In a Bad Mood

In a Bad Mood

“I see the bad moon arising, I see trouble everywhere. I see earthquakes and lightenin’, I see bad times today.” Creedence Clearwater Revival

I came home last night in a bad mood. My black cloud follows the moon.
I slam the back door. My wife knows the clue: Bad mood.
She gets the Lysol, sprays the house. Bad moods stink.
I sit down, slide into the chair. She hands me a Balvenie 12 and water. I sulk.
She’s smart, says nothing. Continues cooking. I sip, continue sulking.

She has bad-mood armor, puts it on. She has black-cloud experience.
She gives me the it’s-ok-to-vent look. The venom in my voice spews forth.
Did you see the news, I say? What news, she says? She sets the stage.
The Atlanta blizzard, I reply. The closet-sized apartment held me captive.
No food. No beer. No TV. No radio. No way out. Claustrophobia strangled me.

She speaks in simple sentences. Bad moods have no cognitive functions.
Oh, sweetie, how tragic. I agree, sip more. What terrible punishment, she says.
What did you do? I cursed my predicament, I say. She throws me a smiley frown.
Did it help, she asks. No, but I unloaded the gun, I answer, sampling more scotch.
My wrath continues. I tell of my struggles to find food. The miseries gush forth.

My complaints continue. I repeat them. She gets bored. Time to chill, I think.
My glass now jingles. Ice cubes bounce, become pin balls. She hears, pours me another.
I haul my bag to the bedroom. Hang up the unworn clothes. The cloud is lifts.
The coat hangers hook up. I separate them. They tangle more. Like lovers.
They entwine, hopelessly entangle. I leave them to love. What can separate lovers?

I make it back to the kitchen. My anger abates, the cloud vanishes. Peace is restored.
Meat loaf and potatoes sit steaming on a plate next to wine. They beckon me. I oblige.
Conversation is civil. My epic struggles subside. She pats my hand.
We toast, “Here’s to whiskey, amber, pure and clear; it’s not so sweet as a woman’s lips, but a damn sight more sincere.” We laugh, finish dinner, become coat hangers.

Bud Hearn
January 13, 2011

The island is full of wonderful writers. Last year I formed Coastal Literary Society, LLC. Member writers will periodically contribute to my weekly vignettes. Today I include an excellent piece by Wendy Jennings. I think you will like it.

The Simplicity of Security

Once upon a time, I washed my three year old daughter's security down the drain. How? I laundered her 'blankie'. Her cumulative life experiences went with it. Her security blanket became a blank slate.
How could I let my mother’s aversion to germs take precedence over the comfort she had created? That blanket had captured the scents of her entire past. How careless of me?

Have you ever thought about the bits and pieces of security we glean from our daily life? A collection of familiar and comforting scents (even those from 'Chuckie Diseases' as we so fondly recall) accumulate in a favorite Paddington Bear or a blanket. They became anchors for the security for my child.

Remember when we would run a highly successful under-age Busch brewery out of our high school lockers? And how the college of our choice rewarded us with acceptance letters to further our security? Four years later, we land a job at Busch Gardens, solidifying the security of all things hoped for in our future.

We select mates, sign our future earnings away on a mortgage. We add introductory dependents (posing as pets) to form our new and improved version of security. We have crossed the Rubicon River of no return in the quest for our security. All is irrevocably challenged.

We willingly trade our soft, cuddly blanket for a vibrating Blackberry that dictates our every move. We become slaves, trading our 'free time' for security. We work harder. The security blanket we now crave must be large enough to cover our sub-prime mortgage on the McMansion, the two household vehicles, dance ransom and the home equity draw for a trip to the Magic Kingdom. The yard stick of our security is measured against our close friends and neighbors. We curse the day the Jones' were ever born!

If we are blessed, we live through the financial carnage. We examine what we have created as a stand-in for security. Later realizing it is not genuine security. Building relationships is the most solid form of security. People feed our souls, not our wallets. As the 'Housing Bubble' continues to burst, the attempt at false security leaves us underwater. We refocus and envision the Paddington Bear of our past. We smile in its simplicity.

Will my children have me committed in the morning when they find me in an embrace with my teddy bear instead of my Blackberry? I guess the answer will determine how secure I really am! Where do you find security? - Wendy