Practicing Domesticity: It was a long dark night

Friday, April 1, 2011

It was a long dark night

Driving down the long winding road (because all roads in Montecito must wind around the houses/mansions to make you feel even more inadequate when you realize that the hedge you're passing hasn't changed ownership...and you've been driving for three minutes) the car quickly picked up speed. It was a dark night, with the moon nearly hidden from view. The dim streetlight (because we hate everything non-natural in Montecito, including light) emitted a low yellow beam that barely reached the ground, spilling its little energy over the cracking asphalt (apparently we spend too much money on houses and cars to care about the roads). Turning the corner, the brakes released a high squeal (my mother assures me this is fine), which would have caused heads to turn, if the road had not been completely deserted. Depressing the gas, the car appeared to have a mission. Then, the subdued headlights (because I turn off my brights, unlike half of Montecito) flickered on something off in the distance; two figures emerged. Trudging slowly through the ditch on the side of the road (no sidewalks - too commercialized) that, had a large truck or swerving mini-van passed them would have meant the end of them, the two crept closer to the vehicle. Braking, a window rolled down and a voice said huskily: "Hey, ladies. Want a ride?" Not having any other options in this desolate location, the two entered the back seat of the car. Slowly the car began to drive off with the two uncertain of where it was headed and how long it would be before they saw anything familiar again.

Until, that is, we pulled up in front of the house after rescuing two of our housemates who were stranded at the Montecito YMCA after a job interview.

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What I Learned From My Mother

by Julia Kasdorf

I learned from my mother how to love

the living, to have plenty of vases on hand

in case you have to rush to the hospital

with peonies cut from the lawn, black ants

still stuck to the buds. I learned to save jars

large enough to hold fruit salad for a whole

grieving household, to cube home-canned pears

and peaches, to slice through maroon grape skins

and flick out the sexual seeds with a knife point.

I learned to attend viewing even if I didn’t know

the deceased, to press the moist hands

of the living, to look in their eyes and offer

sympathy, as though I understood loss even then.

I learned that whatever we say means nothing,

what anyone will remember is that we came.

I learned to believe I had the power to ease

awful pains materially like an angel.

Like a doctor, I learned to create

from another’s suffering my own usefulness, and once

you know how to do this, you can never refuse.

To every house you enter, you must offer

healing: a chocolate cake you baked yourself,

the blessing of your voice, your chaste touch.

Source: Sleeping Preacher (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1992)

Alone

by Maya Angelou

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don't believe I'm wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires
With money they can't use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

The Silence

by Wendell Berry

Though the air is full of singing
my head is loud
with the labor of words.

Though the season is rich
with fruit, my tongue
hungers for the sweet of speech.

Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say

"It is golden," while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name.

It is in the silence
that my hope is, and my aim.
A song whose lines

I cannot make or sing
sounds men's silence
like a root. Let me say

and not mourn: the world
lives in the death of speech
and sings there.

Friday, April 1, 2011

It was a long dark night

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