It is always my left eye that betrays me. That traitorous eye can never make the cut and always reveals me for what I am but hate to be: An emotional and sentimental woman who can’t help but well up with tears no matter how hard I try not to.

It doesn’t happen very often, crying I mean. I tend to be a fairly dry eyed woman overall. But sometimes, something will touch me in such a way that I can’t help the wave of emotion that washes over me and, before I know it, I am desperately trying to hold back the tears.

I can usually catch myself right at the tipping point; my eyes will begin to well up but I can put a halt to it right before the tears spill over. To me, a tear rolling down my face means defeat and/or embarrassment because I don’t like to cry in general let alone in front of people.

Don’t be concerned. You don’t need to psychoanalyze me. I am not emotionally stunted, retarded or f*cked up. I just prefer not to cry at the drop of a hat. I like to save my crying for those times when it really matters; the moments when the situation warrants nothing but a good hard cry.

And so, when I feel that stream of salty water streaking down my face on the left side of my nose, when it pools right at the corner of my lip and demands a swipe of my hand, I feel annoyed and I know that once again, my left eye has betrayed me.

Last week I went to a Suzanne Vega concert with my brother. It was an amazing show, one of the best I have been to in years. I was really enjoying myself and was terribly annoyed when I felt a tear run down the left hand side of my face. The worst part is, I saw my brother steal a glance my way when I wiped my face, and though he did not say anything afterward, I know that he knew that I was crying.

He knew why which only makes it worse. When I was a little girl my Mom loved Suzanne Vega’s album Solitude Standing. She would listen to it all the time, and as often happens with kids, her love for that album turned into my love for that album. I can’t hear Tom’s Diner or Luka without remembering my mom singing along.

As I sat there listening to Suzanne Vega sing Ironbound I couldn’t help but feel like my Mom should have been there with me, that she would have been enjoying the show so much. This thought made me upset and then the fact that I became upset made me annoyed because I have shed more than enough tears over the illness and subsequent death of my mother to last the rest of my life.

And today, much to my dismay, that left eye started up again. You see we are selling our very small house and accepted an offer last night which has left me vacillating between feelings of excitement, sorrow and numbness. Selling our house means leaving behind the home I have lived in for 19 years. The home I brought my babies home to, the home I have spent the majority of my life in and the home that my mother lived and died in.

There are many memories in this home and even though it is just wood and plaster, walls and a roof and floors, to me, it is a living breathing thing. Leaving it is necessary but excruciating all at the same time.

In the coming weeks, as we close this sale and move to our new home, I expect many betrayals from that damn left eye. If you see me wiping my face please don’t make a big deal about it, just know that I know that you know and we will leave it at that.

So this post is dedicated to new beginnings and wonderful old memories. Here is a live version of Ironbound for you to enjoy… no crying!

Ironbound by Suzanne Vega