another mutt

Through my boyfriend's Rhapsody account I am listening to Art Garfunkel's 'Songs From a Parent to a Child'. I love it!

He said I could log in with his password and listen to things as long as I saved nothing. He does not want his groove thang to 311 being broken by a burst of Bette Midler. Can't blame the guy.

I don't know at all what it feels like to love a child as a parent, but I imagine it is sweetly painful, something so strong it hurts and brings tears by pure intensity, something you could bite into with teeth.

I don't know if I have what it takes to handle the responsibility of effectively shaping and encouraging a growing mind every single day.

But I like this CD and imagining my friends or my cousin singing the songs to their respective babes, and to imagine singing them to a bundle in my arms.

The further along life my journey rolls, the more comforting sense James Taylor makes to me. Simple and honest and all the pieces and common aches and joys that are every day life.


I miss Maine. It's just a place, I know, but something goes soft and weepy in my middle when I drift back in my heart to the bluest sky ever spring, summer, or fall draping over my head and shoulders, tender sugar candy pine tree air, the spaces open for my feet to go. Something in me wants to cry and misses it so.
I left for so many reasons, and many of the reasons I left are here and near sleeping or raising small children or spending time on a Sunday night with friends and family, gearing up for a new week.
But I miss it, not strong enough yet to visit, fearing New Jersey would never get me back again. I am not strong enough yet to leave Maine behind again.

If you ever see me singing along to 'Carolina in My Mind' I'm saying Carolina, but thinking Maine all the way through.