Monday, December 14, 2009
Another Day, Another Holler
The fog has enfolded us like a blanket this morning. The banana leaves, growing tattered and brown are slick with wet. Drops from tree leaves fall to earth and it is a gray sound, somehow. Pat, pat, they say as they touch the ground, the leaves underneath it. Yes, like little cat feet.
It is December 14th and we have not had a freeze yet and it doesn't look like we'll be getting one today. It's sixty-eight degrees. Strange winter, but thank goodness for all the rain. It will soak through to the deep roots of the biggest trees, and then down into the aquifer. We will all have water to drink for another year and spring's new blooms will be something to see. I have even heard the frogs singing, back in the swamp. They must wonder, too, what is going on here, weather-wise. They should be deep in the mud, or doing whatever it is that frogs do in winter, and yet, it's warm and wet and perhaps their temperature is rising along with it. Yesterday I came upon Miss Betty, eating a small frog, flipping its rubbery body this way and that and after she ate it, she daintily wiped her beak on the grass, as chickens do.
The Bradford pears are finally turning gold and red. We do get color here as the seasons change. It is more subtle than oh, say New England, but we get some. And of course, our springs are amazing.
My heart feels not unlike the banana leaves, tattered and brown, but I think there is still some green there, and last night I finally cried while Mr. Moon held me tight in those long, strong arms of his and let me weep on his chest. We were watching the movie, The Wrestler with Mickey Rourke and he was trying to establish a relationship with a daughter whom he had not seen for many years. He bought her a pea coat at a used clothing place and gave it to her and I broke down. I dreamed of my own real father a few weeks ago, which is odd because I never dream of him. He has been dead for twenty years now and I saw him only once between the time I was six and the time he died. If he ever tried to get in touch with me, I do not know it except for once when he sent flowers after he found out that I had had a baby. He didn't even know it was my second child and I remember the oddity of those yellow roses in the little trailer I was living in. They seemed absurd and so did the gesture.
But I wish, oh how I wish, he had tried harder. I missed my daddy so much when I was a child, even if he was a mean drunk. I wish he had bought a pea coat and tried to give it to me. I wish that just once he had said, "I'm sorry I wasn't there." I think it would have made at least a small difference in my life. And thinking about all of this now, perhaps it is that absence of his, especially on Christmas, which has led to this holiday sorrow. I am sure I asked Santa Claus or perhaps God, (is there a difference to a child?) to let my daddy come see me on Christmas and of course, he never did. Well, who knows? Give it up, give it up, give it up.
Let it go.
After I cried, we changed the channel and watched the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame 2009 concert and it was Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, and Clarance too and for a while, I remembered what it was like to be young and alive and paying attention to each note and that was so good.
"Let's go see more live music next year," I said to Mr. Moon.
He agreed that that would be a good idea. I forget how much I love music, and isn't that ridiculous? It has saved my life on more than one occasion and yet, I get lazy. I listen to NPR or books on tape. I have always said that dancing is my favorite form of prayer and I need to remember that. I need to pray more with music. Bruce reminded me last night as he grinned and sweated and danced around the stage and it was just exactly what I needed, to sit in Mr. Moon's arms and watch that with him. It was holy and it was good.
So there you are. It's already afternoon. I went to yoga, I took the dogs to the groomer, I begged her to keep them forever but she declined. Damn. I know they're going to just piss all over the Christmas tree which I suppose I will decorate this afternoon. And if they do piss on it, I hope they get electrocuted. Ho-ho-WO! Know what I'm saying? And I'll put up the creche and the bad santa but that is it. All that other Christmas crap is staying upstairs where the mice nibble it.
And oh yes, I have spoken to two of my children on the phone and gotten caught up with their lives. They make me laugh, those kids and I sure do love them.
And guess what? The sun is coming out. Amazing.
I hope you are all well and that you, too, were embraced this weekend, even if it was just by the soft, gray fog. I thank everyone who commented on my might-as-well-slit-my-wrists-it's-Christmas post. Honestly and really, all those kind words got me through a very bad day.
And now I better post this before someone calls the police to come check and see if I'm alive.
I am. I promise.
Here's a camellia for your patience.