Washing Day

I sat in B cup cafe while rain started falling early in the morning after she had left, and got into a FB msg volley with Adam L. He was up so I drank down my Coffee #1 and met him at a cute little espresso bar a few blocks down.  It was Lester Young’s 100th birthday so the radio was playing pefect Jazz music. The macchiatos came forward presented like true art. 

We spoke about my life and my youthful energetic aspirations for myself. We spoke about love and how he waited 40 years for it, and she was taken away so soon. We spoke about connecting to the spirit and how this world isn’t all there is. We spoke about soul-mates, and soul-sisters, and friends who make this world worth living in. I wiped away two and a half tears off his cheek, and we walked out into the rain under my umbrella. He asked me how I know so much at my age. I told him that age isn’t everything. He proved that by liking my idea of devoting one room in a house to bumper cars. 

And later he wrote to me saying I’m rad. He’s radical with a capital R, a beautiful soul with a capital B, and once again I was lucky enough to move on from being in someone’s presence feeling uplifted and blessed.

The Sky & I.

Even the most self aware cannot always be in control of their entire selves. All I want to do lately is flip the switch back to my normal state of mind and being, but I cannot. As it darkens all around me in this storm, there is powerful sound tumbling above me with such vigor, that I am convinced it is more substantial than just sound waves rippling in the sky. It feels like night. And sometimes even if it’s day, even if it’s life, we all need a good cry. Even the sky.

Even in Death they Do Not Part

Rest In Peace Grandpa Sam. 1917-2009 is a blessed amount of time on this earth, but Grandma is still as in love with you as she was when she first saw you. She told me today that she was sorry that I didn’t get to say goodbye to you. And she told me that she hopes that one day when I get married I have as wonderful a marriage as she had with you. 

The cemetery is oddly beautiful and overwhelmingly full. There were even street signs in various areas of it. I was so worried while they were lowering you down that they’d mishandle the whole situation. I was holding Grandma up and my heart broke when I heard her saying “Don’t do that, don’t do that, don’t do that,” over and over in the most broken hushed voice as they lowered you into the earth. 

Grandma told me that even in your last few days when you knew nothing and noone at all, when you both lay in bed at night he still said “Debbie’la, are you doing alright? I love you. Sleep well.” This amazes me. This shows that true love can surpass any physical and mental limitations our bodies subject us to here. 

I am now learning about your life. I hope you find a way to keep Grandma at peace with the love between you. I know the phrase used in marriages is “Till death do us part,” but you and Grandma have a love that lives undeniably past just this life. And she needs to feel it for her time left remaining on this earth without you.

Dear Death,

You have overstayed your welcome.

I am definitely learning a lot of lessons from you, and in a way it’s ‘nice’ to meet you.

But seriously, this is getting a little too much, a little too fast.

I need some recess. 

Respectfully,

Max

There is Beauty in the Breakdown

It’s weird how Death has some amazing effects on people one or two or a few degrees away from It. I guess I haven’t been the same since Ed passed away, and now that Grandpa from Longbeach is probably on his deathbed Death is pushing me further. 

My night’s sleep didn’t cure me of the tears I had last night. I woke up rested but not yet at peace. The father called me and continued relaying his insights, telling me his father’s condition had seemingly turned for slightly better, and he was now breathing on his own. For now. 

The Father explained that he sees my energy and charm and knows I have the potential to do high powered jobs really well. I explained that it’s not what I want. I don’t want too much responsibility. I don’t want anxiety from my career. We spoke about Mum and how she never matched his yearning for fun and enthusiasm. What impressed me was The Father speaking her praises, saying that she is sincere, devout, and loyal. I knew all of this, but hearing it from him meant a lot. It frightened me to death to think that maybe I wrote him off as stupid too soon. We got cut off. 

I then called Mum and freaked out at her crying that she prefer’s Rivka over me, and asking her why she can’t acknowledge everything I try to accomplish and everything I do accomplish. She told me she doesn’t love one of us more, but knows that we are different, and that she would never express her anger or upset with Rivka to me. So I pleaded and cried to her about how I never hear the love, never the encouragement, never the pride in words from her. 

She sounded broken and replied that her mother never did either. 

I asked how come everytime I spoke of my dreams and things I wanted/want to do, her first comment was a question of “how are you planning to pay for it?” And explained how it breaks my spirit. 

But I already know the answer. She is just trying to survive. Trying to get by, and make sure we all do too. She worries that we will become too much of dreamers and lack the practicality to survive. 

But I cried to her about how I need to hear her insights. I need to hear her express what she knows, what she feels, and things that can give me motivation and guidance. She is my mother. 

She was breaking and she told me how much she adores my charm and my lust for life that I possess. She told me that when I cry and when I’m happy it’s the deepest most sincere sensations and that I can be so low and pick myself up and be happy the next day.

She said she never could do that.

I said it makes it such a roller coaster.

She said it’s better to have those highs and lows, she said she feels like her roller coaster just keeps going down. 

I told her I love her to death. I freaking love her to death.

I heard her sigh, sob in a way I guess, because I knew she was crying. 

We continued on like this trying to be open. She is pragmatic, and I’m mostly emotional and sentimental, but she told me I need to make a plan. It’s ok if I need to travel. I need to make a plan. She told me I need to make an appointment and try to sort things out. 

I felt a sudden ability in me to get up and do those things. I told her that it’s so important to express what we know and what we feel because there is no way for another to truly know otherwise. 

She said “you’re right sweetheart, I will try.” 

I felt a twinge of awful because I know all she does is try to be as good, as good as she can be. She is devout- as The Father said. And she tries so hard. We are different, but we will try to find our common ground. 

Cuz I do love her.

I freaking love her to death.

6/25/09 Thoughts to Death

Last night I cried so many tears that I think they could fill a whole set of these larger than life mugs I’m drinking green tea in today.

It started with post-shift drinks with Corie. She and I went to get “cheap” drinks and apps. We wound up at an Italian place in the village and the end of this turned into me spending double the amount that I had come into the city to make. Why? because I have no balls to admit that I didn’t want to buy her dinner. And the real reason I didn’t want to buy her dinner is because I’m broke. So there I was rushing uptown on foot hyperventilating with noisy thoughts of the hole burning in my pocket. 

Michael Jackson died earlier last night too, so everywhere on the streets of NYC I heard snip-its of conversation with his name tucked in them. I walked all the way to Port Authority tearing up every once in a while with loads of thoughts running through my head. I am constantly somehow getting slightly taken advantage of. I have energy, people feed off of it, and I do love that but there always comes a time when I will get left in the dust. I don’t think it’s malicious of anyone I know in the scene, it’s just a byproduct of reality. 

So once I got to PA and found the gate for my bus, The Father was calling on my blackberry. He told me in a poised voice that he was sorry he had to be the bearer of bad news but his father’s condition had turned for the worse and it could be any hour or any day and he thought I should know. I immediately started tearing up and crying and he told me we had to just remain cool. Somehow the conversation turned into ‘about me’ and him trying to psychoanalyze what was troubling me. He understood my traveling bug and said that only good people have that need to soul-search. He said he’d rather me travel to Ireland and Scotland than India and New Zealand. He told me about how he traveled to Scotland and loved it. And I started thinking about how frightening it is that one of the people I think I despise most is actually the blood I might share most in common with.

Mournings lack Sunrises

It’s already June. This has been the hardest, most exhausting week of my life. I have had some little blessing doses intermittently but it has not been at all easy. I got to see Dave Matthews release his new CD in honor of Leroy at Beacons on Monday. This was an extraordinary show, however my emotional sentimentality definitely made appearances because of my grieving mindset. I couldn’t help thinking of my mourning sister during “Sister,” and of course “Funny the way it is,” was also a thud in my heart. DMB is not DMB for no reason though. Wow. The violinist and the drummer specifically struck me. I also think that the new saxophone player who joined them from Bela Fleck is amazing. It must be hard to take the place of someone who meant so much to every aspect of the DMB group.

It’s hard to be a caregiver to so many women grieving their father, brother, son, and husband. These Little Women are not in their right minds (understandably so) and each day the exhaustion was mounted higher and higher making me feel lower and lower. I really do get great satisfaction out of taking care of people but sometimes it’s hard. Like when I feel like people are using me to rag wash the floor of every room in every home in the world. Slight exaggeration perhaps, but seriously I feel like crap by now. I am happy for this intense grieving week to be over.

I am not really looking forward to a weekend of girls in the Hamptons; for some reason large groups of girls make me more apprehensive than most situations in the world, but I am looking forward to a weekend getaway.

I saw the house that Rosi and I will be living in this summer. It is epic, it is romantic, it is peaceful, and it is absolutely lovely. I hope it proves to be as wonderful as I know it can be. People might need to be involved to complete this equation, and I can only hope that the people I am thinking of show up and take their place.

What a Day….What a Life

What a day to be alive.

What a day to stretch out and appreciate not being confined underneath the earth without air. 

What a day to feel. 

What a beautiful Day. In fact…

What a beautiful day to face death. To have to face death. 

What a day for him to be gone with the wind.

What a day to see my big sister look like a little dolly, with her long hair clasped prettily half up in a barret, reaching her small frame up to hug my little brother. Cloaked in grief. 

What a day to finally see a little glimpse of what a man my brother in law really is.

What a day to feel such tense air all around me. 

What a day to escort a van with a casket with a body without life down a sunny road. 

What a day to waive goodbye. 

What a day to realize how little we knew about his life while he was alive. 

What a day for a Salute to a Country Parade.

What a day for a 100th year celebration for a bridge.

What a day for unstoppable tears. 

What a day for one man’s ex-wife to cling to  his new widow, both crying over his new lifelessness. 

What a day to realize that if my father was her stepfather while our mother was married to him…Well then.

What a day to realize that I had a Stepdaddy. 

What a day to realize that. On the day he is not any longer. 

What a Day. What a Life.

Dear Heart & Mind, quit playing games with each-other.

Maybe I’m not really Penny Lane. I might just be a big talker. I mean look at what’s going on right now. I have no idea where to put my foot to take a next step. I fooled myself over and over again, so by the second over I should have been onto myself, but now everything seems all twisted. I know I am restless; can’t fall into something that stays the same for too long, and I know that I love music. But I don’t love all music, and I don’t act well enough to make loving certain music my job. I don’t want to pretend I don’t play favorites. I totally play favorites, and it’s not even playing. I hate promotions. Blah Blah Blah everyone says everyone needs to stick what they’re working on down people’s throats in order to make it happen but I don’t want to be that girl.

It sucks really loving everything about musician’s and their lives, but not being one. Oh and a few words about beginnings. I think I suffer from a love of beginnings too. I romanticize what people and things and jobs might be, and then I get quickly disappointed by their reality and freak out and try to move on. 

My heart and mind are playing tag with each-other , leaving me out in confusion without plain sight. And when my thoughts are ‘it’ they  go Ring a Round the Rosi, with no resolution and come crashing down with ashes, ashes.

What a day to be Alive

Most days I sit at some point during their 24 hour duration and kind of wished it were slightly later or something. Waiting for something to happen or hours to end. And now dear lord I wish everything can just stop and remain in slow motion forever. Adrenaline is only one part of the equation which has gotten us through this week of ecstasy. Who would have ever thought that watching the same sets of music over and over could provoke so much escalating pleasure. I think I could keep doing this for a really long time, and find pockets of secret goodness in each song and chord progression and harmony. And the Laughter. Today after eating at a chinese buffet place in the middle of Alabama we shared our fortunes from our cookies and I laughed so hard that an actual tear fell all the way down my face. What a group of people. What a group of friends. I have one fear right now. As the last hours and moments pass and slip through our fingers, what if this whole experience just remains in history like a really good dream?