I've been uncovering all kinds of interesting pieces of writing, quotes, poems, and more today. It is one of the benefits of having some time off -- I get to excavate the past a bit.
Meanwhile, I am feeling tremendously guilty about not having practiced my mandolin and I have a lesson coming up in less than three hours. I have been working on some bluegrass songs (no surprise!)
Then I run across this poem I wrote while riding along I-81 through Virginia. It is dated October 9, 1995. I couldn't stop reading it over and thinking of how appropriate it is in many ways today, December 30.
We are ending a cycle of this year of 2013, and this poem seems to speak of that and many other things that matter to me -- music, and nature, and movement, and time passing and joy....
Bluegrass & Wildflowers
The flowers along this
Virginia highway
Are purples and violets and
lavender and white
On this autumn day
Bluegrass on the stereo
Relaxed and ready
for what comes next.
The flowers on this Virginia highway
are wild and free
They multiply each year
spreading their joy.
The wildflowers on this
Virginia highway
remind me of growth and change...
expansion...
the cycles of life.
The Bluegrass music Emmylou
sings so fine
connects me to the past
in so many ways
Bluegrass was written
by people who never rode
on this Virginia highway
But they saw the wildflowers
blooming on the hill
And they knew about
growth and change...
expansion...
and the cycles of life.
Now I really do need to go practice my mandolin. Happy New Year to everyone reading this. May 2014 be a year of expansion and growth and a further embracing of that which may be tough and challenging or mysterious and miraculous -- like growing roses in the snow. (Video link if missing)
In The New York Times today, columnist Ross Douthat wrote about the three mistakes he made as a columnist this year. It caused me to think about mistakes I made this year. I'm sure there are way more than three, but here are the three that I think had the greatest effect on me.
1. "Am I going to practice peace, or am I going to war?"
The last two years at this time of year, I attended the Begin Anew ceremony at the Florida Community of Mindfulness. As part of the ritual, we write down things we want to release from the previous year and then toss it into a burning bowl. Afterward, we write down our intentions for the new year on an index card.
My main intention for 2013 was to live the question: and in many ways, I have done that. I lived the question of where I should be and in what ways could I live my life better. I believe I received those answers, and made changes accordingly.
But there are other things written on that index card that I sadly fell down on. And the main one was written in purple across the top of the card: "Am I going to practice peace, or am I going to war?" This was the saying I was going to live by, much like I have in the past with sayings like, "If you're going to worry, don't pray. If you're going to pray, don't worry" and "Say Thank You." I have found sayings effective in helping me with situations -- as long as I remember to apply them.
However, in this case I completely forgot about my saying -- for at least the last six months, perhaps even longer. When I pulled out the card the other day and discovered the saying written there, I felt...ashamed. Ashamed that I have been putting myself through various sorts of wars, not even realizing or remembering that I had at one time dedicated myself to practicing peace. Disgusted with myself when realizing there are many weeks, days, hours, even minutes that could have been better if I had remembered this simple saying. And dedicated to trying once again to make this a reality. I have made a real study of nonviolence, and doing violence to myself simply does not sit well with me. It is just so hard to recognize at times. My next two mistakes fall right in line with this same principle.
2. Not keeping a daily meditation practice.
I start. I stop. I feel the benefits. I forget.
Meditation offers everything I need. I have the perfect cushion, I have groups I can attend, I have time clocks with beautiful bells, and I have memories of consistent practice in the past that I know personally changed me for the better.
Why do I walk away? Why do I put it off, forget, ignore the urgings of my inner voice?
And it doesn't even take much. Once a week can have an effect. One minute a day.
I know better than to make big pronouncements on this. I just need to do it. Action speaks louder than words is always true, isn't it?
So, try again, 2014!
3. I didn't go to the beach often enough.
Okay. Twice.
Yeah, pretty bad for someone living in Florida.
When I went in April, I was so rejuvenated and refreshed I thought I would not forget to go again.
But, as usual, things got busy. Then summer came and the flushing of brown water from Lake Okeechobee into our beautiful Sound and Gulf, and I stayed away. Then red tide and dead fish.
Lighthouse Beach with Iris, Margie, and my breath.
That had never stopped me before.
Thank goodness Iris came to town. We ventured out to Lighthouse Beach with my sister and I knew exactly what I had to do. I put down a towel, lied down on my back, and BREATHED. Deeply. And deeper and deeper.
The beach, the sand, the surf brought me back to a place in myself that had been inaccessible. I wrote about it in a blog because the effect was so healing -- words didn't exactly capture it, but I had to express.
I've been breathing better since. It put me back in touch with the writer in me, who seemed to have been skirting around the edges of my life but not taking a seat.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Douthat ends his essay with "Here endeth the self-criticism" and wishes himself an "infallible 2014."
I, too, will end the self-criticism, but I'll leave infallibility to Pope Francis (whom I dearly love!)
For 2014, I simply desire to take a few steps forward. For me that means moving toward peaceful responses, the meditation cushion, and the healing Southwest Florida beaches.
Music is a huge part of my life. This year has been one of my most musical years yet -- going to Music City, the Grand Ole Opry, Studio B, Ryman Auditorium, along with collecting more music downloads than ever and starting instruction on the mandolin. With this in mind, I give you my six favorite albums from this year. I suggest you take your time and check out the videos as well. ;-)
Number Six
The Electric Lady by Janelle Monae
I fell in love with Janelle Monae's music when I saw her perform "Tightrope" on television, clad in a tuxedo and exuding massive amounts of energy. That energy is ramped up even more with her new album. My favorites: "Q.U.E.E.N.," "Dance Apocalyptic," "We Were Rock and Roll," and "Dorothy Dandridge Eyes." Besides her energy, I respect Monae as a feminist artist who does things her way, even if it is a little off the wall. If you are not familiar with Monae, hang on to your hat and watch this video. Try NOT to sing along with the chorus: "Smash, smash/ Bang, bang/ Don't stop/ Sha-lang-alang-alang..." (Click here if video is missing)
Number Five
Same Trailer, Different Park by Kacey Musgraves
In early June I caught wind of this new artist coming out of Nashville. After reading rave reviews about her, I downloaded her album and found some downright truth telling without a bit of gloss or nuance. The fact that she willingly tells people off, uncovers their indiscretions, and even blatantly talks about smoking joints (which got bleeped when she sang "Follow Your Arrow" on the CMA award show), Kacey tells it like it is. The music is intelligent and each song stands on its own -- no filler here. Along with "Follow Your Arrow" which gives some pretty standard advice, I like "Silver Lining" and "Step Off." I didn't get to see Kacey at the Grand Ole Opry, but I did find this video of her debut performance there with a song called "Trailers" -- sadly, not on her album but certainly gives you a good dose of who she is! ((Click here if video is missing)
Number Four
Chasing Down the Wind by Green River Ordinance
This year we went to see the So You Think You Can Dance show at Barbara B. Mann. While waiting for the show to being, videos were being show. This was my introduction to Green River Ordinance -- a roots style band in the the vein of Avett Brothers and Mumford and Sons, but perhaps with a bit more Byrds/Flying Burrito Brothers/Eagles flavor. I don't know -- I just love this music. So easy to listen to. This is just an EP with seven tunes, but each one is a keeper. Turns out they have had many previous albums -- they had escaped my notice until I saw the video "It Ain't Love." Other favorites: "Cannery River" and "Better Love." See for yourself.
To be honest, I haven't paid any attention to Scaggs's career since his stardom in the 1970's. Somehow I became aquainted with this album and was taken in once again by Boz's soulful voice, smooth attention to each song, and reworking of past songs that made them sound brand new. I simply cannot get enough of his versions of "Love on a Two-Way Street," "Corrina, Corrina," and "Rainy Night in Georgia." But probably the most surprising and best song on this album is Steely Dan's "Pearl of the Quarter." Scaggs himself in an interview cited it as his favorite. Check out this short video on the making of the album for a good taste of what was produced in three short days.
Number Two
Live at the Troubadour by Sarah Jarosz
While searching the Grand Ole Opry schedule in an attempt to find the right act to see while in Nashville, I came upon the name Sarah Jarosz. Upon investigation, I uncovered a talent I haven't seen since the likes of Alison Krauss in the 1990's. Shy, unassuming, talented, and dedicated to her roots, this little four song EP is a wonderful introduction to this amazing artist. Later in the year, Jarosz put out a full album Build Me Up From Bones, which is a worthy effort. However, I picked the live album for one main reason -- she performs "Kathy's Song" -- on of my favorites by Paul Simon. We did see Sarah and her band at the Opry and she was the highlight of my night when she sang Dylan's "Ring Them Bells." See for yourself; by the way, she is playing an octave mandolin here so beautifully it makes me want to cry.
Number One
Love is Everything by George Strait
The main reason I love this album the most was explained in my Thanksgiving day post. But I do have a bit more to say. The reason this is number one is because I find I can come to it no matter how I am feeling and everything gets better. If I'm down, it lifts me up. If I'm happy, it makes me even gladder to be alive. Strait is coming close to edging out Willie Nelson as my all-time favorite country male performer, and that is saying a lot. Willie has been my main man for 30 years! But with this album, Strait has brought together some of the best fun-loving, heartbreaking, tear-jerking, and heartwarming songs ever collected in one place. My favorites, besides the title cut, are "I Got a Car," "When the Credits Roll," and "I Just Can't Go On Dying Like This." Professional to a fault and deeply committed to making the best music possible, Strait is certainly one of the greats. His music will stand long after "the credits roll." Unfortunately, there aren't any music videos made for the album, but there is this interview with his thoughts about the album. (If video isn't available, click here)
Honorable Mention Love in the Future by John Legend -- although not as enticing as Get Lifted, still highly listenable American Soul by Mick Hucknall -- the lead singer of my favorite band from the 80's -- Simply Red -- takes on American R & B music. Faves include "I'd Rather Go Blind" and "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood." Speak a Little Louder by Diane Birch -- she has added a bit more production to her music, which I don't think it needs; however, Birch is still an accomplished young songwriter and shouldn't be ignored. If you don't know who Birch is, check out this performance on Live At Daryl's House
The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.
I have been distracted these days with holiday gatherings and preparations. Even with my best intentions today, I find it is 4 p.m. and I still haven't pulled together any of the pieces I'd like to write for this blog. Seeing that I haven't posted here in two weeks, I thought I'd go to the past for some inspiration. Here is a short memoir from my vacation to Ohio in 2012. It was intended to be an ongoing piece, but ended after three entries. Maybe someday I will return.
Openings
Openings
1. Parting Trees
Yesterday I went to the
Metroparks.I walked along the
lagoon – a place from my childhood.Back then there was a trail that skirted the edge of the lagoon with
dense woods on the other side.Now
much of the woods have turned into a bog, presumably because they removed
non-native trees.I heard a
multitude of frogs jumping – that rubber band snapping sound – and saw a
gorgeous Northern Oriole that glimmered neon orange in the tree branches, only
to flick quickly away before I could photograph him.
I followed the path to the horse
trail, and attempted to take it up a rather steep hill – another favorite
childhood place.I quickly
realized I am not in shape for that kind of activity, my heart pounding too
fast for comfort, especially since I was alone. (Oh, the new awareness aging
brings us!)
Meditating on the trees.
Hermit's Cave. Not so scary now!
I went down to the river’s edge by
the ford, then I walked over to Maple Grove Picnic Area.I expected to be able to see the
Hermit’s Cave from the edge of the picnic area – in my memory, it was just
across the river.The Hermit’s
Cave was a place that we were taken during day camp in the Metroparks, back in
the 1960’s.We would walk along
the edge of the river, and eventually reach this “cave” – which turns out to
just be a leftover culvert that ran under a road. Anyway, our camp group would
always make a trip there and it went like this: the girls would venture
together into the cave, someone would scream, and we’d all run out. In retrospect, it is rather funny --and
maybe rather creepy -- that they would tell us that some man lived in the cave,
and then take a bunch of little girls there. Yeah. Creepy.
I had hoped to get a picture of the
cave for my high school friend, Maureen.
Maureen and I reminiscing at the reunion
I had seen her the day before at our informal 39-year reunion, and we
had talked about CYO Day Camp, and the things we did there.So I was a bit disappointed when I
didn’t see the cave, and was not sure how to find it.
I knew that perhaps it was upriver
from where I was, but I didn’t see a way to get down to the river – there was a
rather high tree line in the picnic area.So instead I sat on a picnic table, drank some water, looking around the
area to see if I could find a way out. I looked up at the trees and the sky,
and decided to close my eyes for a short meditation.When I opened my eyes just a few minutes later, I first
looked up again at the trees – they seemed so green! Then I looked straight
ahead and saw it – a wide opening in the woods.It was as if the trees had suddenly parted, showing me the
way. Clearly there was a trail there, and immediately I knew it would take me
where I wanted to go.
Sure enough, within minutes, I had
cleared the woods and was back down on the shale landing of the Rocky River,
directly across from the Hermit’s Cave.I took some pictures, and sat on a rock listening to the water burble around
me, becoming very aware of the word “opening.”After all, I had been sitting and looking directly across to
where the opening was in the trees, yet I didn’t see it until I had taken a few
minutes and quieted my mind.
Key point.
2. A Blade of Grass
Becky has asked me to water her
grass. There are high spots and the lawnmower cut the grass too low, which
burned it out. So over the last two days I have spent swabs of time watering –
a meditative activity to be sure.
I have observed that certain brown
strips of grass start showing a streak of green, as the water and sun activates
the chlorophyll. It struck me that the roots of the grass provide an opening
for the capacity of the blade of grass to heal itself, to find new life and
thrive. I thought of how we each have that capacity and with the grace of those
we love – who act like water and sun – we, too, can heal, find new life, and
thrive.
It goes, too, to Van Gogh – how he
was inspired by Japanese artists whom “meditated on a blade of grass.”This activity inspired Vincent – helped
him find an opening to new landscapes and nature forms. A blade of grass is
considered such a tiny, insignificant thing.Yet, it too holds the universe. I see the community of
“insignificant” green blades of grass gathering in support of the brown, burned
out grasses. They are closing in together, spreading the wealth and being a
community.
Note: This list is limited to books released since the tail end of 2012. One of the most amazing books I read this year was The Book Thief by Markus Zusak ..... but it had been around since 2006, so won't be on the list. Likewise The Fault of our Stars by John Green, which was released in January 2012. Both worthy reads, however.)
Number Five
Wave by Sonali Deraniyagala
It's hard to believe that someone could suffer the loss that Sonali Deraniyagala did when her parents, husband, and sons were killed in the 2004 tsunami. It is harder still to imagine how she wrote this deep meditation on loss and the aftermath so soon after such a tragedy. I almost avoided this one because of the content, but the reviews were so good, I got too curious about it. Throughout the reading I just kept wondering how I could have handled such a situation. Yet, Deraniyagala never is self-pitying or self-indulgent. She takes us into the heart and mind and physicalness of suffering and comes out on the other end -- not perfectly healed, but making progress. And she introduced me to a song by the Smiths called "There is a Light that Never Goes Out" which about sums everything up.
Number Four
Calling Me Home: Gram Parsons and the Roots of Country Rock by Bob Kealing
I have been a Gram Parsons fan for nearly forty years and this book lent a great deal insight into the man and the time period he lived. I was particularly surprised and taken with the fact that Parsons grandparents owned Cypress Gardens and lived in the big white house on the property (now Legoland). Coming from a combination of riches and family suicides, Parsons was primed for the times he lived. He envisioned his form of "Cosmic Rock" which led directly to the marriage of country and rock -- one of my favorite genres of music. On top of that, he "discovered" Emmylou Harris -- and well, the rest is history. The main thing I loved about this book is that it helped me really understand how specific musicians and songwriters and artists created a vibrant form of music -- and that the Florida Youth Centers were a feeding ground for it. Florida gets lost in American music history. Kealing gives it its rightful place.
Number Three
Z: a Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald by Therese Anne Fowler
As an instructor of American literature, I studied up on F. Scott Fitzgerald. This book came along to give balance and insight into his wife Zelda, and Fowler does an incredible job capturing the voice and the spirit of the times in which Zelda lived. There isn't a false moment in the book and yes, the men do come out on the short end of the stick -- Scott quite a bit, and Ernest Hemingway even more. But didn't we always know that? This book was a good companion to the newly released Gatsby movie, which is not making my top movie list. It did help me appreciate the movie more, and Gatsby in general. Writers write what they know and live and absorb. Zelda was a woman of her times and suffered for it in many ways. Fowler takes us into the soul of the woman and we are better for it. And let me add that, as a writer, I think what Fowler did was extremely brave. She must have overcome a great deal of fear to take on this literary couple. The results are impeccable.
Number Two
Brewster by Mark Slouka
Two young men growing up in the 1960's in a dismal town called Brewster. Two young men with very different lives, making their way through the confusing times. This book is described as being a Bruce Springsteen song in novel form and, well, that's a compliment. The writing is direct and evokes the late 60's in all its mixed messages, as well as the added misery of high school frustrations and family dysfunction. The pacing of this novel is wonderful, and we never doubt the main character's actions. Tragic, beautiful, candid, gritty, well-formed, fascinating -- yes, exactly like a Springsteen song.
Number One
A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki
I used to think if I could have written any book it would have been A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle. And then came A Tale for the Time Being. As I wrote in My Personal Magna Carta in June, I go for stories about the following: writers, geography I know well or would like to know well, nature, spirituality, in particular Buddhism, experiences of women, not necessarily motherhood, generations, fathers and daughters, music, culture clashes, effects of war, stories drawn from other stories, road trips, reunions, time manipulation, and coming of age. Maybe it seems impossible that all of these made it into one book but, honestly, they did -- and in an engaging way. On top of it, the author puts herself in the book as one of the characters. Masterful, with character voices that are captivating and absorbing and eventually liberating. Every aspect of it heart-wrenching and revealing and an opening to so much more. I just don't think I have words for the masterpiece I believe this book to be. I recommended it many times, but don't think anyone ever took me up on it. I plead with you out there -- please read this book. Let's talk! There will be a theme in here that will touch your heart.
Honorable Mention: Bad Monkey by Carl Hiassen (because he is a Floridian and hilarious) Whistling Past the Graveyard by Susan Crandall (a sweet story of a girl from Mississippi traveling with a black woman to Nashville to find her mother -- 1960's, of course!) Palisades Park by Alan Brennert (generations of a family connected to the famous New Jersey amusement park -- a tribute to the park and those who lived through the times and events of the twentieth century)
I've been a lover of Christmas since I was a child, when the excitement, the colors, the lights of the holidays was sometimes overwhelming. I was a fanatic, especially when it came to music. We were in a constant rotation of Sing Along With Mitch and Ray Coniff Singers We Wish You a Merry Christmas music at my house. As I grew up, I started a lot of my own Christmas traditions -- mailing Christmas cards to nearly everyone I knew, always on December 8th. Buying Christmas ornaments on my travels throughout the year. Putting up the tree on the day after Thanksgiving. Selecting a new Christmas album/CD each year. A growing collection of wooden nutcracker statues and Dickens Village Houses. A beautiful nativity set decorated with lights and sparkly material. Planning parties and cookies and party outfits and gifts starting as early as September. Christmas was simply the best!
Christmas parties and fancy clothes!
But somewhere along the line, that spirit filtered away. I think it began in the late 1980's when I became a business owner. The office Christmas parties which had been a staple of our existence began to drift away. I often had to work quite a bit leading up to the holidays and during. As we got into the 1990's, other things began to interfere in my Christmas plans, thus sapping my spirit. Financial instability. Raising our grandson and having the unfortunate experience of visiting him in juvenile jail on Christmas Eve. The loss of my father. Many of these things began to get in the way of any traditions we had. I got into the idea of unplugging the Christmas Machine, and felt disgusted with the commercialism and lack of real peace and joy. Events like putting up the tree began to feel rote and like a crazy obligation, rather than a joyful day with music, beer, and chocolate. Sometimes that tree would stay up until Valentines day because no one had the time or energy to take it down.
Then there was depression. Nothing kills Christmas spirit like a bout of the dark night of the soul.
At the beach on Christmas day, 2008
The year we moved to Florida, I felt a bit of spirit. It was all so new. We didn't have room for a Christmas tree, but I decorated a little orange tree we had with garland. I am not one that has to have snow on Christmas, so being in Florida with decorated palm trees and the chance to go to the beach on Christmas Eve was a dream come true.
2008 -- the last time we put up our tree. Macbeth was still with us.
But again, busyness -- going to school and then beginning my teaching career -- continued to sap any energy I had for Christmas. As the last 10 years have gone by, I can honestly say that most of the time I was just going through the motions. When we bought our condo, we excitedly bought a new tree as part of our celebration. But that tree has often lain unopened in the garage in favor of a tiny fiber optic tree which only took 5 minutes to set up.
Even when my sister and her family moved to Ft. Myers in 2010, the Christmas spirit did not return. It felt totally foreign to me to feel it on any kind of consistent basis. Oh sure, I would feel a blip of it occasionally when I heard a certain song or when Linus on A Charlie Brown Christmas explains to Charlie Brown what Christmas is all about. And yes, when I was a regular church-goer I might feel it there. But for the most part, it was just an obligation that I didn't feel much of a connection to, and no amount of forcing it could make it any different.
Loved celebrating with my sister and family even if I didn't feel much spirit.
Then a miracle happened. I call it a miracle because it has felt that way for the last six weeks.
It was mid-October, and I was playing Song Pop. One of my competitors played a Christmas Tunes playlist. As each carol came up, I felt...excited...joyful...READY! (For the record, I had played these same playlists last year without a blip of care or feeling.)
From that moment on, I have had Christmas Spirit in full, growing, and utterly joy-filled vitality. I am learning the mandolin, and happily playing Christmas carols. I watched Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer the first night it was on, and didn't care when people on Facebook complained that it wasn't even Thanksgiving yet. Yesterday, Jim and I put up our tree with help from our nephew, and I've been playing music -- all those CD's from the past -- nonstop. I am looking forward to this Christmas like no other I can remember...ever.
Tree ready for a spirited holiday!
What made the difference? I am not 100% sure. I do know that this past year I have made a commitment to myself to live the life I've always wanted to live -- thus, this blog, taking up the mandolin, getting into a work situation which is easier on me. At 58-years-old I realized if I don't follow the stars that beckon now, when will I? Now or never, as Elvis sings.
Perhaps, though, there is something more at work. Perhaps the Christmas Spirit is a living thing, like Scrooge realized in A Christmas Carol and Jimmy Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life. Maybe the Spirit truly did leave my heart for a while, so I can know the joy of its return. Or maybe it is just like the Prodigal Son -- what was lost is now found. If I had to miss something in order to realize its full impact on me, then all I have to say is THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. Quantum physics tells us everything in the universe if made of energy. Perhaps the steps I took this year freed up the energy I needed for Spirit to return.
I guess this, like everything else, has to do with where we put our priorities. Obviously over the years my priorities have shifted. Yet, that still doesn't dampen the fact that this Christmas Spirit has taken me by amazing surprise, and I couldn't be happier about it. By the time we're in our late 50's, we often think there are no more surprises left. So to be surprised by this Spirit has been miraculous.
Even if I didn't believe this Spirit will ever return (and I didn't), I will never stop believing in miracles. They are everywhere, just waiting to happen. Just waiting to take us each by surprise.
