Friday, February 25, 2011

A Friday

Warmer every day and the Bradford pears are popping white blossoms. Another winter we did not cut down any of those trees which block the sun but which I secretly like quite a bit.
I am wearing shorts and a tank top.
I am not kidding you.

A hawk is screaming across the sky and now there are two. I wonder if they are fighting for dominance over the space above my yard. I do not speak Hawk but the birds and chickens do. They look warily up and are quiet.

Time to put on my shoes and walk about my little village. I pass a place where I thought they were tearing down an old church, built in the 1800's but then I saw they were replacing old wood with new and I stopped and talked to a guy on the site and they are making a house of it and that warms my heart. New windows and doors, and yet, the solid old structure, built of the same heart pine as this house.
A thing which gives me hope, for some reason.
And on the window of the falling-in corner store which Mr. Lawrence closed the doors on a while back there is a small sign. "For Sale. $60,000 or best offer."
When I lived in Lloyd thirty years ago there were two stores at that corner, one across the street from the other. One has burned down long ago and this one vacant, ugly, truly, cement block and bars on the windows.
I wonder what will happen.
We need a core of the village. A place where a watchful eye is kept, where information is passed, where a can of soup or a coke can be bought.
The truck stop down the way cannot serve that purpose, nor does it.

Well. I must get moving. The walk and then to town and then back again to go over lines and paint my nails and roll my hair and get ready for tonight when we do Steel Magnolias again. We have done three performances, we have six left to go.
I looked at that little tribute clip to Colin twice last night and I saw the joy on his face and on all of our faces. A year ago.
I know that I should use Colin's joy to fill my own heart with the incredible gift of being able to play up there on that stage but his loss is still too fresh and it serves more as a barrier I must break through and I am sorry for that and Colin would hate it and he'd say, "Pull yourself together, woman!"
I can hear him say it.
But I can't feel his hand in mine when we take our bows and that's the loss of death.
Can't pretty that up any more than you can pretty up a cement block, falling-down building with bars on the window and I can hear the hawk crying across the sky and yet, we go on, knowing full well that some things can be transcended into new creation and some things simply cannot.


  1. They're saying it's supposed to snow here tomorrow, but I don't believe it. It's snowed here once in all the years I've been here, so not impossible.

    I'm not so sure that there are things that cannot be transcended into new creation. I'll have to think about that.

  2. But I can't feel his hand in mine when we take our bows and that's the loss of death.

    I love that. So perfect and true and beautifully said.

  3. I am glad that spring weather is here. Thanks for being here and being constant.

  4. Ms. Moon-I watched the videos you put up and really enjoyed them. You're adorable! I am so sorry about the loss of your friend.

    And that cardinal makes me smile.

  5. Your words are so beautiful, Ms. Moon. So very beautiful.

  6. I'm thinking that you're going to have let Colin live through you in your performances, his influence, his light.

  7. Dear Ms Moon, gorgeous bird pictures.

    The shop situation sounds dire. I would have a slight problem with that when we swap lives. We should do it as a social experiment and blog about it! I could do with the rest frankly. And I'm good with animals so the chickens would be alright.

    I'm sure you'd fit into all my clothes and there's a shop 100 steps from my front door.

    What do you think? C xx

  8. I really, really love reading prose that is actually poetry.

  9. Amen, Denny Coates. You have described it perfectly.

    Ain't that Ms. Moon something else!?

  10. Beautiful. And yes, that loss never fully leaves. Which is beautiful and so very, very hard.

    I love that you get spring first. It brings such hope to me.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.