29 December 2005
Hey lover,
I'm continually amazed by the beauty of the prairies. The flurry of CD release shows in Saskatchewan in November took me as far south as Val Marie, grasslands territory so stunningly beautiful and isolated that I understand how it attracts the wonderfully eccentric characters I met there. I stayed in an old convent rescued by adventurous Buddhists and converted into a B & B; I asked not to hear the ghost stories until morning. Regardless, everything about the grasslands, covered this time of year with a thin layer of ice and snow, is haunting. My mood in the car on the drive home really set the stage for the entire Christmas season--celebratory but reflective. Serene. Witnessing prairie like that reminds me of how much I have to learn.
I returned to Saskatoon with a month to write, reflect, get the business stuff in order and sink into family time. And sink I did. These days, I look around at the lovers--family, friends, my band!--as an observer. I am throwing myself at them as an eager student, absorbing and learning from the patterns, reflections, behaviors that we share. I've cocooned myself in family; what a blessing they are when I let down my defenses enough to truly appreciate them. Over the holidays, we become a collection of encounteres and exchanges, and I take from each one a lesson. A reminder. A line of poetry.
So are you looking in the mail for your Christmas gift? Checking the mail. Checking the phone. I'm doing the same. Waiting for some sign of you almost always. Wondering where and when you'll appear. Sometimes distance is romantic. Inspiring even. But these days, it's just distance. A necessary evil.
All this talk of lessons learned, though, is simply abstract jabber. Let me tell you what I really understand.
The truth is, I'm a terrible lover.
I have been a terrible lover. There are moments when words just aren't enough. And where am I when those moments occur? Gone, most often. Somewhere else.
So I'm touring through relationships with patches, apologies, needle and thread. I'm mending gaps, fixing holes. That sort of thing. The kind of domestic work so suited to winter days. Trying to get the dirty laundry cleaned by New Year's . . .if only so I have something to wear.
Love C
At the old prairie schoolhouse in Val Marie where I performed, the history of the area is told through the hats of the "cultural legacies" of the area.
The sign by the window explains that the piano in the middle of the field (outside of the convent where I stayed), is "an Aeolian Long Piano by sound artist Gordon Monahan, a Canadian living in Berlin, Germany. . . .Aeolian means wind. You can Listen to the wind spirits."
I'm continually amazed by the beauty of the prairies. The flurry of CD release shows in Saskatchewan in November took me as far south as Val Marie, grasslands territory so stunningly beautiful and isolated that I understand how it attracts the wonderfully eccentric characters I met there. I stayed in an old convent rescued by adventurous Buddhists and converted into a B & B; I asked not to hear the ghost stories until morning. Regardless, everything about the grasslands, covered this time of year with a thin layer of ice and snow, is haunting. My mood in the car on the drive home really set the stage for the entire Christmas season--celebratory but reflective. Serene. Witnessing prairie like that reminds me of how much I have to learn.
I returned to Saskatoon with a month to write, reflect, get the business stuff in order and sink into family time. And sink I did. These days, I look around at the lovers--family, friends, my band!--as an observer. I am throwing myself at them as an eager student, absorbing and learning from the patterns, reflections, behaviors that we share. I've cocooned myself in family; what a blessing they are when I let down my defenses enough to truly appreciate them. Over the holidays, we become a collection of encounteres and exchanges, and I take from each one a lesson. A reminder. A line of poetry.
So are you looking in the mail for your Christmas gift? Checking the mail. Checking the phone. I'm doing the same. Waiting for some sign of you almost always. Wondering where and when you'll appear. Sometimes distance is romantic. Inspiring even. But these days, it's just distance. A necessary evil.
All this talk of lessons learned, though, is simply abstract jabber. Let me tell you what I really understand.
The truth is, I'm a terrible lover.
I have been a terrible lover. There are moments when words just aren't enough. And where am I when those moments occur? Gone, most often. Somewhere else.
So I'm touring through relationships with patches, apologies, needle and thread. I'm mending gaps, fixing holes. That sort of thing. The kind of domestic work so suited to winter days. Trying to get the dirty laundry cleaned by New Year's . . .if only so I have something to wear.
Love C
At the old prairie schoolhouse in Val Marie where I performed, the history of the area is told through the hats of the "cultural legacies" of the area.
The sign by the window explains that the piano in the middle of the field (outside of the convent where I stayed), is "an Aeolian Long Piano by sound artist Gordon Monahan, a Canadian living in Berlin, Germany. . . .Aeolian means wind. You can Listen to the wind spirits."