An Entreaty

A self-imposed ban, it was. For several months- last year’s ending, this year’s beginning- I put the kibosh on all further posts until I completed a chunk of to-doing needing to be done. The result, post, I did not, though, a tumbling of thoughts still came and now reside in various states of completion, most often recorded in the wee hours of the morning, scrawled out in the dark on the nightstand notepad, easing the frenzy of thought in the moment at least, and done with a hope and prayer for legibility come daylight. Among such thoughts, the rending of heart I experienced in viewing the movie Bug some time back now. Packaged to look like just another in the line of horror flicks, I found it offered a most unexpected lesson.

A lonely woman, Agnes, played by the oh-so-lovely Ashley Judd, lives in a run-of-the-mill motel room. Through her one and only friend, she meets a drifter named Peter played by Michael Shannon, and in the want of a companion and the need of a connection, the two quickly bond. Her troubled history as a victim of spousal abuse and the devastating loss of a child have crippled her emotionally, and she’s easily susceptible to what is revealed as Peter’s fixation on the Army, on his belief that they’ve done multiple experimental tests on him, specifically, placed tiny bugs under his skin, with the intent to find and follow him anywhere and everywhere. A case of folie à deux takes hold, it seems, “a madness shared by two,” in which a paranoid or delusional belief is transmitted from one individual to another. Oh, what the mind will create, what it will fill in to meet the needs of the heart!

As the story builds, a sickening compulsion to free themselves of the bugs sets in under a heavy blanket of paranoia. There comes a heightened, feverishly climactic point where Agnes and Peter are feeding off each other intellectually, birthing all these ideas, and my God, he was so lovin’ her, she’d rung his bell, drank the kool-aid, took the cart and ran all the way to China, and I was laid low with realization. So damaged were they, that when presented with the fulfillment of their afore mentioned want and need, that of companionship and connection, they blew right past it, letting it all go in a lust to carry out their fixation, ultimate bug removal, annihilation. The credits rolled and I sat on the brink of tears feeling very much that Bug was an absolute love story, at its very core, an entreaty to care for one another.

He spoke of the very thing I’d taken from the story, his hope that the film would implore others to take better care of one another.

Ended up watching the special features (nevermind that I always watch them) in hopes of catching a glimmer of validation in my analytical pondering. Turns out the movie was based on a play, the script adapted by the playwright, and starred none other than Michael Shannon in the role of Peter for many, many a performance, over the course of a few years, in fact. That certainly explains away what I noted as the single most at ease and seemingly comfortable performance in the buff by an actor I’ve seen in an American feature film to date. In Shannon’s summation via featurette, he spoke of the very thing I’d taken from the story, his hope that the film would implore others to take better care of one another.

Truly, there is such a need present in this world to do just that, take care, care of one another. Because we’re busy, it’s inconvenient, we often put it off, placating any guilt with starry-eyed resolutions to do it all “when.” When there’s time, when we’ve finished “abc”, when we feel like it. Though to that, I ask, when will we be busy, when will it ever again not be inconvenient, when will there be time enough, not another “xyz” on the heels of that “abc”, and when will many, if any, ever feel like it? I ask that of myself, most of all, as I’ve been far too scattered in consistently balancing this, that, and the other over the last few passing years to the detriment of those I would and should be better spending my time on, and with. Sometimes feel like I’ve tried to take a fraction, that of one-third, and turn it to a decimal, 0.3333333 … and am stuck on the infinity of .3333333 … can I just round up, already? To a place that’s whole, with minimal daily foofah, where I’m not mired down and overly contained in caring for the business of “me,” for, there are matters of greater importance, more hearts for engaging and though this particular one may get tromped on in the process, the rewards are worth it. Not every time, but enough of the time. I want less of me, and more, much more, of others. ♦

Share on FacebookTweet about this on Twitter
Care to share?

Springish

I’ve been befriended by a cat.
Wonders never cease!

When visiting a friend’s home, their cat, Roxy, takes no note of me. Nor, I her. However, I have wondered if she receives enough attention as I see her mill haplessly from this window to that, time and again, a lone wanderer in all her kittydom. I offer words of sweet nothing to my plant at home (thriving quite nicely!). Surely, I can spare a few words for a lowly cat, I thought one day last month, though, it be my very definition of a damnable adversary.

“Hey, pretty kitty.”
“Lovely furness you have there.”
“You’ve got gawgeous peepers!”

A story in which a demon kitty finds its way forceably down the throat of its victim only to maul, crawl, and brawl its way back out again

“Furry muffin bum,” and the like, escaped my lips regularly over the last month’s time. On the fourth day’s encounter, I was greeted with a glance and a “mreow”. The fifth day, a “mreow” and Roxy plopped down at my feet to stare up at me for better of an hour. In the days to follow, Roxy began following me about the house and has now effectively wormed her way into my good will. Or, I into hers. All seemingly from a few kind words of acknowledgment. Still, there remain moments where my heart quickens and I tense a bit in the fear of days past, particularly when she begins a slow, yet insistent, climb from my lap upward towards my face. “I’m breathing in actual kitty breath,” I think to myself and then, “I swear that cat wants in.” Recently, Bean implored me to read a short story by Stephen King, The Cat From Hell, full well knowing of my aversion to the feline persuasion. Sure enough, a story in which a demon kitty finds its way forceably down the throat of its victim only to maul, crawl, and brawl its way back out again via a nasty burrowing of the stomach. Talk about a furball! Happy to report Roxy has yet to find a way in.

Black and White Cat with Green Eyes

I have a plan. Am currently attending a weekly bible study on the book of Esther and that means the evening kicks off with a bevy of edibles supplied by us, the attendees, on a rotating basis. Come my turn, along with something more of the tummy-filling variety, I shall take a hurkin’ bag of Dubble Bubble bubblegum. I smile with wicked glee at the thought of an entire room FULL of people just chomping away on little bits of sticky ooey-gooey, blobby-globby rubber with the thick heady wafted scent of nothing less than the equivalent of sweet pink elephants on parade! Thinking there needs to be an orchestration of synchronized bubble-blowing as well. Le Pop!

Dubble Bubble Gum

My bed broke. Would ya look at that! Slats began loosening last year and I’d sometimes awaken to a “ping!” as yet another board worked its staples loose in the dead of night. After losing the battle for reattachment via staples, more staples, nails, more nails and excessive amounts of glue, it came time for a new one. Love! Have long envied the bed of a close friend as hers is impossibly high, one must not only climb into, but onto, such a bed and I now feel like a princess, minus the pea problem, atop my very own impossibly high post. Lesson learned is, one not only looks under the hood, but apparently, under the mattress fabrication, though, it hardly rolls off the tongue the same way, yes?

Bed Slats On Floor

Mattress Standing on End

Was at the library recently and upon awaiting assistance, what did mine wandering eyes but see? It’s an emu, it’s a zeppelin, it’s Captain Underpants! “May I ask whom I must speak with regarding the finding of one of those?” I enquired of the librarian renewing my card. “That would be me,” says a mildly portly man to her right decked out in an Army green t-shirt, longish waved, salt n’ pepper hair and full beard. He had pants on, too. He proceeds to give me a rundown of his collection, beginning with special edition book sets and posters and concluding with t-shirts and keychains, producing evidence of one such keychain on the spot. Not ten minutes later, I’m browsing the film section when the “pants” man approaches bearing a printed list of potential doll whereabouts. Yay! Wonderment: Do they make Captain Underpants undies?! Want. Called Bean promptly once I reached home to see if the little plastic marvel might be keeping residence in her store. It was not.

Captain Underpants

Decorated some Easter cookies this past week with my small-fry friends Samantha (Sam-a-lamma-sosa!) and Sophia (Sophster!) followed by the reading of new and marvelous children’s books. I know I’ve read them “right” with expression and various inflections when Sophie exclaims “You’we cwaaaaazy, Debwa!”

Easter Cookies

I require a firsthand account, gimme a pink hard hat and I’m set.

Yesterday we received a fairly nice dose of springish sunshine, so I headed to the big, big hill just down the way, following it to the tide flats, to Schnitzer Steel Industries where I was in need of some photos. Have driven and/or been driven by that place my entire life it seems, and I wanna go INSIDE. Entre vous! Pour moi. There are colossal heaps of scrapped car bodies dead and dying, their bright colors of red and green, blue and yellow, a mish-mash of metal for the processing. Next come similar piles, but the pieces are much smaller, dissected, and rusted. ALL rust! Traveling on, one sees flames projecting upward from the final mound of long expired remnants of things past. Why flames, I wonder? What’s the whole process, how long to build up a mountainous mass, how high is allowable, is the metal treated to create rust purposely, where does that final pile end up, do they ever run outta room, who pays for it all, and what’s the oddest thing they’ve ever found lurking about amongst the piles? I require a firsthand account, gimme a pink hard hat and I’m set.

Schnitzer Steel Industries

Spent much of the night, late night, performing the Easter meal test. Have chosen a brisket based event versus a hamfest and am not gonna be one of those notorious folks to serve up dry and unsavory shoe leather come the big day! Hence, said test. All went swimmingly! Below, the veggies, baby carrots, parsnips, red pearl onions and garlic have just been added to a rich stock of sliced onion, bay leaf and Merlot, among others, for their go in the oven. Tip: Mild squinting on your part allows for the veggies to almost appear done, as intended. Please visually interject several bunches of strategically placed fresh green bay leaves strewn about amongst the meat and vegetables, all on a large white platter and voila- holiday merriment! Can smell that stock even now … ♦

Brisket with Red Pearl Onions, Carrots, Parsnips and Garlic

Share on FacebookTweet about this on Twitter
Care to share?