we spent a wonderful day thanksgiving friday in boston with craig and dan. taking trains here and there, we had brunch at the greatest little dietary-restrictions-aware-diner called the friendly toast, walked through a magnificently decorated copley place, had drinks together and went bowling, a tradition that has been established now for a few years. it would have been hard not to feel the holiday spirit; carols were playing and everything was decorated…and we were together.
copley place had enormous decorations. i mean eNORmous. everywhere you looked there were oversized ornaments and lights. now, normally i might find that gauche; in this case it was stunning. they really made you take notice. i wanted to sing carols and skip through the mall.
i keep carols on pretty much non-stop in this season. in the house they play on a boombox booming out of my studio. we drive with them on in the car. i sing in the shower. i make up new words to old standards and sing LALALALALA really loudly when i can’t think of the lyrics. joy joy joy! big joy!
thank you to copley place for the reminder that THE JOY of the season – those moments we are together – is enormous. it is oversized. it is stunning. take notice.
a couple of weeks ago i ran into a couple i hadn’t seen in many years. they asked me about my children and how they were; i excitedly rambled on about them for several minutes, explaining where they were living – 20 hours west and 20 hours east – and what they were doing in life. then they asked me how i was. i said, “you can always gauge a mom’s happiness by how recently she last got to see her grown children.” i was fortunate enough to see my daughter in november AND my son in november, so i was happy-happy-happy. time spent with them. a wondrous thing.
i was perched on one edge and My Girl on another, a ways down the side of the canyon. we yelled back and forth, listening to the echo, ultimately dissolving into laughter. the beauty. the joy. the echo. the laughing. a wondrous thing.
it was not his best bowling day; the planets clearly were out of alignment for My Boy, who pretty much rocks at bowling and many other sports, but he goofed around and cartooned and had us all laughing. so much fun on that lane. a wondrous thing.
we stood around the piano and sang in my studio, wendy’s voice next to my own. suddenly, that thing-that-happens-when-two-people-who-are-related-sing-together happened. my sweet niece’s voice and mine had the same timbre and it took my breath away. i had to stop for a moment to take it in. a wondrous thing.
from the moment we walked into their house, my girlfriend-since-elementary-school and i laughed. we told stories, reminisced, struggled to remember details, poured a little wine, shared some more. our husbands sipped lemon drop martinis and we talked non-stop. i wanted to stay longer, talk more, remember more. so much of my growing-up-history was standing next to me, hugging me as we left. a wondrous thing.
we don’t really leave the kitchen table when we are there. we sit on high stools and the chatter starts as soon as we arrive. our dear friends jen and brad and the two of us have potluck dinners on many friday nights; each couple has leftovers from the week and no one has to worry about cooking. we just heat up our leftovers and plate them and talk, wine glasses (or a beer in brad’s case) in hand. conversations about our children, our work, politics, travel, ukuleles, npr…the spectrum is wide and we relish the time that flies by; six hours later we glance at the clock pointing to post-midnight. a wondrous thing.
as glorious as the high mountains, ocean-front waves, flowers birthing out of winter, exquisite melodies, the first sip of coffee in the morning, a magical snowfall, texts with heart emojis, a hand holding yours, finding an old note in your child’s little-kid handwriting, black and white pictures of your parents in young days, shooting stars and sunrises…the list of wondrous things we can see around us is endless…limitless…boundless…
and moments shared? also endless…limitless…boundless…
we notice stuff. seriously. little things. we always lean on the artistic side of everything we encounter (although that left brain rears up for both of us, it is in different ways.) so as we walk or hike, we will notice rocks that look like hearts, patterns of leaves on the ground that form beautiful carpets, sunsetting color that illuminates a field with golden light, wildlife that crosses our path – big and tiny. we hear – and stop to listen to – the song of cicadas, the honk of frogs, the call of birds in the woods, the chirp of chipmunks, the rat-a-tat-tat of woodpeckers, the coo of mourning doves. we look for changes in the scenery since the last time we hiked and we notice. little things. and tracks.
these little tracks were in our driveway…in the act of quickly going out to the car to leave we could have missed them. that would have been too bad. the breath that these sweet tracks provided me was invaluable…a pause in a busy day, a moment of appreciating nature around me, a grounding humbleness that i am merely one in a boundless universe, a heart-connection to these small creatures…a part of a whole.
peace signs. the word peace. ornaments of peace. our home is punctuated with these. i believe it is possible – peace. but then, for truly big things, i believe in that which i cannot see.
the days older that i get, the more i see the simplest things are the things that bring me peace: the moment in the car with my beloved daughter, driving and laughing in the high desert or standing on a red rock precipice overlooking a canyon, tears in my eyes. the moment my beloved son let me link arms walking through the city or his hugging me -one more time- right before the train, yes…tears in my eyes. being -anywhere- with my beloved husband. all the stuff of deep soul warmth. the stuff of good tears.
i have found that peace doesn’t have to be complicated. it is simply there. in the very tightest concentric circle around me. if i can be at peace, perhaps i can do my part, i can ripple that outward. and maybe, eventually, with all our ripples, peace and earth will truly combine to be PEACE ON EARTH.
we drove into new york from pennsylvania and one of the first things we saw on this beautiful drive was this sign. “it can wait,” it declared. so true. what’s so important that can’t wait a few miles? traveling at just 60mph that would only be a mere 5 minutes away. i was infinitely proud of my homestate of NY and the effort to acknowledge and accommodate today’s technology while not superseding safety. distracted driving is against the law in many states, including NY and for good reason. we have all been privy to devastating stories, accidents that might have been avoided, moments when paying close attention should be paramount. providing a place to communicate is smart; these text stops were fairly frequent on the road and there were always cars and trucks parked there. but on the road, speeding down the highway? no technology present.
we are kind of at the back end of technology, david and me. the girl and the boy are smack dab in the middle of it. and the little children and young teens we see running around with ipads for entertainment or their own cellphones are clearly at the leading edge. we’ve watched while standing in line, even at the post office, as a mother hands a small toddler a phone to play with while waiting. i’m not sure where conversation or making up games or riddles on the fly went. i remember standing in a zillion lines in the post office with the girl and the boy (shipping has been key in my business) and they seemed perfectly content to wait or, ohmygosh, just talk. no technology present.
but it’s different now (saying this is a sure sign of us getting older) and everything is more immediate and more distracted. how many times have you seen a couple together in a restaurant with cellphones at the ready, lingering halfway between their tablemate and the pull of the internet or the text or instagram or twitter… the look on one of the faces an expression of defeat or, worse yet, an aloofness that comes with not being able to compete with the magnetic pull of that small device across from them. “it can wait,” i whisper silently, wishing the other person at the table could hear. what’s so important it can’t wait? what’s more important than those moments spent together, really together? paying close attention. no technology present.
these are the things we notice. little and big. the things we love about living two-artists-together. little and big. the things we ponder. little and big.
this one? an existential question indeed. but that sweet caterpillar….
it’s circuitous…the way i would define where i’m from. you have to be prepared to listen a spell if you ask me this question.
just like anyone, i have taken pieces – absorbed – every place i’ve been, every community i have shared in, every experience i’ve had, everyone i’ve met or been influenced by; indeed, those have become where i’m from. in jeans and boots on stage i talk about where “home” is and try to differentiate by referring to wisconsin as “home”, florida as “home-home” and long island as “home-home-home” which sounds semi-ridiculous, not to mention annoying for people who cringe at redundancy. plus it doesn’t include time living on a sheep farm in new hampshire nor profound moments i’ve had visiting places that have sought space in my soul. but it might give you a place to listen from; with your eyes closed you may hear your own story.
when i wrote this piece, 21 years ago or so, i knew it needed to swirl around the theme, travel from one key to another, return to its theme…have continuity yet have places where it started again. in celebrating my sweet momma and dad this week with the introduction of my song YOU’RE THE WIND it brought me back to my deepest roots, transplanted time and again though they may be. no matter what, i will always be a northeast girl. new york is in my blood and long island is ever a part of my heart.
where i’m from…it’s time ago…it’s now…it’s what’s to come.
if you listen you can hear the tide. in and out…like day, like experiences, like finding home. it changes. it’s the same.
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.
it goes by. time. no matter how much you want to hold onto it. there are THOSE moments…the ones you treasure. there are THOSE moments…the ones you want to forget ever happened. the only thing we can depend on, despite wishing otherwise, is that either moment – the one we cling to or the one we abhor – either moment will go by. we can’t hold the sun. it is elusive. it is fleeting. but a new day will come. we can look to the dawn for a fresh start, one more try, a little hope, another moment to cherish.
we often walk at the end of the work day. we go inland to a lake trail and walk a couple times around the lake, somewhere around 6 miles or so in total. we mostly hike around the lake clockwise, which means that we are watching the sun come down across the lake at the beginning of our walk, a time when we are still processing the day and haven’t yet gotten immersed in the trail. sometimes we are so engrossed in talking or thinking-silence that we have to remind the other to appreciate…”look at that sunset,” one of us will say.
sometimes we will get up early and, with our coffee mugs, go sit on the rocks and watch the sun come up over lake michigan. every time we are witnesses to the beginning of a new day this way i think we should do that more often.
sunrise. sunset. it makes me think of the song from the musical fiddler on the roof. it’s truly a beautiful song, simple, sung with great heart. the passing of time. so fast. wendy wrote to say it was time to bring logan back to college – for his second year. i could so so feel how that felt, remembering times i had brought My Girl or My Boy back to college.
“Is this the little girl I carried? Is this the little boy at play? I don’t remember growing older When, did, they? When did she get to be a beauty? When did he grow to be so tall? Wasn’t it yesterday when they, were, small?
Sunrise, sunset, Sunrise, sunset Swiftly flow the days Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers Blossoming even as we gaze Sunrise, sunset, Sunrise, sunset Swiftly fly the years One season following another Laden with happiness and tears.”
(Sunrise, Sunset – by S. Harnick, J. Bock)
life somehow fits in between these sunrises and sunsets. and somehow, some days, we just seem to miss it. too many things to do, to worry about, to perseverate over, to check off lists. every time i vow to honor the sunrise and exhale with the sunset, somewhere in between i realize i forgot. i’ll try again tomorrow.
SUNRISE. SUNSET. a morsel from the painting A DAY AT THE BEACH
reverse threading 