Wheels of life and death

My first writing class was taught by the truly wonderful Gurney Norman.  Someone in the class eventually asked where his name came from and he told the story of asking his (mentally ill) mother that same question.  Her answer:  Wheels of life and death.  Yes, as in, a hospital gurney.

Life intention, Part I

I was quite fresh out of college. I was sitting on a city bus in Madison, Wisconsin, on my way to my $11 an hour temp job processing mortgages at the credit union. The country was in its early economic reeling from 9/11 and mortgage interest rates were plummeting, so everyone was refinancing. Outside it was gray. The bus floor was slimy with grit. My co-riders always seemed to include someone in an inexpensive suit with a worn leather briefcase, someone large and gray-headed in a lopsided stocking cap, someone in a thin insulated plaid shirt looking tired, someone around my age with shinier shoes and tamer hair than mine. On this November day, I took out my journal and, in jagged script from the jolting of the bus ride, I wrote this:

A time to love

Nearly to work, walking in the shade and wind between MIT buildings. My cheeks and knees numb, the numbness creeping up my legs, across my temples. Cheerful orange berries on the vine starting to go black. Thoughts about winter, its wisdom: a time to die. When? And when to persevere? Another winter lesson. I must learn. What light can be found inside? Ahead, two kids standing a foot or two apart, talking. Not touching. Nodding, turning - she away, he in my direction. His chin tucked into his scarf, his grin unmistakable. Even from a distance. Did not see the ice raised from the sidewalk like fresh scars. Did not feel the cold. Grinned and grinned, eyes fixed blindly on his path, teeth to the cold wind as I passed by.

On family

So we're going back into the studio this spring, and I feel all kinds of ways about that. Excited and nervous - so much more aware of what this process involves... and also more aware of my band - what souls we're working with. And the songs! Well. I won't tell you which 2 or 3 we're recording first yet, because there's still a chance we may change our minds. But anyway. To come to the point.

A Christmas List

1. My new favorite Christmas memory this year so far: singing the 12 Days of Christmas with the Bass Player to warm up as we walked to the Middle East show last Saturday night. "Eleven... uhhhh...." All told, he had a harder time counting backwards than remembering the pipers piping, etc.

Hope

I heard this on the behind-the-scenes appendices from the Lord of the Rings film trilogy and found it really wise and articulate. To paraphrase:

Despair is for those who know for certain what the future will be. No one is in that position.

I... don't have words.

Some true things I'd like to tell

Dear Diary, I woke up at 6:30 this morning, raised my head to turn off the alarm on my iPhone (a little ethereal piano clip I took from Angelica by Lamb, apparently stolen from Debussy), saw a display of gold and orange streaks across the eastern sky over the tall buildings along the Charles. I thought of getting up. I looked at my phone and a text had come in while I was sleeping - a friend still in college asking me if I was watching the meteor shower. I missed it. I missed it when I was in college, too, even though I always sorta remembered when it was coming. I fell back on the pillow. When I got up an hour later, I did a sun salutation yoga series for the first time. Sunshine was glowing in my windows. It seemed the thing to do.

You look so human, just like me

Ho dudes...  I just wished a co-worker Happy Friday and she reminded me, Happy Friday the 13th!

DUN-DUN-DUNNNNN!!!!

Aha.  Here I thought this was just my monthly clumsy day, but now I see it's much more serious than that.

Let me tell you the story of how I came to dread Friday the 13th.

You don't go out looking for a job dressed like that? On a weekday?

In this day and age, we all have impossible To Do lists, right? At any given moment, I have - no exaggeration - 50 things I should be doing, which means that even if I'm doing something productive (and chances are not as good as one would hope) there are always 49 other things I'm neglecting. Always.