You be the rocks. I'll be the river.

 You'll be the rocks. I'll be the river.

You are steady and immovable. 

Compressed, hardened, stoic 

Faithful and steadfast. 

I change shape with the weather. 

Flow and freeze. 

Rage and ripple.

We bend and flow in a timeless dance

You hold the path in

clear sharp boundaries

I wear the hard edges to smooth and round

We are glacial valleys

We are waterfalls

We are cliffs and shore

We are babbling brooks

We are deep mountain lakes

We are.

You'll be the rocks.

I'll be the river. 

We will go on

Together.

Love in the time of Covid19

We have been on lockdown in Nashville for more days than I can count.  March 2nd was the tornado that closed all the schools for a week. Then the kids went back for tree days and then school has been closed ever since. We don't leave the house much beyond taking the new dog for a walk. Our 16th anniversary came and neither of us remembered until halfway through the day and Facebook reminded me.

All activities are cancelled. Parks are closed. I am attempting to homeschool the children but it often goes south before too much gets done. We watch movies. We write and draw and play outside. The kids run loose like I used to in the woods on Hamby Road.

But in the loneliness is a quiet and a contentment that I have not felt in awhile. It feels good to be still. It feels good to be quiet. The dishwasher hums, the dryer spins, the boys write poems with sticky letters while my girl reads yet another novel on her Kindle. Hubs retreats to his man-cave to play games. It's a good life. We are lucky. And I am happy today.

Love (and Parenting) in the Time of Covid19

My darling I love you
But don't cough on me
We have been here for weeks
In this wretched quarantine

The groceries are scarce
The toilet paper runs low
We are stuck in this house
But there's nowhere to go.

The parks are all closed
The stores are all shuttered
We are shut in with these children
And the house is getting cluttered

With Legos and books
And homeschool papers
We Facetime and Zoom while the
Kinder cut capers.

We attempt to do work
But get nothing done
We send out the kinder
Out into the sun

They explore and they argue
They create and they wander
They ride down the hill on their bikes
And they ponder

What does this dead snake
That I found feel like?
Can I run over this roadkill
With the wheels of my bike?

Can I have another snack?
Can I dig a big hole?
Can I paw through the fire pit
And paint my face with charcoal?

Do I HAVE TO do Math?
Do I HAVE TO write cursive?
They are making me use my mom voice
In threats most coercive.

Wash your hands, wear your mask
Please don't ask again why
If we follow all the rules
We might be free by July

Poem : : My Feet Use to Be

My Feet Used to Be

My feet used to be
Bare and free
Calloused and agile
Gauging the bark
and strength of the branches
as I climbed.
Sinking into the soft red clay
of the well-worn path around the lake,
in spite of the carpet of pine needles,
gallantly thrown
like a cloak over a puddle.
Expertly avoiding the crabby crawdad
under the rock
who did not appreciate two giant invaders
into his watery domain
Quick stepping
on the hot black tar-top road,
softened by the sun
so my indented footprints
were left behind.
An advance scout
Sent out
test the strength
of some cobbled together invention
made by kids with too much time
and too little building experience
on their hands
Now they are prisoners
of age, injury, fitness goals, work, and propriety
Swathed and suffocating in cotton socks
and always shoes
My feet remember
how it used to be
to breathe

As the Day Ends

In the click of the lock as the day ends
In the hum of the a.c. outside
In the thrum of the mower that the neighbor uses at 9pm as if that is the perfect time for firefly lit yardwork
In the woosh and spin and click of the hookup of the dishwasher that is
An anachronism in this kitchen made for the 50's
In this house made for the 20's
In the stones that hold 100 years of time in the history
of earth and death and grass and Hackberry star seeds
To the rhythm of the breath of sleeping babes
Who dream and become old men and old mothers
In the passing of the sun and the moon as it grows fat and lean
In the seasons and the years and the lifetimes that this place
Held and lost and held and lost until this moment.
My bare feet on these creaking boards, once trees, once seedlings, once acorns,
Once one hundred feet high on the limbs of their mother
Carried here.  To now. Where the mint takes root in the glass on the sill
And the van beeps as I double check
And the lock clicks as the day ends.

Weightless and Waiting

I am floating in space.
The earth is no longer
beneath my feet.
The gravity turned
off in my world and
I let loose
of everything that holds me there.
The sounds of
everything I know and love
grow distant
and distorted as through a tunnel or through the glass.
The things that cross my mind
are like mini-movies that play on the screen
of the back of my eyes.
The laughter sounds like it is imprisoned in a can.
All goes on without me or
with the ghost of me but no one seems to notice.
I feel your touch but as on a phantom limb, long amputated.
I smile.
I put on my best shoes and
I walk
from time
to time
and back
to time again,
but I am weightless and floating.
I am no longer here.

Written while watching the children play in the backyard

Dreaming children lie on blankets spread wide
in the sun dappled grass
The almost summer winds push the boughs over head,
an ever-dancing leafy canopy.
Borrowed straw hat, too large for small heads,
lies abandoned in the tall grass.

Small fingers find ants under rocks
and run to tell me of the wonder of it all.
Sticks make rifles for hunting wild monsters who live
in the overgrown hedge.
The hedge that houses fairies and birds and tiny blue eggshells
leftover from those spring babies, long flown.

Swing on your bellies, hands to the sky, a sprinkle of pixie dust dirt on your head
and you dream that you can fly.
Sit in the hollow left from backyard fires.  The one long grown over
with violets and clover.
Damp curls and tousled heads hunt in the garden.  The strawberries still too green
and clear water from the hose make for a glorious feast.

Chubby bare toes push into the earth,
grubby with dirt and adventures.
The cellar door, so good for a slide makes an observation platform
for the curious yet cautious ones.
Who watch the long, slender resident of the rock pile
sunning himself in his yellow striped suit.

The back yard is the
whole
wide
world.

  

 

The Art of the Letter

There is just something about a letter.  I'm old enough that I wrote them quite a lot.  From camp to my parents, to pen pals, to friends back home, to boyfriends and on and on.  I know emails are faster, and text is, well, the speed of some sort of waves that bounce around from tower to tower, but here was something so special about getting a little piece of mail in the post box, all for me. 

I love the feel of the paper, the shape of the words written by hand, rather than typed on a keyboard.  Emails have a subject and come to my screen and I can save them forever if I want, but eventually they get lost in a list of other emails, further and further back in my history.  Unless it was something special that I'll remember and go searching for, it is, for all intents and purposes, lost. 

Letters, however, stay put.  I have a box full of them and I can sort through them and re-read them.  Love letters are the best kind.  I only have a few from my honey because by the time we started dating, well...cell phones and email had taken over the world, but they are sweeter than anything else I own.  I have a few precious ones from my grampa, and some dear little (literally - she likes tiny pieces of paper) notes from my mama.  It's like a little piece of that person, forever captured on paper.  Send one to your sweetie, or your baby, or your mama and papa.  Send one to me!  It's the best 44¢ you can ever spend.

Sweet sleep

Quiet house
Like a mouse
Not a peep
From those who sleep


I hope your day is peaceful and full of naps.

p.s. I heart your Comments!! You guys are so sweet.

Caffeine induced insomnia

1am
The husband snores
I can hear it through the baby monitor
It's chilly and dark down here
with the ones I love upstairs
fast asleep
But sleep is elusive
for mamas who drink
caffeine at 11 pm
The baby will be up soon
hungry
and fussy
I'll feed her
then we'll snuggle down
in our bed
and try to sleep until
dawn

Simple things

Standing at the stove
Stirring the milk
With cocoa and sugar
Just like Mama made it

The whirring of metal on metal
Soothing sound of spoon on pan
Not too sweet, not to bitter
Hot cocoa in my hand

Cat curled up on the desk
Paw over nose to keep warm
Dog at my feet
Sleeping in a sunbeam

Baby girl inside
Squirms and squiggles back and forth
Playing imaginary piano
with tiny fingers

My hands don't have to hold it all
The world shrinks back into place
Glorious tiny moments
And joy in the simple things

Remembering the light - Dawn at Miami Beach

It’s dawn on Miami Beach. The sun is rising without much pomp or circumstance, much as it does every day around here. The sand, still littered with last night’s seaweed from high tide and last night’s trash from high life, stands nearly empty of people, cool under my feet in the gray light.

There is an older woman, stocky and large of bosom, dressed in what must only be called a bathing ‘costume’, for she wears what appears to be a shapeless green and blue dress, thick black stockings, and a turban. Her movements are awkward in the shifting sand close to the constant rhythm of the waves. She sits down at the water’s edge and is surprised by a larger wave, a herald of the high tide that is coming.

Aside from the seagulls, there is one other person, a young guy, dressed in a black tank top with close cropped hair, who keeps, like me, taking snapshots of the horizon and gazing back at the boardwalk as if waiting for someone.

The night still hides in the hollows of all of yesterday’s footprints, purple and fighting the dawn, while the crests of the hollows become tinged with orange. The sky is painted the same color, as the sun plays coy for a few moments. At the horizon the clouds make cities with peak and towers against a blood red sky. In a moment, the blaze of the sun peeks over the edge and in a moment more, it sends its light in a fiery band across the waves to me, here with crossed legs and squinted eyes, trying to capture the beauty of something so mundane, but so exquisite.

How many sunrises must the world have seen by now, yet each one seems miraculous in and of itself, as if, in our hearts, we forget what the day is in the dark hours. But soon the dark will have nowhere to hide, not even in the hollows of footprints, as the sun makes it’s daily sojourn to the top of the dome of heaven.

No waiting

I was with some friends last night and they were talking about the process of waiting, which I suck at, BTW. One of the gals shared this quote:

"We don't wait for life to become perfect to begin to live it fully."

I'm not sure where she heard it, or what it was from, but brought the table to a quite moment as Peter, the other ponderer, and I scribbled that furiously in our little notebooks. I have been thinking how much I wait for "someday", when really this is the moment I am supposed to be in. My list goes like this...if only I were ____________ (thinner, smarter, richer, funnier, braver, quieter etc ad nauseum!) or if only I had ____________ (money, a new car, more of whatever)

This whole experience of having to wait for the little bean to make an appearance is strange for me. I forget it's happening and then a plate of eggs just a slight bit too runny flip my stomach over and the thought is back in my face!

Over the last few years, there have been many times where I thought I had the answer to things; that I knew just where to go and what to do, and then the reply (when I thought to slow down and ask - usually when things got out of hand) was to wait. I hate waiting. (so does Indigo Montoya, but that's another story) Actually, in hindsight, had I pushed ahead with what I thought the answer was, or SHOULD be, my life would be very different right now and I don't think for the better. There were so many things that I had to learn the hard way, just like always, and there were so many things that have been hard, but staying in them was the right answer, even though it felt painful.

The geek and I just celebrated our 4th Anniversary together last week. We went to the restaurant where we ate on our very first date (then unofficial) SATCo, if you must know. Then, as per our tradition, we found a photo booth and took silly pictures. You know, those kind all in a strip that you used to do with your friends when you were in Jr. High and you weren't too cool to roll up your tongue and make a pig nose? Yup. Those. So far we've taken one each year but our first. We didn't have the idea then. But had I done my relationship with my geek like I've done every relationship in the past, I wouldn't be in those photos with him (nor would I be gestating a little bean!). That tells me my thinking is off and to learn to love, grow, and be changed, I have to listen to people a little bit wiser than me. And wait.

So all my ducks are nowhere near a row, but here I am, living life, loving that sweet geek of mine, even when I don't like him. The reward? He comes home from work and we sit and talk for a moment, honestly, openly, without our defenses up, and from that, the roots grow a little deeper. I'm glad I'm still by your side Fozz, and you, by mine.

Landlording proves harder than falling off log - film at 11

Random thoughts of the day:

- If this apartment were in New York, people would eat their own soul to live in 600 glorious square feet of lovely (with a bathroom!) for $500/month. Alas...this is Nashvegas.

-I think I should spend more time in the bathroom. It is the only room that is really heated. (no vents = had to buy space heater = hot bathroom = camping on the bathroom rug with a book)

-When the dog poop in a field alludes me, it's time to continue on my walk. (can't find it, didn't see it happen, can't pick it up!)

-Wool socks are my secret boyfriend. (I hope the geek will understand)

-I've heard of "in like a lion", but this is just downright silly! 4 inches of snow on March 8th??!!

-My brother is now officially a Marine. I wish I could have been there.

-My geek sure is cute. I've seen some un-cute geeks in my day. I got the best looking one yet!

-I wonder if my big brother is finished being mad at me yet.

-It's nice to have friends who ask the hard questions. It means they really care about me. Yay!

-If I de-clutter my house, can I keep my yarn stash?

Grammar can be sexy!

A friend recently (gently) ridiculed the usefulness of a chapter in this book for boys, about grammar. (Odd, seeing as his wife LOVES grammar and if I'm not mistaken is a bit of a comma cop -tee hee!) I happen to think grammar is quite useful, even if I don't have the best habits about it here, as is noted by my 'reading level' evaluation. Which, incidentally, just dropped to elementary school! However, in praise of the semi-colon, I was delighted to read this article in the New York Times recently...
I also love that it's the best way to wink (in an email), without being too risqué.

Just a little perspective for my day.

I seem to think I am the center of the universe when really, I am the tiniest of atoms in comparison. And yet, am still loved, remembered, and known. Amazing, isn't it.

The Fairy of Eagle Nebula
Credit: The Hubble Heritage Team, (STScI/AURA), ESA, NASA

The monster tree takes over and the psychedelic snowman joins in

So last week we set off into the wild world of Christmas trees to find one of our very own. I mentioned our fruitless trip to the tree farm which brought us to Green Hills. Normally I avoid Green Hills. Just a trip PAST the mall there makes me poorer. Danger! Plus the traffic generally sucks. This area was not meant to be a major retail center. There is only one road in and out of it and it goes through a neighborhood which has already been encroached upon as far as it will allow! Any more road and they'll have to tear down houses. I don't see that happening and yet, it expands. I digress... So off we went to choose a tree...

Lots to choose from

Our tree!
After wandering awhile, I chose this one. I like em FAT! We wrestled it into the car, recovering from sticker shock, wrestled it into the house (the Geek pulled his back out!) and after several days, and having to re-arrange the ENTIRE living room, it's all done. I thought I'd share.


So happy to find a tree

A forest?

I made this! Trimmings are faboooo

This was Matt's from before. I have to say I hated it on sight and was all for pitching it out with the trash, but he pleaded for it's survival and so now it has joined the holiday tradition. Cause nothing says Christmas like a fiber optic snowman!

It's mostly good for getting stoned and looking at. Man...look a the pretty colors...
But I don't do that any more...wait!




Taking up the living room - aint it beeyootiful?!

What? Dis Mah tree now.

Adventures in homeowning and Basement treasure

After months of ignoring our home inspection report, I finally printed it out and got in my grubbies to make the rounds. I began in the basement. It seemed a logical place. I'd been reading about foundations lately and so wanted to apply my newly gained knowledge to my own house. I began looking for moisture and soon figured out that I could not do that with all the junk down there. So basement hunting ended up being basement cleaning. Fogged up goggles and face mask in place, I swept and hauled and swept and RAKED and gathered all the rubble, for rubble it was, into the middle of the floor.

The Rubble...

Before it ended up in the trash bin, I decided to sift through it, just in case there were any little treasures hidden in that mess. Good thing I did! My archaeologist friend Lorraine would be so proud!! Look what turned up.

Former Residents (now deceased)

I wore gloves, don't worry.

Signs of life

Rubber bands, an old kitchen knife, a cymbal pad, a hacky sack from a sounds game that a rat or a mouse stole the fluff out of, shiny bits of glass and mirror, my bungee cord!! (hey, I thought I lost that!) picks (not mine), snail shell, pens, the leg off some sort of furniture (the ball thing), golf tees and last but not least, a crocheted wash rag. (someone's Gramma spent a LOT OF TIME on that thing and they just left it in the basement! Oh the guilt trip they might have gotten...)

Children lived here

Christmas ornaments, train set electric poles, a tiny red cell phone(didn't make it into the photo), part of a porcelain figure

Five old Marbles (how did my house know I love marbles!?)

Plus that thing with a number. What IS that thing. Was it bingo night at my house?

House bits and bobs

The knob to the basement door!! Lucky I found that or I'd have had to wait for The Geek to come home and let me out. I accidentally pulled the door all the way shut behind me.
Various washers and bits of copper piping, (hmmm extra cash?), some old, some new, wire, nail, a bolt that held the boiler down to the slab, a tin light switch cover staring back at me like a robot face!!

Odd hunks of wood

You never know when you'll need these!!

Signs of things to come

Why are their pieces of field stone rubble loose in the basement?! It's time to fix things.

I squealed over each one like a five year old! Each one of these things, I'm sure, is bound to 'land you in the hospital', 'take or shoot your eye out', give you tetanus' or what ever other 'mommy isms' I'm sure mine had in store for me and I will, in turn, visit upon the currently unborn (and un-concieved) but for now, it was lots of fun.

Back to business...So the basement does have a smidge of seepage and after a tour of the outside, I can see why. We'll start with a gutter repair and if that doesn't dry out the ground on the north side of the house, we may have to dig a drainage pipe, or figure out where the currently unused, but present terra cotta pipe leads. I had many more fabulous adventures in the basement today, but they will keep till another day.

Blog, I knew you were trouble!!

At the end of the day today, I got called into my super's ('MS' for short) office where I was informed that I was "not a good fit" for the office. I asked for a little clarification, "constructive feedback" I called it, and that's when MS mentioned my blog. Apparently while I was out sick yesterday, MS tracked down my blog somehow and read, not a few entries, but the entire thing. Years worth! While that did wonders for my blog rank, it also lead MS to believe that I'd been blogging on the company time. (untrue) MS also mentioned the photos of archaic computers I'd taken and said it was "not appreciated." They were 'large university type institution's' personal property (never mind that most of it's bound for the garbage). That's the first I heard of that being against policy. I sat through the hours of training for this job and never once did they mention anything like this.

While I sort of sat there in shock (and tears, yes, I'm very emotional), I felt as if my journal had been read. Not that all of you don't read this, but I invited you! I know you. If strangers read it, then fine, but they don't use it as 'evidence' against me. Now, several hours later, I've begun to discover what was really underlying my anger.

• Fear - it tops the charts. The Geek is being hired on to his new job and while great, there is this one little thing. The whole month of December that he will receive NO PAYCHECKS. We had been counting on my puny paycheck to tide us over. Perhaps we should count on something (or someone) bigger.
• Hurt - Here is this person whom I have continually worked so hard to be kind to, in spite of the fact that MS treated me as if I am 12, smacked me on the back of the head with either papers or hand so often that I had to actually ask them to stop. The same person who has watched me with a wary eye from the first week and 'jokingly' expressed a fear that I would take away their job. Now I am not being heard, I am not being understood, I am not being respected in ANY WAY. I am being falsely accused of things that are now costing me my job. When pressed, MS mentioned other things...not completing tasks fast enough (how fast do they want them?), having trouble staying focused(yes, I'm on meds for that), and a list of 'little' things that somehow never got mentioned along the way but also are contributing to my termination. I feel devalued. I worked my butt of doing the most menial crap!! Any human would have trouble staying on task. Yet, I came back, day after day and did it. I was honest and told my boss that I was struggling with that work and asked for something to break up the monotony. MS gave me More menial crap work and I did that additional in between the other menial crap. I said that this being my first foray out into Corporate America, which MS knew, I would have liked to know that I was actually doing something wrong so I could stop, change course, get better. "Nope," MS said. "You're just a temp." In other words, disposable, replaceable, not worthy of respect.
• Helplessness - nothing I said could change the mind of my boss. And believe me I rage against that feeling!
• Embarrassment - MS knows more about my life than I want them to. If I had wanted MS to read my blog, I'd have sent them the LINK!
  
• Sadness - because to lose a job, for me, is to fail. I hate to fail. I know it's not truth, but it's how I feel.
• Joy - I don't have to go back to this job!! EVAAAAR!!! Good-bye shredding and shredding and sorting and logging, (BUT NOT READING) and hauling files. Good-bye sorting through 12 banker boxes FULL of paper and recycling all the manila folders and PAPER CLIPS! Good-bye paper cuts. Good-bye being hovered over and questioned about being online when I'm at lunch. Good-bye stuffy unfriendly vibe of the office and 'calming' blue walls. Good-bye nervous and suspicious people. I don't have to be told I'm working TOO HARD or TOO FAST and then be fired over working TOO SLOW. Good-bye horrible cube and dreadful plastic plant. I shall not miss you. I will miss the people who were kind to me, who joked and tried to make me feel welcome in this uncomfortable place. Next time I'll listen when my gut tells me something is wrong and I'll say, 'this isn't a good fit,' BEFORE I get terminated.
  

It's been a rough/long day. I moved the blog to further aid our anonymity and my right to free speech, if you are wondering why the new address.

Jack came to visit me this morning...

First Frost

Bring your silver, in the dark of the night
to sparkle and shine in the first dawn light

The morning sun sets the blades afire
With with pink tinged opal and ice blue sapphire

Sing a sweet deathsong to the stubborn green leaves
I will not mourn for the branches of the bereaved

Your long cold fingers reach in through the door cracks
You've been gathering strength in the hours of pitch-black

The floorboards creak, groaning with age
They strain against their nails and express their outrage

They shrink back from you as their cells contract
Long dead, still the bones of those trees react.

Like a thief, you come to steal the warmth away
I curl borrowed under blankets to keep you at bay.

But the clock will soon sound and I'll put my feet to the floor
And join the chorus of the floorboards that cried out before.

Oh Jack, you are welcome. It has been far too long,
But first give me a chance to put my slippers on!

Happy 'First Frost' of the Season!

A chink in the armor

I had a conversation with my long-time friend TLC and after a fabulous discussion about her current man problems (she keeps being asked out by amazing guys who have EBJ (everything but Jesus) Oh, the tragedy of it all!), we briefly talked about how long it had been since I got married. She asked..."almost 3 years?" and the answer was nearly 4. Though it was the tiniest of moments that passed, and then we moved on to other things like this sad event in the history of her rock-star travels, it made me think.

It was 5 years ago that we walked around and around that rubber track at Vandy, talking about the future. Nearly 5 years ago, when I put out my last album, I had plans to go on the road. Although a marriage and all the drama that followed derailed those plans at first, it was this self-knowledge that followed that truly took the train off the tracks. I hate touring. I hate being homeless and sleeping in random places. I love to travel, but traveling is not work that I have to do. I can do what I like, see what I like and take it easy. Mostly I love to live where I travel. I sorta nestle down in one spot for awhile and get to know the place. Then I can move on. My musician friends live in their cars, eat from a cooler or fast food places, sleep on scratchy hotel sheets or a borrowed couch every night, and are alone, for the most part, especially the independent ones. Though I envy them many things (among them: their music being heard, living a life that leaves space for music and creating every day, new places, new friends, having an awesome apartment in Manhattan, writing, speaking, adventures, sweet Cash!) this is one that I don't envy. It's one of the big deterrents for me to picking up my guitar and going.

At least that is what I tell myself and everyone else. If I never am on a stage in a strange town, I never have to worry that no one will come. If I never risk failure, I'll never be a failure, right? I read a quote somewhere, just a silly little thing, but it whanged like a gong in me. "If at first you don't succeed, destroy all evidence that you ever tried." I have spent so much time doing this! I put on the bravest face I have in my bag and tell people I don't care. "If I say it enough," I think, "it won't hurt when people remind me of how I didn't measure up." Not that many people do though, outside of my family that is. I think that residue still hangs on me a bit. My family, though I love them dearly can sometimes be like chickens. I know that sounds like a weird comparison and you might think, 'Umm...Chickens are harmless...and afraid of everything! What are you talking about?!" But if you have ever been around chickens, you'll understand this analogy. For those of you who didn't grow up on a farm or the like, I'll explain. If a chicken is hurt or shows a weakness, they are pecked to death by the flock. One limp or bloody eye and it's over for that chicken. They don't all jump on it at once but that chicken dies at the hands of the whole flock, who kill it one peck at a time. Then they actually eat it!!

In my childhood, I saw my family eat people alive emotionally. Pick on them, tease them, make them feel like crap. Show one weakness and you are toast. I participated!! I remember once my little sister had a crush on someone and had written his initials on her notebook. Well, he had rather telling initials and soon we ALL knew who it was. We teased and teased her about it until she scratched his name off of her notebook. To like someone made you vulnerable, to be sad made you vulnerable, to love, to be happy, to worry, to dream, to fear. So on the surface, I stopped doing those things. I was strong, sarcastic, quick to comment on others faults. I carried sardonic humor like Indiana Jones' whip! Spot a chink in the armor and 'whap-pow!' I'd hit it.

It made me very popular in college (when that sort of thing is smiled upon - think Woody Allen), but soon after I got married, my husband called for a cease-fire. It took tons of gentle and not so gentle reminders for me to actually stop. It has taken nearly 4 years for me to begin to take down the barriers and armor that had guarded me so well and be vulnerable. Sometimes I still fear that I'll be eaten alive, so I strike out first with words or anger...no... lets be honest and call it rage. Rage has been my best weapon of late. But little bit by little bit, I am working toward being vulnerable.

So here's an attempt. I am sad that I am not a rock star. I love my life and who I am. Most days (as I blogged about recently on a particularly good day) I am content, but there is still this little voice says, "I want that life." My birthright and my instincts tell me to hide all evidence that I ever wanted that; deny that I longed for that gypsy life on the road and say intelligent things about how the music market has changed and there is no room for a 30+ year old woman who is overweight, no matter what her voice or songs sound like. How the business is all about selling yourself and I'm not into that (more like I don't think what I've got is worth buying). About the importance of being sensible and stable, putting down roots, investing in my marriage, finding other outlets for my creativity, contributing financially to my family etc, etc, etc. And yet, that voice does not fade. Its a whisper that drives me to fill blank pages with words that no one will hear, to pick up my guitar when I am tired from a 40 hour work week and rebuild the rapidly fading callouses on the ends of my fingers, to have Berklee's online music courses saved in my bookmarks so I can look at them and dream about a Masters course.

So I'll say it here where no one, anyone and everyone can see it: I want to play on stage, not every night, but lots. I want to drive around the US (not alone, and with my own sheets) and take silly pictures in front of faded landmarks and national monuments while we stop to pee on the side of the road. I want to sell the 6 boxes of cd's I still have in the basement. I want to play my guitar and sing every day and be in community with other musicians who respect me as a songwriter and fellow musician. I don't have a solution, but, for me, saying it out loud and setting aside what I am afraid you will think is a start.