0200 Daniel Boone and the moon

Wake up at 0150 because I am female and fifty-one, and drenched in sweat. 

Get up and take a shower. 

Come back to bed, see a missed call from a cute guy. 

Why would someone call at 0124 and not leave a message?

Why would someone call at 0124 at all?

Still. Someone was thinking about me. Nice. 

Back to bed. Still too hot to sleep. Not *that* kind of hot. 

Start to read “Bird By Bird” and must recognize that I can see why it reminded someone of me. 

Annie Lamott talking about her early memories of reading and writing. 

I don’t remember the time before I knew how to read, but I do remember Daniel Boone. 

One of my first memories. 

Splayed out on the living room floor with a big orange Child Craft book that belonged to my father. 

Trying to read myself a story about Daniel Boone. 

Frustrated. 

I was so close to reading, and just couldn’t quite. 

And it knew that everything was in there. In the books. I needed to be able to read them. 

Three? Four?

Suddenly on the page, the word moon was there. 

It seemed huge on the page somehow.  

One second, just scrambled letters. Then so obvious. 

Moon. 

That is the first word I remember knowing how to read. 

Moon. Glowing like the actual moon in a story about Daniel Boone. 

Nothing could stop me then. 

I could read. 

Nothing can stop me now. 

I still do. 

In the middle of the night when I should be sleeping. 

When it’s only a few hours until 0525 and I will have to be up again. 

Insomnia doesn’t come without rewards. 

Like the moon, and words on a page. 

But now it’s almost 0300, and I should put away the moon and go to sleep. 

Goodnight, moon. 

Kissing as drapery

It’s easy to get enveloped. The kiss is like drawing the blinds.
–Anon

The pull on my flesh was just too strong
Stifled the choice and the air in my lungs
–Mumford and Sons/Broken Crown

The other night, I was chatting with someone online. The subject of sex came up, like it does, and we talked about getting carried away.  There are a lot of stories in my history about getting carried away, losing track of what I was doing and where. It goes way back.  Clothes get pushed aside or taken off. You find yourself doing things that you don’t think you would normally do in public.

And it starts with kissing.

It’s this alchemical reaction. Someone pushes your hair back, touches your neck. You like the way they smell. You like the way their skin feels. Then they kiss you. Sometimes, most of the time, almost always, that is all there is. Kissing. Regular kissing. It’s..nice. It’s…fine. It’s…enjoyable. Sometimes, though, it’s sparks and heat and the breath catches at the back of your throat. Maybe you remember saying something like “ohhh” and then there is a click. Your conscious brain shuts off and everything goes elemental.

And it is all there is. Taste, touch, scent.

Sensation. There’s a word to think about: sensational. Full of sensation. We don’t use it that way very often, but it’s perfect for the kind of kissing I am talking about.  Ever notice how close together your mouth, nose and ears are? It’s like all of the sensory organs are crammed together specifically to cause sensory overload during kissing of the sort that causes you to get carried away. So many sensations happening simultaneously that your brain turns off unnecessary distractions like modesty and judgement.

Like pulling down the blinds. Suddenly it doesn’t matter if you’re in the front yard, at school, in a car. All that there is is sensation. Taste, touch, smell, sound. You stop noticing anything else. You don’t think, you just feel.

Biological imperatives rule.

And there is a sense that we tend not to use when we kiss..most of us kiss with our eyes closed. Like one more sense added would cause such an overload that everything would have to stop . Or maybe it’s just because our eyes are too close together to focus when we kiss.  Eyes closed, it’s like meditation, only instead of your own breath you hear his. His heartbeat. Fingers entwined in hair. Mouths, tongues and teeth. Hands on skin.

It’s a good thing we’ve learned how to prevent reproduction, not that I will be able to do that for much longer. 

Kissing really doesn’t get enough credit when people talk about sex. For me, if the kissing doesn’t work nothing else will. Everything starts with the brain, and ends with kissing. If the kissing is right, usually everything else is too. If it isn’t it can be fixed. You can’t fix incompatible kissing. 

It always seemed like such a teenage thing, but I have never outgrown it. 


I hope I never do.

The perfect start

Wake up.
Look at the clock.
Yawn, stretch.
Don’t think about anything but pulling the covers back over my head.
Close eyes.
Open them again.
Hmm.
Maybe.
Peek outside.
See the sun.
Open the blackout curtains.
Sing a song to myself
Make coffee.
Go back to bed with coffee.
Wake up gently.

Then it doesn’t really matter where the day goes after that.

There are infinite variations to the perfect way to wake up. 
Waking up with the sound of water. Rain on a tin roof. Waves. Water streaming over rocks. Sometimes a book makes its way in. Or music. Maybe a breakfast after. The sound of laughter from an earlier riser.

The best ones involve waking up with someone else. A lover, a group of friends.

Still.

Any time you start the day with sunshine and coffee in bed, it is perfect.

‘Morning!