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.

So I’m drinking, breathing, writing, singing
Everyday I'm on the clock
My mind races with all my longings
But cant keep up with what I got

****

So when you’re asked to fight a war that’s over nothing
It’s best to join the side that’s gonna win
And no one’s sure how all of this got started
But we’re gonna make them goddam certain how its gonna end

****

The sun came up with no conclusion
Flowers sleeping in their beds
This city's cemetery's humming
I’m wide-awake, it’s morning.
-Bright Eyes

The story of my life these days.

While at a stop-light tonight I watched a young couple—she was struggling to get down the steep stairway that was their front steps. Attentive to her needs, he took her hand and helped her down slowly, kissed her tenderly, his arm around her delicate waist. They walked through the grass, hand in hand and passed my car, so entranced with the other they would not have noticed a car moving toward them at rocket speed--horn blasting. It was then that I felt like an annoying splinter so embedded in my work and pointless life that there was no need to remove it.

I had spent the last two hours grading papers outside at a local watering hole—my only dialogue was to the skinny young waitress—or my comments to students on their papers. I knew I had to stop when I ended up writing over a page of notes—basically disagreeing with one young upstart's entire paper.

I sent out an email to the LA department relaying my usual accolades to the person or persons responsible for getting a student interested in a subject. At first, I was shocked that I received a response from someone, but not surprised, as X accepted the praise, of course. This XXXXX usually puts me down, ignores me, or embarrasses me publicly; X is never supportive--therefore, I never attend X's top-heavy and unorganized meetings.
I sat smiling to myself as I read X's typcial curt response--imagining X basking in a personal victory of this child’s understanding of world literature.


It’s laughable, really. Everything. I am running out of purpose and am finding myself at the end of a joke missing the obvious punchline. And--honestly-- missing you.

THE PRESENCE OF LOVE

And in Life's noisiest hour,
There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,
The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy.
-S.T. Coleridge

An exhausting and duty-fulled weekend indeed.
Props to all the moms out there--
now that I am one I understand.

And kudos to my friend Ariel who is now called Dr. Balter.
Time sure does fly.

Now off to my cozy nest to watch Jim Carrey in
Lemony Snicket's A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS
wish you were here...

I cry “sanctuary!”

“And I am nothing of a builder, but here I dreamt I was an architect and I built this balustrade to keep you home, to keep you safe from the outside world. But the angles and the corners (even though my work is unparalleled) never seemed to meet, the structure fell about our feet and we were free to go.”
- #2 from Castaways and Cutouts

It’s a funny thing-- I was a brilliant architect who designed cathedrals that were exquisite and controversial—structures in Spain that were beyond compare. And now, in this life I am trying to do the very same thing on a much smaller scale. Alas, the limitations destroy my infinite belief in possibility.

I hear the news about union actions, board meetings, my friends and colleagues losing their jobs; I see my own numbers down in arts classes and the bile in my gut begins to boil. The trite expressions of hands being tied, or it comes from the top have me wishing I fit into the mainstream somewhere. I despise the feeling of powerlessness on all fronts. What is happening to the world?

When asked to read an article by Margaret Wheatley entitled “Turning to one Another: Simple Conversations to restore hope to the future” I started to think about thinking.

So often I find myself putting off thinking because the issues are painful, complex, and often times unanswerable. So I do some trivial-frivolous activity, or mount the most time-consuming productions to avoid it all together. When idle time rears it’s ugly head, I ignore the much-needed time to reflect. I need to think. And I need to let you do the same.

My past (other lives included) dictate that I am a person of action—I am too impulsive, too spontaneous, too passionate. I frighten people off with my intensity and persistence. I have felt more impatient and unfulfilled than usual. I have not made time for activities essential to fostering peace in myself. I am not sure how to approach the people who mean the most to me—praying for him/her to take the reigns and get conversation started. It is such a wicked paradox.

These thought are scattered. I struggle daily with my feelings. I work to be more patient. I wait for the nod from you.

your shadow and my light

Hello. I am sipping dry champagne in bed. It's a nice way to end the day but I just wish I didn't have the chronic tireds. I am looking forward to working out late, sitting in the Y hot tub and tooling around town after school tomorrow. What will I do with the time?

It has been a long-- satisfying weekend. And Anton did get his Lavender rose. He had his beau's number written in ink on his hand. At least one of us got our wish.

Found another artist worth mentioning-- Lou Barlow.
His latest Emoh album deserves a listen. The tune "Puzzle" was playing on the radio while driving home in the pouring rain last week. I sat in the apartment parking lot sobbing until it finished.
I also heard a new Yo La Tengo release "Prisoners of Love." Gave me the chills. I don't know what is wrong with me these days...

Something's coming
I don't know
what it is
but it is
gonna be great.
Emoh