Day: January 28, 2013

The Bedlam Farm Men’s Club – Strut the rooster, Simon, me and Red (George Forss the photographer and the farrier Ken Norman are honorary members) held our monthly meeting in the Pole Barn this morning. I called the meeting because of the rash of stupid things politicians and political candidates have been saying about women and I wanted to discuss it with the testosterone-driven men who live on the farm.  Democrats were accusing the Republicans of saying stupid things, and last week the Republicans met in conference and asked their candidates to stop saying stupid things.The men’s group hasn’t met to talk about sex since Congressman Weiner sent photos of his penis out to some girlfriend on Twitter.

Well, it’s a landmark time in American political life, I thought, when politicians stop saying stupid things about women. They will have to focus their stupid comments on other things like the environment, budgets and patriotism. It seems to me it will take awhile to make such a dramatic change happen. But we want to be ready. So I thought it was time to talk to the male animals here.

I don’t believe I have a lot of testosterone these days but there is sure a lot on the farm. Every day I see Strut mounting a hen, and Simon..well, this is a family site, I don’t want to get into it, and when Red is around sheep he turns into  a little Red Schwarzenegger – you’ve seen the photos.

“Listen up, guys,” I said, there is an epidemic of stupid things coming out of the mouths of men about women and I wanted to talk to you about it. Don’t say stupid things about anybody, but especially don’t say stupid things about women. They get highly offended, and you can get in trouble  —

“Heh, heh,” said Simon. “He said ass..” Simon, I scolded, stop doing your Beavis & Butthead imitation. It isn’t funny.

“What shouldn’t  we say, ” asked Red?

“Well, for starters, how about you just don’t offer any theories about sexual assault or harassment, the biological process of sex and birth or contraception..”

Strut looked puzzled. “Never mind about contraception,” I said.

“And you Simon. When you climb up on Lulu and Fanny and they kick you in the head, don’t tell them they’re just playing hard to get. That is wrong. And stupid, too.”

Simon let out one of his mournful signature brays.

“Don’t tell women who are  angry or upset with you that it’s just their time of month. That is stupid. Don’t tell them that they won’t have babies if they hold their breath and recite the National Anthem after unwanted sex.  And here’s another one, don’t tell women who show their feelings that they are prone to emotion while weepy men are just sensitive. That’s pretty stupid.”

“Can we still have sex?” asked Strut.

“You’re missing the point, Strut,” said. “You can have all the sex you want if the hens say it’s okay, not if you chase them around and jump on them and assault tell them the eggs won’t be fertilized if it’s a good sexual assault.” Strut shrugged. “Okay,” he said, a bit disappointed but agreeable.

And you, Red, I said. “Don’t go around telling the ewes that they’re acting like a bunch of sheep. Even if it’s true, it’s stupid.”

I saw the group was puzzled, a bit deflated. “Times are changing,” I said. “Women don’t put up with stupid stuff anymore. They have finally figured out they don’t have to, and they just get on Facebook and Twitter and get excited, and they can get their friends upset and emotional —

“Hey,” said Simon, “you said they were emotional. That sounds stupid to me. Don’t be an ass.”

I sighed. “You’re right,” I said. “This meeting was successful. This meeting is over.”

If Napoleon had brought Flo with him, he might just have conquered Russia. Flo is a cat with a mission, and her mission is to stake out some territory on the farm. She owns the woodshed, had co-opted a corner of the barn, beat up each of the dogs who had the temerity to approach her, and has just taken over the rocking chair on the back porch. I am thinking of calling her Queen Flo. She disappears every now and then, perhaps to one of her other homes. When I got out, she demands attention.

I’ve always seen the office of the Coila Garage as a mystical space, a Twilight Zone kind of place, it lives in another time, and I wonder what really goes on in there, in that office, with the light and the “open” sign, there day or night. Perhaps a card game that never ends, or maybe a mystical portal back in time, to the 40’s maybe or 30’s when the big old cars cruised down small and dusty roads. Maybe a portal to another planet, far out in space. Or maybe Harold sits in there, going over his receipts and orders, putting his cigar stubb out in the ashtray. One day I’ll stop by and gather the courage to go in and see what I find.

Winter hangs on here, the animals are huddled up in the Pole Barn, the dogs get few walks, we are burning through a lot of firewood, the wood stove is going day and night. The temperature hasn’t been above freezing for a week, although that may end tomorrow. The old barns are veterans, snow does not impress them.

Maria’s birthday is today and it is a day to measure things, consider time, look forward, celebrate this joyous and open-hearted and creative person. Someone asked me on Facebook the other day if I have heard from my angels lately, and the truth is I hear from my angel every day. She encourages me in my work, supports me in my healing, fuels my inspiration, is an anchor in my determination to grow, change, find compassion and strength to do what I need to do. Through Maria’s birthday I measure my own life also. Every day, I learn what sharing a life means.

When we first celebrated her birthday, I whisked Maria off to expensive hotels, brought her a bunch of gifts, made reservations at expensive restaurants.  We had a good time, but I also understand that this was something I needed, not something she needed. This year, our lives evolve.  No fancy trips. We are celebrating her first birthday in our new home, our first home together, the first home she feels is hers to live in, one she shaped with her own remarkable energy and creativity.

I measure my life before Maria and after Maria, and it is curious because I was rich in money and material things and impoverished in the heart and soul and now I am poorer in material things and richer than I have ever been. Every morning, my sun rises with her radiant smile and my heart lifts when she rushes off to her beloved studio with Frieda or Lenore – she always has a dog at her feet – and works her magic with old cloths and discarded fabrics. Her gentle blog reflects her loving soul. She spins straw into gold every day of her life, and in my own body and soul. A  friend told me I must be a good person to have a person like this love me. A beautiful thought. True, I hope. True, I dare to think.

Today I will devote myself to her love and comfort, as she devotes herself to me every day in the most selfless and generous of ways. My wish for the world is that everyone find a spirit like this to love and share their lives. I’ll do all of the farm chores today, let her rest, ask her how she wants to spend the day and make it happen. Birthdays are not important to either of us, really, we can march the progress of life every single day.

But some rituals are important to mark and today does seem important to me. Such ritual requires us to look at our lives, to wonder at the curious and imperfect miracle life. To honor the nature of life and the passing of time. It is customary for me to hear people bemoan their birthdays – growing older, another year. I will not hear any such words from my partner in life. She cherishes every day of her life and does not soil them with laments or struggle or the  bemoaning of her life. I wish my angel the happiest and most meaningful of birthdays and will work to make it so. Happy Birthday, angel, and my your precious spirit soar for all time.