Stumble Into Grace

Oh the stories I could tell
Sometimes I really hit my stride
We make our own heaven and our own hell
Tryin to get across to the other side
But everyday ends up the same
One step up two steps back
Like some old silent movie frame
Zoom in close then fade to black
Can you hear me now? can you hear me now?

I drove through the intersection without looking. No signal. No stopping. If a car was coming from the other direction, there would have been a collision. I just didn't have it in me to wait and I didn't care if there was bloodshed.

****

#1 She received the cell phone call while on the radio, making her debut. Her friend was twittering about all the single, successful men calling her to go out on dates, she held the phone at a distance. This friend's divorce had been much more public than her own. The two were complete opposites, and most likely the men who called her friend would not be remotely interested in her and vise-versa.
For radio's sake, she told her friend she was busy--her friend wanted to get together as so much had happened..starting a speed dating thing with a man, the most elligible bachelor in town wanted to get together. Her friend had a date last night with a cute financial planner. What about Pisces-Taurus? She hung up and looked at her friend Jim, shaking her head. Her heart just wasn't in that space yet.
He smiled, remembering his own experience with divorce.
"...that was Emmylou Harris' Can you Hear me Now off her Stumble Into Grace release. Before that, we heard... "

#2 She flipped through the rolidex in her mind: the cards contained distorted faces of the men she had once loved. On each card was a short description, a few adjectives to define them, how things ended, where they might be now.
Most of them were faded, ripped out, earmarked, tear-stained. A few had obscenities written on their haggard faces:
Married
Co-dependent
Too young
Too involved with job--not interested in a relationship (with me)
Too old
Abusive
Drunk
Unrequited

She thought of the years wasted on prooving herself to these men. Over and over,
she reviewed them and one thing was common for all of them:
They didn't or couldn't, shouldn't or wouldn't love her for who she was. To them, she was a mere tease, a distraction, a seduction, a fantasy, a nightmare, a disappointment,a complication, a rebound, a sacrifice, a stalker, a psycho, a waste of time. Funny--She now thought of them the very same way.

How did the load get to be so heavy
I used to wear my trouble like a crown
A bad flood's poundin' on the levee
And l'm gonna need some help
To hold my ground

#3 She was meeting a few of them at the pool. All of them had kids. She had very little in common with any of these women except they all worked in her department and were mothers.
All here married--happily,or so it seemed. She was suprised that they called her to tag along. While the other women sat together with their children between their legs--she and her daughter waded into the deeper end of the pool. Lilly liked to be in the middle of the action, not sitting along side watching it happen. Her mom was the same way.
Little did she know, it was lonley and unsatisfying being there. Lilly would find that out years later. She hauled Lilly, kicking and screaming, back to the other women and their children playing contently at their sides to try to fit in. Her smile was obviously fake.
As in all areas of her life, she felt trapped. Awkward and uncomfortable, she left shortly after-- promising Lilly the world when they arrived back home.

But I'm sinkin' like a stone
To where in solitude this life I'll spend
In the coldest place I've ever known
I'm here just waitin' until the end
I send up my S.O.S.
A message in a bottle set out to sea
It just reads soul in d istress
But nobody ever got back to me
Can you hear me now can you hear me now?

#4 She sat in soma most of the morning typing. She was often interrupted by friends and aquaintances alike--the regulars that made her day seem normal. She loved the energy in the place. She felt at ease. It was an oasis from the ugly realities that lurked outside. It was a sham but she didn't care.
He never came by.
She waited and waited but he never came.
She doesn't look up anymore.
She doesn't look back.
She doesn't feel anything.
She was relieved: he was gone for good.

"We arouse pity by cultivating the most repulsive wounds"

There are many things that I love about summer:
Eating raw vegetables straight out of the garden.
Coming inside to air-condition on a hot day, reeking of suntan lotion and sweat- bathing suit still wet. The smell of rain on hot pavement. Cold beer on a hot night. (do I smell a theme here?)
As I write this, the fan is blowing on my bathing-suit-backed-body and I am eating sweet peas, onions and cucumbers. Tomorrow I am picking strawberries with my sisters--dear God, I hope we don't kill each other. Delightful.

I am within pages of the end of Bullshit Night in Suck City and am anxiously awaiting my copy of Stones of Summer to arrive today via Amazon.com. The movie Stone Reader, although slow in places, reminded me why I like to read.

I applied for a part time job today (thanks to my smarty pants boys for the references)--went to check the place out and ended up walking out with a dozen or more assorted cds:
The Strokes
3 Emmylou Harris cds
Johnny Cash
Gillian Welch
The Postal Service
Let it Be--Beatles
Brian Wilson's Smile
Fleetwood Mac Live in Boston
David Bowie's Heathen
Bjork's Medulla
Elvis Costello's North, The Delivery Man and All this useless beauty

Plus, my own copy of Neko Case's Furnace Room Lullaby that should keep me busy for at least a few days. I am headed to the station to meet her in person, I think she is playing a few or at least doing an interview. I have about 15 minutes to kill, so I wanted to tell this story:

I have but one true friend in town. His name is Jim. I refer to him as Crazy Jim, or Cancer Jim. He is an old homeless man--a scientist and in my mind a sociologist. I started talking to Jim at length about three years ago, when escaping the house was my favorite pasttime. We generally talk at the local hangouts--soma or the spoon.
Last Thanksgiving I volunteered at the soup kitchen, and in came my toothless friend, all smiles and sarcasm.

What I love about Jim is how he tangents. I also love that he speaks the truth about people. Yesterday we discussed the term
Mammon
at length. We frequently talk about love, living conditions and The Man. It's hard to get a word in edgewise, but when the exchange happens, it reminds me that it's so nice to have a non-judgmental friend to buy you a cup of coffee every now and then..
I guess it makes Bullshit Night that much more meaningful to me.

Too bad perfect strangers become the best friends and people you have known for years end up strangers? One of life's mysteries--or miracles. Who's to say? I should make a list of true friends.

I just decided to skip Neko (sorry) and instead wait to see STARS next Sunday at Bluebird. A hot new band worth of a listen. Hopefully not as expensive too.

'Night you.

"Pictures of Lilly"

vola

"There was a brief good-by. 'It certainly was pleasant,' said Hingham, looking away. Beyond some trees, across the sand, a great neon sign of a roadhouse glowed red. Hingham always went there for a beer when he was tired of writing. He was very lonely, he wanted to get back to New York. It was sad to see his tall figure receding in the dark as we drove away, just like the other figures in New York and New Orleans: they stand uncertainly underneath immense skies, and everything about them is drowned. Where go? what do? what for--? sleep.
But this foolish gang was bending onward." 8 "The Legend of Duluoz" On The Road

It's another end to another school year.
I've closed the book, locked the door--my car awaits with windows down.

For me, there is always this panic of uncertainty--now what the fuck do I do?
I hate that feeling.
Fortunately it will pass and I will be wading in the cool, deep water of summertime.

Goodbye to you, my dear friends moving on.
I will miss you.

now, I need to take that giant leap of faith---

a nervous tick-motion

The heart is such a delicate muscle. Mine has been hurting for a few days. To compensate for the ache, I have taken in a few movies:

Grosse Point Blank (thanks Josh for recommending it)
Team America (don't ask...)
Kinsey

Also saw Andrew Bird at Second Story Saturday night. When people describe me as intense, I wonder if they have ever seen this guy. I mean, he is intense to the point where his obsession with music would make it extremely difficult to have a conversation with him (I am only speculating). You could see his devout passion as he played--even as he talked about playing. Inspiring. I left on such a high.

I hung around the studio, sat in on the Bomb Diggidty show with Sarah--afterwards, I picked up The Mountain Goats new cd.


This evening Lilly and I left the apartment, greeted by lovely Indiana skies-it was humid and hot but the sun was out. Within ten minutes of driving from 2nd to the park we were caught in a huge downpour. Through the storm clouds, a bright rainbow appeared. I stood in the empty parking lot with Lilly in my arms, rain pummeling us from all sides and we laughed (and then she cried, as I put her back in the car seat). By the time we arrived back home, not ten minutes later, the rain had stopped and the sun was breaking through the clouds. Steam was rising.

Too much change for me at once-I think that is the problem. It's just too much. I know I cannot control what happens or why it happens. I just wish it didn't affect me so.

A great quote from Grosse Point Blank-- "If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you--it's broken." One way to look at it, I suppose.

second-hand news--and how to take it

John said...
I understand. One risks throwing pearls to swine. But swine look very nice in pearls. They glimmer in the mud. Some of them, after a awhile, take off their pig costumes.

Or...

Sometimes a spirtital experience is like having surgery. You hesitate to remove the bandages until you know that the healing has been completed. And even then...

Or...

You risk trivializing your experience by sharing it as you would any daily anecdote. Somehow you want to preface, "This thing I'm about to share with you, please, do not take lightly. For it has changed my life. If you would know me, then know that I need you to "feel" what I'm about to say. But what happens is that people may skim like they always do.

But...

I have found that despite the aforementioned apprehensions, it is best to shine with all your might. Forgoe Kipling's advice to be humble. Just shine, baby! Writing is all practice. You never get to the point of complete satisfaction. Also you won't always get the reaction that you're looking for.

But...

Sometimes...sometimes...it all works out. You turn around to someone with tears in their eyes, moved by you. You turn around and someone is laughing, entertained by you. You realize that there are no pigs and that you have no pearls. You have no time - every moment of possession was an illusion. It is then that I heave ho. Give it up.

I look in the mirror, see a pig. See a man. See a being. See nothing. See everything. Whoops, I'm wearing pearls - who gave them to me. I forgot. Pearls all around, anonymous pearls. I will scatter any pearl that I find - quickly! before it's too late.

With my diamond seconds, golden minutes, platinum hours, and titanium days, I will find the pearls, throw them high, and be contented to know that my life was filled with jewels. Jewels of my temporary possession; never really mine to take or to give; but they came my way - I passed them on. The more I gave away, the more that landed at my feet.

Maybe...

Maybe this is the way it is. Maybe not. Maybe I became so engaged in metaphor that, at best, I've a muddy pearl.

Maybe...

Muddy pearls is all we'll ever have.

c said...
well, does a lump in one's throat count?
I hope you live your life the way you write.
Thanks John. Thanks for getting it.

the fourth chakra

I walked along the highway tonight at sundown. The sunset was like a watercolor and the air was the perfect temperature for contemplation and exertion.

It was the blossoming clover along the banks of the road that caught my eye, so I decided to collect a little for myself. I love the smell of fresh clover.

We have an interesting relationship, the highway and me. And never living so close to one before, I couldn't imagine it as anything more than a nuisance. I have grown to understand, if not love its foibles.

Did some yoga tonight and was reminded how far I have yet to go. Sat-Nam.
My heart hopes you are well.

who's to say..

Monday. Memorial Day. (scroll down for a few new thoughts if you read this post earlier..) and new photos (scroll further).

I arrived home not long ago from spending the weekend with Lilly and family. My alarm clock was blinking 4:49 4:49 4:49 and the plant sitting on the window got a serious soaking. Must have had a storm? Next time I will remember to close the window.

I am sore from playing serious kickball with a team of 10, 11 and 12 year-olds from the neighborhood. My brother-in-law, Dave and I (two 35 year olds)and my daughter against everyone else. I think the final score was 17-10 and the pre-teens prevailed. Getting out of bed this morning had me feeling the damage and cursing the kid who had me sliding into second (I was safe!). My ass has a bruise as big as a pickle on it. Lovely. Man, I miss the spry days.

***
Other Unrelated Stuff:

Thursday night I had a chance to see a pal play at Max's Place. He did a few original pieces on guitar; then later he played banjo with a tight group: fiddle, upright bass, and two guitars. I felt at ease and at home. It was nice to feel that way for a change.

I bought a potty for Lilly on Friday. We talked about it and she tested it out, moved it around to see where she wanted to keep it. Finally she said, "poopie" so I thought, ok, let's see what happens. We shed the pants and diaper in the main room, put the potty out in front.
"NO, MOMMY, GO AWAY."
So, I found something to do in the bedroom.
A minute later I see her under her table with that sheepish look cats get when they shit in places that they know they shouldn't. She had pooped under the table.
It was quite the lesson, what with scooping up the poop, putting it in her potty, wiping wiping...she liked that part..then taking it to the big potty to flush. The whole thing took about 45 minutes, and although she went through more wipes than necessary, I didn't mind.

Kids certainly make us better people.

Looking forward to grading papers, mixing few cds, planning my trip to the Falls and BW3's later--if I can ride my bike over without getting KILLED on Second Street. I am gonna win NTN's Jukebox again--it feels good to kick everyone's butt at trivia about Wham!, Hall and Oats and Madonna. What about you?


***
Couldn't help myself today
I bought a novelty album...covers from the good old days with a French Twist--Nouvelle Vague. David Byrne produced it, so you know what that means if you know David Byrne and the Talking Heads--what i'm talking about.

Anyway, good (cover)stuff from Joy Division, Clash, Dead Kennedys, Depeche Mode, Public Image, Samples, XTC (making plans for Nigel) and Modern English's "I'll Melt with You." Let me know if you want a copy...

Did some card work Friday.
I have to sit back and wait.

"But I'd rather be working for a paycheck than waiting to win the lottery."


I am watching a fun film called Illuminata Good stuff.
Great dialouge-but silly film (so much for fine thoughts.).
I don't know why I am captured by films about the theatre during the Renaissance. First it was STAGE STRUCK, this weekend ILLUMINATA.
Did I mention I HATE cliches.

My post is dumb-- I feel like a real Mid-westerner today, whatever that means.

masterfade and other musings

I shouldn't be blogging right now.
For one thing, I am at work.
But I am internalizing shit. I am transferring.
Fuck.

I saw you standing all alone in the electrostatic rain
I thought at last I'd found a situation you can't explain
with GPS you know it's all just a matter of degrees
your happiness won't find you underneath that canopy of trees
if the green grass is 6 the soybeans are 7
the junebugs are 8 the weeds and thistles are 11
and if the 1s just hold their place the 0s make a smiley face
when they come floating down from the heavens

you took my hand and led me down to watch a papillon parade
we let the kittens lick our hair and drank our chalky lemonade
you squeezed my hand and told me softly that I shouldn't be afraid
'cause all the while your finger's resting gently on the masterfade
the masterfade.

"Masterfade" -Andrew Bird


I wanted to make a few lists, since I don't have time to sort out what is going on inside right now.

Things I can do well without thinking about it:

1. Parallel Parking
2. Picking up songs on the guitar
3. Complimenting people
4. Gardening
5. Mixing strong drinks
6. Spending time with myself
7. Daydreaming
8. Loving unconditionally
9. Being funny

Things I cannot do well (even when thinking about it):

1. Confronting people who hurt me
2. Comprehending the words no or never
3. Hiding my feelings
4. Feeling at ease with others
5. Balancing my checkbook
6. Finding and keeping real friends
7. Relaxing
8. Anything that requires math or physics or laws of relationships
(1+1 =?)


Things that men just don't understand about me (and perhaps women in general):

1. That starting a conversation with "your boobs look nice today"
isn't going to score you any points.
2. I'm much more interested in your mind than your penis.
3. Playing hard to get is what I should be doing, not you.
4. Describing me as "nice" or "sweet" is unimpressive. Use your vocabulary.
5. At 35, calling me cute sounds the same as me calling you cute.
6. Don't just stand there. Do something.
7. Never never never touch me when you are angry.
8. I have high standards. And a long list of dealbreakers.
9. At my age, I can afford to be picky.


Lately I have been having trouble leaving (and picking up)my daughter with her daycare provider. When she knows that we are going her mood drastically changes. Byt hte time we arrive, she is in tears, and finally up to the house to drop her off, she is wailing. It takes everything I have to turn around and leave.

I know how she feels--like she will never see me again- such intense feelings of guilt, loss, abandonment, grief, loneiliness, sadness overcome me that I think my heart has stopped beating for several seconds.
And it happens every day. Over and over again.


G

When we two parted

WHEN WE TWO PARTED

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
****
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shrudder comes o'er me --
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee so well --
Long, long I shall rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

***
There is nothing so gut-wrenching
than to be stopped in your tracks
by the sight of an ex-love enraptured by his new-found joy.

I have had the fortunate occasion only a few times in my life,
but every time it seems to take just a little more of my heart from me.

Given plenty of time to prepare myself for the inevitable (he warned me that she would be staying at the house), I was surprised at myself when at the mere sight of her sporty car in my old driveway, I was uncomfortable. She had been living with him since Tuesday, and I guess in the back of my mind, I hoped she would be gone.

I was here only to pick up my child for our usual tradeoff. Sundays. My favorite day of the week(sarcasm).

It was no surprise when I entered my old house, it was a total disaster. But what made me so distraught were the danty ladies shoes, three pair, that were lined up at the doorway. Her clothes were hanging from a doorframe, newly washed. The upstairs shower, my bathroom--my shower, was running. She was taking a shower in my bathroom.

I did my best to avoid any sort of conversation with him, but as usual, he had not prepared my daughter's bag. I had to stand and wait for him to pack it.

It was absolutely the most humiliating feeling
to stand in my old house
waiting
while someone else moved into my place
with such ease.

My heart broke just a little more today.

In other news,
I read that Andrew Bird was coming to Second Story June 4.
I used to hate it that no one ever cared what I had to say about music and artists
but I have been talking about Andrew Bird for months
and now he is coming.
A professional whistler, violinist and interesting lyricist
I would recommend him to you if you are interested in seeing a really cool artist.
(and you can thank me later.)

solitude

weekend time

mariner's revenge and other tales

Ok, so I am finishing up a bowl of cereal-don't know the last time I actually ate a bowl of cereal--but who cares..

I have had a lot on my mind today.
The worst part about it is I have no one to talk through everything.
When I was married, my husband HATED when I would bring home my stuff and unpack it. And now, because I know this about people, I rarely talk.

I laughed to myself tonight-- not only because there was no one I knew next to me, but because during the Decemberists show we were asked to cry out to our mothers while in the bowels of an imaginary whale. I am usually really good at pretending--BUT The extension of reality was immediately broken for me- why? why in my right mind would I cry out for my mother? I cannot remember the last good conversation we had.
This got me tangenting off in other directions as the encore played on-not only about mothers and myself as a mother but who would I call on?
I left the show in my usual happy, hands in pockets state, whistling to myself. I was not tired. I was not ready to go home.

I was able to escape the bullshit of life and work for a short time. I guess, I don't know--that it would be nice to have someone else around-- well, at least to walk me to my car.

I dunno. I am a simple person with simple needs. None of which are currently being met.

But then there is the cereal....

Mixology 101

OK, I stole the title from my friend, Jim M. of WFHB but it fits my mood tonight. Have been devouring new music lately like the bibliophiles do their books. Trainings have been good and I sit in on his show tomorrow, hopefully soon--soon I will be spinning the discs on my own.

Here's what is playing at home and in the car:

broken social scene / you forgot it in people

lou barlow's EMOH

Andrew Bird and the Mysterious Production of Eggs

The Decemberists--Castaways and Cutouts & Picaresque (2 days til the show!)

Sadly, I don't have Beck's Guero yet(pale white guy in Spanish). I saw that Neko Case was coming to the Bird in June. Should be a good time. Who knows, maybe The Mountain Goats will be next...


other stuff:
If you have not heard the Boss' new album, you should.
Also, Petra Haden and Bill Fresell do an amazing duo on a title called the same.
and the new Ryan Adams---something to check out.
Literary movements--
Been moving through Nick Flynn's Bullshit Night in Suck City


Dreaming of lazy summer days at the park.... what about you?

It's late and I have stuff to do. Hope you are warm--and well. Ciao.