I’m back.

October 26, 2010

Like most important periods in one’s life, my recent weeks have been among the most sorrowful and the most joyful.

My mother in law, a vibrant lady whom I knew even before I met her son (we sang together), died on Oct. 7. Her body had been ravaged by MS but even the last time K saw her they joked together.  I am joyful for her and sorrowful for us, and miss her a great deal.

I changed jobs, which required leaving people I have come to love dearly and a good, secure job in the place I want to live for a job that gets me a step closer to where I want to wind up. In just a week I’ve found myself suited to public library work: I like the variety; I like seeing the impact the library has on those who use it and the community it’s in. I like taking well-loved, falling apart Dr. Seuss books off the shelves and being able to replace them with beautiful new copies for more children to love. I like putting out the new books I’ve gotten ready and going back out the next day and seeing them half gone. And my cube walls go all the way to the ceiling, here.

But I’ve moved to a town 2 hours from my home and rented a room in a lady’s townhouse. I see K when he comes during the week and when I go home on weekends, but it’s hard missing him, too.

Books, books, books. I’ve finished the book on the Supreme Court and the Constitution and picked up another very readable piece of non-fiction, G.J. Meyer’s The Tudors. Started it last week and I’m 400 pages in. It’s gone so quickly because he offers an approachable (and also sufficiently historical) view on the short-lived dynasty (as dynasties go). I’d recommend it to everyone, including the friend I’m giving a copy for Christmas.

Next…Sara, how about The Prince? Seems like a suitable next read for me.

Music (for Jane)

October 13, 2010

Music                by Anne Porter

 

When I was a child
I once sat sobbing on the floor
Beside my mother’s piano
As she played and sang
For there was in her singing
A shy yet solemn glory
My smallness could not hold

And when I was asked
Why I was crying
I had no words for it
I only shook my head
And went on crying

Why is it that music
At its most beautiful
Opens a wound in us
An ache a desolation
Deep as a homesickness
For some far-off
And half-forgotten country

I’ve never understood
Why this is so

But there’s an ancient legend
From the other side of the world
That gives away the secret
Of this mysterious sorrow

For centuries on centuries
We have been wandering
But we were made for Paradise
As deer for the forest

And when music comes to us
With its heavenly beauty
It brings us desolation
For when we hear it
We half remember
That lost native country

We dimly remember the fields
Their fragrant windswept clover
The birdsongs in the orchards
The wild white violets in the moss
By the transparent streams

And shining at the heart of it
Is the longed-for beauty
Of the One who waits for us
Who will always wait for us
In those radiant meadows

Yet also came to live with us
And wanders where we wander.

“Music” by Anne Porter from Living Things: Collected Poems. © Steerforth Press, 2006.