Phenomena is Us

Uh.....unusual, significant, a marvel. Three marvels. See them. Speak to them. Poke 'em in the ribs. Take 'em to lunch, why don't you. I am in the mood to write what I call "gut-busting" metaphors. "These Three Phenoms Will Blow Your Fruitcake!" "These three Phenoms Will Shatter Your Nervous System!" "Gut-Wrenching!" "Heart-Busting!" "Searing!" "Unequivocally Darling!" (Okay, okay, that's enough) - - I just like the picture, that's all. It was taken Sunday, when we were at Aleister's house.

I was engaged in conversation with a friend this morning. We were speaking about Jesus. Poor Jesus. We both agreed we just couldn't "get with" Him. He didn't seem real enough to us, we said. For one thing, He was too good. For another, there was no reference to a sex life. He was supposed to be part man. Well....where WAS that part? All the men WE'D ever known went around horny from age thirteen to ..... gee, does it ever really end? I mean, at least, in the mind? How can you trust a guy who doesn't suffer over the lack of a woman? How do you trust a guy who doesn't at least pay for a ticket once in a while? Is crucifiction really enough? Why? There are worse deaths. There were worse deaths then, there are worse deaths now. If crucifiction were really enough, I'd know how to spell it.


About presents. I like to work the week of Christmas because my patients bring me presents. So far, I've wracked up: a jar of real honest-to-God homemade mince-meat. Three gorgeous pieces of costume jewelry: a pin and a set of matching earrings. I'll wear the pin on New Year's Eve. And this Christmas evening at the Manressa Castle. A plate of homemade cookies. A plate of homemade fudge. And that's just so far today! There'll be more! Am I crass? Do you think I'm crass? No, no, no, no, no, I'm not crass. I'm just saying! I love it. I can't help it. I've always loved presents, ever since I was a little girl and my mother taught me how to open them without anybody seeing the evidence. We both did it. Then there was the year Grandpa got on the stepladder and piled our presents way up high on the tallest piece of furniture in their formal living room and, while trying to get at them with the broom, Mama knocked them all down the back of the tallest piece. Of furniture. And she had to confess. And I was so mad at her I wanted to spit. So we had to tell Grandpa. And it took three men - Grandpa, Daddy and Uncle John to move the tallest piece and drag out the presents. We hung our heads in shame (fake shame) until those presents were placed back under the tree ("where they BELONG"). We did it anyway. We got up at three that night and did it anyway. We opened them. Only Aunt Nettie, sitting in the big grey chair, dressed in grey silk, smoking her Canadian cigarette held in a real black onyx cigarette holder, drinking real liquor (usually forbidden) from a small champagne glass and chuckling quietly,saw. When she died, she willed all her old fur coats to Mama. Mama gave them to me. I still wear one or two.

Mama was a bad girl. Nettie was a bad girl. I am a bad girl, too. And, on the other side of being bad, Mama was a good girl. Nettie was a good girl. I am a good girl, too. That's what's right. That's what's right about this and every other picture. That's what's right about Christmas. That's what's right about The Day of the Dead. That's what's right about Mardi Gras. That's what's right about Veterans' Day and Columbus Day and Thanksgiving. Those Pilgrim's were a stupefyingly uptight bunch of geeks until you got to know their dark side, then they turned into new turkeys altogether. That's what's right about nearly every person you know. And that's what SHOULD be right about Jesus, if only we had all the information. I'm just tired of using my imagination to make Him be human. There is very little that is more miraculous than birth. Except for a man with no lust in his heart. And that ain't no good miracle, I'll tell you that right now. I know, I know, that's just me talkin'. I'm just sayin'. I'm just singin'.

I'm just singin' the Good Old Phenom Blues.