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Because of the cool, dim break from the damp, bright heat. Because I can feel both safe and a little scared. Because of the thrill of being alive to witness such awesome drama: the rumbling, the roaring, the clouds piled high, the sudden crack of lightning. And the rain, the relief of the rain.
Showing posts with label things we like. Show all posts
Showing posts with label things we like. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 29
Tuesday, June 16
The Sounds of Bedtime
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At the end of the day, I nurse and rock the Critter to sleep. Meanwhile, Beckett washes the dishes that have piled up through the course of the day. In my own childhood, I fell asleep to the hum of the dishwasher, and now I hope that the Critter finds the splashing of water, clinking of dishes and silverware, and clatter of pots and pans that comes through the nursery door from the kitchen as comforting as I do.
At the end of the day, I nurse and rock the Critter to sleep. Meanwhile, Beckett washes the dishes that have piled up through the course of the day. In my own childhood, I fell asleep to the hum of the dishwasher, and now I hope that the Critter finds the splashing of water, clinking of dishes and silverware, and clatter of pots and pans that comes through the nursery door from the kitchen as comforting as I do.
Wednesday, April 29
Whan That Aprille with His Shoures Soote ...
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I have tended to prefer May, the month of my birth, for its full, lush green. But in recent years I have begun to prefer April and its new green, a pale haze. And now—already!—the daffodils I waited through March to see are drying up, the petals of the magnolia trees are blowing away, and the forsythia have given up their gold.
As a work-from-home mommy, I have no time for novels. And so I nourish myself with poetry alone. Though I have been reading the work of other writers (Meghan O'Rourke's debut collection and, off and on since the Critter was born, Jane Kenyon), lately I find my mind turning to Robert Frost. Everyone knows about the road that made all the difference, I think; the poem unfortunately seems to have been sentimentalized, however, though its narrator seems to me more rueful than celebratory. Indeed, I love Robert Frost for his lack of sentiment, which is grounded in his being versed in country things. He knows that nature is indifferent to human fate, and that though it may be miles away, we are always headed toward winter. And even when he celebrates the new green of April, he focuses on its brevity.
I have tended to prefer May, the month of my birth, for its full, lush green. But in recent years I have begun to prefer April and its new green, a pale haze. And now—already!—the daffodils I waited through March to see are drying up, the petals of the magnolia trees are blowing away, and the forsythia have given up their gold.
As a work-from-home mommy, I have no time for novels. And so I nourish myself with poetry alone. Though I have been reading the work of other writers (Meghan O'Rourke's debut collection and, off and on since the Critter was born, Jane Kenyon), lately I find my mind turning to Robert Frost. Everyone knows about the road that made all the difference, I think; the poem unfortunately seems to have been sentimentalized, however, though its narrator seems to me more rueful than celebratory. Indeed, I love Robert Frost for his lack of sentiment, which is grounded in his being versed in country things. He knows that nature is indifferent to human fate, and that though it may be miles away, we are always headed toward winter. And even when he celebrates the new green of April, he focuses on its brevity.
Saturday, February 21
Spring Is (Almost) Here
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In past years, dreary January and February have seemed interminable. This year, even weeks ago it seemed that spring was not too far away—not just around the corner, but close enough. Has time sped up because I am older now and watching the Critter grow so quickly? Have I simply become more patient with the long nights and the cold? Is it because of the extension of Daylight Savings Time, now just two weeks away?
However close it may seem, spring is certainly not yet here—barely 30°F during my run this morning. Nevertheless, we've added Spring Is Here by Taro Gomi (of Everyone Poops fame) to our repertoire of bedtime books for the Critter. Its simple, lyric text and illustrations render the changing seasons, beginning with the birth of a calf. It is a perfect picture book, and I tend to order it in bulk so that I have copies to give to friends when they have children.
I have been known to tear up at the conclusion of the book, when, with the return of spring, "The calf has grown." But these days—perhaps because it is winter?—my favorite is the picture of four children dancing and sledding in the snow. "The snow falls," reads the text, "The children play."
Simple as it is, this part of the book stirs my sense of the incomprehensible vastness of things. There is a time when you are one of the children playing in the snow. Then perhaps the time comes when one of the children playing in the snow is yours, or, later, your child's child. Other times, the children are your neighbors', or your friends'.... There is your life: your childhood, your child, your grandchildren. And there is simply life: year after year, children playing in the snow.
In past years, dreary January and February have seemed interminable. This year, even weeks ago it seemed that spring was not too far away—not just around the corner, but close enough. Has time sped up because I am older now and watching the Critter grow so quickly? Have I simply become more patient with the long nights and the cold? Is it because of the extension of Daylight Savings Time, now just two weeks away?
However close it may seem, spring is certainly not yet here—barely 30°F during my run this morning. Nevertheless, we've added Spring Is Here by Taro Gomi (of Everyone Poops fame) to our repertoire of bedtime books for the Critter. Its simple, lyric text and illustrations render the changing seasons, beginning with the birth of a calf. It is a perfect picture book, and I tend to order it in bulk so that I have copies to give to friends when they have children.
I have been known to tear up at the conclusion of the book, when, with the return of spring, "The calf has grown." But these days—perhaps because it is winter?—my favorite is the picture of four children dancing and sledding in the snow. "The snow falls," reads the text, "The children play."
Simple as it is, this part of the book stirs my sense of the incomprehensible vastness of things. There is a time when you are one of the children playing in the snow. Then perhaps the time comes when one of the children playing in the snow is yours, or, later, your child's child. Other times, the children are your neighbors', or your friends'.... There is your life: your childhood, your child, your grandchildren. And there is simply life: year after year, children playing in the snow.
Sunday, January 18
Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho ...
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As I mentioned yesterday, I'm taking in a lot more work these days. Between taking care of the Critter, getting my work done, and that other thing ... what is that other thing??? ... oh, right: sleep ... I find I have much less time to pursue my personal projects, such as this blog. I do not wish to neglect these projects altogether, however! Thus, my goal is to publish one post each week. You may have noticed that I have not met that goal thus far this year, and so I encourage you to subscribe to this blog.
Meanwhile, I also encourage you to check out 43 Folders, a blog I've been checking into recently, especially if you do creative work. (Don't check out this blog instead of doing your creative work, though!) This recent post about the desire to "feel creative"—as opposed to the reality of actually doing creative work—has been a recent inspiration. Lately, of course, I have been neither feeling creative nor doing much of my own creative work (see above), but the Critter won't be four months old forever....
As I mentioned yesterday, I'm taking in a lot more work these days. Between taking care of the Critter, getting my work done, and that other thing ... what is that other thing??? ... oh, right: sleep ... I find I have much less time to pursue my personal projects, such as this blog. I do not wish to neglect these projects altogether, however! Thus, my goal is to publish one post each week. You may have noticed that I have not met that goal thus far this year, and so I encourage you to subscribe to this blog.
Meanwhile, I also encourage you to check out 43 Folders, a blog I've been checking into recently, especially if you do creative work. (Don't check out this blog instead of doing your creative work, though!) This recent post about the desire to "feel creative"—as opposed to the reality of actually doing creative work—has been a recent inspiration. Lately, of course, I have been neither feeling creative nor doing much of my own creative work (see above), but the Critter won't be four months old forever....
Tuesday, December 16
Deck Them Halls and All That Stuff
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As the darkness lingers longer into the morning and falls earlier every evening, I look forward to the holidays. On Hallowe'en, we revel in the darkness. On Thanksgiving, we find comfort in mashed food and pie. And for Christmas, we (those of us who celebrate it) spangle the darkness with lights and song ... and by the time December 25 arrives, the solstice has passed; so though January and February may be dreary, we can at least find solace in the lengthening days.
Much as I love Christmas, hell is other people's Christmas music. Nevertheless, I would like to share my favorite Christmas CDs. But I won't make you listen if you don't want to. I promise.
As the darkness lingers longer into the morning and falls earlier every evening, I look forward to the holidays. On Hallowe'en, we revel in the darkness. On Thanksgiving, we find comfort in mashed food and pie. And for Christmas, we (those of us who celebrate it) spangle the darkness with lights and song ... and by the time December 25 arrives, the solstice has passed; so though January and February may be dreary, we can at least find solace in the lengthening days.
Much as I love Christmas, hell is other people's Christmas music. Nevertheless, I would like to share my favorite Christmas CDs. But I won't make you listen if you don't want to. I promise.
- Pops Christmas Party, by Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops Orchestra. The grand, transcendent medley that opens this classic album includes all the Santa Claus and hohoho and mistletoe and presents to pretty girls that Lucy could ever ask for. Plus, there's "Sleigh Ride"—I will never tire of the crack of that whip—and selections from The Nutcracker.
- Noël by Joan Baez was my mother's favorite. Once, as a little girl, upon hearing the haunting opening track, "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel," I understood the holiness of the holiday: the mystery of the babe in the manger, of the visitation by angels of the shepherds watching their flocks through the night....
- A Charlie Brown Christmas, by the Vince Guaraldi Trio. Of course. No other music captures the melancholy of Christmas so well. Why the melancholy at this time of cheer? For me, it is because I am no longer a little girl, enchanted, praying for snow....
- A Winter's Solstice II by Windham Hill evokes the meditative qualities of a snowfall or winter twilight. Plus, it's not actually Christmas music, so anyone can enjoy.
Tuesday, November 25
Long Time Sun
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This time last year, the Critter existed only as a wish. In January, at the conclusion of my first prenatal yoga class, when I first heard—and sang—the sixth and last song on our lullaby mix, "Long Time Sun" by Snatam Kaur, the Critter was little more than a cluster of quickly dividing cells. Through the spring and summer, as the Critter grew, I sang this song to him nearly every day, at the conclusion of my morning zazen and liturgy. Now the Critter is a baby in my arms, and I sing to him still. The text is an old Irish blessing, and I've also seen the last sentence given as, "May the pure light within you / Guide your way home." I prefer this rendering of the blessing. I believe in the pure light within the Critter, and may he find a home in this crazy world of ours!
This time last year, the Critter existed only as a wish. In January, at the conclusion of my first prenatal yoga class, when I first heard—and sang—the sixth and last song on our lullaby mix, "Long Time Sun" by Snatam Kaur, the Critter was little more than a cluster of quickly dividing cells. Through the spring and summer, as the Critter grew, I sang this song to him nearly every day, at the conclusion of my morning zazen and liturgy. Now the Critter is a baby in my arms, and I sing to him still. The text is an old Irish blessing, and I've also seen the last sentence given as, "May the pure light within you / Guide your way home." I prefer this rendering of the blessing. I believe in the pure light within the Critter, and may he find a home in this crazy world of ours!
Monday, November 24
God Gives Them the Stars to Use as Ladders
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Beckett has pointed out that although the fifth song on our lullaby mix is about babies, it's not really a song for babies. Fine; though I think the true reason for his criticism is that he just doesn't care for Sinéad O'Connor's music. "All Babies" is from Universal Mother, her third album of original songs. Despite the gentle, lullaby-like tone of most of the songs on the album, O'Connor's rage is evident throughout, including in this song.
"All babies are born saying God's name / Over and over, / All born singing God's name," it begins; "All babies are born out of great pain / Over and over, / All born into great pain / All babies are crying, / For no-one remembers God's name," it continues. I interpret these lines non-theistically. To me, the song is about Buddha nature, the original perfection of all human beings. How easily I can see that the Critter is perfect and complete, lacking nothing, whereas I can hardly see such perfection in myself. However, like me, those who do not remember their original perfection, who create and live in great pain—all of us—were once babies "born saying God's name."
O'Connor rages against this fallen world, in which children cannot be protected and will, like the rest of us, grow up forgetting their true nature. I think of her song "Black Boys on Mopeds," from I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got, with the refrain,
Beckett has pointed out that although the fifth song on our lullaby mix is about babies, it's not really a song for babies. Fine; though I think the true reason for his criticism is that he just doesn't care for Sinéad O'Connor's music. "All Babies" is from Universal Mother, her third album of original songs. Despite the gentle, lullaby-like tone of most of the songs on the album, O'Connor's rage is evident throughout, including in this song.
"All babies are born saying God's name / Over and over, / All born singing God's name," it begins; "All babies are born out of great pain / Over and over, / All born into great pain / All babies are crying, / For no-one remembers God's name," it continues. I interpret these lines non-theistically. To me, the song is about Buddha nature, the original perfection of all human beings. How easily I can see that the Critter is perfect and complete, lacking nothing, whereas I can hardly see such perfection in myself. However, like me, those who do not remember their original perfection, who create and live in great pain—all of us—were once babies "born saying God's name."
O'Connor rages against this fallen world, in which children cannot be protected and will, like the rest of us, grow up forgetting their true nature. I think of her song "Black Boys on Mopeds," from I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got, with the refrain,
England's not the mythical land of Madam George and roses,But there is nowhere she can take her boy to keep him from this awareness.
It's the home of police who kill black boys on mopeds,
And I love my boy, and that's why I'm leaving,
I don't want him to be aware
That there's any such thing as grieving.
Friday, November 21
Like Never Before
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In the book my husband and I used to help us plan our wedding, I found "I Will Always Love You" listed among the most popular songs for the bride and groom's first dance. Bad choice, folks: it's a breakup song.
Meanwhile, I sorta wonder about the fourth song on our lullaby mix, "Songbird." It's in the mix because of the tender, cascading "I love you, I love you, I love you" in the refrain. However, it's also from Rumours, Fleetwood Mac's classic album of songs about breakup and betrayal. Am I mistaken about the meaning of this song? What, exactly, does it mean that the songbirds "keep singing / Like they know the score"?
In the book my husband and I used to help us plan our wedding, I found "I Will Always Love You" listed among the most popular songs for the bride and groom's first dance. Bad choice, folks: it's a breakup song.
Meanwhile, I sorta wonder about the fourth song on our lullaby mix, "Songbird." It's in the mix because of the tender, cascading "I love you, I love you, I love you" in the refrain. However, it's also from Rumours, Fleetwood Mac's classic album of songs about breakup and betrayal. Am I mistaken about the meaning of this song? What, exactly, does it mean that the songbirds "keep singing / Like they know the score"?
Thursday, November 20
The Joy of My World
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I hadn't planned to write about all six songs in our lullaby mix, but I realized that I have something to say about all of them. One purpose of writing about the things I like is, of course, to share them; another is to exercise my critical skills. Can I actually articulate why I like something?
The third song in our mix is "To Zion," by Lauryn Hill. My greatest pleasure in this song—and in all of the songs on The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill—is the pleasure of the singing. The best singing transforms emotional experience into a thrilling physical experience. In this song, Lauryn's joy in her baby fills the whole body.
If only I could sing as she does ...
I hadn't planned to write about all six songs in our lullaby mix, but I realized that I have something to say about all of them. One purpose of writing about the things I like is, of course, to share them; another is to exercise my critical skills. Can I actually articulate why I like something?
The third song in our mix is "To Zion," by Lauryn Hill. My greatest pleasure in this song—and in all of the songs on The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill—is the pleasure of the singing. The best singing transforms emotional experience into a thrilling physical experience. In this song, Lauryn's joy in her baby fills the whole body.
If only I could sing as she does ...
Wednesday, November 19
I Have No Thought of Leaving
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Ah, well, routines. In the middle of putting the Critter to bed last night, he wound himself back up into a colicky fit. Bless Dr. Karp, though; it took all five S's, but I did calm the Critter down, and we slept well last night.
While I soothed the Critter and listened to our lullaby mix, a couple lines in "Beautiful Boy" stood out: "I can hardly wait / To see you come of age." These lines stood out not because John Lennon sadly never did see Sean grow up, but because I feel so different about the Critter. No matter how difficult any given day or night might be, I do not ever wish for him to be a moment older than he is just now. If time must pass, why can't it pass more slowly? And so the second song on our mix is Nina Simone's version of "Who Knows Where the Time Goes?" This song became a favorite from the moment I first heard it, because it so beautifully evokes the sadness I feel about the swiftness of change and the insubstantiality of the present. Already the Critter is so big, and who knows where my little tiny baby has gone?
Ah, well, routines. In the middle of putting the Critter to bed last night, he wound himself back up into a colicky fit. Bless Dr. Karp, though; it took all five S's, but I did calm the Critter down, and we slept well last night.
While I soothed the Critter and listened to our lullaby mix, a couple lines in "Beautiful Boy" stood out: "I can hardly wait / To see you come of age." These lines stood out not because John Lennon sadly never did see Sean grow up, but because I feel so different about the Critter. No matter how difficult any given day or night might be, I do not ever wish for him to be a moment older than he is just now. If time must pass, why can't it pass more slowly? And so the second song on our mix is Nina Simone's version of "Who Knows Where the Time Goes?" This song became a favorite from the moment I first heard it, because it so beautifully evokes the sadness I feel about the swiftness of change and the insubstantiality of the present. Already the Critter is so big, and who knows where my little tiny baby has gone?
Tuesday, November 18
The Crankiest Baby on the Block
Another in an ongoing series on things we like
For a month or so there, we were sleeping. Alas, no more. We've got one cranky mommy here and, I'm guessing from his staccato, high-pitched shrieking, one cranky baby, too. Among our strategies for getting more sleep is establishing a bedtime routine. Our routine includes music. Sometimes we listen to lullabies from around the world. Sometimes we listen to a mix that I put together, which opens with John Lennon's "Beautiful Boy," my favorite among the songs in the playlist.
I don't know much about boys. I am a sister only of sisters, and as a little girl, I didn't play much with little boys. They seemed all sticks-and-stonesy to me, and interested in rough things like football, which I neither liked nor understood. Now I am mommy to a little boy and am grateful for this song for showing me the loving gentleness that boys, too, require.
For a month or so there, we were sleeping. Alas, no more. We've got one cranky mommy here and, I'm guessing from his staccato, high-pitched shrieking, one cranky baby, too. Among our strategies for getting more sleep is establishing a bedtime routine. Our routine includes music. Sometimes we listen to lullabies from around the world. Sometimes we listen to a mix that I put together, which opens with John Lennon's "Beautiful Boy," my favorite among the songs in the playlist.
I don't know much about boys. I am a sister only of sisters, and as a little girl, I didn't play much with little boys. They seemed all sticks-and-stonesy to me, and interested in rough things like football, which I neither liked nor understood. Now I am mommy to a little boy and am grateful for this song for showing me the loving gentleness that boys, too, require.
Tuesday, November 11
Music for Nursing
The first in an ongoing series on things we like
In our home, we don't go for Mozart for Infants, nor do we plan to limit the Critter's playlist to sappy crap for kids. There's no need to do either. Here's a list of our favorites for nursing.
In our home, we don't go for Mozart for Infants, nor do we plan to limit the Critter's playlist to sappy crap for kids. There's no need to do either. Here's a list of our favorites for nursing.
- On the very same day that I decided that it should be the first music that the Critter hears (outside of the womb, anyway), a friend of mine suggested that Bach's Cello Suites are ideal for baby. I especially like Bach in the autumn, and thus for my autumn child.
- Music for Egon Schiele has haunted me since I first heard it one evening at my then-boyfriend's art studio. (This would be the boyfriend who became my husband.) This music reminds me to write poetry not out of some misguided desire for recognition, but simply in order to make art out of my experience of the world.
- I prefer the subtle, surging rhythms of Music for Eighteen Musicians to the white noise recommended for calming babies. The Critter seems to like it, too. Good for nursing and for sleep.
- Music Has the Right to Children—indeed.
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