We didn’t end up where we haven’t been so I ran. I promised I would. (thanks for messing with me). Truth is, the running thing is seeping back into my blood. I can feel it becoming as natural as time ticking. Except for this – it’s really hard to run on a full belly of burritos! Seriously. There is this small Mexi place right by where I used to work. Everything is authentic and good, good, good. I pity the person who is afraid to bite adventurously because there isn’t a bad thing on the menu. I could stand in front of that menu, drool coming off my chin, taking forever to decide just how hungry I am. I’m always biting off more than I can chew, more than my stomach can hold. In my greed for great food I gorge.
Last night was no different. We ate and ate. Later, I literally waddled up to the gerbil cage and said a prayer before rocking 3.4 miles in 35 minutes with warm-up. I’m proud of the pace. A month ago I was barely hitting 2.5 miles in that same time. I prefered a 12 minute mile over anything faster. Now, I’m comfortable with 10.5. What a scary thought. What a great feeling. So, B~ I didn’t get the 3.5 I promised you, but I came damn close – so damn close!
Someone pissed me off today and made me shut off my phone. The anger is enough to get me running again but I have to be smart. Last night I heard my hip gnash it’s teeth in pain when I climbed the stairs. Last night I ran hard and I ran happy. I never run stupid. I’ll wait a day. The anger will still be there, but the Mexi won’t. I wonder how far I’ll get?
Category: My Husband Rocks
Beating Up Bill
I woke to rain and rolled my eyes. Of course it was raining. Of course. Today was race day. I had to run…and it was raining. At that point I wanted nothing more than to snuggle deeper under the covers and pretend I had a few more hours of snoozetime. It’s hard to take a stand when all you want is to let sleeping dogs lie. *sigh*
The park was buzzing with ipods and lycra tights. Stretching, jumping, running in place, people talking the talk of runners. PRs, last races, and strained hamstrings. Water, bananas and bagels. I got #779 and tried to figure out what happened in July 1979 that was good. Looking for an omen. Killing time with idle chatter to calm less than idle nerves. I heard a rumor the run was twice around the park. If memory serves me right, the park is only 1.1 miles around. Hmm? I anticipated a creative run…to say the least. At least it stopped raining.
Here’s what I forgot about running outside: Hills – up and down ones, gradual and steep ones. I wasn’t used to running down Duck Pond Hill. Weird on the knees. Gusts of wind. Cold wind. Patches of ice. Large puddles of really cold, dirty water. Larger than life piles of dog sh!t. I encountered all of it with shock and amusement. Ran right through all of it without prejudice. Baseball cap pulled low, low, low. Eyes on my feet the entire time. When I got to That Spot I cursed it. Fukc you and your pain. Even spit on it the second time around. Yes, even spit on it.
The creative addition to 2.2 miles? Running in a circle in the train station parking lot. I knew it would be different!
We finished running up Hell Hill. This, I’m used to it. It’s the only way out of the park, the only way home. I’ve done it a thousand times. Grind my teeth, focus on the feet and dig in. I found power and surged to the finish line. Before ‘These Are Days’ could get a minute of music, I finished. Technically, I finished on ‘Paint it Black’ – two songs earlier than I planned. I don’t have the official time, but I do know this, I officially finished. Beating up Bill never felt so good.
Bill’s Challenge Playlist:
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Hotel California
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We Didn’t Start The Fire
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We’re Not Gonna Take It
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Higher Ground
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All My Life (kisa’s spur of the moment pick)
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Lose Yourself
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Paint It Black
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These Are Days (didn’t hear)
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The Scientist (didn’t hear)
Thanks 2 U
It’s the day before my first BackInTheSaddle race. A little 5k-er…in the snow (at least that’s what the forecast was predicting). I’m a little nervous. It’s o n l y 5k, but still…This marks the beginning of my road back to the run. Mentally, it’s a big, huge, colossal deal for me. Mentally, it’s all that I have. Having said all that, I think conditions are perfect. The race is in the same park where I trained for the half. I know it intimately. I love it well. Friends have gotten married there. I’ve seen Natalie perform there. I have so much history there…it’s also the same place where I first felt my knee give out. It’s where I fell to the ground. I know the exact piece of pavement I crumpled on. Half of me prays we avoid that spot altogether, but other other half wants to run over that exact spot with a fukc you vengeance, stomp on that spot…and keep going.
I asked people for input on favorite songs. I made it obvious that I want to make each list into a special mix just for that person, but what I didn’t make clear is that I want to take certain songs from each list and create my very first race mix. Two people emailed me privately with their choices, someone else sent me a text message…and my husband thought the task too daunting to just rattle off 10 songs. As he says, “I really need to think about that.” So, his choices will come later…much later – something for the next run.
So, here’s the 3/15/08 Bill’s Challenge 5k Run Playlist:
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We Didn’t Start the Fire – Billy Joel (Manda)
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Higher Ground – Stevie Wonder (Ruth)
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We’re Not Gonna Take It – Twisted Sister (Sarah)
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The Scientist – Coldplay (Heather)
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Paint it Black – Rolling Stones (Greg)
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Hotel California – Eagles (Rebecca)
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These Are Days – 10,000 Maniacs (ME 🙂 )
My third motive for asking for music was to discover new music. I have some really, really creative people in my life and I am always looking for new stuff to listen to. I love the process of discovery, especially when the education comes from my friends. So, thank you, thank you, thank you for chiming in!
Just Plain Poppi
My husband’s screen name is Poppi. He wears his hair in two Space Oddity pigtails on top of his head and a tight, black skull tee shirt that shows off his navel and the twins. He sneers at the crowd and jumps around a lot. He looks hot…for a girl. I’m talking about his persona in the game Rock Band. I’m not sure if he plays bass or lead because all guitars look the same with Rock Band. But, but, but, he’s super cool. 
I wanna be him. If only to be that cool wearing the clothes. When he goes on tour, playing places like Los Angeles or Tokyo, he earns threads for his closet. Big chunky boots, fishnet stockings with safety pins, short army fatigue skirts, hip-hugger tight glitter jeans, big hoop earrings, metal tees with strategically placed holes, and metal studded wrist bands. He has a whole closet full of cool clothes. Rocker outfits. Really cool outfits only really cool people can wear.
I wanna be Poppi but, I’m out of my league.
Motley Crue Mantra
I am homesick. There. I said it. Home. Sick. Sick for Home. Home. Home. There’s not a soul alive who can connect the dots and understand where I’m coming from right now. This ache started slower than slow. So slow I didn’t even notice it until now. Where I want to be isn’t a location on a map. Doesn’t have coordinates to guide anyone anywhere, especially me. I couldn’t explain it if I tried. I can’t, so I won’t.
After a Sunday conversation with my mother I felt the stars start to align. The universe started to right itself, because that same day someone else said “Let’s go to The Island this summer.” Kisa looked at me and smiled. That was coincidence enough. I couldn’t have dropped all other plans fast enough – even if I tried. Doesn’t matter what was on my plate, what had priority previously. All bets are off at the mention of home home home. In the case of San Diego, well, let’s just say that’s not taking up so much of my plate anymore…kinda pushed to one side…but we’re still going.
Now we have a house lined up. The dates are set, the check is set to be in the mail. I can already picture the porch. I get dibs on the hammock. A great sunset and even better glass of redred wine. Mine, all mine. Let’s have a feast of laughter. Feed me lobster on the rocks. After I’ve had my fill then, and only then, rock me to sleep by the salt salt sea. I’m ready. I’m on my way, home sweet home.
I Found Fire
I can’t stop thinking about this. I can’t stop the burning because truthfully, I found the fire. Here’s what I needed to do – all I really needed to do: simply talk to someone who runs like me – not perfectly, not professionally, not obsessively. Someone who understands stumbling onto the powerline of running and the electric desire to stay strong. It’s a balancing act to stay on that live wire. Believe you me. What dawned on me was that I had no one to talk to about MY run, MY pain, MY failures. I would try, but deep in my heart I knew the well-meaning ears would only half hear me and the well-meaning hearts would only half understand me. Bottom line – no one got my run. I was another puppet – talktalktalk – and I was probably boring as all hell. No one got me. I mean reeallly got me.
That changed when I got back from Florida. I’m not sure which words struck the match, but I have found the fire. Since getting back I have run five times. Each time no more that 31 minutes. 2.4 miles, 2.45 miles, 2.5 miles, 2.55 miles, & 2.75 miles. Every other day the treadmill calls my name and I answer. I’m running to stupid sh!t like “Cotton Alley” and “2am” but, but. But! I hope that will change when I actually break down and buy myself an ipod. I’ll make running playlists for 2.5 miles, 3 miles, 5 miles…(lawd, I’m a geek). I’m so obsessed about the song that in fact, I now listen to music with an ear on the run. Can I move my feet to this? Is this something that will snag the miles and drag me along? I’m asking for advice, listening to the bmps. Everyone says “Running Down a Dream” is one of the best songs. I still say “Paint it Black” and “Use the Force” are my anthems. For now.
Flicked to Flix
My dislikes have the awful habit of growing to aversions. After they avert they become near-phobias and I give up completely. Somewhere along the way I stopped liking movie theaters and, above all else, going to them. I chalked it up to annoying people talking through the good parts, having to “hold it” until the very end, and the waste of money if the film wasn’t all that good. I couldn’t justify gathering the courage to shush someone (gawd forbid), or sit in pain while I twisted my bladder in agony, or spend a small fortune on popcorn and flat, mostly iced soda. I was perfectly capable of keeping my mouth shut, pausing for a bathroom break, and making my own freakin’ popcorn (with Tabasco) at home.
After I had given up on going to the movies I soon began to hate watching movies in general. My interest in renting became almost nonexistent after awhile. Suddenly, going to Blockbuster was more of a bubble buster. They never had what we wanted when we wanted it and when they did, the copy usually had some skipping/freezing/blank screen problem. We could never return the disks on time and we almost always missed out on the special features. Director commentaries are almost always just as long as the movie itself and who has time to watch the thing twice, especially when it has a 2-day rental sticker on it? Me & movies~ suddenly we didn’t get along so well. It kind of hurt my feelings, especially when friends and family would ask “did you see — yet?” or I’d read a book and realize it probably made a pretty good movie, too (as in the case of In Cold Blood by Truman Capote), or that nagging, tiny itch to see every Oscar winner for best pic…
Recently, my husband has turned to Netflix. So far we have seen five movies in just as many weeks:
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I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry (funny, funny scene with Dave Matthews – who knew he could be so gay?)
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Click (One of those “morality” movies – wasn’t super thrilled with it)
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Capote (I am a huge, huge fan of Capote – both the writing and the person. This was the best one so far)…
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Stranger than Fiction (I expected Will to be naked and Emma to be dry. Who knew I would be so wrong? Great movie!)
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Memoirs of a Geisha (although this was lengthy, it was worthy)
My sister wants us to rent Weeds. Someone else suggested House. Not only am I trying to catch up on movies missed, but television, too! Yikes.
Happy Birthday
I have deemed my 39th year the year of change in oh so many ways. Traditionally, my birthday is the day of resolutions, promises and new leaves turning over. Nothing new there. I have said that before just as I have made public my struggle with 2007. I have to say (again) I’m glad it’s over. I’m more than happy to be putting 38 behind me, as well. Having said all that, here’s how I celebrated the big 39th.
Daybreak doesn’t come easy in my bedroom. Dark forest green walls and brown wood blinds keep out any good morning sunshine. Lying in the dark, contemplating the day, the phone rang. My mother – serenading me with “Happy Birthday Dear 39 and holding….” I wanted to ask her to call back and sing into my answering machine (I’ve kept my mother and sister’s birthday wishes on my machine for the past 2 years). Instead, I smiled into the phone and enjoyed her goofy singing. A great way to start the day.
Later, kisa and I visited Grandpa’s house. Sitting with cinnamon scones and steaming coffee at the kitchen table we listened to the silence. The longer we sat the more aware of other sounds we became: the ticking of a clock, the wind rattling the clothesline stretched across the lawn, the dripping, drumming of rain off the gutters. I swore I could hear the whispers of ghosts.
A big part of my birthday celebration was redemption for the dress fiasco of last week. So, believe it or not, I took me, myself & moi shopping. Yes, shopping. I found jeans called “flirt” and “diva”, black v-neck tops and catch-my-legs in black fishnet stockings. Here’s the thing – everything fit, first try. No struggling, no scrutinizing. My dressing room didn’t even have a mirror.
Next stop, Panera for lunch. I have a soft spot for the sandwich shop thanks to Sarah and a little trip to Saratoga. This time I went vegetarian with creamy tomato soup, crunchy asiago cheese croutons, and a Greek veggie sandwich. Yum. I could have sat there all day.
The rest of the afternoon was spent working out, playing on the computer and opening mail. My sister sent a cool package of goodies (hello homemade tortillas!). I can’t wait to start making my own fajitas from scratch.
Later, a steamy bath filled with bubbles. Getting ready for a night on the town. I modeled two different outfits for kisa because I just couldn’t decide- heels and brand-spanking new jeans or boots and brand-spanking new skirt? Sweater or scoop neck tee? Everything black, black, black. Finally decided on the school-girl skirt in flannel dark, fishnets and braided black top. Something sexy-festive and fun. Ready to hit the town.
Speaking of town – it was hopping. For the first time ever we had to park on the roof of the garage. People everywhere, chatting, laughing calling to one another, rushing to cross the street, others standing to window shop. Smoky breath rising; groups huddled together on street corners, shoulders shrugged to ward off the cold. Neko Case performing at the Calvin, restaurants with hour-plus waiting lists. Stop and go traffic, the chirping walk signal in between the flow of cars. There was a buzz and I felt the electricity everywhere.
We ended up at Zen. Plum wine, a fire boat filled with seafood, bok choy, mushrooms, cabbage, brown rice, chopsticks and soy sauce. Next time we will cook our own meal, Japanese Shabu style. I have the meal all picked out.
Home again, stuffed and happy. My favorite soon-to-be four year old on the answering machine, serenading me with Happy Birthday (I live in a zoo) with a little Fire and Rain and Scarborough Fair thrown in. So damn cute. If it hadn’t been so late (way past his bedtime) I would have called him back to ask if he takes requests. Maybe a little Janitor of Lunacy.
Later, late night – a night-cap of a single cranberry vodka. KBCO on the stereo. Red candles in the dark flickering in the reflection of cds on the ceiling. Happy birthday to me.
Left Out
My husband refuses to read the book reviews when I blog. If he sees a book cover for a picture, he skips it. Automatically. He doesn’t come right out and say it, but I know he finds them boring. My impulse is to apologize, to be put off and/or hurtfully offended. Instead of being put off, I have to fight that off. I have to dig deeper and ask myself why anyone would read any word at all? Thinking like that keeps me way grounded – almost underground with humbleness. I think Kisa reads mostly because he’s married to me; he has a vested interested in what I might (or might not) say, but. But. But, he draws the line at boring books. I try telling him that I don’t write traditional reviews, that he might actually find one or two interesting….or something. He doesn’t care. He still won’t read. He has even said (and I quote) “you could call me a jerk, tell me I’m an asshole and I wouldn’t know it.” Hmmm…is that a challenge? Is that a Dare-You-To statement? That means I could unleash the dream about divorcing him; untether the frustration when I feel I’m not being fawned over enough; cry it’s a crying shame I can’t get him to clean the toilet. Seriously! Think of the possibilities! Actually…No.
Honestly, this is not a bone of contention between us (although it might sound that way). I don’t silently resent him for not reading me cover to cover, line after line, word by word. I sometimes cringe at what he does read, fearing he will misinterpret me just as much as the next person who doesn’t know me half as well. Or more.
ps~ Here’s a little haha for the unread: When I posted Everyday Zen I hadn’t been able to load a picture to go with it. So, when my husband signed into this site he was tricked into starting to read the blog. It’s actually kind of funny. When I joked that I almost got him he admitted, “yeah, it took me a few lines to realize I was reading a review…” then he added, “but when I did, I stopped.” Touche.
You Didn’t Ask Me
I know this picture is huge. I wanted it big for a reason. The reason is this: to make the message loud and clear. Some time ago I told a friend this postcard (shamelessly swiped from PostSecret) reminded me of them (grammar be damned, I want to protect the not-so-innocent from scrutiny). Yes, I thought they had something to do with a could-of, should-of relationship. Then, the other other other day someone else admitted to me, “I married the wrong person.” Yikes. What, tell me, what exactly, clued you into the right or wrong of a marriage partner? How do you know that now, and more importantly, did you know that going into the whole “death do you part” deal?
Freak me out. It would kill me to regret any part of the vows I exchanged (and now share) with kisa. I could sigh and say someone else could have been more my speed, more my temperament, more my Me. But, that’s just the way life is…and isn’t. I’m not going to regret something because ultimately, that means regretting someone and that’s not fair. So, I ask again. Did you know you married the wrong person from the very start? If so, why did you do it, let it happen, whatever?
I admit! I play the “what if?” game in my head. That doesn’t mean I’m unhappy with my here and now. I think of old boyfriends and what could have been. I don’t think there’s a person out there who hasn’t done something similar, if not the exact same thing. A kind of WhereAreTheyNow? for ordinary people. I’m sure someone is Googling you right now. If I question my future with my past’s someones here’s what I come up with: a bored housewife with alcoholic tendencies, a military maiden with issues with authority, an atheist marooned at marathon mass every Sunday, a tripped out druggie wondering which sex my husband is having, gay or straight, without me, a overworked mother of three who has to wait through “just nine more holes – just nine more.” None of these are my idea of me. But, I said yes at the time. Did I know I would be marrying the wrong person? Did I know all these past passings would be considered mistakes? Certainly not. Life just works in a weird, weird way.
Bring Home the Bacon
Don’t get me wrong. I love to cook. I absolutely adore being in the kitchen, making my own meals, creating my own plates of goodness. But, but, but. There is something to be said for the man who can bring it to the table himself. I’m not talking about the guy who blah, blah, blah brags about how great his meals are. I’m not talking about the guy who sounds positively gay discussing his creme brulee, knife skills or turducken. I’m talking about the quiet guy…the guy who sheepishly says, “yeah… I guess I can try” when I mention starting up the pasta or pan searing the sausage or something. I have a soft spot for the man who, despite being scared, somehow serves something special. I love, love, love the humble guy cook. The guy closet chef who has no clue what he’s doing…but tries anyway.
Over the course of one Sunday I served up International servings: Swedish meatballs with smooth sour cream and bright current jelly, Polish kielbasa -cooked long with spicy-sweet BBQ sauce, and Thai chicken bites with lime, cilantro and vibrant green curry. The time before that I was exploring the ocean with garlicky, clilantro-y, citrusy salmon (my first time taking a pair of pliers to a fish). None of these dishes compared to the meal already made for me. Ready for my mouth the moment I walk in the door. He says he can’t cook. He says he has no clue what he’s doing. He tastes good to me.
From the Sky
Is it wrong to have favorite moments from a funeral? Is it wrong to find small laughs and smiles amid the sorrows? We approach the “home” in a black clad seriousness, create small family clusters and murmur small talk about illnesses; it’s the weather’s fault. We all agree. Nod seriously. We want to avoid the real reason why we have gathered. Soon enough it is time to start. Quietly, we shuffle to seats and send furtive glances at the flower laden casket. So many flowers. Tissues and tears emerge in front of just-reminded, grief-stricken faces. We haven’t lost sight of why we are here, after all.
Funerals are for the living, of this I am convinced. It is our chance to praise, to love, to remember, to pay respect, to say goodbye. We may even realize or learn something for the first time. He didn’t miss a day of work. Made his girl pay her own bus fare home on their first date. He lost friends in the war and never, ever forgot their names or their faces. He was dedicated to worrying about family so you didn’t have to. He shared a love of Red Sox with his grandson. He had a Beloved Wife and shared over 60 years of marriage with her. He died of a broken heart.
At graveside the air is crisp, the sky a brilliant blue. Taps is played and suddenly a strong wind blows up, shaking snow from the overhanging tree. A saluting soldier is hit squarely in the face with a Mother Nature snowball, yet he does not flinch, doesn’t move – not an inch. Doesn’t move a muscle. A final joke played from beyond? We all glance at the flag covered casket in wonder. He loved to laugh, too.
But, that, I knew.
Sweet Sorrow
Over 15 years ago I was roaming the streets of New York City, oblivious to the fact that at home a life was slowing slipping away. Unable to communicate the seconds of precious life ticked by while I took in Cats and the Russian Tea Room. I got there in time but I never forgave myself for not getting there sooner. I just never thought it would happen again. Dancing around New York City while death danced too close at home. Too much to understand.
You will never know how guilty I feel for not being there. I should have held your hand. I should have seen you through the pain. I know you will tell me it was bad timing, that it just happened that way, but when you choked back the words I knew I should have been there. You tried to tell me you were okay. Even if you were, I wasn’t. Forgive me for taking a little time to get over the irony – for the exact moment I closed my eyes in exhausted slumber, he closed his eyes for good. Forgive me for feeling far away and failed.
I’m here now.
Just a Song
Sometime ago I said that life was too busy for supporting & following & being obsessed by music. I think what I meant was these days I am being far more selective about the music I hear and how far I’ll go to stand before it. Recently, I went on a Natalie binge. Call me crazy, but four years is too long to go without hearing that voice live. Unlike myself I wanted a night upclose and a night far away. Unlike myself I made no attempt to remember the setlist. Unlike myself I made no attempt to get the perfect picture & in fact, refuse to post the ones that actually came out decent. I’ll leave that for some other adoring fan to do. Here is a list of the songs I heard. They are not all from the same night, nor are they in the “correct” order. The time listening to Natalie was too precious to worry about perfection.
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Carnival~ this is the only one I will fess up to putting in the correct order. Every single time she came out on stage this was the song she performed first. It makes sense. This is her ode to New York; a nod to the city she adores. I have to say I was spellbound when she first appeared. It really had been too long. “Wide eyed misfit prophet, on a traffic island, stopped. And he raged of saving me.”
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Build a Levee ~ This is a personal fave of mine. “You’ll fall under an evil spell just looking at his beautiful face.”
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I’m not Gonna Beg ~ Where’s the boa? “I know ‘once upon a time’ and ‘ever after’ is a lie.”
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At the Fair ~ Introduced as Robert Frost this is a Bonnie Raitt cover…” I swear another night is fallin'”
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Sonnet #73~ Natalie was asked by the Royal Shakespeare Company to collaborate with Gavin Bryans for his Nothing Like the Sun project & put a sonnet to music. She chose #73 and said a few words about the Black Death and how many people died…typical Nat. “When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang.”
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The Equestrienne ~ A story about a circus by Rachel Field. Natalie created a song out of part of the story involving a white horse. “See the girl in pink on a milk white horse.”
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Janitor’s Boy ~ A song written by Nathalia Crane when she was 10 years old. Natalie put it to music & sang it in a 1920’s vaudville sort of way, very fun and flirty. “He’ll carry me off I know that he will, for his hair is exceedingly red: and the only thing that occurs to me is to dutifully shivers in bed.”
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If No One Marries Me by Laurence Alma-Tadema~ “And when I’m getting really old, at twenty-eight or nine I’ll buy a little orphan girl and bring her up as mine.”
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The Man in the Wilderness from Mother Goose~ a strange little poem about a man in the wilderness and asking about strawberries in the sea…
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Texas ~ a new song of Natalie’s that seemed a warning about having it all. “I don;t mind if I have to kill a little honey bee.”
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Life is Sweet ~ I have to admit I cried during this song. I think Natalie avoided singing it one night just because someone requested it. The jury is still out on that one…”It’s high time you make up your own sweet little mind.”
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Wonder ~ the anthem is still strong. The best part was Natalie’s special guest, “How I confound you and astound you.”
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Golden Boy ~ and to think we have so many more Golden Boys to talk about since Columbine. “Meteor rise from obscurity and all it took was a killing spree.”
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Go Down Moses ~ this is probably my favorite song. It’s haunting and hurting as only a song about Katrina moving through New Orleans could be. “But it so hard without you…cold shocked and speechless can anyone reach us?”
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Giving Up ~ another new Natalie song…
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The End ~ If anyone remembers Natalie’s 2004 tour they will remember the peace banner Natalie held up during Gulf of Araby. It was back for The End. “When we give up the barrel and the blade…”
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Tell Yourself ~ Natalie tested us with this one. She said “I wrote this for my 13 year old niece…any guesses?” “You’ll never be like the anorexic beauties in the magazines.”
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Village Green Preservation Society~ Who would have thought The Kinks would show up in a Natalie show.? Erik & Gabe helped Nat make this hysterical.
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Break Your Heart ~ while I miss the horn section on this song the cello was a good replacement. “See the push and shove for their rewards”
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From the Time You Say Goodbye~ what a lovely surprise. I never thought I would get to hear this love. “Keep a prayer within your heart that the time will surely fly”
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Tension ~ although this was just a snippet it was awesome to hear Natalie’s very first song. “A thought mistaken for a memory”
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Kind & Generous~ The time to give Natalie gifts… “My love and respect for you”
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Letter ~ I know I have never heard this live before. “but the truth it would reveal knowing you brought me pleasure…”
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Motherland ~“Where in hell can you go?”
I will never be able to really write about this experience. It was a pleasure. Special thanks to Germany, Scotland and to the great city of New York.
Sky Reaching
Sometimes, sometimes all it takes is a different perspective to right a wrong, heal a hurt, or just plain move on from something. I spent a lot of time looking up this weekend, both literally and figuratively. I found the cure for complacency is insecurity. I found that the push and pull of heart strings can be both painful and pleasing. I cried a little this weekend, but definitely laughed more. Friends who were a little too big for me are starting to fit better, closer. Perspectives do change when you get closer and I like what I see.
I went into a sea of nobody I knew and somehow felt better about the face in the mirror when I got home. I still don’t understand black sunglasses in the dark, wearing the sound of disgust on your feet, or gypsy cabbies. What I do know is that I was glad to share that world, for a little while. A little while is all I needed. We came confused about Chipotle and left with wrong trains and missing Starbucks. The city didn’t change us, yet somehow, in some way, I’m different. Looking up has a different look to it.
So, to you and you. I will see you later. And we’ll look up some more.
~*LunaSea*~ 