A Place in this World

A Place in this World – Carla Muller

 mp3 can't go back

-July 27, now, and then - The end of a great man.

My father’s father died in 1987, when I was fifteen. He was joyful and ridiculous, and passionate, and kind. We called him Opa.

I still can hear him say, “Just let me go”

I don’t want to let him go. While everyone is standing around, quoting platitudes, my 15 year old self wants to scream. I want to ask them, ‘Why, why aren’t you stopping this?? How are you accepting this?? I can’t let him go – I can’t.  I can’t release him from the pain he is in, or even begin to realize how tired he is from living. I want to hold on to him, his smell, still there, amid the hospital bleach and antiseptic. Want to burrow into his chest, and not notice how frail he is. Want him to stay.  To be.  

I just can’t stand it.

I can’t.

I went back to their house after church. I know I made a fuss, but the sound of them, closing his coffin just undid me. His coffin. Oh God! I wanted to rush up to the front, and shake him awake - tell him that I love him. Tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t let him go. I know they’re looking for me now. It’s time to go to the cemetery. But I feel as though he might still be here, in this place. Our place. It is so quiet. It’s as if the whole world has ended, or maybe just gone on without me, because I don’t feel like I can, without him in this world. I wanted to sing for him, but no one asked me. And I don’t think I could have found the words, or the music in me – even for him. I don’t ever want to leave this place, up in my apple tree. Our apple tree; where he made this seat for me. Where the branches filter the light, and the whole world is lush and green, and alive. And it’s so still, that I can almost hear the crickets crawling in their veins, within this big old tree. I want to stay here, until the shadows grow long, and they start their song. I keep turning my head quickly – trying to catch a glimpse, because I can feel him here, in this place. And I know, in my heart, that nothing will ever be the same again.

And I don’t ever want to leave.

We called him Opa.

And he called us his boys, much to our delight.  And I still miss him, every day.  Miss both of them, because really, we didn’t just lose him the day he died – we lost her, as well. She loved him so much, with a quiet passion that never wavered.  I just know they must have found each other again. He’d have torn up Heaven if he couldn’t.

He had a laugh that filled up the room. Just filled it!

And he was happiest, when he was rolling around on the floor with us, or chasing crickets. We used to fill mayonnaise jars with them, and marvel at their black beauty.  Then Oma would beg us to let them go.  We’d sit very quietly, cross-legged, with him, waiting for the first one to sing again, to realize that it was free, that we didn’t really mean it. That we just wanted to know them. And then, the sound would start, so tentatively, at first. The first one to recognize freedom and sing to the others that everything was right again. Then, one by one, the others would join in – an unlikely choir, whose only common ground we knew of was that they were our captives, and our friends. We padded in on bare feet, stepping very carefully, so it wouldn’t end.

And Oma just laughed, that she had her choir back again.

I visited their garden again today.

Just slipped into the yard, unnoticed by the neighbors.  Unnoticed by the new owners. I just didn’t want to talk. Was afraid that I might break the spell. I know my parents still go and put roses on their gravestone, but I can’t feel them there. I feel them here. In this place.  The cyprus tree in the front yard is gone now, and I remember Oma showing us the dove’s nest in between its heavy boughs. She was so proud that they had chosen her tree to nest in. I thought they were a little dull – just shades of grey on grey.

But she knew that they were beautiful.

So much has changed in 10 years. Oma is gone now, but really, she tried her best to go with Opa when he left. And I understand now, how my parents wished my Opa peace, in the end.

I took my two babies, and my sister’s youngest to see her a week before she died. I knew she couldn’t recognize any of us, but I wanted to do it. Wanted them to meet face to face one last time, to hold us, until we see each other again.

And I went to her in the night, before she died. Just sat with her, wishing her peace. She turned her head toward the lilacs I brought for her. She just loved lilacs. The first true sign of summer, she used to say. And this time, I had the voice to sing. I sang her the Christmas songs that I knew she loved so. That she wouldn’t hear this year. And, to be honest, she hadn’t loved them since she had him. Couldn’t bear to hear them. It was so hard, going to visit her with my Dad, all those years after Opa died. I think, maybe Dad felt a little like an orphan. Watching him soldier through her favorite songs, his eyes imploring me to sing with him. For him.

It broke my heart.

She didn’t want songs then. Didn’t want Christmas ever again, without my Opa to celebrate it with. My sisters could hardly bear to go with Dad to see her. It was just too hard. I could hardly stand it, because I knew that she wasn’t really there – she had retreated into her dementia, and would only come back for Dad, because he would demand it; because she loved him so. She always remembered him, but it was a double-edged sword, that. With remembering, came the pain of her loneliness. Dad would wish her back again – he just couldn’t help it. I could see how desperately he wanted that.

And I would just wish them both peace. 

Him, for wanting what couldn’t be, and her, for wanting not to be. 

So I sang to her, all through that last night – every song I could remember. And then, I sang Memory for her. The way I did when I was young, and they were happy. Because, I knew that she was almost home, where she wanted to be, with him. And that it would comfort her.

And me.

Can't Go Back - Carla Muller, 2012

 

can't go back video

 

I have searched for fairies

Here in the grass

Among white moths and leaves

In summers past

And I've wished on stars not knowing

Which ones would last

When youth still sprung belief

And held it fast

But

You can't go home again

You can't go home

Can't go home

You can't go home

Can't go back no more

You can't go back

Too many years have tangled

There on the the tracks

Too many years have tangled

There on the the tracks

 

And I've known days when I was

Lost in song

Up in my apple blossoms

When I was young

Strong branches reached around me

To find the sun

Before the scarab's feast

And all was gone

So

You can't go home again

You can't go home

Can't go home

You can't go home

Can't go back no more

You can't go back

Too many years have tangled

There on the the tracks

Too many years have tangled

There on the the tracks

 

The garden wall remembers

The dark of night

Sweet cool, it holds for me

In harsh daylight

And I lay my cheek upon its

Weathered might, and I see

Sharp starlight, hear those crickets

The world at night

But

You can't go home again

You can't go home

Can't go home

You can't go home

Can't go back no more

You can't go back

Too many years have tangled

There on the the tracks

Too many years have tangled

There on the the tracks

Too many years have tangled

There on the the tracks 

 

 

 

Snow Came Falling

This is a song I wrote for Charlotte, just a few months after she was born. When I went in to work on this, I found that I had no voice! What to do??? My producer, Sean, called in the very talented Christie Ulicny, who knocked it out of the park for me. This, is my winter lullaby, which will be on my Christmas Lullaby CD (next year, I promise). Enjoy!


Snow Came Falling - Carla Muller, 2012

On the night I first held you in my arms
A harvest moon rose in the sky
And the frost hung still with bated breath
To hear your first cry
Snow came falling to the ground
White as Heaven all around
On the night I first held you in my arms
All of Heaven heard the sound
And snow came falling

On the night I first knew that you would come
Not a star was in the sky
And the rain from Heaven turned to snow
And the river was white
Snow came falling down
Still and silent on the ground
On the night I first knew that you would come
The world was beauty all around
And snow came falling

On the night I first carried you safely home
All the world was hushed and white
As I watched you sleep I sang a song
A mother's lullaby
Snow came falling down
Soft and gentle all around
On the night I first carried you safely home
My heart was lost, and I was found
And snow came falling
And snow came falling

Some Things About Me

So, in the interest of full disclosure, and in honour of my upcoming 41st birthday...I thought maybe it's time to tell you a few things about me. Here are 41 useless facts about Carla.

1. I love anything chocolate (except for the protein milkshakes I dubbed "Chocolate Snot" when I was on a liquid fasting diet (torture) regimen for 5 months in 2003.
2. I once lost 75 pounds drinking nothing but chocolate snot.
3. I still love everything else chocolate.
4. The pounds I lost on the Liquid Torture Diet went out into the world, found friends, procreated, and brought the whole gang back to reside on my ass.
5. I have an unreasonable fear of maggots. And bugs. Yes, bugs are pretty useless, in my books.
6. I once stopped eating meat for 5 months.
7. I was once involved in a "Maggot Incident" (see above)
8. I once lost 50 pounds, when I was a vegetarian.
9. They, too, found me again
10. I hate back fat.
11. I still don't know where one can procure a large number of maggots (I've tried...they look at me strangely when I ask for them at the meat counter)
12. I'm just kidding about wanting maggots. No one needs to lose weight that badly.
13. Please don't bring me maggots for my birthday.
14. My sister and her friends have congratulated me on winning "The Husband Lottery" on numerous occasions - He's the one that actually manages the cooking and cleaning and laundry while I entertain all of you.
15. My house is an unholy mess. (well, he's pretty good in bed, so you can't have everything)
16. I hate the sound my cats make when they snack on mice.
17. I let them snack on mice, because of a little incident we like to call "Mouse Flambé in the Furnace"
18. Mice smell really, really bad when they are roasted.
19. I am trying to lose a serious amount of weight.
20. I would have recorded this list as a podcast, but the Pringles are making too much noise.
21. I am also trying to quit smoking.
22. I am attempting to switch to coconut-flavoured electronic cigarettes.
23. The guilt of my double life as an organic boutique owner/crazed nicotine addict finally got to me.
24. My breath now smells of coconuts
25. I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts.
26. No I don't, my boobs headed south years ago.
27. Know this...if you don't want yours to head there, too - for the love of God! Wear a bra when you are nursing!
28. I have, on numerous occasions, used mine as a wind-sock on the antennae of my car. (my bra, not my breasts)
29. My children may need therapy
30. I wish I had antennae.
31. If I did, they probably would have headed south with my boobs.
32. I once dated a photography student.
33. Somewhere out there is a glorious photograph of my right breast.
34. Damn! (wish I had that now)
35. I am a closet songwriter/singer/writer
36. Any singer that says they do not narcissistically listen to themselves over and over is lying!
37. My children are thoroughly sick of my voice
38. So are my employees
39. My mother in Law thinks I am a babbling idiot.
40. I am a babbling idiot around my mother in law.
41. No, she's not here with me now

The Sound of One Arm Flapping-The Diet

In honor of New York's new law, banning super-sized soft drinks - Don't they know about the Diet Coke Miracle???


I am in excruciating pain.

It all goes back to my teenage years. I suppose I could also say that it was the car accident or the quack of a chiropractor that jumped on me when I was pregnant with my son, Michael, but I suspect the 150 extra pounds I’ve been carrying around with me ever since the blessed event. I think I’ve spent too many years relying on the Diet Coke Miracle.
It goes something like this...

“Um, yes…hi. I’ll have the Big Mac Combo, a Crispy Chicken Snack Wrap, supersize the fries, and could you please throw in one of those butter-drenched cinnamon bun thingys?
“hmmm whammmmm mhmmmm hmmmmm whmmmmm?”
“No...just napkins for one, and what is that supposed to mean?
“hmmm whhhmmvng mapmma.”
“You’re conserving paper. I see, well, that’s wonderful with the Earth in the state it’s in. You know, most of the fast food restaurants I frequent don’t even consider – “
“hmmmm wmmvwhmmm?”
“Oh, my beverage??? I’ll have a Diet Coke. Yes. And supersize that as well, because this is a hell of a lot of food – you know, in relation to the miracle required here today-
“whmmmm hmmmm mwhhhmmm?”
“Miracle. I said miracle.”
“mwhmmacle?”
“ Well yes, that’s the secret! Diet Coke will eliminate any and all calories…but you do need to supersize it, or Big Gulp it, as the need may – “
“hmm hmmdn mnow mhad.”
“Really? You didn’t know that?”
“mno”
“Well, wait ‘till you see me. I look like a freaking supermodel”

So, we were talking about my back.

Well, technically speaking, I’ve been told that I have herniated two of the disks somewhere back there, and that the spongy stuff between the vertebrae has compressed, which has actually made me shorter, over the years, but basically, I can throw my back out just by sneezing.

But the long and short (ha, ha) of it, is that I need to lose some serious weight.
And here I am at the drive through again, wondering at the fact that somehow, they actually seem to remember my name, which is probably a really bad sign.
I have to admit, as nerdy as it sounds, I am psyched. Tomorrow I go on a diet.

A big one.

I suppose this is a kind of Last Supper. Well, a last breakfast, technically, and let’s be brutally honest, the Last Supper will probably be a big bucket of fried chicken with some sort of chocolate cheesecake monstrosity for dessert. I probably won’t stop eating until my weigh-in tomorrow morning.

I make skip sleep.

What is it about finally deciding to go on a diet that makes you pig out? I know I’m not alone on this one; nothing whets the appetite like the desire to drop a few. So I suppose, this could be the chronicle of how I got myself out of this fat-suit I’ve been hiding in for twenty years.

I used to have the strangest dreams about flying. I would close my eyes, lift my head up and just do it. Rise above everything down here, and just lift off. No flapping required. And the weird thing in these dreams was that while I wasn’t afraid of falling, I seemed to know that if I tried too hard – if I thought about it too much, it wouldn’t work. No wonderful exhilaration or marveling at my new-found ability, though. That’s the weird part. It’s like I just always knew I could somehow do it, so one day, I closed my eyes, and lifted my head, and up I flew. It’s as if any actual flapping would wreck it all, and boy – would those birds hanging out on the power lines below be surprised when I crashed into them!

It’s the flapping, the floundering, that will bring you down. But then, I have always been a flapper.

My mother used to tell me, “Carla, stop flapping!”
I guess I was a bit high-stung and dramatic, as a child, but really? Flapping?
I am fairy sure that I have only actually flapped once in my life. It was two nights before my wedding, and I was really freaking out, and probably a bit hormonal, since I was four-and-a-half months pregnant (whoops!), and there, she said it.

“Stop flapping!”

I was so mad, I stomped away, and was half way up the stairs when I turned around, marched right back to her, raised my arms, and pumped, furiously at the air with what could only be described as all of the elegance of an approaching buzzard, and yelled,

“FLAP. FLAP. THAT IS FLAPPING!”

I will never forget the stunned silence in the room that followed.
Honestly, I don’t think my poor parents ever knew quite what to do with me.
So, yes. Maybe I am a bit high strung.

And speaking of flapping,
It’s a little-known fact, that bumble bees aren’t actually supposed to be able to fly. Scientists have tried (and failed), to figure out exactly how they do it. I guess, in a way, I’m like those bees. I can’t help but remember my good friend, describing an overweight acquaintance of ours, once. “She defies gravity!” I laughed so hard at that, Diet Coke came out my nose. But I couldn’t help but wonder, afterwards, what she says about me when I‘m not with her. Either way, I do believe my nose is feeling thinner.

So it occurs to me that I have no idea what I really intend to be rambling on about here, but I will share with you one little pearl of wisdom I have learned. Never go to lunch with a recently gastrically-bypassed person. To wit, the last thing one needs when crossing the parking lot to Ye Olde Chip Wagon, is their gastrically-bypassed companion screaming "Be STRONG! across the parking lot at you.

That’s really not helping.

I guess the point of this, apart from regaling you with my stories from the edge, is to keep my bitchy inner voice on the inside, and only let you hear it. For your amusement and delight. And so my husband won’t figure out exactly how insane I really am, become frightened, and divorce me.

But really…it’s just the sound of one arm flapping.