Category: Letters

Sunglasses at Night

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fish beach

This is not the blog that was scheduled to leave my mind today. Like a security escorted entourage this one took precedence and took over. I want to stop a moment and thank someone for seeing me so clearly from so many miles away. She wrote a blog that punctured through everything I have been feeling. It’s as if she had been a ghost in my kitchen, hovering over the conversations kisa & I had, but hearing my heart instead.
I am not afraid of change. I am the girl who took charge without knowing the challenge. I’m the girl who said yes to upheaval just to have something different. Hell, I even hacked off 9″ of hair this weekend. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, to imagine my life as something someone else can predict means I’m not living up to my potential.
Here’s what scares me. I’m in the crossroads of what next? Should I stay or should I go? Right now, I am unfocused, drifting, shoreless. No direction home. I don’t like planning for something without a game plan. I don’t like the potential for powerless. Here’s an idea: Imagine not knowing which people (if any) will be in your life a year from now. Does it make a difference to you? The same could be said for my sanity.

Maybe it’s the fact I am dressed in black today, ready to mourn the loss of someone’s mother. Maybe it’s the fact I’m in uncharactistically high heels and do not look anything like myself (and it’s not just the haircut). Maybe it’s the weather (what a cold and rainy day) and apathy has set in.

So, I thank my friend for getting it, getting me, and getting to the point. I may be standing on the platform in Indecision City, but I know someone out there has my direction home.

Dear Mr. Liar, Fork You

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Dear Mr. Liar,

I’m finally onto you. I finally figured you out. It took me awhile (stupid me), but I finally got you straight. I don’t know what made you lie in the first place or why you insist on continuing (Yes, you keep doing it) but, so be it. The good news is I can walk away from you and your mouth and the things that come out of it. I’m through with pretending you+me=friends.
What brought this on? I came across a present I meant to give to you. Pretty ribbons, pretty paper, pretty well meaning of me. It was meant for Christmas but I thought it could make a good birthday gift. Except I didn’t know where to send it. “You have vanished. Heaven knows where you live. Heaven only knows.” The numbers didn’t add up. That’s when the lies began. If I wasn’t meant to be that part of your life you could have said so. It wouldn’t have hurt my feelings. I don’t have secrets (ask me no questions I’ll tell you no lies)so I didn’t understand your secrets, your lies. They were stupid until the truth came out. It must be tough to lie lie lie all the time. Really tough. One thing has to cover up something else, right?
You made yourself out to be more important than you really are. What’s the sense of that when you can’t back it up? You said you knew stuff but have yet to prove it. It’s not enough for you to talk. I’m onto you. Take it on the run. Prove it, if you can. Until then, I am out. So out.

Lock & Key or Not Your Puppet

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Lost

There is only so much you can do to protect your heart. I think of you and wonder how far you are willing to go. How much blame you are willing to balance? Take as your own, distribute to others. How fair will you be if you don’t have the facts?
A few weeks ago someone heard me wrong. Well, heard one side of a conversation and filled in the blanks with slightly off-kilter information. What’s worse is that the misconception went uncorrected for all that time because it wasn’t questioned. I would have hated to be in that head space with all that wrongness swirling around. It’s just not right.
Here’s why I say all this. I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what is wrong when it’s wrong and not three weeks later. I am really good at identifying my heart when I’m faced with feeling it at that moment. Not three weeks later when me, my heart, and moi have moved on. Or forgotten (which is worse).
But, it’s not all you. I’m walking away from some relationships and nudging closer to others. It’s something that I’ve been meaning to do for some time now. Certain people deserve more while others have overstayed their welcome. I am not a dullard strung on a wire, waiting for someone to play me. I am no Happy Puppet, waiting for your command. Occasionally, I need to change the locks and get a new key. Let’s just say it’s long overdue.
So, back to you. I’m glad Jessica Simpson isn’t joining us for dinner. Sorry I set a place for her. Thank you for speaking up and not lashing out. My only request is do it sooner, while the conversation is still breathing and has life. No one wants to rehash DOA unless they really have to.

Boy Bomb

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I’ve got this guy close to my heart. I think he reads me but then again, I’m not really sure. Maybe not. He’s a road warrior. Hardcore. If he does read me, that’s cool because I want to thank him for being so freakin’ cool. Okay. That was cryptic. I DO mean “read me” on a couple of levels. One maybe more than another.
Yeah. I can hear some of you now. Yes, I’m a married woman. So be it. But, I have this friend. I’ll call him Joe. We’ve had 22 years of something. Friends, lovers, roommates, coworkers, enemies, siblings, classmates, partners, pen pals. I’ve read to him. He’s drawn me. Been there. Done that. I think we have been just about everything to each other at one time or another. I guess I could say we have ultimately ended up where we started. Full circle friends. Only this time he’s not hiding more than several cans of beer in a multi-pocketed jean jacket and I’m not climbing out back windows at 3am. Friends of another era. Kisa’s cool with that. I’m cool with that. It’s not that complicated. It’s cool because I’ve grown to hate complicated.

I go through stages where I miss the snot out of Joe. Then, he’ll call. As if he knows. He gets me laughing. Gets me crying. I want to tell him everything crazy, but his phone crackles and we lose connection. He’ll call back but only to say see ya. Next time. Later, baby. On the road again. And again. My favorite question is not Can you hear me now, but Where are you now? He just laughs. My brilliant boy bomb.

Here’s what I meant to say to him: Boompa: thanks for Arizona. If I could get the darn pic off my phone I’d post it here. I’ll think dream about Zion. I’ve always trusted your travel sense. Congrats on the camp. It’s where you belong. You’re good at everything Weld and you know it. I’ve got issues but we’ll talk about those another time….when you’re within calling range. You know you owe me, myself & moi lunch. 

Oh, and one more thing, don’t pick on the girls too much. We bite. Really.

Everything is Wrong

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moo cow

I cannot tell you how frustrating it is to misplace focus, to break a promise. I got on the tread last night, intending to do a quiet 35 minute tune-up session. Everything was wrong. Wrong from the very start. Everything. First of all, you and your Saturday night phone call. I know in my heart of hearts you are right. Three and a half hours of heart to heart and yes, you are right. I know what I need to do, thanks to you. But. But, but I don’t like it. I don’t deserve this. Yeah, yeah, yeah – Harry met Sally and the moral of the story is they couldn’t be friends. I hear ya. I still don’t like it. Last night I went beyond ThatSpace and deleted the phone number. Removing temptation. Cutting things off before they can cut me. I can’t bleed anymore. You are right.
Anyway. So, I thought of you and your words before I ran and they didn’t make me angry. I didn’t find the fire. Instead, they made me sad. I can’t run blue. So, the mood was wrong, the music was wrong, everything was wrong. For the first time ever I skipped Paint It Black and Have Fun Go Mad. I couldn’t find a rhythm I liked. Thanks to a friend I found Fleetwood and tried that. After 25 minutes I admitted defeat and decided nothing would help. I stopped cold. I couldn’t even rock the Aerosmith shirt I bought while shopping with RT. I couldn’t rock anything beyond 2.26 miles.

I’ve never stopped a run before. Not like that – not stopped cold. I’ve had plenty of other I Don’t Feel Like It moments. But, in every other instance of tired I struck a deal with myself and moi – run slower but don’t quit. Lower the incline to nothing, but don’t quit. Don’t you dare quit.

When I got off the tread and paced in front of my husband he was quick to offer kindness. Not your night. You just cooked a huge meal. You are tired. Work is tressing you out. I heard excuse after excuse and headed for the fridge. Chocolate Moo Cow for this quitter. 
Maybe another glass of whine…from a box.

It’s Not the Leaving

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I leave for Florida today. I haven’t flown by myself in some time. I can’t remember the last time I got on an airplane with just me & myself for company. We’ll be okay, I’m sure.

As blogs usually go, I tend to write about what’s on top of the junk heap I call my brain. I single out the one idea or thought that’s making the most noise, the one that’s banging around the most, begging to be let out. Then I write. It’s not the leaving that I’m thinking about. It’s you.

Dear You,

You say I have some responsibility for this one-foot-in-front-of-another thing we call running. You say that I had something to do with putting you at the starting gate. If that’s the case, I am proud to be a part of your latest challenge. Hell, I’m proud of you. Period. You have always been that HellOnWheels woman that I admire. Even without the run you have grace, strength, power and passion. I am proud of you for just wanting this challenge, never mind actually taking it! 
The run is one thing, but I want to talk about The Race. I know you are nervous. But, I know something you have forgotten: You Can Do This! I’ll tell you something else – this is how much I believe in you: I almost didn’t make my plane reservation last month. You wanna know why? Because next year you will be scoffing at 21 kilometers and you’ll be saying “42.2? Bring it on!” and I’ll be hauling my ass back down to Tampa to watch you run The Big One. This little 13 miler, my dear, is just a stepping stone for someone as stubborn as you. Next year you’ll want 26.2…That’s how much I believe in you.
So, I’ll say it again. You can do this. No fear. No pain. Nothing but courage. I’ll see you at the finish line.

Love, me

You Call Yourself

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You call yourself a fan when all I can think is fraudulant fanatic. You are given gifts and all you can do is gripe, bitch and moan. Crass complaints instead of compliments. Questioning and quarrelling. There is no gratitude or grace in your words. There was no reason beyond simple generosity yet your greedy little heart wanted more and more. You turned a deaf ear to the offer and called for much more. Before, during and after. Laid before you were the new words from a broken heart, a soul bared still grieving, yet all you want are old words, sung too many times over. New doesn’t excite you. You want yesteryear as if nothing could be better. If you can’t move on why move this way at all? You didn’t read the letters outlining the expectations. Didn’t you know your gifts came with a purpose? Of course not for you only listened to what you wanted, disappointed when you didn’t get it. You embarrass me.
There is a rudeness to you. You wave your paltry collection like some sultan. Did you think there would be gratitude on bended knee, a bowed head murmuring thank you for all you have given? You think your donation is the salve to soothe the situation. The end all, be all answer to the cause.
You call yourself a friend when you don’t pay back debts or walk two way streets. I won’t ever acknowledge you. Unlike you, I walk away from the past when it becomes meaningless, useless, stupid and loud. There is a time and place for everything and you aren’t anything. Not to me at least.
So, call yourself fan. Call yourself friend. Then tell yourself you failed at both.

Father Christmas Letters

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Father ChristmasTolkien, J.R.R. The Father Christmas Letters. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1976.

Pure magic. I loved every minute of this book! I have always loved J.R.R. Tolkien’s imagination. From The Hobbit to The Two Towers I have always enjoyed submerging myself in his work. This book is something special. I think Nancy Pearl sums it up best in Book Lust “Tolkien wrote these letters for his children, beginning in 1920 and ending in 1939. Whimsical pictures complement the descriptions of Father Christmas’s life at the North Pole” (p 56). But, what Pearl doesn’t tell you is that Tolkien is posing as Father Christmas, and each letter (one for each year) is a continuation a story (involving a polar bear, elves and ) from the year before. The illustrations that accompany the letters are as captivating as the storyline. I can truly imagine being a child, caught up in waiting for the letter from Father Christmas.
The sobering thing about this book is that it ends the same year that World War II starts. Tolkien even makes mention of it on the last page “Half the world seems in the wrong place.” It seems like everyone needed to put aside childhood in 1939.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust  in the chapter “Christmas Books For The Whole Family To Read” (p 55).

Song Saying

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Dear you,

BubbleGumI like crazy coincidences. I like it when something in my life matches something completely unexpected. BubbleGum has come through for me. He has a new song on his site (blog side) that matches exactly what I want to say. It’s the perfect song to pass onto certain people in my life. I have been struggling for words for weeks. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I have spewed thousands of words while struggling for common sense. I’ve had more than plenty of words to say. Maybe, just maybe, too many to say. They just haven’t made sense. It was like I was speaking a foreign language, but it felt like I wasn’t being heard at all. I have been feeling talked out and tired from trying to explain too much. I am getting more and more stubborn and stupid. I want to just shut up; to stop talking totally. I practically pleaded for silence. It didn’t come. It won’t come. There is a difference between “silent treatment” and “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” Silent to avoid lashing out, being virulent. Silent to avoid saying something stupid, something I don’t mean.
This weekend it was decided more needs to be said, only not by me. This time I’ll do more auscultation than saying. This time I’ll be on the hearing end, hopefully. So, as BG says on his site, “say what you need to say.”

www.johnmayer.com/blog

Love, me

If I Ever Write

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For the past week I have been scrutinizing you, writing about you. Sizing you up, cutting you down only to build you back up again. I look at both sides of what you deserve and what you’ll get and wonder if I am being fair. Is it about being fair? Is what you do reason enough for the numbers I give you, assign you, tell you to live with? Until next year. When we’ll do it again. Will you learn from my scrutiny, my cutting and building? Isn’t that what it’s all about? Learn the rules of the game in order to play. Learn the tricks of the game to win. And so I write.

Game on.

Coming Home

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Dear kisa,

You are stranded on a plane somewhere in PA. Engine trouble…something about a starter. I didn’t worry about failure during flying, but more about how tired you’ll be when you finally touch down for sleep. I know how much you hate to be tired.
I had a break through at work today. My BigBossMan reminded me I’m Miss Mucky Muck. If I don’t like something I can make it change…or go away. Imagine that! I’m been counting to ten when all I need to know is three strikes you’re out. Load off my mind and onto my plate.
We’re out of milk. My chai tasted like dirt. The kitchen has been cold without you to cook for. I’m glad you’re coming back tomorrow. Wish it was tonight. I’ll try to kiss you more than the Chipotle.
Anyway, I am ready for bed. Ready to get a new Serious. Speaking of the orange orb, I heard something funny the other day, “That closed sign means nothing to me. That rope across the driveway isn’t going to keep me out.” I had to laugh. Isn’t that how you get your pumpkins? Boys will be boys.

Kisa, I’m tired of negotiating with the cat for bed space. She’s a hog in disguise! Come home soon.
love,
me

Talk Talk Talk

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Dear kisa,

I’m a little late with today’s letter. That’s what happens when your wife is on the phone for over 200 minutes. Yup. You read that right. I was on the phone for an hour last night. Tonight, nearly four. I needed to talk to someone who really understands me. Not that you from last night doesn’t…or that you don’t. Far from it. I’ve got a great friend and you’re the guy who can tell me when to drink my coffee because you’re that clued in to my temperature control. It’s not that I don’t trust every word I give to you…I just needed to give them to someone else tonight.
We talked for nearly four hours. It’s like I had a backpack of sh!t and she not only looked inside and said, “yup, it’s crap” but she took it from me as if I didn’t need to carry it anymore. I needed just one more person to tell me nothing make sense for me to understand it. With therapy in her family I trusted her questions almost as much as her answers. It was good…and I didn’t even finish the bottle.
It’s 1am and I honestly think I’ll sleep tonight. Hopefully, I won’t wake to find the sheet in a ball beside my head, or the comforter stranded down the hall like last night….Just in case, maybe I should have one more glass of wine – tilt that bottle in the air and toss back more than my share (NM) – take me over the limit of reason. I don’t think so. I’m talked out and tired out.
Until tomorrow,
me
xoxox

Dear You Day Two

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dear kisa,

as predicted my night was hell. wind woke me up, worry kept me up. i watched too much tv and gave myself too much to think about. but we know all that. we talked and i gave you girly crap about not calling me before the game. don’t mind me. i’m just lonely.
today i read a lot of my montana wild-wild frontier book. i should be reading the pregnancy book but i can’t get into it. it interests me as much as stock car racing and stamp collecting.
i met RT at the mall. yes, the mall. not the best place to purge your worst week but i did it and was glad for it. she shares my WTF attitude and had a few choice words of her own. it made me laugh and it brought me one step closer to moving on. all the time in the world to make it better just got a little sooner, thanks to her.
later i caught a friend on the phone and talked for an hour. it would have been better to sit with coffee and let silences be comfortable but it was nice to just talk and not have tears on the verge of betraying me. i got to laugh a little, smile a little and worry about someone else for a little. i liked that. i wanted to describe the night sky. i’ll write about it for sure.
so fenway we are not. mountaintops rule your view. i’m still waiting on the burrito.
love,
me

rain & not snow

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dear kisa,

i know i will try to hear you later when you call…from The Game…i guess this is more for when you can’t hear me. across the miles. it rained today but that didn’t stop us from going out. we ate at jake’s for lunch, only we had breakfast. i got the usual…without the hot sauce. she forgot it and i was too insecure to ask. it wasn’t as good as when i’m across from you. the cornbread was dry, the eggs not runny enough. i missed seeing you through coffee’s steam. after we went to faces and laughed at the halloween faces. instead of goblins and ghouls i thought of christmas and all the presents i could buy. i didn’t. we wandered thornes and i bought Yungchen’s 2006 album while she bought a bee. don’t ask. i don’t think i understand it myself. the rain made yard leaves shiny and bright. it was only then i remembered you have the camera. i touched the pumpkin’s orange instead. a rub for good luck. we walked in shops smelling perfume too decadent for my skin. clothes too rich for my wallet. i wouldn’t wear them anyway. i prefer black, and today, orange.
last night i slept sideways. tonight i’ll sleep lightly. i’m not as tired as the day before. if i had my cellphone i would make phone calls. i want to ask a man about a sunday that may or may not have happened.
the cat is confused and a little concerned. i don’t think she believes me when i say i’m not going anywhere. where would i go? i ask her.
anyway,
thunder rolled across the skyline and the trees have slipped into black so i’ll say goodnight. i can see you – fat tires in cupholders. hope the fun is yours for the taking.
love,
me

Critter

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I love this picture. It looks like the lobster is taking a bow. A final gesture before meeting his demise. His action is grand despite his impending doom. It’s as if to say “farewell, cruel world!” before gallantly swan-diving into the boil. I wish we could all face the inevitable that way. It would be so wonderful to be so brave, so grandiose, so c’est la vie!
But this isn’t about Final Destination, or lobsters, or even posturing before pooping out. Believe it or not, my mind is on perception, misconception and everything in between. Here’s what I hope isn’t being perceived of me: I hope that the people who love me don’t think I have fallen into a depth of a despair from which I cannot recover. That’s hardly the case. I’m dealing with an anger so white-hot, so molten that I hardly know myself in the actions and reactions I take (or don’t because I know myself that well). The anger in itself has me chaosed and confused. I’m not used to dealing with a hate this hurtful. Forgive me while I take all the time in the world to wash it away. For it will wash away. It will.
The other misconception I want to address before it becomes a false reality is the notion that I am not okay with every minuscule molecule that makes up my being. I love who I am and how I got this way. Every circumstance in my life has shaped my personality, my ways of seeing the world, and even my ways of dealing with it. I have been called crazy, emotional, funny, and even fragile. I have my reasons for every one of those traits. I can be all those things and more. I am all those things. I will not apologize for any of it. It’s simply who I am and who I will always be. I wasn’t always so forgiving of myself but, now I am more than fine with my life’s history, it’s present and even the future (as I want it to be).
Just know this. Please. The critter in this picture might be scared sh!tless about what is about to happen to him. But. But, my perception is that he is okay with it. I’d have to ask him to know otherwise (and speak Crustacean). Perception is reality until you have the guts to ask.

(photo by Heather Wasklewicz)