There she floats, on a cloud, halo glowing, with cherubs at her feet.
Her disapproving eyes cast upwards toward the heavens, beseeching God to take mercy on my shriveled up raisin of a soul.
Casbah Mary.
She is my backyard-living-room Mary, who inhabits the outside “casbah” as it has come to be known — or the den of inequity, as I’m sure she would refer to it.
Shit goes down back there.
Being that it is the most used area of our house, it is where you will find copious amounts of food, wine and gossip, cigarettes, raunchy stories, raucous laughter, unending barrages of f-bombs and sex (I think there was sex, I can’t remember anymore) and did I mention waaaaay too much booze? (probably why I can’t remember).
She hears it all. She bears witness. Hands crossed over her chest, feigning an imminent heart attack, shocked at all the hedonism,
She watches it all without uttering a word. There’s a lot to be said for stoic silence.
The little naked cherubs just giggle, they’re like honey badger — they don’t give a shit.
You see, I hung her out there for a reason.
For protection and guidance — not judgement; yet my Catholic upbringing makes me want to apologize to her when it gets particularly salacious back there. I often lower my voice and wince when I curse, or throw a “sorry” in her direction when I let a “fuck” fly.
I had a friend pause once, in the middle of a juicy story, and beg me to turn Casbah Mary toward the wall, “I swear, her face” she grimaced, emptying her wineglass, “she looks disappointed in me — like my mother!”
Although she reigns supreme over the virtual Valley version of Sodom and Gomorrah, Casbah Mary has bestowed her heavenly grace on her surroundings several times: saving things from breaking, warding off criminals — even blowing around so wildly in a windstorm late one night after a party, making such a racket, that I got out of bed to investigate, only to find that we had left all of the candles burning…in a windstorm…hey, I said there was too much alcohol.
Can you say thank you and I’m sorry in the same sentence?
Thank you Casbah Mary and your creepy little naked babies — for gracing a wall of our home and protecting our family; for remaining silent in your obvious judgement of our shenanigans – and I’m sorry about all the shit we put you through from March thru October.
Carry on & Happy Sunday you guys,
xox
