Friday, June 12, 2009

Paper Bag Of Stuff


So it's Friday and what's going on in your life?

I'm about to go to yoga and I hope I'm not as rude today as I was on Wednesday. My teacher talks about "sweating out the toxins" when she walks and I asked her, "How did those toxins get in there?" I mean, the woman doesn't even drink coffee.
"Oh, that's just what I say. I retain water and it helps to sweat."
"Uh. Okay."
If sweating gets toxins out of the body, I should be toxin-free.
It's funny how we grab onto a concept or a phrase and use it without even thinking about what it really means. I know I do it.

So I'm listening to a book on tape and it's probably not the best book to be listening to right now but I'm almost finished with it. I listen while I walk or do housework or work in the garden. I go through Walkmans like some people go through batteries because I'm constantly flipping the tapes with my dirt-encrusted hands and eventually the dirt gets into the works and the player refuses to play.
Anyway, the book is Eva's Cousin and it's written by Sibylle Knauss and it's about Eva Braun's cousin and the time she spent with Eva right before WW II ended. Eva's real cousin gave the author extensive interviews to base the book on and it's rather chilling. The girls lived a completely protected (and guarded) existence with everything in the world at their command, living a life of complete privilege as the world collapsed around them. The thing I'm getting from the book is that women will submit themselves entirely for what they perceive as love. Eva, who wasn't even married to Hitler until right before they bit the cyanide, kept herself in complete denial about who and what her lover was. Supposedly. And I sort of believe it because otherwise, she would have been as evil as he and I don't think she was deep enough to be evil. Merely a shallow woman who was happy enough to wait for her lover to call her every other night, to wait for his occasional visits, to stand in the shadows during Hitler's public appearances. Everyone knew who she was, but because she wasn't married to him, she was not acknowledged in an official way.
Too weird, but I have known many women who did essentially the same thing, being the lovers of married men, never acknowledged publically but always in the shadows, in the background, trying to convince themselves that this was enough because they were in love.
Of course their lovers were not Evil Incarnate, but let's face it- if you're the lover of a married man, you're in love with someone who cheats on his wife and that is not a man who is treating either the wife or the lover with any respect. I had a very good friend who had a long-term affair with her married boss and he was kind to her, I'll admit. I don't think he was a bad man, at heart. But after years of telling her that eventually he'd leave his wife, he did, and then married another woman.
As if that wasn't tragic enough, he died in a plane crash and despite the fact he'd always reassured my friend that if he ever died, she would be "taken care of" and despite the fact that he was an attorney who did estate law, he died without having a will of his own. None.
And my friend? She wasn't even able to grieve publicly and I think it killed her. She died a few years after.
So anyway, I'm almost finished with this book and thank god for that. I figure it will get me through one more walk or four feet of garden weeding, whichever comes first.

So Mr. Moon cut his hair last night. This means that he almost shaved his hair off. And it looks so cute. When I met him, he had longish but not long hair. Sort of shaggy. And it was brown. Within months of meeting me, it had started turning gray and now it's all silver, sweet silver hairs that shine like a halo around his head up there in the sky.
"It feels so good," he said, palming his head, feeling the quarter-inch neat stubble.
"I'm jealous," I said, in the midst of my fiftieth hotflash of the day, my hair pulled up into an untidy knot, still wet from that morning's walk and the subsequent garden-work. I swear, it's a wonder my hair doesn't mildew.
"Will you shave mine for me?" I asked him.
"Sure," he said, but I knew he wouldn't. Well, if I really pleaded, he would.
49% of me wants to do a Sinead and 51% of me wants to grow my hair down to my waist and just wear it in two braids. This means that I get hair cuts now and then and right now my hair is neither very, very long nor short at all. I wear it up all the time so the difference between buzzing it and the way it is now would not be much. I read this little thing the other day where this woman in her fifties finally cut her hair short and her reasoning was the she didn't want her hair to promise fecundity that her body couldn't deliver.
I loved that.
But she'd gone to the trouble to get extensions and shit like that in order to have long hair. All I do is not get it cut.
Truthfully, 100% of me just doesn't give enough of a shit to worry about it very much, but sometimes I do yearn to have that very, very short hair, the kind that you can just use bar soap on and wear lots of eye-makeup and big earrings to balance it all out.
Meanwhile, I'll just revel in Mr. Moon's smooth head.

And I'm back from yoga now and I was not rude, although maybe I sort of was when I told my teacher not to touch me when I was doing a balancing pose. Arrgh. Why do I get so skunky-mean in yoga? My teacher is sweet and really, yoga should make ME sweet.
I think it would take more than yoga to do that on the days when I'm feeling meaner than snake piss. Is snake piss mean? Sounds mean, doesn't it?

And I just got the most delightful call from Mr. Moon. He wants to take me on a vacation. What? What? WHAT?
"To where?" I asked him.
"Anywhere," he said.
Of course my mind went racing to Cozumel and of course he said he would take me there but I know he'd like to go somewhere else. I with my deep, deep love of the place and my daily reading of the cozumelmycozumel website am ready to jump on a plane heading south of sanity and north of worry. I know the island (it's tiny), I know I love it and I feel as at home there as I do in Lloyd. Almost. Not much to do there except bask in the beauty of the island and the Mayans and love my husband. And swim. And snorkel. And eat. And drink. And sleep. And see the best sunsets in the world.
Yeah. I'd hate to go back there again.
Anyway, I just think this is further proof that Mr. Moon is the nicest man in the world and I am the luckiest woman in the world.

Okay. That's about it. I'm going to go weed some more and I think today is the day to pick that ginormous butternut squash. I should call Ms. Fleur and Harley to come help because it's Harley's squash. He started the seed. I hope I started a seed in him of loving to grow things. That sure would make me happy.

And oh! One more thing! If you're a local, Big Lou and Maxine (aka Lon and Lis Williamson) are going to be playing tonight in Havana (that's Florida and pronounced Hay-vana) at the Mockingbird Cafe where you can get your supper, your ambiance and your sweet angel music right there in one place. I'll be there. I struggled with the concept of putting on a bra and mascara to go out on a Friday night but then I thought to myself, "What in hell am I thinking? Lon and Lis are close enough to go see! Get off your ass, woman!"
And so I shall.

Happy Friday. I'm feeling better today and I hope you are too.
Remember: Don't be rude to your yoga teacher, don't wait around for some man to marry you and then take cyanide with him on your honeymoon, hair doesn't mildew, pick your squash before it gets too big, and last but not least, support your local musicians.

18 comments:

  1. This was a good one! Where are you going? Can I watch the house while you are gone?

    I got super sunburned at the beach yesterday. Had to happen sometime. Water was amazing, though.

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  2. I think I would put the smackdown on the yoga teacher. I dont' like to be touched by people I don't know really well. It took me two years of being sober before I quit FLINCHING when peopel would come up to hug me. Now at 9-ish years sober I can initiate hugs with a few people. ok, three is a few, right? I got a massage for my birthday a couple of years ago and it took me three months to get up the courage to use it. So I GET that.

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  3. I had a shaved head for a few years back in my youth. You should try it. There's nothing more liberating and best thing is? If you dont like it, it grows back.

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  4. DTG- I have no idea where or when we are going. At all. I am sure you will know as soon as we figure it out.
    I'm sorry you're sunburned. I'm glad you had a good time, though.

    Kori- Nah. She just messes my balance up. I have many neurosis, but touching isn't one of them. I love to hug people. Well, MY people. Mostly women. Hugging men can make me feel uncomfortable if I don't know and trust them. But the yoga teacher always seems to interfere with me trying to find my OWN balance. You know what I mean? If I can't do it without help, I can't do it.

    Ms. P- Some of my kids went through the shaved head, too. Once, after my daughter May shaved her head, our dog Pearl would not quit licking her head. It was funny. I wonder if she would lick my head. She is still with us but she is old now.

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  5. I also shaved off all my hair a few years back. I found it incredibly liberating, too. It was after I had a squint blond mohican. My boss complained about the mohican, but then he wasn't too happy when I went bald either. Some people are never happy. (I was working at a university - it's not like I was selling anything.) People do look at you very differently, though. It's only hair, but most people seem to think it changes you.

    Happy Friday to you, too. I am feeling better, thanks.

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  6. a bit of redecoration.

    Shaved heads on women can be stunning by the way.

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  7. Snake piss does sounds terribly mean. Acidic even.

    I picked my butternut squash yesterday, so hopefully my timing was ok. Haven't eaten it yeat.

    Glad you're feeling better today.

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  8. Don't dismiss the yoga meanness.Yoga releases stuff out from where it's been tightly held in muscles. It's sweats out the toxins too. Makes sense. Yoga teachers should be sensitive to when to touch and when not.

    I went with a friend who had a lifetime of grief locked tight away. We did one class, she is the type to push herself far too hard, too soon. When we lay down to relax, she was horrified to find that she had started to sob, and couldn't stop. It was coming out.

    She still ran away from it for years, is still angry with her teacher for suggesting she stay and feel it, in that public place, and for making her feel guilty that she wouldn't.

    Loaded stuff, eh?

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  9. Mwa- As I sit here with sweat pouring off of me, I am thinking that I am THIS close to shaving it all off. "Mohican?" eh? We call them Mohawks.
    Downtown Guy sported one of those for quite a while. It was, at times, blue.

    Xbox- Yeah. If you've got the face for it. I think cheekbones should be involved.

    Ms. Lemon- I have so many volunteer butternuts that I'll be eating them regularly. I'm excited.

    Ms. Jo- Once I cried all through yoga class. It was the anniversary of the death of my friend Lynn. It didn't bother me or my teacher. I just did it. So do you think that yoga allows me to let my meanness out on regular days?

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  10. Wonderful advice - "Don't wait around for some man to marry you and then take cyanide on your honeymooon," I'll remember those words.
    I remember you used to say "When you get old you cut your hair." You're not old - don't do it!

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  11. Harley loves his squash.

    And we all love you! Even the squash. (Soon to be the most photographed squash ever)

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  12. Yes -it's the worst when you can't grieve publicly...no matter what kind of loss you're grieving for.

    You know what I mean.

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  13. Hope you have fun tonight!

    The boys and I went for a run this morning, then spent the afternoon at the park with my sister, brother-in-law, and nephew. Then we went back to their house and cooked chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and fried okra...followed by pudding pops. Yeah, it was a great day!

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  14. I think heat and emotions can make you testy, is all :)

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  15. I say let it grow let it grow let it grow. Word verification: culan as in- two long braids would look so culan you, Ms. Moon.
    It's been rainy and cool here FOREVER. I love reading about your southern clime. Sorry it makes you feel mildewy.

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  16. Ms. Hope- See what you can learn from my blog? I think that piece of advice about the honeymoon may be the best I've EVER given.

    Petit Fleur- Have you cut the squash or did you let Harley sleep with it?

    SJ- Yes. I know.

    Ginger- Awesome stuff. I have to plant okra.

    Ms. Jo- Testy is RIGHT.

    Michelle- Let's face it, I am just an old hippie woman. Enjoy your coolness.

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  17. i get the image of long hair and fecundity, though two weeks after the one and only time i shaved my head bald(and wore gigantic earrings)i was pregnant with twins. true story.

    i'd hate to go with you to cozumel. and i'd hate to rent a moped and circle the island hopping from bar to bar, snorkling at each one...

    sigh

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  18. Adrienne- Let's face it. Hair has nothing to do with fecundity. I have plenty of hair and absolutely no fecundity unless you count begonias.
    And oh yes, how I would hate to have that adventure with you. I cry to think of it.

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