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February Rains

February 25, 2018 in Art Matters, City Matters, Essays, Feminist Matters, Harriet Matters, Music Matters, Sabboytical, Weather Matters

I wake and for the third morning in a row hear Joan Armatrading singing these lyrics in my head:

If you’re gonna do it do it right
Don’t leave it overnight

Also for the third morning in a row–more like the sixth, who am I kidding?–the rain is pounding against my window. I can tolerate this much rain in the spring–there’s a point to it, even a gift–but in February it’s just mean. Cold and wet and mean. Which is how I’ve been experiencing everything, including myself. Take the dream from which I’m waking. It’s as rough as the weather. Continue Reading →

Not Giving Up Just Yet

February 18, 2018 in Country Matters, Music Matters, Spirit Matters

“I’m a wild seed again/Let the wind carry me.” I woke with such a strong urge to listen to the whole For the Roses album. I fear it’s because Joni is slipping from us for good—she’s been in between worlds for a while now—but more I think it’s because her tranquil turbulence, her third eye in the storm, is exactly what we need right now. I love you, Joni Mitchell. I love everyone else too.

I’m So Sorry, Dolores

January 16, 2018 in City Matters, Feminist Matters, Music Matters, Past Matters, Queer Matters, Style Matters

When I woke this morning, all I wanted to hear was the sweet sadness of Dolores O’Riordan, whom I listened to every day during the sweetest saddest period of my young womanhood and who died yesterday, only days before my 47th birthday, which really is the death knoll for any young womanhood no matter how well your people age (and mine age pretty well, dammit). When I listened most to Dolores and her Cranberries I was living with a man who took care of me but did not love me and whom I did not love. We had been performing a twentysomething fascimile of an old married couple and, really, it had been draining both of our life forces. We were just scared of everything else, especially of who we really were. Him: gladly, glamorously superficial. Me: a witch, not meant for anything but what I could conjure from the ashes of purple violets and patriarchy. Continue Reading →

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy