And now I feel all shiny and gem-like because of it.

I got to go mail a package at the post office. And listen to a mostly-deaf man try to listen to a post office employee tell him how much it will cost to mail the package he was sending.

“Eleven dollars, sir,” she said.
“HOW MUCH?” the man asked.
“Eleven dollars, sir!” the girl repeated, this time louder.
“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” shouted the man.
So the lady raised her voice even higher, “ELEVEN DOLLARS!”

“Well, you don’t have to sound so nervous,” said the man, having finally heard her. “And why is it so darn expensive?”

“I AM NOT NERVOUS,” said the lady, “I AM SIMPLY TRYING TO MAKE IT SO THAT YOU CAN HEAR ME, SO I HAVE TO RAISE MY VOICE. AND IT’S EXPENSIVE BECAUSE YOU WANT A PACKAGE TO GET TO CALIFORNIA BY CHRISTMAS. WHICH IS SUNDAY. AND WE’RE IN NEW YORK.”

It was quite a display, let me tell you.

And then, Shane and I played Brooklyn tonight. It was a blast. A lot of people came out–which never ceases to throw my heart into this posture of gratitude and humility.

And while waiting for the L train, there was a musician playing and singing and stuff. He spotted my ukulele at one point, and just said, “Come on, then. Play us a song.”

So I did. And people started gathering around and cheering and throwing dollars into the guy’s case (thinking it was mine). It was surreal. When I finished, the musician guy gave me a cd. “I can have it?” I asked. “For free?”

“Well, you earned me some money tonight,” he said, indicating his case. “So, it’s not really free now, is it?”

And then, once on the train, this kind guy I later found out is named Bryan, lent me his tuner after watching me try and try to tune my uke by ear. So then we got into a conversation. Actually, I got into a conversation with Bryan and his friend, Joe.

“Where are you from?” Bryan asks me.
“Pennsylvania.”
“What part of Pennsylvania,” says Joe, sounding interested now.
“Landenberg,” I say, quietly; ready to explain to him just where, exactly, Landenberg actually is.
“NOW WAY!” says Joe. “I grew up in Landenberg!”
“You did not!” I say. “There were only about five of us, and I was led to believe that most of them were my family.”

So then, as you can well imagine, we talked about both of our hometown. We talked about it lovingly. I told him he was family.

“You know where Elbow lane is?” Joe asks.
“Of course! Right down the road from my parents’ house.”
“I’m going there for Christmas…”

And so, in conclusion: The World is a very small town, actually, with a population of: everybody. People are kind and generous. And singing songs is just about the best way to while away an evening that I can think of.

we’re all broken sometimes…it’s gonna get better

you don’t know lullabies, you just know how to say good-bye
you haven’t heard the the perfect combination of words for quite a while
you walk alone, try not to look at your phone
you say you’re okay this way,
what you don’t know, don’t know is it’s true

you’re gonna be alright, you’re gonna be just fine
if you can’t believe me now then I know that you will in time
be alright, yeah, you’ll be just fine cause you’re more like a bird than anything, yes, you’ll fly so high and even sing and when you do I’ll try not to say that I told you so, cause you feel so low, but this cannot last forever
and I promise you this…it’s gonna get better

you still read fairytales and you still check your mail
you can’t help hoping that some good news will still prevail
you’re busy swimming in an ocean that you never made
it’s bitter waters are the healing that you still crave

we’re all broken sometimes (it’s gonna get better)

Life is a dance towards which we grasp.
We idealize the solo, how fine that is;
there is nobody with whom to fall out of sync,
nobody to drop you when they promised they would lift you
So high.
Higher than this. God, that’s what he said,
“I won’t hurt you; I love you,”
an idea that lasts about as long as the three minute pop songs
that boast the same exact thing from a radio that muddies matters most of the time.
But you can dance alone, away from all that,
in that place where you don’t need to squint,
where life is more than conjecture.
Because you don’t need to see past the length of your own fingers.

Life is a dance we do together.
It injures and it heals, at once the wound and the salve.
We grab onto outstretched hands because what we really want
is to create the kind of shape that needs more bodies than our own.
It is more beautiful that way.
The secret gets passed around, like whisper down the lane;
everyone waits to hear what it has become;
breathless, we listen to the sounds of coalescence unveiled.
And we are surprised to hear that, after all.
For I am blind, but he can sing;
she is lame, but he can feel;
we are significant, painfully and wonderfully so.

———————————————————–

on another note, my duck boots came in the mail today. boo-yah.

The good news is that my mom bought me a bailey’s irish creme cupcake; the bad news is that my pop ate it first.

The good news is that my mom then gave me her coconut cupcake; the bad news is that it was not the bailey’s irish creme cupcake I had really been looking forward to.

The good news is that my mom knows the rules of restitution; the bad news is that, according to her, my pop now owes me four cupcakes. I suppose he will have to become The Cupcake Fairy along with already being The Milk Fairy. And then I will have to have a party in which I invite a few friends to help me eat my plethora of cupcakes and, oh yeah, help me keep fitting in my jeans.

The good news is that I have really been doing my part in going green by only averaging about two showers a week lately; the bad news is that you are now probably judging me. Oh, and it may be that much more difficult to ever start dating again unless I up my showers to at least three per week. Maybe even four if we’re talking clean hair more often than not.

The good news is that I sent off my bling in my mail-ordered break-up box today; the bad news is that it has come to this: a couple of pieces of jewelry that used to mean the moon and back and now simply mean a check and a bad taste in my mouth. Yep, coulda really used that cupcake.

The good news is that my stylist waved something of a magic wand today and got rid of my roots; the bad news is I’m thinking he’s not in love with my super magic blond hair since he’s already discussing with me ‘the plan’ to go darker again. Something about carmel. But don’t get all excited cause I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean candy. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t have told him I was ready today.

The good news is that I saw a raccoon up close at a friend’s house tonight; the bad news is that his tail was somewhat shorter than normal and kinda skinny, too. And I got the distinct impression that he was aware of the fact cause he kept hiding it behind the wooden railing.

The good news is that tomorrow is Tuesday and it’s a nice, new Tuesday that hasn’t even been written yet; the bad news is that Tuesdays can sometimes make me think of that Tuesday. The one I barely survived. The one that reminded me about how life isn’t at all the way I planned it and sometimes The Worst slips off its disguise and looks you squarely in the face right before it moves in, whether you’re ready or not.

The good news is that that Tuesday will never happen again; the bad news is that that Tuesday happened at all.

The good news is that when I saw one of my friends today, he noticed how I couldn’t stop smiling; the bad news is that sometimes I remember all of the things that have recently transpired and it turns my smile off like a light. And if it’s a night like this, when the moon is remarkably absent, it can start to feel pretty dark out there.

The good news is that me and Shane agreed on a band name, finally; the bad news is that somebody else agreed on that band name back in 2008. They even got a myspace page. For a day. Just one day. But it’s still there and it’s still keeping us from being The Janes, like we were trying to be.

The good news is that I had tasty thai food tonight; the bad news is that it was tasty and spicy and thank God for milk that is ready and available.

The good news is that I am already in bed and it is already late; the bad news is that I am too tired to keep writing, so I think my report is now finished.

The good news is that I thought of just one more thing: the bad news is that it is that I looked at the word ‘news’ and suddenly forgot how to spell it. Is it really just the pluralization of the word ‘new’ as in ‘new and shiny’? How is that so? I even googled it. Sure enough, it’s right. And sure enough, I’m tired.