Sunday, January 8, 2012

When Air And Light Dance

Sunday morning, gray fog, overcast, hawk calling, roosters telling the get-up, get-up, get-up time, apple-banana-blueberry pancakes, bacon too.

Feels more like spring than winter, birds agree, chittering away, air soft and mild.

This. This. This good day.

Elvis danced his fancy two-step but none of the hens paid any attention except to move deftly away, those coy hens, those black beauties. One warm egg, already laid, one girl's work is done for this day. Now for the pleasure of scratching in the dirt, step forward, scratch, step back, examine, repeat, repeat, repeat, take what is revealed, eat.

Mr. Moon made the bed, his bed-making is far superior to mine. He fluffs and squares those pillows, he stretches the sheets tight. He is finishing up the kitchen, that man is hell on wheels when it comes to cleaning the stove. How did I get so lucky? Hold me, I'm cold, he's there.
But then again, I make him those pancakes, I make sure his glass of milk is in the freezer so it's cold and good when he drinks it. I do my best, or at least as best I can, to make him know how much I appreciate him, we are easy with each other but that does not mean we are complacent nor does it mean we take a damn thing for granted.

Sunday morning, good-morning, good morning, time to study lines. Maybe make another pot of coffee for the simple reason that I can, for the simple pleasure of holding the heat in the cup in my hands, for the simple joy of it, my cabinet is full of buy-one-get-one bags of coffee, I'll buy more before the sale is over.

Tomorrow Owen comes, I'll follow him around through the jungle as he explores, my script in my hand, it is soft as Kleenex now from being handled. I took it to Mexico and brought it back, I have a stack of these old, soft scripts in my office now. Scripts I have learned and then forgotten and what is life but a constant learning and forgetting, relearning and maybe remembering? Maybe?

Open up the doors, the sun is out and wants into the house like a curious cat, I let it, I let if flood the floors, the walls, it dances in holding hands with this soft mild air.

This good day. Oh yes.


  1. what is life but a constant learning and forgetting, relearning and maybe remembering? Maybe?

    i like that i like that a lot. i guess the key is being able to control what is to be relearned and what is to be remembered.


  2. i too am all wrapped up in the pursuit of light. you, the one just returning from a country who stole our hearts long ago, me the one who is just now packing and leaving in a handful of days for san miguel.

    when the roosters out past the pond stretch their necks in jubilation, waking the sun and all creatures below, i think of you ms. moon and yours...

    today you came to walk to the pond that stretches before my every day and there is a chance you will think of me the next time the fluff of cattails sails your way.

  3. Ms. Moon-

    I feel kinda bad about what a poor friend I am. Or seem to be.

    But, damn.

    You do a bang-up job of living a life of real meaning. Of blood and guts and taking no prisoners.

    I just admire the damn hell out of you.

    I don't toss that around none, either.

    I wanna come over and have dinner and pass out drunk on your porch.

    So sue me.



  4. I like that light. It was a beautiful warm day here. I went to an oyster roast where there were dogs and kids running around. It was relaxing and nice. And what's better than knowing that I don't have to work tomorrow.

  5. Mrs. A- There seem to be forces at work in the brain which make those decisions for us. I will be able to sing the Mr. Bubble's commercial song on my deathbed but don't ask me what I ate for lunch yesterday.

    rebecca- It is far more than cattails which remind me of you. Believe me, darling woman. I envy you your trip to the country we love so much. I hope that every moment is a blessing.

    Elizabeth- Well, then, it's a trade because so do you.

    Tearful- You ain't got nothing to apologize for and I would like nothing more in this world than to have you come over for supper and get drunk and pass out on my porch. We would gently get you to bed in the Panther Room and you could sleep through the train passing by and we'd all have fresh eggs for our breakfast. Or pancakes. Your choice. We would all use tender voices and remember the holy howls we made to the moon the night before.

    Syd- It was a beautiful day here. I'm glad you got to go to an oyster roast. Man, that sounds like big fun. I have Owen tomorrow but that's not really work, is it? It's busyness, not business.

  6. I am actually here on your about your comment on A Dishwasher's Tears. I wonder, in fact I am perplexed whow our fathers looked down on us and not fall madly in love. How can anyone look at a baby and not be enthralled and hypnotized? (Even my 15 year old son would not relinquish his new baby cousin from his arms when she was born.) How can a man look at a baby and not want to protect her with an inborn "thing" that just does what even the most basic human does? Babies. Puppies. Kittens. Birds. Snakes! Chicks. Ducklings. We want to protect them and allow them to grow to all their possibility.
    Evidentially, your father and my (biological) father is missing something inside their DNA. Or maybe they are just assholes. I wonder is the alcohol was to blame for my dad. At any rate, he never really cared for me. I do not have one picture of him holding me. Ironically there are pictures of him holding my cousin; he adored her. They are still close. He still doesn't care now that he has grandchildren. And they are beautiful grandchildren.
    People. Who can figure them out?

  7. Birdie- I do not know. I swear. I don't understand either. I do know that when my brother met my father when he was in his thirties (my brother, that is), he was enchanted by my father and I was like, "Bullshit."
    I met him as an adult too and yes, he was very charming but he let me go when I was a child and he let my brother go when he was barely more than a baby and I will never be able in my lifetime to understand that and when it comes to my stepfather? Whom we CALL The Asshole? I'll never be able to forgive him. I think.
    And quite frankly, it wasn't until I had my own children and felt that overwhelming need to protect them above all other needs in my life that I began to be angry at my mother.
    So. I don't know.
    But I do know that it surely wasn't our faults. Not your fault that your father didn't care for you and not my fault that my father didn't care for me and not my fault that my stepfather abused me.
    Are you calling the doctor tomorrow? I have been thinking about you. I have been holding you in my heart.

  8. I will call tomorrow. Probably can't get in right away but hopefully this week. xo

  9. Birdie- Good! Do not minimize your suffering. Okay?


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.