I realize that anyone reading this who doesn't know me personally might think that the man doing the writing is an angry, bitter grump. I'll freely admit that I am something of a grouch at times, but a joyous one.
Because I use writing as a cathartic release to drain away the venom, perhaps I don't use it often enough as a celebration. I drank too much last night, and have felt hungover all day, but I'm finding that I can't stop smiling. Today I can't stop thinking about how blessed I've been to be surrounded by the people who've found themselves skiping through the years with me.
If I grump and grouch it is because I see the rough edges all the more clearly for how beautiful I find the world.
Years ago I decided to let go of the spiritual turmoil that weighed me down as I tried to make sense of it all and deal with the baggage left from intense adolescent religiosity and the burning blinding flash that confronts eye kept wide open. I reduced all my fervent prayers to the only two that I felt qualified to direct toward the universe: "wow." and "thank you."
Hiding from the rain under an awning, I ate my chili cheese dog and talked on the phone to the most beautiful boy in the world.
Mason finished tuning his mandolin and we sang "Wheels" as he played, until we heard Kat's bus blasting out musical honks to announce its arrival.
The parking meter was broken where Mason and I helped Kat park her beautiful bus.
An old lady with big round hair, dyed black but showing an inch of white at the roots, sat on her stoop and smiled at me. I smiled back.
I watered my moonvine, then it began to rain.