Hello dears,
I went outside a minute ago to regather myself after reacting and reacting and reacting to my family. I watched the clouds roll along and the moon rise among the pines and I saw the faces of my ancestors and all of the stories in the sky. "What are you trying to tell me?" I asked one gaping, sneering maw. And I asked another to send me a smile and its eye just narrowed. For a moment, I saw my father's profile--the jutting jaw, the straight nose, the deep-set eyes--that I recognize in my and my children's faces. Then it was gone, lost to the ever-changing sky, lost like so many other happinesses to the impending storm.
It's been stormy around here lately. So much loss and grief and melancholy, we're still trying to break out of the funk. The sky is a mimic, I guess. It sends back to me what I send into it. That sneer, that frown, that profile, is me.
I needed that moment with the unforgiving scape to step away and hear my life from the other side of a badly insulated window. I could hear A making a pb&j for E, who wasn't a fan of Michael's tetrazzini, even as he teased her about not eating mushrooms. I could hear A and Michael enjoying their soccer game with it's remarkable hat trick +2 and the more remarkable beaming Germans. I know Lily is upstairs happily doing homework and texting on the coveted cellphone that we were so reluctant to give her. I could hear my life being lived and I could appreciate it so much more from the outside because, sometimes, from the inside it's so. much. noise.
Watching the moonrise, finding the faces, I'm reminded of the universal music that winds around above us and is caught, occasionally, by Indonesian musicians playing percussion in gamelan.
Listen here:
http://freemusicarchive.org/curator/FMA/blog/MP3_of_the_Day_Peliatan_Gamelan_Kapi_Radja
And universal music made me think of Elizabeth Gilbert's TED talk(http://www.ted.com/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius?language=en) about creativity and productivity and the living, breathing genius that comes to us and refuses to let us go until we've produced something and how CAN that be anything but the universal wind that blows around the world and sometimes descends to us to give us gifts of music and art and inspires people and animals and flowers to bloom and grow and greet us every morning? And if I'm sitting in my backyard blowing angry faces into the clouds, how can I be inspiring anything good in the world? Have I engaged the muse of melancholy who inspires sad songs and bad poetry and hotel seascapes? Will I have to answer for this negative addition to the world? Will I have to listen to sentimental poetry or the same POP song over and over and over again(seriously T. Swift, I love you, but it's too much)?
I don't know. I won't in this world, I guess. Too many questions for tonight, but I am going to sit out and face those copycat clouds again and I'll try to send out something hopeful and maybe something positive will descend on the world.
Lots of love to all of you.
Love,
Corks
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
Mind the pedestrian.
Hello My Sweets!
I live on a country lane, one hairpin turn and one s-curve from the closest highway. When we moved to the outer suburbs of a mediumish Georgia city, our neighborhood was decidedly quiet. There were three subdivisions on our stretch of road, but not a lot of traffic. Then they built another subdivision and they keep building in the first three and then a middle school, so now our little lane is busy and decidedly unquiet. Our road is also part of a series of roads that connects two four-lane highways that eventually lead to other cities, so that adds another layer of traffic, plus the elementary school two miles away and the factory at the end of the road. I will sit in my backyard sometimes--early, with coffee--hoping to get some piece and quiet and, inevitably, it's broken up by the whoosh of cars rushing past.
Often, in the mornings, especially in the summer when I'm leaving for work or going out to do errands, I see a small, older woman walking down the side of the lane(against traffic like they taught us as children). She's usually wearing culottes, and a bright green polo shirt with the collar popped, so clearly she's a woman with a sense of purpose--you don't pop your collar without one, after all. She walks on the car side of the white line on our busy two-lane road, and she does not waver a centimeter as I pass her. Her expression is stern and authoritative and she stares me down, silently daring me to hit her. I'm pretty sure that if I did hit her, she would leave a tiny woman-shaped dent in the car and then keep on going--she's that tough-looking. If there is a car in the other lane and I can't glide over the yellow lines to avoid her and I have to inch past her, she takes the time to give me the death-glare, but it's not like there is anything I can do about it. She walks in the road when she's going around the blind curve, so that if someone is coming around the curve in the wrong lane, I have nowhere to go. Her choice of grass green polo also helps to camouflage her against the lush jungle of oaks, clover, ragweed and pines on the side of the road, oh and the really lovely bermuda grass of the house on the corner of the hairpin turn. Clearly, this woman is a menace. And she doesn't care.
Maybe you share a fear with me? The fear of running over a pedestrian or bicyclist as they amble down the road beside you? I just know in the core of my being that any cyclist I pass is going to fall under my wheels and I'll squash their head like an errant watermelon from a produce truck. I would rather trail along behind them, going 15, than pass. This senior sociopath makes me feel the same way. I am terrorized by her. And that really pisses me off. As I approach her, I feel the bile rising. I want to roll down the window and say "get out of the f*&^%#@ road, you monster!" but so far I have suppressed that urge, because it would simply encourage the little Napolean's anti-social behavior and I would look like a jerk. Although I think I do already. I believe my facial expression when I see her is half-scowl/half-sneer. Why does she bother me so?
I think it's because I value community and cooperation. I grew up in a place that's hard to explain--religious community, commune, communal farm are the closest to it, but none of them is quite right--and without anyone ever saying it, I grew up with a sense that it's up to each of us to make room for each other and sometimes that means yielding when you don't want to. It must have been the one-lane road on the farm. If you were walking and a car come up the gravel path, you had to hop into the trees to make way, or if you were driving, you had to back up until the nearest intersection, which could take a minute. I was a teenager then so I'm sure I sometimes felt annoyed at having to back up to let others through, but no more than any other teenage angst. I was way more annoyed that my parents and I shared one car, so my dad would drop me off and pick me up from work. Ugh. Anyway, the diminutive tyrant on my street is flouting the idea of cooperation. I don't want her to get off the road when there's no one around but me. I'm glad to move over. I just want some consideration when there are other cars around, because if I run her over, I will be the one left to suffer the consequences.
Really, isn't that a modern problem? We've all started to live like strangers. I know I run around with my head in the clouds, lost in my own thoughts most of the time. I've almost run over people I know in parking lots because I was thinking about my hair. MY. HAIR. I am trying to be more others-aware, but it's hard. I'm at a time in my life that is dominated by sensory assault--at home, at work, everywhere I go. I have three children at home and two out in the world and a husband who need me, and a job that requires near-constant human interaction (and is punctuated by bright colors!), plus the new normal of relentless media. Are we all overwhelmed? Is that why we don't take the time to work together anymore? Are we just tired of interacting because we have forced interaction every day? I'm not sure, but I do know that I live inside my head a lot these days. So, what do I do? Charge myself, I guess, to really engage, to find connections with those people I feel inclined to push off to the side of the road. Watch out, Ms. Cranky Culottes, you might even see me smile.
Love,
Corks
I live on a country lane, one hairpin turn and one s-curve from the closest highway. When we moved to the outer suburbs of a mediumish Georgia city, our neighborhood was decidedly quiet. There were three subdivisions on our stretch of road, but not a lot of traffic. Then they built another subdivision and they keep building in the first three and then a middle school, so now our little lane is busy and decidedly unquiet. Our road is also part of a series of roads that connects two four-lane highways that eventually lead to other cities, so that adds another layer of traffic, plus the elementary school two miles away and the factory at the end of the road. I will sit in my backyard sometimes--early, with coffee--hoping to get some piece and quiet and, inevitably, it's broken up by the whoosh of cars rushing past.
Often, in the mornings, especially in the summer when I'm leaving for work or going out to do errands, I see a small, older woman walking down the side of the lane(against traffic like they taught us as children). She's usually wearing culottes, and a bright green polo shirt with the collar popped, so clearly she's a woman with a sense of purpose--you don't pop your collar without one, after all. She walks on the car side of the white line on our busy two-lane road, and she does not waver a centimeter as I pass her. Her expression is stern and authoritative and she stares me down, silently daring me to hit her. I'm pretty sure that if I did hit her, she would leave a tiny woman-shaped dent in the car and then keep on going--she's that tough-looking. If there is a car in the other lane and I can't glide over the yellow lines to avoid her and I have to inch past her, she takes the time to give me the death-glare, but it's not like there is anything I can do about it. She walks in the road when she's going around the blind curve, so that if someone is coming around the curve in the wrong lane, I have nowhere to go. Her choice of grass green polo also helps to camouflage her against the lush jungle of oaks, clover, ragweed and pines on the side of the road, oh and the really lovely bermuda grass of the house on the corner of the hairpin turn. Clearly, this woman is a menace. And she doesn't care.
Maybe you share a fear with me? The fear of running over a pedestrian or bicyclist as they amble down the road beside you? I just know in the core of my being that any cyclist I pass is going to fall under my wheels and I'll squash their head like an errant watermelon from a produce truck. I would rather trail along behind them, going 15, than pass. This senior sociopath makes me feel the same way. I am terrorized by her. And that really pisses me off. As I approach her, I feel the bile rising. I want to roll down the window and say "get out of the f*&^%#@ road, you monster!" but so far I have suppressed that urge, because it would simply encourage the little Napolean's anti-social behavior and I would look like a jerk. Although I think I do already. I believe my facial expression when I see her is half-scowl/half-sneer. Why does she bother me so?
I think it's because I value community and cooperation. I grew up in a place that's hard to explain--religious community, commune, communal farm are the closest to it, but none of them is quite right--and without anyone ever saying it, I grew up with a sense that it's up to each of us to make room for each other and sometimes that means yielding when you don't want to. It must have been the one-lane road on the farm. If you were walking and a car come up the gravel path, you had to hop into the trees to make way, or if you were driving, you had to back up until the nearest intersection, which could take a minute. I was a teenager then so I'm sure I sometimes felt annoyed at having to back up to let others through, but no more than any other teenage angst. I was way more annoyed that my parents and I shared one car, so my dad would drop me off and pick me up from work. Ugh. Anyway, the diminutive tyrant on my street is flouting the idea of cooperation. I don't want her to get off the road when there's no one around but me. I'm glad to move over. I just want some consideration when there are other cars around, because if I run her over, I will be the one left to suffer the consequences.
Really, isn't that a modern problem? We've all started to live like strangers. I know I run around with my head in the clouds, lost in my own thoughts most of the time. I've almost run over people I know in parking lots because I was thinking about my hair. MY. HAIR. I am trying to be more others-aware, but it's hard. I'm at a time in my life that is dominated by sensory assault--at home, at work, everywhere I go. I have three children at home and two out in the world and a husband who need me, and a job that requires near-constant human interaction (and is punctuated by bright colors!), plus the new normal of relentless media. Are we all overwhelmed? Is that why we don't take the time to work together anymore? Are we just tired of interacting because we have forced interaction every day? I'm not sure, but I do know that I live inside my head a lot these days. So, what do I do? Charge myself, I guess, to really engage, to find connections with those people I feel inclined to push off to the side of the road. Watch out, Ms. Cranky Culottes, you might even see me smile.
Love,
Corks
Friday, August 28, 2015
You better.
Hey loves,
"Sometimes when I'm scared, I get furious." Our all-around-wacky and weirdly-wise 5-year-old said that.
Yeah. I'm furious a little too often so I guess that means I'm...
scared.
And when I'm scared I feel really small. And then I act really small.
Often I HAVE AN ALL CAPS MOMENT and I get really loud and really scary and sometimes I get my way. But I'm still scared.
The number one thing I'm scared of is that I won't be heard.
Because if I'm not heard, no one knows who I am. And I guess I want to be known.
I mean, don't we all? Even the quiet, the meek, the shy want to be known,
not just the ALL CAPS people, like me.
The question that begs to be answered then, is "how can I be known without it coming from a place of fear?"
Like, how can I be brave enough to accept that I am known even though I am not the skinniest?
How can I be known even though I haven't reached my career goals(that's a big one for me)--it makes me feel very small.
How can I be known if I'm not the most fun, most empathetic, most intelligent?
How can I be me and it's okay?
There is God, who loves me, I hope. I try to be firm in God's love, but I'm so wretched sometimes that I feel like God says "Oy vey, this one." And there's my mom, who definitely thinks I'm great(although I am not attentive enough--I know, Mom, I'm trying). I guess the hubs loves me, I mean we're coming up on 25 years next month. And there's my BFF who loves me, even though she's known me since I was 12 and let's just say I was a very, uh, challenging teenager. And I have so many wonderful friends and family who know me, and I assume, like me. I'm pretty sure my children love me, because it's required. They don't always like me, but that's not required.
And then there's me. Do I like me? Kind of. I think I can be funny and I'm smart enough, but I'm kind of a bitch and I sometimes make ridiculous choices and I'm truly, truly mistake-prone. Like, I make lots of big mistakes. And then I feel diminished and scared and you know, small.
Wow. Seems like that's a cycle.
I guess I've got an idea of where to start. How, though? The challenge of my life is: I'm a GO BIG OR GO HOME kind of girl. If I can't be the best, I don't want to play. So if I can't be the smartest, I'll be the funniest and if I can't be the funniest, then I'll be the most passionate and if can't be the most passionate, then I don't care. It's all about that -EST.
I need to do better.
Better has never been a destination for me.
It's going to be hard, but I'm going to try to moderate. Kinder, not kindest. More patient, not the most. More engaged, not all in, all the time. More faithful, not Mother Teresa. Remind me, when I look overwrought, that's it's better, not best. I'll be glad to remind you, too, because I want you to do better, too. That's where we start: doing better. I don't mean we need to improve. I mean, instead of BEING the best, we just need to DO better. IF we DO better, there's no fear of the failure of BEST. And no fear is so much better.
Let's do better together.
Love,
Corks
PS le mieux est l'ennemi du bien. (perfect is the enemy of good). Voltaire
"Sometimes when I'm scared, I get furious." Our all-around-wacky and weirdly-wise 5-year-old said that.
Yeah. I'm furious a little too often so I guess that means I'm...
scared.
And when I'm scared I feel really small. And then I act really small.
Often I HAVE AN ALL CAPS MOMENT and I get really loud and really scary and sometimes I get my way. But I'm still scared.
The number one thing I'm scared of is that I won't be heard.
Because if I'm not heard, no one knows who I am. And I guess I want to be known.
I mean, don't we all? Even the quiet, the meek, the shy want to be known,
not just the ALL CAPS people, like me.
The question that begs to be answered then, is "how can I be known without it coming from a place of fear?"
Like, how can I be brave enough to accept that I am known even though I am not the skinniest?
How can I be known even though I haven't reached my career goals(that's a big one for me)--it makes me feel very small.
How can I be known if I'm not the most fun, most empathetic, most intelligent?
How can I be me and it's okay?
There is God, who loves me, I hope. I try to be firm in God's love, but I'm so wretched sometimes that I feel like God says "Oy vey, this one." And there's my mom, who definitely thinks I'm great(although I am not attentive enough--I know, Mom, I'm trying). I guess the hubs loves me, I mean we're coming up on 25 years next month. And there's my BFF who loves me, even though she's known me since I was 12 and let's just say I was a very, uh, challenging teenager. And I have so many wonderful friends and family who know me, and I assume, like me. I'm pretty sure my children love me, because it's required. They don't always like me, but that's not required.
And then there's me. Do I like me? Kind of. I think I can be funny and I'm smart enough, but I'm kind of a bitch and I sometimes make ridiculous choices and I'm truly, truly mistake-prone. Like, I make lots of big mistakes. And then I feel diminished and scared and you know, small.
Wow. Seems like that's a cycle.
I guess I've got an idea of where to start. How, though? The challenge of my life is: I'm a GO BIG OR GO HOME kind of girl. If I can't be the best, I don't want to play. So if I can't be the smartest, I'll be the funniest and if I can't be the funniest, then I'll be the most passionate and if can't be the most passionate, then I don't care. It's all about that -EST.
I need to do better.
Better has never been a destination for me.
It's going to be hard, but I'm going to try to moderate. Kinder, not kindest. More patient, not the most. More engaged, not all in, all the time. More faithful, not Mother Teresa. Remind me, when I look overwrought, that's it's better, not best. I'll be glad to remind you, too, because I want you to do better, too. That's where we start: doing better. I don't mean we need to improve. I mean, instead of BEING the best, we just need to DO better. IF we DO better, there's no fear of the failure of BEST. And no fear is so much better.
Let's do better together.
Love,
Corks
PS le mieux est l'ennemi du bien. (perfect is the enemy of good). Voltaire
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
For the love of dog.
Darling peeps,
happy national dog day.
Normally I'd be all over that crap, posting selfies with my pooches and posing them in ridiculous positions, but this year, my dogs have decided to die. Well, I'm sure they didn't decide, it just kind of happened, but either way it sucks. I am a dyed-in-the-wool, card-carrying, Facebook- and Instagram-posting, crazy dog person. I love them all: big ones, little ones, long ones, tall ones, skinny ones, fat ones, but especially Winston Buddy and Daffodil Shmoopie(no, you're a shmoopie). After Greta, the Wonder Dog(RIP),
Winston,
and Daffodil
are my fave dogs ever. Daffodil is suffering from systemic lymphoma and Winston has spinal nerve compression which will leave him paralyzed. They are both old: Daffodil is 11 and a half and Winston is 9 and a half. It's time to say goodbye, but we keep doing these things to keep them alive, like trying anti-inflammatories and antibiotics and hand-feeding Daffodil anything she will eat(today, it was tuna and hamburger. Yesterday, it was apple slices).
What do you do when things start falling apart? Me? I use a lot of profanity and then I cry at inopportune times, like walking in to the grocery store, then I try to muster the troops and keep on going. Mostly, I'm making a lot of uncomfortable jokes about dogs dying, which is super fun for everyone around me, and then filling my cheeks with air and slowly exhaling in a big, dramatic sigh. I'm in this weird middle place, waiting for these dogs to give up the ghost or, really, figuring out when to help them on to the next life. E says it's dog heaven, where they will play fetch with Jesus and be whole, young dogs again. E has a real connection to Jesus so it's pretty much guaranteed.
Why do I love these dogs anyway? On paper, Daffodil is a terrible dog. She's not affectionate, kind of a biter, intimidating to strangers, and as soon as you start to make a connection, she gets uncomfortable and moves 1cm out of arm's reach. But she's so chatty and asks for cookies by barking three syllables(biscuit, please!)and used to ask for water by standing at the garage door and howling "wa-wa-wa." When E was born, Daffodil was her constant protector, lying at the foot of the bed or next to her bassinet or anywhere she was. And in the middle of the night, she jumps up on the bed and lies in-between Michael and me and she scootches closer and closer to the top of the bed and might softly lick our hands if she thinks we're sleeping. Winston has fecal incontinence, gas that would wilt sturdy oaks, grabs sandwiches out of our hands and gets warm, viscous slobber on every surface in our house, including the ceiling. Every morning when he gets out of his kennel, though, Winston leans against us and gazes into our eyes and wills all of his love into us. In happier times, he would jump up with front paws on our shoulders and make out with all of us when we got home from anywhere, including just out to the mailbox. He used to kick a soccer ball and Daffodil used to catch everything you threw for her(unless she didn't feel like it). I haven't had to talk to a Jehovah's Witness or a traveling salesman or the people casing the joint in years because of my big-ass dogs. I'm going to have to start locking my front door.
What am I going to miss the most when these guys are gone? Standing in the middle of the family room and Winston coming to put his head under my hand. Daffodil lying on my feet during Thanksgiving dinner(because after a couple of glasses of wine, I start to drop food). Knowing that the dogs are just downstairs whenever the family goes away for the weekend and I have to stay home and work. Having someone who acts like they're listening on all of the worst days, with no judgement and really cute expressions if I add the words "snack" or "cookie" or "biscuit" to any sentence.
When will our family be ready for a new dog? Probably as soon as we have new carpeting put in, because our life is like that. What screams puppy more than clean, cream berber carpet?
Can I love a dog again? Will any dog ever entertain us like Daffodil or love us like Winston or calm us like Greta? Probably not. Will we treasure the memories of these wacky canines? Forever. Sigh. Say a prayer, or think a happy thought, for Winston and Daffodil and us, friends, we're kind of a disaster.
Love,
Corks
happy national dog day.
Normally I'd be all over that crap, posting selfies with my pooches and posing them in ridiculous positions, but this year, my dogs have decided to die. Well, I'm sure they didn't decide, it just kind of happened, but either way it sucks. I am a dyed-in-the-wool, card-carrying, Facebook- and Instagram-posting, crazy dog person. I love them all: big ones, little ones, long ones, tall ones, skinny ones, fat ones, but especially Winston Buddy and Daffodil Shmoopie(no, you're a shmoopie). After Greta, the Wonder Dog(RIP),
Winston,
What do you do when things start falling apart? Me? I use a lot of profanity and then I cry at inopportune times, like walking in to the grocery store, then I try to muster the troops and keep on going. Mostly, I'm making a lot of uncomfortable jokes about dogs dying, which is super fun for everyone around me, and then filling my cheeks with air and slowly exhaling in a big, dramatic sigh. I'm in this weird middle place, waiting for these dogs to give up the ghost or, really, figuring out when to help them on to the next life. E says it's dog heaven, where they will play fetch with Jesus and be whole, young dogs again. E has a real connection to Jesus so it's pretty much guaranteed.
Why do I love these dogs anyway? On paper, Daffodil is a terrible dog. She's not affectionate, kind of a biter, intimidating to strangers, and as soon as you start to make a connection, she gets uncomfortable and moves 1cm out of arm's reach. But she's so chatty and asks for cookies by barking three syllables(biscuit, please!)and used to ask for water by standing at the garage door and howling "wa-wa-wa." When E was born, Daffodil was her constant protector, lying at the foot of the bed or next to her bassinet or anywhere she was. And in the middle of the night, she jumps up on the bed and lies in-between Michael and me and she scootches closer and closer to the top of the bed and might softly lick our hands if she thinks we're sleeping. Winston has fecal incontinence, gas that would wilt sturdy oaks, grabs sandwiches out of our hands and gets warm, viscous slobber on every surface in our house, including the ceiling. Every morning when he gets out of his kennel, though, Winston leans against us and gazes into our eyes and wills all of his love into us. In happier times, he would jump up with front paws on our shoulders and make out with all of us when we got home from anywhere, including just out to the mailbox. He used to kick a soccer ball and Daffodil used to catch everything you threw for her(unless she didn't feel like it). I haven't had to talk to a Jehovah's Witness or a traveling salesman or the people casing the joint in years because of my big-ass dogs. I'm going to have to start locking my front door.
What am I going to miss the most when these guys are gone? Standing in the middle of the family room and Winston coming to put his head under my hand. Daffodil lying on my feet during Thanksgiving dinner(because after a couple of glasses of wine, I start to drop food). Knowing that the dogs are just downstairs whenever the family goes away for the weekend and I have to stay home and work. Having someone who acts like they're listening on all of the worst days, with no judgement and really cute expressions if I add the words "snack" or "cookie" or "biscuit" to any sentence.
When will our family be ready for a new dog? Probably as soon as we have new carpeting put in, because our life is like that. What screams puppy more than clean, cream berber carpet?
Can I love a dog again? Will any dog ever entertain us like Daffodil or love us like Winston or calm us like Greta? Probably not. Will we treasure the memories of these wacky canines? Forever. Sigh. Say a prayer, or think a happy thought, for Winston and Daffodil and us, friends, we're kind of a disaster.
Love,
Corks
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