In which our reluctant heroine gets rid of her sinus infection, starts beekeeping and checks back in with her daughter
It happens on the 5 every morning on my drive to work, at 5:30 in the morning on the 5 it so happens. Just as I ascend the curve into the bridge I remember that I’m about to see the lights of downtown Portland, cast forth like sequins in complete disarray and I love sequins. They’re shiny and faceted and cheap. I remember I’m about to feel a zap of happiness connected to neither memory nor hope. A bobbing joy on the surface of my day connected to no thing. Anchored down by nothing.
Somewhere there is a song that wants to be married to that moment but for now that moment is dating Patty Griffin’s “No Bad News “.
It’s a brave little jaunt of a song. A stringy stomp of the foot whose singer has had enough of closed doors and pinched hearts, burned houses and disease. I, too, am done with these things. Where my once-husband once lit our little house on fire, burning up memories that belonged to my daughter, I’m putting a beehive. And in the home of my heart I’m adding on.