the best things, to me, put to ink and page. in no particular order.....
- of mice and men : john steinbak
- fast food nation : eric scholosser
- our stories remember : joseph bruchac
- life is so good : george dawson
- food in history : reay tannahill
- nineteenth-century european art : petra ten-doesschate chu
- i know why the caged bird sings : maya angelou
- art, a brief history : marilyn stokstad
- the immortal class, bike messangers and the cult of human power : travis hugh culley
- a tree grows in brooklyn : betty smith
- old turtle : douglas wood
my favorite books include several textbooks. *groan*
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Monday, February 22, 2010
you know me better than that.
someone asked me not long ago, what does love feel like.
i couldn't imagine not knowing.
but, like all good questions, i thought about it long and hard.
you love someone when they make your heart feel warm.
love is eating food off their plate without asking.
love is taking a coffee cup from someone's hands, just knowing to, as they slide into the car.
love is a grown man bawling as he hears news over the phone about the loss of someone he loves, and then putting on a happy face for someone else who needs it.
love is, i'll see you in the morning.
but that didn't get me very far. i know love isn't any of that. love is like an ocean.
it looks huge and immeasurable, insurmountable and controlled by something else, but when you get up close, when you put your hands in it, it trickles amiably down your fingers and drips back into the swell of the sea and far away again.
you'll remember the colors of the pebbles that trickled under its waves and tapped the tops of your feet as you stood, discovering its nearness. you'll remember the swirls on the stones, the shapes and the weight. and as soon as you are certain you'll have their image burned into your memory more closely than you name, they'll be swept away with a wink and you'll not even be able to recall what you were tying to remember. in their place will be a whole new closeness, which makes the last as worthless as regret.
looking into the rippling water up close, you will understand love perfectly. it will be clear, concise, and simple. as soon as you stand back up; it will blur and fizz and spin out of control faster than you could have realized you had it all figured out.
love is a little like that.
it seeps into the sand, and disappears into the earth. walking away, you can still feel it between your nails.
its as big as it is small.
love is in the story we learned in sunday school about the poor women who quietly put her small coins towards the church with all her heart, as the rich man dumped his bags and bags of gold and watched to see who could see him and his contribution.
love for me, was listening to mass in Latin as the 13th century bells rang out, shaking the pigeons off their cast metal.
love for me, is a boring phone call about your day, because i have been thinking about you, in it, since i woke up.
love for me, was the warm summer sun, honey glazed almonds and a cup of coffee on the front porch as we waited for the rays to burn off the dew.
love was when you shouted at me. when you screamed he didn't deserve me. love was knowing that would make me angry with you, but not caring.
love was whispering ...mountains...
love was knowing, i was already thinking that.
love was looking the other way, but not turning you head too far.
love 'is how you let me snap at you, and block me from the world, taking the bitterness i throw at you like a filter. love is that we both know our roles, and i know you are letting me do this to you.
love is seeing your thoughts before they come out of your mouth. love is mine, meeting them, and dancing with them in the air.
but none of that explained it either. love was yes, love was no. love was not ever maybe.
love is faking a smile.
love is the only real thing.
love happens when you are ready to be honest. love happens when you straighten everything out inside. lining everything up like a set of dominoes, but never expecting them to fall.
then standing like an innocent bystander, watching, as the wreckage tumbles out of the blessed control you only thought you had.
love was knowing i was lying to you, knowing i knew you knew and letting me get away with it.
love is remembering you hate thunderstorms.
love is remembering you love the rain.
that wasn't enough for love though either.
love is doing something for someone and not expecting anything in return.
some people don't think that's possible. that we always get something, and selflessness like that doesn't exist. maybe then, we expect less. maybe we are willing to take what others would see as the short end of the straw, the raw deal, the smaller half, over and over and over again.
we just can't concede that it doesn't make sense that while at work all day, i just think about your smile and after 8 tiring hours, flashing me a grin is all i need.
it doesn't make sense that you can scream, and cry and throw a tantrum on the floor, you can yell at me and offer threats and when you have finally let go of your last tear, you bring your calm toddler body back to me, and i feel honored to be the one who can wipe the tears from your little cheeks.
it doesn't seem fair that after a huge transgression, betrayal and mistrust, two simple honest words "i'm sorry" covers it like fresh fallen snow.
no, that shouldn't be right. that doesn't seem fair.
but love was the only thing that was always right.
and for all know, it always will be.
and i have to, after thinking long and hard, leave it at that.
i couldn't imagine not knowing.
but, like all good questions, i thought about it long and hard.
you love someone when they make your heart feel warm.
love is eating food off their plate without asking.
love is taking a coffee cup from someone's hands, just knowing to, as they slide into the car.
love is a grown man bawling as he hears news over the phone about the loss of someone he loves, and then putting on a happy face for someone else who needs it.
love is, i'll see you in the morning.
but that didn't get me very far. i know love isn't any of that. love is like an ocean.
it looks huge and immeasurable, insurmountable and controlled by something else, but when you get up close, when you put your hands in it, it trickles amiably down your fingers and drips back into the swell of the sea and far away again.
you'll remember the colors of the pebbles that trickled under its waves and tapped the tops of your feet as you stood, discovering its nearness. you'll remember the swirls on the stones, the shapes and the weight. and as soon as you are certain you'll have their image burned into your memory more closely than you name, they'll be swept away with a wink and you'll not even be able to recall what you were tying to remember. in their place will be a whole new closeness, which makes the last as worthless as regret.
looking into the rippling water up close, you will understand love perfectly. it will be clear, concise, and simple. as soon as you stand back up; it will blur and fizz and spin out of control faster than you could have realized you had it all figured out.
love is a little like that.
it seeps into the sand, and disappears into the earth. walking away, you can still feel it between your nails.
its as big as it is small.
love is in the story we learned in sunday school about the poor women who quietly put her small coins towards the church with all her heart, as the rich man dumped his bags and bags of gold and watched to see who could see him and his contribution.
love for me, was listening to mass in Latin as the 13th century bells rang out, shaking the pigeons off their cast metal.
love for me, is a boring phone call about your day, because i have been thinking about you, in it, since i woke up.
love for me, was the warm summer sun, honey glazed almonds and a cup of coffee on the front porch as we waited for the rays to burn off the dew.
love was when you shouted at me. when you screamed he didn't deserve me. love was knowing that would make me angry with you, but not caring.
love was whispering ...mountains...
love was knowing, i was already thinking that.
love was looking the other way, but not turning you head too far.
love 'is how you let me snap at you, and block me from the world, taking the bitterness i throw at you like a filter. love is that we both know our roles, and i know you are letting me do this to you.
love is seeing your thoughts before they come out of your mouth. love is mine, meeting them, and dancing with them in the air.
but none of that explained it either. love was yes, love was no. love was not ever maybe.
love is faking a smile.
love is the only real thing.
love happens when you are ready to be honest. love happens when you straighten everything out inside. lining everything up like a set of dominoes, but never expecting them to fall.
then standing like an innocent bystander, watching, as the wreckage tumbles out of the blessed control you only thought you had.
love was knowing i was lying to you, knowing i knew you knew and letting me get away with it.
love is remembering you hate thunderstorms.
love is remembering you love the rain.
that wasn't enough for love though either.
love is doing something for someone and not expecting anything in return.
some people don't think that's possible. that we always get something, and selflessness like that doesn't exist. maybe then, we expect less. maybe we are willing to take what others would see as the short end of the straw, the raw deal, the smaller half, over and over and over again.
we just can't concede that it doesn't make sense that while at work all day, i just think about your smile and after 8 tiring hours, flashing me a grin is all i need.
it doesn't make sense that you can scream, and cry and throw a tantrum on the floor, you can yell at me and offer threats and when you have finally let go of your last tear, you bring your calm toddler body back to me, and i feel honored to be the one who can wipe the tears from your little cheeks.
it doesn't seem fair that after a huge transgression, betrayal and mistrust, two simple honest words "i'm sorry" covers it like fresh fallen snow.
no, that shouldn't be right. that doesn't seem fair.
but love was the only thing that was always right.
and for all know, it always will be.
and i have to, after thinking long and hard, leave it at that.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
oh sweet jesus, send help.
It all feels like a big joke, something that, for redeeming qualities must be funny to someone. Someone very far from here though, because its not funny at all to me.
Adult dating. If you haven't experienced it, I would like to let you know, is no fun. Zero fun sir. Once you graduate from college, it all goes to hell. It all changes, and I realized I don't know how to maneuver this, no one taught me too, and everyone in my family and close group of friends is already waving to me, their other hand in someone else's, and I am faking a smile back as I swim through this shit.
I've been on a bit of a streak lately with men, and have been wined and dined and escorted through the halls of art museums with my coat in his arms quite often lately. This should probably be fun. I mean, come on, a parade of handsome men, handing their credit cards to the person behind the counter confidently for the meals, coffees, admission tickets and beers we consume and asking if they can see me again on the way to walking me to the front door. Shit, they are even opening the car doors for me. Its not really that fun though.
I sit in the car as he asks if I am warm enough, do I want him to turn on the seat warmer on the leather seat I am awkwardly sliding around on, and all I can think of is...how the hell can I explain to him that its funny when James attacks me from out of nowhere and grabs my breasts. Or how Abby and I laughed until we cried when she ran into the window on Halloween. Why its okay that sometimes I eat dinner three times. That sometimes when I'm bored, James and I go to Target and try on clothes or wander around the aisles for no reason at all. That sometimes I go to a coffee shop as far away from my house as possible, just to look out the window at the passing cars. That I need my headphones to escape more than anything else in the world. That I would be happy to eat rice and beans for the rest of my life. That I'm a vegetarian who doesn't really give a rip about PETA. That I'm a preschool teacher who has her nipples pierced. That I'm a bit of a hippie and have never smoked pot. That I spent 20 years in the church, but have friends that shot heroine and I have no intentions in trying to stop them. That smoking is gross, but I love the smell of a freshly lit cigarette. That I want to be a mom. That sometimes, I don't. The suburbs make me shaky. That sometimes I have a peanut butter sandwich in the middle of the night. I hate bowling. I barely watch movies. I haven't watched the news for about three years, because I don't want it in my life anymore. Springtime is as close to god as I can understand. I just bought the most makeup as I have ever owned in my life, and I'm sorry, but I think I look perfectly fine without it. I have about a zillion coffee cups in the back of my car. I look like a badass when I am under my ninja mask on my bike, but I am the least cool person on the planet. That I am not impressed by your money. That I am a strong independent women, but I hope to hell that you will kiss me first, and not the other way around. I have bought my last five pairs of shoes at the thrift stores, and prefer it that way. I like eating out of bowls. I want stability in my life with the same passion from which I am scared of it. 9-5 scares me. You even scare me a little because of how you could bring those things to me. Scary movies scare me. Real life dark alleys don't. I hate showering in the morning, it makes me feel weird all day. I always stop that gas pump at an even dollar. Coffee? dark. Toast? light.
And that was only the tip of the iceberg of just me.
What about him? I feel like I don't know a damn thing.
This kind of knowledge, this degree of explanation, this much knowing seems so far from where he is, so far to where he needs to be seems impossible. I watch people I am close to and think its impossible to reach that point that I see the two of them at. Which is ironic, because yes, I have been there before, but it seem so far away right now. Familiarity seems so unlike where I am now. There is so much, I just want to say,"ya know, never mind. I was doing fine, I don't need to bother with this"...and walk off.
But damn it. I didn't. He asked if he could call me again, and I said yes, and with a smile. He asked when I was free next, and I told him. I AM trying. but shit.
Adult dating is way more tricky than it looks like on sitcoms.
Should I call HIM? Will he call me? Do either of us give a shit? Does he really like me, or is he just as confused as me.
He told me I was so cute, he could barely handle it. True? Is that your line? Do I believe you? Should I? Why the hell am I being so cynical?
Oh yes...its all those heartaches, its the fact that I can't count the number of times I have had to bend over and pick up my heart from the cracks in the sidewalk. Maybe he is the same.
Maybe he's not.
I have a pile of numbers in my phone that make me blush remembering the rejection or when the calls stopped, remembering the bear hugs from James. I also know this all boils down to not wanting to try again just to have my heart ripped to pieces for another time, another time I have lost track to count. And I know that is no way to live, I know that is a sad sad answer, and I know that thought won't win, but it does drive a tempting bargain.
Time. yes, we need time. Which is why I am trying to just keep puttering down this road.
But dear lord. Last night, after a fantastic dinner, full of conversation and laughing we went out for a drink, I was standing in front of him, looking up (he's tall) and we are swapping tales, laughing and quite fine, a women staggers up to us. Out of nowhere, and asked if we can help her settle a bet. Are we on a first date?" she prods.
Damn. It was that obvious? I thought we were doing fine. And come on, how long have you been watching us lady? Geeeeez.
One of these guys kissed me, very well, at the side of my car while the snow swirled around us. The other quickly hugged me at the front door and scurried off. One used crossing the street as a excuse to find my hand, the other braved touching my back for a few brief moments over the course of our night out. One told me I was beautiful. One I catch looking at my boobs, but it sorta makes me smile. And its not the one you are thinking. Is the one just more confident than the other, or just more sleezy. Is the second one more respectful? Or less interested?
Yes, I get nervous when either of these men are on their way over to my house to pick me up, but is it because of butterflies upon seeing them, or am I just dreading what weird things could ensue over the next few hours? Shouldn't I know which one is giving me this anxiety? Why am I even talking about this? Its a first or second date. Its a novel situation though, because up until now, dating has been meeting a cute guy at a party, or a friend of a friend and hanging out with him until its unmistakable that something more is there, and at some point you just meld together and begin dating. Now, complete strangers ask if they can buy me dinner, and I think to myself...what are the chances we have anything in common? Or next, that we have some chemistry, and that we want the same kind of relationship, and that its meant to be. I don't even think people have soul mates or that that fate is real, but its hard to believe that you should settle down with someone until you think those things are satisfied, that you are suppose to be with them. I only assume they want to get into my pants, because that's what I have experienced so far. The chances that a man walking down the street could understand me, and want to be with me, seems impossible. Not because I'm not fabulous, because really, I am, but because it just seem like a one in a million.
Adult dating. If you haven't experienced it, I would like to let you know, is no fun. Zero fun sir. Once you graduate from college, it all goes to hell. It all changes, and I realized I don't know how to maneuver this, no one taught me too, and everyone in my family and close group of friends is already waving to me, their other hand in someone else's, and I am faking a smile back as I swim through this shit.
I've been on a bit of a streak lately with men, and have been wined and dined and escorted through the halls of art museums with my coat in his arms quite often lately. This should probably be fun. I mean, come on, a parade of handsome men, handing their credit cards to the person behind the counter confidently for the meals, coffees, admission tickets and beers we consume and asking if they can see me again on the way to walking me to the front door. Shit, they are even opening the car doors for me. Its not really that fun though.
I sit in the car as he asks if I am warm enough, do I want him to turn on the seat warmer on the leather seat I am awkwardly sliding around on, and all I can think of is...how the hell can I explain to him that its funny when James attacks me from out of nowhere and grabs my breasts. Or how Abby and I laughed until we cried when she ran into the window on Halloween. Why its okay that sometimes I eat dinner three times. That sometimes when I'm bored, James and I go to Target and try on clothes or wander around the aisles for no reason at all. That sometimes I go to a coffee shop as far away from my house as possible, just to look out the window at the passing cars. That I need my headphones to escape more than anything else in the world. That I would be happy to eat rice and beans for the rest of my life. That I'm a vegetarian who doesn't really give a rip about PETA. That I'm a preschool teacher who has her nipples pierced. That I'm a bit of a hippie and have never smoked pot. That I spent 20 years in the church, but have friends that shot heroine and I have no intentions in trying to stop them. That smoking is gross, but I love the smell of a freshly lit cigarette. That I want to be a mom. That sometimes, I don't. The suburbs make me shaky. That sometimes I have a peanut butter sandwich in the middle of the night. I hate bowling. I barely watch movies. I haven't watched the news for about three years, because I don't want it in my life anymore. Springtime is as close to god as I can understand. I just bought the most makeup as I have ever owned in my life, and I'm sorry, but I think I look perfectly fine without it. I have about a zillion coffee cups in the back of my car. I look like a badass when I am under my ninja mask on my bike, but I am the least cool person on the planet. That I am not impressed by your money. That I am a strong independent women, but I hope to hell that you will kiss me first, and not the other way around. I have bought my last five pairs of shoes at the thrift stores, and prefer it that way. I like eating out of bowls. I want stability in my life with the same passion from which I am scared of it. 9-5 scares me. You even scare me a little because of how you could bring those things to me. Scary movies scare me. Real life dark alleys don't. I hate showering in the morning, it makes me feel weird all day. I always stop that gas pump at an even dollar. Coffee? dark. Toast? light.
And that was only the tip of the iceberg of just me.
What about him? I feel like I don't know a damn thing.
This kind of knowledge, this degree of explanation, this much knowing seems so far from where he is, so far to where he needs to be seems impossible. I watch people I am close to and think its impossible to reach that point that I see the two of them at. Which is ironic, because yes, I have been there before, but it seem so far away right now. Familiarity seems so unlike where I am now. There is so much, I just want to say,"ya know, never mind. I was doing fine, I don't need to bother with this"...and walk off.
But damn it. I didn't. He asked if he could call me again, and I said yes, and with a smile. He asked when I was free next, and I told him. I AM trying. but shit.
Adult dating is way more tricky than it looks like on sitcoms.
Should I call HIM? Will he call me? Do either of us give a shit? Does he really like me, or is he just as confused as me.
He told me I was so cute, he could barely handle it. True? Is that your line? Do I believe you? Should I? Why the hell am I being so cynical?
Oh yes...its all those heartaches, its the fact that I can't count the number of times I have had to bend over and pick up my heart from the cracks in the sidewalk. Maybe he is the same.
Maybe he's not.
I have a pile of numbers in my phone that make me blush remembering the rejection or when the calls stopped, remembering the bear hugs from James. I also know this all boils down to not wanting to try again just to have my heart ripped to pieces for another time, another time I have lost track to count. And I know that is no way to live, I know that is a sad sad answer, and I know that thought won't win, but it does drive a tempting bargain.
Time. yes, we need time. Which is why I am trying to just keep puttering down this road.
But dear lord. Last night, after a fantastic dinner, full of conversation and laughing we went out for a drink, I was standing in front of him, looking up (he's tall) and we are swapping tales, laughing and quite fine, a women staggers up to us. Out of nowhere, and asked if we can help her settle a bet. Are we on a first date?" she prods.
Damn. It was that obvious? I thought we were doing fine. And come on, how long have you been watching us lady? Geeeeez.
One of these guys kissed me, very well, at the side of my car while the snow swirled around us. The other quickly hugged me at the front door and scurried off. One used crossing the street as a excuse to find my hand, the other braved touching my back for a few brief moments over the course of our night out. One told me I was beautiful. One I catch looking at my boobs, but it sorta makes me smile. And its not the one you are thinking. Is the one just more confident than the other, or just more sleezy. Is the second one more respectful? Or less interested?
Yes, I get nervous when either of these men are on their way over to my house to pick me up, but is it because of butterflies upon seeing them, or am I just dreading what weird things could ensue over the next few hours? Shouldn't I know which one is giving me this anxiety? Why am I even talking about this? Its a first or second date. Its a novel situation though, because up until now, dating has been meeting a cute guy at a party, or a friend of a friend and hanging out with him until its unmistakable that something more is there, and at some point you just meld together and begin dating. Now, complete strangers ask if they can buy me dinner, and I think to myself...what are the chances we have anything in common? Or next, that we have some chemistry, and that we want the same kind of relationship, and that its meant to be. I don't even think people have soul mates or that that fate is real, but its hard to believe that you should settle down with someone until you think those things are satisfied, that you are suppose to be with them. I only assume they want to get into my pants, because that's what I have experienced so far. The chances that a man walking down the street could understand me, and want to be with me, seems impossible. Not because I'm not fabulous, because really, I am, but because it just seem like a one in a million.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
airplanes (july 12th)
Being on an airplane is as close as being nowhere as I can think of. You don’t belong to anywhere and you can’t do anything, which is why it’s a place perfect for getting ready. Ready for anything at all. For me, tonight, its getting ready to go back to a place I love, but am trying to leave and people I adore but might need to separate from. Sometimes I don’t know why I am so dead set on leaving, after all, usually when I flick off the light for the evening I am satisfied, happy and thanking my lucky stars for the life I lead. I have a bustling city I can navigate around but the woods waiting for me just outside. I have friends that challenge me and open up worlds I didn’t know existed. I have a job that I don’t mind going to, dare say even like, which in and of itself is much better then many people. My wonderful family is at my fingertips and are inexcusable sources of love and support. Leaving the friends part though, that’s what strikes panic in my heart sometimes. I’m 23 and despite a string of boyfriends I am single right now. I don’t have a high-pressure job and I leave it happily at the door when my shift is over, even if I have chalk on my pants, paint on my arms or kisses still wet on my cheeks. Which means the decisions I make for my life are made entirely for me. Those friends have become the absolute center of my life. I feel at home with them and know that I am accepted, loved appreciated and embraced there. I don’t have to fake my way though a thing, unlike going to my hometown when I keep my mouth shut on social and religious beliefs because starting a fight just isn’t worth it. There are people I see each week that are so unique and interesting, so engaging and stimulating that I can’t imagine I could find anything equal anywhere else.
Maybe that’s what it is. My life is so hopeful and full that it encourages me that there is more waiting around the corner, that I can draw on that strength to kiss it all goodbye. The notion that, “if you thought this was good…darling just wait”.
So what should I do? Take that energy and warm feeling in my heart and use it to pull me through settling in another place? Or should I close my eyes, take a deep breath and enjoy this time when I have the absolute honor of filling my time with these people before they run off and change the world?
I mean these are the people that understand me the best. I feel like I’ve found people that are enough like me to make me feel expressed and normal but different enough to teach me so many things and show me places and experienced that I wouldn’t have unearthed without. How do you give something like that up?
What if I leave and I crash and burn.
What is the likelihood of that? That of course though is the answer inside the question. I’d go because I’m not sure how it will be until I try. Its like the first time I was sent up a rock face in a harness and a dear friend below. I didn’t know if this was something I could do, but no one else could figure out if I could or not but me. I’ll let you in on a secret though. I did. I could, and I’m pretty fucking sure there is a whole lot more I can do too.
So what am I going to do now, about this little battle inside my head. Well, I think that I will wait out the rest of the summer. I will go to the beach, I will keep heroically diving for the volleyball on the beach and I will drink more coffee at the rock climbing cave then I should.
When the trees start turning red and orange and yellow I will give it more thought. Besides, I know more than anyone that I have no idea what is around the corner. Things could be different by the time the snow flies, and I am interested in seeing what those changes could be, and I am open to whatever they bring me. Here, there or somewhere in between is something I need to become alright with.
Monday, November 9, 2009
black lace leggings and the perfect cup of coffee. (some things can't be cheered back)
(sept. 9)
Damn.
Well, here we are. Summer's tune is slowing, lowering and will soon be lulling to the sound of autumn. We made to the end of it again. Once I get used to the clattering of leaves found in that song, the wailing winds and the sudden crack of sticks on the ground I will like this song too, but for now I am hesitant to turn off the song I have been swaying to during the last months.
I am used to it. I am used to slipping into tiny cotton shorts and little tank tops and mounting Bruno for a cruise to work, smacking the windows of cars in the bike lane, a place I consider strictly mine. Rolling into work, sweaty and spending my mornings out on the playground with my preschoolers, stopping in New Orleans for doughnuts on our way to Israel on the old lumber we pretend is a train. I will miss staining my feet with the rays of the sun, leaving curious lines on my feet.
I found myself kicking walls of water in the pouring rain, running down the streets drunk with happy alongside friends I adore. I am accustom to skidding out from a rainstrom and sharing the thoughts and mysteries of life, love and happiness over the glow of a flashlight and between the slurps of freeze-dried foods in a tent. i am used to taking in the north shore from high above on the Superior hiking trail, and the impromptu trips that brought me there. It was a summer of waterfalls, of hidden prairies and caves.
I am used to loud laughter, epic tales and finding people you can be nothing but yourself with.
I am used to dancing.
It was a summer of learning to feel rocks in a new light, for the purpose of climbing them. It was a summer of mounting summits for the purpose of reaching them in the cascades. It was a summer of being alone in airports and mountain passes.
I am used to sitting at the bottom of metal canoes, giggling directions to the strong friends perched at the paddles, and quacking over the waves.
It was a summer of finding the new depths of people. It was a summer of telling them everything and letting the words slip out alongside tears overlooking the shimmering lights of the city over the river. It was a summer of finding endless light in them, and saving the happiness of doing so in my heart. It was also a summer of hearing the rude and abrupt clunk when the depth of people is found to be shallower than you would have expected, and learning how to deal with the discovery, however disappointing it is.
Above all though it was a brilliant time and a beautiful song and if it were up to me I would ask for just one more, an encore of sorts.
Unlike the concerts I saw this summer though, it doesn’t work like that. No matter how excited I am to have more, I can’t. She sung her last for the year, the thing I need to realize though is that I will like you in the fall too. Your laugh will be as sweet and your smile as bright. Besides, I like the autumn too. I like pumpkins and cooking spaghetti squash with brown sugar. I like the glow of bonfires and the way the trees alight themselves of fire with colors of gold and orange and you can watch leaves pirouetting out of trees to be caught by childlike hands. I love scruffy faced men in flannel shirts. Yes, I can used to this too. Soon my ipod will pump Trace Bundy into my ears over the sound of leaves crunching under my feet.
Yesterday I went to the fair with a friend to take it all in on the last day. I saw cows, horses and drank tons of milk. We ate alligator and spun giggling in the midway. That morning I had dug leggings out of my drawer to put on underneath my summer dress and as sad as that makes me, someone told me as I waited for him around the corner, that I looked absolutely lovely dressed the way I was. She told me I looked like a painting, dress blowing in the wind. I just blushed and murmured a thank you. Yes, I am transferring to fall and its going to great.
This is all one giant reminder to myself, and to you too if you need it, that you will like fall too. Remember rosy cheeks in the blowing of the cool wind? Remember hot chocolate between chilly fingers? Remember those bright trees that taunt the now gone colors of the summer flowers that came before them?
Yep, I am starting to remember too.
Meet me for a long walk through the woods? I will bring the thermos. -Corrie
Damn.
Well, here we are. Summer's tune is slowing, lowering and will soon be lulling to the sound of autumn. We made to the end of it again. Once I get used to the clattering of leaves found in that song, the wailing winds and the sudden crack of sticks on the ground I will like this song too, but for now I am hesitant to turn off the song I have been swaying to during the last months.
I am used to it. I am used to slipping into tiny cotton shorts and little tank tops and mounting Bruno for a cruise to work, smacking the windows of cars in the bike lane, a place I consider strictly mine. Rolling into work, sweaty and spending my mornings out on the playground with my preschoolers, stopping in New Orleans for doughnuts on our way to Israel on the old lumber we pretend is a train. I will miss staining my feet with the rays of the sun, leaving curious lines on my feet.
I found myself kicking walls of water in the pouring rain, running down the streets drunk with happy alongside friends I adore. I am accustom to skidding out from a rainstrom and sharing the thoughts and mysteries of life, love and happiness over the glow of a flashlight and between the slurps of freeze-dried foods in a tent. i am used to taking in the north shore from high above on the Superior hiking trail, and the impromptu trips that brought me there. It was a summer of waterfalls, of hidden prairies and caves.
I am used to loud laughter, epic tales and finding people you can be nothing but yourself with.
I am used to dancing.
It was a summer of learning to feel rocks in a new light, for the purpose of climbing them. It was a summer of mounting summits for the purpose of reaching them in the cascades. It was a summer of being alone in airports and mountain passes.
I am used to sitting at the bottom of metal canoes, giggling directions to the strong friends perched at the paddles, and quacking over the waves.
It was a summer of finding the new depths of people. It was a summer of telling them everything and letting the words slip out alongside tears overlooking the shimmering lights of the city over the river. It was a summer of finding endless light in them, and saving the happiness of doing so in my heart. It was also a summer of hearing the rude and abrupt clunk when the depth of people is found to be shallower than you would have expected, and learning how to deal with the discovery, however disappointing it is.
Above all though it was a brilliant time and a beautiful song and if it were up to me I would ask for just one more, an encore of sorts.
Unlike the concerts I saw this summer though, it doesn’t work like that. No matter how excited I am to have more, I can’t. She sung her last for the year, the thing I need to realize though is that I will like you in the fall too. Your laugh will be as sweet and your smile as bright. Besides, I like the autumn too. I like pumpkins and cooking spaghetti squash with brown sugar. I like the glow of bonfires and the way the trees alight themselves of fire with colors of gold and orange and you can watch leaves pirouetting out of trees to be caught by childlike hands. I love scruffy faced men in flannel shirts. Yes, I can used to this too. Soon my ipod will pump Trace Bundy into my ears over the sound of leaves crunching under my feet.
Yesterday I went to the fair with a friend to take it all in on the last day. I saw cows, horses and drank tons of milk. We ate alligator and spun giggling in the midway. That morning I had dug leggings out of my drawer to put on underneath my summer dress and as sad as that makes me, someone told me as I waited for him around the corner, that I looked absolutely lovely dressed the way I was. She told me I looked like a painting, dress blowing in the wind. I just blushed and murmured a thank you. Yes, I am transferring to fall and its going to great.
This is all one giant reminder to myself, and to you too if you need it, that you will like fall too. Remember rosy cheeks in the blowing of the cool wind? Remember hot chocolate between chilly fingers? Remember those bright trees that taunt the now gone colors of the summer flowers that came before them?
Yep, I am starting to remember too.
Meet me for a long walk through the woods? I will bring the thermos. -Corrie
Pirates, Mermaids and the Old Man and the Sea
It's okay. I really wouldn't read this either, but I have a large table in the back of a hotel restaurant and am alone. Lydia and Christina are upstairs snoozing like teenagers do and Dad and Steve are long gone. I heard brash whispers this morning, "Pssst. Steve. Hey Steve..."
"Ya, he replied in a Maryland accent..."Let's go".
I saw him push the blanket over from across the room and heard Dad grabbed his keys. It was about 5am, but the crabs were waiting under the waves.
I tried to sleep longer but ended up just working on some writing and waiting for the contentential breakfast to open, which is why I am here right now. This hotel is full of characters as if to add to the already elaborate characters that seem to make up this town, Westport WA. Literally, a large man with a beard to his chest and a old cap makes his way around the back lawn with his dog, and he walks on a pegleg. After spending the day on the docks pulling in crab cages and smelling the salty air it wasn't a leap to imagine him a salty old seaman full of tales of grandour, and there is no reason to believe he is not. Yesterday I was sitting at the computer in the hotel lobby, researching a kite festival that is going on today and felt a nudge on my arm. Looking over I saw the bulging eyes of a greyhound looking up at me, tail wagging. He looked like a stretched out tiger the way his fur stripped him up and down in shades of grey. Two men marched in carrying a mysterious large strapped case and Steve leaner over and suggested that it contained one of the exquisite kites that would be whipping through the air later on.
Yesterday we grabbed some towels and wandered down a empty road that anti-climactically seemed to lead nowhere, until we heard the constant whoosh of the ocean. The road turned into a sandy path lined with long sea grasses and the hill curved up and over until the whole of the Pacific Ocean was waiting, lapping at the shore. For as far as you could see on each side was beach and behind the sand, dunes of grasses and old fences, falling voluntarily it seemed towards the ever calling water. Blues deep faded from light to dark into the water and mirrored into the sky. I left my sandals at the foot of a smooth stump and coasted down to the water. The sand was smooth and light as silk, warmed in the sun and let me sink deep with each step until I got closer to the water, where it turned into a mosaic of broken shells, sandollars and water-smoothed pebbles in every color. With each rush of the water the jewels rolled with the push up the shore and down again as it retreated with a delicate tinkle and clattering as they hit one another. Again and again.
You could walk to the end of the world it seemed on this beach, and perhaps come back again from the other side, glorious adventures in between. Pirates and mermaids and the old man and the sea. I considered my options and headed towards the end, to see if maybe beyond that hazy cloud there really was something. The water teased me into it more deeply as the tide pulled closer to shore and I soon was wet and felt the little stones and shells skip over my feet as they rocked back and forth with the waves.
I've been to the oceans before and seen the country from both sides, but it never gets old. Staring into the water, wondering if the ocean itself knows the rhythm it is keeping, a method to the swirls of its waves. It seems to, as it pushes you in and out and tempts you further in, or chases you back it with an especially hard splash.
Later that evening we came back to the shore to watch the sun slip underneath the waves. Rounding the corner over the hill to the ocean was breathtaking. For as far as you could see the sky was pink and yellow, orange and purple. The water loyally rushed back and forth, ignoring the brilliant colors and carrying on with its duty. As time and the sun slipped down the colors grew explosive, a grand finale to the day and I watched with great satisfaction that this happens every night, but that night, I was able to see it.
i need you so much closer
(july 11)
They say that everything tastes better when you are camping, and while I believe this to be true, I contend that Ken is just a really good cook because the french toast I had was perfect. Warm, soft and chewy on the inside but crispy and sweet on the outer crust. It took me awhile to get out of my sleeping bag though, regardless of what was waiting for me on the other-side of the metal zipper on the tent. After breakfast the crew plowed up the slope to see Peggy's Pond but I stayed at camp. I was apprehensive about the trek back on my foot and decided to save my energy. While I am sure the trip was worth it, when the troops returned telling us everything was frozen over, I was fine with my decision. We took an easy morning but eventually began disassembling the tents and repacking the bags, listening to Parker sing Bon Iver beyond his headphones. We toured through the snow fields once again on our way out but I know that Lydia and Christina we a bit nervous about crossing the Ridge of Death again and I wondered how far up it was. Sooner than later we approached it and with the same technique as before cross over it. Now aware of what we were doing, it seemed even more threatening than before, especially a certain quick pass that provided no real foot support besides slippery snow and I know, for one, that my hands were crammed into the snow along the wall next too me as hard as they could be. At one point Ken stopped and urged me to twist around as the clouds parted and Mt. Daniel was revealed behind the curtain of clouds that just as suddenly covered him back up. Later, far enough ahead of Parker and Ken but enough behind the rest of the crew, I was alone groping the rocks over the pass and that experience enough was exhilarating, but nerve racking as-well as my imagination ran wild on what could happen. I stopped many times to just stare into the view that was smashing into my face. Crawling up and out of this pass was done quickly because each person was busy concentration on the next step, the next hand hold or next weight shift of the pack, but once we pulled out of it and all met at a clearing on some flat rocks overlooking a stunning view of the mountain lakes and peaks above I heard Ken laugh "its all downhill from here.."
It was too. Besides brief stints in low meadows and a few remaining snow fields we spent the next hours leaning back into our packs, thumping down the rocky path at a hunched over angle and taking big steps down like going down a lopsided staircase. The only thing that was clattering through my mind was "We went UP!!! this?" All afternoon it was a steep steep downward slant, switching back in and out of the woods. Each step down was calculated on my bad ankle as it hopelessly drug behind the other, I even avoided putting my weight on it as I slipped on the ice once and plopped right into the snow on my butt like a little kid.
It was wearing in its own way, coming down. Hard on the joints and the back but with each descent the accomplishment of going up was emphasized, and moments when the trail did flatten out and you went pleasantly along, with the pack snug around your shoulders and waist was a reminder of how satisfying hiking really is.
Slowly, the trees got thicker and we passed over the same streams again and again as the trail's switch-backs urged. The lush ferns reappeared and peering into rocks that water was pouring over revealed mossy carpets over the stones. As the land gradually leveled we knew that we were getting closer to the end. We ran into traffic on the lower level of the trail, and had to step to the side for horses to pass, but the next thing you knew, there was the car, waiting. I was the last one out of the woods, not quite ready to leave and met the group hearing sounds of laughter and excitement. Taking deep breaths and smiling we arranged the packs on the top of the car and one by one, with a sigh of relief eased into the leather seats.
Stopping in town, Steve wasted no time hitting up and espresso drive-up and we all eventually left the parking lot with mochas and treats in hand on the way to the cabin.
We shook what we could from our gear and laid most of it out on the deck to dry and all sprawled out on couches and easy chairs around the home. Upstairs Parker surfed through channels on the TV and I heard Lydia, Christina and Steve laugh at a movie from the basement. We gathered grimy socks, sweaty T-shirts and smelly pants and throw them together into the washing machine and lined the poor boots out on the deck to dry.
Before long we were feasting on pasta and potato soup, sitting around the table, already turing our stories into legends.
I am proud of what we did. What I did. But even more I am proud of my life, of my family and of my friends. That this is what we spend our time doing and we bond over wildflowers and wild cliff passes. I am proud of a dad that takes his beautiful girls into the mountains to see what the world has to offer and know that they can do it. He gushed that we were incredible, eating up the trail and trudging on and on. More though, I am happy that this is my life, that I am given these opportunities.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
