one lucky...

I have heard it said that "a dog is a man's best friend." I don't doubt the statement, but it does make me wonder about the mechanics of the human animal bond. Or maybe why the phrase isn't "a woman is a man's best friend." (I assume for some this is entirely the case, however, for the sake of argument...)
I have some reasons why this proverb may be so, particularly from a man's point of view:
-they are always happy to see you
-they're down for a ride in the car anywhere
-they always listen
-they never criticize you
-they don't care about how much money you make, or what you do, or fancy dinners
-they (for the most part) do what you ask them to
-they think you're the best thing since breakfast 3 hours ago (see point 1)

I'm not trying to anthropomorphize, or maybe I am, but I think we could learn a thing or two from those critters. Whether you're a man or a woman, I don't even care if you have a dog or not, maybe we could try to be more like them in all our various ships. I think we could have a lot more honest and hopeful interactions that way. Think about it.

clear nailpolish.

I believe that there are a lot of big parts of me that appreciate change. I relish the idea of ending one job in search of a new (more fulfilling) one, and then working other part-time (less-fulfilling) ones. I'm anxious for friendships to become deeper and permanent. I get goosebumps thinking of all the great rides I'll have on a bike I can effortlessly carry up stairs; I'm even thinking about all new streets and sidewalks in the next year! See, I'm okay with the different!!
But (there had to be), I also believe that there's an even bigger part of me that appreciates the constancy of this life I am (lest I forget, currently) living. I have my rhythms and habits and place for my shoes at the front door.
So I worry about where I can find a place to work out in the mornings, if I don't live near school, and I wonder if any one would hire me with such limited job experience. I also wonder who would want to live with me, or who I would end up living with apart from here.
I am afraid of change. But I also firmly believe that He/She is aware of my fears and validates my concerns. Which makes me feel a little better. And I'm also fairly certain that the God who bore with 'please send us a puppy' Christmas prayers is still able to determine immediate needs and those that I could do without for just one more year.
So there is that. Which is nice.

On Patience.

Quickly,
We curl up under floral sheets;
Shyly,
Kiss and press our spines together;
Slowly,
Breathe in night and fall asleep.

on noodles.

we always had a couple, hoarded around the outside of the pool, barracading us against the unassuming canine or grandparent, keeping the intruders out and the fish in.
they were always made up of some sort of metal piping and white strips of rubbery plastic, burning our un-toweled backsides, warranting no sympathy from the "i told you so" looks of our kitchen aid mother.
so what if lounge chairs didn't float? it only took a couple of hurricanes for us to realize that sitting on a chair under the water was much more exhilarating than holding your breath above.
which is exactly what she was doing when i walked in to the sanctuary yesterday. her stretcher was padded, albeit with a meager foam pad and blankets, but underneath the cushion were the same plastic strips and metal piping.
her lifeguard was a gentleman who appeared to be in his early eighties: one pair of bottle cap glasses, two aids for hearing, a smattering of liver-spots on his hands.
i watched as he quietly propped her willowy frame up against the back of the chair. i smiled when i saw that her velcroed shoes still kept time with the music, that she only nodded off a few times during the sermon.
but mostly i caught his head...tilted just a little bit further to the left than normal, caught the frames of his spectacles focused only on his one, tiny swimmer.
and some thing the pastor said about a big lake and a very small fishing boat and no luck all night.
keeping the intruders out and his fish in.

a parting thought.

"I bend my arrows now in circles & I shoot around the hill
If I don't get you in the morning, by the evening I sure will.
By the evening, I sure will."

on holly avenue.

I
know
that
atonepointisaidthati
neverwantedanychildren.

Well, throw that cutie pie in a bassinet & call me a sucker.

on raining outside.

since it was raining outside to night, i got to use my windshield wipers for the first time in a long time.
&as i waited for the stoplight to change colors, i just sort of stared at the blades going swish, swash, back and forth. and it was kind of peaceful in a peculiar way.
now i don`t know if it was because i had an umbrella, or the lights downtown looked unusually hopeful, or that brian is coming back soon, or that i am getting out of here next week, or just that the garbage bag nintendo man was having so much fun. but whatever it was, it felt good. good enough to put on a quotable coffee mug if my "good" could be verbalized. i keep telling myself i`m waiting for something really big and great to happen.
may be this is it.

j &the whale

hold me close
closely
closer
&rub circles round my bones.

tilt my chin up
upley
upper
&kiss that weary mask.

cradle her head
softly
softer
&whisper hushed mysteries--
even the moon wanes weak.

i still use kid shampoo.

the air tonight was heavy with the traces of a summer that i would never hold: a syrupy, sweet thickness of sticky popsicles and hand-squeezed lemonade that made me instinctively pedal faster, knowing this indulgence was far too rich for me.
families &sidewalks of streets, lazy summer dinners, night-time readings, and bed-time prayers floated just above my head, just past the place where i could comfortably reach-[oh, but if i stretched just a little bit farther...]
&you, with all 99 of your red, hope-filled balloons, reminding me that you`re off soon: to wherever those dreams touch down.
ask me if i`d like to come along for the journey, for company, or just for someone to talk to, perhaps.
but i cannot leave the ground so easily, with that lost summer floating so lackadaisically close to my brain.
&so i instinctively pedal faster and faster, hoping the dust will cover you in my wake.

bryce graham

it`s been a quiet day here: too warm to fill my lungs with too many promises for the first day of summer.
you`ll understand eventually, i suppose.

but to night, i can hope for this:
warm food,
yard work,
lemon sorbet,
&faithfullness.

Wish you were here.

90263

"Grab three pitchers of water," he says, "we`ll drive down to Malibu &do our part." [throw some water on the fire?][!]
Oh! How I confuse myself with this future talk!

I find that tenderness often goes underestimated.

I am not the wisest of children, &I expect You to come in rushing wind, &loud sounds, and fantastic displays of light &noise &magnitude. I do not find it half so believeable when You come to me through other women, &sweet words, and flowers, and fellowship, & "you`re too tender"s, & not behaving as I ought. I say that I want closeness with the Lord, but search me and know that I am often found lying quietly in the evening, waiting for the lightning, when He is already gently raining love &trust over me.
&that`s all I got. In a feeble attempt to mimick Buchner, I stretched my hands out, &whispered "Please, Lord," over &over. And do you know what He told me? He told me that He loved me, &He told me to trust Him.
That`s all.

Listening, to hear You breathe.

"Well, there are times I wish I was a Persian cat, &I lay curled up inside Your lap."