In the “Age of Innocence,” (if there were ever a time), they used to say, “I didn’t think they’d try it on,” meaning, I didn’t think they’d have the guts to do it. Some may have said that about my mother, but not me.
I’m not sure she ever really knew how brave she was. I know she wanted to be. I guess I knew first, because my grandfather told me. Standing in the kitchen, opposite the sink – grandma in elbow deep – in front of the window that framed the stripped and hanging cow from the tree, he told me I could turn in, or turn out. That I could armored like my Aunt Kay, or be open like my mother. He didn’t mark either as good or bad, both would be difficult, it was just a choice. My mother returned from the other room. Broken, she had the guts to still be ruffled in white. I had already made my choice. To be wounded, but still believe in love, I would ever be “trying it on.”
It was years later, I relayed his message to her. She hadn’t known that he saw her. It wasn’t the way. I suppose it was thought, “Well, it goes without saying…” but mostly I think that means it simply goes unsaid. I can’t let it be one of those times. Ever ruffled in ruffles, I come to the page, to the canvas, to you, wide open, daily. And on those days when you think you don’t have the strength, the courage, the will, you will think of these words, these images, see my mother’s face and heart, and you will find yourself “trying it on.”
The word essay comes from the french word “essayer” which means to try. I guess that’s what I am doing each morning, when I write these essays, I’m just trying, trying to learn more, love bigger, see further, live better. Maybe that’s what we are all doing. I hope so. There is so much beauty in the attempt.
But that’s not to say it’s easy.
Each day before I write, I do my French lessons with Duolingo. Some days, (not many at all), I breeze through the daily goal and get on with my writing. Other days, (a lot of them), I feel like I’m losing weight with each word typed. Nearly every day there is a piece of my brain that says, just quit. Quit already. But then there is a piece of my heart, the one that loves the man that lives in a country that speaks this weight-loss language, and I try — J’essaie.
And every once in a while, I’m rewarded, like when the clerk understands, when I say bicarbonate de soude, that I need baking soda. My husband claps in the grocery aisle. We take our victories where we can. And we wake up and we try once again. Maybe this time with a little more courage, strength, and even more important, a little more empathy for all those who are making the attempt. For all those who are struggling for the tiniest break. For those longing for a round of applause in the grocery store.
Life is a beautiful journey. I think the doctors and lawyers get it right when they say they are “practicing.” Aren’t we all. Today, I wish you the most success in your attempt to learn, to love, to see, to live. “Bonne journée !”
