promises

gaping

I knew all of your small things.

Your shuffles. Your razor habits.

Your 80% cocoa preferences.

The greens and blues of your favorite plaid shirts.

Pauses while you searched each room for me.

Once you finished Gatsby in a tent.

Smiles. Toothbrushes. Shampoo bottles.

Hats we bought to perch on your head.

Nothing on earth is all light

Or dark.

Get in the car, let’s drive somewhere new.

nebraska nights - for Bonnie

Sunsets bring conversations
Deep like the bottomless night.
Two hearts and souls laid bare
Witnessed by a Sky Full of Stars.

Peppermint Schnapps & cocoa,
Black cat slinking into cold sunflowers.
Starting the goodbye months in advance
Didn't stave off the pain to come.

Black pens & lined paper
A homemade story baked fresh.
We examine how we got here
As the city sparkles in the giant's shadow.

Wiping our eyes on blankets
And catching our fogging breath.
Grafted hearts returned to chests
Mingled lives with no regrets.

interlude

Rain & Covers
A pair of curled up lovers

Snow & Wine
Everyone runs out of time

Mountain views
When you leave I won't feel used

12" x 12"

I watched as something I'd thought was sinful become sacred.

I've also seen sacred things turn black and die.

Grey seems to be the defining color in my life at the moment.

I've been governed by rules for as long as I can remember. At first they were implemented by my parents, then church, school and finally myself.

If rules could form cages I've lived in a 12" x 12" box of bars most of my life.

Because I chose to.

The door has never been locked. But I thought God would punish me if I ever crawled out.

People told me that He would. But if I understand even the simplest thing about Jesus, I don't think God wants me in a cage. If all of the Christians are in cages what good are we? Just an idealized exhibit.

What's the point of pretending to live in our cages in front of other Christian's? The illusion of control is potent.

It seems counterproductive to live your Abundant Life in a 12" x 12" cage.

toasting

Gold glitters and secrets are exciting.
Her flesh looks soft, comfortable, hopeful and inviting.

A woman's love cannot control a man's.
Truth is just a story you crafted to cover up all your plans.

Love was not enough to save you, to lure you back to land.
You set out to sea, my dear, while alone I toasted on the sand.

poison

Let's walk through waterfalls,
Who's hand is holding who's?
We'll sing an outdoor song.
Throw aside make-up, remotes & green bean casserole.
This is what you're made for.

Eat a pine cone, because you never have.
What reasons do we have to live?
Taste, touch, hear, see.
Repetition does not make a life.
Even blind eyes can see freedom.

Cut the rope.
Break the chain.
Kick the door.
Spit out the poison.
Murder the apathy.

green

I want to be everywhere and do everything.

That's not much to ask from 80 ish years, right?

I can't waste another minute.

Green means "go".

accomplished

Someone asked me recently what accomplishments I am most proud of.

There was silence.

Because, I never finished college.
I've not traveled outside my home country.
I'm divorced when I expected only death to part us.
I'm not bilingual.
I've started and abandoned the guitar, drawing, ballet, singing, piano, sewing, theater & horseback riding.
I've never published a book and I've always wanted to.

Negativity usually fills the empty spaces in my head. I literally could not think of something I was proud of.

I hated it.

I felt inadequate. Boring. Sub par. Insubstantial. Desperate. Like my life up to this point was wasted. 26 years of pointless existence.

But I was looking at the answer all wrong.
Because I'm trustworthy. Useful. Honest. Funny. Responsible. Attentive. Not materialistic. Creative. Reliable. Hospitable. I work hard. I try to reach out to people, draw them in, build them up. I listen. I love. I have integrity.

My character is the accomplishment that I'm the most proud of.

It's intangible. There's no plaque. And I'm deeply flawed - but there is grace. Grace to keep being refined by fire.

The conversation did inspire me to set some new goals but nothing we DO is more important than who we are. Or how we make other people feel.

mending

I didn't notice when I forgot what joy felt like.
It fell away noiselessly.
No fanfare.
No goodbye.
Leaving tears in every empty dark.

I lay ripped open begging to be done.

Then, quietly I learned to save myself.

My smile, too big for sleep now.
So many beautiful things in such a short time.

Faces I love are sewing my heart up one stitch after another.
Mending me with threads of laughter, touch and memories.

My body is warming slowly.
Air in these dying, shaking lungs.
Hope is mine.
Someday I will be alive and you will dance with me.

$25

To the person who stole all the cash from my wallet:

I hope against hope that you took it because you needed to buy food, clothing, etc for your family and were so desperate that you didn't see another way. In that case I'm glad to inadvertently give it to you and I hope it helps.

If, on the other hand, you are just a disgustingly greedy person who ignored the fact that my address is listed on my driver's license and is clearly visible when you open my wallet - I hope someday you learn that your integrity is worth a hell of a lot more than a measly $25.

hugs

Never underestimate the power of a hug.

I wish I was a hugger. I just don't think of it. It doesn't come naturally to me.

Is it possible to retrain yourself to be a hugger?

Next time you see me hug me.

momentum

Aren't we all just trying to continue our forward motion without constantly tripping?

recanted hate

My relationship with dear old Ernest is faring better of late. We used to abhor each other. Well, to be honest it was mostly a one sided hate. I despised him. He didn't seem to know I existed, and I hated that too.

Just his name would set me off for hours. My opinion of him was so low that I told everyone I met to avoid him. I regret that not a little now.

It was only after I started to get to know him through the eyes of others that I started to feel an interest awaken in me. Who was he, my archnemesis? Where did he come from and what was he trying to say? What demons of the bottle did he fight and what hell had he discovered in war?

I learned that he even loved cats.

So Hemingway,  I apologize for all of the terrible things I said about you. I'll make it up to you by reading your books and taking some chances on adventure. It seems like that's what you would have wanted.

another thing

It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night it is another thing. -The Sun Also Rises

not déjà vu

Sometimes I know things before they happen. Or before I should know they have happened.

What do you call that? Prophecy? Second sight? Time travel?

I knew the phone would ring. I knew it would be her, the neighbor.

I knew one of our windshields would crack soon, then you sent me that picture.

I knew when you lied to me, even before I discovered the evidence.

What can I do with an inconsistent gift such as this? Does it have a purpose? Am I learning to trust it now because it will be important later?

Intuition isn't a strong enough word.

new words

This months book club selection was up to me. I had a book picked out but after a chance meeting in a coffee shop with a stranger I choose The Night Circus instead. 

I decided that this time I would look up every word I didn't know instead of skimming over it - skimming has become my terrible, terrible habit. Usually I use the surrounding sentences or whatever knowledge of etymology I possess to derive the meaning of an unknown word. But that feels so lazy when I own a smart phone...

Below are the words I had to look up. Some are so beautiful and have become new favorites. Some blogger won't even recognize as words. It keeps underlining them angrily. (Click to view the definitions).

Ailuromancy

Nomenclature

Exsanguinated

Amalgam

Antimony

Innocuous

Coalescence 

Penultimate

Auspicious

Ostensibly

Surreptitious

Ambient

Oneiromancy

Tenuous

Mercurial

Cartomancy

Carmine

Diaphanous

Incendiary

Do you have favorite words? Do you ever realize you've been using a word wrong -- for years?

fragile days

Today started rainy and soft.

I adore rainy days because they feel like a cozy, gray blanket I'm invited to wrap up in. Rainy days are invitations to cuddle, read books and eat pancakes. It felt like a mistake to leave my quilted nest to go to work.

But I went to work because I am an adult. (boo)

Today I felt fragile. Insubstantial. Breakable. Weak.

I assume we all feel fragile some days. Like a cold shoulder, frustrating encounter or one more disappointment will break our brittle spirit.

I needed hugs today. Hugs, blankets, kittens, flowers, bright stars, handwritten notes and dancing.

I didn't get any of those. But maybe the fragile days are here to show us that we are so much stronger than we think we are. Because I didn't break. I didn't shatter. And I will do it again brilliantly tomorrow.

mediocre

My life is so very small.

I thought I'd be that person who ate a well earned sandwich at the top if a mountain; who paddled the Colorado River;  discussed philosophy and great love by campfires; who traveled the world making friends of strangers and would never settle for mediocre.

But mediocre and "safe" crept in on the heels of fear. Fear convinced me to abandon my dreams and goals and to settle for "safe". But "safe" doesn't make life worth living. You may live long and in relative comfort but at what cost?

If we long to live should we listen? Can we even hear the cry any longer after years of suffocating it with Netflix, booze, pizza, shopping?

Someone once said, "If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always gotten."

I want something new.

I've got to have something new.

the absence of sadness

I hold the un-American conviction that happiness isn't the purpose of life. You will be happy and you will be unhappy. I've never deserted all things in the pursuit of happiness. It seems a fickle thing to tie your life to and I've always doubted the trustworthiness of my intense emotions to define my future. Making a choice that makes me happy feels like a trap. Perhaps I avoid happiness because I do not trust it?

Usually happiness is just a choice we make about our situation. A matter of attitude.

But after years of denying that happiness matters I'm at a loss. At what point should happiness factor in? Is it ever healthy to seek out happiness? Is the pursuit ever anything beyond a manifestation of selfishness?

I've been told that God doesn't care if I am happy. I've been told that God always wants me to be happy. Which is correct? I'm not convinced that God actually cares either way.

A lack of happiness will not ruin your life.

In the end is happiness just the emotional choice we make about our circumstances? Or is it the absence of sadness?

sugar cookie

Nanny used to bring my brother and I special sugar cookies. Coming in individual, white containers that opened like clam shells, they were more frosting than cookie. Usually there was a smiling brown bear, balloons or flowers on top. The squish and crunch mingled together in our mouths and on our messy cheeks and chins. We were kids raised to appreciate a good cookie.

That day the frosting was smeared. Peaks of it stuck to the cellophane of the box lid.

"I'm sorry about your cookies." Nanny said to us. Her veiny arms were bruised, attached to hands offering the imperfect cookies.

I didn't understand "car accident". All I knew was that my cookie was ugly. 

Both Nanny and her car looked ok. I was unsure how to express that I was upset. That I was worried about Nanny and her bruises like everyone else. Instead I took the cookie and walked away.

summer soundtrack

I wish I could justify burning the gas to drive around in the country on a night like tonight. Today was... taxing - in multiple ways and the outdoors refreshes my soul. Beauty makes me feel more alive after another wasted day. The clouds are heaped high, sunlight is golden-pink and because of the gorgeous breeze you want the windows down all the way.

It reminds me of all the country drives we took in high school. Arms out the windows, heading toward campfires and boys and best friends. Always looking forward to the future. Naturally music played a big part. Here's my current summer soundtrack - I've got my eye on a few interesting roads, maybe I'll explore them this weekend.

Lorde - Buzzcut Season

Ed Sheeran - Kiss Me

The Beatles - In My Life

James Vincent McMorrow - Follow Me Down to the Old Oak Tree

Anberlin - The Feel Good Drag

Simon & Garfunkel - America

lusterless

Remember what we said? We imagined who we would be.

We'd laugh at opposition. Sneer at obstacles until they removed themselves from our paths.

Fairy tales were our reality.

But bright eyes grow dim with experience and seeing past disappointment is impossible for the myopic.

Shattered rosy lenses heaped and ready for melting.  Give them to the next generation.

RIP my creativity

I'm a media omnivore with the appetite of a well-known Tudor. I'll feast heartily on 500 page books and then enjoy a 90 minute romantic comedy starring Kate Hudson. Heavy and light - I'll ingest it all.

Radio. Podcasts. Magazines. Instagram. Blogs. Blu-ray. Music. Paperbacks. Records. Audio books. Paintings.

Consumption with no output.

Creativity is fostered when you're young and lucky enough to grow up in a family like mine who prized it. But what about in your mid-twenties? Maybe work has anchored your soul or life revolves around a new baby. Finding a way to be creative sounds like a another task, not a joy. It's easier to consume the creativity someone else has neatly packaged for us.

When did this happen to me?

I was watching Once Upon a Time the other day and I found myself marveling at the creativity of the show, (Even though it can feel cliche at times and the family drama-drama-drama has almost put me off of it...) I realized I was envious of their storytelling. I missed telling stories, making costumes - imagining something and bringing it to life. 

Did you know that Consumption was the commonly used name for tuberculous for most of its ancient history? Before antibiotics TB was a death sentence. 

I think I'm dying of consumption. I'm hoping that resurrecting my own creativity will bring me back to life.