On Ordinary

One of my favorite times with you was the Saturday morning you surprised me with coffee before work.  You told me you had heard of this really great place and even though I had no idea how significant a well-crafted latte would become to me, I was excited to be chauffeured to the office with a quick stop for caffeinated goodness on the way.

"What if I didn't work on Saturdays?" I mused as we walked back to the car.  I don't think you responded.

And so the morning drive continued without incident, you dropped me off right before the Farmer's Market vendors started unloading their trucks, preparing for the day's activities.

A few months later, I got Saturdays off and we both worked Monday through Friday like "normal" adults do.  This isn't super significant, except to say the surprise coffee trip only happened once.  And maybe it should have happened more, or maybe the novelty of it made it matter most to my aching yet hopeful heart.

And I am still trying to process these feelings and hurts and choices, but when is it enough?


I dreamed about you last night, so I figured this was the most appropriate form of response.

All the Feels

I am here to say that I have been pleasantly surprised by the quiet unfolding of events over the past few weeks.  I feel lucky/blessed/etc/etc to be in this place, but the truth is I have put in a lot of work and made several fucking hard decisions to get here.  And, yes, I was not expecting this "so soon," but I can't deny that something is happening.

For now that is enough to keep me hopeful, to continue getting to know this peculiar person and to be okay with all the not knowings of something new and real and fragile.

It's not the worst place to be, I suppose.

On Benefitting from Doubt

Remember that time I said I wanted to be taken advantage of? Scratch that. I definitely do not want that to happen.

I do still want to be kind and am trying to practice this skill daily. (Things tend to get easier the more you do them, good or bad...take that for what it's worth I suppose.)  I also realize that life for me is filled with far fewer wild adventures and many more quiet ones: interacting with humans, being outside, exploring.

Maybe re-learning how to be me is enough this year.  Maybe next year I get to re-learn how to be with others. Or maybe not.  Maybe I don't have holiday plans for the first time in my life and this is both terrifying and mildly okay.  Maybe being okay with the 'unknown' is an awkwardly small step in the direction of a much larger desire to be gracious in the art of letting go.

Whatever that means.

Diving into the Wreck

First having read the book of myths, and loaded the camera, and checked the edge of the knife-blade, I put on the body-armor of black rubber the absurd flippers the grave and awkward mask. I am having to do this not like Cousteau with his assiduous team aboard the sun-flooded schooner but here alone. There is a ladder. The ladder is always there hanging innocently close to the side of the schooner. We know what it is for, we who have used it. Otherwise it is a piece of maritime floss some sundry equipment. I go down. Rung after rung and still the oxygen immerses me the blue light the clear atoms of our human air. I go down. My flippers cripple me, I crawl like an insect down the ladder and there is no one to tell me when the ocean will begin. First the air is blue and then it is bluer and then green and then black I am blacking out and yet my mask is powerful it pumps my blood with power the sea is another story the sea is not a question of power I have to learn alone to turn my body without force in the deep element. And now: it is easy to forget what I came for among so many who have always lived here swaying their crenellated fans between the reefs and besides you breathe differently down here. I came to explore the wreck. The words are purposes. The words are maps. I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail. I stroke the beam of my lamp slowly along the flank of something more permanent than fish or weed the thing I came for: the wreck and not the story of the wreck the thing itself and not the myth the drowned face always staring toward the sun the evidence of damage worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty the ribs of the disaster curving their assertion among the tentative haunters. This is the place. And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair streams black, the merman in his armored body. We circle silently about the wreck we dive into the hold. I am she: I am he whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes whose breasts still bear the stress whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies obscurely inside barrels half-wedged and left to rot we are the half-destroyed instruments that once held to a course the water-eaten log the fouled compass We are, I am, you are by cowardice or courage the one who find our way back to this scene carrying a knife, a camera a book of myths in which our names do not appear. -Adrienne Rich

duck duck goose

So I know I don't really bring up personal things here, for fear that you may get the wrong idea. Things are good. Usually, things are always good. And if they're not good right now, they will be soon enough. That being said, if I am being totally honest with myself (and apparently right now I am), I must confess to you, dear readers, how difficult this 1st year of marriage has been for me. Upon review, 368 days later, for no apparent legitimate reason, I find myself questioning any newlywed couple that told me this decision would be "so easy." What did/do they know that I didn't/don't? Maybe I wasn't really "ready," maybe I had the wrong expectations, maybe I'm just not "marriage material." Maybe all of the above? The logistics of a wedding were overwhelming, but the reality of marriage was something I thought would come naturally to me, the oldest daughter of two still-married (happily?) Christian parents from a small, sleepy town on the Gulf coast. This is what G.R.I.T.S. are supposed to do, right? Not so easy, and in case you were wondering, it hasn't come as naturally as I assumed it would that balmy afternoon my sweet beau pulled out a box and asked me if I wanted to keep up this good thing we had going between us indefinitely. What I didn't realize, nor could I have anticipated the post-proposal pre-wedding haze, was the seriousness of my simple response. Yes to you and me. Yes to only us. Yes to disease. Yes to poverty. Yes to shortcomings. Yes to our humanness. There are days when I don't want to say yes to only us or sickness or budgets or imperfections. I replay August and the beach and the dogs in the sand...what if my yes had been a no, thank you? I would only be saying Yes to something else. To my dear friends and family who are married or planning to get married or unmarried, I salute you, applaud your courage and admire your pluck for the conscious/unconscious choice to enter into the daily Yes with another willing party who may or may not be just as terrified as I was.

on what can be said

Hi. It appears that when one has more time than she knows what to do with, very little actually gets done. At least, that is what this she has found. Here I am, at the end of October, wishing that the weather would at least pretend to behave and shed its perpetual summer skin. But, no luck. I think it's about 85 right now. I'm still looking for a job. I am reading Mockingjay, trying to convince Brian that the fact that it is labeled "YA" does not negate the point that I am reading again. Which is something. I'd like to tell you that my recent transition into marriage has righted every concern and answered every question I've ever held in my heart. But it has not, and I guess I am glad that it hasn't. Instead, it has decided to bring with it more concerns and questions to which I know the correct response to quite few. I found that my husband enjoys making lists, and I suppose I am not immune to this simple task either. Here are some things I have noted in my first 100 days or so: Clean up your dishes. Vacuum the floors at least twice a week. Make sure the dog has a full bowl of water. Limit t.v. exposure. Kiss each other when you leave and when you come back. Go outside. Let me get the mail. Let him play games. Make the bed. Open the blinds in the morning. Don't wear nail polish for more than two weeks. Eat fruit & vegetables. (Try to disguise them if you're not as good at this as you thought.) Maybe you found something on this list that was really helpful for your relationship, or something new that you'd like to try out. I hope so! And if I had a verse to share with you I'm pretty sure it'd be the one from Psalms... "O Lord, do not delay!" I'm not sure why, but this is what I want you to have. Also, let me know if you'll be in Florida this coming week, because it looks like I will be too.

streams.

It has been too long since I've had a chance to be reflective enough to write something of relevance here. It has been a long, loud, weekend. I feel older and am older, and lots of other things too. I am wondering about the validity of moving away from alot of things, people, places, etc. that I know and love to pursue one human. Is it worth it? (I like to think yes) The more people I talk to, the more people I tell that I'm moving, the more realistic my plan becomes. I don't want to be "that" girl that chases "that" boy. But I guess for lack of a better description, that's exactly who I am. It worries me somewhat, but not enough to do anything about it.
I like to think that a ring on my finger, and our own apartment with two bicycles in the hallway will finally be some sort of indicator that I have arrived. That the life I am living is worth it and valid and permanent. Some days the idea of carrying another life around inside me makes me sick to my stomach. But I wouldn't be here if someone didn't do the same for me. I really really really really like adoption. It might be hard to find someone who is on the same page as I am with that. But I hope I have/do/will find a partner in that, regardless. My mom asked me today if I knew what my dream job was. I had to say no. Maybe by now I should have said yes to that. How long does it take until I know? I wish I knew, I guess. For now there are too many things that I don't know. But I have learned to be content in them. I have learned that I am not the job I have, or the clubs I'm in, or the meals I prepare, or the stories I write. I am all of these things and none of these things, and it has taken a long time for me to honor this. I am light and truth and innocence and tenderheartedness and grace.

faithfull in little & much.

A couple of days ago (and I am sorry, I know it’s no longer Valentine’s Day), I looked at my boyfriend and said, “Is there anyone else in love like us?” Which may or may not have been a spin off of a line from a certain Maya Rudolph in a particular movie that I am terribly fond of. Regardless.
What I think I meant to say was, “Will we still be in love like this when I can’t keep up with you on my bike, or if I am driven to madness by your sports fanaticisms?” But it was shorter. And sweeter. And perhaps encapsulates a lot more of what I was thinking at the time.
A friend of mine asked what sort of goals I had set up for my life, and one of them involved a dog, and another (more serious) one involved being in love with a partner for the better part of my life. I know I am a romantic, so this might have something to do with my response, but I also know that I can be dangerously practical, and that I have seen that sort of practicality fleshed out in many grown up relationships.
So, I know what to avoid, but there is a part of me that fears the only way to avoid mistakes is to repeat them. Which doesn’t really make that much sense if you think about it, so don’t. I’m afraid my partner and I will mirror my parents. Or, in other words, that we will be humans.
I am eager for a time when people get married for the right reasons: not because they’re young and not because they’re old, and not because they’re pregnant, or because they want to have sex or are simply tired of waiting.
And I don’t know what the right reason for you is, but I think for me it’s something along the lines of living better together than on my own, and loving fiercely, and finally waking up next to a very, very dear friend.

I think I am looking forward to a time where bed sharing is permissible and commuting by bicycle is possible and having a four legged friend proves feasible.

home is wherever with you.

I do not know why so many things seem to come together at once.
Like five birthdays in the same week,
Or three phone calls in a row,
when the line had been dead for an hour.
I do not know why "when it rains it pours."
Like why couldn't it just drizzle,
or mist even?
I do not know why things fall apart
and humans break so easily,
Like tinkling glass on tiles.
I do not know why I like bird whistles,
but tell you to shut up in the shower.
Like your voice is worthless without wings.
I do not know why your path and my path
are traveling in the same direction,
as constant and inherent as
the salmon swims upstream.

you cannot serve both

I don't want to sell my life for money, but some days it can be tempting.

while we are still humans.

first off, it`s good to know you are still real.
secondly, please don`t be sad any more. we love you!
lastly, even though i am a better listener than them, thanks for always being willing.

on not having any immediate plans.

i have calculated the approximate time it
takes for me to accomplish each day's needs.
but to be quite honest with the world,
i haven`t thought much further than the edge of my nose.

&i have heard that it is okay to live like this:
wearing socks a little too big, taking steps small & just right,
hours of darkness and bright to think about tomorrows.
still, there is a hope on that ever-growing horizon.

we breathe in each morning, exhaling the night.
&oh, i have so much to learn!
but, take heart--with each half-eaten moon rise, each light we save:
there is plenty of time.

on getting dark outside.

it is cooler at night than it has been in september or august or july.
and it has been too long since i have held your hands in mine
or felt the brush of your bones in passing
or blinked my lips to catch yours.
oh, dear.

our seasons' changing blows in more than just frozen wind.

on letting go.

some times my heart is too gentle for me to bear.
is that even possible?

on standing still.

"knowing well that those that know don`t talk & those that talk don`t know."

on thistles

there are birds out of doors right now. i don`t know how many. i don`t know what kind.
but they are singing up a storm.

i can learn from that.

away he goes.

i`m still here.
miss you.
love you.

we haven`t just been told; we`ve been loved.

picture credit: b.d.h.

on being brave.

there are some days that i am big enough to withstand divorces, full meals, bone cancer.
&then there are other days where i wish i could curl up &be covered again.