The very atmosphere is thick with the sudden weeping of thousands of old trees, that were not ready to die. Add a killing frost and I was not able to save plants in window boxes or cracked clay pots, above ground. It took more energy than I had to keep my mother going as if all was fine. The last two weeks I realized how draining it is not to use inappropriate language, fuck and all variations being high on the list. That and praying so much.
It is different when I am at her house, Irish prayers in every room, on every wall, even the guest bathroom has God holding you in the palm of his hand.
Prayer works for her; it has all of her life. Me, it comes and goes, to be completely truthful.
I would make a terrible pastor although I once applied for the position, even planned to go back to a university for a Masters in Divinity, paid for by the Methodists. Too many people died that year, like the trees, that were not ready to die. Instead I applied for a job as a grief counselor at a funeral home. But the drive was too far and the people were too creepy.
I ended up driving even further and flying around the country doing clay workshops with Paul Soldner instead. All that halted with 9/11, my father's death, and the sudden death of Pete Voulkos during a workshop in Bowling Green, Ohio. Lived like he was dying.
Someone here messaged me once, " You whine a lot for a grown-up."
I don't whine, man. I tell it like it is, in my crazy world because that's all I've got. So fuck yeah, don't read my motherfucking writing if it makes you lose sleep.
I don't ask much from Life, a little compassion, a little amusement, things to cry about, people to care for and love, a glimpse of beauty in the midst of the madness and graffiti-covered bridges with new American flags, high above on wire fences, replaced after the storm, just in time for Veterans' Day. I say raise them higher. Make more graffiti. Live like you were dying.
I don't even ask much from Death, just a few more years, for my husband, for my mother, for my kids and grandkids...
Me, I'm going out naked in a mink coat, on an ice floe off Alaska or in a small tidy house on an island of rocks, sitting on the porch, sipping the darkest beer I can get, the darker the better. You can all visit or join me if it's your time, just bring snuggling material because it might be cold. All will be forgiven and we will be weary no more. Most likely, there will be singing or chanting or the reciting of old poems and stories from distant times and it won't matter if you forget a word or two. There will be no fighting about facts and if a helicopter arrives, we will put together a podcast of stuff and nonsense to send off into space for future travelers.