Deep inside myself, as usual. Working on finding more chances to get outside of myself. Scary out there though.
Platitudes. Can’t anyone think of something new and refreshing to say? I’m just as guilty as the next for flopping one of them out in conversation.
I’ve been yanking my hair out, trying to resurrect some brain cells to work on a new project. I’ve traveled down I-95 approximately 26 times in the past 2 1/2 weeks, laid out on a radiation table 13 times (18 more to go!), passed out bookmarks, played hide-n-seek with little dog, stared at the bluest of blue Carolina skies, ooh and ah’ed over the moon, and… other frivolous nonsense.
It may not be full, it may not even be half full, yet I’m happy there’s some drops of living in there.
The only time I live in the present is when I’m really busy or focused, but leave me without anything to do and my mind zips all over.
“I am here,
Or there, or elsewhere. In my beginning.”
I have been to the humdrum.
I have been to the non-place
And the space-in-between.
Of course, I’ve been to London to visit the Queen.
I’ve been to the gloom and the golden
the gleaming the glorious.
Nowhere and everywhere, here, now, then, soon.
I have been to the non-seen;
I do not make a spectacle.
I do not presume.
I have been to the pleasure and the plenitude
And the endless and the pointless.
Ah, but I have also been to the dance
To the pirouette
To the still point
Oh, the places I have been.
I’ve been to a Patti Smith reading for her new book, Devotion. She had a migraine but she womaned-up and pulled off the night. Love her.
And the the best – to see the dedication of the book: “To Betsy Lerner – my friend and guide.”
If that isn’t a full glass, i don’t know what is. Very cool, Betsy.
Wow! That’s great!
Riding on the train I’ve been on for as long as I can remember. Sometimes it stops, but I’m unable to get off and often it just seems to meander through a maze of desert plains and dry mountain corridors. The sky is the color of faded asphalt. I boarded 60 years ago or so, about the time my father eased on out the door and promised everything would be alright. Lately I’ve been chugging along through the Valley of Contradiction and the train is picking up momentum as it travels steadily downhill. There must be other people riding the rails, but the only signs of life I see are the ones left behind. I hope there’s a station up ahead and I’m dreaming of ways to switch cars and travel in a different direction.
Earlier this week, I attended a combination labyrinth walk-organ recital at a local church. Quite an interesting spectacle: a canvas tarp, printed with a labyrinth pattern, covered the altar floor; a man was standing on his head, at the center of the labyrinth, while the organist played selections from Bach and Crosby, Stills & Nash. The setting sun’s rays made the western-facing stained glass glow hot with color, yet the air in the church was cool.
I had arrived, overwhelmed in stress from That sort of day yet interested in the event’s promise to provide inner peace. In attempting to calm my racing pulse, my heart actually ached from the shift – an uncomfortable sensation I hope to never experience again. There are still so many “wheres” yet to be explored.
…”Me…I’m waiting so patiently. Lying on the floor. I’m just trying to do this jigsaw puzzle before it rains anymore.”
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