“if you remain generous, time will come good; and you will find your feet again on fresh pastures of promise, where the air will be kind and blushed with beginning.” (john o’donohue – to bless the space between us)
the licorice plant, in a pot on top of the little chest on the deck, was clearly stressed. actually, beyond stressed. something had invaded it; webs were forming inbetween its branches and most of the leaves were turning yellow.
after having no luck combating this invader and worrying that whatever it was would spread to the herbs and vegetables we had planted right nearby, we made the decision to empty the pot and put the licorice plant into the sort-of compost pile next to the garage. we felt bad but thought it was best for the rest – eliminate that which is harmful, minimize the potential of further harm. we decided to go back to milaegers at some point and purchase another licorice plant. we just love the muted, soft shade of green of this plant with its somewhat wild, trailing branches.
when we brought home the new licorice plant, we ended up bringing it inside – placing it on an old stool in front of the living room window, enjoying it inside this time. in its place on top of the chest outside is now a new mint plant, which seems to love the spot in the limelight.
the other day, d was bringing a handful of weeds over to the “compost pile” and spotted our licorice plant. there it was, glory restored, its branches clear of webs, all silvery green leafing, its root ball firm and seemingly undamaged. without a word, he replanted it into a bigger pot and placed it on our babycat chair next to the driveway. the next time we went out to go for a walk, he drew it to my attention.
i was shocked to see this stunning licorice plant – revitalized. it seemed perfect in our now-outdoor wicker, next to the old fence that sports a beautiful green vine wall every summer. a new beginning for this plant – nourished, i guess, by the tumble of compost, the rain and fresh air, the shedding of a pot that might have been too small for its roots.
to say we are thrilled at the rejuvenation of our licorice is an understatement. every single time we are out back or we pass by it is a reminder of the chance of a second chance.
and in these times – so fraught – when we get lost: in the travails of discord in daily life and relationships, in the failure of making headway in our work, in any ability to let go of wounds – when we wonder if we dare hope for a new start – when we fight to give voice: to move from stagnation or a past that needs air, that needs releasing – when we recognize and eliminate that which harms us – when we work to actually create that new start – in these times, we need that reminder.
time will come goodand you will find your feet again…where the air will be kind and blushed with beginning.
after my album as sure as the sun was released, the song slow dance was promoted to adult contemporary radio. listeners seemed to really like the song and it did fairly well on radio – eventually charting at #13 on the secondary market. i traveled to a lot of cities to be featured on radio shows – it was the early 2000s – and radio was still where it was at.
a very big radio personality in new york city – the program director of a big fm station there – invited me to dinner after our meeting. i met him – carrying the backpack full of music and clothes i needed for those recording/radio days in the city.
the bistro was veritas and it was way above my pay scale. the wine list was 3000 selections long – a full binder of choices with a wine cellar that had about 75,000 bottles of wine. it had earned a michelin star and three stars from the ny times. it was late 2002 and i sat down at what-i-remember-as a stainless steel bar, out of my league.
that evening the chef had a special offering – french truffles, just flown in – and my host – who was apparently a regular – ordered for both of us. i had never had a meal with courses that had their own wine offering before; it is not likely i will have such a lavish meal again. when the bill came – and its total announced itself off the check – i couldn’t help but think how many hungry people that amount of money might have fed right in that very city.
but the truth of it was that this was the core of things, how things worked, how things work.
and though i believe that people nationwide did indeed like my song, the inordinately steep price tag of radio promotion – for which i – as the owner of my recording label – was paying – was merely machination for the game. and my charting song was choreographed by a group of men who enjoyed eating at michelin star restaurants – on their radio tabs – around the country.
now, this enlightenment didn’t come to me sitting on that barstool that evening, having careful conversation and eating divine foods, sipping wine. that was all part of the design – to create a tapestry of reality around me – and every independent artist – so that we might continue to over-invest further and further into a system that was, at best, rigged and not real.
it seems more than ironic to me that the place of this learning – in retrospect – was at an establishment called veritas. veritas – the latin word for truth or reality, representing honesty, moral integrity and the alignment of one’s actions and words with facts or core values.
the restaurant was – in and of itself – lovely, though i stand firm on my thoughts about how better to use that kind of money.
but that word – veritas – has been coming up for me a lot lately, sort of stuck in my head, like gestures of songs get stuck on repeat, time and again.
as i look around – in the challenges we have faced and face – it would seem imperative that truth should be the basis upon which decisions are made, that truth and integrity should actually dictate actions and words, that facts should matter, should set the stage for accountability.
it would seem that all manipulation of the facts, warping of narrative, revising of the truth – to escape culpability – should fail in the end. ahh…perhaps we must be patient.
i sat on the barstool at that high-brow bistro – trusting a process that was not to be trusted, wined and dined, my very cautiously spent independently-owned-label’s marketing and promoting budget exploited by a system. i was one of the little people, taken advantage of.
and just as we look around in our current country and its circumstances, just as i – or you – deal with other personal matters of trauma – we can see the grooming systems – the skewed-to-one-side systems – out there – not to be trusted.
all too often, these words speak the truth: it happened. it was wrong. it matters.
and then what?
from my place off the barstool i’d add this: vincit omnia veritas – truth conquers all things.
the clouds parted for a tiny bit of sun, the tiniest bit.
it seemed well-deserved after a week punctuated with heavy. it seemed well-deserved after the torrential rains that were the bookends of the last six days.
and there, in the middle of grey skies and uncertainty, was the smidgiest smidge of blue – a bit of an inhale, a few moments to catch our breath, to recover – before setting off to continue on the route.
there. there was the chance to stoke up, to firmly plant our feet, to focus our attention on what we need, to rest – before we look onward, before we discern what is ahead, before we take another step.
sometimes it feels as if you are at a starting gate, a jumping-off point, the very membrane between what is now and what is next.
sometimes it feels as if everything is hinging on that moment, that all you have been, all you have done, all the ways in which you have prepared are coming together – the confluence of it all.
sometimes it feels as if you are no longer in total control – as if you were at any time – and you are facing down something most giant, most pivotal, reaching this pinnacle from wherever you came, this place you have arrived.
sometimes – when you arrive at this place – the weight of which is enormous – you know you must take a deep breath, you must give over, you must trust all the dots that have connected you from before and through next and next and next to now, and, though you know not how it will all turn out, you must lay down every everything and somehow trust that the universe is rigged in your favor.
sometimes this place comes and the only thing to do is to get after it.
“living your life in a bubble will give you the illusion that everything is ok.”
i know this is true. i know that – even though we are not members of the fiscally-elite, the upwardly-mobile, the investment-heavy, on the supposedly-can’t-be-touched rung of the caste ladder – we still live in a bubble. because we are white. because we were born to citizens of this nation and are – clearly – citizens ourselves. because we – even in the mediocre middle-ish of middle-class where we plop our pins of existence – are privileged. we – even with the challenges we face – in terms of income, healthcare and living expenses, loans of whatever sort we all need, the ability to get and consume food and water and a safe place to live – we are fortunate.
we are aware. and we are grateful. there is not a day that goes by that we don’t look at each other and – truly – say how very lucky we are.
and, yet, in that awareness we know that everything is not ok.
the membrane of whatever bubble in which we might reside is permeable. we participate in the gleaning of information, the parsing out of truth, the speaking-up against bigotry and extremism, the knowledge that these are dangerous times. we cannot linger within a bubble that allows us to flit from one day to another sans worry.
to walk in a world where you won’t talk about what is actually happening, where you won’t discuss corruption or the decimation of our nation, where you won’t “go there” as we have heard from those unwilling to, well, go there – feels as if there is an illusion that everything is just fine, that one feels untouchable, that someone else’s pain is not yours, that empathy is no longer in vogue.
it is disturbing that in order to reclaim our country we need all talk and join together and yet there are so many who just choose to linger in their bubbles, flitting about doing “normal” life – at a time when nothing is actually “normal” or, worse yet, floating in an echo chamber of propaganda – like a pod unto itself.
the bubble wand is one of those instantly recognizable things. it immediately conjures up images of iridescent bubbles floating mid-air, powered by nearby breezes. it is a visceral memory of childhood – ours, our children’s. a happy thought.
bubbles go hand in hand with unicorns and magical sunrises, joyous icons of life.
but bubbles pop. and unicorns don’t exist. and the sun draping the sky with the colors of rising doesn’t last beyond dawn. and reality is reality.
we are all in this…this world. everything is not ok.
lest we get lost in the illusion – and are therefore surprised at the cruelty, the destruction, the demolition of things good and natural and constitutional and humane – we need to be open to the truth of it all, to not be deluded, to not place stake in a mirage or a floating effervescent air globule.
everything is not ok. can we please address this honestly?
our lakefront is really quite beautiful. the city does a remarkable job with the gardens; flowers are everywhere. the harbor and the pavilion at the park are sites for many a photo shoot – anything from proms to family reunions to weddings to quinceañeras. just a few days ago we walked past a bride and groom and their stunningly-dressed wedding party celebrating over by the beach, just beyond the ribbon-wrapped-chairs in the garden.
i imagine this sequin-lace-tulle butterfly is from either a quinceañera dress or, less likely, a prom gown. somehow it took wing and flew from the hostess’ frock, this froo-froo landing on the harbor sidewalk where we walked by it on a hot summer day. though i snapped photographs of it, we didn’t pick it up, thinking that maybe a little girl or boy might pass by and claim this magical butterfly, seemingly waiting for them. i can dream a little.
though i have a few sequins – concert performing clothes – i haven’t worn any in quite a while. these few hangers have been relegated to a side of my small closet – things that hold no current relevance. even most concerts didn’t merit sequins. not because the audience didn’t merit them, but because i am not really a sequin person and i like to perform authentically.
we just aren’t fancy-schmancy people.
20 stared at my flipflops the other day – wrinkling his brow and grimacing with a few words, “expensive flipflops, eh?” and “i don’t like flipflops”.
old navy flipflops have pretty much been our standard fare in the summer. though age and knees and hips and such have made us hike in actual hiking sandals. nevertheless nothing schmancy. i wrinkled and grimaced back at him.
i have to say, though, that i have taken a liking to fancy bandaids. because i am having some sort of toe issue – i injured my toe and the nail fell off – i know, ewwwww. i have taken to wearing a bandaid over my toe to protect it.
now, i am a toenail polish girl – mostly because i inherited these enormous toes from my parents and painting them makes me feel better about their gigunda size (and also distorts my reality by making me think that they look smaller, more dainty and feminine with merlot-colored toenail polish on them). in real life, i suppose no one is really looking at my toes – though they might now that i have drawn attention to them. regardless, a plain beige (plastic or flexible fabric) bandaid on my big toe is gauche perched next to my other toes with self-painted merlot. (some of the perils of womanhood are grander than others.)
and so, i went on the search for fancier bandaids.
funny. most printed bandaids are for children. they have tons of options. not so much for adults or – specifically – a woman trying to disguise a non-nailed toe amidst her other toes, which aren’t so cute to begin with.
i did find a box of wildflower bandaids. the distribution of sizes is a challenge. they parse out 15 tiny bandaids, 10 medium bandaids and only give you like 5 bandaids of the largest size – the size i need for my nailless toe. (of note – in case you need this information: large wildflower print does nothing to tone down a large toe. small wildflower print helps minimally.) i honed my skill at layering a plain bandaid with a fancy-schmancy one and bought a second box just in case. lord knows how long the grow-out might take. and what if i have to go to something fancy-schmancy in the meanwhile…something that requires cute sandals and a sundress or the flowy overalls in my closet i like to wear with flipflops that have a little slanted platform (also old navy and so many years old now that i dread their demise)…
if, perchance, you are worried about my wearying of this one print of bandaids (two if you count the layering approach), i certainly welcome any and all suggestions of other schmancy bandaids you have found.
in the meanwhile, i could always wrap my toe in tulle, sequins and lace and call it good.
ahh…the saying “you can dress ’em up but you can’t take ’em anywhere” comes to mind.
i don’t even know if it is necessary to add anything to this quote, circulating as a meme with an unknown author.
though there is so much potential for us, for our country, and for mother earth, we are living inside their sickness, a sickness that clearly must not be able to grok bursting life, bursting love, a sickness that wipes out sense and conscience and all manner of compassion, a sickness that threatens all we hold dear, a sickness that is a quicksand eddy of all the worst things, a sickness that pulls a curtain on the existential questions of future.
so i’ll just leave it here for you and say that i get it if you are feeling this way. we are sad together.
“these incredibly brave survivors speaking out about unspeakable things. it changes your entire f—ing life” (valerie bertinelli)
they were walking toward us slowly, pushing a walker, every now and then stopping to dance a little in place. it is hard not to jive to the EDM music – it sets your spirit free and makes you dance. our son and his collaborator were lighting a fire under a massive audience dancing on waveland and halsted at chicago’s PRIDEFEST.
i noticed their shirt.“i am somebody” it read. i nodded.
it was clear that this person was struggling with something that physically debilitated them, their gait awkward, their pain visible. still, they danced and smiled and fistpumped the air and all of us around them cheered. yes, i thought, you are indeed somebody.
yet this country is working on eliminating all kinds of help for the disabled: medicaid, healthcare, food assistance, education. conniving to make somebodies into nobodies.
the guy in the crowd was visibly upset. he didn’t just hug the people nearby, he clung to them, crying. something was moving him profoundly. i don’t know what it was. but every person near him was acknowledging these moments of catharsis, these moments when he – this somebody – needed their support and love.
i weaved through the tight crowd to get to the front of the stage while we were at milwaukee PRIDEFEST so that i could get close-up photographs of our son on stage. once at the edge of the stage – smushed – i started snapping pictures. the guy next to me turned and looked at me as i was feverishly snap-snap-snapping and said, “this is my first time at pride!” he was elated, joy beaming from his face. it clearly meant the world to him to be there – celebrating – for the first time – maybe being openly authentic in public – for the first time. i was thrilled for him and we hugged. he took out a big handheld fan and fanned me while i – in the humid heat of the pavilion – took more photos. he sought me out in the crowd a few more times, every time this somebody glowing, this giant crowd of people embracing him.
and the administration of this nation – in a disgusting display of homophobia beyond the pale – is going after the very rights of the LGBTQIA community, rabidly seeking to foist their own version of love and sexuality upon all.
in recent days i have read a post with passionately evil words beyond what i can even describe nor care to describe. it was written about alex pretti and renee good. both somebodies who were doing the right thing against horrifically extremist deportation intent. these young people – the same ages as our daughter – lost their lives at the hands of this government. these somebodies who deserve to be here still, living, breathing, celebrating and – yes – constitutionally pushing back.
and now – beyond the evil intentions already in place – in an unconscionable decision by the supreme court, hundreds of thousands of real-live somebodies will likely be hunted down, merely for the beautiful brown color of their skin, a product of where they are from, where they have escaped, from which they have sought legal asylum.
and the statue of liberty in the new york harbor reads, “give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”
your somebodies.
i just read an article about a woman in texas suffering from a miscarriage. she sought medical assistance only to be turned away twice at hospitals afraid to treat her because of the unbelievably extensive abortion ban. doctors were fearful to help her. her condition worsened and, though it is not hyperbolic to say that many women can experience acute distress from the complications of miscarriage, they still did nothing.
this nation is actively seeking – and succeeding in – limiting the rights of women as they seek care for their own bodies, unconscionably imperiling them. somebodies.
i have watched the epstein survivors many times now, speaking out about the atrocities they endured – at the hands of so many heinous people who have not been brought to justice, whose culpability slips into oblivion as institutions – with twisted mission – protect them. i could feel their pain, their frustration, their horror at the culture of complicity, of silence, of irresponsibility, of unconcern, of sloughing them off. and in those moments i have whispered to them how very much a somebody they each are and how very much they count.
“it happened. it was wrong. it matters.” (deborah tuerkheimer – credible: why we doubt accusers and protect abusers)
i can so relate. i, too, am a somebody.
“…brave survivors speaking out about unspeakable things…”
so many unspeakable things.
changing entire lives.
it’s all too much.
we are ALL somebodies.
“we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. –that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, –that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.” (from: preamble to the united states declaration of independence)
somebody.
somebodies.
“…you are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here…(max ehrmann – desiderata)
today. be the change, today. in your own little corner of the world, today. the change. what you wish to see in the world. today. be it. right where you are.
it is today. and today, i will be the change. i will change the narrative. i will expose ill intent, brazen abuse, toxic audacity, all manner of power and control that yields long-term devastating trauma.
it is today. and today, i will be the change. i will push back against lies, against spin, against complicity, against all manner of hiding the truth, all manner of abdicating responsibility, all manner of forever escaping culpability, all manner of those who walk free and without conscience.
it is today. and today, i will be the change. i will lift every one who has been harmed, every one who has been victim of monstrous wounds, every one who has not been safe. i will hold them tenderly and fiercely, i won’t let go.
it is today. and today, i will be the change. because i have spoken up, spoken out, acted on my words. i will protect my little corner of the world – historically and contemporaneously.
it is today. and today, i will be the change. i will lift the rug and sweep the dirt from beneath it. i will scrape through layers of the disregarded toxic, the loathsome secrecy of it all.
it is today. and today, i will be the change. i will not be silenced. i will breathe. and…exhale.
it is today. and today, i will be the change.
just as you can.
bridie’s words – an addendum to those of mahatma gandhi – be the change – in your own little corner of the world. that is where we all must start. that’s where i’m starting.
at approximately 3:48 last wednesday afternoon, in the first mighty gust of the storm, the great soul – the great tree – in our front yard – for decades and decades and decades – fell. and nothing was the same.
this sturdy old tree was wise beyond its years, withstanding all manner of weather-fury, all seasons of plenty and not-enough.
this sturdy old tree – magnificent, its canopy shading our lawn, its spirit encircling our home and family – stood vigil out in front, a talisman of protection and a peaceful adapter to the change of winter to spring, of autumn to winter, each time, bending to the rules – or whims – of nature…for at least seventy-five years.
this sturdy old tree – was what i looked at from the nursery while rocking babies, looking out the window. it marked the passage of time as my babies grew, early morning light in its leaves, the sun setting through its crown, its winter-nakedness to its verdant maple-leaf splendor, its yellow glow in fall, the way snow lay on its strong branches, its promise in early spring.
this sturdy old tree – was what i looked at from my bench in my studio, sitting at my piano composing, lyricizing, practicing. it gave me breath and reminded me to place rests in the music, to give others breath, time to process, to take in, to feel. i stared at this tree out the window from that spot, standing still or sitting quietly, pondering what had been, what was, what might be. it was a touchstone of consistency, of continuity, of the timeline that goes back and forward, dynamic.
this sturdy old tree greeted us as we came down our road, as we turned the corner. it offered shelter and filtered sunlight, framed the moon and the stars and planets, played with color at dusk. it elicited our appreciation for yet another homecoming. it was the monument, the lighthouse, the trailmarker that said “home”.
this sturdy old tree – wizened – was that which i advocated for, in times of electric-wire-branch-trimming, in times of water main work, in times of road construction, in times of other injuries it withstood.
i whispered words of – truly loving – gratitude to it, “you did nothing wrong. you did everything right,” as they began to tend to the-cleaning-up after the wind had wreaked havoc upon it. with more extreme storms coming – and a heavily one-sided bit of our beloved tree left – i knew that it was its time. and it was hard to watch, this family member which had preceded me, which had lived here the whole time i have, which had seen much life in that bit of yard at this house on this street. we were fortunate that it was our tree and we loved it for being our tree.
it feels like a marker in time to have felt and heard this great tree fall. to see its brokenness. its soul continues on with us; we need that wisdom and resilience, especially now. we need its tenacity as it aged, especially now. we need its stalwart goodness, its dedication to being the best tree it could be, especially now.
our big, sturdy old tree lives on. it will always be one of the great trees because of its great soul.
and – after its decades and decades and decades of time as a tree on this good earth – in the bowing of its beautiful canopy of leaves, its hefty rough-barked branches, its branches that curved outward with a bowl in the center of the trunk where creatures could rest and shelf fungus could excel, it reminds us of something:
there is no great anything without a great soul.
“and when great souls die/after a period peace blooms,/slowly and always/irregularly. spaces fill/with a kind of/soothing electric vibration./our senses, restored, never/to be the same, whisper to us./they existed. they existed. /we can be. be and be/better. for they existed.”(maya angelou)
