we were on the phone and she said, “we all just need to check out a while.”
i couldn’t agree more.
it has been a lot. more than a lot. and it just continues on and on and on – this farcical nightmare of politics. there is nothing like watching an incoming administration poking fun at every single serious issue out there, lining its own pockets and the pockets of kakistocratic cronies, maniacally ranting and raging and seeking revenge, raising up the uppers and cruelly disempowering the middles and the lowers. it is utterly exhausting and disrespectful to the core of this nation.
but this is me…checking out.
so as we are tending to this holiday season, looking for gifts – the things people may need or wish for – and shopping, i know that there is one thing that we simply cannot buy – for ourselves or anyone else:
hope.
and so we’ll do our best to make people smile, to engage people, to let them know we are thinking about them and holding them close – particularly now, when so many others have disappointed us and them, particularly now, with the emotional whiplash we have felt as a result of the loss of positive possibility, particularly now, grieving the burial of any goodness from the top down, particularly now, overwhelmed by the stunned surprise we have felt watching those we care about wholeheartedly support this horror.
i know that we cannot buy hope. and i know that right now it seems far away, especially if we are actively paying attention to the intentional bullying and destruction of all we know as this democracy.
but that doesn’t stop us from yearning for it, from seeking it, from creating it. together.
it did my heart good to wander slowly through milaegers garden center. like the line “it’s much more than a box” from the department store gift-wrapping scene in love actually, milaegers is much more than a garden center. and day before yesterday it was a holiday wonderland.
it was just what i needed. we strolled slowly, each of us raying out to what invited our eye. everything was decorated and the displays were glowing. we were searching for just the right thing and lingered around each tree – perfectly laden with ornaments and gleaming tchotchkes.
we finished our holiday shopping for the day and happily used a gift card we had held onto for well over a year – a local bistro where we loved sitting at the bar sipping a glass of wine and sharing a most-delicious burger. it was truly a day that put spirit into our spirits.
last night we sat in our living room under a furry white throw and looked around at our decorations, satisfied that we not only paid homage to a festive season but were true to our own sensibilities, a mashup of organic and glimmer. there is a shimmery incandescence in there we can both feel – particularly full of grace at a time of seasonal and out-in-the-world darkness.
the tiny trees we’ve collected are scattered about, both happy-lit and simply green. even the very plainest of these have their place.
the big branch in our living room – from the old tree out front – has now stood there for four holiday seasons. though it is wrapped in year-round white lights, each christmastime we have added something. two years ago it was silver bulbs. last year it was vintage shiny brites of my mom and dad’s. this year we added crystal prism ornaments. there is a lone metal star. it is – to us – really beautiful.
eileen’s tree – “e.e.” as it will always be known – has the place of honor, standing sweetly in the doorway from the living room to the dining room. a nod to the traditional, it has become, now, one of our own traditions. it all feels peaceful, which is our intention.
in the day the crystals on the branches in the living room throw beams of sunlight across the floor. with the room lights off, the happy lights of the trees on, the crystals on the branches in the living room glitter, anticipating the season of the return of light.
it is not milaegers but it is home and, in a world of frenetic and fraught, this luminous place is truly our sanctuary.
it is likely that we are captured by the minuscule much more than most. it truly doesn’t take much for us to be in wonder – or, at the very least, to spend a moment or two noticing something that maybe others might not notice.
our entertainment budget is pretty much non-existent. we love to cook together, hike together, write together, read together, on occasion argue together. occasionally, we will have the good fortune of going out for a meal or to a movie or maybe a concert. but most of the time we entertain ourselves in ways that don’t cost a lot and that’s all good.
a few years ago we decided that barney – the smith-barnes piano aging in our backyard – needed a chandelier over its brow. you might remember we found one online that works as a solar light and so we ordered it. it wasn’t expensive – i mean, for a chandelier! – and we were surprised when we got it in a small amazon bag. taking it out revealed a collapsed plastic “chandelier” that had to be shaped and would then hang in all its glory. it was not quite all-that nor what we had expected. we knew immediately it would not serve barney well and, in the process of deciding whether or not to return it, hung it on our awning outside for a bit.
that night the little chandelier glowed – like any good solar-powered ithinkican chandelier – and we fell into like. and we decided to keep it.
we recently hung it in our sunroom right in front of the east window where the sun streams in each morning. littlechandelier apparently loves this spot because each night – if it has been a sunny day – when all the lights are out in the sunroom, it has a tiny glow.
its shadow is intriguing. both of us have stood staring at the shadow, completely enjoying littlechandelier’s effort to do its little chandelier job.
even in the middle of challenge – whatever that challenge may be – i must say that i truly appreciate appreciating the littlest things. i appreciate that WE appreciate the littlest things.
we are not living a posh polished-glass-ornate-crystal-chandelier kind of life. but we are living a chandelier life nonetheless. it’s all around us.
“may this house shelter your life. when you come in home here, may all the weight of the world fall from your shoulders. may your heart be tranquil here, blessed by peace the world cannot give.” (john o’donohue – for a new home – benedictus, a book of blessings)
back in the day – referencing the 80s and 90s or so – i used to have lots of dried flowers – everywhere. dried flowers and herbs and red peppers were definitely a thing then, part of the homey, country look – hung on any hook, any trellis, any door jamb you could access. it all felt comforting, smidges of beautiful, tiny respites from busy-ness.
there’s a moment in the movie my big fat greek wedding when ian miller tells toula portokalos that he remembers seeing her a previous time. she, who has had a bit of a self-makeover, says, i was going through a phase then. i was frump girl. in one of the best he’s-a-sweet-guy moments, ian responds kindly, i don’t remember frump girl, but i remember you. and you cannot help your heart from going pitter-patter and you just know what might happen….
well, i have gotten over the dried-flower-phase. though i loved it then – and completely embraced it – there are no dried flowers hanging around now. though, truth be told, i do have a few dried daisies from our wedding tied with jute and a little garden lavender posey gathered with string. oh…and the first rose d gave me. and i think there is some hydrangea drying (long-term) in the basement and maybe a few wildfield thistles in the sitting room sharing a vessel with a bit of pussywillow. oopsies. i might have been a bit off on the word “no” in “no dried flowers“…
perhaps I should yield on using absolutes.
moving on.
i am most definitely a fierce appreciator of dried flowers and wild weeds in the fields and meadows of our hikes and adore the textures and morphing shapes of them through the seasons. it is likely that we have already shared a thistle or two as our blog images, but – – – this one, this one counts too, i argue for its inclusion.
because of my propensity for hangingontothings – emotionally and in real life – it is quite amazing that all those -older- dried flowers made their way out of the house from the latest 80s and through the 90s. when you have lived in a house this long – 35 years – you know it will iterate through time. and you cannot hang on to all the vestiges of the last phase, no matter how splendid they are.
so now, here i am, not even sure what this post is about. this stunning in-fallow-stoking-up-energy thistle made me think of the dried-flower-phase, of things that – at some given time – made our home feel like our sanctuary. i suppose i might let you just try to connect the dots.
or you can just nod your head, roll your eyes and quietly support my stream of consciousness today.
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.
it feels like we have been barreling through time and space – bouncing off broadcasts and pundits, headlines and breaking news – as if in a virtual pinball machine – not too much control but a lot of noise.
we have decided to get off the ride. as a person who is easily motion-sicknessed, i am weary of the political nausea, the tiltawhirl of these times, the roller coaster of insanity, the cauldron where people have tossed their morality. it’s time to step to the side and not watch every single ball hit every single paddle, bounce off every single bumper and slide down every single ramp while ineptly working the flippers.
because, really, sue aikens is right. the now IS all we have.
it’s time to slow down and just live.
the author wrote, “…i’m no longer under the impression that i can outrun the 77-million-person mob that voted in favor of racism, misogyny, violence and corruption…” (lisa bernardi)
and i agree. i can’t either. but that doesn’t mean that i have to participate with them, hang out with them, trust them. and that, frankly, is pretty heartbreaking. but it is also time-and-space-perspective-arranging.
if, indeed, the now is all we have – which i think is true – then we need attend to the fleeting things that are life-giving, that are generative, that are intentions of kindness, that give us peace.
we need to make the best plans we can, all the while knowing that they may be dashed.
we need to be with those who share our values, who wish for an earth, a country, a state, a community, a family that leads with goodness.
and we need to find ways to linger in every single thing that feeds our souls.
if you asked george winston about reprising, he’d laugh and tell you that we here – in this household – have reprised his thanksgiving album hundreds of times. there is nothing wrong with a good reprise.
we put the rolling computer desk up on facebook marketplace – for free. the first person to respond was a young woman named steph. there was a bit of a goof-up on pickup and she messaged her apology and said she understood us moving on to the next interested person. and, even though i messaged a couple others about its availability, i decided to write back to her to see if she still wanted it. she needed us to wait a few days for her to pick it up. i agreed to wait and the computer desk had an awkwardly-placed home smack-dab in our living room for those days. it turned out a bit helpful as we decorated our home yesterday – a place to put ornaments and mini-trees while we planned and designed our decorations.
this morning she came to pick it up, this rolling desk we had placed on our front door sidewalk, this rolling desk i thanked before it went away. i went out to meet her when she was walking up the driveway and she thanked me profusely for holding it for her, for waiting.
i told her that it seemed to me that people really need to be nice to each other right now, especially right now. she replied she wished that it were christmas all year round. i said that i just wished people were good to each other year round. we shared just a few more moments before she left, but it wasn’t before i was grateful that we had waited – to give this desk to her.
and so, with george winston’s approval, we reprise this SMACK-DAB cartoon from december 2023. because right now is as good a time as any to remember the feeling of the holidays, the feeling of peace and joy, generosity and kindnesses shown to others. right now – before what’s next, before what could be harrowing, before the intended cruelness from this country’s top down – right now is a good time to zero in on how we really want to live, what we truly hold valuable, what it feels like in a community of giving, of support, of love for one another – whether we know them or not.
little morsels of goodness between people are possible. it’s impossible to close our eyes and not feel it.
now we need to decide it, to choose it, to live it.
the big chalkboard wall was in the basement for decades. and for decades it was signed and scribbled on by my children and their friends-through-the-years. there have been moments – in more recent years – the empty nest years – when i would hit the cement floor at the bottom of the steps, flip on the spotlights and stare at the colored-chalk names scrawled on the wall. lots of history there.
before i took the eraser to this wall, before i washed it off, before i realized the colored chalk didn’t really erase or wash off nomatterwhat, before i prepped it for paint, i took many photographs. once again, my thready heart is challenged – but photographs help.
my girl chalked this design in one of the corners – during the skateboard/dickies/vans era. the memory flood is fast and furious and i stood – touching the chalkboard and its names and illustrations – for some time before wiping it and readying it for a fresh coat. in the end, we put together new shelving for that spot adjacent to david’s studio and now it houses inspiring books of artists and musings…easy access for him, for both of us.
as i’ve written, there are many more of these woven threads in our home to unravel, to gently place aside, to memorize. but – inasmuch as it is a challenge, it is also a gift. because so many things are things we no longer notice, things to which we pay little attention. and right now…right now, we are paying rapt attention to each detail.
we are each telling stories of thethingsinthebox or ontheshelf or tuckedaway or rightthereinfrontofus. some of it makes me a little bit sad – no, i guess it’s more wistful than sad. some of it makes me try to think backbackback to the days backbackback. some of it makes me wish i could revisit those days, live them again, relish them in real time, or maybe live them a little slower or a little differently. and some of it just gives me a little standstill, like a tiny caesura – all part of the diapause, i suppose – one caesura after another.
we keep going. my curiosity is piqued as we open closets and bins, page through children’s books finding scraps of crayoned notes or pictures. i store it all inside, knowing that – even though i will likely forget some of it – it is all there – layers of memories and moments.
and the chalked diamonds will forever remain on the wall of the basement. because they were there, they are there. and they are part of it.
“…you can trust the promise of this opening. … for your soul senses the world that awaits you.” (john o’donohue – for a new beginning – from benedictus, a book of blessings)
i was keeping it, even though it was broken. my sweet momma used to use it as a fruit bowl – on our kitchen table or counter when i was growing up. i feel like i remember bananas in this starry snowflake basket bowl – which hasn’t had its curved glass handle for many, many years now.
as we moved about our home, choosing to be more minimalist in approach, i came upon this glass basket bowl. the broken edges were rough and, though it was sitting out, it was not something i would wish someone to touch for fear of the possibility of getting hurt. i considered this bowl for some time, placing it on the dining room table, gently dusting it out, cleaning its starry edges. and then i realized that it was time for this basket bowl to be disposed of. i took plenty of photographs before gently letting it go, for my threadiness needs – sometimes – to be handled with care.
and then we moved on to the next. and each thing that we moved about or stored or repurposed or disposed of made room – room for our old house to breathe in a bit more light, for us to discover something new that might transform the space.
we can both feel it. the sun’s rays are now reaching further into the living room – way under the old two-person glider that came in from the deck. we’ve sat there many times now already – visiting with our boys on thanksgiving, sipping coffee and watching out the front window, sipping wine and watching the crystals on the big tree branch dance in happy lights. there is change. there is opening.
i have a list – the spots in our home that need our attention, stuff-wise. it is not a short list. we have plenty to do.
but the rewards are great and give us incentive to keep going. we are in no rush. we’ll just take on a little at a time.
and one of these days it will be my studio. i’ll finish what i started there quite a while ago. stopping wasn’t because i didn’t want to complete the going-through-cleaning-out-reorganizing. at the time, stopping was because it was just too much right then. but now…now, some time has passed and maybe i am soon ready to file, to store, to pass on, and – in likely cathartic moments – to throw out that which is no longer relevant, that which served me well until it didn’t, that which is broken in little or big ways.
and, in the process of all this, hopefully i will see the promise of the opening – the sunny starry snowflake seeds – just as we have seen it in the other beloved parts of our home.
all the world awaits each of us each day. we just need to clear the stuff – real or imagined – out of the way to see it.
oh, tiny one. this little morsel of a being – a fuzzy caterpillar – at the bitter cold end of november. we watched to make sure it made its way – the rest of the way – across the trail and into the tousle of leaves on the side.
surely it was brave, this tiny one. surely, resourceful, for green leaves are no longer plentiful. surely, stalwart. surely, not here in the outer world much longer, as it will winter under decaying wood, this woolybear. a time in diapause.
but it didn’t seem concerned about all this. it just moseyed on, across the trail, unaware of our study of it, unaware of the photo shoot, unaware of the challenges that might befall it. it just powered on.
maybe that is the thing we now need to do – power on.
in whatever way it is we choose, on whatever path we take, just keep on keeping on – despite fear, despite the odds, hoping that our fuzziness will protect us from the predators.
and when the world we are in becomes harsh, we might just slip into a diapause of our own, seeking places of peace – to survive.
reverse threading 