"Ring the bells that still can ring,/ Forget your
perfect offering./ There's a crack in everything./ That's how the light gets
in." – from Anthem by Leonard Cohen.
In her comment on yesterday’s post, Poem as Fissure:
Geophysics and the Value of Frailty, poet and artist Laura Orem wrote that
she keeps these lyrics in her art studio as a reminder. A reminder of what, I
wonder? To avoid sealing up the cracks, as if that were possible? Perhaps even
to embrace them? And what are the cracks, anyway?
Cohen’s Anthem speaks on many levels – globally,
politically, and environmentally – yet it hits me in a personal way. Everyday I
wake up with an idealized version of how my day will go, the perfect offering. I
see myself having a nice conversation with my kids over breakfast. We hear the
wren singing outside, and see - far below the house - the rush of the river,
flush from rain. We aim to do our tasks in the morning, then head to the lake
after lunch. This morning’s plan is for me to write this post, and for them to
play piano, do some summer reading, and practice their online math program.
I’ve been up here in my office for about an hour now, (granted, most of that
was spent listening to various renditions of Anthem on YouTube), and
have yet to hear any notes from the piano. Hm…
Just as I am about to go down to investigate, I hear my
son’s footsteps trudging up the stairs. His sister has been on Webkinz all
morning, he reports, and has not let him do his math. This, from the boy who
claims to be allergic to algebra. Boo hoo. Nevertheless, I am required to make
the trip downstairs to say the obvious: No computer games until the other stuff
is done.
On the way down, I hear the fan running in the empty bathroom.
The shower door is ajar, lights on, wet towel and pajamas on the floor. Am I
surprised? Then, I peek into the
bedrooms. Every so often a bed is actually made without my asking; today isn’t
one of those days. I make my way down to the kitchen. Cereal bowls half filled
with milk adorn the table. I make my usual lame announcement that the maid is
off duty today. My kids only groan. Has anyone thought to brush teeth? I don’t
bother asking. I give them a new set of orders. Forget piano and math for the
moment. For now, I tell them to take care of their rooms, their clothes, and
their teeth. I tell them I will check back in a few minutes, and throw in some
warnings about deductions from their allowance.
Then, back upstairs to this blog post. Where was I? Ah, yes,
cracks. My perfect vision of a productive morning and relaxing afternoon is
already splintering. What gets me most is the bickering: She took a book off
my shelf without asking! He hit me with the dog’s chew toy! A lifelong conflict-avoider, I am turned
inside out by these run-of-the-mill quarrels. I try not to show it. I tell them
it’s normal for siblings to fight sometimes, and they know how to work it out.
They have plenty of practice.
Finally, I hear my daughter’s notes on the piano, and before
long, my son’s footsteps as he stomps up the stairs again. He has forgotten the
password to the online math program. “Can’t you just hit remember?” I say.
It’s another trip down the stairs because I, too, have forgotten, and must look
it up. “We’re not going to make it to the lake, are we?” he says. “And it’s all
her fault.”
I imagine the Anthem lyrics refer to bigger cracks
than my petty grumbles; true fractures in the realm of death, divorce, illness,
and war. But these distractions and disruptions are the little splinters that
make up my day as a parent. Okay, Leonard, where’s the light? By my
calculation, I should be sunburned by now, except that we are still in the
house, not at the lake, and our prospects of getting there are dwindling.
Maybe my perfect offering was too contrived. Maybe my kids
won’t make big leaps in math this summer. Maybe my blog posts won’t be
brilliant. Maybe it will take awhile longer before my children load the
dishwasher without being asked, (I’m not giving up on that one, though!) Maybe
the cracks are the spaces where we actually encounter each other in the most
raw and honest ways. Idealized pictures, with their soft, faded edges, are
never as engaging as the real thing. Any image I may form of who my daughter
and son might become, 
and how they will relate to each other, will surely be
wrong, so I try not to speculate. We only have the moment at hand, this sunny
afternoon and the desire to be out in it after so many weeks of rain. Enough of
math, piano, and blogging. Let’s ring the bells that still can ring. We’re off
to the lake to enjoy this singular day, cracks and all.
But before we leave, put away your snacks!
