minus the beyondness, minus the trees, one would barely know it was foggy.
but context is everything.
up close, the boulders are clear. they are like the notes on the page, the score. technically, they are vital. but context is everything and it is the artist’s job to look beyond the obvious, to seek that which tells the whole story, that which evokes more. it is the musician’s job to play that which is beyond the obvious, to play that which evokes. more.
peter spering, in an online forum that was great-debating which – of technical wizardry and feel – was more important in playing music, wrote the words “…technically great but creatively dull”.
the boulders without the foggy trees: we have all heard this music, seen this art, read these words, watched this dance. if you have listened to a computer rendering of a piece of sheet music, you are aware of neat and tidy technicality, seamless, even perfection. you are also aware of the lack – of any emotion, any expression, any air, any space. boulders will only sound like boulders. there will be no question. there is no beyond. there is no fog.
to answer the this-or-that question from the forum – technical chops or feeling – is both impossible and necessary. music is the expression of the human condition. music is love in sound. it is a marriage of both the technical and the evocative.
yet…if art is to convey questions and answers, to explore and navigate, to inform, to find meaning…if the recipient is to be moved, to be smitten by life, then music – the simple and the complex – must be played with heart. and technical wizardry will cease to matter if it falls upon souls with nary a touch, without any dents or brushmarks or trace that it had been there.
“it is enough when a single note is beautifully played.” (arvo pärt)
because a single note – played with heart – will impact you. it will bring you to a place where – even without standing on the shore – you can see the fog, the trees, the dim horizon.
and you are able to “feel the world stand still”. (arvo pärt)
“as the wind loves to call things to dance / may your gravity by lightened by grace.” (john o’donohue – to bless the space between us)
we swoop the plastic sheet from the proverbial magic slate, clearing the picture that was so clearly there, and we start the new year. all images of the year we have tugged along with us – each of the years we have scribbled and tugged along with us are erased – even though all the evidence is still there as impressions on the wax. the slate is ready for a new drawing. the stylus is at hand. the wind is blowing.
“it is a serious thing / just to be alive / on this fresh morning / in this broken world.”(mary oliver)
we babystep into this new day, crawling toward life goals and intentions, aware of our rapidly beating hearts and the fearlessness we are trying to adopt as a mantra. we are gingerly. we are bold. we hold hands. we brush others away. we are independent. we are always interdependent. we are open to horizons we don’t recognize, yet our pinkies hold onto barely discernible wistfulness threads, like helium balloons tied to our wrists, weightless yet there.
“when you should have felt safe enough to fall toward love…” (john o-donohue – for someone awakening to the trauma of his or her past)
we lean toward the whispers that pull us forward, trying to shed that which has tethered us behind. we recoil less. we are brave. we revisit. we recount. we shuffle the next step and the next, eventually picking up our feet, courageously trusting our breath – that it will truly still be with us a few yards down the way, that this scrutiny and release will be stretching. that our daring will eventually invite us to dance, just like the wind.
“i went searching in a foreign land and found my way home.” (sue bender)
and the universe holds us under the sun and the moon and we – actually – have more than we need. and it is a new year. and – no matter where we are – in any river – we are home. we are ready to dance.
“you are not a drop in the ocean. / you are the entire ocean in a drop.” (rumi)
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.
reverse threading 