2 weeks & 2 days

As I ate my soup standing at the kitchen counter, because my little kitchen table is covered with 6 months of unopened bills and credit card offers, listening to Pandora‘s odd mix of songs, I remembered how much I love Sarah McLachlan's voice.  It takes me back to Nashville, TN in late 1999.  Post the greatest affair of my life. 

I met a boy in my parent's basement one night.  I didn't think much of him.  I met that same boy years later and decided I was going to love him even though he didn't want to be loved.  And he loved me back in spite of himself. 

In the darkest time of my life, I loved and was loved.  The affair was bookended by the deaths of our fathers.  Mine on August 1, 1999 and his on October 24, 1999, both after long battles with cancer.  All the books in between read the same....  cigarettes and drunk sex, music and poetry.  Although the friendship seeped beyond that three months, the affair lasted just two weeks and two days and those were separated by a month and 850 miles.

It's difficult to think of the details.  Not because of feelings.  But because of the heavy beer and vodka cloud that hangs over the whole thing. 

We went on a real first date.  That I remember.  I got an email, “I have some extra cash this week and I want to take a pretty girl out.  What are you doing Friday?“  We had dinner somewhere on Welsh Rd in the northeast and then we shot pool on Levick and Frankford.  I dropped him off at home and we sat on his front steps talking.  His friend ended up stopping by sending me home a little abruptly much to his dismay.  That was sometime in late August.  We spent every day and night after that together until I moved back to Nashville September 8th and took his friend's affair with me.

I remember packing the 17 foot Penske truck the night before.  Most of my things were already in Nashville, in my cute apartment on Trails Circle.  Just a few odds and ends and those 1970’s barrel backed white chairs that are now occupying my storage space 2 blocks from the music school.  They were the last to go in the truck.  We all got drunk, chain smoked, and ignored saying what was really on our minds.  He wrote us a poem, gave it to me the next morning as the truck was parked in front of my family's house and we said our goodbyes.  He told me not to read it until I was in Nashville.  I read it at a rest stop near Roanoke, VA.

Men and women

Walk in and out of each others

Lives

Sometimes like lemmings to sea

Sometimes like pilgrims to the promised land

Searching for comfort

In an uncomfortable world

Once in a great while

Some will walk into each other

When the time is right

And both need compassion and healing

And passion

But life is chaos

And no time is the right

Because we all have different paths

Mine will lead me to North Broad Street

To finish my education

It will detour soon to a cemetery

Other paths include a Penske truck

And an 850 mile trek

In hopes of finding something

Keep saying that at 5:30

Tomorrow morning I will be upset

Truth is I have been upset for days

Yet at the same time

I have been joyous for weeks

Pain and ecstasy are divided

By a thin line or so they say

Now I feel the two have bled

Together in a swirl of beauty

I write in typical style

Thoughts flowing

Imperfect yet no revision

Like life the past is written

Only the future is an open page

Yet to be written

I hope our paths cross once again

But am satisfied with what I have received

Gift of the self is more precious than

Anything material

I thank you for sharing your self

With me

Changed yet again in significant fashion

More evolved more complete

In this journey toward death

A chance to grow

Explore the mind

And be comforted

In this uncomfortable world

Thank you,

I haven't gotten to the 2 days portion of the affair and the 10 years of my best friend after that.  But this story is over for now.  The wrinkled, handwritten piece of white legal pad paper with doodles in the margins lives peacefully with a handful of other handwritten and typed pages.  I haven’t looked through them since the last major snow storms years ago....

 
In 13 years I’ve had one boyfriend which lasted two years.  The rest of my time I’ve spent having affairs with extraordinary men who I can also call my friends.  Sometimes I think I should draw a line between love and friends and then I think “Silly me, true friends are the definition of love and the best kind of love at that.” 

until next time....

She's worried.  I don't know what's going on but it would be best if you lay low for a while.


That was a year ago.  I was compelled to make this trip and I was nervous about it.  Once I arrived, I instantly relaxed.  As soon as I closed my eyes and sank into his too comfy bed, everything felt ok.  And then he spoke and everything was all right.

A year to the day since the last time we played together.   We celebrated with 2 gigs that night and after that we sat in the front yard with a large bottle of Yellowtail, a couple of stray kittens, and eventually, a sunrise.  His eyes struck me as I watched him talk.  Red and slightly swollen and teary, cheeks a little hollow... he was on the wrong side of youth.  I know that means I am too. 

We had no intention of watching the sun come up over the bay or of anxiously waiting to see "OPEN" in Capt. Jim's window glow red and stumbling over at 6:30 am.  He drifted off while we waited for our omelets... eyes still open as I babbled about something when he startled and shouted, "E!"  Had I not been fighting to stay awake myself I would have gotten a good laugh of everyone in the restaurant turning and staring at us.  We climbed into bed around 10:30 am after picking up the dog and woke around 4... just in time to shower, eat, and play another gig.

The next morning we drove to South Carolina.  Every time I looked over from the passenger's seat I searched his eyes.  It was still there but softened by daylight, sobriety, and laughter.  We puzzled over spanish moss, marveled at the super cheap gas, and joked at the overabundance of pancake houses and BBQ places.  That evening after a wonderful home cooked meal, the three of us sat in the garage smoking and drinking wine and talking well into the night.  Though two of us had met electronically less than a year ago and in person only hours before, it felt as if we were lifelong friends.  I like these people.  No, love them.  Home to me has never been geographic.  It has always been, and I think always will be, in people.     

We returned to the North Carolina beaches to clouds and rain.  The second day of this I found myself alone for the first time in a week.  My dog friend was snoring and farting next to me on the soon to be homeless couch and my wish for the sun was merely wrapped in the desire for warmth.  I was expected back in Maryland that evening and called to inform them that I hadn't yet left and didn't intend to until sometime the following week. 

There were more gigs, more beers, more shots, more friends, a day on the beach, a moving day, movies, and Oreos and milk....

I finally arrived in Maryland nine days late.  The sun was hot on my face and my pajama pants were rolled up above my knees as I eased into the day on the back deck.  Morning coffee is meant to be enjoyed in wonderful places like this with the yellowing walnut tree leaves starting to fall and on the boat slip in Sneads Ferry, NC while the little fishes jump through the air as if they were dolphins.  There's still a little time left.... just a little.

I'm in love with second hand smoke again.  Yesterday, I understood that this is common among my non-smoking cousins.  "Cigarette fingers," she said, "they just make me think of Yiayia." 

Yiayia.....          Greece.... 


I'm also addicted to music again.  For that I am most thankful. 


As I neared the Pennsylvania border I saw a huge rainbow arching over Philadelphia and smiled.  This isn't so bad....  Then I crossed the Pennsylvania border and the skies opened up and released a hellish storm.  That's the problem with not having automatic windows... the sudden storm soaked through my seats, suitcase and bags, puddled in my purse and drenched my keyboard case before traffic stopped enough for me to reach over and roll them up.  A grand Welcome back. 

The rains washed the last of  the North Carolina sand from my tire treads and the lack of butterflies here now strikes me.  I'm getting farther from the peace music gives me and closer to the stress of teaching.

It's time to find the new in-between. 

As I welcome fall this year, I look forward to more than just next summer vacation.

"It's been sunny and hot here with thunderstorms every day since you left." 

I haven't left in 13 years.... it's about time.

sshhh

I may have to put on pants today.  It's rather chilly for an early July day.  The 11 day heat wave that just broke is making these average temps seem chilly.  The wind feels like late August at the Jersey shore but lacking the salty sting in the air.  It's a beautiful day and it's silent both in my head and out.  I'm sitting cross legged on my bed but I'm not in Philly anymore.  I'm not sure where I am.  It's a nice feeling.

There are a lot of secrets swirling around me.  Not all mine.  In fact, so many people have told me their deep dark shames that I can't seem to remember my own right now.  I feel as if I'm taking a vacation from my own ugly to wade around in that of my loved ones.  This is not the beautiful kind of ugly, this is certainly the Devil trying to destroy the people I love.

The Devil is trying to destroy me too.  I can feel it tugging at my hair.  Today I'm not going down without a fight.  Nor are my friends.  My inner superhero is dressed for battle.

My skin is a lovely shade of greek girl.  I can't help it.  The sun relaxes me and quiets the noise around me.  I sunscreen my face and my tattoos.  The rest of me is golden, my back already a good shade of mavri.  I spent hours in the sun, even during the "heat wave" without much more than breaks for a glass of water.  There is something wrong with me but I don't mind.

I remember my summer in Greece.  I did not tan much.  I did not do much.  I was still fat and unhappy.  I was flopping around in my own pool of hate and yuck.  No one saved me.  No one tried to help me even.  I had to do it for myself.  Ikaria was my first step. 

My grandmother met me at the airport in Athens and we took a cab to her cousin's house in Piraeus where we spent the night.  The next morning we would catch the fast ferry to the island.  Pictures simply don't do any of it justice.  I will post none.  If you want to see it, you must go.  And go now before the oil drilling begins.

There really isn't much to say about my time there.  I spent time with my grandparents and quietly explored the island, it's beaches, towns, food, and waters.  I didn't go to the discos, even when my cousins tried to drag me there.  This trip had one purpose, find how to start putting myself back together. 

I remember Nas and Armenistis, Faros, Agyios, Evdilos.... prickly pears, figs, grapes, cheese, goats... the mountains, the dogs....  It's all tucked away for me to revisit every time I close my eyes.  I want nothing more than to return. 

That was a lie. 

There is nothing more I want than to return with my friends to show them how beauty still exists in this world.  It is alive and well and right under our noses.  One at a time I want to show you absolute perfection, heaven on Earth.  I feel like if I can take you there everything will be better, like magic.  I know that's not true but my naivete believes that the perfect will sweep you off your feet and heal you too.



But who am I kidding?  It won't heal you.  It didn't heal me.  I returned to the states relaxed and recharged but still swimming in the cesspool of the life I built.  It took years for me to really get to the happy.  I can't save any of you.  I can't even help you see what I see in yourselves or the world around us.  My wishes for you, myself, and us will just keep dog paddling around the Aegean Sea until they reach shore or drown.  Either way, it's the way it should be. 

Moonflower Road

I drove by the old 2 story beige colonial tonight around midnight.  The driveway looked like a parking lot and the American flag was out.  Some things never change.  Though Dad always brought the flag in at sun down.  "It's respect" he used to tell me. 

The gospel tent was up on the corner of Moreland and Meetinghouse.  I'm pretty shocked that that lot is still empty... all the other farm land around started disappearing in my early teens and is now all housing developments and schools and stores.  Not this corner.  I like that it's still there.  Store fronts change names, fences go up, new traffic lights get put in but the north west corner of Moreland and Meetinghouse is still just an open field that houses the gospel tent a few weeks every year.

I'd forgotten what it's like to drive around semi-aimlessly at night..... car windows rolled down and heat coming through the floor vents.  A wet day and somehow reminding me of an early October night.  An early October night in August 1999.  My timeline is severely skewed.  To confuse me more my radio station is stuck in October 2011 and I smell skunk from sometime in 1985.

I drove by 1991 on Saturday though it didn't bring back the flood that tonight did.  Under the "love and affection" bridge, up the hill, and there on the right, the Auto Zone.  The gray brick wall is the only recognizable part of the old music store.  I reminded myself that the little teaching studios in the back are gone as is, most likely, the blue commercial carpeting that ran through the place.  No more guitars or amps or anything familiar and to walk in that building or the house I grew up in would surely ruin my memories.  I don't like change, though I accept it.  I want the pictures in my head to stay just the way they are.

Terwood used to be my favorite road to ride down on full moon nights.  Back before cars had daytime running lights that you couldn't ever turn off.  Dad's maroon boxy Dodge Aries used to be so clumsy on the hills and curves... and the deer.... I'm lucky that my experiences with them along that stretch of road were always just almosts.

Nearly three years have passed since I've visited any of these places.  I don't mind if I never go back again.  If I close my eyes, I have a clearer vision of home than my drive-by tonight or any other night will ever give me.  Not to mention I wanted to beat down my mother's door and yell at them for forgetting the flag out and unlit..... 

Oh yeah....

Last night I had a strange dream...  I fell in love.  Oz and Candyland were neighboring towns.  And time was bending all wrong.  All to a soundtrack of Henry Mancini. 
 
I honestly don't care where I live as long as I have a place outside to sit and be.  That's all I want.... to be outside.  Oh yeah, and a motorcycle.  I've been actively shopping again the passed few days.  Dumb idea. 

I'm sitting on a 5th floor balcony with my sister's big fat orange cat watching the sunset, listening to the birds, and watching the traffic on Main St.  It's a wonderful Sunday evening.  I don't particularly care for this apartment one way or the other except that it has a balcony.  A place to sit outside and recharge. 

I can't stop thinking about hims.  No, that is no typo.  There are a two on my mind.  I'm confused and a bit sad and a little angry too.   Patience.... that's what I keep telling myself.  Keep calm....  Something will work out, in some way, at some point. 

The cat keeps coming to me for love and extends his claws into my legs if I wait too long to drop my hand down to him.  Stupid cat.  I have entirely too many items of clothing with holes from other people's pets.  I remember when I had creatures living with me.  Some stayed longer than others but I loved them all just the same.  I guess that was my old life.  Someday maybe I'll have a dog again.  Maybe.  First I need an outside.  Oh yeah, and a motorcycle. 

Summer is close and I'm excited about that though I have no adventures planned other than jumping out of an airplane.  I want to drink sangria and eat tacos outside.  I want to sit by the water and drink margaritas in the afternoon.  I want to watch the stars come out on the deck with a beer in my hand.  My legs could use some sun.  Their milky whiteness is nearly blinding this time of year.  Maybe I'll figure out what I want to be until I grow up.  Or not.  To all of it.  Who knows.

I have just over an hour before the light is gone.  Though the light on the outside of the building may be enough to see by, I'm starting to feel the absence of the sun already.  All I have with me is the hand-me-down sundress I'm wearing and the four others I bought today.  I needed to feel pretty and the thrift store was winning today.

...Just a little yard.  Something.  Anything.  Oh yeah, and someone to share it with.

It's getting chilly.  I wish I had a bonfire.  or the beach.  or  a hot toddy.  Though I suppose a pair of pants and a hoodie would work all right as well.  Going "home" is also an option but less appealing than sitting here with goose bumps and the orange cat.  I do wonder about the violin case to my right.  I want to open it and see the gem inside though I can almost guarantee that the case is empty.  That's usually how things go with me.

The city has smelled deliciously like food truck for the past 2 days.  This place smells like beef gravy.  The dried stuff in the little red package.  It smells kinda good, like the food truck smell, even to someone who doesn't eat red meat anymore.  My sister promised me vegan cupcakes for breakfast.  I wonder what happened to that idea?

The cat has gone back inside.  I guess when you have this balcony everyday, staying out on it until the last slightly uncomfortable second of the night doesn't make much sense.  What does make sense to a cat anyway?  Food.  Yes, and I'm getting hungry too.  7:13... still plenty of light left.


New York, Maryland, Nashville, Boston, London, Ireland, Florida, California, Colorado, Greece, Mexico.... yet other than people, I have no fond feelings or memories of Pennsylvania.  At least none that I can think of right now.  I've lived here so long I should be able to think of.... ah ha!  I found it.  The roof, Oxford Ave.  It always smelled like carnival up there.... funnel cake to be exact.  


:)

 
 


My stomach's growling.  It's too cold now to stay out here anyway without the sounds and smells of the boardwalk amusement park.    

April Showers

This is what I woke up thinking this morning: It was a long time ago and I'm not a little girl anymore.  And it wasn't that bad for me anyway.  I only lost my father, the other two lost their daddy. 

I'm in my normal place.... cross-legged on my bed with my computer sitting on the piece of wood I used to use for my B3 module.  Coffee is within easy reach on the arm of the futon.  I had a dream last night that you got rid of the Nissan... "payments" was all you said to me as we walked towards the huge bright slightly mustardy yellow 1980's Buick.  I only assume we were going to a gig.  I felt lost, out of sorts, not knowing why I was there but knew I had nowhere else to be and was content in your company.

What a strange year this has been.  I'm not sure how many of my smiles I wore like a bracelet and how many were genuine.  I suppose it doesn't matter too much when all you remember is smiling right?  The back of my smiles are bouncing off the empty metal walls of my insides.  It's all echo-y and a little scary.

I have a hard time with change. 

Lately, I have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning.

But I am surrounded by wonderful friends whom I love dearly and love me in return.  Some days I have to remind myself of that constantly.  Those smiles don't bounce in, they beam out.

There's a girl I've known since kindergarten.  She lived up the street from me and thanks to facebook, we are still in touch today.  And although we haven't spoken much since junior high or seen each other since high school graduation, I still consider her my friend.  She was my first best friend after all, and you never forget your first anything.

Our birthdays are coming up, in fact, hers is today.  She was in town on Sunday and requested my presence for a pre-bday drink.  I was stricken with the fear of a 12 year old yet instantly jumped up and showered, dressed, and got "going out ready".

It was lunchtime and we were in the cafeteria one day in the 7th grade.  It was the day the girls looked at me and told me I wasn't popular enough to eat with them or be their friend anymore.  The three I had known longest sat silently with their eyes down while the other two giggled as they told me this.  Once I realized it wasn't a joke, I got up with my tray and walked away and never looked back.  As we moved on to high school, those girls became the cheerleaders & entourage and I happily hung with the "metal heads" and music kids.

That is the fear that hit me on Sunday.... meeting up with the cheerleaders at a bar in the city.  It sounds absolutely ridiculous as I write it down.  The anxiety of not being good enough is still living somewhere inside.  I was all dressed and ready to go and I sat on my bed trying to decide if I should go until it was too late.

I honestly do hope to grab a drink with her soon as well as with our other friend who was there that day.  It may be awkward at first but they are good people and that's what's important.  We could all use a few more good people in our lives.

The chilly dampness of today is starting to eat through my sweatshirt and I still have stuff to do before work.  As much as I've been dreading going to work lately, if it wasn't for the job I'd never leave my apartment.  Or my bed.  Sometimes its the responsibilities you dread that give you a reason to keep going until the real motivation returns.  Mine seems to be on one hell of an extended holiday.... maybe I'll find it on the upcoming extended weekend I'm giving myself in 2 days.  Looking forward to a drive and perhaps some sun and beach time.
        

Orchids

At some point he grabbed my hand and I pulled him through Suburban Station hot on the heels of MissRose who was trying hard not to miss her last train out of the city.  He twisted his hand and quickly intertwined his fingers with mine and held firm.  "I'd pay the $100 cab ride to spend more time in the city with you."

They both got to their trains and I stumbled my way through the empty station in search of the subway.  New York City is much less scary.  There are people around all night long.  The Philly subway was a frightening place on Sunday.  The wait for the 15 trolley, even more so. 

Last Thursday night I arrived home to find a very healthy 3 inch centipede on my wall.  Big and ugly and gross.  It was in arm’s reach yet I walked by and proceeded about my night.  I’ve heard they eat roaches you see.  I let them live.

I’m wondering if it’s time for me to give up music.  I feel my heart getting ready to break apart.  Its a familiar feeling actually.  It feels like home.

Armed with my favorite glass filled to the brim with Shiraz or Pinot Noir or perhaps a Cabernet, I sat crossed legged on my bed and opened hulu while I waited for the phone to ring.  No sooner had I gotten comfortable then I saw the front few legs appear over the arm of the futon and “my buddy” tried to join me in bed.  What kind of life is this?  I took a deep breath and blew him down and grabbed a shoe but he disappeared. 

The phone rang.

“Hi Jim Hogan!  How are you?!” chuckled the familiar voice on the other end. 

“The best part is that as we graduated, the music industry was officially declared dead.  There was and is no way to really making a living of it anymore.”

It’s my stubborn pride that has me hanging on.  I feel like moving on to the “real” world would be giving up on myself and everything I've wanted and wished for.  This is all I know and love and I’m scared.  As I typed that I heard my mousey friend running behind the paneled wall next to my bed.  My heart sank into my belly and I realize it’s the most I’ve eaten all day.

“It would be a sin for you to give it up.  You’re too good.  There’s always hope that someday.....”

What good is hope?

What good is someday?

I’ve had a great life as a musician.  I’ve been lucky.  And I wouldn’t change a thing but maybe (and I can’t yet stomach getting rid of the “maybe”) maybe it’s time. 

And there’s my friend again.... safe on the other side of the room, the top of him peeking out from behind Ani and Utah Phillips.


I haven’t done laundry since my return from my last Maryland trip.  My blue jeans still smell of bonfire and whiskey and happy.  Maybe that’s only because when I close my eyes I find myself back there.  I wish I was wanted there more often.  But I have no control over anything other than myself.



TrainStation is now smitten with me.  All I did was make him laugh and get him to his train....

“What is your favorite flower?”

I’m not used to someone putting forth that kind of effort for me.  Especially by going through MissRose so as to surprise me.  I love flowers.  I love the colors.  I love their silky soft petals.  I even love how they smell.  But my favorite part is they never overstay their welcome.  They come and go quickly and leave you with a smile and wanting more.

There is not a hint in my mind as to what’s going to happen next or where I’m going.  I’ll get by with a little help from my friends.