Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head It rained all day yesterday. I've not been shy about how much I love the rain. I find it beautiful, romantic, hopeful. So for me to bring this up again probably isn't much of a surprise, especially after the all day rain we had yesterday that brought with it the first really authentic fall weather. So, anyway, I have this little music box - the one in the picture above - and it plays, can you guess? RIGHT (you're so smart)! Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head! I've had it most of my life... one of the few things that survived childhood intact. My dad brought it back from some overseas tour of duty he did while in the Navy in the very early 70's and it's been with me ever since. I rarely play it, in fact today was the first time in a very, very long while. The last time it played I didn't wind it... it was the oddest thing.
The music box sits on one of the book shelves in my hall... on a higher shelf away from the hands of the (once little) kids. It was July, 12 years ago, and I was painting my hall. I've since painted it again, but this time stands out to me because it was during this time my grandmother was dying. My mom had flown to Indiana to be with her. I had offered to go but she didn't want me to - my daughter was still small, still nursing, and mom said she'd rather I stay home. To be honest I don't think she wanted anyone with her. She wanted to grieve by herself... without our prying eyes - at least I think that's how she saw it. Mom is someone who doesn't show a lot of emotion... I think she learned early on in life not to - a form of self preservation I guess. She rarely, if ever, lets anyone in - I know what I do about her through sheer observation and few words.
Grandma was dying, actually I think she'd passed by this point, and I was painting the hall and with every swipe of the paint roller I was thinking of this woman - who she was, what I remembered about her, things she'd said. I was lost in thought and the music box started playing. My grandmother had never been to my house - really she'd never been to any of the houses I had lived in as an adult. This music box was really the only thing that would have been a connection for her to me here. When I was little she would tease me, saying I looked like the little girl on the music box because I always slept with my butt in the air. I just had this feeling, when the music box started playing, that she was here... perhaps saying goodbye.
My grandmother was married to my grandfather for, gosh, I'm not really sure how long... but a long time. My grandfather died in 86... she died in 96. She spent the last ten years missing him... waiting to die so she could be with him again, living half a life after his loss because in a lot of ways a big part of her died when he did. They didn't have a lot of material wealth... but they had each other - always... and to be honest I don't know if that was healthy or not - don't know what professionals would say about it... what a therapist's take on it would be. It could have been codependent as hell - it's possible from what I know about them that the dynamics were skewed enough and they were emeshed with one another enough that other things, other people suffered for it. I honestly don't know enough to say one way or the other. The point is though they had each other, they had what they needed.
That thought - that memory - is intermingled with seeing a movie on tv the other day. Needful Things was on... perhaps last weekend... and daughter and I landed on it one night flipping channels on the television. We only caught the end of it and daughter was asking me questions about it - what was the plot, what was happening, why are all these people flippin' out... that sort of thing and I was explaining to her it was based on a book, a Stephen King novel, and how all his stuff is a little weird and how he often uses everyday stuff, situations, emotions, and twists them into something scary. Life is scary after all - people's minds are scary places.
I wrote previously about my minister challenging the congregation to think of a time God didn't provide what we all needed - not necessarily what we wanted but definitely what we needed. I think that's been true for me, I think I've had the things I need, I think I've been blessed enough to definitely be able to take care of the needs of those in my care. I've worked hard but I've also had circumstances just fall my way in some cases... a Divine Providence of sorts. There are things I want... things that almost border on being needs... things other people have that I don't. And so perhaps those things are needs for those people and merely wants for me... maybe that's how it works, maybe that's the difference. I don't know. I think needs are basic, rudimentary, vital. Wants are more... intricate. A need might be the cake but a want - now that's the butter cream frosting.
Here's where the confusion sets in for me - does a want make you ache? Does a want leave an empty pit in your stomach? Does a want cause you pain? My feeling is that no - wants shouldn't cause pain... a want could cause a pause... a momentary skip in step... a slight blip on the radar - but not pain. And love - is love a need or a want? And I am not talking about agape love... I'm not talking about loving your children... I'm talking about loving another person - one other person - completely. If it's a need there are lots of folks doing without... lots of folks living with less - I am living with less. So maybe it's not a need after all, even if it does hurt not to have it... maybe it's just icing on the cake. But I like the icing... it's what makes the cake worthwhile for me. I prefer the corner piece... with a rose on top....
5 comments:
i think anyone who is still alive can say he has what he needs. it may be surprising how much one can survive without. not comfortably, but survive nonetheless.
surviving is not the same as thriving. to thrive, one needs one's basic, core needs met, but also, at least some of one's wants.
i think love is a need. there are all kinds of loves, you know that, and i know which one you are talking about. i think, perhaps, we get all of what we need, and some of what we want, but the timing isn't up to us. sometimes it takes patience, and faith, and the love that we need will find its way to us. perhaps it helps not to focus on it not being in our lives at the present moment, but to think that it is somewhere on its journey to us. in the meanwhile, we must rely on the love of friends and family, and the love we give to others. the love you are talking about will find you when it's time, not when you're looking out the window for it. a watched pot never boils. well, i suppose it does, it just seems to take longer if we're staring at it instead of distracting ourselves with the other aspects of life. live fully, love will find its way to your heart, and when you least expect it.
I think that's what I am working toward - not looking out the window and waiting. You can't get into my head and "hear" the work I am doing in there but it's happening. Part of the work is building a wall... a wall behind which I can put all this... I guess, in the process, I am trying to decide where to leave the door -and really, in truth, if I want to leave a door at all.
i hear you. i don't know your pain in its own specificity, but most of us have been there, somehow, at sometime. it's part of being human. i don't believe anyone comes out of this unmarked by the trials of life and love. i am trying to find my own peace within that, and as i read your writing, i hear echoes of my own experiences. and, i think i have felt the both the depths of despair and hard earned promise of hope, and i fluctuate between the two, sometimes dramatically. i just wanted to share some of what i have "learned," or perhaps the way in which i have tried to organize it all in my own head, some of the things that i have been reciting to myself in the hopes that they will help me find peace within the turmoil, in the hopes that you might find some nugget that you might be able to apply to your own circumstances, which i realize are not mine. but, we're all human, and all in it together. even when we feel we are alone. notice i said "unmarked" by the trials of life. i could have said "unscarred" or something more negative. i use language that implies positivity on an experience, rather than focusing on what is negative. scarring, i think only takes into account the pain and disfigurement that a difficult experience leaves us with. "marking" expresses the notion that we are forever changed by the experiences and trials of life, but it doesn't mean that we are made ugly or mutilated by them, but that we are different for them, hopefully better, wiser, stronger, more loving, compassionate, patient, tolerant, better teachers, parents,friends, lovers. i'm not saying it is an easy process. but it is not unlike giving birth. there is pain, and you only want it over. and perhaps after there are "scars." but, you can't hurry the process, and it is made so much more poignant and miraculous exactly because it is so hard and painful. and in the end you are a changed person, no longer the same as you were before. and if you are left "marked," you don't have to feel shame or ugliness, because those markings are the signs of your participation in creating a human being. i think that attitude can be applied to all the hardships and hurdles that come our way. think of each of them as giving birth to some new, unrealized miracle. the pain is part of the process. and after, you will be changed, but still strong and beautiful. moreso. i know when you're in pain all that is rational is not that helpful, it's not a pain-killer. but, from my experience, there comes a time when you are close to healing, when you just need a little push in the right direction, and that is when you can reach back into the closet and pull out some of the things that didn't fit before, and you find you can wear them now, comfortably, and look good in them. you may need a wall for now, i understand that, it's like a bandaid that covers a fresh wound, while your soul and mind and heart start forming a scab, under which new skin is growing. but, when the scab forms, you take off the bandaid, because you will heal better in the air, and in time the healing will be complete, and you won't even realize it until you suddenly notice the scab has fallen off of it's own accord. it was time. and the new skin may be sensitive, but that too will take its own course. i wish you peace and strength, and the love you cherish. sorry for going on so long.
sorry, me again. i just wanted to say, because i realize this was an omission and a serious one, i recognize that it is important for you to do the work, and i recognize that you are doing it, and i know that working it out in your blog is part of your process, and you need to say whatever you need to say to find your way to where you need/want to be. of course you need to cry and laugh and sigh and swear and be angry and feel foolish for feeling angry, and accept that you don't really ever have to feel foolish for how you feel; all that and whatever else is in your bag of emotional tricks. i'm not trying to be in the way of that, or hurry the process. i need to do my work, you yours. i just wanted to let you know that there are lots of us on the road together, and perhaps we can offer each other a sip of water, or some encouragement on the way. that's all.
Wow - thanks for all your encouragement and kindess. It's funny you talk about birth - I just wrote an entry along those lines. And don't worry about the length, I appreciate the thoughtfulness in your replies.
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