DREAM: With my mom sitting at a table with a stranger. He’s explaining to us that it’s Uncle Gary’s birthday. But Uncle Gary passed away a few years ago. “I know. I remember,” my mom replies. They both start crying and weeping. It’s understood in my head that it’s an uncle named Charles and not Gary, yet it’s still Gary at the same time.
7:50 a.m. I wake up to the clanging sound of pots and pans being made by my mom in the kitchen.
Breakfast: Toasted Peanut Butter Sandwich. Hard Boiled Egg. Coffee with Cream and Sugar.
It’s strange being awake at such a morning bird hour.
Leaving the neighborhood to go to church. Jimmy and my mom wave at a neighbor who’s tending to his front yard. Jimmy informs me that the flowers in the yard are fake. They seem to be the rave around here—people reverting to it because of the crazy weather.
The church is a storefront next to a gas station.
My mom’s in charge of teaching Sunday School to the kids. She compares the filling of the Holy Spirit to inflated red balloons. It’s a small group. Observing the PK’s son attempting to hold hands with his respective girlfriend underneath the table, discreet smirks on their faces. Recalling the times in church when I was young and attracted to the pretty girls, nervous and secretly writing notes back and forth with whomever.
While listening to my mother speak I feel a tenderness and a familiar presence in my chest.
The service begins. Teresa leads everyone in praise and worship, bass guitar in hand, leading the band with vigor.
I watch my mother up at the front of the sanctuary swaying left and right with swinging arms, crying and singing out with all that’s in her. She has such zeal, such a passion—she touches people in a beautiful way.
“Hallelujah to the Lamb!”
“Jesus is coming! Jesus is coming! Jesus is coming!”
She approaches me where I’m sitting, taps me on the knee, and says, “It’s gonna be through you.”
During the offering, the preacher asks that I get behind the drums. I persist in a two-step beat that really livens the mood—an old timey song—people dancing—there’s a joy permanently marked on faces.
Mariah, a little girl in a red dress, full of spunk and charm, wants me to teach her some piano. She only knew how to play the singular melody of “Mary Had a Little Lamb”. Sitting down and showing her the C and G chord, and how to play with both hands. Surprised at how fast she picks it up. She gets on the drums and I’m able to show her a simple beat to back me up on piano. Music seems to come naturally for her. It feels good to know I may have some part in instilling inspiration to play music.
There’s a potluck Christmas dinner. Eating a plate of all kinds of things including Turkey, Sweet Potato Casserole, Green Bean Casserole, Rolls, etc.
Everybody keeps telling me: “We could use you here!”
“I have other work to do.”
We drive to Teresa’s house where her and her son live, along with a lady named Pat and her grandchildren Robby and Mariah. Lying on the couch there feeling incredibly tired. Showing Robby some tricks on guitar. Mariah shows me her music notebook she made out of glittery binder folders and notebook paper. Drawing a chord chart for her. Thinking what it will be like to have a daughter.
Napping for a few hours.
My mom’s on the phone talking with friends from church.
Eating some Mashed Potatoes and Turnips with Green Beans and Hot Tea with Milk.
Talking with her at the table about the latest Wikileaks news—how people get trapped in their own situation and can’t see the simplest solution so clearly—what changed her health around. She’s been eating much differently over the past year, and her weight has diminished dramatically. Diet is directly related to health, happiness, and energy.
“I have a supernatural energy.”
Eating a bowl of mixed cereal.
Watching American Teen [2008]. This is like The Breakfast Club docu-style.
Talking with Margot on the phone. A little flustered in the beginning but it got better. Missing.
Sleep 5:30 a.m.
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