__________________________________
Food, Teeth, Drinks, Birds
By Stephanie Kemp
Food, Teeth, Drinks, Birds
By Stephanie Kemp
July 15, 2023
The Lunch
Yesterday I had lunch with an old girlfriend of my best friend. We always liked each other and hadn’t seen each other in 20 years. (Everyone is married to other people now and splashed around the planet.) We ran into each other last month at my daughter’s and her nephew’s high school graduation. They are friends in the 18 year old kind of way, which obviously means that my daughter didn’t love the idea of me having lunch with this friend’s aunt. I don’t blame her, but went anyway and betrayed no trust/s. I love when the world is tiny, unless I hate it.
We talked for 3 hours over a cheeseburger (her) and tuna sandwich (me) at the Farmer’s Market. She took a picture of her cheeseburger and sent it to her husband because she never eats cheeseburgers. I ordered the tuna because the cheeseburger didn’t look that good to me compared to my husband’s smash burger or gourmet burger or regular burger…or steak. (Plus, I thought we were going to eat at Monsieur Marcel, where I could have a Croque Madame and a glass of wine.)
It was the easiest conversation in the world because no time had passed and we both still love this person we had in common.
It was the strangest conversation in the world because 20 years have passed and we both have full lives with nothing in common.
We talked about:
Arbonne and Avon.
Producers and Predators.
Sisters and Moms.
Doing and Writing.
Mercedes and Hondas.
Weddings and What Ifs.
Illness and Wellness.
Houses and Hospitals.
Apartments and Airbnbs.
Luck and Chance.
Timing and Teenagers.
We talked about:
Everything we remember (she couldn’t believe that I remember everything)…
Everything we miss (we both miss our friend, even though she didn’t remember that I never dated him)…
Everything we still want (mostly good health and some luck, plus/still mostly any/everything listed above except Predators and Illness)…
She finished her burger but I only ate half my sandwich. For some reason (unrelated to any kind of eating disorder), this felt good to me. Maybe because she still looks exactly the same as I remembered (beautiful), or because it was so fucking hot that I was starting to swell.
We said we would see each other again soon.
I hope we will, but think we won’t.
We promised we would keep every single thing we talked about during our lunch just between us.
We will, so I guess this is the end of the story.
I am rooting for her.
But I must remember to be a cabbage.
______________
The Dentist
Yesterday (before lunch) I went to the dentist and saw my friend, Carrie.
As she cleaned my teeth and I told her I didn’t want my numbers called, I made jokes and apologized again for not (ever) flossing.
Seeming a little sick of me today (I have to see her every four months because of the flossing issue), she poked my gums a little harder than usual and told me I needed to extend myself grace. “You would never be so hard on your best friend, would you?”
(NohIwoodnoht!! I said through her latex hands in my mouth.)
So, as usual, we talked about our moms and dads.
Our stepmoms and stepdads.
Our daughters.
Menopause. (Me)
Peri-menopause. (Her)
Boys.
We talked about a mutual friend whose dad told her (when she was 10!) that he left her mom because “she got fat.”
We both had a think on that while I rinsed and spit (blood) into the rinsing bowl and she polished my teeth, then we said some swear words about our friend’s dad, furious and united in our solidarity - stronger together.
This is why we are such good friends.
ps. When I woke up this morning, I picked up a book* to distract me from starting my day. It opened to a random page with this sentence in the middle:
“Early in the morning, the manager knocked on the door……..calling for Grace.”
It feels good to have a manager.
I am going to start flossing.
*RUNAWAY, by Alice Munro
______________
July 17, 2023
The Margarita(s)
I had the best Monday afternoon with my friend Heidi.
I have known her for 10 years but we have only started doing things on purpose recently. I used to be sort of scared of her because she is very tall and super cool, never fucking around unless it is earned and always calling someone out if it is deserved.
She said 3 of the nicest things I have ever heard:
1. You seem like a documentarian.
2. You read a lot, don’t you?
3. You are like a real life Bernadette.
I went to bed happy and proud of myself.
Until I woke up at 8:30pm (remember, we had margaritas), wondering if these were compliments.
(They were.)
(Maybe.)
(…Depending what I do with them.)
______________
July 19, 2023
I had to leave town.
The tree trimmers are coming.
I can’t stand watching the beautiful bamboo being hacked down and hauled off.
I can’t stand thinking about the fucker that carelessly planted invasive bamboo after carelessly butchering our nice, minding its own business, clumping bamboo, and then carelessly saying about both, “Sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
I can’t stand that the bully bamboo finally won the war, having devoured what was left of the nice bamboo and then also decimating the hardworking railroad ties that tried so valiantly to protect the rest of our tiny ragtag backyard.
And that’s just the bamboo part. I haven’t even gotten to the Eucalyptus tree.
I can’t stand that the Eucalyptus isn’t ours to protect.
I can’t stand that we won’t have its shade or hear its rustling.
I can’t stand that I might want to punch the favorite neighbors who might want to take it down.
I can’t stand that I never realized it was only on their property and that there is no guarantee of (or to) privacy anyway, no matter what we pretend.
At least all of the trees and grown ups made it through my daughters’ childhoods, protecting a tiny yard with a blow up pool, a patch of grass, a hammock that could hold our whole family, a homemade playhouse built under an accidental pepper tree that still houses our summer memories and lots of secrets.
Speaking of childhood, maybe I should share the real reason I had to leave town.
The nest in the eave over the grill looks like it might be falling.
Every year there is a nest built there.
We watch and wait and whisper and listen (and obviously don’t grill anything).
Every year there are chirping babies and a mom who learns to trust us.
Every year there comes a day when we realize they are gone and feel sad before grilling something delicious.
Every year it refuels my soul and whole heart to watch the whole thing happen.
I can’t stand (or bear) the idea the nest might fall, or that the mom won’t come back if we touch it.
I can’t bear the ideas that the babies just started chirping 3 days ago.
That they might not be safe,
Have shade,
Privacy,
Protection.
Life.
I can’t stand (or bear) the idea that the more beautiful it is, the more brutal it can (and will) be.
(My husband and children are obviously excited for me to leave town…)
_________________________________________
(Far Corner Books, 1995)
When they say Don’t I know you?
say no.
When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone is telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.
If they say We should get together
say why?
It’s not that you don’t love them anymore.
You’re trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.
When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven’t seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don’t start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.
Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.
The Lunch
Yesterday I had lunch with an old girlfriend of my best friend. We always liked each other and hadn’t seen each other in 20 years. (Everyone is married to other people now and splashed around the planet.) We ran into each other last month at my daughter’s and her nephew’s high school graduation. They are friends in the 18 year old kind of way, which obviously means that my daughter didn’t love the idea of me having lunch with this friend’s aunt. I don’t blame her, but went anyway and betrayed no trust/s. I love when the world is tiny, unless I hate it.
We talked for 3 hours over a cheeseburger (her) and tuna sandwich (me) at the Farmer’s Market. She took a picture of her cheeseburger and sent it to her husband because she never eats cheeseburgers. I ordered the tuna because the cheeseburger didn’t look that good to me compared to my husband’s smash burger or gourmet burger or regular burger…or steak. (Plus, I thought we were going to eat at Monsieur Marcel, where I could have a Croque Madame and a glass of wine.)
It was the easiest conversation in the world because no time had passed and we both still love this person we had in common.
It was the strangest conversation in the world because 20 years have passed and we both have full lives with nothing in common.
We talked about:
Arbonne and Avon.
Producers and Predators.
Sisters and Moms.
Doing and Writing.
Mercedes and Hondas.
Weddings and What Ifs.
Illness and Wellness.
Houses and Hospitals.
Apartments and Airbnbs.
Luck and Chance.
Timing and Teenagers.
We talked about:
Everything we remember (she couldn’t believe that I remember everything)…
Everything we miss (we both miss our friend, even though she didn’t remember that I never dated him)…
Everything we still want (mostly good health and some luck, plus/still mostly any/everything listed above except Predators and Illness)…
She finished her burger but I only ate half my sandwich. For some reason (unrelated to any kind of eating disorder), this felt good to me. Maybe because she still looks exactly the same as I remembered (beautiful), or because it was so fucking hot that I was starting to swell.
We said we would see each other again soon.
I hope we will, but think we won’t.
We promised we would keep every single thing we talked about during our lunch just between us.
We will, so I guess this is the end of the story.
I am rooting for her.
But I must remember to be a cabbage.
______________
The Dentist
Yesterday (before lunch) I went to the dentist and saw my friend, Carrie.
As she cleaned my teeth and I told her I didn’t want my numbers called, I made jokes and apologized again for not (ever) flossing.
Seeming a little sick of me today (I have to see her every four months because of the flossing issue), she poked my gums a little harder than usual and told me I needed to extend myself grace. “You would never be so hard on your best friend, would you?”
(NohIwoodnoht!! I said through her latex hands in my mouth.)
So, as usual, we talked about our moms and dads.
Our stepmoms and stepdads.
Our daughters.
Menopause. (Me)
Peri-menopause. (Her)
Boys.
We talked about a mutual friend whose dad told her (when she was 10!) that he left her mom because “she got fat.”
We both had a think on that while I rinsed and spit (blood) into the rinsing bowl and she polished my teeth, then we said some swear words about our friend’s dad, furious and united in our solidarity - stronger together.
This is why we are such good friends.
ps. When I woke up this morning, I picked up a book* to distract me from starting my day. It opened to a random page with this sentence in the middle:
“Early in the morning, the manager knocked on the door……..calling for Grace.”
It feels good to have a manager.
I am going to start flossing.
*RUNAWAY, by Alice Munro
______________
July 17, 2023
The Margarita(s)
I had the best Monday afternoon with my friend Heidi.
I have known her for 10 years but we have only started doing things on purpose recently. I used to be sort of scared of her because she is very tall and super cool, never fucking around unless it is earned and always calling someone out if it is deserved.
She said 3 of the nicest things I have ever heard:
1. You seem like a documentarian.
2. You read a lot, don’t you?
3. You are like a real life Bernadette.
I went to bed happy and proud of myself.
Until I woke up at 8:30pm (remember, we had margaritas), wondering if these were compliments.
(They were.)
(Maybe.)
(…Depending what I do with them.)
______________
July 19, 2023
I had to leave town.
The tree trimmers are coming.
I can’t stand watching the beautiful bamboo being hacked down and hauled off.
I can’t stand thinking about the fucker that carelessly planted invasive bamboo after carelessly butchering our nice, minding its own business, clumping bamboo, and then carelessly saying about both, “Sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
I can’t stand that the bully bamboo finally won the war, having devoured what was left of the nice bamboo and then also decimating the hardworking railroad ties that tried so valiantly to protect the rest of our tiny ragtag backyard.
And that’s just the bamboo part. I haven’t even gotten to the Eucalyptus tree.
I can’t stand that the Eucalyptus isn’t ours to protect.
I can’t stand that we won’t have its shade or hear its rustling.
I can’t stand that I might want to punch the favorite neighbors who might want to take it down.
I can’t stand that I never realized it was only on their property and that there is no guarantee of (or to) privacy anyway, no matter what we pretend.
At least all of the trees and grown ups made it through my daughters’ childhoods, protecting a tiny yard with a blow up pool, a patch of grass, a hammock that could hold our whole family, a homemade playhouse built under an accidental pepper tree that still houses our summer memories and lots of secrets.
Speaking of childhood, maybe I should share the real reason I had to leave town.
The nest in the eave over the grill looks like it might be falling.
Every year there is a nest built there.
We watch and wait and whisper and listen (and obviously don’t grill anything).
Every year there are chirping babies and a mom who learns to trust us.
Every year there comes a day when we realize they are gone and feel sad before grilling something delicious.
Every year it refuels my soul and whole heart to watch the whole thing happen.
I can’t stand (or bear) the idea the nest might fall, or that the mom won’t come back if we touch it.
I can’t bear the ideas that the babies just started chirping 3 days ago.
That they might not be safe,
Have shade,
Privacy,
Protection.
Life.
I can’t stand (or bear) the idea that the more beautiful it is, the more brutal it can (and will) be.
(My husband and children are obviously excited for me to leave town…)
_________________________________________
The Art of Disappearing
Naomi Shihab Nye, from Words Under the Words: Selected Poems(Far Corner Books, 1995)
When they say Don’t I know you?
say no.
When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone is telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.
If they say We should get together
say why?
It’s not that you don’t love them anymore.
You’re trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.
When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven’t seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don’t start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.
Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.