Four Days

Four days to do as I wish. Genuinely do whatever I wished.

This was an opportunity to do something great rather than sulk at being home alone. I began to feel greedy as the Four Days approached.

Day One was awkward. It was the unsubtle tension of reintroducing me to me. I got up early and found that the morning was surprised to see me with my coffee on the porch before dawn. I ignored how ill at ease I felt and defiantly finished three cups. Wandering back inside, I stared at a half started painting from two weeks ago. Hey, I thought. Hey thought the painting.

I sat down and broke out the paints. The whole day went like this. Even the walk at the park with Sal felt self conscience. I finished the day off with a couple of margaritas and salmon with a side of spinach.

Day Two: I got up early again and took my coffee outside. This time the morning wasn't quite so insultingly startled to see me. We hung out for a bit and then I wandered in and began to draw. Four hours of solid music later I was sunshine soaked and my hands blackened with chalk. I emerged feeling shy and withdrawn and excited. The drawing honestly isn't my best at all but it is my first in many many many many many days.

It felt so good. I can't express to you how good. Like taking a long cold gulp of water after hours of wishing for one. I was full from a meal of absolute oneness with me. I felt covetous and wanted to keep going. I almost resented that I had made other plans.

I drove south spent the rest of the ENTIRE day with my mother. We ate too much Indian food; we shopped for over three hours, we made watches with bright daring beads and snacked on assorted chocolate dipped things and chips with yummy artichoke dip. Ah…. So good….I arrived home satisfied smiling and elated.

Day Three: Today.... The weeks of tension that have twisted my fingers into knots, is relaxing. The rain hums and laughs. All disjointed colors turn to purple and yellow and at last I can inhale deeply. With only my dog and the Wind Woman for company, I cupped my steaming coffee in both my hands; lost and found in this cool grey morning and my oversized comfy holey sweater. 

I am very sorry that this spontaneous and short sabbatical is ending. I wish there were a way to stay in this rain filled dream of music and creativity and margaritas.

Mostly I am grateful. Presently satisfied from a large meal, it hopefully will be a while before I remember the pangs of hunger.

Plus I really miss my guy.

Careful

The wind is sucking me back.

‘I haven’t landed on the top!’ I thought out to my friend. The Wind Woman was playing in the suddenly powerful air, she was not looking but at my thought she rushed to my face.

“You know what to do” she answered.

She’s right. I do know what to do.

There isn’t time to panic. My heart beat and my breathing are steady, I am calm; a benevolent sunset frames my moment. It is too late to pull enough speed bar to get out front. I am landing on the top and I must do so quickly. I do know what to do.

I focus, keeping my left heel hinged to the speed bar, lightly pressing into it, slowing the backward pull; I have my right foot extended to the ground. I am still moving backwards but I have slowed that significantly by keeping an active angle of attack. The ground comes up to me slowly,

“Don’t pull a turtle” she teases me with an infinitesimally brief picture of a recorded moment of feet going over a head; I remember this, as ever so gently, my toe reaches out to press into the dirt.

Both of my feet touch the ground, my flare is almost non-existent, my elbows are digging into my sides, my hands go up with my wing; I am in torpedo. We dance as we kite, I don’t overly fighting the two inches I am still sliding back. A quick glance up shows a steady wing and reminds me which lines are which.

Turning quickly, I reach up, catch, and pull the B lines behind me. Now I am dragged forward, weeds tug at my ankles and the cloud of dust is almost blinding. I have caught her by surprise and I have my success. I scoop in the lines; they slide hotly into my palms, my fingers, until I reach her and literally kneel down on her, the edges flapping and smacking my face.

The Wind Woman laughs in my ear, “Careful.”

‘I don’t think I want to do that again anytime soon,’ is my hissed retort. Even tamed on the ground, even bunched in a ball, the wing is still trying to re-inflate. I give up on a clean bag and stuff the wing with the harness crammed on top.

“Maybe pay a little more attention then.” She suggested.

I couldn’t help it; I answered her with a weak grin. That would be a good idea.

I finish my pack; I throw it on my shoulders and hike over to the van. At the pickup below, my sister’s tandem went well, my instructor’s and my sweetheart’s eyes were saucers and we ate bread sticks while I wished for a nice glass of champagne.

No worries.

Gnarled

A creaking spinning wheel,

spun by gnarled withered hands,

an old woman's knobby voice,

caressed the dry baked lands

Glowing pink sky, a blushing girl’s setting sun

Now clouds deepen to blue twilight.

While that aged bent voice crooned-

Her hoarse expressions of night, light and right,

Her vigil forever kept.

See the old mountains?

The faded roads?

Newly naked fields cut by a slithering necklace?

I finally know.

My story will end, must end

The ghosts will engage in their dances,

My time will fall, the curtains will close

And there will be a last conclusion to my chances.

I leaned back,

Her fingers glide up my face,

She chuckles her rasping giggle as she dried my eyes

She already knew my fate.

I answered and she smiled

waiting as I struggle to frame my heart.

“Thank you for my life. For every single moment of it.”

After the explosion

The boom from the blast deafened my ears. Blinking bleary eyes at the cloud of dust blooming all around, I tried to see through the rubble. Although the landscape had been rendered utterly unrecognizable in the destruction I still sought to find a point of reference.

Clumsy with bewilderment, I scrambled over the shredded bricks and rocks. Tearing my jeans and staining my hands, I made my directionless way over a setting of confusion.

After several ancient minutes I stopped. Hands on my knees, I tried to catch my breath while coughing on the powdery air.

“Stop. Just stop for a moment.” The welcome friendly breeze brushed my cracked chapped lips, stirring the air for a moment. I sat down and leaned against a piece of a wall propped up behind me.

I thought about my options. The wind caressed my arm and my sight followed her to what she had to show me. She formulated in the air, the outline of a small child throwing sand into the surf. As the their profile turned to look at me, the shape shifted and disappeared. How many times have I almost seen that small face?

She returned to touch my eyes once more before she too disappeared.

I thought about work and I thought about Real estate and school. Then I woke up. In the still darkness of the cool room and poofy comfy bed I answered myself;

“Stay the course. Get the CE classes. Get yourself healthy. Get out of the place you are in when you are able…and not before. Go to school. Find out what you need to do to show that you are healthy. Stay the course. There is too little information to make a rash decision. “

Storms

Summer storms are here. I watch the clouds build and break over a massive canvas that is more than ready for the paint of rain.

For a moment I catch my breath. I hold in the fresh cut taste of lightly washed air.  Flashes of the east, so long left behind, flutter through my hands.  Taking a moment I flipped through my remembered photo album, I touch it with a soft smile. 

The east is a beloved relative that I haven't visited for many a long over due holiday.  I see the green, the fire flies, and I wish I had known that last road trip down the coast was the last until someday.  I wish I had stayed for just a few more moments by the harbour and inhaled the mist from the sea. 

Opening my eyes I exhale the memory.  The over development is burning off already in the blazing white light.  Clouds begin to disappear and open a window to the baking blue behind. I am grateful for my best friend, without him this place would still feel as remote and alien as the moon.  With him, this is home.

Living is a very strange and interesting thing.

Wow...

Wow…

How many ways are there to say wow? Or is that the only way?

Monday was a golden glow of morning sun, kittens in the yard, coffee delivered for a quick visit in the afternoon warmth, opening loot, and drowning in a dinner of sushi………ooo I also did homework which translates that I was drawing…. Such a perfect day! How loved and lucky I am to have my life. I have decided that thirty is awesome.

And I will lose ten pounds to celebrate this too.

Sigh of happiness….

Tuesday…. Tuesday evening we met at a Junior High’s school field just north of where we live. I looked up to the little hill and thought… ok, nerve wracking but I think this is ok, that’s not that far.

Then we drove up a winding dirt road, and we drove and we drove and then we were dropped off at a corner in said road. Far far away sat the now tiny little patch of green. I decided that the green must not have shrunk but must be REALLY far away. Would we make it?? I eyed the houses, roads, hills down below.

This was my first mountain site and we were high enough up for me to be very impressed. I watched the first several take offs carefully, how did they pull up? Did they run long enough?

My take off was fairly clean, the wind was practically nonexistent and each of us glided their “shower curtain” through smooth crisp air to the distant green field without a remote issue or care in the world. I watched the little kids, boys mostly, run up to the pilot landing before me. I skidded slightly on my landing and I hopped up elated to high five my coach and new friends.

Flying is just awesome.

Shiny...

My fortune-hunter, my explorer, my adventurer, my traveler, my husband, and hero;

Has a knack of handing me shiny new hobbies and then taking them away and replacing them with new ones. I offer accompanying squeals that go something like this;

“OOOO! This is my favorite sport- oh no, I don’t want to try something new- OOOO, no wait! This is my favorite hobby-OOOO! This is my favorite Toy!“

And so on. First it was diving into a lukewarm, swimming pool and choking on chlorinated water to claw my frightened self to the three feet away surface. Then came my very lovely pink leather jacket for his shiny scary fast bike. Then it was our adorable little house in dire need of love and paint. Then it was the most romantic wedding anyone has ever had followed by the most astonishing honeymoon (which included dolphins) thought up.

At the beginning of this year he piled us and gear into the car and drove us up the mountains to coach me on my utter lack of skiing knowledge. Although I continued to frantically hyperventilate in panic at the super steep slopes, I actually improved and fell madly in love.

About two weeks after that he had me on the side of a hill with a gargantuan kite flopped over behind me while snowflakes settled into the brown, wet and despairingly un-pretty landscape. Borderline freaked out and trying not to throw up on the surrounding dead sodden weeds, I charged forward to pull it up behind me and float a grand five to ten feet in the air. Fast forward about four months later and presently I am becoming excellent friends with my own 'kite' Perry, also called a 'Wing' by the cool kids and I am rated a novice P2 pilot.

Have I mentioned that I live an exceptionally blessed and spoiled life? Have I mentioned that I owe a significant amount of this blessed life to my dear husband? I don’t think I have. I worry beyond worrying about what I would do without him. I worry that I haven’t paid my equal share for this life I am afforded. I need to quit worrying and bask in the sunshine of my life. There will be storms a plenty some day but right now these are my days of gentle seas and safe harbors.

Did it!

My husband leaned slightly forward in the triangle; testing his nerves. The air had evened and steadied and I felt myself steady with it. The light was turning golden as evening set in and the heat of the day abated with the less direct waves of summer light.

I closed my eyes and unheard I whispered “You’ve got this.”

The words were to him, they echoed back to me.

He took off; the nose of his glider dipped slightly down and then he soared above.

I watched fascinated by his bravery of overcoming what he has been so wary of. Fearing something that you know is relatively safe and known is a terrible thing. In fact this type of fear is the most awful type of fear to overcome yet I know it can be done. There are many things I have feared that may be silly but once upon a time that fear was given a nearly unshakable foundation; a hold in my mind, emotions, soul and body.

I said the words louder, “You’ve got this.” A bystander gave me a puzzled look; I smiled back and hurried to my gear.

I asked other pilots their thoughts and found reassurance. Then I kited my wing up to see mine. I pre-flight checked three times. The air was steady, the wind was even; I turned, torpedoed for the edge and took off.

The elation is indescribable. I could taste it in my dry mouth; I couldn’t swallow because of the nerdy grin I wore.

It is the most wonderful thing to surprise ones’ self. There isn’t a better feeling in the world.

I have also never been so aware of myself. I paid attention to my turns, the surges, the thermals, the feeling of my lines cutting into my hands and the cooling angle of the sun. I sang to myself and swung my feet a little as my guy and I called out hello on passes.

As others looked to be sinking out, I turned and checked my altitude, I looked at the empty landing zone. I watched my sweetheart’s landing and decided it was my turn. It took several deep breaths and two more turns for all to agree:  I was the proper distance, I had the needed height. In the back ground I heard myself hyperventilating as the rest of me focused. I calmly did a figure eight and turned in. I coasted softly, I turned lightly, bleeding off speed and I perfectly flared to tip toe myself on to the ground.

I stood frozen in silly wonderful awe as my glider, puzzled at my sudden lack of input, collapsed in the weeds behind me. The noise woke me up and I gave little squeak with an accompanying hop.

I did it! I, Chicken Little, blond empowered with “Rock Star” nail polish, purple highlights and eye liner, I did it! Hooray!

My best friend was there and we gave each other grinning hugs.

I love a good dream...

Once upon a dream…

Down a twisting hole the girl fell. Dark brunette hair tousled around her eyes as she waved her hands in front of her face, as if trying to part the dark. Slowly she began to see glowing plants around her, lining and lighting the narrow walls. The rate of her descent slowed until she felt herself drifting to an upright position. Soon she landed on her toes to come to find herself gently standing on a damp floor. She shivered in her bare footed and lightly dressed self.

“Oh my Dear!” a voice called.

She turned to find an elderly lady with grey eyes, grey hair and white mushroom skin hurrying to greet her. The lady paused with her hand over her breast to catch her breath before exclaiming “Oh! Oh my goodness but you aren’t the right girl!”

Confusion now mixed with confused dismay “I am not the right girl?” The lovely young woman repeated.

The old lady placed a squishy colorless hand on a slender young hand nearest hers, “No worries my dear! No worries at all. I feel that this shall work out just right. What was your name?”

Troubled and slightly lost, the young creature answered “Ethne.”

“Ethne I am Lady Grey. Let us warm your toes up with socks and tea.”

Lady Grey raised her hand and a glowing butterfly landed on her hand to act as a torch to guide them through musty halls. Ornate carvings lined the bulwark and engraved and growing ivy offered shimmering soft light for additional sight. The two came to a room lit with a roaring white blue fire and Lady Grey made tea as Ethne rolled on a pair of toasty bright red and orange socks.

Once settled they both agreed that Ethne was not the right girl for her son, the Wandering King of the Underground Hall but she might be the right person to bring him Back. They hoped he might hear of her arrival and he would come back to find out who she was. Upon his return they would convince him to stay. In the meantime her fiancé, the King of the Sky would surely be looking for her.

Good News

Reader I have excellent news. Something good is happening

Really, I heard it on the wind last night. Around 2:55am. All the tension that has been slowly melting away the last month, well it came back and swelled into my chest until there was very little room left to breathe. An uncomfortable tight feeling, I assure you. Then, it broke, it blossomed and the air rushed back into my lungs.

‘Something good is happening’ the wind touched my face with her cool hair. Oh I am so happy to see it; even though I can’t tell you where it is coming from. I haven’t the faintest idea of the form it will take but I must celebrate the news.

I turned to share the good report with my tossing best friend. I ran my fingers over his shoulder to sooth his tossing and watched him drift back to sleep. My eyes became leaded and I fell into a deep sleep too.

I woke up to birds outside. I studied my flowers punching up from the mulch and soil, their slender firm arms reaching up to the watery sunlight. Something good is happening. I smiled and laughed to myself. My snarled dreaded morning meeting held no dread for me. I was impervious to their glares and snippet comments. I was calm and safe with my knowledge, there is change in the air. This white knuckled ride through a series of busy bored nothings is coming to an end. The delight of my best friend’s friendship, the summer air and the adventure shaping before me take first place.

Clutch

Katie and I had a little adventure today. While waiting at a stop light I shifted the car into neutral and lifted my left foot off the clutch.

However…The clutch did not follow my foot but stayed stuck solidly to the floor. The light now, of course, turned green. Drat…

“Um….” I hit my flashers on and waved at the honking F150 truck to go around me.

After awkwardly stamping my foot up and down on the stubbornly glued to the floor clutch, it Popped up and loose. We lurched forward and then Katie staled. I carefully started the thing, and coasted her quietly into the parking lot to study the silent dash board.

“That was different.” I advised the car. I was not granted a reply.

There is a new work around for this newest quirk. Just in case you ever need to drive Katie I will share it with you. Don’t engage the clutch completely. Gently press the thing down so that shifting the gears remains easy but there isn’t any need to press it all the way down. Not unless you would like a good laugh and to make someone honk.

Epiphany

An Epiphany occurred to me last night… Lying in bed I was racking my brain for a baby sitter for my Cat…when the name of a friend floated into my head and took a seat in the front row.

Although I fell asleep relatively quickly the name called out to me the moment I woke up. I called this friend, this last person I would have ever thought to call and they were delighted to have been thought of.

This little puzzle piece reminded me that I always know the answer to my questions or desires. You may ask; if I know the answers, why do I rant my questions to the stars, unfortunate loved ones in hearing range and the dog?

Well duh…sometimes I don’t want that particular answer. I want there to be a different answer.

In order to block out the undesired and unwelcome solution I throw additional 'what ifs' and 'how comes' into a blender I keep handy in my head and turn it to the highest setting. The unsolicited answer may attempt to shout over the deafening whirling but I just keep my finger pressed down until the mix is completely pulverized.

The result is a successful mess of bewilderment. Deciphering what the containments originally were must be left to experts as the common person, such as myself, could not tell you.

Anyway the epiphany was simply an answer that came by to remind me that I do too know the answer. Would I like to listen?

I took a message.

3:21am

Sometimes I wonder when the war with 3am began. My first clear memory that 2am was in the green zone was when I was around twelve years old and living in Georgia. I was watching the moon rise in the bedroom and how it's silver light coasted up the walls and traveled across my bed. I looked at the clock and thought, "It's all right. It's only 2am."

...Send It Soaring....

It’s an amazing amount of entertainment, boating around up there. The wind rushing in my ears, my fingers cooling and my feet swinging. Last night, I looked down to find a doe and fawn and, for the first time up there, I heard the Wind Woman laugh at me.

I am just over thirty teeny flights now. Why I still get so nervous before takeoff that I could chuck all over the hill is a mystery to me.

Flight on the other hand, now that is increasingly fun. Even in traffic (and mind you, I have only been exposed to mild congestion at this point) is not that bad any more. I have stopped hyperventilating too. I still sing though.

Last night, I practiced letting go of the 'brakes' and turning just with my hips. Every time I let go my hands ache so much they scream. I am not very good at turning without holding the brakes but I think plain old practice will help.

In all honesty, my landings are ominous. I get too focused. I want to land like the 'cool' kids do. I think about it until my mouth hurts from my biting it and my tingling hands worsen my preoccupied distraction. This all equals a skidded ending with dust all over the place because I flared too late or too early.

OOO –just thinking about it my hands start to get cold and I have to stretch the little fingers. Hehehe….

Thursday evening

Friendship

Last night my husband, Sally and I staggered into the house weary and happy and hungry from our evening run. About two seconds after I had inhaled my eggs on toast I suddenly thought “Where is Charlie?”

At about that exact moment, my sweetheart, who had just stepped outside to change the sprinklers, yelled “HEY!!”

Darting outside, Sally went left, bristling as she herded the neighbor’s dog off our yard from the driveway. We found Charlie puffed and perched on the edge of the eight foot brick wall on the right side of our property. In his mad dash to escape the teeth of the copper colored dog, Char had made it up the wall in record time. My husband had a hand reached up to try to soothe the terrified fuzz ball also known as our cat and Char had a shaky paw extended back, claws latched onto the sleeve of his hero.

I know I have mentioned before that I love this furry individual dearly. He is just so gentle, good and kind-hearted. I reached up retrieve him and I cuddled his tense little body so tense, each paw a knotted little pin cushion.

He coiled up against me, his face in my neck... but as I started to step away we all realized Char had kept one paw locked onto his rescuer's sleeve and  Char was not about to let go.

I handed over the shattered spooked dude to my husband.

Upon inspection of our arms and hands we discovered a bit of blood and a closer examination revealed all of his paws shredded and a back foot missing a claw from scaling the rough tall partition. And you know what? Even though this little creature was scared witless and a bit hurt, he never once, accidentally or not, scratched either of us. We cleaned him up and tucked him into his blanket on the back of the couch to watch his ‘TV’ (aka cracked open window with shades partially drawn up).

The next morning I got up to say hello and received my usual purred reply. My husband got up and was immediately greeted with meows and conversation.

Friendship given by animals is such a magnificent and strange relationship. They choose us even more then we choose them.

I keep having these dreams that are in watercolor back drops.

I can see the texture of the paint brush that was used to make each stroke. I have decided that this means that I have neglected this medium for far too long now.

There is a great restlessness in me lately. I feel I am squandering my talents and I am creating a great waste. It feels as if fate were resentful of the gifts I was given and have used so little to the benefit of myself or others.

I heard the Wind Woman hiss at me yesterday. I was walking into the back yard yesterday to study the place where I promised myself a garden with tomatoes, zucchini and string beans.

“Are you so frightened? Are you so afraid?” She wondered aloud while running her drizzling fingers over the metal top of the well.

I wanted to tell her that I am not brave but that is a lie. I have been brave. Many times. Sometimes it worked out and sometimes it did not. The trouble is that I always knew exactly what to do to be brave and this time the path is hidden. I do keep poking about and gingerly parting the poison ivy and oak that hide the forest floor but my attempts are half hearted at best.

No one likes a rash.

All Hail, the Power of the Shoes

This morning I work up incredibly comfy...

Getting up was torture but I managed to stagger up. After the usual self wake up rituals of coffee, cold water on the face, teeth brushed and contacts in place, I took inventory of my outfit choices.

I donned my previously chosen black stockings, black knee length pin striped skirt and a simple green shirt.

Then I spotted The Shoes.

A vision came to me and suggested an outfit. I obeyed despite the extra ten minutes that would be needed. I returned to the bathroom and coiled my hair up into a mess of braids and then piled the woven strands up so that the ends of my hair sprayed over in a crown on my head. Taboo as it is in our spoiled culture, I decided I must wear the same fitted persimmon long sleeve sweater I wore last Friday and then…

I placed The Shoes onto my feet.

I towered in the mirror, propped up 4.25 inches above my given height. The simple outfit transformed into a ‘nazy’ modern look and I surveyed the results with terrible satisfaction.

Sadly, as I went to show off to my husband he discovered an eye shadow smudge so the effect was not what I hoped.

Makeup corrected, I sauntered (carefully, as I really am only qualified to strut in 3.50 inches) into work and the compliments began. “Your hair looks great! Did you do that yourself?” “I really like that sweater” and my boss “I must say you look quite nice today”

Here is a summary of facts: I do not possess incredible good looks. I know I am a little bit plump for my actual height. I wear my hair like this at least once a week without anyone commenting. I just wore this exact sweater without anyone taking a second glance last week!

But Reader here is the magic: I have not worn The Shoes with this hair and outfit. I am like Wonder Woman and her magic invisible plane, gold clunky bracelets and boots. The Shoes have transformative power.

All Hail The Shoes….

Fall Away

It was a icy blustery Saturday morning when we arrived at the south side of the mountain. The wind was cold and smooth; as our cheeks froze and turned apple red, we took a couple of minutes to review our pre-flight plans.

The instructor checked our helmets and the attached radio's and then and there we discovered the batteries to be dead.

Toast! Relief and disappointment had a quick game of tug of war before my sweetheart decisively left to get batteries.

I kited my loaner paraglider; reviewing the lines and the 'flight plan" (Flight plan = float a few seconds to the bottom). I marveled at the strong, steady air, my instructor chuckled, "Its not enough for you to fly in this morning". In twenty minutes or two split seconds, batteries had arrived.

No less than a hair space later I ran to the edge and felt the world drop 300 feet (I swear it was a billion feet) from beneath me.

Hanging there, I looked down and around and thought “Wow.”

The radio whistled and cracked in my ear and I jumped out of my skin, “Let’s go ahead and take a left turn.” The voice said through the static.

A left turn? I thought about that… oh, yes. I remember there was something about pulling on the left handle a bit to turn.

That is really really far down. I don’t remember the hill being quite this far up. The ground swung up just a little and I remembered the air was my friend now; it was the ground that could be unfriendly.

“How about starting the right turn?” The voice suddenly asked. Again I was so startled that I nearly left the harness.

Gosh… There is nothing under my feet for a really long way! How disconcerting...

I leaned heavily into my right turn and the glider slowly swung sorta right. The thing really felt like an indulgently fat boat. Good natured about the whole turning thing, but definitely not in any hurry about it.

I wonder how far up I am? I have been up here forever. I wonder what I can see from here? I squinted out and then back down at the dusty rocks and grass. Wow, this is really far up!

Later, on the ground, as I packed up the glider, I realized I had forgotten the "flight plan". I had completely forgotten fear. I had forgotten that I owned a dog or really wanted a box garden. In fact I could not tell you anything about anything while I was up there for those thirty second years.

I remembered that I forgot to really look around. I was too fascinated by the fact that the ground had never before been that far away from just me and my feet.

Two hours later the adrenaline stopped shaking my hands. Two days later my toes are still tingly.

The World I knew

What if the world could be the one I once lived in? I like this one just fine but there was a great exodus at some point and this world is missing genuinely important pieces of what made it so wonderful in the first place.

Like the King of the Sea. Where did He go? As a child, when I would walk with my feet in the surf I could hear his court. Let me explain, I knew then that the King of the Sea was no longer there but I could still hear the echoes from his court, just as I see the light from stars burned out and dead long ago. Today, the echoes are increasingly faded. My adult ears have become dulled but I also think the world is louder and the echoes ever older.

And where are the unicorns?  Serious thinkers, taller than horses and a great deal more slender. I found their hoof prints when I was five or six, when we first moved to New Orleans. I saw her reflection at a park that was a swamp, the first swamp I had ever been to. Baby alligators and lily pads surrounded the wooden trail that was a raised bridge winding through heavy trees and screeching calls of creatures unknown. I saw her as I leaned over the bottom railing, too short to see the view everyone else did.

I saw her tracks first and then her lovely eyes. Her mane was the color of the moss hanging thick and rich from the trees. Her body was just a ghostly breathe against the wildly green terrain. And her eyes… There was something terrible and lonely in her eyes. I stared as hard as I could, trying to memorize her beauty, because I knew in that instant I would never see her again.

What happened to the dragons and monstrous wizards? The dragons who drew in smoke, exhaled flames to release pure fury? Where are the Wizards ? The guardians, rogue bandits and withdrawn manipulators?

Ah the world I remember. Sometimes I dream I am walking through a great hall of long ago. I am achy and homesick in this dream, remembering. As I walk, the brush of fine threaded fabric traces my legs and arms. Stone walls are bright as gold with sunlight baking them and I watch the dust dance in the rays. My hair is thick, jet black; my eyes are green and I am littler then now. I am wearing purple and I have a dragonfly tattooed on my upper right shoulder.

Does anyone else have this active of a childhood imagination and do you struggle in this adult world because that imagination has stayed through adulthood?

Buyer Beware

Recently my mother was in need of a new set of glasses as her eye sight has slightly changed. We found a coupon to JC Penny in the mail and after making a visit to their eye doctor she ordered a pair.

A couple of weeks later they were ready for pick up and off she went. In tow was her father, my ninety four year old grandpa, to whom my parents are full time care givers.

Upon their arrival to the mall, my Grandpa found he was too tired to walk in. He said he would wait in the car for her. She hurried in (it was February and too cool for him to be out for long) to pick them up.

Upon placing the new pair on her nose for a quick adjustment, my mother discovered they were blurry. Dismayed she pointed this out to the sale woman who shrugged off her concerns and said her eyes would adjust. My mother contradicted her and said that these were indeed very blurry. Was a mistake made? The woman again down played the issue. My mother was worried about her father and unable to argue the issue further at that moment. She agreed to try them out over the weekend.

There was no improvement, of course, as the lenses had to be wrong. She went back to the store to ask for their advice and to have them fixed. There she found cold shoulders, belittling comments and snide whispers “She didn’t want them to begin with.” Confused my mother insisted that she did need new glasses, per the new prescription, and did want the ones she picked out it was only that she could not see. After much dispute she procured an appointment with the eye doctor to prove her case. The appointment was a couple of days later.

The disapproving eye doctor set her down in his office and proceeded to administer a stern lecture regarding her age and how her eye sight will be affected by her age. He assured her that he often sees customers with ‘buyer’s remorse’. She sat with her hands folded and listened until his conceited and assuming sermon was ended to his haughty satisfaction.

Upon his lengthy closing, he asked her to put on her previous glasses and to read to him a line from a page he gave her. She did this without trouble. He then asked her to read the same page while wearing her new glasses. She was unable.

At last he conceded to actually LOOK at the lenses of the new glasses and upon comparing them to her prescription this educated person found that the new lenses were indeed different from the ones she was to have been given.

When the inspection was complete and the discovery certain, did he apologize for his tirade? When he brought the discovery of this error to the sales person, did she apologize for her trite remarks and the berating she gave in response to my mother’s request for help?

No. Not one of them did. After four visits to the store, she will hopefully pick up the correct pair of glasses on the fifth. They did advise her that they will not charge the fee for expediting the replacement of the wrong lenses.

Buyer Beware! This place employs arrogance and meanness.

Just right?

One was too soft and one was too hard….

Last December we decided that we had to have a new bed. Both of ours had become true tacos and to get a good night of sleep on either was futile and ridiculous.

We went to our local furniture twice, tried out a couple of beds and on the third visit made a decision and purchased the one we thought was just right. Delivery was in one week.

We prepared our welcome a couple of days ahead of time by clearing everything out of the room. We dusted the bureaus and straightened our things. We vacuumed and shampooed the carpets. We bought new sheets and washed them twice.

The bed arrived in an evening.

For two nights we slept peacefully…. On the third…. I rolled ever so slightly to the middle. The fourth he rolled slightly to me... could this be that noticeable before even having it for a week? On the fifth night we had to knowledge in horror:

This was a Taco Bed!

The store’s policy required that we keep the bed for thirty days before excercising a onetime swap to exchanging a bed you didn't like for a different one. Our arguement was that this wasn’t about liking the bed… it was that it was a taco bed.

Regardless of the lemon we were sold, we had to wait. Disheartened after our excitement and warm reception, we were sometimes sleeping in the second bedroom on our old taco bed.

Thirty days later, it turned out that the warranty covered the bed. The inspector came and confirmed the sinking and the manufacturer covered it in full. The local store treated it as if we had not received a bed and we were given the chance to start clean.

This time we tried on of those tempur-pedic beds… My man was excited. This was his dream bed. For years he had collected paperwork, advertisements and recited commercials. The idea of no pressure points and not tossing had haunted his imaginings.

Night one… first of all. These beds are stinky. Not a gagging type of stink but they have a strong odor of musty rubber. Which in all fairness, does fade quite a bit… or you lose your sense of smell. Which ever comes first. Either way, I stopped noticing it after a couple of weeks. On the day of delivery I was at work and at lunch I met my husband at our home to inspect the new bed. He reassured me that it was extra hard because it had been closeted in the truck and was cold.

The bed was cold?

He went on to say that as it warmed to the temperature of the house it would soften up. Honestly I was intrigued too. We both have lower back problems and a remedy would be brilliant.

Fast forward thirty days. We nap extremely well on The Brick but a good night of rest has yet to be found. We wake up aching with stiffness. The Brick is just so hard. If we kept the house at a warmer temperature it is possible we would find it softens up but we like sleeping under blankets -And who heats a house for a bed? Plus I sleep hot and this bed was cooking me as my body heat is trapped by the material it is made up of.

Sadly we went back to our resigned sales man and we decided to go with a firmer version of the first bed we ordered. My guy takes care of the exchange information on a night I am at school and delivery and pick up was to be this morning.

Only… the sales man had not entered the delivery... only the pick up!

Ergh....

Its one of "Those" mornings.

For starters I left late and forgot my coffee. Which means I also left my coffee maker on and the creamer out on the counter. I remembered this as I pulled out of the drive way. As I stopped and pulled back into the drive way my wheels locked. Despite my hitting the brakes (or perhaps because I hit the brakes), Katie and I slid neatly into the rocks framing said driveway.

Sigh...

Gratefully there are only a couple of new minor scratches. I went inside, picked up my coffee mug only to discover that the lid was not quite on. As such it popped off and steaming coffee sloshed hotly over my hands and wrists and splattered the floor around the fridge.

Sigh... oh well the house is beyond dusty and the floors are dirty and I planned to try to get on top of the place this weekend. I mopped it all up, re-filled the mug, turned off the coffee maker and put the creamer away.

Back outside I inspected the rocks. The tire tracks leading to the crime were already beginning to disappear in the fresh, messy and wet snow. I thought about moving the rocks back into place but I decided they could wait until after work.

Fly

My husband has a severe case of cabin fever partially brought to a breaking point by watching the current Olympic games. As a former ski racer, he actually knows people there. As a man of adventure and a hang glider pilot, he won second in a national competition less than two years ago. An avid outdoor enthusiast, he has rock climbed, become a dive master, is a world traveler, and he can do anything.

Lately, this man has been increasingly aware that we ski little; dive twice a year, travel sometimes and we are older.

This ‘older’ definition means that we have a house, a dog, a cat, two car payments, new taxes coming in every month from our wasteful government and holy crow! We are adults.

This is an unnerving moment and everyone handles this realization differently. The first time I did I moved to Utah. The second time I dyed my hair brown and pierced my belly button. The third time I enrolled in college… again… Recently I decided to make sure I have a beer once a week and to give up smoking. It’s an individual moment.

My man has decided that a sport or activity is needed. I whole heartedly agree. I married a person who is adventurous and thirsty for discovery.

Rock climbing was proposed originally and to be frank -my fingers hurt when I think about the idea of participating in that venture; OOOooo… stretch little hands, get the tingle out.

Yesterday he proposed Paragliding. After a blizzard of pamphlets, websites and animated conversation, I am curious. My first reaction though, was a mixture of bewilderment (who does he think he married?? Aren’t I the one he is afraid to let carve the pumpkin) and wonder. Me fly? Huh.

I cannot say no because I have no idea. I might like it and I am more than willing to find out. Reader, do me a favor, the next time you meet someone, anyone, a friend, co-worker, future lover- realize that meeting that person will forever change how you see your abilities and possibilities.

Apples

Crush, crunch, crisp flesh breaks and the juices shoot everywhere.

I always feel violent when eating an apple. The sweetness (ooo pink lady apples... mmm....). I make a mess of it. Fingers sticky and in need of floss I survey the picked apart remaining core. I feel that I am six again. Eating is awesome when you are six and skinny and sun burnt. I wore mosquito bites on my knees and scratches from climbing trees marked me up to my elbows.

I grin.

Steady

Water… I picture water in my thoughts, relax and stretch. I am reaching; my ears straining, I will hear water. Slow breaths, quiet breaths, I am careful to not interrupt myself. I feel the flood in my ears, the humming of a head rush and I am by the Yellow River. The current is strong and deep. I hear myself laughing and turning, I see my old friend Chels, barking at the splashing and crashing, a deafening sound as the water breaks on the rocks we are perched on.

I return to myself and feel the muscles in my fingers, feel the tingle and I listen. The river is quiet in this area; I am reclined against the branches of a massive fallen tree, its trunk floats in the river and it is anchored to the shore with its roots. I come here to think. I like to watch the shadows of the thick over head leaves on the water’s surface. I like to run my fingers in the sunlight. The moist air hums with dragonflies, bees and flies. I am afraid of the water. The river is deep and strong. I draw my reckless courage from it. Sometimes the river fills me up and I have to run as fast as I can into the forest to get the energy out. It is life and power.

The last four weeks have been achingly full of tumbled emotions and chaotic choices. In response to the nearly unbearable stress building up; I have decided to try mediation again.

It’s been ages since I regularly practiced so I don’t remember the exact ways that one focuses into a calm withdrawn state. In addition, I don’t have a lot of quiet time to get to that state. My solution is that I have developed a couple of ‘mini’ meditation practices for myself.

I may have only minutes. Perhaps it is in the morning as I cuddle Charlie on my shoulder for a good morning hug, or the first five minutes when I get home and I sit in the car in the driveway. I close my eyes, place my palms on my thighs facing up, relax the neck, keeping my chin level and I fall into myself.

I am focusing on a remembered sound. Focusing on ‘hearing’ that sound. I have picked running water and my results are astonishing. If I remember, the best way to find mediation is to pick one thing, such as a sound, that I can focus my thoughts and my emotions on, and to use that one thing to pull myself in. Such as one would pull a boat in with one rope thrown to the dock; my rope is the sound that I am using to get to the dock, the dock which is inner calm.

I forgot the feeling when I back out or let go too fast. This happens with the interruption of a phone call or a timer. It is a shaky feeling and my feet and hands feel as if they fell asleep in the brief moments.

But I am steady. The tight emotions of frustration or my feelings of being overwhelmed and my resulting general aggravation have relinquished their hold on my words, sleep and soul. Steady. I breathe in the word, relish the word. Ah, it does feel good to be steady.

Three things

Yesterday, at the end of class, we were each asked to write an email to the professor listing three things you feel you must do before you die.

Disclosure: I am aware that this exercise was merely to make sure that we all understood how the online mailing system works and an email received by each of us is proof.

I am overly earnest by nature so I took a minute to really think about it and to give an honest answer. But Reader, I barely needed a full minute, because the three things that came to mind were absolutes and there was no hesitation:

1. I want to write a book.
2. I want to sell one piece of art professionally.
3. I want my words to be concise enough to touch a person in a way that changes their life.

Sometimes...

There is only one thing to do;
Paint your fingernails purple. The brightest deepest color you can find.

Path

Good weather

What were you watching?
What did you see?
Were you looking?
As rain danced with sea?
What did you think?
What were your thoughts?
Were you remembering?
Revealing in moments we caught?
Why are our words rough,
When we talk together?
Where is my best friend?
In this good weather?

Guardian

Dear Guardian,

Today I was having a terrible day. The world was ending, the sky was falling and my paper cut was going to turn gangrene and I was going to lose my arm. I hid in the bathroom twice to avoid eating someone’s head for breakfast and I moaned to myself that all was lost. Coffee with my husband nearly turned into a spat because he tried to cheer me up and I was determined that the sun was gone forever.

On the way back I stopped at a fast food place to get a little snack when I saw you, a large older German shepherd anxiously walking along the very hectic road. Cars whizzed by and the grey sky seemed quite ominous against your rough coat. You were obviously lost and your eyes were very concerned as you kept pausing to glance about, uncertain where to go.

I carefully pulled over next to you, turning my hazards on. When you saw me and I saw you, I smiled a real smile. You more than welcomed my recognition and I knew just how you felt. To know that you aren’t invisible to the world means everything, and, when you are in trouble, a simple salutation means more then can be said.

“Can I help you?” I asked. You approached me eagerly, your mouth falling open in a relieved grin. I found that your massive nose reached the bottom of my rolled down window. You were really quite startlingly huge.

I got out and hugged your broad shoulders. I stroked your soft thick ears when you shoved your head into my stomach, (knocking the air out of me just a little), and I told you how beautiful you were while you told me how nice it was meet.

I reached for your collar and tags and saw that your name was Guardian. “Hi,” I smiled, leaning down to see your eyes, “My name is Emily.” You wriggled your hello back and as I called the number listed I paid special attention to your ears. There was no answer or voice mail on that number. I consulted your tags again, all four, and called the city Animal control. Using your city license number they were able to give me your home address which was a mere six blocks away. The lady who answered worked out directions with me and then let me know she would try your home number again while we drove over.

I wasn’t sure if you would get in my car, my own dog is fairly wary of strangers but you were very co-operative and willing when I ask if you wanted to go for a ride. Unfortunately for you, my little blue car was a bit of a snug fit and you could not quite lie down all the way.

As I neared the address belonging to a small white house, you gave several happy ‘whoofs’, bouncing my car up and down. I let you out just as an old man came pacing from the back yard, wringing his hands. His weathered face scowled, glared and looked a little scary as he scolded you something fierce. You delightedly hugged him back and ignored the tone of his voice as his hands clutched you close.

And I smiled again, my first real smiles of the day. I couldn’t help it. I was so glad you were home and your old man was so glad too, despite the misleading barking, and you were both full of sweet toothy grins.

Many thanks enclosed-
Your friend,
Emily

A new religion

Politics are the new religion. By fervently, violently and rashly defending a point of view, regardless if that point of view is not defendable with fact and reason, a new 'truth' has been found. The "Libertarian" voiced this ignorance with these words;

"We will all be equal. If health care is crap for some it must be crap for all. If someone manages to still have money when they die and if they are stupid enough to not give it to charity but to instead try to pass it on to their kids, then the Feds should seize it all. What right does anyone have to inherit? None! Those days are over. We should all be born the same and die the same. It is the government's job to contain the masses. To not let people take advantage of others, to make people stand in line with everyone else."

I didn't laugh. I didn't comment. This is the state of mind of more than half the people I know. I felt mildly appalled but I have become numb to the madness.

I watch and know this; As people refuse to take personal responsibility for anything they become unable to be responsible for anything. They become a member of an increasingly growing elitist mob nicknamed 'Democracy'. Their motto is “I deserve everything, someone else should pay for it and charity should be for everyone but I shouldn’t have to donate.” This is a contradiction I cannot understand and also that this extraordinary selfishness is a trait now admired in society.

My heroine would have laughed at the mess we are making. She already foretold the end in ‘Atlas Shrugged’

Know Yourself

Love is a remarkable thing. I have loved people and places before but never with all of myself. I have witnessed deep love but never partaken of the bitter sweet waters.

I avoided the plunge because I am a self-interested personality. Let me calirfy; although I am driven to aid others, I am limited by my vast and consuming sense of self-preservation.

I took the unthinking leap about four years and six months ago. I fell in love knowing the other wasn’t in love with me. I, vain and careful, who made certain a man adored me before agreeing to dinner, I fell madly in love and never looked back. He was beautiful and he became my whole world in one moment.

I was more terrified that a car would smash him then I was that he might not love me in return. I was ready to tear heads off over wounds inflicted YEARS before I had ever met him.

I found that although you may be angry with the one you love, you will still love. I learned that I worry and fuss even when I do not like him. When I am happy, the heat inside burns and I feel the mark deeper every day.

And as friends lose their own loved ones, the fearful knowledge that I too will lose someday, haunts me long into the night.

I am here to report to you that my verdict is this; Love will make you vulnerable and strong. I have been moved to a pain I would not trade and fallen to my knees in gratitude for it.

You will be able to accept the choices of the one you love even when jealously and anger cry out “Injustice!” You pay for that acceptance because you will hurt with the one you love, you will sympathize even when reason says you ought not to. You will find out that you are a smaller and bigger person then you thought you could be.

If I could offer any advice from my short experience it would be this: Know yourself, as much as possible, before you meet this One. Then get to know yourself even better. I tell you this because you will offer and sacrifice yourself on the altar of your Love. There, as the fires burn away the pretty parts, the ugly parts will cry out, exposed and aching, in the charred ashes. If you are unsure of your weaknesses and strengths, you may be the undoing of what you desire most. But if you know yourself to the best of your ability, you may heal yourself and elevate what you have into a painfully tender friendship. You and your love may create between you that which is written in legends and songs throughout history.

Fireworks

Our Future

Self

As time and life and experience go on, you, yourself may find that you didn’t. It is as if these things do touch you, they do move you, but as you stand still inside yourself, as the tide, wind and air flow past you, swirling into a dizzying array of colors, sounds, and emotions- you find that you have held on to a part of yourself that no longer is.

This is a disarmingly confused moment. You look at the ghost of a girl you were, this shadow, you see her smile, you see her thoughts, you REMEMBER and you KNOW her words… yet you are not this girl. Not anymore. You were her, parts of you are influenced by her, but she is not you anymore. This is a ghost.

I have seen this moment in others. Sometimes this moment may take hours, sometime days, in rare cases, this moment can take years. Understandably, frantic resuscitation attempts may take place. This person you were, who you may have defined yourself by for so long, is gone and facing your new familiar self in the mirror is a devastating moment.

I see her, the girl I was. I was the gypsy, the writer, the artist, the young girl and the world was frightening and new. At 115 pounds, I had long dirty blond hair, I loved to walk, I lived on coffee, cigarettes, and breakfast food and I spent a lot of time alone. I spent hours and hours and hours painting, thinking and in the Blue Mountains.

Who am I now? I am losing hope of ever being 115 pounds again, my hair is ash blond from living in the high western mountains and my emotions are somehow rawer than they were then. I am rarely alone. I clean house, make dinner and do laundry in a washer, not in a tub. I still love to walk. Sometimes I paint but I almost never see the emotions in my paint that I used to. The golden ball inside me hums quietly. Once I held it carefully, guardedly and now I forget that it is there on some days.

I am happier, healthier but I think I am less kind and less aware and less forgiving. I think I was less selfish. I have to let go of my ghost, turn around and let go. Only then can I remember, re-try, re-do, and change the person I am within.

What's slim and Forty Two Inches?

I came home at lunch to study the latest addition to the house. The house doesn't seem to mind either way about the this purchase so I decided to find out if I did.

There was a loud welcome from both dogs -I am presently sitting my Mom's dog -And then parked myself on the chair.

There it sits; Glossy and audaciously modern in this little cozy living room.

It's impossibly big. I feel like there should be popcorn and candy present. I feel that the seating should be on red velvet chairs with armrests fitted for drinks. There should be a flickering light behind me from the projector and an epic grand film about to play on the big screen.

I wonder if the previews will be any good?

I think I might like it.

Dogs

I woke up at 3:11am.

I was in a borderline panic attack when I saw the time. This could be a red night; 3am is the witching hour. I tried not to toss for about twenty minutes before finally getting up, taking a couple of pillows and retrieving a blanket from the hall closet. I made my way to the living room couch and attempted to settle in. My muscles were tense and my head too foggy to find a good position.

The blanket kept twisting wrong and I was cold. I gave up as my Charlie the cat came down to inhabit my lap. He settled in and offered his exceptionally loud purring as his consolation as he began kneading his paws gently into my tummy. I threw an arm over my eyes and tried to breathe deeply.

He found me unwilling to cuddle him properly so after about ten minutes, he abandoned me and curled up on the neighboring chair.

I sighed and tried to not grit my teeth in aggravation. The house was silent. The couch was sagging, the pillows were lumps of potatoes and just as my urgent desire to sleep was about to peak into a tearful tantrum, I heard the bedroom door squeak open.

Padded feet softly made their way into the living room. I heard the whisper of fur, watched a shadow pass across the room and then my Sal laid her head on my stomach over my anxiously folded hands.

I love dogs. I love the relationship you can build with them. I love the way I know when she is hurt or anxious and how she knows this about me too. I took a deep breath and ran my nervous fingers through the silky hair around her ears and then took another deep breath. She took deep breaths with me and calm slipped through my hands and spread up my arms.

After a couple of minutes, Sal sighed quietly and lay down next to the couch with her head on her paws so that I could still lightly touch the top of her head.

The tension in my mouth and my thoughts calmed from chaotic colors and disjointed dreams to a blur of purple and yellow. The past relaxed and stopped twisting my fingers into knots. Sal sighed again and I sighed too and finally I fell asleep.

Hansel and Gretel

I have never felt that I understood or was informed about certain events of World War II that happened in Poland and in Hungary. Of course this topic was touched on in various high school classes and I of course know that the one of the events was the Holocaust. I knew that terrible suffering occurred and that there are nations today that dispute the events, such as Iran, by saying that these things never happened. The number estimated was that six million Jews were murdered.

I hadn’t realized that Seventeen Million people died. I did not know that those who perished included teachers, gypsies, catholics, Jehovah witnesses, persons with mental illness and varied leaders of so many villages and towns.

I believe it was my teenage combination of inattention and self-absorption that blinded me to this time in history. I think it was also that I could not relate to or comprehend the black and white photos and elderly who told their story.

I came to realize that my understanding of history is not only incomplete, but that I was missing an entire library retelling human history and choices. History and choices that included an astonishingly defiant desire to live and a shockingly brutal desire to destroy.

I heard the comment in the news that “Our diversity… is our strength”. I cannot agree with that statement. Diversity is dividing. It is conflicting. Name me one country who has diversity in gender, race, culture or religion and has it without conflict. Only by overcoming, learning to live with, and/ or by looking beyond that diversity, are people and nations able to find what does not divide us. When we find what we have in common despite our difference, that is where we find strength. The most common thing we share on this planet? We all love something. We all love our family, our community, our memories, our pet dogs, good food, safety, gardens, success (however you measure that) and most of all- We all love respect and acceptance.

The more I learn that I possess a perspective unique to myself and that so does everyone around me, the more I understand that it is not mine to judge, to measure, or to understand their perspective. It is for me to learn about what is different from myself, to protect what I love, and to strive to do the best that I can.

My mother gave me a book to read, as she regularly gives me books, this one called “Hansel and Gretel” by Louise Murphy.

The book has taken over my thoughts since I started and completed it. I think about it when I eat a meal or put on clothes for the day. Lately when I hold my husband’s hand or smile at my dear friends, Char and Sal, I think about the luxury I have in these simple acts. I think about how much I don’t know and would like to learn and how I have the ability and time to learn as much as I want.

I have caught myself looking at all the items I own and seeing them as treasures. Perhaps I do not have the best whatever it is or the most stylish shoes, but I have things. I have a new purse, I have nice older ones -I have MORE than one. I have so much and it rattles me as I think about this family, whose fear and worries I cannot understand. This family who lived through horror and with crimes that I cannot comprehend.

I don’t know that I have their strength, their tenaciously impossible will to live, but I will remember their story, in hopes that I can in some way give my respect to their courage.

Sunday Morning

Q-tip

I gave Charles a q-tip this morning.

Hehehehehehehehehehe… I love this cat.

This was possibly the best toy ever. Better then the hair tie I gave him yesterday. Although that could fly from my fingers at a fascinating speed it wasn’t multi-textured. I gave him a bobby-pin the day before that and that was pretty cool, it’s shiny, slides across tile well and it’s easy for him to toss in the air but it is not very chew-able.

His take on the q-tip? Soft cotton on both ends and a soft yet straight stick in the middle; this was the superior toy.

He threw it in the air and threw himself under the curtain. He dashed into the hallway, catching it as he went by and rolled around growling at it in the funniest way.

Bravely he torpedoed his generously proportioned little self from the table legs, but he miscalculated and crashed his head into the garbage can instead. After a shocked moment of staring at this mysteriously placed item he turned and raced in the right direction and caught it as it slid away. Busily he chewed at the cotton head until it stuck in his teeth and then he hurried to me to extract it before leaping back into the battle.

Satisfied, and a little winded, he surveyed the twisted stick and then …he copied Sally. Charlie parked his little tubby behind down and grumbled, growled, groaned as he scratched his ear with his back foot.

I laughed out loud.

I grinned and scooped him up for a morning cuddle. He cuddled back, drooling a little as he does when he is very happy and then he remembered he was a dangerous and heroic hunter and indignantly pulled away. For forgiveness I let him down and then tossed the q-tip back under the table and he hurried to snatch it up before it could get away.

Drool

I know my cat loves me because he drools on me when I cuddle him...

Moscow

I had a dream Sunday morning that I was in Moscow not by plan but by a series of spontaneous incidents that resulted in my arrival.

I have a half remembered memory that there was a fuss about this by other parties and that the unintended visit created headache and worry for a few but selfishly I was only excited in the dream.

Because the visit was impromptu, my entrance was by subway and train through a neighboring country.

I entered the city by a bridge in the late evening and saw the most strange and gorgeous city along a river. There were bright lights in store fronts, people walking everywhere and statues of unfamiliar characters posed about in squares and streets.

Cold air bit my cheeks as I grinned at the incomprehensible dialogues circling around me and the serious looks I received back. There were shadows, far off shadows that I could see were towering building complexes that ominously reminded me of the New Orleans housing projects.

Perhaps this is all a figment of my imagination but I really would like to see Moscow now. To see if this idea is true and that if it is a center of human nastiness and human aspiration.

Pay or Go to Jail

http://biggovernment.com/2009/11/06/committee-confirms-comply-with-pelosi-care-or-go-to-jail/

“H.R. 3962 provides that an individual (or a husband and wife in the case of a joint return) who does not, at any time during the taxable year, maintain acceptable health insurance coverage for himself or herself and each of his or her qualifying children is subject to an additional tax.” [page 1]

- – - – - – - – - -

“If the government determines that the taxpayer’s unpaid tax liability results from willful behavior, the following penalties could apply…” [page 2]

- – - – - – - – - -

“Criminal penalties

Prosecution is authorized under the Code for a variety of offenses. Depending on the level of the noncompliance, the following penalties could apply to an individual:

• Section 7203 – misdemeanor willful failure to pay is punishable by a fine of up to $25,000 and/or imprisonment of up to one year.

• Section 7201 – felony willful evasion is punishable by a fine of up to $250,000 and/or imprisonment of up to five years.” [page 3]

Colors

4am

I woke up at 4am to think about a dream that involved a thick jungle and a mansion that was alive as well as occupied with shadows.

The shadows were malicious and the house was mischievous and between the two it was a very dangerous place. The tricky part was that the jungle would prove deadly to stay in for any duration of time.

I woke up and thought about the elegant wood mantles, door frames and soft waving white curtains. The deep fire places, the ominous corners, the threatening stairs and the misleadingly soothing colors on the walls.

The dream meant something but I am torn. Was this a place that existed as I saw it or was this a representation of a physical space or was this a reflection of something inside me?

The house was breathing with life. The individualism of each detail was startling and, even after several hours of absolute boredom, I still find them easy to readily recall correctly.

The shadows were separate from the life of the house but they were trapped in the same space. They were lethal in their desires and goals. In the dream, I tried to figure a way out of the house that would not include a trek through the murderous surrounding jungle.

And there was something about a painting. A portrait painting, that was the key.

Friday

Every day I walk into an office full of people that fall into two categories.

Lot number one are generally stressed beyond what I would consider normal and healthy -every single day. They hurry and rush to meetings, take three or four ice runs and never ever mention anything remotely personal. If you make the mistake of asking what they are doing for the weekend you will get a cross eyed look and a cool silent response.

Lot number two laugh and sing the day away. I think that they do work sometimes but because of their light hearted approach at everything, they are completely ostracized by lot number one.

Compounding these issues, are yearly reviews of employees that have been ongoing this week. Now add to that the newest policy that you must be in business dress unless you would like to make a ‘voluntary’ contribution to a foundation of the company’s choice.

Side note: I don’t mind wearing dresser clothes. I Do mind when it is a pesky maneuver attempting to get to my cash.

But today is Friday and Friday is a magical day.

On Friday Lots one AND two are smiling. I walk around and I see members from both lots speaking to each other… granted lot one is determinedly picking topics that are work related and lot two ignores the work part and chats about the other’s cute shoes but the point is that they are talking… amiably.

I love Friday. Someone has brought in cake and someone else brought in homemade cookies. Two pots of wretched cheap coffee are freshly made and happily guzzled. I wore jeans too, but brought dress pants in the car as back up.

But today is Friday.

And today even one of the bosses cheated and wore jeans.

Fall

Fall is here.

I couldn't sleep. My eyes burned and I went to bed early but couldn't sleep. The air from the window fan was hot, my pillow was a sack of potatoes, the air was too cool and I could not -could not -sleep.

I tried counting, then the breathing thing, then the counting again. I switched positions over and over. I chased after sleep like a kid after a runaway kite’s fluttering tail. I was so close so many times!

I moved my pillows back around again.

By this point I had the bed all to myself.

Exhausted and breathless I listened to the window fan. The air hummed soft, then louder, then soft. A storm finishing it’s day long build to at last break. I couldn’t stand it. It echoed my need to rest. I shut the windows and turned on the air conditioning.

I listened and listened and then I had a terrible dream.
I had taken all the other roads since The Road Trip. I had taken them and things were a mess. I had listened to my head and not to my dreams. I had kept that job, I had finished college, I had given that friend more time, I dated that person longer…

-A Mess! -A terrible upside down Mess. Everything was all wrong and unhappy. I raced around in the dream telling everyone that this was all a mistake and they looked at me like I was crazy (Which I guess, isn’t that unusual anyway). I hurried to Utah to get to the rocks and dust and dry air. But things were a mess here too!
Lightening snapped through the blinds, thunder growled and I sat up in bed. 2:58am…. Whew. If it had been three I would have been toast.

I listened to the next biting snarl outside. The night was cool now and we opened the windows. The rain began. I wasn’t alone.

The pillows were still full of potatoes but the bedroom was cool and the blankets warm. I slept lightly but at least it was sleep.

This morning I wore closed shoes and carried my hot pink and yellow umbrella to work.

Fall is here.

Dolphin

My sweetheart and I are headed for Hawaii this Saturday for our honeymoon. There we intend to embark on dives and tourist traps and enjoy the beauty of the island we are staying at.

Three days ago he suggested a dive that I had actually first pointed out. Apparently it is a dive that is not only spectacular but also a bit more remote then many. The attraction in this is that this will be a non-crowded and likely less touched area then many others.

The positive and negative sides of this dive is that it will be deeper then I have ever been and it will include ‘large aquatic life”. I have two deep fears Reader, when it comes to my mortality, drowning and/ or being eaten.

I know the being eaten fear should end with my life but I don’t like the idea of being eaten even after I have vacated my physical personal space. Screw the circle of life thing. I would really rather be cremated.

For the past few nights I have fitfully slept; imagining my lifeless body softly and finally sinking into a depthless dark blue pit.

I watch myself in utter dismay. My dream self rants to the echoing silence of muffled water, “But there is so much I have to see and do!”

Once at the bottom the shrimps come and eat me.

Very aggravating.

Then my day dream started while asleep last night. Once more I am drifting and in the deep and again I find myself lost and alone. Shadows ominously circle in the distance. Again I considered panicking; sucking up my air and sealing my fate of running out of breath – I felt a nudge on my fin.

My heart rate kicks up and in a futile attempt to leave me behind, jumps to the surface, which is many impossible feet above; as the rest of me turned around. I found myself face to face with the reassuring perpetual grin that so many sailors have found reassuring before me.

“Oh” I glarbal which of course makes me choke on water. I spit it out, my heart returns to my chest and I am allowed, for only an instant, to reach out and touch the grace of a creature we know so little about.

Now this may be a dream but for the record –Dolphins are HUGE when next to you. I mean really Huge. In aquariums and on TV they seem a little smaller than their human side kick but in my dream this friend was at least a foot taller than me.

My friend smiled, as only Dolphins can only smile, and drifted by me. He waited as I floated up thirty feet. He then drifted with me to the safe fifteen foot stop and waited as we counted down the mandatory safety stop. He followed me to the surface, slapping a wave in my face, the equivalent of a high five.

My friend waited several feet away as the boat approached.

As the boat neared and slowed to pick me up, I turned to smile my thanks but found my Dolphin was gone.

There, instead, was my sweetheart. He smiled back.

Book

Sometimes I have these grandiose day dreams of how I have struck it unbelievably rich. They make me smile and I idly kick around the best imaginary scheme possible and then blow it up into super power size. This pass time passes time with amazing speed.

My favorite one this week is that someone somewhere somehow finds my book and publishes it. Of course they are a good decent person and they set it up so that when the true author is found, me, all proceeds will be passed to me 100%. Of course the first thing that I do is give this do good-er a well deserved and generous cut. The book will have a modest following but enough of one that we could fix up the back yard and add a studio/ art type of room for me and expand the current disastrous mess of an office into something decent with shelves galore for my guy.

The only major problem with this shiny story is that I never did finish my book. The least of my problems is the ‘someone somewhere somehow’ part. I could fix that one. I have tried out different sets of people and I have decided on a successful publisher who happens to be a woman with graying blond hair. She will be on the opposite sides of politics that I am on and will prefer cats to dogs and we will get along famously. The where part is a little more difficult but not impossible because I can lump that one in with the ‘how’. I have thrown manuscripts into the thrift store bin a couple of times. Maybe she is also a flea market fan.

I heard your question Reader; “Why would you throw a manuscript into a thrift store bin?”

The obvious answer, and I am surprised you asked, is that if I had thrown them away in the trash then I would have had to have a funeral. The second option, to pack them, is that I couldn’t because they were hopeless cases. Idle excellent characters that are bored out of their brains are restless bed partners and they were keeping me up at night. They had to move out.

I was completely stumped. Even the story line was bored! I thought that if someone out there could finish the story then the story would find that someone. If not, the irritated employee could throw them out and spare me the despair of knowing I can’t write and shouldn’t bother trying anymore.

I have been trying to start a new one the last couple of years. I am distracted, more the usual, and this one is based off of memories and journals.

So far it is also bored.

No changes

The day was gorgeous, my family was wonderful, my Dad made a few cry, my sweetheart and I nailed the dance, and the general feeling of the entire event was happy, fun, pretty and I have roses all over the house to prove that it happened.

Such happiness!

Would we change from us though? I was really worried about this. I was more worried about this then I was about anything else; more then running nearly an hour behind schedule, more then the fact that it rained up until fifteen minutes before the outdoor ceremony started, that the Minster ran late or if I liked my hair. That one is still a pending decision.

Would we change?

Reader I am happy to report that we did not, at least not that I can tell. For all of his impossible procrastination, lack of house keeping skills and the shoes he leaves all over the house- I love us just the way we are. Want to know why?

He will bark at me when I wind myself up into an anxious house cleaning machine and I will ignore him. I will attempt to nag him to death and he just blissfully tunes me out. He will hold my hands when I am freaking out and watch me and stay with me until I calm down. I will listen to his stories and he will listen to mine –even though now we are on repeat sometimes.

But mostly because I can make him laugh like no one else can and he can make me laugh when nothing else will.

Ah.... newlyweds are nauseating aren't they?

Foxtrot

I have to comment on the political circus arena. The show is just too spectacular to ignore and I have to compliment the illusion of jumping hyenas through water hoops.

Clap Clap Clap!

Closing of the ‘G’ bay –I daren’t say the whole word, people have seizures.

Second ‘Bailout’. Firing of CEO’s of private corporations. Bank and Auto takeovers. Mortgage and Financial Brokerage takeovers.

(By the by… Take over is defined with the metaphor in mind of using said bailout money to duct tape certain mouths shut and then refusing to allow corporations to give the duct tape back)

‘Special Advisors’ appointed to positions that they have no experience in but did happen to make large donations to the last political campaign. Reporters profiled prior to interviews, questions staged at ‘open debates and town halls’ and paid for questionnaires. Black panther gang members guarding polling posts. Powers appointed to lobbyists galore…

Then Health Care. Now the CIA probe.

The media and political puppets coo and coax “You are just fine! The economy is coming back!!” as the stock market stumbles, reels, and staggers across the same stage and unemployment continues to sky rocket…

This is a hell of a foxtrot on the political stage.

What on earth are they frantically holding our attention so closely for? What is the distraction distracting us, the public, from?

Lets start with Health Care. All Americans have access to Health Care. All Americans DO Not have affordable access to insurance. And I am one of them -At least independently and without an employer's group program. I have a pre-existing condition which nullifies my eligibility.

Now granted, I have not been sick for a while so I can say this without flinching but I don’t think a government health plan will help. If this overly involved in-law type of government really must have their fingers in this massively bloated and messy issue… why not cap frivolous law suits? Why not reduce the limitations that restrict insurance companies from covering additional individuals across state lines?

Or the "Closing of the ‘G’ bay"… why is it that called that? It is not closing… the thing is simply moving, all inmates included.

Bailout? This was an exploding increase in a spoiled child’s allowance -only this child is a red faced screaming nightmare which has been melded with a patronizing trust fund brat who steps all over your clean carpet and smiles at you in that insulting way –you all know what I mean.

WHAT business is it of the government if a CEO runs his company into the ground with poor management? I say Let it crumple, just as they have before. The Great Depression was twice or three times longer then it needed to be because of government involvement. Why are we on repeat?

Taxes are ridiculous. Do you know how much sales revenues would increase if income taxes decreased? I have no idea honestly but it seems it would take simple math to figure it out. We are seeing increased taxes instead. Maybe not yet on income but certainly on property, cars, products, etc.

What is going on? Seriously.

The hamsters in my head.

I could taste emotion as one could taste a freshly cut onion or smell cut grass in the summer evening.

It could be arid, bitter, fresh but some how emotions always taste raw.

I could feel emotions in and around me too. This ever flowing stream of water or air, it was a light brush against my arms or a tickle on the back of my knees.

The world was as bright as crayons are to a child. The walls begged for color so I painted them. Bold and vivid and true.

Too bright? Too much blue? Too much orange, red, purple and green? Impossible!

Don’t you shiver too Reader? Like I do? I think you must. I think we all must. But if you have forgotten how to try this: Close your eyes sometime, as a storm is brewing and when the tree branches are clapping and shuddering and cheering in the tremulous toss up in the sky. Close your eyes and listen. Goose bumps will rise on your arms and there is a funny little shaking that can happen in your heart.

Or! Or; Close your thoughts and turn off the radio while you drive in your car to work. Those over sized and far too tall pedestals rubbing their wrought iron sides together- that sound? Turn that sound inside out. Now that sound is the beating of feet on rocks and you are running through a painting rendered of a South American forest. The air is humid not dry, the world is humming with insects and sweat.

And I shiver. Every time I do that I shiver. It is best when someone else is driving the car and I can look out the window and disappear into air and find myself on a far off mountain side. Sometimes I see deer running and I imagine that I am one of them. If I close my eyes and listen and listen and listen and then I can imagine slender legs, four of them. Smooth rough fur and soft large ears and dark serious eyes.

The imagination is a fantastic thing. It is magic and wonder.

My sweetheart says he wonders what goes on in my head but Reader, without what goes on in my head I don’t think I could handle the nastiness of this job and of people and feeling tired in the morning.

In my head I am still about six years old.

Dis-jointed

Edgy today. This is a day of where I have nothing but disjointed thoughts and I move together with myself as a disjointed body would; a stumbling awkward kind of walk through a vague kind of day.

A change is coming so Huge that I can not grasp it. I am excited for it. Happy for it. And completely terrified.

I know everything is about to change and to be the same.

I have a few questions about this too. How will I define myself after this? How will he? How will my dreams, my thoughts change?

Luckily Sally won’t see a difference. I can count of her to not notice or bugger me about it. Charlie is likely included in that boat.

Will I know his passwords and will he know mine? Not just the passwords on technical things but the passwords to a bike lock or a high school locker’s combination.

Will he see me as he did and as he does? Wait, I retract that line of questions and would rather start with: How does he see me?

AND I AM OLD Reader. Not with loads of wrinkles or gray hairs but old as in I should know I am older. I sat in the shower last night and scowled at my feet. They are older too; more slender and definitely fat somehow. I couldn’t tell you what they were three years ago but I know what they are now.

On an up note; my hands are still young. The wrists are just beginning to show signs of time but my hands have not betrayed me noticeably just yet.

However…my elbows have gone to the pig pen. Soft and potato like. I will keep them though.

Last my hair… I know I dyed it dark brown a couple of years ago and MURDERED it. But… well I thought that by now it would not be so unhappy still. Don’t get me wrong. My hair is a valiant soul and looks quite pretty but it is still a little dried out…

Last, do dragonflies know that they are going to grow old too? Do dogs and cats and trees?

And so go the thoughts in my head today.

Early August

It smells like autumn outside. The anxious excited feeling was in my hands when I woke up buried in the covers this morning. It is only early August but the wind brought cold clean air over night and the sunshine feels a little distant today. I am not ready for the summer to hint of leaving. Last winter was a long one.

Regardless, and although it is only early August, I could taste the bite of the harvest season in the air. How I love the fall. She is a dear friend and one I enjoy every year with overwhelmed senses and flooded emotions.

I was up early and played with my dog outside. The wind woman hummed unassumingly but I closed my eyes and listened with appraising ears. She laughed softly as she played with dust in cool sunlight and did not notice my attentive human focus.

Fall may come early this year. She will be wild with color from all the rain this last spring. The ache is here already; in my feet, in my hands, in my soul. But I am not restless this time, this feels more intense then simple anxiety. More of a deep calm resting at the surface of water as building life swirls underneath.

I feel aloof and gentle and still. Rocks may break my surface but they hardly touch the breathing deep below.

And then there is my sweetheart. Perhaps I am feeling a little detached from everything but not from my little family.