Tuesday, February 17, 2009

The Way Of The Moon



So here it is, February 17th and it's cold as hell out there and it's clear as a bell out there and the man is off to go tear down some more walls and yesterday I finally figured out what sort of license applications we need to begin on to get this whole ball rolling and rocking and legal. I downloaded them only to discover that we don't have a working printer in this house but we've got that figured out.
Mr. Moon has been down to the city numerous times already and listen- that man does not let anything get in his way. He came home last night with white sheet-rock dusting his head and was so tired he couldn't keep his eyes open while I got dinner ready.
It reminded me of years and years ago, I think about 1989, when his daddy was building a house for him and Mr. Moon's mother. He was about sixty-five then and had spent his whole life working hard. I mean, HARD. Farming and working construction and running a gas station and a seafood operation and never once stopping to take a breath because he was too busy, supporting his family but he was always there, you know? I never met a man as gentle and generous in spirit and I think I fell in love with him before I'd let myself fall in love with his son. He was tall, about six-four, and lean and handsome and had blue eyes like Paul Newman. He and Grammy wanted to move to Florida and Mr. Moon and I bought a piece of land where they could build a house, have a garden, live out their retirement years.
Paw-Paw went to work and it was summer and he'd be out there every day in the broiling heat with a crew of guys half his age and they'd work and then wilt and he'd urge them back to it. Paw-Paw was staying with us while he was building (Grammy was still up in Tennessee) and he'd come in every evening and sit on the edge of his bed, so spent he could barely move. He'd hold a cup of coffee in those big hands of his and stare off into space while I made supper, collecting himself enough to go take a shower, get ready to eat.
Pure, down-to-the-bone exhaustion.
The house took shape and Paw-Paw sweated his way through the building of it and when it was finally finished and ready to move in, it was a glorious day. It was a sweet little country home with an upstairs with two bedrooms and a downstairs with two bedrooms (they planned on all the grandkids coming to stay) and a big eat-in kitchen and a living room and windows to watch the birds out of and a rocking chair front porch and it was all handmade and Paw-Paw's hands had touched every part of it in the building.
Grammy and the furniture came down from Tennessee and they got everything moved in and then you'd think Paw-Paw would have rested but no. He started busting up the garden area and next thing you knew he was bringing over so many tomatoes for me to can that I finally told him that if he showed up with one more basket of tomatoes I was going to flee the country. And cantaloupes and mustard greens and oh, hell, I don't know what all that man grew.
And then Grammy, who'd never been really well, got sicker and she died.
And less than a year later, Paw Paw got sick, too. Liver cancer. And then... he was gone.
And oh yes, there was that short time in between where he married my mother but that's a whole other story (as you can only imagine) but part of the whole of Paw-Paw, Mr. Moon's daddy, because he was a man who looked at a situation and threw himself into it wearing those cotton/poly coveralls over his long bones, his strong bones, with those Paul Newman eyes twinkling at you, those arms always ready to reach out to enfold you whether you were a daughter-in-law, a grandchild, a friend.
And when I see Mr. Moon throw himself into things the way he's throwing himself into the building and starting up of a sports bar, it scares me. Not because I think we'll fail in the endeavor, but because I know how he is, which is just like his daddy. He walks like him, he talks like him, he hurtles himself towards goals like him, never stopping to question if something can be done but always moving towards here's how we do it.
From tearing down walls to buying pool tables, here's how we do it.
And me? I tremble at the idea of having to figure out what to cook for supper. I feel inadequate in every way.
Paw-Paw used to have a saying and it went like this: I've done all I'm big enough to do.
And my God but he was a big man. I never did figure out anything he wasn't big enough to do.
And his son is just like him, only maybe bigger. And I don't want to watch him kill himself with the building and opening and running of this place. I know he'll be down there until two, three in the morning. I already see him, leaving for work on the run, a roll of plans under one arm, a phone, a cup of coffee, a mug of water, his lunch, his tools in the back of the truck and he's got health insurance and building codes and licenses and bar stools and washing sinks and a million other things on his mind and I feel so helpless and unhelpful and I do the laundry and I try to plan a supper and I write a blog about babies and begonias and I dawdle with this government website and that one and I call an official here and ask for information and I call an official there and it just seems so pathetic.
I should be down there, tearing down walls. I should be making lists and filling out forms and going to get fingerprinted and no. I'm going to go to the library.
I'm not even sure what I'm saying here today.
Just that some people, when confronted with a harsh reality, make a plan and then make it work, no hesitation, no questioning, just full-on-focus using every part of their brains, their bodies, their sweat and every minute of the day to make it work.
And some people never even try because everything is daunting and overwhelming and even if they're on medication they can't see the goal for the sheet-rock dust and all the black doubt in their hearts.
I don't want my husband to kill himself and yet, there is nothing in the world I could do right now to slow him down. I know him. And in a way, he's happier than he's been in a long time. He's worried, he's concerned, he's overwhelmed. But he's got a goal and a plan and he's not slowing down and he's certainly not stopping.
He's his daddy's son and he's doing all he's big enough to do. He's six-foot ten (or close enough). I have to remember that. I have to remember that hard work and many challenges make him happy and alive.
And while I tremble and quake at the idea of all the work and craziness and hurdles to jump and all the change, the change, oh my god, the change, and the risk! I have to remember that this is how things get done.
Whether I'm scared or not, this is how things get done.
And I cannot be the rock that holds him back. I have to do all I can to help him go forward.
And I'm trying.
Listen- when I met Mr. Moon, I knew in my very soul that this was a man I needed to hitch my wagon to and I did, even though it was scary because he was completely and utterly different than any man I'd ever met before.
His name was Moon. I closed my eyes and made a wish and there was the Moon, hovering over me and I opened my eyes and said, "I do."
I still do.
And I think about his daddy and the way he'd sit there with that coffee cup until he could rise and walk his slow way to the bathroom for his shower and how he'd come out, all clean and ready for supper and then whatever else he had to do, never once complaining, never once losing that smile, the sweet twinkle in his eyes.
Same as his son, same as his son.
Mr. Moon, the man I married, a man big enough to do what has to be done. Not just for him, but for me and all the family.
Thank god he's a giant. Thank god he's big enough.

11 comments:

  1. You found a good one, and it's so nice that you appreciate your find! I've given up. Men of this generation seem just useless, and many of them (my own brother included) still live with their parents. Or they might as well.

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  2. Wow. I don't have much to say about that, other than you moved me to tears right away with that post. I wish I had known Pawpaw better, but I feel lucky because I'm sure I know him more than I realize. And I know my daddy, which means more than words could ever say, but you came close. Thank you Mama, for marrying my papa, and for being who you are, because even though you are not the type to dive into everything head first like Daddy, you are here to reflect on it all and bring to life beauty and emotions, which is just as important.

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  3. bet that will be a good opening day beer!

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  4. I'd love to hear the story of how Pawpaw came to be married to your mother for a short time. Don't throw a teaser out there and then leave your readers hanging!

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  5. I agree--what is this story?? Inquiring minds want to know.

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  6. This is FANTASTIC. i'm blown away with your story telling ability. pawpaw- and that son of his- were salt of the earth. like my husband.

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  7. Rachel- surely, there must be SOME good ones out there. But how you'd manage to find that needle in a haystack with all you have on your plate is beyond me. I know how lucky I am. I do.

    HoneyLuna- I cried writing that, thinking about your Paw-Paw and how hard he worked and how hard your daddy works. Thank-you for what you said, darling.

    Magnum- You know it!

    MOB and AJ- Hmmm. Maybe someday. Maybe tomorrow. Who knows? I never do.

    Maggie May- Thank-you so much. And you have one too- a salt-of-the-earth man. Lucky us, huh?

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  8. Amazingly beautiful, my dear. I love reading your stories so very much.

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  9. I've done all I'm big enough to do.

    I love that... Consider Paw-Paw's words to be adopted this side of the pond.

    Fat Lad

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