Category: Good

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

This Old Life 10/29/05

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This is the time when I could use a drink. What is it that they say? Something to take the edge off…waking up to use the bathroom I find myself really awake as I lay back in bed. How do I get to this point? It happens all the time. I was dreaming of lip balm and Spoletos before. Why can’t I get back to slumber? How did I jump off the Sleep Express? Maybe it’s nerves. I’ll be meeting a bunch of new people today and I don’t think I brought enough makeup to put my best face forward. I pushed away a potential friend because the thought of that initial how-do-you-do terrified me. I’m not good at first impressions. If I could I’d have several first impressions. Like in the movie Groundhog Day. Until I get it right. Whoops! I stuttered. Let me go back to bed and try again. Ooops, I bumped your drink. Let me get back to you in 24 hours. Sorry! I mispronounced your name. Same time tomorrow? Until finally, finally my first impression is gracious and charming.
Insomnia leads to crawling around the internet. First stop, email and news of Natalie. Second stop, quick check of island life activity and photographs of heaven. Third stop, the sirsy message board to check the now grown silent chatter. Final stop, here. To confess my thoughts by the glow of the laptop and to wish for sips of icy cold limoncello….or maybe warm tuaca.

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

Ode to an Artman (Paris)

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 paris.jpg

I have this friend. I don’t really know how to describe our friendship other than Distantly Clicking. Does that make sense? Of course not. We met via the Internet. Trading Natalie Merchant’s voice by postal express. While that seemed to be the only thing we had in common we hit it off, became fast friends, as they say. We wrote back and forth enthusiastically for the longest time. I couldn’t even tell you how long. Until finally. Finally. Natalie toured and we decided to meet for real. At a show. “Don’t mail. Let’s meet.” “Look for me…I’ll be in black” or something like that. We met in Albany, NY. I’ll never forget it. As soon as we “recognized” each other we were laughing and screeching and flinging ourselves at each other. He picked me up and swung me around like a long lost sister. He presented me a glass turtle necklace “from Paris.” Long lost souls finally together for the pairing. Weird. Like I said, we hit it off. As Natalie as our instigator we met up as often as we could. Very rarely did we sit together but as the house lights dimmed we would make sure to wish each other ‘good show’ before hustling off to our designated seats. Good show – as if we, and not Natalie, would be taking to the stage in a matter of mere minutes.

These days we don’t see each other often enough. It’s been seven years and Natalie doesn’t tour like she used to. Our zip codes don’t match; our addresses too far apart. We still talk via electronics but I miss his face almost as much as her voice. Recently, he announced another gallery opening, another show, another endeavor, another new thing. Another something I would miss out on. More than a little disappointed I decided to buy his art instead. Something for me, something for kisa and maybe something for the office. I decided to break an Art Rule and go with something un-island-like. I went with Paris.

Bean Trees

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Bean TreesKingsolver, Barbara. The Bean Trees.New York: HarperPerennial, 1989. 

Barbara Kingsolver is my favorite author. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I love the way she writes. The Bean Trees is on my Book Lust list and I’ve already read it hundreds of time. It’s the book I grab when I am in between other reads. It’s the book I reach for when I have a few minutes to kill while the rice bubbles on the stove. Given the chance to read it again just for Book Lust I am more than happy to jump at the chance.

Taylor Greer isn’t Taylor until she takes to the highway. Leaving her hometown of Kentucky to see something other than small town rumors and ruts she finds herself on the road, “adopting” a three year old American Indian girl on the way then finally landing in Tucson, Arizona.  Taylor is smart, witty and, for lack of a better word, feisty. She tells us her story with great observance to the spirit of humanity.

One of the things I love about Kingsolver’s work is the reoccurring themes: respect for nature described in gorgeous, vibrant detail, immigration and the political implications, the joys and struggles of motherhood (especially the single mother), the value of both belonging to a community and having independence. The Bean Trees is no different. All of these themes are carefully woven into the framework of the novel.

My favorite lines (okay some of them): “Whatever you want the most, it’s going to be the worst thing for you” (p 62).
“There were two things about Mama. One is she always expected the best out of me. And the other is that then no matter what I did, whatever I came home with, she acted like it was the moon I had just hung up in the sky and plugged in all the stars. Like I was that good” (p 10).

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust’s first chapter called”Adapting to Adoption” (p 1). I have to admit I don’t agree with Pearl’s description of how Taylor “acquires” the American Indian child. Pearl says “When Taylor Greer leaves Kentucky for points west in order to escape the confines of small-town life, she finds an abandoned and abused Cherokee child left in her car…” (p 2). It actually went more like this: “Then she set this bundle down on the seat of my car. “Take this baby,” she said….”where do you want me to take it?” She looked back at the bar, and then looked at me. “Just take it.” I waited a minute, thinking that soon my mind would clear and I would understand what she was saying. It didn’t.” (The Bean Trees p 17). This is a poignant scene to me and it makes a big difference (to me) whether the child was left or handed over.

ps~ November is National Adoption month. I reread this just a tad early.

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)

On the Doorstep

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I am on the doorstep of getting back to good.
When Kisa and I were first dating …no. Let me rephrase. When Kisa and I were in the throes of seriousness and living together full tilt I would randomly blurt out “don’t leave me.” I don’t know where this utterance came from or why I sounded so desperate. But, it was my darkest fear. He would sometimes joke his response, “where would I go?” but more often he would sense the seriousness and whisper “I’m not going anywhere.” In those days I was petrified he would decide I was too damaged, too whacked out for his sensibilities. The last time I seriously feared this was when I was standing in a wedding gown, feet encased in ice. I was more than 30 minutes late to my own ceremony because I was convinced I wasn’t good enough. Kisa was already at the alter so I couldn’t tell him Don’t Leave. Kisa knew all my secrets but that didn’t change my Turn Back attitude.
These days he is my rock. I don’t ask him not to leave as much. It still slips out from time to time but it has become more of a private joke than anything else. I still feel like I’m a crystal vase with a hidden crack, a perfect rose with an aphid problem, a masterpiece with peeling paint. But, as Jackson Browne said “Do not confront me with my failures. I have not forgotten them.”
I am on the doorstep of healing.

Beyond Me but Beside Me

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Lately, I can’t breathe. Lately, it feels like everything is beyond me. Beyond my control. My mind races no matter where I am. Work. Work is insane. I’m in over my head. The Fray have it perfectly said. I love that song right now. It’s so me. This is so friggin hard. Right now. I’m trying to look like I know what I’m doing but it feels like one big puppet show. I fight tied up in strings.
My home life. I’m drowning. If it weren’t for kisa I would be hanging from heartache. No, hate. I’ll admit it. Hanging from hate. There is someone caught in the middle of this and I feel so damned sorry for her. She didn’t ask for this. Well, neither did I. Neither did I. Excuse me if I don’t rush to thank you or act grateful or pretend to think you saved me. If anything I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in days. I’m in over my head.
Kisa leaves me in three days. He said something interesting last night. “All this” he said, waving his hand around to signify all of life, “will seem like nothing next year. You will look back on this time and know you are stronger than all that.” I believe it. I look at what I was worried about two years ago today and I have to laugh. It’s amusing how I was so wrapped up in trivial things.
In the meantime I take sharp breaths, fighting to breathe. Head above water. Kisa pats me leg everytime I gasp. He’s getting used to me. It’s like I’ve been crying so hard I hyperventilate. Kisa makes the bed everyday and laughs at the twisted sheets. “Harsh night?” He’ll ask while pulling the fitted sheet back over the mattress and untangling the mess of blankets. To me, it’s as bad as wetting the bed. It’s embarrassing how much I kick, toss and turn when I finally fall asleep. It’s all beyond me but I can make it through this because Kisa is beside me.

Memories of MySpace

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One of my projects was to compile all the old MySpace blogs and put them in a book. I really need to keep them because they are the proof that this writing thing works for me. Looking back on the different blogs is like having conversations with myself. I thought I had finished the book, even called it a completed project until I found more entries…out of place and lost words with nowhere to go. The book is messed up now. Ruined. I can’t stick loose pages in where the dates are supposed to fall. Chronology is killed. So, here is my resolution, the solution to the dilemma. What was once over there is now going to come over here. For every old-day blog it will have new life here. October 23, 2005 will be my first…installment??

My next “problem” is to figure out what to call these there and then relics to keep them from becoming confused with the here and now realities. Suggestions? Here’s what has been thought up so far:
BOO – Blog of Old
Skeleton from the Closest
Kisa’s idea is to make sure the original date of the blog is clearly at the top – maybe as the title of the blog? I like that. Leave it to the logical.

Ode to Mickey Hart

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Everyone knows I love drums. I’ve certainly blathered on and on about the people who play them, the sounds they make, and the way they make me feel.
Seeing Mickey Hart & Planet Drum was no different. A performance on the UConn campus on a chilly, rainy night. Kisa was able to snag one pic of Zakir Hussain looking up at us while playing with Mickey. This was towards the end of the show – considered the encore – with security standing right behind us.
The whole show was amazing. When we first walked into the auditorium I was fascinated by the stage. Five different “pods” of sound with two curious looking sculptures front and center. It was obvious where Mickey would play but, not knowing the other drummers, I wasn’t sure who sat (or stood) where. But, really, to be honest, it was the interesting sculptures that held my attention. Gentle spotlights lit up twisted limbs. I saw dolphins in one, confusion on the other. They looked magical in the light. Their shadows created monsters on the floor.
Finally, the lights went down and the boys came out. The very first thing Mickey did was introduce the weird sculptures. Gnarled stumps pulled from the ground. Ever see the video by the Cranberries – the one where a bunch of women work a stump from the ground, take it home and after bathing it it becomes a man? It looked like that stump was on stage. The first stump was called “Squid” and was as old as the Civil War. That was the one I called confusion. The second stump was a giant Redwood called “Twin Dolphins.” I was pleased Mickey saw what I did. Then Zakir and Mickey proceeded to play the stumps. Using hammers, drumsticks, fingers…anything and everything, the show opened with the playing of trees. The sounds knocked and echoed, banged and trembled. Loud and soft. The entire auditorium was filled with the sound of drumming on trees. It only got better from there.

Getting Away

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For years I have wanted to make it to the Pumpkin Fest in Keene, New Hampshire. I can’t remember all the reasons why we didn’t; all the excuses for not going in years past, but this year we finally made it! I ended up taking nearly 100 pictures. For every shot a little stress melted away. For every sweet pumpkin face I relaxed just a little more. Only an hour away from home but miles away from the madness.

There is something magical about pumpkins. I know there is no way I could put this into words. At least sanely. In short, I see faces in the uncarved orange orbs. I see Jack way before he is born. Today, it was fun to see the creativity of others. The messages people want to put out there – through a pumpkin. We saw a lot of Greenbay Packers pumpkins (what’s up with that?), a few Patriots pumpkins, and lots of humor. I personally liked the puking pumpkins best. It’s all I can do to stay away from the bottle myself these days. Pumpkins in trees, pumpkins on cannons, pumpkins in fountains, on street corners, in flower beds, on people’s heads. Kisa got a funny pic of me with two such nuts.
Then, there was the food. We started with sampling spicy pickles. They start off sweet and end with heat. Perfect for hamburgers. (We bought a jar on the way out.) Then we went for the whoopie. Pumpkin, of course. Next, teriyaki chicken on stick and garlic bread. Yet another whoopie. Pumpkin, of course.
We blew off the crafts except for the food related items. Heidi Jo was there so, of course, we had to buy nearly $40 worth of her wares (we missed her at the Big E). It was all about the food.
And the pumpkins.

Cult of (multiple) Personality

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                                      monkey.jpgjapanese.jpg

Someone really liked a picture of me that my brother-in-law took. He said “that’s so you” when he saw it. What do you mean? I was puzzled and didn’t get it. When it comes to me, myself and moi, I rarely get it. “You are awkward. Silent and awkward, waiting for the photographer to go away so you can go back to where you are comfortable.” Where is that I want to know. I cocked my head, trying to remember the moment for myself. “Behind the lens, on the fringe, out of view” my friend replied. Ah, yes. That’s me. Completely. Now I remembered my goaway attitude. Yet, when I went to add the pic to a disc for my mother “spaceball” was the title of the pic. Spaceball. One man’s idea of spaceball is another woman’s fear of you. Two personalities on one face.

The latest issue of Real Simple came with research on how to find your “right” scent. I love these quizzes that tell you what type of person you’re supposed to be based on how you prefer to socialize, spend your holidays, or how many times you let the phone ring. This time I let kisa answer everything. Kind of a HowWellDoYouKnowYourWife? stunt. I’m shameless. To my utter delight he answered every question “right”… even the ones where the answer is, “well, it depends. Is September considered Autumn? Well, then I think B” or “that’s a tough one…is it that time of the month?”
By the time we were finished I was across the board screwed when it came to picking a scent. It was a tie between woodsy, clean, and oriental. Floral came in dead last. Weird. The most popular scent was my least favorite…according to what drink I would order out with the girls, what piece of furniture I’d most likely own, and whether I prefer the smell of books over baking bread or the ocean. There wasn’t one scent that won out so I told my husband I guess that means I’ll buy a bottle of each!

Ask me how I like my eggs and true to Runaway Bride style I wouldn’t be able to answer you the same way twice. I want to be Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn and Ani DiFranco all at once. I’ll tell you I’m an orphan after you meet my Black Crow family.  I don’t think I’m the same person twice in one day.

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

Big Sun Smiling

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BigSun

What happens to a person when she has reached the point of laughing for no reason at all? Giggling because there’s no turning back? Stirring stirfry on the stove I answered the phone as if I never left work. My husband giggled on his end and brought me back home. Woops. I mean…hello? Too late. He continued to laugh at me. There was no taking back the slip, nothing left to do but laugh along. The ingredients for Pad Thai were in front of me but I was miles away from my kitchen. Hopeless and pitiful. Yes, I admited, I was still thinking about work. Obviously. I could hear kisa’s eyeroll over the phone coupled with his gentle sigh. He knows where I’m coming from even if he’s not from there. Cutting limes and chopping peanuts I was thinking about a mouse.
There is a mouse in my office. He (?) has broken into my packets of hot cereal and crackers, strewn crumbs across my desk. The sad thing is I knew this before I moved in, even before I ever dreamed the office would be mine. I simply moved in without memory of the mouse. Now, I’m reminded and all I can do is sigh. It’s just one more thing.
Last night I dreamed of a cruise ship. My family on a cruise and me waving goodbye from the wharf. According to my new dream book that means my family is either going to die or I want them to go away. Well, since they are nowhere near me I have given myself worry. I resisted the urge to call them all day. What would I have said? How to explain my latest neurotic dreamscape? I have to laugh at myself for how ridiculous it all seems.