We look before and after
and pine for what is naught.
Our sincerest laughter
with some pain is fraught.
Our sweetest songs are those
that tell of saddest thought.
–Shelley
Writing, particularly writing a blog that is open to the entire internet, I feel vulnerable. Exposed. I type a word, a sentence, a paragraph, and edit it (deleting everywhere), thinking Goodness Gracious! Let’s not share That. But then I remember beautiful sketches written by people who’ve been willing to stand vulnerable and exposed, and how that moved and changed me. Besides, I tell myself as I start typing again, the world is, as yet, unaware of this quiet slice of life. I have to beg my own family to just glance at excerpts on my web page (even Frank isn’t caught up on my blogs). I don’t need to worry about exposure, not really. So I’ll stand on my little rock and sing on my little stage. Hoping that it’s not just sound (let’s skip the fury). Hoping that it does signify something.
**(really weird though—just weeks after I posted “Drive Safe Corndogs”, Hoagies changed their sign! Really changed it. Corndogs, burritos, and Frazils are now simply commodities on the quick stop market, no longer motorists running the risk of the road. I am mourning, because I so loved the imagery of a corndog behind the wheel).**
Today, I’ve listened to “Singing You Through” by All Angels, countless times. On purpose; I select it in my laptop iTunes, and play it twice in a row before I let iTunes move on to the next selection. I played it while I folded laundry in my grungy laundry room. Underwear, endless t-shirts, Nora’s princess dress-up, a bath robe, bras, friendless socks. Folded, piled to the sky. At least they’re all clean. At least they smell good. I’m playing the song now in my kitchen as I type this, where a bucket of Kilz primer sits at my elbow and the table is covered with white primed boards, waiting for me to make paintings out of them. Waiting three days past my intentions. And the sink is full of dishes.
My sister turned me on to the song when I visited her in Missoula a week ago. It seems to me like a long ago, far away, echoing-in-the-distance caress from an ancient, always and forever friend. Like the cool, wet hanky Gaylynn wiped my face with one day when I was on the cusp of heat exhaustion.
I am sad today. There were moments (when I met my own eyes in the mirror, or when I considered my toes in the bath tub, or when I re-potted a plant), that sobs welled up through that too-familiar crack in my sternum. I’m no Reese Witherspoon when I cry. It isn’t pretty. Like the picture I chose for this blog entry, taken three (or was it four?) years ago. Frank and I were at odds that day (a Sunday, ironically). Plus my lipstick had worn off, leaving uptight lines ringing my lips. That can’t be good. Anyway, I thought the picture worked for today’s blog entry.
But! Sad! It’s not like I caved, not like I collapsed. I made efforts, I noticed things. I started the day early with a run; my lungs and body felt strong. And…The sun has been peeking in dazzling bursts. I love sunbursts. My house is warm and snug; my children are happy and healthy, and we love each other. Frank is temporarily employed, on a gig in San Francisco this week and one in Boston next week. He’s happy and fulfilled, wanted and working. Nora and I went to Home Depot specifically to buy m&m’s (she came to believe, during construction, that Home Depot is the best place in the world to buy m&m’s), and we ran together in the parking lot. It ought to have been a happy day—oh, actually, I’m sure it was— but I haven’t managed to connect with it. Where are my connections? Where where where? They’ve gone missing.
Now Abba is singing “Andante, Andante”. I like this song too, too well. My sternum cracks wider (how will this ever heal? How how how?). I wonder if perhaps the combination of dominant right brain X ultra femininity X romantic heart is crippling me with its abundance. I choke on the thought. Am I lopsided? Unbalanced? Weaving precariously over the center line, inebriate of milk and honey and paint thinner? Hmm. If I buy that (and I don’t know that I do), it will be on my own terms. No buy now, pay later plus interest. But a little coherence wouldn’t hurt. Certainly not. Maybe tomorrow, no, definitely tomorrow, I will start my right brained day with a left brained list. I will set my feet down on a pine plank, one at a time, check the clock, rub my eyes, move from point A to point B with a subtle, flirty sway (even though absolutely no one will see it). Consult my list, only skip C if skipping C doesn’t rock the boat. (Maybe, in an obscure, remote but beautiful third world alphabet, there is no C). Take Larry and Alice to the vet down the road to be neutered and spayed (poor Alice! She was frolicking with some neighborhood Joe so happily yesterday). Do dishes, make beds, paint pictures. And tonight, I’m glad I’ve written. Glad glad glad.
