A Poem On A Monday

So long September. I didn't waste a single day of you. As proof, here's some pictures from last Saturday night...

 Tiny house, giant me. Found this doozy in Ames where I checked out The Zombies show.

 The Zombies in all their glory. They were masterful!

 Shelby was crowned Oktoberfest Bier Maiden, so after the concert we stopped at her place to pick up her sash and then headed to Oktoberfest, where her people needed her.

 This was before we got caught up in the haze of dancing to the punk/polka Bolzen Beer Band.

The tuba player with the sweet 'stache.

And since it's autumn and before we know it, winter, I thought I'd sneak in another road trip poem. Here goes:

Truck Stop, Vermont

It was dusk when he came through, a sky drunk on violet.

He knuckled his Harley across the lot, side car for his St. Bernard

worthy of a name like Winston or Kujo,

everything he owned tucked in packs that hung along the sides. 

Both wore 50s pilot goggles. If he was a postcard,

the caption would read Feed the Bone. 

He bought bottled water and beef sticks, let the dog

stretch his legs as clouds bent eastward and cattails

in ditches shrugged. 

A year was north of here, a road

I envied.  Patches of loosestrife and wild leek, dark hours

where the mind cannot be found by anyone, in a wind

and in sound that bristles the skin without end,

where the names you call do not bleed echoes.

You awake in first light, insisting like flint through

the hardwoods, the hour when hills are genuine.

Your clean breath known.

Casey Lord

Secrets

Lately my kids have been telling me secrets--they'll whisper in my ear loud enough for the other to hear as they try to outdo one another. These are the things they say: "you're the best mom in the whole world," or "I love you as much as all the stars in the sky and more than that," or "I love you more than any kid has ever loved their parent," and "mom, you're beautiful." I am grateful and proud of their large hearts. Every day with them is an experience of extremes--from tears and tantrums over completely irrational issues, to sibling fighting and sibling love, to testing limits, to cuddling on the sofa and hearing their sweet words. It's not a straight road and it isn't easy, but their secrets overpower the most trying of days. They are the constant silver lining, a lesson in choosing to see and take the best of every situation. It happens all the time doesn't it, where people become fixated on one negative thing that happens despite all the good that outnumbers their days. We're hard on ourselves--always thinking we should be doing some grand thing or that we're missing out or inadequate. And I know challenges are needed in order to evolve but we shouldn't lead a one-track mind kind of life either. This is the lesson of kids. We can have it all--in fact I prefer these kind of extremes--to see beauty, feel frustration and longing, express love, do something you never planned, and so on all in the length of one day so that when I lie down at night I do so exhausted, as if I devoured the day. And through it all I go back again and again to the sweetness of secrets.

Yesterday was Fisher's school field trip to Center Grove Orchard. Phoenix made herself right at home with the class. And yes, Fisher, I am here.

My Excuse

My friend Emily bought me a ticket for my birthday to see Iron & Wine at Hoyt Sherman theater on Wednesday night. It was a late night and an even earlier morning, followed by a bushwacking day of being the parent helper in my daughter's preschool class and running the kids around (I feel like I spend much of my day driving now that they're both in school). The show was fantastic--he brought an orchestra along for the occasion and every last one of them appeared to be having a grand time up on stage. I couldn't stop watching the trumpet player--so tall and lanky and so into the music as he grooved on stage for 2 hours. So this is my excuse for not posting yesterday...

 The whole shebang.

 Ladies room break in the gorgeous theater. We were shooting for serious and I failed.

 After the show at Carl's Place, where Emily and I always pretend to be pool sharks.

 Pre-show in the garden where we ran into Tim--the garden guru and my friend I keep mentioning in posts. So now you have a face to connect to the name.

On Emotion

I get over things quickly. I can change my mind in the time it takes for a door to close, that is as long as I'm not driven by emotion. My friend Tim is always bringing up that point--that people are wound up and controlled by their emotions. For a while I was resistant to this notion because I contended that we are here to feel. But I see now that his point was that we're here to experience and what we learn from that is the real stuff--that's what shapes us. We can't always trust our emotion as a guide because it's wound tightly to ego. Essentially what we think we want isn't always what's best for us. So now I'm learning to trust that the right things are happening. When you think like this, disappointment doesn't have such a hold. Yes, you'll still experience and feel the lot of life--everything from anger to melancholy to joy, but you also learn to let things flow, to not get too hung up in a state of wondering "why me." In this sense, everything you face is a kind of gift: to be more aware, to be stronger. To live by emotion is to miss the forest for the trees because it clouds the mind from the bigger picture. I see now that instead of being so attached and fighting things I need to absorb them, learn from them, and let them go. Sounds like a peaceful way of being. Thanks Tim.

Turn It Up

I'm in love with this song by The Head and The Heart titled Lost In My Mind

There are certain songs that I hear with my head and my heart (as this band is aptly named), songs that stir my chest, that render me unable to sit still. This is one of them. Every time in my life where I have found myself in some sort of rut, just going through the motions, I find that I had not been listening intently to music. And when this realization comes I start devouring music again, start dancing through the day, start singing the songs that stick while standing in check-out lines and short or long walks. The kids and I play it loud too. I'm that car that you'll pull up next to at a stoplight and hear the beats tumbling through your unopened window. If you were to look to the source of that sound you would see me and two kids smiling and singing and car dancing. Phoenix's most common phrase whilst driving around town is "turn it up!" They start singing the songs before they start, so in tune with the CDs that find a home in my player. I've never been the parent that plays kiddie-type songs--they'll hear enough of that at story time and school. We listen to the good stuff. Fisher knows most of the lyrics to Arcade Fire albums, Phoenix usually requests Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and Beck's Guero album is among their favorites. And don't get me started on their sweet dance moves...

A Poem On a Monday

It's my birthday, and here's my favorite birthday-related poem by Stephen Dunn:
Sixty (I have some time before this number arrives)

An Art Date With My Boy

Hot, black coffee in the crisp air under a full moon--not a bad way to start the day. Yesterday after I dropped off Phoenix at preschool, Fisher and I returned home to enjoy 2 hours just the 2 of us. He showed me the pile of grass and leaves he likes to stomp in while making his bigfoot noises. He showed me where he hung his latest birdhouse. Then we grabbed his metal detector and took off for the trail to look for treasure and gather berries for his nests. We found deer, raccoon, rabbit, and what looked like cougar tracks in the soft bank of the creek. We walked to the lone buckeye tree that we check on weekly to see if they were ready (they were). When we cracked one open it revealed such lovely swirls and lines--like a rock born of the knot of a tree--and I told him that nature provides some of the most beautiful art, that one could find art in everything. We found an abandoned bird nest on the ground and he remarked that it was the art of birds, and then he told me how birds spit on the dirt and then collect it in their beaks to form their nests. We took the nest, collected berries, and returned home, where we came across a baby snake in the driveway, both of us screaming and jumping outright and then laughing at our reaction. He put the nest right outside his bedroom window and lined his sill with berries as some sort of runway so he could watch it from within his room. Then we cuddled on the sofa in the quiet and looked out the window watching hummingbirds drink from the feeder, watching a slice of the world occur. He said "even the leaves on those trees make art because they make the air we breathe" and I said "yes, the art of living." At one point we ended up looking at google images of snakes on the iPad. For some reason we started looking at pictures of people from around the world eating bugs and grubs, which blew his mind, and I reminded him that what might seem strange to him isn't so strange for everyone, to which he replied "it's an art of different places." Later, when the rain came he asked to go outside and play in it so he could feel the art of rain.

I Want My Mtv

You know what I miss? Seeing actual music videos on Mtv. I spent more time watching videos on Mtv in the 80s than any other program. I used to dance along, to dream of one day being a professional music video dancer. I remember when the video for Thriller came out because my mother woke up me and my sister at midnight to witness the first viewing of its release. I loved how videos provided another dimension of appreciation for the music--the artist's visual intention. My guess is that the Real World was the downfall of the brand's original intention to provide actual music videos. Nothing like reality TV to ruin a good thing! It's a common marketing principle, that you give the people what they want, or what they think they should want. But for the life of me I can't imagine why people would prefer to see the contrived reality shows and dating games that now overrun what was once a groundbreaking, one of a kind station. Today it is no different from channels like TLC and Bravo and the like, though it tries to distinguish itself by targeting an even younger audience with the faux illusion of being edgier. Do people really prefer the illusion of reality programs to feel better about their lives over real artistic expression? Have we sunk that far? I imagine when my kids are older my version of "when I was young I had to walk uphill to school both ways" will be "when I was young Mtv actually played music videos."

About A Boy And Cicadas

To further prove the thoughtful, gentle heart of Fisher, this happened yesterday: when I picked him up from school he handed me a green sheet of paper that was folded in half with "mom" written across the front in his large unpracticed scroll. He said "look mom, I made you a thank you card." He told me he asked his teacher how to write 'mom' so he could make me a card to say thanks for all I do. That boy likes to bring happy tears to my eyes. Seriously, how many 5 year old boys have the heart to express their thanks like that?

On a completely unrelated topic, the other evening I was sitting outside awash in the sound of the cicadas. There was an average size tree nearby but it sounded like there were hundreds of cicadas making it a home. The strange thing was for all that loudness emanating from that tree I couldn't spot a single cicada, as if the leaves themselves were singing. It got me thinking this--that we don't always need proof of vision to believe in something, that we should trust our other senses, that what we feel in our gut is enough. I had been straining my eyes to find a cicada and realized in doing so I was interrupting the experience they were providing. So when I stopped and eased my body and just listened I could fully appreciate their ancient voice, their raw nature--their song gathered from over 300 billion years of life on this planet. When I let it be I became witness.

5 Trips Around The Sun

Fisher Solomon Lord was born 5 years ago today. 5 minutes after walking into the hospital in the early stages of labor, all the nurses and doctors on the floor were in my room as his heart rate was dropping to the 20s and 30s in between contractions. The only time they had seen stats like that was when a mother had fallen and torn her placenta. 10 minutes later I was being wheeled to the OR for an emergency c-section...they found nothing wrong with him or me. Turns out he had an uncommonly low resting heart rate, which is no surprise to me as he has shown himself to be gentle at heart. For all his truck bashing, bigfoot hollering, grinch reenacting loudness, he's still the boy that likes to lie under the sun and think, to cuddle, to sit quietly for hours making art, to express his love for those around him. We celebrated yesterday with a party at a park. Unfortunately I had come down with strep throat on Saturday (thus the reason for no blog posts this weekend--I was totally out of commission with fever, chills, exploding ears and the feel of swallowing shards of glass). But there was no way I was going to cancel his party--I just received a lot of help.

 This happened 5 years ago today...

 His one birthday request is always a pinata.

 Because I was sick it was the first time I wasn't able to make his cake. Had to resort to store bought, to which his Papa added a bigfoot.

 I surprised him this morning with paper streamers to bust through to mark the threshold of a new year!

 Perfect gift--bigfoot and bacon T.

This was taken a few months ago, but it tells the story of who Fisher is at this stage of his life--this boy spends hours and days making bird nests. He's always the first to spot nests when we're out and about and he's constantly picking up scraps and straw and berries and flowers to construct them. Love you buddy!

Randoms

I was just sitting here looking out the living room window and saw a fox running down the middle of the street. It stopped and looked at my house for a beat, and then ran off. What is it with me and foxes?

My neighbor, George, told me this story recently--when he was in college in Wisconsin he made friends with a guy named Gary. Gary's biggest dream in life was to be a rockstar. In fact he was the drummer in a little band called The Eagles for a time. Uncertain of where it would lead and wanting to follow a sure thing he left the band and went to law school. Shortly after he left, The Eagles played at Disneyland, a show that made them famous and is considered the point where it all began. Can you imagine Gary, waking up every morning and putting on his suit and tie to go about his lawyerly business, knowing that he could have lived the rockstar life he wanted had he kept on with The Eagles? Does he regret it everyday? Or has the course of his life created by the decision brought him something even greater? One will never know, but if that isn't a lesson that one should follow their dreams then nothing else will prove it.

The Weather Forecast

You know what my problem is? I think too much about the unknown. It's 5:30 am and I'm sitting on the patio--the locusts are unceasing, the clouds tinted orange from street lights and I just felt a sprinkle. I immediately grabbed my smart phone to check the weather forecast, but I stopped myself. I laughed at myself for the ridiculousness of not waiting to see what the sky delivered on its own time. What does it matter really to look up the current temperature, to see the weather radar (my job doesn't hinge on the weather), when all I need to do is feel it for myself, to wait and watch for things to occur. It's a small, simple example of a greater issue--I need to let things flow naturally, absorbing and learning what I need to as it comes. What am I missing out on by trying to rush an experience, by trying to see too far ahead, by being impatient? I'm missing out on being wholly present. It will rain or it won't rain, it will rain all day or just a few hours. I need to take it as it comes and just be here now.

On Competition

Football season has begun and there is nothing like a popular sporting event that brings out nationalism in people. In Europe it's soccer (a much better sport in my opinion). When I lived there I experienced for myself the fact that the countries were small so anything that could highlight a sense of nationalism was important and upheld. I get that people identify themselves with place and thus something that represents their place is a source of pride. The same phenomenon occurs here with football and even among states. Ever notice how the state south of wherever you live is the butt of so many jokes? For Iowa it's Missouri, for Minnesota it's Iowa, and so on. There's always a need to separate from the larger society, to create an "us vs them" mentality. Though we seek community, though we are social creatures, the lines of community we draw are rather small aren't they. It makes competition a vital thing--why else would we shrink the world so, why else would we make so many distinctions? Are we so afraid of being unknown, of feeling like a speck on the planet that we form and belong to smaller groups and focus our minds on the differences of our groups? And it's been going on since the beginning hasn't it--why else is history laden with wars and conflict? I wonder what would happen if people broadened their view of community to include the world. I wonder if it's even possible.

A Poem On A Monday

Let me start with some photos I shot over the weekend...

 This is my reminder that I should always avoid trying to pick out cards for people and just go with blank ones, because they're filled with the cheesiest quotes like the one I found on this mug. Every time I read the likes of this I cringe... There is a whole heck of a lot of junk in the world.

 Lets see, IA PUNK is also a Scentsy dealer. Of course! The duality of people cracks me up.

 Last night I went to the Trampled By Turtles show put on by Wooly's on Locust St. This is the opener--William Elliot Whitmore, a Southeastern Iowa boy and a damn fine songwriter, singer, and banjo player. He was incredible--hope to catch him playing again soon.

And here's Trampled By Turtles. Fantastic energy and show. The view wasn't so bad either...

And now for the poem of the day. I was inspired to write this when I lived in Green Bay and used to walk the dog down to the river every morning. Quite often I would see a woman leaning on her car by the railroad tracks clearly dressed for work. She just stood there sipping her coffee and looking around as though she was in a cloud of thought and the only way she could see clearly was to take that time every morning. Here it goes:

Taking Stock

Maybe she lost something—a shoe, her cat,

or the last good thought she had was here

by the tracks, a dead end road, a stitch of trees.

Every morning she collects here—

parks her car and leans on the trunk sipping

coffee and watching no one come.

Some days a train will pass and she can’t help

but feel rescued, how it catches and stirs in her chest.

She wishes to be full but there’s a leak

somewhere, a fleeing breath, thinks if she locks herself

in abandonment, an empty street, she will be whole.

In five minutes she will quit, drive to work

at some office and all day pretend to be alive,

making small talk about weather and restaurants,

a recipe for apple pie.  All of it true and all a lie.

But she has this distinction, and the world is something right

when a woman like this knows she’s drowning

and arranges meetings,

anchors her day to this struggle for breath

among molting trees and a no outlet sign.

All her own.

Casey Lord

Famous Times

It was just me and the kids on Labor Day and we did nothing but kick it at home all day. My friends in town were all busy doing something so it made for an extra long day. The kids spent much of the day making art. I cooked a ridiculously huge feast for just the 3 of us--I'm talking grilled beer can chicken, caprese salad, roasted corn on the cob, sauteed spinach, and huge slices of watermelon. It seemed like everyone in the world was probably doing some grand thing on the holiday. Last night I was talking to my neighbor and she asked how our Labor Day was--when I told her it was long and lonely she said hers was hardly any different. We came up with this: there's so much stock in doing something memorable or eventful on those holidays, in making it a big to-do, but most people are probably sitting there thinking it's everyone else having all those famous times. The grass is always greener kind of thing, but really the grass is pretty much the same. Perhaps most were doing the same thing I was, perhaps very few actually had one of those famous times kind of days (that phrase "famous times" by the way is in one of my favorite short stories by Richard Ford and I always thought it'd make a great tattoo). Perhaps we're all more alike than we let on.

This Girl...

It was Phoenix's turn to start preschool today (she was excited beyond belief)...This girl was born on the 11th of October in 2010 at 2:22. There was a double rainbow in the sky. While we were in the hospital the Chilean miners (33 men trapped in a mine for over 2 months) were freed. They came out one by one in a capsule that was dubbed the "fenix". She had a magical start and the sunshine she brings to the world continues...And yes, she picked out her own outfit for the big to-do.

 It's the quintessential first day of school on the front stoop photo!

 Getting ready to enter the building.

 Check out that pose. This girl has some moves--has the way to your heart.

 Phoenix getting walked down the hall by her hello kitty backpack.

One thrilled cubby owner. When we left school she told me she was proud of herself.

First Day of Preschool

 Yesterday was Fisher's first day of preschool for the year, and he was pretty excited...until I was walking out of his classroom and he clung to my legs, hugging me a good 50 times, his eyes brimming with water. But he was fine once I left and he even left bigfoot in his cubby the whole time.

Outside of his classroom window getting ready for the big send off. 

Holding on to my boy forever and ever and ever and ever.

I read this poem the other day and it so perfectly fits with Fisher's first day of preschool that I have to include it. It's titled Shoulders, by Naomi Shihab Nye. Take a look HERE! Happy Wednesday.

Introducing

I was talking to my friend Tiffany on the phone the other day and there was a lot of silent pauses and the words "I'm sorry." She said she knew that didn't cover it and she wished she could find the right words to express what she really felt. I told her I understood--don't we all find moments where we want to say a whole lot but all we can come up with is that we're sorry? Hardly anything can suffice for a heart wanting to express what it brims with and so we make do with that universal phrase. It's really a one size fits all phrase isn't it. That may be the hardest time to come up with new words--no matter how badly we want to say something different and new we revert to the timeless "I'm sorry." It's not a bad thing, to me it's just an interesting notion--sometimes words aren't enough. The kids and I went to Iowa City on Sunday to visit Tiffany, her husband Kent, and their 3 adorable kids Estelle, Hazel, and Gabe. We spent to whole day with them--hanging out at their house that's right by the reservoir, checking out rocks at fossil gorge, swimming, and doing a whole lot of talking. Not too long ago Tiffany and a friend of hers started a company, made community, where they create jewelry out of upcycled, repurposed, vintage, organic, local or sustainable materials. They give back 9% of their profits to local non-profit groups that provide opportunities for women in need. They don't sell their jewelry on their website, but you can find a link to their etsy shop and learn more about them HERE.  Beautiful aren't they?

 Phoenix all lit up with ornery joy at fossil gorge.

 All 5 kids wanting me to hurry the hell up and take the picture because they were freezing.

 Me and Tiff.

 I took a little hike alone and was struck with this--when we are busy only looking up we might miss what lies at our feet.

Driving back to Des Moines trying to catch up to that sunset.

A Poem On A Monday

Since it's Labor Day I searched for a work-related poem to share and I found this one titled Work Song by Joshua Mehigan on the Poetry Foundation website. Here it is  Pretty great right? Hope you all are spending the day not complaining, not watching the clock, and not working on anything but maybe a blueberry pie and the way you hold your head to view the sky--as if the type of face you carry will give meaning to your day.

Recap and Randoms

Here was my day yesterday...it started with a 3 mile run throughout downtown. Then I sat in the garden and worked on a new song--tinkering with the accordion to match the sound to my singing. That's how I've been practicing the instrument--by ear and experimenting alone. I played until my leg fell asleep and then went for a walk thinking of how if Jerry Falwell were alive he'd have something to say about all of the praying mantises that have overtaken downtown. Seriously, those bugs are everywhere these days and it's been years since I've seen one. I finished a book, worked on a poem, played some more on the accordion, and then went out walking again--a good 4 miles. After the kids' nap I took them out to Raccoon River for some beach time. Then we headed to East Village to have dinner at Tacopacolypse (fabulous as always). From there we walked to the Des Moines river. Picture crossing a bridge with huge catfish swarming underneath, their mouths open and bobbing and bug collecting. There were at least 100. We kicked cans (one of my favorite sounds), found bird nests, picked sunflowers, threw rocks as far as we could off the bridge, admired the downtown skyline and the sunset. Fisher kept asking me "what are we doing next" and I kept telling him to just enjoy now because thinking about what's next keeps you from experiencing the current fully. We arrived home late, where they passed out quickly. I turned on the TV and the classic movie Rocky was on. It was my favorite scene--the one where he drinks a glass of raw eggs and then heads off into the morning dark for a run, stopping of course on those steps that made Pittsburgh famous, and then to Adrian's brothers meat locker where he says the best line from the movie: "I have gaps, she has gaps, together we fill up the gaps." Beautiful isn't it? As was the day, and today also.

 Phoenix said look, my nails are growing. I remember doing the same thing as a little girl.

 They asked me to bury them in the sand so they could emerge like zombies.

 Stopped to admire this fine mural in East Village. The posing was natural.

On the bridge above the swarm of catfish. Phoenix and her famous stance.