tomorrow it is likely i will throw out every underwire, save one or two. i have had it. i will no longer participate in whatever torturous intention with which underwire bras were invented. done. i am convinced they are caveman mentality – with agonizing pain at its center. not one to be a prima donna about such things, i have endured – for years…no! for decades – the excruciating pain that is an underwire brassiere. i have not sought a solution until recently, when i decided i could no longer engage in the absurd wire-them-up behavior.
some chick named marie tucek invented the precursor to the underwire bra – a breast supporter that was an upgrade from a corset – good heavens! – so that we could all have “defined shape and additional support”. it’s a device. i am pondering as i write this why such a sensitive area of our bodies needs a metal device poking at it. as a woman who does not need “additional support” i am not sure that anything could provide me the “defined shape” of the idyllic american breast. for heaven’s sake, this is all insane! and so, i have finally jumped on the wirelesswagon, having asked for informant help from my sister, my nieces, my dear friend.
we shopped the other day. the older women trolling the bra department eyed david at my elbow, leering at him as if he were some sort of bra ogre, lingerie department lingerer, foundations fiend. he was stalwart, though, and stayed by my side as i sorted through hangers and sought out correct sizing. he was patient as i planted myself in the fitting room, ready for bra-war. trying on bras is trying on bathing suits to the exponential power. you out there know what i mean.
so there are wireless bras pretty much for everything…the lightly lined comfort, the no side-effects, the t-shirt, the super soft, the lift, side-smoothing, back-smoothing, non-banding, cloud-like… it is the TGI friday’s menu of bras. wayyy too many to choose from and slightly confusing. not to mention slightly terrifying. because – once you have purchased and worn this $42 miraclebreastholder, it is yours-yours-yours. and there are no take-backs, regardless of whatever bra-mistake you might have made. so this is a big decision, particularly if you are thrifty. and freedom isn’t free, as they say.
i guess my point here though, is that my new year will have at least one amazing and positive new difference. wire-free, i will walk in the world, smiling more and knowing that i will not have little black and blue marks on my body from my feminine undergarment.
and when it comes to the end of the year – already – and we gaze into the shiny brite mirror of the year that has passed, what do we see?
on either december 31 or january 1 we will take out the calendar – the one i write in with mechanical pencil – every day – a few words jotted down, a tale of the day, a meal, a quote, a visit, an appointment, some moment i wish to remember. and we will sit with it in the light of happy lights and christmas trees.
each year it is a journey – through that which we recall and that which we have forgotten. each year we find a treasure. each year we find something courageous. each year we find generosities that have sustained us. each year we find days that were hard and days that were easy. days of strength, days of weakness. we find sadnesses and unexpecteds. we find decisions and repairs. we find frogs and hawks and eagles. we find challenges of spirit and heart. we find recipes that have nourished us.
we head into the new year – just a couple days away now – reflecting, ruminating – with thoughts of what to do differently, what to change, what to let go of, what to hold onto. we wish to be better, do better, feel better. we set intentions.
and – in looking in the mirror – we are harsher than we need be. we forget some of the rest. the moments inbetween all the lines in the calendar. the ordinary. the giving. the grace. the laughter and the light. the things i didn’t jot, didn’t remember to journal, or wanted to just simply let simmer in my heart without being written down.
we wake – in a couple days – in a new year. each day a ridiculously big gift. beyond all else.
“may you recognize in your life the presence, power, and light of your soul…” (john o’donohue)
and the shiny brite spaceship gathered all the excess – from the basement, the attic, every nook and cranny – and took off at warped speed, giant contrail following it, chugging into outer space, lugging it all to the delighted beings on another planet.
in my dreams.
no…this is cleaning out that i can’t avoid. it is time.
and all the books on our planet on this topic – ie: the konmari method (ala marie kondo), claire middleton’s sentimental person’s guide to decluttering, etc etc etc – don’t reeeeally help. (however – here’s a pro tip – sitting and reading these books certainly does successfully delay actually doing it!)
the other day we sold rockband. it was a complete set and kept in pristine condition. we sat in a grocery store parking lot and waited for the guy who bought it off craig’s list to show up. because it was christmas eve i brought a giant roll of wide ribbon so that he could simply wrap the box in lots of ribbon to put under the family tree. the moment he drove away in his hatchback – stuffed with the huge box in which i had carefully wrapped all the elements and instruments of the game – i was hooked.
it’s time to clean out.
i guess the first place to start is the closet and the dresser. now, we only have one dresser – i have four drawers and d has one. our closets are small – remember, this is an old house – and it’s difficult to see everything because they are too tightly hung with clothing. looking at my clothes, i always ponder a few things: will this ever fit again? how can i give this away when i have emotional attachment to it? will i need this skirt/dress/pair of pants/blazer if i ever have a “traditional” job again? what about concert attire? and shoes…yikes. there’s a whole ‘nother issue. i haven’t bought many shoes at all in recent years – like the last ten or fifteen, but i still have shoes that i wore in 1995, so there are a few pairs in my closet, the closet in the sitting room and in a bin in the basement. the ones i wear over and over? very few. i suspect that is a theme…for most of us…for most of the things we place on our bodies and on our feet.
and so, it’s time.
it’s not like you haven’t read this here before. it is – yes – a recurring theme. i googled my own writings and was reminded this yen-to-shed-stuff has been going on for years. even in 2021 i wrote about the “lateral list” of things to do. let’s just say i’ve been gaining momentum. gearing up. stoking my ruthless.
eh. let’s just say i’ve been procrastinating. isn’t that what basements and attics are for? the indulging of procrastination. yup.
anyway, i have been bitten by the craig’slist, marketplace, ebay bug. maybe a few things can generate a grocery trip or two. otherwise, “free porch pick-up” and “donate here” sound good.
the up-north gang gathered before the holiday and sipped brandy slushies. we each talked about how we had saved bins of toddler clothes, toys, trinkets for our children, now, all grown-up. we have the corners of attics and storage rooms in basements with giant plasticware carefully storing these treasures we were certain our children would want. only they don’t. they don’t want any of it. here we are, children of great depression parents – certain we were doing the right thing, the frugal thing, and yes, yes, the sentimentally thready thing – and they, children of children of great depression parents – are far enough removed from all that heavy sense of handing-it-down/passing-it-on responsibility – that they all astoundingly tell us “no thanks”. without remorse. even flippantly. as opposed to our voices when our own parents passed bins and bins and boxes and such on to us…respectfully and gratefully accepting it all, even with no clear idea what to do with it, just trusting in the storage capacity of our basements and attics. so here we all are – with bins and bins and boxes and such – in the emotionally perilous journey of cleaning out. not for the meek at heart.
it’s time.
and so, is there anyone out there who would like vintage puffy santas or the sesame street vintage play gym or a smattering of noritake china with teapot or a collection of disney vcr tapes or an 8-track player complete with 8-track tapes? perhaps multiple tiny oshkosh overalls or polly flinders smocked toddler dresses? or some fenton hobnail milk glass pieces? or decorative plates for hanging?
the glitter is gone. but the line of glitter glue – a vestige of its shinybrite glory – is still there. the ornament is no less beautiful in its wornness.
like life. the glitter wears off, gets blown off, is scrubbed off. tiny fragile mica chips scatter and the glueline is left – an indicator of what was. there was glitter there.
there’s nothing my children like less in a wrapped present than glitter ribbon. they complain that it gets all over (which it does). for a few years i wrapped in glitter ribbon anyway – i love the juxtaposition of simple brown paper and white or silver glitter ribbon.
but then, i decided to listen to their imploring not to use the glitter ribbon on their gifts.
and it occurred to me that they already have plenty of glitter. their very lives are full of glitter – new experiences, new adventures, new friends and relationships, new challenges, new jobs, new places and homes and travels.
and so, i’m suddenly aware that the glitter ribbon is for me.
there is a snowglobe that i have previously purchased as a gift for a special friend. it is a beautiful four inch heavy glass globe on a black base. and all that is in it is the snow. no tiny scene. no trees. no holiday norman rockwell. just the snow.
i took it out of its beautiful box and wrappings to be sure it was in perfect shape after it was shipped to us. and i marveled at it. i shook it, watching the snow. glittery flitter drifted and floated. and then it was clear again. like glitter ribbon curled around brown paper – these smidges of mica. it was one of those gifts i wanted to keep. but – at the time – it was a message i wanted him to have: all things are possible. it’s a blank slate, the flitter ready to be shaken up a little.
because glitter exists.
and there is a glueline on us all. it waits for us to dance in the falling flitter – to gather tiny mica – to stick to our lively and worn bodies, all. we wield the gluesticks. we are the shaker-uppers. we are the recipients, the restorers, the sustainers. glitter is our legacy.
and today – after last night’s eve – we’ll turn on music. we’ll light all the twinkling lights and maybe have breakfast in the living room by the trees. i’ll remember our walk last night – all around the ‘hood – admiring lights and decorations and christmas trees in front windows. i’ll smile thinking of us standing in my candlelit studio singing carols together – in lieu of a church service. and then, a few luminaria on the deck in temperatures unseasonably warm for a wisconsin december.
and sometime this morning we will open all the cards that have made their way to us. in the last years we have started saving them – waiting until christmas eve or christmas day to open the greetings from far and wide. it is like a visit from each family member or friend then as we sit – in no rush – and read cards and letters. we know that time is precious these days and that it takes some of that precious time to sit and write cards, to select gifts, to craft messages and mementos. we are so happy to be thought of, to have community near and far.
the shiny brites are on our big lighted branches in the living room. they, too, are like a visit – specifically from my parents. i had a blue day last week in the midst of preparations – a little shopping, a little shipping, a little planning. because in my mind this year i’ve spent a lot of time on my growing-up long island. with all that remembering, it’s brought me back to 1960s and earlier 1970s christmases – times of unfettered bliss – of being a child and then young teenager in the middle of a family creating simple christmas magic. it made me miss my sweet momma and poppo. our holiday was never anything really fancy – it was just about being together. my mom didn’t plan activities for us nor did she prepare mountains of food ahead of time, except for krumkake and spritz cookies. dinner was always a turkey and all the trimmings for christmas day. christmas eve…well…my solidly norwegian grandparents would drive their gigantic beige and brown was-it-a-buick out from brooklyn, laden with the christmas eve fish pudding and rum cake. and yes, that meal is really as eh as it sounds. fish pudding, boiled potatoes, cauliflower and a white sauce with crabmeat – it’s a monochromatic meal that would horrify any child’s taste buds in the midst of christmas eve’s glimmer. we’d all survive it though and the very-frostinged layered rum cake was the reward. we lounged around and sipped eggnog and sang christmas carols while i played the organ or piano in the living room and my brother played the guitar. and then, as it got darker we’d go outside to walk around the neighborhood in the candlelight of luminaria, still singing. hot cocoa later and off to the 11pm service to ring in christmas. simple. nothing grandiose. most of it was predictable. but it brought a sense of comfort in its familiarity, just like the shiny brites on the trees in our living room.
these last years have had a different rhythm. sans advent and christmas directing, time has burst open. for those decades of immersion in church preparations yielded little extra time – and, for most years with the chaos of those responsibilities, brats on the grill were christmas eve fare. it was only on christmas morning that it was possible to – finally – take a deep breath. it’s a different season now.
today we will go to our son’s home in chicago. we’re excited to spend christmas with him, bringing his gifts and ever-present stocking, sharing in the making of dinner. we will sooo miss our daughter, but we shipped her gifts and will facetime with her after her travels out west. the rest of our families all also live out of state, so we won’t be posting those wide-angle holiday photos with scads of people posed in front of the tree. but we hold each of them close.
and tonight, on our way home from downtown, we’ll take the backroads, as always. we’ll go slow in appreciation of the beauty of the route, the festive lights, magic lingering in the air. the waiting is over.
and we’ll nod our heads together, agreeing that simplicity has been the real gift.
it is impossible to not feel it. it swirls around us. it stirs us.
this season. a season of light and hope and generosity, a season of consideration and thoughtfulness and compassion, a season of simplicity and complexity, a season of love and grace and possibility. a season of deep gratitude.
we sit still – eyes closed – and take it in.
wishing you these gifts now. wishing you these gifts every day.
foresty forest is our new nighttime-video obsession. from the vantage point of our pillows, under a cozy comforter and handmade quilt, with dogga at our feet, the window cracked – all seasons – we watch the youtube life of foresty.
foresty lives in a van that – with a toolbag of skills – he built out into his home. he hails from canada – his accent giving that away – even if his pride in the immense beauty of his native country didn’t. rocko, his jack russell terrier, is his constant and truly incredibly intrepid companion. well, rocko and his ninja aircooker (ever since his treasured crockpot died). foresty’s travels take him high into mountainous areas – both in canada and the states – and he keeps a log of the summits he (and rocko) have successfully completed. he is totally someone you could invite over for dinner – with a sense of humor and a world of stories accompanying him. he has an immense and supportive patreon community and it’s no wonder why. he has simplified his life, focused his intentions, and he brings home everywhere he goes.
one thing – among many things – i have learned from my children is the ability to make home. both of them have moved more times in the last decade than i have moved in my entire life. and yet, each time, they have made it home – any dorm, apartment, condo, house, shared space – roomy, tiny and tinier, all. they have found community and forged friendships; they have created routines and sought out those activities which are important to them. they have created home. in any tree hollow.
“don’t limit yourself to living in your shell. the possibilities are endless.” (a post by susan – with a photograph of snails)
no limits. out of shell. flexibility of spirit. transformation.
dark into light. reflection. the sun rests, stands still. it is the solstice. and then…
in the middle of the hustle and bustle and festivity going on around us, i stand still in the living room. i’m gazing at the shiny brites i grew up with. i turn and see the note that my daughter and son wrote to santa. i turn and see branches from the front yard, from long island, from colorado. i turn and see the pinecones we collected while hiking on our trail a few weeks ago. i turn and see wrapped presents on the table, ready to be shipped or delivered. a timeline of life – the dots pinpointing moments.
we are home at this beloved old house. we are fortunate.
and it is winter solstice. a turning point.
and i know – that sometime out there – the snailshell that has wrapped itself around me will break open. and i will crawl out, stunned by the rays of light and grateful that i can grasp onto their filaments of fiery energy. whatever was dormant will rise with the sun. whatever was painful will ease. whatever was without conclusion will have justice. whatever was dark will be light. whatever is possible will be possible.
and – wherever i go – i will take home with me. i will be home. in any tree hollow.
mid-december. we are hiking. our favorite local trail that we know so well. carols are playing in my head as i sort through the christmas tasks yet to do, a little shopping left to finish. we round the bend and there – stretching in long shadows from a low sun across amazingly-green-green grass – is a music staff of lines.
if there is any season that is closely associated with music, it is this. the shadow-staff pushes my focus into memories as we walk.
i am deep into advent preparations back there in the recesses of thought. it’s been a bit since i have allowed myself to really think about it. in my last position as a minister of music i brought three decades of experience, the wisdom absorbed from many congregations, intuition gleaned as a stage artist and performer, and a heart full of dedication to the community. though it may not seem apparent to a churchgoer (or any religious institution attendee) the research and time that a music director will undertake for the music in that venue is immense. when it is well done, there is more to it than assigning a few songs to a few slots in a service.
the other day we had old-fashioneds with our dear friends. we stood at their kitchen counter and jen brought out a new recipe along with a very nice bottle of bourbon and deluxe cherries and an orange, complete with pre-cut curly peels for the side of the glasses and swizzle sticks. it was lovely – an experience in itself – we celebrated our time together in this season. as we each took sips following her cocktail-making, she looked up and said, “wow. this is really bourbon-forward!”. it was too much, too strong, too bourbon-ego, too solo. yowza! to continue to sip on a bourbon-forward old-fashioned can leave you cold to old-fashioneds in the future; it may even kill your yen for an old-fashioned. it will definitely undermine your bartending je ne sais quoi and the bar you are serving may suffer from your mixology. we all laughed and added some squirt to tone it down, swizzle-sticking to perfection. and suddenly – with jen’s good instincts – an exquisite old-fashioned, all ingredients integrated!
this morning we listened to the song that i am attaching to this post. it’s called “you’re here” and i wrote it while i was rehearsing the choir for the christmas cantata i arranged in 2019. it was recorded on an iphone sans proper mics with an out-of-tune church piano, so it’s pretty raw tape (so to speak). the thing it reminded me was of my approach as a minister of music.
for me, any notes on a music staff in a church need be about resonance. how might i help the people there connect with their faith, that which cannot be seen, that which is fragile and strong, that which elicits love and joy and many questions, and that which tethers us to each other in the community? any worthy minister of music knows that is fluid and knows that each year in their work will bring more answers. this is not something you start out knowing. it is a practice and one must be humble enough to be learning from those around you, honing as you go. one must bring one’s game – professionalism, collaboration and service-oriented, stellar learned gut on-the-fly flexibility, tenderness and sensitivity in delivery, the innate ability to shape a worship service and its emotional journey, the buoying of others, joy-joy-joy of creating music and emotion together, the integration of every musical gift you have been given. and love. it’s what you put forward.
because i had never experienced it – ever- before – in any position i held, there are days i still wonder about being fired – particularly in the middle of a global pandemic – particularly after eight years tenure there. wondering, even now – three years later. especially at christmastime. because in every way i knew how – in the music programming of any church in which i was involved or employed – i was the squirt in the old-fashioned.
oh well. in the words of john o’donohue, “upheavals in life are often times when the soul has become too smothered; it needs to push through the layers of surface under which it is buried….it reminds us that we are children of the eternal and our time on earth is meant to be a pilgrimage of growth and creativity.”
i get these specific emails – practically every day. they are from some church-administrative-oriented website. the latest emails address church staff and salaries. oh my! what a can of worms that is. though i don’t usually open them, i was forced to one day – the devil made me do it. the email was called “why fair compensation matters” and the first lines in the email read, “we believe when those employed to service in the church are paid adequately and fairly, they’re free to focus on their ministry work. the result? freedom from financial burdens and a flourishing ministry.” flourishing. it makes me think of green grass on the trail – even in december – despite all odds.
yes. yes. just as in choice of bourbon – or, for that matter, bartenders – you will get what you pay for, what you value. remember – you are about your customers and their experience – the community in your seats and on your barstools. skimp at the bar and the reputation for your old-fashioneds will get you in the end. likewise, the thing you don’t want in your place of worship? the bourbon-forward director. it’s too much, too strong, too bourbon-ego, too solo. not enough squirt.
it is truly about what you put forward – in your life, in your work, in love – and how you smush it all around, integrating it, with a swizzle stick.
merry advent from my place off the bench, sans baton.
we had long front yards in our growing-up neighborhood. it was noisy with the sound of children’s voices playing outside, especially around dusk. red-light-green-light, red rover, spud, mother-may-i….all those vintage outdoor games! it’s many-many seasons ago but somehow i can still feel the rush of those games.
i lived next door to a family of athletes. there were eight children and every one of them had amazing gymnastic or athletic ability. me? not so much. so any game or competition that involved athleticism – kickball, kick the can, climbing trees, running – i was never the surefire winner, but that never really mattered. it was simply all about the play.
so, the thing about red-light-green-light is that you have to know when to move and when to stop. the person who is “it” turns around, facing the other direction. the rest of the players line up horizontally. as “it” recites “red-light-green-light-one-two-three” everyone who is not “it” starts to run forward, always aware that you must stop suddenly at the end and you must be absolutely still – no matter your stance. as soon as “it” finishes the word “three” they turn back and if they catch anyone moving at all, that person is out. the first person to get to “it” safely is the winner. ”it” can vary the speed at which they recite the words – going in slow motion or super-fast like the fedex guy on the commercials. you just have to be aware of when to gooo and when to stop.
sounds like life. you have to be aware of when to gooo and when to stop. the trick is being able to discern the thin thread between too soon and too late. on both ends.
in the way of synchronicity, sometimes these are obvious. in the best of times, things just sort of drop in and line up. in the most – well – challenging of times, it all feels like a battle. you are forcing things to start and then you are reluctant to stop, reticent to give it up. and there’s no one standing in front of you reciting red-light-green-light so you’re on your own.
but there are those moments in life – those moments of intuition – when you just know. things seem to align and you know it’s time to move. it has arrived – whatever it is that you have waited for, thought would never happen, couldn’t imagine in a million years, have attempted to conjure up to no avail. suddenly, you know that it’s time to run forward – fullsteamahead – full tilt.
no matter what it is – any initiative you are undertaking, any practice you are trying to make habit, any new learning, any unraveling, any new exploration – of any sort – you give it the best you can.
i guess going is kind of more important than stopping. i mean, who has time for stopping?
because just like when you were a child and red-light-green-light was a rush of adrenaline, so it is now.
reverse threading 