Kiki nailed it tonight. She said that I go from "when the saints coming marching in", with me leading the pack, only to head straight on over to "Give it to me one more time" and title things with rugburn. There is no happy medium. CJ backed her up. I understood immediately what she was talking about. And I question whether or not I am capable of it - of finding that balance. I watched a special on Alannis Moiresette, and I realize that I have no idea how to spell her last name (thanks), and she was talking about one of her lyrics - you love my light and my darkness - and I thought, I've always liked that line. She said it was about letting go, giving yourself permission to be who and what you are, including all my nasty little secrets and WooHoo that I try to squash down when I travel in certain circles. Funny about that, eh? It's like peanut butter and jam - it always seeps out the sides.
But I keep coming out alive. And fulfilled when I do and say what I really think and act on how I really feel. The faith of an empty hand. And I love it.
I was up to my grandfather's last night. It had been awhile since I went for a good visit and knew it was time. He was on to talk. So he did. And I listened. And we drank tea and ate the homemade donoughts that he just made that afternoon. Sometimes I stop and marvel that he's 86 years old. Funny in the almost 30 years that I've known him, he's never once really aged. Well, maybe just a bit after grammie died, but I guess that's to be expected. You can't fight your entire life with someone and have them up and leave in the middle of an arguement, and not feel a little bit off about it. It's nice to know in all the bickering there still sits a love that forces your sorry asses together. And it's all based around the simple, irritating knowledge, that no matter what, you work better with them around then you ever would with them gone.
So we talked. At one point he was telling a story and this, no word of a lie, is verbatim out of said story:
"Did he fuck her?" Grampie referring to a middle son (there were 9) that saw neighbour's wife naked. Neighbour was pissed off and standing in the entry way.
No answer from accuser.
"Well I'll tell you one thing, I wouldn't fuck her with a crooked alder". It was the end of the conversation. The kids went to bed and the neighbour left. Kind of a show-stopper.
It's moments like this that I am reassured that I didn't get dropped off on some random step (regardless of what smarts told me when we were growing up). That I am part of a very definitive gene pool that is known for an occassional bout of WooHoo, a lot of laughter, and that simple knowledge that no matter how badly I fuck things up, the door is always opened at home. They'll take your sorry ass in when nobody else will give you a chance. I remember sitting on a bathtub edge 4 years ago and watching a little stick turn pink. I remember my dog sitting on the floor beside me with her head on my foot. I remember crying for a long time - not really remembering when I started and a little unsure of when I finished. And it all ended not so long afterwards. It was time to go home.
I smile now just because I hope that one day, if I am blessed to have a family of my own, that I can provide a door that swings both ways - just like me. It lets you leave or invites you in. I WooHoo and I pray for those I love. Two sides to every coin. Two shifts of the pendolum.
Am I a hypocrit? I'm sure most will probably think so, can't really say that I'm not part of 'most'. But I've tried to change and I'm not so good at it. But I am getting good at perfecting what I have ............ ;) Remind me to tell you the story about the night we popped off the guy's arm and what he did with his hook. True story.
This is a picture of the nubbin ball. I would say that it's fairly self explanatory. That's also me half nekked. It's ok - it's still Thursday.
Experience is one thing you can't get for nothing.
Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)