Farewells. . .

It started two weeks ago, Tuesday the 8th - well not really -  but let's just start there.  I said farewell to my workout appointment, as, walking out of the house, I happened to check email, and read a frantic and apologetic cancellation. That was all right, I would have more time to get ready to leave town that afternoon.

I said farewell to the possibility of leaving town that afternoon, as the car and I, all prepped for a two-day adventure of dinner and meetings, reached the corner.  I said hello to my exclamatory dashboard and then hello to my driveway, still warm from egress. I said hello to the mechanic and hello to everyone I needed to call to cancel and hello to an unexpected evening and morning at home.  I then said farewell to all the appointments for the rest of the week as we said farewell to the farm truck, our back up vehicle, as its fuel line sprung loose on a garbage run.

On Monday the 14th, still vehicleless, I said hello to all the people who were supposed to come to my house on Friday the 18th, for a weekend Art Camp, in an email about who was going to bring what.  Then Tuesday the 15th,  I said farewell to the possibility of help with the cleaning as that person had said hello to extra intensity in her life and I said hello to the extra tasks.  Then, still without car, I said farewell to my husband who was flying away and  hello to all the extra emails and the lovely visits and phone calls that came in on Wednesday, so at the end of the day, I said hello to some increasing anxiety about getting it all done.

On Thursday, I said farewell to the possibility of getting it all done with the care and attention that I normally would exercise, and said farewell to being able to serve freshly roasted coffee and homemade brioche and said hello to the toilet brush and the vacuum and clean sheets on the extra beds.  Thursday night, I said hello to my re-arriving husband and to dinner and to a shrinking list of what absolutely had to be done.

On Friday I said farewell to more on that list and hello to my house guests and hello to my sister and to all the groceries she fetched on her way and hello to letting it be as it was, however it was.  I said farewell to the possibility of the two people who couldn't make it and over the weekend, we said hello to a coffee machine malfunctioning, and on a woods walk, I said farewell to my glasses, and only on the third search did I say hello again.

On Saturday, my cross-the-street neighbor said farewell to the 2 p.m. pony party arranged for her four-year-old daughter and many mini friends.  It seems that before coffee the pony was discovered stiff in the barn.  Anticipating a large group of tiny ones expecting pony rides and getting death instead, she frantically arranged burial late morning while getting her hair cut and colored.  She also arranged a replacement pony but he turned out to be terrified of children, so farewell it was to the whole concept.  Luckily, nine baby chicks and the rabbit, as well as the run of the fields, turned out to be entertainment enough, and a good time was had by all.

Then on Monday, the same daughter squatted down and pooped while they were returning (for store credit only) the uneaten dead pony food, so a discreet farewell to her underpants. . .fine with the daughter, who proceeded to celebrate her new freedom by intermittently flashing bystanders as they finished their errands.

I remember months ago saying farewell to the idea of taking a boat to Louisiana to help rescue animals from the oil spill.  My sweet husband gently reminded me that, as upset as I was, as desperately as help was needed, a) we didn't have a boat; b) even if we borrowed one to lend, I didn't know how to drive one. I had a booth at the Farmer's Market, I did know how to bake, so I just put up a sign and the money went to the Red Cross.  Not much, but something, and we all felt a little bit better, for a little while.

I can feel some of the same chasm between my reality, my neighbor's reality, and the realities in Japan, the letting goes required in this neighborhood and the images of those gentle, stunned people,  in shelters, everything they own, irradiated.  Or everything they own, destroyed.  Or family and friends, vanished.

I keep flashing on butterflies, and the theory that when they move their wings, the breeze reverberates throughout the world.  It makes me wonder if, in my world, if I'm able to say my farewells and hellos in peace, if I can watch what arises and departs without too much attachment, without creating a fuss one way or the other, does this spread too?  Is it possible that this helps there be an iota more calm halfway around the globe?  I don't know, but I'm willing to test it. Clearly I have plenty of opportunity, and clearly, across that chasm, there is infinite need.