words of wisdom from jessie holmes (a sled dog racer) of national geographic’s life below zero…such a simple truth. you can’t start in the middle….of the race, of the book, of the career, of the relationship, of the challenge, of the hallway that sits in-between one door closing and another opening. you have to show up at the starting line and experience all of it. wanting to avoid the pain, the ambiguity, the not-knowing-how-it-will-turn-out, we try to skip a stone from the start to the finish, but – if you picture a pinball machine and the ball careening off flippers and bumpers – we know that there are many variables and any one move will change where the steel ball will go next. just like life.
in a statement of the obvious, “you cannot play your pinball machine without the playfield.”(pinballsales.com) in jessie’s equally obvious but oh-so-poignantly-true statement, yes…you “can’t show up at the finish line without showing up at the starting line.” it all counts.
we drove the kettle moraine scenic drive yesterday…it was the celebration of our anniversary and we had arranged to take off…everything was lined up…dogdog care by 20…snacks…everything work-related done ahead of time. on the travel wisconsin website we found this beautiful tour through back roads and areas of fall color that looked like calendars that you buy in stationery stores. once we got out of the endless whitewater loop we seemed to be hilariously stuck in, we ambled our way north, catching our breath around curves and topping hills formed long ago by geological earth movement. fall color was everywhere, especially the further we drove. we missed the selfie stands that were sporadically placed along the way. but we didn’t miss traffic. or highways. or towns. or strip malls. it was a breath out of regular life. a chance to just be together, without work or worries or tasks or errands. to talk or be silent. to sing to john denver on baby scion’s cd player. to gorge on snacks and sip an espresso at a little coffeehouse. it was the cello line of our day, this drive. the lift of every breath.
download EVERY BREATH track 1 on AS IT IS on iTUNES or CDBaby
a couple of early summers ago The Girl called to tell me she had gotten her summer job -common for snowboard coaches and instructors – lined up. she sounded excited and i asked her what it was. “i’m going to be a white water rafting guide!!” she exclaimed. it took me a few seconds to digest this, as i couldn’t remember her ever being ON a white water raft. moments later i asked her that question, to which she replied “nope! but they’ll teach me everything i need to know.” wow. wow. wow.
and so she underwent intensive training, not only on the river but in safety, first aid, teamwork. weeks later she was out on the river, grit and determination her partners as well as some really great rafting colleagues. she would send pictures of the churning water and waterfalls and mountain views and i was stunned by all of it. the journey from landlubber to river bum is exponentially shorter at 26 than 50-something, i suspect.
i will always remember the day she called to tell us about a terrible accident on the river that had happened to a different company. she, like all the river rafting personnel, was devastated to learn of a death on the river. there was nothing like that event to add humble deference to a healthy respect of the water. no matter what, water is more powerful than you think.
this morsel -waterfall dreams- (from the painting HOT SPRINGS that just made its way back to david) made me think of the magical moments she had on that river weaving its way through the mountains. rich color, robust movement, spray from the rapids catching the sunlight…a playground in the hills.
we knew before we really started planning that we would be married in jeans and boots. and anyone who knows us could tell you that we would definitely be wearing black tops, in david’s case – a shirt and jacket, in my case – a long tunic. it’s just us.
we went to the frye boot store in chicago long before our wedding day, combining a visit with The Boy with our errand. the girl-boots i tried on weren’t right…although i love all the high frye boots, we had a vision for these, the one item we each splurged on in our apparel for The Day. the boots needed to be totally dance-worthy, kind of worn-looking, lower-ankle boots. i ended up buying boy-boots; it helps when you have big feet, lol, because you can find boy-sizes that fit. we wore them inside the house dancing many times to break them in. but never put them on to go anywhere. we were saving them.
three years ago today, we donned our boots, our new ripped jeans and our black tops. we individually walked down the aisle to the front of the church and a new life commitment. The Girl, The Boy, 20, arnie and ptom stood in front with us and then we skipped back down the aisle, past pews filled with pieces of our hearts, to the ukulele band playing what a wonderful world. we drove our little baby scion to the historic beachhouse where we had a food truck, a dj playing music people danced to for hours and hours, hula hoops and crayons, wine and daisy cupcakes, spotted cow and quinoa tabouli, brownies and a bonfire on the beach. our family and friends – our community- brought us across the bridge from single to married; it was in a key of celebration, of support.
never did we once think that life would just be like that from there on out. for life is life and challenges arise. we are not exempt from that. but our community stands with us, silently reminding us that they were there, they witnessed the moment. their belief and our love forge together. it takes a village to be married. we are grateful for that village, for anyone who has nudged us to see Us.
and any time we forget that very important day, we pull our wedding boots out of the front of our closets, put them on and remember.
about six years ago i was in the sweet downtown of nashville, indiana browsing with linda and bill. we stopped at a music store and i fell in love with a little black ukulele. i bought it and played around with this tiny instrument, a lot lighter to tote around than a piano.
a little over five years ago i decided to offer a ukulele band at trinity, where i am the minister of music. thinking that perhaps four or six people would sign up, over the years we have sold 50-60 ukes! we have a consistent band that rehearses year round and plays at least once a month in the service. it’s a blast! and it’s a way for people who maybe have had no prior musical experience to play an instrument. i read that “the ukulele is a portal through which only happy people can pass.” (uke muster) personal experience makes me add that there is no way to play the ukulele and not smile. they go hand in hand. what’s not idyllic about that?
under the umbrella of two-artists-making-stuff-for-humans (which includes doing stuff with or for humans), recently we decided to move this glee out further into the world. we held our first UKULELE SIP ‘N STRUM last friday night at a local winery. in the same vein as a ‘paint and sip’, people registered for a lesson and a glass of fine wine; they ordered their ukulele in their favorite color and, with the help of pacetti’s – our favorite downtown music store – we delivered them that night. it was a blast!
we are booking the next dates and are taking the SIP ‘N STRUM out – all over – into different venues, people’s homes, even corporate events. the chance for people to learn and smile and play music and sip wine and sing is what we offer. as virtuoso ukulele player jake shimabukuro says, “if everyone played the ukulele, the world would be a better place.” we couldn’t agree more!
so let us know if you want to book a UKULELE SIP ‘N STRUM. we’re ready! pick in hand! and we promise – it’ll be a blast! 🙂
i blame my sweet momma. i cannot avoid seeing spelling errors, grammar errors, punctuation errors in the newspaper, on newsletters, signs, websites, billboards. we were perusing a website the other day and came across this headline. it’s an irony that the word “prograMing” (with one M) was used next to the word “educational”… i mean, exactly how “educational” can the programming be if it can’t even be spelled correctly? aaack. it’s one of those little things that makes me a little bit crazy. i can’t help it.
that fact (that it makes me a little bit crazy) doesn’t exempt me from mistakes of my own. certainly, i have racked up a few too. but my momma was one-of-those-people who made me use a dictionary at all times and would point out the correct usage of punctuation and grammar. and i am grateful to her! she would say, “if you aren’t sure, look it up.”
you’ve all seen something along the lines of this:
it’s true. it’s a little thing, but in these days of so many wrongs, every little thing done right counts. even if it’s a mere comma. even if it’s the apostrophe after the word “it” or, the (correct) absence of an apostrophe to pluralize a noun. “dog’s” for “dogs” makes me, yep, a little crazy. (geesh…thank you, momma!)
we were driving through alabama on a back road; it had taken us south toward florida over 100 miles and the scenery was pretty varied. alabama is an interestingly textured state – from the duct tape letters spelling out “deer rendering” on a black plastic sign hanging next to a long overgrown dirt driveway to the vast cattle ranches with big houses and multiple outbuildings. but there was one place that we passed that made us just keeeeeeep gooooooing, although i do wish we had stopped to take a photograph. since we didn’t, david drew you a picture.
are you ready for this? it was a skating rink. named – sharpshooters skating rink. now, despite the pristine spelling and grammar with an itty-bitty punctuation error, some words just shouldn’t ever be put together. agreed?
the sun was shining in central park the first time i sang this song in public. we were on stage and it was the conclusion of the “I AM” NYC revlon run/walk for women, an event where all the proceeds are used to help fight cancer, specifically women’s cancers. it was stunning – tens of thousands of people gathered, unified by a yearning, to make a difference, to help women live healthier lives, longer lives, to help fight the fight.
every time i hear or sing my own song, i quietly dedicate it to a woman i know who is a survivor in the middle of this battle, in the middle of her path back to health. my own sweet momma tops my list of women who have bravely and stalwartly walked this journey. but i think of dear friends, relatives, acquaintances…devastatingly, too many to list. all “bonded by the power of this dream that is i am.”
I’m different than you.
I am the same.
We are strong. We are courageous.
We are more than this disease; we are bigger than this fight.
United, we celebrate life.
it is raining here today as i write this. the power and fortitude of the mantra ‘i am’ seems a little weaker. it’s pervasive, this grayness. for survivorship of disease is not limited to the blunt force blow of cancer. survivorship spans the spectrum. women, like me, who are survivors of sexual assault. women who are survivors of marginalization. women who are survivors of silencing. women who are survivors of domestic, workplace, governmental limitations or abuse.
i listen to my own lyrics and i wonder…are we unified by a yearning? are we truly trying to make a difference to help women live healthier lives, longer lives, fight the fight – whatever that fight might be?
in the bins in the basement (and scattered in places around the house) are child-drawings and paintings, ornaments made of paper and glue and sparkly glitter, painted rocks of various sizes, necklaces of beads and shells, framed little scraps of paper with things like “goodnight mom” written in pencil and surrounded by hearts. The Girl and The Boy have marked time through their artwork (and also through their writings) and i cherish each saved piece. this morsel – the field in early october – makes me think of such pieces.
in the corner of a new piece on david’s easel i found this morsel. extracted from the painting it is so childlike in feel. such simplicity and innocence. it immediately brought me to open fields we have walked…where sunflowers gaze for just a bit longer and grass is still verdant and lush and there are wild red berries on the bushes along the trail. the sun is in our eyes and everything takes on a muted hue. i can smell the leaves burning from the farmer’s field far off to our west.
what is more heavenly than remembering an early october day from a reality-fantasy visual perspective? what is more treasured than the artwork of a child? what a delicious combination. just ask picasso.
2. these are actual chairs selling in an actual barn at an actual farm where actual people go for an actual sale.
3. this is chaos to me (and maybe you), treasures to the owner.
4. i could only stare at this for a few minutes before i got uncomfortable. i felt like i had literally crawled inside the commotion-filled-clinging-onto-everything-psyche of someone who hoarded everything. it was just moments before i had to breathlessly leave the room.
5. the swedish death cleanse is not a bad idea. (from the book the gentle art of swedish death cleaning(margareta magnusson) “a charming, practical, and unsentimental approach to putting a home in order while reflecting on the tiny joys that make up a long life.”) clearing out all unnecessary items. putting things in order. learning to let go. sounds lofty. but, heck, we can try it.
6. so we’ve started purging, baby-step-by-baby-step. #purgingsoourchildrendon’thaveto #lessismore #notaseasyasitlooks #wholooksinthebasementstorageroomanyway #thready-nesshasitsdrawbacks #thedeathcleansemightbeoverrated #meh,atleastourhousedoesn’tlooklikethisphoto #we’lltryagaintomorrow
with the ad-campaign-delivery of beautiful jennifer garner, what’s in YOUR basement?
he stopped. walking in the top floor room of a nearby antique mall we love to visit, david was struck suddenly by – of all things – tv trays. “we had these!” he exclaimed. “growing up, we had these exact trays!” i immediately took pictures. i knew i would send them to his sister later. for a few moments, he was back in colorado, clipping the tv tray into place, surrounded by his sister, his brothers, his mom and dad.
when we have free time, we peruse antique stores. sometimes we are lucky to amble with our dearest friends. it takes time to walk through antiques – old stuff that connects us to a galore of stories. we stop and tell tales, sharing, laughing, amazed at how long ago are the moments we are speaking of. pole lamps that reach floor-to-ceiling, games, figurines, wooden crates, orange and turquoise vinyl furniture, dolls and toys, china, record albums, ancient suitcases with no wheels, teapots and patterns of corelle-ware, mixing bowls and corningware…everything is part of some moment we have passed through, maybe forgotten, but now surfacing with the touch of some item.
i am really thready, without physical reminders. but with them i can literally touch yesterdays…full of emotion, sometimes pining for times-gone-by. i relish the stories, the re-visiting. i can almost, just almost remember our tv trays. but not quite. i can’t quite put my mind’s-eye-finger on them. maybe we will stumble across them one of these days. and i will stop short.
in the meanwhile, just wondering…what did your tv trays look like?
reverse threading 