Everybody needs to be rescued sometimes.
Some days the world simply feels too overwhelming, to heavy and too vast.
It's on days like this that we appreciate the people in our lives who have enough compassion to understand, enough love to try, and enough courage to care.
Sometimes we don't realize we're even capable of receiving help. It's all too easy for a person to feel so utterly, completely and absolutely alone, that they're barely even able to ask for it.
Don't forget that you're NEVER alone.
Even when you feel pulled down into the depths of the deepest, scariest, most unknown vortex of yourself, you're not alone.
Feeling far away can be part of this too; not wanting to disrupt other's lives, or put the burden on someone else... the truth is, when you reach out, even if it's only for someone to listen, or talk 'normally,' to you for a while so you can feel some of the relief of the regularity of someone else's life--- that's what often times, is the exact thing one needs to anchor again.
Asking for help is the most brave thing a person can do. It's not weakness, it's strength. Knowing when to seek what you need--- STRENGTH. A person must be STRONG to do it.
I used to suffer by myself; I'm a sensitive, an all-too-energetically aware being. It's only been in the last 5 years or so that I realized exactly how things affect me in this life and this world; I'm still figuring some things out.
Everyone has a gray place, a dark place, a murkiness that hides behind the eyes and the heart.
It's one of the many things that makes us human, that makes us alive.
It's really hard to ask for help sometimes. Goddamned hard, but it's worth doing.
There are things that cannot be held, survived, contained or controlled alone. Some demons within are too great and a body needs backup to keep them at bay so they can be processed a little at a time.
There is not one kind of depression, sadness or fear. There are hundreds, thousands, millions. Every person has a different interpretation-- a different piece of puzzle.
You don't have to know exactly where someone is coming from to help. You have only to listen. To be present for them with love, compassion and patience.
No fixing. No taking over. Just listen to them-- it can help a person feel empowered, seen and loved, even if it's only for a moment. That little bit of hope and light - that's some times the difference between a body making it through, or succumbing to the pain, fear and deep.
No one is responsible for anybody but themselves - people can't be saved outwardly, they have to decide to save themselves, to do the work, and this is no easy task.
Remember to have patience for others and patience for yourself. It's no good to hold on to a pattern of behavior or belief system, that doesn't serve you as an individual. It's just like wearing an ill-fitting garment; horribly uncomfortable.
Please don't give up: on yourself, or someone else.
You don't have to remain constantly vigilant, but be open to someone who needs you, even if it's only for a 5 minute window to hear a friendly, comforting voice.
Depreciative judgement never helps. Of self, or of others when a trial appears. It makes things harder, more painful and clouded.
Honesty with one's self and others is what releases the hurt sometimes. It's okay to be scared and feel like a freak-- you're NOT one.
There's a quote, no one knows who it's really attributed to, but it goes like this:
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
Your playing small doesn't serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We are born to manifest the glory within us.
It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do to the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
So, BE YOURSELF.
Warts and all, darkness and light, hard and easy; no depths are too deep, no height too disorienting.
Also, please don't forget: Someone loves you and cares whether you live or die. Please don't ever be afraid to ask for help.
This entry is dedicated to E: You are loved. <3
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
A winding dirt path leading up to a stone cottage with an outlying lake, just visible beyond the huge shade trees...
Ding-ding-ding, DING-ding-ding, DING-DING-ding, DING-DING-DING! sang J's cell alarm.
Mumbling, he hit the snooze icon on it, and rolling over, pulled me into him.
We sighed happily in unison.
Duggita, DUggitta, DUGitta, DUGGitta, DUGGItta, DUGGITta, DUGGITTA!
"Uuuugh, hrrrummmph, StoppitCAT!" moaned J.
"Mrrrow? MROOOOOOW--EEEE-oooowww," whined Seuss.
Duggitta, DUG---- swoop! Seuss was whisked away mid-paw of the bedside cabinet. When he's awake and hungry, he finds the most annoying thing he can do to coerce action into his humans. Eating homework papers, eating papers, shredding boxes, shredding bags, playing with things that make really irritating repetitive noises like pawing doors, cabinets, and pushing books off of tables...
"Gotcha Bad Cat. Here," he said as he thrust our tabby Maine coon, the younger of our two males, in between his body and the form of mine.
"PRRRRRRUUURRRRRRRRRURRRRR," Seuss responded, his large warm body vibrating against my ribcage.
This was nice.... until I peeked through my half-opened eyes at the clock and read: 5:50. We had to get up in 3 minutes... well... correction. J had to get up in 3 minutes.
Lately, I'd been slacking on my duties to get up with him.
Normally, our routine is that we get up together, he goes out to check on the chickens while I make breakfast, then we eat together and I prep his lunch while he packs his bag for the day. Then it's a quick finishing of coffee, a hug and a kiss, and out the door he goes.
However, the new phenomenon is, that I don't get up when he does. As he rises, plunking "dismiss," into his phone, to silence the too-cheerful alarm, I whisper...
"You'll come say goodbye, right?" to which he responds,
"Of course Love," and then continues on his way.
This secondary option to our daily pattern, usually means that he doesn't have time to eat a full breakfast, that he runs out of time to get everything packed before the bus, that he usually forgets something (though never my goodbye hug and kiss) and that as a result, he is much less relaxed in the morning, because he has no help from me.
In short, it's me being a lazy partner.
------------------------------------------------
I'm not sure if it's because it's been so bright and beautiful outside lately, or what, but I've been having a difficult time getting up in the morning. I've also been having a hard time getting my chores done: Piles of laundry remain in their baskets unfolded... we're running out of common household items like a scrubber for the cast iron pans, automatic dish detergent, toilet paper...
I finally remedied that issue yesterday: I bought auto dish soap, a scrubber and TP. Which reminds me... Disney is certainly getting their adverts out for The Lorax movie. You know, the one based on the Dr. Seuss story?
"I am the Lorax, I speak for the trees...." he drones.
I love trees. I also love Seventh Generation products. These two have married in the advertising campaign for The Lorax movie.
The T.P. I bought yesterday has LORAXs on it. It's rather fabulous, though I DO feel like a putz for purchasing TP with a cartoon character on it, even if I was going to buy that brand anyway, because it's 100% recycled post-consumer waste and it's the SOFTEST of the 'eco-friendly,' brands besides....
Speaking of trees...
I have this vision. I have had it for a long, long time. I think I first imagined it when I in my senior year of high school....
It is the image of a stone cottage with a red door... it's really a stone farmhouse, surrounded by large shade trees... oaks, maples, ashes, lindens, elms.... as you face the cottage, to the left is a dirt path driveway that continues beyond the house to the barn behind it.
Between the dirt and the house, there is a wooden fence: the kind behind which horses are kept. This fence goes around the house and closes in front with a gate, running around the sides and opening up into a larger grass-covered paddock behind the house, connecting to the end of the barn - where the doors are open for the animals to have shelter, shade and covered water.
The barn itself, is a two-story structure; the stalls large and comfortable, enough for 3 or 4 horses, with a large hayloft above; bales stacked in a large space on the right end side of the upstairs. There is a wall behind the hayloft, with a secure door.
On the other end, taking up 2/3 of the 2nd story, is a large, open studio-- well sprung floors, barres, skylights, mirrors and a sound system. Marley covers the hard wood of the floor.
Moving through that to the end of the 2nd story, opposite the hayloft end, is a staircase which leads down to the ground floor, along the stall aisle.
Downstairs are the stalls and a tack-room; with a harness for a team of drafts, lightweight saddles, snaffle bits and bridles, reins, blankets, pads, boots, gloves, helmets, liniment, tools, brushes, sponges, buckets, cabinets, a sink, a small refrigerator, treats, a closet for sweet feed, a first aid kit, a radio...
Leaving the tack room, past the stalls, and out through the gated end (directly under the hayloft on the second story) is the paddock/green mini-pasture that opens across to the back of the house.
On the far end of the fence, on the other side, is the vegetable garden and compost pile.
On the opposite end of the green, the flowers begin, balancing out the veggies. The flowers wrap around to the front of the house, just in front of the fence.
The front of the stone cottage has windows, and flower boxes beneath.
The fenced in area attached to the barn and wrapping around the house, is so the horses can peek in to the kitchen via the window over the sink, which faces the barn, or the dutch door leading out to the back, the top half of which can be left open...
Through the dutch door, to the right is the aforementioned kitchen, complete with double sink (and window) and a large counter along the back wall.
The end of the kitchen is cozied by a farm table with windows all around; wooden and sturdy, that could seat six, or be extended to seat ten to twelve.
The wall opposite the sink, houses a built-in buffet and cabinets; glass and wooden doors holding dishes, cookbooks, cutlery and after that, on the end farthest from the table, is the icebox (refrigerator)... between this wall and the sink wall, in the center of the kitchen, is a moveable island.
Anchored to the floor by wheels with brakes, it includes extra counter space, enough room for a few stools, and can be moved to replace the table at the end of the space, in case the gathering requires all the leaves and thus, a larger dining area.
To the left of the dutch door is the double built in oven-- with a gas range-top stove just after it. Next to that lies the door to the pantry/cellar.
Then a corner built in shelf, for more books and hanging pots and pans, and the end of the kitchen, opposite the table end, is the entry way into the living room.
It is an open, high ceilinged room; the highest in the house. Most of the ceilings are 10.5 feet, this room must be practically double that from floor to ceiling--- it spans into the second story.
Through the entryway, directly across is the large fireplace.
To the left of the doorway, down the wall a ways, is a small half-bath.
Standing in the doorway, looking to the right and front, is a piano, flanked on all sides by the walls of books. A guitar in a floor stand also resides in a corner by the piano, next to it's bench.
Directly to the right, if standing in the entryway again, is the small hallway into the front door. A rack for coats, with a bench and shoe compartments underneath, is built into the tiny hallway that opens to the red door and the open front porch of the house.
It is flagstone, or some other stone, and has a porch swing and windows with the aforementioned flower boxes, with wooden pillars at the corners and framing the stairs to the entrance of the house.
Back in the living room there is a circle rug in the center of the room in front of the fireplace; bordered by a large, deep, but firmly cushioned sofa, with a folded quilt upon it.
Opposite the couch, are a love seat and an overstuffed chair; all cozy and warm.
All the walls of this room, from floor to ceiling, are built in bookshelves; every wall space but the stone chimney over the fireplace are covered with books- with a ladder on each wall to the left, right and across from the fireplace.
To the left and forward, still perspectively standing in the doorway, is a circling, wood carved staircase leading upstairs; the underside of the staircase are again, built in bookshelves.
To stand inside the underside of the staircase, would be to have books winding up and around you in a 360 degree wide ribbon.
Behind the spiral stairway, on the wall of books, is a built in door; unnoticed except by those who know it's there, that can be pulled gently open into a chamber with couches, a projector and rows of movies and films. A sound system lives in here, which can send melodies and music all over the house.
Up the winding, swirling, stairs, at the top of the landing, there is a small, round balcony floating amidst the bookshelves (railings all around, like a crow's nest, except that it opens to the upstairs), which looks down over the warmly lit room.
At the edge of the circle, facing the fireplace, is a large dog bed.
Stepping out of the circle, lead two a wide hallways.
Down the hallway to the right, first door on the left, is an office: comfortable and open, with a large partner's desk and black and white photographs covering a lot of the walls.
Down the a bit further, with a door on the right, is a small linen closet; further down on the right is a the master bedroom.
The door opens to a room with an old, dark wood carved bed, and not much else in the way of furniture, except a large trunk, containing family quilts at the foot of the bed.
Directly across from the bed is a walk-in closet. Next to that, a door opens into a modestly sized full bath. Most of the space taken by a large, extra-long, deep and wide, claw-foot tub with a shower.
Light cascades through windows and skylights in this bathroom, but it is still warm and fresh; not stark and sterile. At the end of the bathroom, lies the second door of access. It opens back into the hallway.
Take the other hallway leading out of the crow's nest, and we find ourselves in the part of the house above the kitchen.
The first door on the left enters a bedroom smaller than the master, with a bed and built in shelving and windows facing the view from the front of the house. This room has an attached half bath and a domed ceiling, with a skylight at the center.
On the other side of the hall, a door opens into a full bathroom with a tub and shower, and another door opening into a bedroom with two twin beds, or stacked bunk beds. It's windows mirror that of the kitchen; looking out on to the small paddock and towards the barn.
A door at the opposite wall, opens back into the hallway.
At the end of this second hall is a door which has a small set of stairs opening up into the attic room, which spreads back out over the footprint of the house.
It has windows at either end, and two skylights dance in the center of the roof, across the broad beams of the ceiling. A bed sits on a frame close to the floor at one end of the room, covered by a quilt.
The rest of the space is open: with cameras, art supplies, and other miscellaneous activity-related items placed here and there on a single shelf, running under the windows around the room.
There is a rocking chair by the other window opposite end. Four large windows, one each in the center of the wall, provide a stunning view of the landscape.
This stone farmhouse is shaped rather like a tall rectangle; it is cute and rustic and medium sized, not huge, though it uses it's space quite well.
High ceilings make smaller rooms seem larger; stone and wood send a timeless feel throughout the place.
It's all in my head. It's all... safe. It's all made-up.
You'll note that the house of which I've written is uninhabited; oh sure, evidences are there, like the dog bed, but in my description it is silent. Untouched.
The horses, the dog and cats, the things I left out of this description:
The lake out beyond the property,
the unmentioned shed which holds the cart the draft team can pull and the gardening tools,
the two-car garage attached to the end of the barn opposite the hay loft and paddock;
the pasture beyond bordering the lake along with the rest of the property;
the birds twittering high above in the canopy of shade trees;
the imaginary children padding barefoot around the floors -- no carpet, just a few rugs here and there... radiant heat flooring in the bathrooms;
quilts all over the place;
pies cooling on the windowsills...
This is the home of my imagination.
It is the place I return to in my mind for solitude and the company of a family not yet come together-- not yet born.
It is the place where my wishes come and go; the place I dream of finding, or building and resting within.
It is the sacred space of my heart; a place that I have dreamed of, yet know not whether it exists beyond the realm of my yearning and creation.
There are so many things I want to do, so many things that I want to experience and learn.
The children I love already, but who haven't even been conceived!
Such is this: my feeling of time is circular, I feel all this is familiar, even though I haven't experienced most of it yet.
It is all a huge, intricately ornate deja-vu for me.
Will I ever find it? This home that popped into my head one day? This sanctuary in the realm of possibilities?
Perhaps I'll find a space that has elements of it: that is more realistic. Some home made of stone, with land for horses and space for a garden.
Until then, whether I happen upon this home of my dreams, or whether I must build it with my own two hands, or hire a contractor, I will keep on dreaming.
Because after all; if you're going to dream, why not dream as well you are able to?
How else will you know what you're looking for when you see it?
Mumbling, he hit the snooze icon on it, and rolling over, pulled me into him.
We sighed happily in unison.
Duggita, DUggitta, DUGitta, DUGGitta, DUGGItta, DUGGITta, DUGGITTA!
"Uuuugh, hrrrummmph, StoppitCAT!" moaned J.
"Mrrrow? MROOOOOOW--EEEE-oooowww," whined Seuss.
Duggitta, DUG---- swoop! Seuss was whisked away mid-paw of the bedside cabinet. When he's awake and hungry, he finds the most annoying thing he can do to coerce action into his humans. Eating homework papers, eating papers, shredding boxes, shredding bags, playing with things that make really irritating repetitive noises like pawing doors, cabinets, and pushing books off of tables...
"Gotcha Bad Cat. Here," he said as he thrust our tabby Maine coon, the younger of our two males, in between his body and the form of mine.
"PRRRRRRUUURRRRRRRRRURRRRR," Seuss responded, his large warm body vibrating against my ribcage.
This was nice.... until I peeked through my half-opened eyes at the clock and read: 5:50. We had to get up in 3 minutes... well... correction. J had to get up in 3 minutes.
Lately, I'd been slacking on my duties to get up with him.
Normally, our routine is that we get up together, he goes out to check on the chickens while I make breakfast, then we eat together and I prep his lunch while he packs his bag for the day. Then it's a quick finishing of coffee, a hug and a kiss, and out the door he goes.
However, the new phenomenon is, that I don't get up when he does. As he rises, plunking "dismiss," into his phone, to silence the too-cheerful alarm, I whisper...
"You'll come say goodbye, right?" to which he responds,
"Of course Love," and then continues on his way.
This secondary option to our daily pattern, usually means that he doesn't have time to eat a full breakfast, that he runs out of time to get everything packed before the bus, that he usually forgets something (though never my goodbye hug and kiss) and that as a result, he is much less relaxed in the morning, because he has no help from me.
In short, it's me being a lazy partner.
------------------------------------------------
I'm not sure if it's because it's been so bright and beautiful outside lately, or what, but I've been having a difficult time getting up in the morning. I've also been having a hard time getting my chores done: Piles of laundry remain in their baskets unfolded... we're running out of common household items like a scrubber for the cast iron pans, automatic dish detergent, toilet paper...
I finally remedied that issue yesterday: I bought auto dish soap, a scrubber and TP. Which reminds me... Disney is certainly getting their adverts out for The Lorax movie. You know, the one based on the Dr. Seuss story?
"I am the Lorax, I speak for the trees...." he drones.
I love trees. I also love Seventh Generation products. These two have married in the advertising campaign for The Lorax movie.
The T.P. I bought yesterday has LORAXs on it. It's rather fabulous, though I DO feel like a putz for purchasing TP with a cartoon character on it, even if I was going to buy that brand anyway, because it's 100% recycled post-consumer waste and it's the SOFTEST of the 'eco-friendly,' brands besides....
Speaking of trees...
I have this vision. I have had it for a long, long time. I think I first imagined it when I in my senior year of high school....
It is the image of a stone cottage with a red door... it's really a stone farmhouse, surrounded by large shade trees... oaks, maples, ashes, lindens, elms.... as you face the cottage, to the left is a dirt path driveway that continues beyond the house to the barn behind it.
Between the dirt and the house, there is a wooden fence: the kind behind which horses are kept. This fence goes around the house and closes in front with a gate, running around the sides and opening up into a larger grass-covered paddock behind the house, connecting to the end of the barn - where the doors are open for the animals to have shelter, shade and covered water.
The barn itself, is a two-story structure; the stalls large and comfortable, enough for 3 or 4 horses, with a large hayloft above; bales stacked in a large space on the right end side of the upstairs. There is a wall behind the hayloft, with a secure door.
On the other end, taking up 2/3 of the 2nd story, is a large, open studio-- well sprung floors, barres, skylights, mirrors and a sound system. Marley covers the hard wood of the floor.
Moving through that to the end of the 2nd story, opposite the hayloft end, is a staircase which leads down to the ground floor, along the stall aisle.
Downstairs are the stalls and a tack-room; with a harness for a team of drafts, lightweight saddles, snaffle bits and bridles, reins, blankets, pads, boots, gloves, helmets, liniment, tools, brushes, sponges, buckets, cabinets, a sink, a small refrigerator, treats, a closet for sweet feed, a first aid kit, a radio...
Leaving the tack room, past the stalls, and out through the gated end (directly under the hayloft on the second story) is the paddock/green mini-pasture that opens across to the back of the house.
On the far end of the fence, on the other side, is the vegetable garden and compost pile.
On the opposite end of the green, the flowers begin, balancing out the veggies. The flowers wrap around to the front of the house, just in front of the fence.
The front of the stone cottage has windows, and flower boxes beneath.
The fenced in area attached to the barn and wrapping around the house, is so the horses can peek in to the kitchen via the window over the sink, which faces the barn, or the dutch door leading out to the back, the top half of which can be left open...
Through the dutch door, to the right is the aforementioned kitchen, complete with double sink (and window) and a large counter along the back wall.
The end of the kitchen is cozied by a farm table with windows all around; wooden and sturdy, that could seat six, or be extended to seat ten to twelve.
The wall opposite the sink, houses a built-in buffet and cabinets; glass and wooden doors holding dishes, cookbooks, cutlery and after that, on the end farthest from the table, is the icebox (refrigerator)... between this wall and the sink wall, in the center of the kitchen, is a moveable island.
Anchored to the floor by wheels with brakes, it includes extra counter space, enough room for a few stools, and can be moved to replace the table at the end of the space, in case the gathering requires all the leaves and thus, a larger dining area.
To the left of the dutch door is the double built in oven-- with a gas range-top stove just after it. Next to that lies the door to the pantry/cellar.
Then a corner built in shelf, for more books and hanging pots and pans, and the end of the kitchen, opposite the table end, is the entry way into the living room.
It is an open, high ceilinged room; the highest in the house. Most of the ceilings are 10.5 feet, this room must be practically double that from floor to ceiling--- it spans into the second story.
Through the entryway, directly across is the large fireplace.
To the left of the doorway, down the wall a ways, is a small half-bath.
Standing in the doorway, looking to the right and front, is a piano, flanked on all sides by the walls of books. A guitar in a floor stand also resides in a corner by the piano, next to it's bench.
Directly to the right, if standing in the entryway again, is the small hallway into the front door. A rack for coats, with a bench and shoe compartments underneath, is built into the tiny hallway that opens to the red door and the open front porch of the house.
It is flagstone, or some other stone, and has a porch swing and windows with the aforementioned flower boxes, with wooden pillars at the corners and framing the stairs to the entrance of the house.
Back in the living room there is a circle rug in the center of the room in front of the fireplace; bordered by a large, deep, but firmly cushioned sofa, with a folded quilt upon it.
Opposite the couch, are a love seat and an overstuffed chair; all cozy and warm.
All the walls of this room, from floor to ceiling, are built in bookshelves; every wall space but the stone chimney over the fireplace are covered with books- with a ladder on each wall to the left, right and across from the fireplace.
To the left and forward, still perspectively standing in the doorway, is a circling, wood carved staircase leading upstairs; the underside of the staircase are again, built in bookshelves.
To stand inside the underside of the staircase, would be to have books winding up and around you in a 360 degree wide ribbon.
Behind the spiral stairway, on the wall of books, is a built in door; unnoticed except by those who know it's there, that can be pulled gently open into a chamber with couches, a projector and rows of movies and films. A sound system lives in here, which can send melodies and music all over the house.
Up the winding, swirling, stairs, at the top of the landing, there is a small, round balcony floating amidst the bookshelves (railings all around, like a crow's nest, except that it opens to the upstairs), which looks down over the warmly lit room.
At the edge of the circle, facing the fireplace, is a large dog bed.
Stepping out of the circle, lead two a wide hallways.
Down the hallway to the right, first door on the left, is an office: comfortable and open, with a large partner's desk and black and white photographs covering a lot of the walls.
Down the a bit further, with a door on the right, is a small linen closet; further down on the right is a the master bedroom.
The door opens to a room with an old, dark wood carved bed, and not much else in the way of furniture, except a large trunk, containing family quilts at the foot of the bed.
Directly across from the bed is a walk-in closet. Next to that, a door opens into a modestly sized full bath. Most of the space taken by a large, extra-long, deep and wide, claw-foot tub with a shower.
Light cascades through windows and skylights in this bathroom, but it is still warm and fresh; not stark and sterile. At the end of the bathroom, lies the second door of access. It opens back into the hallway.
Take the other hallway leading out of the crow's nest, and we find ourselves in the part of the house above the kitchen.
The first door on the left enters a bedroom smaller than the master, with a bed and built in shelving and windows facing the view from the front of the house. This room has an attached half bath and a domed ceiling, with a skylight at the center.
On the other side of the hall, a door opens into a full bathroom with a tub and shower, and another door opening into a bedroom with two twin beds, or stacked bunk beds. It's windows mirror that of the kitchen; looking out on to the small paddock and towards the barn.
A door at the opposite wall, opens back into the hallway.
At the end of this second hall is a door which has a small set of stairs opening up into the attic room, which spreads back out over the footprint of the house.
It has windows at either end, and two skylights dance in the center of the roof, across the broad beams of the ceiling. A bed sits on a frame close to the floor at one end of the room, covered by a quilt.
The rest of the space is open: with cameras, art supplies, and other miscellaneous activity-related items placed here and there on a single shelf, running under the windows around the room.
There is a rocking chair by the other window opposite end. Four large windows, one each in the center of the wall, provide a stunning view of the landscape.
This stone farmhouse is shaped rather like a tall rectangle; it is cute and rustic and medium sized, not huge, though it uses it's space quite well.
High ceilings make smaller rooms seem larger; stone and wood send a timeless feel throughout the place.
It's all in my head. It's all... safe. It's all made-up.
You'll note that the house of which I've written is uninhabited; oh sure, evidences are there, like the dog bed, but in my description it is silent. Untouched.
The horses, the dog and cats, the things I left out of this description:
The lake out beyond the property,
the unmentioned shed which holds the cart the draft team can pull and the gardening tools,
the two-car garage attached to the end of the barn opposite the hay loft and paddock;
the pasture beyond bordering the lake along with the rest of the property;
the birds twittering high above in the canopy of shade trees;
the imaginary children padding barefoot around the floors -- no carpet, just a few rugs here and there... radiant heat flooring in the bathrooms;
quilts all over the place;
pies cooling on the windowsills...
This is the home of my imagination.
It is the place I return to in my mind for solitude and the company of a family not yet come together-- not yet born.
It is the place where my wishes come and go; the place I dream of finding, or building and resting within.
It is the sacred space of my heart; a place that I have dreamed of, yet know not whether it exists beyond the realm of my yearning and creation.
There are so many things I want to do, so many things that I want to experience and learn.
The children I love already, but who haven't even been conceived!
Such is this: my feeling of time is circular, I feel all this is familiar, even though I haven't experienced most of it yet.
It is all a huge, intricately ornate deja-vu for me.
Will I ever find it? This home that popped into my head one day? This sanctuary in the realm of possibilities?
Perhaps I'll find a space that has elements of it: that is more realistic. Some home made of stone, with land for horses and space for a garden.
Until then, whether I happen upon this home of my dreams, or whether I must build it with my own two hands, or hire a contractor, I will keep on dreaming.
Because after all; if you're going to dream, why not dream as well you are able to?
How else will you know what you're looking for when you see it?
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Listen to the rhythm of the falllling raaaaain, telling me just what a fool I've beeeeen....
Cool, fresh, wet air wrapped around me as I stepped out onto the porch, the red screen door tapping gently closed behind me.
It smelled of wet, rain soaked flagstones sunk in concrete, of wet rich earth, of wet silky red dust in Oklahoma.
It smelled of deeply green grass that water's caressed and poured upon, of wet tree bark, of wet leaves and pine needles, of wet wood.
It smelled of rain on the ocean, a dark storm rolling in, and the grey, smoky coloured wind blowing a warning before the calm...
The scent of sweet, wet hay, of grasses blowing like a furry, multifaceted pelt in the wind on a volcanic earth field in Hawaii.
The smell of urgency, but also of peace; of the inevitable knowledge that things will be cleaned, gently, fiercely, completely, by the rain.
---------------------------------------
B-squared and I were so excited to be on this island. I'd never been before, and it was C's birthday, and we were SOOOO excited to come and spend it with her in such an incredible place.
You could hear and smell the ocean on the breeze everywhere, all the time here. Part of me felt as though I was arriving home; it was always that way for me around the ocean. Salt water, waves, the sea; it flowed through my veins.
Though a humid, breezy island wasn't my chosen climate-- I felt... stirrings of peace here. The tumultuous energies that I'd been fighting were finally resting for a while. I was to have a break, not an escape, but a time of inner calm at last.
The car pulled squishily up into the driveway. A large avocado tree, with fruits half the size of my head were laden on the ground beneath it's twirled branches.
The screen door banged shut, and three figures appeared.
"C!!!!", B-squared and I hollered, all three of us hopping to hug her at the same time. K and G walked over to the car... I'd heard a lot about them, but not met them before. C was very close with her brothers.
K grabbed B-squared's luggage and they followed him up the steps, C grabbing a bag as she held open the door and followed them inside.
I'd grabbed my lonely backpack, and suddenly found myself approaching the steps to the beach house and the solitary figure of G.
He was tall, broad-shouldered and his eyes seemed to glow in the evening light; circles of gold reflected in the warm lamps of the house.
He smiled at me and took my hand to help me up the steps with my heavy pack.
Warmth surged through my fingertips, I almost exclaimed aloud, I was so surprised at the energy of it; an instant connection, a feeling I'd not had in a long time; pure, warm electricity, a real zing and tingling feeling.
I stopped mid-step, right there, simply awed and I felt as though he was familiar. We were inches from each other, we'd never met each other before. I just searched his face, knowing that I was blushing and couldn't stop, knowing that it was silly to read so much into the touch of a hand, but I couldn't help it: it was instantaneous, completely true and real and big.
"Hi, nice to meet you," he said softly.
"Hi, yes, I've heard a lot about you. I love your sister, she's amazing."
He was still holding my hand; his palm was dry and warm, his hands large, strong and well proportioned, a little rough from diving and the salt water and island living. I could tell he was tan and dark, sandy brown-blonde from the light we were both standing in.
I couldn't in good conscience stand still any longer. We were, after all, loitering on the doorstep; something my grandmother would've considered quite unlucky.
I reached the top step as he held the door for me and giving my hand one small, but firm squeeze, he let go. I felt him pass me on the left, his hand lightly touching my shoulder to let me know he was there, as I bent down to remove my shoes.
Looking at the warm, laughing faces around me, all smiling and happy and relaxed and flushed, I was suddenly hit by how much I cared for these people; not just B, her daughter B and C, but for G and K too, because they were allowing us to stay with them. Welcoming us completely into the house they called home, and after-all, they really were a family there: two brothers and a sister sharing time and space, and they'd made room for the three of us.
C came tripping lightly over and I gave her an even bigger hug than the first one.
"Welcome to Hawaii!" she said cheerfully! I could see how happy she was to have us, and also how she'd been stressed about something too-- work, it turned out to be. It's very hard to work on the island if you're not a native... or at least to receive and retain benefits.
K scooted by us, grinning, to the fridge.
"Want a beer?" he said, winking at me.
"Sure, I'm just going to drop my pack off."
"It's the door at the end of the hall," C gestured warmly.
Walking down the hallway, I realized how tired I was. I slung my pack off, and stretched, arching my back and feeling my aching muscles release; lift and lighten after being compressed under the pack. I felt strangely lightheaded too.
Entering back into the living room, I again felt an overwhelming flow of gratitude; whether they knew it or not, these people were helping me deal with the pain I'd had back in CO. The discomfort and angst of navigating a relationship that was no longer clear, easy and comfortable; something that had become bent and frustrating, about technicalities, labels, freedom and white lies; all about him and nothing about me -- no commitment at all. Something that was gone beyond finding. Something that was already painfully past the beginning of it's end.
G came over and pressed a beer into my hand. His eyes were sparkling again; I didn't know eyes could really do that with light, but they were reflecting gold and crinkling at the edges as he smiled, and I could feel the warmth coming off of his and the rest of our bodies in the room. Everyone was sprawling on the couch, warm, tired and relaxed from a day of surfing, work and traveling.
He gestured to the foot of the couch; C, B, B and K were filling up the cushions, so we sank down facing them on the floor, sitting on the soft carpet and gazing up at them.
He wasn't sitting too close, but I could still feel the warmth, the tingle in my field that was affected as it came off of him in waves; he understood what I was feeling. He felt familiar and friendly, though we'd only met 5 minutes ago-- it felt like five weeks or more.
Listening half-heartedly to the conversation, I can barely remember what we talked about that first night; the plane, the colouring book little B and I shared, the funny people at the airport-- a lady digging in her guy's ear as though trying to exterminate something....
All I could focus on was how happy I was to see C, how open and courteous her brothers were, and how tomorrow, I was going to be back in the ocean.... and how the guy next to me seemed to understand exactly what I needed and gave it to me, without words.
After everyone decided the beer was the last step on the road to laying down and sleeping, I realized that G and I were still up, and seemingly not tired at all.
We stayed up for at least an hour afterwards: watching episodes of "Firefly," and enjoying the amazing connection that we both felt; not really needing to say much at all, just reveling in the amazing closeness, comfort, and above all, familiar feeling between us.
I had many more unbelievable adventures with that group of people on that trip. I'll never forget any of it; it started with magic, and I must say, none of us wanted to leave that island when the end of our time came.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How the hell G knew that I was hurting, confused and needing comfort, I'll never know, but he was instantly kind to me, instantly attentive, and I'll never forget the surge of warmth that came dancing down my fingertips into my body at that first touch.
Sometimes we find people who are beyond explanation; who have no purpose other than to open our eyes to something wonderful, brief and painfully bittersweet that we are desperately needing, though that may not be known at the time. These are the people who teach us about ourselves without even realizing it; a connection is made, understood and then afterwards it seems impossible... like a dream.
C is still one of my best and THE best friends I've ever known. We've been together through joyous occasions, heartbreak, crisis, tough decisions, tougher decisions, celebrations, excitations and all manner of terrible and splendid things.
Her brothers K and G are two of the most stupendously sweet guys I've ever met. K recently got married to a great girl. G and I still catch up occasionally and talk about wind, water and life.
B-squared are one of the coolest mother-daughter teams I have the privilege of knowing.
I'll never forget our time in Hawaii and all the incredible things we did and the feelings that swept over me.
Someday, maybe, I'll have the chance to experience such a time again; if I'm still lucky.
It smelled of wet, rain soaked flagstones sunk in concrete, of wet rich earth, of wet silky red dust in Oklahoma.
It smelled of deeply green grass that water's caressed and poured upon, of wet tree bark, of wet leaves and pine needles, of wet wood.
It smelled of rain on the ocean, a dark storm rolling in, and the grey, smoky coloured wind blowing a warning before the calm...
The scent of sweet, wet hay, of grasses blowing like a furry, multifaceted pelt in the wind on a volcanic earth field in Hawaii.
The smell of urgency, but also of peace; of the inevitable knowledge that things will be cleaned, gently, fiercely, completely, by the rain.
---------------------------------------
B-squared and I were so excited to be on this island. I'd never been before, and it was C's birthday, and we were SOOOO excited to come and spend it with her in such an incredible place.
You could hear and smell the ocean on the breeze everywhere, all the time here. Part of me felt as though I was arriving home; it was always that way for me around the ocean. Salt water, waves, the sea; it flowed through my veins.
Though a humid, breezy island wasn't my chosen climate-- I felt... stirrings of peace here. The tumultuous energies that I'd been fighting were finally resting for a while. I was to have a break, not an escape, but a time of inner calm at last.
The car pulled squishily up into the driveway. A large avocado tree, with fruits half the size of my head were laden on the ground beneath it's twirled branches.
The screen door banged shut, and three figures appeared.
"C!!!!", B-squared and I hollered, all three of us hopping to hug her at the same time. K and G walked over to the car... I'd heard a lot about them, but not met them before. C was very close with her brothers.
K grabbed B-squared's luggage and they followed him up the steps, C grabbing a bag as she held open the door and followed them inside.
I'd grabbed my lonely backpack, and suddenly found myself approaching the steps to the beach house and the solitary figure of G.
He was tall, broad-shouldered and his eyes seemed to glow in the evening light; circles of gold reflected in the warm lamps of the house.
He smiled at me and took my hand to help me up the steps with my heavy pack.
Warmth surged through my fingertips, I almost exclaimed aloud, I was so surprised at the energy of it; an instant connection, a feeling I'd not had in a long time; pure, warm electricity, a real zing and tingling feeling.
I stopped mid-step, right there, simply awed and I felt as though he was familiar. We were inches from each other, we'd never met each other before. I just searched his face, knowing that I was blushing and couldn't stop, knowing that it was silly to read so much into the touch of a hand, but I couldn't help it: it was instantaneous, completely true and real and big.
"Hi, nice to meet you," he said softly.
"Hi, yes, I've heard a lot about you. I love your sister, she's amazing."
He was still holding my hand; his palm was dry and warm, his hands large, strong and well proportioned, a little rough from diving and the salt water and island living. I could tell he was tan and dark, sandy brown-blonde from the light we were both standing in.
I couldn't in good conscience stand still any longer. We were, after all, loitering on the doorstep; something my grandmother would've considered quite unlucky.
I reached the top step as he held the door for me and giving my hand one small, but firm squeeze, he let go. I felt him pass me on the left, his hand lightly touching my shoulder to let me know he was there, as I bent down to remove my shoes.
Looking at the warm, laughing faces around me, all smiling and happy and relaxed and flushed, I was suddenly hit by how much I cared for these people; not just B, her daughter B and C, but for G and K too, because they were allowing us to stay with them. Welcoming us completely into the house they called home, and after-all, they really were a family there: two brothers and a sister sharing time and space, and they'd made room for the three of us.
C came tripping lightly over and I gave her an even bigger hug than the first one.
"Welcome to Hawaii!" she said cheerfully! I could see how happy she was to have us, and also how she'd been stressed about something too-- work, it turned out to be. It's very hard to work on the island if you're not a native... or at least to receive and retain benefits.
K scooted by us, grinning, to the fridge.
"Want a beer?" he said, winking at me.
"Sure, I'm just going to drop my pack off."
"It's the door at the end of the hall," C gestured warmly.
Walking down the hallway, I realized how tired I was. I slung my pack off, and stretched, arching my back and feeling my aching muscles release; lift and lighten after being compressed under the pack. I felt strangely lightheaded too.
Entering back into the living room, I again felt an overwhelming flow of gratitude; whether they knew it or not, these people were helping me deal with the pain I'd had back in CO. The discomfort and angst of navigating a relationship that was no longer clear, easy and comfortable; something that had become bent and frustrating, about technicalities, labels, freedom and white lies; all about him and nothing about me -- no commitment at all. Something that was gone beyond finding. Something that was already painfully past the beginning of it's end.
G came over and pressed a beer into my hand. His eyes were sparkling again; I didn't know eyes could really do that with light, but they were reflecting gold and crinkling at the edges as he smiled, and I could feel the warmth coming off of his and the rest of our bodies in the room. Everyone was sprawling on the couch, warm, tired and relaxed from a day of surfing, work and traveling.
He gestured to the foot of the couch; C, B, B and K were filling up the cushions, so we sank down facing them on the floor, sitting on the soft carpet and gazing up at them.
He wasn't sitting too close, but I could still feel the warmth, the tingle in my field that was affected as it came off of him in waves; he understood what I was feeling. He felt familiar and friendly, though we'd only met 5 minutes ago-- it felt like five weeks or more.
Listening half-heartedly to the conversation, I can barely remember what we talked about that first night; the plane, the colouring book little B and I shared, the funny people at the airport-- a lady digging in her guy's ear as though trying to exterminate something....
All I could focus on was how happy I was to see C, how open and courteous her brothers were, and how tomorrow, I was going to be back in the ocean.... and how the guy next to me seemed to understand exactly what I needed and gave it to me, without words.
After everyone decided the beer was the last step on the road to laying down and sleeping, I realized that G and I were still up, and seemingly not tired at all.
We stayed up for at least an hour afterwards: watching episodes of "Firefly," and enjoying the amazing connection that we both felt; not really needing to say much at all, just reveling in the amazing closeness, comfort, and above all, familiar feeling between us.
I had many more unbelievable adventures with that group of people on that trip. I'll never forget any of it; it started with magic, and I must say, none of us wanted to leave that island when the end of our time came.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How the hell G knew that I was hurting, confused and needing comfort, I'll never know, but he was instantly kind to me, instantly attentive, and I'll never forget the surge of warmth that came dancing down my fingertips into my body at that first touch.
Sometimes we find people who are beyond explanation; who have no purpose other than to open our eyes to something wonderful, brief and painfully bittersweet that we are desperately needing, though that may not be known at the time. These are the people who teach us about ourselves without even realizing it; a connection is made, understood and then afterwards it seems impossible... like a dream.
C is still one of my best and THE best friends I've ever known. We've been together through joyous occasions, heartbreak, crisis, tough decisions, tougher decisions, celebrations, excitations and all manner of terrible and splendid things.
Her brothers K and G are two of the most stupendously sweet guys I've ever met. K recently got married to a great girl. G and I still catch up occasionally and talk about wind, water and life.
B-squared are one of the coolest mother-daughter teams I have the privilege of knowing.
I'll never forget our time in Hawaii and all the incredible things we did and the feelings that swept over me.
Someday, maybe, I'll have the chance to experience such a time again; if I'm still lucky.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Golly, Gosh and WHOA NELLIE!
The birds were twittering sweetly as I stepped out into the light of morning. The sun was doing that movie style glow trick; a glittering golden orb, streaming and blinking brightly through the tree branches.
The wind was moving pleasantly over the grass. Squirrels were cutely chasing each other all around and up and over everything.
It was, in short... a borderline disgustingly hunky-dory and cheerful outside this morning.
Taking a sip of my coffee, and inhaling the faint smell of cinnamon, I began my trek down the steps; yesterday they'd been so icy that I'd almost fallen screaming "NYMPHODORA!" at the top of my lungs... that's what I get for re-reading Harry Potter.... today they were dry and again, creaking happily.
It was a gosh darn zippetty-DO-DAH-morning.
The kind that if you're cheerful too, is akin to stepping into a warm bathing glow of light and feeling as though kicking your heels, would not be out of place behavior.
I felt a lift: I won't lie. I'm a morning person.
Walking along and breathing in the cold 23 degrees Farenheit air I was suddenly struck by an old memory.
A memory of waking up in a room with wallpaper like a blue willow china pattern.
The wooden slats of shutters striped the sunlight as it was streaming through the windows. The smell of bacon and Folger's coffee and toast was wafting through the air, mingling with something slightly mustier... something more like a spicy perfume.
Opening my eyes fully, I could feel the warm, fragrant breeze fluttering the lacy curtains, dancing with the sunlight and swirling tiny dust particles like sand in a jar of water; gleaming.
The bed was soft; navy cotton sheets and down pillows and comforter; the smell of clean dust -- that's what the feathers smelled like.
Everything was warm, blue, happy and shining with sunlight.
"Goood MOOORNIIIIING!" came floating down the blue carpeted hallway to the back bedroom where I was stretching, trying to decide if it was worth getting out of the delicious cocoon I was curled up in.
THUMP THUMPITY THUMP-THUMP!
Three heads peeked around the corner. Two blond, one sandy brown.
The eldest head had a full shock of long, shiny, straight hair and bright blue eyes belonging to my cousin E (age 20). The slightly shorter, blond curly head, belonged to my cousin J (age 10), which left the sandy brown curls to be my cousin N (age 9).
All three faces were grinning at me (age 6) as I sleepily rubbed my eyes.
"How did I sleep in? When did you guys wake up?" I murmured. Usually N and I were a tie for first awake.
He and J and I, all slept in the room I was in; the boys in the other set of bunk beds. E had the larger guest room in the middle of the hall, because she was the eldest.
"We just got up to go to the bathroom. Beat you by about 3 minutes!" Stated N, bouncing into the room and jerking the covers off me good-naturedly.
"Hey!" I exclaimed, nudging him with my foot.
"Grandma says breakfast is ready," said J, excitedly but quietly.
"Hurry up! She's calling us again," responded E, rolling her eyes, but smiling just the same.
Bouncing out of bed, we all tumbled down the hall, half-racing, half laughing across the parkay floor of the living room and up the stairs into the kitchen.
"Doe, dee, doe, doe, dooooooe," sang Grandpa C softly, humming to himself between 'does' and shuffling his feet. He still had on his dark gray, navy piped pajamas and slippers.
"Oh goodness, you're ALWAYS singing the BREAD song!" chirped Grandma B fussily, frowning at the stark white head of her husband.
His eyes crinkled into a smile and he winked at us, before whistling and beginning again...
"DOOOE, DE DOOOOOE, DOOE, DOOOOOOOOOOE!" a slight vibrato making the louder singing that much more intense.
"OUT! Shoo! Out of the way! You're blocking the stove and I need to get the kids' breakfast on the table! OUT!" she clucked at him, smiling despite her irritation.
He sidled over to the end of the long counter, and grabbing the newspaper at the end of it, sank into a walnut-colored kitchen chair and disappeared behind the overlarge pages, humming all the while.
"Can I have some coffee?" asked E sweetly.
"Yes, it's fresh in the pot," she motioned to the back burner of the stove.
"CAN I have some TOO Gramma?" said N excitedly.
"You and J can have a tiny bit, but make sure it's mostly milk and sugar, or it'll stunt your growth," purred Grandma B smoothly. With flashing blue eyes, she began to gently stir the eggs in to a fluffy mixture of milk and butter.
SHUNK! Up came the toast, streaks of golden brown across the ivory slices of bread.
J fished out the hot pieces onto a plate, and slid two more into the toaster, clicking the lever down firmly.
N was staring over Grandma B's shoulder, watching her as she stirred the eggs, gently swaying from side to side, her shoulders slightly rounded, the skirt of her night gown gliding along with with her. She was humming in a delicate soprano; vibrato buzzing out of her gently, a light smile on her lips.
"H, E, would you please hand me the butter and the bacon?" she ordered politely.
Pulling open the icebox door with both hands, and nearly falling over in the process, smelling the cold, salty air that issued forth, I found the bacon packet and E reached for the butter dish. I reached onto my tip toes and slid the bacon onto the counter to the right of the stove, E scooting it further as she set down the butter dish, so it wouldn't slip onto the floor.
"Thank you girls! N! What're you doing with that milk carton! Be careful now," she cautioned loudly.
N was holding the milk nonchalantly by the handle, swinging it back and forth. He grabbed a glass out of the cupboard to the left of the fridge, and began pouring himself a healthy serving, a little too quickly. J stepped over and reaching for a second glass, tried to take the milk away from N before he was done topping off his.
"HEY! LEGGO!" N yelled at his brother.
"You're going to SPILL it, DUMMY!" J hollered back, they were elbowing each other fiercely, cheeks flushed and hair mussy as they fought over the carton, which was splooshing dangerously.
"BOYS! That's enough!" Grandma C barked, "Everyone over to the table. NOW!" she finished.
E walked ahead, her hair falling softly down her back, carrying the plates that had been set aside for the table. I bounced after her. Standing behind me, she helped me set one in front of Grandpa C before finishing up the rest of the place-settings.
N grabbed silverware with his right hand on his way over, walking very, very slowly so he wouldn't lose a drop of the milk he'd filled up to the very top rim of the glass he was holding tightly in his left. The surface area tension was like a large bubble at the top. Dropping the silverware carelessly onto the table, he gently and carefully set his milk down by the place next to mine.
"SIT!" commanded Grandma B.
Each of us slid into our seats. "C, we're about to eat, so please put away that paper, would you?" She said firmly.
"Yes Dear!" He said perkily back to her. She set a bowl of eggs, a plate of bacon, and a plate of toast onto the table, before reaching over to the counter to hand us each a small juice glass. Then she set the big glass pitcher of orange juice in front of E and sat down herself.
"Heads bowed," she began, and said a prayer, blessing the food and us alike. While she was solemnly reciting, I snook a peak at N, who was bouncing up and down in his chair he was so hungry, his eyes squinted, his hands together, but he couldn't sit still to save his life. J was sitting quietly, as was E, who took that moment to whisper to N,
"CALM DOWN!"
"All right everyone, let's eat!" said Grandpa C.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
This memory is one of the few I have where my cousins from both sides aren't all mixed up together.
J, N, and E are all from my dad's side of the family, and I can't honestly think of a childhood memory or holiday where we weren't all together.
When D, C and M were over, it made the grandkid number 7, and that doesn't include the friends and second cousins who would usually pop by.
We're all spread out now, but I love my cousins and I'm grateful to have grown up with them.
E is like my big sister, N and J and C my big brothers, D and I are 6 months apart (they dressed us like twins for a good while) and M will always feel like my baby sister.
I wouldn't be the person I am today without them!
The wind was moving pleasantly over the grass. Squirrels were cutely chasing each other all around and up and over everything.
It was, in short... a borderline disgustingly hunky-dory and cheerful outside this morning.
Taking a sip of my coffee, and inhaling the faint smell of cinnamon, I began my trek down the steps; yesterday they'd been so icy that I'd almost fallen screaming "NYMPHODORA!" at the top of my lungs... that's what I get for re-reading Harry Potter.... today they were dry and again, creaking happily.
It was a gosh darn zippetty-DO-DAH-morning.
The kind that if you're cheerful too, is akin to stepping into a warm bathing glow of light and feeling as though kicking your heels, would not be out of place behavior.
I felt a lift: I won't lie. I'm a morning person.
Walking along and breathing in the cold 23 degrees Farenheit air I was suddenly struck by an old memory.
A memory of waking up in a room with wallpaper like a blue willow china pattern.
The wooden slats of shutters striped the sunlight as it was streaming through the windows. The smell of bacon and Folger's coffee and toast was wafting through the air, mingling with something slightly mustier... something more like a spicy perfume.
Opening my eyes fully, I could feel the warm, fragrant breeze fluttering the lacy curtains, dancing with the sunlight and swirling tiny dust particles like sand in a jar of water; gleaming.
The bed was soft; navy cotton sheets and down pillows and comforter; the smell of clean dust -- that's what the feathers smelled like.
Everything was warm, blue, happy and shining with sunlight.
"Goood MOOORNIIIIING!" came floating down the blue carpeted hallway to the back bedroom where I was stretching, trying to decide if it was worth getting out of the delicious cocoon I was curled up in.
THUMP THUMPITY THUMP-THUMP!
Three heads peeked around the corner. Two blond, one sandy brown.
The eldest head had a full shock of long, shiny, straight hair and bright blue eyes belonging to my cousin E (age 20). The slightly shorter, blond curly head, belonged to my cousin J (age 10), which left the sandy brown curls to be my cousin N (age 9).
All three faces were grinning at me (age 6) as I sleepily rubbed my eyes.
"How did I sleep in? When did you guys wake up?" I murmured. Usually N and I were a tie for first awake.
He and J and I, all slept in the room I was in; the boys in the other set of bunk beds. E had the larger guest room in the middle of the hall, because she was the eldest.
"We just got up to go to the bathroom. Beat you by about 3 minutes!" Stated N, bouncing into the room and jerking the covers off me good-naturedly.
"Hey!" I exclaimed, nudging him with my foot.
"Grandma says breakfast is ready," said J, excitedly but quietly.
"Hurry up! She's calling us again," responded E, rolling her eyes, but smiling just the same.
Bouncing out of bed, we all tumbled down the hall, half-racing, half laughing across the parkay floor of the living room and up the stairs into the kitchen.
"Doe, dee, doe, doe, dooooooe," sang Grandpa C softly, humming to himself between 'does' and shuffling his feet. He still had on his dark gray, navy piped pajamas and slippers.
"Oh goodness, you're ALWAYS singing the BREAD song!" chirped Grandma B fussily, frowning at the stark white head of her husband.
His eyes crinkled into a smile and he winked at us, before whistling and beginning again...
"DOOOE, DE DOOOOOE, DOOE, DOOOOOOOOOOE!" a slight vibrato making the louder singing that much more intense.
"OUT! Shoo! Out of the way! You're blocking the stove and I need to get the kids' breakfast on the table! OUT!" she clucked at him, smiling despite her irritation.
He sidled over to the end of the long counter, and grabbing the newspaper at the end of it, sank into a walnut-colored kitchen chair and disappeared behind the overlarge pages, humming all the while.
"Can I have some coffee?" asked E sweetly.
"Yes, it's fresh in the pot," she motioned to the back burner of the stove.
"CAN I have some TOO Gramma?" said N excitedly.
"You and J can have a tiny bit, but make sure it's mostly milk and sugar, or it'll stunt your growth," purred Grandma B smoothly. With flashing blue eyes, she began to gently stir the eggs in to a fluffy mixture of milk and butter.
SHUNK! Up came the toast, streaks of golden brown across the ivory slices of bread.
J fished out the hot pieces onto a plate, and slid two more into the toaster, clicking the lever down firmly.
N was staring over Grandma B's shoulder, watching her as she stirred the eggs, gently swaying from side to side, her shoulders slightly rounded, the skirt of her night gown gliding along with with her. She was humming in a delicate soprano; vibrato buzzing out of her gently, a light smile on her lips.
"H, E, would you please hand me the butter and the bacon?" she ordered politely.
Pulling open the icebox door with both hands, and nearly falling over in the process, smelling the cold, salty air that issued forth, I found the bacon packet and E reached for the butter dish. I reached onto my tip toes and slid the bacon onto the counter to the right of the stove, E scooting it further as she set down the butter dish, so it wouldn't slip onto the floor.
"Thank you girls! N! What're you doing with that milk carton! Be careful now," she cautioned loudly.
N was holding the milk nonchalantly by the handle, swinging it back and forth. He grabbed a glass out of the cupboard to the left of the fridge, and began pouring himself a healthy serving, a little too quickly. J stepped over and reaching for a second glass, tried to take the milk away from N before he was done topping off his.
"HEY! LEGGO!" N yelled at his brother.
"You're going to SPILL it, DUMMY!" J hollered back, they were elbowing each other fiercely, cheeks flushed and hair mussy as they fought over the carton, which was splooshing dangerously.
"BOYS! That's enough!" Grandma C barked, "Everyone over to the table. NOW!" she finished.
E walked ahead, her hair falling softly down her back, carrying the plates that had been set aside for the table. I bounced after her. Standing behind me, she helped me set one in front of Grandpa C before finishing up the rest of the place-settings.
N grabbed silverware with his right hand on his way over, walking very, very slowly so he wouldn't lose a drop of the milk he'd filled up to the very top rim of the glass he was holding tightly in his left. The surface area tension was like a large bubble at the top. Dropping the silverware carelessly onto the table, he gently and carefully set his milk down by the place next to mine.
"SIT!" commanded Grandma B.
Each of us slid into our seats. "C, we're about to eat, so please put away that paper, would you?" She said firmly.
"Yes Dear!" He said perkily back to her. She set a bowl of eggs, a plate of bacon, and a plate of toast onto the table, before reaching over to the counter to hand us each a small juice glass. Then she set the big glass pitcher of orange juice in front of E and sat down herself.
"Heads bowed," she began, and said a prayer, blessing the food and us alike. While she was solemnly reciting, I snook a peak at N, who was bouncing up and down in his chair he was so hungry, his eyes squinted, his hands together, but he couldn't sit still to save his life. J was sitting quietly, as was E, who took that moment to whisper to N,
"CALM DOWN!"
"All right everyone, let's eat!" said Grandpa C.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
This memory is one of the few I have where my cousins from both sides aren't all mixed up together.
J, N, and E are all from my dad's side of the family, and I can't honestly think of a childhood memory or holiday where we weren't all together.
When D, C and M were over, it made the grandkid number 7, and that doesn't include the friends and second cousins who would usually pop by.
We're all spread out now, but I love my cousins and I'm grateful to have grown up with them.
E is like my big sister, N and J and C my big brothers, D and I are 6 months apart (they dressed us like twins for a good while) and M will always feel like my baby sister.
I wouldn't be the person I am today without them!
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Someday.... wait, is that really Sunday, and I've been pronouncing it incorrectly?
Swish, swirly, swirl, swish, chugga-lugga-lug-squeeeaky-vrooommmmm..... quoth the washing machine.
BAM-BAM-BAM-bouncy-bounce-BAM-Bouncy-bounce... spake the drier.
BrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRrrrrrrssssssshhhhhhhhhhh... stated the dish washer.
The appliances in my house are communicating with one another and I fear it might constitute the end of me... perhaps they're going to go on strike for fairer treatment...
Maybe I shouldn't have threatened the drier the last time it ate a hole in four of my shirts.... but it's still new really (less than 2 years old) so it shouldn't be chomping down just yet...
Of the household chores, the three I least enjoy, are:
1. Taking out the garbage and recycling to the big bins out behind the house.
2. Scraping the food gunk out of the stopper in the left side of the sink.
3. Emptying the litter box.
Someday, if I get pregnant, the books, doctors and other pregnant women I know, have all said that I won't have to do the last one, because of something called "toxoplasmosis," which is a microscopic parasite that can be harmful to humans.
It is found in the feces of animals who have eaten a rodent infected with the little buggers.
I have read about it, and decided the risk is quite low for us, seeing as how we don't release the lions outside, but hey, if it's safer for J to do it than me (in the interest of the hypothetical BABY of course) they why the heck not?
Well, WOOT on THAT one. Someday...
I could continue on about the lovely mundane chores I perform regularly, but for now, let's just leave it for now.
I was thinking about "someday," while listening to the gurgling, thumping and whooshing sounds emanating from my kitchen (though the washer and dryer aren't technically resident therein, they are in a small closet-type space next to the oven, and really, are part of the kitchen as we never close that door, due to the cats enjoying their warmth and box) and truly wondering what we as humans mean by it.
Most of us begin with something like:
Someday, I'll quit this job and do what I want to do.
Someday I'll be a famous fill in the .
Someday I'll learn self-defense martial arts.
Someday I'll be able to afford x, y and z.
Someday I'll stop worrying and start living.
Someday I'll be fit as a fiddle, instead of mushy round' the middle.
Someday I'll learn how to play a musical instrument, program the VCR, change a tire, etc. as in someday I'll finish that book I never started, that symphony I can hear in my head, that painting I see behind my eyes, that dish I've always longed to learn to cook...
Someday holds a lot.
It can be an excuse for not finding the courage and bravery to try or do something that has always been out of one's grasp; usually, something inspiring or happiness holding.
Someday, I'll have children... and a dog... and horses... and a farm... and a completely different life than what I have right now.
I think everyone is guilty of a box in the back of their mind, holding a complex system of files under the umbrella heading of "SOMEDAY."
When though, does "someday," become "today," and then "yesterday," and then a longing, regretful, it's-too-late thought?
Everyone is aware of the sentiment of "Carpe Diem," which means to seize the day, or in effect, the now, this moment, for oneself.
Waiting usually doesn't get things done.
Most folks, can't afford this cavalier attitude... or so they say.
I am 28 years of age. This year I will be 29. Next year, if all goes according to J and my plans, we'll be married 6 months before I turn 30.
By some people's measure, we are "late starters," and this isn't a real source of stress for us, but J often remarks upon the fact that he wished we'd met 5 years ago instead of 2, and that he'd finished school when he was 28 or so, instead of working through it now at 32.
I just tell him that we aren't the same people we were at 23 and 27, and things probably wouldn't have worked out so nicely for us. :-)
After all, despite the fact that I thought "someday," I'd want to have kids, I maintained the belief that I was going to marry the right person for me, and it doesn't matter if I'm 90 years old when I finally find the fellow I want to hitch my wagon to.
Luckily, I found him a little over two years ago; hence the upcoming nuptials... which we're doing not out of any religious significance, but because we think it's safer if one's going to bring kids into the mix.
Honestly, we live together, we have joint checking... we're kinda' already married in spirit.
Moving on...
Someday is TODAY according to my great-grandmother.
Don't do anything that doesn't feel right in your gut, but for Pete's sake (I don't know who Pete is, but apparently he's in danger) don't put off til' tomorrow what would make you happy today!
I'd like you all to know that I modified that statement from Bompie's original (she was my G.G. on my mom's side) which reads: Don't put off til' tomorrow what you can do today.
I don't know when someday is, but J and I are trying to live with the idea that today is the day too. When he or I leave the house, or when we part ways for a time, we always kiss and hug each other good bye.
And I don't mean a lil' peck on the cheek. I mean a real goodbye, or for those of you who are familiar with the world of musical theatre, an 'Oklahoma hello!'
You never know.
Phantom busses can appear out of nowhere and one of us may not make it home.
I don't really know about what to say concerning "someday." What I do know, is that J and I are trying to put our priorities in order.
We have chickens; we're that much closer to a little farm in the country.
I work for myself; my stress levels and food allergies are easier to manage.
We've set up savings accounts to do things such as; restore a 1942 Chevy truck, purchase our wedding bands, ready for a rainy day...
Life isn't easy. Life can be scary. I don't want to make sacrifices for someday. Planning is good, but it has to be active and not plain ole' wishful thinking.
Now I'm just being redundant and rambling. Time to stop for today.
Besides... the appliances are all about to buzz together to see which machine has the most of my trust before they plan their coup...
BAM-BAM-BAM-bouncy-bounce-BAM-Bouncy-bounce... spake the drier.
BrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRrrrrrrssssssshhhhhhhhhhh... stated the dish washer.
The appliances in my house are communicating with one another and I fear it might constitute the end of me... perhaps they're going to go on strike for fairer treatment...
Maybe I shouldn't have threatened the drier the last time it ate a hole in four of my shirts.... but it's still new really (less than 2 years old) so it shouldn't be chomping down just yet...
Of the household chores, the three I least enjoy, are:
1. Taking out the garbage and recycling to the big bins out behind the house.
2. Scraping the food gunk out of the stopper in the left side of the sink.
3. Emptying the litter box.
Someday, if I get pregnant, the books, doctors and other pregnant women I know, have all said that I won't have to do the last one, because of something called "toxoplasmosis," which is a microscopic parasite that can be harmful to humans.
It is found in the feces of animals who have eaten a rodent infected with the little buggers.
I have read about it, and decided the risk is quite low for us, seeing as how we don't release the lions outside, but hey, if it's safer for J to do it than me (in the interest of the hypothetical BABY of course) they why the heck not?
Well, WOOT on THAT one. Someday...
I could continue on about the lovely mundane chores I perform regularly, but for now, let's just leave it for now.
I was thinking about "someday," while listening to the gurgling, thumping and whooshing sounds emanating from my kitchen (though the washer and dryer aren't technically resident therein, they are in a small closet-type space next to the oven, and really, are part of the kitchen as we never close that door, due to the cats enjoying their warmth and box) and truly wondering what we as humans mean by it.
Most of us begin with something like:
Someday, I'll quit this job and do what I want to do.
Someday I'll be a famous fill in the .
Someday I'll learn self-defense martial arts.
Someday I'll be able to afford x, y and z.
Someday I'll stop worrying and start living.
Someday I'll be fit as a fiddle, instead of mushy round' the middle.
Someday I'll learn how to play a musical instrument, program the VCR, change a tire, etc. as in someday I'll finish that book I never started, that symphony I can hear in my head, that painting I see behind my eyes, that dish I've always longed to learn to cook...
Someday holds a lot.
It can be an excuse for not finding the courage and bravery to try or do something that has always been out of one's grasp; usually, something inspiring or happiness holding.
Someday, I'll have children... and a dog... and horses... and a farm... and a completely different life than what I have right now.
I think everyone is guilty of a box in the back of their mind, holding a complex system of files under the umbrella heading of "SOMEDAY."
When though, does "someday," become "today," and then "yesterday," and then a longing, regretful, it's-too-late thought?
Everyone is aware of the sentiment of "Carpe Diem," which means to seize the day, or in effect, the now, this moment, for oneself.
Waiting usually doesn't get things done.
Most folks, can't afford this cavalier attitude... or so they say.
I am 28 years of age. This year I will be 29. Next year, if all goes according to J and my plans, we'll be married 6 months before I turn 30.
By some people's measure, we are "late starters," and this isn't a real source of stress for us, but J often remarks upon the fact that he wished we'd met 5 years ago instead of 2, and that he'd finished school when he was 28 or so, instead of working through it now at 32.
I just tell him that we aren't the same people we were at 23 and 27, and things probably wouldn't have worked out so nicely for us. :-)
After all, despite the fact that I thought "someday," I'd want to have kids, I maintained the belief that I was going to marry the right person for me, and it doesn't matter if I'm 90 years old when I finally find the fellow I want to hitch my wagon to.
Luckily, I found him a little over two years ago; hence the upcoming nuptials... which we're doing not out of any religious significance, but because we think it's safer if one's going to bring kids into the mix.
Honestly, we live together, we have joint checking... we're kinda' already married in spirit.
Moving on...
Someday is TODAY according to my great-grandmother.
Don't do anything that doesn't feel right in your gut, but for Pete's sake (I don't know who Pete is, but apparently he's in danger) don't put off til' tomorrow what would make you happy today!
I'd like you all to know that I modified that statement from Bompie's original (she was my G.G. on my mom's side) which reads: Don't put off til' tomorrow what you can do today.
I don't know when someday is, but J and I are trying to live with the idea that today is the day too. When he or I leave the house, or when we part ways for a time, we always kiss and hug each other good bye.
And I don't mean a lil' peck on the cheek. I mean a real goodbye, or for those of you who are familiar with the world of musical theatre, an 'Oklahoma hello!'
You never know.
Phantom busses can appear out of nowhere and one of us may not make it home.
I don't really know about what to say concerning "someday." What I do know, is that J and I are trying to put our priorities in order.
We have chickens; we're that much closer to a little farm in the country.
I work for myself; my stress levels and food allergies are easier to manage.
We've set up savings accounts to do things such as; restore a 1942 Chevy truck, purchase our wedding bands, ready for a rainy day...
Life isn't easy. Life can be scary. I don't want to make sacrifices for someday. Planning is good, but it has to be active and not plain ole' wishful thinking.
Now I'm just being redundant and rambling. Time to stop for today.
Besides... the appliances are all about to buzz together to see which machine has the most of my trust before they plan their coup...
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Winter Over the Ocean...
I closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath in. Sinking onto the porch swing, I was startled at how clear and swirling the air felt this morning.
WhoooooOOOOOOSHHHHH, creak, creeeeak-tic-tic-tic...
The trees bent and stretched in the wind; practicing the yoga of ages flown past.
The air was really crisp and fresh, almost salty. The same smell you find in Nantucket or New Hampshire when you're on a boat, far out, in cold weather.
The air was.... unpredictable.
As though Marry Poppins could come floating by with her carpet bag and her umbrella. As though something out of a children's movie could come sweeping in a rush down the street, leaving behind icy-blue sparkles and freezing time in it's wake.
It was the sort of outdoor feeling that you get gazing up at a night winter sky.... stars glowing as though they really had footlights and fresnels time-set and flickering on and off behind them.
There was... magic in the air... and it was broad daylight...
In books, when a character is overexcited or usually, scared, they "half-expect," to see something, or for something to happen that would complete their picture of fear or wonder. That's how I felt this morning... I wouldn't have been surprised to see Terry Pratchett mosey down the sidewalk in front of my house, or for a large, huge draft horse to come pawing at my screen door, his front end with barely enough room to fit under the porch... or for a Phoenix to come swooping to my kitchen window.
I absolutely LOVE moments like this. Small snatches of seconds that one feels anything at all is completely and entirely and probably possible.
I remember a feeling I had once in high-school, I'd just finished a french exam with S.B. (an AWESOME teacher) and I felt so wonderful and light, that I quite literally skipped out of the classroom and paused, my soul humming with energy as I seriously considered the consequences I would face if I decided to follow my sudden impulse to hand-spring and backflip up and down the hall... I felt such a delightful rush and the muscle, bone, body knowledge that yes, at that moment, I could without a doubt be able to flip my way entirely down the hall and not hit anybody... just as I had my books thrown down and my hands in the air, a teacher popped out of a classroom.
I stopped, my hands straight up over my head, and looking up, met her raised eyebrows with a smile.
"Just stretching," I said cheerfully. She glanced at my left foot in front of my right, my hands a little to uniform (damn gymnastics) and blinked, as if to say "Yeah right, this is a new one," and with the deeply tired sigh of someone who has to be around pesky teenagers all day, turned and walked away from me down the hall.
Oh well...
I had a dance professor once talk to me about the knowledge some little kids have. They just know they can do something, and they really can. They've perhaps never done a cartwheel, but they just decide to do it, after seeing someone else do it, and poof! They can do it too.
I was one of those kids. Anything to do with me moving my body-- dance and cartwheels and flips, I had no fear... unless heights were involved... had to be careful when you were above the ground. I lost that ability to relaxedly and confidently "do stuff," somewhere around age 11. Reality set in, and I learned I could get hurt if I messed up.
Oh to have no fear and complete body knowledge again...
Time takes a lot of those magical powers away from you. Most people wouldn't even attempt a somersault, let alone a cart-wheel, past their teenage years, and it's a pity. Falling and rolling around on the grass is one of the great joys of life--- it doesn't matter if your legs and arms don't respond the way they used to, and are no longer made of rubber as they were when you were small. It's about moving in your own space and body and enjoying the little lift and exhilaration that occurs when you step out of your safety zone.
I wish I felt that way all the time. But then, I probably wouldn't appreciate it... or I'd just get arrested for doing backflips in public places...
I'm trying to recommit to some of those things I loved when I was younger. To enjoy the sensations of movement in my body, even if the only dancing I have time for that day, is while I'm cooking (it's impossible for me to stir anything - pan, pot - without standing on one foot and rolling my hips. It got pointed out to me by a frisbee friend (D.S.) once when we were making butternut-squash soup together, and I have to admit, I'd never noticed it before) or doing mundanely normal things around the house.
I don't move like a "normal person," according to J. He always tells me that for some reason, I have to dance around when I do things... he likes it, finds it cute and attractive. I'm just glad he's tolerant of me tap dancing as I wait in the check-out line of the grocery, or when I suddenly decide to skip through a parking lot, or pirouetting as I bring a mixing bowl down from the shelf with an arabesque to set it on the counter. I can't stop doing it (just as when I find myself singing or humming and I didn't remember starting) so I'm just thankful he accepts it and finds it somewhat endearing.
I'm sure someday, if we have kids, it will embarrass them to pieces when they have friends over. I've accepted this. I don't care. It's more fun than "moving like a normal person," and I really have no control over it, so dammit, I'm going to enjoy it.
I just find joy in movement and music. I always have. I'm a cheerful person! I like to wake up early and stay up late and nap through the heat of the afternoon.
My friends and family often comment on how annoyingly pleasant I am most of the time. It means that when I'm upset, or find myself slipping into a negative mood, it's that much more of a contrast, and that much harder for the people I love to be around me.
People I've just met, who've had to call me for one reason or another, frequently comment on the answering message on my cell phone. They say things like,
"I've never heard a more cheerful and pleasant happy greeting! It's so... you!"
It's true. My voicemail is cheerful, optimistic and warm. I try to make sure it's always that way when I re-record it. I feel that's the best representation of how I want to be spoken to and treated, so why not?
I'm not saying I'm a gosh-darn Disney-Princess-Cheery-Sickeningly-Sweet-Saint or anything... I just try to stay optimistic, happy and ready to roll with the punches most of the time. Everyone in the world has bad days, bad moods, and gets upset occasionally. Nobody's perfect and I fail a lot, but I try not to get down on myself (I'm very self-judgmental and at times self-deprecating, which sucks) to the point where it ruins my day.
Life's too short for that.
This morning, I took a sip of my tea and breathed in again, more deeply than before.
Yes. It smells like chance out here. Like infinite possibility.
The same smell as winter, rolling out over the ocean. Whenever I miss the water (if CO had the sea, I would probably never leave) I remind myself that the wind currents are just like the water currents. We live in a sea of atmosphere, and imagining the enormous ocean of air, the sky a mirror of the wet blue beneath, is comforting.
Tides will rise and fall, flow in and out. Waves will continuously sculpt the sand beneath, and the whales will sing their souls to the deep...
Anything and everything really, truly, is possible.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Chocolate Cherry Cake...
"You've got to clean that G.D. FAN!" Mum stated sternly, glaring at the thin layer of dust on the ceiling fan above.
We were all sitting in the kitchen, perhaps the better (or worse, in my case) for wine; my paltry 1/4 of a glass on par with everyone else's start of their second.
"Well, let me put it simply and plainly: I just haven't gotten around to it. SO there! ," I smirked back at her, jumping right into the skin I wore as a teenager. Never mind that she's soon to be 67 and I'm 28: we still have difficulties keeping our adult pants on around one-another.
"What? What?!" bellowed my Dad, looking around innocently; his hearing aids were conveniently sitting on the dresser in the back bedroom.
"I SAID, SHE NEEDS TO CLEAN THE FAN. DAMMIT, WHY AREN'T YOUR HEARING AIDS IN?! You're doing this on purpose," my mother said dismissively, waving her hand at him.
Dad just gave her his trademark devilishly-toothy grin and stared at her with his eyes scrunched up.
He was, after all, pleased with himself for pissing her off.
J and I just looked meaningfully at each other, and completely failed at not laughing.
This is how my family works. We love each other, we pass judgement in a kindly way, and sweetly tell each other what we think someone should be doing, because that's what folks who love you do: boss you the heck around. (Hopefully J and I can change this tradition with our kiddos, but you never know....)
When I was little, my parents were amazing. They still are now, but as most everyone knows, there comes that time in a person's life, when their parents go from amazing to horrible, right in the middle. Usually it happens when a person becomes a teenager; all of a sudden, parents don't know as much as you thought they did. After all, no one tells kids or parents that there's no 'automatic knowing,' system to raising children or parenting.
I grew up in a large family. I say that, because though I don't technically have blood siblings, I still grew up with my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, great-aunts, great-uncles, second cousins and so forth, all around me.
You know that old adage, "It takes a village to raise a child?" Well, it's completely, utterly and complicatedly true in my opinion.
Getting back to what I was saying about this droop in the early beginnings of adult-hood in parental intelligence... or so it seems....
When I was 16, I had my first date. I asked him out. He was older than me. In fact, he was almost 18, and in the land of teenagers, there are miles between ages 16 and 18. Rivers, valleys and mountains too. However, I liked him, quite a lot. He was a theatre techie and we'd worked together on sets, lights - you name it. Late nights amongst amiable company make for swift ties in the theatre.
I'd been so terribly nervous to ask him out... I didn't even have his phone number and being as we were two grades apart (he a junior and myself a freshman... I have a November birthday which put me as the eldest in my grade, and he had a December birthday, so likewise for him) that day at school, I'd agonized over how to ask him.
It's not as though we had a free band or lunch together, let alone sometime for me to get him by himself to ask him to be my date.
We'd finished rehearsal and I was waiting to get picked up. I remember it was dark outside. I'd stayed later to do my homework in the library after we'd left the theatre; my dad was working late, and he was the one who was coming to get me.
I had this boy's his e-mail, because of theatre related things. I decided to e-mail him... he was a techie, he'd approve of that. I grabbed my bag and walked over to the computer lab.
Breeeeeaaaatheeee.... I'd been holding my breath. Can I really do this? I thought to myself. What if he thinks I'm a joke or something.... what if he just laughs at me? What if I'm too forward, asking him out instead of waiting for him to ask me? What if he tells all his friends about it and I get teased for the next two years straight?
I'd asked people out twice before. Once in 7th grade (horrible, horrible mistake) and once in 8th grade (he said yes to attending dance, but then wouldn't dance with me once we got there. It ended with me basically breaking his heart and asking to be friends because, well he wore the same cologne as my grandpa, he refused to dance and we just weren't getting anywhere). So, I had a classically 50/50 success rate.
Yes, I was that girl. To be honest, I didn't really care that I was the one being assertive; let's face it, if things got left up to boys who were my age, we'd all be punching the person we liked in the arm and telling them they had cooties to get the message across.
A.B. was older and *gasp* more mature than most guys, 17 year olds included. Yes, I'd e-mail him.... I waited for the computer to boot up.
Finally.
I logged in with my student ID and signed into my e-mail.
"Dear A.B.".... I began.
TAP, TAPPITY, TAP-TAP. KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK. I turned to look at whoever was annoyingly drumming on the glass of the computer lab; the end of the wall was the windowed-hallway in front of our school office-- and all the air left my lungs.
A.B. stood there grinning and waving at me, his bag slung to one shoulder.
OH. MY. GOD...! I thought to myself, having a completely girly moment and blushing from head to toe. Waving back at him I smiled sheepishly, in what I'm sure looked like an agonized manner. He's so tall. He looks so cute. He's SOOOOOO going to turn me down...
"Thank God he doesn't know what I'm doing," I said aloud through my smiling teeth. A.B. winked at me and mouthed "See you Monday," on the other side of the glass before turning and continuing out.
I let the air escape from my lungs. I'd been holding it again. Well, it's my birthday and he knows that, so maybe he won't shut me down on my birthday.
I finished the e-mail and pressed "send."
Well, it was done. There's no "unsend," button, so now it was a wait and see sort of thing. Besides, tomorrow I was having some friends over for my birthday. A bunch of high-school girls eating ice-cream and chocolate would help me forget that I'd just asked an upperclassman out.
For the dance. A big one. A formal. Called: The Crystal Ball.
I didn't much care for the name, but you know, nothing wrong with puns...
RIIIIING, RIIIIIIING, RIIIIING!!!
"H! PHONE! It's a BOY!" My dad shouted up the stairs. Giggling ensued madly.
"SHUT UP! He doesn't know you're all over here. NO LAUGHING! QUIET!" I screeched as I made my way over to the phone upstairs in my dad's office. I could barely reach the receiver as I was surrounded by my friends and they were all hysterical that I'd a) Asked A.B. out, b) Given him my phone number to receive his response, and c) That he was calling the night they were all here to bear-witness and able to console or celebrate with me after the verdict was stated.
"Hello?" I said, trying not to sound as though my heart was going to beat out of my chest.
"H? It's A.B." he said smoothly. His voice was so deep.
"Well, I figured." I said giggling in spite of myself. It's not like many boys call this number... ooh, did that sound snotty? CRAP!!!!!
"I got your e-mail..." he said. I detected a hint of a smile in his voice. Ok. Don't sound eager....
"Yeah? I hope it was okay that I sent it to you...." I said quietly. A giggle threatened to escape from several of the girls squeezed against me and the receiver.
"H, I'd love go to the dance with you," he said. OH HOLY HELL! He emphasized the word "love," he'd LOVE to go with me! YESSSSS!!!
Placing my hand over the receiver, I realized that all my girlfriends were staring at me bug-eyed with lolling expressions, hopping from one foot to the other; like true friends, they were just as excited as I was to find out whether he shot me down or not.
He said YES! I mouthed to them. It was too much. SQUEALS ensued. WOOHOOO's erupted from the girls, and despite my hand over the receiver, I KNEW he'd heard the symphony of whooping in the background.
"A.B.?," I could hear him chuckling. Well, if he'd thought he had no audience, now he knew.
"Yes. You have friends over don't you? Birthday right?"
"Yeah. So-- hold on---," I paused.
OK EVERYONE! Go downstairs and start the movie, I'll be down in a minute.
"Sorry about that," I murmured, "Um...."
"Well, since the dance is in February, and it's November now... we should hang out before then, huh?" he crooned.
"Sure!" I said brightly.
"We should also probably talk about the age difference between us. What do you think about it?" he asked seriously.
"I don't think it's an issue at all. If people don't like it, well, it's not their problem really, is it?" I countered.
"I feel the same way. It's no big deal," he said warmly.
"Great," I breathed back at him. God, I was turning into such a girly-girl. Ugh.
"Well, why don't we hang out tomorrow night? I've got to cover a SLAM poetry gathering in Burlington, would you like to come with me?" he offered.
"Yeah, that sounds great," I said.
"Super. It's a date then. Have a fun night," he said... there was that smile I could hear in his words again...
"Ok. Bye A.B. Thanks for calling," I said softly.
"Thanks for asking," he purred back. We hung up and I steeled myself to go downstairs and meet the girls.
OH MY GOD, I HAD MY FIRST DATE EVER!!
----------------------
That was the beginning with A.B. We dated for 2 ish years and I wouldn't change anything about it. At multiple times in my adult life, he's been there for me, and I for him. Through other relationships, tragedies, more relationships, job internships, tours, job offers and more - we've sought each other's advice and support.
I attended his wedding last year to an amazing, wonderful girl named C and they have begun a fantastic life together, and I hope to have them for a visit soon.
A.B. remains to this day, one of my dearest friends; he'll stay so for as long as we both have breath.
It's funny... when my folks first met my fiancee, they said he reminded them of A.B. I consider that to be a HUGE compliment, and a great honor. ;-)
I'm sure A.B. will pop up more in here... there are too many funny stories, like our first date, that simply shouldn't be left out.
But now, I've got to go make chocolate cherry cake, because my mum is telling me "You PROMISED and I DON'T SEE IT in the OVEN!"
Duty calls.
We were all sitting in the kitchen, perhaps the better (or worse, in my case) for wine; my paltry 1/4 of a glass on par with everyone else's start of their second.
"Well, let me put it simply and plainly: I just haven't gotten around to it. SO there! ," I smirked back at her, jumping right into the skin I wore as a teenager. Never mind that she's soon to be 67 and I'm 28: we still have difficulties keeping our adult pants on around one-another.
"What? What?!" bellowed my Dad, looking around innocently; his hearing aids were conveniently sitting on the dresser in the back bedroom.
"I SAID, SHE NEEDS TO CLEAN THE FAN. DAMMIT, WHY AREN'T YOUR HEARING AIDS IN?! You're doing this on purpose," my mother said dismissively, waving her hand at him.
Dad just gave her his trademark devilishly-toothy grin and stared at her with his eyes scrunched up.
He was, after all, pleased with himself for pissing her off.
J and I just looked meaningfully at each other, and completely failed at not laughing.
This is how my family works. We love each other, we pass judgement in a kindly way, and sweetly tell each other what we think someone should be doing, because that's what folks who love you do: boss you the heck around. (Hopefully J and I can change this tradition with our kiddos, but you never know....)
When I was little, my parents were amazing. They still are now, but as most everyone knows, there comes that time in a person's life, when their parents go from amazing to horrible, right in the middle. Usually it happens when a person becomes a teenager; all of a sudden, parents don't know as much as you thought they did. After all, no one tells kids or parents that there's no 'automatic knowing,' system to raising children or parenting.
I grew up in a large family. I say that, because though I don't technically have blood siblings, I still grew up with my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, great-aunts, great-uncles, second cousins and so forth, all around me.
You know that old adage, "It takes a village to raise a child?" Well, it's completely, utterly and complicatedly true in my opinion.
Getting back to what I was saying about this droop in the early beginnings of adult-hood in parental intelligence... or so it seems....
When I was 16, I had my first date. I asked him out. He was older than me. In fact, he was almost 18, and in the land of teenagers, there are miles between ages 16 and 18. Rivers, valleys and mountains too. However, I liked him, quite a lot. He was a theatre techie and we'd worked together on sets, lights - you name it. Late nights amongst amiable company make for swift ties in the theatre.
I'd been so terribly nervous to ask him out... I didn't even have his phone number and being as we were two grades apart (he a junior and myself a freshman... I have a November birthday which put me as the eldest in my grade, and he had a December birthday, so likewise for him) that day at school, I'd agonized over how to ask him.
It's not as though we had a free band or lunch together, let alone sometime for me to get him by himself to ask him to be my date.
We'd finished rehearsal and I was waiting to get picked up. I remember it was dark outside. I'd stayed later to do my homework in the library after we'd left the theatre; my dad was working late, and he was the one who was coming to get me.
I had this boy's his e-mail, because of theatre related things. I decided to e-mail him... he was a techie, he'd approve of that. I grabbed my bag and walked over to the computer lab.
Breeeeeaaaatheeee.... I'd been holding my breath. Can I really do this? I thought to myself. What if he thinks I'm a joke or something.... what if he just laughs at me? What if I'm too forward, asking him out instead of waiting for him to ask me? What if he tells all his friends about it and I get teased for the next two years straight?
I'd asked people out twice before. Once in 7th grade (horrible, horrible mistake) and once in 8th grade (he said yes to attending dance, but then wouldn't dance with me once we got there. It ended with me basically breaking his heart and asking to be friends because, well he wore the same cologne as my grandpa, he refused to dance and we just weren't getting anywhere). So, I had a classically 50/50 success rate.
Yes, I was that girl. To be honest, I didn't really care that I was the one being assertive; let's face it, if things got left up to boys who were my age, we'd all be punching the person we liked in the arm and telling them they had cooties to get the message across.
A.B. was older and *gasp* more mature than most guys, 17 year olds included. Yes, I'd e-mail him.... I waited for the computer to boot up.
Finally.
I logged in with my student ID and signed into my e-mail.
"Dear A.B.".... I began.
TAP, TAPPITY, TAP-TAP. KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK. I turned to look at whoever was annoyingly drumming on the glass of the computer lab; the end of the wall was the windowed-hallway in front of our school office-- and all the air left my lungs.
A.B. stood there grinning and waving at me, his bag slung to one shoulder.
OH. MY. GOD...! I thought to myself, having a completely girly moment and blushing from head to toe. Waving back at him I smiled sheepishly, in what I'm sure looked like an agonized manner. He's so tall. He looks so cute. He's SOOOOOO going to turn me down...
"Thank God he doesn't know what I'm doing," I said aloud through my smiling teeth. A.B. winked at me and mouthed "See you Monday," on the other side of the glass before turning and continuing out.
I let the air escape from my lungs. I'd been holding it again. Well, it's my birthday and he knows that, so maybe he won't shut me down on my birthday.
I finished the e-mail and pressed "send."
Well, it was done. There's no "unsend," button, so now it was a wait and see sort of thing. Besides, tomorrow I was having some friends over for my birthday. A bunch of high-school girls eating ice-cream and chocolate would help me forget that I'd just asked an upperclassman out.
For the dance. A big one. A formal. Called: The Crystal Ball.
I didn't much care for the name, but you know, nothing wrong with puns...
RIIIIING, RIIIIIIING, RIIIIING!!!
"H! PHONE! It's a BOY!" My dad shouted up the stairs. Giggling ensued madly.
"SHUT UP! He doesn't know you're all over here. NO LAUGHING! QUIET!" I screeched as I made my way over to the phone upstairs in my dad's office. I could barely reach the receiver as I was surrounded by my friends and they were all hysterical that I'd a) Asked A.B. out, b) Given him my phone number to receive his response, and c) That he was calling the night they were all here to bear-witness and able to console or celebrate with me after the verdict was stated.
"Hello?" I said, trying not to sound as though my heart was going to beat out of my chest.
"H? It's A.B." he said smoothly. His voice was so deep.
"Well, I figured." I said giggling in spite of myself. It's not like many boys call this number... ooh, did that sound snotty? CRAP!!!!!
"I got your e-mail..." he said. I detected a hint of a smile in his voice. Ok. Don't sound eager....
"Yeah? I hope it was okay that I sent it to you...." I said quietly. A giggle threatened to escape from several of the girls squeezed against me and the receiver.
"H, I'd love go to the dance with you," he said. OH HOLY HELL! He emphasized the word "love," he'd LOVE to go with me! YESSSSS!!!
Placing my hand over the receiver, I realized that all my girlfriends were staring at me bug-eyed with lolling expressions, hopping from one foot to the other; like true friends, they were just as excited as I was to find out whether he shot me down or not.
He said YES! I mouthed to them. It was too much. SQUEALS ensued. WOOHOOO's erupted from the girls, and despite my hand over the receiver, I KNEW he'd heard the symphony of whooping in the background.
"A.B.?," I could hear him chuckling. Well, if he'd thought he had no audience, now he knew.
"Yes. You have friends over don't you? Birthday right?"
"Yeah. So-- hold on---," I paused.
OK EVERYONE! Go downstairs and start the movie, I'll be down in a minute.
"Sorry about that," I murmured, "Um...."
"Well, since the dance is in February, and it's November now... we should hang out before then, huh?" he crooned.
"Sure!" I said brightly.
"We should also probably talk about the age difference between us. What do you think about it?" he asked seriously.
"I don't think it's an issue at all. If people don't like it, well, it's not their problem really, is it?" I countered.
"I feel the same way. It's no big deal," he said warmly.
"Great," I breathed back at him. God, I was turning into such a girly-girl. Ugh.
"Well, why don't we hang out tomorrow night? I've got to cover a SLAM poetry gathering in Burlington, would you like to come with me?" he offered.
"Yeah, that sounds great," I said.
"Super. It's a date then. Have a fun night," he said... there was that smile I could hear in his words again...
"Ok. Bye A.B. Thanks for calling," I said softly.
"Thanks for asking," he purred back. We hung up and I steeled myself to go downstairs and meet the girls.
OH MY GOD, I HAD MY FIRST DATE EVER!!
----------------------
That was the beginning with A.B. We dated for 2 ish years and I wouldn't change anything about it. At multiple times in my adult life, he's been there for me, and I for him. Through other relationships, tragedies, more relationships, job internships, tours, job offers and more - we've sought each other's advice and support.
I attended his wedding last year to an amazing, wonderful girl named C and they have begun a fantastic life together, and I hope to have them for a visit soon.
A.B. remains to this day, one of my dearest friends; he'll stay so for as long as we both have breath.
It's funny... when my folks first met my fiancee, they said he reminded them of A.B. I consider that to be a HUGE compliment, and a great honor. ;-)
I'm sure A.B. will pop up more in here... there are too many funny stories, like our first date, that simply shouldn't be left out.
But now, I've got to go make chocolate cherry cake, because my mum is telling me "You PROMISED and I DON'T SEE IT in the OVEN!"
Duty calls.
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