Posts (page 2)

So, from the title it's probably obvious...I found myself on a highway not far from the middle of nowhere at sunset driving home this evening. And I rolled down the windows, cranked some tunes and felt invincible. Normally, this time of year I'm inclined to listen to something mellow and acoustic when enjoying a drive...but today was one of those days that got seriously intense. An acoustic guitar and a heart-felt voice couldn't take on what I was feeling...so I opted for Nightwish.

Like most normal human beings, under general circumstances, I like being right. And like most normal human beings, I'm protective of my family--my family, of course, being the people that I love, blood or no blood. But there are times when I have to step back and realize that as much as I might want to, I can't protect them from everything, nor is it my place to try...which inevitably lead to times when I abandon all care of whether I am right or wrong, and do whatever is necessary to support my family in a time of need.

I have no problem admitting that I'll throw out an I told you so when it comes to matters of non-importance...for instance, once someone insisted that Aretha Franklin sang Lady Marmelade. I insisted she did not--because I knew that Labelle did. And when the time came that the facts came to light, I was ready with a laugh and a light-hearted I told you so. Nobody got hurt, nobody's life was changed, nobody had to deal with unpleasantness. Those are the I told you so's I don't have a problem with.

However, in times of a more serious nature, not only does it not occur to me to say I told you so...it occurs to me that I hate the fact that I was right. I hate that I saw something coming but was powerless to stop it--I hate that, even though (because I am painfully forthright) I voiced my concerns, a member of my family ends up having to deal with drama, bullshit, pain, annoyance, or any other manner of unpleasantness.

What kind of Mama Lion would I be if I abandoned my primary motivation--to love and support the people I care for--by taking pleasure in the fact that I was right? More often than not, though I don't like being wrong, I still wish that I was.

What question do you hate being asked?

It used to be, "When do you plan on having children?" Fortunately, now that I'm no longer married it is rarely asked. But it always made me fervently wish for the power to smite people with thunderbolts from the palms of my hands.

I can't think of one that irks me now. Perhaps that's due to the fact that I no longer answer questions I don't feel obligated to answer.

NUNYA! :)

Well, it wasn't a blizzard per se. I suppose one would need to understand the reaction most of us in Mississippi have to such an atypical event as snow. It could be described as a mixture of wonder and horror. I'm certain people who deal with snow on a regular basis think we're crazy...but when we're running around in shorts one day and the next night frozen shit is falling from the sky and flying about in high winds, we tend to freak out a little.

I suppose I should've checked the weather before going out for live tunage...but truth be told I'm rather stubborn and snow wouldn't have kept me from going out. It was worth it, though. The tunes were awesome, I got to see people I enjoy being around (at one point the bass player side-hugged me and proclaimed, "I love this woman!"), and I drank to the memory of a good ol' boy with someone I'd just met. Not to mention I laughed and jammed and had a great time.

It's weird the things you perceive about people you know...and perhaps even weirder the things you perceive about people you haven't known long. Sometimes you can tell by the tone of their voice or their choice of words that all may not be as it seems. Although I generally trust my intuition, I'm not unaware that I could very well be off-base. But those who know me are well aware that I'll go to the ends of the earth to help a friend. At the same time, I'm not the type to force my help on anyone. I've learned from experience that--much like you can't see something until you're ready to see it--you're not inclined to accept an offer of help until you're ready to ask for it.

The way I look at it, though, is this: I feel better just by hearing good live music, laughing and drinking a few beers with friends--new friends, old friends, acquaintances, and even friendly people whose names I've just learned. Surely I'm not the only one that feels better by doing such things. So if someone got a good laugh or a good hug from me, maybe that's all the help they needed.

There are a lot of things I don't like about the South, but there are so many more things that I love.

Yesterday I went to a funeral in the booming metropolis of Philadelphia, Mississippi. Something happened between the funeral chapel and the gravesite that warmed my heart beyond words, and it was a simple, small gesture, but it was incredibly moving.

Not long after the funeral procession began, as I looked up there was an older gentleman who had walked up to the road to retrieve the mail from his mailbox. We were towards the back of the procession, and I can only think of one other procession I've ever been in that might have been as long as this one. (We saw the hearse top the hill at least two miles ahead of where we were.) But this gentleman--and I mean gentleman--stopped what he was doing, removed his hat, held it over his heart, and I have no doubt he did not move until the last car in the procession had passed. As I said, it was a small gesture, but its simplicity and the respect it demonstrated made it so much bigger.

I don't know how people respond to funeral processions in other parts of the country...even in other parts of the world. But here in the South, if you're driving and you see a hearse leading a procession, you pull to the side of the road and wait as they pass. It's a sign of respect, of understanding, of recognizing that no matter where you're going, you see that people are following a loved one to their final resting place. It's what you do.

Perhaps it was made more moving by the fact that the young man whose procession we were following was the kind of man who would have done the same thing. There have been so many things that have gone on in my life and in the world that make me feel at times as if I'm losing my faith in humanity. It's nothing short of amazing that this gentleman's simple gesture did so much to restore my faith in the basic decency of people.

Thank you, kind sir. Wherever you are, I hope that somehow you're aware that your time and respect are endlessly appreciated.

Ya know, I had the realization yesterday that I have less than 6 months left in my 20's. There have been some really frapping AWESOME times. I've had good times with friends that I wouldn't trade for the world, I've seen shows that have blown my ever-lovin' mind, and I've written things that have made me right proud to say I'm a writer.

But when ya come right down to it, I'm just ready for my 20's to fade into the background so I can move the hell on with my life. Cuz for all those awesome times, that again, I wouldn't trade for the world, there has been some shit that I'd just as soon forget.

I was married and divorced...kind of a "best of times, worst of times" situation. It was the worst for obvious reasons, yet the best because of all the shit it woke me up to, all the gut-wrenching realness I experienced. I don't know if I'd say I was "grateful," per se, but I have to admit that writing one's Senior Seminar research paper on Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" while in the midst of hiring an attorney and packing up one's earthly possessions is an experience that is, and I hope will forever be, unparalleled.

I met one of my best friends, who will continue to be my best friend until the day I leave the world behind. He and I have spent hours upon hours talking about nothing and everything, going hither and yon, laughing in an uproarious manner and crying as our guts were wrenched out and held before our eyes...and if I had the choice of going back and doing it over while avoiding all of the pain of my 20's but not crossing paths with him, you better believe I'd grab myself a box of kleenex and a bottle of Xanax and scream "BRING IT ON" at the top of my lungs.

I've seen spectacles of music that made my soul feel so alive it could have exploded...Stevie Nicks (which I am well aware isn't a musical marvel to some, but she will forever be my angel), Tom Waits, Phil Lesh, Peter Rowan, Tony Rice, Doc Watson, Ralph Stanley...hell, I even touched Steven Tyler, and that's just skimming the top. I've danced my heart out at shows and sang songs that I wrote about my life in crowded bars and laughed with the best of 'em and cried as my soul was ripped out and stomped on.

And that's the short version. And it's been fuckin awesome at times, and fuckin shit at others.

But now it's time to move on. Time to look ahead, time to keep going, time to stand on another mountain-top and scream, "C'mon world! Is that all you've got?!"

Bring it on. I'm raring to go. And I hope when I'm staring down the barrel of 40, I can say the same damn thing all over again. In this moment, in this life, in being who I truly am, I am un-fucking-stoppable.

So...where to begin. Music has long been and will always be the driving force behind my soul, behind who I am. When I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I'm hurting, when I'm confused, when I don't know which way to turn...music is always there, and it never fails me.

I found out tonight that a dude I went to high school (or maybe jr. high?) with won a Grammy for some songwriting stuff. As a person with music in her soul, as a writer of songs, as a writer in general, I was thrilled beyond words for him, and I've spoken to this guy maybe twice in ten years. It was just proof that following your dreams will never lead you astray, and it was something I needed to be reminded of right now.

Watching the Grammys for me is a mix of disgust and hope...the fact that the Alison Krauss/Robert Plant album "Raising Sand" keeps winning gives me hope...some of the pop stuff, not so much. But dude, if it moves you...if it makes you feel...if it brings your life into perspective, if it feels like someone has reached inside of you and stirred your viscera around and left you feeling affected, changed, amazed, validated...that's what it's all about.

I've written songs about my pain, about my experiences, about my joy, about my confusion, and while every one is precious to me in its own way, I understand that not everyone will relate to every one of them. Some of the greatest highs of my life have been in bars around my hometown, on stage, singing my own songs...and I can't even begin to imagine how it feels to have that recognized on a national level. I don't know if I'm meant to one day get there, but that will never stop me from writing, from singing, from feeling music, from being affected...

...from being who I am. That's what it's all about, baby. It's good for the soul.

Yesterday was gorgeous...sunny, temps in the 70's, a nice breeze, and I was stuck in my office performing my every-day menial job tasks of medical billing. On one of several smoke breaks, as I stood outside and soaked up the gloriousness that Nature so graciously shared, I resolved that should another such day present itself, I would not let it go to waste.

So today, after waking too early after staying up entirely too late last night, when I raised my window and more gloriously spring-ish air poured into my bedroom, I immediately decided it was time to go tromping about in the woods. I don't know how long it's been since I took a day to just wander around and enjoy being outside, away from the sounds of traffic and electronic devices and all those other distractions that seem to have endlessly filled my days for weeks and months and years...but one thing was for certain: I was overdue for such an outing.

After making a playlist and burning it to a CD, I loaded Bertha the Boxer and my Wesley into my trusty CR-V and we set out with the windows down and tunes blaring. We meandered down the Natchez Trace to Rocky Springs and when we got to the trail head, Bertha took off like a bolt of lightning--she's a fun combination of active and curious, so she always makes for extra entertainment. We walked the trail down to the creek in no particular hurry...just breathing the air, listening to the woods, and letting Nature work her soul-renewing spell. Bertha made a new friend--a St. Bernard by the name of Ozzy. I've always been told that dogs reflect their owners, and though I never doubted it, the theory proved itself beyond doubt--Ozzy's dude was a big, long-haired, scraggly-bearded kind of guy. I couldn't help but love the fact that he'd named his dog Ozzy, presumably after Ozzy Osbourne...as I named Bertha after a Grateful Dead song. And of course, Bertha, the eternal Pacifist, immediately ran up to Ozzy, then flopped onto her back. If she could talk she'd have said, "Don't hurt me! I just wanna play! PLAY PLAY PLAY!!!"

Down at the creek Bertha jumped and splashed and frolicked in a most gleeful manner. I--not having a change of shoes--did not splash. On the way to and from we all stopped, sitting once on cut logs and once on the ground, much to the chagrin of the ball of energy that is Bertha the Wonder Boxer. She started to whine when she felt we'd chilled quite enough.

It was so simple, yet so very soul-satisfying.

I've long known I feel too much, too deeply, too passionately. I've also long known I'm a cynic. It's a defensive tool, because there are times when the cynicism keeps the feeling from taking over, keeps me from becoming lost in the maelstrom. Because like it or not, there are times when I just have to stop, to step back, to not feel. I've been to the bottom. I've seen it, I've lived and breathed it, I've clawed my way out of it without becoming buried alive, and right or wrong, naive or cynical, I refuse with everything I am to ever go back. Surviving it once was a hell of a fight. Surviving it again would be to tempt Fate in a manner which one should not tempt Her.

The things that I hold sacred are mine, I hold them close, and I protect them with a ferocity more dangerous than any lioness. If people don't agree, don't subscribe, don't understand, I keep them to myself. It's not that I discount my beliefs...but nobody, no matter who they are or my relationship with them, will ever cause me to turn against my very soul. It's not that I don't trust people, it's not that I don't believe in people, and it's not that I shut people out. Quite the contrary...if anything, I let people in...more than I should, more than I want to. It's who I am, it's who I've always been, and it's who I will always be.

"Sometimes I am surrounded by too much love..."

I've been pondering my thoughts about marriage lately, and inevitably the priest from "The Princess Bride" is now stuck in my head, repeating in an endless loop, "Maiwwage."

Strangely enough, although I'm divorced and I know it was the best thing for me, I still have a lingering, deeply-held respect for the institution itself. That respect is why I chose not to move on...nor even concern myself with it...until my divorce was finalized, even though my marriage was most certainly over. I felt that even though I fought for it and knew beyond doubt that I'd done everything I could have done, I owed it to myself to wait until that contract was legally dissolved. The thought of being an adulterer--even from a legal standpoint--was not something I wanted to have to deal with. When I got married I intended it to be forever, and when it started going to hell I resolved to stick around and fight. I suppose it's in my nature...I'm just the type of person who would be unable to get married while thinking, "And if it doesn't work out, I'll just get divorced." I couldn't take vows and say forever when what I meant was "until it gets too hard."

And it wasn't about reconciling with my soon-to-be-ex-husband, either. I knew we were done, that there was nothing else I could do. It was about my respect for the institution of marriage. I entered into it knowing exactly what I was doing; even though I would've liked to have started moving on as soon as possible, I knew it would be a lot easier to move on to someone else than it would be to deal with myself the way I needed to. 

It's so easy to get sucked into that line of thinking while going through a divorce. You find someone who understands, who listens, who believes beyond doubt that *you* got the shit end of the stick...it's impossible not to count your blessings and believe not only that you're doing the right thing by getting divorced, but to boot you've found your "soul mate."

For some reason, it's just easier to accept validation from an outside source than to find it within yourself. Unfortunately, more often than not, people get hurt in the process...and the cycle starts all over again.