The saddest songs

The saddest songs are:
those you no longer want to listen to
Their opening lines make you cringe
Nostalgia too painful
A self you no longer recognize
Or wish would finally leave
The dead friend whose ears heard
or throat sang

I wear songs down
Smooth to rough - rough to bald
They drop off and get lost in the memories
They lay here and there and I don't want them

I don't forget them

Family Archiving

"You need to leave the archiving to me!" my sister quipped after my last visit with my father. We've been recording him telling stories about his life. He is a wonderful story teller and his life is rich with experience. Ones that I could only dream of having or being bold enough to have. His serene face, with it's deep lines, quietly reveals and unfolds tale after tale - the punch line or peak peak always told in a few words and raise of one of his eyebrows. They used to be so bushy.

Here again, I come against my creative and practical self. I want to hurry home with the stories, so I grab the digital recorder, which I insist on calling a tape recorder, and inform my sister I'll weave them into a fine tapestry of tales. She likewise insists to take the recorder, because she has three separate systems for backing up information, and the stories that lay inside the recorder are like gold to us now. Now that every word and breath carries meaning to us. I wish, like many people dealing with cancer in the family didn't wait until now to feel that weight. We didn't mean to.

We are tired and have been for years, this is just one more thing in a long line of what feels like our families endless struggle with keeping it together. I don't know why we waited. The obvious being that we are too busy and humans don't do anything unless it's urgent.

Well, it's urgent.

Lazy Afternoon or Springboard for Productivity?

It's sunday. I'm sleepy, my dog is sleepy, there is not much going on but the ticking clock and I'm holed up inside, staying out of the unusually white hot sun this October afternoon.

Two weeks ago I vowed that my Sundays would be strictly for relaxation. I've found I don't know how to do that. At least not without feeling incredibly nervous, guilty, or anxious.

I want to DO something, accomplish something of note, do something practical with the time God gives me. This usually takes the form of frenzied cleaning or organizing (which I inherited from my mother.) Mike, my husband, wonders why it is necessary to reconfigure the kitchen cupboards on a bi-monthly basis. I tell him not to ask so many questions.

When I tire of cleaning I begin to think of the multi-millions I missed out on when I didn't send my designs for the bread machine to the Krups company in 6th grade. Or why I didn't start baking and selling scones out of my house. Or why I didn't have the gumption to scoop up real estate on the Croatian coastline in time to rent out to the hoards of tourists who have discovered the "Post-Communist Chic" of the former Yugoslavia.

Then I stop, look around, deal with the queasy feeling doing nothing and sitting with myself gives me and surrender to it.

Relaxation is one of those things that pragmatists and creative types could agree are necessary - for renewal, for energy, and heck, didn't God rest on the seventh day? That's the whole point of many religious traditions including some sort of mandated rest time - because we humans, left to our own devices will run ourselves raggedly silly with activity unless something stops us. I'm going to continue with this experiment. To see how long I can "hold out." Even when I benefit, it is hard to see the forest for the trees. I'm not convinced a day of rest is a good idea, I feel that time slipping through hourglass as precious wasted moments, but then again, does transferring the wine glasses from the corner cupboard to the baker's rack really constitute productive or creative time logged? Nope.

I'll keep you posted on how this goes.

Why You Should Write Down Family Stories

My father is very sick. I pray for miracles and prepare for what could happen in case.

Last night was a gift to me. I am recently married, and I am itching to start my own family. I love the names on my father's side, they seem mystical and magical to me. My father has a sister, Dana, who is psychic. His grandfather, Acim, was the town knez which means he was chosen to greet the Turkish landowners in his Serbian Village.

My father, in relaying the names to me, "accidentally" stumbled on some stories.

First of all, I want him to tell me, he's told me over the years and he is a wonderful, and colorful storyteller, it is such an art that many don't have. Not similar to public speaking, these stories come from the heart and memory.

They are the life of my family - they are the history I know is part of me that I wish I could live but won't have the chance in the suburbs of Detroit. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about the quality of my life, it is better than 99.9% of the world's population. It's just that when my father begins to tell his stories, they make me feel like I've been wasting a bit of time.

Crossroads of Creativity and Reality

I've often thought of myself as a creative person. As a child I tested every form of artwork within my grasp, writing poetry was a favorite pastime, making up plays, attending dance classes, drawing, painting - you name it. In high school I found singing offered the most satisfatction, and recognition. With a stroke of luck, I was accepted to the University of Michigan School of Music. There, I enjoyed 4 1/2 years of studies, there was a piano in every classroom, I performed in classes, shows, did makeup, took literature classes, film classes. It was great. In retrospect, it was a dream come true, although I'm not sure how much I was aware of it at the time. I'd love to have that kind of experience now, and I'm sure would appreciate it much more, having now established myself in "the real world."

I sit here now, working at a major financial corporation, 4 courses in to a Masters of Science in Finance that I'm completing at Walsh College, which I enjoy. However, I can't help wondering how these lines got crossed. I understand that I needed to make a living, settle down, etc. But that doesn't mean the person I am has changed that dramatically.

I can't help but think that everyday life pressures, and the extraordinary circumstances that pop up in life made that little line that seemed to lead endlessly to superstardom, bright lights, autographs and adoring fans to my little cubicle at a medium sized branch office in michigan. I more or less happily shuffle papers, doing my small part to help high-net worth clients make it through the maze of financial choices to the ones right for them.

Am I happy? Who really cares, honestly. I'm not really interested in THOSE things making me happy. The short answer is, God yes, I'm happy...married to the love of my life, roof over my head and deepening family relationships. Truly, everything else is icing, exploring.

One of my favorite quotes is by Ralph Waldo Emerson, I think. "God gives us a cup of life, but only a drop to fill it." Actually in a quick Google search on "cup of life" and "Emerson" one can find that he used this metaphor in other works, poems, etc. I suppose he was fascinate with this paradox of life. We've a huge amount of opportunity, and only our smallness to complete it. A friend of my quoted A. A. Milne's Piglet yesterday, "It's hard to be brave when you are a very small animal." Indeed it is. And I try.

It would be silly of me to pinpoint some random goal and decide I'm unhappy unless I reach it, because there is a huge chance I won't make it. I know, I know, I've read all the self help books too that say things like, "if you want it bad enough, you can have anything." Not to burst anyone's bubble or ruin careers but - this is Blatantly False. But so is the notion you cannot change a few things, or even have huge success at things you try. There is a difference between that and blindly following ridiculous dreams that really just make you miserable.

So, this blog is about that. The creative life, the realistic living of it and my journey, adventures, and missteps along the way.