The Cyclamen returns to its spot by the window after I drag the Christmas tree to the curb. The zoo will use the tree as a toy for the Siberian tiger. Once a herd of exotic deer was kept nearby which interested the tiger. Proximity, the zookeepers said, kept the tiger on alert. One day, perhaps, a deer might break loose and the tiger would want to be ready for that moment when. That moment if. But instead, the zoo lost its credentials and had to give up all but one deer to another zoo. And the second tiger, too. A variety of dead evergreens spread throughout the exhibit is meant to perk the tiger up.
The obvious is not art. – Beatrice Wood
And I don’t remember the color of the blossoms until it blooms. Neither do I remember what it needs to bloom. In the, meantime two small Boston ferns are failing from their winter spot in my kitchen. I move them next to the Cyclamen, swapping eastern light for western. When they get water, it is leftovers from the stainless steel bottle I take with me whenever I leave my house. Sometimes that is not very often. And sometimes it is too much.
And yesterday was a day to leave the house: Nebraska was playing at the theater on the other side of town. The movie was partially filmed here, so tickets have been selling out. What the movie is sharing cannot be spelled out, and some of the Montana audience become restless once the scenes from our hometown are replaced by Nebraska landscapes. The lady wearing trendy green glassses next to me quietly places her bag of popcorn on the floor, gathers her handbag and leaves once the film arrives in Hawthorne, Nebraska. A couple two rows down mocks with hand gestures: Speed up, speed up: When is something going to happen? Some of us stay through the last credits. One man brought his own seat cushion, another a light blue stadium blanket. Many are carrying the new 2014 annual popcorn bucket. Buy it now for $21 and refill it throughout the year for only $3.75.
No one leaves their buckets behind, but drink cups and candy wrappers litter the aisles.
The way life mimics art, or is it: art mimics life?
I drive home along the very route featured in the film. Railroad tracks, coal trains, tire store, bus station. South-side houses. Up and over the sandstone rims.
Waiting in my mailbox is the DVD, Twenty Feet from Stardom. A film a cousin wanted me to watch. What makes a star and what compels others to remain back-up singers? I am movied-out and yet I am not. I empty the remains of my water bottle on the ferns and the Cyclamen (and this is when I notice nine pink Cyclamen blossoms), and slip into movie mode. Darlene Love, Merry Clayton, Lisa Fischer, Dr. Mabel John. I fall for Lisa with her poetic hands and her spiritual grace. I fall into the music, the blend, the grace. Whatever it is they had, they have still. Despite the despair and the pain – the best people deal with it. Someone in the documentary said that. I write it down so I might still remember after the magic is gone.