For “Woman with amphora

And pomegranates, 1953” (by Matisse)

She knows he’s watching. Down fall

Pomegranates and wine, shapes and blue,

Want  is careless. She is coolness, movement.

They have a love like the newly blind,

untrained; still reaching out at eye level,

instead of testing the ground ahead.

She’ll prove this:

Hands grasping. Trust me, instead,

He whispers at her slow swaying.

That is one kind of rush at the dark.

In the daylight she is more of a shadow,

walking uncertainly towards him,

straining to hear what he’s saying.

-lisa

(UPDATE: You tube link corrected.)

This has been a bit of a reflective year for me.

Earlier this year, I got hooked by this new Matchbox 20 song, and not just because the music was interesting; the part I have highlighted just really snagged me.

How Far We've Come

Hello
Hello
Hello

I'm waking up at the start of the end of the world,
But its feeling just like every other morning before,
Now i wonder what my life is going to mean if it's gone,
The cars are moving like a half a mile an hour if that
And I started staring at the passengers who're waving goodbye
Can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time?

[Chorus:]
But i believe the world is burning to the ground
Oh well i guess we're gonna find out
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
Well I, believe, it all, is coming to an end
Oh well, i guess, we're gonna pretend,
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come

I think it turned ten o'clock but i don't really know
Then i can't remember caring for an hour or so
Started crying and i couldn't stop myself
I started running but there's no where to run to
I sat down on the street and took a look at myself
Said where you going man you know the world is headed for hell
Say your goodbyes if you've got someone you can say goodbye to

I believe the world is burning to the ground
Oh well i guess we're gonna find out
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come

Well I, believe, it all, is coming to an end
Oh well, i guess, we're gonna pretend,
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come

Its gone gone baby its all gone
There is no one on the corner and there's no one at home
It was cool cool, it was just all cool
Now it's over for me and it's over for you
Well its gone gone baby its all gone
There is no one on the corner and there's no one at home
Well it was cool cool, it was just all cool
Now it's over for me and it's over for you

But i believe the world is burning to the ground
Oh well i guess we're gonna find out
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
Well I, believe, it all, is coming to an end
Oh well, i guess, we're gonna pretend,
Let's see how far we've come [X9]

Now, I personally don’t think the world is falling apart. Yes, there’s a whole lot of bad in the world…but there’s still a whole lot of good, too. That’s not why the song connected with me. It was the idea of making peace, of saying goodbyes, and of being grateful that you have loved ones to say goodbye to, when the time comes. Wouldn't it be awful to be alone in the world?

No one knows how long they have. And please hear me: I am NOT meaning to be insensitive to those fighting illness or loss as I write this. I have loved ones fighting illness; I have Xanga friends fighting cancer, and a Xanga friend who recently lost a college-aged friend to suicide. I fear that it might sound trite to them to hear me say that no one knows how long they have- I don't want to discount their experience , or their emotions, at all, as they have to deal much more directly with feelings and beliefs about how precious life is. But it is true, and it is on my heart, that no one can honestly know when they wake up that they will wake up again the next day. It might sound cliche', but now is all that any of us have.

I started thinking about this when that song began getting a lot of radio play, and I started thinking about who I would like to be, what I would like to accomplish, and how far I am from both of those things.

While this stuff was still bumping around in my heart, I heard this song (by One Republic) at church one Sunday:

Stop and Stare

This town is colder now, I think it's sick of us
It's time to make our move, I'm shakin off the rust
I've got my heart set on anywhere but here
I'm staring down myself, counting up the years
Steady hands, just take the wheel...
And every glance is killing me
Time to make one last appeal... for the life I lead

Stop and stare
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere
Yeah I know that everyone gets scared
But I've become what I can't be, oh
Stop and stare
You start to wonder why you're 'here' not there
And you'd give anything to get what's fair
But fair ain't what you really need
Oh, can u see what I see
They're tryin to come back, all my senses push

Un-tie the weight bags, I never thought I could...
Steady feet, don't fail me now
Gonna run till you can't walk
But something pulls my focus out
And I'm standing down...

Stop and stare
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere
Yeah I know that everyone gets scared
But I've become what I can't be, oh
Stop and stare
You start to wonder why you're here not there
And you'd give anything to get what's fair
But fair ain't what you really need
Oh, you don't need

What u need, what u need...

Stop and stare
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere
Yeah I know that everyone gets scared
But I've become what I can't be
Oh, do u see what I see.

Anyone who knows me well will tell you that words have always been important to me, and song lyrics, of course, became a big part of the language of memory for me from the time I was a teenager. Having both of these song lyrics now taking root in my thoughts, it seemed that I was suddenly hungry to take emotional inventory and “say goodbyes”.  Not that I plan on leaving anytime soon. Like most people, I’d like live long enough to see my children grown into happy adults.

I don’t have any big reason to be having a mid-life crisis, nor do I want to consider myself at mid-life (though truth be told, I am 44!), but I am thinking about these things a great deal lately. There were coincidences that kept this kind of thought near the front of my mind. There were walks down memory lane in this blog, there was my contacting my former professors after writing about them in this blog, there was news about some dear, old friends (some of whom I thought I'd lost touch with forever); there was the visit from Debbie, and the Mother’s Day list for my mom. I've been remembering, gratefully, those who have mattered to me over the years. I'd still like to find my half-sister. I hope she is still out there somewhere in the world. I'd still like to find my lost friend Donna- I wrote about her in this blog, also. This is a picture of her:

I look forward to my future, but my past brought me to my future.

My heart wants to say to people now that I love them and value them.

As I have been dwelling on these things in my quiet time (translation: when Cam is asleep), it occurs to me that I have a sense of urgency that I have never had before.

I don’t feel old; it’s not that. I still feel about 28 inside, at least until a bagboy at the grocery store calls me “ma’am”.

I was thinking about all this driving back to work today after running an errand, and this John Mayer song, "Say"  came on the radio:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZ0z86LmXBM&feature=related

I think one reason I have had this stuff on my mind is that we may be moving back to California.

I know David and the kids and I will be happy together in California, but perhaps just the nervous energy of potential change has me stirred up, has me taking stock. Even good change- even change you want and seek and hope for- is still stressful, in a way. It's exciting too. There is risk, there is the unknown.

My family- mostly- is here- my mom, and my brother. Along with David, of course, my brother is my best friend. I can’t stand to think about how much I will miss him if/when we move. I like Nevada, but I love California, and there are loved ones in California, too, of course, which obviously includes David's folks.  Still, my brother has been there for me through my whole life, and I am lucky to have him, as he's been close to dead at least twice (not counting his more mundane accidents, etc.)

Now, I have somewhat covered the territory of my brother's nine lives before on this blog, but please bear with me.

Some of you have known me long enough to remember when my brother had his accident on the ATV (17 broken bones, bleeding in the dark by himself for four hours until he was found and they called for helicopter transport to the nearest hospital- over an hour away- it is a miracle he survived). A very few of you have known me long enough to remember when he was stabbed.

About two decades ago, he was attending a birthday party at a restaurant/bar that was very popular in San Diego. He had worked as a bouncer there while in college. Despite quitting the job, he remained friends with several coworkers- one of those friends was having a birthday party that night. Many other bouncers and former bouncers attended.

While at the party, John met a friend of the friend, a tall Marine. They barely talked, but there was enough conversation between them for my brother to recognize him when it mattered.

What happened: a customer of the place, completely unconnected to the birthday party, got drunk and rowdy. My brother’s friend had the drunk man walked out. Drunk man sat in his car. Marine friend of friend left the party twenty steps or so ahead of my brother. Drunk Man recognizes Marine as friend of bouncer who bounced him. Words are exchanged. Drunk jumps out of his car, brandishing a knife. Marine Guy yells, “Help- he’s got a knife!” My brother looked up, recognized Marine as his friend’s friend, and jumped in to help. He got a knife in the neck for that.

I got the call at home; I was living in Carlsbad. It was a hospital in the Mission Valley

area. Was I related to John Kelly? I should come right away. No, they could not tell me why. Did I know how to reach his parents? His mom, yes. Call her. Tell her to come to the hospital please. Why? What happened to my brother? Tears. The nurse would not tell me. I screamed at her. “I am a CNA, a CHHA, and an EMT- you can tell me what happened to him!” He was stabbed. Where?!! Again, the nurse did not want to say. TELL ME WHAT PART OF HIS BODY. Reluctantly, she answered- his throat. Oh my God. I dropped the phone, screaming. My husband (at the time) hit me on the mouth, told me to shut up. I grabbed my purse and ran out the door, the taste of blood salty in my mouth, from Bob’s fist connecting. Wondering how fast I could get there. Not even afraid of Bob, because I was so afraid of losing my brother.

I got there. Noise, confusion. Mom. John’s friends. People crying in the lobby. Trying to pray in the hospital chapel, but I couldn't think or talk. Surgery. Hours of waiting.

Later we heard what happened to John. He remembers applying pressure to the wound with his hand and asking someone to call 911. Then he remembers waking up on a gurney in the ER Department, sitting up, looking around, and seeing a hospital bracelet on his wrist: John Doe, DOA.

“Hey!” he yelled for help. “I’m not John Doe- I’m John Kelly- I’m not dead- hey, help!”

I guess the ER staff was beyond shocked. But they began to work on him again, the one they had given up on. They got him to give my phone number before he passed out again.

Later they gave me a big green trash bag full of the clothes they had cut off my brother- they were blood –soaked. I might need them for the trial, they said. The shirt was red, heavy with wet blood. It had been white. The socks were red. It was the most horrible thing to hand to someone. I have no idea why they gave it to me, instead of the police. They were never used at trial, and I have no recollection of how we disposed of them.

My brother pulled through.

My friend Gemma (yes, the one I found again last year, who just was here in Las Vegas for a visit back on Earth Day weekend- see the blog) went to the hospital to take photos of the wound, in case they were neded for trial. There was a trial, but Drunk Man had wealthy parents and good lawyers, and they out-lawyered the DA. The only jail time that man got was while my brother and the other man he stabbed were in surgery, and Drunk Man was bailed out of jail before my brother and Marine Guy were even in recovery.

My brother keeps that " JOHN DOE: DOA" hospital bracelet in his nightstand, to remind himself that he got more time, and that those extra hours are precious.

Since then, he says, “Every day is a good day.”

Every day really is precious. Each moment with a loved one is precious. Sometimes we forget that.

This year, I did not tell anyone what my new year’s resolutions were, although I have been steadily pursuing them.  But I will tell you all the biggest resolution for me in 2008, which has been sort of forming itself over the last five months: I am going to try to do what I need to do, and say what I need to say.

Love y’all.

There was something like grace in the tiny sip you could ease

from the split stem to your thirst, which said more than we could speak

about the small surprise of good, in the invasive eglantine.

It was an important proof: how summer could be contained in nectar, how

droning humid days, and long evenings of low-flying bats and mosquitos, was also

the season of sweetness, and the natural wine

of straggling vines.

-lisa

(One of my gifts from David for Mother's Day was a honeysuckle-scented candle, which touched me because I had told David some time ago about that being  a childhood memory- biting open the honeysuckle blooms and snacking on them with my brother when we were kids.)