bird by bird

This video makes me think of two things: 1.) My absolute favorite poem and its simple message. 2.) My dad, the music man, and why he failed as a music major. See if you see what I mean. And listen. Understand Music from finally. on Vimeo .

Do you fall to your knees weeping, clinging to the bare shins of the one walking away? Do you beg them to stay, spitting out pleas of bribery and attempts of guilt? Do you fight back tears, make stupid jokes, and kick around a stone on the sidewalk with your hands in your pockets and your heart in your throat? Do you ignore calls and ignore calls and ignore calls hoping the departing will depart without ever having to say goodbye? Do you give a big hug, say "Seeya lata alligator" and walk away with a thankful grin and a backpack full of memories? Do you write them a letter? Do you cry in the shower? Do you feel sorry for yourself and eat chocolate cake in bed to make yourself feel better? What do you do when you say goodbye? I've tried these all. I've wept and avoided and ate chocolate cake, but I'm still searching for a goodbye-giving strategy that is more "good" than "bye." How do you do that?

Someone, please watch this so we can talk about it. I'm obsessed.

This afternoon, SS accompanied me as we ran all over Brooklyn looking for a UPS Drop Box. I had ordered shoes online, but not surprisingly, none of them fit, and I wanted that big box of shoe rejects out of my apartment and out of my hair. We first lugged the box to the Post Office a block away, and we waited in line for 10 minutes. I put the box on the ground and pushed it with my foot as we chatted and moved up in the line. Once we got to the counter, the postal worker told us they don't accept UPS packages (which makes sense, in retrospect), and he directed us 6 blocks down Fulton Street. I carried the box with two arms, then one. I carried it with my arms on the side and then underneath.  I told Sam that it reminded me of  this poem , about how carrying a cumbersome box is a metaphor for dealing with grief. Eventually we arrived at the location where the postal worker had directed us. We looked down at Google Maps on our phones, and then up at a store front for an Afri...