“It is more civilized to make fun of life than to bewail it.” —Seneca

Greetings Dear Ones!

The windows are still dark when I am awoken by a small stirring, a shifting on top of the covers by my feet. Something the size of a football comes paddling up the bed and sticks a cold nose on my cheek. I open one eye and then close it. A harsh scratch follows some persistent nudging. I open the eye again and glance at the clock. It’s well before 5 a.m. “Are you kidding me?” I snarl in the direction of the small furry face that is only barely darker than the room gloom surrounding it. As soon as I make eye contact, he begins to wiggle all over. I reach out to grab him so I can stuff him under the covers and snuff his ambition but he is too fast for me and flings himself off the end of the bed and starts his celebration dance. “Hooray! You survived the night! A new day has begun! Let’s go outside and find stuff to pee on!” he dances, wiggling his bum like a bee trying to show other members of the hive the way to more flowers. He alternately hops, then perches like a prairie dog to see if I am up yet. I have not moved. His urgency increases. One end of him wants to get filled, the other emptied. He scowls. I do not emerge. He barks. My covers are soft and warm; who cares about the fate of the carpets? His hopes capsize as I submerge into slumber again.

The next thing I know, he is sitting on my chest, fixing me with bright, beady eyes. Someone is with him. He’s brought a friend. A shadowy man in a toga stands next to the bed, gazing down at me with eyes that are not there.

“Get up!” the shadow commands. “Your bonus has arrived.”

“Seneca?” I ask. “What are you doing here?”

“Get up!” he says again. “Death has cancelled his appointment with you.”

“Death? Appointment?” I sit bolt upright. I had not realized Death was one of my customers. I hadn’t seen his name on my schedule. I flop back on my pillow. That damn schedule—people make appointments via the website but if I don’t go through all the confirmation emails and manually transfer them to the Google calendar, well… things slip through the cracks. I try to get them all but they are like lambs trying to slip past the gate while I’m not looking. It has happened twice in the last month—once to a groom needing his suit trousers hemmed at the last minute, and once to a bridesmaid who accidentally scheduled three different appointments and did not know how to cancel the two she did not want. Inevitably, I was not there for the one she actually wanted.

“What does Death need?” I ask Seneca. “Cloak patches? New leggings? His biker jacket lined with tie-dye? Whatever it is, just tell him to make a new appointment through the website. I cannot cope with phone calls. I forget what people tell me as soon as we hang up. Use the website.”

“Death is the worst customer,” says Seneca solemnly. “He comes without appointments.”

“It figures,” I mutter. Death is like a few people I know, who think they can just stop by unannounced. They have no idea how disconcerting this is.

Seneca continues on, in his native ancient Greek, which I cannot understand. Prudence translates. She thinks memorizing a semester’s list of Latin prefaces makes her a master of the Classics.

“Your arse,” she says, “Get it out of bed and be grateful you are not dead.”

“Your Bonus has arrived,” says Seneca again, ignoring Prudence and switching back to English.

“Bonus??” I sit up again. THIS interests me. I would LOVE a bonus! Did someone leave a tip? Or better yet, a great review? Did my tax refund arrive? Did I earn enough points for five bucks worth of store credit at the local feed store?

“This DAY,” says Seneca. “This whole blessed day--It is your Bonus.”

“What??? This day? Really?” I thought I was going to have this day anyway. If this day was credit, I’ve spent it already. I have a full rack of work to do, customers to placate, chores waiting, animals to feed, oxen to train, pants to hem, bridesmaids to slip-cover in organdy, fences to build, animals to tend, gardens to weed, keys to lose and find again, lawn to mow—each and every noun a stone in disguise and each and every verb a lash… None of this feels like a bonus. The time is already gone—frittered away on yesterday’s debts for yesterday’s crusts. I might as well pour myself a nightcap and stay where I am, lodged between the sheets of Comfort and Denial.

“Today IS a Bonus,” says Seneca stridently. “You were NOT promised this day. You have no such contract. Regardless of your so-called promises and obligations, you still get to choose your actions today. So Celebrate! Make of it your own Festival.”

A festival? A festival sure sounds like way more fun than the day that Yester-Nancy had planned for us. Yes! Let’s have a festival. A Frolic of Absurdity! Bring it.

“Whom will you love Today?” Seneca wants to know.

I lie there, thinking of all those I want to show love today.

“HEY!!!”yaps the little dog, “Love ME!!! Love ME!!! Take me to the dog food and let the FEASTING begin!”

I carry him carefully down the stairs and out to the patch of wildflowers he has been watering daily. We race each other back to the kitchen and dance and do the Morning Howl while I prepare his food and heart medicine. Thanks to his medicine and good veterinary care, he has this bonus day too. I am suddenly Grateful to have any day with this dear little buddy at my feet.

I think of the others I wish could share this day. I sip my tea and pretend I have endless blessings rising like the steam from the cup of lemon balm and peppermint. Mentally, I lob them like light balls at all my kith, kin, creatures, customers—and YOU, dear soul. Yes, YOU. I wasn’t even going to write this blog today (before it became a festival) but I thought of YOU and how much more fun it would be to write and tell you about the Festival I am having, instead of a regular day. Tedium is Cancelled. I hope you can join the festival, wherever you are.

“What prisoners will you release?” Seneca asks. “It is customary to release a prisoner or two during festivals.”

“Well, I cannot release the chickens. The coyote is waiting. I heard her howling in the night. Not the bulls either—that is generally not a good idea. Those two will ramble around, knocking things over and generally making a mess. They got loose in the barn a few weeks ago and it took two days to put things right again. They broke the gate to the sheep pen and set all of them free as well. It’s a good thing the grain room was locked or they all would have died of the glee of overeating.”

“We can’t have that,” admits Seneca. “Feasting has to be kept at healthy levels. There are no vomitoriums for ruminants.”

“I will set the lambs free,” I concede, “but only for a moment so that they can run up the hill to the pasture where they will be safe within fences.”

“Good Fences are important,” says Robert Frost, who pops in unexpectedly, “especially if you want good neighbors.”

“Thanks, Bob. Good to keep in mind,” says Seneca before turning back to me. “What are YOU setting free today? Besides sheep for a few minutes? That doesn’t count. What criminals lurk within your jails—behind the bars of tyranny and regret? Who are the Unforgiven? Could one of them be your own mostly innocent self?”

“I’m not doing that,” I say flatly. “I do not wish to wander through the jail during a festival. That does not sound at all fun.”

“Who said it all had to be fun?” he wants to know. “It must be JUST. It must be Fair. This takes courage and strength of spirit. Trust me, it enhances the celebration to see Justice done and the prisoner freed.”

“I take no prisoners,” I lie.

He waits.

“Ok, maybe I take a few…”

Chin lifted, eyes on the horizon, he keeps waiting. I crumble.

“Ok…fine. I’ll set a one free…”

I get out a pen and paper and make a list of grudges, grumbles, gritches and culprits I wish to set loose for the Festival. Seneca is right. This is feeling Great. I go giddy and decide to set every last one of them free. I go to their hiding places where they languish and skulk and I root them out with the point of my pen. “Go Away,” I command them. “I declare our debts paid. I will house you no more.” I put on some music and put the list in the woodstove and light it. The smoke of regrets is carried away with the lemony steam of Blessings.

“Now you are ready to claim your Bonus!” announces Seneca. “What will you celebrate today?”

I celebrate the song of the birds as dawn comes, as the fog rises, as the sun burns through the clouds and coats the freshly-sprouted sunflower seedlings. Everywhere I look, there is singing—in the melodies of scented herbs blooming in their pots, in the grayish green baby blueberries, the tomato seedlings scaling the wall of the compost bin, the deep, shaggy tangle of green that crawls all over the land, the land itself, tumbling like laughter and rocks down the hill to the secret meadow…

I celebrate the feel of hugging a lamb I’ve caught trying to escape the gate—how his belly feels like a water balloon covered in wool, how his burp smells of milk and clover, how he feels too fat to have any bones at all, as I toss him back in with his rock-hopping colleagues. They leap and play, bounce and frolic. Today is their Bonus Day too. They know it.

I celebrate the smell of steer breath and the feel of my cheek on his shoulder as he eats his breakfast. I see the liquid emotion in his eyes, hear the forlorn ‘moo’ with my heart, as I part from him. I have a friend who has recently lost a pig. Our whole group holds her gently in her grief. We understand. There are inter-species bonds and losses that some folks cannot comprehend. I celebrate the blissful Ache that comes from loving deep and wordlessly. Every day with these creatures is a Bonus.

I celebrate my own Yearning—that we cannot have what we want all the time. It is in the reaching for the toy she cannot grasp that the baby learns to move, choose direction, stretch and develop new skills. It is Wanting that creates Mending and Creativity itself.

I wasn’t going to write this blog this week. I thought I was too tired, too busy, too depressed. But then I got this lovely BONUS!! Wahoo! I’m choosing to sing and dance and feast and sew and do things for those I love simply for the sheer joy of it, because I am so LUCKY I got this bonus! It looks like my regular day but, secretly, it’s a FESTIVAL!!! Yay! What are you going to do with yours?

With SEW much love,

Yours aye,

Nancy