Werewolves bark at it. Murderers kill for it. Mad men weep at it. Bats become vampires at the height of it. Lovers make love in it. Or poison each other in it. Witches cackle past it.
Coyotes worship at it. Oceans arise with it.
Ozzy Osbourne was born under it.
And…well, actually if Ozzy was born under it that ought to be enough right there.
But just in case you’re maybe doubting all that rigamarole about the full moon, just in case you’re not quite certain that you buy in to the ancient druid tales set forth upon the night earth courtesy of your local S.W.W. chapter (Suburban Woodlot Wicca, as if you didn’t know!), just in case you still have your doubts, my friend: I cordially invite you to head over my place for a little mini-break about three days before the next “big pizza pie” hits your eye.
I’ve spent a long time wondering from afar whether I was ready to openly commit myself to the fact that madness and chaos reign in the time of the full moon. But here today, after carefully considering Mother Nature, the tiny sharp proverbial smacks she lands on my cheeks when the moon is whole, her witchy voice beseeching me through her clenched snaggle-teeth,”Wake up! Wake up you simple fool of a man! Rise up and realize what is happening all around you! Admit the moon! ADMIT THE MOON, YOU SAD MAN!
Wow. Anyway, yeah. Today is the day. I’m ready to admit it. I believe the full moon makes people batcrap bananas.
I am a dad that believes that Full Moon Fever makes my kids go nuts.
Here’s why I think this, honestly. Each time the full moon is coming, I’m too busy to notice. Like a lot of people, I get caught up in my little world and my little world doesn’t depend on much in the way of Olde Agrarian technique or any sort of sensible ancient wisdom for that matter. I’m a 21st nincompoop; the moon has barely been on my radar.
But then, about two years ago, I began to notice, in retrospect, that oftentimes when I found myself actually fascinated by the unbelievably out-of-character extreme crying and screaming and fitful jags my young daughter was suddenly exhibiting, I would then do a Google on ‘moon chart’ and guess what?
Full. As in, moon.
Once or twice would have been a coincidence. But it started to be a lot more than that. Every time a full moon came around, every single damn time I’d be outside in the Honda or walking down some street somewhere, I’d suddenly connect the dots and sure enough, I’d find myself truly and purely freaked out by the fact that my kid/kids had been way crazy the last few days.
And today is no different.
It just more of the same, really. Driving home from dinner last night, as the sun lowered itself from the sky over the farm fields of our valley, I could see the old white coin hanging out up there in the cool cobalt.
I turned up my Miles Davis CD. I clenched my teeth.
But back in the back, my daughter was choking on thick chunks of her own upset. It was a major league fit, burning up the car as if she wasn’t a little girl, but some fiery asteroid that had just zipped out of the sky and smashed into her seat.
I am sold on the full moon.
How about you?