Tuesday, February 27, 2018

That Perfect City

Maybe it's because my dad grew up there through his whole childhood and all the formative stuff, and he's one of my very favorite people.  Maybe it's because my grandparents lived there when I was a kid, and we'd hop in the station wagon to go visit them at 1336 New York Street (God, how do I remember that address?), with the terrazzo tile and the swimming pool and banana trees... and where I'd mail the cardboard backs of my dad's legal pads I'd drawn pictures on and made into makeshift postcards to my grandparents, and I'd get a return poem from my grandmother in the mail inspired by the postcard-drawing I'd sent each time (no doubt penned with a too-long-ashed cigarette hanging from her lips as she crafted the rhymes for me while wearing amazing cat eye glasses).  Maybe it's because my grandfather would cheerily answer his art business telephone "Ted Drell in Sunny New Orleans."  Maybe it's because he left me all his art supplies and furniture when he died.  Maybe it's because it's where I gulped down a terrible rum old fashioned with my grandfather after my grandmother's funeral at the mausoleum, where he cried to the point of shaking even though he'd cheated on her.  Maybe it's because I like the memory of hearing about old ladies my grandfather flirted with in his dotage who took him to the museum for outings, which, when I'd visit, he'd tell me about over french toast he'd make for me with special Ted butter (the kind the fat falls out of when you cook it).  Maybe it's because every time I went to New Orleans as a kid (from my small hometown a few hours away), I understood deeply and had imprinted on my psyche that "This is what a CITY is."  (I almost cried in a cab, overcome by that very specific feeling last week as we drove by so many buildings I recognized... and again now as I remember it all over again while I type this.)  Maybe it's all the old restored signs on all the businesses that seem to have been there forever... and they better never be replaced.  Maybe it's the puddle-ridden cobblestone streets coated with grime that makes the stone feel almost soft.  Maybe it's that Popeye's on Canal Street.  Maybe it's because it's the first place I knew where tattoos were okay, and even beautiful.  Maybe it's all the balconies and small shops filled with treasures and skulls (including the nutria skull I bought long ago, which they said was a beaver, but it's not).  Maybe it's because more often than not, dark and dirty is more beautiful than clean and too-perfect.  Maybe it's because my parents met, had their first date at Venezia's Pizza, and fell in love there.  Maybe it's because of all the road-trip-concerts I saw in high school in New Orleans, usually at UNO, and especially Lolapalooza... and even more especially the last Lolapalooza, when I lost my shoes and my friends and I piled in cars and slept at my Aunt Barbara's house in Metarie on every inch of her floor and any spare soft surface.  Maybe it's because of that high school art field trip where Rachel and I pulled some ridiculous shenanigans (I'll never tell) and almost missed the Bolton bus home, which we mightily grimaced and laughed about as we reminisced while we weaved our way through the artists and poets-for-hire in Jackson Square last weekend (24 years later).  Maybe it's because of biegnets and gumbo (even though as a small kid I'd complain about going to Cafe Du Monde with my family because I didn't like biegnets... let's just pretend that didn't happen).  Maybe it's because I got my nose pierced at Rings of Desire there back in the day when I wasn't supposed to.  Maybe it's the extra cherries they give you in your Hurricane at Pat O's if you smile when you ask.  Maybe it's all those spirited musicians on the street corners (including the electronica snake charmer sounding trio I saw last weekend).  Maybe it's all those trips to Mardi Gras during college (even though I was fully groped everywhere that counts by a complete stranger in the wall-to-wall mosh pit of people on Bourbon Street that one time).  And speaking of college, maybe it's because I almost accepted my offer to attend Tulane for undergrad but for the charms of Texas drawing me in so fully and away from my home state.  Maybe it's because I worked for a Fifth Circuit judge after law school in Lafayette and spent many days in hotels and eating at all the best restaurants in New Orleans while we were in town for court sittings at the gorgeous Court of Appeals building on Camp Street (seriously, those courtrooms are majestic).  Maybe it's the air that hangs heavy and makes my hair grow bigger by the minute (who cares?).  Maybe it's all the big love and reverie that just is that city.  Maybe it's because now I'm no longer a Fluevog shoe store virgin.  Maybe it's because rain feels right there.  Maybe it's all the things seen and unseen that hang in the air there and make it feel like I belong.  My body and blood knew last week that I was home.  When I was there, my body breathed more easily.  My tense upper traps felt like water instead of stone.  I rested more fully.  Was in much less pain.  Felt more beautiful.  Relaxed into my environment.  And I loved every single second as I let it just fill me up.



   

Monday, February 26, 2018

That Perfect Little Prayer

Tonight it struck me that I've been saying the same prayer every night with my kids, for their whole lives, that I said with my mom as a little girl.  I started singing it quietly to my son when he was a wee baby, and I just never stopped.  My singing was the magical cure that could calm him.  Almost like a snake charmer.  Not much else worked.  I'm still his touchstone for calm in this crazy world, and I dearly hope I always will be.  I also sang Puff the Magic Dragon to him over and over and over.  Even when I was deliriously tired with a cranky baby, I just kept singing in the dark with him because he loved it so.  It makes me teary to remember doing that now that, at nine years old, he comes up to my nose.  And when my little girl came along, she got to join in our ritual, too.

But back to the prayer... when my mom and I used to say it together before I went to bed, it was third in succession after two others.  We had a routine.  (Perhaps this began the series of many routines I find myself forming and craving, and always have... or perhaps I'm just a wee bit OCD.  Or, likely, both.)  In my childhood, the first prayer was mine to say alone (The Lord's Prayer), the second one my mom would say alone (it was one generally about gratitude, though I don't remember all the words now, but it included something about being thankful for the "birds that sing" and for "Everything"), and the third one, we'd say in unison together... and, well, that's the only one I say with my kids. 

Actually, I don't say it with my kids.  I sing it.  And they sing it with me.  Because I tend to turn random stuff, especially with my kids, into songs.  My daughter even danced to it last night.  It's still spell-binding to my son, the same way Puff the Magic Dragon was when he was teeny.  His eyes just hone in and lock on mine, and he sings with me.  It's just a thing we do.  And I love it more and more every single night we do it, as they get older, and as I get older.  First, I sing it with my daughter in her room, then with my son in his.

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
Guide me through the starry night
And wake me with the morning light.
Amen.

(We sing the first and third lines to the tune of the first part of the alphabet song: A, B, C, D, E, F, G, and the second and fourth lines to the tune of the next part of the alphabet song: H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P.)

And I like remembering that "Amen" means an expression of solemn ratification or agreement;  “it is so”; “certainty”; “truth”; and “verily.”  

It's that simple.  But it's also kind of Everything that matters at the same time when I really open my heart and just sit with it.  It's like star gazing and dreaming all wrapped up in a perfect little prayer. 



 

Sunday, February 18, 2018

That Perfect Music... and Flight...

Sometimes that's all there is.  Floating in my mind.  Enveloping me in my car.  Pouring through these membranes between speakers set in cushions on my ears.  Filling me with something.  I can't see images without associating songs with them.  Can't see faces I love without tunes filling in the missing pieces.  Everything that matters is always tied up in music to me.  Perhaps that's why it makes me cry to watch my little girl dance with so much emotion. 

I read recently that God speaks through music.  "You know what music is?  God's little reminder that there's something else besides us in this universe; harmonic connection between all living beings, every where, even the stars."  (Robin Williams)  And while I'm on the topic of God, I had a realization the other day about a phrase I must have heard about a million times throughout my childhood, but it never really struck me until now.  I made note of it in my phone during the middle of a random day this week when the thought passed through my mind.  And the hallways of my mind are echoing with this notion in my Mom's voice:  God is love.  Such a simple answer.  Maybe that's why I'm always so struck by love songs (the good kind... the subtly good but deeply real ones). 

Music is the place where people pour themselves.  And we can't help but swim in it.  The most passionate parts of us are music.  I get chills hearing the right music.  My OCD grinds its teeth and clenches something inside me when I hear the perfect song to hold the hand of the exact feeling I'm cloaked in... and then I find myself listening to it on repeat for days on end.  It's like the song is around every corner.  Whether it's actually playing or not.

I thought late last night about writing about a particular song that's got my attention as of late, but I was too close to dreamland to get up and type.  It's one I've been listening to a lot after first hearing it while watching figure skating on the Olympics.  It's a Coldplay song with gentle piano rhythms behind haunting vocals.  And it's about a flock of birds taking flight.  Hovering above.  "It's how you think of love," it says.  And it reminded me of a print I made in art school that is part of an autobiographical series I made into a handmade and hand-printed book called Stages (both the performance kind and the time-passing kind).  This particular print looks back and encapsulates how I felt just before I fell from grace and became lost in my young adulthood.  A shifting into a lonely place.  The image in the print is of this flock of birds taking flight, coming right at the viewer, out of a New Orleans balcony window.  It's a serigraph, with deep reddish undertones.  But amid the lively flock emerging is a dead bird, bound and hanging by a rope in the very heart of the image.  But the hung bird I printed in transparent iridescent purplish ink on top of the rest of the photographic image, so it's faint.  Glimmering quietly there, shadow-like.  You can only see that something is dead in the very heart of that emerging flock if you look really closely.  If someone wants to see what's actually there.  It's easy to miss if you don't look long enough.  But it's there.  That print, with the free, soaring flock marred by the nearly invisible dead bird just hanging there, feels like that song.  A sadness.  It hangs.  But also sings.  Nothing is ever black and white, is it?  And every beautiful thing has tears inside of it, doesn't it?  What else in the world can capture a feeling like that besides art?  And what does it better than music?  Maybe only art and music combined, even if only in my head.  But I don't think it's only in my head.  Music is entirely too universal for that.  Thank God for music.  Or is that just redundant?












Saturday, February 17, 2018

That Perfect Re-Emergence of My Professional Self

This past year, I worked a full time year.  For most people, that's not a big deal.  In years past for me, that wouldn't be news at all.  But in BigLaw speak, after so much medical leave and working from a recliner at home when I could even work at all, that officially means, I'm "back."  And I am given important work to do.  And am assimilated into my team.  In real world terms, it means I finally proved to myself and everyone else I could still do this very hard and demanding job of mine after my seven surgeries and all the recovery time that goes with that.  It means people I work with believe in me.  It means I believe in me.  It means my kids get to see what grit and determination looks like.  What getting up when we fall looks like.  And my law firm is incredible.  Not only in terms of the work we do, the clients we have, and the quality of intellect of the people with whom I work, but also in terms of how well they have supported me through my difficult time because they understood the value I bring to the table.  While I work in BigLaw, which is known for being an environment that is the toughest of the tough, this firm is special.  All the high expectations are there, but the support is also there when they see that you're giving your all and have real value to contribute.  So, it's a win-win.  I think those close to me probably all wondered for a while there (me included) whether I could still do this given the physical hurdles I faced.  Whether my professional re-emergence was possible.  It was humbling and scary.  To my core.  For years.  Especially when I'm the sole breadwinner, and I have precious young eyes looking up to me for love and financial support as they grow and shine through their childhood years.  While nothing in life is ever assured, it feels damn good to be back in the swing of things, to be working in my office for full days every day, and to have even earned a bonus this past year for all the everything I've committed of myself to this endeavor during my steep climb up the recovery hill.  And climbing is hard with these operated-on hips, let me tell you.

Last week, I had two monumental achievements... well, monumental to me. 

First, on Monday, I gave a CLE (continuing legal education) presentation to a group of lawyers in my firm.  It was based on the substance of a scholarly article I've written that is being published in June in a major legal journal in my field.  I spoke for about an hour while people either were or pretended to be interested in jury trial rights issues in bankruptcy detailed in my PowerPoint.  I used to speak to large rooms filled with lawyers about all sorts of topics related to my field at various conferences both in Texas and Louisiana.  But I've not done it in about three years due to all my surgeries.  And the room of folks to whom I spoke this week wasn't as large as many I've faced, but still.  I did it, and did it well. 

Second, I attended a dinner meeting of the Inn of Court (a true honor to be a part of) this week.  I've been unable to sit for extended periods for so long that I've also not attended Inn meetings in years.  It felt incredible to attend, and I was moved by how warmly I was welcomed by my colleagues in my field from firms all over the DFW metroplex.  I sent an email yesterday to the seven or so people with whom I sat at dinner at the Inn meeting just to say how much I enjoyed being in their company again, and everyone sent me lovely responses in return.  It's always important to show people you're grateful for their presence when you are.  That stuff matters.  My Dad taught me that, among many other things, when I was a baby lawyer, and his influence and guidance regarding my professional career has been immeasurably valuable.  Mostly, it consists of being mindful and friendly to everyone (because you never know who you're going to meet and how your meeting might be a light or a help for you, the other person, or someone else), being damn good at what you do (this is where the hours of grunt work and polishing of grey matter come in), and putting yourself out there (this is where bravery comes in), so that people know you and know what you're good at so that you become a go-to person when it comes to the things for which you're known.  And then people start to use the word "expert" when they talk about you and your work (who knew I'd become an expert on bankruptcy jurisdiction, for instance?).  That advice has increased my success ten-fold.  It's a pretty simple formula really, but there's a lot of character and discipline that goes into putting into action.  It's funny... I wonder where I'd be today but for the orthopedic quagmire that dragged me down.  It's probably not worth thinking about... "what if" roads rarely are.  Instead, it's better to think more along the lines of being a phoenix that people weren't sure would rise again.  But I'm rising.  Because that's who I am.  And this week, I have concrete examples of forward progress.  Of rising from my ashes. 

And next week, I'm attending a conference for lawyers and judges in my field in New Orleans.  Which takes my breath away.  I used to speak at gigs like this, but I'm not speaking this time... though I'm thrilled to be attending.  I'm the most senior attorney from my firm attending this year, so it's important for me to be there and to circulate.  And it will feel like putting on an old comfortable pair of loved shoes I haven't worn in a while (though, ironically, I don't think I get to wear my trademark heels to this conference just yet because of my hip).  Settling back into the professional public me I worked so hard to build.  And I'm really looking forward to it.  My oldest brother is also a restructuring lawyer (ahem, a fancy way of saying business bankruptcy lawyer), and he'll be there, too.  Which is a comfort and gives me even more to look forward to.  Quality time with my big brother.  Given how different our personalities are, I find humor and odd joy in the fact that we ended up with pretty much the same job (though we approach it in our own unique ways and at different firms).  And then the cherry on top of this cake is that I get to spend the weekend in New Orleans after the conference with some of my dear Louisiana girlfriends, who always fill me up and bring much needed insight, hugs, and laughter into my life.  And I get to be in New Orleans, a city that always sings to me.  It's where I visited my grandparents so many times growing up, and a place I attended so many concerts in my youth... in short, a place that is simply beloved to me. 

Despite all my positivity and talk of rising from the ashes, there's something I'm a little afraid of.  The scary part I keep trying not to think about is that I'm flying alone for the first time in 3 maybe 4 years.  Flying is flying... which is always a little scary just because of the small space and nowhere-to-go-in-an-emergency fact of being in a plane among the clouds.  The normal flying fear, I find, is easily overcome by consciously remembering how cool it, in fact, is to be in the clouds.  And amazing music in headphones and a good book to read (I've definitely got the music and headphones part covered, and I have a book arriving from Amazon today) also create lovely distractions.  But here's the thing... schlepping myself and my things through an airport while still maimed is not something I'm looking forward to.  It's precarious because I am not willing to hurt myself again, and I have to be so careful that I don't.  And it's an embarrassing contradiction to still not be physically independent when this girl inside is so independent.  But if there's anything this broken-bodied journey of mine has taught me, it's the grace necessary to ask for help when I need it.  So, Southwest (and perhaps fellow passengers) and New Orleans hotel staff, here I come... and I may need a hand here and there to make it where I am going.  Some help on my journey onward and upward.  Because it matters.  And I simply have to be me again, and this is part of it.

So it's a monumental couple of weeks for this curly-haired girl with a cane... who happens to clean up pretty well in a suit when she needs to. 

Saturday, February 10, 2018

That Perfect Entertaining Thing to do Whilst Others Sleep

I only remember perhaps once or twice a year that I own this set.


I don't know that I take it very seriously, but it's fun to dive into.  And I feel like diving right now.  And for fun, I am going to add some music that seems fitting with each card....

I did a pretty standard tarot reading on myself just now.  The card at the top represents the archetype, a/k/a me for purposes of this reading.  Then there's a set of three cards.  The left card represents the physical realm, the middle card represents the mental, and the third represents the spiritual.



My archetype card for this reading is Fourteen - Temperance.  The book describes Temperance as the character Delirium.  Here's the excerpt from the book for this card:

Always in command.  But bound.  Paradoxically views herself as weak.  As a result, ignores the restraints most people think of as normal.  Coming after death.  Winged.  Tossing liquid gold from one gleaming cup to another.   Power in excess.  Yet calm, self-possessed, contained.

 This one has to be Tori Amos.  Cornflake Girl seems fitting.

Okay... with that foundation, on to the physical: the King of Pentacles.


Belongs totally to the world he rules.  The spirals are not alive, and some are broken.  Fossils.  Body mostly stone and dead matter.  Master of wealth, property, power.  Had to fight to achieve, to protect.  Does not seek out battles.  But not passive.  Torn and cracked crown, but with a fiery light.  Person of importance and substance.  Successful.  Loves life.  Protects what she loves.  Calm but with deep understanding.  (Interesting how the physical card was literally about physical attributes, including brokenness, yet power.)

Here, I'm thinking Iron & Wine.  Woman King.  Unmistakable power, but with bloodshot eyes, and weeping.  And Marlene Dietrich's Favorite Poem, a single line is resonating in my mind here - ...spoke hushed and frailing hips.... 

And mental: the Six of Swords:


Intellect.  Conflict.  Fenced.  Complicated images - productions of the mind.  Everything in the universe, seen and unseen, fits into some perfect pattern.   Everything with a place in the grand scheme.  Obsession with visions becoming more and more complicated... as the medieval cosmos, with the universe's concentric circles moving in harmony.  We can never really separate intellect from our emotions.  (Interesting again how the mental card was about intellect....)

For some reason, with this one, I'm thinking Hedwig & The Angry Inch.  Origin of Love.  Historical, mythological roots trying to explain how our bodies came to be and love.  Intertwined, harmonic, approaching some sort of logic to describe the indescribable... but fanciful all at once. 

Finally, spiritual: the Page of Cups:


Feminine.  Water.  Above a stream of words.  Water is feminine in the way it flows and shimmers with beauty.  But hermaphroditic, including all qualities, flowing from one thing into another.  Spreading over everything.  Literary stream of consciousness... no judgment.  Experience.  Imaginative, dreamy, reflective.  Allowing feelings or fantasies to flow into awareness without judgment.  (And interesting, once again and finally, that the spiritual card involved water and flowing.)

 I'm going to end it here with Tori again.  This time Reindeer King.  "Crystal Core... you are at the still point of the turning world... The divide, fearing death, desiring life... Ice you were the one most tender with the rivers, you the roof of the waves layer after layer...."  And also Love is the Seventh Wave... "There is no deeper wave than this...."

If you're still reading way at the end of this long, long blog post, I hope it's at least been a little fun to journey through this with me here in my quiet late evening.











Friday, February 9, 2018

That Perfect Bracelet

When I went to Baton Rouge last fall for my ten year law school reunion, I stayed with my most sister like friend, whom I've known since 8th grade when we met upon her move to Alexandria from Maryland.  We bonded immediately on her first day at Brame part-way through the school year, the day we met over red beans and rice in the school cafeteria talking about loving R.E.M. and how awful New Kids on the Block was.  And she gave me an early 41st birthday present this year on my visit.  It's quickly become one of my favorite things I've ever owned.

This girl and I have lived through so much together, even over many years of not living in the same town (though I've especially loved when we have).  She knows every inch of my soul.  The good, the bad, the saintly, the dirty, the perfect, the messy.  All of it.  And loves me for every piece of it as much as I love her for all of hers.  It's amazing how we both sit in awe of each others' strengths... and quirks... and what stirs us.  We've been planning our meet up in New Orleans in a couple of short weeks from now (squee!), and she texted me yesterday out of the blue and asked me if we could go to her favorite hat store after we go to the Fluevog store (this will be my FIRST Fluevog in-store experience... I almost can't believe it, and her first time in person at her hat store... thank you, Internet).  I never mentioned the Fluevog store.  She just knew we'd go.  Just like she always just knows everything without me saying it.  That's also why we kick so much ass at Pictionary together.  Either of us can draw the first inch of a line or a squiggle, and the other will automatically know it's a swing set.  Or a clown.  Or whatever it's supposed to be.  I can read her facial expressions like they were my own.  And vice versa.  Last time she spent the night at my house, we each lay awake in separate rooms unable to sleep, but there were too many people here that night that we'd surely have woken up others if we got up to actually talk that night.  So we just talked with our minds in a way, I guess.  Unsaid things might as well have actually been said between us.  We have a strange kind of ESP with each other.  Always have.

The birthday present she gave me this year is a handmade piece of jewelry from a Louisiana jewelry maker called Mimosa.  And it is the most wonderful bracelet.  I've never been much on wearing bracelets.  Watches, sure.  But I don't remember loving any bracelets ever since I had an arm-full of those hand woven ones from summer camp friends in junior high.  But this one... I find I wear it almost every day.  It reminds me of what is most beautiful in this life, in this world.  I even store it in it's own beautiful ceramic jar all by itself.  And I'm ever grateful for what it represents to me.

We were eating some delicious meat pies when she gave it to me this past October, and I remember getting teary reading the card that came with it sitting there in that restaurant.  Here's the front and back of the card:



I love re-reading this card.  It sums up everything that truly matters in life to me.  (And it's even Irish... I mean come on.)  And Rachel is a beautiful symbol of that.  Actually, Rachel and I are a beautiful symbol of that.  It's the bond that is so lovely. 

I like to text her random photos sometimes when I wear it and stop and think of her, just so she knows.



Like this one, taken just now.  This next one's from not too long ago.



And another from sometime before that.



You get the idea.

So... I love this bracelet and how it symbolizes the me, the we, that we are capable of.

Anam Cara.  💗



Tuesday, February 6, 2018

That Perfect Rain

It can't rain all the time.

But I sorta wish it would.  I mean on top of lingering and dreaming in rainy, pensive moments, which I'm wont to do way more frequently than I'll solidly admit, rain soothes me physically more than I think I realized.  And who doesn't sleep better under a cozy feather comforter with a rainstorm barreling outside (which I'll hopefully be doing shortly...)? 

I've been trying out some new postural experiments with my back.  I've been trying to arch my back more, against what every physical therapist has told me over the years, because I've realized that it makes certain weaker muscles in my low back kick in (in a good way), makes my upper back relax (also in a good way), and feels like that's how my body wants to be positioned.  Always has.  I'm an ever perplexing jenga of a person with the repaired shoulder and hip on my left side (four times on the shoulder, twice on the hip).  With hypermobile joints now in my 40s, which were fun in my youth, I struggle daily as I experiment with my body and try to find sitting positions, standing positions... well, everything positions that don't hurt too much.   Sometimes I win.  Like yesterday when I was on day 3 of focusing on holding my back in the right arch-like shape whenever I became conscious of it.  I remembered that before my surgeries, my back was always arched... more than other people's.  And it didn't hurt.  And I was surprisingly pleased with how I was able to manage my pain some with those new positional efforts.  Today, however, was a losing battle.  I think the arching while working at my desk all day yesterday maybe went too far.  Too much of the same position?  Plus I started my period.  And woke up in the middle of a dream to my nine year old in my face and my alarm going off just a moment later.  And I woke up sore... which might be okay, but I could also just tell it was probably going to go downhill.  I could just feel all the aches rising up in my joints, in my bones as I crept out of my bed and began my morning routine.

It was chilly this morning (so said my phone) when I ushered the kids out the door with their nanny to school bright and early.  She showed up this morning in shorts while I was piling coats on my kids.  Then, when I stepped out on the porch as they left, it didn't feel like the 40 degrees my weather app had reported to me.  But it felt kind of humid and weird.  With cold coming.  Maybe that explains the aches, too.  It was colder by the time I left for my office almost an hour later, and I got a chill while pumping gas on the way downtown, even though I had on long sleeves under my blazer. 

As I sat at my desk working intently on some intense projects today, I could feel the pain building.  And building.  And I'd find myself distracted, sighing loudly to myself in a near futile effort to break the tension occasionally before just deep-diving back into work.  And then whispering "fuck" to myself here and there when I just couldn't find a position that wouldn't distract me from my work for very long.

And then it happened.  Late this afternoon, a heavy storm hit Dallas and began pouring down.  And suddenly, simultaneously, much of the pain lifted.  Took leave of my restless body.  Reprieve... at least for a while.  When the rain began as gentle little pitter patters on my window up on 38 in the sky, I got up and snapped this photo of my view of the perfect rainy gray day above the city below.  I love how subtle the rain-droppy streaks are on the glass in front of the ominous gray surrounding and eating up everything in its path. 



Rain just knows how to blend with my soul... kind of like painting with watercolors.  It comes in with intention, may be harsh here and there, but then it blurs and bleeds things effortlessly together until they feel more peaceful, more flowing, more bathed in color.  And at least for a while this afternoon, in less pain.

It's hard sometimes feeling like I'm trapped in this vessel that dishonors all that I have inside me to be, to give, to share, to love with, to thrill with, to sing with, to create with, to dream with, to intuit with, to connect with, to drink deep with.  Acceptance, girl.  Grace and gratitude for all that is in me. Remember that.  And the rain.  And I can hear comforting thunder rumbles in the distance as I type.

Who cares if my body feels like it is in smithereens if my spirit is ever strong and true?

Friday, February 2, 2018

That Perfect Encore

I am lucky that a dear friend's birthday was close enough to today to justify my buying us tickets as a gift for her to go see Jose Gonzales at the Majestic Theater together tonight.



She and I talked about Jose Gonzales's music one night not too long ago when we had a slumber party at her house and stayed up talking deep into the night.  She had seen him play in New York many years ago when she lived there and loved him.... and so when I saw that tickets were on sale, and they were at the Majestic of all places, I bought them on the spot.  And she loved him again tonight.  And so did I.  And I'd be remiss if I failed to mention Bedouine, this lovely singer who took the stage as an opener before Jose.  Mesmerizing and mellow.  Feels like something melting.



Jose was more electric, while being acoustic.  He was an incredible one man show.  How so much deep sound, an abundance of thoughtful lyrics, trance-inducing rhythm, and soul-bending crescendos emanated from a single person in the center of a beautifully adorned stage, I still can't quite comprehend.  But I'm grateful for the experience.  I only cried a little (okay, twice) as I sat there moved and beside myself.  ;)

And he had very minimal lighting, mostly consisting of a lightningesque streak from time to time and spotlights that were sometimes blue.  Sometimes white.  Sometimes red.  And there was smoke curling in them, which kept catching my eye, especially during the more trance-like rhythmic guitar sessions.  They reminded me of times when I (stupidly) smoked cigarettes in my youth but took joy in watching my exhaled smoke curl in sunbeams.  I have vivid content memories of watching that back in the day in college.  It's a deeply good memory, even if toxic... literally.

You may recall I blogged about the encore at a recent Iron & Wine show leaving me (and everyone else in the crowd) wanting.  But not the encore tonight.  I didn't even miss a beat of it videoing it because I was certain it would be the encore since it wasn't played during the main set.  Mikila looked over at me just before Jose came back out, and she said "It's going to be Heartbeats."  And I agreed.  And I readied my camera.   


He referenced "the Knife," the original singer of this song, after he played it.  But it sounded like he referenced the song as a metaphorical knife in that moment because he then followed it with what he called a love song, seemingly in an effort to try to give us an emotional reprieve after the beautiful knife of a song we'd just lived through.  Magnificent.