Sunday mornings are sacred to me. I must listen to good music on the radio (WPFW usually does the trick) and I must read the Washington Post. Inevitably I find something in the Post that I share via Facebook or Twitter, but what I read today deserves a blog post.
I can't imagine what it's like to live Roseanne Cash. Just the teeny glimpse from this article and this book review tells me it hasn't been easy, yet it's been very fulfilling. It also turns out that another one of Ms. Cash's talents is writing: her memoir Composed comes to a bookstore near you in a few days, and Post reporter Joe Heim kindly shares a piece from it about death and loss. It moved me so that I want to share it with you.
You begin to realize that everyone has a tragedy, and that if he doesn't, he will. You recognize how much is hidden beneath the small courtesies and civilities of everyday existence. Deep sorrow and traces of great loss run through everyone's lives, and yet they let others step into the elevator first, wave them ahead in a line of traffic, smile and greet their children and inquire about their lives, and never let on for a second that they, too, have lain awake at night in longing and regret, that they, too, have cried until it seemed impossible that one person could hold so many tears, that they too, keep a picture of someone locked in their heart and bring it out in quiet, solitary moments to caress and remember.
Beautiful...Truth...
Image from here
Hope you enjoy your Sunday mornings too!
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