Me and Tippi

It's a rainy Sunday afternoon. I looked at the eggplants downstairs and promptly bought a coffee and bagel and wandered back upstairs. I need to go back down their and get one of those eggplants, some parm and some bread. Maybe some mozzarella too. The dish is going to be beautiful, but today is as grey as an old movie, so I am putting that off and settling in with the melancholy vibe. I am looking that bad boy in the eyes and just letting him sit there and stare right back.

I have been on a total Tippi Hedren kick lately. I am thinking about dying my hair the same shocking color blond. Flipping through old photo's of her, I came across the one above, which I simply adore! Sitting calmly with the object of her terror, lighting a cigarette with a match from his beak. How striking, how appropriate!

At a certain point you come to accept those things you dislike, stop running from the man in black and simply invite him in. There is a certain relief in this. I was looking at my old photos earlier too.

It is extraordinary how much of your life can be captured in a simple snapshot! I laughed at the tacky younger version of myself! Shiny jackets, long nails and big hoop earrings. I enjoyed seeing the thinner and thicker versions of myself. I looked closely to see what has changed over the years. I look older now, but I can't figure out what it is. I don't have wrinkles or anything, just older. My bone structure is more pronounced, which I love! I always wished for sharp cheekbones growing up, I guess good things come to those who wait. I looked at pictures of my little brother, the buff marine and the little boy, God I adore him! I laughed like crazy at a picture of him when he got fat!

I also looked at the pictures of D and I. The cake I made him for his 29th birthday, the gigantic one I made for his 30th, pictures of first dates and homes and family gatherings. They broke my heart a little, but they also made me smile. I miss him so much sometimes. God we look so different! How can you get that much older in less than four years? I am not a masochist, but I am tired of running. It is much better to just sit with these things every now and then and calmly look them in the eyes, then put them away again.

So, what is my object of terror, my flesh hungry crow? Am I afraid of being alone, or of regret or simply of pain? When I really think about it, it is not any of these things exactly. I suppose I am afraid of becoming someone else. I am afraid of becoming that deeply sad girl again. I am afraid of becoming that girl who desperately sought love, who let that quest preoccupy her mind. I am afraid of losing all the strength and happiness I have gained over the years. Looking at this fear, right into his beady little bird eyes, I think that perhaps it is as imaginary as a the idea of a flesh eating crow. I have grown-up and I will never be that little girl again.

That knowledge not going to stop me from grieving, or worrying from time to time (if only there was something to cure me of these, but I am still a woman!), but it does allow me to stop running. I can lean-in and calmly let my benign avian stalker light my cigarette. He poses no real threat, there is nothing left to run from.