I was in a band called Pony Ride. It was one of the happiest places in my life. It was a band made up of a group of loose connections all in love with the same old time folk sound that was woven into the music of the seventies. We all have teenagers and we all got along splendidly.

Pony Ride was named one evening when we jokingly said maybe we could be hired to play at birthday parties, and Caroline quickly piped in “Like a Pony Ride.” We coined the name and have tested many variations on the theme, but ultimately we became The Ponies in emails and references.

The Ponies have all ridden away. I am left waiting for their return, but I fear that there are greener pastures elsewhere. Nothing went wrong. Two of the members live in Palo Alto and bad traffic seemed to command the conversation at each gathering. Mike started writing a plethora of songs that he needed to sing, they aren’t my story, so I guess my job has been replaced in his new band Troubledoors.

I crave to sing with the Ponies, I miss the casual confidences. I waited so long for this feeling and I must not have held on tight enough, now it is gone. I harmonize now with the Troubledoors, but I want my big voice out in front. I loved being the singer and having the Ponies as my back up. Maybe that is what we all are waiting for, the back up band to the story of our lives. We long to sing the songs that are the poetry of who we are and have been. I had it for a moment. I hope I didn’t squander it. I want you all to know how grateful I am to have been a part of Pony Ride.

Peter wrote this song after our first practice, how true it was to be.

All kisses goodbye, all kisses goodbye

All kisses goodbye, all kisses goodbye

They’re not the same

No, no, no they’re not the same

They’re not the same

Some say goodbye,some say hello

Some make you high, and some make you lay low

Some say goodbye, and some say please don’t go

Some are shy, some let they’re feelings show

Sometimes the sorrow’s so sweet so sweet so sweet you never let go

All kisses goodbye, all kisses goodbye!

I have had writer’s block. My sister and my niece are fighting I have tried to help them make peace at the expense of my muse. I have been so saddened by the ugliness in this dispute, that I have been afraid to write; that it will all come out and you will all know that my sister and her daughters are a mess; I hate it and can’t change it.

So I have been making marmalade. It is hard to do. Marmalade is the bitter and the sweet. The sour lemons require a tremendous amount of sugar to become edible. They also require time. Time to soften and time to marinate. It is the firming of the lemon marmalade that is troubling, lemons congeal too fast. When I try to make the marmalade from the sweeter tangerines, they don’t like to firm up at all. I have to add the lemons to make the consistency right.

This is my metaphor. I have to use the sour rind and pith of the lemons to preserve the sweet tender tangerines. I have to use the sour experience of my sister and her terrible relations with her daughter and ex husband, to understand that I have sweet tender relationships with my daughter and husband that I must preserve.

Marmalade is a two day process. The first day you must prepare the fruit by scrapping out the insides of the lemons or oranges and boil the rinds. Then you boil the rinds, water, and sugar until melted. After this the whole mixture must sit overnight in a cool place to marinate.The next day you take the whole concoction and boil it on high until it reaches 223 F. There is one other little part that is messy and very important. All the trimmings and scrapings of the first day, are put into a muslin bag or two and sealed up and boiled with the fruit until soft. When the contents of this bag are soft and very warm, you must squeeze the bags until gooey white mush comes out through the muslin into a bowl. This is the pectin, it is the gold. Do not waste a single drop, you will need all of it. The pectin process is messy and makes my hands ache, but it is the essential ingredient, the magical compound that makes juice and fruit into jam.

All the trimmings of our children’s adolescence, the hard lessons learned, the broken hearts, the lost races, the blemishes, the difficult subjects, the angry words, misunderstandings and misplaced treasures; are the things we put in the bag. All these experiences bounce around together, losing their edges and their sting. We hold them in the bag and let them cook. Then we take them and squeeze out the magical compound that is our shared experience, the glue that holds us together. This glue is what makes a family. It is not always easy, but the bag full of unwanted trimmings is more valuable than gold. It is this glue that congeals the sweeter moments of our shared experiences.

Lemons are impossible to eat without sugar, but they are full of pectin, full of glue. Tangerines are delicious without sugar but lack the pectin. I wanted so badly to use only the tender, thin skinned tangerines in my marmalade. I wanted the clear amber jelly with floating orange crescents in suspension. I could not make the marmalade work with only tangerines. I would have to cook the mixture so long that all I had left were the pieces of rind, all the liquid having boiled away. I had used the bag full of tangerine trimmings, but it was the sour, pithy lemon trimmings that were lacking. I finally stuffed a bag full of these lemon trimmings, boiled them until they were soft; squeezed out the white mushy pectin and added it to my tangerine mix. Like magic the mixture pulled together and the lovely orange half moons rested in a clear stream of amber tangerine jelly. I needed the lemons to pull it all together.

I want to hold my sister and tell her to take a deep breath, open the bag and save all the sour, pithy trimmings of hard feelings and harsh words. Hold the trimmings until they have softened and then squeeze out the essence and use the mushy remains to glue her family back together. I want to tell her to not take it all so personally, to let her daughter spread her wings and fly. It is hard to tell someone what to do and have them listen. Ultimately, what do I really know? I am in the dark as much as she is; bumbling my way through this life. I only know that my daughter and my husband are my priority and that as long as I know this to be true we will always come back together stronger.

One hen asked to the other, do you know why there is an orange in the hen house? And the other hen said “That’s the orange my mamma laid.