Persephone Knew What She Wanted, Do You?[/caption]Lover, tell me if you can/ Who's gonna buy the wedding bands/ Times being what they are/ hard and getting harder all the time. . .
I. Christmas Prepping: Like Apocolypse Prep but Way Less Fun
I can never sleep this close to the Solstice. I try to console myself -- with food, with intoxicants, with television. My house is a mess, the boughs that I have in mason jars are dying and my house is undecorated. My relationship with my sister has become contentious at best again, everything I do is wrong there. I'm torn between wanting to shake her until her head falls off and a deep unabiding sadness for how far apart we've gotten even though we're less than a mile away from each other. My Spare Oom could make an appearance on Hoarders as is, filled with Christmas presents, overflowing with crafting supplies and papers. While the days grow longer, the real heart of the darkness of winter has just started in New Jersey. There are closets to reorganize, presents to make, three days straight of nearly 24/7 family obligations to get through, a manuscript to organize, correspondence to write, yarn to spin, tiny batches of merino to dye, Nuno scarves to make, a Green Room to help run. I've paid for Christmas in cash, I need to be able to do the same for Arisia for me to go. Can I afford to go anywhere for New Year's Eve? Will it be another depressing NYE at home? I never go anywhere anymore. Not to Carnegie with the promise of a free extra ticket, not to the Solstice party at Kit and Rat's, not to any Solstice at all. I told myself that Christmas would be the end of the hellish year of Do All the Things but I still have Arisia to get through. New Year's. My birthday. When will it be enough? When will I succeed? When will I have a nice soft place to land?
I don't know.
Some birds sing when the sun shines bright/ My praise is not for them/ But the one who sings in the dead of night/ I raise my cup to him
II. Tiny Life Coach?
Little O. is one of my nanny charges. When it's his turn to pick the song on the radio, he has the widest musical palette of any little kid I know. Country, thumping dance music, Bauhaus, he'll ask to stop on stations playing it all and carefully listen while asking me questions about it. He'll swing on his tire swing wearing shorts, Crocs, gloves, a padded parka and a ski mask with devil horns because it's what he feels like doing. He surpassed his older brother in karate temporarily and works on becoming as dedicated as the little girl who rivals him in sparring matches. When permitted, he likes to pee outside in the bushes. He had his nails painted blue and nonchalantly wore them to school without giving it a second thought. He can learn how to beat a video game level just by watching a tutorial on my tiny phone. When I first started working with him, it had been a while since I had charges that could speak back to me in full sentences. Trying to figure out how to make conversation with a kindergartener, I looked down on his shoes and saw The Justice League on them. I brightened, because I can talk comics fairly articulately. "My husband likes Batman too!" I exclaimed. O. looked me dead in the eye and said resolutely, "No one can like Batman more than me." I couldn't argue, he was so deter
Go ahead and lay the blame/ talk of virtue, talk of sin/ Wouldn't you have done the same?/ In her shoes, in her skin/ you can have your principles whence you've got a bellyful/ but hunger has a way with you/ There's no telling what you're gonna do/ When the chips are down
III. A letter to my muse
Winter's nigh and summer's o'ver/ I hear that high and lonesome sound/ Of my husband coming for me/ To bring me home to Hadestown/ Way down Hadestown/ Way down under the ground
IV. Our Lady of the Underground, Our Lady of Ways, Our Lady of Means, Our Lady of the Upside Down
You're on the lam, you're on the run/ Don't give your name, you don't have one/ And don't look no one in the eye/ That town will try to suck you dry/ They'll suck your brain, they'll suck your breath/ They'll p-luck the heart right out of your chest/ They'll truss you up in your Sunday best/ And stuff your mouth with cotton/ Wait for me, I'm coming/ Wait, I'm coming with you/ Wait for me, I'm coming too/ I'm coming to.
V. Determination
Wherever he is wandering/ Alone upon the earth/ Let all our singing follow him/ And bring him comfort/ Some flowers bloom when the green grass grows/ My praise is not for them/ But the one who blooms in the bitter snow/ I raise my cup to him/ I raise my cup and drink it up/ I raise it high and drink it dry/ To Orpheus and all of us/ Good night, brothers, goodnight . . .
VI. Raise It Up