John Kerry ROCKS
July 29, 2004
posted by Sara Hickman at 11:30 pm
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Get on the bus
July 27, 2004
here is a picture of me and my other co-horts from NARAS (national association of recording arts and sciences) on our way to the FCC community meeting in San Antonio from last spring. we all rode on the Asleep at the Wheel Bus and did our best to represent artists/musicians/producers/songwriters, etc. by speaking out on behalf of protecting free radio for all.
posted by Sara Hickman at 09:06 am
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Walking Sticks
July 15, 2004
And my mockingbird, who seems to have traveled from my last residence six years back to this current home, has been lighting on my front porch, daily, swooping down and screeching at my cat, Pip. That mockingbird seems to appear within twenty feet of me whenever I step out to get the mail or water the plants. It is eerie how often we catch each other’s eye. I feel this immediate calm whenever I see her perched on my mailbox, calling out in her unmistakable song. I love her so much. Is it possible to love someone as deeply as I have come to love her, and yet, we have never truly met? What a sensation. The heart in the chest. Reacting to beauty, reacting because it can.
There is so much going on. I won’t bore anyone with it. But, life is very, very full these days. There are times I have to laugh out loud: wow. Lately, io and I have been wrestling, and we get to points in the “match” where she says,
after she pushes me off the bed into the “ocean”:
“YOU MAY THINK YOU’VE WON BUT I’M JUST GETTING STARTED!”
And there is something so comedic in her delivery that I laugh until tears come out of my eyes, and then she starts cracking up, and we are just rolling around, attempting to squeeze out the words, “Stop! Stop!” but we are just gasping from laughing. THAT is a stupendous feeling. Where does laughter come from?!
WHAT is it? Why are some things funny to some people and totally boring to others? I don’t know. But, I’ll tell you what…wrestling with my daughter just gets me giddy thinking about it because we have the best, best time.
RULES:
No tickling.
No pillow fights.
Stop laughing.
Then, the other day, we went outside and we were attempting to play hopscotch, but all the rules were out the window, my friends. Yes! New rules! New iolana rules that are very serious and include the words “gold” and “when you land on the pink person” because she drew a VERY large pink face with the chalk after adding an enormous number “1” at the top by the “10”, and then went into detail about how you MUST hop from eight to one for the gold and deliver the marker…OR ELSE. I was just nodding my head, yes, yes! Of course, I’m saying! I understand! I see…thank you for sharing the rules, I say.
Then, I have to ask her to show me because, truly, I have no idea what she is talking about. But no laughter right now. This is not funny business. This is the real deal. This is BIG STUFF, people! I see how she will run the country some day, but it won’t be chalkmarks in a rainstorm…it will be genius and my heart will swell with pride and love. Watching the mockingbird land is but a wee bit of what my heart can feel…
posted by Sara Hickman at 11:57 pm
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Whoo
July 11, 2004
Why is it artists beat themselves up so?
We just finished reading the comics. Every Sunday, our family reads the comics together before bedtime. I would say it has become a tradition, actually!
We love it…laughing and giggling over the funnies; scratching our heads over the ones that make NO sense. My favorite is MUTTS. I just think it is a beautiful, thoughtful, sweet and comical comic. When we get to that one, which is near the end, someone always exclaims, “MUTTTTSSS!”
Off to spend quiet time with Lance. Goodnight, sleep tight…don’t let the bed bugs bite…sweet dreams….no schemes…until we meet aaaaaa-gain!
posted by Sara Hickman at 10:54 pm
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Elephant Velvet
July 09, 2004
Eye to eye, I told her how gorgeous she was. She responded by lipping me with her velvet trunk, touching my face, throat, chest, smelling and blowing hot air
all over me as she did. The strength in her trunk was sudden, going from a gentle caress to wrapping around my middle and pulling me towards her open, wet mouth. I never got that far, as she stopped. Perhaps because I just kept my eyes on her deep, dark non-blinking eye. When is an elephant smiling?
Just look into their eye, that is the only way I could tell. I would say she was actually chuckling at me.
Then she would express these tiny “hoots”, like someone saying “hmm.”
I kept my hands running near her leathery face and “hmm”ed back. She just kept running her nose around, as if she was going to find a peanut in my bra.
Janie, from the circus PR department, took some photos. Gosh! I hope they come out and I get one to share with y’all!
My family was waiting out in their seats, and, suddenly, I was standing with Jonathan, a handsome, 6’4” black man bedecked in sequins and long red topcoat…the ringmaster!
It was dark behind the curtain. We were cracking each other up with ringmaster jokes. I was thanking him for allowing me to sing the National Anthem (usually his job), but he said he’s sung it 20,000 times and he was glad I was doing it tonight. Then, it was time! The man on the stool pulled the rope: the curtains parted. Out went the clowns. Clowns with giant rubber balls of yellow, green and pink. Out went Johnathan. Strolling in knee high shiny black boots.
Back in came Johnathan. The curtains closed. He took my arm; I told him to remember to kneel when he asked me to marry him. Ha ha. Time to go! Curtains parted, again.
We walked to the middle ring. Johnathan said something, but I was concentrating on starting on the right note (can’t start too low or too high…either way is trouble!) And WHAM! The spotlight was on ME! The entire arena was dark except for the circus toy lights kids buy and swing around, eerie little rings of light. I hit my note and went for it. Wow. A GREAT sound system makes singing such a DEE-LIGHT! I sang to Asia, the elephant I had just been hanging with, and she walked around the three rings, flag and girl on her back, and I held that “land of the freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” with all my might.
Good God, I love to sing that song! God bless America! God bless this world!
The circus was just AWESOME! Except that Lily and I were grumbling about animal rights, we loved it all. The SIX guys on motorcycles in the GLOBE OF DEATH (how how how do they do that?! I couldn’t even watch…what if just one of them slips…!) Belo the clown…hilarious! Tightropewalkers! Cotton candy!
Tigers! Camels! (I love camels. They are so sassy!) And, of course, little dogs dressed like clowns, chirpy and slap-happy. One of the dogs was jumping on our friend, Todd’s, back…he was chosen by a clown to come out into the middle ring (it was our ring! We were lord of the rings!) And Lily was chosen, too, to be a “bubble girl”, standing in the middle of a giant tub of water…encircled by a giant bubble the clown creating with a super wand…wow! I can only just keep saying WOW!
I have to go make breakfast now.
posted by Sara Hickman at 09:45 am
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And What Kind of Parent You Decide to Be
July 06, 2004
Here’s my answer to that:
I look at all the amazing gifts my parents gave me, conciously and unconciously. For example, a very basic gift they gave me is the confidence to draw a straight line. I don’t even think about it, and I hardly ever use a ruler.
I saw them do it so many times, it became an integral part of me. This seems simple, but that courage, that sureness, leads into other areas of my life, so when someone says, “Can you do this?” my first response is, generally, “Oh, no problem,” even if I’ve never done it before. So, for my children, I carry that gift over into their lives. I have actually listed all the wondrous, unique qualities in my journal that my parents have bestowed upon me, and I have taken the time over the years to share that list with them.
I look at the reactions my parents had to different scenarios, and the ones that hurt or upset me, I try to not extend towards my children. It is easy to say, “I will NEVER do that!” until you, too, are in a similar place with children of your own. Then, it is amazing what dragons surface, and the decisions we must make—-immediately—-with what the dragons will be allowed to do. If the dragon feels bigger than me—-like, I’m tired and mad and feeling frustrated, which is the biggest dragon of all—-then I excuse myself. I get AWAY from my kids. I say, “I have to go outside for a second because I’m feeling upset.”
I try try try try try to do my best to never put it on them because of how I, myself, am feeling. Those are my feelings, not theirs. Why should they be responsible for my dragon? They shouldn’t. And be teaching them I must be responsible with MY behaviour…bingo! They are learning to be responsible with theirs.
We say “Try this” instead of “No” ( or “I’m no willing”)…we save “no” for the big moments. “No” is a stopper…”Yes” is a celebration.
We let them draw on a large wall that was painted with chalkboard paint.
We have art supplies in ready demand, at their level, near their art table.
We do NOT have DVD players in the car. Yuck! I’ll go on further at another time…infuriating, those things.
We have family game night.
We sit on the floor and put blocks together with our kids.
We read to them EVERY NIGHT.
We are with them as often as possible. It is not drudgery. It is a beautiful experience to spend time with two people who were not here not so very long ago. It is not “babysitting” when we are with them. It is love.
posted by Sara Hickman at 11:24 am
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Hello Kitty Waffles Meets Isaac Asimov
July 05, 2004
The grass under my back was so itchy, but iolana had fallen asleep on my legs and belly, so i dared not to move. The symphony filled the air with the songs of the armed forces, the 1812 Overture, the Star Spangled Banner…and , suddenly, the sky was full of exploding green, gold, silver, purple cascading flowers of shining, melting liquid light. color bursts immediately became smokey spiders, their tendrils extended, gray, into the good night. it was a display that brought out the oohs and aahs as the conductor shook his passion filled fists and the band played on.
Then, this afternoon, we swam with friends at Reed Park. Ants came over our blanket and descended on a partial chip. I’m not sure why, but ants just fascinate me. They swirl onto a piece of food, and without realizing it, they catch the corner of your eye—-what is that movement, there, one wonders? Then there is that slight revulsion—-“Ugh! Ants! Look out!”—-but, after you realize they are oblivious to you (unless you stick your finger or toe into the midst of their business), it is fascinating to watch them work. At least, I always get sucked into what they are up to—-a giant voyeur, peeking down onto a world singularly focused on consumption. Hmm. Sounds so familiar!
It was a glad day, to be with friends. Especially watching how our children have grown and changed over the years and become their own people. Seeing them socialize in and out of the pool, playing “Marco Polo”, seeing little feet leave little wet footprints on the cement, hopping over to the park next door to sell pretend ice cream and realizing, too late, someone is about to slide down a hot afternoon slide in their bikini…Don’t fret. All was well. Just wet enough that it was a slight discomfort, not a burned bottom!
Then, back to home where we prepared for my friend from first grade, Jill, to arrive. I hadn’t seen her since…gosh! Sixth grade? Eighth grade? However long ago that is, long enough! She arrived with her children, smart and beautiful and strong, and we had breakfast for dinner (waffles, bacon, sausage, eggs, fresh smoothies)…So, my new friends and my old friends got to meet, and pictures were shown and laughs were had and questions arose and names of long ago were bandied about and I thought to myself…these are all the moments
collected in one place, right now…what more could we ask for then to have our past catch up to our present in a very, very good way…To feel shy and happy and unsure (much like prom, is how I felt!) mixed with confidence, maturity and
family.
Yes, liberty is an amazing thing. I have had my share of not understanding the grace and respect behind liberty. There were times in my past I didn’t know better and made silly attempts to be “grown up”. Or “cool”. And now, over the years, and landing, here, at 41, I am beginning to see that true liberty isn’t just doing what one wants to do RIGHT NOW, it is taking into account how one’s actions affect everything…and I mean “everything”. How being a parent makes so much apparent.
I have put pink streaks in my hair. Funny, you put color in your hair and people aren’t sure what to do, or feel compelled to say something witty about what I must have been thinking when I did it. I just did it. The color on the box looked nice. Lily and I wanted streaks. Is that liberty? Is that doing what I want to RIGHT NOW, and how does that affect anyone…anyone, other than, say, my hair, truly? Is that the kind of choice that changes the world? Or is it finding happiness in a small change that frees me further from western expectations?
It seems dated to me, putting pink in my hair (especially since I did it back when Lily was two and my hair was simultaneously bleached white, as well…white and pink…I was a punk rock skunk!) But current fads seem goofier (no way am I piercing anything else on my body or adding another tattoo or
going to a vampire bar or whatever weird thing I have no idea about!)
Ok. To answer the question of my family..how did it affect me? I promised to answer this question that Gary and his wife had directed to me…Here is
what I have to say about my family:
Growing up, my parents were married. We visited family in Arkansas and Atlanta and sometimes Heflin and New Orleans every summer. We had Christmas trees and Santa Claus and Thanksgiving was a big deal and we all did the “I Love You” squeeze of the hand at the end of the prayer. Tradition.
Consistency. Good things.
My dad went to work at the University. He still works there. He is a painter.
I mean he IS a painter. It is his muse. He paints all day and all night and would eat paint, if he could. He loves to paint. He had a studio, always, no matter where we lived…Illinois to Texas. Going into his studio while growing up was like visiting Moses on the mountaintop. It felt holy and mysterious and dad’s back was always to you as you entered the studio space…he was always adding a line or filling something with orange and there were baby jars full of paint lining the walls as far as my eyes could see…Brushes and brushes and more brushes in coffee cans and the smell of acrylic paint was what hit you as you opened the mouth to his retreat…
My mom was a weaver. She tells me, now, she was a fiber artist. I still call her a weaver. That was what I heard as a child; it has stuck with me. She had a twelve foot loom. She made beautiful things: throws and structural beings
that hung from the ceiling and you could run around between these creations and they would move. One piece on our living room wall: you could pop your head out of the middle and say, “This is what it is like to be born!” and all my friends would laugh. “Let me try!” they’d say. It was cool and weird having artists for parents. My mom had her own room full of jute and fibers died assorted colors, all neatly wound into figure eights, sitting up on walls in old ice cream containers from Baskin Robbins. My parents were both tidy artists, I must tell you! Very organized people.
I don’t remember any yelling or hitting or anything bad. I remember lots of storytelling and guinea pigs and homemade brisket and chalk drawing under the stars and kick the can and putting Barbie in the freezer just to see what would happen and going to the opera on Wednesday afternoons and art museums and parties with good food and homemade cookies and watching the man walk on the moon. I remember the awe of the whole world, watching that black and white t.v. and not quite understanding but the teacher at school saying we get to watch tv today and everything hush hush as if we were about to walk on the moon, too. I remember riding my bike to Jill’s house and Steve dressing up like a girl scout for Halloween and sleepovers and dancing to the Jackson Five and listening to “The Streak” seven thousand times in a row.
Life was good until the divorce. Then there was yelling and hitting and everything was bad and no one got along and four people who were a family of four became the four corners of a square…distant, uncommunicative, scared, broken, trembling, crying, lost. The square was so big no one could find the middle of it; no one could start over. What was was gone. What was to become of these four people? No one had a map and no one dared even mention a map. So, two children were lost in confusion and two parents were in pain and everyone did the best they could to find happiness.
The mother went on to marry her friend; first, she tried dating and she got a “real” job as a receptionist. And three more children were introduced into the square.
The father went on to marry a woman he met in a square dancing class..he kept painting and learned about antiques and traveled the world…and two more children were brought into the square.
The oldest daughter fell into her guitar and found solace in sharing her days in her room with strings and wood. Writing and soaring and falling through music.
She was lonely and shy. She became an empath.
The youngest daughter played soccer and made families outside of the square.
She traveled the world and moved away. She made jewelry and hiked and fished.
And now the daughters have children of their own and they make their way weaving in and out of this painting called life and everyone is doing the best that they can. The mother and oldest daughter talk and argue and move back and forth, forward and sideways, finding ways to connect and never giving up on the hope that this is family and all is good.
The youngest daughter and mother still talk and visit and find ways to
connect in the moment. The two sisters are no longer talking and that is simple and complicated and sad and scary and one day the square will either be so large that all hope will be forgotten or the square will continue to get smaller and they will be nose to nose and work out whatever it is that keeps them seperate. Memories can cause distraction and distort the desire to BE HERE NOW so the sisters are mindful of being good parents. That is what they focus on. They give to their children what they think was lacking in their own upbringing, or what was lovely, or a mixture of it all, because they love their children and wake up every day aware that something is not perfect, but that is
part of the whole damn deal….you just have to give the best of yourself and hope that the whole picture falls into place as it should, leaving each of us with the postcards of joy, which, in turn, can turn into novellas, depending on which ending you are placing your energy towards.
posted by Sara Hickman at 11:56 pm
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Come Forth this July
July 03, 2004
from KLBJ (love him!) and my dentist, Dr. Kavin Kelp! We sang “This Land Is Your Land” and a bunch of kids songs and everything was red, white and blue.
Of course, I was getting choked up, remembering my family gatherings of years gone by, celebrating the freedoms our country allows (and, hopefully, always will!), eating hot dogs and enjoying fresh squeezed lemonade with cousins I only got to see once a year…sparklers lighting up our faces, the bursting of fireworks my grandpa would buy by the truckload…the night sky awash with hope and glory and history.
Back to today…towards the middle of my show, a tiny girl named Amanda tapped me on my leg and said, “Look! Balloons!” I turned my face up to the sky, and sure enough, about twenty balloons had escaped, and I asked the audience to help the balloons spread peace throughout the world. We watched them float higher and higher, miniature dots decorating a bright, blue day.
Now, I’m home, writing letters with my girls to people we love. Decorating envelopes with glitter markers. Sitting around the family table that has created so many joy filled memories.
Last night, Lily and I played “Slamwich!”…cracking each other up with hilarious voices, staring each other down as one of us would forget whether to holler “DOUBLE DECKER!” or “MUNCHER!” Just a super game.
I wish you all a happy fourth of July. I wish the world independence from fear, terror, oppression, scandal, lies, greed, dictatorships and war. I envision a world enjoying the beauty of a creek, clear and cold, gurgling away…I envision plenty of food for all…I envision doctors/hospitals/clinics available to children/families/individuals/communities…I envision farmers with healthy crops…I envision employers realizing the common sense of excellent pay/vacation time/childcare…I envision healthy partnerships for people who are lonely and long for love…I envision governments that are run by people of humility, grace and
wisdom…
I envision my hot dog at the table, waiting for me to come consume it with relish, catsup and chips on the side!
posted by Sara Hickman at 02:24 pm
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Be Positive
July 02, 2004
posted by Sara Hickman at 11:32 pm
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Stillness
July 01, 2004
fish tank, or saw the trees standing still. The rain has been coming down here in Austin for so long, day after day, that when I woke up this morning, I immediately noticed how quiet it was. Nothing is animated outside; the raindrops aren’t shoving for space, crowding the lawn, tap-dancing on the sidewalk. Here comes our sky, rising in it’s pink and yellow hue, crowning achievement that the sun is constantly waiting behind the pregnant clouds swollen with rain.
The other day, io and i sat on the front porch under warm blankets, rocking in the rocking chair MY mother used to rock me in!, talking about pirate ships and
making up funny stories about birds who might cover our lawn at any minute—-what would they be? Flamingos, crows, chick-a-dees, robins, eagles, starlings…we listed all the birds we could think of…watching the pouring of the rain…everything green and shiny, the street slick; a man out walking his dog in just his tee-shirt and jeans, the dog attempting to sniff around: did everything smell like water? We wondered if he decided to walk in the rain or if he got caught out in the rain. Then we talked about strawberries and how we had picked some, earlier in the summer, by the side of our house.
“Do you remember they were warm, Mom?” io asked.
“Mmm…” I nodded.
We rocked and snuggled. The rain kept hammering away. Mists of it would occassionally blow through our open porch, but we were loving it. Our own Niagra Falls, our own dip into a future memory to cherish.
I’ve been playing library gigs all over Austin…I never realized where all the libraries were until I started arriving at them! The kids are open-eyed and
ready to play…I sing, I tell stories, I give away free stickers and hugs (or high fives—their choice)…I draw on dry-erase boards…When I draw big pop eyes on frogs or cats, they think that is very funny indeed. I love the collective laugh of children. There is nothing more free and gleeful; it makes me giddy just thinking about it!
One little girl, Gizelle, comes to every gig with her mom and her baby brother, Paul. They are a beautiful family. The mom wears a sling, and Paul’s ecstatic smile is always popping out, when he isn’t nursing or sleeping. Gizelle has the mystery of a tiny Mona Lisa, but she looks like an angel: curly blond hair,
bright sky-blue eyes, plump cheeks. Yesterday, I brought her a tiny thumbprint
of the sea from St. Thomas…I put it in my pocket as I was leaving the house:
Gizelle, I thought. Gizelle will be there today.
Now, I walk through the house thinking: What gift can I take Gizelle? It’s like a treasure hunt for something tiny, something meaningful. She’s very intelligent, definately not a child who you hand a lollipop and say, “There you go!” I want to give her a piece of the world, or my travels, and hand her some history to ponder. Because I see her slant her head, I watch her wheels work. She has
something she will bring to this world. But, then, doesn’t every child?
Last night at the dinner table, over coffee, my mom, one of my dads, my husband and I got into a discussion of politics, children, coffee…My mom talked about how she was involved in a study of children and creativity back in the 1960’s…she gave children papers and crayons and asked them to draw self-portraits. It was decided, by somebody, that the more a child drew, or the more detail involved, that relagated a child’s intelligence.
I reflected on how that might be true then, but I would assume studies have altered that thought. Environment plays a HUGE part, I said. If children aren’t exposed to extended language, supplies, musuems, thought…how can they learn to dictate and expose their own inner thoughts? How can inner thoughts even be thought without early guidance and exposure to creativity?
I see children all day long. I see how children who come from (some) low income families have trouble drawing more than a simple stick figure. I see how (some) children who come from money and have had the opportunity to go to camp, art classes, travel, etc have a wider possession of expressing themselves on paper with pen. However, the children I see who come from attention relating (my term) families seem to have the most verbal/artistic/musical expression because what they have been given is a sense of self:
through consistent and genuine encounter moments.
So, my feeling is that spending time with one’s children is more important that classes, television, nannies, schooling, special tutors…This mysterious connection, the bonding, between parents and children is extremely important for a child to understand it’s place in the world. This foundation of listening/talking/touching/eye contact can not be replaced by any other outside
element: it must be treated with respect and handled with love. The parent, or caregiver (grandparent, fosterparent, adoptive parent…in this case, still the “parent”), has to enjoy the quality of time spent together, just as much as the child.
That is what I see in so many of the parents and children who come to my shows.
Now, I must tell you a story of a tired, flustered parent. A simple enough story. One I hope will help you should you ever be in the same spot.
I was at the bank one day, sitting, waiting for a teller, when a man came and sat down next to me with his 2 year old son. This is how the man arrived:
angry.
He was already angry at his little boy, I could tell by the way he practically slammed his son into a chair and steamed, “Stop wiggling! Sit still! Don’t make any noise!” And then this man grabbed a magazine and buried his head into the pages.
I was sitting approximately two feet away from this child. His eyes were full of tired tears. He was trying so hard not to move. He was so full of fear.
Whenever he would move, even slightly, the man would grumble, “Stop it!” without even looking up.
Of course, I was exploding with emotion, internally. What could I do?
Finally, I leaned over and tapped the man, gently, on his arm.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Would you mind if I played with your little boy while you read? I’m so bored…”
The man looked at me like I was crazy. “Sure,” he said, “go right ahead.”
I got down on the floor, so I was looking up into the little one’s face, and started to quietly tell him a story, smiling with my eyes, my heart.
This little boy and I must have only played for about 10 minutes, but when the clerk called the man’s name, and they walked away, they were both smiling, relaxed.
As I was leaving the bank, I saw this family, again, and I smiled to both of them. The man mouthed a “thank you”, and I waved goodbye to his baby.
When I got out to my car, I cried and cried. Mostly with happiness that God has given me such a tender heart to want to help others, but also I wept with grief: grief for all the children and all the people, around this world, suffering needlessly everyday. All the suffering that I myself have caused, in small ways and big ways, when I was selfish, or tired, or just confused!
How I long for parents and children to know that simple love of connection.
How I long for our country, and all countries, to feel the connection of love
instead of war.
How I must continue to love from wherever I am at all times. Who will it send home with peace?
posted by Sara Hickman at 09:09 am
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