Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

Remember your childhood and the fears that plagued you. A dark bedroom may as well have been the den of a wild animal, or worse. The creatures that dwelt there took on the shape of the darkness in which they hid. And such patience! In a closet or amid the dust-bunnies under your bed, whatever it was could wait forever. A naked foot reaching to find the floor for a late night bathroom visit could deliver you to a horrible fate.

We didn't consider motive. Not for long, anyway. The denizens of the gloom existed to snatch you from the safety and comfort of your home, from the unconditional love of mom and dad. It didn't matter that you had never before experienced anything resembling evil; hatred, intolerance & cruelty, perhaps. You had your imagination, and that was enough. Unlucky children were seized and taken somewhere (and what a big world to hide in!) and cooked, eaten, tortured, smoked and skinned and worn, to the admiring growls and roars of the other things in the dark.

They all knew each other, and they all wanted you. These were taking things, not polite asking things.

But it didn't seem to matter what the monstrous brutes had in mind. At least not for me. What I feared above all was being away from my parents and my brother and sister. Into the world and away from my loving family. The people who seemed so powerful to my young eyes would be rendered impotent because I would be lost, out in the world somewhere. And as I said before, it was a very large world in which to be lost. Countless hiding places in which to be taken.

If we are lucky, and no real world horrors close our eyes forever (a cross town bus or a disease, perhaps), we get to grow up. We learn the names of the places in the world, and that makes it seem smaller. We meet people from distant places and realize that there are no monsters there, just people.

The diseases and injuries get names, too. The affect is calming. Even the aching enigma of mortality is alleviated somewhat by the commonality of experience with other humans, also seemingly cursed to comprehend their own small, ephemeral place in the universe. And what a universe in which to have a place! If we feared the dark places of our bedroom as children, we fear the dark places in the universe. As adults, however, we don't fear the monsters that might lurk there. What we fear is darkness with nothing lurking within at all. Just the dark.

Saturday, March 06, 2010

Of March & Nature Afoot

March has found me occupying a very different world than just a month ago. February is a difficult month for me, always has been. Valentine's Day is right in the middle, and it depresses me that love and romance have been so mercilessly raped by greeting card companies and chocolatiers. But that is an abstract matter, like the failures of capitalism or fatherhood. There is no intimate emotional currency to make me miserable.

Instead, my February misery comes from my memories. I've been in love thrice in my life, and when each one of those relationships ended, a familiar drama ensued. Familiar to me, and to you, as well, I'm sure. Twice that drama played out in the second month of the year, shortly before St. Valentine's Day. That fact is small potatoes, though, as the pain I felt radiated and glowed all by itself. When the woman you happen to love strolls out the door, that date on the calender is of no consequence. Crushing loneliness and cold rejection put you in a time and place not on any calender or map.

It is only in retrospect, when the ache transforms into a bittersweet memory, that I start to notice the details. And having done that, I've discovered that February is a month I need to avoid like warm sushi and Glenn Beck. With no money to travel, perhaps next February I could simply lock myself in a closet with a bucket and a months' supply of Power Bars. Although that may be a bit drastic. Forget the bucket, I'll leave my closet to poop. In fact, my whole flat is pretty safe, so long as I don't go out or talk to anyone. Just me and my dog and cats. Hell, that sounds like a good plan for the other 11 months, too.

Happily, February is over! It is now March. Outside, it is close to 60 degrees, but there isn't a spot of green anywhere. It feels wrong. Warmth like this should wait for trees and plants to appreciate it. The ground is baby-shit brown and littered with bits of trash that have accumulated in snow banks, now melted and flooding my basement. In contrast to leafless trees and a landscape free of plants and flowers is a painfully blue sky. We've all heard the tautology about how the sky makes the sea blue, and the sea makes the sky blue. This sky is bluer than the North Atlantic has ever been. It brings to mind Mallorca and the Mediterranean Sea. Old ships with clean, white sails and happy brown people celebrating the sun.

But Boston, right now, does not look her best. She is not properly attired for all this sunshine. We had a terrific rainstorm last week, with gusts of wind you could hear while lying in bed. And during the day, the sky was gray and low. That seems better suited to an old, cold-weather harbor city like Boston this time of year.

My inclination is to stay inside, but Annie compels me to go outside, so out I go. Down Gardner to North Union, up to Broadway and over to Silk Street, then home. It is in that fashion that Annie the dog saves me from myself 100 times a day, in one way or another. The ground may be dead right now, but Annie shows me with her little, black nose that nature is percolating, even if I can't see it yet.