when words fail me, which is often, I paint. When words work for me and are available on time, I am surprised.

Monday, February 18, 2008

Calender Eraser

Ms. Mary is my music teacher; she is pure genius. Julliard trained, many years ago, she has taught thousands to play stringed instruments. She has created a color coded score which creates learning by ear and then conveys to reading notes on printed page. She is truly amazing. Nearing eighty now, she teaches in her home, in her front parlor. Boxes of tapes and music sheets, markers, instruments and family photos. Royal red Persian rug, cozy quilted day bed, bay windows. We play. Arkansas Traveler, Old Joe Clark, Tender Shepherd, Silent Night, Cripple Creek and more. I began my once a week lessons this past Summer; Mary is an incredibly patient person. When I practice at home, both cats race to the front door and beg to be let outside, really.
Your fiddle is the woman, the bow is her man. She tells me. I blush. They are in love.
I have a bruised ego this morning, a friends hair color job went very awry the other day. It wasn't my first failure to make the right call with respect to the correct color formula to mix and it probably wont be my last (if I don't commit suicide that is), but my timing was just horrendous!
It's a long story, but she's a ballroom dancer, she and her husband of 40 years were throwing a huge ball and fund raiser the following evening. There was so much work to be done Friday, she thought she'd save time and come to me to touch up her hair color. I made a bad decision, and then a worse one. It is a story I do not want to tell. Anymore. So I won't.
It ends with me feeling sick to my stomach and mad a myself, depressed. I wish I could take those hours and decisions back. My ego is in the trash can. Dammit! to hell I say.
I feel like crying.
I dread getting out of bed. I know it will pass, but. . .sleeping is good.
On the first night, the Dali Lama appeared in the village; he was leading meditation dances and exercises.
My haircolor lady said I needed to learn to handle stress, and there he entered, the dream.
It was now my turn to work with him, (Oh yeah, he is not the current DL, he is very young and from the past. I do not know which one he is)I am very close and he is gazing into my eyes, pure love.
As we are doing this meditation together, my sweater enclosure or earring becomes entangled in his sweater. I pull away and the threads from his sweater begin to unravel. I am horrified and embarrassed. He laughs and hugs me. He tells me he loves me and I feel how much he does. He tells me I try so hard to create love, to try to make people love me while all the time I am love.
In the morning, I try to remember his words, the unspoken ones. I wear saffron orange shirts, to remember. It's hard though because I am really good at punishing myself.

And then, last night, Ms. Mary said to me, "I need to know what you are."
I tell her- I am an artist, and a poet (its a dream relax). I love to laugh and to dance. I pause and then say, I just wish I was smart.

You're smart OK she said.
Yep, that's me- smart.

Love Ms. Mary, love the Dali Lama.
Staying mad a myself, licking the ole bruised ego, not getting out of bed. Not today.

5 comments:

Jerri said...

Darling Girl. Oh, my dear. Pull your head out from under the covers and hold it high.

We've all made mistakes. We all need do-overs sometimes--every single one of us humans living on this earth. Now. Ever. Always.

How wise is that young DL? It IS silly to chase love when we ARE love. Yeah, gonna try to remember that.

Blessings be.

ds said...

well. that explains your numb post. it's usually better to fuck up. I died in my sleep and felt death for a while once.

Michelle O'Neil said...

Stacy this is beautiful writing. I love the images coming to you in your dreams.

Would you be so cruel to Riley? To your sons? You are no less precious.

One day you will laugh about this. Like I laugh about the time I accidently slipped with the clipper and left a big bald spot on the side of the biggest rugby player's head while cutting hair for extra money in college.

Do they let them wear baseball hats for six weeks in ballroom dancing?

Love.

thirdworstpoetinthegalaxy said...

How did your friend handle the color job? Reminds me I could use a haircut...

Stacy said...

I love you all, really, I get so angelic when suicidal.
TWPoetess- I do not think we are friends anymore (the one you speak of. Me and you are fine, come on over, I'll do your hair:)