Friday, August 30, 2013

Bheannaigh Bealtaine! With Old People In Urban America

Bheannaigh Bealtaine! With Old People In Urban America

May 1, 2013 at 7:07pm
Beltane, the Rite of Early Summer, originates in Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man. First day of summer for a pastoral people. Time to take the herds out to summer pasture, celebrate fertility, dance, drink may wine, all that marked around the first of May. The herd beasts are driven between two fires before summer pasturing. Makes  sense, a good smoking/scorching would kill a lot of skin parasites. When the work is done the party begins with drinking and dancing. Soon couples wander off into the shadows to honor the Goddess.

America, May 1, 2013. ManToy comes home all proud to tell me he has researched 'my holiday.' He wiggles his grey shot eyebrows at me. I lift and wrinkle mine at him. Research of Beltane? Ok, this is the first time he has put any effort into understanding my paganism. I make an effort to smooth my brow.

Here in my town we are still under a no burn order unless contained in a pit, so ManToy proposes we light both barbecues. There is plenty of charcoal. We have no cattle, but the dogs will do. The dark cloudy sky opens with a torrent. Ok, scratch the smoking of the dogs.

We crack a couple craft beers and watch the rain.

He says he will be happy to put up the beach umbrellas so we don't get wet with the outdoor sex. I look at the sky. I look at the muddy puddles. Wet is the least of my concern. I tell him rain isn't the issue, we are old, both have bad backs and arthritis. That ground may be wet and squishy some places, but it's also hard and rooty in others. And there is always that missed dog shit. He gathers his sexiest, grins the face that always got his way with women, with me, and with my glasses off he could pass for 45.

Standing up. He wiggles his eyebrows again.

Standing up. Naked. Outside. Under beach umbrellas. Old people. I get the giggles. Too bad we don't have surveillance cameras, we could be viral internet stars.

He is miffed.

Ok, honey, you take a viagra, I'll get my bottle of lube. Maybe the rain will stop and we can smoke the dogs, then outdoor sex in the mud standing up under beach umbrellas with our wrinkles flapping in the relatively high wind. It's just too much and my giggles morph into guffaws.

Hahahahha bring the ball gag, you are loud under the best of circumstances. HAHAHHAHA it's not me, it's you who is the screamer, and the neighbors already know what you like and exactly how you like it. Screaming laughing tears, do you really want to explain this to the paramedics?

Being crone has it's advantages, but I do miss the mother days of righteous Beltane celebrations with my warrior. Who knows, maybe the rain will quit and this fine porter will inspire us after the sun sets.

Blessed be the land and the tribe and the Goddess.

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