Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

October 11, 2010

Monday morning started poorly as we readied ourselves for another day of first grade.

There was my son’s refusal to eat breakfast, his insistence on wearing an armful of Silly Bands (the equivalent of elementary school bling), and the cutting and spewing of glow-in-the-dark bracelets (“mom, is my eye yellow?  some of it splashed on my face?” !!!).  All before 8am.

Getting my drama out of the way by 8, however, left room for the rest of an uneventful day (thankfully), which culminated in the evening with the sweetness of music.  All non-toxic (but potentially skin-irritating) day glow goo was forgotten as I watched my son sit on a stool and play Baby.

When Jeb’s father, Rex, emailed me from India in 2002 that he had bought a guitar in Varanasi with the word “Baby” in the headstock, I tried not to take it as a sign of our potential fate.  But I couldn’t help wonder, as his email coincided with a vivid dream I’d had of a child in my womb.

Rex described sitting with sadhus by the Ganges  among the bones and smoking pyres.  The holy men strumming Baby til their fingers bled, leaving stains still visible on its wooden face.

The day after Rex’s return from his mystical India tour, Baby’s portent was realized.  Jeb was born into the world nine months later.

Jeb says, “This guitar has been a lot of places.  It’s pretty powerful…”

Indeed.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

10-10-10

Went to the cliff above the ocean this morning and sang to the waves beside the Ironwood tree.  Later, bought a used copy of Stones of the Sur– the collection of Robinson Jeffers poetry and Morley Baer’s photography.  I’m following a thread…stones and Big Sur and something about the heart.

In the afternoon, I walk with my son to a concert in the hills and he hears the notes of his father’s guitar trickle up the canyon where we are.  Rex is on stage singing about the love of his life.  I’ve never heard this song but I think I understand.  It was never me and that’s okay.

At evening’s end Chris Berry asks the crowd to sing with him.

We got love, we got love, we got love.

I give my best and sing along into the night sky.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 3 Comments

October 9, 2010

For a special Saturday morning treat my son, Jeb, and I buy donuts and eat them in the park.  I buy him his first surfing magazine at the check out counter and we look at big waves – “oh…look, he’s in the tube!” – while eating maple glazed pastries.  Sugared up, Jeb wants to run the training course and swing really high.

Back home, we try playing Neil Young‘s “Razor Love” together.  I’m strumming the guitar his dad brought back from India and Jeb sounds great with the harmonica and shaker.

jade and garnet on waxed linen - photo by Jessica Dofflemyer

I’m still obsessing on jade and spent part of the morning stringing beads on to waxed linen.  I ponder over the coincidence that we saw a toddler named Jade at the playground on the swing set.

There is no point to me making a necklace but it feels good and I don’t want to stop.  A line from what I think is a poem by Rumi comes to mind – something about following a thread.  But after searching through old journal entries and online queries, I realize that I’m thinking of William Stafford‘s poetry.

The Way it Is

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change.  But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

Something’s changing.  I don’t know exactly where I’m going but I’m following the thread.