Just fly

All of us hide in ourselves. We hide in makeup or no makeup or in too many or too little clothes. We hide behind smiles, behind boasts, behind silence; we are all hiding.

Watery warm autumn sunlight kisses my cheek and jaw line. The Wind Woman plays lightly with my hair. She is whispering in my ear, her cool bare breath against my face, tickling me into a smile.

People are flying and I want to fly too. I came out here to watch, to be inspired, to talk to the Wind Woman, the Lady of Wild Hair and Random Tangents. Lately I am afraid of things I want and I wonder why. Is it a mortality fear? Fear of aging, am I overly sensitive to the fragility of my human body? I had pondered this two days ago too. I thought about the fear when I launched and flew but then completely forgot about it as I excitedly landed EXACTLY where I wanted.

‘AH HA!! TADDDAAAA!!!’ I shouted to myself, this included an imaginary high five to self too. Out loud I only quietly giggled to myself, mildly drunk on my happiness. I launched again, caught up in the surging glory of success. I continued to forget about fear as I flew back and forth awhile –until I unexpectedly bumped into it again on landing.

When I notice something about myself I notice it in others. Or imagine it in others. Either and/ or. Most of the time I think no one notices I am watching them; trying to understand how we are all so alike and yet so separated. Occasionally, I think my ‘observing’s’ are noticed by some and that some become suspicious and think me suspect of something. When I notice them noticing, I wish I could ask, “I see this in me, I think I see it in you. What conclusions have you arrived to?”

But people are hiding and dislike nothing more than being found out.

Back to today. The air is calmer than yesterday, rich in dense cool air, rising up like lazy champagne bubbles… My Wind Woman sighs her question softly ‘Would you like a glass?’

Yes, yes I would. Despite falling over the dog, then the cat and then my shoes and dropped coat; somehow I make it out to the park with my head attached. Carefully, systematically, I pull and lay out my wing and my things. I call my dearest to tell him where I am. I strap in, flight check twice and pull up.

It was perfect -until my glove caught in the brake handle, came off and I flopped the wing over trying to catch it, making myself laugh. Redo was effortless, launch was clean, and up up up I went. I made a very low bench, the kind that had me grinning all the way, wondering if I would land on the trail.

On the back ridge, looking at the romantic lonely Timpanogos and her snowy ridge outline, studying the fairy land that must be Lone Peak, I decided: Sometimes, maybe we are afraid of what we want most because it is what we want most. Nothing is as disappointing as hope unrealized; so the more we want and hope for something, the more we are guarded against it.

I told my Wind Woman my conclusion. In answer she shook out my fear like dust from an over trodden door way rug and told me ‘Just fly.

Head in the Clouds

Nice painting huh?  Nice, peaceful....yawnnnnnnnnnnnnn

I have the window cracked and the Wind Woman is racing to whip up another hot August thunderstorm and as she dashes by comments, "That's boring..."

Before I can do more then scowl she's off again and I hear the trees laughing....

well...it is boring...


Out come blues, blacks and yellow!  Rise and rise!!

I am playing 'Prelude' (From the Unaccompanied Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007 on Master and Commander) and it is blaring from my personal computer -My fingernails are stained and there is a roaring in my ears, echoing the electricity outside -!


"How go the close outs in the markets?"

...blankly I turn back to the desk speaking to me....
WAIT I am on a conference call!  For work!  but I am at home!  Right!!!

I silence my computer, un-mute the call and give my market's updates while chewing on the end of the paint brush and resting my chin in my hands. 

The call ends and a glance in the window's reflection tells me I have paint on my face.

In soooo many ways.

Finished 16 X 20 X 3/4 Acrylic "Head in the Clouds"

“Let’s go for a Bike ride!”

Something the size of my face is directly in front of me on the narrow path but as I am careening capriciously at warp speed (maybe 16 mph!) in darkening twilight -There is absolutely no way I am not going to smash it.  

Happily it flutters up, just in the nick of time, to hover with me.  Its wings must be heavy; heavy enough that as they pump up and down, I feel the air next to my cheek moving.  My sweat is intravenously pouring down me as I struggle up the smooth dirt track and then I’m suddenly cooled by warm summer evening air as I spike forward and down onto the rocky downhill trail.

‘Giant Black Moth’ or ‘Bizarre Small Bird’ or possibly ‘Little Strange Bat’, whatever it is, hangs out with me for a few turns.  I think it is asking “What on earth is a human unsteadily winding by at this hour doing here??”

To answer that question…

“Let’s go for a Bike ride!”  This sentence was exclaimed around 7pm.  It is the end of another baking blue day here in the high desert mountains of Utah so we waited til nearly eight to head up to the nearby canyon. 

According to maps there is a nearby canyon bicycle trail head that runs all the way to the flight park in our neighborhood.  The game plan: Drive up, ride home and then take the second car back to retrieve the first.  

As it appears to be a mostly a downhill track, when we arrive, we go the opposite way, about half a mile.  Why? Because that is up hill and we want to make sure we get a little exercise before our easy cruise home… As we back track to the trail head, we go under the road through a tunnel.  I have a spontaneous thought, “I don’t want to be on a trail at dark, this short dark tunnel is uncomfortable.”

This trail we thought was downhill?  It begins excruciatingly steep as this skinny path is entirely uphill.  

I focus on three goals: breathing, not running into the mountain and not falling off the mountain.  My muscles, so sadly out of oxygen and strength, burn me alive until a rush of endorphins gives me a natural high.  I may be ‘older’ but my body still has the ability to kick in! Yay! I wallow in the glory of lightheaded gasps and the thrill of trying and sort of succeeding.  

Absently, I overly tighten my grip and in response my front wheel wobbles, wheedling me violently to the right.  I turn back to the path just in time before I go sliding off...again.

I grin at my handsome man, just a few yards ahead.  This courteous, much more athletic partner of mine; he is once more waiting for me to catch up.  My stubby legs peddle harder to hurry and meet him.  I ignore the screaming of my labored lungs.

I stop just behind him and we notice the arrival of twilight.

Oh… Well the view is fantastic.  The contrasts of green and gold foothills merging into glittering lights of the sprawling cities below and cradled from above by a deepening blue sky –it takes my breath away -oh no, wait, that was the last part of the hill- but IF I had a breath to take away, it would have. I'm unable to pause my gasping to drink so I slurp in a mouth full of icy water and hold it until it's warm and then choke it down.

We are three miles in, about half way.  Do we turn back?   Do we keep going?  It’s a toss-up whether either is the better choice at this point. We decide to keep going. 

A few minutes later, just in time for twilight to turn to early dark, the trail, at last, officially turns into All Downhill.  We now have the relentless hand of time and vanishing light pushing us forward too.  The situation, regardless of whether it ought to be laughable is besides the point.  We are laughing despite ourselves.

I am riding my brakes, nervously picking my slowing way past sharp sage bush while simultaneously, trying to Not Look At the extreme drop to the right - which I notice, helpful or not; it IS increasingly hard to see just how far up we are… which also means it is increasingly hard to see the trail…

“Trust the trail, trust that it’s there,” My encouraging crusader heartens.  In between breaths he continues “the bike is more stable at 15 mph then at 2 mph.”

Bugs, I suspect grasshoppers, (why grasshoppers? Well they were in the news this afternoon so I image grasshoppers, duh...), pop up, on and off of my ankles as I whip through and past. 

I giggle to myself, ‘How is it we get ourselves into these types of moments?’   

About now the ‘Giant Black Moth’ or ‘Bizarre Small Bird’ or possibly ‘Little Strange Bat’ pops up and joins me for the ride. I chuckle as I answer myself and It.

Because we are adventurers!  Not the kind that make history or world records, but the kind the somehow scoot by on the tolerant good graces of chance and a bit of our own personal tenacity. 

I follow the shadow of my sweetheart, my best friend, his back tire sliding slightly for a moment as he hit a rocky patch in front of me; both of us are squinting, straining to see the disappearing pathway.

I can’t wipe the smile off my face. 

Decide

This is my year to "Decide" and Yesterday was a really big day.

My New Year Resolution is that one word.  Whatever it is in life I am thinking about doing, I am to decide.  Do it or don't but tackle the decision.

I also decided to stop being afraid of steep slopes. I decided to ski better and just do it.  I have since introduced my face to my knee, left a bruise the size of a soccer ball on my hip and generally done cartwheels several times down various runs.  But I Will BE a GOOD SKIER.   My darling, though wary since ever since I knocked myself out cold, has continued to be my tolerant exasperated instructor.

I skied the Cirque yesterday!!!!!  This is a Huge deal for me. I was excited /terrified as my sweetheart lead me and our friend along a mountain ledge about five feet wide on either side and drop offs on both sides that made my tummy leave me, (It, and my heart, promised to meet me at the bottom). 

But I knew I was ready, I've been working really hard to get to this point.  Finally we are at the end of it, at the ‘easiest’ spot.  I skied up to the edge, (which literally just falls away, poof, no more mountain, just drop out). 

I took two deep breaths and dropped in.  It is Spring snow, thick heavy, chunckety…. If that is a word.  Skiing on snow like that, deep solid snow, feels like being on wooden old rollercoaster.  The kind that afterwards you feel like you might have lost a filling or two from clacking your teeth together.  Yeah, that kind of snow. 

From the bottom, I could hear my heart and stomach cheering me on, “We’re right here when you get down!” I stood tall, muscles screaming, I pushed my skies into the slushy concrete, turned… and I DID NOT FALL.  The bright blue sky burned my grin into my face as I continued and made my careful and slow way down. 

And what d’ya know?  I found that not just my faint hearted tummy was down there; but my awesome friends too!  They saw I was coming down and skied over to cheer me on.  And we laughed and smiled together. 

Ah the victories found on Spring Sundays at Snowbird.

Longest Flight

Last night I took off and flew for an hour and forty minutes. My longest flight this far.

Here are some quick details to explain why this flight was amazing. Cold air is thicker than warm air. This is an important detail because summer flying is very different than spring or fall flying. Temperatures have been very hot and dry this year. About a week ago, it started dropping to the low 60's at night and maxing out in the eighties during the day. So in the evening the air is cooling while warm sunlight is still heating.

We fly in two kinds of ‘lift’, thermals and ridge lift. Sunlight (heat) creates invisible thermals (think of dust devils) and ridge lift, (think of air as water and what does moving water do when it hits a wall? It breaks and rises. The air hitting the mountain ridge travels up it in a wave of 'ridge lift').

K, so there are the terms. I took off and the air was thick and warm with little rivers of cool washing over me. It wasn't hard AT all to fly up and reach the back ridge. Rather than sharp jostles, which I am familiar with this summer, the rocking felt like being in a boat in a bit of waves.

And the lift... the highest I had ever been before was 6750 ft. Last night the air lifted and lifted and somehow I was 7530 ft. in the air. I was above everyone else (for once) and alone and it disconcertingly odd to look around and see how very far up I was in that big blue and orange evening sky.

It’s scary to fly away from the hill. There is a mental block that happens. I, like many pilots, mentally latch on to the place I take off from. I do not want to get too far away from it. While there are some flight restrictions (airline paths and heights), this fear of leaving the ridge is actually counter intuitive. Technically the further you are up and away from things, the less there is to possibly run into. I know this. Karl repeats it over and over again, trying to help me see past it.

I twisted around to look at the far away landing zones, at the teeny tiny tree tops and houses and thought 'Whoa..." The Wind Woman was humming, busy dressing trees for the coming autumn festival. I could see the glimmer of red and orange in the mountains, her handiwork about to be on full display.

The last ten years came crashing down on me with a vengeance; my journey to me. I was filled up to tears with gratitude and just as quickly, filled with jealous fear. I have this fantastic life. I belong with this beautiful man I call my husband. I have the sweetest most darling dog, who I call my friend because she is so much more intelligent and interesting than a regular dog. I have a lovely home, a black and white bratty gentle cat. I get to do everything I love. I am never bothered by things like enough food, a safe place to rest or the ability to get what I need.

My job sucks, I wish I would ‘grow a pair’ and try publishing my book again, I wish I had more time to paint but these trivial complaints are swallowed whole by the fantastic force called my life.

It occurred to me that this life might not go on forever and this seemed painfully unjust and unfair. The Wind Woman came to laugh at the sudden knot in my throat. She touched my legs and traveled up to wrap a brief warm scarf of air around my shoulders in a gentle hug.

‘Look at your hands…’ she whispered. I looked in wonder at my hands. I stretched out my arms, reached out my fingers, and I ‘air-planed’, rocking myself to each side. Before she rushed off she reminded me ‘Live for each moment, live in each season…’

Sunflower

Darting dreams unfold around me. School is finalizing, the hard work and word swallowing venture nearly done! I have a new and promising job in THE town I resent most (sixteen years after I declared my eternal distain). But despite my nearly outright hostility, every day I find tentative open friendliness.


We bought a house in the place my dearest’s heart has always desired. I had held the neighborhood at a wary arm’s length until I was won over by a combination of yellow and black paint and a wayward yard with hopeful slender trees.

As I sludge through the last of homework, of classes, putting in an average of three hours a day driving on six hours of sleep, packing one house, unpacking another, cleaning both; just knowing the end of the madness is coming, I wake up in a ridiculously good mood (albeit a little bleary eyed). Not painting, not reading, not day dreaming, flying, I still have the energy to finish.

Until Last night, when my hands woke me at 4am, (thank God not 3am).

I stretched my fingers, greeting the familiar ache, the strange cold feeling in my palms, listening to the gentle tap of the wind chime outside.

My thoughts drifted to my easel, sitting naked and neglected in a room crammed with boxes and lime green nasty walls: My paints are out of reach in stacks of bubble wrap, locked in with tape. My fingertips burned.

I slipped out of bed, padded past my sleeping dog and down the stairs to the basement. Digging through a box I found a pen and blank piece of white paper and feverish sketched. And what fell out of my hands?

Hello Sunflower

Update: Painted a proper sunflower

13" X 9" (Loose canvas paper)

Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)

Grandpa

On Sunday I had a call from my Mom.  She was concerned about my Grandpa, who advised her and Dad on Friday that he ‘can’t do this anymore’.  His appetite had been non-existent for weeks.  So I chopped up apples and made up my apple crisp and down we went at 4pm. 

This turned out to be a special night for me.  As soon as  we arrived I went in to see Grandpa.  I reached out and put my young hand on his old hand and waited.  The room was warm and dimly lit with only the light from his chair stand.  His eyes were faded and far away and I waited until they slowly focused and began to see me. 

I told him I’d come to see him, that I’d brought my apple crisp.  He nodded and gathered himself and said “I miss her too much” as he twisted his wedding band.  My throat locked up and I took a deep breath as he continued and advised me in low gravely words, his eyes glancing away, “You’re Marji’s oldest girl.  I’m sorry but I am too tired for company. Thank you for coming by.”

I nodded, acknowledging his dismissal.... but I was determined not to push and to push at the same time.  I smiled at him sideways, appealing to him as much as I could, “Maybe you could come out in a little while and try a little of my apple crisp.  ...I made it for you.” I stood up only when I saw an infinitesimal nod that meant 'perhaps'...  but less promising was the click of the door that he stood to shut behind me.

I had put the apple dish in the oven when we first walked in and it was nearly done when dinner was done too.  When the smell of apple, cinnamon , nutmeg and brown sugar was intoxicating the house,  I heard his bedroom door click open and looked over to see my Grandpa standing there watching.

I had a moment.  There was my grey, faded and so thin Grandpa slowly straightening until he was the dark haired dashing man in the old photos I like to look at.  He knew he was dashing, he knew who he was, what he thought and for all his gruffness there was a wealth of intuition and kindness.

And then the moment passed and there was Grandpa again.  Clear sharp old eyes, eyes that saw how much I really wanted to see him once more and he asked aloud if he could have some of the apple crisp I had made for him.

We visited, we talked, we looked at pictures, he ate every single drop of sugar and apple, he told me I had some sense and teased me about my crooked front tooth. He reminded me how important it is to write down dates on my favorite pictures because someday, the summers would mix into each other and one could no longer be sure of when it was taken.

Reader, a while ago, in April of 2008 there was another moment with him.  I went in to visit with my Grandmother.  Her health was badly declined but she had Always rallied for visits with me.  As I had done so many times before, I knelt at her chair, I took her hand and I began to tell her a silly story about my Sally, or Daisy as she had liked to call my dog.

But she did not know me.  She could not come back from the world her faded eyes were looking into.  I was so caught by surprise I froze, in a child like panic, distraught and nearly in tears, I was ready to plead she see me –when my gruff Grandpa, a man I’d always been a bit wary of… reached over, patted my shoulder and said “Come visit with me child”, saving me from my embarrassing distress with his compassion.  

We started a conversation and I had the pleasure, for the first time, of really conversing with my Grandpa.  And since this moment, even after Grandmother's passing, this would happen again and again, we would talk about the people he knew, about the world as it was then and is now, about things I do (sports) and places we had seen.  We never had a serious or life changing conversation; but simple sunny, easy and breathing ones. 

Then, this last February, 2010, we celebrated his ninety fifth birthday.  He was excited to see all of us and so happy we were there.  He grinned and laughed quietly... but after that evening he has slowly gone away.  Throughout this year I see him less on visits and when I did, we talked very little and sometimes I felt he didn't see me at all.

Until this last Sunday, when he reached out and ‘patted’ my shoulder and let me talk with him again.  May I remember his grace Reader. May I be mindful of his kindness and hold on to the honor of being related to someone so insightful and gentle to me.

The Summer with Grandpa (2012)

I promise...

In three weeks and not one second more, this time of silenced hands and muted touch will flower to an end.  I will give to myself one day of entire day dreaming. 

One day of paint, wet and smooth, paint that will turn, that will become dry and caked; it will come off my fingers in flaking sighs of relief.  Dead skin dying and peeling back to let clean cells breath.  This panting heat of suppressed thoughts and coughing imagination will at last inhale the cool tender touch of a beloved friend who has been asked to wait, just to wait, just a little longer a little too long.

In three weeks I will create and gulp in the fragrant air of life and my art.

Unexpected Friend

Panting I press the button that increases the speed, the resistance level. The rhythmic sound of machines and feet is semi drowned out by my headphones. Next to me, I eavesdrop as an old man with a deep voice talks to a young man. His story telling voice mentions something about being grateful to be here, to be out of the struggle in the Sudan.

I glance up at the overhead television and the flashing pictures of Middle Eastern chaos. I am grateful too, I think. Without meaning to, I glance at him. He catches my eye, he nods to me and to himself. I smile back.

Somewhere around half way through, I realize he is struggling to keep going and that somehow we have established solidarity. He needs to stop to rest, to breath, to mop sweat from his silver white hair, before he can keep going. When he pauses, his thin arms shaking, he looks over at my machine's display. I pull the towel back from covering the summary, showing the level and time remaining. He nods again and continues.

For the last ten minutes I max out the level of resistance and push through as my heart flops like a soggy tomato in my chest, desperate to escape. I close my eyes in the last two and focus on just breathing, just moving. I am relieved as it mellows out in the ‘cool down’ and the setting automatically kicks down the level. Soon I can hear over the roaring blood in my hands.

I get to the end and remember my gym ‘friend’ and look over. He has made it too. He smiles at me and says quietly, “It is good. Good.” I smile back and go my own way.

Dreaming

EEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk..... The banging of loose ropes drumming the sides of this wooden ship is the only sound carried by the waves and wind. It staggers, heavy and creaking, through what is left of the wild storm.

Using my practiced sea legs I make it from one side of the lonely deck to the other.... where is everyone?

In the cabin I find a woman with long black hair wrapped in purple curled up on a bench, hands tucked under her. Beside her on the floor lies a tan and white dog who appears to be sleeping. Her lashes curl prettily along her high cheek bones but her exotic beauty is tempered by her ice white skin. She will not be waking. I leave them untouched in their permanent slumber.

What happened here? I search the rest of the ship. Gold coins lie scattered below deck, the hull is still sound but there isn't another soul but mine on board. The sky above is lit with the flames of clouds and dusk blended by the reflection of far off rain. The first stars study me on the horizon. I look back without understanding.

There are words in the wind behind me and I turn to see the faded translucent image of the girl and her dog standing behind me, her words scratch at my ears like a distressed kitten at a friendly hand, “What happened?”

The Wind Woman has come for her and she catches the girl up, jerking back her pleading hand before my puzzled solid voice can reply.

My dreams are my favorite part of sleeping. I love feeling rested and relaxed but I really love dreaming. Sometimes my anticipation is a little nerve-racking, especially when I have had a good set of nights in a row.

Skiing

Last winter we had a whole whooping two days on snow but my drill instructor danced down the ridges with me, repeatedly shouting, "Turn! Hands forward, drive with your hands! Turn again!" etc.

The result was that I graduated from easy greens to easy blues in those two days.

This year I was a grinning little kid as we packed up our car and drove up the mountain. Excited isn't the right word for my anticipation. Thrilled, giddy, silly; these might be better descriptive words.

What I lack in skills I more than make up for in enthusiasm. There are very few outdoor sports I have mastered.  Even hiking poises risks. I have the attention span of a gnat and it’s only a matter of time before I twist an ankle going down a hill because of my lack of attention.

But skiing is fantastic; bitter cold, blinding sunshine, millions of layers, and my upside down cartwheels in the snow when I missed the turn -! There aren't words for the fluttering fear and exhilaration as I study a 'steeper hill then usual' and conquer it with only a couple of good falls. Hyperventilating and triumphant I speed forward, stretching my arms and fingers out to catch the wind.

I love living.

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’