I always know when there's a full moon, even before I see it all big and round and bright in the night sky.
I feel it.
I get squinty eyes as if I'm in the midst of a sand storm.
I do a lot of sighing. Heavy sighing.
I feel extra thick so I wear black pants.
I think it's hot when everyone else seems cold.
My hair goes flat.
My family feels a certain way about me - "frightened" is one word that comes to mind.
And just about e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g bugs me.
A freezer void of Moose Tracks ice cream.
Cupboard doors left open.
Mid-morning questions about what's for dinner.
Mid-afternoon questions about what's for dinner.
Dinner-time questions about what's for dinner.
And inquiries from Better Half who gingerly wonders aloud after the clock has struck 5 p.m., "Are we eating anything at all today or are we just getting something out?"
I sigh. Heavily.
Oh that other people's food intake should be my burden - not a good idea. Certainly not very filling either.
Under full moon conditions, it's enough to make me all snarly and snotty.
I give my family the famous line my mother always gave us when we were kids complaining about being hungry - big moon or little moon.
"Well, there's cheese and there's peanut butter!" she would say with a mixture of conviction and enthusiasm as if the combination of cheddar cheese and crunchy peanut butter constituted a Julia Child recipe for fine dining.
Then I feel bad, but it's too late.
Better Half has already figured out that it's that time of the month - Mr. Big Round Moon is b-a-c-k.
Or else it's attack No. 204 of the menopause thing. The symptoms do run parallel, but a glance to the sky confirms the real culprit in this particular case.
"I need to go for a ride," I lament in what is a lame attempt to make co-habitating peace with Better Half.
"Horse or broom?" he asks.
Touche.
I'm not an easy person to live with, especially come full moon time, but those with whom I dwell under the same roof learn to adapt.
The full moon comes and goes. And the full moon feelings pass, like a kidney stone, I suppose.
When they do, things return to normal in the Kiaski household, and we savor once again the simple pleasures.
Ahhh, there's nothing like a little cheese and peanut butter by regular moonlight.
(Kiaski, a resident of Steubenville, is a staff columnist and features writer for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times and community editor for the Herald-Star. She can be contacted at jkiaski@heraldstaronline.com.)
