prayerful of dreams - 2008-06-28
preschool princess - 2008-06-16
life with my sweetheart - 2008-04-29
the fast approach of four - 2008-04-12
lighting up my own life - 2008-03-08
2003-10-06 - 7:38 p.m.
I am back in Syracuse, trying to find my rhythym in the uncertainty that is my life. I am home, I suppose but strangely unused to this place. This cream coloured house with blue shutters has it's own voice and I am trying to listen. so that I can sing along.
The nights are stretched endlessly with the solitude of darkness, but occasional streams of bright white lights from passing cars, push through my sheer lilac curtains and twirl and flicker like ghostly ballerinas on my bedroom walls. I am a block away from fire station, engine 10 and they wail down the street slicing through the chill of my New York Autumn nights. I swirl into the blankets, curling up into a tight little ball wondering where my life will take me.
Morning comes before the last vapor of darkness has lifted. I hear my parrots greeting the burgeoning dawn with whistles and cheers and silly half songs and chirtles and cheeps. Then comes the grinding gears of the garbage truck making it's slow old man amble up the street. The Sanitation men yell to one another over the noise about sports and women and the weather. Then comes the squeal and squeak of the yellow school bus, it eases to a long stop two doors down, and childrens laughter tumbles out of the doors and windows. In that instant I always am reminded of the warm smell of vinyl seats melting in the sun and squished peanut butter and jelly sandwhiches.
I cling to my bed, like it is a life raft, turning over into the pillows, not yet ready to surrender to day. My sister slams the doors, downstairs, as she stumbles to make coffee, then the radio flips on and the incesscant drone of radio chatter intersected with Top 20 wafts through the floorboards and slides under my door. The shower streams steady, the microwave beeps, the phone rings, coffee drips, cupboards open and slam, the blow dryer hums noisily, katie Couric somberly talks about the situation in Iraq, then moves on to banter about Celebrity gossip. My playful kitty cats tear through the attic, in some kind of cat and mouse chase above me, the walls shudder and the thumping sounds more like loose tigers than delicate felines. The hapless dogs whine at the kitchen door and when they are let out, charge the back yard like warriors on patrol.
Soon, the sounds die down, the neighbors cars back in and out of driveways, the morning has settled into day. Most everyone is at work, the refridgerator hums a monotone tune, and the dryer spins along in unity. Babies from the projects are pushed by young mothers with blank faces, past my house in a steady stream. Perhaps they are going on a promenade to the park, but most likely they are just wandering aimlessly. Drugs are sold two blocks away from my house. Cars stop at the intersection constantly,seeking drive through service and the police patrol it often, but clearly not often enough.
The afternoon crawls along, I have taken to cooking to pass these oprah hours. I leave the tv on in the other room, and bake and flambe and stew and steam. Soon the schoolbus squeals outside my door, the passing of another day, as a handful of children spill throuh the yawning yellow doors. I walk my dog and talk to my parrots and wait for my sister to return home. Evening is falling back into place, the quiet routine of it all is stitching itself into my psyche. I sit outside, in the backyard in the evening chill just before the last splash of orange falls from the setting sky. A handful of sparrows hover by the birdfeeder, spilling much seed to the floor. A tiny lone mouse sprints from the shed, he is literally the size of my pinkie. He races to gather up the precious spilt seed.before racing back into the shed through the tiny archway he has gnawed into place.
He is the bravest mouse in the land. I am proud of his bravery, touched by his tiny existence in this big scary world. I wrap my arms around myself to keep the cold at bay, and stand up, walking past our small koi pond. The fish swim happily, unaware that we have set up a 100 gallon aquarium in the dining room for them, to winter in. For now, they only know life in the pond.
but things change.
seasons change.
My life is changing. I am learning this song. I am listening to this house, fluttering with ivy on one side that nests hundreds of birds all through the year. When I bring the baby home from the hospital, we will walk past the ivy, to get to the front steps. I like to think that when the baby hears the birds, that they will know that they are finally home. For I am not the only one listening. to the sounds of this house. of this life.
This is the sound of my life. This is my song. The words may change but the sound remains the same. This is my life. Baby.Our Life! I hope that you like what you hear.
especially at night, when you and I lay tucked in silence. I wonder if you can hear my thoughts. I sing to you. I sing to you. I sing my dream for you,and try to listen into the silence for the day you sing back.
old starlight - new starbright
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