Uber Moon

While I’m yet feeling the effects of our most recent super moon, I recall the first time I heard a reference to something other than a regular, monthly run of the mill full moon.

The precise year escapes me, but it was a Saturday night because we were watching Hockey Night in Canada and the late game was coming from Calgary. During Ron MacLean’s preamble, he mentioned the full moon was in fact a rare super moon, so called as it would appear fourteen per cent larger due to its closer-than-usual proximity to Earth. The accompanying camera shot was of a huge golden disc hanging low over the city skyline. It was impressive, all right; and that was compared to any number of the robust harvest moons I’ve seen in my lifetime. I’d never heard of a super moon until that night.

Now it seems we get them all the time.

On hearing that this April’s full moon was a super one, I asked Ter, “Didn’t we just have one of those?”

She thought so but wasn’t wholly certain of when. “Was it in January?”

Maybe. The wolf moon? Wasn’t there a blue moon in January, too? A blue wolf super moon? There are so many anomalies that “anomaly” is now synonymous with “routine”.

April’s moon was extra-extra-special (not a typo) because it was not only a super moon (appearing seventeen per cent larger than usual, and a full three per cent larger than the HNIC super moon), it was a pink super moon. Not genuinely pink, the experts were quick to add lest a torrent of complaints flood social media when the hue failed to meet mass expectations of fuchsia, but pink because it coincided with the blooming of a particular spring flower whose name I don’t remember.

I actually thought it looked a tad rosier than usual, but I may have imagined it:

Anyway, it seems that almost every full moon has become a super one, which reminded me of an online survey I once took after making a purchase at a housewares and home décor shop. Through the course of the survey, the questions were geared toward elevating my experience beyond the mere purchase of sought-after goods. “What can we do to make your next visit a great experience?”

“You can’t,” I replied. “I got what I went for.”

After asking where the chain fit in my preferred shopping outlets (they were third), came the question: “How can we become your favourite source for housewares/home décor?”

“You can’t,” I replied, “unless you put more staff at the checkout and fewer staff on the floor. I was in the line up to pay for longer than it took to find my candles.”

Not that my comment had anything to do with it, but the chain’s local outlet is now closed, as is that of the second shop in my top three.

What has this to do with the super moon, you ask? Nothing ... except I am bewildered and slightly annoyed by the current era’s insistence on making everything bigger and brighter and shinier. Once “super” becomes the norm, it ceases to be a big deal.

A Brief Word with God

I sat with God. Together we watched the moon rise over the ocean, splashing butter-coloured light over opalescent waves.

I asked him for nothing and he gave me no direction. Eventually, I told him that I’m happy. I love my life, but if I want to change anything, I trust him to help me.

The moon ducked behind some cloud and the sky was suddenly dappled, deep blue and pale gold. God said nothing, but I felt him beside me, close and comforting in a way that made me feel safe and loved and not alone.

“I know you’re there,” I said, my gaze yet on the water. “I’m glad you’re there and always will be.”

Though he said not a word, I felt him smile.

Rufus

Rufus and Ru in 2006

Rufus came to us either in 1993 or 1995; I don’t recall exactly, though I do know we were living in Number 15 and he was a birthday present from Ter. He’s a Boyd’s bear, a collector’s item probably picked because his name matched my then-nickname, but I may be completely wrong about that. Ter picked him from the crowd – or he picked her – and, once he was adopted, he made himself at home and began exerting his personality.

Ter says he’s sensitive. I say he’s a drama queen. One year I got a pair slipper socks for Christmas and he appropriated one to wear on his head. Fashionable in a 1600s French-Canadian trapper sort of way, he’s worn it ever since and fusses like mad when Ter adjusts it, which she does quite frequently because the elastic has lost its grip and is in constant danger of falling off. That really upsets him, but he won’t be convinced that adjusting his hat is a preventative measure and not done to vex him. He also wears a bell on his wrist, the summons for bedtime cuddles and smooches because, at heart, he really is an affectionate and loving little bear.

One Sunday, I woke him up with the announcement that it was sanga day for him and his pals. He looked at me like I was an idiot and said, “I know it’s sanga day, Mum. When you and Tanta (what he calls Ter) are home together for a whole day, the next day is always a sanga day.”

Well, I thought, aren’t you smart? Of course I didn’t say it, since that would set him off, but when I mentioned it to Ter later that morning, her response was similar to the look Rufie had given me on waking.

“He’s no bear of very little brain,” she said. “He knows what’s going on.”

I have to agree with that. If any of our bears are comparable to Winnie-the-Pooh, it’s not Rufus. It’s Moon Pie. Before I left for work the other day, the little puffball asked me if I was going to tango with world again. At first I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about, until I realized I’d said on a previous morning, “You guys have a good day while Ter and I are off tangling with the real world.”

Ironically, he’s helped to change my somewhat surly attitude toward workdays. Dancing is more fun than wrangling, right? Now I try to tango, thanks to little Moonie.

Every bear is clever in his own way.

Full Moon Rising

Full Moon Rising

full moon rising

swollen and dripping

pearls of light

o’er a black opal sea

silver moon shining

frosted purity

commanding the tide

to heights undisclosed

a sphere of influence

beyond mortal reckoning

inspires lunacy

in an urban forest

wolf moon watching

from a star-scattered sky

she calls in white silence

and we answer in song

Serenity Now

Yesterday was the Leppard King’s birthday. Ter and I set out to celebrate accordingly, but despite our good intentions, everything seemed to go against the grain. By 8 p.m., we were forced to admit, “Well, that was a bust.” We then spent a half-hour listening to The Lost Fingers online—a gypsy jazz band out of Quebec; their version of Sunglasses at Night has made me a fan—after which Ter suggested we go ahead with our plan and finish up the day with a few Leppard videos.

Perhaps, appropriately, that turned out to be the best part of the day.

I woke this morning wondering what had gone wrong. We had looked forward to a pub lunch in His Royal Leppardness’ honour, followed by a stroll through Oak Bay village, shopping and maybe stopping for sorbetto, then preparing a carnivorous dinner at home. We went through the motions, yet nothing worked.

I think it’s because we’re exhausted.

I know I am.

You can attribute some energy malfunctions to a full moon—I’ve lived and worked among people long enough to defy the naysayers who pooh-pooh scheduled lunacy as New Age nonsense—but there are times when the spirit simply cannot overcome the flesh. Nor should it. Sometimes rest is the best medicine, and my compostable container is going through the mill with intense treatments on its bum ankle. Mental rest is as important, given the continuous strain of functioning as an introvert in an extroverted world. Ter and I are both fried at the end of a workweek; the last thing we needed yesterday was a trip through Tourism Central during a heat wave, even on the august occasion of Joe Elliott’s birthday. Consequently, our energy was misaligned and things did not work out until the day was practically done. Only when we were sequestered in our lovely peaceful home, curled in place before the Leps’ greatest hits, did we actually relax.

Today, we have retired to our respective happy places. I’m in my room and Ter is puttering in the kitchen. It’s a long weekend, for which I am immensely grateful. It’s also a mere three weeks from our summer vacation, for which I am deliriously grateful. I work from January to September with one measly week off in between, then I wonder why I’m knackered by mid-summer. I’m not saying that yesterday bombed with spectacular gusto. It just didn’t run as smoothly as it might have had we taken time to recover from the previous week. On the other hand, had we stayed home, we would have missed a photo op that suited the occasion to a tee:

Happy birthday, Joe.

Full Moon Pie

My baby polar bear wanted to take a selfie with the moon for which he was named, but his arms are too short, so Ter tucked him into her hoodie and we walked him across the street for a photo shoot. I handled the camera and she was the animal wrangler. Moonie just played his criminally cute self and voila! Full Moon Pie!

The plan had been to do it last month, but we missed the opportunity due to cloudy skies. I thought the August moon would be better anyway, but little did I know …

We were hanging out in the Ocean Room, waiting for just the right light and discussing how much better our view is since the tree across the street sent a branch as thick as a small sapling into the new neighbour’s yard on Friday (the city crew was out chipping wood past 11:00 that night; yeah, they made themselves popular with the rest of the ’hood) – apparently the view isn’t that much better, however, because we noticed that cars were pulling over waterside and people were stopping to look at something in the bay. There were no helicopters, so it couldn’t have been a marine rescue, and no events are usually scheduled for sundown on a Sunday, so by the time my curiosity peaked, Ter ran down to the stoop and came back calling, “Ruthie, you’ve got to see this!”

The Super Moon was rising. I have never seen the like of it – bigger than the sun, as bright as a new loonie, and attracting spectators like they were flies and it was dipped in honey. One of the neighbours said he’d read it was 14% bigger than the normal moon and it sure looked like it to me. But a 14% bigger dilemma rose with it:

How were we going to manage Moonie’s photo shoot with half of Victoria watching???

Well, damn the torpedoes, I was not going to let the plan slide, especially when the moon itself was as extra-special as my little puffball. We smuggled him out the door and across the street, cruised for the best location, somewhere between street level and the beach, I knelt down to get the best angle, then said, “Okay, Ter, let’s do this thing.”

Poor little Moon Pie. He’s so good natured that he didn’t balk despite being openly bewildered and slightly freaked at being outside without his buddies. You’d never guess by the picture, though, would you? Twenty minutes later, he was back in the bedroom telling the other bears all about his adventure. And you can bet in his version, he was the bravest bear in the world.

Actually, he’s the bravest bear in my version, too.

Full Moon Follies

Moonrise September 19, 2013

Every time things go pear-shaped, I check the calendar to discover that the moon is invariably full. This week was no exception. It culminated on Wednesday, when my world seemed so dark and distorted that I almost closed my office door to isolate myself from potential murder victims.

I got through the day by telling myself that the day was neither longer nor shorter than any other day and it too would pass. That said, I retired to bed at 8:00 with a massive headache and hope for a better tomorrow.

It worked. I woke feeling more stable, had a pretty good day yesterday, and when the sun went down, an opportunity to try some night shots with the Canon appeared in the swollen form of September’s full moon:

Playing with the camera settings to get these shots was fun, but truly, the best pictures were seen with the naked eye.

 

Today is my day off – gee, wonder if that had anything to do with my mood improving?? – and the moon is on the wane. The sunrise this morning was glorious, blue sky streaked with cotton candy ribbons and melting gold light pouring through the Ocean Room windows. No photos; I was still in my jammies while Ter got ready for work.

I plan to work with Shade some more, but I’m a little intimidated by an unforeseen twist in his story. It revealed itself this week and while it appears plausible, my job is to make it so. The trouble is that I know about it, but he doesn’t. Keeping the character ignorant for the duration is tricky because I can’t let it leak into the narration. It’s like discovering a shattering secret, dying to tell everyone, but being unable to tell anyone. My left brain has seized on the secrecy factor and is screwing with my creative function as a result: You can’t write that or That won’t work or What’s on HBO this morning?

Well, the best defence is a good offense, so I’d better go get offensive.

Happy Friday!

"Melancholy Moon"

A nod to the full moon ...

We sat by the lake with warm cups of wine and waited for the moon to rise.

When she peeped over the mountaintops, the game began.

We darted into the wood and hid behind the trees, giggling into our hands as her milky light crept toward our toes. Then it was her turn to hide and she ducked behind a cloud, but the mist was too thin and her light was too bright. We found her right away. I’d have been snippy at being found that fast, but she only smiled her radiant smile and suggested that we visit instead. So we sat by the lake with warm cups of wine and conversed with the moon.

The night sky is cold and lonely. Maybe she just wanted the company.

copyright 2013 Ruth R. Greig

In Walked the Moon

in walked the moon

first you were a face

a rapture of skin and bone

artful and artless

cast in luminescent glow

then you were a smile

a blissful contemplation

of the innocence in whimsy

and the joy in guileless play

when you told me your name

the mystery unfurled

you revealed yourself a jester

on a journey of your own

you became a muse

a spirit to inspire

mystic dancer poised on tiptoe

between wax and wane

 

one day you’ll be a memory

your stars no more aligned with mine

but each night you’ll be with me

for you have become the moon

 

March 1, 2011

© Ruth R.Greig

I believe in what I call “light beings”—spirits so pure and powerful in their natural state that they shine bright white. I even know a few. Ter is one. Nicole is another. The only other one I’ve met inspired this poem, and since today is his birthday, I thought I’d share it.

He didn’t stay long, but his brief presence in my life initiated such dramatic change that I can’t help but be grateful for him. In his purest form, he’s a light being. He is also mortal and following his own path. He proved to me that the orbits of two vastly different worlds can occasionally cross, and when they do, magic happens. He taught me the value of play (and how sad is it that I needed teaching??) He introduced me to the music of Matthew Schoening and reintroduced me to my muse. He was mysterious and sweet and lovely and frustrating and funny and delightful and scary smart about many things. He dropped in and out so fast that he might never have happened except that I remember him whenever I see the moon.

Happy birthday, Joelique.

 

With love,