It's Sunday and finally the sunshine fills the windows and the little hallways of my head. Thoughts of nothing ordinary fill my head and I am thinking on "being a woman" this morning. I think it's because I spent yesterday making charms and in those charms are photos of vintage women and wondering who they are and why some of them had a haunting sad smile while others seemed untouched by any sadness or clamity in their life. I ambled down to find some tea and into my studio to work a little while I was bathed in all this natural light. Telling myself that soon the days will be long into the night, the snow will be melted and I won't need the little slippers Best Friend sent me to keep my feet warm while I work. The black cat came to sit with me as she's just tired tired tired of the new kitten shadowing her every move. I could hear Natalie Merchant playing through my head this morning and went to find her CD and there she was singing to me about women...
Ophelia was a bride of GodA novice Carmelite,In sister cells, the cloister bells,tolled on her wedding night
Of course women are the start of everything, they are the holder of life's promise so they are held to that standard of being close to god, full of tender mercies. We are the one who dries the eyes, diapers the babies and makes sure the thank you notes get out in the mail no less than 3 days after the last major event. And if it gets overwhelming, don't cry those tears will do you no good, dry your eyes and get on with it. and be grateful.
Ophelia was the rebel girl,a blue-stockinged suffragetteWho remedied society between her cigarettes
Yes, I voted for Hillary. Your husband cheats on you with a little nobody and it's played out in every newspaper, CNN and every Sunday morning show in the country. And he does this after you support his career, smile when you don't want to smile, live in a big white house for 8 years throwing your beloved child in the limelight and all for some better good of a country you are serving and the love of your family and you find out this man you put your trust in can't keep it in his pants. Yep, she didn't kill him. She didn't drag his ass out on the lawn and tie him to the car dragging him through the rose garden until she ran out of gas. She ate it. Went on to win an election of her own and every now and then throws him a glance that says "Jesus, do you know how many nice Republican boys hit on me in college?" This is about a history making event. At one point people of color and women were things, something that was owned. The women who came before us couldn't vote, they couldn't own anything and their life was centered around being picked to be an accessory to someone else's life. Please vote. Vote your head but mostly vote your heart.
And Ophelia was the sweetheart to a nation overnightCurvaceous thighs, vivacious eyesLove was at first sight,Love was at first sight, loveOphelia was a demi-goddessIn pre-war Babylonso statuesque, a silhouettein black, satin evening gownsOphelia was the mistress to a Vegas gambling manSignora Ophelia Maraschinamafia courtesanOphelia was the circus queen, the female cannonballprojected through five flaming hoopsto wild and shocked applauseto wild and shocked applausehey, he-he-he-he-hey,
When I come across a man who is out there in the world looking for a woman. You can usually tell who they are looking for. With bright eyes he will tell you Marilyn Monroe was the most beautiful woman he'd ever almost seen. In dark sad eyes he will tell you all about the dark-haired beauty he ran into in Italy and at every opportunity he looks for her eyes so brown they were almost black in every woman's face. And yes Best Friend it's Maraschina, not Bellashina hahahahaha. Life always makes me laugh because just when you think it's one thing it turns out to be some thing else. The guy chasing Marilyn's face will run into a little red haired girl in a cafe and she will smile at him so sweetly his head will spin and perhaps years later for his birthday he will buy her a blonde wig and suggest the unsuggestable and he'll have a piece of Marilyn. hey, he-he-he-he-hey.
Ophelia was a tempest, cyclone, a goddam hurricaneyour common sense, your best defense lay wasted and in vainfor Ophelia'd know your every woe and every pain you'd ever haveShe'd sympathize and dry your eyesHelp you to forgetand help you to forgetand help you to forget
Perhaps that is the allure that is a woman. After earning a wage, following your passion and making it a career. After you've put on the fishnets and walked out into the world making a head turn because of just the right color lip gloss. After you've pulled off the perfect dinner party, making every guest feel as though you cooked just for them. After you've cleaned the same dish 9,000 times until you are certain the little correll pattern is pressed into your head, every turn of the flower taking up brain space that could better be spent pondering the universe. After you get to be the gentle mom who kisses a knee, you get to celebrate life and abandon a day's work for a lunch with your Best Friend in a little park by Northwestern, fixing the life's problems over tuna salad. You get to dig in dirt planting herbs until your fingers are sore knowing the sweet girl at the mall will fix them just fine. Today, from my hands I get to create a little bracelet with photos of a womans' grandchildren. She has 9 of them and isn't 50 yet. There is a life story I am curious about. (If I am a grandmother before 50 my son will walk with a permanent limp.) She will hold that little bracelet admiring the beautiful children flowers of her garden and that will make today worth my time a thousand times over.
Ophelia's mind went wanderingYou'd wonder where she'd goneto secret doors down corridorsshe'd wander them aloneall alone
This time next week Best Friend will be here and she will already be preparing to leave. I will laugh for days about something she said that tickled my soul. I will have cooked her eggs because nobody knows how to cook her eggs like I do. We will be with other women celebrating the upcoming wedding of the season. And I will remind her of the wedding we attended years ago when the Pastor stood at the front of the room and said "Marriage is all about sharing your innermost secrets with one another." I looked at her, she looked at me, at the exact same moment. and I whispered to her "Oh, shit."
Love until it hurts, Carrie http://www.summerpoet.com/
Ophelia was a bride of GodA novice Carmelite,In sister cells, the cloister bells,tolled on her wedding night
Of course women are the start of everything, they are the holder of life's promise so they are held to that standard of being close to god, full of tender mercies. We are the one who dries the eyes, diapers the babies and makes sure the thank you notes get out in the mail no less than 3 days after the last major event. And if it gets overwhelming, don't cry those tears will do you no good, dry your eyes and get on with it. and be grateful.
Ophelia was the rebel girl,a blue-stockinged suffragetteWho remedied society between her cigarettes
Yes, I voted for Hillary. Your husband cheats on you with a little nobody and it's played out in every newspaper, CNN and every Sunday morning show in the country. And he does this after you support his career, smile when you don't want to smile, live in a big white house for 8 years throwing your beloved child in the limelight and all for some better good of a country you are serving and the love of your family and you find out this man you put your trust in can't keep it in his pants. Yep, she didn't kill him. She didn't drag his ass out on the lawn and tie him to the car dragging him through the rose garden until she ran out of gas. She ate it. Went on to win an election of her own and every now and then throws him a glance that says "Jesus, do you know how many nice Republican boys hit on me in college?" This is about a history making event. At one point people of color and women were things, something that was owned. The women who came before us couldn't vote, they couldn't own anything and their life was centered around being picked to be an accessory to someone else's life. Please vote. Vote your head but mostly vote your heart.
And Ophelia was the sweetheart to a nation overnightCurvaceous thighs, vivacious eyesLove was at first sight,Love was at first sight, loveOphelia was a demi-goddessIn pre-war Babylonso statuesque, a silhouettein black, satin evening gownsOphelia was the mistress to a Vegas gambling manSignora Ophelia Maraschinamafia courtesanOphelia was the circus queen, the female cannonballprojected through five flaming hoopsto wild and shocked applauseto wild and shocked applausehey, he-he-he-he-hey,
When I come across a man who is out there in the world looking for a woman. You can usually tell who they are looking for. With bright eyes he will tell you Marilyn Monroe was the most beautiful woman he'd ever almost seen. In dark sad eyes he will tell you all about the dark-haired beauty he ran into in Italy and at every opportunity he looks for her eyes so brown they were almost black in every woman's face. And yes Best Friend it's Maraschina, not Bellashina hahahahaha. Life always makes me laugh because just when you think it's one thing it turns out to be some thing else. The guy chasing Marilyn's face will run into a little red haired girl in a cafe and she will smile at him so sweetly his head will spin and perhaps years later for his birthday he will buy her a blonde wig and suggest the unsuggestable and he'll have a piece of Marilyn. hey, he-he-he-he-hey.
Ophelia was a tempest, cyclone, a goddam hurricaneyour common sense, your best defense lay wasted and in vainfor Ophelia'd know your every woe and every pain you'd ever haveShe'd sympathize and dry your eyesHelp you to forgetand help you to forgetand help you to forget
Perhaps that is the allure that is a woman. After earning a wage, following your passion and making it a career. After you've put on the fishnets and walked out into the world making a head turn because of just the right color lip gloss. After you've pulled off the perfect dinner party, making every guest feel as though you cooked just for them. After you've cleaned the same dish 9,000 times until you are certain the little correll pattern is pressed into your head, every turn of the flower taking up brain space that could better be spent pondering the universe. After you get to be the gentle mom who kisses a knee, you get to celebrate life and abandon a day's work for a lunch with your Best Friend in a little park by Northwestern, fixing the life's problems over tuna salad. You get to dig in dirt planting herbs until your fingers are sore knowing the sweet girl at the mall will fix them just fine. Today, from my hands I get to create a little bracelet with photos of a womans' grandchildren. She has 9 of them and isn't 50 yet. There is a life story I am curious about. (If I am a grandmother before 50 my son will walk with a permanent limp.) She will hold that little bracelet admiring the beautiful children flowers of her garden and that will make today worth my time a thousand times over.
Ophelia's mind went wanderingYou'd wonder where she'd goneto secret doors down corridorsshe'd wander them aloneall alone
This time next week Best Friend will be here and she will already be preparing to leave. I will laugh for days about something she said that tickled my soul. I will have cooked her eggs because nobody knows how to cook her eggs like I do. We will be with other women celebrating the upcoming wedding of the season. And I will remind her of the wedding we attended years ago when the Pastor stood at the front of the room and said "Marriage is all about sharing your innermost secrets with one another." I looked at her, she looked at me, at the exact same moment. and I whispered to her "Oh, shit."
Love until it hurts, Carrie http://www.summerpoet.com/
