Past the second story Beagle, down the street to the Greyhound that inexplicably turned into two terriers a couple weeks ago, take a left at the German Shorthaired Pointer, then it’s a twenty minute walk to the blue merle Great Dane. From there, we can either march resolutely all the way to the twin Afghan hounds or backtrack to the ancient Bloodhound. I like the Bloodhound best ’cause he’s so hapless–doesn’t seem to have a sense of smell any longer, and he also looks pretty blind. A good-natured soul, though. I imagine not much bothers him anymore.
A light, cold rain begins to fall and Sam, my feral desert dog of indeterminate descent, looks at me suspiciously. She really dislikes rain and, I believe, blames the icy droplets that make her ears twitch on me. That’s what her expression says, anyway. I guess it is my fault that she’s outside in a place that is so very unlike the desert. Visiting our dog friends isn’t worth the trauma of a New Orleans water torture to Sam. Glowing Christmas lights and Spanish moss draped around the mansions lining St. Charles Ave. do nothing to cheer her up, but when we get home and I tell seven year old Bodhi that he and I have a beautiful Christmas walk to take together, his eyes widen and shine.
Like my friend Clark’s when he got a job a few days ago. His eyes were literally shining. This job was a surprise, early Christmas present for Clark. It means that he no longer has to ask for handouts, that he has a reason to get up every morning, that he can count on his bed at the Salvation Army to be waiting for him every night because he can pay for it. “You’re still gonna eat the muffins I bake though, right?” I asked and he promised he’d stop by for some. Though I imagine he can afford better fare than Mystery Muffins now.
“Christmas is coming?!” squeals Bodhi when I tell him about the twinkling lights running the length of St. Charles. “When?!”
“Soon,” I answer.
“What?!”
“Well…what didja think we got that Christmas tree for?”
“So that you could have a friend!” he says, straight faced.
A Christmas tree is a good friend, I guess. So’s Clark. And a dozen dogs whose names I don’t know. And Sam. Angry Sam. And a little seven year old boy who’s willing to brave raindrops for a Christmas walk, in whose eyes I can see reflected light, light and more light.
Love,
Kristin
50FOOTWAVE
books
Kristin Hersh
Paradoxical Undressing
Throwing Muses
I don’t know how you do it..through your words (and music) you make the little things in life seem so beautiful
What a lovely Christmas gift that was, Kristin. Thank you very much. Merry Christmas to you, Billy, and the boys!
…Sheesh,K. I just got through watching ‘Harvey’ on dvd with Jimmy Stewart, & then you go & warm my cockles even further with this little gem…gulp… I think I might go & finish thing’s off now with ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’, in order to really reduce myself to warm goop…well, we DID have snow here in London this evening!!
Merry Christmas to you all!!!
I’ll bet you and Bhodi would also love to ride the St. Chuck street car to enjoy even more Christmas decorations along Da Ave., together with rumbling and clattering, arcing and sparking, happy to still be rolling old-school mass transit. Enjoy–play with those crazy sliding windows and the seat backs that flip back and forth, so you can be going or coming, no matter which way the car’s rolling.
Love it, love you. Thank you!
Eu Por Mim
Eu não combino comigo
Eu não pertenço a mim
Eu não vejo nada em mim
Eu sou o meu maior inimigo
Eu não caso comigo
Eu não preciso de mim
Eu não caibo mais em mim
Eu sou o meu próprio castigo
Eu não colaboro comigo
Eu não choro por mim
Eu não sou páreo para mim
Eu sou um modernista antigo
Eu não pareço comigo
Eu não esqueço de mim
Eu não transito em mim
Eu sou do tamanho do meu umbigo
Eu não sonho comigo
Eu não me escondo de mim
Eu não vivo sem mim
Eu sou um fantasma com vitiligo
Eu não durmo comigo
Eu não estou preso a mim
Eu não separo meu eu de mim
Eu sou o medo e o perigo
Eu não encaixo comigo
Eu não sou tarado por mim
Eu não piso em mim
Eu sou a sombra que sigo
Eu não misturo comigo
Eu não fujo de mim
Eu não me espelho em mim
Eu sou o que sou e nem ligo
Eu não convivo comigo
Eu não me sustento em mim
Eu não me perco de mim
Eu sou tudo o que eu digo
Eu não aprendo comigo
Eu não sou o oposto de mim
Eu não estou acima de mim
Eu sou o joio e o trigo
Ps. Kristin, sua música é uma inspiração para mim! Bjs!!!