the thing about being awake before the birds in this most-amazing-spring-like-february-roll-into-march is that you hear the birds start to sing. from the very beginning, the very first bird, that first tweet.
most of the time i do not sleep well. it appears that i am falling into the statistics of masses of middle-aged women – all of whom have insomnia, all of whom exhaustedly lay awake at night, all of whom ruminate and perseverate the night away, and maybe some of whom – like me – revel in the sound of first birds.
and this week? well, after a wonderful last weekend, the universe musta felt like we needed a little pounding. i know you know what i mean. sometimes weeks are like that. and sometimes…well, even the best cup of coffee in the world won’t get you out of bed.
i would be lying if i told you i didn’t cry at the string shop.
i did cry. i’m crying now.
i am a professional pianist. a composer. proudly a yamaha artist with an intensely beautiful C5 in my studio and fifteen albums plus of vulnerability out in the world. i play the guitar and the ukulele. i dabbled on the trumpet in college for five minutes or so. but, oh…the cello.
the moment i touched my cello i had a bond with it. and, holding the idea close of learning to play mournfully heart-draining melody lines, i purchased it. because artists dream, i played.
but reality is reality.
and now – with 45° of wrist forward range of motion – my cello needed a new home. it’s just a fact.
i held onto it long after i knew this. it’s hard to let go a dream. and i’ve never before sold a beloved instrument.
yet, cellos – like all instruments – need to be loved on: played, listened to, tweaked, played more. a paesold, german-made, warm and resonant in tone, it begged to come out of the corner of my studio. though i tried to ignore it, it is like ignoring the stare of an australian shepherd who clearly wants you to do something (and we have experience with this). so my cello kept staring at me and staring at me. even without entering my studio – for i have not spent much time in there in these most recent years – i could feel the stare of the cello through the wall.
until finally.
i know this cello is valuable. yet, the string shop i sold it to – for much less than its value – was full of string music and luthiers working, a performance space and a full marching line of cellos on the wall. it will not be lonely as it waits to be re-homed.
the shopowner knew how hard it was for me to sell this cello, to leave it behind, to leave at all.
i touched its maple and spruce, exquisitely varnished. i spoke to my cello. and i blew it a kiss as we left, entirely and utterly choked-up.
and i wondered how my cello-dream might morph into something else.
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i am writing this on the next day. the day after spring. it is now winter again. the seasons are getting shorter and shorter these days. i’m wondering if that is a product of age and stage, as 20 says.
mostly, it convinces us that we need to have a sense of humor. about all things. even the weather.
we sit writing this – snow outside – windows closed – heat on (though not much because i am a curmudgeon about the heat). yesterday we sat writing – birds and sunshine outside – windows open – heat off. it is off again, on again. the tease of time.
tomorrow it is march. and suddenly, i am in the month of my 65th birthday. i am in the month of medicare. i am in the month of the supplement vs the advantage plan. i am in the month of part d. i am in the month of whoa!!
and i wonder – where did the time go? wasn’t it spring yesterday? wasn’t it summer and delicious fall? how is it that i glance in the mirror and an almost-65 stares back?
it truly is the tease of time. the seasons are getting shorter and shorter. and – more and more – my investment in them is getting bigger and bigger – each individual day in each individual week in each individual month in each individual year.
the next day is all well and good. but it’s today that matters right now.
with rugged tenacity and will, the snowdrops push through the top frozen layers of soil. these are tough little plants, hardy in the snow and cold. the sap contains a type of antifreeze that prevents ice crystals from forming, even in the most inclement weather. they withstand it all.
that’s the kind of chutzpah one needs in today’s world. the ability to withstand it all. the tenacity to pierce through the untruths, the agendas, the misaligned loyalties, the unreasonableness.
as a person who leads with her heart (ask my children!) this can be a rough world. but those who know me really well also know that it’s not just my heart in the game. those who know me also know that – like a dog with a bone – i will hold on….and on….only letting go when it is time to let go. i will not go away easily – particularly if someone is wronged. i will not move on, forgetaboutit, celebrate a new start until i have pierced the opaque frozen layers shielding the truth and readied antifreeze to repel what i would anticipate to be coldhearted strategy.
i’m certain there are many of us. those who have challenged wrongdoing. those who have asked for answers. those who seek the wisdom of unprejudiced eyes. those who are compelled to ask for objectivity in circumstance. those who have pushed back. those who have suffered in pushing back. those whose blooms still open in winter’s freeze. those who are hardy and tenacious. those who withstand the elements, whatever those may be. those who do not give up.
if someone told me i was a snowdrop, i would be proud.
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for a few days – just a few, mind you – wisconsin had a tad bit of spring.
it was early as all heck, but it was pretty nice and, i must say, it made us yearn for r-e-a-l spring.
tonight – after we all get through the tornado watches and warnings – the temperature will drop fast and it will snow in the ‘morrow. que sera sera.
in the meanwhile, we watched for the truly lovely signs. the confused crocuses, the birds in the morning light, the afternoon sun on the wall of our neighbor’s garage. and, for a couple of days, we sat outside as we could, reveling in untimely weather.
we will have an attitude check tonight and tomorrow morning as we greet a day with a feels-like of about 65 degrees less than today.
but this is wisconsin. and if you decide to live here you must go with the flow.
we are writing these posts late in the day – unusual for us. i look out the window at a maybe-little-foreboding sky. we hope for the violent storms to dissipate and we prepare for winter to re-arrive.
there are no shadows on the brick wall now. it’s all becoming a little monochromatic grey out there.
and i think that – though i thoroughly enjoyed the tilt toward spring, the nod of warmth and rejuvenation – i might have rathered a normal trajectory from winter to spring…something that wouldn’t wreak havoc on people in its path, something that didn’t include tornado sirens or talk-talk of quarter-plus-size hail.
but i suppose that life is just not like that.
instead, it is all a surprise and never truly predictable. nothing to take for granted.
and i’m ready to retreat to the basement. just in case.
i guess it’s true. you don’t know what you don’t know.
the only thing certain is change and, i suppose, the most important thing about that is being able to remain an amorphous blob, malleable enough that you can bend and wriggle and twist and turn and do somersaults and cartwheels in all paths heading forward.
because there will always be a curve ahead. because nothing is guaranteed. because life is kind of like some sort of mash-up cross between the cupid shuffle, the disco hustle, the electric slide…no dull straight lines. you can’t return to before, so you might as well allow lift in your wings to carry you on, to embrace the turns. because we are constantly reminded: “welcome to the present moment. here. now. the only moment there ever is.”(eckhart tolle)
and because – well, yes – you really don’t know what you don’t know.
so in this moment, i will clap my hands, put on my sunglasses, have another sip of my coffee and face forward, flap my wings, and get ready to cartwheel.
as i write this – this very minute – i am …yes… sooo excited!! when your beloved adult children live far away, even a mere moment of a visit is cause for celebration! and so, we’re celebrating!
the lists kept me awake the last few nights. everything i wanted to get done before she arrives, before they arrive. most of it will go unnoticed, i know. and most of it is probably unnecessary. but for me, it’s all important. and pretty impossible. there is no way i will get it all done beforehand. but i will give it my best momma-try.
because there is nothing more profound than seeing your child when you haven’t seen them in a while, nothing more comforting than hugging your child when it’s been a longwhile since you have hugged them, nothing more sustaining than gazing at them – in real life – and memorizing it all until the next time. ❤️
though i know it won’t really matter to either of them, i’ll hang a pair of tiny overalls and a pair of tiny first-walking-shoes on a peg in each of their rooms.
i was deep in memories going through and washing all of their infant and toddler clothing. touching each and every piece, i kept thinking, “surely he/she would want me to save this!!”. i seriously pondered making them quilts out of their childhood clothing, sure that they would treasure these. until i realized something.
it’s me who remembers these tiny clothes. it’s me who remembers my little girl – tucked into her bear chair – a stack of books next to her, absorbed. it’s me who remembers my little boy – kneeling on the road rug with buildings and streets and stop signs, matchbox cars lined up or zooming with his little hand. they were tiny toddlers with no real thought about memorizing forever and ever what they had on. i’m the one who remembers what they were wearing. i’m the one who remembers the onesies, the sleepers and the footie pajamas. i’m the one who remembers the tiny jeans and turtlenecks. i’m the one who remembers the polly flinders smocked dresses and sweet rompers. i’m the one who remembers the oshkosh overalls.
so i’ll hang the oshkosh b’goshes upstairs anyway. and i’ve decided to hold out just a few items from the big ikea bags that we will deliver to the mission in chicago. and i’ll cut yoyos out of these and make a small yoyo hanging that i can place on a hook in our bedroom. that way, anytime i want to get lost in the memories of my amazing adult children as babies and toddlers, i can touch a little fabric that will bring me back.
they seem ready to burst. seeds perched on the starting line, waiting for the right wind to pick them up and scatter them. they have gathered energy – all along – soaking in the winter sun, dried by cold breezes, clinging to the safety of their stalky stem. and now – it’s time soon – to release – to go forth – to spread their fluffy seeds. and, in their own way, they will be heard.
this is not unlike many initiatives. times where people work tirelessly, gather information, research and sort in the fallow times, soak in rare moments of rest, waiting for the time to burst. and then, the marketing campaign hits the market, the album is released, the gallery opens its doors, the ballet has an opening, the law is introduced for passage and enactment, the hearing starts.
so many seeds gathered in one giant fluffball, waiting. though uncertain about their future – uncertain about whether they have stoked enough energy, soaked up enough sun, gathered enough wind in their seed-wings – uncertain about success or failure – they wait. ready to burst.
“hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. you wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.” (anne lamott)
spoon cake. yikes. we were prowling around the bakery department, yearning for just the tiniest little something sweet. we rarely eat dessert and rarely have much in the way of sugary treats. but this one particular day – sheesh! – we neeeeded something.
only this was not it.
just looking at this “spoon cake” made my tummy hurt. i hadn’t heard of spoon cake before so we googled it. yup. an overdose of sugar. and these colors! they are not naturally occurring in nature and this one looks a lot like the flag of gabon, a developing country along the atlantic coast of central africa.
we moved on.
and, to be honest, nothing looked like it would be satisfying.
we ended up with plain donut holes. but – as it turns out – they were not all-that either. plus they are not gluten-free and they have more sugar in them than you think.
i know that there will be another day. another day that the need-something-sweet will be poking at us. another day we will stare into our pantry looking for something “good”. another day we will ponder driving out to seek our just reward for using up so much brainpower, a sugary something or other.
but we have learned our lesson.
in the future, we will stick with a halo or some berries.
buymeacoffee is a website where you may help support the continuing creating of artists you love (even when the creating is not-so-brilliant like today.) xoxo
reverse threading 