I was up at 7 this morning mopping the kitchen floor, listening to my daughter giggle at sesame street - the few minutes of the day that, with sticky banana hands, she will tolerate being strapped in a chair. The episode changed mercilessly to Aaron Neville and Ernie singing "I don't want to live on the moon" and without any warning of this haunting, I was transported to some early spring day in the late 70s, when I might have heard it for the first time, sung by someone else. It was ok to wear red pants and a green shirt. Crayons were probably toxic. And I didn't understand why my mom would cry when she heard certain songs, standing in the middle of the kitchen. Mopping. I think my parents' generation had lost something then, maybe everyone loses it, from time to time. Maybe it's having children that make this time travel possible. The tremendous feeling of loss and simultaneous fullness you can get living in times like these can be overwhelming. I don't want to live on the moon. I don't want to fill a mansion with things. I want to live on earth, at home - I think that's what the song means. I'd like to visit some neat places, but I want to live at home. For everyone I know, life is harder right now. In one case, Eviction-notice hard. But if you are lucky to still own your own dirt, you can still grow things from nothing but seeds on a window sill. Though it may seem impossible now, like this shitty time will not pass, it will, and I know it. I can feel it - it's only a moment away. So I'm taking care of things at home, keeping it straight. Crying along to the Cat Stevens station I just set up on Pandora. Tending to seedlings. Laughing at my daughter laughing. Getting ready for the day things turn around. They will.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:My kitchen floor