GO FLY A KITE
We went for our walk on Hampstead Heath on Saturday afternoon, slightly horrified to see how many people were there. It would seem weekends still exist. I had been feeling pissy and rebellious all morning and was continuing my complaint in spite of the glorious weather. Suddenly the beauty of nature seemed like an insult; how dare the trees show off their spring plumage and what do the birds have to be so happy about? Not to mention that being constantly wary about staying physically distanced from everyone at the same time as trying not to step in hole and break an ankle made it near impossible to notice nature’s bloody bounty. Exasperated I just stopped walking, wondering what would come first: tears or a scream. And then I saw the kite.
It was one of those simple, old-fashioned ones, diamond-shaped with quadrants of green, yellow, red and white and watching it against the bluest sky I felt my heart lift. I followed the string down to the hand that held it and saw a mother letting out the line with obvious expertise so that the kite could find the air current it needed in order to stay aloft. Dad stood nearby with a baby in his arms. Their little girl, perhaps four or five years old, was impatiently jumping up and down trying to grab the string. Mum reeled the kite in just enough and handed it over. The girl ran with it, giddy with joy. We watched as the string suddenly went slack and held our breath fearing the kite’s imminent fall to earth and the utter despair that would befall the child.
“Run back to Mummy,” the father called out and she did and the kite immediately righted itself, the string once again taut. I started to weep, not only to witness the ordinariness of a family outing in such a non-ordinary time, but also because of the simple but exquisite communication that had flown between this little family.
Usually I write for the blog on Saturday, let it rest overnight, and then post it on Sunday. But this Saturday I didn’t feel I had anything of worth to offer. Those of you who follow me know by now that I like to tie things together in such a way that is might give pause for thought and perhaps even offer some hope. Saturday was not that kind of day. I awoke to grey skies, which immediately pissed me off because the forecast had promised another sunny day. Bugger it I thought, I will not get out of bed and do my exercises. I’m going lay here as long as I damn well want. A cartoon, sent to me earlier in the week, came to mind: an old woman is lying in bed; the caption reads “I’ve got to get out of bed, I’m late for the couch.” I decided to rebel.
I stayed in bed for another hour, refused to shower before breakfast and came to table still in my dressing gown. Rebellion felt so liberating after nearly five weeks of trying to make sense of all that’s going on; trying to rise to the challenge, aiming for the positive, counting my blessings and believing in humanity’s capacity to change for the better. But, as I’m sure many of you are experiencing, the enormity of all that is involved as a result of this pandemic had suddenly become overwhelming. Several mornings during the week I had awoken feeling the weight of dread’s lead apron.
So, having eaten my usual “healthy” breakfast I decided to head to the couch with a 2-shot cappuccino accompanied by two ginger biscuits and a bar of chocolate which went down a treat and for a minute I felt quite proud that I now had melted chocolate on my robe but then became pissed off because I’d done the white load of laundry the day before and as I live in fear of the dish washer and/or the washing machine breaking down during lockdown I ration the use of both. I am also terrified of needing dental work during this horrendous time. I have one of those mouths that can self-destruct without notice. So I decided to eat a couple of mint humbugs, be damned. I did complete the NY Times crossword puzzle and then decided to take a nap, which was probably a sugar coma. When I woke up the sun was out which really infuriated me. How bloody jolly!
And that’s when Joel dragged me out for a walk and we got to see the little family and the kite. We lay in the sun for a while before heading home and on the way I noticed that the tree, a photo of which I had included in last week’s post, had come out of hiding, just like all of us.
On the way home, all that had been present an hour before but which I had not been open to experiencing, was suddenly redolent in the air; lilac and rose and wisteria, their floral essence beyond the realm of bottled perfume. Walking down the middle of the deserted road a tiny girl in braids whizzed by on her little bike. About the same age as the girl with the kite, she wore a midnight blue dress covered in silver stars. Daddy jogged behind her allowing just enough distance for her to experience freedom.
Freedom. How we all long for it. And at the same time, how we all long to run back to mummy and have her put the world to rights.
I feel better today. My string went slack for a while but I’ve righted myself . And I did it not by chanting Om, but by allowing myself to feel angry and rebellious. The path to freedom isn’t mapped; we find our way to it here and there, however we can.
I hope all of you are well and allowing yourselves to be however you are today. I leave you with this line from Rilke:
“Let everything happen to you. Beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.”
With love,
Maggie
