One of us will die inside these arms

Some people think he "whispers" too much, but I have always loved Iron and Wine, ever since the first time I heard Sam Beam's cover of "Such Great Heights" which was on the Most Important of all the CD mixes I took with me to Romania ("It's Hard to Find"/"You're Easily Lost"). I listened to that song every morning on my walk to the orphanage and it was as gentle and haunting as the foreign snow ("...hope this song will guide you home") and I remember the way the streets smelled and passing the langosi stand, feeling the thin coins in my pocket, with that song padding my steps and the wispy notes comforting me. In 2005 it was on an M&Ms commercial that happened to come on while I was teaching a lesson in a trailer park in Katy to a man named Jose Corona, and my heart twisted so hard because all I wanted was to be free to listen to music again, (and think about boys. More) and I was starving for it.

Then I came home and I was still starving (more). I listened to Trapeze Swinger on a porch swing with the boy who made me the CD mixes in the first place and my sandal was broken and I was trying to fix it with one hand, not leaning down too far because we were sharing headphones. I almost saw them (or him, Sam Beam) in concert once, but found one of my dearest friends instead, and finally did see them with that same friend years later, at the Twilight Concert in SLC where we were perched in tree branches because there was no room for us at the inn. I like to "discover" Iron and Wine songs one at a time--(line upon line). A song will be completely meh to me until sudden, random moment it flares up with meaning and then I become obsessed with it. "Promising Light," I suddenly understood while I was scrubbing the bathroom floor for cleaning checks at Centennial, where I lived with my mission companions. "Passing Afternoon" was chillingly fitting during the last summer of my undergrad and described a relationship happening before my eyes. I discovered "Muddy Hymnal" on the bus on the way back from Mercado Hildago in Puebla. It was dusk and I remember the painted cartoon characters on the shops and crowds of people flicking past the bus windows as I clicked it back over and over again marveling at how I'd never liked it before that day--"it never ends the way you had it planned". "Sixteen Maybe Less" happened on a cold morning when I was walking to NuSkin from the Boulders. I could see my breath and the song in the air. (Like my sister Diana said once, "That song is a living, breathing thing!") "Upward Over the Mountain," specifically the live version from Messiah College, was my soul song with Jonathan, maybe the first song I ever had with anyone that had a piece of a real life together--the garden--rather than just pining. I remember driving in the truck and we talked about every line. In case I haven't both tmi'd and tldr'd enough already, we also had an Iron and Wine playlist we made out to. Like bandits. A menudo. For that reason, "Resurrection Fern" and "Innocent Bones," "Flightless Bird" and "Fever Dream" always conjure up images of Jonathan's messy room in the basement of the Commune and the smell of chapstick.

I love to feel music. There's a part of me that loves being in anguish because of how beautiful and tender music sounds from a place of despair. I miss a lot of the songs I used to pine to, because they spoke to me in a way they don't anymore. I'm really truly happy. There are days, moments, when I'm discouraged, whatever, and every once in awhile fear will strangle me for a minute, but most of my angst has ironed itself out and I can't pretend Bright Eyes is the soundtrack to my life story anymore. Sometimes (first world NON problem) I feel sad about that. I miss the intensity of those feelings and the wild creativity that I had when I was more troubled. So many of the songs that used to be The Truth for me don't ring the same bells in my brain because I feel safe now, I'm understood, I'm home. Jonathan says that's unhealthy for me to miss that connection because it's valuing an insecure attachment and uncertainty over a secure attachment and commitment. He says he is a secure attachment kind of guy. Like Kokoum. Steady as the beating drum. Haha! I have a point:

So, a lot of the music I used to obsess over and identify with is about insecure attachment, or loss, or loneliness. Unfortunately being married with young children isn't a situation that's seen as romantic; it's viewed  as drudging, dull, "ordinary" life. I really don't believe my life or my marriage are ordinary. My relationship with Jonathan lights up my life. It is magical to me. What I appreciate now about Iron and Wine is that several songs include among the poetry of their lyrics, references to lovers who also have children. For where I am right now, those little bits about children describe the today story and also give  me hope.

When Sparrow was born, I "discovered" the song "Naked As We Came." I've known it forever, but it never resonated before a few weeks ago. Now, it melts my heart. I've been putting it on repeat and singing it all during these cold mornings alone with the babies. Right now it feels good to be reminded of what I want to believe--that a love story can have babies in it and still be a love story independent of the babies. That the freedom of searching for the yellow bird isn't the only story of romance, but there can be romance even with what feels like less freedom. When Chai came to us I blessed him with my tears, so scared I'd never cross those few inches to Jonny's side again without that delicious warm body in between us. It was okay, the universe shifted to make room, and we found each other again. Now I'm doubly nervous because I feel I'm robbing my first baby of time with "Money" so my instinct when Sparrow is sleeping is to play, play, play with Chai and make it work and make it count and sometimes I get tragic because sometimes there is not a lot of time left in between the times when both babies need something or it just feels right to hold them. They are both so young. But we need holding, too. "We both learned to cradle and live without."

She says "If I leave before you, darling
Don't you waste me in the ground"
I lay smiling like our sleeping children
One of us will die inside these arms
Eyes wide open, naked as we came
One will spread our ashes round the yard