I ask, who really cares?
Is it the young adult who throws love around like a tit full of cellulite?
Is it the middle aged lesbian who is only aware of the plight brought on by ignorance and therefore, abides by no rules?
Are people basically good?
And, what is love?
Some of the most important questions we will seek answers to our whole life through and in the end, come up empty handed.
Driving amongst the pouring rain tonight, the moon hidden by the sick sense of humor Mother Nature bestows upon us from time to time. In the sweep of the truck tires and the sounds of Adele, a distant and somewhat comical memory came up to me and shook my hand.
My mother, bless her soul, years before the anti-smoking fashion became all the craze; had been accompanying me for a quick toke off a Marlboro Red in a vacant parking lot…one awful, over stuffed Thanksgiving.
As we coughed and spat and enjoyed our cancer stick. A car of unknown not made in America origin strolled by…on the back were these words stamped out in red, white and blue.
MEAN PEOPLE SUCK, NICE PEOPLE SWALLOW.
Being a devout catholic who insists in finding the good in all of us, my mother stated, ‘how nice that is!’
I choked and hammered and hawed, ‘what do you mean, Ma? You mean that bumper sticker?’
She smiles from the inside out and states, ‘yes, isn’t it nice for people to promote such a thing? To get over your differences and swallow your words…I’ve always believed in that!’
At the time, back in the good old not so far from today…days, good ole Ma had an answering machine. And, I knew without posing the question what the next remark would be from my saintly mother.
‘I think I’ll use that saying for a new message on my machine!’
It was then and there that the roles reversed themselves and got twisted up in the game of life and sex and right and wrong.
Gently and with a newly lit cigarette in hand, I explained the facts of life to my mother. A situation I have been able to avoid ever since. To this day I wonder, what would Father John have said, if he called upon my mother at home to possibly come in next Sunday to hand out the sacrament and only got the answering machine? What if Sister Pat phoned and inquired about the new Bingo machine that had been on back order for months? What would her habit have thought of such a message?
Fun as it would have been in my own catholic girl’s do not start much too late, mentality. I had to burst my mother’s virginal bubble.
Tonight, though, while heading north of north. I smiled and thought, wouldn’t it be nice to feel that naivety again? To believe in the good that resides in all of us. To enjoy the love I have waiting at home with me. A partner who rises early and beds down at the crack of sundown. A lover who awaits me with open arms and a caring and comforting charm.
Thank Christ for memory it prompts the jaded edges of my composure to tread lightly when it is graced by the beautiful women in my life.
When the rain is blowing in your face,
And the whole world is on your case,
I could offer you a warm embrace To make you feel my love.
When the evening shadows and the stars appear,
And there is no one there to dry your tears,
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love.
I know you haven’t made your mind up yet,
But I would never do you wrong.
I’ve known it from the moment that we met,
No doubt in my mind where you belong.
I’d go hungry; I’d go black and blue,
I’d go crawling down the avenue.
No, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do
To make you feel my love.
The storms are raging on the rolling sea
And on the highway of regret.
The winds of change are blowing wild and free,
You ain’t seen nothing like me yet.
I could make you happy, make your dreams come true.
Nothing that I wouldn’t do.
Go to the ends of the Earth for you,
To make you feel my love
On rare occasions we see someone for the first time, again! Like a love lost that walks back into your life after life has settled.
A stranger who has brought about every emotion known to woman-kind. Love, hate, wonder, awe, anger, pain. A symphony of bad times lightly riddled with lyrics of the moments when times were good.
As a child my mother was as vast as the ocean and as deep as the sky so alluring and blue.
As an adult, wandering through life, we all forget where the magic happened. If we are lucky and graceful enough we allow a slight opening in the walls we have built up over the years of living.
As an adult, I saw my mother today. Beautifully strong. Slightly composed in her spirituality and slightly erect in her character of being. It took a brief moment. A flash by the passenger side window. The rain splashed up and created a drift. Catching all encased in driving to sit quietly for the smallest moment in time.
A time where we all, all women, all carrying the weight of should have been done and should have been.
I saw my mother, again. My tiny dancer. My heart skipped a beat. Weathered into a wonderful combination of style, humor and second chances lady of grace.
And, for just a that blink of an eye, I remember what she had placed me here for. To follow her guide. To be what is right.
To only be half the woman she has been for me would be an injustice to the questions she encouraged me to find answers to
I am Brangien [Brangaine] of Weisefort, Ireland, lady-in-waiting to my cousin Isolde, who became promised to King Marc of Cornwall. His nephew Tristan escorted us to England by ship. But Tristan and Isolde fell in love at sea. As ye may know, or will find out, they cite the philter they drank as the cause, over which I was supposed to keep vigil. I would like to share my perspective of how I have created good in the world through my herbs and observations. There is much to tell, including how I have adopted this odd language. In good time. My life is in God’s hands. –Inspired by the modern French translations of the Tristan and Isolde texts