I'm not angry anymore
There are angels at the door
I have no need to greet the devils
Just a wrasslin on the floor.
And just like that: Spring. Last night my check engine light came on and a strange smell of burn pervaded the interior of my car. I was wearing my nightgown covered by a sweatshirt, flipflops, and nothin' else and I'd left the safety of my home to get cigarettes because god knows when one is in a funk one needs her smokes. It was 10:30 at night and I'd gone to bed early, but I'd woken up in a nightmare of small creatures biting me and something oh-god-what-is-it was hiding behind my door, watching me. So off to the corner store for cigarettes with only my wallet, cell phone left behind.
Car problems frighten me, honestly my heart beat faster when the engine light came on than it had when I woke up from my dream. I parked down the street, scurried inside, slung my sheets over my head and talked myself down until I was dreaming of two sweet baby boys, one for each hip.
The morning came quick and I called my dad. Not the dad that bought my bed, but the other one. He is tall and that's not all, I am a lucky girl indeed to have two such darling daddies. The man came as soon as he had finished his meetings for the day and his soup, and after I had hollered her down from her apartment across the way, my sister was there with me to greet him. As is always the case when Mr. Moon is around, I at once felt everything would be fine.
A couple of hours later and some stops along the way I had a headlight replaced, my battery connectors fixed, and the car left at Pedro's because it suddenly developed a desire to lunge.
I don't know when I'll get the car back, but here's the thing- it's okay. Maybe every angry person should have their car taken away. Taken away when they are hungry, and there is no food in the house. How can I be angry at the world when it is so pretty?
I put my walking shoes on and I stepped out. I love to walk. I don't love to walk for exercise, no, but I love to walk to places. I love that I can just step out the door and put one foot in front of the other and get somewhere, without a car or pedals under my feet. My own sweet legs that work and work well, the slow shift of my thighs, the muscles sliding soft under my skin, the well placement of my ankles to my arches and the strong balance of my toes.
I relearned how to walk in Paris, back when I was married. I watched them walk, and perhaps it is because they use walking as a way to get where they want to go more than we do they seemed long-leggier. We (and here I am generalizing) seem to walk with the idea that it all starts from the knees down. They (and again, really a gross generalization) seem to walk from the highest of their hips, they slang those legs out with a toss and stride, shoulders back, chins up, eyes straight forward. So did I, from the Louvre to the Musee de Orsay, to the Eiffel Tower, and all along the Seine, and I ate some cheese, and I watched people kiss, and I have to say they are good at it.
Tallahassee is not Paris, but it is my home, and by that I mean my heart. I walked to the health food store and I felt my heart and my eyes open. I was hailed by construction workers. I smelled the corner of Magnolia and Park, that always smells like the fair. I saw a half eaten cookie placed carefully on a post a though someone said, "Oh, I've had enough, maybe someone else will want it". My skin sucked in the sun and on the way back I picked pink azaleas that I put in a glass in front of a picture of my sweet Mama and Mr.Moon on my dining table. Later I walked to the library to restock and I had a discussion about Zora Neal Hurston with a man in a tie and sneakers.
I feel humble now and quiet. The sun is setting soon and people are out there driving home. I am so thankful to have my family. I am so thankful to have my legs. I am thank you three times. I am thanks a million. In my kitchen I have arugula and organic tomatoes, a hunk of fish, a cup of tea, I will feast well tonight.