The sky is a solid mass of unwavering grey today. Aptly fitting for Ash Wednesday. There's no relief of rain. No promise of the parting clouds. Like the whole Earth is in mourning, clinging to its pain. A type of ashen twilight that will last eternal.
Rescue Kevin lays in the bed of leaves outside the door napping in the cool. He doesn't mind the sky at all. When I ask if he wants in he stretches, rolls his eyes in apology that he finds his bed more satisfying than my company. Eventually, Summer will arrive and my company in air conditioning will be much more in demand.
That grey sky today.
Somewhere there are lovers holding hands and making promises I hope last beyond the next full moon, the next low tide. The breathing in and out of this planet. That they have loves made out of storybooks.
Yet, somewhere too, there is an old person sitting all alone, looking out the window, hoping someone will ring the doorbell or their phone. A delivery perhaps from a sweetheart who has remembered them from old times past.
Last night I drove to the store and a firetruck rushed past it's siren wailing. The coyotes began their high pitched wails in response. I noticed how far they were up on that ridge beyond the river. I wonder where will they go now that we've come and inch by inch are taking everything. Where will all the wild ones go?
Today collides two events I've spent a lifetime observing. An unlikely paring of Valentines- that day of kisses and chocolate candies, and Ash Wednesday, that day of ashes and repentance.
Grade school was made for Valentines. We made those silly little envelopes and taped them to our desks. Then we went around dropping tiny envelopes in one another's mailboxes always hoping that our secret crush would choose that one large card in the pack that said something special and cryptic like - Valentine I Swoon for You. All the rest of them said, you are sweet, kind, my friend.
Being raised Episcopalian Ash Wednesday held a special significance. We went for ashes to be placed on our forehead in the form of the cross and the priest said, Ashes to ashes, dust to dust in a somber voice and then continued down the line - From the dust you came and to the dust you will return.
That this day falls on Valentines this year is simply Southern gothic perfection. I can consider the wages of love and repentance, sweetness and loss, in one swift hand.
The wind blows unrelenting. The fingerbones of the trees waving against the dismal sky. A lone crow calls out.
Perfect Lenten weather.
Perhaps tonight the sky will clear and lovers will find stars above them as they thread their way through streets to dinner. Or their love may cast its own bright light in all the darkness. Then, so be it. Let them drink and celebrate their lives bound together.
My life found more ashes than I expected but also more love. A kind of general love that meets the world beyond the walls of my cynic heart. This love - it leaps over me. Makes way for itself in spite of my comments and asides. This wild love knows something fierce. Something more akin to forty days than heart-shaped papers. A love born in deserts, surrounded by space and darkness, wilderness and wild.
I've longed for such I do confess. In times long past. A willingness to lay down myself, become another. A partnership of perfection. Eternal kisses, forever bliss.
Now the rain comes, it hits the glass in large drops unrelenting. Look. The sky finds relief after all. At least something moves, something happens.
For years I've seen in other peoples eyes, this one here and that one there - a type of kinship. Knowing another soul ar first meeting. A fast friends type of thing, brushing lives with a stranger in a line or some odd place. A mechanic shop. A bar. A bank. A struck up conversation. Not a romantic kind of love but that of just the sameness of being human. Man, woman, child. An understanding. When there is nothing left but craving understanding. It is a - see me. Hear me. Please before I break.
Forty Days. The Lenten Season. A valentine of words. Love and loss. Renewing and remembrance. It is the Yin and yang. The balancing of moon and sun, dark and light.
Love, sometimes a sacrifice. Eternal and Divine on scale of God as man or just a tiny act. A little bit of time. A coin. A rose.
Whatever love looks like for you today I hope that you find it - a greater love, a deeper love, an older love, a newer love, first love, last love or the soulmate that you seek.
The rain is steady now. It's become a small downpour. The driveway is washing away down the road. Kevin takes me up on a dry towel and a bone. We've come together to celebrate what it means to be alive in this life. Up on this hill. Watching the rain fall while voices of all manner whisper through this night, 'I Love you' and 'ashes to ashes, dust to dust.'
Me and my dear Mama. We are still learning to live together - again. When she cooks she takes a loooooong time. Even if she is just microwaving soup. This is why her microwave soup is better than mine. I want everything in a hurry. Because I am busy with other things. Many other things.
We like to watch different things on television. She likes Fox news. I prefer the BBC. She likes Family Feud. I like Orphan Black. But we both seek to find common ground there as well and we do. Like Grantchester. Since the season finale. I'm searching for a new weekly place we can call a truce and break bread together good old american style in front of the television.
So I was on my way home from running fourteen hours of errands. The last of which was to stop by PETSMART and buy an ELECTRIC LITTER PAN for mom's fat cat. She says changing it breaks her back. Changing it makes me angry. I'm the one that has to drag in the forty five pound box of cat litter weekly after wrestling it into the buggy and then out of the buggy into the car and out of the car into the house and by the time I get to the cat pan I am A LITTLE PUT OUT.
The cat hisses at me and swipes it's claws at me every time I walk past the bed after giving mom her morning medicine. This is the truth. My mom even says - why does she do that? I say I do not know. But it may be because I 'assist' her to go into the bedroom and close the door behind her when she is trying to throw herself down on the floor and NOT GO.
I have had cats and kittens all of my growing up life. Kittens are one of my first memories. My cat Moses that finally had to say goodbye was 21 years old because I kept him alive and alive and alive. That being said - when I walked into the Pet store and wrestled this 200 pound electric cat pan box deluxe edition with hood and auto scooper poopy thing into the buggy, a woman that worked there took one look at my disheveled tired beyond belief face and said -
"You are tired. Can I help you?"
"I hate my mother's cat."
This might not be the kind of response she expected.
"It hisses at me and swipes it's claws at me every time I walk past it."
She said she was sorry again and asked, "Has she been declawed? Sometimes that can make them mean and angry."
"No, we can't do that because we did it to a white Persian we had when I was a kid and she got out and then never came back and my mother knew she couldn't climb a tree or defend herself so it was a tragedy. It has always been a tragedy. Everytime declawing comes up we have to have a moment of silence for Beabea."
By now I have made it to the dog food aisle and appear to be wandering aimlessly. Lost in tragic memory.
"Beabea was a fine cat. My mom's cat is just a - - -"
"Mam, you are in the dog food isle now."
She thinks I've lost my mind.
"Yes, I know what aisle I'm in. We buy my mother's dog food here."
"Oh, what do you get?"
"Blue stuff. I don't remember. Maybe purple stuff."
"Does it look like this? Or this?" She is doing anything to 'assist me' out of the store.
"It doesn't matter. We just bought his food."
Her face goes from perplexed to perplexed on steroids.
"I'm looking for food for a rescue dog."
"Ohhhh, that's nice. Let me recommend this big chunk on special protein no gmo all natural 40,000 dollars a bag for a fifty pound bag."
"The rescue's name is Kevin. Kevin has heart worms."
She pauses. I'm her saddest lot customer of the day.
"Let me see if I can find you a coupon for you that will work."
"Yes, please. A coupon would be very nice."
She finds a manager to override the expiration date on the coupon.
I load the automatic cat litter cleaner with the fifty pound bag of dog food in the car.
After all of this I call mom to tell her I was finally on the way home. AND NOT TO COOK ANYTHING. Because I just wanted to unload the car and pour a glass of wine and watch Grantchester without the sound and distraction of cooking. It was too late. When I called she said I'm cooking chicken thighs. I told her - "Okay fine. If you insist on cooking Then I'm going to church."
I turned the car toward downtown and went to the Breaking Bread at 6 at Christ Cathedral. All because I just couldn't stand to go home and be homey. The service is CASUAL. Last week the priest said - if you have children with you - and then I expected the normal get up and take them to Sunday school but, No. He says just let them be children and make noise if they need to and wander around the sanctuary. They need to feel welcome. I'm thinking - HA! One trip with my precious little Damon will put an end to those rules.
Then we have communion up at the alter and the little children are comfortable being themselves. We get to the point in the service where the Peace is shared and everyone shakes hands with EVERYONE so there is a lot of peace going around. Then we move into communion and everyone is standing in a circle. There is a little girl screaming peesse peesse peesse over and over so I just close my eyes and look down and try to tune her out but she keeps screaming peesse peesse peessee in a two year old voice. Then the woman on my right taps me and says - she's trying to give you peace. I look up and it's the two year old in her mothers arms screaming peessee at me with her little hand stuck out wanting to shake. I shake hands with her, say Peace and she snaps her hand back. Business taken care of. No more chit chat.I go home. Have a tiny glass of wine. Then unload all of it in the house. I open the four thousand parts to the litter pan and begin to read the instructions.
They are too complicated. I leave it for tomorrow.
I pour more wine.
It's time for Grantchester.
Me and momma sit down and break bread over chicken thighs and rice.
The fat cat is locked in the bedroom. The dogs do not eat their expensive non-gmo dogfood. They stared at us with superpowerdogeyes and practiced their hypnotic mind games.
My hate for the cat downshifted to dislike. My like for that Granchester priest grew and for an hour something like peessee settled about the house.
Hope you are finding a little Peace in your corner of the world because it sure is something we need a little more of right now.
*Post script - The FAT Cat has used the auto box 57 times. It's suppose to last a month. It lasted a week. I changed the box last night. It weighed 10042 pounds. I hate that cat.
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