"Be bold. If you're going to make an error, make a doozey, and don't be afraid to hit the ball."
– Billie Jean King

"When patterns are broken, new worlds emerge."
– Tuli Kupferberg

How about never?

Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
~Anne Sexton

There is no order in the world around us, we must adapt ourselves to the requirements of chaos instead. It is hard to adapt to chaos, but it can be done. I am living proof of that: It can be done.

- Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions

Lyrical contribution for the day

One of my top 10 favorite songs.

Night lift up the shades
let in the brilliant light of morning
but steady there now
for I am weak and starving for mercy
sleep has left me alone
to carry the weight of unravelling where we went wrong
it's all I can do to hang on
to keep me from falling
into old familiar shoes

how stupid could I be
a simpleton could see
that you're no good for me
but you're the only one I see

love has made me a fool
it set me on fire and watched as I floundered
unable to speak
except to cry out and wait for your answer
but you come around in your time
speaking of fabulous places
create an oasis
dries up as soon as you're gone
you leave me here burning
in this desert without you

everything changes
everything falls apart
can't stop to feel myself losing control
but deep in my senses I know.

- Sarah McLaughlin

Sick and Single

I’ve been out of commission for the past few days, fighting a nasty case of bronchitis. Perhaps it was the realization that a dog doesn’t have opposable thumbs and therefore cannot run off to get me Nyquil, orange juice, or tissue. Or maybe it’s just the fact that I tend to have some pretty radical thoughts when experiencing a fever. Whatever it was, eternal list-maker I am, my mind turned to the pros and cons of being sick and single.

All right, the cons first. Because you always start with the cons first.

Cons of being sick and single:
No one to notice that you’re completely dehydrated.
No one to drive to the store to get your meds, your OJ, your tissue or Vicks.
No one to remind you to take your meds when you black out.
No one to notice when the dog has started eating you because he thinks you’re dead.
Having to stay home on a weekday, and when conscious, finding out that Tony Danza has a talk show now (WTF?)

Yeah, that pretty much covers it.

Pros of being sick when you’re single (rah rah GOOOOO Team!):
No one has to see you looking like hell.
No one complains when you throw tissues on the floor.
You can wear the same thing for three days, because who gives a rat’s ass?
You won’t keep anyone else awake with your coughing.
You can lay, listless, unable to speak, and just watch old On-Demand episodes of Sex and the City.

And yet, I'm picking my sister up from the airport in two hours so we can shop all weekend in the new layer of snow that fell yesterday. Bronchitis, Shmonkitis. Maybe I'll buy one of those diamond tiaras at Tiffanys on Michigan Avenue. You know...the ones that are made specifically for blushing brides. If you ask me, they are a complete waste for a married woman. A single woman would get much more use out of a diamond tiara, accessorizing with it daily.

I'd wear mine to go to Walgreens for some more Vicks.

knabe

Knabe Adoption

I sold my piano yesterday. The piano I was willed at 10 years of age when my paternal grandmother died. Last night, I went and picked up the official cashier’s check from the woman who now officially owns my Knabe baby grand. I assume it’s what giving up a child for adoption must feel like; it’s the closest I’ve ever come, at least. I was a little wigged out to see it sitting in someone else’s living room, but I believe it’s in good (and wealthy) hands.

Its new home is one of your quintessential three-car garage type homes (because two drivers, a stay-at-home-mom included, apparently NEED three automobiles). An old home that still has its character, its grand wrought-iron winding staircase in a breathtaking foyer, with elements of the nouveau riche, just begging for stainless steel appliances and a BMW in the driveway.

The room my piano is now in is a beautiful one, to say the least. It’s almost as if it was made for a grand piano; it’s big and grand itself, and the acoustics are perfect. The new owner spoke of plans to heighten the ceiling by "a story or two"...she also spoke of her 8-year old son starting lessons in a few months; I was four when I started, and near his age when I myself got the piano, so it was like a ritualistic passing of the torch. He better be playing Rachmaninoff in a year to do it justice. I'm just sayin.

She must’ve sensed my underlying sadness (that I thought I was hiding very well, actually), as she looked at me and said, "I know this is hard for you; I’ll send you pictures when we re-do the room to have three-story vaulted ceiling put in. Maybe I'll send you some at Christmas every year..." Then, she hugged me.

Yep. My baby has been adopted.

On my way home, I thought about where it would be in twenty years. If her little boy would get married, ultimately screwed in an icky divorce, and have to sell it himself to pay off some lingering credit card bills. Huh. Who knows...he’ll end up his generation’s Liberace, fabulously gay, talented, rich and famous, and I will point to his image on the Tonight Show and say, "He learned to play on my piano."

It could happen.

So, the end of an era is gone. Kind of like when Cheers went off the air. You knew it was going to happen, but it still sucks when it does. Someday, I’ll have another piano, but for now, I did what I had to do. And, I know my grandmother would understand why I did it. After all, she is the figurehead who taught me to handle things with grace, and if you can’t make ends meet, at least match your shoes, purse, and hat to form an ensemble. That'll help you at least FAKE the grace part, anyway.

Oh, and I have bronchitis. Welcome to the Midwest.