God Is Dead And We're Alone

Sometimes I think I was preparing myself for middle age since I was a child. When I think about the albums that spoke to me then, they were records artists produced after 30. I would be 2 when I first heard the round mouth feel of the fretless bass in Joni Mitchell’s “Hejira”, a series of songs she wrote in her early 30’s.  Staring holes in my oatmeal just like I imagined Coyote. When, newly 20, I would hear “Wild Things Run Fast” (which she wrote on the doorstep of 40), I knew I was singing words that wouldn’t cut me deep enough for 2 decades. They were stories of hearts that were at first hopeful, virginal and young. You can hear the stories evolve, morph and you can find those wounds that don’t  heal perfectly. There’s scar tissue. There’s a toughness. As a young girl-human, I remember WANTING to have a broken heart. I longed to feel that melancholy for real and as I grew into a woman I practiced by falling in love with as many people as possible. I got to know a ...

Well shoot, I’m getting married. It’s been 5 weeks since The Boy King proposed on the top of a mountain in the middle of the West Texas desert. It still feels silly and giddy and strange. Yet at the same time it feels right, calm and deliberate. I present you with the first in many lists on this blog (Mama loves a list): Realizations of a recently engaged 41 year old human: I still fidget with my ring (not big on jewelery from the wrist down).   I still find myself texting my partner “We’re getting married!” on a regular basis. I still can’t say the word fiance without feeling like the most obnoxious person on the planet. I hate that all the wedding dress models look 12 and are a size 0. I wish it didn’t have to be so expensive. We’re adults now (or will be soon). We’re legally bound (or will be soon). I should get pre-approved for a mortgage. I should do my taxes. I should be planning, picking a venue, finalizing a guest list bla bla bla. ...