The girl who was once from NYC unintentionally transplanted to the sticky trap of the CT countryside nearly three decades ago. Teacher, singer, writer, photog. Dancer along the path through the dark.
~May words and music and laughter light the way to kindred spirits, kind of heart~
Also a Mommy. That's the most important thing that's happened along the way, but not what this blog will be about.
Words and music and more brought to you by merisongbird.
what lasts forever,
what falls to the wayside
pieces and practice of love true to heart
defender of values of nothing I’m backing
and all open-minded it’s back to the start
for follows and foolish and wasted and constant
for up on a pedestal I’ll never climb
and the notes from the keys I am touching reign over
the puddle of yesterdays, all in my mind
Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being (via wordsnquotes)
so good for so many things. Kids are home from camp, so oodles and piles of laundry, but also lounging, and bagels in bed, and a little flower arranging, some bins of pics and clothes from the basement to go through and organize. Inspired. Trying to be energized today despite the asthma setback of the past few days. And Ed being away with his gf in the Cape doesn’t bother me at all, and that feels really good. That kind of love is a good kind of love. It feels warm and good. It doesn’t feel like eggshells anymore, and though I still might cry and I do when I think of signing those papers in a week or two and those pictures of us getting married that day become more of the past than ever. I’m okay.
I think a lot about kindness again these days and difference between clever and kind and how I prefer one more than the other. Like even my daughter said last night how the kids at camp are so much nicer than her friends here in our small town. How when she starts to sing sometimes here, someone might put their hand out and cover her mouth and say stop, but at camp her friends tell her to keep going, and how one boy pointed at her and said “Angel”.
But I grow tangential again, and really this was just about my morning-into-afternoon, my slow and quiet observation, the calm and warm I cultivate, the flowers, and the soft air, and knowing. I am not so clever and quippy, but I am kind.
I read awhile (that led to write)
the rain pours down and a cool breeze blows across my bed as I grow tired
the kind of sleepy where eyes grow heavy and hips and legs and ass and all feel glued unto the mattress, lying here beneath my sheets…
perhaps I’ll read a little more
or let my eyes close, drifting off
and maybe in my land of dreams
I’ll see some things I’d love to see
and feel some things I’d love to feel
as lightning plays outside
the morning sounds surround me now
and in my head/still full of webs
those broken bits of half-way dreams
the images so full and clear
that toss and turn provides so much
for scattered thoughts I might not want
And as I wake up more and more
the sun peeks through reminding me to keep on shining with the day
and all that lies ahead of me
and birds and cars/my background sounds
my bare feet resting on warm ground
I plan, I hope, I let unfold
this brand new story to be told…