The ferry pulls into Snug Cove on this grey and drizzly fresh day. Jupiter has been raucous as Joan Jett all night and now, this morning, he is half lidded, spent from his thundering, eyeliner all smokey and smudged, casually vaping huge flamboyant puffs of white over the mountains.
I have a deep clutching love for home; I’ve been away three days. I have a little love pack for my bunnies of apple and cilantro, missing their little fuzzy faces, the nagging fear of predators always gnawing away at the back of my mind since the mink slaughtered our hens.
I opened Misery at the Arts Club on Granville island this week. This is only my second time on the GI stage, a huge thrill and honour for me. I have a secret giggle when I see “Ms Frangione” on the dressing room door.
Because we took it on tour first, the show is a well oiled machine and I am reminded what a joy it is when I know the script and character so thoroughly I can surrender to the moment and swim in the excitement of being very present. I come home exhausted though; it’s a big story with extreme emotions. I try to explain to my husband, “You know when you see something horrendous at work, or you go through a death or a break up or anything traumatic like that…you know how your body feels like it’s been hit by a Mack truck?”
He blinks, “Um, no.”
And I realize we are complete opposites when it comes to this. Scott is thick skinned. Being a fire fighter he is required to distance himself emotionally and personally from the trauma in front of him so he can make clear calm decisions. He unpacks it later when it is appropriate to do so. I wonder if all the Johnsons have this very necessary skill, this “delayed emotional reaction”? His Mom and sister are both accomplished nurses. Thank God for this.
“My job requires that I have a very thin skin so I can absorb everything, empathize with everything to the point where i feel it is my own. And my body doesn’t realize I’m pretending. My hair does stand on end when Annie is frightened. I do flush red when Annie falls in love. I do sweat with anxiety with the Sheriff comes to the door. I do get hot in the face and my heart does race when Annie becomes livid. My eyes fill up with tears and my throat constricts when Annie feels betrayed. As far as my body knows, I experience my greatest fears. Murder happens every single night.”
My Fellow nods and gives me a curious grunt. He is hoping I am not too tired…
I chuckle, thinking about all this while I cuddle my bunnies and offer them their treats. All the daffodils are in full bloom along my stairs to the garden. I walk past them and bend down and whisper, “Thank you.” When I open the gate I gasp. The pear tree is in full bloom!
Look at the difference a few days make! My early tulips are up and the pansies are all fresh faced. Despite the bulbs the squirrels stole, my front flower bed is full of colour. My peonies are shooting their red stems through the earth and my euphorbias have popped open their profusion of little pea green pockets. I walk down to the silent chicken coop and see hyacinths along the steps. I whisper to them too, “Thank you, I see you”.
We will get more hens.
Life is so very good. The joy tide is in. I must breathe it up. I must taste its complexities. I must savour this moment all thin skinned. Everyone in my family is well, my career is robust, I married the love of my life, things are good with Nora’s Dad, my children are thriving, I live in Canada, I am in good health, I drive the cutest car in the world, my best friend just moved up the street from me, my house is clean and the Spirit is alive all around and within me. Have things ever been this good? This complete? This devoid of danger?
What is it about human nature that makes me want to brace against happiness? There is something in the reptile brain that tells me, “Don’t get too blissfully unaware, don’t breathe too deep, you know it’s all going to go to shit any minute, that’s life. You know people are going to get envious and give you the malocchio if you do too well. You know there are mink who kill for sport.”
But gritting my teeth in dread during the present joy is never preparation. It never helps me weather what is to come. It only saps me. It only short changes the good memories that will buoy me up later when the waters get inevitably rough.
“No!” I shout out to my sliver of sea. “I will let in all the good, all of it, open wide! Let the joy tide come crashing in!”
And with that I set to planting some dahlias in with the onions.
