Sara(h)

I'm a little late getting this song posted -- just barely getting it up in the same month as the day I'm marking with this particular piece of music -- but I sincerely believe better late than never applies here. This photo captures my boyfriend and I at Fort Wilkins State Park in Copper Harbor -- a haven for sure.

And it went from haven to heaven on this last trip when I turned off the shower at the campground and heard, coming through the walls, my man singing this song from the showers in the men's bathroom next door:

Sara, Sara
Whatever made you want to change your mind
Sara, Sara
So easy to look at, so hard to define.

My big old heart just about melted. Bob's Sara may not have an h, but I still love the fact that he loved a woman named Sara(h) and although my boyfriend mainly sang the chorus, I love Bob's lyrics too much to edit them:

I can still see them playing with their pails in the sand
They run to the water their buckets to fill
I can still see the shells falling out of their hands
As they follow each other back up the hill.

Sara, Sara
Sweet virgin angel, sweet love of my life
Sara, Sara
Radiant jewel, mystical wife.

Sleeping in the woods by a fire in the night
Drinking white rum in a Portugal bar
Them playing leapfrog and hearing about Snow White
You in the marketplace in Savanna-la-Mar.

Sara, Sara
It's all so clear, I could never forget
Sara, Sara
Loving you is the one thing I'll never regret.

I can still hear the sounds of those Methodist bells
I'd taken the cure and had just gotten through
Staying up for day in the Chelsea Hotel
Writing "Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands" for you.

Sara, Sara
Wherever we travel we're never apart
Sara, Sara
Beautiful lady, so dear to my heart.
How did I meet you ? I don't know
A messenger sent me in a tropical storm
You were there in the winter, moonlight on the snow
And on Lily Pond Lane when the weather was warm.

Sara, Sara
Scorpio Sphinx in a calico dress
Sara, Sara
You must forgive me my unworthiness.

Now the beach is deserted except for some kelp
And a piece of an old ship that lies on the shore
You always responded when I needed your help
You gimme a map and a key to your door.

Sara, Sara
Glamorous nymph with an arrow and bow
Sara, Sara
Don't ever leave me, don't ever go.

There's not much I feel the need to add to this fine song, except maybe a response to that last line, directed at the cover artist from the showers rather than the poet himself:

Don't worry. Your Sara(h) intends to stay right here, with ready access to your brilliant mind, beautiful body, and enormous heart.

Cream

I thought this sensual number sounded good when it entered my head late last night, but no one sings sensual like Prince:

This is it
It's time for you to go to the wire
You will hit
Cuz you got the burnin' desire
It's your time (Time)
You got the horn so why don't you blow it
You are fine (Fine)
You're filthy cute and baby you know it

Cream
Get on top
Cream
You will cop
Cream
Don't you stop
Cream
Sh-boogie bop

You're so good
Baby there ain't nobody better (Ain't nobody better)
So you should
Never, ever go by the letter (Never ever)
You're so cool (Cool)
Everything you do is success
Make the rules (Rules)
Then break them all coz you are the best

Yes you are

Yes YOU are, Prince. The video linked above is pretty awesome, but this acoustic version is even better -- check it out!

Mandolin Rain

September 23??!? Seriously?! And I haven't marked a single day with music yet this month, or at least, I haven't done so in this blog format? That seems impossible.

Yet here we are. I'll tell you what else seems impossible: that the roller coaster of logistics and emotions involved in combining two very different lives, having very nearly jumped the tracks a few times, now seems to be holding steady.

This morning on the way to the coffee shop, my boyfriend and I heard this song, and although the lyrics don't fit the present situation very well:

The song came and went
Like the times that we spent
Hiding out from the rain
Under the carnival tent

I laughed and she'd smile
It would last for awhile
You don't know what you got
Til you lose it all again

Listen to the mandolin rain
Listen to the music on the lake
Oh, listen to my heart break
Every time she runs away

Oh, listen to the banjo wind
A sad song drifting low
Listen to the tears roll
Down my face as she turns to go

A cool evening dance
Listening to the bluegrass band takes the chill
From the air
Til they play the last song

I'll do my time
Keeping you off my mind but there's moments
That I find
I'm not feeling so strong

Running down by the lake shore
She did love the sound of a summer storm
It played on the lake like a mandolin
Now it's washing her away once again... whoa, again

Boat's steaming in
Ho, I watch the side wheel spin and I
Think about her when
I hear that whistle blow

But, I can't change my mind
Oh, I knew all the time that she'd go
But that's a choice I made long ago...

Hearing it confronted me with something else that seems impossible: that the 16-year old girl who loved this song but felt so conflicted about love and men and sex and marriage could finally have found herself in a relationship that just feels like home, in the best sense of the word...

Carry it Around

I remember a friend of mine saying that as she worked through her issues in therapy, it was as if she was removing rocks from her pocket, one by one, and each time she unloaded one, she felt a little bit lighter. I can relate. The releasing I've been working on of late is definitely lightening my load.

A couple of weekends ago my kids and I went to Chicago to see a former babysitter and dear friend. Here we are at the beach at Navy Pier on the beautiful Saturday afternoon we enjoyed.

I post this photo here, with this song, because my daughter insisted on carrying a brick around in her backpack that she found while we were down there. Not surprisingly, the backpack got heavy for her, and she asked me to carry it on numerous occasions. I told her I'd carry the backpack but she'd have to get rid of the brick. "I'll carry the brick" she answered. And she did, through part of one day into the next. Just before we were leaving the city, we stopped to see a monument, and she set the brick down. I didn't remind her to pick it up again when we left, and she ended up leaving it there. I expected, at some point, the subject of the forgotten brick to come up, but it never did.

Yes my friends, the refrain to this song:

If you don't want it

Why would you carry it around?

...applies to both literal and figurative bricks alike.

Here's to putting both kinds down, leaving them behind, and moving forward without looking back. This may be particularly challenging for me this coming weekend when my kids and I head up to spend time with my family, but I'm feeling pretty prepared with all this healing work I've done lately.

Plus, I'm armed with some incredibly wise words from Walt Whitman:

Reexamine all you have been told. Dismiss what insults your soul.

I plan to do exactly that, and without carrying it around!

Back to Black

I decided to set my alarm to get up early today and start a morning meditation and yoga practice. Although my alarm clock holds and plays an ipod, I haven't figured out how to tell it to wake me up with music rather than the buzzer. Lame, I know, but the sorta cool thing is, sometimes it just happens.

Today I woke up to one of Amy Winehouse's classics (she's such a beauty in this video, too):

We only said goodbye with words

I died a hundred times

You go back to her

And I go back to

Black, black, black, black, black, black, black,

I go back to

I go back to...

I love Amy Winehouse, and it makes me very sad that she died, but I was glad that she was the one to wake me up today. The last couple of days I've had a very powerful feeling that I'm capable of anything, including being an early riser, resuming my long-shelved meditation practice, and not letting the pain of the past drag me down any further, for starters.

As I laid there listening to her sing about love, drugs, loving drugs and dying a hundred times:

I love you much

It's not enough

You love blow and I love puff

And life is like a pipe

And I'm a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside

We only said goodbye with words

I died a hundred times

You go back to her

And I go back to.....

I could hear so much sadness and resignation in her voice, but I bet she had moments when she felt capable of anything. I'm not sure one could possess that voice and not have some pretty damn in-your-power moments. I sure wish she'd been able to stay in her power longer, but I know she must've been in an incredible amount of emotional pain, and in the grip of a really strong addiction, to keep going back to black the way she did.

Speaking of going back to black, I was out at a bar with a friend last night and there was a TV on right in my line of vision broadcasting a sporting event. Most of the time I'd be sort of offended by that or at least unhappily distracted, but this particular sporting event was glorious to behold: Serena Williams in a U.S. Open match. What an amazing athlete! What a beautiful woman! I love the juxtaposition of her proudly bared cleavage and her linebacker legs. She's redefining feminine beauty, and, along with her sister, what's possible for black women in the game of tennis. Or any other game, for that matter.

On my cushion this morning, I wrote in my gratitude journal for the first time since March. Both Amy's am serenade and Serena's sheness made the list today. 

Here's to feeling your power and embracing it and the many ways -- music, muscles -- that can inspire others...

Death and All Of Its Friends

It feels like I've been on the edge of a big shift now for months. I had that pain in my lower back this spring and earlier in the summer that just refused to go away, forcing me to get help for it. I started to hear my meditation cushion call to me -- didn't heed the call until just this week -- but I heard the call -- I took my hands off my ears and stopped loudly saying "la la la" to drown out the noise.

I mean figuratively saying la la la, which gets translated a variety of ways, including enjoying not just my usual one tasty alcoholic beverage paired with a meal or capping off a mountain bike ride, but having another more often than just occasionally. Being the child of an alcoholic and the grandchild of an alcoholic and a drug addict, I am finely attuned to the urge to numb and when I notice these urges visiting me more frequently, I tune in, take stock, and see what feelings I might be trying to snuff out without having to feel them.

Usually it's the uncomfortable ones; shame's high on the list, fear, pain. I'd list anger, but anger's got a way of finding its way out with or without my help -- it just comes out in healthier ways when I heed it consciously than it does when I'm less conscious. Plus, I learned a number of years ago that anger is merely a messenger. I don't say that to minimize its importance, just to note that anger comes to announce that something isn't right, some need isn't getting met, one of those other feelings (fear, hurt, frustration) is present but not being openly acknowledged.

I went to see one of my teachers last weekend, the one who taught me about anger, and she too sensed the big shift. She said it felt like a death, and, up early this morning, I turned on ipod shuffle only to have Coldplay sing its agreement:

All winter, we got carried
Oh way over on the rooftops let's get married.
All summer we just hurried
so come over, just be patient, and don't worry.
So come over, just be patient, and don't worry.

So come over, just be patient, and don't worry.

And don't worry.

Not worrying is definitely part of it. When I woke up at 4am this morning and didn't immediately fall back to sleep, I was content to rest, when before I might've fretted about what would happen if I didn't get enough sleep. Eventually, I rolled over to turn on the music, and now I'm taking advantage of the time I have to write while my babes are still sleeping, and enjoying the increasing clarity I get from both the music and the writing.

But it's more than just not engaging in worry. It's also giving up the struggle, in big and small ways. Learning to be with what is, because, like Chris Martin and friends, I don't want to spend the rest of my life fighting the same battles over and over again, many of which were with myself and ghosts from my past:

No I don't wanna battle from beginning to end;
I don't wanna cycle, recycle revenge;
I don't wanna follow death and all his friends.

Instead, I'm asking myself one question as often as I can remember it: "What can I do to be kind to myself in this moment?" I have a feeling this shift is going to have a profound effect on my life. It's already starting to...

I Got You Babe

I think one of the things I enjoy most about Mad Men is how aesthetically pleasing it is: the men are beautiful, the women are beautiful, their wardrobes are beautiful, and often, the soundtrack is beautiful.

Speaking of beautiful, I'm not sure I've seen anything more beautiful than Sonny and Cher, circa 1965, singing their classic (the video is a must-watch):

[HER:] They say we're young and we don't know
We won't find out until we grow
[HIM:] Well I don't know if all that's true
'Cause you got me, and baby I got you

[HIM:] Babe
[BOTH:] I got you babe I got you babe

[HER:] They say our love won't pay the rent
Before it's earned, our money's all been spent
[HIM:] I guess that's so, we don't have a pot
But at least I'm sure of all the things we got

[HIM:] Babe
[BOTH:] I got you babe I got you babe

[HIM:] I got flowers in the spring I got you to wear my ring
[HER:] And when I'm sad, you're a clown
And if I get scared, you're always around
[HER:] So let them say your hair's too long
'Cause I don't care, with you I can't go wrong
[HIM:] Then put your little hand in mine
There ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb

[HIM:] Babe
[BOTH:] I got you babe I got you babe

Yeah, some of the lyrics are a little bit goofy, but these two lovebirds sure do a masterful job of radiating the kind of light that can only come from love.

My babes make fun of my boyfriend and I for calling each other babe. One day though, they'll understand exactly what it feels like to have a babe of the Sonny and Cher variety:

[HIM:] I got you to hold my hand

[HER:] I got you to understand

[HIM:] I got you to walk with me

[HER:] I got you to talk with me

[HIM:] I got you to kiss goodnight

[HER:] I got you to hold me tight

[HIM:] I got you, I won't let go

[HER:] I got you to love me so

[BOTH:] I got you babe

I got you babe

I got you babe

I got you babe

I got you babe

I'm looking forward to having my babe in all those capacities when he returns from his travels!