Read My Mind

I was driving home from a high energy choir concert wondering just how I should treat myself for pulling it all off.  Oddly, I didn’t feel like ice cream.  Instead all I could think about was tea, tea, tea–unwind with some tea.  I walked in to find this.  [Somebody] read my mind.

“Help yourself.  I know you did great.”

Matrimony

If you can get over the intimidating nature of their band name, Matrimony just might become a new favorite of yours.  Joining Irish folk rock sensibilities and North Carolina indi-ness and harmonies, Matrimony shows that true love [and of music] and heartfelt words really can cross oceans.

I have to be honest that I saw this link on a friend’s facebook and I was not keen on clicking through to hear the song.  I didn’t want to be reminded of matrimony.  I didn’t want to look at someone else’s plaid-skirted, tights, and ballet shoe-ed wedding shower pictures.  I didn’t want to listen to another mandolin play “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”  I didn’t care about a stranger’s journey of love, I just wanted to shut down–more than even the computer.

But then I took a breath and refreshed my heart with humility, hope, and truth.  Perhaps there was more to this music than the next hip thing.  Matrimony, did you know, stems from the Latin mater.  Mother.  This ceremony of leaving and binding is deeply rooted in family, in beginnings, in mothering.  Marriage is about the new two, but matrimony, in the ceremonial sense (as opposed to the sense of state) is transitional.  Like motherhood, it is herding, it is caring, it is speaking, it is promising, it is believing.  Matrimony is a moment heaved upon with purpose, conviction, and all-out fighting [not necessarily dramatically] for the best in someone.

Maybe that’s why Jimmy Brown and Ashlee Hardee Brown (lead singers of the band) felt compelled to live their musical lives in the shadow of such a dusty, onerous term.  Matrimony, marriage, mothering, songwriting–all creating new, all pushing from known to unknown.  In fact, all of these acts and states combine new, old, known, and unknown in every way and degree imaginable every day.  A mother uses her youth to guide her children and her ideals to set them on unknown paths.  Wives and husbands learn from each others’ pasts and even ancient wisdom.  They keep the old that works and strive to make their own, better future history.  Songwriters mix mystery and hope with reality, dreaming of impact and connection.

So matrimony has suddenly become very relevant to me as a teacher, a songwriter, a sister, a learner.  It’s no wonder the term is scary; it’s edges can be quite sharp.  Be attentive, then, to speak and write and promise words that mater [matter].

Minnesota Beach

This is a beach in Minnesota.  When I say, “I worked at the beach one summer” or “Let’s go to the beach,” you can picture something like this and be pretty safe.  Beaches can be on lakes or rivers.  They can be big or small, but I personally enjoy the small ones on rainy days.

I am not enough…

I am not enough
in my cycling mind.
I, in my revolving door of
understanding my surroundings.
I am in.  I am out.
I am frugal.  I am lavish.
I am basic.  I am stifling.
I am so much, so many,
but I am missing parts.
I am not enough.
I am missing my Enough.
The part that makes complex
smooth and filling and satiating.
I do not find Enough in my analysis,
my misperceptions,
my cock-eyed conceptions,
my dandy sensibilities,
Or my Watching too closely of my world.
I do not find Enough, so heavy and matter-ing
like the sea, easily.  Not quickly.
Not in carousel rides
or roller coaster thrills–so free-ing.
No. Not in writing. Nor reading. Nor anything I seek. And though I do not know exactly
where Enough dwells.  I believe
I start to find Enough in my ears.  Simply there at the sides of me.
In the listening to waves, breaths, bee buzzes,
and sometimes somebody’s distant guitar picking.
Oh burrow into my ears, Enough.

This is not a time to fidget…

This is not a time to fidget.
Legs crossed, arms on chair arms,
Back rested heavily on wing-backed
Plush velvet-rosed chair.
Sunset light, twilight mint green,
Two-story ceiling high windows curve
Into the river outside.
Clittering clatterful children run with
Giggles in their pockets and anticipation in their eyes,
“What story will we hear tonight?”
Beep, beep and humming computers
Free the mind for learning, exploring, navigating, other world-ing.
Free me to sit still
Reading my book in the library.

On Age and Agelessness

PROLOGUE

Numbers are no one’s age. It is true
I was born on July 22nd in eighteen
hundred and eighty-one, but that
is nowhere near how old I am.

Numbers are not

how old anyone is. Since that day,
I have married and traveled and married again
and had children and friends and grandchildren,
even a lover or so . . .

la la

. . . and once,

at Covent Garden, Mr. Swinburne
bowed to me, or to my sister, and
we both curtsied back and that
is exactly how old I am.

Before
this century began, I made
some faërie stories Mr. Lang
thought well of and the men
who printed them and sold them and the children
who drifted asleep with those books in their arms
are all, nearly all, worm farms now,
or stripped too bare to be maggots’ meat.

And all those absences and bones
are how old I am.

I have tried to survive
and keep track of my life, I have tried to deal
with each year as it came over me,
and have failed . . . and all those names
and faces have become my age.

And everyone
I used to know has gone into the darkness
and my hands quiver with the grief of their
departures, my lovers and my friends no more.
For a very long time now, from when
I was a little child, I have been
dying, and that is exactly how old I am.

-David Dwyer
“Ariana Olisvos: Her Last Works and Days
University of Massachusetts Press (c) 1976

Enjoy

Things I enjoyed today:

  • Secret muffin making.
  • Sara Evans in the cruiser, sun roof open, windows down, “I get a little bit stronger.”
  • His girlfriend yelling at him to pay attention during class.
  • Playing piano in the auditorium.
  • Big Star Nina’s

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