Harmony

April 14, 2025 / Lisa / 2 Comments

I only knew a small part of Harmony. I didn’t know him as a child when he answered to a different name and hadn’t found his true one yet. I didn’t know him as a teenager or young man or before he lost his short-term memory.

I only knew him as the person who came into my sister’s life and never left.

He was the one who apologized when I first met him, telling me he wouldn’t remember me the next time we met. But that eventually, when I had been in his life long enough, I would enter his long-term memory. That was a wonderful day. It felt like becoming family.

I didn’t know Harmony as a father, and have only recently met his sons. But I knew him as the music in my sister’s life.

She and I would be visiting, non-stop sister words and laughter and stories. Harmony would pull out a guitar or dulcimer and there would be soft music flowing behind our stories.

I knew Harmony as a person of giving. But like his music, softly, unobtrusive, in the background. When a visit was over and I’d go to the car, there would be a little paper bag of homemade soap tucked between the seats. Once there was a box of apricots. And of course there was the repurposed cardboard orange juice container with soil and worms for my fledgling compost bin, inspired by his.

I knew Harmony as a reader, a storyteller, a person who could talk about experiences hitchhiking across the United States (twice), about world religions, about music, about books, about peace, and of course, about harmony and balance.

I only saw him angry once. And that was towards the end of the story – or maybe the beginning – when he was mad at himself and blaming himself for what my sister was going to face in the weeks and months ahead as his transition began.

The same thing those of us who knew him face today. The loss of music. The loss of stories. And most of all, the loss of Harmony. I hope one day we’ll meet again out there somewhere and hear his music. And I hope he’ll remember me. It will feel like family.

Journaling

January 20, 2025 / Lisa / 4 Comments

As some of you know, I used to journal but several years ago, I burned them in a giant bonfire. Why, you might ask? Because I was burning my mother’s diaries at the time, and I was horrified by the realization that someone I cared for might read mine and my words might break their heart.

Do I have regrets? Only one. That I didn’t give my sisters or my brother a chance to be part of that decision.

Anyway, since then I’ve never journaled. I love the idea of it but shy away from the reality.

Instead, I’ve found a way to keep a diary of sorts without the deep intimacy of one.

For some time now I’ve been jotting things down in a little brown book. Bits of advice and lessons on the craft of writing I come across. Quotes. Poems I find. Song lyrics. And wow, I had a thought the other day that made me laugh.

I kind of want to keep this non-journal a secret in the hopes that some day I can haunt those I love and watch them trying to figure out my diary.

There are things in this little book that I write down because it triggers a fantastic story idea. Or a poem that an amazing character can be built from. There’s writing advice I want to share with my son. There are snippets I want to remember to share with a poet friend, or something that makes me laugh that I really want to pass on.

Then there are words that make me cry. That reach down into my soul and breathe out ‘this is who you are’.

Which is which?

Well, I know, obviously. But it will be so much fun to haunt those loved ones as they read the non-journal and wonder if I was crazy, or depressed, or a closet witch.

That is, if they can read my handwriting. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with this little poem from the non-journal and you can wonder about why I might have chosen it. This is by Lauren Oliver.

“It’s amazing how words can do that, just shred your insides apart. Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me – such bullshit.”

A Random Thought On Consumerism

January 13, 2025 / Lisa / 9 Comments

My husband wanted biscuits and gravy for breakfast, but made with hot sausage. I accidentally picked up Italian sausage. But he realized hot sausage is just sausage with red pepper flakes added, so he added a bunch to normal sausage and got his spicier breakfast.

As he was telling me this I realized how trained we are to be consumers. The automatic reaction when he told me what he wanted was that I had to pick up hot sausage when I was out that day. My first thought wasn’t that I should make it myself. Or, honestly, have Art make it since he does most of the cooking.

Which is odd if you know us, if you have been around when we’re canning, spent any time in our pantry, helped stack firewood, and so on. It’s not like we live in an apartment in a city with easy access to what we need. It’s not like we’re not used to no power for days, or the highway shut down.

Yet with all that, I immediately, without thought, became a consumer. How weird.

I have a cookbook from the 1800s. I’ve kept it because it has everything in it and if the world ever goes to shit, that cookbook is going to be invaluable. It’s full of directions on raising food, harvesting, butchering, preserving, and using all with no waste. Do I ever open it? Rarely. Do I ever use any of the recipes? Even more rare.

Yes, I bake my own bread. I have sourdough starter. But wow, it’s so easy to just nip into the store when I’m down below and grab a loaf.

Yes, I make homemade soup, and made a great beef barley stew with red wine last night. But, wow, it’s so easy to just open a can.

Have you ever noticed how many homemade recipes involve opening a can of this and a can of that?

I recently came across a recipe for making your own pancake mix. I was actually surprised and thought it would be a great idea. Why am I surprised? How did I think people made pancakes before commercial pancake mix appeared? I mean, besides the sourdough pancakes I make with that starter.

We are so well-trained by this society we live in here, that we must buy without any thought to what an alternative might be. And the buy culture has been made so, so easy that we never give it a second thought. It’s so natural, so normal, that many don’t know any different and aren’t even aware of the trap.

Plus, don’t get me started on throwing things away. I remember as a kid, dad replacing picture tubes in the television when it quit working. Now, you can’t easily find repairmen. You just throw it away and buy another. Because it’s easier, and even more horrible, cheaper than repairing.

I like to think I’m not caught in that consumer trap but it’s the little things like a package of sausage that causes a quiet voice in my head to say, yes you are and you just don’t know it.