Sabbatical Report: Week Two

Dear Reader, I am almost through week two of my sabbatical. I continue to congratulate myself for taking it. Slowly, I have chipped away at the theoretical to-do list (I say 'theoretical' because currently the to-do list is housed on a bazillion little post-it notes here and there throughout my house, purse, and devices). Every day I have put up my feet, closed my eyes, and listened to this song:



I highly recommend it as a short but effective meditation for mid-day. Go ahead, close your eyes and take a listen. I'll wait.

So, sabbatical-wise, here's what I've learned:

(1) I put way too much pressure on myself to be writing all the time, when really, I can't write all the time, and shouldn't. When I go back to my desk in January, I hope I can do it with a more helpful mindset -- one of gentle acceptance for the rolls and swells of life, rather than the mad paddling toward shore of writing time.

(2) I'm reminded that, although it's not fashionable to admit this, I really love my role as home-tender. When I was in school, we girls were always told we could do anything, we could have it all (sidebar: I wonder if they are still telling young girls that, or are we in a post-feminist frame of mind now?). But the 'anything' never included domestic pursuits; it was more oriented toward space exploration, political power, and the like. And an important caveat was left off of "You can have it all." They should've followed up with, "But not all at the same time." Sometimes it feels like our society has forgotten the value of a comfy little place called home. Although it can sometimes be tedious and repetitive -- three meals a day EVERY DAY! -- I feel good about creating a peaceful place for my family to be, a little hub in the wide, wide world. I feel so lucky to be doing what I'm doing. I don't want to be an astronaut, or run for president.

But I do want to be a poet, and I look forward to returning to my desk with renewed energy in January. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to close my eyes and listen to the Miserere. Then I'm going to get dinner ready with my kids.

Gratitude Journal: 'The Isn't-it-nice-to-be-home-again' Edition

What poet wouldn't feel at home in a city that embeds poetry in its transit stops?

"Late last night so far away... I dreamed myself a dream... "


After what felt like 40 years -- but really was only a few months -- of wandering in the proverbial desert, I'm starting to feel at home again.

I am so grateful for that like-none-other feeling, and for:

~Six hours of quiet in the house today. The Introvert in me got her batteries way charged up.

~My bookshelves, arranged(!).

~The time I spent sorting and organizing notes from old classes and my fabulous former writing groups. It was a sweet walk down memory lane to remember the faces, voices, and stories that surrounded so many of the poems we studied together.

~The 3-inch stack of prompts, jumping-off points, ideas, and other similar poem-seeds that I now have in the second drawer on the left in my writing desk (the Resting Drawer's wise old grandmother...... I'll have to think of a name for it).

~The drafts I had forgotten about, some of which probably have a future.

~The city up the peninsula, San Francisco, and the chance to get to know it like the back of my hand in the coming months and years. The sense of coming home to a city I've only visited once before. Frisco, you were waiting for me the whole time, weren't you? (And yes, I'm a nerd, I just said 'Frisco').

~One word: Kepler's. Okay, more than one word: it's a friendly neighborhood independent bookseller where I would gladly live out the rest of my days (yes, I would miss Husband and the children, but..... the books! the books!). Although it's not in my neighborhood, it's only 20 minutes away and worth the drive. They had me at: "Kepler's presents: Jane Hirshfield, Monday September 12, 7:00 p.m."

~All these things combining to remind me that I'm a poet. Not just a mom. Not just a packer and a mover and an unpacker. Not just a phone caller, school form filler-outer, grocery shopper, bathroom sink wiper-downer. A poet.

Hey, Whoever You Are that's in charge of this crazy life, thanks for the reminder.

(And now for those of you who have James Taylor on the brain):

In Which Led Zeppelin Plays on Loop in My Head

In the soundtrack of my life, Led Zeppelin looms large. They were hugely popular when I was a child, and their music filtered down into my world via babysitters and uncles and Tommy Stevens down the street. I left them behind for a while in the late 80s; Depeche Mode, New Order, big hair, and tuck-n-roll jeans seemed so ultra-cool then. On behalf of all the 80s kids, I would like to say: we see now that we were wrong about that.

The best music sticks, and in college and grad school I made my way back to the oldies but goodies, including Led Zeppelin. When I hear certain of their songs, I am transported to a country road heading north in Michigan with my brothers, on the way to the Lake. Or to a tiny, dark, and steaming hot apartment in New York City, where I lived with my dear friend, A., during graduate school.

Fast forward to now. I have this song playing in my head nonstop, and here's why:

Last week, we learned that he who is known as Husband is being transferred to the Silicon Valley office of his company. It came as a complete surprise to me, although now that I look back I see that it shouldn't have: the company's headquarters are there, and Husband is a go-getter.

My brain is still catching up with this development, and I suddenly have a very long list of things to do. I am comforted and excited by the fact that I have a brother and sister-in-law, and a nephew and a nephew-to-be, an uncle and aunt and two cousins just my kids' ages, and a dear friend, A., (the same A. I mentioned above) who all live in the Bay Area. We will have People there, thank goodness!

And we will NOT have winter. Dear winter, hasta luego. Don't miss me too much because I won't miss you.

On the other hand, I am sad to think of leaving my friends here, nervous about finding a school for the kids and a house and community for all of us, and overwhelmed by my long to-do list. I trust that all will be well, but there are a million question marks between here and there. My goal is to go one day at a time, one thing at a time. Wish me luck.

Wordless Wednesday: In Case You Haven't Listened to 'Autumn' Yet This Year

here's a link

By By Lully, Lullay

This is my favorite Christmas carol. I don't know when or how or why it became my favorite. I don't remember the first time I heard it, and never sang it myself back in my choir days. I've never known the words; I just hum along. But it seems like it always been a part of my Christmas, and I think its minor key melody and its early-music feel are beautiful.

So, I thought I would share it here on my happy little blog as a way of saying Merry Christmas, and of spreading something beautiful around at this beautiful time of year. The researcher in me thought it would be a good idea to learn a little more about the carol before writing a post on it. All I can say is: Leave it to me to have the most depressing Christmas carol ever as my favorite.

First of all, here are the lyrics:

The Coventry Carol

Lully, lulla, thou little tiny child,
By by, lully, lullay, thou little tiny child,
By by lully, lullay

O sisters too, how may we do
For to preserve this day
This poor youngling for whom we do sing.
By by, lully lullay?

Herod the king, in his raging,
Charged he hath this day
His men of might, in his own sight,
All young children to slay.

That woe is me, poor child for thee!
And ever mourn and say,
For thy parting neither say nor sing
By by, lully, lullay.


And here's what else I learned:

--This carol is one of the earliest extant Christmas carols in the English language.
--It comes from a cycle of mystery plays performed in the English town of Coventry during the middle ages.
--It was sung as part of The Pageant of the Shearman and the Tailors, which tells the story of the Annunciation (visit of the angel Gabriel to Mary), the Nativity (birth of Christ), the angels appearance to the shepherds, the shepherds adoration, the flight into Egypt, and the massacre of the Holy Innocents.
--In the pageant, The Coventry Carol is sung by the mothers of Bethlehem who are trying to hush their children so that Herod's men will not hear them, find them, and kill them according to Herod's order: "When Herod realized that he had been deceived by the magi, he became furious. He ordered the massacre of all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had ascertained from the magi. Then was fulfilled what had been said through Jeremiah the prophet:

A voice was heard in Ramah,
sobbing and loud lamentation;
Rachel weeping for her children,
and she would not be consoled,
since they were no more."
(Matthew 2:16-18)

--In the play, as in scripture, the song does not soothe the children and they are murdered. The Church, which christened them "the Holy Innocents," considers them to be the first Christian martyrs.

So, sorry to be a downer. But actually, learning more about this carol has helped me to appreciate anew my great good fortune. If you think about it, the story of the mothers trying to hush their babies to avoid discovery and certain death is one of the oldest stories there is. We hear about it in bible stories, accounts from the wars of history, especially from accounts of Aktionen against Jews during WWII, and even now in places like Iraq and Afghanistan (I remember, in particular, hearing the story of a mother in Iraq who suffocated her baby while trying to keep him/her quiet when Saddam Hussein's men were searching her house for her husband and brothers. The adults avoided detection, but the baby died.). How lucky am I that my biggest worry is whether or not I'll get packed in time to go to bed at a decent hour, and how the kids will do in the car on the way to Grandma's?

This music also reminds me that even during times of great joy, there is great suffering. That, although our society wants us to be almost pathologically happy at Christmastime, this is a very difficult time of year for some: those who are grieving, whose family situations are difficult, who are ill, who don't have enough to provide for their families, and many others.

So, a little bit of beautiful music with a sad story behind it; and yet one that helps me to appreciate many small and large blessings in my life. And a song that won't let me forget about the many people who are suffering this Christmas.

Say a little prayer for them, if you're the praying type, and have a blessed Christmas.

(P.S. My source for information about The Coventry Carol is The Penguin Book of Carols edited by Ian Bradley (c)1999.

Three Things I Wish I Could Show You

Since my little camera bit the dust, I have been fairly imageless on this blog (except for a few grainy photos taken with the camera that's built in to my computer). Three times in the last two days I have wished I had a camera to capture:

#1 The beautiful snowfall we had yesterday. It began in the pre-dawn hours and lasted most of the day, tapering off toward mid-afternoon. Luckily, I had checked the weather forecast the night before, and so did not have to go down to the basement and dig through bins of winter clothing at six o'clock in the morning. Instead, I did it at eight o'clock Sunday night, and from amongst the jumble of a few new items and lots of hand-me-downs, everyone had snow pants, boots, hats and mittens that fit (note: I did not say that they all matched). Although October snowfalls always feel too early and catch me by surprise, here in and around South of the River, we almost always have at least one. So, I bit my tongue when I wanted to complain about it, and tried to enjoy the soft beauty of the snowscape. (By the way, another great photo would have been the children playing in the snow after school -- is there anyone happier than a child on the first snowy day?).

#2 AJ using a sleep mask to block out the light at night. Somewhere, somehow, in the recesses of some box or bottom drawer, AJ found a few items left over from Husband's long-ago trip to Japan. They included airplane socks and a sleep mask. "Mom, what's this?" he asked, holding out the sleep mask. And so I explained to him what it was. The look on his face was pure Eureka! "That's PERFECT!" he said, "now I can block out all the light while The Bean's reading and all the lights he turns on in the middle of the night when he goes to the bathroom!" Apparently, AJ likes complete darkness when it comes to sleeping. So, the last few nights, as he climbs into bed, he pulls on his sleep mask and snuggles into his covers with a peaceful smile on his face, knowing his night will be dark as dark.

#3 (OK, this would have to be a video clip) Sister setting up a tea party while singing "I Am Woman Hear Me Roar." Or, as she says, "I am women, hear me RAR." I was sitting on the couch watching and listening, and it took a few minutes for it to sink in....... that what I was watching was a tiny little girl, daintily pouring pretend tea and offering milk and sugar oh-so-politely, while singing Helen Reddy. Did I teach her this? I thought to myself, wondering if she had ever seen me set up a tea party (I don't think so), and, When did I take to signing Helen Reddy without realizing it? I had to laugh, and then remembered fondly the time back in the 70s when my Aunt Kate taught me that song. Perhaps it's becoming a family tradition.

And here's a Helen Reddy fix in case you need one.

Confession Saturday

I confess:

--I am writing this as Husband watches the Red Wings game and as I try to watch the Red Wings game but my mind keeps wandering......... to a poem I'm working on, to the cooking-ahead I need to do before we go on vacation, to the coffee cake I need to make tomorrow morning, to my favorite songs from when I was a kid, to one time when I was watching the Red Wings at Peterson's on U.S. 31 in Eastport, which I think is the last time I watched the Wings game with my parents and brothers.  I really want the Wings to win, but I confess, I have the attention span of a squirrel when it comes to professional sports.

--The Bean was home from school all week with a bad virus, and I really enjoyed not having to scramble around in the morning to get him out the door on time.

--When it comes to nursing the sick, I am no Cherry Ames. No, I am not nearly as patient and compassionate as I would like to be.  On the other hand, The Bean is - shall we say - an enthusiastic patient (I did love those Cherry Ames books when I was a kid, though).

--I love bacon.  And Journey (for which I can be absolved because was born in the early 70s).

--I don't really believe in the orthodox concept of Hell, but if there is a Hell, I am quite sure it is an eternal version of Chuck E. Cheese's (where we spent our morning) or Sam's Club (where we spent our afternoon).  I confess, that thought is enough to make me want to go to Confession, just in case.

(P.S. I confess, I had to laugh when Sister corrected my pronunciation of Chuck E. Cheese's. "No, Mama!" she said, all indignant, "it's Chuck E. Cheese-us! Same as Jesus!")