Commodious

I haven’t done a post about a weekend in a while, and this past one was one that deserves to be recorded for posterity.

It started with a dive-in movie on Friday night at Dan and Haydin’s. A dive-in movie is much like a drive-in movie, in that it involves a movie projected outside on a screen, but that is the extent of the similarities. A dive-in movie is set up around a swimming pool. The event was to start at 7 but due to disorganization, shirking of responsibilities and general technical difficulties, it didn’t actually start until closer to 10:30. Ugh. Annoying. But “The Big Lebowski” is a favorite and it was fun to sit around a pool and watch it on a big screen. It started to drizzle half-way through and I took that as my cue to leave. Ena’s birthday party was early on Saturday and I wanted to get some sleep.

Ena loves cowboys, trains, horses and being naked. She’s two, so all of those things are quite splendid. I dressed up as cowgirl, partially for the fun of it and partially because I thought she’d like it. When I saw Nathan at the Dive-in on Friday night I told him my plan and he announced he’d dress up as well, so Saturday morning it was just the two of us in costumes (we were also some of the only ones who didn’t have small children with them). Ena and her friends were in their birthday suits for most of the party and it was a beautiful day for a birthday party. I love that little girl so much it hurts.

Saturday evening there was discussion of a roller skating adventure that got nixed at the last minute, so Betsy and I headed downtown to go to the last Shindig on the Green of the year. I forget how amazing those things are. We ended up in the entrance of City Hall, listening to a bluegrass band; one man was so old he had a wheelchair/walker combo and would stand up to smile and sing along. I loved him immediately.

Sunday I met up with Betsy and Emily downtown for the Kovacs and the Polar Bear show (see above) that kicked off the Lexington Avenue Arts and Fun Festival, the hands-down best people watching event in a city full of people-watching opportunities. The day was bright (and HOT), and someone had plastered mustaches all over the festival area. Everywhere. Parking meters, shop windows, newspaper boxes; once one was spotted the sheer volume of them appeared. I found out from one friend that it was part of “Mustacheville” a quirky sort of prank on a city that loves pranks. Emily, Betsy and I found mustaches to our liking and stuck them to our faces. We wore them the rest of the afternoon. No one looked at us strangely.

Labor day was chores around the house, until around 330 when I got a text from my old friend Ammons. “Sunny afternoon cocktails?” it read. I responded, “I could be convinced.” He replied, “I don’t know what else to say: Sunny. Afternoon. Cocktails.” So I went and sat outside with Ammons, catching up and drinking the amazing cocktails that Sazarac makes (before the ache of the bill arrives!). We then wandered up to Packs Square to catch part of the free show by the Asheville Symphony. The sky was the blue that only comes in early fall, the sun was just enough set to leave a crisp in the air and I was warm with company, sound, place and spirit.

In ten days I’ll attend Tegan and Sara, live jamming bluegrass, the Symphony and Erin McKeown. I love this town.

Biological Casio

Saturday morning I woke up too early because two very small hands were squeezing my cheeks together and the face attached to those hands was uncomfortably close to mine.

“HIIIII AH-RAH. HIIII! AWWWWWIGHT! YAY BEACH!” was shouted at full volume into my slack face, which translated from 20-month old speak is the best sort of good morning expression. Ena, my quasi-goddaughter (and for the sake of this blog will be called as much) was sitting on my chest, her big green eyes staring at my bleary, sleep filled ones, and she was absolutely thrilled that I was still around in the morning. She kept touching me to make sure I was real. Usually I'm at the house to say goodnight to her but I'm gone when she gets up, but since I'd traveled to the beach with her and her parents, unlike at home we were going to be in the same house for a few days. Ena seemed to think this was the best idea. EVER. I say hello; she climbs down and goes screaming into the next room, on to bigger and better projects that don’t involve waking up a notorious non-morning person. Her morning speed is one I rarely get around to nearing in a day.

Ena's parents are my amazing friends Katherine and Andy (written about here and here and here).

I'm not a kid person; I don't usually like them, don't have a biological clock causing me to desire them...ok maybe I have a biological pocket watch; ever so slight and inconsistently functional. A biological digital calculator watch. A cheap biological Casio or Swatch. Nothing large or accurate to be sure. Ena breaks my baby rules. I pick her up; I hold her hand, wipe her face, run with her and feed her (cardinal sins in my baby book. Usually I'll just poke them and pat their heads). She has opened rooms in my heart full of draped furniture, covered with the dust of neglect and time. I am blessed to see her often.

This weekend at the beach with Ena, coupled with the Mother's Day holiday, caused me to think about loving children. It makes no sense.

Why do we love these little selfish parasites that require attention, fawning, food, care, cleaning and coaxing into the most basic exercises of sleeping and eating? They are extremely irrational, poor communicators with a mean streak and a penchant for destruction. But we love them. We would die for them. One laugh from that girl and I'm up for whatever she has next. I melt like an idiot.

Brennan Manning, he of 'Ragamuffin Gospel' fame, writes,
“Children are our model because they can have no claim on heaven. If they are close to God, it is because they are incompetent, not because they are innocent. If they receive anything it can only be as a gift.”

I do not love Ena because she is innocent; I love her because she is Ena.

I think that might just be what we, in any belief system, should strive for. We are not worth anything because of our abilities or our inabilities, our gifts or our struggles; we are worth much because we are first loved much. I am loved because I am a key component in something much bigger than me. I am loved because I fulfill a promise. I am loved because I am furthering my species. In this culture and society I am trained to do, to measure my success in tangibles.

My list of tangibles I made at 22 is woefully unfulfilled.

Today I am struggling mightily with this.

I want my reasons to be loved to read like a resume. I want love to be bullet points, I want clearly defined boundaries and rules.

It doesn't. It isn't.

And yet.