Just a Blog After the Show

Graham Nash

Whitaker Center, Harrisburg, PA

March 13, 2019

When I was around 10 years old or so, on television at the time they were using Teach Your Children in a commercial for something or other.  I immediately loved it and latched onto that song, asking my mother who sang it, wanting it on cassette tape. It had spoken to me...because it was timeless and it says a lot, even in part in a commercial. And so I received my first CSN album for my birthday that year. I honestly can’t even remember if it was CSN or CSN&Y or Deja Vu or a Greatest Hits? Regardless, it had Teach Your Children as well as Our House on it, and it was a hell of a good start. 

My mother also listened to The Hollies a bit, so I was also exposed to that good stuff as a kid. The commonality, of course, being Graham Nash, a vital harmony in both bands and the one who penned the song that grabbed me in my youth. I loved their harmonies. Not enough can really be said about good harmony. Some groups have such distinct harmonies, they’re almost familial and their combined tone serves as a stand out voice in and of itself. The Beatles, The Mamas and the Papas, The Beach Boys, etc....Crosby, Stills, & Nash. It’s a wonderful thing.

So, this Christmas I needed a gift for my mother and nothing is better than a concert experience in her book; I stumbled across Graham Nash’s tour and found a small venue in Harrisburg where he would be performing and jumped on some tickets for her and myself. I am currently pregnant with my third child but at the time figured I wouldn’t be too pregnant to go by the time of the concert, so it was a doable wait. I saw he had been playing Hollies songs and classic CSNand/orY as well as his solo work during concerts, so it would be exciting to share that with my mother and I was sure she would enjoy it. Music is the gift that keeps on giving! 

I had never been to this venue in Harrisburg before, The Whitaker Center for Science and the Arts. Overall, it was fairly easy to navigate to and the trip wasn’t a pain at all. The weather was good and there wasn’t much city driving involved, it was on the outer side of Harrisburg on Market Street. The parking garage was connected to the building so you could get to the theatre through the building, which was neat and nice for my near-waddle pace. We made it with a spare hour to grab some grub, so we hit up a Freshido restaurant nearby. I’m convinced it’s Korean food, even though the webs told my mother it is Hawaiian; my dish was called the Gangnam Style plate and there was bulgogi meat and kimchi? I rest my case. It was a little spicy but good and didn’t even give me heartburn, which was pleasantly surprising! So much winning! 

We made it back in and found our seats after checking out the swag stop on the way in. There was the usual array of t-shirt, CD, and vinyl memorabilia but also a section of signed photographs, one of Joni Mitchell in a rearview mirror, signed by Nash, and copies of his new book “Our House” that just came out. Inside the theatre, actually the Sunoco Theatre inside the Whitaker Center, was about as big as The State Theatre, in State College, if you are familiar. It was quaint and lovely, with an orchestra section, where we were seated, and mezzanine and balcony sections that were directly on top of each other. They even had moody string lights along the balconies. We had a great view from our seats.

After some dimming of the house lights Nash and co. came out onto the stage to a cheering crowd. He greeted everyone immediately, waving to the balcony folks. He humbly thanked the Universe for bringing us all together at this moment in time. He said something akin to all they had were songs but they were “gonna sing the shit out of ‘em!” They opened with Pre-Roads Down, going next into Bus Stop which was exciting to witness with my mother. I was fairly sure he would play it because he has been but also really hoping he would because it was one from The Hollies I had heard a lot growing up. Afterward, he commented on the cheering, saying it really showed how old we were as a crowd, stating jokingly that we must be well into our 40s. He was pretty playful and funny the entire show. 

Different artists do different things on stage and have different relationships with their audiences. Graham Nash had a casual and intimate way about him. The show was, in a way, a mini Story Tellers; Nash introduced most of his numbers with a little anecdote about the song’s conception. Some introductions were short, one liners, at times just the song title and/or the year he wrote it, while others were lengthier tales. 

He started into I Used To Be a King after the quip “I wrote this right after breaking up with Joan” and then afterwards went into Wasted on the Way. Before Better Days he mentioned he wrote it for Anita Baker. Then Carried Away. Right Between the Eyes. Moving into Military Madness he said he was so tired of playing the song, not because it’s a bad song but because he wrote it about his dad leaving for WWII and the wars keep happening—-so he must keep singing. 

He introduced his two man band right away, after the first or second song. It was impressive how well they harmonized together covering classic vocals with Nash that you were so accustomed to hearing with CSN/Y; my ears deemed it totally acceptable! Shane Fontayne, who he said was most notably English and had played lead guitar with another band in England as well as Sting and “more importantly for you Americans”, Bruce Springsteen. His keyboard player was introduced as being from a musical family, hailing from Lubbock, Texas, which got some cheers. To the cheers, he said “If you know, you know!” This was a little setlist foreshadowing. 

Shane Fontayne was remarkable! It was fun watching him switch guitars from among his rack and recreate classic riffs. His guitar playing was superb and he did a lot of great emotive stuff, most notably on Wind on the Water, where he made sounds akin to a whale’s call, fitting to the song. Graham told the story of being off the coast of Africa on Crosby’s boat and having an encounter with a blue whale that was bigger than their 80 foot boat. He said that it was a near spiritual experience and he was inspired to write the song. 

They did a really cool rendition of The Beatles’ song A Day in the Life, after which Graham noted that it was great and “if you were a singer wouldn’t you want to sing that song?” Agreed! Before Marrakesh Express, he told of a time he was in Africa, taking a train from Morocco to Marrekesh. He spoke of his writing and said “most of my songs come from ordinary moments” although something like this might not be too ordinary to us, to Graham Nash, it was! The band took a 20 minute break after this. 

Coming back from break, Nash looks at Fontayne and playfully asks if he thinks they should really do this [next song]. To much delight, they break into Love the One You’re With! I was thrilled. I never would have expected to hear it, so it was perhaps my favorite number of the evening? Perhaps. Taken at All; Golden Days; Immigration Man: he tells of the time he was stopped at the gates after a trip to Canada and denied re-entry to America. They let Crosby and Stills in. Even Neil Young, he said, was allowed back in but he was denied. He was a mad Englishman as his friends laughed at him from the other side. He said he wrote Immigration Man before he even made it home. 

Just a Song Before I Go was dedicated to the child of a woman that he had met on break. He shared how he wrote this one on a $500 bet from a low-level drug dealer whose house he was at while in Hawaii. He still has the $500 and said that the song became CSN’s most popular hit and had he known, he would have written a better song. The conception of Cathedral was, perhaps, the funniest tale of them all. He said that while in England touring with CSNY he had a day off after the last show. He chose to rent a Rolls Royce with a driver, find a dealer, and then drop acid, spending most of his day laying in the grass in the middle of Stone Henge, which was accessible at the time and wasn’t fenced up back in the day. He later made his way to the nearby Westminster Cathedral where he said he walked over top of a grave of a soldier and had the weirdest sensation in his legs, not from the acid, as he attested to knowing the affects of the drug. Upon inspection he noticed the day the man in the grave died was his birthday. “I don’t know if I was him or he was me or what?” but what followed was an ecstatic experience that led to the writing of Cathedral. It was interesting to learn that not much of that song was made up, which one would be led to believe, but rather gathered from a completely real experience by Nash. 

He mentioned again about the ordinary moments inspiring his songs, and went into a tale of an ordinary “shitty rainy day” when he was simply out walking around with Joni Mitchell window shopping. Joni spotted an interesting vase in a window and bought it. We could excitedly see where this was going. He said they came home to a chilly house and he lit a fire, she filled the vase and then he sat down and wrote Our House. 

As for the foreshadowing, the keyboard player was from Lubbock, Texas, which is, incidentally, where Buddy Holly hailed from. The three of them moved center stage and played a lovely harmonized rendition of Holly’s “Everyday” which was excellent. I had read they were doing this, but forgot all about it in the excitement so I was still pleasantly surprised. Their final number, which I was able to record (although I wish I had captured Love the One You’re With or even Everyday) was what I had expected, Teach Your Children. My mother went to hug me, but saw I was recording on my phone, although that didn’t stop us from exchanging happy glances and singing along. We had come full circle. A good time was had by all, even the baby who had been kicking away the entire concert. 

Graham Nash at the Whitaker Center was truly a bucket list epic show. I am very grateful to have been able to experience it with my mother and especially in such a quaint venue. Nash’s intimate explanations and introductions to his songs were wonderful and insightful. I love when artists actually take the time to connect with their audiences like that, especially ones who have played for so many years. It really makes for a better show. His sharing of his writing process was insightful. Although somewhat less “ordinary” than the lay man’s moments, it was neat to see that most of his songs basically did come from ordinary days and events in his life, each was “a day in the life” of Graham Nash, if you will. Who wouldn’t want to sing about that? 

Stand Up to Anything and Anyone

A picture is worth how many words? I need to say a few about this good thing right here. It's clever. It's simple. It's positive. It's me and not me at all, simultaneously. Its none of me. It's all of me. It was also not my idea at all. All in all...it was all little Miss Celie Ruth who will be turning 8 in 3 days and is proving herself to be not quite so little anymore. 

Last week on a family trip to Lowe's Home Improvement, which is sadly and gloriously one of Celie's favorite places, we were walking past the display for Valspar paint that they have enlarged since their removal of Olympic, which I personally feel is for the best (okay, it's one of my favorite places to), when #celiesays "Hey, mom! Look! That could be a thing!" She points over at the signage and then says "That could he a good message!" She holds her fingers up to cover a letter in one of the Valspar claims. A moment of awe fell over me and I was compelled to document the moment on my shitty Grammy-phone with my 4,677th-4,679th photos for posterity.

She later would use the word "metaphor" when describing it as being a good message. Arguing all semantics and technicalities aside, this still brought on a "holy-shit-you-do-listen-to-me" moment. You know they hear some things but the vast amount of pearls you attempt to spew out at your children seem to fall on deaf ears. Needless to say, I had a moment. Her two little fingers outstretched to cover up the "S" in Valspar's claim that their paint "Stands Up To Anything" which is funny, because I would have just snapped the pic without covering anything and laughed and said Ha Ha yeah: Celie stands up to anything. Tough little shit. That's a metaphor. Yadda yadda. Not my girl, though. My girl gave it a twist; she made it an action. In truth, she gave it a positive twist and and made it a call to action. Love her love her LOVE her! 

The positive, active mindset is one that I struggle the most to pass on to my daughter because it's also the hardest for me to hold onto myself. I experience such negative moods that it is essential for me to counteract that with grasps at positive perspectives. I strive to teach her to do her best to focus on the positive side of life as well as that side of me. While the beast cannot be fooled by platitudes or other contrived bullshit messages, I also try my best to look for things that are actually believable and resonate with me in order to raise my spirit. After every storm I do my best to trudge onward through the scattered debris and remember to look on the bright side of life as Monty Python taught me. It is a struggle, though, because I have both rides to hell and trips to the moon. In my understanding, the Eternal Nothing and The Absolute All are mere polarities of the same pendulum swing. I digress. 

My point being with all of this, parenting is hard regardless. I found it to be the hardest relationship to be in successfully because the size of the mirror may be small but it reflects every little fucking ugly angle right back at you. At least it only gets bigger in time, though, and if you break it, you're ego will be cut to shreds! Definitely keeps you on your toes with your bullshit and I come with a lot of bullshit. One of the things I have taught and encouraged Celie to do is to call me out on my bullshit. While you need to parent from a place of authority, they also need to see that you are human and capable of error. It does not serve their psyche to be totalitarian in your parenting, it crushes their spirits. They need to see that you are flawed, you make mistakes, and you are willing to own them. I've taught her to stand up to anything and anyone, including me. While some might think this is destructive, some people need to get real with their power trip parenting style. You aren't a super hero, you are only a person and they are capable of understanding that if you just take off the mask. I eat a lot of crow over the matter, willingly. Every day. I eat crow, I eat dirt, I eat my hat, I eat my words; I eat, I eat, I eat, I eat. Seems to be a theme in my life, but in this instance it's my sickening saving grace. While fucking up on the daily and losing my temper, saying stupid shit, doing stupid shit, and being generally emotionally unstable I have tried my best to explain the "boo boo in my head" to her since she was 2...because as a SAHM I had no other choice. I was alone with her and there was no escape. She picked the bathroom lock. That's a fucking metaphor. I had to keep it real in order to keep our attachment healthy. Has it shifted back and forth at times? Absolutely...it does with any parent-child relationship at times, but I always strive to remember that my point is connection and not control, which seems to be what comes programmed. Fighting the system is hard when you are a part of the system, which is why checks and balances are vital. I essentially taught Celie to call me out on my shit. This is essential but has also added to her already genetic inheritance of stubbornness from both sides, but I just like to think that she's going to be a hardheaded woman some day in a Cat Stevens kind of way. She knows how she should be treated because I am teaching her to recognize and express feeling even when I, her primary caregiver, cross a line. I don't just act like nothing happened and it's within my parental right to be a total asshole. She knows all about moods and emotions. She knows all about anxiety and is learning to deal with her own developing weirdness and the connected struggles. I do my best to help her to understand herself as I better understand myself through understanding her. Does that make sense? "I understand!" she is constantly telling me. It's fucked up...but I really believe her. I'm not the kind of mother that would stack bills to bet my kid is smarter than yours or give IQ that much overall value in a child. Celie Ruth is smart as a whip but her true gift lies in her innate sensitivity, her learned compassion, and her striking emotional intelligence. Kids can understand a lot more than you think they can if you just talk to them, meet them at their own level, and never take away their source of love. Know your audience, keep explaining yourself in order to be understood, and eat the fucking crow. Always. EAT IT!! Just don't choke on the feathers.

Okay, so I couldn't just say a few words about this image but I can seldom say only a few about anything. I essentially never really stood up to anyone or anything and I took people's bullshit all of my life which feeds into many of my problems. My goal with my daughter as a parent is to raise a woman that will not react that way to the world she finds herself in, no matter what. Celie has been through her share of bullshit and I will inevitably leave her with her own pile of bullshit because of my own bullshit because of their bullshit, but I hope that it's a small pile and doesn't stink as bad as mine does. #parentinggoals Knockin' off the shit, my girl is going to be turning 8 on Sunday and birthdays are bittersweet, every one of 'em. Her looks are changing; she's growing into her big girl face. I'm growing up right along with her, though. She has, so far, been my biggest teacher. Being called out is hard enough in life, but when it's by a child it does all kinds of weird things to your heart and mind. Ego punches; growing pains. Children innately have a very strong sense of indignation and if you allow them to apply a durable coat, they actually have their own excellent scrub and stain resistance. This whole idea was just too phenomenally beautiful not to share. Stand up to anything and anyone. 

Ode to My Daughter

Her eyes well with wonder;

She looks up to the stars.

Her voice is like thunder.

She is beautiful, bizarre.

Her hair is like corn silk.

She's wild and free. 

Her skin is like fresh milk. 

She stings like a bee. 

Her smile is magic. 

She's seldom seen sad. 

Her anger is tragic;

She's tough when she's mad. 

Her compassion astounds me.

She forgives and forgets. 

Her kindness is lasting;

She gives what she gets. 

Her love is a gift;

She laughs, it's a treasure.

Her life is a wish. 

She lives for this pleasure. 

Dear Daughter, always growing.

Today you are turning five!

To my heart, you are showing,

The joys of being alive. 

Kunes' Farm Apples and The Rainbow Connection

Today we followed a rainbow.  It ended up taking us to Kunes' Farm in Keewaydin.  It was beautiful.  It's amazing how you could really see the colors in order, because sometimes you can only make out a few.  This one had the whole Roy G. Biv going on.  This picture doesn't capture it's full essence.  Usually the "iv" isn't there or is very faint and hard to make out.  A lot of the time it is just "Roy".  (I believe the spectrum actually continues on endlessly, as I understand?)  Regardless, anytime I see a rainbow it reminds me of those nuances in life and how it really is magical if you look at it at the right time, from the right angle and in the right light.

While we were at Kunes' Farm we bought two pecks of delicious apples.  I remember my dad bringing me there when I was a kid and getting apples and especially apple cider.  They were bigger then and made their own cider at the time.  They actually make their own Hard Cider now, which is rather tasty, although they ironically outsource their apple cider now.  It's a great little place tucked away in the Pennsylvania hills.  The Keewaydin Cemetery down the road, I think, has one of the most extraordinary views across the West Branch river valley; for a dead person that's pretty splendid.  Tomb with a view!!

Rainbows, it turns out, are pretty intricate.  Refraction and bending light and arcs and reflections and what not...beautiful mystery.  Divine mystery.  But, it's not really a mystery, is it?  Stop explaining it, Scientist, and just LOOK at it.  SEE it for what it is, the true color of our dreams.  I'll be damned...you mean it's there ALL the time, but we can't see it?  We see it in a different light.  Two things, rain and sunlight, naturally occurring, taken for granted on a daily basis but when they combine there is real magic revealed.  Is the whole greater than the sum of its parts?  In this case it is of the lesser and greater.  What?  Define greater...or even lesser?  Semantics.  Is a rainbow greater than the sun?  Is the sun greater than the rain?  Which is more powerful, the spectrum or the rainbow?  The rainbow IS the spectrum.  The rainbow is revealing.  The rainbow is everywhere; there is a rainbow in all of us.  Rainbows are all around us!  (Remember the mist from the garden hose in the sunlight, as a kid, revealing the spectrum...or, hell, yesterday!?)  It's like a romantic glimpse behind Life's curtain of colors.  A rainbow says, "Something magnificent is happening here...even if we aren't exactly sure what it is." 

Labor of Love: 138th Cooper Picnic

Today we did what we have done for Labor Day...well, all of my life?  I wonder if it really has been 32 years in a row?  Surely not, but most years of my life.  I don't know how old I was when we first went.  Surely I missed a year or so in there somewhere? Who knows?  Most of the years of my life I have gone to the Cooper Picnic on Labor Day.  This was Celie's 3rd year.  She made her Cooper Grove debut about 7 days after she was born; it was our first outing as a family. This year was the 138th annual Cooper Picnic.  My family's involvement in these festivities has spanned decades and it is a tradition that is close to my heart and will hopefully continue.

When I was younger Labor Day sometimes started the day before the picnic.  My dad is an electrician, and often fixed things or helped out as they were preparing for the event.  I remember going with him when he fixed the soft serve ice cream machine.  I thought it was so neat, I got to see how it was made.  My family also helped out and we were expected to for many years once we were older.  My grandmother worked in the kitchen when we were younger and we would run into the old dining hall kitchen to see her.  "I love you!" she'd tell us every time.  We would visit a minute or two, watching as she did the dishes.  It was also in this hall where my parents had the dinner part of their wedding reception.

The Cooper Picnic has games and small rides, like the unforgettable hay rides, but I can even remember when they used to have a ferris wheel and there were ticket booths.  They have the traditional bbq chicken dinner but also have a stand with burgers and such.  Funnel cakes, blue berry milk shakes, birch beer!  A few of my favorite things. The games and flea market are even better.  I can't even say how many gold fish we've won and free goods we have acquired.  My pap spun the chuck-o'-luck wheel for well over twenty five years!  I can still hear his voice declaring, "An ace, a deuce, and a trey!"  My grandmother worked at the Chinese auction when we were older, this was actually the last place that I saw her alive.  We stood in the spot where I last spoke to her on this Labor Day as we talked to a friend and watched his dad's band perform.  I forgot to mention the live music they have every year.  It's a good time.  Plus, you never know who you are going to run into at the Cooper Picnic, family, friend, or foe!

The grove is haunted by the spectres of my youth but I am sure more than that clings to this place.  I used to attend catechism classes every Wednesday in the main building that has long been torn down and replaced by a new one.  We used to ride the merry-go-round until we were sick!  They used to have the yearly 'Sleigh Full of Gifts' dinner here where we saw Santa.  I remember coming to Karate events here that my dad was in when I was a kid.  What else happened here, beyond my life?  To think, what was this grove like 138 years ago when the residents of Cooper Settlement started this community tradition?  What did these grounds look like?  The grove itself must have been so different; these trees, while impressive, were clearly not here 138 years ago.

As my daughter ran wildly evading my husband's attempts to control her, I saw myself running around the Cooper Grove as a kid, barefoot and wild, lost in tradition.  Living in the holiday.  Times have changed, the grove has clearly changed, the food has changed, the games have changed....the people have changed.  Many things about this event have changed over the years...but the tradition continues. 

Do You Trust Your Brakes?

I was cleaning old text messages off of my phone this evening and I came to a thread between my sister and I when she was home from Korea in July.  I read through it before deleting it and was reminded of a silly scenario that we made into a metaphor one night when we popped into a friend's barn for an impromptu visit on the way to Weis market.  I almost forgot about it, accept she mentioned it in one of her last messages to me before she boarded her plane to return to Korea.  She asked me, "Do you trust your brakes?"

We were standing around bullshitting about this and that and then as the guys began to talk politics our right brain geared minds grew bored and started playing with thoughts and objects laying about. Luckily there were some matchbox cars sitting on something nearby.  My sister immediately started to drive them around and make noises.  It is this childlike side of her presence that I miss the most, the one that makes me laugh and jokes me out of sadness.  I miss that side of her that gets that side of me going until we are suddenly playing with matchbox cars like children while adults discuss the government around us.  Oblivious.  We've honed our skill well; my sister and I can block out the world with our childhood coping mechanisms anytime.  This isn't always the most polite of things to do and I am sure we can seem rude, but we sometimes have little control over where the moment takes us. 

This moment took us to high speeds in a pretend car, jumping over ramps and heading straight for a wall.  One of us did the fake squeaky brake noise as the car stopped suddenly.  I remember posing the question, "Yes, but do you trust your brakes?"  Heading at a wall at high speeds how can you be sure that your brakes are indeed going to work when the moment comes?  How do you know that they will stop you?  You need to have a certain amount of faith in your brakes, to trust them in a huge sense.  But should you have to trust them so much when so many variables are influenced by you?  Speed, for one, is always a factor and it can be controlled.

If you head straight into anything  balls to the wall, you risk coming to a sudden lethal stop if you don't control your speed or use your brakes.  Most of the time though, people take for granted that their brakes are there.  They take off out of the gate pedal to the floor, burnin' tire, hootin' and a hollerin', speeding into the world...and trust that this system will later be in place to stop them before they get into any danger.  On a dime, even.  This isn't always the case, though, is it?  Should we be so bold as to let the future of our lives up to a precaution we don't have COMPLETE control over? Some people underestimate their speed and forget that they are in control of the brakes.  They are essentially only a steering passenger, but their judgement is needed, they are still commanding the vehicle.  The timing is their decision...their choice.  Whenever and however your vehicle comes to a stop is [in most cases and figuratively] up to you.  You are the matchbox car.  You control the brakes. 

So, do you trust your brakes?  Do you trust that you will stop when the time comes, when it matters most?  When you want to?  When you need to?  Or will you hit that wall?  There's a chance that you could even survive hitting a wall, there's a smaller chance you could crash right on through it.  Your brakes may be immaculate and you may have steel strong willpower.  So then, if you trust your brakes, do you trust yourself to use them?  Now, that...is a metaphor.

Kitty Spit Resurrection!

Celie was playing over by the dog pen today and pushed her kitty through the fence.  I did't see her do this.  She started screaming and I ran over, thinking they hurt her somehow.  Her back was to me and she didn't turn to face me, so I figured it couldn't be that bad.  She didn't turn because she was watching and upset about the outcome that was playing out.  She was learning the consequences of handing over her beloved toy which she probably squeezed through the fence just to see what would happen. She found out. 
Kitty was resurrected today, freed from a fetal sac of spit, like a new born calf. It was so disgusting; I about had to chew through it myself, like a wild mammal.  Dog spit should be used as an industrial adhesive!  At least the kitty was saved, unlike some other things she threw in it afterwards.  Kids aren't the best scientists but they sure do experiment a lot!

A Meet in the Middle of Reflections and Shadows

How far is a shadow's reach?

ON Monday, Celie was introduced to her shadow.  That's a loaded concept and a metaphor; complex for anyone, let alone for a toddler.  I'm speaking of course of the shadow in the psychological sense.  I think she sees MY shadow more than any other human being, even more than the sun, so I suppose it is only right she learn how they are made, starting with the 'physical' ones, if you will.  I also gained some insight into "A Meet" and it's identification.  A Meet has been a character in the family for going on 3 months or more now.  We have no clue as to its true identity, aside from the many cryptic descriptions we are given almost on a daily basis.  It's a mystery, much like all of life, but one that we are determined to get to the bottom of.

Celie first started talking about A Meet around the holidays.  She was watching You Tube videos with her Grammy and Aunt Kate.  This one video was just a scene of Christmas lights going on and off backed by music.  On this one spot the lights didn't go off because it appeared to be lights from a house in the distance that wasn't part of the lights display.  Celie began to say "A Meet! A Meet is onna spot!!"  We didn't know what she meant, but figured it to be that "spot" on the video she pointed out, which was weird and perplexing.  She has since then gone into an "I'm scared!" stage of sorts where often times she is scared of areas, or the dark, or "things".  She hasn't liked the dark since she was young but had never verbalized being scared of anything until 4 to 6 months ago.  She started saying A Meet was "onna win'ow" at my parents' house.  They have a large bow window in the kitchen and she didn't like it while sitting in her high chair.  Was it a reflection in the glass?  She has also always said "A Meet is sad!"  So far we knew A Meet to be "sad", "onna win'ow" and "onna spot" but had no clue what it really was or why it was so damn melancholy and creepy.

Celie has since then brought up A Meet many many times.  She has said it was on our windows, usually at night, which leads you to believe it is a reflection of sorts she is talking about.  But, still. WHY is it sad?!  Plus, it is very odd to hear the things she has been telling me are "like A Meet".  So far it is apparently like the goat in Green Eggs and Ham as well as the little heart shaped pillow the blue haired pet sits on in One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish?  What in the hell does this thing look like?!  No wonder it's scary!  She will also just start telling people about A Meet even when she doesn't say she is actively seeing it, just a random "oh by the way..." in conversation.  Last week when my mother-in-law was visiting, I was blissfully using the bathroom alone when I heard her up in the living room telling her about A Meet.  It's quite the popular oddity with her lately.

While in the living room on Monday, the sun was coming through the window and throwing a shadow on the floor as it often does that time of day.  The tassels of the valance style curtain were forming a dark visually interesting shape on the carpet.  Celie pointed at it and said "A Meet! A Meet!"  I looked at the floor and wondered what it was she saw in the shapes.  I realized she didn't really understand the concept of what a shadow is, how it is made, or where it comes from.  She was scared of the shadow, so I moved the tassels on the curtain, being the part of the shadow she was pointing at, showing her how they and the shadow both moved, hopefully showing her how the shadow came from the sun on the curtain.  We had played with the sunlight in this window using dangley shiny streamers before, shaking them and playing with the light reflected on the ceiling.  She had seen the light, and I hoped that would allow her to understand the dark.  (That's a metaphor!!)
After moving the curtain and it's shadow I extended my arm into the light, pointing out my arm moving and the new shadow form that was moving.  She seemed to understand and immediately declared, "I needa try it!"  She climbed up onto the couch in front of the window that was creating the magic, and began moving her arms, seemingly satisfied that the movement was hers.  She extended individual fingers, playing with the changes and locating her shadow hand.  She got onto the floor and started stepping on it and walking around.  This calmed her fear, and she moved past it not mentioning A Meet again for the moment.

Celie learned that she makes her own shadow and can control it.  I learned just how scary reflections can be and how they can be interwoven with shadow, and used to help us to understand the dark spots.  She is afraid of A Meet.  Reflections can be scary, so can your shadow.  It's a different form of yourself that follows you everywhere, but you can control it if you can see it.

Reflections are sometimes intimidating.  To the human mind programmed to find order in chaos,they tend to take on forms and shapes...symbols, if you will, and therefore have meaning.  They change.  Perspective changes them.  The image is always different; sometimes it's a horned goat in your face, sometimes it's a cushion to sit on.  Reflections come from objects throwing the light source back out onto another object.  A passing of the light, in a way, letting the light shine.  Reflections should then, theoretically speaking, be positive.  They are a vicarious source of light.

Your shadows are dark reflections of your soul in a psychological sense, that you can see if you are backed by light.  They are areas of blocked light, where the source can not move through us.  Shadows are also intimidating.  They show a distorted version of ourselves; a taller tale or a stretched truth.  Perhaps if we become more reflective we can better understand our dark side and become more shadowless, bending the light in accordance to our shape and movement, adding our own twist, and then sending it back out to space, rather than blocking the light and creating darkness.  Learning to control your darkness, your own shadow, is a milestone at any age.

How far is a shadows reach?

Musing Through,
Missie Sue

A Virginia Weekend

So I just returned from a trip to Virginia yesterday.  It was a 6 hour ride down, 5 hour ride back.  It was one of the best mini vacations of my life.  I was sent right back to my childhood when I basically spent maybe ten to twelve straight summers of my life at my Uncle Tom’s pool.

We stayed with my cousin, who is Uncle Tom and Aunt Grace’s daughter.  They were huge figures in my early childhood.  They lived only 15 minutes from us and were at all of our birthday parties and holiday celebrations.  My uncle passed away several years ago, and since then my aunt and cousin her family have all moved to Virginia.  We miss them a lot and it is always good to have visits. 

The pool I swam in was an 8 foot inground pool with a diving board.  It had no liner; the bottom was made out of concrete.  A single line of blue square tiles extended around the entire edge.  It was glorious!

It’s funny how you can be away from things for so long and then suddenly when you are thrown into the middle of it everything just comes back to you.  I haven’t SWAM swam in a pool in the longest time.  I’ve lately been in rivers and such, not even THAT much, but haven’t been in the chlorine for awhile.  I grew up there!  My mother, while taking us to the Black Moshannon State Forest’s “beach” along the creek all the summers of our lives, also took us before that so much more to her brother and sister-in-law’s pool.  This is where I learned to swim.  This pool was 10 feet at the deep end, I believe.  It had a sliding board that was at the 5 feet mark, if I remember correctly.  It was the best place on Earth for a kid.  Me and my cousins celebrated the simplistic joys of life in both ends of that glorious pool!  The family all hung out pool side as we swam.  We had these colored rings that you sunk to the bottom and dove to find.  We would launch each other across the water.  We would practice “The Lift” from Dirty Dancing!!  We were even known to play a spirited game of Marco Polo at times.  We would dive and play and splash until our eyes were fogged over with a white haze from opening them in the chlorine!  It.was.awesome!!

We were probably down in Virginia for a total of 48 hours and I probably spent about 30 of them in the pool!  My face shows it.  I didn’t get burnt, but I look spanked and hopefully it will turn to a light tan and nothing else.  I have such a fair complexion that it’s almost impossible to have fun outside without getting some part of my head burnt, it seems.  They need SPF conditioner for your scalp!
 

My uncle’s pool and cousin’s pool were opposite each other in perspective to the house.  I mean, that the shallow end and deep end were at opposite sides compared to how the pool faced the house and were people sat and hung out.  I found myself getting confused by this at times. I would be in the deep end and I would go to put my feet down.  It was much fun.  I lapsed into childhood myself spending some incredibly joyful moments with my daughter in the pool!  She has proven to be a water lover just like her mother; she didn’t want to get out every time she was in there!

We had some really good food and enjoyed some drinks with the family!  People hung out in the hot tub.  My cousin and her family’s hospitality is astounding and their home is like a resort.  My mother and aunt’s got drunk in the hot tub thanks to some potent vodka drinks fixed by my cousin (whose birthday we were there to celebrate!).  I was about in stitches laughing that night and was up until 3 am helping my drunken mother.  She did apologize for leaving me by the side of the road that night when I was a kid, though.  It was a night to remember.  I thought that it couldn’t be topped until the following night when I went skinny dipping with her at 2am!  I think that the fact that I was not the one naked warrants a mention. :/  I did get some good diving practice in off the board while my mother coached and judged skyclad.  These are things you only tell your therapist, right??  If you don’t have one, I reckon you just blog about it! 

All in all, it was a meeting of the famn damily like any other and unlike any other!  It was epic.  It felt very good to get away.  It was great seeing the family.  It was great having some drinks and unwinding with them, getting to know them again and more, and enjoying a beautiful atmosphere together.  I swam my ass off through time this weekend!  “Good times!” as I taught Celie to say in the pool.  “Sfimmin’ fun!” she says!  I had almost forgotten how much I love sfimmin’ myself!  Floating in the pool water was like a joyful drift through a foreign world of weightlessness, suspended in memory.  

Me To You,
Missie Sue

I Have Forgotten Infinitesimally More Than I Can Recollect

What is your earliest memory?   

(NaBloPoMo January 9, 2012)

My husband is always telling me during stories in which I am recollecting my childhood how weird it is that I can remember so much.  He has one memory of being in a diaper under a Christmas tree and I think that is pretty far back!  That is one of the only early memories he apparently has, though, and I think that’s probably why he thinks that it is weird that I remember so much - maybe not the entire way back to the birth canal, but I sure can remember a lot of things from my early childhood.  The perspective is important. 

The majority of things I can remember from early childhood are from around the age of 2 to 4.  I think this is why I have been so serious about trying to get myself “together” before Celie starts really remembering things, even though the way that I am now surely is affecting the framework of her mind.  The thing is there really just is no telling how far someone will remember back when they are “grown”.  It’s all up to their mind.  In all likelihood Celie is going to remember some or potentially a lot of the occurrences that are happening now in our lives.  It’s already insane to me to think of/see the fruits of things that she is obviously sucking up like a sponge as it is.  The early baby stage has been the last time in my life I was be able to do a lot of things, but one of them was to flavorfully use and enjoy the fabulous “f” word in my vocabulary, amongst others I will miss, unless I am blogging or in partaking company (which is an endeavor of motherhood all its own and I will surely one day blog about it.)

Anyway, I digress – the earliest memory I actually have from my life is of me in a sleeper of sorts in a crib in the house where my mother grew up on 9^th Street in Philipsburg.  It’s really an image mostly, more than a living memory, and the perspective of it is odd as well.  Given, the older I get the foggier this “memory” gets, but I do remember being bathed in the sunlight from the windows behind me that the crib (or playpen?) that I was standing in was in front of.  I think that my sleeper was yellow, green, or both.  I more than likely was still in diapers.  There was nothing really noteworthy happening in this memory; it was just of me standing up and holding onto the side of the crib.  I maybe was between 9 and 18 months old, though I can’t really be certain. 

The weirdest thing about this memory is the perspective.  I see this memory in my head as if I were in front of myself.  I see “baby Missie” in front of me; I am not looking out at the world from baby Missie’s eyes, I am the world peering at baby Missie.  It’s as if I am witnessing or watching myself.  I have other memories of being young but I don’t necessarily remember them having the outer perspective like this one.  I have a lot of memories of the house on 9^th Street and they weren’t the same as this one. 

This was my first memory.   My memory started where all of my mother’s memories surely started; where my grandmother’s surely started, as she was also raised in that house.  Memory is an interesting and weird thing, though.  We’re not entirely sure how it works or why we can remember some things and not others.  Our brain just seems to make a choice.  But add in the fact that we can have implanted memories as well as false memories, it gets pretty wild.  So what do I remember?  “I REMEMBER EVERY THING!” (Meatloaf reference)  No really.  Not even close.  But I do remember a whole hell of a lot.