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.

A Terrible Day - December 14, 2012

Today, after a long day, I set about closing down my little store for the day. I cleaned up some Cheerios a little one had dropped, lined up the trucks and cars the last round of toddlers had been playing with, and wrapped a few gifts for my own children’s Christmas. I re-hung a few ornaments an enthusiastic toddler had pulled down, turned out the lights, and headed home to my family.

When I arrived home, I learned of the terrible events that had transpired this morning, in Connecticut. Every channel, every headline screamed the terrible news. I held my daughter, and wept for the parents that would not be able to do so tonight.

I am sure that I am not the only person who wonders how we can live in a world where innocence could be a target.  I am sure that I am not the only parent who is angry about the ease with which something like this could even happen.  I am sure that I am not the only mother who has cried for those lost today.

It is easy to be angry.  It is easy to be frightened for our own children’s safety.  It is easy to wonder how God could ever let this happen. It is impossible not to.  And yet, there is not one of us who hasn’t thanked God that it wasn’t here – in our town – in our children’s school.  It is beyond what we, as parents, can even comprehend.

In the face of such tragedy, what can we do?

We can hold our loved ones a little tighter.  We can pray for those who are affected. We can teach our own children that the world is still a wonder, and that evil will not win.  And we can shut out the noise and fear, and confusion that is on every channel and in every paper today, that would rob us of our peace.

Our thoughts are with the lost and the survivors of this day.

Our hopes and prayers are for peace, for them - and for us - tomorrow.

The Sweet Spot

The Sweet Spot – May 26, 2012

I listened to a song today, by a beautiful songwriter named Antje Duvekot. She sings about the “Sweet Spot.”  We all have had those moments that are so perfect, so beautiful they can’t possibly be fully appreciated until they’ve passed.  We look back at pictures of our lives past, our children, before they are grown – before they have changed. Our babies, so new that the world hasn’t touched them yet. And I don’t know about you, but I can’t help but cry when I see those perfect snapshots of happiness. It isn’t because this moment in time is lacking in it’s own beauty, but rather that I wish I had realized what was happening then. We spend too many days rushing to get through them, always looking ahead to what the next day might bring. But isn’t today wonderful? This day. This moment, whether it holds messy, chubby, little hands, spilled milk, giggles or tantrums? This moment, when your baby surrenders to the notion that you can take away all of their problems, that last hiccup of tears before they turn into your breast and the only thing that tells you they haven’t fallen asleep yet, is that tiny hand, twirling at a lock of their hair. Take in that moment, and hold it, for those days ahead, when they won’t think you are so brilliant. And for those days ahead, here’s something to soften the sting of the adolescent years ahead: I was somebody’s baby once, too. And I remember those “Sweet Spots,” from my own childhood. I remember my Mother’s smell, and how her hands felt in mine, twirling her wedding ring around and around her finger as I sat beside her during church services on a hot Wednesday night. I remember her voice, singing to me, and how her lap felt soft, under my head as she tucked my hair behind my ear, to lull me to sleep. I too, became a monster during my adolescent years, and I’m sure my mother looked back, at that time with melancholy, at the sweet baby I once was.  And I am convinced that there will be a pair of wings waiting for her someday, because she must be an angel to have put up with me. What a gift it is then, that I am finally able to realize the capacity of her love; to see those “Sweet Spots,” from her perspective, when she holds my own babies, just as she held me.  Everything passes, eventually. But don’t lament the moments that have passed – there are new ones ahead.  And the “Sweet Spot?”  Well, that’s right now.

Carla Muller, copyright, 2012

Some thoughts on baby showers...

How awesome would it be, if our baby showers weren't run like some assembly-line, militaristic event. Your sister sitting beside you, having already written who it's from on the card as your mom snatches the onesie from your grasp. You try desperately to make eye contact, at least, with the person who chose this lovely gift for you, who spent their time, money, and love on you, but nooooo! "We've got to keep things moving, dear. Everyone wants to see these things!" See these things - translation: touch, maul, and awkwardly pass from person to person (who, let's face it, just want to eat) over cherry cheesecake (okay, I do love that part), egg salad sandwiches and coffee, (think, ladies! You're dealing with a pregnant woman who probably, at this point, wants to hurl from the combined food smells), while a kafeklatch of elderly women at the end of the table find sport in identifying those items that may or may not be re-gifted from the last baby shower they attended. The paper flies, you fry, and try desperately not to think of that hot flash commercial where the woman stomps out into the cold to dust the snow off of the air-conditioning unit. Ah, the joys of a baby shower. If you're lucky, your husband is with you, because he probably wouldn't believe you if you told him that these seemingly kind women, who are supposed to have your best interest at heart,  have spent the entire evening replaying their own horrible birth stories with you. "I'm telling you! 200 stitches, if there was one! And then, the doctor dropped the baby!" No-one tells you the information you really need to know; like how to make that little pain-control-squeezy-thing give you more pain meds, or where those sadistic nurses are hiding the ice chips! (I swear, I could hear a marguerita-party forming in the nurse's break room as I gave birth!)