the connective tissue between us is sometimes like strong rope and sometimes like filmy silken thread. yet we are – one to the other – connected through bliss and storm, hot heat and bitter cold, mountaintop summits and chasmic challenges. though you may be peripheral in my every day story, we connect in the subplot of all our stories – the humanity of living – our interdependence, our shared earth.
we – together – in our shared mission seeking goodness – step into the next day. in our joining – together – we bring the best of each of us – the uniqueness of all our strengths, our gifts, our wisdom – and we buoy one another.
when the ice formed on the window in threads – more beautiful than i could have ever created – the feathery crystals latching onto the ice-strand – like tiny preschoolers holding the knots on a rope while walking in a safe-line – it reminded me, once again, of your presence. the threaded crystals remind me that we are not alone, that – together – we may find the beauty we know is there, the pause between the notes, the reinforcement, the ‘ands’ that we each desperately need.
the needlepoint of the universe – crocheted vapor – a talisman of hope.
“if everything around seems dark, look again, you may be the light.” (rumi)
we are the light in this darkness – together – particularly when we make together our intention. though feeling as if hanging on by a thread, i take comfort knowing you are hanging with me, with us.
they are on 24/7. we haven’t taken them off our old wrought iron railing because – well – we need the light.
today i read a tiny post about someone who had taken her christmas tree down and had lugged it outside, getting it ready to go to the drop-off where it will be picked up and recycled into mulch. she wrote that she was sad and that she told her husband – when he arrived home – that she already missed the lighted tree. the end of her bitty post revealed that the tree was back in the house – lighted. it warmed my heart.
we have taken down the holiday decorations. it was just a couple days ago and i already miss the glimmer. it’s all so joyous and – once put away into bins – feels plain. to be honest, i did keep one lighted lodgepole pine tree in the sitting room and i am contemplating bringing another back up. it won’t take much to convince him that they are necessary for a while, even though i was prepared with “they don’t reeeeally look like christmas trees….”
whatever it takes, i’m thinking. if we need more happy lights, then we should – by all means – put them up. anything to stay in the light, particularly right now. these darker winter months require much vitamin d and anything else that brings us beams of hopeful … and this one – this winter – well, there are particularly dark circumstances that will make us look for anything to try to even out the seesaw. if a couple fake lodgepole pines and a wrought iron railing with lights help, then so be it.
we spent saturday moseying about antique shoppes, one of our favorite things to do. i was looking for glimmer….things that might reflect light or hope or remind us to be “relentlessly present” (john pavlovitz).
each of the seconds that ticks by – even in this particular right now – cannot be held, cannot be relived. to lose them – those seconds – is to let the indecency win. to seek a balance – where we zero in on the stuff that is flashing by us and still attend to whatever we can do to further goodness in a not-good time – seems prudent. otherwise, every last bit of glimmer will be gone and the dark will usurp us. to be relentlessly present is to be mindful of breathing, i’m learning.
we found a cool candleholder – wrought iron and reflective silver – bargain-priced. it is now on the radiator where the happy-light-covered aspen log is, reflecting the light from those tiny bulbs.
we also found a wooden ampersand. we didn’t buy it – though also bargain-priced, there is the budget and all – but i think we may be going back for it (or find some other iteration of it).
something about having an “and” sign in the living room may remind us – relentlessly – about each other, about the fragile balance we need to hold, about this moment and the next and the next and-&-and.
it is hard for me to pass by something this beautiful – this wispy milkweed pod – without stopping. i am fortunate to hike with someone who understands this. we stop and i study the milkweed; i take several shots.
it is not the first time i have taken photographs of milkweed in the winter. i’m pretty sure it won’t be the last. each time i see milkweed – even in the winter – even in its fallow – i feel like it is different – its slant in the meadow, the curve of the pod, the way sunlight plays on it.
this is how i will get through it all, i think. zeroing in on intense beauty, tiny nuances, millisecond moments. i realize that this is the power that is available to me. this is the distraction.
the invitations are numerous from the side of the trail, from the side of life. they beckon to each of us and it is up to us whether to accept those invitations.
i am kind of a detail person…so the invitations are somewhat evident to me, hard to miss. they blur out everything else, if you intend to really take notice.
and, in just that way, we are intending new practices – more intentional meditation, more exercise, more outside. and each time – despite any same-ness, there is the possibility of new. each time we may stop and study or gaze and admire.
“things will not be the same, because we will not be the same.” (anon)
it may be difficult to avoid focusing on the way things will be in these fraught times. nevertheless, we will try to focus elsewhere. to lean into the beautiful and leave the rest of it blurred.
“it is better to light a candle than curse.” (eleanor roosevelt)
and here we are – on the edge of a new year. we are merely a day hike, homemade pizza, a jigsaw puzzle, a bonfire, and a glass of wine away. not much time left now.
it was either when we were on the trail the other day or moseying about doing errands when he said, “ya know how you feel when the new year is almost there – like it’s a fresh start just waiting to happen? i don’t feel that this time.”
i understand.
instead, there is a prevailing sense of dread…one that is like a low frequency vibration in your body…knowing that something is coming and it is not good.
the trepidation is real. there is much cruelty lurking out there – an administration that is just waiting to take power and to prey on the populace of not-haves, the populace they dislike, even hate, the populace from which they will feed their egos and their bank accounts. it is looking to be a dark time and they are intensely gleeful talking about their promises and threats, which makes my stomach hurt.
and so we – like many – wonder how we will survive this dreadful period of time.
we have chosen light.
“if everything around seems dark, look again, you may be the light.” (rumi)
so as we head into this new year – so devastatingly fraught – we will intentionally look for light. we will focus on light. we will carry light with us. we will attempt – truly attempt – to be light.
every bauble will capture our attention. every ray of sunlight. every happy light. every snowflake. every candleflame. every flicker of hope. inside or out. we intend to pay attention. we intend to notice. we know light is not just light – it is given in generosity, in shared time, in words of reassurance, in moments of peace. we intend to linger in light and dispel the dark that threatens us…both in the sanctuary of our home and out in the world.
as we skirt the edges of this new year – 2025 just hours away – we wish you light as well. certainly – together – each bringing giant beams or the tiniest slivers of light – we may counteract the dark.
“darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” (martin luther king, jr.)
the ornaments in the locked display cases were phenomenally expensive. it was a bit shocking. but we know many people collect things that are quite valuable and these definitely were perceived as that. the low end was just shy of $100 and the high end…well, rather high. we browsed them a bit, curious. i honestly cannot say that i wish we had purchased one or, for that matter, had even been able to purchase one. their ornateness did not appeal to me. too much. much too much. more is more is not us, especially when it comes to the baubles of the season.
i guess it echoes my sentiment – my heart – this simple-ing-down of it all. it is – for me – about the most basic things – this holiday season…regardless of religion. for me, this season of light – for which we have waited – reminds us that god (or whatever you call a greater deity) is with us. and i believe basic tenets are basic tenets, no matter what any book says – no matter if it’s written in red – no matter who said what – no matter the stories told. basic goodness – love, generosity, equality, kindness, grace – is basic and no scribed stuff should twist it into agenda.
in a time that celebrates peace on earth we are less than peaceful. in a time of gathering we are torn apart, divisive. in a time of generosity, there is greed beyond imagination. in a time of grace, there is marginalization. in a time of good will, there is monstrous evil. this is – most definitely – a world of hypocrisy. we need to seek light each and every day.
it’s not the fancy stuff that makes me stop, get lost, offer a prayer. it’s the dollar tree $1.25 tiny metal wire tree ornament hanging in our kitchen. it’s the little foot-tall fold-up $1 tree in the middle of our dining room table. it’s the crystal ornament catching the light in the living room. it’s the old pickle on the tree. it’s the galvanized star hanging on our branch.
there is more brokenness to come; there are more shattered dreams. this is a season where we need support each other, heal each other – best as we can.
love one another. the simplest of things. and the hardest of things. ours to do – to exist – as humankind.
we were talking about what it used to be like – out holiday shopping.
we both individually remember the out-and-about of windowshopping and browsing and pondering and findingjusttherightthing as including the time and space for stopping, for a nice cup of coffee and a treat, maybe for lunch out.
it was sheer indulgence the other day when we used a long-saved gift card for dinner out after a fun day of shopping. and yesterday, we did a thing.
we actually – mid-day-mid-shopping – stopped at a bakery to pick out a danish (yes, sacrificing the usual gluten-free-ness) and then we went next door to starbucks to get a christmas blend coffee. we shared both – jubilant at the “old-timey” tradition we were re-enacting, pretty happy with ourselves that we chose to take the time and splurge on coffee and a treat.
it’s beginning to look a lot like christmas!
i spent a-couple-years-less-than-a-decade celebrating christmas in florida. though everyone still decorates and the holiday rush is still pushing you forward, it never quite felt the same as christmas up north. i suppose if i had grown up in the south it – the traditions and rituals and things i associate with christmas – would be different, but having grown up in the northeast, i associate the holidays with being bundled up, the cold, the snow, pink cheeks and noses, mittens and scarves. there is a different sparkle to twinkle lights in snow.
we here in our neck of wisconsin may not have a white christmas this year. but it will be brisk enough for the deck to make cracking noises as we walk to our backdoor, for the radiators to clunk a little, for the wood floors to creak under our feet. ice will paint beautiful images on a couple of the north-facing windows, the stars in the bitter sky will seem brighter and dogga will be in his glory laying outside in the cold. it’ll be cozy inside, surrounded by the glimmering trappings of the holiday.
maybe – as we continue our march toward Christmas Day – in-between bits of shopping and wrapping and shipping and clearing out and giving away – we will take a few minutes here and there to celebrate the right-now of it all. maybe we’ll consider another coffee out, another pastry. maybe we’ll bundle up and go see some special lights. maybe – just maybe – i’ll play some carols in my studio. this is the time of year i especially miss creating a space – with and through music – in which other hearts might open to the spirit of the holidays, to sink into that which they feel but cannot see.
as adults – whose bars for enchantment are higher than in childhood or for whom perhaps reality has life-light-dimmed – we all sometimes struggle as these times roll around. we know it’s up to each of us to create any magic in these holidays, to recognize it, to linger in it. the tiniest bit of indulgence goes a long way. indulging out and indulging in.
it was while i was waiting for the person to arrive to pick up the desk that i started. it wasn’t really on purpose. it was simply a way to keep an eye out the window at the front of the house. i opened the small chifforobe cabinet and began to pull things out and stack them on the floor of the studio. then i went over to the small desk and did the same thing. before i knew it, it was chaos on the floor of the studio, piles on the padded artist bench, even small piles on top of my piano.
in the unearthing of space, i am finding notebooks of lyrics, slices of songs, chord progressions jotted on scraps of paper. there are piles of process cds – from demos of songs to recording studio takes, edits, production in all its phases, final products of albums released into the world. there are radio charts and encouraging cards, pencils and erasers and staff paper.
i think of my son – at the other end of the journey – the closer-to-beginning part of his artistry. though he is waaay past just-beginning, his heartbeat is quickened by his own growth in his music and by the outer reaction to and support of his EDM. i remember those days and i celebrate for him and with him. they are the days that feed artists when we are depleted, when we are in the midst of hunger, when we are pondering our place in our art form, when – if we are feeling disoriented – we are trying to see where it was – discern how it was – we got lost so that we might find our way, when it’s a little bit agonizing, when we are a lot a bit tender, when we are wondering.
later on – much after the computer desk was gone – after the frenzied muse had left the building – i groaned looking at the mess.
but there is no going back now. it’s time to keep going, to keep going through, eliminating, filing, re-designing the spaces and space in my studio. time to bring in new light, time to give it a chance.
in more than a bit of vulnerability, i must say that i don’t really know if that will change anything. i know that the studio will look more spacious, it will be slightly less muddled in there, more austere, more piano-focused. i feel like that could definitely be a good thing…a tiny step toward actually playing, actually composing. cleaning out will remove some of the tangible tokens of feeling remote, or of hurtful, harmful things that have undermined my artistry, that have waylaid me. it might remove some of the visible and invisible layers between me and my music. i guess that’s all to be seen. as overwhelmed as i am – thinking about all the work in front of me – i do see some magical bits of light in the dark, even amid the squall of chaos.
when my grand first arrived – over 25 years ago – it was the only thing in the room. just a big C5 on bare wood floors with high ceilings and freshly painted white walls of plaster and beadboard. it was pure and glorious.
since then – for various reasons – i added a chifforobe, a writing/reading chair, a desk, music stands and mic stands, other instruments.
maybe sorting through, reorganizing, removing the desk, minimalizing stuff, clearing the space will surface the essential reason for this studio, will distill the paralyzing fog that has settled over the space and in my heart, give light to a dimmed imperative. maybe a tiny bit of balance will return. maybe it’s all still relevant.
i stand in the doorway and acknowledge that i don’t know.
“your hand opens and closes, opens and closes…your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding.” (rumi)
brave thistle plant – even in the bitter cold – open. this star in the meadow reminds me to stay open…fluid in breath…in and out.
i sometimes wonder about my music. my grand sits in my studio, waiting. it is patient, although i can sometimes hear it in hushed tones, calling me. there has been much between the last time and now, much that has left me closed to it.
i’ve touched it a few times in a few years. i don’t want it – or anyone, including me – to overreact to that. it is beautiful and full-stick and keys-open and – like the thistle – it bravely stays starlit even in the fallow times. and so, it is – every now and then – inviting. but it is complex – complicated – and it’s obvious I haven’t sorted through all the layers yet.
it is an artist’s imperative to create. but there are no rules that state the medium must remain the same. and so…in these inbetween times…i write. to be open to something different is to dance with that imperative.
the heavy old mic stand tucks right outside the doorway to the studio. it’s holding a vessel for candlelight right now but – at the end of our hallway – it reminds me of microphones and wood stages, simple lighting and boom stands. and then i wonder again – about all that.
the real answer is that i don’t know. i don’t know what will happen in these nexts. i don’t know if i’ll compose more, record more, perform more. there are a lot of ifs between here and there, a lot of details, a lot of stars that must align.
but the little thistle plant in the meadow reminded me that even with all that – all in the galaxy that must cluster – constellations in the cold are possible.
sometimes at the end of the day we can hear the bagpiper playing on the lakefront. it’s a bit haunting. and it makes me think of buglers who trumpet taps: “day is done. gone the sun, from the lake, from the hills, from the sky. all is well, safely rest, god is nigh.”
we often hike in the afternoon – after all our tasks are finished. so it is not unusual that we run into the sun setting as we begin to return toward the trailhead. and now, in these late autumn days, that is happening earlier and earlier.
it was particularly beautiful to see the sun on the day i took this photograph. it had been cloudy and we didn’t expect the sun to pop through above the bank of clouds just over the horizon. we were grateful.
i’m guessing that this is the way to move into these uncertain times. to note the clouds and to be grateful for the sun. we are troubled, much like you might be as well. we can’t pretend that everything is coming up roses or that this future will be smooth sailing. but it is doing our hearts and souls harm to linger constantly in the toxicity that was voted in. i certainly have spoken my piece about all that.
i also can’t simply play taps to our country. because all is not well, because i don’t feel like i can safely rest and because I’m thinking god may not be being all peaceful-nigh-like watching hypocritical thuggish people steeped in bigotry, revenge, cruelty being all righteous in his name. so taps is on hold.
i will, however, lean on the day, the sun, the lake, the hills and the sky to remind me of what is really, truly real, what is really, truly beautiful. i will be mindful of the importance of the each-others in our lives. i will draw strength from any and all light around me, around us – including the unexpected elusive sun setting in cloudy dusk.
it is the imperative of an artist, the obligation of humankind.
it is showing up, speaking up, speaking out.
it is not in keepingthe peace but in creating peace and protecting the rights of all in a peaceful world.
and sometimes that is risky.
i can hear it – woke. i can hear it – liberal. i can hear it – snowflake. i can hear it – asshole. nothing i haven’t heard before. so call me what you will.
i can feel it – the risk. i can feel it – the pushback. i can feel it – the stern you-stay-in-line-don’t-you-make-waves. i can feel it – the reactionary disagreement sans any discussion. i can feel it – the write-off.
but this one life we each get – this one very precious and extraordinary life – the one during which we all breathe in and out pretty much the same way – the one where you can live authentically (and flawed) or falsely (and flawed) – this life is to live, to not fear – this life demands our voices.
and these words: surround yourself with people who fight for you even in rooms you aren’t in…
i don’t want to hesitate to be that person. to take it on – the slight, the wrongdoing, the injustice. i don’t want to be silent again because i won’t upset you that way. i don’t want to be voiceless yet again in the face of yet another betrayal.
i wish to relinquish my life-long peacekeeper role.
these here are those days.
instead, i want to speak up for me. i want to speak up for people – for peoples – i don’t even know. speak up for justice, for equality, for kindness.
to speak against cruelty and division. to have no allegiance to bigotry, racism, misogyny, xenophobia, homophobia. to speak to truth, question propaganda. to reject being complicit. to push back against the ugliest ugly even if it makes me unpopular.
reverse threading 