Music for a Rainy Day

I started A New Day almost ten years ago. It has gone through several transformations, featuring the story of my travels through Africa, plenty of poetry, lots of photos, several book reviews, and even music. A few years ago, I even started a Monday Music feature that showcased some rather esoteric musicians.

Music strikes a chord with everyone. Whether you are into rap, roots, reggae, folk, classical, or hip hop, it bridges most divides. People associate with lyrics that touch them. They rock out to wicked drum beats or daze off listening to dreamy trance. I am no different.

My musical tastes have changed somewhat over the years. As a teenager, I thrashed around the dance floor to goth tunes that spoke of dark feelings and existential crises. That was interspersed with bouncy tunes by the likes of Canadian artists Bare Naked Ladies and Spirit of the West. It should be no surprise that an international flair sprang up in my musical tastes after my trip to Africa. And once again, music took on a new role after my husband died. I turned to music to help me heal and find new roots for myself.

I still appreciate any music that touches me, but am always interested to discover new musicians. They pour a little of themselves into the world and share what it means to be human. We all have hurt, experience love, feel joy, and sorrow. And sometimes we discover what it feels like to dance in the rain...

Burn Once More

He said not to tell anyone. He was embarrassed. He knew his behaviours were not quite right. He didn't want people to judge him. It would make it awkward for him, and of course me. People would question and judge. I wouldn't want that now, would I?

"Don't tell anyone of the voices I hear. Don't mention the shadows I see flitting around and the questions of whether they are real, drug-induced, or come from potential mental instabilities. If only I loved him, they would all disappear. They would just melt into the dawn of our perfect tomorrows forever."

As long as I didn't tell anyone.

The creak of a floorboard wasn't the house settling. It was mysterious men waiting until he was unawares to sweep me away.

The whispers on the wind were lovers rapt in illicit acts not meant to be, but meant to be specifically heard to drive demons into unfettered thoughts.

The wrinkles in clothes were evidence of a tussle, a coerced tryst, a living lie to provoke anxiety and mistrust. Not anything to do with sitting at a desk for hours, or caused by the casual push of a shopping cart in the grocery store.

These are boxes peeked into. These are memories shoved into dark corners, so as not to inspect them, so as not to puzzle them together and see the whole picture. Those boxes have been opened though. They have been pushed together to make a mountain out of the molehills I refused to do anything but stumble around.

But as I stare at them aghast, they crumble in the light of a new day. Their power is lost in history even as the scars simmer on my soul. I talk them out. I write them away. I steal back the power they had to create fantastical phantasmic faerytales that were too full of bogeymen and ghouls for anyone to survive. Because I wouldn't have, had we continued.

Yet the light begins to burn once more...

Saturday's Email of the Week: Scars

Saturday's Email of the Week

Saturday has arrived again. I have to say that I am glad to see the week go. There wasn't anything extraordinary about this past week. The week before was rough though and I was riding out the after-effects from it all this week. Do you ever have those moments? Pushing yourself to survive in the middle of a crisis, only to be limp and stumble once you can breathe again? Well, that's me. I can handle crisis. I can be strong and stand up to do what I feel I have to do. Sometimes I might want to hide under a rock or run in the other direction, but I know when I have to face something.

Last week I did.

I put my cat down, then went to a family member's funeral with the girls a few days later. I didn't have to go to the funeral. It was my husband's grandmother, whom I haven't had much of a relationship with since Brad died, but I felt that I should for the kid's sake. Not that they knew her either. And not that they truly cared that she died. I don't say that to be callous, but they are 5 & 6 and not emotionally invested in a relationship that didn't have any flesh and bones to it.  Sad, but true and there is nothing that I can do about that now. What I could do though was take them to the funeral to meet some of their other relatives that are still around. Again, they weren't invested in the experience, but I suspect that some day they will be grateful that I made the effort. Perhaps they will be able to gain a new relationship with some of those family members down the road, that would not have occurred without my intervention. Or not, but I felt like it was my last opportunity to reach out and make that effort, so I grasped a hold of it.

This week, I have suffered for it all. I miss my cat. I dragged up old broken relationships with other members of the kids family, that would seem to be beyond repair forever now. I flogged myself for not being able to fix it all and make it better. But I have to move beyond that. I accept that time has moved on, because I have to, but still feel broken by those failed relationships. It is out of my hands though, so I must let it go. This week I had to process that though and try to shake myself away from feeling bad at kin lost. I have to accept my failings and those of others, and say "it is alright". I have to say and pinch myself until I believe it that "I am alright". Because I am. I cannot bring back a lost kitty, lost grandparents or great-grandparents. But I can accept them, grieve the losses, and be strong enough to let my children see that grief and the resilience that comes with moving on. I have to, because I love them more than anything and they deserve to have a parent that is as stable and imperfect as I can be.

So I guess this week was about healing. It can be an ugly process and I often disparage myself as I move through it. In healing though, once the scar has served its purpose, it falls off to show the fresh new skin underneath. It might be thinner, but it will thicken in time and those scars will be almost invisible to the naked eye. I guess that is what I am gunning for. I have an ugly coat around me, but it will fall off to reveal a beautiful new me underneath. That is the hope anyway.

Peace

Here is my handshake for you.

becoming

quiet sleeps 

the house this night

after

songs sung,

food flung,

and patience won

by this humble 

Mama

I am 

becoming.

no strife

fills me,

chills me,

overwhelms

Me.

not tonight.

Worlds spin

around my orb.

I feel,

but sit still

content

to let chaos

be someone else's

baggage.

Don't misunderstand.

I sorrow,

would beg and borrow

that tomorrow

would ease

the wounds

and woes

for all.

turmoil,

so  often

a  bedfellow,

has left the hearth,

left my heart,

left my hurt

and left me 

wondering.

Wondering

how to live,

how to thrive,

how to believe

in myself

and life

when it is all

in mine own hands.

I go forth.

face the day

with clear eyes.

the past behind me,

the future

a glimmer

a piece of

a new day.

~

It is a New Year

and the first Wednesday

that I get to share

with the poets

and friends

of OneShot

Cutting Grass

   Rain patters outside my window. I hustled, but the grass got trimmed, although not edged. I get so many odd looks when I toodle around on my riding mower. Don't know if people think I am brave to ride such a thing or crazy to have one without the acreage to go with it. The kids think it is great though and it saves me a little time, which is a precious thing. To be fair it was a gift to my late husband, from his co-workers. They knew he had mobility issues in his last days and our old mower was giving up the ghost on us. They did a pass the hat at work and showed up one evening with it in the back of a trailer. He was shocked, embarrassed and pleased as punch all at the same time. He thought that they were coming by to take our older mower and have its deck re-welded. That eventually did get done as well, but the riding mower was a heart-felt gift that gives me great joy.

   Thunder rumbles. Good thing I got done fast! The first time I tried to use the riding lawn mower was a sight to see. Hmm. I was almost in tears. While I have had some lessons in standard vehicles, that was not enough for me to wrap my head around making this piece of equipment go on that day. I put the key in the ignition and turned it, with no response. I read all the stickered instructions plastered all over the place at my feet and tried again. This time I pushed the clutch peddle in and turned the key. I got a rumble, but still could not get it to fire. I tried again, and again. I re-read the instructions and looked at all the levers and handles. I felt small and powerless, as I struggled with making this machine come to life. I wanted so badly to take control of my life and accomplish something all by myself. I got angry. I got teary. I got nothing more than a puff of smoke and noise. Just when I wanted to burst into tears and kick the object that was reeking havoc on my life and brittle self-esteem a voice said,

   "Hello Kathy."

   I looked up. Normally I don't go by Kathy (always been a Katherine), so I knew it was not someone I knew well. My elderly  neighbour was ambling across the road. He had been watching me attempting to get the mower going and saw that I was loosing the battle. He is a kindly man in his eighties that had lost his wife a few years back. Now he lived alone, but still gets around. I noticed he was out trimming his bushes, as I cut my grass this morning. Hugs to you Larry! Anyway, that day Larry made a little small talk.

   "It looks like you are having a little trouble there," he said.

    I hung my head and admitted my incompetence. The man is so sweet and I think his kindness that day came from a compassion born of our kinship. He knew grief and could see it all over me. My problem was the mower, but the bigger problem was learning how to live again without the appendage that was my spouse.  Brad had always cut the grass previously with our riding mower. I was well-versed in a push mower, but had nothing to fall back on to help me in this new task at hand. There was no one I could turn to in my house to ask for help or to hand the task over  to. You see, my tears were not over the fact that I could not get the mower to work. My tears were another manifestation of loss and grief. I was alone. I wanted to be able to function, but at every turn realized that a piece of my life, a piece of me was gone. The mower was a reminder and at that moment in time, I could not go it alone. I needed help, but did not know how to ask or even who to ask. Truly, I did not want to have to  ask for help. I felt like I required help every step of the way and it just seemed to beat me down. On that day, a guardian angel appeared in the form of my 85 year-old neighbor and he gave me the help I needed graciously. 

    Now I feel the windows are not full of rain, but clouded by tears with this memory. I have had so many beautiful people step into my life at moments of need. Sometimes they step in for a moment, like Larry did. Other times they have held my hand for days, weeks and months. Still others will walk with me for the years that I call a lifetime. I do not know why I thought of this today, other than that I had to cut the grass. Most days I am pretty stable and happy with life. I managed to winterize the mower myself this past winter. I cut the grass whenever it needs without a bat of an eye. I know that I will be hit by moments of grief on occasion and that will continue for a long time to come. Always I will have that experience of loss there. The sorrow that goes with it lessens over time. This I have been told and know from my own experiences. Today, I remember as I watch the rain. Hopefully I will let it go this afternoon, as I breathe and lay my head on the yoga mat. Namaste. 

wavering at the glasses edge

   For all the love I tried to pour into my consciousness earlier yesterday, I seemed destined to fall back into old familiar ways as the day progressed. After dinner, and a couple of glasses of wine, I expounded on how much I used to dislike myself, but tried to offer up the claim that I am working on it. For every day that I put on a big brave face and say that I am worthy, I let a tear slide and point out reasons why I am not. I waffle with dreams for the future and drag my heals on making the important decisions that will take me there. I let slip the "shoulds" and balk when I hear them come out of my mouth. For all the attempts at retracting them, I feel their power still rumbling in my heart. I did reach a bit of an epiphany though. Whether it helps or not, I am not sure. I realized that I have always had a difficult time in making decisions. That has always been a part of my personality that I have struggled with. I had a quiet moment with myself and remembered that the journey I have been on has been an incredible struggle and challenge. I am reinventing life and myself. It is one thing to do that, but traits have a way of clinging to oneself. So to chastise myself for not making decisions or moving forward truly does not help myself. I know that my journey has been more than difficult. It has been life changing, but it takes time and effort to also make those changes. Learned habits do not disappear overnight. They must be recognized and given their due. They do not have to keep me in stasis forever, but in taking away their demonization, their power diminishes and change will come. It already has, but confidence is lagging behind. Knowing that I am working on it and that maybe the steps are small and seemingly painful to those around me is just part of the process. I have to move forward, but I am. I am doing it my way and that is the only way that I know how. Stop, breathe, and look into self. Put it all out into the universe and know that it will all come to pass as it should. Learn and love.

Sunday Suggestions: Part II

   The daylight has seeped from the world. Sunday winds its way towards its close. A lovely day it was though. The birdhouse is now completed (slightly incorrectly - what else is new!) and its fresh coat of paint is drying. Images of our morning saunter through the forest please my inner eye in reflection. The general swath of dull brown this time of year belied a rainbow of colours if one was to walk slow enough to see. Red berries and dogwood twigs punctuated vibrant green mosses and paler green grasses fading thru yellow. Purple clover played saucily at the base of white birch trees. A few yellow and orange leaves clung to branches fluttering in wisps of a breeze. Black and white chickadees flitted through barren brown branches of mighty oaks. Pale mushrooms nestled close to their bases for security. The Queen Anne's Lace retained its dignity in its delicateness along leaf covered pathways. The smells of a forest alive as it settled down for its long winter's nap was a balm for a seeking soul. How can one not find their breathe in such a serene moment.
   I must even share a brief epiphany if you will as we ambled up the last hill towards the parking lot. A mighty oak tree stood off on its own in the grasses to the right of the path. At some point it had split in two, but seemed to still be struggling on. I pointed the Grandfather out to the girls and commented that when it died it would help to feed the rest of the forest, therefore living on and fulfilling purpose. The thought struck a cord inside myself as well. I likened Brad to my Grandfather image, my oak tree example. Brad has died, but he continues to feed my soul and strengthen me. He provided for me so that I may grow and flourish. That is where I am now. I am slowly recovering from the loss of my dear oak tree, but being nourished by what is still left behind. It struck me as a beautiful image and truth. Perhaps it might for others as well.

Drum circle

As the rhythms still flow I will pen a few words. This evening was my drumming circle. It is a little gift to me and I absolutely love it. My personal rhythm is not always all it could be, but when I sit in a group of like-minded people and we all listen and play a beautiful heart beat comes out. Layers of tones slide into strategically placed tings and dongs to make a lovely esoteric vibration. I love being a part of our little trance session that transports us all out of our busy reality. I can step out of my shoes and step into my heart and let it sing. There are resonant vibrations and drum beats that help one remove from your head and just feel. I am surprised by not only how much I respond, but how everyone appreciates the gift we create and offer up to ourselves. It is truly beautiful and special. It is another step in healing that cleans the inside heartaches away, if only for a spell.  Thank you to my special friend Randolph for bringing this experience into my life and being a part of my life. One man that believes in life and me. He pushes me to believe in me. Smiles for us my friend ...