Listening to the Land With New Hearing: Everyday Magic, Day 1061

Lying in bed this morning between layers of flannel with a purring kitty under the covers with me, I dreamed in and out of the call of a barred owl, seemingly on the other side of the window. Its call sounded different than the night time “who cooks for you?” call, more like a rooster cock-a-doodling up, then a cat purr-meowing down. Surely it was a hunting call, Ken said, and maybe the sudden absence of squirrels on the deck proved this.

I’m learning to listen to the land with new hearing. Since the eye cancer’s Rube Goldberg-esque antics of cancer leading to radiation in the face leading to extensive dental drilling leading to tinnitus, my hearing has been encased in a bubble of white noise. Sometimes, like lately as I recover from various insults to the sinuses (a cold, mold allergies), the hum-buzz-shush of sound is louder, and sometimes the volume is lowered.

But there’s always something, and I know tinnitus impacts so many of us and it’s not personal to me. Still, learning to hear in this new way is personal. It lets in sound at different volumes than in the past. Words people say are harder to grasp but background noise is amplified. I’m also more attuned to the sounds of the land: the chatter-scuffle-leaps of squirrels on the deck railing, the lift-up of starlings in the field, and the wind clanging what’s left of Cottonwood Mel’s leaves against branches.

I’m also listening to quiet, at least relative quiet (because the sound is never not there) more through my daily meditation when I give myself over to being in this cocoon of the noise of my brain (which is what tinnitus is — we lose some of what filters out that noise). In a strange way, it’s become a comforting sensation of being held in a gentle and constant rocking hush. Other times the pitch gets higher, and it’s just annoying, but I’m trying to befriend even that because it’s also reality.

Meanwhile, just as — to paraphrase e.e. cummings’ poem — the eyes of my eyes were opened in new ways, now the ears of my ears are opening. There’s a big world of wind and rain, cats and owls, and so much more to hear in this land. “Oh, the sounds of the earth are like music,” goes the beginning of one verse of Oklahoma’s “Oh What a Beautiful Morning!” So why not tune in and listen to what this music of the earth is telling us?

Hawking Books Wherever the Wind (and Car) Take Me: Everyday Magic, Day 919

Ding Dong, luna moth at your door.

I’ve learned over the years that it’s never a mistake to drive around with a bookstore in a rolling suitcase just in case, and that’s especially true when there’s a new book in the house (and car). Everyday Magic, landing under the UPS tree in a big pile as if dropped by a passing spaceship, is stepping out and waving its friendly arms at people. In the last few days, I’ve hauled over two dozen books (and they’re big and heavy, over 400 pages each) to the post office to mail, and I found myself selling individual copies betwixt and between, such as to someone in my weight-lifting class between bench press and RDLs (Romanian Dead Lifts…..seriously!).

I find that whatever my books are about is reflected in the process of writing and sharing them, a phenomenon I share with students about the focus of their thesis projects. Write about chaos theory, and guess what? The same seems true for writing about everyday magic, which made for a far easier and lovelier time hauling books than if said book concerned the end of civilization as we know it. What’s more, this is a book based on my blog — this blog — of the same title, and here I am writing a blog post on a book based on the blog, so talking about this is a bit like mirrors reflecting other mirrors.

When I arrived at the post office, I stepped into a mythical stretch of time between my normal experience of carrying piles of books to wait in long lines. I was the only one there except for people who suddenly appeared to hold open doors and steer me in the right direction (given that I could barely glimpse the path over the pile of books). I went to one of the postal buy cialis daily use online worker to start having each book weighed for media shipping when another one said, “why don’t you bring me half the pile, and I’ll do those so you can get out of here faster?” I did, and although it took about 10 minutes, by the time I was done, I found a line of a dozen people had formed, probably all wondering why the woman with the big pile of books gets two people to wait on her at once.

When I went to the Merc to see if the store wanted to carry the book, I met some friends who said, “Oh, is that the book?” and within a few minutes, I had money to go out for dinner in my pocket. When I dropped into Signs of Life and the Raven, two wonderful bookstores in town, they were happy to immediately take some books to sell. All the way around, the book was stepping out jauntily to show its stuff but without pressure, like a book equivalent to Casper the Friendly Ghost but with many more pages.

Now the pile left at home holds different cats at different times, playing Cat Jenga with the books, daring us to remove any without the fur flying. But that’s also part of what makes everyday magic: what life piles up, and how we find some joy and spark in unpiling it.

If you’re interested in a book or two of your own, please drop me a line at carynmirriamgoldberg@gmail.com, drop by the stores mentioned in this post, or please visit my wonderful publisher, Meadowlark Press. You can also pull up alongside me on any street in town, signal for me to lower my window, and toss you a copy. Just remember to duck because while my aim is true, it isn’t always good.