My mother's side of the family is strongly Polish. Growing up, a few words and phrases immigrated into our everyday language. We always wore got-kas to bed because what if there was a fire? You wouldn't want to run outside without your underwear, would you? We jig-gotched instead of threw up, and we wiped our dupas you know when. [I'm feeling around in the dark for the spelling -- any ideas, Mom? Karolina?]
And while I'm uncertain about the etymology of it [is it Polish? Or something we made up?], I remember this word made us laugh.
Nor-gin.
We'd whisper it, stifling giggles, while we pointed at the poor soul who wore the unfortunate, ill-fitting pants. He was nor-gin. You know -- sporting plumber's crack.
Well, folks, I've been nor-gin a lot lately. I'm sure it has something to do with post-pregnancy wacky-hips and a lot to do with my pencil-frame body and complete void of a rear end. Whatever the cause, the new [expensive] jeans I bought recently to replace my knee-holed ones have been hanging a bit low.
Until yesterday.
I rigged up something magical with a Dritz diaper pin and my trusty D-ringed belt and now my pants stay up.
It's been a good day.
So it was with pants secured above hip bones that I read my email this morning and got the rejection. The big fat no from the literary magazine to which I [long-ago-ish] submitted a short story. But it was the gentlest, most encouraging no that's ever been slid across my table. The editor told me that there was a lot she liked about my story, that she was "certain" I could place it elsewhere, but that it didn't fit the lens of this particular literary outlet. She encouraged me to submit another piece to the magazine though, as they are always looking for fresh fiction.
I know this was probably a pre-fab response that she copies and pastes to all the writers in her reject pile, but it was a response I appreciated. It didn't leave me licking a bad taste off my lips or doubting my self worth. In fact, I felt newly inspired to keep trying.
It's been a good day.
But I think mostly, the day dripped with positivity because it started out right. I was finally able to successfully summon myself out of sleep before the baby's cries or girly giggling could drag me into the day. I was finally able to delay drinking coffee and instead begin my morning with something I need even more -- yoga.
It was only 25 minutes, and all my joints were stiff with sleep even after savasana, but I felt so alive the rest of the day. Tired, like always, but I saw the sun through untinted windows.
My pants stayed up. No rang like a silver bell. It was a good day.
