I have the scent of fresh basil on my fingers; I noticed this while retrieving a phone message from one of my many lost friends. I had picked the basil in a hurry, my husband's slippers too big for my feet, running down the steps to the herb garden. I was cautious of night spider webs, my scissors a weapon I held closed, but at eye height. As I typed that, I could only think "Jeez woman, you were running with scissors..."
But back to my friends...All seem to be mired at this moment in pain, life's bitter tears, and the ultimate kill joy, death. Not to mock death, goodness no. I just caught Anubis reading over my shoulder once again and I want to assure him that I take death seriously. Yes. Very seriously. I take my friends seriously, too, and offer what I can.
My friend pool is mostly my age and therefore, what we all share in common these days is the demise of our parents. One minute, they were our favorite annoyingly earnest antagonists and now they have grown subdued. So subdued, that my husband and I have buried three. Such is the way of life. If life is Yin, Death is Yang. (Anubis frowns and I laugh, flipping him the middle finger. I'm terrified of a frog, but Anubis? No. What's he gonna do, kill me?)
What Anubis won't admit is that his job is most satisfying when the living fight eventuality. But tough shit, Anubis, I am not living in fear of the end. No. So, I run with scissors in the dark to get a bit of fresh, herbaceous goodness to make my margherita pizza shine. The mozzarella is fresh and drying a bit, the garlic is chopped and whipped into some salt to assuage its bitterness, and you can't beat New Jersey tomatoes in late August. So, I celebrate. I breathe in the scents. Taste. Feel. Love.
I am alive. Smell the basil. Yes. I am alive.
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