The sweetest sound of music comes from the dining room. The sweetest plucking of chords that make me want to soar up into the boards that keep and stitch this house together. I sing along, a tad broken in spots, but I can carry the tune and H carries me along with his guitar, his long fingers pluck at the right time and enhance the night. Outside it is pitch dark and the dogs lie on the bench like curled up bits of random fluff blown in from the bog by the wind. Doors are closed to keep out the chill and the dishwasher churns into a mighty orchestra that sounds like a swirl of drums, confused and mechanised but not without worth.
Music has kept this home together. I am convinced of that. Music and food and love and discussion and fear and vulnerability and the belief that each day is only that. Only this day, I clarify. I am in a very special place to be able to sing along to a guitar. Lest I sound pretentious, I love to sing in this house. I sang to the boys when they were babies, sang my heart out to be honest. I sang when they were happy and sad and barely awake and almost asleep. I sang until I could not find another word to sing. Singing makes everything possible. To not sing is possibly the end of something. Or the end of everything.
I sit here tonight to write these words. Some words do not come easily because if I try too hard they do not come at all. So, I cannot express myself as easily as I would like. Some days the words come all too easily and I feel that if I do not write them down that I will explode. I write the words on given, at hand, bits of paper, old envelopes, tattered cereal packet tops, post-it pads, anything I can lay my pen on and then return to the written words with a soaring of my heart. Tonight I cannot do that but tell you that tonight there was a guitar and a tune and a warmth that has never died and to not write about it would be a terrible thing and now that I have I can at least rest, settle back into myself, like the dogs on the bench, curl up into a peaceful place where nothing can touch me, cause me no harm, cause no dissonance, cause no regret. Tonight, I sang along and there was no discord. Only a sense of harmony that confirmed this home. Confirmed the place that we are in now. Spoke of the days to come.
...there is no one to hear me sing now - only you with your worn fingers as they strum out a tune. Once though, do you recall, but surely you do, when we all sang in unison, five of us in a white seamless room that stretched into the Meditterean sea, we sang senseless tunes it seems that way now with our hair stiff from salt, freckles fresh on skin and a baby pure and loose bouced on my lap like the waves that never came. mp