musical milliner

May 28, 2012

Gratitudine

Om moment tonight: I was sitting in the dark in my front garden on this warm spring evening when one of the Box People trucks cruised past. I had 4 big boxes in the house, so I zipped inside, snagged ’em, and ran to the corner where the truck had pulled over. A nice man who spoke little English took my boxes, broke them down, and gave me a big smile, which I returned.  The universal language.

These people work hard every night collecting cardboard for cash.  Many in this big city who know of them, take cardboard out  late at night to the corner, where one of the trucks will see the pile. This is not litter.  This is income for food and rent and clothing. It is always gone by sunrise.

They are but one lane on the highway of a two hundred year old tradition in this country. Newcomers working hard to make a new life, and finding creative ways to get by, making work of things most of us never consider.

That my paternal grandparents sailed across the on the Martha Washington at the beginning of the 20th Century and made their way to Colorado still astounds me. Stephen Fry talks about a beguiling theory that America is composed of people who share a belief that “good enough” is not enough. As the first post-Enlightenment community of governance and ideals, we are a people whose ancestors (with two important exceptions) stayed behind because they refused the risk. For more on this discussion, here is a conversation between Mr. Fry and Craig Ferguson: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWDzfkWDClk&feature=iv&annotation_id=DrPinch2190_annotation_508875

The Box People are my people.  Our people. Help them out.  Last night, I needed a reminder of how damn lucky I am, and how humble work is not beneath me.

(c)GoshGusPublishing(ascap)2012

April 27, 2009

Agitato e Accesso!

Filed under: stages of grief,Uncategorized — by SAMM @ 2:02 pm
Tags: , , ,

imagesI do not have a compassionate heart.
I do not possess patience to persevere beyond my limits.
I do not know how to fix my shit. But I will. Somehow.

I want to be to be heard, and for someone to listen.
I want to know if I will ever be happy for longer than an afternoon.
I want to know why I give trust another try, and have it explode in my face
because I am not able unlearn my defensiveness.

And why the one thing so deeply, deeply important to me is used by an adult thru my child to hurt me. I feel grief and failure. I feel menacing anger.

(c)GoshGusMusic(ascap)2009

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