Saturday, December 19, 2009

Buddha Has Man Breasts. So What?

All right. I did it. I put up the nativity. I bought it back when Hank and May were little bitties and it's been the one we've used every year since. It's simple and was cheap and there are Mary, Joseph, the Baby, an angel, a donkey, a cow. Done.

Of course we add the Buddha because one year Hank set it all up and put the little laughing guy in there and we love it and so he jumps off the rock perch he sits on all year and trots into the manger to share the Godliness, the Goodness.
Why not?

I do not feel especially holy or happy or any more filled with the spirit, although Garrison Keillor is in my ears and there is sacred music playing. Ms. Elizabeth, over at The Moon, Worn As If It Had Been A Shell talked today about going to see Handel's Messiah and how it seemed as if surely religious music had been inspired by the Divine and I know what she means but the best music, the best art, is always inspired by the Divine, whether it was written in the name of worship and celebration of a god or just in celebration and worship of the Divine itself, whether Beethoven's Ninth, Handel's Messiah or the Beatles' Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band.
And when I say Divine, I don't know what the hell I'm talking about. It's different for each of us. I'm pretty sure about that.

Anyway, Mr. Moon and I went to Thomasville today to do a little shopping in that sweet little old city. We didn't buy much. We went to lunch at the Farmer's Market Restaurant which is pretty divine itself. Three types of greens (collards, turnips, cabbage) and three kinds of beans and rice and rutabagas and fried chicken and fried zucchini and baked chicken and roast pork and barbecued pork and the best yeast rolls you ever ate. Not to mention a whole lot more, plus the desserts.
The old lady who sits at the door and collects your money always asks Mr. Moon the same question which is, "How tall are yew?" in the most southern of southern accents, her dyed-platinum hair sprayed into hurricane-proof glory. And then she proceeds to ask if he ever played basketball, etc.
"Fifteen fifty," she says, collecting our money. "And that includes coffee."

When we left, she asked me a question.
"Where're yew from?"
"Lloyd," I replied.
"No," she said, "Before that. Where're yew from?"

I told her I'd lived in Florida since I was five but she did not seem satisfied with that. I wish with everything I had I'd asked her what she wanted me to answer. Did she think I was really from New York? California? France?
Metcalf, Georgia?

I do not know but I'll be pondering this for days.

I probably should have told her I was from Old Hippie, USA. I think that's what she suspected. And if so, she was right.

When we came home, I went out and picked up branches and sticks that had fallen in the yard and I think we could have a fine Christmas Eve bonfire. It's amazing that last Christmas we celebrated and didn't have a clue that one year later we'd be passing around a fine little baby boy among us. And it's hard to believe that by next year, we'll have to keep close watch over him, to keep him safe from danger as he glories in his new-found ability to walk.

Another thing I did when we got home was to cut some pine cone lilies and camellias to put in vases and the last of the roses as well. I cut some African basil to root for next spring's planting. I plugged in the Bad Santa, the lights on the front porch and the Christmas tree. I gave the flowers and pine cone lilies to the Virgin of Guadalupe

and I noticed that once again, my retarded datura is ready to bloom the night before the first frost.


Look- we don't always bloom when we're supposed to. That's the way it is. Some of us are more joyful about things when we're not exactly supposed to be and less joyful when we are. I talked to an old friend on the phone today and he was talking about how much he hates Christmas and how much his wife loves it, walking around and singing Christmas Carols and buying presents and he's just really trying not to be a butthead.

We decided that it's okay to hate Christmas. In fact, he suggested that I write a book entitled that. It's Okay To Hate Christmas.

"Oh yeah," I said. "That'll be a big best seller. A lot better than all those books whose message is, 'And then I realized what the REAL meaning of Christmas is,' blah, blah, blah."

We laughed.

He was out at midnight last night, drilling into his new front door to hang a wreathe to make his wife happy and I put up the nativity today.

We do what we can.

Where're yew from?

The planet of It's Okay To Hate Christmas.
The planet of I Love The Camellias.
The planet of Crazy Chicken Love.
The planet of There's No Reason Not To Put The Buddha In The Nativity.
The planet of the Baby worship.

In other words, the planet of Batshit Crazy.

Eat a sugar cookie, okay? It's Christmas whether you're snowed in or the temperatures are in the seventies or your Christmas tree is an iron plant stand.
Buddha would not only approve, he would laugh.

I'm going to try and do the same.


  1. The planet of I love you! Great post.

  2. Elizabeth- I love yew too.

    SJ- Thanks, dearie.

  3. I never bloom when I'm supposed to. That's why people love me.

  4. Today we went into town to get bookcases. At one point the traffic was horrible and I started to shout "move people, make space, we are not Christmas shopping so move" Beloved laughing at my comments.

    Dear me, why do people have to go into this orgy of buying at this time of the year? Doesn't anyone believe in "joy gifting" as in giving a little something because once you laid eyes on it someone's name come to mind and you know you will bring a smile to that person without having to wait until a certain time of the year to do it?

    Anyway, you are right. I don't hate Christmas but as my dear Renee said "Christmas, the most heartwarming celebration of Capitalism". Amen to that. So we will sit by the fire, this year by ourselves, with a good book and a good drink, I won't be cooking for a cast of thousands and he won't be washing dishes until dawn again. Getting old is a wonderful thing when you know how to make it work for yourself. I love you darling, you are very dear to me, maybe because having so many things in common makes us both feel free to be ourselves with each other and not only accept our quirks, but celebrate them.

  5. i started laughing when you started talking about retarded plants

    and i love you

  6. I love that, about not blooming when you're supposed to. Thank you for that.

    As to the Divine, I think we perceive in different ways and it means different things to us, but I suspect the essence and the heart of it is the same.

    I's sad. Religion is what, ultimately the seizing of power and subsequent crowd control? And it has pushed us so far away frm a real apprehension of the divine in us. Isn't it sad?

  7. "hurricane poof glory"??!! Oh my God~ That is so funny! I can really see this woman! Good show!

    It is ok to hate Christmas. But the one good thing is it is a great excuse to have all the kiddos over for a slumber party, and that's good.

  8. Aunt Becky- Ah! The secret to your success?

    Allegra- I love that! "Move people! We are not Christmas shopping!" Exactly. Oh I wish you peace and joy, together and blessing the world with your love on Christmas. Your fire, your food, your drink, your books. I am so grateful to know you, to be able to see you in my mind, your beautiful face smiling at your beloved.

    Maggie May- Every damn year. Retarded! Love you too.

    Niall- Exactly what I think about religion- crowd control. Control, control, control. I am so grateful to live without it so that when the Divine flashes its face at me, I can be in simple and pure wonderment.

    Ms. Fleur- Of course!

  9. "Hurricane proof glory" is too funny.

    The Divine...mysterious touch of life. Turning of the large world and rising of minute miracles. Sunsets and storms, gnatcatchers and cats. Babies.

    You have a wonderful day, Ms. Moon. The rest of the world could learn from the Church of the Batshit Crazy.

  10. I had something insightful and witty to add here, but I got up to get more coffee and it's just gone. Hmmph.

    I think people just need somethign more than the surafe shitty realities of life to hang on to-hence Organized Religion or sweat lodges or ashrams in Indai. And even though much of what I find in a church bugs the shit out of me, I think it really isn't any of my business what other people do to get through the night. Isn't happy hour the same thing for some people?

  11. and if we all know what the real meaning of stuff is, why are we so afraid to be real to ourselves and our loved ones. That's not crazy... it's what's finally making me sane. whatever that real may be for each one of us, as Kori says, we should all shine on.

  12. And just what is the "true" meaning of Christmas? I've forgotten. Tho I'm not sure I ever really knew

  13. Kathleen- Oh. Thank-you, you sweet sister in Texas, you.

    Kori- Truly, truly, my dear. We all look for whatever that is in different ways.

    Deb- Are we afraid of not being able to give of ourselves in ways that will show how much we love? I think that is a big part of it.

    Michelle- Right! Exactly! If we need to be reminded over and over and over again- something is wrong here.

  14. I ate seven sugar cookies this morning. I did my damn share, thank you.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.