Sunday Scribblings #27 – I carry

I am the means by which something passes, or is inspired to flow or move,
from one place to another.
Sherpa.
A term of endearment that my husband uses.
“Why won’t you let me carry something for you?”, he often asks.

I am alive, protected and safe.
But only if I am carrying something.
Usually that means a change of clothes.
Or maybe it’s the groceries.
Likely it’s my macbook.

When I’m walking, I carry a big heavy backpack.
It weighs almost 20 pounds (I weighed it on the Jet Fuel scale one day).
Here it is:

My network chiropractor just laughs when she sees it.
I wonder how I balance on my bicycle with that thing.

In India, it’s perfectly normal to carry your life and livelihood on your bike.
I really “get” that.
I really do.

Can you see the bicycle under all those cans?

My therapist once pointed out that when I was really ill,
I carried tons of bags with me.
Funny how illness exacerbates our idiosyncracies
to the point of being considered dysfunctional.
I guess that means that I’m never too far from the
edge.

I carry 12, 732 days with me.
I carry 10 years of elementary school,
5 years of high school,
4 years of undergrad,
and 2 years of grad school.
I carry 21 years of formal education!

Currently, I carry some sort of virus that is attacking my oto-pharyngeal constituency.
It is causing me pain, fatigue, muffled hearing and dysphonia (voice disturbance).
I carry a motion: “be gone, virus!”
All in favour?
Motion passed.

Too often, I carry guilt.
I once carried shame.
No longer.
Yes, I no longer carry disgrace or dishonour.

I carried Andrew when he was only a few minutes old.
I do not know what it is like to “carry” a child (in the literal, maternal sense).
I used to try to carry my cat Pekoe, but that was disturbing for her so
she’d wriggle out of my hold all seizure-like and fall to the ground.

I have carried life, I have carried death.
I carry labels, but I don’t live up to them.
Or at least I fight them.
And try not to give in.

You know what?
I’m grateful, because I CAN carry.
I can carry.

9 Comments

  1. Anonymous on November 18, 2007 at 2:41 pm

    Jenn,

    I just read a few of your blogs and they really touched me. I used to know you along time ago…I don’t know if you remember or not. I would like to catch up.

    kim_begg@hotmail.com

  2. Secret Agent Mama on November 18, 2007 at 6:04 pm

    Jennifer, I really love what you did here!

  3. Linda on November 18, 2007 at 6:37 pm

    These are beautiful thoughts. I wondered how you would end it and I love what you did with it! ~Linda

  4. tumblewords on November 18, 2007 at 6:42 pm

    Lots of living in this post! Wise and wonderful, willing and willful.

  5. TheVasquez3 on November 18, 2007 at 9:34 pm

    “Why won’t you let me carry something for you?”, he often asks.

    my husband offers all the time, sometimes i let him, and let go…and thats a good feeling

  6. tickledpink.nicole on November 19, 2007 at 3:24 am

    Thanks for reminding me to be grateful for my body and what it can do.

  7. gautami tripathy on November 19, 2007 at 6:59 am

    What you said about India is so true!

    One thoughtful post…

  8. grace on November 19, 2007 at 10:15 am

    This is beautifully written. I like it.

  9. myrtle beached whale on November 20, 2007 at 2:51 pm

    Wow, you spent 10 years in Elementary School and 5 in high school? No wonder you are so smart. I should have stayed longer. LOL

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