It’s a stormy morning, mighty thunders in a blackened sky. In bed with two sweet dogs across from the painting of the faceless cowboy on the bucking horse bought a hundred years ago in La Crescenta from the woman who peed in her wheelchair. Her shop was a narrow room full of dirty treasure. She was from Texas and had an eye for beauty.
I got an email from one of my two remaining ex-husbands telling me he and his wife want me to consent to an annulment of our marriage so they can renew their Catholic vows. I am unsure how they got married in the Church in the first place without one, but perhaps someone out there can shed light on this? Canon Law finds me replaceable? In the meantime, how does one feel about their precious and real marriage being annulled? One feels some people are stupid as shit to even try. And in an email? What happened to manners?
While I ponder, I am reading The Consolations Of Philosophy by Alain de Botton, which somehow makes me behave better than I want to.
The house is becoming Christmas. I bought a kinda, pitiful real tree and tried to make it less pitiful by covering it in the usual old ornaments (some from pre-war Japan, hand painted, transparent), and now it’s shining proudly out the front porch to the road and the creek.
A turkey and a ham are in the refrigerator to roast for the gathering. And, there is a tin and marble-glass tree from Mexico brought by Kim in her suitcase (along with freshly-made tortillas from my favorite little mercado tortilla factory), lit up in the kitchen window, surrounded by pots of flowers from Trader Joe’s, my Rat Girl from Oaxaca, and my true bay tree because he can’t handle frosts and freezes outside.
I will add another leaf to the persimmon table, cover it in damask, and golden paper fruit down the middle. Cutting branches of magnolias and fir between showers. They will go up on the rafters and below the ancient Buddhas, who love being included, as we all do.
Who should be excluded and why? Who is being disappeared, not fed and celebrated? Who is not worthy of respect? Who is kept out of the conversation – if a conversation is even allowed?
Because before winter comes, and it will, and this next year of certain dissension begins, I will listen. I will listen to you when you speak from your heart.
Along with the thunder and windchimes on the porches, and the music of the choir, and the wise words of the wisdom teachers, I will hear you. I will also look for joy, small acts of grace, and unexpected kindnesses—those fleeting sparks in the stormy skies above us.
