if it's too loud, you're too young

It's not enough to say the music of today sucks, it's derivative, soulless... people have been saying that for generations, and it comes across as only one thing: you're old, and cannot let go of the snippet of fun you had between the ages of 16 and 23.

i was curious about The 1975, as i thought it was a good name for a band. Good, not great, but it never ceases to amaze me how little thought is put into a band name. But, that's a topic for another time. Because the lead singer is about to date Taylor Swift, a venture that will wrap up in a matter of months when she has enough material for a new album, i recalled that curiosity. i found a few of their songs on youtube and listened. And i started to go down the path- they're derivative, soulless...and i paused. It's not my thing but that doesn't mean that they're not someone else's thing. There is a 14 year old (or hundreds) out there right now who feel that The 1975 say what they cannot, that the band's music somehow clarifies a part of them that sits as a ball of confusion within them. That is how Pink Floyd were for me, then REM, then a number of bands.

i can't help but chuckle when i see the bumper sticker: i am not old, you're music really does suck. But it's not a manifesto, it's an observation that seeks to assure those of us aging that we had a heart one time, and the world didn't understand that heart, and fuck 'em, we're going to make them see it anyway.

That is what each generation is trying to do, no matter how lame their music is.

the circle

Cath came into my life again. She hadn't left entirely, as we'd see each other at various inter agency functions, but at this particular inter agency function, it included an overnight.

Some of my experiences have been marked by this strange ability to delude myself; even as I walked to her room at 11:30 PM, i told myself that nothing would happen. In spite of delving into multiple texts of Buddhism, and a true appreciation for the Four Agreements, i cannot live a fully sincere life.

i think of my mother, who, if there is another side to this world, sits in disappointment or has an understanding beyond us and knows that humans are creatures that take themselves too seriously, and therefore create emotions like envy, jealousy and love as a way to give false weight to our years on earth.

The Rapist

MCA is one of my closest friends, although i see him only once a year, if that, when he travels north from Asheville. We arrange to hike and converse, two activities that have served as the foundation of our friendship the last 19 years.

On this particular hike, at the end of June, he was asking about my relationship with Noire. i confessed that i had been struggling lately, as i am not sure that monogamy is natural for humans- or, at least this human. Later on, he said that many years ago, as we walked a beach and i complained about my marriage, that he wished he had been more forthright at that time, so he was going to be now: was i truly struggling with monogamy, or am i looking for a means to end my relationship with Noire?

It frightens me how well he knows something before i do- while i cannot say that it is that purposeful, there was something oddly clarifying for me.

It is true that i have been fairly unengaged for the past 7 months, something i owe to the time of year, and whenever she mentions marriage, i want to run, as i just don't believe in that "forever ever after" shit anymore.

mom

My relationship with my parents has always been a respectful love. When I have met others that talk adoringly of their parents, go out of their way to spend time with them, it caused me to reflect on my relationship with my own; i rarely enjoyed their company, and they certainly weren't the first people i'd go to if i needed advice or help.

As they aged, i started to feel the need to have a closer relationship with them, and so i did- for the first time my father and i told each other we loved one another, and my mom started asking questions out of inquisitiveness, not judgement. it no longer mattered why visiting them was a duty, a chore where i'd anxiously shake my foot as we conversed, and i made peace with the fact that my younger sister's love for them was so complete, without question.

Two years ago my mom went into a nursing care facility, as she was falling at home and it became apparent that she had been drinking quite a bit of wine. A lifelong alcoholic who ended every day with whiskey, we were not going to begrudge her a bit of wine in her old age. No one knew that the bit of wine was not so little, so detox came before the nursing care facility. She did well, and it was there where we saw her deficits much more clearly- thoughts became disjointed, time had no form, but she was lovely to be around. i looked forward to my weekly, sometimes bi-weekly, visits, especially when no one else was there, as we'd just talk about anything. This became more difficult as her mind started betraying her, but i still found joy in seeing her, and she did as well.

Hospice three months ago for congestive heart failure. It was hard to see on the outside what was failing, but we were assured that it was happening. Visits the last few weeks were challenging, as she wanted to sleep most of the time, so sometimes i just meditated as i sat there; once, i touched her hand, wanting to note as much as i could before i no longer had her there.

My father was holding her hand when she passed on Sunday, May 18. My younger sister and i were in Florida with other siblings for a mini vacation, and when we were called, they immediately started crying. It felt odd that i did not feel the need to cry, and in the past week i have had to feign sorrow to those well meaning friends and co-workers that have expressed their condolences. i am not so stupid to know that people want to see you sad, hear that you're going to miss the person, so i played along. Not to say that i am not sad and that i won't miss her, but it was too personal for me to share, and i had more than made peace with the person she had become, and, in doing so, perhaps the person she was.

sunrise

On the radio today, an English gentleman was interviewed about a book he wrote regarding coincidences. His theory was that they truly aren't that much of a stretch, although the five minute PBS interview hardly delved into what he based his theory.

i suppose it is less of a coincidence that walking into a local restaurant, KT would be there with her family...it's not as if RI is this expansive state where numerous events occur unaware of one another, much like the murder of someone in a Texas ranch in the upper Northwest corner hardly affects someone in Corpus Christi.

The body of Christ is the sacrament when we go outside our relationship and look to another to save us from ourselves. The ritual of taking another body, to consume, to be consumed. Indulging in one sin to be forgiven of all others.

KT looked beautiful, as a mother and a woman. Her daughter admired the restaurant's fountain ignorant of the fact the two adults that stood by her at one time took each others bodies in sacrament. i examined this becoming toddler for the usual- what parts were her mom's, what parts were her dad's. We spoke in prosaics....what else could be said but pleasantries? I learned awhile ago that some moments in life are to be left as moments, and not made into lifetimes. In the weeks following, i found myself apologizing to her, in my head, and recalling the moments shared eating the body and drinking wine, and for once did not feel the albatross of grief.