Remember When

Pandemic singing

Remember when you were a pre-teen, or a teenager, and conversations revolved around just a very few things. How much you disliked (not really) your parents, or at least their rules. How you looked; hair, clothes, makeup, etc. Music, for me it was the time of the Beatles and all the other bands that came along as all the musical rules were broken. And it was about boys, at least for some of us, not so much for me.

I was not a popular girl, I didn’t have a clique, I was not thin or pretty. I was chubby and wore braces. At most schools – I changed schools a lot – I had one friend. Nobody thought I was funny or particularly smart and I didn’t work hard enough to prove them wrong. I started smoking young to try to be cool. It was the sixties after all, everybody smoked. It was cigarettes that gave me a blues voice, very different now.

I skipped a couple of grades and had a late in the year birthday so from junior high school on I was always much younger than those I went to class with. I don’t really remember ever dating in the traditional sense. I remember my first “boyfriend”, a bass player from Queens, when I was in tenth grade – I was 14-15. This only meant that we played music, hung out and smoked pot, there was no real dating involved. It did start a long line of crushes on musicians though, not sure I have outgrown that yet.

From that time on it was always in a pack. It was hippies, free love, the grateful dead, playing music and a tribe. And I never really gave any thought to what I might want in a partner, even though the subject comes up periodically amongst women and girls. I have been married three times and still, until recently, never actively or consciously thought about what I might want in a partner. I note here that I am partnerless and generally think I will remain that way. But it is interesting to think about the what ifs in life every now and again.

At this advanced time of life here is what I would wish for in my imaginary prince charming: someone who notices that I am wearing two different earrings, someone who notices when I get a haircut, someone who doesn’t mind if I sing all the time (preferably someone who can play music with me), someone who will travel the world with me and hold my hand all the time, someone who reads, someone who can fix things, someone who will cook for me every now and then, someone who will hold my feet on his lap along with the cat. Most important, someone who sees me and doesn’t mind me being who I am. Too much to ask I think, that’s why it is imaginary.

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Empty Drawers

The tall dresser stands on the wall of my bedroom like a long ago hope chest. The drawers are empty, filled only with fantasy. What am I waiting for? Not sure. Like some little girl reading fairy tales, waiting for prince charming to come and fill the drawers? Not likely I think.

So honestly, I am not sure what it is those empty drawers represent. The empty space in my life? The empty space in my heart? There is an empty space in both, but my heart is full of love as is my life, both filled with wonderful family and friends. I am a very lucky woman and I know it. But oh those empty drawers.

At this time in my life I think more than anything, they represent the opposite. The empty drawers represent courage and right decisions. They represent strength and gratitude.

So I will fill my empty drawers with writing. With songs. With prayers. With recipes. With pictures of people I love. Mostly virtually. But every time I look at that dresser standing tall in the corner of my bedroom I will imagine all of those things filling the drawers and I will smile.

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What’s Love Got To Do With It

With Valentine’s day arriving, we are programmed to think about Cupid -romantic love. So the very word love causes us to immediately think about flowers, holding hands, long walks on the beach, snuggly nights, and so forth. I think that’s ridiculous.

To begin with, romantic love does not have to be about any of those things. It can be about sharing, communication, trust, respect, intimacy, affection, listening, supporting. It is also about dialogue, arguments, compromise, and so much more. Yes, all the romantic things are nice, but they are not always necessary – except maybe the hand holding.

KNOW LOVE – NO LOVER

But what about those of us who do not have lovers? Me, I sleep with a cat. Or alone. So what about love? When we think of love, we forget about the love we experience every day. About those friends who know us and love us anyway. The ones that support us in our madness, our joy and our sorrows. The ones that bring food when you need it. That hug you no matter what. What about the friends who tell you the truth even when it costs them your anger – these are far and few between and they surely love you.

For me, a lot of it is about the women in my life. I have a remarkable group of friends. But I have also grown up enough to appreciate the men who are my friends and expect nothing from me but my friendship in return. Now that is truly a gift.

For some of us, there is the love of a higher power. Some people find it in religion, some in spiritual practices and some in their own brand of faith or belief. That is the love that allows us to see miracles on a daily basis. The miracle of breathing, the miracle of the sun setting and the moon rising, the miracle of the stars, the miracle of the wind on our faces and the scents of the flowers.

So, Valentine’s Day has very little meaning for some of us, Hallmark holiday that it is. Of course my programming says it is nice to be recognized on these holidays, to have a lover repeat their avowal of love in some tangible or overt act. Me, my cat, and I will spend a few extra minutes loving each other on Valentine’s day and that will have to be enough.

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Bermuda

There is magic, on a late summer night, sitting with your toes in the sand. The stars twinkle above befriended by a perfect half moon. At my back the sound of the waves lapping the shore and before me a perfect vertical bonfire raising its glowing ember arms to the velvet sky.

We are a circle of friends, sharing our joys and sorrows, our triumphs and disasters knowing that we are loved no matter what. What feels a shame to us just gains a smile, a soft silence, a hug; until we know that it is no shame. In this moment of acceptance and serenity we can feel and acknowledge our own growth. We are no longer bound by fear and self.

And in the circle, and the night, and the ocean and the fire, we are new -just for this day, this night, this moment. There is no need to look ahead or behind. We are present. Life will always bring new joys, new sorrows, new trials and triumphs. But in this moment, we are are safe in our own skins. A group of friends sitting on a beach. The magic is we are healing, together.

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Hiraeth

I lie in this old bed, with it’s lacy sheets and long history, in this rambling old box of a house. I think of all the loves, and not so, that have shared this place with me; some better unremembered. Just one whose absence is painful; not a husband in case you wondered.

This old box holds my memories, fifty years gone though it never was really home. In a life where I never really settled anywhere for long, it became a kind of symbolic home, a place to come back to. It has a familiarity that only long time places have. The dangerous winding road that brings me here is not dangerous to me, even in the ice and dark, as I know it so well. The seasons of flowers and fruit trees, some now gone and some just feeding the bears, are like my own seasons; as familiar as breathing.

The seasons of my life are, in some ways measured here although I will always think of myself as a New Yorker. This is the lodestar place, the peaceful place and the occasional refuge despite the vagaries of familial relationships. Every part of this place is a marker of memory; puppies now gone and buried in the lawn, my son racing naked in the grass, the smell of our first horse, the view from a bedroom window. This is where I came from college, from the wreck of my time in D.C., this where I found recovery, this is where I came on holidays from law school, this is where I began my career, this is where my son was born.

I realized recently that where I live, both town and house, has been my home for the longest in my entire lifetime. What an odd thing, from birth to this moment I have never stopped anywhere for this long. And I never imagined it would be where I would finally light for good. Perhaps there is one more place, who can tell?

Now, as I watch my mother decline along with this old box, I know that all of our time here is drawing to a close. And while I know that I cannot and would not go back, there are those moments I wish I could revisit. The roads not taken, the seasons not fully appreciated. Regret is useless but human, not a place to linger. Gratitude is where I have to live, that this old box has sheltered me until I could stand alone. It is a new season in my life, I am not done.

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