be the turkey

i am a turkey, the one from the slang dictionary. my mother had relentlessy told me i would never amount to anything and despite my best attempts at life, i have become exactly what she always thought of me as. i am a turkey.

it haunts me more now that my Dragon has died. he is not here to stroke my feathers and tell me how pretty i am.

my mother always thought i was too bookish and artistic. she despised that about me and while i withstood heaps of lectures on how to be the woman she wanted me to be, i quoted Shakespeare in my head. "to thine own self be true."

and i have been. but persevering through her predictions of my future failures doesn't make me less a turkey. it just makes me a turkey with convictions who failed anyway.

because of my ex, i learned how to endure without love or much hope. but my convictions kept me from making stupid mistakes. i learned how to take it on the chin. is that a metaphor? only the turkey knows. but i did arrive at the breaking point. i couldn't take it anymore and i left him. he took everything.

in flies my Dragon. and because of him the turkey glowed with the inner light she always had.

okay, wait a minute. first, way back when, i was in a boat on the water in a fog. i was listening to the wrong bell and rowing away from safety. then just recently i was the "insignificant little boat." and now i'm a turkey? damn straight. i can lay claim to anything that fits who i am. today, i am the turkey so i will be the turkey. tomorrow, who knows. there are a lot of metaphors out there and, well, it's my mind. it's all in my mind.

and that's where the trouble always starts. just when everything is going along, someone starts to think.

and wish.

and become wistful for things they weren't meant to have.

i always wanted a little house to live in for 60 years. the ex moved us around within one little town as he tried to improve "his" property ownership. nothing during that marriage was mine. my Dragon and i supported my two children during college when the ex did not and we rented a house by the ocean. a perfectly old and shabby little house where i would have lived for 60 years. and now i am trying to accept this tiny apartment as my home.

"forever? but what about the lighthouse? what about our dream? what about even a small place by the ocean? are we just giving up on that?" that's the voice in my head.

not all dreams come true.

i always wanted friends and family. i gave up, unnoticed i woefully add, on the widow's group. i have my wonderful daughter and son. i am blessed. my brother refuses to speak to me. friends are hard to come by. why? maybe because i am a turkey and they see in me what my mother did so long ago. "you're kidding us, right?" (my mind always speaks in third person to include all my various personalities.) "our life sucks! it blows! we need people to talk to us, to come get us and take us to the mall or to a movie! sure the kids love us and that's wonderful but there has to be someone else out there. c'mon! dial it up! get mad!" what good would it do. "crap. we are such a turkey. but yeah, right now, there is nothing we can do. but if they can't see how cool we are then....." hush.

i always wanted to take little trips, to see places. i got to "see" them through my Dragon when he talked about all the countries he'd been in. i bought a map of the world and brought it to him once. i had a sharpie and asked him to tell me what countries he hadn't been in. if i remember correctly there were about eleven.

i always wanted to deny my turkey heritage. "now that's just sad. so what if we're a turkey? turkeys are smart and cool. hey, Ben Franklin wanted the turkey for the national bird. that should tell you something right there." Ben Franklin was also a womanizer and wrote an absurd little book called 'Fart Proudly.' "oh. well, so the man had a sense of humor and a zest for life. so does our Dragon, but without the cheating part. you know how much he loves turkey." stop it.

i'm losing my mind. "i'm right here." really losing my marbles. "they're in that little bag over there on the bookshelf we bought for $3 at Goodwill." see?

i've been putting in 12 - 15 hour days working on what i now call "quiltimus maximus." but i am on the last little bit of sewing on that 8'+ x 9'+ monstrosity. i have called and the woman is coming for it on Monday. "after she leaves we're getting drunk, even if it's morning."

and then it's full swing on Suddenwidow's quilts. but right now, i'm tired and the turkey in me is wistful for what can never be. i'll never have a little home. i'll never again live by the ocean. i'll most likely be pretty much alone. if i find a friend who likes turkeys, it will be a miracle. i am wistful to travel like i read about people getting to do. i wish there were friends and neighbors who called to check on me off and on during the week like i know other people have happen for them.

"we're mad. admit it. well, we're upset anyway. that widow from the group stopped by last night and we thought she was coming to see us but she just needed to use our restroom before she kept driving home. i mean, how rude is that? out with the other widows and we weren't invited. she passes our apartment and needs to pee? really? why didn't we say something crude?" because the first thing out of her mouth was that she was having a bad day missing her husband. "well, we were having a bad day, too. we miss our Dragon so much that we spontaneously burst into tears and scream into our pillow. why isn't our grief as important to them as theirs is to us? and we didn't get to go out and hang with everyone. and her saying we hadn't been invited because it would have been inconvenient to come get us? seriously? but our toilet is close enough to pee in?" water under the bridge. "obviously not because we're talking to ourselves again. turkey."

well, if you are the turkey, might as well be the turkey.

i miss my Dragon more than i have the words or ability to express. i'll never stop loving him or mourning him.

"bye for now. we got our feelings hurt last night. sort of an 'unnailed, uncoffined, unknown' view of our future. so it's crying time again for turkeys."