Positive Fielding (Part I of Tuesday)

Lately I have been participating in a study (with Monica and Jes) wherein we track our positive feelings on an online blog. Tonight I feel a desparate urge to do that... to write something positive... but don't have access to my research blog, so here are some recordings:

The way the sun poured in through the window in the afternoon at J's house as I prepared to nap in the cotton mess of blankets. The purple pillow and pale green comforter, everything beautiful in its pastel promise.

The way Gracie (the cat) waited for me to drive home, how she sat with her green eyes peering out from greener grass, her body black like it was only a background for her eyes.

Good finds at Goodwill with a good friend. Goodness.

The recall of A's skin and smell after time away. It comforts me like cotton blankets, familiar in their subtle scent and cool charm.

The promise of the beach in less than a month... even the thought of the ocean, while driving through saturated mountains-- blue and foggy, open cliffs, fences put up to stop the falling rocks-- and somehow the threat of such motion, and the way the rainwater formed impromptu waterfalls along I-40-- it made me long for the ocean. And I was happy at knowing I will be there soon.

The curl of A's hair, how it spirals more in the wet air. The color of it against her skin-- warm shades, soft light. Remembering again the strange creases on her face-- the uniqueness of age and weather upon the only visible organ: the skin.

The simple shape of familiarity: old white desk with yellow hearts on the knobs. Four slender legs, one flat top, centered by J's leaf-art and framed on one side by P's borrowed banjo. It is my favorite corner of the house.

The lanky bodies of E and K, and the scary thought at how they grow. The force with which K blew into the saxaphone-- the way it cried bronzely under her tongue, thrilled at the newness of its music and its holder. The thought of my grandfather also playing sax, so many years ago.

The constant lightness of E's spirit-- it's hard to explain, especially recalling what a sad and temperamental young child she once was. Now it seems true, what I wrote about her in the song long ago: "You wake up every morning, like the sun is on your shoulder. I pray you keep this darlin, even as you grow older."

The smell of rosemary potatoes on the stove, cooking... and remembrance of my granddad's garden with its new potatoes, and grandmother's recent email that promises such vegetables-- perhaps-- if the weeds don't take them-- to be cooked at the beach. It is awesome to think how things grow on their own: children and potatoes.

The promise of crossword puzzles before bed.

The promise of raisin bran and coffee in the morning.

The hope that it will be sunny again, after a long weekend of rain.