Bruno Mars, a very talented singer with a bluesy voice, has this song about death, "Talking to the Moon". Very wistful, hopeful, and sad.
I can totally relate.
Here are the lyrics:
i know you're somewhere out there, somewhere far away
i want you back
i want you back
my neighbors think i'm crazy, but they don't understand
you're all I had
you're all I had
at night when the stars light up my room
i sit by myself
talking to the moon
trying to get to you
in hopes you're on the other side talking to me too
or am i a fool who sits alone
talking to the moon
i'm feeling like i'm famous, the talk of the town
they say i've gone mad
yeah, i've gone mad
but they don't know what i know cause when the sun goes down
someone's talking back
yeah, they're talking back
at night when the stars light up my room
i sit by myself
talking to the moon
trying to get to you
in hopes you're on the other side talking to me too
or am i a fool who sits alone
talking to the moon
will you ever hear me calling
cause every night i'm talking to the moon
still trying to get to you
in hopes you're on the other side
talking to me too
or am i a fool who sits alone
talking to the moon
i know you're somewhere out there, somewhere far away
---------------------------------
"Talking to the Moon", Songwriters: Bruno Mars;Jeff Bhasker;Ari Levine;Albert Winkler;Phillip Lawrence
What can I say? Easter brings out the melancholy in me...
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
2 years ago today
Two years ago today, Daddy drew his last breaths of Southern air. Here's a memory of a much happier day for me, for him, and for my stepmama, Bonnie.
Friday, April 22, 2011
the boys next door
Tonight, I went to see several of my friends in the Tom Griffin play, "The Boys Next Door". I didn't know much of anything about the play, really, but perhaps it would have been better if I had looked it up. It's a bittersweet story of the relationship between a caretaker and four men. The four men are living together in a group home, four men of varying age and mental ability. Three of the men have some degree of mental retardation; the fourth is schizophrenic and is living there, no doubt, because the state doesn't know where else to put him.
I did not know the setting of the play.
But why should that matter?
It matters because Mama was involved with the Chatham Association for Retarded Citizens, the charity she asked to be mentioned in her obituary, a charitable group which is now defunct. It matters because my first niece, while in middle school and high school, was involved as a volunteer with STEPS, a program to assist mentally disabled children in public schools, a program which is now defunct. It matters because I continue to support the Special Olympics Georgia every year, ever since the CARC disappeared, donating because Mama would have.
At first, the play was fairly light with lots of chuckles thrown in. I'm a fan of a television show called "The Big Bang Theory", which follows the friendship of four science geeks, warts and all. It shines a favorable light on autism in general and Asperger's Syndrome in particular, as well as bringing science (mostly physics and engineering) into the living rooms and dens of thousands of homes here in the States. I realize that there is a huge difference between autism and mental retardation - but how many do?
So, I'm watching the play and laughing along with other members of the audience. As I said, I know several of these actors and I enjoyed seeing their portrayal of the characters, especially the three mentally retarded men. You see, I thought they were doing a very good job of capturing the essence of the characters and the mental capacity of each for understanding the world around them.
I didn't have a clue about the message of the play. Well, actually, I did, but I chose to only pay minimal attention to it. The caretaker would speak in asides to the audience, giving us insights into these men, letting us know how burned out he was by this job, but also telling us how much he cared for these men and what was to become of them.
It struck me as odd the first time he did this, but I let it slide, accepting it as exposition, waiting to see what would follow.
A dance followed. In this community of "broken" people, a monthly dance was held, to encourage socializing, at least to an extent. And so we see the romance between Norman and Sheila, both of whom seem to be at about the same level of mental retardation, both of whom like each other. We watch as they awkwardly dance together, each at arm's length, feet shuffling, bodies bent, and we chuckle at the sight, as we are meant to do. Then, as the first act is ending on this duo, the scene shifts and they are close together in each other's arms, graceful, skilled, synchronized bodies moving to the beat.
And that's when it hits me: this is how THEY see themselves. They KNOW how "normal" people dance, they've seen them on television if not in person. And, in their minds, THEY are swaying to the beat, two rhythmic creatures moving as one across the floor.
And that's when I cried and found myself unable to be lighthearted about this play anymore. We had been privy to the perspective of the characters, the curtain had been lifted.
After all, don't we ALL carry such a distorted image of ourselves? And shouldn't we ALL realize that none of us are perfect? Not the ones who are physical beauties, not the ones who are incredibly brilliant, not the ones skilled in athletics, not one of us.
There's a quote that shows up in emails from time to time and it goes something like this: "Be kinder than necessary, for everyone is fighting their own battles."
I'll try.
I did not know the setting of the play.
But why should that matter?
It matters because Mama was involved with the Chatham Association for Retarded Citizens, the charity she asked to be mentioned in her obituary, a charitable group which is now defunct. It matters because my first niece, while in middle school and high school, was involved as a volunteer with STEPS, a program to assist mentally disabled children in public schools, a program which is now defunct. It matters because I continue to support the Special Olympics Georgia every year, ever since the CARC disappeared, donating because Mama would have.
At first, the play was fairly light with lots of chuckles thrown in. I'm a fan of a television show called "The Big Bang Theory", which follows the friendship of four science geeks, warts and all. It shines a favorable light on autism in general and Asperger's Syndrome in particular, as well as bringing science (mostly physics and engineering) into the living rooms and dens of thousands of homes here in the States. I realize that there is a huge difference between autism and mental retardation - but how many do?
So, I'm watching the play and laughing along with other members of the audience. As I said, I know several of these actors and I enjoyed seeing their portrayal of the characters, especially the three mentally retarded men. You see, I thought they were doing a very good job of capturing the essence of the characters and the mental capacity of each for understanding the world around them.
I didn't have a clue about the message of the play. Well, actually, I did, but I chose to only pay minimal attention to it. The caretaker would speak in asides to the audience, giving us insights into these men, letting us know how burned out he was by this job, but also telling us how much he cared for these men and what was to become of them.
It struck me as odd the first time he did this, but I let it slide, accepting it as exposition, waiting to see what would follow.
A dance followed. In this community of "broken" people, a monthly dance was held, to encourage socializing, at least to an extent. And so we see the romance between Norman and Sheila, both of whom seem to be at about the same level of mental retardation, both of whom like each other. We watch as they awkwardly dance together, each at arm's length, feet shuffling, bodies bent, and we chuckle at the sight, as we are meant to do. Then, as the first act is ending on this duo, the scene shifts and they are close together in each other's arms, graceful, skilled, synchronized bodies moving to the beat.
And that's when it hits me: this is how THEY see themselves. They KNOW how "normal" people dance, they've seen them on television if not in person. And, in their minds, THEY are swaying to the beat, two rhythmic creatures moving as one across the floor.
And that's when I cried and found myself unable to be lighthearted about this play anymore. We had been privy to the perspective of the characters, the curtain had been lifted.
After all, don't we ALL carry such a distorted image of ourselves? And shouldn't we ALL realize that none of us are perfect? Not the ones who are physical beauties, not the ones who are incredibly brilliant, not the ones skilled in athletics, not one of us.
There's a quote that shows up in emails from time to time and it goes something like this: "Be kinder than necessary, for everyone is fighting their own battles."
I'll try.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
boys of summer
Every time baseball season rolls around, here in Savannah, I know I'm going to see my Boys of Summer - and I'm not just talkin' 'bout the Sand Gnats! Arthur and Willie and Will are the ones who regale me with stories of baseball past and present. They're the ones who help me cheer on the team. They're the ones I look forward to seeing in April more so than my boys on the field - though that IS a close call. Here's to the ones who keep the spirit of baseball alive!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
once upon an easter
Easter weekend of 2009, I was in Daytona Beach, staying at one of the places that feels like home to me. I woke early enough on that morning to catch the sunrise and moonset from my balcony. Incredible display of spirituality and physics in action. To one side, the city night lights are still on as the moon beams above. On the other, the sun washes ashore with the waves, spreading its miracle of light and warmth.
We are never alone. Like the stars, our angels are always near, even when we cannot see them.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
post-catfish eating
In October of 2003, I snapped this one. Daddy is sitting on the front porch of one of his favorite restaurants, after enjoying all-you-can-eat fried catfish with family. Cigar-smoking was one of his vices from the time I was a kid, but his tastes had improved and his cigars were more pleasingly aromatic by this time.
Friday, April 8, 2011
love and loss
The Third Annual Francophone Film Festival began its three-day run last night. I have been attending this festival since its inception and have seen it grow and change, much as I myself since my divorce in December of 2007.
At last year's festival, I was joined by my Charleston bird for the third, and final, evening of films. This year, he came along for this second evening of the festival. Both of these were studies of couples and their relationships - as are the majority of films in the world. Both were a unsettling for a couple still trying to define their couplehood.
The first film was mostly in English - surprise! - but took place completely in Paris. THE Paris, in France, not Paris, Tennessee, where two of my nephews live. Written, directed, and starring Julie Delpy, "Two Days in Paris" takes a long look at a couple from New York visiting her family in France for the first time. Together two years, we know they have traveled to Italy prior to this stopover, but we know nothing of their life in New York. My guess is they night be newly living together, but may still be living apart. In either case, they have secrets from each other and issues of trust, with these floating to the surface repeatedly throughout the film. Awkward romance, with some lighter moments, and much truth.
Next up was billed as a thriller. Titled "Ne Le Dis A Personne" ("Tell No One", for those not fluent in French), this was an outstanding film. Exploring the aftereffects of love lost to death, the film takes the time to show how anchored this couple's love had been. Childhood sweethearts, they had etched their initials onto a huge tree, returning each year to add another notch as they marked time together. Then evil steps in and their time is shattered...though we are not yet aware of the extent of this evil presence. The true evil is best personified in the form of a gaunt woman so devoid of human feeling that, even after being shot twice with a large-caliber gun, her body persists in trying to carry her upright down the sidewalk as though nothing was amiss. True evil, not gussied up by false sweet expressions or wrapped in wealth.
The end of this movie had me in tears. How terrible, I thought, that these two people who had such a bone-deep, soul-entwined, mindful love had been separated by such corruptness in those around them! Then I thought, how equally terrible that I had been separated from the one I had loved so deeply by corruptness of those around us...
And lightning-fast, I was jolted by a realization: I had NOT had the love these two had. I had assumed he had felt the same way I did, I had assumed his love for me was as true and solid as mine for him, I had assumed our love would stand the tests of time and be forever. I was wrong. Although I have no doubt that he loved me, his love of me was not of the same nature as my love of him. He had betrayed my trust in him before we even wed, though I did not learn of that betrayal, or others, until almost the fifth year of our marriage. Then we rebuilt the trust lost, together weathering other trials along the way for almost another decade: the death of my mother, the loss of his job, the death of his mother. And I found out he had betrayed my trust in him again and I felt as though I had lost my soulmate and I knew I could not live with him and allow myself to be hurt again.
So, now, here I am. After Divorce, Anticipating Delight. Here I am, fully aware that the type of love I thought I had was a mistaken perception. Bone-deep, soul-entwined, mindful love has to involve BOTH people, not just one. What a rare treasure in this world... and one I know, realistically, I may never have or even see in the many couples around me.
Still, I intend to Anticipate Delight and accept love in all other forms presented to me - and give love, too.
At last year's festival, I was joined by my Charleston bird for the third, and final, evening of films. This year, he came along for this second evening of the festival. Both of these were studies of couples and their relationships - as are the majority of films in the world. Both were a unsettling for a couple still trying to define their couplehood.
The first film was mostly in English - surprise! - but took place completely in Paris. THE Paris, in France, not Paris, Tennessee, where two of my nephews live. Written, directed, and starring Julie Delpy, "Two Days in Paris" takes a long look at a couple from New York visiting her family in France for the first time. Together two years, we know they have traveled to Italy prior to this stopover, but we know nothing of their life in New York. My guess is they night be newly living together, but may still be living apart. In either case, they have secrets from each other and issues of trust, with these floating to the surface repeatedly throughout the film. Awkward romance, with some lighter moments, and much truth.
Next up was billed as a thriller. Titled "Ne Le Dis A Personne" ("Tell No One", for those not fluent in French), this was an outstanding film. Exploring the aftereffects of love lost to death, the film takes the time to show how anchored this couple's love had been. Childhood sweethearts, they had etched their initials onto a huge tree, returning each year to add another notch as they marked time together. Then evil steps in and their time is shattered...though we are not yet aware of the extent of this evil presence. The true evil is best personified in the form of a gaunt woman so devoid of human feeling that, even after being shot twice with a large-caliber gun, her body persists in trying to carry her upright down the sidewalk as though nothing was amiss. True evil, not gussied up by false sweet expressions or wrapped in wealth.
The end of this movie had me in tears. How terrible, I thought, that these two people who had such a bone-deep, soul-entwined, mindful love had been separated by such corruptness in those around them! Then I thought, how equally terrible that I had been separated from the one I had loved so deeply by corruptness of those around us...
And lightning-fast, I was jolted by a realization: I had NOT had the love these two had. I had assumed he had felt the same way I did, I had assumed his love for me was as true and solid as mine for him, I had assumed our love would stand the tests of time and be forever. I was wrong. Although I have no doubt that he loved me, his love of me was not of the same nature as my love of him. He had betrayed my trust in him before we even wed, though I did not learn of that betrayal, or others, until almost the fifth year of our marriage. Then we rebuilt the trust lost, together weathering other trials along the way for almost another decade: the death of my mother, the loss of his job, the death of his mother. And I found out he had betrayed my trust in him again and I felt as though I had lost my soulmate and I knew I could not live with him and allow myself to be hurt again.
So, now, here I am. After Divorce, Anticipating Delight. Here I am, fully aware that the type of love I thought I had was a mistaken perception. Bone-deep, soul-entwined, mindful love has to involve BOTH people, not just one. What a rare treasure in this world... and one I know, realistically, I may never have or even see in the many couples around me.
Still, I intend to Anticipate Delight and accept love in all other forms presented to me - and give love, too.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
catfish eaters
Here's Daddy, flanked by two Michiganders in one of his favorite restaurants, for one of his favorite meals. This was taken in January of 2005. Daddy was in heaven, eating all the fried catfish he wanted (I believe it was 11 that day!) and showing others how to partake of that manna.
Daddy would have been 75 today.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
phantom cramps
Have you heard the stories of people having itches on limbs which have been amputated? Get this: I've been having menstrual cramps, though the ovaries, uterus, cervix and all have been removed since the Polar Express took their place on December 13.
I didn't pay any attention until February. I had a random pain on my lower right side, in January, but it didn't last but part of a day and I figured I had just moved wrong. Then, in February, I had another random pain, low in the abdomen, on the left side this time. And THAT is when I realized what was happening: my mind was letting me know "all was well" by continuing my alternating menstrual cramps.
You see, that truly was my "all is well" sign. It meant I was not pregnant, I was safe from having to take care of a human being who would be totally dependent on me. Even after I had the tubal ligation, I still awaited that "all clear" signal, that little lower body ache and subsequent flow of blood from a thankfully empty uterus.
In the last decade or so, I had become very aware of my ovulation pattern. One month belonged to the right ovary, with a heavy period after about two weeks. The next month, the left ovary had its turn, granting a lesser menses to me. Back and forth, one then the other, coinciding with the first quarter of the moon to grace me with peace of mind. Even more than two decades after my tubal ligation, I gave a little sigh of relief mentally each month.
And, oddly, I find myself still awaiting that signal from my body. Thank God my brain cooperates with my continued need of that security. Perhaps, as time passes, I'll one day realize that my phantom pain is no more, one less invisible tree.
I didn't pay any attention until February. I had a random pain on my lower right side, in January, but it didn't last but part of a day and I figured I had just moved wrong. Then, in February, I had another random pain, low in the abdomen, on the left side this time. And THAT is when I realized what was happening: my mind was letting me know "all was well" by continuing my alternating menstrual cramps.
You see, that truly was my "all is well" sign. It meant I was not pregnant, I was safe from having to take care of a human being who would be totally dependent on me. Even after I had the tubal ligation, I still awaited that "all clear" signal, that little lower body ache and subsequent flow of blood from a thankfully empty uterus.
In the last decade or so, I had become very aware of my ovulation pattern. One month belonged to the right ovary, with a heavy period after about two weeks. The next month, the left ovary had its turn, granting a lesser menses to me. Back and forth, one then the other, coinciding with the first quarter of the moon to grace me with peace of mind. Even more than two decades after my tubal ligation, I gave a little sigh of relief mentally each month.
And, oddly, I find myself still awaiting that signal from my body. Thank God my brain cooperates with my continued need of that security. Perhaps, as time passes, I'll one day realize that my phantom pain is no more, one less invisible tree.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Daddy, 2009
I took this picture in March of 2009, about six weeks before my father's death. He had terminal duodenal cancer, caught far too late for treatment to have helped. He opted to NOT take chemotherapy or radiation treatments, preferring to have his wits and his energy and his love of life. We were celebrating the birthday of his youngest grandson, up in Beaufort.
I miss him.
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