no peace until the weekend

I should not be posting right now.
I am exhausted and pissed off and the mind is going in so many directions that I have to carry a notepad constantly just in case I lose something important.

But last night I had a sleep over with my daughter. She was restless as I stroked her hair and sang softly to her; I observed the progression of her body surrendering to sleep, the twitching and changes in her breathing until she successfully passed over into dreamland. Her chubby hand was clinging on to my arm, mouth open with "bah-bah" resting on her bottom lip. I held her close, trying to remember what it felt like to be held by someone, taking in her scent and her beautiful form.
The windchime outside my window was banging against itself. Fearing it would wake my girl, I was tempted to shush it--or just tape the damn thing together for the night. My thoughts went back to work and the steep grade up ahead--that is next week and opening night. I have so far yet to go.

There is a line in the show that reads 'no peace unto the wicked'. I was making the picket signs in my room and held this particular sign up to my class. One student squinted from his seat and said, "no peace until the weekend?"
I laughed and said, "Actually, no peace until May 7."

Hope you can see what I have spent the last four months of my life doing.
And then maybe Decemberists on the 17th.

"touch me with your love"

I left the theatre tonight after 10pm. My musical director's last words were, "Well, thank God we don't have social lives. They would just get in the way."
I agreed, but as I extinguished the house to black, I ruminated on the idea. Maybe this was what I was supposed to be doing right now. I left the apartment this morning at 6:15 a.m.

Between building sets and full rehearsal tonight I sat with a student we and talked about our 'dream reality'. He spoke of being prom king, escorted by his beautiful male friend; an IU student from South Bend.
"You look beautiful, by the way," he said to me.
"Well thanks. Unfortunately the right person never seems to notice," I am never good at accepting such compliments.

'Wouldn't it be fantastic if he came to a show and actually walked up to me, wildflowers in tow and said, 'Congratulations. Your show was amazing. You are amazing,'" I said-- stooped over-- gluing the palm tree silouette to its white background.

He looked at me funny--I must have been acting out the scene like some cheesy scene from The Love Boat and he said,
"Why wouldn't he? What man in his right mind wouldn't say that to you."

"I don't know Anton. I don't know."

TOUCH ME WITH YOUR LOVE -Beth Orton

I dreamed of you last night
You had a different face
Or maybe just a hair color
You're older and wiser
Yet more like a child
I was amazed to find you still there in the back of my mind
This dream was short
This dream was happy
This dream was short
This dream was happy

Perch your lover on a slow burner
If you wanna keep your loving woman
Perch your lover on a slow simmer
If it helps keep the love from growing dimmer
Now hold on hold out
You're still thrown against a wall
Never looking to be picked up or left alone to fall

Can you touch me with your love?
Would I feel it if I trust enough?
Could it almost be a lust for life?
Would I feel it if I don't know if I sighed?

You could put it on a cold burner...
Deception never kept you any warmer
Truth is cooking on a slow simmer
The light's still strong even when it's dimmer
Yeah hold on hold out
You got thrown against a wall
Never wanted to be picked up or left alone to fall

Can you touch me with your love?

'night.

the challenge is you

"AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW?"


And wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so --
I would not give that bosom pain.

My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,
My blood runs coldly through my breast;
And when I perish, thou alone
Wilt sigh above my place of rest.

And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace
Doth through my cloud of anguish shine:
And for a while my sorrows cease,
To know thy heart hath felt for mine.

Oh lady! blessd be that tear --
It falls for one who cannot weep;
Such precious drops are doubly dear
To those whose eyes no tear may steep.

Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
With every feeling soft as thine;
But Beauty's self hath ceased to charm
A wretch created to repine.

Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so ---
I would not give that bosom pain.


***
Have you ever rolled down a hill with a 2-year old child, laughing all the way, only to get to the bottom to hear her say, "again"
Ever made someone laugh by swatting (and missing) a fly?
Can you dance around like a fool to "walking on sunshine" with someone and still be their hero?
Do you have someone who wants you to read books to them?

I have a daughter who turned 2 today
and she loves me more than anyone
and it feels terrific to finally connect with someone.


Finally) saw Hotel Rwanda
Ate Mexican at the old Princess Theatre but was haunted by icky feelings and memories of inadequacy.

April is, indeed, the hardest month.
Happy Birthday, my little miracle.

old elvis costelo tunes

top ten reasons to get out of bed this morning
1. moody morning skies and fragrant earth
2. buds on trees--and my seeds are coming up!
3. tulips around kirkwood
4. quiet city streets at 6:15
5. spending the day with my girl
6. sophia travis and brian wilson (not together) on the morning mix
7. meditative morning swims
8. seeing your fabulous face
9. awaking to birds and windchimes outside open windows
10. grande nonfat latte

Have a lovely day.

bowing to the buddha

a lament

I don't check my mail very often. Maybe once every 8 days. What is the point? I mean, the only thing that comes to my box are bills. I honestly cannot remember the last time I received a real, honest to god letter. I think I was in college.

Instead of risking vulnerability this weekend, I opted for the safe bet--staying in my apartment and watching the complete first season of OC (also known as Orange County). A student did a speech on it and offered me her DVDs. My luck with the opposite sex is so terrible that eating snow lion or bombay house carry out while watching OC is not so bad. In fact, it's quite nice.

Today after working several hours at school, I passed by the old house to apologize to (talk to) my cats and to check up on things. I knew no one would be home this weekend, so I made the rounds. I will admit that come spring I am ready to work in the dirt--and I crave my time pulling weeds and planting new things in the garden.

The yard was out of control. My gardens, while the bulbs were happy and blooming, needed tending. I decided to park the car and work. I missed my time mowing. After spending 8 years passing over the same area of grass, I found I could do it blindfolded. I enjoyed the smell of grass and gasoline mixing together-- just like old times. In fact, it took me back years to my childhood mowing days.

And then I got to the back yard.

As I passed the gardens and noted all the work that needed to be done, I sobbed. I had to stop. Holding the running mower in my callosed hands I surveyed the grounds. The Bradford Pear that we planted our first year in the house during a torrential downpour was now higher than the house--and in full blossom. My daffodils were at their peak.

I stayed and worked until the grounds were permissible. I felt a longing and a tie to the land that I never imagined. This was probably the last time I would walk this area, dig in this spot, etc. etc. It was emotional and difficult and I found myself wanting to linger just a little longer...just long enough to make it look beautiful..

So, now back at the apartment.. My hands are swollen from working hard on a property that is no longer mine--but I feel obligated to keep it up-- as it should be. sigh.

I wonder what tomorrow's walk will be like and what is in store for me. And now back to episode seven of OC....

very changing image

La cara rimembranza che in cor mi s'e destata
si ardente v'ha gia fatta rinascer la speranza,
che un bacio, us voto, un grido d'amore
piu non chiedo a lei che muta e ognor.
-Stefano Donaudy


My time is precious now but just wanted to write something today.
Have not been writing in some time and I feel rusty.

This image appears frequently in my head:
dormant seed lying in the ground waiting
waiting for warmth and light
and soft rain

she whispers your name
waiting for love to grow

did you say something?

Wow. Where to begin? This week has been an awakening on multiple levels for me.
I suppose if you know me and have seen me lately you can tell something is different.

You could say that.
I think for the first time in years I am happy. I am happy with myself. That's what it is. Yeah. I feel great. I have come into my own--or for the first time in my life--I am rock solid.

Today I ran 3 miles and went straight to the pool for a 1/2 mile swim. It felt fine. Could have done more-- now on to roadwork. I'll be up and riding soon.
My stamina is great--and the bod is toning up nicely-nicely. Can't wait for the next time I can do it again.

The radio career is taking off--slowly---got compliments from the boss on my first attempt, which according to Gary is quite a feat. I think Jim just has a thing for smart, sexy, competent women. Well, who wouldn't? Touche.

My spontanious evening out attending Smokey Joe's turned into much more than I ever anticipated-- it was certainly nice to see something other than a computer screen on the other side of the Tro-HO table. Here's to the men who say YES.
Rrrowwww. Some men just don't know where to look. And most men just don't know. Period.

If you are driving through the College-2nd street intersection and see glass everywhere, that would be from my car. Yes, the 3rd accident with my new car in less than 4 months. Prior to having this car, I never had an accident. I think my car is a magnet for being at the right place at the wrong time. The damage this time was hefty. She hit me pretty hard--spewing shards of glass all the way up to the front seat. Fortunately, Lilly was ok. She bounces. I am stating for the record that the next accident will total the thing.

The Farmer's Market opened Saturday and I made the rounds. A co-worker from school says that I will meet the perfect man there, "while reaching for the same pear..or something." Ha. I am not holding my breath.

School is great. We are making Kimonos in one class, reciting Shakespeare in another. I get to hear speeches on the frightening genocide in Sudan--which had me running to the computer to join the Peace Corps. Now there's a thought.

And then there is the musical. And it is going to be good.

So I am enjoying the sunset over Highway 37 on my concrete slab and looking forward to sleeping with the window open tonight. I'll save my wishes for the stars later tonight. Til then--sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more! Men are deceivers ever.

La Serenata and other thoughts

“La Serenata” -Francesco Paolo Tosti

Vola, o serenata: La mia diletta e sola,
E, con la bella testa abbandonata,
Posa tra le lenzuola:
O serenata, vola. O serenata, vola.

Splende Pura la luna, l’ale il silenzio stende,
E dietro I veni dell’alcova
Bruna la lampada s’accende.
Pure la luna splende. Pure la luna splende.

Vola, o serenata. Vola, o serenata, vola.
Ah! La. Ah la.

Vola, o serenata: La mia diletta e sola,
Ma sorridendo ancor mezzo assonnata,
Torna fra le lenzuola:
O serenata vola. O serenata, vola.

L’onda sogna su l’lido, e’l vento su la fronda;
E a’baci miei ricusa ancore un nido
La mia signora bionda.
Sogna su ‘l lido l’onda. Songa su ‘l lido l’onda.
Vola, o serenata,Vola, o serenata, vola.
Ah! La. Ah! La.


I had the opportunity to hear my music director’s senior recital Saturday night. I sat next to his partner, and we whispered like old friends about his pieces.
Listening to Italian always makes me weep and sigh and long for true love, even if the piece is whimsical and fun. “La Serenata” especially struck a cord with me. So did “Vaghissima sembianza”. What a romantic language. I am such a sap...
***
I just ordered some books for my girl. I swear, buying books and music is too easy on Amazon. I picked up a Shakespeare tales along with an illustrated Edgar Allan Poe. An old friend of mine whom I consider to be unbelievably astute and articulate once told me that his grandmother used to read Poe to him as a child. It can’t hurt to try.

I also picked up Bright Eyes I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning as recommended by a radio geek friend of mine. Can’t wait for the record to arrive. Seeing a live show over break has me itching for more—but I am usually with child or just too busy to get out. Have to do it more often this spring.

***
Triathlon training has been slow. I can’t wait to dust off the bike and start roadwork. Was thinking about tagging alone with the DeCycles tour early this summer just to have training partners. I really need to start running again. I prefer outside jaunts to the indoor track. As I have mentioned in earlier posts, running is so meditative for me. It helps to have a focal point similar to yoga. Once I get past the pain of the first few runs, it flows easily and I forget where I am or how long I have been running. But it takes discipline and focus to get there.

Over spring break I was swimming at the Y and was near the end of the workout. The first lane is reserved for young kids or older folks who like to tread water or float around—I was in the third lane doing a flip-turn and noticed a body floating over there. I usually don’t think twice about it, but the body didn’t move. Whistles were blowing and EMTs arrived. She was unresponsive for quite awhile. We swimmers stood in silence as they tried to revive her, not knowing what to do or say. Her body lay near the entrance to the women’s locker room, so avoiding the scene was impossible.

For all the years I was a lifeguard and swim instructor, I had never witnessed a drowning. This came pretty close.

Spring has me feeling crazy. The morning sunrises and cotton candy clouds, the magnificent flowers, and the hope of romance blooming everywhere I look. Life is good. Life is very good.

easter tidings

"Today was the day Jesus died."
This came up a few times in class today while I was teaching. It is interesting to me how the most important holiday in the Christian calendar--and the only one I give any real meditation-- is treated with such little regard. Those few kids speak in whispers--afraid of being alienated. They keep to themselves. "He is risen," one will say.
"He is risen indeed," will be the knee-jerk response. Kindof like peace be with you.

I guess it's good that Easter isn't something that is commercialized as much as Christmas. But what sort of ad campaigning can you do with a guy being crucified on a cross? I guess we should ask Mel Gibson. Either way it comes up yucky.

It feels strange this year for me. And yet, my absence in actively participating in Lenten practices or biblical readings, fastings, vespers and prayer meditation, my apathy and general lack of energy and interest has me wondering...

I am sitting here eating a Cadberry Egg and drinking a glass of wine.
And know what? I don't feel guilty about it. But I don't feel good--I don't feel--anything. Maybe that is the trouble. Somewhere between guilt and good.
I want to find that place.

Lately, I have started to workout mornings. My schedule does not allow for leisure after school sessions. I cannot remember the last time I showered in my own home.
Every morning I meet the same women in the locker room. We have become, in a sense, sisters. Sure, we are in various stages of undress, busily preening in place--most of the time naked while talking about our lives-- but the spirit in the cramped, upstairs quaters of the YMCA is charged and positive--it feels more like a sorority house than a health club.

I miss my private morning time and meditation, but the comeradity felt mornings before 7 is worth getting out of bed--most days.

So I'll be on the radio soon. First for the fund drive--eee gad.

Something is still missing...Where are you? What are you? Who are you?

family feud

"TO SLEEP"

O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
O soothest Sleep! if it so please thee, close,
In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes,
Or wait the amen, ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities.
Then save me, or the passéd day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;
Save me from curious conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oilèd wards,
And seal the hushèd casket of my soul.

things that are difficult:
1. exhaustion without release
2. lack of appreciation
3. being misunderstood
4. lingering nightmares
5. loving and hating others at the same time
6. holidays without Lillian
7. seeking the joie de vivre
8. not seeing my cats
9. late nights with a card table and laptop for company
10. approaching weekends spent alone

first day of spring

I see that from these boys shall men of nothing
Stature by seedy shifting,
Or lame the air with leaping from its hearts;
There from their hearts the dogdayed pulse
Of love and light bursts in their throats.
O see the pulse of summer in the ice.

II
We are the dark derniers let us summon
Death from a summer woman,
A muscling life from lovers in their cramp
From the fair dead who flush the sea
The bright-eyed worm on Davy's lamp
And from the planted womb the man of straw.



III
I see you boys of summer in your ruin.
Man in his maggots barren.
And boys are full and foreign to the pouch.
I am the man your father was.
We are the sons of flint and pitch.
O see the poles are kissing as they cross.

--Dylan Thomas "I See the Boys of Summer"

I am tired. The days are unbelievable.
But I get it. I finally get it.

I wait patiently for change.

Now, sleep, take hold and leave me be.

I see that from these boys shall men of nothing
Stature by seedy shifting,
Or lame the air with leaping from its hearts;
There from their hearts the dogdayed pulse
Of love and light bursts in their throats.
O see the pulse of summer in the ice.

II
We are the dark derniers let us summon
Death from a summer woman,
A muscling life from lovers in their cramp
From the fair dead who flush the sea
The bright-eyed worm on Davy's lamp
And from the planted womb the man of straw.



III
I see you boys of summer in your ruin.
Man in his maggots barren.
And boys are full and foreign to the pouch.
I am the man your father was.
We are the sons of flint and pitch.
O see the poles are kissing as they cross.

--Dylan Thomas "I See the Boys of Summer"

I am tired. The days are unbelievable.
But I get it. I finally get it.
Yes I do. In life, in love, in work, in friendship.

I will not do this again.
Now, sleep, take hold and leave me be.