wishbone

wishing no matter how it breaks

so I found this while looking at my writing before especially from my trip to Mexico and soon after. it is from my 15th day in Mexico (CDMX) and was written in an am write. you literally write in the am right after waking up. i swear by it. my writing teacher says taps in your subconscious and you just write. no editing when writing. it always gets you where you need to go. and sometimes surprising places.

this is my plug for you to write things down. old school. in a journal. and still do a computer. i am so thankful I have this writing today. and writing is therapeutic (if you never show it to anyone). putting your thoughts on paper changes things.

did minor edits and passing to you. enjoy!

with you,

KB

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wishbone

I wonder if I am losing memories of my childhood. The polaroids are dimming. Like instead of the white turning to the black the black is turning to the white. Especially about when my parents were together. There are now few memories of what is left. Or a mobile you get a baby to watch stimulate their eyes and brain and their laughter and smiles.

I have a rotation of things I remember when it was good because I don’t want to forget. Like the news, sometimes you our brains are hardwired to go to where the darkness lives.

I got my first tattoo at 40 or 41 -kind of late bloomer or chooser to finally get something permanent on my body. I wanted one of my happiest memories of my mother (and my father) to live on me after she died. To be part of me. Where I could look down and see and remember.

It is a wishbone in a bell jar. I took a picture of it on a card years before my mother died and years before I thought I would put it upon my body. In the card it was gold. Gold it was as least to me.

I found it in the card shop and it was called serendipity and sold things like skin care, jewelry, chill out eye masks, sexy as hell bath bomb and random array of things you can only find there. I would need to escape my office, enter the world and be alongside the cards. The paper and feel the thick stationary between my fingers. The faint smell of a mix of candles and skincare samples.

I would buy cards for occasions, for myself to frame, just because, something for someone one day. I collect cards like I collect books and shells and dead peoples things (people I know and those I have never met).

The gold wishbone. I took a picture the first time I saw it.

I have always loved wishbones. My favorite part of a chicken dinner. My mother would make a full chicken and I remember a record playing the sound and feeling inside of myself fleetwood mac. Sometimes my dad would play warron zevon’s werewolves of London and then play “the grandpa pissed his pants again” and I would get embarrassed and laugh and beg him to change it.

The smell of a whole chicken being cooked feels like a hug, the smell of chicken soup. You know it will heal you. We would dance and laugh and be. Sometimes the streamers would be twisted in circles in complementary colors and that would be my job if it was a special occasion.

My dad would grab something from the bakery down the street. I always asked for eclairs. The perfect mixture of chocolate and whipped cream are two of my forever fav things. I still love putting whip cream on coffee, ice cream, yogurt bowls.

Happiness lived there.

My mother would rest the wishbone alongside the window in the kitchen to dry.

Next to the early 80s drapes.

The window where you could see me play in the front yard while still inside.

I wished I could wish right away. But you had to wait. I would wake up and touch in the am and ask if today is the day.

And I would always get to break it as one of the 3 people in our house then. And I always wished.

I always wished

no matter how it broke.