Melancholy

I had a piano teacher who composed music based on the poetry of Walt Whitman. Even though I am perfectly capable of playing it myself, I wish he were here tonight so that I could just sit back and listen.

Feeling somewhat sad and melancholy tonight, I'm thinking of the harmonies and dissonance of Leaves of Grass and A Noiseless, Patient Spider, of Drum Taps and The Mystic Trumpeter. I wish I could play them for you here on my blog. Help you to understand.

But I can't. Not any more than I can explain the pain in my heart.

Some things we just know. We feel. We experience.

But we can't explain.

I've learned to become comfortable with sadness. To sit with it. To let it fill me and empty itself out. To let it flow through my being, my essence, and to let it tutor me, teach me what it knows, before it moves on to its next pupil.

When you make peace with the sadness, it moves on. Finds a new home. At least for a time.

And the fact that my heart hurts tonight means that I still care. Which is a good thing.

So tonight, for the silence, the sadness, the loss, for the grief and the pain, I am playing and listening to O You Whom I Often and Silently Come. Even if it is only in my head.

"O you whom I often and silently come where you are that I may be with you,
As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me."

Caring is never a bad thing. Even when it makes you sad.

Barking Dogs

I have a dog. He barks. At everyone. And everything.

Drives. Me. Nuts.

The neighbors don't particularly care for it either. Except for one, who doesn't seem to mind, saying (and I quote), "Dogs bark."

She's observant. And perhaps, profound.

So here I am, thinking about how often we get annoyed at things that just are. And will be.

No. Matter. What.

Dishes will get dirty. The laundry will never be done. And quite frankly, it's inevitable that your teenager is going to use the back of the insurance check for his marching band practice record.

At least once.

And even though the check is only for $38.22, it will probably be an irksome experience.

[Irksome in this case is a nice way of saying that the smell of death might be in the air when it happens...just maybe...]

Let's face it: We're tired, stressed, overworked, sometimes underpaid, and well, way too busy.

Maybe it's time to slow down.

My good friend, Meg McConnaughy, takes a day every semester to remind her students to look at the leaves on the trees. Another friend drinks black cherry soda from a wine glass. And another makes time to run a mountain.

Whether you are a leaf-looking, black-cherry-drinking runner or whether you have another method, it might just be time to take a minute. And do that thing. Find that thing which is your place to let loose and breathe deeply.

Your dog will thank you in the morning.

[Good thing we love that dog...]

Pedestals vs. Stepladders

I am guilty of putting people on pretty high pedestals. Some might think this a good thing...

...until they fall.

And let's face it: we all disappoint people from time to time.

Especially the people we love and care about.

Especially when we are busy or stressed or are going through a rough time. Or sometimes just because we're lazy or we've forgotten how much we appreciate our family and friends and anyone else, quite frankly, who is willing to put up with our crap.

I'm thinking of a particular friend, who some years ago, took a flying leap off of the pedestal I had put him on. He's a good guy and a good friend (and a good attorney, if you're looking for one) and he made a special point to find me and apologize and do what he could to make it right.

He didn't have the answer I was looking for, but I really appreciate the effort. Still. And it's been years.

And I know that I can count on him. Always.

Which is nice.

Rare.

It taught me this: pedestals are nice...but small wooden stepladders are much more useful.

Said another way, I'm grateful for everyone who is willing to let me move up or down a step from time to time.

Grateful for people who choose to love instead of judge.

Grateful for friends who are willing to be honest. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

Because really...that kind of hurt is nothin' like that first step off of the pedestal.

Marching Orders

*shouted in an authoritative voice*
Band. Ten Hut.

The high school marching band, quite frankly, sucks. Four years. Four directors. The only ones in their competitive division and instead of an award, they were given a certificate of participation.

Ouch.

That said, I've never seen a group of kids with more heart. More dedication. More enthusiasm. When was the last time you saw teenagers ask for more homework? For more rehearsals?

The new band director is just tough enough that it might work.

And I'm personally inspired.

I've spent a lot of time being tired and wanting a break, but after hanging out with these kids as the booster club president, I'm ready to do some more work. Brush up on some skills. Be a little tougher.

Forget the certificate of participation. I don't want to suck. I want an award.

I'm not looking for prestige or recognition, but that feeling as your head hits the pillow (you know the one) where you are exhaustedly accomplished. That you crossed things off your list. Made a positive difference in the world.

Grateful for the example of a new marching band director who is changing the world one mellophone at a time.

Fine.

Do you remember as a kid having the phone ring while your mom was yelling at you? As she stops to answer the phone [You know, the one with the rotary dial that requires you to stay close...because it has a cord], she smiles the pr smile and warmly says, "Hello," giving no indication whatsoever that a homicide has just been prevented. Barely.

Technology just might promote child abuse. [You know I'm kidding, right?]

No need to fake it via email, tweet, or text. And with emoticons, you can :) on screen while making a vile look that includes carnal hissing. Not to mention having the option to edit, delete, repost and recall.

We choose the pictures that we post. And really, I'm grateful. I'm seriously not interested in the instant replay of you picking your nose or eating peanut butter straight out of the jar. Or worse: doing both.

For so many reasons, I'm glad that we edit.

But then again, maybe not.

What about the friend having a rough weekend who says she's fine? Sucks to not know. Sucks even more when you're the one having the rough weekend and you think you are the only one who ever does.

Again.

Still.

So, for the record, my weekend was happy, sad, and incredibly ordinary. Smiles mixed with tears; success mixed with failure.

Somehow there is a completeness to it all. And if you ask me how I'm doing, I'm fine. :)

How are you?

Conflict on a Platter with a Side of Relish

I am the president of a school-affiliated parent organization.

The End.

Okay, just kidding. Kind of.

It's been a really interesting experience for um uh just about two weeks now.

I remember as an undergrad in some organizational something something class that I had to take that groups go through four stages:

Forming, Storming, Norming, and Performing

The point is, I guess, that these tender moments of bull sh-crap are absolutely, positively normal and to be expected. They indicate that group members are participating and that THEY CARE about what is going on, which is fabulous all the way until I go to the medicine cabinet and find that I've run out of Motrin.

I've studied all sorts of conflict, negotiation, and mediation theories. There's some good stuff there. I don't think you need a PhD, though, to see your way through your next trip into the muck and mire of trying to get along.

Personally, I want to know that you are listening and that you understand my point of view, even if, in the end, you don't end up agreeing. I'm not really interested in being attacked. And if you feel absolutely compelled to toilet paper my house, I would appreciate it if you would give me a call so that I can give you my new address or borrow a pitt bull.

In the end, though, if you can see your way through, most relationships are stronger for trying. There's something to be said about having a friend, relative, or partner who knows the very worst parts of you and chooses to stick around anyway. Even more to be said for those moments that you have really hurt someone really bad and they choose to love you anyway.

In the restaurant of life, I'm still not going to order conflict. I really hope it's not the daily special. But if it happens to be served up anyway, I'll ask for a side of relish.

Propose(d)

Someone proposed to me this weekend. Over breakfast. At a Denny's. It wasn't a real proposal, but it got me thinking...

Remember those "What would you do for a Klondike bar?" commercials? The ones where people will do crazy things for ice cream covered in chocolate...

Do you think we do equally crazy things for our relationships? And is it worth it when we do?

I once drove over 100 miles to take my brother a sandwich.

Thinking about it now, it seems silly - an overly dramatic response to a situation that wasn't nearly as dire as my MUCH YOUNGER brain seemed to think it was at the time. Especially if I confess here and only to you that he never actually got to eat that sandwich.

Let's face it: he didn't starve.

But if he really needed me, I would drive the 100 miles all over again. Even further, perhaps. He's my brother and at the risk of sounding sappy, I love him.

And to my breakfast-eating friend: Let's just say that Denny's didn't go really well. If you want, though, I could bring you a sandwich sometime.

Cloudy with a chance of change...

Sometimes we can see it coming. We look at the 7-day forecast and see the clouds on the horizon. We can even make predictions: 30% chance of change today, but definitely thunderstorms by the weekend.

Other times, change surprises us. It is the sudden downpour on the cloudless day that catches us out in the open without an umbrella.

Personally, I'm feeling completely drenched. And I'd like to change out of my wet clothes, now, if you don't mind.

It's not to say that rain, I mean change, is a bad thing. We were talking as a family tonight about a recent surprise and noted that we've met all of our best friends as a result of change. Our favorite house, restaurants, books...all of them came because we did something different - or something different was inflicted upon us.

That's not to say that change is always a good time. Quite often, it just isn't. I'm willing to take my chances on this one, though. After a hot bath and a good night's sleep, I'm just willing to bet that there might be a rainbow in the morning.