Bring My Flowers Now (Tanya Tucker)

This post has the potential to go long, as I describe the adventure ("isn't that what you would call it?", sings Dar) that was the 30A Songwriters Festival last weekend.  I give you permission now to pull the plug at any time...  :-)

My husband and I flew up to Pensacola Thursday evening (1/16) to meet up with my college roommate Linda and her husband Craig.  I had booked our flights on Silver Airways, because it was the only airline that flew non-stop from Ft. Lauderdale (we hate Miami Airport).  I knew something was awry when I checked in the night before and saw there were only 48 seats on the plane.  Yikes!  We got to the airport, went to the gate and, when they called our flight, I looked out the window and joked to Chico that the little pink prop plane on the tarmac was ours.  Um... yup.  Taxied so far and long on the runway, my next joke was that we were just going to drive I-75/I-10 all the way to Pensacola.  Fortunately, we did take off at some point, and to be fair to them, it was a nice, smooth flight, as was the return trip ("and I'd do it again", Dar, different song).

Linda and Craig picked us up at the airport, we spent Thursday night, swung by Wendy (Linda's co-teacher before they retired, and her husband) and her husband Don's house Friday morning, ate lunch in Destin, and finally got to our cabin in Santa Rosa Beach about 3:30 p.m., whereupon we quickly got settled so we could hear some music.  The festival is named 30A after the highway most of the venues are on, with a few offshoots.  It's pricey, with an extensive line-up, and sets you up for failure in that you're never going to see everyone you want to, and basically have to decide on a venue to sit through for the evening, as opposed to bopping around from place to place. Wah!

We collaboratively agreed on a Friday night plan, and headed out to see two rounds: Eliot Bronson and Danielle Howle, both of whom I am familiar with (she opened for Ani DiFranco at the Carefree Theatre in West Palm Beach a bazillion years ago!).  Amazing set, and a great way to start our festival experience.  Next round was Sierra Hull and Steve Poltz, the first a discovery of Craig's at Merlefest and the second a Bucket List item for me (Jewel's boyfriend and co-writer a long-time ago).  She was a young, beautiful, mandolin whiz and he an older, energetic nutjob (in the best possible way), such that, even though I'm on a buying moratorium, I had to spring for a T-shirt.  Another great set, to end the evening...  :-)

Back to the cabin for late-night snacking and drinking, up again Saturday morning for coffee, then on to the outdoor amphitheatre, where the gates opened at 11 a.m., music beginning at noon.  The festival modus operandi for both Saturday and Sunday is to showcase three big-name acts at this large venue exclusively, with no other music running concurrently.  Saturday was Tanya Tucker, Indigo Girls, and John Prine.  Tanya is back on the scene after a 17-year hiatus, largely due to the support/encouragement of Brandi Carlile (and just had a showcase spot at the last night's Grammys).

The next two sets were Indigo Girls (Emily had a bad cold, which really affected her voice, but we did get to sing along to Closer to Fine and Galileo); and John Prine, who looked and sounded amazing, showcasing several tunes on his new CD, Tree of Forgiveness, which I need to listen to immediately.  He also called Tanya Tucker back to sing harmony with him on Angel from Montgomery and Paradise.

We all went on to the next venue, got there just as they were taking a break, and breezed right in, waiting only 10 minutes for a round with Sierra Hull (previously-described mandolin whiz), Allison Moorer (ex-wife of Steve Earle, sister of Shelby Lynne), and Mindy Smith.  All were great, but I was especially captivated by Moorer who, after decades of keeping it quiet, has recently written a book and a companion CD, about her father murdering her mother, and then turning the gun on himself, which she and her sister witnessed when they were children.  Her song Nightlight broke my heart.

Then... TODD!!!  When I discovered early in the festival that I was never going to be able to see everyone I wanted, I basically said that as long as I could hear Todd Snider, I was happy.  Mission Accomplished, in the best possible way!  His performances can go either way:  on-task, focused songwriting and storytelling, or off-the-rails, drugged-out, mumbling, stumbling, possibly cutting his set short.  Fortunately, he was more of the former, as Linda had seen him a few years back (exhibiting latter behavior), and was unimpressed. We got to sing along to Beer Run, and he did some introspective songs as well.  He also told a story about wearing shoes lately on stage, as he had performed barefoot all his life, which his doctor said was probably the reason for many of Todd's health problems.  "Well, that and drugs", he said, "but at least I met him halfway".  Hilarious!

Back to our cabin for more late-night snacking, drinking, and conversation.  I am fond of saying that I can still do everything I used to; it just takes me longer to recover.  That was the theme of this weekend...  :-)

Sunday morning, back to the outdoor amphitheatre to end up in the same place we were the day before, a few rows behind the fence of the VIP area. Good sightlines, plus they had a Jumbotron on either side of the main stage with close-ups.  I said before that this festival is pricey, and VIP tickets were even more so.  It's a wealthy demographic, and I joked all weekend about the plethora of animal prints in the women's clothing:  jackets, shirts, headbands, and boots.  Begone the rain of the day before; it was now sunny and cold.  I wore my pussy hat...  :-)

As I was headed to the food tent to buy a cup of coffee, I ran into someone I had met the day before, who told me that David Olney had died onstage the night before, and a feeling of such sadness overtook me.  From Amy Rigby...

The day's line-up was nostalgia:  Herman's Hermits with Peter Noone, Don McLean, and Brian Wilson.  Peter Noone was charming and spritely, saying that they didn't write any new songs for this gig; instead they would perform all the songs we knew and loved... and they did!  From Henry the VIII to Mrs. Brown to There's a Kind of Hush, they led us on a journey of our past, and muscle memory kicked in and the audience sang along to everything.  Such fun!  Don McLean was a big yawn/snore, ending up with American Pie (he didn't even do Vincent), which was cool but not enough.  Brian Wilson lent his name to the next set, and sang on about every fourth song, but all the "heavy lifting" was done by the other 10 guys on stage, who were amazing.  Brian just looked sad and cold, even wiping his nose on his sleeve a few times, and the camera crew soon learned to focus elsewhere.  There was a part in the middle of the set of "new" songs, which no one in the audience knew, and people began to leave.  Again, so very sad.

Back to the room to warm up and eat, then into town again to hear an in-the-round with four songwriters in the venue where Olney had died the night before, which set the mood for a very somber evening.  Then on to hear Mary Gauthier (who I adore), accompanied by Jaimee Harris, her accompanist/girlfriend, and Will Kimbrough (who used to play lead guitar for The Nervous Wrecks, Todd Snider's band, and is quite the talent in his own right). The night continued on a serious note, as Will shared that Olney was his across-the-street neighbor, and said that he would be going home to a very different neighborhood.  He then quoted the iconic singer songwriter Townes Van Zandt:  "Anytime anyone asks me who my favorite music writers are, I say Mozart, Lightnin' Hopkins, Bob Dylan, and Dave Olney. Dave Olney is one of the best songwriters I've ever heard – and that's true. I mean that from my heart", and then proceeded to play To Live Is to Fly, which I adore.  Not a dry eye in the house.

Back to the cabin for our ritual of eating, drinking, and yakking... then up the next morning to pack and check out.  The cabin was within walking distance of the gulf, so we of course had to do that, and we strolled along the beach for over an hour, witnessing the beauty of Mother Nature's blue skies, fluffy clouds, and sun sparkling on the water.  Tried to see a bit more music on our way out of town, but all three venues we stopped at were packed, so we bid adieu to 30A, and headed back to Pensacola.

The F*cking End!

SONG:  Bring My Flowers Now by Tanya Tucker

BOOK:  A Month of Sonnets by David Olney

POEM:  The Uses of Sorrow by Mary Oliver

Someone I loved once gave me

a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand

that this, too, was a gift.

QUOTE:  "When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home." ~ Tecumseh


P.S.  I think the hardest thing about coming back to blogging is going to be... not repeating songs, books, poems, and quotes I've already used.  Ack!

Reelin' in the Years (Steely Dan)

I am having a deja vu moment, in that I popped back onto my blog in January 2013 to resurrect it and then nothing, until today, seven years and 25 days later, I am making the same attempt.  Let's hope it sticks this time!

Allow me to re-introduce myself.  I'm Susan.  Wife/Mom/Lala, vegan, fanatical reader, music lover, eternal optimist.  I not only retired from my office job in June 2019, but also the booking/presenting of a 14-year folk and acoustic concert series.  I said to someone the other day that I've been scraping so many things off my proverbial plate lately that I almost don't even need a plate anymore...  :-)

At midnight on New Year's Eve, I deactivated my Facebook account, and I was a bit nervous.  Trying more to *Be Here, Now* (thanks, Ram Dass!).  It's actually been very liberating and exciting, catching up on reading and sleeping, and accomplishing much on my shorter-every-day To Do List, without the need to check the little blue f icon.

Still not sure if it's temporary (at least until the end of this month) or permanent, but I don't have to decide that yet.  However, I *really* missed writing on a regular basis, hence my move back to blogging.  I've always fancied myself to be a good writer, as well as a worshipper of words in most forms and fashion.  My goal is #9 of 40 Resolutions for 2020 by Ellis Paul (musician):

"Write. Then write again. Write songs and letters, quotes and notes, scribbles and doodles, to do’s and don’ts, lines with rhymes, lyrics and scripts, limericks and puns and one liner quips, zingers and ringers that spin round a phrase, and grocery list stories that run off the page. Write novels that grovel, unstable fables, a treatise of words that could break an oak table, a haiku, a sonnet, a speech, a play, a love song that takes the world’s tears all away. Write graffiti that makes a beating heart rush, write something so dirty Bukowski would blush, write comedies, jokes, and twenty act plays, tragedies with maladies only Shakespeare would say. Write like you’re bailing a boat with a cup, write like your pencil will never give up."

Sooooo much to catch you all up on.  Happy 2020 (what a f*cking great metaphor, right?), and Welcome (back)!

P.S.  I don't have Photobucket anymore to host my pictures, so I am leaving the ones on my past posts with their watermark, not having time to go back and fix them all.  Moving forward...  :-)


SONG:  Reelin' in the Years by Steely Dan

BOOK:  Becoming by Michelle Obama

POEM: Good Bones by Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.

QUOTE:  "In my later years, I have looked in the mirror each day and found a happy person staring back. Occasionally I wonder why I can be so happy. The answer is that every day of my life I've worked only for myself and for the joy that comes from writing and creating. The image in my mirror is not optimistic, but the result of optimal behavior." ~ Ray Bradbury

New Year's Day (Mary Chapin Carpenter)

Hi Susan! Here is your Daily Horoscope for Tuesday, January 1
Your mental energy is peaking now, giving rise to some great creative power. Make the most of it to get a quick start on your resolutions while you show others what they can do to join you.

and...

Dearest Susan, I was about to wish that your every dream come true. That you find yourself surrounded by friends, laughter, and good times. I almost wished that your every cup runneth over financially, romantically, spiritually, and creatively. That good health be your faithful companion, peace your guarded ally, and love your perpetual guide. When suddenly, it dawned on me that as an infinite, powerful, fun-loving gladiator of the Universe, with eternity before you and the power of your thoughts to help shape it... it's you Susan Moss, who will be granting wishes this year.

10... 9... 8... 7... 6...
    The Universe

Oh, Susan, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY NEW YEAR anyway!


Don't f*cking faint (again) - after 2+ years dormant, I am resurrecting Optimistic Voices.  I miss writing and, even though I'm still very overwhelmed in real life, I will commit to a once-a-week schedule of blogging - also going to try to post at Star Maker Machine weekly as well (be still, my heart... and laptop keyboard...  :-) 

I thought about doing a recap of everything that's happened in the last 24 months but, honestly, it just sounded exhausting, not to mention unnecessary - this is where I am now, this is where I need to be and I'm only interested in forward motion at this point.  There will be room and time for reminiscences, asides and flashbacks - for now, let's concentrate on ushering in 2013... and, after much soul-searching, the Word of the Year (my Christine-Kane-inspired New Year's custom) is Create, as in:

Create music
Create writing
Create art
Create space
Create time
Create harmony
Create order

It's good to be back - let the creativity games begin!

SONG:  New Year's Day by Mary Chapin Carpenter (scroll down to #11 for the lyrics)

BOOK:  Meditations for Manifesting : Morning and Evening Meditations to Literally Create Your Heart's Desire by Wayne W. Dyer

 POEM:  In Tenebris  by Ford Madox Ford

All within is warm,
   Here without it's very cold,
   Now the year is grown so old
And the dead leaves swarm.

In your heart is light,
   Here without it's very dark,
   When shall I hear the lark?
When see aright?

Oh, for a moment's space!
   Draw the clinging curtains wide
   Whilst I wait and yearn outside
Let the light fall on my face.

QUOTE:  "When old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders." ~ Rabindranath Tagore

The Waitress (Jonathan Byrd)

Nothing "of substance" this morning (and who says there has to be, right?... :-) - however, today's poem from The Writer's Almanac made me think of Jonathan's amazing song... and then I only needed two more components for a blog post. No brainer - enjoy!

SONG: The Waitress by Jonathan Byrd (can't find the lyrics but YouTube video here)...

BOOK: Counter Culture: The American Coffee Shop Waitress by Candacy A. Taylor

POEM: Daily I Fall In Love With Waitresses by Elliot Fried

Daily I fall in love with waitresses
with their white bouncing name tags
KATHY MARGIE HONEY SUE
and white rubber shoes.
I love how they bend over tables
pouring coffee.
Their perky breasts hover above potatoes
like jets coming in to LAX
hang above the suburbs—
shards of broken stars.
I feel their fingers
roughened by cube steaks softened with grease
slide over me.
Their hands and lean long bodies
keep moving so...
fumbling and clattering so harmoniously
that I am left overwhelmed, quivering.
Daily I fall in love with waitresses
with their cream-cheese cool.
They tell secrets in the kitchen
and I want them.
I know them.
They press buttons creases burgers buns—
their legs are menu smooth.

They have boyfriends or husbands or children
or all.
They are french dressing worldly—
they know how ice cubes clink.
Their chipped teeth form chipped beef
and muffin syllabics.
Daily I fall in love with waitresses.
They are Thousand Island dreams
but they never stand still long enough
as they serve serve serve.

QUOTE: "When the waitress puts the dinner on the table, the old men look at the dinner. The young men look at the waitress." ~ Gelett Burgess

We'll All Meet Up Next Year (A New Year's Song) - (Deirdre Flint)

Today's TUT... A Note from the Universe:

Susan, soon the new year starts, so now's a great time to:

1. Wipe the slate clean.
2. Focus upon what you really want.
3. Chart your course.

Right?

Well... only if you want to risk having to repeat these steps for the same wishes next year! Maybe this is splitting hairs, but here's an adventurous alternative:

1. Give thanks that life is... just as it is (and that it's been... just as it's been). Because of it, you're now "READY."

2. Define what you want in terms of the end result. Don't worry about the hows, or even the course. KNOW that what you want is ALREADY yours in spirit, by divine LAW, just focus on the certainty of this ownership, understand it, claim it, and "it will be on earth, as it is in heaven (spirit)."

3. LET THE UNIVERSE show you the way via your impulses and instincts that appear as you take inspired action. Don't worry that your first steps seem silly or futile. And if you don't know what to do, do anything! Go! Get busy! Do not insist on intermediary successes, only upon the end result.

2011 is going to be your year (it already is),
The Universe

It starts now, Susan! This is your year! Happy beginning of something GREAT!!!

You really are READY Susan. And your self-confidence in my intuition and wisdom is ready for you.

Don't f*cking faint! - after taking 5 months off (for erratic behavior), I have now written and uploaded three posts in as many consecutive days. No promises... but the future bodes bright - pass the shades... :-)

So... as has become my custom each January 1, I subscribe to Christine Kane's Word of the Year concept - the last month I've experienced strong and intentional vibes and was gifted with a *Phrase* of the Year - Let. It. Go. (which is similar to my Release of a few years back, but somehow different). I will not explain but I know why I chose it and how I'll apply it - I will say that it relates to #2 of The Four Agreements (on my right sidebar)... and let it go (see... already putting it into practice) at that!

We hosted a lovely and fun Open House today with friends, family and neighbors - I am exhausted yet full... mimosas segueing to coffee interspersed with healthy spinach dip, raw veggies and a few bites of cookie...

SONG: We'll All Meet Up Next Year (A New Year's Song) by Deirdre Flint

Time to Let Go by Cary Cooper (Cary just wrote this song a few days ago and posted it on her Facebook page - given the synchronicity, I had to include... :-)

BOOK: Writing Down Your Soul: How to Activate and Listen to the Extraordinary Voice Within by Janet Conner

POEM: begin here by Maya Stein

When the last seat is taken,
or the key has trapped in the lock,
when the rain has eviscerated your garden,
or your words have run out one by one.
When the packing is half-finished, or traffic
keeps you from your purpose,
when the bright white of your day
has paled and pixilated.
When the grocery bag rips coming up the stairs,
when the telephone bill shocks
and then flounders you,
when love has flown off course,
when your nails are ragged and wanton,
when the runway is slick and the sky sodden.
When the ache for something nameless
fans out into your bones,
when you are hungry, or lost or in need of a hand
across your eyelashes.
When it’s deadline or dilemma
or just you tripping on the stained carpet of your trouble,
begin here.

Place one leaden, obstinate foot
where you can see it.
Gather your maniacal breath,
your little windbags of lungs.
Eye only the square of sidewalk a blink away,
that quadrant of concrete mottled with the dirty
evidence of living,
and go.

When the manual for what’s broken
has been misplaced, when the view is obscured
by a restless construction site,
when your closet is an echo of castoffs.
When the bridge toll climbs and the road
down the mountain is pummeled with snow,
when your face bears little resemblance
to the person you remember,
when the field is populated with abler bodies,
when poems have been written by nimbler souls,
when no amount of squinting
delivers oasis, begin here.

Guide your defeated arms
into a small fit of swinging.
Coerce your hips into the barest
shimmy. Locate the pocket of a single,
deserted minute, its hum of insignificance,
and go.

When cheer cannot cheer you,
when crumbs cannot feed you,
when the storage space in the garage
topples from the weight.
When beauty eludes you,
when the weatherman confirms your fear,
when the doctor bears his wild news.
When you return to the bad habit,
when the current continues its brutal tackle,
when mess is your middle name,
begin here.

Climb onto your weary haunches. Lift your belly
from its mattress cave. Initiate the wholly
unremarkable act of breathing, and go.

When you have had enough.
When you have had too much.
When your fortress has not kept away the enemy,
and the walls are an abscess of rubble.
Do not fling yourself from the gangplank.
Do not hasten your disappearance
with your own cruelty.
Do not mask your ferocity with a collage of good manners.

The death’s door of your failure
is still a door.
Wrap your shaking fist around the handle.
Hear the cricket click of the latch.
And begin.

QUOTE: “There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. That will be the beginning.” ~ Louis L’Amour

We Traveled So Far (Mary Chapin Carpenter)

Thanks again to all who never gave up on me these last five months, whether by active cheerleading or supportive patience - lots of reading and pondering has convinced me it's not about the "trying" but about the "being"... so I will try (ha!) to *be* more accepting of myself, in whatever form, in the future...

Time did march on since mid-July (my last wrenching post) and below is a recap of the "life before my eyes" in that abyss of emotional floundering - I would like to say I feel better now... and I do... but I also am more prepared to handle the ups and downs of the journey. Mixed Nuts, a really lame movie we watched Christmas Day with the exception of some amazing character actors (Madeline Kahn among them), had a great piece of dialogue:

"Just remember that in every pothole there is hope. Well, you see, pothole is spelled P-O-T-H-O-L-E. So if you take the P, and add it to the H, the O, and the E, and rearrange the letters... or contrariwise, you remove the O, T, and the L, you get "hope". So, just remember, in every pothole there is hope!"

:-)

Amen and blessed be - so... Top Ten Past Events, Good and Bad, to Close Out 2010:

10. I did go to Falcon Ridge this July, as I missed the 2009 festival due to Mom's illness/passing - it was amazing to reconnect with friends and music I only experience in person once a year, but are with my cyberly daily...

9. August 5 brought my 56th birthday - I can't even remember what I did, but I do recall telling everyone I didn't need presents, as I really already had everything I wanted...

8. After putting Mom's house on the market mid-April, we signed it over to buyers late-August - closure is always bittersweet and, sad as it is to think we've metaphorically and literally closed that door, we've also moved forward with our lives while keeping the memories...

7. My sister hosted a what-would-have-been-Mom’s-80th-birthday party in mid-September, attended by new and old neighbors as well as other friends - more bittersweetness ensued, as we celebrated someone who always celebrated life...

6. I experienced a personal and professional dream-come-true as I hosted the amazing Dar Williams in early-October at the concert series I've coordinated for the last six years - the evening was a success on so many levels (musical, emotional, financial) and I am beyond blessed. Photo of commemorative tattoo, a few minutes after inking, above - love and thanks to Kristyn... :-)

5. Terry, a friend from book club and the gym, discovered she had ovarian and stomach cancer, and there was only a month from diagnosis to her death on November 14 - it still doesn't seem real and she is much missed...

4. After being with his company for 25 years, the week before Thanksgiving my husband received pre-notification he's being let go in mid-February (they're outsourcing his role to another country) - rather than operating from fear, we are belt-tightening where we can but also thinking positive (along with networking his many resources) that there is something better out there for his talents and experience...

3. In mid-August, I finally got serious about a weight loss program and, as of mid-December, have lost 40 pounds - I look great, feel terrific and, after successfully maintaining through the holidays, will take off another 10 or so to get to goal as well as peace of mind...

2. For the last 10 years (since my mom's second husband was killed in a car accident in March 2000), each Christmas we have traveled to South Carolina to spend time with my husband's family and Georgia to see mine - it has been rewarding but also exhausting and expensive, and this year we made the conscious decision to stay home. We resurrected old traditions (put up a tree and over-decorated) and made new ones - we of course missed being with extended family but actively embraced the holiday in our own home for the first time in a decade...

1. Tonight we will go to a party (home by midnight to honor our champagne-in-the-jacuzzi ritual) and tomorrow finds us hosting a New Year's Day Open House - my wish for 2011 for myself and my friends: inspirational music, thought-provoking literature, heart-based camaraderie and awareness/intention to appreciate and enjoy!

SONG: We Traveled So Far by Mary Chapin Carpenter

BOOK: The Ten Things to Do When Your Life Falls Apart: An Emotional and Spiritual Handbook by Daphne Rose Kingma

POEM: crossing the border by Maya Stein

It hit her, crossing the border into Ontario. The drive from Ann Arbor
had been grey and wet, the rain coming in fat drops,
metronoming her windshield wipers. She'd settled into her seat,
like she'd done for the past 5,000 miles, reached for a stick of gum,
adjusted the radio dial, checked the battery on her cell phone.

The landscape into Windsor was flat, almost featureless,
though the bridge had been magnificent, a real piece of architecture,
the cables long and taut as ballerina legs.
But the strip malls greeted her cheerlessly,
the sky empty of welcome. She drove on, having filled up
on gas at her departure. Finally, the cornfields reappeared,
barns and silos rising out of the land again, and the first
hints of autumn announced themselves in the distant trees.

Maybe it was this particular rain, or that somehow
crossing the border had carried her even further from home,
or that the season's temporal beauty - so splashy now -
would tumble into certain bleakness and cold, but out of nowhere,
she gave the steering wheel a fresh earnest grip,
wanting to hold on to whatever it was
that was letting her go.

And yet, she realized it was time, her own muscles tired
of engaging only to leave her heart frayed so thin.
The exchange was untenable, staying rooted to a past that charmed
and even, occasionally, soothed, but no longer fed.

She had opted for the country road on her way
to the big city, but soon it became clear this wasn't a day
to get lost. The road required an oddly painful slowing. Construction
and idle drivers kept interrupting the steady pressure of her foot
against the gas pedal. The single lane made it difficult to pass.

And though she preferred these roads, their changing scenery and
unexpected finds, she saw the delay they would cost her journey,
and with reluctance, she returned to the highway's swift efficiency.

There is no easy way to cleave the heart
from loving. It does what it does impiously, inopportunely,
uncalendared and unseasoned. What she carried with her she gave
with a lack of deliberation, discretion, scurrying
to greet every opportunity to add to the pile.
But the act of filling had not made her full.

Instead, she was twitchy with worry. Emptiness and sorrow
had attached themselves to her most joyful, generous gestures.
She knew something in her was flagging, losing steam and grace.
She knew she could not puppet this theatre any longer.

The road was wide and clear. Somehow, the rain seemed less
rigorous here, and she turned off her wipers in time
to see the city rise into view, skyscrapers pushing into the clouds.
It would be a lie to say that she was healed, heart full as an udder again.
But I can tell you she was precisely where she needed to be, even
in her brokenness, and she would know where to go
from here.

QUOTE: “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” ~ Theodore Roosevelt

Prayer for My Friends (Terri Hendrix)

I am in process of attempting to "get unstuck" - I promise a more detailed, personal and catch-up entry tomorrow... but, in the meantime, here is what I put together, but never posted, for Thanksgiving. Deepest gratitude and boundless thanks to those who have loved me, supported me and reached out... even when I pushed away - you will never know how much it means...

DailyOM
November 25, 2010
Being Truly Thankful
Beyond Counting Blessings

When we are in the state of thankfulness, we are in a higher state of awareness, gratitude at our doorstep. Often when we practice being thankful, we go through the process of counting our blessings, acknowledging the wonderful people, things and places that make up our reality. While it is fine to be grateful for the good fortune we have accumulated, true thankfulness stems from a powerful comprehension of the gift of simply being alive, and when we feel it, we feel it regardless of our circumstances. In this deep state of gratitude, we recognize the purity of the experience of being, in and of itself, and our thankfulness is part and parcel of our awareness that we are one with this great mystery that is life.

It is difficult for most of us to access this level of consciousness as we are very caught up in the ups and downs of our individual experiences in the world. The thing to remember about the world, though, is that it ebbs and flows, expands and contracts, gives and takes, and is by its very nature somewhat unreliable. If we only feel gratitude when it serves our desires, this is not true thankfulness. No one is exempt from the twists and turns of fate, which may, at any time, take the possessions, situations, and people we love away from us. Ironically, it is sometimes this kind of loss that awakens us to a thankfulness that goes deeper than just being grateful when things go our way. Illness and near-miss accidents can also serve as wake-up calls to the deeper realization that we are truly lucky to be alive.

We do not have to wait to be shaken to experience this state of being truly thankful for our lives. Tuning in to our breath and making an effort to be fully present for a set period of time each day can do wonders for our ability to connect with true gratitude. We can also awaken ourselves with the intention to be more aware of the unconditional generosity of the life force that flows through us regardless of our circumstances.

And yesterday's StoryPeople lesson:
Rules for a successful holiday:
1. Get together with the family
2. Relive old times
3. Get out before it blows

SONG: Prayer for My Friends by Terri Hendrix

BOOK: The 7 Great Prayers: For a Lifetime of Hope and Blessings by Paul McManus and Tracey McManus

POEM: Thanks by W. S. Merwin

Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water thanking it
smiling by the windows looking out
in our directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks we are saying thank you
in the faces of the officials and the rich
and of all who will never change
we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is

QUOTE: “Thank everyone who calls out your faults, your anger, your impatience, your egotism; do this consciously, voluntarily." ~ Jean Toomer

Disorder in the House (Warren Zevon)

I am still here, although it's been three months since I've checked in with my blog - I'd like to say I'm okay... but that would not be true. July 19 is the one-year anniversary of my mom's passing - I have spent the last two months re-tracing my steps as to what I was doing this time last year (caregiving since mid-May). Today feels like a destination of sorts, of raw grief and the beginnings of healing - I have allowed myself minor meltdowns in these last 24 hours but, as soon as I hit Publish Post, I will get in the jacuzzi and weep until I am empty...

Today also marks eight years since Dave Carter died - I am exhausted, I am sad, I am bone-weary... and I leave for Falcon Ridge (by way of Boston) in a few hours. I will only get a few hours sleep - it is now 5 a.m. although, for clarity's sake, this post is dated yesterday to honor The Day of the Dead...

I had grand plans for this post, and it has fizzled along with my energy level - my annual festival beckons, and with it a promise of rejuvenation and regrouping and renewal. I have to snap out of this emotional chaos, and surrounding myself with music friends is a lovely first step - Mom and Dave would want it that way... and I trust them to lead me on the path to, as my friend Myra says, "the new normal" (sigh)...

SONG: Disorder in the House by Warren Zevon

BOOK: The Shadow Effect: Illuminating the Hidden Power of Your True Self by Deepak Chopra, Marianne Williamson, Debbie Ford

POEM: The Wind Blows Through the Doors of My Heart by Deborah Digges

The wind blows
through the doors of my heart.
It scatters my sheet music
that climbs like waves from the piano, free of the keys.
Now the notes stripped, black butterflies,
flattened against the screens.
The wind through my heart
blows all my candles out.
In my heart and its rooms is dark and windy.
From the mantle smashes birds' nests, teacups
full of stars as the wind winds round,
a mist of sorts that rises and bends and blows
or is blown through the rooms of my heart
that shatters the windows,
rakes the bedsheets as though someone
had just made love. And my dresses
they are lifted like brides come to rest
on the bedstead, crucifixes,
dresses tangled in trees in the rooms
of my heart. To save them
I've thrown flowers to fields,
so that someone would pick them up
and know where they came from.
Come the bees now clinging to flowered curtains.
Off with the clothesline pinning anything, my mother's trousseau.
It is not for me to say what is this wind
or how it came to blow through the rooms of my heart.
Wing after wing, through the rooms of the dead
the wind does not blow. Nor the basement, no wheezing,
no wind choking the cobwebs in our hair.
It is cool here, quiet, a quilt spread on soil.
But we will never lie down again.

QUOTE: "Like cars in amusement parks, our direction is often determined through collisions." ~ Yahia Lababidi

To Whom It May Concern (John Wesley Harding)

Today's Note from the Universe:

Wake up, Susan! Remember what excites you. Think of these things, those friends, and the adventures that can be yours. Focus. Care. Fantasize. Imagine. It's all so near. Speak as if you're ready. Paste new pictures in your scrapbook, on your vision board, and around your home and office. Physically prepare for the changes that you wish to experience in your life. You've done this before. You know it works. You're due for an encore. It's time to amaze. That's why you're there.

And it's why I'm here,
The Universe

Wake up, Susan! Remember! Do what you know to do! It's all so near.


Impossible to believe it has been almost a month since I last posted - I'm well (thanks for asking... :-) but insanely busy... and I won't bore you with a laundry list of reasons/excuses I've been incommunicado...

Today's note above... as well as the poem below, posted on the Life is a Verb website last week, inspired me to check in here to say I miss writing and will try to do better - in the meantime, enjoy today's ode to the written word!

SONG: To Whom It May Concern by John Wesley Harding

BOOK: A Book of One's Own: People and Their Diaries by Thomas Mallon

POEM: don’t forget to write by maya stein

while you are piecing together the map of your life,
stepping as nimbly as you can out of the mulch
of your thoughts, the busy traffic of your heart,
while you attempt grace and magic and the blessing of
your soft, surrendered kiss, while you are fathoming the stretch
you will need for the wide and rocky jungle of your own happiness,
while you are hunkering down to a piece of dark bread
and the odd, welcome relief of hunger,
don’t forget to write.

write this day, its too-early morning and the birdsong
you cursed into your pillow. write the way the dog
looked at you as forlornly as your own shadow.
write this blanket, this cup of coffee, the irreverent
clatter of the neighbor’s lawnmower. write the bees
that bend forever to their task. write the July heat
and the laps in the town pool that cleave you from
this earth, the over-solid grip you have on everything.
write this hour, tired and awake all at once, the distractions
you can make of breakfast or a calculator or the remote control
lying flaccid on the living room couch.

write the dead mosquito on the bathroom floor, the small
clot of blood on your forearm. write the careful arrangement
of the bed linens, the yellow of the walls, the way the
garden hose snakes around the back porch where old boxes
are bending under their own weight and where spiders
have begun to take control of the tomato plants.

write your white legs and your short pants and
the constellations imprinted on your skin. write
the dusty sex toys in the bedside bureau, the silvery
condom packages nearing their expiration dates.
write the wet sound of love in the middle of the night.

write the blackberry bush and its sour fruit,
the mailman in his cheerful hat,
the neighbor who confuses you with someone else,
calls you a name that’s not yours, write the feeling
of lost identity and disappointment and some letter
you’re perennially hoping for.

write the words for failure. write the words for hope.
write the tightrope dangling above the canyon,
and down below, the electric water furious and free.

write green. write violet. write blazing orange.
write the smell of grapefruit skin, the eyelash
on a cheekbone, the hand you hold in the dark.
write the first, honest paragraphs of sunrise.
write everything, or nothing, but don’t forget to write.

QUOTE: "By living well, by observing as you live, by reading well and observing as you read, you have fed your Most Original Self. By training yourself in writing, by repetitious exercise, imitation, good example, you have made a clean, well-lighted place to keep the Muse. You have given her, him, it, or whatever, room to turn around in. And through training, you have relaxed yourself enough not to stare discourteously when inspiration comes into the room." ~ Ray Bradbury

One Week (Barenaked Ladies)

So... when last we left our She-Ra, she had undergone a brain shift, such that she was determined to make better choices, one day at a time, until she began to take feeling and looking better for granted - I am pleased to say that, after one week, I am on the right track (pun semi-intended... :-)

Beginning last Saturday, I have accomplished the following... every single day:

~ eaten very mindfully and healthfully, mostly from my list of Brain Foods

~ not eaten after 9 p.m.

~ cut out almost all sugar from my diet, except the natural sugar found in fruit

~ consumed at least a half-gallon of water, sometimes more

~ taken my medications/supplements: blood pressure, thyroid, multi-vitamin, Calcium, Vitamin D, fish oil caplets, low-dosage aspirin

~ walked 40 minutes (then taken the dog out for another 10 minutes)

~ stretched after walking


So far, I have lost 3 pounds - it's a start. What is even more important is that I have more color in my skin, bounce in my step and clarity in my brain - Week 2 started yesterday, and I'm excited about continuing the momentum!

SONG: One Week by Barenaked Ladies

BOOK: You'll See It When You Believe It: The Way to Your Personal Transformation by Wayne W. Dyer

POEM: The Necessary Brevity of Pleasures by Samuel Hazo

Prolonged, they slacken into pain
or sadness in accordance with the law
of apples.
One apple satisfies.
Two apples cloy.
Three apples
glut.
Call it a tug-of-war between enough and more
than enough, between sufficiency
and greed, between the stay-at-homers
and globe-trotting see-the-worlders.
Like lovers seeking heaven in excess,
the hopelessly insatiable forget
how passion sharpens appetites
that gross indulgence numbs.
Result?
The haves have not
what all the have-nots have
since much of having is the need
to have.
Even my dog
knows that - and more than that.
He slumbers in a moon of sunlight,
scratches his twitches and itches
in measure, savors every bite
of grub with equal gratitude
and stays determinedly in place
unless what's suddenly exciting
happens.
Viewing mere change
as threatening, he relishes a few
undoubtable and proven pleasures
to enjoy each day in sequence
and with canine moderation.
They're there for him in waiting,
and he never wears them out.

QUOTE: “The moments of happiness we enjoy take us by surprise. It is not that we seize them, but that they seize us.” ~ Ashley Montagu

Brane Ded, Body MT (David Stocker)

You must all be tired of reading about my Epiphany du jour... whereupon I have a life-changing, light bulb moment... and swear I'm going to do everything *the right way* from now on... only to find I have fallen off the proverbial wagon yet again - this one's different... I swear!

I was having a relaxed Friday evening, curled up with What Not to Wear (a guilty pleasure) and then my book (a Tabitha King novel) - at 11, I happened to turn the TV back on, began to scroll through the channels and ran across a program on PBS: Change Your Brain, Change Your Body. Dr. Amen (gotta love that name) himself was lecturing on the various steps in which we can bring about change, based on his new book (of course) and, naturally, I know most of this stuff - I take fish oil caplets and Vitamin D supplements... I realize broccoli is better for me than donuts... I am aware I should exercise on a regular basis...

I wasn't particularly swayed by his definitions of brain types... but when he asked the question: what is your motivation?... I experienced mental whiplash - all these years I've attempted to sculpt my habits, my waistline and my attitude... and I've never really confronted myself with WHY...

Short-term: Falcon Ridge (late-July 2010)... and my daughter's wedding (at least a year down the road) - long-term: to see my kids grow up, get married (or not) and have children (or not). I want to be healthy for myself... but really, my family is the best reason there is - e-f*cking-piphany...

I've eaten healthy (so far), I walked my 2 1/2 miles (40 minutes)... and I am drinking enough water to float a battleship - plus... I am choosing to eliminate sugar from my diet (I can do this... :-)

SONG: Brane Ded, Body MT by David Stocker (I can't seem to find the lyrics online, but the CD, to listen to the song clip, is here)...

BOOK: Change Your Brain, Change Your Body: Use Your Brain to Get and Keep the Body You Have Always Wanted by Daniel G. Amen M.D.

POEM: The Heart of Herakles by Kenneth Rexroth
Lying under the stars,
In the summer night,
Late, while the autumn
Constellations climb the sky,
As the Cluster of Hercules
Falls down the west
I put the telescope by and watch Deneb
Move towards the zenith.
My body is asleep. Only
My eyes and brain are awake.
The stars stand around me
Like gold eyes, I can no longer
Tell where I begin and leave off.
The faint breeze in the dark pines,
And the invisible grass,
The tipping earth, the swarming stars
Have an eye that sees itself.

QUOTE: "We live in deeds, not years; In thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best." ~ Phillip James Bailey

Live Forever (Billy Joe Shaver)

My husband and I saw Crazy Heart a few weeks ago - for more on the subject, see my Star Maker Machine post (and how wonderful that Jeff Bridges did indeed win the Oscar last night for Best Actor!)...

My middle child/older son got in some major trouble in late-January, which could have had substantially-tragic results... but we were all lucky, and it appears he's seen it for the big-*ss wake-up call it is... and is in process of making some definitive changes to turn his life around - the tune below, a snippet of which is sung a cappella by Robert Duvall's character in the film, made me think of Rob... and I dedicate today's post to him, sending perpetual love and continued purple candles...

SONG: Live Forever by Billy Joe Shaver

BOOK: The Fifth Agreement: A Practical Guide to Self-Mastery by don Miguel Ruiz and don Jose Ruiz

POEM: no one expects you to save the world by Maya Stein

The headlines are begging for your help. Thousands needing homes, food.
But here, your own children, like inexpert stilt-walkers, flirt too often
with obstacles in the street. It’s no wonder you keep eyes glued
to them. The demands of love, or a job, the hard winter reining you in -
it takes all your muscle to keep your own life upright. And though you know
what you have is fortune compared to the great rift that earthquake left,
and the aftershocks continuing to destroy so much, somehow
that same fortune paralyzes, obstructs you with a heavy, gloomy guilt.
But no one expects you to save the world, no matter what you plan.
Sometimes the best thing we can do is to love everything we can.

QUOTE(S): “Though no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending." ~ Anonymous

“Remember, we all stumble, every one of us. That’s why it’s a comfort to go hand in hand.” ~ Emily Kimbrough

"It doesn't matter what people tell you. It doesn't matter what they might say. Sometimes you have to leave home. Sometimes, running away means you're headed in the exact right direction." ~ Alice Hoffman, Practical Magic

I've Just Seen a Face (The Beatles)

My friend request message, sent over the last day and a half: "It's officially The Apocalypse - I've joined Facebook!" - loosely translated: "What in the f*ck did I just do?!?" I finally signed up so that I could view my daughter's Europe pictures and live vicariously through her experience - I never envisioned quite such a headfirst tumble down the rabbit hole...

I have been fighting Facebook kicking and screaming for years - my main defense/objection has been... if I can't keep up with the "real people" in my life (and I'm always in overwhelmed mode), how in the world can I made the time to connect/reconnect with friends all over the country/world... not to mention acquaintances from my past?

I have a MySpace account (begun in December 2007) but, really, it's in the name of my concert series - it isn't about me personally at all, but rather a good PR tool to promote, and keep up with, the music...

I also have this blog, started in May 2007 - I use it as a journal/scrapbook/exercise in creativity. I'd like to post more often but seem to lose track of time - comments from readers (what readers?) are immaterial to me, as I'm really just downloading what's in my heart/brain/soul at the moment...

But Facebook? - in my less-than-48-hours experience with the social network, I have learned that it is truly In Your (or My) Face! It has been a pendulum from fun to frightening and back again... as I vowed to start out slow... which snowballed into "just one more" (friend, that is) - it's exhilarating to read all the repeated "welcome" messages (makes me think of Dar's "we're so glad that you finally made it here" lyric)... but it's exhausting to consider the effort it takes to reply and follow-up... not to mention the trepidation of opening various Pandora's Boxes...

High School? - ack! Suffice it to say, since it was 68-72, my memories are vague - I recall being high every day of my senior year, yet making the Honor Roll every quarter. I remember football games (with dances following), a handful of amazing girlfriends and being on the annual staff as well as head of props for our senior play, "The Matchmaker" - I also recall tubing down the Chattahoochee River (with a beer cooler in tow), a few special guy relationships... but also a less-than-full social calendar. I can't remember who I was back then - even more interesting, part of me is now wondering who I was in the eyes of others (in terms of The Breakfast Club... I was more Ally Sheedy than Molly Ringwald... :-)

So... although, as I said in a reply earlier today, "balance is not my strong suit", I have vowed to enjoy the experience while still motivating myself to handle all the day-to-day stuff it's easy to let slip by the proverbial wayside - I have to finish the folk club newsletter (already 4 days late), clean house tomorrow for dinner guests... and prepare for the concert I'm presenting Saturday night (not to mention catch up on various e-mails owed)...

In the meantime, though... I'm delighted at the thought of so many special people (friends and family) from all aspects of my life being in one place - it's a big-*ss cross-pollination... and I can't help but sport a broad smile across my (I should be reading a Book) Face (although I'm wary of the poke, whatever the h*ll that is... :-)

SONG: I've Just Seen a Face by The Beatles

BOOK(S): Ophelia Joined the Group Maidens Who Don't Float: Classic Lit Signs on to Facebook by Sarah Schmelling

Facebook Me! A Guide to Having Fun with Your Friends and Promoting Your Projects on Facebook by Dave Awl

POEM: Remember by Joy Harjo

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star's stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is. I met her
in a bar once in Iowa City.
Remember the sun's birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother's, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe. I heard her singing Kiowa war
dance songs at the corner of Fourth and Central once.
Remember that you are all people and that all people are you.
Remember that you are this universe and that this universe is you.
Remember that all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember that language comes from this.
Remember the dance that language is, that life is.
Remember.

QUOTE: “It’s surprising how much of memory is built around things unnoticed at the time.” ~ Barbara Kingsolver