Grey Winter Valentine

I woke up this morning almost forgetting what year I am in. I remember when L. moved out about 5 years ago and I was suddenly alone. I’d have these dreams full of people. Men who pursued me, obligations too many to satisfy. Maybe I was still on tour. Running, going, busy, anxious, pursued. Dreams rushing in to fill the vacuum. But in daylight there was just me and the grey winter. Work waiting to be done. Tea waiting to be brewed. Music. I was in a panic at the time that my life had shifted, possibly was over. But it turned out to be a false alarm.

Life went on. I made “The Finest Thing.” I got into cycling, running, yoga. Got healthy. Fell in love again. Spent the last three years in the passenger seat of a really nice car, being a passenger in someone else’s really great life. A little vacation from my own life. It was fun. But now that it’s done.

Once again, without having someone to love and be loved by, there is something empty about life, even as that notion is inaccurate. Romantic love crowds out so much that is valuable, even essential. So, I’m aware of that. Without the drug of it, my head is once again full of words, my own ideas, the desire to work. I have time for friends and family. There were times with D. when a part of me would be standing outside of it saying, “What the hell are you doing? Get back to your real life.” Sometimes, when I played one of his two Yamaha pianos, he’d come up beside me impatiently and want me to stop so he could have his turn. I don’t hold it against him but I wonder at my own ability to put so much of myself on hold just to have someone hold me at night and call me Baby.

I frame this differently from one day to the next. But today I want to believe that I am a hungry and happy adventurer, who has loved and come back to myself over and over again. I mean, truly. Who doesn’t give up everything to be called, “Baby?” What a miraculous occurance. That some stranger should be able to make his way beyond all my defenses (and there are many) and get to me, make my heart open up screaming with terror and delight. Should I have forgone all that glorious romance to have spent an extra number of years sitting at a table with a guitar in my arms?

Outside, it is the most February of days. Ice and rain dripping, pouring from the bare winter branches. Silent but for the sound of it. I got a version of “Oh the World” off to DW yesterday. It’s far from perfect, but I got an email back from him saying it was “beautiful.” It was more satisfying than a Valentine. It’s true that working on music is the only thing I have ever found that stops time in a way that makes me feel a part of what God is.

This entry was posted in Life. Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Grey Winter Valentine

  1. BobK says:

    Lori: Although I’ve followed your career with great interest for the past dozen years or so, I still don’t understand why making music and being in love tend to be mutually exclusive things for you. Personally, I don’t accept the myth that one needs to be unhappy or in some sort of emotional turmoil to create great art. (Perhaps I’m missing the point of your post?) Regardless, I’m ecstatic that you’re in creative mode again, but saddened that you had to say goodbye to D. in order to regain your muse.

    I really love your new site. You write so eloquently and with such candor. And your four new songs are like a balm for my soul. Thank you for making them available. It’s so comforting to hear your voice again. Like meeting up with a cherished friend you never thought you’d ever see again.

  2. meryl says:

    Hey Lori,
    I love you, Babe! I’m sure there are many more of us out there, too. Romantic love always seems so great, but at what cost? Other types of love can be so much more satisfying, and so much less demanding, less desperate, less exclusive.

    One year I gave J a homemade electric valentine. it was a white card that i put blinking red xmas lights in, shaped in a heart, placed in a box. one of the best ideas i ever had. successful presentation. i dont remember, but i think it was the same year, or maybe the next, that he gave me a frying pan as a valentine’s day gift. i cried all morning. he just knew that i loved to cook and why not? i’m over it, 17 years later.

    what a sweet note from bob k. a true fan of your music. i am so lucky that i can be a true fan of not only your music, but of YOU.

    Wait until you hear what you missed last night at yoga!

  3. alison says:

    Happy Valentine’s Day everyone, with or without romantic love!

    In Drive Away there is the line “Somebody always loves more.” My world-weary college roommate used to quote some proverb, “In love, there is always one who kisses, and one who offers the cheek.” I have usually found that to be true.

    I think that coexisting with creativity is only a problem for the one who loves more…

    Wow, I’m gone a couple days and there’s another blog entry and two more songs! Ok, you’ve got me, I can’t get the damned RSS thing to work anyway, I’ll just have to keep coming back.

  4. greentangle says:

    Nice to visit your new site and be greeted by such an open and intelligent entry. I admit that I can’t relate to it all that well being firmly in the solitary camp myself, but I can still admire it.

    I remember buying “Everything…” the morning it came out; you were doing an in-store at Tower in Boston that afternoon and I had a chance to listen to the cd enough beforehand to request Snow Come Down when you played. Some came down last night.

    Music doesn’t play a big part in my life any more, but when it did, you created some of the most lovely songs I found. Thanks and best wishes.

  5. PE says:

    Hi Lori. I think the new website design is great and thanks for the opportunity to hear your new songs. “House in the Weeds” was the first album I ever downloaded. I am looking forward to hearing your new songs as soon as I reactivate my dormant paypal account. :)

    Bob.. I don’t think that art and love need to be mutually exclusive either. That said, I personally identify with the struggle. I know that I personally stopped writing through the latter years of my (failed) marriage. While I still get productions of my plays, it is all stuff I wrote ten years ago. Now I feel like I’m learning how to write again, almost as if I’m starting from scratch.

    Thanks for the new site. Like Bob said, you write with such openness and candor. I look forward to hearing the new songs.

Leave a Reply