PULLS OUT by The Bengsons (Tiny Desk Contest 2020 Entry!)

Sometimes the Wind

“and sometimes the wind
has touched my cheek
like a spirit.” - Mary Oliver

Today, even with all its dreariness there are these moments with feathered kin that delight us. This is Captain Jack. He is a Chipping Sparrow, and is quite the singer.

Hope

“Hope is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -"
- Emily Dickinson 

 I have never known what boredom feels like. I think it is a blessing. This morning I had a visit from Woodstock the Goldfinch and his lady, Goldiflocks. I also had a visit from Skye the Bluebird. I had a bunch of over ripe bananas in the freezer so I made Brown Butter Bourbon Banana Bread. I didn't have any bourbon so I substituted homemade Nocino, and chocolate chips because....chocolate. 

I remembered this one day after 9/11, the Red Cross was stationed on my corner and one of the workers stopped me. She offered me some m&ms. I started crying and said, "No thanks, I don't need them". She said, "I know you don't neeeeed them...you neeeeed food and shelter and rest...but chocolate...is for the soul". I laughed. I didn't think I had a laugh left in me.

The great Alice Walker wrote, "Hard times requires furious dancing", I would like to add chocolate to that, and edible stars to float upon Juniper Tea, and a cup made by the hands of a dear friend in Ireland, and thrifted napkins that I dyed with indigo, and also...also...feathered hope.

"If you want the moon, do not hide from the night.
If you want a rose, do not run from the thorns.
If you want love, do not hide from yourself."
- Rumi

Last night I stepped outside for a sip of moonlight and to take a quick photo of the moon. To put things into perspective I set my sights upon Tycho crater which is estimated to be 108 million years old, then I looked for Mare Serenitatis (Sea of Serenity) and there with gaze fixed on serenity, I spoke the Metta.

May you be peaceful
May you be happy
May you be well
May you be safe
May you be free from suffering

Between Heart and Light

May it be its own force field
and dwell uniquely
between the heart and the light"
- John O'Donohue (To Bless the Space Between Us)

How are you? We are well and grateful for our wellness.  I am helping in ways I can and where I can and when I can.  I'm doing what I know to be good medicine for me to remain steady for my cub.  I can't believe that we lost R in August and now we are living in a pandemic.

I keep vigil for any moment of beauty no matter how small, like the visit from the goldfinch and I let that twinge of joy land lightly in my soul and I stay with it until it flies off to wherever it needs to go next, leaving me grateful for the brief respite.

It sounds crazy, but even though I've lost the part time jobs that took me months to find I care more about our lives right now than I do about a check...and that's not because I don't need an income, I desperately do, but our lives are not a commodity and there is something very wrong with a society where so few have so much, and so many have so little.

I decided that while we are home bound, we will not live by the clock. I've removed all screen time restrictions so my son can connect with friends and stay up late and sleep late which he normally doesn't do.

I put together that standing raised bed, and started my veg garden. I knitted a heavy blanket out of a gigantic yarn, that was on my to-try list for 2 years, using my arms instead of needles so it became a kind of dance or vinyasa. And I made paper blooms to fill vases. I'm trying to learn to sew masks.
I'm making the comfort food that my ancestors made, like my great grandfather's soup from Calabria. I'm making bread, and breaking bread, and keeping the cookie jar full. I'm bowing to the mountain when I finish my morning exercise. I'm opening the windows to let the valley wind sweep through the house so hard it slams door so I'm using large smooth stones that I collected from my late father's favorite beach on the north shore of long island to keep the doors from slamming. I'm using tech to my advantage and connecting with friends on the other side of the planet, their voices feel good in my ears and my eyes tear as we recount our memories across the span of years and ocean.

We are listening to Dan Bern and Lorenzo Bertocchini whenever we can connect. It lifts our spirits and as Lorenzo said, "they are songs but also prayers and we are distant but together".

I keep an led candle lit in the window each night where it will remain until this nightmare is over. I watch all the sunsets. I look for the planets, and whatever constellation I can identify. I make nectar, fill the feeder, and wait for the return of the hummingbirds. I listen for the conversations of birds that I can name without looking, like in childhood when I awoke to the voices of my elders and knew who was awake and at the table.

And when I feel the horror of this pandemic clenched around my ankles, I step out on the deck and breathe deep the moonlight, then I draw a bath, surround it with candles, and soak until the grip loosens and I once again feel steady on my feet. I fall asleep to my son's laughter as he plays games remotely with his friends. I long for the return of my own laughter, but I find myself tearful.

And I think that, just maybe, my tears are not only sorrow for the world, not only a reverence for the acts of beauty and love and courage that I am witnessing within this horror, but also maybe, a kind of salty rivulet of hope that for once this will push us all to a truer and more infinitely tender connection.

Unexpected Joy

“If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, 
don’t hesitate. Give in to it.” - Mary Oliver 



Savoring moments of joy wherever I find them. Today it was a visit from Woodstock F. Goldfinch (the F is for festival). I named him Woodstock when I met him last summer because he flies much like the cartoon character which is amusing to watch and he sings a tune while flying that rises and dips as he does. Today he visited my blueberry bushes and peeped at me thru the window.