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We live in puzzling times. The cold and the cruelty and the chasms between us have never seemed so huge; hugs and grace and generosity of spirit have never seemed so scarce. Until, that is, we look closer. Nearer. Smaller.
We talk about Life more than usual this time of year. Perhaps it’s because we need it so desperately, weary of brown fields and whipping cold. Maybe it’s because Life itself starts getting fidgety and feisty around us, little yellow buds singing protest songs at a grim sky.
We are In It. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year(TM). The Holiday Season. The ThankChanChriKwaNewYear pentathlon of extravagance and emotion and love and angst. The cats have not noticed.
Farmers have their markets. Carnies have their carousels. And we, we have our kittens by the quintillions.
The Lounge has changed. The Lounge has not changed. The Lounge is complicated.
June is arguably the best of months. It has the Strawberry Moon. It has the promise that you will always be a bride. It has Wonder Woman.*
April, sweet April, T.S. Eliot had you all wrong. You’re not the cruellest month. You’re not trying to show us fear in a handful of dust.
If you have been, say, looking for some hot stuff, baby, this evening; perhaps even looking for some hot stuff, baby, tonight; this July has surely pleased you. The news was incendiary. The temperatures were ghost-peppery. And the cats were sizzling.
Does anyone else remember Sylvanian Families, the tiny, vaguely humanoid woodland creatures from the late 80s? For each species (bear, rabbit, squirrel…) you could collect the mom, dad, brother and sister – sold separately, of course. As a little girl, I wanted them all. But, nowadays, all I want is one Sylvan(ian) family.
Together we’ve lamented that, sometimes, it’s just not meant to be. But sometimes it’s not meant to be because something sweeter is meant to be…and there’s no need for lamenting after all.