old song.

here's the lyrics to an old song of mine:

if i was a fire

i'd be burning down

right about now

raging flame through the night

glowing embers in the morning

if i was on time

and knew all my lines

maybe i'd find

new peace of mind

if i was a fire

right about now

i'd be letting go of my glory

warm now, fading down

to the moral of the story

watch me now

as i burn down

leaving behind this chaff

watch me now

as i burn down

leaving behind this chaff

The Laugh. Part Five.

She is still up in her apartment on this warm, saturated summer evening, lazily rocking in her creaky thrift store chair. It's too hot to sleep and so she sips on iced tea and directs her eyes toward an old TV that is quietly murmuring in the corner of the living room. The windows are all open, the sun has not completely set, and air is weighted heavy with memories of earlier summer nights spent out in the streets. She can't shake her teenage feelings tonight, when she would sneak away with friends to drink in the park and wander main. Life felt so much more purposeful then, when she at least had goals, even if the goals were to simply get a few thrills. She wants to crawl out onto her balcony and whisper to someone below that she will meet them in the parking lot in two minutes. She wants to pace the floors of this heat charged room. But instead she rocks slowly and runs her fingers over the velvety arm of the rocker. It's this unsettled feeling, even though all around her the evening breathes contentment.

Ingalls' Influence

I was reading Laura Ingalls Wilder's "The Long Winter" last night. It seemed fitting, given the weather my province has been experiencing - apparently we have not had this much snow in one winter since the mid '70's. Anyway, as I was reading, I was brought fully back into the wonder that I felt when I read the Little House series as a child. I also realized how much of an influence they have had on me.

Reading about life when it was simpler is somehow grounding. In the spanse of human life on earth, I know we haven't been living with technology for that long. I feel more connected to my human-ness when I am closer to the earth, and doing little things in life that connect me to my ancestors, things like growing my own food, making bean soup last a few days, and taking time to sit and make things with my hands. Last week I made two large pots of borscht, and was surprised at how the simple, small list of ingredients made such a flavourful, filling soup. I thought about my Ukranian and Hungarian great grandparents and wondered what their borscht tasted like.

I don't begrudge technology though. In fact, I owe my life to modern medical science in a way. But I just think, to feel full and connected to life, it's important to feel dirt on my hands every once in a while.

31.

Today, I am 31.

I think about sitting on the shore of an ocean, looking out at the drizzly atmosphere, the warm grey sky gripping my body. I can feel the water in my bones, that ancient connection to the waves, pulling me. And I can hear the birds in the distance, driftwood washed and floating at my feet. I flip off my shoes and roll up my jeans, ready to feel the coldness on my skin - this is life.

Spring Cleaning.

Life never stops moving. I have often felt like a gyspy without any roots, because I have moved so many times in my life. If we move this fall, I think that brings it up to number 30. And it's going to be a big one. We have been in this house for four and a half years, and transformed it from an almost unlivable, neglected rental, with an overrun mound of weeds and junk for a yard and broken everything, into a quaint little family home. In fact, we'll be leaving it almost exactly the way I always wanted it.

So the other night I was home alone sorting some of my junk, sort of feeling sad about letting go of "stuff". I was listening to Fleetwood Mac and the song "Gypsy" kind of brought me back to earth. Change and movement is the nature of life. I will always be going "back to the gypsy that I was". I had thought for a time that we may live permanently in our little house, but was is permanence, anyways? There's no such thing. As hard as it is to uproot again, I know that the move is necessary and will bring so much growth to both of our lives.

passing through paris.

"Don't let your love slide", he is in earnest, this dusty man, singing on the subway. I can't understand French much, but this is in English. I reach for a few coins to put in his hat. His sad melody continues, and I stare out at the city as we sway by. I can hear the creaking shifting weight of the old train, and the overwhelming sense of nostalgia fills me up. I feel a connection to the ghosts of musicians, artists and writers who haunt these tracks.

Of course, I don't feel at home in Paris in the ancestral kind of way at all, because I'm not French. But being among such beautiful buildings, where people travel to appreciate the many great works of art that the city houses, there is a feeling that who I am is valued here. As long as I keep my mouth shut, I can blend in.

Back at home, tho, I am a part of the open prairies and the gravel roads. I am a part of the ugly, dumb rolling box store parking lots, and I am a person who appreciates being able to pop into the gas station in my sweats and a hoodie, late at night. I am a part of small town history, where you drive two hours to the city on a weekend to shop at the big malls. I have lived in neighbourhoods where you just don't wear pretty dresses to walk the dog. I am a part of the culture that travels to Paris assuming her high school French classes will suffice.

As I pull my tired feet along the streets, passing the patisseries, cheese shops, and every beautiful old building, I know what it means to not let your love slide. It's a kind of digging your heels into the parts of life that make up who you are, and at the same time being willing to expand, to open up to possibilities that you have not thought of before. It's knowing that Paris may not be your home, but you can find a piece of yourself in the beauty of it.