Your Soul Mate Is Lost

Sunday night and I am in desperate need of a real vacation where I can shut it all down and rest but it is not coming any time soon.

Turn on the music, slip on the headphones and recognize I reversed the order and laugh.

Got three covers of The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face and a thought for a post called Your Soul Mate Is Lost.

Got words about that one that I am not prepared to share here and thoughts, oh yes, I have thoughts.

Finally located the relatives in England who can tell me more about my Great-Grandfather’s brother, the rabbi who left the shtetl and made his way to London.

Filling in the gaps about Wilners near and far hoping that maybe they’ll be able to answer questions that I think I once knew the answers too.

Thinking about my Great-Grandfather Benjamin, a six foot blonde, blue eyed tailor who didn’t look like Mottel, wonder of wonders.

Been more than a 100 years since he made his way way to the states, some siblings came after and others went elsewhere, Israel and the aforementioned England.

Others fell to the nazis, or so my research seems to show.

Be Like The Elephant

Shaved my head again yesterday because I was trying to rid myself of everything from a week that felt like it was three times as hard as it needed to be.

Went digging through old memories trying to get at information that I swear I can almost reach.

It feels like there is a conversation I had with dad and grandpa about my great-grandfather and family history floating just under the surface.

I can’t quite reach it. It is somewhere in there past the girl from Ohio, that time I raced a train in my Camaro and a moment from little league.

Somewhere in between the Hebrew school play, a hike in the Sierras and a conversation about Jews from Tennessee and Brooklyn.

I can feel it there, can almost pull it in, but not quite.

Too much detritus, chaos and confusion keep it just out of reach. Most of the time I can push that stuff aside and wait for the memory to float back to the surface, but today it is hard.

Maybe it is the stuff from the past week demanding my attention and my irritation with being called upon to fix issues others have broken.

I have no need for help getting into trouble, no desire for chaos other than my own yet here I am.

****

The barbecue isn’t working.

Upon first glance I figure it is time to refill the propane and yet after I do I discover it still won’t light.

I take a methodical approach and start checking parts and then say screw it because it is too late on a Sunday night to dig in.

My father’s obsession with figuring out how to fix things has been passed along and I know if I don’t put this aside I will spend however long it takes pulling it apart and trying to rebuild it.

It takes significant effort to walk away because if the problem is as simple as clearing blockage I can figure it out and fix it within minutes.

But if it is not, well I have to work tomorrow and I can’t afford to let myself lose too many hours so I walk away.

Stories Upon Stories

Elsewhere there is a discussion about the song and who performed it best.

It is a worthy discussion but I am drawn in by the lyrics and lost in thought about how one would write such a piece.

Midway through my musing it occurs to me that you probably don’t come up with a song like this unless you have touched the place where love is so strong you describe your partner as your air.

That place where love touches the edge of madness but in the positive sense if you know what I mean.

There are stories upon stories in the music and the songs we sing aloud or silently.

Distracted again I hear a past conversation and imagine that if someone were to see my face it would be clear my body may be at the table but my mind is far away.

I could tell the tale, could break it up into something as simple as three parts consisting of beginning, middle and end but some things you don’t share here.

Or if you do it requires something else to get to that place and we’re not going there today.

Inside my head I see myself opening a door and crossing over because there is no going back. Everything that comes next is because of the steps of the past and that provides a certain excitement, even if excitement comes with some anxiety.

There is an adventure coming or maybe I am already in it, hard to say from so close.

What I know is nothing and everything.

Changes all around and more to come.