Nightingale

Many people have favorite comfort foods. For some it might be chocolate or even caviar. It's natural that food would become comforting. After all, we were all soothed as infants by bottles or breasts of milk, through loving caregivers. Our oral phase is still very close to our aging psyche. Lately stroopwafelen, reminding me of my adventure in Raalte twenty three years ago, have become early morning comfort, especially when I awaken from sad or anxious dreams . In the past, comfort food was soft boiled eggs and marmite on toast. I used to spread marmite on matzot during Passover week. The one or two Jewish people in my high school class would laugh at me and say that I couldn't eat Marmite with Matzo because it was full of yeast - just the stuff we are not allowed to eat at Passover - yeast! Nowadays I am fortunate to find a steady supply of Marmite and stroopwafels at the Chestnut Hill Cheese Shop. I spread the black, yeasty Marmite thickly on wonderful whole grain bread, pile it with avocado and tomato and sink my teeth into it. The comfort flows intravenously into my body and I sigh with relief. A really plump, juicy, freshly grilled chicken serves well as comfort food too. Of course it has to be piping hot and the aroma circulating in my car as I drive home from the supermarket, making me rush to put away the groceries so that I have time for a tiny taste before having to share it with Tom later. Tom is so kind and wise. Whenever I return home weary after a long travel, presentation stint I find one of those chickens. It awaits my arrival on the kitchen counter. At the airport, while we put my bags into the car, he says, "There's a chicken waiting for you at home." All is well with the world!

Food is not the only way I feel comforted. Music does it for me even more intensively. For example, Joan Baez and Annie Lennox make me feel strong and powerful. Some songs reach into the depths of my soul and seem to pour a blanket of comfort over my pain. When I was driving to and from the hospital in Charlie's final two weeks of life, I would play one song by Greg Brown over and over again. Something about a river. I have forgotten it now but I know I will remember it the moment I hear it again. I would drive down the road feeling anxiety and pain, push the tape button and the music would swirl around me like big, strong arms holding me safe and tight. Back and forth, day after day, the same song would soothe and rock me giving me strength to be all present and accessible, for the next time I would be with my friend as he faded away.

These past three months Nora Jones has come to my rescue! Her Nightingale song has been the one I play over and over again as I drive through the new streets of Chestnut Hill and Philadelphia. In December I set out from Buffalo with Molly and Ada yowling and howling in anxiety and fear imprisoned in their crates in the back seat of my car. The three of us pulled out of the driveway and I did not dare look back for fear of unleashing all those locked up tears in my throat. As we drove across New York and into Pennsylvania those long seven and a half hours Nora Jones sang Nightingale over and over again. Slowly the torment in the back seat subsided and Ada and Molly settled into a guarded peace as I softly called out to them to listen to the music. Every now and again they would whimper and call out to me and as they quietened down I listened to the words of the song and silently began to weep. A cleansing, peaceful crying that washed away the pain of farewell and anxiety of the unknown.

Yesterday I played it again as I ran about town buying gifts for our anniversary today. Mainly I was searching for daffodils like those that bloomed so brilliantly on our wedding day, six years ago in the beautiful valley of Anacordes. I found two small pots of tiny bright yellow daffodils. And as I drove home, Nightingale covered me in a blanket of comfort.

Nightingale
Sing us a song
Of a love that once belonged
Nightingale
Tell me your tale
Was your journey far too long?

Does it seem like I'm looking for an answer
To a question I can't ask
I don't know which way the feather falls
Or if I should blow it to the left

Nightingale
Sing us a song
Of a love that once belonged
Nightingale
Tell me your tale
Was your journey far too long?

All the voices that are spinnin' around me
Trying to tell me what to say
Can I fly right behind you
And you can take me away

Comments

[Danny]

I am contemplating buying some Marmite today (I know a store near me that sells it) after reading your post just to give it a try. Is it very different from Vegemite—I have some Australian friends who swear by that! Amazing the emotional power certain foods can have.

[Tamar]

Take heed, Danny! Not everyone likes Marmite. I have never eaten Vegemite so I can't help you out here. Check out the Marmite link in this posting. It will tell you how some love it and some - well, what can I say? - hate it! Good luck and keep us posted!

[Matt]

I really enjoyed what you said about both food and music. It is amazing how they both can connect to some deep, interior part of ourselves, awakening all sorts of old memories, connecting and re-connecting us to all sorts of things. I've never had Marmite, although I am a big Norah Jones fan!

[Alicia]

Can definitely relate to what you say about music. I also play certain songs over and over again for comfort, when I can't sleep, etc. I'm glad to see I'm not the only one who does that, all this time I thought I was just wierd. :-D

[Tamar]

Oh Alicia - you are so not weird by my standards! I have used music for comfort all my life. I sang lullabies to my son for years as he was growing up - almost every single night before he went to sleep. Now he is 31 and a jazz pianist. He plays a beautiful rendition of one of the Zulu lullabies I used to sing to him. Each time I hear him do that tears rise in me!

I was over by you today and so loved your piece, "Mirror Mirror." It seems that "blogspot" is having some difficulties and not allowing access to making comments! Too bad - I am doing it here!

[Alicia]

Thanks Tamar...I wonder what's up with blogger? I got a comment 3 days ago that didn't show up until last night! Grrr....I just read your new post on comments, too LOL. I love comments too! If I don't get them I always feel a little insecure. :-P

[franchini]

Marmite is best spread thinly as it has a very strong taste. I grew up eating toast and marmite and it's part of my own children's life as well. It's lovely stuff, although perhaps a bit of an acquired taste.

[Tamar]

This just in - an e-mail from a friend!

"Marmite and Matzo Mahvellous Mates - Simply Made For Each Other; Like Django and Stephan, George and Ira, New York and New York, Susan and Tim, Bubba and Hill, Condolezza and Dubya, Buffalo and Bulwayo!!"

[Claude]

Tamar, I love the Nightingale poem, but no matter how I tried, I could never like Marmite!!! ;)