Friday, April 9, 2010
The Pull of the Moon
Not long ago, I saw a woman in a drugstore pick something up in her hand, delighted, and hold it out toward her husband. It was just a perfume bottle, but the shape of it was lovely. "See this, hon?" she said. And the man said, "yeah," but he had his back to her and was walking down the aisle away from her. The woman put the thing back, diminished.
** I've felt like this on more than one occasion and after a while I wondered why I bother to show him anything that I find fascinating.
It feels like this is my time for coming into my own. Extraordinary to suddenly think of this as a time for gain. Martin used to say, imitating his funny old grandmother, "Oy, I can't vait to get home and take my goidle off." Well, my girdle's off. Flung into the wind. What luxury, the feel of one's true flesh beneath one's own hand.
**Why does it take so long for us to come into our own?
What is comparable for you, Martin? Would you tell me if something were? Do you know how much I long for you to lift the rock, to tell me about your underside? You once said, "Women are all the time asking what men are thinking about. We're not thinking about anything!" Well, maybe that's true. But we are. We are thinking about things. It seems to me that the working minds and hearts of women are just so interesting, so full of color and life. And one of the most tragic things I've seen is the way that's been overlooked, the way that if you try to discover what the women were doing at any given time in history, you are hard-pressed to find out. Why? I want to say to you that we are not silly, that what we think about and what drives us to talk, talk, talk, this is vital?
Nan is traveling across America without a plan and when she sees women outside of their homes, in their yards, or on their porches, she pulls into their driveways and starts a dialogue.I've often wanted to do this. Just stop and talk to women and learn their stories. Are they where they wanted to be? doing what they envisioned???? Maybe that is why I felt so connected to Nan's story?
And it was the nudge that got me to find this journal, and get going on this trip. And now, in my own stillness, I hear something. "Where have you been?" my inside boy whispers to my outside one. Its sense of outrage is present, but dulled by the grief of abandonment. "I had ideas. There were things to do. Where did you go?"
What can I answer? Oh, I had some errands to run. I had a few things to do. I needed to get married and have a child and go underground for twenty-five years, be pleasantly suffocated. I meant to come back. But the bread crumbs got blown away.
Now I'm away. And leaving no bread crumbs behind me.
Well. Perhaps I will be a bit of an archaeologist after all.