wish i could rearrange these posts, but i'm not sure how...anyways, this was written march 5th, 2008...it was the beginning of the fairy tale ending...see below.
it's my birthday......
....and i'll wish if i want to...because that's what you do on birthdays. i wrote 38 wishes down in my journal this morning, threw birthday dust on my kids and spun it through the house....thought i'd post my wishes, but then, if i did, they wouldn't come true, unrevokable birthday knowledge.
This is my all time favorite holiday. My birthday. The day I came to life. How can you not celebrate this, how can people mourn their birthdays, dread them....i will never understand. The other holidays are all so much work, so many expectations and requirments. Your birthday is just that, yours. Do something different each year, or nothing at all. Lovely. sit back, enjoy.
After knowing more of my story, finding out who i really am, and how i came to be...this day holds so much more emotion for me, makes so much more sense.
The silver cords that bind each of us to those we love are tugged a little harder, the memories pass a little sharper, the connections seem uncanny. Sometime over the night, the woman who haunts my sleep, and the man who loves her with a romantic fierceness fairytales are made of, broke her hip. This man who loves her, accidently fell on her. This couple i wrote of so many times, this couple who raised me and like the fairies in rumplestilsken, blessed me with unusual gifts, and as their legend goes, "they will one day die beside each other, like romeo and juliet, one cannot live without the other" he followed the ambulance to the hospital, complained of chest pains, so he wouldn't be forced to leave her side, besides, he didn't know his way home from this strange hospital, far away form the solar paneled house they built in the Michigan woods with their own hands. Today, of all days. Fitting somehow.
... i opened a message, 'happy birthday' from a part of my life that i've always known, but never knew. this girl who i've seen in fits and starts, who disapears and becomes unknowable...just like i do...who lives inside out and upside down...on purpose sometimes...just like i do....so many years, so many memories...all different, but the same.
today, yes, it's fitting. connections and silver cords and pieces of my heart thrown about like the magical birthday dust i pretend we are full of on our birthdays. It's meant to share and sprinkle and create tsunami waves of love....
thank you jacqueline, i love you too.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
heart games
it’s a sick game really
blame boredom
tossing my heart into fast moving traffic
just to watch it squirm as it dodges
leaps and lunges to avoid sheer disaster
strangely addictive
dangerous, evil even
my heart is so fragile
i feel the need to toughen it up
it’s naive
people with road rage confuse her
Maybe it’s not so bad
maybe i’m like a mama bird pushing her out to learn to fly
or a trainer getting her ready for the big day
or, maybe it’s punishment for leaving me wide open
not locking the doors
or turning out the light
whatever the reason
i toss it out again and again
she always comes back
a little worse for the wear
a bit bruised
but wiser
blame boredom
tossing my heart into fast moving traffic
just to watch it squirm as it dodges
leaps and lunges to avoid sheer disaster
strangely addictive
dangerous, evil even
my heart is so fragile
i feel the need to toughen it up
it’s naive
people with road rage confuse her
Maybe it’s not so bad
maybe i’m like a mama bird pushing her out to learn to fly
or a trainer getting her ready for the big day
or, maybe it’s punishment for leaving me wide open
not locking the doors
or turning out the light
whatever the reason
i toss it out again and again
she always comes back
a little worse for the wear
a bit bruised
but wiser
solitary confinment
traveled alone this weekend to my grandma’s funeral. i could have gone up with family, saved some money, spent some time talking...but...i didn’t. no offense to friends or family, but sometimes ya’ll just wear me out. a true introvert, i crave silence, solitary confinement, toss in a little loneliness and i can create again.
besides, i travel through this life a million miles an hour, rushing here, rushing there, behind schedule on everything, like the white rabbit in wonderland, i’m late, i’m late for a very important date. everything seems important, urgent, necessary....but this weekend....i got to travel at a leisurly 70 mile per hour pace...alone.
everything stopped.
traveling alone in a car for so many hoursmy soul got a chance to stretch out in the backseatthoughts finally got a chance to speak their mind and even converseamongst themselves. although, often, i’d have to turn the radio up to chest thumbing, earsplitting volumes to drown out their intenstity especially when the thoughts would start to get too personal, start pushing my buttons.
after the funeral i checked into a hotel. alone. i drew. swam, listened to music, took a bath, watched a movie, read a book, slept with no alarm, i could run away, i could live in this hotel i thought, forever...then i got the bill under my door and realized home was a much better deal.
the drive back was uneventful, my mind shifted to neutral, relaxed, driving under blue skies, everything seems okay again,
manageable chaos.
physically and mentally, home.
besides, i travel through this life a million miles an hour, rushing here, rushing there, behind schedule on everything, like the white rabbit in wonderland, i’m late, i’m late for a very important date. everything seems important, urgent, necessary....but this weekend....i got to travel at a leisurly 70 mile per hour pace...alone.
everything stopped.
traveling alone in a car for so many hoursmy soul got a chance to stretch out in the backseatthoughts finally got a chance to speak their mind and even converseamongst themselves. although, often, i’d have to turn the radio up to chest thumbing, earsplitting volumes to drown out their intenstity especially when the thoughts would start to get too personal, start pushing my buttons.
after the funeral i checked into a hotel. alone. i drew. swam, listened to music, took a bath, watched a movie, read a book, slept with no alarm, i could run away, i could live in this hotel i thought, forever...then i got the bill under my door and realized home was a much better deal.
the drive back was uneventful, my mind shifted to neutral, relaxed, driving under blue skies, everything seems okay again,
manageable chaos.
physically and mentally, home.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
fairy tale ending
My favorite fairy tale is coming to an end. The fairy princess has already fell into her deep sleep, her prince not far behind. He wants nothing more than to fulfill their special pact. Made when the story was just beginning.
Some couples talk about what each other should do when they die, where important documents are, should I sell the house, remarry....not these two romantic fools....no, they knew one couldn’t exist without the other...besides they craved the drama, the romeo and juliet passion, their to hell with what people think mindset. I was little, living in their home, listening to the beautiful, tragic ending of this couple again and again. She’d wear a fancy long silk nightgown and robe, he’d wear two piece striped pajamas, they’d take a long nap, side by side for eternity. It was death, but they made it sound so beautiful.
Being told this story for so many years, I knew it was coming, I know people die, I know grandparents won’t be around forever, I know. And the sadness isn’t the helpless feeling that I had when friends or friends children die. It’s not the shock and pain of sudden loss or the agony of a drawn out illness. It’s the end of the best story I ever read. It’s the closing of the book. The selfish sadness of not being able to show her my purple office decorated in her eccentric style or have her ooo and ahh over a new painting, or share words, one poet to another.
Shirley, the poet, songwriter, artist, birdloving gardener. The one with the solar powered house, in the middle of michigan wilderness, with homemade security systems and flowers galore. Trips to Nashville to plug demo tapes and accept awards. Black coffee, dark chocolate, jump ropes, suntanning in the buff.
The world didn’t exist for her most of the time, reality wasn’t necessary, she built her world, she wrote the story, she played the beautiful leading lady, her deep blue eyes and black as night hair, shy, but certain. She knew the end. She wrote it.
Some couples talk about what each other should do when they die, where important documents are, should I sell the house, remarry....not these two romantic fools....no, they knew one couldn’t exist without the other...besides they craved the drama, the romeo and juliet passion, their to hell with what people think mindset. I was little, living in their home, listening to the beautiful, tragic ending of this couple again and again. She’d wear a fancy long silk nightgown and robe, he’d wear two piece striped pajamas, they’d take a long nap, side by side for eternity. It was death, but they made it sound so beautiful.
Being told this story for so many years, I knew it was coming, I know people die, I know grandparents won’t be around forever, I know. And the sadness isn’t the helpless feeling that I had when friends or friends children die. It’s not the shock and pain of sudden loss or the agony of a drawn out illness. It’s the end of the best story I ever read. It’s the closing of the book. The selfish sadness of not being able to show her my purple office decorated in her eccentric style or have her ooo and ahh over a new painting, or share words, one poet to another.
Shirley, the poet, songwriter, artist, birdloving gardener. The one with the solar powered house, in the middle of michigan wilderness, with homemade security systems and flowers galore. Trips to Nashville to plug demo tapes and accept awards. Black coffee, dark chocolate, jump ropes, suntanning in the buff.
The world didn’t exist for her most of the time, reality wasn’t necessary, she built her world, she wrote the story, she played the beautiful leading lady, her deep blue eyes and black as night hair, shy, but certain. She knew the end. She wrote it.
Monday, March 24, 2008
sadness sponge
It may be true that misery loves company,
but sadness, sadness just needs space.
Sadness soaks up the tears, fills up every pore.
The memories need to marinate.
The soul quietly collects its souvenirs before moving along
Sadness calls you to look her in the eye
gaze inside, don’t be afraid
the water is deep, still and crystal clear
pause. look. remember.
rest your head on her lap
she’s gentle, and soft...but strong, lean in
sadness supports you now
shut your eyes,
no words, no questions
there’s no comfort in answers
just rest and sadness will
rock you to sleep
shhhhh.....
It may be true that misery loves company,
but sadness, sadness just needs space.
Sadness soaks up the tears, fills up every pore.
The memories need to marinate.
The soul quietly collects its souvenirs before moving along
Sadness calls you to look her in the eye
gaze inside, don’t be afraid
the water is deep, still and crystal clear
pause. look. remember.
rest your head on her lap
she’s gentle, and soft...but strong, lean in
sadness supports you now
shut your eyes,
no words, no questions
there’s no comfort in answers
just rest and sadness will
rock you to sleep
shhhhh.....
Thursday, March 20, 2008
'Little Red'
playing with a new scanner, pulled this off my mantle, it's rough, but it's mine, i made this a few years ago.
i love this fairy tale with a bizarre intensity, through libary book sales and thrift stores i have numerous versions of this...and... my winter coat looks very similiar to hers. :)
the big bad wolf, the woods, grandma's house...these are a few of my favorite things.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
i read
i read
i am a reader,
i read all the time.
stealing moments,
i read like a starving wolf,
gulping words,
devouring pages,
looking for something lost in the dark.
i read
as i walk through the house
carry books in the car in case a meeting is postponed or there is a major delay on the freeway
i prop books up while loading the dishwasher,. folding laundry, waiting for web pages to load
this obsession isn't new, but it's taken on a new life
i read rather than sleep anymore
the words not fully making their way to my brain
but necessary all the same.
i am a reader,
i read all the time.
stealing moments,
i read like a starving wolf,
gulping words,
devouring pages,
looking for something lost in the dark.
i read
as i walk through the house
carry books in the car in case a meeting is postponed or there is a major delay on the freeway
i prop books up while loading the dishwasher,. folding laundry, waiting for web pages to load
this obsession isn't new, but it's taken on a new life
i read rather than sleep anymore
the words not fully making their way to my brain
but necessary all the same.
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