Blue Moon
And then there suddenly appeared before me
The only one my heart could ever love
I heard sombody whisper "please adore me"
And when I looked the moon had turned to gold
This morning after breakfast a CBC program we were listening to played that wonderful old piece, "Blue Moon". Another song of our youth. Immediately we hear one of these songs we are plunged deep into delighted memory and a blush of pleasure washes over us. As so often happens, he will be working downstairs in his studio, painting or in his workshop putting something together while listening to the radio. Most often I will not have heard anything as I don't tend to play the radio as devoutly as he does. I will hear him thundering upstairs and wonder what's happening. All will become clear as he rushes toward me, grabs me away from whatever I'm doing in the kitchen or elsewhere and we dance to one of the old songs.
On this occasion, however, there was no need for him to rush anywhere; we were at home together, a Tuesday morning after breakfast. A late breakfast as it happened, since because of the forecast for yet another 34-degree day with high humidex, high UV, we had taken our little dogs out to the ravine for our hike right after our shower, while there was still a breeze, before the day became impossibly hot. We'd read the newspapers, had gone out to the back garden to wander about, to note what had transpired there since the last time we looked - the morning before. But in a garden things are transformed overnight, and more roses were open, the morning glories reaching higher in their clamber to maturity, the pink lupin was still flowering, as was the white clematis, the cornflower-blue clematis, the yellow-pink honeysuckle too. And to our delight, the first of the huge red double-petaled poppies had opened. The apples on one of our three apple trees seem to grow by leaps and bounds while the others still looked crabbed. I watered the parsley, oregano, and basil as they're growing in clay pots which tend to dry very quickly. Then back into the house to clean up the kitchen, and we heard the soft strains of "Blue Moon" waft through our house.
An exchanged glance and we were in each other's arms, dancing. In the family room, moving slowly about, avoiding the furniture, the two little dogs looking up at us quizzicaly as we danced as we once did so long ago when we were young. We're not at all awkward, for we're young again, never in fact having ever grown old, though we have grown older. His arms encircling me are as strong and firm as ever they were. His girth not much more than it was so very long ago. Nor is mine, truth be told and I wind my arms about him aching to reach even closer, but closer is not at all possible.
It could very well be fifty, perhaps fifty-two years since last we danced together to this particular piece of music. In hindsight we were such - children, I imagine. We were aware of our urges, our desires, our wish to be together, yet we were so young. Thinking about it now I wonder at our youthful companionship, the electricity between us, the tenderness, the drive that ensured we would defy our parents' edicts and seek one another out to fulfil our needs.
I was always aware as a very young child that there was something lacking, that I felt a compelling need to share life and experiences with someone. Accordingly, I was always looking for someone, and of course when I was five, six, seven that someone could very well have been a girlfriend with whom I could share my thoughts, my feelings, my apprehensions. That someone special just never did materialize, although I never did stop searching. One day, just after my fourteenth birthday I was introduced to a young boy and I felt a shock of recognition upon meeting him. By then I had dreamt time after time of meeting a boy, and this boy, I knew, would be the one for whom I had searched so relentlessly. Imagine! at the age of fourteen harbouring such a conviction. How absurd it must seem.
Physically this boy completely resembled the one of my dreams. For his part, he seemed amenable to extending a relationship to me, and from that time forward we became constant companions, inseparable, much to the dismay of my parents and the casual indifference of his. We would see one another daily after school into the early evening. He would walk to my house, I would await him there. We would go out for long walks on area streets, parks, go to libraries together, attend youth-oriented activities at social centres.
The youth of my dreams became transformed into the man of my dreams. We matured together, melded together. Did we always agree on everything? Nothing could be further from the fact of our joined existence, for we often had disagreements and still do. We still perceive things from our individual perspectives, but it was never all that difficult for each of us to accept the deviance of the other, and sometimes one of us even came around to the other's way of thinking, but not that often. Our values and backgrounds were somewhat similar and that, of course, helped. In all our years together he has never been but gentle with me. I rarely heard a word of reproach or a raised voice, although the same could not be said for him.
I still cannot predict his reactions, nor can he mine. Do we know ourselves completely? How then can we know another to the point of rewarded anticipation? I do know that I delight in the fertility of his mind and his stunning ability to master just about any art form that intrigues him. I admire the elasticity of his brain, the breadth of his knowledge; arcane at times. I know that without him and his love for me I would be diminished to the point of mere existence.
Blue Moon, now I'm no longer alone
Without a song in my heart
Without a love of my own
posted by Pieface @ Tuesday, July 12, 2005
<< Home