Nicholas Sparks and the Strawberry Moon

It's been cloudy at night lately. I had no idea that a full moon was percolating up in the heavens.

Full moons affect me.

What, you don't believe in that?

If the phases of the moon can affect the tides of the ocean, it makes perfect sense that they would affect the human body which is comprised of, roughly, 80% water.

Why do many hospitals not schedule certain elective surgeries during a full moon? It is said that it affects the bleeding. Or, just ask a nurse about the ER during a full moon. It brings out the crazies.

I learned that last one on "Grey's Anatomy."

Last night was the "Strawberry Moon." Named by native Americans for the relatively short growing season of the strawberry plant, it was as full as a pancake and glowing like a light bulb. I'd wondered why I'd been moody all day.

Before going to bed, I decided to watch a Nicholas Sparks movie. 

Nicholas Sparks is the king of blatant and purposefully heart-wrenching prose and situation. His world is one in which love is always lost or convoluted, people drop dead willy nilly and countless glances of frustrated longing are moistly exchanged between starcrossed lovers.

While an easy crier, I have always been immune to Nicholas Sparks. He has always made me kind of nauseous.

After all, the man has written passages like this: "When I sleep, I dream of you and when I wake, I long to hold you in my arms. If anything, our time apart, has only made me more certain that I want to spend my nights by your side and my days with your heart."

That is the kind of thing my left ass cheek would say to the right if it could speak. It should not be earning  millions and milions of dollars for anyone. 

And, of course, I'm deeply jealous of his success.

Regardless, he just has never been able to make me cry. If subjected to a movie adapted from a Sparks novel, I have waited patiently for the lovers to either die, become hopelessly senile or sacrifice true love for the good of another, with a dry eye while those around me go mad.

Until last night.

It seems that the power of the full moon and Nicholas Sparks is a potent one.

The movie was "Dear John." It tells the story of a soldier and his true love and the roller coaster spins and drops of their lives after the fateful day they meet on a beach. Parted by war, they are ultimately reunited after a series of circumstances that would have made Josef Stalin need a Kleenex. Or kill again. It's a crapshoot with him.

I started sobbing from the very first goddam scene.

I cried off and on during the entire movie with only two breaks--utilizing one to search for pretzels and the other, to lure Buzzy back to my lap. My sobs had sent him to the other chair from which he eyed me in surprise. He's not -- typically -- moved by Nicholas Sparks either but does get extremely emotional during "Milo and Otis."

I awoke this morning looking like Rocky after Apollo Creed got through with him and will have to apply a bag of frozen peas to my eyes before I can face the world. 

It was worth it. There's nothing like a good cry.