as she deserves to be remembered

This morning I set off with my camera. I have decided to bring it along with me more often these days, because from what I can tell, I may soon be leaving. I pulled the keys out of the ignition and let my loud music fade off. I got to the point, about six months ago that I can't get lost here, even if I try. I got to the point where all roads lead to home.
Maybe its not such a big city after all. I had stopped to take some shots of tulips in a road-median on Stinson and later received a call from my cousin wondering if it was me he had seen.
Minneapolis sways and groans and lets us all have her. In a matter of minutes you can go from crusty young bikers dressed in skinny jeans and short brimmed hats to business men yelling into their earpieces. Cruise a few more blocks and you will find half dazed women pushing babies in strollers and if you stick around you might run into your aunt, or forth grade teacher. Bikes whiz by like birds. I have danced in the streets with Mayan decedents and knocked on doors which have been opened by refugees who woke at dawn to cook goat for me and my family and entertain us late into the evening. Minneapolis is a rare retrieve, where Minnesota's infrastructure flourishes. Como zoo swells each summer with immigrants from Laos celebrating the summer days away.

The roads taught me to swerve quickly from parked cars and avoid their lazily opened doors, on my bike, but also the ecstasy of flying downtown in the dark of the night the cool breeze escalated by my speed with the buildings glowing behind me. Last week I stumbled, drunk with happiness not booze from Picosa after salsa dancing with strangers for hours onto the banks of the Mississippi and saw the skyline just blocks away beaming onto the water and thought "damn, is she sexy", and smiled as I climbed into my car to head home. Shit. I was already there.
She is too. Very sexy indeed. You can roll over the 35W bridge and breath her in, or crane your neck flying down 10th avenue and watch her glisten at you, the river doubling her beauty. In 7corners you will loose track of the number of theaters, and in uptown I dare you to go into a franchise store. The Greenway will bring you straight through the city and back to the lakes and if you want, you can probably draft behind a perfect stranger.
Another evening we rolled through the park and saw an enormous screen playing an old movie, with the city, across the Stone-arch bridge, gleaming behind. We smiled and pedaled on, for we had places to be.
Waiting on a bridge taking in the view over Hiawatha a smiling young man approached us one night and with laughs traded a cigarette for a beer.
One semester, I chatted with the same man, at the same time, for three weeks both of us shivering into our coats as we waited for our bus transfers downtown outside the central library to haul us home after our night classes at the U. He initially wanted to bum a smoke off of me, but since I don't, he ended up bumming a conversation instead.
Minneapolis is a great place. I know this. Alright fine, I probably don’t really know this. If I leave I will probably finally appreciate the liberal policies, the warm people, even if I never do come to appreciate the cold air.
At least, right now, I can remember her. As she deserves.

save the sanctity of marriage?

This afternoon I saw some friends add themselves on facebook as "becoming a fan" of Protecting Marriage, one man and one women. Really guys? Come on.
And as you may have expected....I got a little upset. Its may not be the reasons you thought of though. I can be okay with an individual hoping that marriage is saved for one and one women. I personally do not believe such and am comfortable and happy to say that I think love and commitment is found in all forms, yet I want to respect people's religions and beliefs and experiences enough not to react to their opinion. The problems is that losing the sanctity of marriage did indeed happen, but not when two men or two women got married legally. It was gone far and away long before that. When we listlessly (yet loyally) watched shows that auctioned off a "marriage" to young women for a handsome millionaire. That left it at the ground with a chunk taken out and a crack on the bottom. When our paparazzi follows celebrities here and there with cameras on trips couples take and fill their every moments with video cameras. And we happily watch and browse the magazines in line at the grocery store. We lost a bunch then too. When Craigslist has a section for "casual encounters", where people can get together and married men and women not openly admit they are married but that they are seeking to fulfill their sex drives with some who can be discrete. And that they might pay that person's rent for it. The fact that those posts get responses. Yeah, I'm just going to say we didn't have much left after that.

I make me disappointed to see a culture that doesn't acknowledge that these are some of the things that push our divorce rate so high, these are the reasons that marriages somethings mean nothing. I would like to get married someday. And more importantly, I would like that marriage to be faithful to the end of my days. Harm and threats from society at making this happen have nothing to do with whether or not my gay friends are legally allowed to do that too.

crack the shutters

Its hard to drive I learned tonight, when you are crying. Things get a bit blurry. At the same time though, its hard to stay in your room when you're crying, so I had decided to take my chances. I drove all the way to the airport, without directions except for following the leaps in my stomach of past trips. I circled the terminal three times, peering over the side of the car when the ramp got to its highest point, trying to identify buildings to use as landmarks. I was looking to try and find a place to watch the planes take-off. Somewhere that would rattle my heart and slap my imagination back into working order. I have yelled at my mind so much these past weeks, the way it rolls back and forth between where I am, where I want to be and where I am not. Plans that fill up my soul, but empty my wallet, and more frightening, the opposite. The best bet looked like some of the old buildings of Fort Snelling, althogh I knew there was almost no chance that I would be able to stretch out on the outskirts of an old Military Base without being escorted off the premises in handcuffs. I tore around corners and made mental maps of the places that looked like they could work, but every turn had angry signs urging me to leave. I finally listened when the signs turned into a cop car, and left, somewhat defeated, somewhat giggling to myself. As I climbed back into Minneapolis' skyline, like the arms of an old friend I began the next search for a equally good place to go, somewhere perhaps I could find on my bike. I drove through old parking lots so full of potholes, there wasn't much else besides, and down abandoned roads that made me wonder if cars were even allowed on them.
I don't know what to do with my life, so it seems, I have begun wanting to look for places to hide. Well, actually, I have plenty of fantastic ideas of what to do with my life, but sometimes, as much as I wish it wasn't true, things are out of your control, and I have been driving myself into the ground the last month making myself accept this. I can't control what jobs are available, nor who will hire me. If I could always just rely on the big ideas my mind can produce, I wouldn't even spare enough time to write this. I'd be too busy a top camels in Jordon, or chasing down paintings and men gorgeous enough to be put in them in Italy. I'd be behind the lens of a camera somewhere in Brazil or on a boat going to a monastery in France. I think that this is the reason I have been so upset lately, I know I can't go and buy tickets to these places, but I have put so much pressure on myself to create the life and make the choices that will let me do that someday that I am caving under the depression that it isn't happening now. I want so bad to make a life that keeps the top of the TV cold and tires of my bike hot that I have a hard time forgiving myself for this intermission and downtime. My heart wants the next great adventure, but my somehow more logical and sensible mind won't release the reigns, even if its nipping at the bit.
I'm scared that when I tell myself that I am just waiting for the right time to leave, I will accidentally let time go by and find myself wiping my kids noses and paying a mortgage while I wonder where my passport went and why my hiking boots still look so new. Some people are scared of going skydiving, being alone in the woods, hearing loud noises and finding themselves in a strange place. I am scared of not.
I'm writing this to convince myself that its ok to take a deep breath. Its okay to be somewhere longer than you thought. Its ok to become familiar and know where you are when you open your eyes in the morning. There are lots of good things about it. Like a "usual" at the cafe down the block and having memorized the drink special at a favorite bar.
I'm scared because this is usually the time when people turn into real adults. Many of my friends are getting married, getting jobs and getting comfortable. I feel like the next few stretches will determine if I will zig or zag.
But the whole world is such an enormous book, that I am not ready to stick a bookmark in and let the crease become permanent. I want to see whats on the next page, the next chapter. I guess right now I am looking up the words so that I can continue through, understanding better and being ready for more. I'll find that place to hide soon, and curl up with this absolutely wonderful book.

rainy weather

 

 

 

 

One fine day...

I don't remember the exact instance of finding it, but that summer a mother bluebird had laid a nest of eggs in the bluebird house behind our house we were constantly chasing swallows out of. For weeks the little eggs sat, and i checked them almost everyday for progress. One afternoon, as the yellow bus chugged away down our dirt road i peered into the nest and saw a small crack in one of the eggs, and then, as i was looking as close as my eyes could, it moved. Now this, this was exciting. I tore into the house to tell mom the news, and after the course of the afternoon, one by one tiny, wet pathetic birds emerged from those tiny beautiful eggs. We weren't allowed to look for more than about a minute or so at a time, because we weren't suppose to scare off the bluebird parents, as eager to see their young as we were. Over the next few weeks, each time i opened the lid of the box, the birds grew bigger and more demanding. Aaron showed me how if you whistled they would think it was a parent and instinctively open their beaks for food. Before long they had grown their feathers and chubby and bright-eyed they barely fit in their tiny home. And one fine day, one was gone, and later that afternoon, another. By nightfall, they had all learned to fly.

I can only hope so much for you too.

services at 9 and 10:30

I don't think I believe in god. There. I said it. The last five years of wanderings around the world, and more thoroughly around my head have brought me here. But you saw it right there, I don't think I believe in god, which isn't a no, but it isn't a yes either. I have done what every other person worth their weight does and made my decision. I have taken everything I have seen, and everything i have heard, what I have tasted in my mind and felt with my heart, heard through my fingers and laid them all out. I have picked them up, turned them over and looked for anything that would make them tell me something. I've gone back and forth and back again. I have looked at them sideways and upsidedown. I have rearranged them and hoped to myself that I found them that way.
It seems to me that people who have to deal with adversity and take on more than most usually go one of two directions. I have medical files that will make your head spin. God is a rock and foundation of their lives, assuring their existence and whispering that it will make sense, that every unfair thing will come around...He shall never give you more than you can bear....To me, god is their coping device. Their beer, their pot, their one hit wonder.

I was never into vices.

The other choice feels better to me. Its just you and me kid. We get what we get and we don't throw a fit. Life is so painful and unmanagable it will make you cry hot tears of agony, but before you know it, its summer and you just pulled up on your bike. Its quiet in the woods and noisy in the city. You kisssed that handsome stranger or laughed through the night into your pillow with your best friend. And when it finally comes around to you taking your last breath we all hope you are thinking of the latter set.

As far as I can see, things happen, we make choices and deal with them and as soon as we have it on its way, things happen again. This goes on for a handful of decades and soon we find ourselves with grey hair and failing livers and we eventually decide to go. That's all there is, atleast on the first level. Everyday is another set of time to make those choices in, it will flip and turn and soon become another. If you let it, soon, it can be spinning pretty fast. I'm not telling you there is nothing after someone stops breathing, but I don't know how much that promise enlists the efforts of putting the puzzle and riddle of our lives together. As far as I am concerned, I'm not going to be able to know anyway. If some mythical port of knowledge has some sort of twisted script for my life, I would probably feel a bit resentful at the choices they scribbled in, but laugh at all the fun I have so far gotten away with.

Church is nice though. Seeing the same people each week, styrafoam cups of weak coffee and three year old girls in twirling skirts running past on your way out from the bathroom. The well rehearsed routine of rising with the worship pastor as the guitar begins on those same predictable chords. If I didnt love to sing as much as I do, I wouldnt have made it as far as I did in church to begin with. A well sung harmony to Silent Night, as the candles flicker in the breath of the congragation. That's enough to make anyone feel good. An accapella benediction at the end of the service. I grew up in a household full of hymnals and an out of tune piano. For awhile there were as many guitars as easychairs, and cds spilled off endtables like coffee. The music portion of the service always entised me enough to stay through the sermon, however upset it always made me, because I knew that he was just a man, telling us what he thought, deep down I knew I didnt have to believe him.

Do I miss going to church? Yes. I miss the bustle of the morning. I miss Dad waiting in the car for mom to put on her lipstick. I miss my heals clincking across the hardwood in our kitchen. I miss scurrying inside and making our way to the balcony as the music spills into the foyer. Yes, I miss church. I dont miss theology and religion. I don't miss the guilt, the regulations and rules. I don't miss the confusion and the questions being answered in a half hour sermon that were too large for the entire building. I don't miss people turning a deaf ear to the injustice in the bible, or the questions they didnt have answers for. I don't miss the ignorance, or the silly bliss that when along with it.

I read a book not long ago. It was a light hearted memoir of a girl growing up in a small town, but it had one more reflective chapter. Every Sunday her family went through the bases and off to church, except her father who would tinker in the garage instead. One week, the ecentric child asked her dad "why he wasnt a christian?" He answered, cooly, "who had told her that?" "He didnt go to church", she said. Within minutes they were in the truck, flying down a dirt road, until he pulled up to an old campsite outside town.

"Where-ever two or more are gathered".....he began. "Two or more what? Trees?" he suggested. "Bugs?" "That's silly", she told him. But he didnt hear her...because his eyes were on the heavens.

I could maybe be that dad someday. I could maybe figure out enough of god to understand what he needs from me, and what i need from him. I want something less epic. Something that can make sense and still leave me time to blaze down a trail on my bike, or chase camels in the East. I want something wider and more neutral. Since god is so hard to understand i can not participate with one that condemns people for something that isnt understandable in the first place. As counterintuitive as it seems with the need for an absolute truth part of me still believes that i can be right, and so can you. But i won't ever find him behind those stained glass doors, no matter how pretty they are. Its not as though someone in the church ever really did me wrong, but im not sure anyone really did me right either. I took classes in college to learn things I believe i should have known when i was 8. History, society, politics of the bible, they really would have done me more good than giraffes smilling as they stuck their heads out the top of the ark.

I want to know that its ok that i pressed pause. I am unwilling to smile along in church if i don't understand it. I am not comfortabe with communion, and revivals when i don't agree. I am many things i never was suppose to be, I party, I drink, I curse like a salior. I lost track of the number of people I have madeout with. I hit it pretty hard some nights. But I am not a liar. I am not a faker. And I am not going to go until my insides and outsides agree. If i ever go at all.

a thousand words