Looking out my Backdoor: Living and loving the night life

Ah, yes, night life. Just those two words are evocative of many experiences.

The Prom. Many people have been traumatized for life by simple high school dances. The intention, learning socialization skills, is honorable. The actuality can be, uh, nightmare material for a lifetime.

Dining and dancing in later life. Probably a mixed bag for most of us. Some nights quite pleasurable and others cringe-causing. Normal.

Walking the floor over you. Babies are born. Night life takes on a whole new seriousness. Feeding, diapering, rocking, shushing, singing, hours on end. Months on end if baby has colic. Takes a toll. Many of us learn new words and phrases during these nights. But we say them with soothing voices.

The Little Darlings grow up. A different kind of night life. Is it not wonderful how life gives us so many and such a variety of chances for personal growth!

It is one o’clock in the morning. You gave Bubba, or is it Sis, an 11 o’clock curfew. This is a school night and you felt that you were quite liberal with “Be home by 1.” With each tap of your foot you conjure up a whole different scenario.

You phone your child’s friend’s parents. Maybe call the hospital. You picture the car upside down in the ditch. (What were you doing out on the country road, young lady?) You picture a similar scene with the train crossing. We remember all too well when we were those ages and what tricks we managed. Worry plus fear generates anger. See above for phrases, but without soothing voices. “Grounded until you are twenty-nine.”

It is a different these days when every young person has a communication device implanted in their palm. Hey, you are still tapping your foot, arms crossed, waiting. Why don’t they call?

Fast forward to old age. “It’s four in the morning and once more the dawning” woke me with a panoramic viewing of too many of my own less salubrious life choices, the kind that make me cringe, like a slide show, one squench of memory following another.

“Did I really do that?” “I thought that one was deeply buried.” “Ouch.” “Not again.” “That’s not how I meant it to go.” “Let me explain.” “There were mitigating factors.”

Sure there were. What brought this on anyway? I know the answer. My friend Kathy and I have had several conversations about how so many people we know seem to be acting out of hate, anger, fear, jealousy, distrust and intolerance, acting and/or reacting out of proportion to their situation. What we see, and we are only in our own skin here so no doubt mis-perceive a lot, makes us feel sad, helpless to help.

The Grand Poobah of the Universe set up my slide show for a purpose. I think the Grand Poobah loves me. Each scene presented to me contained elements of fear, jealousy, distrust, shame and such like.

I have led a varied and interesting life. More than most people, I have had multiple opportunities to have turned into a bitter, cold, resentful, snarling old woman.

I could have held onto each element, fed and nurtured them, grew them into an entire garden and let them rule my life. It is the easier way. It is.

I am no saint. Ask all my friends. Ask my kids. They will tell you. In detail.

I have felt and feel all the ugly things. Some, from time to time. Some, most days. Some way, somehow, along these many years, I learned to acknowledge them. “Oh, it’s you again. Thank you for participating. Now, scram. Get on down the road. I don’t need you.”

All I can tell you is that last night, after my private early morning cinema, instead of guilt and remorse and dread and such, I felt inundated with Grace. And Love. And Gratitude. In that soft, cushiony cloud, I fell back to sleep.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].