This week has been crazy. I feel like I have been home long enough to rush around, make a mess, not have time to clean up after myself (or, more accurately, ourselves), and then I head back out the door again. Earlier today I told Matt that I was going to spend the evening catching up on cleaning and clutter. One phone call…”Um, honey, I’m about to disrupt your evening. My clutch went out”…and those plans flew out my fantasy window. Ah well. It wouldn’t be so big of a deal. There’s always tomorrow night, after all (oh wait–not tomorrow night–more plans), but you see, my friend Karmen is coming for coffee and apple strudel tomorrow morning, and I couldn’t have her see my house looking like an overworked dad, a scattered mom, one I-can-create-a-huge-mess-in-2-minutes-preschooler, and a little fella with lots of baby gear lived here, now could I? Of course not! So, everyone went to bed, and I went to work.
Well, sort of. I decided I needed cleaning music. Hmmmm….what’s near the CD player. VeggieTales?
Miscellaneous kids’ songs sung by miscellaneous kids?
Definitely a no.
I started flipping through my CD album, and I approximately doubled my cleaning time by playing a song from one CD…then two songs from another…until I had tripped down a musical memory lane. Here’s a sampling of some old, memory-making stuff:
the cranberries…”No Need to Argue” always makes my heart ache.
Michael W. Smith…yes, I went back that far. When I was a sad, angry, confused 95-lb anorexic, the song “I’ll Lead You Home” was on the radio at least 3 of the 5 days I dragged my starving self to the gym at 5:00 in the morning to run (and then to walk when, one day, I realized I didn’t have the energy to run). I would cry, then grit my teeth, clench the muscles of my empty stomach, and trudge wearily into that cold, empty gym. And another song I listened to on repeat in our apartment: “Breathe in Me” (“So breathe in me I need you now. I’ve never felt so dead within. So breathe in me. Maybe somehow, you can breathe new life in me again.”)
Alanis Morissette…my queen of angst. Still love her.
Emmylou Harris…”My Baby Needs a Shepherd,” “The Pearl” (“Like falling stars from the universe, we are hurled / Down through the long loneliness of the world / Until we behold the pain becomes the pearl”)
Lucinda Williams…”Broken Butterflies” This is such a beautiful, sad song. At this point I had to make myself a screwdriver. Perhaps a mistake, but you just can’t listen to her more than approximately 30 seconds without spiraling into a deep depression. I had to cope somehow. There was still laundry to do and floors to sweep.
sixpence none the richer…this is poetry:
tonight the lamplight swirls and glistens
melting upon my face
I’m hanging my silhouette near the shoreline
I’m swimming underneath the noontime
will I ever know what’s wrong with me?
will I ever see your hand again in mine…
tonight the rain is pelting rooftops
there is no fire to melt the cold
I’m straining to hear a human whisper
and I’m painting images on soft stone
now I’m drinking alone
amidst these figures of stone
I’ll raise the glass once again
then lay my head on the pillow
So that was my night. A little cleaning. A lot of listening. Tomorrow, Karmen, I may have to sweep Amélie’s art supplies to the opposite end of the table so that we can sip our coffee and nibble our strudel, and you may may want to wear knee pads in case you trip over an exersaucer or a bike or a scooter (or all three), but I’m guessing you won’t mind…too much anyway. And now, it’s after midnight, and I’m going to bed (at least until Jack wakes up hungry).