kevin and i finally admitted to one another something we had been feeling for a long time. after knowing each other all these years -- the truth finally came out. and we feel so relieved.
we hate february.
the truth is, that even though our birthdays are in february, it doesn't make it any more fun. at last! we feel the freedom of facing the shameful and buried revelation that, all our lives we have feigned a love for february. it is our birthmonth! presents! cake! stuff!
fuck that.
turns out we were the only two who loved february. or thought we did.
we finally realized that...
...january brings relief from the holidays, powerful resolutions, fires of birch and oak, pots of stew, and the super bowl.
...march brings temperatures above 40, sweet smelling mud, an occasional snowstorm that comes and goes quickly, and the anticipation of apil. APRIL!
...february brings...cold. cold. cold. darkness. impatience. stale air. tired sweaters. dirty snow. and valentine's day: a Hallmark holiday which presents to each of us either an obligation or an insult. and one more thing about february -- most people mispronouce it (feb-YOO-ary). hate that!
but kevin and i, we feel better. we plan to celebrate our birthdays together with a winter meal of coffee-rubbed bison short ribs, garlic mashed potatoes, smokey greens, and cake. lots and lots of cake.
happy birthday sweetheart! i hope you like your present. love you always.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
35 below
the coldest night of the year and more winter to come. wait for me, little honeycrisp! everything thaws at some point. it always does.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
a friend forever
my hand still smelled of jasmine when we were sitting at the bar after the concert.
"you are magic" i told him. "we are all magic", he said.
how interesting to be a participant in the world instead of just an observer. extra tickets in our pockets admitted two to our evening. mona and james, who just celebrated their 57th wedding anniversary, and whose names were on the programme as volunteer ushers at the al ringling theater. a beautiful pair who explained that the seven carved faces on the facade over the stage represented the 7 ringling brothers. and that the dressing rooms were under the stage. they told us where the organ pipes were, and how they regretted we wouldn't hear the organ this night as the organist had another party to attend.
there was no warm up act or loud introductions. the lights dimmed quietly and he just appeared in a beautiful grey tunic and trousers, took up his guitar, and began to talk with us. his voice washed over the room like sliding into a cool lake on a hot day. the cellist to his left was an angel in her own right. he sang and he played and he got to know us. freedom. freedom. freedom.
we were second in line to meet him. the crowd parted as he floated through, in a crisp, fresh suit and smelling of jasmine. his neck and fingers were draped in layers of shiny sterling, turquoise and jade, and he slid behind the table and started signing. his smile filled the room and his gracious spirit touched us all.
my turn. no, i don't need you to sign a cd - will you sign my shirt? of course he would. he set his pen to my left shoulder and asked my name, and in a graceful cursive sweep composed a simple message. he paused for a moment to reposition his hand so that his palm wouldn't brush up against something it shouldn't, although i assured him it would be fine with me if it did. i shook his hand - soft and strong and perfectly oiled with jasmine - the same hand that had smacked the beat from his guitar a few minutes ago. the same hand that had brought the music. i kissed him on the cheek.
"to linda, a friend forever. Richie Havens."
"you are magic" i told him. "we are all magic", he said.
how interesting to be a participant in the world instead of just an observer. extra tickets in our pockets admitted two to our evening. mona and james, who just celebrated their 57th wedding anniversary, and whose names were on the programme as volunteer ushers at the al ringling theater. a beautiful pair who explained that the seven carved faces on the facade over the stage represented the 7 ringling brothers. and that the dressing rooms were under the stage. they told us where the organ pipes were, and how they regretted we wouldn't hear the organ this night as the organist had another party to attend.
there was no warm up act or loud introductions. the lights dimmed quietly and he just appeared in a beautiful grey tunic and trousers, took up his guitar, and began to talk with us. his voice washed over the room like sliding into a cool lake on a hot day. the cellist to his left was an angel in her own right. he sang and he played and he got to know us. freedom. freedom. freedom.
we were second in line to meet him. the crowd parted as he floated through, in a crisp, fresh suit and smelling of jasmine. his neck and fingers were draped in layers of shiny sterling, turquoise and jade, and he slid behind the table and started signing. his smile filled the room and his gracious spirit touched us all.
my turn. no, i don't need you to sign a cd - will you sign my shirt? of course he would. he set his pen to my left shoulder and asked my name, and in a graceful cursive sweep composed a simple message. he paused for a moment to reposition his hand so that his palm wouldn't brush up against something it shouldn't, although i assured him it would be fine with me if it did. i shook his hand - soft and strong and perfectly oiled with jasmine - the same hand that had smacked the beat from his guitar a few minutes ago. the same hand that had brought the music. i kissed him on the cheek.
"to linda, a friend forever. Richie Havens."
Friday, January 25, 2008
good hair
my hair. god i love my hair. it has been thick and long these many many many years. "you have great hair" they say. but lately a thick long mane has been bugging me more and more. a curtain around my brain. a dense and decadent mass of locks across my back. cats loved it. mike loved it. but did i still love it?
went in for a trim and color, and off it came. kelly started cutting. and cutting. and i let him keep cutting and thinning - partly because i needed a change and partly because i love being with kelly. i let him cut and cut until the shop was closed and the street lights came on. it sailed all around us in whispy perfect clumps. piles of old hair that had surrendered to a sharp blade in deep sparkling piles on the floor of the kelly hayes salon on 6th street next to murray's.
how brave of me to let it all go. what else shall i let go?
nothing at the moment. that is quite enough for now.
went in for a trim and color, and off it came. kelly started cutting. and cutting. and i let him keep cutting and thinning - partly because i needed a change and partly because i love being with kelly. i let him cut and cut until the shop was closed and the street lights came on. it sailed all around us in whispy perfect clumps. piles of old hair that had surrendered to a sharp blade in deep sparkling piles on the floor of the kelly hayes salon on 6th street next to murray's.
how brave of me to let it all go. what else shall i let go?
nothing at the moment. that is quite enough for now.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
i will be diamonds
this afternoon, a young woman whom i like very much was excited to report that she and her husband have ordered non-conflict diamonds. they felt they could no longer wear the diamonds they had given each other in marriage, and exchanging them for conflict diamonds would solve conflicting emotions : cherishing the stones themselves, and feeling comfort in the love they symbolized. blood diamonds couldn't do that for them.
i have decided to become a diamond. hopefully this won't happen any time soon, but that is my decision. in fact, i think i will be several diamonds instead of just one:
http://www.lifegem.com/
imagine that. you can be diamonds, too. for some, the act of returning bones or ashes to the earth is a deep and perfect way to rest in peace and leave a memory of you marked over muddy earth, deep snow, or green grass. for me, the idea of turning the last of me into something that will sparkle on someone's hand or wrist makes me smile. several diamonds - one for each and all of the many loves of my life. could be expensive, however.
if you love me, sign up now.
i have decided to become a diamond. hopefully this won't happen any time soon, but that is my decision. in fact, i think i will be several diamonds instead of just one:
http://www.lifegem.com/
imagine that. you can be diamonds, too. for some, the act of returning bones or ashes to the earth is a deep and perfect way to rest in peace and leave a memory of you marked over muddy earth, deep snow, or green grass. for me, the idea of turning the last of me into something that will sparkle on someone's hand or wrist makes me smile. several diamonds - one for each and all of the many loves of my life. could be expensive, however.
if you love me, sign up now.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
a distrubance in the force
sometimes the best part about having a dream come true is that you were not even sure what it was supposed to be to begin with. have a vision, define your path, make all the pieces come together. what if there is no vision? what if the path is overgrown or your pieces are in pieces? something doesn't feel right these days, we both feel it. somehow that makes it...right.
fifteen years ago i walked out on my life. everything i needed in all the world fit neatly into the back of an '86 ford ranger. anything i needed to fill my heart was outside the house i was leaving. where to? didn't know exactly. no real idea of what i was walking towards, only what i was walking away from.
a voice from heaven. that's what she said -- an aunt i had never met before martha died. but after the service and before the ham sandwiches aunt muriel took me in her arms and used the word "soar". how easy is that, to soar. soaring was easy that day because of the pain. martha dead, her lifelong lover alive but dead, too. lift up, see heaven and soar. easy.
but today we are stifled. let's get something done. inertia is not us. find out what we don't know. learn to make it better. yikes! soaring is reduced to the mechanics of breathing. listening for the resonance from the bones in your face. feeling your voice come not out of your soul, but out of your head.
very uncomfortable if i do say so. keep going he said, fight your way through knowing you may not be able to see it right now -- just like you couldn't see the road beyond your pickup truck -- but even though you can't see it now, it is there.
fifteen years ago i walked out on my life. everything i needed in all the world fit neatly into the back of an '86 ford ranger. anything i needed to fill my heart was outside the house i was leaving. where to? didn't know exactly. no real idea of what i was walking towards, only what i was walking away from.
a voice from heaven. that's what she said -- an aunt i had never met before martha died. but after the service and before the ham sandwiches aunt muriel took me in her arms and used the word "soar". how easy is that, to soar. soaring was easy that day because of the pain. martha dead, her lifelong lover alive but dead, too. lift up, see heaven and soar. easy.
but today we are stifled. let's get something done. inertia is not us. find out what we don't know. learn to make it better. yikes! soaring is reduced to the mechanics of breathing. listening for the resonance from the bones in your face. feeling your voice come not out of your soul, but out of your head.
very uncomfortable if i do say so. keep going he said, fight your way through knowing you may not be able to see it right now -- just like you couldn't see the road beyond your pickup truck -- but even though you can't see it now, it is there.
Monday, January 21, 2008
peace
there was a story on the news last night about members of a mostly black congregation who decided to attend a mostly white church the sunday before martin luther king jr.'s birthday. a sign of peace, goodwill, and perhaps a chance to create some discomfort. in the middle of the story my husband turned to me and said "i did that once."
did what?
"went to an all black church with my buddies. someplace in georgia."
when? why?
"we were on our way to daytonna beach for spring break. it was easter. thought we better go to church."
what happened?
"we sat in the back. the pastor saw us and said 'i see we have some visitors this morning'."
then what?
"nothing. nice service. got back in the car and headed for the beach."
mike grew up in a story book on the breathtaking shores of lake superior on the upper peninsula, michigan. when he was quite small he and his family lived in a hotel called the bellvue that his parents owend and operated. on saturdays, when the milk truck stopped at the hotel, mike would hop on and ride the whole route with the milkman. to unwind, he'd stop at the drugstore across the street and would order up some white toast and water for a nickel. "nick, you make the best toast in town." he had a little hounddog named pebbles who would wait outside his school to walk him home at lunchtime. he grew into a star athlete in basketball and football. never has there been a kinder heart.
the trip to daytonna almost didn't happen, even though mike's dad had shined up the brand new buick for the boys. but, as often happens in march on the u.p., the snow piled up faster than it came down. mother martha would have nothing of that disappointment. "follow me up to the highway in the fiat - that car can make it through anything". she pulled on her boots and lit up a smoke and off she plowed -- across the yard, up the hill and out to the highway, with mike and the boys packed in the buick, and off they went.
they knew that easter would fall over the weekend, and packed accordingly - shorts, swim trunks, tee shirts, for the beach. nice pants/dress shirts/ties for church. church. not to make a statement or speak up for peace or to force others to explore their comfort zones, just because it was easter. and it was the proper thing to do. i love you, mike!
did what?
"went to an all black church with my buddies. someplace in georgia."
when? why?
"we were on our way to daytonna beach for spring break. it was easter. thought we better go to church."
what happened?
"we sat in the back. the pastor saw us and said 'i see we have some visitors this morning'."
then what?
"nothing. nice service. got back in the car and headed for the beach."
mike grew up in a story book on the breathtaking shores of lake superior on the upper peninsula, michigan. when he was quite small he and his family lived in a hotel called the bellvue that his parents owend and operated. on saturdays, when the milk truck stopped at the hotel, mike would hop on and ride the whole route with the milkman. to unwind, he'd stop at the drugstore across the street and would order up some white toast and water for a nickel. "nick, you make the best toast in town." he had a little hounddog named pebbles who would wait outside his school to walk him home at lunchtime. he grew into a star athlete in basketball and football. never has there been a kinder heart.
the trip to daytonna almost didn't happen, even though mike's dad had shined up the brand new buick for the boys. but, as often happens in march on the u.p., the snow piled up faster than it came down. mother martha would have nothing of that disappointment. "follow me up to the highway in the fiat - that car can make it through anything". she pulled on her boots and lit up a smoke and off she plowed -- across the yard, up the hill and out to the highway, with mike and the boys packed in the buick, and off they went.
they knew that easter would fall over the weekend, and packed accordingly - shorts, swim trunks, tee shirts, for the beach. nice pants/dress shirts/ties for church. church. not to make a statement or speak up for peace or to force others to explore their comfort zones, just because it was easter. and it was the proper thing to do. i love you, mike!
Sunday, January 20, 2008
order now!
someone remind me who wrote about 3 o'clock lonliness - was it f. scott fitzgerald? i can't recall. but whoever he was, he was right. that feeling at 3am when you are the only one in the world who is wide awake and there is no comfort. until ...you find it. an easy, affordable and practical solution to anything that has you tangled up in damp sheets... the infomercial. reassuring company when all is dark and your head is full of hopeless impossibilities and paranoid untruths. the infomercial. all of life is reduced to thinner waistlines, thicker hair, increased wealth, and easier chopping. some are staged like quiet interviews, with an attractive and curious host asking all the questions you and i are afraid to ask...like what about those bowel movements that are pencil thin? that can't be a sign that everything is ok inside now can it? of course not! plaque build-up! bad for you! there is also the talk show format - with a studio audience bursting with enthusiasm, and a few cutaways to those whose lives have been changed now that they don't spend as much time in the kitchen. they are reconnecting with their kids, geting out more, and are less stressed because they can set it and forget it. glory up, lord! and finally, my favorite: a full 30 minutes of various vignettes of usually blond women, shown before and after. before: she is frustrated and clumsy and her hair is a mess. she wipes the sweat off her chin as she tries to organize her plastic containers or chop garlic. after: cute outfit! pretty smile! perfect veggies! it's all quite miraculous. and when she is finished demonstrating how easy life can be, flip the channel and you will learn about a new way to detoxify your body by putting a patch on the bottom of your foot. thank you infomercials, my gratitude is quiet but everlasting. and in sleepy desperation i give in to the magic bullet.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
heartbeats
sinus rhythm is a medical term used to describe the normal beating of a heart. i have taken my heart for granted and not thought not much about it. like the mail that always comes or the furnace that always turns on or the car that always starts, even when it is 13 below. my little heart, quiet and dependable except when it has ached or been broken. time heals, love fills, friends warm, and the beats keep coming and coming in perfect succession like giant penguins marching towards spring. until one day it speaks up and asks for more attention. an insistent personality emerges in flippity beats and small starts and tiny stops. and then it races. faster and faster and faster as if my chest is a starting gate it intends to tear down and rip through. lucky me, they say. lucky that i can feel it misbehaving, misfiring, misinforming...some people can't feel it and fall into the terror of stroke, and sometimes they re-emerge and sometimes they do not. lucky me.
take your meds and an aspirin a day and hope for sinus rhythm. "listen to your heart", advice i have always given and received, presents a new context, challenge, and worry. and yet the possibility of an unwelcome stillness also sparks a new reality of living life with greater intention. it's still okay to leave the laundry unfolded, but be sure that any other of life's wrinkles are straightened out and put away.
life is to be lived in sinus rhythm.
take your meds and an aspirin a day and hope for sinus rhythm. "listen to your heart", advice i have always given and received, presents a new context, challenge, and worry. and yet the possibility of an unwelcome stillness also sparks a new reality of living life with greater intention. it's still okay to leave the laundry unfolded, but be sure that any other of life's wrinkles are straightened out and put away.
life is to be lived in sinus rhythm.
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