minutesofhoney

Archive for the ‘Milwaukee’ Category

I am fond

In Life, Milwaukee, Music on February 10, 2014 at 1:52 pm

A little writing composed two summers ago (fittingly wishful-gazing for these February days, although surely the chilly sky outside my window now is as blue as I’ve ever seen it, and the naked tree branches reaching above the rooftops as majestic for their bare bones) – 

I am fond of this little house.

I moved in in December. I brought my guitar, I brought silverware, a bedspread, rugs. I brought books. I brought antique lamps made from brass and marble and fire hydrants. I brought pictures I wasn’t sure how to hang. I brought hopes and fears.

Today is July. I am in a nighttime room with soft green walls that look like mint ice cream, you want to lick them, or new leaves by a pond in England. My tabletop fan swirs as faithfully as a child. There is a painting on the wall above my gaze; I painted it in the 10th grade and called it ‘Hope’. There were a lot of fears moving in, just like the inky blackness surrounding the edges of the painting, but just like the center – a faded patch of light – my fears have also been swirling inward from the eddy of darkest night.

I feel concretely ok that I am not in love. I have a beautiful home that is a nest, that is a nighttime cocoon that wants nothing more from me than to inhabit each room. I want to fill this house with my potential, which is all it ever asked of me, I want to muddy its walls in song, to fling pitch and promise on them like eggs breaking into multicolored yolks. I want to steady its air with words. To match the peace of this room with the promise I carry inside. I want to let this house know that I am ready to be in love with it. I was the darkness on the edge of the painting, and I see now that it is the light.

Advertisements

We Go Recording

In Milwaukee, Music on January 28, 2014 at 1:28 pm

So this past weekend looked like –

And tasted like –

And sounded like –

And played like –

And felt like –

PS

In Life, Milwaukee, Music on January 18, 2014 at 12:19 pm

ImageThings really rallyingly decent. Playing with my band. Playing solo. Writing songs. Writing for a marketing company. Spending time with a nice boy. Keeping the existential thought junkets at bay by waking up in the morning and eating breakfast and washing dishes. By going swimming and vacuuming the rug and running races with my reading eyes to keep ahead of library fines and generally, in so busily doing, digging enough of a trench in time to keep worry from prying.

First Snow

In Life, Milwaukee on November 11, 2013 at 12:57 pm

Image

And it is the first snow of the year and feels like Josh Ritter’s song, Snow is Gone. A promise now falling from the sky sings: Light mean more! Warmth mean more! Companionship, and Color, the glow from tavern doors! Homes when a key turns, the exodus of birds, words ladled like soup at a hearty table, our seeking now to be not ephemeral but full.

Image

Remaining leaves on trees jitterbug to gusts and gales, extending to my soul a well-practiced hand. The glass has returned half-full, and I am going to need it after this first dance, this glass half full of snow.

A Little Writing

In Life, Milwaukee on July 11, 2012 at 9:24 pm

Time to write something new, because I said I would.

Oh gosh, what to say?

I’m sitting in my bedroom in a floral nightgown.

A cool fan. Which is a reprieve, don’t you believe, from the sheer headache of last week’s hot house. What a trap for sun we prayed all winter for, begged for in nighttime tantrums, only to show up full force this July, kicking out the rain, laying full claim to the sky. Oh that sun, goading me in half-sleep, laying my hands into the ice box with dim and unopened eyes, pulling out the ice pack to cradle in toss turn on the bed.

Well, I’m glad you came, sun. I know in winter malaise a voice promised you’d save me. I think you have. And I will gladly bike under your rays and lay near naked at the beach and let you kiss my body all over. (with sunscreen, of course.)

Miracles, Milwaukee

In Life, Milwaukee on May 22, 2012 at 7:15 pm

There are so many miracles.  Today in a park, on a bench.  The sun dapples leaves glistening above deep water.  A man rides a bike.  A hard-backed bug rushes along a path.

I have walked my long hair and apple to read the book I cradle to my chest in this park, this afternoon, this spring.  I read the book, brushing ants off my dress.  In the alcove overlooking the river, I am shaded by trees and I watch trees.

This is the park I dunk-tanked in, in the summer, holding hands with my best friend on toothpick legs like all girls have, weaving in and out of barbeque crowds.

This is the park my mother and I sang opera in, down the long metal tube leading from lot to green as we walked the body of a car-torn rabbit to rest on a wooded hill.

This is the park where, today, I lay my book down and listen to a wedding party.  And peek my head beyond the alcove to watch a photographer watch a laughing man and woman beyond a lens.  This is where the air holds birds above water and the sounds of a piano and the color white, from chairs in rows.  This is the park holding George Harrison’s voice as I can’t see her but I know she’s coming down the aisle and he’s right and the crowd’s coos rise and here comes the sun.

This is the park I am crying in, so relieved to know that it is true. I walk back to that long metal tube, and old Russian couples dot benches above two people staring at each other and smiling, and love is true and all is right with the world.

Series 2

I drive down a main street.  A crowd of middle aged people flock before some kind of something hidden to my passenger window behind a copse of brush decorating the edge of a stretch of sidewalk.  They are a miniature paparazzi, this cluster of smiling mouths crouched below camera eyes.

I’m a split-second of sight scrolling by on wheels.  And, ah, I see.  A kindergarten graduation party… arrayed on small steps, signs in small hands and paper crowns and smiles so strong they’re lion tearing little faces.  There is that little boy almost biting the air, so fierce his joy.

And all is right with the world.

Series 3

We buy pears.  We walk to the car.

We eat pears, dancing in the car to the Rolling Stones.