about dessert, my sweet momma always said, “it’ll slide down and fill in the crevices!!!” yes, yes, the perfect way to feel fulfilled for a momma who had feeding-people as one of her love languages.
we try not to overeat. we try to make healthy choices. we try to maintain a good dietary balance of fruits and vegetables, lean meats, grains, nuts, blahblahblah. but, sometimes, we have had just a littletoomuch cheese and crackers for snacktime, a littletoomuch wine at happy hour, a littletoomuch chicken soup at dinner and we are inordinately – like thanksgiving’s troubled tale – stuffed.
we try to take a walk in these moments. try to work off the excess. try to believe we will make better decisions next time. yadayadayada.
and then, one of us remembers.
that in recent weeks – we succumbed to the talenti frozen nondairy sorbetto – and that it is sitting patiently awaiting us in our freezer – the one that occasionally forgets it’s a freezer and leaks water onto the floor. a little somethin’ sweet.
the food-guilt is not as powerful as the sorbetto-yearning here, i guess, so we succumb.
because a little coffee sorbetto will merely slide down and fill in the crevices.
the harmonic overtones ring, free in the wind. they are a voice of purity, peaceful in the day and night. they drift into our window and i lay still, quietly listening.
for years as we walked our lakefront, we would stand on the sidewalk at a certain house and listen to the tenor windchimes hanging on one of their trees. the pentatonic scale sang from the backyard all the way to where we were standing, swirling around us. we would just stand there, quietly listening.
we had looked at chimes in garden shops and boutiques, but they were out of reach and we just agreed on “someday”. so we wrote about them – such a thing of beauty and meditation. and one day, guy wrote to us to inquire if we would like to adopt their set of chimes as they moved on to a home where there would be no place for them. and “someday” arrived.
the windchimes hang on a blue spruce in our backyard, back by the birdbath and bird/chippie/squirrel feeder. they are nestled next to the grasses and are stunning against the white fence. because they are not out in wide open space, they don’t ring with every breeze. instead, they seem discerning, choosing only breezes from a certain direction, a certain velocity. sometimes, it is merely a prolonged single note we can hear, floating. other times, when the wind picks up a bit, several notes will ring out, immediately bringing us pause, a moment of peace, a moment to reflect and root and center.
in much the same way that experiencing intentionally-played crystal singing bowls can rejuvenate, the frequencies of these windchimes resonate with the place in my heart that is hungry for sublime sound. translucent pitches that wrap around us – in gratitude, we are quietly listening.
fall is coming on. there is no denying it. everything is starting to wane.
the sky is starting to gray. the corn will be soon plowed under and, one of these days, the cabbage fields will have to turn over, the yield from their crop slowed to a stop. the colors are changing.
george winston recorded an album called autumn. you listen inside his wistfulness as he toys with the emotions of the changing. the album was released in 1980 and, for me, that was a distinct time of heading into fallow.
some fallows last longer than the seasons and the tilted axis of the earth seems to evade warming sunlight. the seeds gather strength in the ground – centered in us, even without us nourishing them. and eventually, ever-so-slowly sometimes, the earth tilts back toward the sun and the orbital horizon is rebirth, spring.
it seems to happen fast – the waning. the ebb and flow of the cold. there is nothing as constant as change and, so, we need remember that in times of fallow. the tide – like the corn and the cabbage – will come and go, come and go. an ancient story.
we join hands with others on our path – they are quite possibly on the same ebb and quite possibly will be in the flow with us as well. they stand with us, they encourage us, they surprise us. the shapes of others appear – like revelations – from out of the mist of our fixed frame of reference. everything looks different.
standing on this side of the corn, gazing into the grayness of sky, the dance of color as it fades, i am finding – with much gratitude – that there are others standing right there with me, gazing as well. the wistful tugs at us; gravitational effect far from the sun but with promise of the pull. we stand still, roots under our feet, steadfastly hand-holding, looking at the horizon as it shifts.
and time passes and the seasons flow and flow and, eventually, the axis finally – at long last – tilts and the fallow ends and the seeds that were planted so long ago break through the frozen ground and we know that we have – together – affected even the tiniest change.
and winter comes as we stoke up, readying ourselves for the riches of spring.
rainy weekends and antique shoppes go hand in hand. we love a slow browse through the stuffofthepast. curling up on the couch under a sherpa blanket with a good book is also an option. cleaning out the basement, dusting, vacuuming, mopping floors – eh, not so much.
i won’t forget how much time i spent as a kid with nancy drew. she and i sat on my orange and green shag rug floor with hot cocoa for long spans of time, figuring out her mysteries and strategizing next moves. i knew girlfriends who had every single volume, but i didn’t. i had some but i also had a library card and that was like having a ticket to anything.
sometime in elementary school i remember chomping at the bit to go to the library as soon as i got into my school. i used to volunteer there at lunchtime in later elementary years, but early on it was just a place of wonder.
i was the youngest of three and my sister and brother were eleven and nine years older than me – thus they were in prime teasing positions and never failed to take advantage of a moment, particularly my big brother. my sister was more in charge of doing my hair, torturing me with a hairbrush and a teasing comb, rubber bands and sponge curlers.
for some reason – sometime in those early elementary years – we were all together in the living room and they were talking about “natural-born americans”. one of them – and i can’t remember who – looked at me and told me that i wasn’t a natural-born american. i stared in horror, not understanding. they added, “you’re caesarean!” to which i burst into tears. i had no idea where on earth caesarea was and i didn’t want to admit it.
the next morning i made a beeline to the library before going to my classroom. i went directly to the globe and then to an atlas, looking desperately for caesarea.
later, back at home reviewing my day with my mom, i told her about what i had found and i said that as a caesarean i hoped they were still my family, since they were all american.
i don’t think my sister and brother got into much trouble but i’m pretty sure they got a talking-to for terrorizing me. it didn’t stick because it wasn’t long before my brother told me he had flushed my favorite slippers down the toilet. ahhhh. beloved siblings.
i’ve decided that nancy and i would have been good partners. two sleuths, not afraid to look for clues, researching and studying endless details, we could have ruled the third-grade world. nancy drew and kerri.
and all those volumes would have ended up in the antique shoppe too.
yes, yes…we are privy to (read: subjected to) the veryvery best of our partners. in every moment of every day. up close and personal. yup.
there’s not much to be said here. ya know how they say diet plays into everything, into every arena of your life, how it protects you against disease, how garlic and onions are heart-protective superfoods, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound?
well, some things – in relationship and diet and everynowandthen-halitosis – must be taken with a grain of salt, i guess – or maybe a little distance – or maybe a face mask.
most definitely with a nod to tactful….here’s some advice i just read off a dental site: “don’t be too harsh. the most important thing to remember about this conversation is that it’s coming from a place of love, and that the bad breath isn’t a malicious act.“
mama dear always wore lipstick. it really didn’t matter what the occasion or if there even was an occasion. she had her lipstick on and carried it in her purse to refresh. she came to mind the moment i saw this hibiscus. this was the color.
my grandmother had red hair – for as long as i can remember. she also had a red-hair-personality. she was sassy and stubborn, full of sisu; she did red hair proud. she was one of my best friends and we sat together and ate rye toast sipping tea talking about life in her last years. i was in my beginning years when she was in her ending years. i was just experimenting with make-up and she wore lipstick. well.
i still don’t wear lipstick. sometimes a little lip balm, but never lipstick. despite my big sister’s best efforts – for decades – to find the right shade, the best hue, the most moisturizing, the longest-lasting, it’s never felt quite right on me.
even now, as i see my lips fade a bit from my face – in the way that aging does that – i can’t wear hibiscus – or even soft peach-fuzz-rose – on my lips. though mama dear, my own sweet momma, my sister all looked and look stunningly beautiful with the added color to their perfect faces, something has always precluded me.
in the photo shoot for my second album cover, the make-up artist chose a lip pencil, carefully outlining and then filling in with – yes – deep red color. after the album was released, i had my dear graphic designer tone it down, re-releasing the jacket to resemble me a little more. for to release a jacket that didn’t hold true to what i looked like felt contrary to the release of music i had written from deep in my heart. i believe mama dear would understand.
so i guess i will stick with lip balm and the hibiscus will stay on the stem and i will have sweet memories and giant appreciation for its color in the world.
if you asked me what word best describes our up-north trips, it would be laughter. pontoon boatrides and utv drives, hikes in the woods and lots and lots of food and drink and snacks, and it is still laughter.
there is nothing – truly, absolutely nothing – like being with other people who are in the same – ummm – age bracket you are in.
i remember my sweet momma and poppo gathered around their pool in florida with multiple other couples. yadayadayada they’d go on and on about their trials and travails. i was stunned back then by the ordinariness of their conversations, by the chapter of life.
but i tell ya, they had nothing on the up-north gang. we will literally talk about ANYthing. any sordid detail, any grimy description, any mighty middle-age challenge, any blahblah that floats into our brains. we share life, we tell stories, we compare notes, we make suggestions, we google and sort and — yes, laugh.
the other day we took a walk in our neighborhood and met up with a couple friends walking the other way. after the initial hellos and whatchabeendoins, we took the fast track to a fascinating conversation about – drumroll, please – medicare. never would i have ever thought we would have stood on the sidewalk chit-chatting about medicare plans, but there we were – for a long time – the waves crashing on the shore next to us – comparing and contrasting information about supplemental plans and advantage plans. thrilling, eh?
it actually was. thrilling, that is.
because everyone needs to be surrounded by people who “get it”, who “get” where you are in life, “get” the tribulations, “get” the worries and the stuff you have to figure out, “get” the aches and pains and physical morphing that seems to be happening to us. together we can do this.
and the early morning autumn sun streams in the window at a different angle, shining into my face, making me squint and scooch over under the quilt. the light pours over us and, though the air in the room is chilly, we are warmed by the intensity of this october suntilt.
it is our anniversary. eight years ago today we were surrounded by family and friends. we took vows of commitment in this second chance we both had and spontaneously skipped down the aisle to the ukulele band playing and everyone singing “what a wonderful world” after we were declared “married”. the day was glorious – sunny and in the 70s – and everyone gathered at the old beachhouse, warm sand and lakeshore boulders inviting walks, sitting, a late bonfire. we all danced and ate sliders from the food truck, homemade daisy cupcakes and wine from the corner store in our ‘hood. we celebrated in community.
this year will be quieter. we will perhaps take the day. we may go hiking or go visit a town in which we love to stroll and browse. maybe we’ll try to track down the burgermeister food truck, sit in the sun and reminisce. we’ll see.
but before we start – before our feet hit the floor to getamoveon – we’ll just sit here under the autumnglowing quilt with dogga at our feet, sip our coffee and be in wonder that two people – worlds apart – had the good fortune to somehow meet.
our tiny stars somehow aligned, bumped into each other in the galaxy and glimmerdust washed over us, never to be the same, always to be loved.
“if what one has to say is not better than silence, then one should keep silent.” (confucius)
and then there’s the other side of the coin – the side where silence is not golden.
silence doesn’t stop injustice. it doesn’t stop bullying. it alludes to apathy and indifference, even complicity. it is a ship in a harbor. it is safe. it is spineless.
speaking up – of truth – is not babbling. it is not the proliferation of lies, of the made-up. it does not propagate agenda nor does it perpetuate a culture of the unquestioning. it screeches falsity to a halt; it brings focus to ambiguity; it stands up.
we choose our course. we choose what is or is not important to us. we look to others for wisdom and the ability to sort our path. we make errors in judgment; we keep quiet. we learn. we find our voice.
for me, cousin jerry’s t-shirt said it all: “SPEAK UP!”
because:
“silence becomes cowardice when occasion demands speaking out the whole truth and acting accordingly.” (mahatma gandhi)
“if you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. if an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.” (archbishop desmond tutu)
“we must always take sides. neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. the opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” (elie wiesel)
“each time a woman stands up for herself, without knowing it possibly, withoutclaiming it, she stands up for all women.” (maya angelou)
“in the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” (dr martin luther king jr)
“you own everything that happened to you. tell your stories. if people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” (anne lamott)
“each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope.” (robert f kennedy)
“do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” (the golden rule)
“speak your truth quietly and clearly.” (max ehrmann)
with a modicum of tact, with compassion for those who have been wronged, with courage and vulnerability and timidity holding hands-hands-hands, standing in the fire of what is truth-telling, there is hope.
sometimes we get carried away. we think we are still – say – in our thirties – or maybe forties – eh, even our fifties – and we get in littlebabyscion and just driiiiive. without stopping. we love a good roadtrip!
this is no longer what it used to be.
it USED to be that we could drive looongdistance without getting out to stretch. it USED to be that we could drive looongdistance and sip on venti coffees to our heart’s content. it USED to be that we could drive looongdistance without finding restrooms. it USED to be that we’d drive looongdistance and snack our way across the country. it USED to be that we could blithely hop out of the vehicle at any point and skip around the rest area. it USED to be that we could drive late into the wee hours of the night and still be wide awake. it USED to be we could drive 17 or 19 hours in a day. it USED to be that we were intrepid.
this is no longer what it used to be.
now, we drive, still snacking our way across the country because some things never change. but after about two hours we stop. we locate a restroom. we slooowly peel ourselves off the seat of the car and unbend our bentbodies. we stretch, groaning. we ponder walking away from the car. maybe we get a lesssssliquid espresso. we study google maps. we calculate our next stop. we check on when the sun is setting. we take a deep breath. we drive again. and repeat. and we love it! even now.
reverse threading 