Category: Letters

My Beautiful You

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Disclaimer: I am writing this for several people. Hopefully you will recognize yourself in the lines…or maybe in between.

Dear You,
I chose you first because we are strangers, yet I like you. I do not like you for reading me, but what I read of you. When your writing is silent I worry. Yes, I worry. I do not know you, but you read right. I care. I may not know how you take your coffee or cook your steak, but I know you are human – of flesh and feelings – and that alone, my friend, makes me care.
Dear You,
I got your call the other day. I am sorry I missed it, sorry I didn’t return it. I don’t dial the digits because I’m afraid of sounding dumb. I’m a broken record. I miss you. Last night I dreamt of red, red apples cut in half and lime green thongs on a sleeping girl. Art as art does. Know that I prefer your now to then.
Dear You,
Thanks for being you. I don’t say it enough. You. Thank You. You. I reread a diary entry. We stood outside a closed ice cream shop. It was late, late, late yet you weren’t going home. I walked you to his apartment above a sweet store. You broke into a perfect British accent – so perfect I had to write it down. I don’t remember why you were imitating a Brit but I told my diary you made me laugh so hard I cried. To this day I can picture that night perfectly. Standing on a sidewalk, chatting as if we had just bumped into one another, you saying something to make me laugh… some things never change.
Dear You,
I’ve been meaning to ask you…been meaning to tell you…yet I don’t have the words. I step on toes to say I love you. I don’t know what that means to anyone but me.
Dear You,
You confuse me. I’ve backed down from friendship because nothing seems related to me. At least not where you are concerned. I don’t know where I fit in so I edge myself out. I wasn’t important enough to have the forwarding address or the latest news and I have accepted that. I’ve moved into a different space of being. At least with you. We’ve talked about this before so nothing’s new. Don’t mind me if my mind is not on you.
Dearest You,
You alone have all of me.
Love,
Me

Sending You

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Dear Dad,
I’m in this huge office with tiny courage. You should see me. Little ole me, Head Mucky Muck, behind a gigantic desk. It’s 72″ wide. 11″ more than I am tall when I don’t slouch. How I sleep curled up I could slumber on it with room to spare. People smile when they see me here. Like I’m playing professional or something. Big desk, little girl. I’ve painted blue and green, green and blue. I seem to be drawn to ocean colors according to crayons. They don’t know the sea as well as you.
I’ve taken to talking to myself lately. Especially in early mornings when the light of day is still hours away. I pretend you are on the other end of a disconnected phone line, or only a stamp away. I still hear you in my sleep. I haven’t lost your voice but I’m starting to forget where your life left off and ours kept going.
D took this picture of this picture of us. You and Me. Me and You. Do you even know D? They have been a couple for so long I’m forgetting start and end dates. When they started being thought of as together and when you, well, when you ended. I know you don’t know my other half. I’m betting you wouldn’t have liked him at the start. I didn’t. In the end you would. He grows on you until you can’t imagine a single second without his Being being beside you. Just being. He saves my sanity. Really. He puts it away for when I need it again. Stores it up in cases of collapse and utter emergency. There have been some. You would love him once you see how wonderful I am with him. I’m behind this big, huge, honking desk because of him. Head Mucky Muck.
It’s stupid to say I miss you. Because that’s pointing out the obvious. Today, today your advice in the shape of a shell went to work with me. Pale purple and white and worn smooth from my thumb. Your words will sit in this office. Stupid stuff like, “lay off the Turbo.” Sage stuff like, “love what you do, do what you love.”

I’m working on it, dad.
Love,
me

Eyeliner

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eyelinerI had a dream of you. Eye of You. It’s been one of many without explanation. Can’t explain you. My sister was losing a hand, her right. An unavoidable operation. You, both of you, were wearing eyeliner and could duplicate. I was angry because I didn’t care about the hand. Not as much as the eyeliner. Or the duplicity of two of you and your blackened eyes. I knew She made you wear it and all I could mutter was, “fukcing foolish” like I knew better. Like I was supposed to care. We met for dinner but ordered lunch. My sister’s babies multiplied from two to three and it seemed all so normal. Even the hand losing part. I remembered the restaurant, been there before, but not the menu. Foreign language in a dead man’s house for it was someone’s home. I hated myself for wanting to keep you when I didn’t want you just as much. Equal parts love and hate. Ate the bread. The eyeliner still bothered me and I bitched back about it. A Clockwork Orange stupidness that couldn’t be washed off or forgotten. Since when? Silly stupidness. I woke confused, not knowing where I was.

On the drive to work I heard a song that make me think of you. If I said the one word song you would know, you is You. Everyone would know it was you and I can’t expose you like that. With or without eyeliner.

Eyes & Orbits

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Strange days, indeed. I found myself on the treadmill, running like the wind at 10pm. Later that night a storm rocked its way through my sleeping town, bringing its own high wind. Restless. Mother Nature and I are stormy restless, pacing our universes, begging for reprieve.
I love Google mail. It allows me to see the first line of someone’s message without opening the whole thing. Because of that preview, I opened someone’s mail this morning. There is calm after this storm. I am in the eye right now – where everything is still and silent for now. I have a minute to breathe and tell someone I love her dearly. I know she is worried about me. I have fragmented to the point where I’m worried about me, too. But, here’s what I want to tell my sweet friend: I will open up to you and you alone when I come to that place of acceptance. Right now I am railing against the rules of my life. The rules of my everything.
I am sorry hurt has you cornered, too. Orbits, indeed. I wish I could help you. Maybe in helping me I can help you? We will talk soon, I promise!
xoxoxoxo

For You Only

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Dear You,

 Thanks for not pushing me. Thanks for not “checking up on me.” It’s true that I haven’t checked my email, opened my mail or answered the phone. This little blog has been my only real form of communication with the outside world. I’m in lockdown mode. I’ve rolled over and played dead because I am more own worst enemy right now. I am both the hawk and the squirrel right now.
Tomorrow I leave for New York City…the Bronx to be precise. I couldn’t be happier to get away from everything here. I feel the vomit of disgust rising and it’s best if I step back before I say something too vile. I want to explore every inch of the Bronx zoo. I want to be a kid again. I want to escape my world for just a little while.
To RT~ give your grouch the biggest hug in the world and tell him I love him…even if he likes a guy who sings like nails on a chalkboard and dances like a snake on crack. I am sorry for his loss.
To NM~ to say thank you for something I haven’t seen seems odd but bear with me. As they say, I am in transition.
To MI~ see you tomorrow. I’ll be the one wanting to pet the animals with a balloon tied to her wrist.
And to you, I know you mean well. I’m just not used to pushing; to be greedy when all I feel is gratitude. I’m not afraid, just don’t feel I need to be awarded.

love, me

Time Tempted

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There are so many things crashing around in my head I couldn’t write a straight-up, this-is-my-life blog even if I wanted to. Like a maze of the brain I’m not even sure which way to start and it feels like there is no getting out. No way out.

The stupid things: there is a wasp buzzing in my office and there is a phone guy banging on my window. I don’t want the wasp to sting me, nor the maintenance guy to break the glass. I’m distracted by the worry of either (or both) of these things happening. I realize the wasp is just looking for a way out and the phone guy is just trying to rewire my office. Yet, I worry all the same. Don’t break my skin, nor my window.

The serious stuff: XCP needs registrations. I haven’t called the publics for liason capabilities. I just got the okay. ACE needs library interaction. We’ll set something up for the second week of school but it all takes planning. PALS starts in 3 weeks and I don’t think we are ready to serve our own public never mind theirs. I have a class in two days and I haven’t even looked at the schedule. Should I be worried that security clocked in but lied about where they went? Should I be concerned that I’m ignoring the vacation time I’m supposed to be taking? I don’t like butting heads with the clearly not here.

The other life: We bought a treadmill and I nearly ran 2.5 miles in 35 minutes. That doesn’t seem like much but consider this – warm up AND cool down are included in that 35. I’m getting there but I’ll blog elsewhere about the details. Grandad is giving up the fight. I hope he sees ghosts. My friend is pining for a married someone and she can’t walk away. Won’t let go. I don’t know who is hurting more. Cape Cod seemed a necessary journey if only to call it home. I recognize the damaged goods in myself. Thank you letters are not flowing from the pen like they should. What more can you say beyond simple gratitude? I got your letter. I’m just thinking of something to say beyond HowAreyou?

Time tempted: I made chicken tortilla soup last night. Red peppers and sweet vidalias sauteed with chunks of chicken, salt, pepper, coriander, thyme and cumin. Fresh salsa. Avocado, lime, tomatoes, cilantro, homemade tortilla strips seasoned with chili and cajun spices. Pepper jack cheese. Served with chili-lime corn on the cob and cold beer. Summer fiesta. Tonight I want to smoke pork chops in sweet apple wood chips. Serve them with crispy garlic green beans and chunky apple sauce…or maybe roasted broccoli and spicy apple rings made from Grannies. I don’t have a lot of time to think out meals.
Two nights ago I slept in fear of calf cramps. Last night the dreams were worse. I see you as I want you to be.

Number 37

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I have decided to be very angry with you. This is in answer to the accusation of MidLifeWhatever. I turn my head in shame because I am tired of you being there in the shadows, so quiet and unassuming. Assume this: you will die that way. You cannot fly when you bind your own wings, sabotage your own flight. Stop living for when and start wanting for now. Come to think of it, what is it that you want? Do you even know? I know there isn’t anything you need. You are not for want. I can assure you that. I can kill your past but only you can keep it dead. When you revive and relive it’s not my fault. Blame games are solo affairs of the cerebral. Think about that. Think about Want. Think about Desire. Think about it, act on it, then thank me later. Thank you now.

guiding me home

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Dear Dad,

Happy Father’s Day. This is your daughter telling you I thought of you today. If I were home I would lay flowers at your name. Red roses for remembrance. I remember you. Instead I paused to smell the blooms still on the bush, crushed the silky petals between my fingers and pretended to be running wild with mud speckled bare feet, tangled hair flying behind; I heard you calling me home. I’m late for dinner again.

We spent the day on the water and I remembered a boat of a different shape, remembered water of a different color. I thought of skin bruised red by the sun, salty to the tongue. We picnicked on the waves and I thought of you, your laughing eyes behind dark sunglasses, your pocket knife hooked at the hip, your military issued blue shirt stained with grease as only a mechanic could. How you let me steer our way home. A spur of the moment navigation lesson.
We flew over the water and the spray was just the same. I could have been hanging over the Atlantic instead of a river. I leaned out to touch the flying droplets, searching the water’s surface for murky secrets, ghosts in the spray. As usual I didn’t find anything. I never find anything.
Tying at the dock I had one more brush with your past. “1500 hours, driven in by the rain. Lunch on the water aborted. Headed for home. 1512.”
Dear Dad, this is your daughter telling you I missed you today. Happy Father’s Day.

Hang My Heart

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Spent some time in West Cornwall, CT this weekend. If you are keeping track, yes, I’m quite the jet setter – it was Becket on Friday. Call me crazy!
It’s amazing how the heart works. I’m talking about the spiritually one that can be broken and mended, cut up and cured. When I first got to West [not England] Cornwall I was new girl at new school nervous. More than once I questioned me, myself and I… ‘what am I doing here?’ I stuck out even though I was not wearing a dress this time. I should have been carrying a paddle…or something. I felt quite homeless and pictured holding a picture asking, “have you seen this man?” It was this man who had me tied tongue and silent. I didn’t ask. Didn’t know what to expect. It’s one thing to say you care, it’s one thing to have the label “friend”, but it’s quite another to have to prove it. I placed my bets on #34 and turned away, horribly right and missing out. I missed the water but got the prize.
When I finally found him talk was like frozen water. Time was the sunshine I needed. Seven hours and seven conversations later words were like rapids. I drove away with an ache. I missed my friend; the 21-years-later-and-I-can-still-find-a-laugh friend.

I feel like the button that has fallen off and found again. Resewn on, but not quite fitting the way it or I used to. True, talk came easier and easier until I felt almost well-worn and close to comfortable. Then time ran out. I wish you were closer. I wish words were cheap(er). I honestly believe tongue biting is for the boring. Say what you want, whenever you want. Tell me more. In this life we are always talking someone down from the ledge or off the bridge. It’s better than not talking at all.

I Spy Too Shy

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I wanted to take pictures straight up, head on, face forward, but lost my nerve. When I finally faced face I focused off center. I’m still shy because I still feel groupie. Period. So, I took pictures like a lesson in prepositions – around, behind, along, beside. Never really in front though. Next time will be better. When I breathe.
This is one of my favorite pictures from the night. It’s how I felt the entire time – there but not completely believing it. There but in a surreal state of pleasant surprise. Lurking on the fringe. Who knew it would be that cool? Who knew it would be that elaborate? Five cameras, five professionals. Audio. Director. Cameramen. Groupies. But, that’s not why it’s been almost a week and I’m still talking about it. It was a night filled with a room full of friends.

When I deleted MyThatSpace I went through all the motions of saying yes, I really want this account gone. Yes, I really, really do. Then I realized I left a letter behind. Luckily, they gave me 48 hours to clean out my locker. If I could have gathered all the special notes, the Frankie pics, the sweet things people have said, I would have. Instead, like a crazy lady I ran back into the burning building just to save one thing. Words of sincere friendship. Not the BS you read in lyrics, or the kind of empty gratitude you get in an email because you’ve written a check. Not the double-standard, two-faced, fake-smiling you get because you are constantly trying to bring someone else up. No love for who you are, simply because of you.

I was taught a lesson in kindness last week. It has taken me six days to think it through. Just because you think something isn’t a big deal, no skin off your nose, that doesn’t mean it isn’t to someone else. Does that make sense? Acts of kindness you shrug off could make all the different to someone else.

O Bailey

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A friend sent me a letter. This one was to me ( and not about me) and there was no mistaking the message. Angry. I read and reread her words but didn’t respond right away. I couldn’t because her anger had a domino effect and suddenly I was just as spit-nails-mad. I didn’t want to lash out at her, the bearer of bad news. Don’t kill the messenger. Not her fault. Not her fault at all.

Thank you for bringing this to my attention. No, thank you for making it clear to me what I had been missing/avoiding all along. I made excuses for the lies. I spun in frantic circles on my own stage of denial. I didn’t think it could be true even when the evidence was mounting. How many times did I have to be lied to before I finally caught on that I was not worthy of the truth? I have a friend who walked away cold and I confessed I admired her for her cutthroat deleting. Do you really want to delete this “friend”? Yes. How hard is that? Unsubscribe. Delete. Done. Damn.

I can understand the lashing out. The hurt has nowhere to go but directly to the Last In Line. But, why include you or the other her? Just because you are who you are to him? It’s so stupid and I’m So Sorry. But, I’m not sorry you told me. Not sorry I stopped spinning. Not sorry I opened my eyes. Delete. Done. Damn.

Pardon Me

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Someone told me I had been written about – or they guessed it was about me, or To me, or something. I don’t usually go there so I wouldn’t know, or didn’t know. I’ll admit I started to read it then decided I couldn’t decide if I should know. I finally stopped. I didn’t finish because I couldn’t read on. But, like a girl I still waivered. What if it really was about me or to me, or something? Indecisive nature can be the death of me, myself & moi  so I decided it wasn’t about me… but I would respond…just to be safe. In true passive aggressive form I am not sending this TO you and it’s even less about you. In all things ego, it’s really all about me. Just in case. In all actuality this is something I need to say, just to get it out there.

I never meant to stand in your face and say, “you are no longer my friend.” To my knowledge I’ve only done that once before in my life. Even then I did it in typical moi fashion and wrote the words down. No face to face there either. A coward through and through. But, that is neither here nor there. Back to you…errr…me..or…something.

The bottom line is this: you said some things that angered me. I retaliated the only way I knew how – by writing. You were angry that I embarrassed you – (volley on the anger quota) – only you failed to notice I took the utmost care in removing your responsibility to the words. You reclaimed ownership by your outburst. You wanted people to know what you said by repeating those words. It was proof that you don’t know me – I write to move on. It’s the only way I can move on. Once I get it out (for the most part), it’s gone. You reviving it and giving it ugly life was an indication that you didn’t understand ME. I had no choice but to disown your words and, by default, you. In my heart of hearts I really think it was a mutual agreement. I’m okay with that.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I see the world as a dangerous place to be. The clouds overhead are always a little grayer in My world, the glass in my hand more than little less half full all the time. My face rarely hurts from grinning (Friday night was a first in forever). It’s easier being sad Eeyore than bouncy Tigger. Don’t get me wrong. I love my life but I struggle to stay smiling seven days a week. I don’t sail through this world whistling a tune. That is precisely why I surround myself with people who either through logic, love or laughter guide me through life and lift me up. I need the people who will help me see straight when I’m stressing, sigh when I lose my wallet or my mind, show strength when I’m broken, but mostly, smile because they truly love messed up me. Bottom line – they understand me.

I have learned a valuable lesson about friendships. Like rocky shores need the tide’s coming and going to survive, certain people stay in your life while other people drift out for a reason. I wouldn’t be here today if those coming or goings didn’t happened. I need the tide and all that it brings…or…takes away.

Jesus?

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Dear You,

It’s only 8:30p-ish but I wish for sleep. I have been battling a raging headache all day. I cancelled diner plans with A in the hopes of soothing the angry head. So far it has only quit the yelling but not the pounding.

Saw a short video today that caught my heart. Home. MyWeirdSpace is the devil of networking. I don’t know how it was sent to me but I saw Manana through someone else’s eyes. It was all so strange. I wonder if sis has seen it? Remind me to play it for you when you get home. Are you coming back, aren’t you? Just kidding. My sense of humor is off balance tonight.

Tomorrow I grocery shop. I just hope it doesn’t snow. Again. Portland was bamboozle by a spring blizzard. I heard the words “state of emergency” on the news. Even walking to my car I was shocked by the strength of the cold. Such a sucker punch for spring. It’s hard to imagine daffodil days’ donations. At any rate, I’ve turned the heat back on and now regret the packed parka.

love, me

Last Phish

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Dear You,
In honor of Jon I post this pic. I didn’t write my traditional dear you last night because S and I stayed talking until latelate. It was good to catch up although I think I have a sore throat now from blah-blahing so much. The live broadcast was interesting.
I’m starting the morning slow and sluggish. I can’t remember my dreams. The cat puked. Twice. The crib is together and mom made mention on the internet.
It snowed last night. Wasn’t expecting that. Funny how I said I wanted rain or snow and I got both in one day. Be careful what you wish for.
I never told you about the meeting with the VP. When you said you were high in the mountains I took you at your word. So to speak. But, it went well in that fingers pressed together – hmmmm- nodding in agreement but not really listening way. I’m sure he means well but I’m still skeptical.
Tonight is dinner with A. I never did figure out mom’s Tivo request so the TV hasn’t come on once. Ahab has set sail so I keep on reading.
Not much else to tell you. Thought I had to say something to avoid nothing.
love, me

Smirk

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Dear You,

I call today Shakespeare. A tragedy and comedy all rolled up in one. Work was good, for once. Isn’t it funny that the moneymaker is an okay place to be?
I came home to the crib. Or not. I think Papa tried and untried a gazillion times. He finally gave up claiming fatigue. I can’t blame him. He banged your mother on the head with a power drill (she’s fine). We’ll try again tomorrow.
I was accused of trying to burn the house down. See, it’s like this. I wanted to use the smoker again. Turkey burgers done up in hickory and homemade barbecue. Doesn’t that sound good? No standing in front of the fridge eating cottage cheese from the container; pickles from the jar; fingers sticky and cold. I wanted a real meal complete with baked beans and cheddar cheese. The smoker, well, it smokes. Your dad wanted to know why the smoke detector didn’t go off…oops…busted. He shook a finger at me and I swear I heard a tsk, tsk in there.
Indy is still crying. She claims you left her for Maggie. I told her I didn’t think she was your type but still she carries on.
Me, even though it’s only 9pm I’m going to bed. I’ve discovered diagonal isn’t that bad. I don’t ditch the sheet either.
Tell Johnny I think his queso story is bunk and that Chipotle still rules the planet. Hang onto that cell phone and call soon.
love, me