31 January 2011

Gather quickly
Out of darkness
All the songs you know
And throw them at the sun
Before they melt
Like snow

Bouquet

Langston Hughes

Yesterday, we went to a memorial service for Georgia Carroll Kyser -  widow of Kay Kyser (and his College of Musical Knowledge).  There was no minister and there were no prayers.  Only the memories of family and close friends. The service was held in one of my favorite buildings on the campus - Gerrard Hall - built in 1837.  It was a chapel and is now a concert/lecture hall - three major renovations later. Langston Hughes spoke and read poetry there in 1931.  It is a strong building, with a high, steep balcony that wraps around the single room on three sides.  The walls are painted a warm pink that can only be justified by history, white wood trim, polished wood floors; white plantation shutters line the windows. Two of her daughters spoke, and one of her grandchildren read a posthumous thank you note, written to honor the lessons learned. Friends, neighbors, extended family described her influence on their lives and the life of the community. She was a fixture in Chapel Hill society for more than fifty years. Reels of old film and interviews were edited down into a beautiful video - she was magnificently beautiful - so the end of the service was marked by her voice and her image. 

As we drove home, I found myself thinking about the lives we live...the way we open and close our door to friends and family, to strangers and guests.  I found myself thinking about the conversations at the dinner table, the color of candlelight when it drifts across the faces of family. How we remember one another, where and when.

I have never been to a memorial service quite like this before.  Without the constraints of liturgy or the insistence on an altar call to remind us of the frailty of bodies and the promise of eternal life, what remained was a song without melody, sung by the next generations, composed from memory, placed in stanzas, and like the Langston Hughes poem suggests, thrown toward the sun. 

I woke up thinking about their memorial song - the song her family threw toward the sun yesterday.  One stanza for beauty - for creating a home, a place in the world where beauty can rest for a moment.  One stanza for hospitality - letting students live in her home, widening the table for suppers with friends all speaking at once. One stanza for politics and opposition to the war in Vietnam.  One stanza for life, rewritten in North Carolina.

I only met her once - at a party at the Chancellors house at Carolina. But I know her granddaughter, and like her very much. Her loss is what made me attend and listen. She was, like Mother, that perfect configuration of great bones and posture, of elegance and fun.  She was strong, opinionated, and dedicated to beauty. A transplant to North Carolina,  as I sometimes say about myself, she was neither Tar Heel born, nor Tar Heel bred, but by God, when the day comes, I hope I will be Tar Heel dead.

When you take away the prayers and the preaching, the sermons and the dogma, the rituals of generations, all you are left with is what one offered during the one life they lived.  And, I have to say, it was as inspirational as any service for the dead I have ever attended.  I left with the sense that yes, she was marvelous, and yes, she was exacting, demanding, elegant - but also, I left with a new appreciation for living: doing what can be done and what must be done.  Surrounding your self with the people and things and ideas that you value.  Giving a little back whenever you can.  Being known for life...your own life and the lives you touch.

So, of course, because I am my father's daughter and because I am named for her, I am also thinking of Edna St. Vincent Millay - Dirge without Music - and how long it takes to begin to understand.

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned. 

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, --- but the best is lost.

The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

It is cold again this morning, after a warm weekend.  A meeting at 9 am.  Another at 11:00. The dog sleeps on the floor beside me.  On we go...

Love you,
Amanda



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24 January 2011

Sometimes I doodle. 

I don't think is any great news to anyone - anyone who has ever spent any time with me in a meeting, or at a lecture, or . . .well, maybe it is safe to say - anyone who knows me at all.  

Lately, I have been looking at some of these doodles as I clear off my desks (at home and at work). In truth, there is nothing there but some inner symbol set.  I suspect that little houses mean I am bored and want to go home.  Little stars mean action steps; little arrows mean connections...and sometimes, as in the little bowls above, I doodle the topic of the lecture - Ben Owen III and his wonderful North Carolina pots. But, in the last few months a new doodle has emerged: the beloved ampersand!  I like the balance; I like the different styles: I like the curves and the shapes and the meaning.

&  &  &  

These three are the only ones available to me in the font choices for this blog - and even there you can see it - subtle changes, design possibilities! For a doodler, this is perfect! 

Because of my own compulsions, all this ampersand doodling sent me to "my google" - I do have a personal, possessive relationship with google! - only to discover more about ampersands than most would care to know.  

I am loving it.  The styles are endless.  The wiki page,  a wonder!  Who knew?  I encourage you to take a peek. The history is a riot and I love that I am 54 and never knew all this until just a few days ago. 

In fact, I am thinking a little about writing a children's book called Mr Amper & His Ampersand!  Learning is all about the "and" it seems to me - learning how to know this & that & the next thing, too.  And, of course, it is one more idea, one more thing to do, and that is precisely my point.  Maybe I doodle ampersands at this moment in my life because it is a short hand symbol, my own marginalia for the demands of life.  

This and that and then the next thing on my list and then the car to the shop and the dog to the vet and the bills to be paid and the wine to pour and did you send that email and did you call the doctor for your annual check up and stop at the grocery store and remember to get half and half, and, and, &, &, &.  It's almost like the ellipsis on the end of a sentence, only instead of being dots, in my life, it is a string of ampersands.  

I am not complaining - it's just a little insight into the way I think and the time of life I inhabit. 

So tonight, in the remaining 21 minutes before House begins (& I do love House), I will:

print the picture of Edison dancing in his work room that you sent - how marvelous! 

&

finish the last of the left over spaghetti, wondering all the while why it is so much better on the second day

& 

check facebook for the latest post from my wise friend Mark Bozutti-Jones 

&

send the three emails that should have gone today

& 

make the morning coffee 

& 

wash my little dish 

& 

wish you were here! 

Love you 

More along the way & & & 
Always yours, 

Amanda 

19 January 2011

Dear Miss Kelly,

You will have to forgive the silence - the weeks are flying by as we enter the new year in earnest.  Work demands are many, and little by little all the normal rhythms of life are settling back in.  It is mid-winter, the long season. 

I have been thinking a lot about sayings the last few days - how useful or useless they are. Dad used to have so many that he used all the time, and today, at work, I actually said one in a meeting: "Well," I said, "My dad used to say you should never underestimate the Dumb Factor."  In my memory, he used this in discussions of politics.  Politicians have to accommodate the "dumb."  That's why they can't really discuss the issues - too many people wouldn't understand them and they need the votes.  I suppose, at least in part, it is a true saying. 

He used to say "You've got to dance with the guy that brought you...."  Modernized, I might say, "You have to dance with the one..." and of course, "Lie down with dogs - Get up with fleas" and "Live prospectively, understand retrospectively."  The litany of his sayings is long. 

But he also told that wonderful story about his Aunt Esther and her little poem, her little saying:

Habit is a cord

You weave a thread each day 

Until it is so strong

You cannot break away

I think it is my favorite - particularly as I get older and realize that we are, in fact, more or less, the sum total of our habits. And, as I get older, I realize that old habits die hard and new habits are born (at least in me) out of two things:  happenstance and passion.  Suddenly, it seems, I notice that I have a new habit - maybe its as simple as the cup of decaf tea I seem to make every single night now - decaf English breakfast equals the end of the day.  Or maybe its coming in through the back door instead of the front. When did that start?  Happenstance habits.  But the others, the ones that really change a life are passionate...and I can only think about a few of those hard-won, enduring, central, essential habits:

Time alone in the studio every morning no matter what

Saying thank you in that hour - letting worries fall into God's column on the to-do list

Paying attention, every day, to the mystery and the mercy 

I find myself thinking a lot about mercy - a quality that seems so missing from public discourse - so missing from so many sayings.  And yet, it is one of those habits that I want to cultivate in myself...is there a saying that will help with that?

About two years ago, I made a piece of art with two birds - and included in it, the saying on this art card:

Two birds No stone Only mercy 

It stays with me.  I remember it, even if I am still not very good at it.  When I am cross over the conduct of crazy drivers in the parking lot at Kroger - this happened just yesterday! - or when I am in a meeting and I think the Dumb Factor has invaded every body in the room (including my own), I do find it helpful to pause and think: "Well, you know what I always say:  Two birds. No stone. Only mercy."  It makes me pause.  Think again.  Pay attention.  

As I settle into the New Year - I think this is one of my resolutions:  Only Mercy.  And as much as I can,  I mean to live it out.   

Time to finish my tea. 

I am thinking so much about you and these last days of your sister's life....

My every prayer for her comes from Compline in the Book of Common Prayer.  

May God grant a perfect night and a peaceful end.

Only mercy

I love you

Amanda 

.  

 

7 January 2011

It seems impossible, but here I am...fifty four years old. 

The time passes more quickly, just like everyone said it would. And, sure enough, I still feel the same way inside that I have felt since - well, when, exactly?  I am not sure.  When do we become who we are?  I don't think it happens overnight.  I think it happens little by little - as we change the story.  The story of our mothers and fathers falls away a little, time passes, wounds heal - and little by little we become who we are. 

I know, for me, changing the story was important.  My poor dad, so smart and so wrong so much of the time.  So alone - in so many ways.  And of course, this year, like so many before and so many yet to come, my mother seems to have forgotten it is my birthday... 

I just got in from my birthday party.  We went to a little local restaurant - a true hole in the wall - with fabulous food!  Meelos at the Loehmann's Plaza.  I will take you there if you come for a visit.  Mr. Meelos (that is not his name) is perfect - and if you close your eyes and only take in the smells and the sounds - you could easily be in Italia - in Tuscany...or even Roma. 

I had the house salad  - lobster ravioli - and a little plate of his spinach (with pancetta and cranberries) - but that is only what I ate.  What I had was time with this family and friends - with Fran and Dusty, Margie and Charlie, Ande and Jimmy, Sam and Cathy (I do not think that you have met them), dear David, and sweet Kirsten.  All celebrating with me - all celebrating that somehow, by luck and pluck, I am still alive and here.  Pour another little glass of Malbec - yes, of course a little carry out box - yes, and thank you and thank you and thanks so much. Mr. Meelos kisses me on my cheek.   

It is my birthday - number 54.  And oh how I wish you were here with us....

Always
Amanda

30 December 2010

Written on the 30th of December - but posted today.  Sorry for the delay. 

Beauty is everywhere!

I must be in a very good mood this morning, as all I can see is delight and beauty.  This is not my normal way - tending as I do to a touch of melancholy and a long list of serious endeavors.  But, yesterday, Emily and I spent a record eight hours shopping.  We tried on clothes and shoes and hats and scarves - ogled and giggled over colors and prices and people - and at the end of the day, realized that perhaps, with a little loving attention, we could learn to see beauty even in the 7x lighted magnifying mirrors we bought for our homes!  We thought, maybe, we had been wrong about a great many things - and that we could enter the land of the beautiful.

So as I mark the end of the year, I find myself thinking about the ways in which beauty lives right here with me and in me - and in all that I love.  I remember my friend Ray saying one time that the one common thread he could see in all of his friends was their beauty - he went on to say that it was not always the physical beauty that drew him in.  I know what he means - there is a tension between the images of pop culture - rolling in unrelenting tidal waves, tsunami's of style drowning us all - and that singularity, that uniqueness, that light in the eyes, openness in the heart, aspirations of kindness and excellence that move you from awe to delight, and maybe even devotion.

Now that the house is empty and all are home, or at least headed for home, I clean the house and prepare for the high holy day of New Years Day. Put away the Christmas presents, sweep and dust and mop the floors. Run the vacuum, wash the bed linens and bathrooms. And if I can hold the mood - I will stay close to this sense of beauty for a little longer.