Cleaning Out

gr4c5Leave a comment

Sometimes I get beyond frustrated with my way too much stuff. I have one of those lives where even the paperclips have a home, yet you wouldn’t know it with all the junk I have around. Junk junk junk. It feels excessive, stupid and indulgent to have so much. Kisa and I have two full sets of dishes. One from my life without him (from 1990), and one from our humble beginning together. Do we really need 20 mugs for a two person household? I don’t think so.

So today….today kisa and I are cleaning. The in-laws announced the arrival of a huge dumpster and a whole week to fill it. I hear it’s the walk-in kind. How cool is that. I can imagine it like a gaping mouth that will accept only garbage, trash and unwanted junk. I can’t wait to feed it. Cookbooks without a single diary entry…mattresses tired of waiting for guests…posters from high school…stuffed animals from old boyfriends…lying letters…anything related to broken promises or unfulfilled good intentions. I hope it’s really, really hungry.

I want a lighter life. I want to be stark like the mountain range, not cluttered with clusters of trees and debris. I want more of a mis en place existence. I can’t explain it more than that.
Stay tuned.

Limbo

gr4c5Leave a comment

My favorite time of day isn’t really when the sun is shining. Driving home the other night I tried to capture the light in my mind- pin it down to describe it. It’s that time of day when it’s light enough to see the shape of clouds in the sky, but dark enough that streetlights start to flicker on. Dusk. Twilight. The time when, looking at the horizon, you see the fading color of the sun: the color of old bruised skin yellow. Straight up above, the darkened sky of almost black. A dark so dark that strong, bright stars twinkle bravely. Firstcomers to the party. It’s like seeing night and day at the same time and time itself is caught in limbo between. There is a magic to that space-between light. I see things with clarity in that light. I am happy to be alive in that light. I can’t explain it anymore than that.

Happiness Is…Me

gr4c55 Comments

Somewhere in the back of my mind I seem to recall a book. Something in my childhood that I held dear. I’m thinking it had to have been written by Charles Schultz because I distinctly remember Snoopy and the gang. It was called “Happiness Is…” and within its pages were pictures and proclamations of what made someone happy. “Happiness is…a warm blanket” with a picture of Linus or something like that. I’m guessing. It’s a murky memory at best.
Throughout the years I have played the “Happiness Is…” game, filling in the blanks whenever something made me happy. Happiness is…whoopie pies fresh from Moody’s Diner. Happiness is…my husband massaging my feet. Happiness is…finding a great pair of shoes…chai tea…nanook slippers…You get the point.
Lately, I’ve been playing the game a lot. Happiness is talking to a friend for four hours and not noticing a single second. Happiness is hearing from Ohio and talking about the talkative. Happiness is two pumpkins, one smiling, one frowning, on my doorstep. Happiness is Halloween and everything it brings. But, most of all…last but nowhere near least, happiness is…acceptance when you least expect it.
I talked to my mother on Halloween night for two hours, 20 minutes and 19 seconds. While I struggled with hurt, she helped. While I struggled with disappointment, she didn’t try to tell me differently. She let me feel everything I needed to and thensome. I’m not saying things are perfect. Things rarely are. But. But, I’m on the road to good and that makes me happy.

This Old Post 11/2/05 6:46am

gr4c53 Comments

Note: It’s funny. I didn’t write on 11/1/05 either. What’s even funnier is this post – from two years ago. I could have written it today.

What You Want to Hear
When does the game of he-said/she-said go from conversation to complication? When your heart is too involved…or not enough? When you are close to the subject or you can’t get away from it fast enough?
We played an intricate game of telephone and I’m still trying to sort out the winners and losers. What kind of game are you playing when you don’t have all the facts yet you are pressed for something? You keep saying “I don’t want to get into this” but yet, you do because you picked up the phone in the first place. An active participant without all the answers. Don’t they call that “not playing with a full deck, but playing nonetheless”? The sad thing is, my lack of facts gave someone else the excuse to only hear what he wanted to hear. I’m still trying to sort out if that was a good thing.
My husband is not letting someone else hear what he wants to hear. I admire my man for not giving in to apologies and rug sweeping. He’s smart enough to know this thing is too big to get under there anyway. I applaud him for his decision to confront because he’s not only trying to save a friendship, he’s trying to save a life. My only hope is that he won’t be told “it’s none of your business” because that’s not what he wants to hear.
Seriously, when is it okay to get involved? When is it okay to turn a blind eye? Is it ever okay to simply say I don’t care anymore and walk away? How can you catch yourself before you care too much and it’s beyond too late? How can you act of out love and hate at the same time? My answer would be you can’t but still, I wish I could battle through the pernicious and arrive at sanity’s doorstep unscathed. “We are the roses in the garden, beauty with thorns among the leaves. To pick a rose you ask your hands to bleed.” ~10,000 Maniacs.
Take the good with the bad. Suffer the pain with pleasure. Without one you simply cannot have the other. The trick is to know when to answer the phone…and hear what you want to hear.

This Old Life 10/31/05 9:46am

gr4c52 Comments

pumpkins.jpg

All Things Evil
What is it about Halloween? The one night where pumpkins turn into jack-o-lanterns, shadows dart from house to house, leaves crackle under foot and the air takes on a crisp, smoky smell. Out come costumes that scare, masks that hide, cobwebs, candy and laughter. I love Halloween. I love the haunting, the magic, the feeling of something creeping just behind you.
Every year my living room turns into a shrine of all things October 31st. A pumpkin that screams, a skull that bleeds red wax, a gargoyle with ruby eyes, a witch who proclaims, “I aint yo mama”, a hissing black cat, several ghosts, life-like tarantulas…Every year I get something new. I’m a kid again, wanting to sit in the sincere pumpkin patch of innocence, waiting for the Great Pumpkin chanting “I believe. I believe.”
I love walking around our neighborhood on Halloween. One neighbor shows Nightmare Before Christmas on the side of her house, another has glowing faces in every window. Almost everyone has a creative jack-o-lantern on their stoop. Teenagers race around in the dark, hoping for tricks while excited, giggly children traipse from house to house looking for treats. Laughter is in the air along with something else…something spooky. I’d like to think the dead really are prowling the earth; authentic ghosts joining the fun, blending in for a night of mischief.

Coming Home

gr4c5Leave a comment

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

gr4c5Leave a comment

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

gr4c55 Comments

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

gr4c54 Comments

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

gr4c5Leave a comment

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)

gr4c5Leave a comment

 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.

The Way Men Act

gr4c5Leave a comment

Way Men ActLipman, Elinor. The Way Men Act. New York: Washington Square Press, 1992.

 I had to laugh when I wrote out the title of this blog. Yet another one that could be misconstrued as something juicy and personal. I guess I could write a whole dissertation on the way men act towards me, but that wouldn’t be the book review that this is intended to be.

Elinor Lipman celebrates a birthday in October so it was only appropriate that I try to squeeze in a novel of hers in the last days of the dying month. I have met Lipman before (at a local conference) so it was no surprise to discover The Way Men Act takes place in “my” town. While thinly veiled as somewhere else it was easy to recognize the landmarks and quirks that make up where I live. I have to admit that made reading The Way Men Act a little difficult. The entire time I pictured real store fronts, real schools, real people.
All in all I breezed through this book because it was a simple read. The kind of chick lit you crawl in the bath with and can read in one soak. The plot isn’t complicated, only fun fun fun, the way chick lit is supposed to read. Lipman’s heroine, Melinda LeBlanc returns home to Harrow. She has mixed feelings about being back where she grew up as if being home implies she didn’t make it in the real world. She comes back (single at 30) to work in her cousin’s flower shop. Her job is sandwiched between two other come-home-again classmates from high school: Libby, a fashion designer with her own shop, and Dennis, a wiz at tying flies for fishing for his own shop. In addition to being hung up on being home, Melinda has issues with educational status (Harrow is a snobby college town and she only has a high school degree) and of course, men. The ending was predictable. Melinda is too talented to be working for someone else, and yes, she’s gets the guy.

Favorite line: “Could a man hate me that strenuously that the weight of it would flip itself over and come up again as love?” (p 49)
I flagged other lines only to realize it wasn’t the wording I admired so much. It was Melinda’s relationship with her mother. Every scene had me envious of their obvious closeness.

BookLust Twist: Mentioned twice in Book Lust once in the chapter “Elinor Lipman: Too Good To Miss (p 146), and “My Own Private Dui” (p 165).  The latter chapter begs an explanation: Pearl has her own classification system for her books and The Way Men Act falls under the category of “books I reread when I’m feeling blue” (p 166).

Bean Trees

gr4c54 Comments

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

gr4c55 Comments

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

gr4c54 Comments

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.