The other night I had a free hour in my brain all to myself which I spent over an incredibly tall pile of dishes. It was a simple domestic act that I actually welcomed after more than a week away from the duties of home and hearth. Generally, I'd either fill the open mental space with a litany of thoughts over the myriad complexities of life, a podcast with some intellectual and humorous value, or a library audio book. Though my iPhone houses several hundred songs which span an array of musical genres, melody and rhythm rarely travel the distance from electronic gadget to earpiece.
On the aforementioned night, a Saturday mid-evening sandwiched between my Friday return to Tennessee and the Sunday twilight hours spent with my kids putting up the Christmas tree in the company of my pre-surgical mom, a few tunes seemed appropriate. Perhaps I'd been stimulated by the musical movie Sarah and I viewed while crunching our way through an entire large-size bucket of theater popcorn: Cher and Christina Aguilera singin' and a'dancin' a la burlesque. While not in danger of incurring any amount of Oscar buzz, it offered toe-tapping entertainment with a modicum of taste per today's standards, avoiding overt sex scenes though the stage antics were a bit tongue in cheek at times!
The Soggy Bottom Boys always draw me in with their twangy yet moving version of [I Am a Man of] Constant Sorrow. The lyrics remind me of my brother, Gary. Straightforward, troubled, the thread of the lighthearted melody a perfect foil to the theme of thwarted life. It evokes such a strange mixture of hope and sadness within me. Much like thoughts of my brother do. The writing is superb, simple and profound. It hits all the right notes, no pun intended, and reaches across the aisles to all people under a burden, regardless of their placement on the social ladder. Somehow, it manages to purge the stagnant waters in my soul and make way for fresh clear pools. Two to three rounds just about does the trick, most of the time. Is it an irony that it hails from a movie entitled Brother, Where Art Thou?
After shaking my way through an Michael Jackson classic and a Rhianna staple, funny enough it was called Breakin' Dishes, I happened upon my latest purchase from iTunes. Evidently, there's a group that goes by the name of Florence + The Machine -- would that be a blender, food processor, or hand mixer, perhaps -- and they pound out a Celtic-like ditty that makes my feet move in ways not likely to land on a slick MTV video but it feels invigorating all the same. The Dog Days Are Over. I don't even know the lyrics to save my life, except for that one line. But there's always a welcoming spot in me for it.
In the wake of my trip, there was an unspoken need to let it all go, especially those two intensely tiring days of court in Lamar with my sister. The dance of circles and hops, skips and kicks, head and arm swings, resembling more a tribal celebration of urgent crop weather asked for and received or lives spared in the wake of battle, was executed for my niece and nephew and sister. And for the other family members so hurt and affected by this strange and painful set of events. I inhabited a space of freedom which none of them are able to enjoy. With emotional abandon, I danced and danced, the kitchen appliances my witnesses, the washed and unwashed dishes a mute audience, and any reason to do otherwise unable to be found.
It ended abruptly. My own healthy and alive children entered the room, prepared to further their personal agendas for the evening, exacting their own dance of words and wills. I muted my mini concert in trade for dialog and even a bit of argument. We hammered out our agreements and moved ever closer to a Sunday morning and away from a Saturday night. The yellow dish gloves crept back over my hands. Suds and silverware busied me for a time. Thoughts of rest and what I might or might not do in the near future captured valuable brain space.
The music, and the moment, was over. But it happened. As are all of us who love without restraint and beyond any set of hard and fast rules, I am bound to those who inhabit my heart with a passion that infuses every aspect of my existence. Including an hour spent in the mundane and melodic refrain.
