Saturday, June 20, 2009

Solstice


Yesterday was a mean day for me. I didn't do shit. I went to yoga and did the laundry. I slept for two hours in the afternoon and had a dream that was so twisting and turning and so blatantly filled with every problem in my twisted, overheated psyche that I woke up panting and afraid, disturbed and demonized.
Thankfully, I had planned to go to the Opera House to watch a children's play that Kathleen and Herb were in and have been working on for months so I got up, scurried around and made iced espresso, got the clothes off the line, the baby chicks inside (they've been in the outdoor daytime chick box for the past few days), took a shower, put on a new skirt and an old shirt and went to Monticello.
The theater was filled with families and kids. There are something like forty-five kids in that play (no exaggeration) and if each and every child had two relatives there, it would explain the packed house. And the theater was not very cool. Okay, it was warmish. So add up crying babies, everyone fanning themselves, and the fact that the director of this play is someone I will not work with for personal reasons and for whom I have a rather un-Ms. Moon-like disdain, and I was not exactly sure what I was doing there.
But. Oh, but.
It's the Watermelon Festival weekend in Monticello which is the biggest weekend of the year. There's a parade and there's a Miss Watermelon Festival and there is music and there are all sorts of big doin's. Last year's Miss Watermelon Festival was at the play last night, wearing her beautiful crown, looking quite queenly and sweet, just as a Watermelon Queen should look. She didn't look stuck-up or unhappy that this was the last night of her reign. Although, come to think of it, that could have been the NEW queen. I don't keep up with these things but I thought to myself, THIS is my community, every color of person, every age, all of us here to see these children, these beautiful children.
The curtains opened and the magic began.
Listen- this woman for whom I have personally unhappy feelings towards is one hell of a director. She somehow managed to get all these children, from the ages of what looked like about four to nineteen in fantastic costumes, singing, dancing, prancing and playing and the set was lovely and the music was fabulous. And she had written the entire thing with the help of one of the kids and well, it was great. I love to watch children act. There is so little distance between their normal lives and acting a part.
"You are a cat," says the director and they are.
The magic set in, I forgot the heat and the crying babies and just got swallowed up in it all.
Kathleen was a grandmother cat and she was wonderful, sleeping as a cat would on a rocking chair in the center of the stage and Herb was a statue and was absolutely the best statue I've ever seen. He has the face for it, believe me.
It was lovely.
After the play I sat in the office of the Opera House director with Herb and Kathleen and the director and other folks I've acted (played) with and had a beer and some crackers and it was just so much fun. I miss the Opera House. I miss it so much.
I came home fairly early and ate some leftovers and went to bed and slept well all through the night and got up early. I have the sprinkler on the garden and I've given my hens some collard greens and I think a very dear old friend from Tampa is coming by this morning with her daughter and we might go pick blueberries and at two I'm supposed to go to a tea party (don't ask) given by my yoga teacher and then I'm off to my son-in-law's birthday celebration. He's back from the island and I hear he caught the biggest grouper.
And so it goes.
The heat continues, it's unrelenting, and we can sleep through it with heat-boiling dreams or we can move slowly through it, still open to magic and friendship, or we can fish through it or we can do all of that.
We can give credit where credit is due, we can take responsibility for our own days, we can give it all up to Jesus or Mary or the goddessess of the chicken coop. We can celebrate the summer solstice which begins at 1:45 am tonight and pick the fat tomatoes, bursting their skins and we can wade through the Georgia Thumper grasshoppers which are so big the chickens run from them, and wonder at snakes in holes and we can water the plants and we can hang our clothes on the line because they will be dry by the time you're back in the house, sweat pouring off your body, the prickly heat keeping you up half the night.
It's summer. There are blessings and there is magic and there is a reason to slow way down and watch where your feet go because the baby frogs are everywhere and the earth turns again and we do a little hop-step to catch up with the turning, in this case, a slow hop-step, a lazy tiny leap into the steam and the bake of the planet as she rolls, another ancient ritual celebrated, the moon slipping down, the sun slipping up, we are turning, even as we sleep. Even as we dream.
Even as we wake into this morning.

6 comments:

  1. That is one beautiful grasshopper. I love watching little kids BE AMAZING. It bolsters my faith in... whatever...
    I do wish, though, I could see a little bit of the sun on this summer solstice. Still cloudy here. Tomorrow too...

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  2. I'm missing the Opera House too.
    I'd like to go out and see this one, but the schedule won't permit me.
    And I'm sure that Kathleen makes a wonderful grandmother cat!

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  3. That insect is just wonderful! We enjoyed our day at Callaway and have just returned home. Lots of lounging ahead of us. The play sounds wonderful. I know what you mean about kids. They are the best little actors!

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  4. Solstice? Doesn't there have to be sun for there to be a solstice? There's been nothing but rain and clouds where I live. Every so often, there's some strange bright thing visible in the sky, but it doesn't last for more than 5 minutes. Meanwhile, corn is rotting in the fields from too much rain...
    And, I had to burn old letters from the future-ex to provide some light yesterday.

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  5. Michelle- Isn't it funny how we're experiencing opposite weathers? Ah, to see some rain. To feel it on my face. To have its coolness wash this holy, hot ground...
    Well, happy solstice.

    Jon- We're like junkies for that place, aren't we? And Kathleen was great! She did an homage to Judith's yoga move and I just laughed so hard.

    Ms. Trouble-Glad you had a good time at Callaway. Don't y'all have those grasshoppers up your way?

    Ms. Hope- Well, that explains that. Good fuel.

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  6. It's fucking hot. That is all I can think to say. Come on "cool front".

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