in praise of new friendships (and Mother's Day)

Yesterday was Mother's Day, and of all the Hallmark-y, over-contrived, ill-conceived, consumption-based, hypen-ated holidays we have in this country, I gotta say this one is the most interesting.

My reasoning has nothing to do with familial sentimentality, but rather the fact that in a society (like ours) that denigrates and objectifies and commodifies and marginalizes the feminine, it's nice to have at least one day each year when there is some recognition – no matter how superficial – that mothers are the source of all life on this planet.

Of course, as Kali will attest, the Mother is also the source of all dissolution:

Mahakali and her beautiful garland

But this is beside the point.

The point is that I spent most of yesterday at my yin-in-law's home. Besides being one of my all-time favorite mothers, she also happens to have some of the most eclectic friends of anyone I know. Getting to know them has led to all sorts of perplexing dreams, brushes with celebrity, and oceanic mischief, but yesterday – which was confined entirely to her living room and the back yard – had to be one of the most rewarding encounters yet.

the room, but not the day, in question

There were conversations of Colombia and magical realism, Marquez and kaka, and a photographer told me of the smell-bound memories that lay lazily above the equator. He and I shared arts for hours, talking about all manners of madness: los indios y los costeños, Kerouac and Camus, nostalgia and amnesia. A poem floated in the air between us, I inhaled to taste its aroma.

a cover that never existed

Somewhere in the kitchen, a model did reiki on a rack of lamb, and I heard the cries of Little Bo Peep's as her sheep's heart moved from beating to bleating to bleeding in the blink of the eye. The model told me she was setting free their souls, but to me it still smelled like someone else's dinner.

Perhaps I underestimated la magia de la bruja...

There was conversation and libation, pancakes and avocado, and eventually a second crew arrived, different from the first. The smell of lamb mingled with Flatbush Avenue, and within minutes a lapsed Jew from Brooklyn managed to reference Nazis, la cocaína, African-Americans and watermelon in a single bound.

a book I've never read

I looked at my yin and told her, "It's time for us to go."