and today – despite the dirt and the dried stems, vestiges of life-gone-past – despite the cold and the snow and the ice and the rain and all the elements that have torn into this plant and the critters that have refuged under its branches – despite the sun and the drought and no added nutrients and almost no attention whatsoever – small clusters of brassica-like buds have sprouted out of the ground.
they have persevered, they have sought rebirth, they have wiped away their tears of disappearance and their underground fallow and they have risen up, one tiny millimeter at a time, unnoticed until now, shoots of green in all the brown.
they have not been considered marvelous. they are not rare. they are not exquisite blooms, fragile petals, filmy tendrils connecting them to their lifesource. instead, they are curled cabbages, tightly wound and unwinding.
they are a little bit haughty at the spring and its sweet-time-taking. they are persistent, resilience at their core, hardy, paying no mind to the rules of march or april or, really, any season. they wait for no one to move the leaves and debris of winter. they are independent.
this new year of growth, this new season of their sedum-lives is pushing out of the good earth – despite all odds. they keep on keeping on, mustering up next and next, pushing aside all doubt, surely panting in their phoenix.
though not quite as at-home as the cranes walking the edges, we know this pond. we knew it as a marsh. we knew it as dry dirt. we knew it with mulch strewn throughout as they eradicated invasive species. we watched as the rains began to fill it. we listened to the quiet wind ripple across its surface. and then, one day, we heard the first frogs. though we cannot see them, the orchestra pit is filled with frogs in chorus. the static becomes a symphony.
such is the way of a choir. for well over three decades, i conducted groups of people who chose to sing – in choir. they gathered, sitting in folding chairs cold with mid-week evening thermostat dips. they gathered, weary from their days at work or home, filled with activities of responsibility, of life. they gathered, to become a symphony.
the thing about choir rehearsals is that – with good leadership – they go from a meeting of a group of individuals to a collaboration of musicians, from quiet chatter to boisterous song, from people who possibly feel ill-at-ease to people whose voices are heard, whose hearts are seen. choir rehearsals are community events and – led with joy – become places that are generative, places that are accepting not competitive, places of great learnings and tremendous laughter, places that are spaces filled with concern for the other, lifting up of each other, a place with a mission of goodness, a mission of symphony.
i’ve missed being a choir director. it’s been over two years now and the lack of vocal choirs, ukuleles, handbells, worship bands is palpable for me. directing was always about the community – building it, reinforcing it – life-giving, loving. my resume shows seven churches along the way. seven communities in which i offered all i could give, responding to their individual needs, their particular circumstances, their strengths and their weaknesses. seven fluid rivers of music-making.
we aren’t really “double” people. but we are let’s-have-a-glass-of-wine people. and, at the end of the day, these days, it sometimes seems like a lovely time to escape a tiny bit and sip a glass of wine.
our happy-hour-snack-time started during covid. isolated from others, we hung lots of white twinkling happy lights, surrounded ourselves in our sunroom with succulents and growing-things-every-one-of-which-we-named, planted ourselves at an old vintage table in front of the window, turned on a little music, and sipped wine. dogdog at our feet, we’d munch on chips and hummus or crackers and aged cheddar. the end-of-day ritual stuck and now even dogdog anticipates our sit-down, watching us for cues and ready to be with us wherever the happy hour takes us: sunroom, patio, deck, kitchen or in littlebabyscion on the hottest of days.
for the longest time, and then longer still, we sipped our wine out of jelly jars. smuckers simply fruit jars, to be specific. i even considered contacting smuckers – at the time with a base in ripon, wisconsin – to purchase enough jelly jars for everyone at our wedding to get one for their wine toast. because people are generally not as thready as i am, i figured they could move on from wine-glass-use and repurpose the jars for small bundles of wildflowers or as tealight candle holders out in the wind. momentarily, i thought smuckers might want to get in on sponsoring a couple of artists dedicated to their jelly jars.
make it a double, our son’s bar mat read. celebrating his new condo – without the benefit of all his glass and kitchenware moved in – we poured bubbly into plastic cups and toasted. in the midst of the city, we walked to pick up thai food and a bottle of wine. though we are not make-it-a-double people in the way of cocktails, we are definitely make-it-a-double in the way of making memories and i, like most moms i suppose, wrap myself in cherished doubles-triples-innumerable memories with my children.
her card read, “age and glasses of wine should never be counted.” i laughed as i opened it. time is flying by. it’s short.
we no longer use jelly jars for our wine. we decided, instead, to use the good wine glasses. instead of worrying whether the riedels or the family passed-down-crystal might break, we use them, enjoying the wine in them and the remembrance of them as treasured gifts. a double.
now i think that the apothic people should sponsor us.
quiet guitar, a little flute, an oboe line weaving in and out.
i know – without a doubt – that they are trying to keep me calm while on hold. having just gotten off the phone with a billing department, it is not a far reach for me to imagine one falling fast asleep during this interminable period of time. the age of technology and customer service have taken a turn to the worse if they are programming music specifically to slow down our rapidly-beating hearts and blood pressure when we call.
from a personal standpoint, were i to be accessing this music – this particular track – through a mindful practice app or a guided imagery site, it would be pretty helpful. but the use of background music on loop – a composer’s nightmare – to soothe my billingbrain is trying.
and then there was this moment i had on hold one day when i called an insurance company. paperwork strewn in front of me, pencil and notebook at the ready, a list of questions in my head, i was ready to take them on. i was instantly put on hold the moment i selected “speak to a representative”.
the music started.
mine.
piano, strings, a cello line weaving in and out…
it did take my mind off the insurance debacle.
instead, i just kept wondering if they were paying royalties.
and the snow fell gently in the woods, rendering it muted, like the tones of ansel adams’ pine forest, snow.
it was breathtakingly beautiful.
snowflakes slid from the sky, landing on our faces, our eyelashes, our hats and scarves and coats.
everything slowed – a 78rpm record playing at 33.
stretched out into slow motion, we stood and gazed up into the trillions of perfect flakes.
and, in the way of water – a balm, worries washed away and all that was left was peace. achingly gorgeous, we stayed in it, in the serene, a cloud, unwilling to leave the soft-focus-world moments, the snow sanctuary.
“know that the universe is always conspiring in our favor.” (paulo coelho)
the crane’s footprints left no doubt that it knew where it was headed. solid and in a straight line, looking deliberate and measured, directly across the trail’s walkway toward the pond, looking for life-affirming nutrition. it had found itself in illinois – perhaps by choice, perhaps by instinct. there was a mate’s footprints as well.
i read the other day that a school in wisconsin – waukesha, to be specific – has prohibited a class of elementary school first grade students from singing the song “rainbowland“. this song was a collaboration between miley cyrus and dolly parton. the superintendent stated that, “it was determined that ‘rainbowland’ could be perceived as controversial.” one of the teachers involved said she heard “through the grapevine” that the song was vetoed because of the artist miley cyrus. she asked, “how would you sing any song?” (if you concerned yourself with the potential of controversial past of any artist – or any person, for that matter.) dolly parton, back in 2017 when the song was released, said that the song is “really about if we could love one another a little better or be a little kinder, be a little sweeter, we could live in a rainbow land.” she added, “it’s really just about dreaming and hoping that we could all do better. it’s a good song for the times right now.” according to usa today, “the teacher says themes in ‘rainbowland’ are about embracing differences in each other” and the teacher presses on, it’s “like the core of what we teach at school or what anybody teaches.” but “rainbowland” and rainbow lanyards are both banned.
it is astounding that waukesha – a town where – horrifically – a person literally drove into a christmas parade themed “comfort and joy”, killed six people and injured sixty-two – would want to veto a song about diversity and acceptance and peace and kindness and making a difference – universal themes of positivity. i wonder how many of those little first graders may have known someone who was injured or killed – or watched the sheer horror from the parade sidelines. i wonder what their little zealous hearts and minds thought when they were told they couldn’t sing the song they had learned for their spring concert.
living in a rainbowland the skies are blue and things are grand wouldn’t it be nice to live in paradise where we’re free to be exactly who we are let’s all dig down deep inside brush the judgment and fear aside make wrong things right and end the fight ’cause i promise ain’t nobody gonna win
living in a rainbowland where you and i go hand in hand oh, i’d be lying if i said this was fine all the hurt and the hate going on here we are rainbows, me and you every color, every hue let’s shine on through together, we can start living in a rainbowland
rainbowland was replaced by the rainbow connection from the muppet movie. but then, that song, too, was banned. after a bit of time, the rainbow connection was reinstated and is part of the concert. the muppets passed muster. but that roygbiv thing seems to be the item of contention for that school district. wow. and wow. headed backwards. the opposite of the cranes.
division and hatred and judgement and fear are worming their way throughout wisconsin, through all the gerrymandered lines.
there are those in this state that seem to know where they are headed. in a solid and straight line, deliberately and measured, their efforts are undermining freedoms of individuals, leading with discriminatory heavy hands and zilcho heart. their voices are everywhere, including in school boards and in school districts. their voices are silencing first graders.
it needs to be below 32 degrees fahrenheit for icicles to form. this is wisconsin, so that’s not really a problem here. it’s winter. there are stalactites of ice everywhere. when they form on gutters is when i start worrying. ice-damming is a cruelly-lurking by-product of our winter storms. but ice forming elongated frozen crystal teardrops on ivy? that’s another thing.
the howe caverns guide was a handsome young guy. susan and i were mid-teens and, thus, instantly in love with his chiseled face as he led us through the stalactites and stalagmites of the caves. fred prendergast was his name. now – ask me what we did last weekend and i may not remember. but fred? yup. how on earth does that work?
i hadn’t seen these beautiful tiny icicles before. they were a product of the neighbor’s garage eaves overflow dripping onto the ivy on top of the fence during a period of time that the temperature dipped below freezing. clearly, a number of things had to align in order for us to see this chandelier of baby icicles.
they didn’t last and, very soon, they were gone. but in the meantime, i captured many photos of them teetering between existence and not-there. looking closely, you can see the layers – one drop of water freezing at a time – vertical layers upon layers. like snowflakes piled inside long lucite columns, each one different, suspended from fragile ivy branches. they were fascinating and prompted me to research icicles just a bit more.
when we left howe caverns, we were – ok, i was – convinced that fred would be my future…that somehow this summertime-employed-cave-guide would search the world – or at least the state of new york – and i would one day be mrs. prendergast. we would give cave tours together and study stalagmites and stalactites. our children would be the children of two studied scientists and our home in upstate new york would be a place of knowledge-seeking.
fred never found me. somehow – in the way of the teenage crush – i was able to process that he never looked.
but his lessons about the stal-ites stayed with me. and i couldn’t help but remember when i stood in front of these tiny icicles on display.
i wonder what fred and the missus (or the mister) are doing.
back in the day, when i was a small child, we laid shells in sand cavities we had carefully dug out of the beach, filled in plaster of paris and a little water and made sculptures, castings of shapes. mine was a fish. not a very good fish, i might add, but a fish nonetheless. my brother made an anchor and my sister made a seahorse. the castings instantly came to mind when we passed by this leaf impression in the snow.
soon, others would walk on the trail and it is likely that their footprints covered the leaf. or, possibly, the sun came out and the edges of the leaf – so clear on our passing – melted. i don’t know. what counted is that the leaf was there when we passed by.
the last time i sat by my brother’s side, he told me a few stories about being my big brother. i still remember how that felt. his words – a little fuzzier, with a little less clarity – echo in the bank of memories i have, my heart ever-full, his little sister. though the impression has melted a bit with the thirty years of sun since he died, it is no less profound than it ever was.
even if it doesn’t look quite like a fish – or a leaf – each impression is actually indelible and its invisible sculpture takes up a tiny space in our hearts and minds. castings you can look at any time you want.
kind of makes you want to make sure each moment is worthy of plaster of paris, a few shells and a little time to cure.
i went to school for nineteen years. when i finished my master’s degree my sweet momma asked if i would – one day – work on a doctorate. i emphatically replied, “not a chance!”. i felt that i had reached my terminal degree, so to speak, and that all the rest – all that education, work experience, talent and intuition and tenacity and wisdom gained along the way – would serve me well.
i am 64 today. sixty-four. six decades plus four.
and i am a woman. woman. she/her/hers.
and this is the 21st century. the 2000’s.
yet, sitting on the couch the other day, watching new amsterdam – cast with actors in many female physicians’ and specialists’ roles – i stood up and cheered for the female character who firmly stated, “i didn’t go to school for twelve years [med school] to learn how to smile more.”
what – exactly – is the propensity for people to tell – specifically – women to “smile” or “smile more” or “just smile” or some similar iteration in answer to conflict, to agenda, to management riddled with prejudice? the question i ask – would you tell a man to “smile” or “smile more” or “just smile” or – truly – any iteration as such?
the continued thwarting, silencing, harassing of women is insidious. and forever. as in – forever.
“there is a pull, a fiercely ingrained pull, to mute a woman’s voice until it coos. to press it down until it is as small and sweet as a pastel after-dinner mint. to control it. to silence it.”
“and still, she speaks. she tries to be heard. but very—too often—her voice is ignored … or belittled, mocked, critiqued, or shouted down.”
“if a woman utilizes her voice in a powerful way, or shakes up systems that are firmly in place, she will be subject to an abysmal, hack, silencing-method known as punishment.”(fiona landers – we have always silenced women – damemagazine.com)
“learn how to smile more…” i put new amsterdam on pause and rolled my eyes.
smiling more and keeping silent…when is that appropriate action in one’s workplace? is it appropriate – palatable – with a minimal salary and no benefits? is it substantially more appropriate – indeed more palatable – with a substantial salary, full benefits and retirement? do leaps and bounds of higher financial reward translate to keeping-one’s-mouth-shut even in the face of maltreatment? is a silent smiler in the upwardly-mobile ranks helping those on the lower ladder rungs? where is the line (or is it a ladder rung?) between generative transparency and closed-lipped acquiescence? where is the respect?
my sweet momma – who died at almost 94, a woman before her time – was a smiler. i – like most people – love to smile. i can see her smile in mine, the thinning curve as she grins, the crinkling of her eyes and the crease just above her top lip. she was a promoter of joy and kindness and – as the basic tenets of all the work i do in the world – i would like to think i have brought those forward, from her.
i found a small pocket calendar she sent me. i had saved it in a drawer in my studio for fifteen years. there is a handwritten sticky note on the back in which she directs me to “read the motivations through these pages” and to “start with the cover”.
the cover quote reads, “you must be the change you wish to see in the world.” (mahatma gandhi)
smiling-on-demand – even being a “sweet pastel after-dinner mint” – does not get one anywhere. conversely, not smiling-on-demand, not being a “sweet pastel after-dinner mint” can get one destroyed. but, in fact, smiling-not-for-a-real-smile’s-sake and the act of being a “sweet pastel after-dinner mint” and staying quiet about any prejudicial wrongdoing or malfeasance is an abhorrent manipulation, a coercion, shutting down strong, smart, valuable women – employees – time after time. and for what purpose? is this not perpetuating the oppression? just what responsibility do we have to each other, to the next? are we the change or aren’t we?
reverse threading 