Perhaps war is a strong word for the windy, dusty, little
fairies that twist around the corner of our house and wrap around my saplings
looking for trouble in paradise. I can almost hear the sound of laughter or is
miniature weaponry changing the frequency into a gently slashing hiss?
Uninvited, these are the naughty ones perhaps bouncing from heaven maybe even
tossed intentionally into our garden.
Maybe they were angels once and now that
summer is here, they will redeem themselves by mellowing out and offering up
wildflowers as penance. Do you think good angels are battling these sprites? Whatever
it is that floats wildly into the afternoon yard dissipates by twilight. It’s as
if they crawl into bed, pull up the covers and prepare to dream of victory
while slumbering under the stars.
Galatians 6:9- And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we
shall reap, if we faint not.
Do you ever get some harebrained scheme into your head and
realize it’s a huge waste of time and money? Happens to me all the time. Except
that at this time, what at first appeared to be a harebrained scheme, has
proven to be a truly great idea that begs telling. Yes, ladies and gentlemen—today
I’m offering some free marital advice coupled with a concrete foundation of
personal experience, and though it does have a cost attached, well, kind of a
lot—we did buy the least expensive package—it’s still less than most of those
options you want on your automobile— and definitely cheaper than
counseling-- so grab a seat and listen to my story unfold.
I am so excited about this stellar suggestion—it will either
save your marriage or end it for good, in which case he probably had it coming
anyway--that I’m bubbling over with excitement. First, let me explain that we
recently moved [for family reasons] and my man had to quit his job, leaving him
moping around an empty garden looking for weeds and all kinds of trouble.
Downcast and missing his colleagues he turned to craft beer and, more on the
positive side, his wife of 22 years, for help. I looked out my lovely new
window with my imagination in full gear and decided what the garden really
needs. Little did I know that this might be what every wife might also need and
thus my PSA (public service announcement) about our decision to
order a gazebo from the Amish! Yes, that’s exactly what we did.
First, I
ordered the catalog and shopped online and after weeks of comparative research, we ordered
a gazebo kit. It came on a rail car from Pennsylvania. The truck stopped in
front of our home and the deliveryman pulled it off the truck with some
contraption you might use to haul a small country. This stuff was heavy. The
next day we hemmed and hawed about opening the bulky package and I dug in with
a knife that slipped and poked my finger. That’s when I decided this was a man’s
dream come true. Don’t guys love putting things together? Of course, I'd be there for
politically incorrect, wifely support but no hammering of nails for moi. Minutes
later, I was searching for bandages when he came to show me the directions and asked me to
come look at the amount of pieces this skillfully crafted
creation came with. The nebulous directions seem like they were written by
freelancing carpenter or lumberjack trolls, who used different symbols for
letters of the alphabet that were translated and then re-translated. Even Ikea
directions are easier to understand and those things come from Europe!
Love has no limitations.
“Wait a minute--we
can do this,” I said,--sounding like the friendly soldier in the foxhole. First
of all, step one doesn't even apply to us. (Judging from the hazy black and
white photo, step one was about the foundation and we already had one.) There
are only 15 steps. How hard can this be? The sales video said some folks put it
together in four hours! Anyway, many times four hours later, we’re still on
step 12 and he honestly didn't mean to hit my finger with the mallet. Still, he
is enjoying this project and loves seeing it come together. Meanwhile, I’m
getting worried about step 15. What happens when we’re done?
A musical piece came on the radio the other day and like
many romantic pieces it brought tears to my eyes, but this—these were different
tears—perhaps different because of the type of tears –as in onion slicing
versus matrimonial-bliss-tears at a wedding or despondent-tears at a funeral. It’s
a piece of music called “The Graduation March,” or “Pomp
and Circumstance,” by Sir Edward William Elgar who wrote it back in 1901. When
I think about this unique music so different from pieces by Mozart, Beethoven,
Bach, Liszt or Brahms, I appreciate the royal fervor and the aristocratic
nuances of the talented, British composer and the massive declaration of
achievement it represents.
In high school band, we marched early in the morning around
the muddy field and I was always late to my first class. As I ran into class
and slipped into my seat, the teacher yelled at me using my last name. For three and a half years, I marched around that track and played at all the graduations. I remember
bad times and good times. I remember marching at football games and dreamy
football players. I remember a mean girl wanting to punch me out because I
kissed her boyfriend but I also remember two boys fighting over me in the quad.
I think of my English teachers often and my Driver’s Education teacher and I
remember being embarrassed in the locker room during physical education. By the
time I graduated, I didn't play in the band but I stood tall when Elgar’s
music filled the stands.
In college there, it was again: A testimony to late afternoons
in a chilly library, cramming for finals, Cliff notes and dangerous boys. If
life became unbearable, I wrote my angst filled teenage poetry and rode the bus
to work. When I finally donned the cap and gown, it felt like the weight of the
world had somehow floated onto the campus green, off my shoulders, for a dance
to Elgar’s uplifting and inspiring music.
Later, much later, after years working in the newspaper
business, I took a chance and entered graduate school where I remember a professor
who said our grades would go down from 100% every class if we didn't
participate. By the time I figured out that this woman meant what she said, I was already
on the second class and sitting on a B. (Fortunately, she let me write an extra
credit essay and it brought my grade back up.) Still, I remember the younger
students, the older teachers, the long papers and the struggle to keep up my
grades after a long day at the Times. Yes, the ‘Pomp and Circumstance
Graduation March’ played that sunny day when I received my diploma. I had
marched four times to that music and this time my tears were some strange
conglomeration of pride-ego-thankfulness-joy-love-happiness and probably more
pride.
The notes were a stamp of confidence laced with encouragement
for the future swirling with a magical potion that made the past melt away--perhaps
like the pain of childbirth or the excruciating last step up to a mountain peak
where the hiker inhales and can’t
believe it’s over. Because it’s NOT over. The peak is simply a sense
of accomplishment that will drift in and out of phases in our lives like this
march.
This music makes it all worth it. Every step, every grade,
every pound of weight in our backpack and every research paper or mathematical dilemma....Like
the chalkboard eraser, this ‘Pomp’ wipes away the schoolyard bully, the
mistakes, the embarrassing moments, the perspiration, the missed opportunities
and emotional struggles, replacing everything with hope. It's the BEGINNING!
If you ever ran after the bus as it pulled away from the
curb... if you forgot your library card or broke your heel running to class because
you wanted an education.... If you remember your anxiety at the pop-quiz but
realize now that though possibly insignificant, it was a cog in the entire process. Part of the formation of your perspective and just a step
through a giant obstacle course called learning.
Thank goodness, music isn't graded on a curve, but if it
was, this could possibly be the best composition ever written. Thank you Sir
Elgar. Thank you for your wonderful contribution to education, confidence and
optimism.
Do you, my friends, remember this march? Does it remind you of everything you are and all you will achieve?
Facts about Sir
Edward William Elgar
Wikipedia
June 2, 1857-February 23, 1934
Besides being a voracious reader, he was a prolific composer
who wrote tone poems, symphonies, concertos and marches. He played organ,
violin, bassoon and was one of the first to record his music on a gramophone. Knighted
at Buckingham Palace in 1904, he held degrees from Yale, Cambridge, Durham,
Leeds, Oxford, Aberdeen and Western Pennsylvania. He loved cycling, was an
amateur chemist and his face used to be on the 20 pound note. There are also
three locomotives near London with the name Sir Edward Elgar and several
statues portraying his gentlemanly demeanor.
My mother—a gorgeous,
brainy architectural design engineer in 60’s stiletto pumps and lipstick who
inspired me to think. To interpret correctly, to re-read and find the truth
lodged between desperate lines of poetry. To sing sad songs, not because we’re
sad--but for the simple reason that certain songs stir our soul—thus becoming
meaningful. Warning us that while experimenting we should be prepared for
criticism, because she was ready to offer advice and newspaper clippings
supporting her point of view. Though I fall shy of her wit, her beauty and
above all her knowledge, I am still in awe of her strength and the profound grace that made her my mother.
Of course she inspired my writing and here's a poem about that process. As a 'word-engineer', I'm hoping this inspires someone to see how something new can be created from our past experiences.
I signed up for the A to Z challenge in the middle of our move, while floor tiles were replacing carpet and the curtains weren't up yet. Sometime in the middle of April, we ordered a brand new refrigerator because even though fast food was a novelty at first, it's generally not our thing. Meanwhile, two precious creatures couldn't use the backyard because of my bright ideas regarding backyard landscaping. Oh, and did I mention it's 99 degrees here and we don't live in the desert anymore, where it's a balmy 104? The heat makes me want to return the refrigerator, so I don't have to cook... but can a person with hundreds of cookbooks and back issues of Gourmet Magazine change into a burger-KFC-pizza loving maniac? ...Maybe?
Anyway, the routine last month was:blog--walk around the block with naughty chihuahuas--unpack lots of books, hang pictures, push furniture around and unpack more books--at least 60 boxes of books and crash into bed. Crazy, weird move but it will be worth it.Right?
Tonight's dinner was homemade Shrimp Jambalaya with Chicken Andouille sausage. Too spicy for a hot evening but still delicious. It's the third of May, the A to Z Challenge is over and most of the books are in place. So why am I so exhausted?
