(June 2005) I drove 510 miles today (to the lowlands and back again) for a friend’s mother’s funeral after sleeping less than four hours for two nights running and working a fourteen-and-a-half-hour day yesterday. This means that I am officially brain dead right now but am too wired to go to sleep. Wish I had some wine in the house so I could have a glass while soaking in a nice warm bubble bath, but don’t want it enough to go out and get some.
Sat on the interstate without moving for an hour after the funeral and realized that even the hip-hop station wasn’t keeping me alert, so I stopped at a Dairy Queen for some much-needed but bad-tasting caffeine.
The Dairy Queenites who waited on me were apparently worried about my soul and stuck a pamphlet in my bag that asks “Where Are You Going to Spend Eternity?”
I thought the answer was sitting on the Interstate wondering if I’d EVER get to pee, but turns out it only seemed like eternity.
In the South, people pull their cars off the road to let funeral processions pass and sometimes even stand beside their cars. I’d never thought much about this tradition until my family was on our way to my father’s graveside service, but seeing all those people stop their lives for a few minutes as a sign of respect for our grief really moved me.
Today’s service was high Christian, the kind that can break me out in Jezus hives real fast. And the minister used a southernism I had completely forgotten about: “it’n” (as in “she it’n going nowhere without the Lord” or “The odds are good that Medea it’n gonna like watching all these people bow their heads for yet another prayer”).
Sweet Honey in the Rock’s “Breaths”—which aligns more closely with my own beliefs—kept running through my head during the service:
those who have died are never, never dead. The dead have a pact with the living. So listen more often to things than to beings ... ’tis the ancestors’ breaths in the voice of the water....
I’d be happy to have that sentiment expressed at my funeral, but not with any of the three Baptist hymns from today’s service (and yes, I did remember all three verses of all three songs verbatim, damn it all). When you think about it, at some level, it really doesn’t matter whether I say I believe in an all-knowing god or not because my brain hears the word lamb and immediately associates it with the judeo-christian god anyway, making him real to me at some level despite my cogitations.
Hit bad storms going up the mountain and nearly wrecked my car twice trying to take a picture of a truck with one of those old-timey Bates-Motel-looking hotel signs strapped to its side. Not a good idea at 70 mph. Bought a case of Cheerwine for my pal who misses this southern drink too.
Anyway. Medea it’n gonna to be able to put together coherent sentences for much longer y'all, so I'll post this interesting book description then say good night:
Tantric Sex for Women: A Guide for Lesbian, Bi, Hetero, and Solo Lovers (by Christa Schulte, Hunter House, $24.95)
Using an inclusive, empowering approach, this book explains how every woman can add relish to sexual encounters and increase her pleasure through tantric methods. In a warm, knowledgeable tone, Schulte explains the basics of tantric sex, including how to become more body-aware, how to cultivate pleasure using all five senses, and how to practice “Tara-tantra,” a woman-centered tantric method of her own creation.
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