Miriam Feder home



reflection striderHELEN:
Faith? Now there’s a word don’t know what it means. Not in a bad way, like I don’t got hope or I see an empty glass or something. Just–it don’t mean nothing to me. Don’t got it, don’t need it, I guess.

I feel good about things, even when they ain’t so good. It works out; I know that. Now and then I have to remind myself, but mostly I just feel it—it’s like here in my shoulder. I lift stronger when it’s in there.
Love—I got love: I love my Ma and the life she gave me; I love my kids; Kevin-the old soldier next door. I’m grateful for them–that’s it. I’m grateful they’re all there, they’re ok.

But faith–never have known what that word means. It’s not like I have to believe something to make each day go round. It’s been going round a long time—long before me. It’ll go on long after, if we don’t screw it up too bad. What I say, or think, or believe don’t matter. That’s ok. I don’t need to matter so much—or so wide anyway. I matter to the ones that matter to me. That’s what matters most. And that’s good—good as a pot roast dinner with fresh coleslaw and homegrown tomatoes. It don’t get much better–except for maybe a sweet kiss from a baby, or a fella.

Well, not to get off track here, but I believe in the sun and gravity and flowers. In all the good things I see and the ones I know I can’t see. The bad things? I used to worry more about them. Now I just change my eyesight: I go past the songs I don’t like; I taste more berry cobbler and spit out mushy pieces of melon. I got choices and these are mine: bark, don’t bite; shoot off a little steam—then kiss and make up; tell that old funny story again and laugh until your ribs hurt. Sometimes I don’t remember how the story even goes anymore but we still laugh at it, ‘cause we all remember it was funny. Those are the things I believe in on a sunny day. And on a rainy day? That’s when that pot roast comes in handy.