Living and
Loving the Night Life
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Ah, yes,
night life. Just those two words are evocative of many experiences.
The Prom.
Many people have been traumatized for life by simple high school dances. The
intention, learning socialization skills, is honorable. The actuality can be,
uh, nightmare material for a lifetime.
Dining and
dancing in later life. Probably a mixed bag for most of us. Some nights quite
pleasurable and others cringe-causing. Normal.
Walking the
floor over you. Babies are born. Night life takes on a whole new seriousness.
Feeding, diapering, rocking, shushing, singing, hours on end. Months on end if
baby has colic. Takes a toll. Many of us learn new words and phrases during
these nights. But we say them with soothing voices.
The Little
Darlings grow up. A different kind of night life. Is it not wonderful how life
gives us so many and such a variety of chances for personal growth!
It is one
o’clock in the morning. You gave Bubba, or is it Sis, an eleven o’clock curfew.
This is a school night and you felt that you were quite liberal with “Be home
by eleven.” With each tap of your foot you conjure up a whole different
scenario.
You phone
your child’s friend’s parents. Maybe call the hospital. You picture the car
upside down in the ditch. (What were you doing out on the country road, young
lady?) You picture a similar scene with the train crossing. We remember all too
well when we were those ages and what tricks we managed. Worry plus fear
generates anger. See above for phrases, but without soothing voices. “Grounded
until you are twenty-nine.”
It is a
different these days when every young person has a communication device
implanted in their palm. Hey, you are still tapping your foot, arms crossed,
waiting. Why don’t they call?
Fast forward
to old age. “It’s four in the morning and once more the dawning” woke me with a
panoramic viewing of too many of my own less salubrious life choices, the kind
that make me cringe, like a slide show, one squench of memory following
another.
“Did I
really do that?” “I thought that one was
deeply buried.” “Ouch.” “Not again.” “That’s not how I meant it to go.” “Let me
explain.” “There were mitigating factors.”
Sure there
were. What brought this on anyway? I know the answer. My friend Kathy and I
have had several conversations about how so many people we know seem to be
acting out of hate, anger, fear, jealousy, distrust and intolerance, acting
and/or reacting out of proportion to their situation. What we see, and we are
only in our own skin here so no doubt mis-perceive a lot, makes us feel sad,
helpless to help.
The Grand
Poobah of the Universe set up my slide show for a purpose. I think the Grand
Poobah loves me. Each scene presented to me contained elements of fear,
jealousy, distrust, shame and such like.
I have led a
varied and interesting life. More than most people, I have had multiple
opportunities to have turned into a bitter, cold, resentful, snarling old
woman.
I could have
held onto each element, fed and nurtured them, grew them into an entire garden
and let them rule my life. It is the easier way. It is.
I am no
saint. Ask all my friends. Ask my kids. They will tell you. In detail.
I have felt
and feel all the ugly things. Some, from time to time. Some, most days. Some
way, somehow, along these many years, I learned to acknowledge them. “Oh, it’s
you again. Thank you for participating. Now, scram. Get on down the road. I
don’t need you.”
All I can
tell you is that last night, after my private early morning cinema, instead of
guilt and remorse and dread and such, I felt inundated with Grace. And Love.
And Gratitude. In that soft, cushiony cloud, I fell back to sleep.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
July soon
done
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