his germany

i hope ill be that old woman someday. i hope ill be the old woman , crowned with a nest of frazzled white hair, donned with an endearing bag-lady chic, with a little too much plum colored lipstick smudged outside the contours of my upper lip, and a bit too much rosie blush settled into the creases of my wrinkly cheeks. I hope ill be that old lady, who wobbles cheerfully down the street with a knowing and soulful smile, with eyes that sparkle with brokenness and redemption. I hope i own a crazy purple flowie skirt (that fluffs up when i twirl), and a faithful brown cane, who i will undoubtedly name after a favorite poet, philosopher or feminist. i hope i spend my days tying together the stems of old flowers and humming old lonely songs, while I sit on rusty benches, on the sidelines of busy streets, eager and ready to tell my stories to anyone who passes by--- seagulls, litter, or possibly even a human or two. i hope i smell like old books and lemon tarts. an odd mixture of beauty and i hope i still dance. in the rain. in the parking lot. in the sunshine. and in his arms.
i hope when I'm an old lady, i remember what i once dreamed, who i once was.and what i once loved.

Sometimes, I creepily watch old ladies, and make "awwww" noises under my breath as they walk by.
80 + year olds make my heart feel like its drinking Welche's Grape juice. Sometimes I want to scoop elderly people into my pocket, and kiss their wrinkly little old faces throughout the day. I really dig them. Springtime always reminds me of this.

Apart from thinking about being an old woman today, I experienced a heartsigh while hanging out with a fat little baby, who drools on my thigh on a weekly basis.
He and I used to be the Axis vs. Allies. I was his Germany. He wanted me gone. His tears, and shrieks were bombs, that metaphorically disarmed my spirit. Though i hid in trenches, his ferocity followed me. His fits of anger were the bullets that left me wounded and afraid. War sucks. Especially when a one-and-a-half-year old wages it. Recently peace has fallen beautifuly on our lands. I have surrendered. His love has defeated me. Now we are allies. Now I am the loyal country that will defend him at all costs. I am his Britain, he is my France. Now when he cries, it's no longer used for destruction but now his tears bond us, as they are absorbed by the fabric of my shirt. the fabric where his tiny head rests, as i hug his sadness away. He comes to me. He smiles. Today I fell in love, with a half naked, pudgy, bald infant-man. Today he held my face in his fat little hands, as he brought his face, crusty with boogers and sticky from apple juice,close to mine and kissed me for the first time. A droolie, zoodle-sauce stained kiss. and it was a beautiful beautiful moment.

Those are my heart-sighs for today.
Tonight, Im going to help Todd plant lettuce in old telivison sets, in our back yard.

I suspect that too, will make me sigh. happily.

love,shannon