Two Songs for a Friday

Tree by the River // Iron & Wine

Rarely do I have a song in my head for an entire week straight. Rarely does a song stick to my inner ears so immensely, so steadfastly, so much so that it plays in my sleep. I woke up each morning this week and sat with my guitar and hammered it out. The rest of I&W's new album, Kiss Each Other Clean is a little sax heavy for me, a little too synthesized, but this and a precious few others are keepers. Looking forward to seeing Sammy B and the rest of the gang at Radio City tomorrow night!

World Sick // Broken Social Scene

On a bit of a more up-beat note, this song has some sentimental value to me and it also just downright kicks ass. When discussing it's lyrics with a few fellow music-lovers, and lovers in general, I gathered that this song can probably be interpreted in a number of different ways. To me, it's about the opposite of homesickness. When you are worldsick, you desire adventure, you miss the world and all of its intricate wonders. Some call it an itch but I don't really like that term... I consider it more of a fix, in that no matter how far you go and no matter how many places you go to, there will always be more.

Cows Eating Hamburgers

Six of us stand there, poised and prepared for mayhem. We are told that it is 30 Fourth Graders from PS 29. Okay, that means rowdy, somewhat privileged, almost at the point where they are "too cool" but not quite. We hear them walk in the front door, their snow boots squeaking on the floor, their coats rustling as they squish in, shoulder to shoulder. Chris says hello, talks to them about the process, I take their "author photos" and Jamie and Kristin write their names on white tags. They file in, cheeks pink and eyes wandering around the back room of 826.

The Superhero Supply Store is only a front. The back room, were we will work our magic, is the real deal. Bookshelves line each brick wall with thousands of books that kids of all ages (even 35, 41, etc) will take in like oxygen, four computers sit ready for action, wooden tables and chairs wait to be vessels on which creativity will spawn. There is not only an aquarium but also a terrarium, not only a cubby for crayons, pencils, erasers, markers, buttons, string, paper... but there is one for invisible things like ideas, inklings, and dreams.

The kids settle into their chairs around a big projector where Chris now stands, his crazy hair curling upwards like a mad scientist. Laura types on a laptop that projects onto the screen, so the class can see their story unfold before their eyes.

"Okay, what's the first thing a story needs?" A beginning! A middle! An end! Emotion! Plot! Climax! Candy! Potatoes! War! Peace! Ideas flow from their mouths like drool, and Laura has a hard time keeping up. They begin to weave their story.

"Who will be our main character?" A flying cow! Bigfoot! Pig Man! Nacho Face!

"Okay, it's a flying cow. What is her name?" Bob! Violet! Laryngitis! Hamburger! Football! Bobette!

They decided on Bobette, and after much consideration, Bobette the flying cow, with the world's greatest superpower, (she could poop candy), wanted desperately to be on American Idol. The story has twists and turns with Chris conducting, the children (and the rest of us) laughing hysterically, and Nancy in the corner, illustrating.

Eventually the story becomes a book, the children solemnly writing their own endings and sketching covers. One kid raises his hand and asks, "can I draw a picture of Bobette the cow eating a hamburger for lunch?" Sure buddy, sure.

Their author photos get pasted to the back, their collective ideas stuffed within 10 pages, their chests puffed up because they have finished something great... together.

2 Songs For a Friday

Step By Step // New Kids on the Block

This one goes out to my sister, Colleen, who has turned 10 three times today. The only way I could think of to celebrate her birthday with her from afar is to post a song we used to make up dances to on the living room floor on Sunnycrest Drive, and up north in Rhinelander with the Camin sisters. I remember not really knowing what I was doing, or who these New Kids on the Block were, but I knew Colleen loved them, so I loved them too. Here's to my growth in taste of music! Happy Birthday!

Blindsided // Bon Iver

Because it is a good winter and because I haven't posted any of him yet, I share my favorite Bon Iver song. Also because as of late I have been blindsided, caught off guard when I wasn't looking, unprepared for something great that has come into my life.

He Respected Her Wishes

After the wedding, there was this blanket of fog that we were all left in. A proverbial wedding hangover, which has lasted over a week. I've talked to everyone in my family, Colleen and Gianni included, and we all have agreed that it went off without a hitch. I spoke with my dad on the way to the airport on Sunday night, and again on Wednesday afternoon. He agreed that the day was perfect, magical, enough to make a lifetime memory. The only thing that saddened him was a misunderstanding when it came to an omission in the speech he made.

Dad and I each had a big toast to perform at the wedding, and in our preparation for our toasts, we spoke them outloud in the comfort of the guest room at his house. We encircled ourselves with eachothers' words, and we both cried a bit in the process. Dad spoke highly of Colleen, of our family, of mom, and of his wife Patricia. He meticulously planned his speech, as I had, to include everything that he felt about the people who have contributed to Colleen's growth, and to the wedding (without making it an hour long). His speech was flawless, and I had to take a moment to gather myself before telling him so. One thing in particular that he was grappling with was a bit about his wife, Patricia. He had written about her at length, about her patience throughout the entire year of planning, about her talent when it came to creating the beautiful wedding invitations, about her support for him as the Father of the Bride. He eloquently portrayed the women in his life with a sophistication that I rarely hear from anybody in my life.

At the eleventh hour, Pat noticed the reduced, edited version he had written about her, and asked him to promise to remove that portion. She made him swear that she wouldn't be a part of it. Dad figured that the reason may have simply been that Pat did not want to seem as if she was competing for mom's time, or being compared to her in any way. Out of respect and compassion, he reluctantly removed all but her name.

The speech went off beautifully. He kept it together and there wasn't a dry eye in the room. Some might have noticed that his wife was not mentioned, but none of them knew the circumstances under which that was decided. I will remember those moments as he spoke so wonderfully in front of so many people, for the rest of my life, and I hope others will do him the honor of remembering the same.

2 Songs for a Friday

Winter Winds // Mumford & Sons

This song, in it's wintery goodness, is one of the most uplifting I've found for a dumpy January. It puts the season into perspective in a way that we all should remind ourselves of.:

And if your strife strikes at your sleep /Remember spring swaps snow for leaves / You'll be happy and wholesome again / When the city clears and sun ascends

70 Million // Hold Your Horses

I chose this second one as an homage to my step-sister, who alerted me to this not long ago. I rarely choose a song because of it's video, because frankly those are usually sub-par, but this video is kick ass. Just watch. Seriously. The song is pretty rad too. I believe they're French.

Mr. and Mrs. Giorgi

Colleen, the only way I could think of to share this evening with our beautiful mother, Christine Mattingly, is to read her a letter I wrote.

Dear Mom,

Colleen has grown into just the woman that you dreamed of when you had her. As you know, Colleen has always been the most caring of all of us, (sorry Paul). She always had your giving nature, and still does to this day. She was an angsty teen just like you, and the rest of us, she liked rap music and somehow at the same time country. She always had too many friends to count, and too many boys chasing after her to keep dad sane. (Even Gianni knows this). She graduated from the University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee, and has become the best childcare giver in Southeast Wisconsin. You wouldn’t believe the way she puts her heart and her soul fully into every single thing she does. She reminds me of you more often than not. Time and time again, I hear people say she’s going to be a great mother.

Mom, Colleen has been my sister for 26 years, and my mother for 15, but she will be my best friend forever. She was there to tell me when it was time to start plucking my eyebrows, there to tell me what to wear to the prom, there to judge my boyfriends and of course to judge me too. You were probably aware of this but Colleen and I used to fight, a lot. Like, non-stop jabs and slamming doors and petty words went between us. I’d make fun of her for wearing makeup, watching Lifetime Movies, or moving her food around her plate and not eating it, and she’d retaliate by digging those nails into my wrists. Somewhere in our growth as women, that stopped, and I’d like to think that you had a part in that. We somehow became equals one day, out of the blue, I stopped yelling and she stopped stealing my clothes, and we started genuinely loving one another as individuals. We may outwardly seem like polar opposites, Colleen with the beauty and me with the… books… but inside, we are the same. We are your daughters, and it shows.

Mom, not long after she lost you, she found the man sitting next to her at this table. Gianni was her friend for a long time before he manned up to actually start dating her. Then he was her boyfriend for even longer, before popping the question. What took you so long Gianni? He’s a strapping Italian who gets along with the family as if it were his own – and from (point) Nonny to Jackson, we all love him dearly. He’s everything you could ask for in a guy for Colleen. He supports her in every sense of the word, he honors her, he … puts up with her … Most importantly, he makes her laugh. You would have absolutely loved him.

Colleen and Gianni got married today, mom. She looks astonishing, the sight of her in this white dress could stop someone’s heart, her makeup is perfect and her hair is just right. Yellow roses cover these tables for you, Mom, and we know how proud you are of Colleen today. You’ve given us such an incredible woman.

I’d like to toast to my sister Colleen, and her husband and my new brother, Gianni.

Midwestern Nice

I got off the airplane in Milwaukee from New York, shaking hands and exchanging phone numbers with a woman I had met on the plane from Portage. She wrote a book I like. We became friends. Without any pretences or any exchanges of past drug problems or ex husbands or strange obsessions, we just exchanged numbers, like that.

I go to a friends' parent's house. They pour me a glass of wine, they share a few stories. They give me a book. I walk out the door, warm and hopeful.

Men buy me drinks at bars. Because that's what they do.

My old boss from the coffee house gives me a tour of his new roastery. He demonstrates how the beans go from weird green grains to dark brown slices of heaven. He pours me a cup, sends me on my way, no charge.

A friend drives me home late at night after sharing a stack of old high school notes I had written, a stack of solid memories of who I once was, or who I still am, or something.

I watch the football game at my brother's house, and he feeds me, and I play on the floor with my nephew, and I feel the kind of love that I haven't felt in a long time. A love without words, a quiet one.

I find myself lost, and without cell phone service, in the middle of a snow-white Wisconsin farm town. A woman talks to me for a half hour about the Packers, and then tells me where to go.

I laugh on a porch with two friends, discussing how lucrative eBay can be, and we laugh our way through chocolate cake and tears.

I sleep in guest rooms and have clean towels, gifts on pillows and large back yards. Breakfasts on tables and hot tea and conversation. Bottles of shampoo and hugs farewell.

A woman knocks on my car window and asks if the glove on the ground next to me is mine.

I am fed, by the ton, meal after meal, helping after helping, cheese and gyros and spaghetti and double decker tacos and cheese and homemade pizza and burgers and cheese.

I'm offered the remote control, the blanket, the hair dryer, the front seat.

There's a niceness here that I won't find anywhere else. A bubble of sanity or insanity or both. A zone of comfort beyond material. A place to come back to and then leave again and then come back and then leave.