NPR Homework at Mike's Wedding

Sunday when we were driving home from Portland (and Mike Rabby's wedding), I heard a request on All Things Considered. Their Homework segment is an opportunity for listeners to speak up about something, and in this week's segment they asked folks to write in about a song that meant something to them. The timing couldn't have been better - I was thinking about this all weekend. I was compelled to write.

Here's what I sent them:

A few weeks before his wedding, my high school friend Mike told me he had put a song in the dance mix to remember Dawn, a friend of ours who had died. He wouldn't tell me what the song was, but he expected me to know. There was only one song for Dawn, and the memory of it playing still makes me laugh and cry.

Twenty years ago we were all high school seniors, finishing our last semester of school, writing for our school newspaper and getting ready for prom, graduation, and college. One day during a particularly intense deadline run, we all stopped, put on some music and just danced. I remember Dawn, full of life, on a desk with her bra swinging overhead to Erasure's A Little Respect. The joy was palpable, the future ahead of us. Nothing could stop us.

A few days after graduation, Dawn learned she had a brain tumor. That fall when we all left for school, Dawn stayed behind, resentful and hurt. She died before Christmas.

Two days ago I stood in the sweltering heat dressed to the nines, watching Mike dance with his new bride, still wondering if that would be the song. It was. When it came on, there was a dizzying moment that felt like I'd jumped off a building - and I ran to the dance floor, hugged him, and we laughed and cried the rest of the song.

Postscript:
Two days after I submitted this, I got a call from NPR. They recorded my story for the coming weekend's Homework selection, and I'm now waiting to see if it got selected for the on-air spot.

An anniversary, of sorts

I can't believe it. It's been a year since we brought Lucy home, and 6 months since I lost Grendel. I can't imagine our home without her, but still I can't believe my little man has been gone that long. His urn's still sitting next to the computer, waiting for us to decide if we're putting him into the foundation of the house (long story, ask next time) or if I'm going to parcel him out to friends to spread everywhere.
And Lucy's something else. Since becoming lone dog in the pack, her princessy behaviour has gotten even more noticeable, and she's absolutely and completely Todd's girl. Finicky about her food, she still fights nail clippings - but at least she's started to chew her own nails when we sit down to watch movies on the computer. Weirdo.

Man, oh man

As if I needed another reason to sing the joys of my favorite town of Seattle...

Home has taken on new meaning. I have met someone who makes me want to get up every morning, just to see the grin on his face. Unbelievable.

Facts in 20/20

Okay, okay. I get it.

So I speak the language of dead white guys. Who can fault me when I say that an amazing night is ended with the sound of the lark, rather than the cold clank of the radiator and the snoring of the dog? Thanks, all you Romeo and Juliet fans who caught the reference (none of you! shame!).

The 'he' in my last few posts has a name. So yes, I'm talking reality language here.
He is funny, sweet, warm, thoughtful, smart, earthy, and has a smile that lights me up.
He makes me feel so special, so adored, so natural.
Oh yeah, and he has the approval of my dog. Not just a 'yeah, you're okay,' but a 'hey, hey, looky who's here I'm gonna run to you and wag my rear end and not hump you or bother you when you're talking!' approval.

There are a thousand million things I want to do with him.
And I want everybody to know, everybody. Cuz man, oh man.

Speechless. Really.

I woke this morning and the moon was setting huge behind the fog. The lark sang too soon, and I craved more songs of the nightingale, more time. Every time I close my eyes his smile comes to me, his laugh rings in the echoes. My guardian and charge approved with wagging agreement, and he took my heart and made it his.

And so it is...just like you said it would be.

Life goes easy on me, most of the time.
- Damien Rice, The Blower's Daughter

Something happened. I'm trying desperately not to write about it because I'm absolutely terrified that if I do it will stop happening or I'll wake up or...I don't know. That somehow it will slip away, just disappear.

But then again, I want so badly to explain the smile, the sleepless nights, the why, why, why. Why you'll see me this week looking somehow different. Maybe it's the hair. Maybe the grin. Don't know. Maybe you won't notice at all.

Maybe you'll think it's because I moved. Or because the dog is healthy, or because the job is challenging and pays well and because it's beautiful here. Yes, it's all of those things.

Perhaps I'm afraid to say it aloud because I'll sound like a 16 year-old. Or because for all that I like to say that I don't care what others think (and I really don't), I'd hate to think that people think I'm flighty. Or easily swayed. I've always been the rock, the unwavering and steady, the reliable. The disaffected. Or maybe it's what I'd like everyone to think. That I don't need anyone, that I'm some sort of self-sustaining force of nature.

But someone cracked the code. It was a very simple code, I advertised it to anyone who would hear me, who'd listen. But few took me seriously, maybe most thought I wasn't really capable, willing, or soft. Or maybe it only mattered to others like me.

I don't know what to do here, it's been so very long since I've been here in this spot. I can't apply logic to this, or a timeline or anything of reason. And in matters like this, I don't have a very strong track record.

But I will try. Again. And again. Until there's no more air in my lungs, until the last shuffle in my chest. There is a fear and restless joy at being here, and not being here alone.

I will pour my soul into the cup for him to drink; he knows not what is possible.