Rubble and Fairy Dust

By the the time ya reach ALMOST but not quite 60, most of us have lost a bit. Me? There was Kevin’s horrible death, my hearing did a total runner and The Amazing Bob departed, stage left, WAY too bloody early. Each one alone is HUGE.

The accumulated weight of loss, on some days, feels too damn heavy to carry. It feels as though I'll never recover.

Merriam Webster defines Recover as:

1 : to get back : regain

In all three of my MEGA grief cases, that ain’t never gonna happen.

They also define it as:

2 a : to bring back to normal position or condition

What is this “normal” you speak of. Normal is an ever shifting field. Normal is a cloud of chiffon floating in the wind. At the very same time, it’s a boulder sitting along the shore. Normal’s got more variations than Goldberg.
I like dictonary.com's definition better:

to regain the strength, composure, balance, or the like, of (oneself).

I wanna read that one again:

to regain the strength, composure, balance, or the like, of (oneself).

I can and have regained strength. Possibly I’m stronger than I’ve ever been both physically and emotionally.

Composure? The intertoobz tell me composure is a serene, self-controlled state of mind; calmness; tranquillity. Heh, I’d have to have had some of that to begin with in order to get it back, right?

Balance? I get that they mean mental/emotional balance versus bodily equilibrium. Dunno ‘bout that. I suppose I’m as much there as ever.

Composure and balance – like normal, they’re moving targets, fluctuating panoramas.

In my, possibly Sisyphusean, effort to experience music again, to regain as much as possible, I went to yesterday’s powwow up at Harvard (the Uni, not the town). 

I snagged me and Jen a couple seats right behind one of the drums (they had three!) after asking a lovely young Fancy Dancer if it was cool for me to park my keister there. Dude was smokin’ a jay and, seriously, I had a hard time NOT saying “don’t bogart that joint man – give us a wee toke, eh.” But I didn’t – that would been presumptuous and rude, right? wrong?

//shrugs//

 In any case, Jen and I sat down (‘cept for during Grand Entry, of course!). I was ALL set to soak up some serious, booming drum. My bod was ready and molto psyched for heavy duty, sternum shaking MUSIC.

As I watched the drumsticks hitting the rawhide, I went all HUH? Why aren’t my bones vibrating? I could feel the beat but only just. I saw the lead singer’s mouth move – he was killin’ it – but I couldn’t feel his keening, resonant song at all. Whoa. Mega bummer! I didn't necessarily think I'd catch the soaring, phantom-ish, unicorn crooning but I didn't think I'd miss out entirely. Jarring – this was comepletely jarring. Practically 14 years into Deaf World and I'm still finding new fucked up shit.

Jen generously allowed that the drum wasn’t very loud – not Kodo Drummer thunderous.

I’ll try another powwow. The Mass Center for Native Americans’ Spring Planting Moon Powwow is on May 26th. One thought I have, and this is probably unpossible, is that, if I could place my palms on the side of the drum and on the singer’s neck, I might be able to feel the music.

I can ask. Worst they can do is say no and, rilly, who could possibly say no to a sweet, odd deafie like me?