People have said this to you before,"Never Say Never." When you are a child, it is generally said about mostly harmless statements like:
"I'll never eat broccoli...or brussel sprouts...or peas."
"Never say never." Your Mother may say and ten years later, as you scoop another pile of peas onto your broccoli infested salad, you'll remember.
As you age, the statement becomes more dangerous and about subjects that are character or reputation related.
"I'll never drink and drive."
"I'll never do drugs."
"I'll never go back to school."
"Never say never" Your brother or best friend might say. Then one day, as you wake-up with a sore throat, unable to remember how you got home and no idea how you are going to turn your research prospectus in on time, you'll remember.
I recently had a "never say never" moment in my life. In 5 weeks, she'll fly here. Like a small child eating brussel sprouts, believing they are shrunken cabbage heads and afraid that my head will shrink upon consumption, I am scared.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Three Years and a lot of Tears
"You asked me if I would be sad when it happened
and I am sad. But the iris I moved from your house
now hold in the dusty dry fists of their roots
green knives and forks as if waiting for dinner,
as if spring were a feast. I thank you for that.
Were it not for the way you taught me to look
at the world, to see the life at play in everything,
I would have to be lonely forever." (From Ted Kooser's poem Mother)
I have read that poem several times over the course of the last couple of days. Today, I read it as the workday was drawing to a close and no sooner did I reach the end of the poem then did tears start to flood my eyes. "Were it not for the way you taught me to look at the world, to see the life at play in everything, I would have to be lonely forever."
Her greastest lasting gift to me was the gift of love. Love of life, love of nature, love of family, love of people, love. She gave me eyes from her tiny window in the screen door. I love the world. I love the magic of new buds, the smell of wind over meadows, the taste of rain, and the sparkles of sunlight through blue spruce. I love my life and do not want to miss a second of it...but I miss her. three years later, I still feel the pain of separation, but I am not lonely. As in the poem, the way she taught me to see the world and live, live, live will never cause lonliness.
and I am sad. But the iris I moved from your house
now hold in the dusty dry fists of their roots
green knives and forks as if waiting for dinner,
as if spring were a feast. I thank you for that.
Were it not for the way you taught me to look
at the world, to see the life at play in everything,
I would have to be lonely forever." (From Ted Kooser's poem Mother)
I have read that poem several times over the course of the last couple of days. Today, I read it as the workday was drawing to a close and no sooner did I reach the end of the poem then did tears start to flood my eyes. "Were it not for the way you taught me to look at the world, to see the life at play in everything, I would have to be lonely forever."
Her greastest lasting gift to me was the gift of love. Love of life, love of nature, love of family, love of people, love. She gave me eyes from her tiny window in the screen door. I love the world. I love the magic of new buds, the smell of wind over meadows, the taste of rain, and the sparkles of sunlight through blue spruce. I love my life and do not want to miss a second of it...but I miss her. three years later, I still feel the pain of separation, but I am not lonely. As in the poem, the way she taught me to see the world and live, live, live will never cause lonliness.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
This is Our World
Recently I have been reading the news. With several online publications displaying the day's headlines on my iGoogle, I wait for my gmail to load and read away. Although I am spending everyday of my life working towards a degree in environmental education, I live in a bubble in Northern Wisconsin. My life is paid for in exchange for...well my life. I wake-up. I drink coffee. I eat breakfast. I great students and strap on their snowshoes. I explain to them about animals and plants and try to instill within them, in an hour or two, wonder. I have been doing this, or something similar to this for several years. I live in a bubble and talk about mysterious species like they are fictional novels...but not today.
Today I have spent the majority of my day in the office intermittently checking facebook, doing a little homework, and twiddling my thumbs. Then, I started reading the headlines. Syrian Troops fired on mourners attending a funeral creating the need for at least one more funeral. A mother of two was burned alive in Nepal after being accused of being a witch. Air Pollution increases our risks of strokes. In Virginia, a law is being pushed to required women wanting abortions to have an ultrasound probe jammed up their vagina, so they are forced to look their fetus in the...well unformed eye. Rick Santorum is an asshole...I summarized that headline.
There are countless headlines like this every single day and today they have me thinking. How? I want to know "How?" How did we let this happen? In other countries, can we still say, "It's cultural?" A woman was burned alive. I know this sort of brutality happens all over the planet, not excluding the U.S. but who the fuck cares where it happens? This is our planet. We are a part of all of it. Does a wolf in Yellowstone know that she is protected within the boundaries, but if she wants to walk to another safe haven, Grand Tetons National Park, she may legally be shot? No. She does not know boundary lines, because she doesn't give a fuck. She needs food and water and a safe place to rest her paws. End of story.
I guess my point is that this has to stop. We need to quit destroying each other everywhere. We need to open our fucking eyes to what is important in the world. A woman doesn't want her baby, big fucking deal. There are a million other babies dying on this planet, because they don't have any food. Why don't we spend the ultrasound probe money to actually save a baby that has been born and is starving or being abused. Why don't we spend the money Santorum is using to debate birth control and save someone from being burned alive or dying of AIDS or having maggots eat them alive. Why don't we stop talking and start doing...but I don't know what to do. I'm over educated and idealistic. Help.
Today I have spent the majority of my day in the office intermittently checking facebook, doing a little homework, and twiddling my thumbs. Then, I started reading the headlines. Syrian Troops fired on mourners attending a funeral creating the need for at least one more funeral. A mother of two was burned alive in Nepal after being accused of being a witch. Air Pollution increases our risks of strokes. In Virginia, a law is being pushed to required women wanting abortions to have an ultrasound probe jammed up their vagina, so they are forced to look their fetus in the...well unformed eye. Rick Santorum is an asshole...I summarized that headline.
There are countless headlines like this every single day and today they have me thinking. How? I want to know "How?" How did we let this happen? In other countries, can we still say, "It's cultural?" A woman was burned alive. I know this sort of brutality happens all over the planet, not excluding the U.S. but who the fuck cares where it happens? This is our planet. We are a part of all of it. Does a wolf in Yellowstone know that she is protected within the boundaries, but if she wants to walk to another safe haven, Grand Tetons National Park, she may legally be shot? No. She does not know boundary lines, because she doesn't give a fuck. She needs food and water and a safe place to rest her paws. End of story.
I guess my point is that this has to stop. We need to quit destroying each other everywhere. We need to open our fucking eyes to what is important in the world. A woman doesn't want her baby, big fucking deal. There are a million other babies dying on this planet, because they don't have any food. Why don't we spend the ultrasound probe money to actually save a baby that has been born and is starving or being abused. Why don't we spend the money Santorum is using to debate birth control and save someone from being burned alive or dying of AIDS or having maggots eat them alive. Why don't we stop talking and start doing...but I don't know what to do. I'm over educated and idealistic. Help.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Later We'll Be Better
It's been a really long time, since I have felt inspired enough to even consider writing in my blog. I am overwhelmed with schoolwork and actual work and, whenever I get a chance to breathe, someone walks in and starts talking to me. Be careful what you wish for. When I was in high school, all that I wanted in the world was to easily talk to people. I do a decent job now and it came at a cost - my alone time.
I'm not complaining, although I can see where I might come off as if I am. Life is pretty good, but so busy and I'm tired, and I miss my family. I am listening to Adele's new song on repeat, Someone Like You. It is really good, but puts me into a bit of a melancholy mood remembering everything that has happened in my life in the past few years. It feels as if, after I graduated undergrad, someone hit the gas pedal on my life car and everything started to get really intense. Now, in grad school and completely consumed in work and school, I have done a pretty good job blocking it out, but then ghosts from the pasts reappear. 30 years ago, if I had lived this nomadic life, no one would be able to find me. I would be able to escape the people that fucked with my psyche, but today, I have facebook, the same email address, google...3 years ago I left Washington in a bittersweet haze. I continue to miss the children that I worked with, but the knot in my stomach from colleagues was in desperate need of being cut free. I successfully freed myself from the situation and was on my way from Michigan to Texas, Texas across the deep south to Florida, on a plane to New Orleans, a drive back to Michigan, on a plane to Galveston, onto a boat to float in the Gulf of Mexico, back on a plane to Michigan, back in the car to Texas, On a road trip to face bears and tumultuous relationships in Colorado to Michigan to Vashion Island to Chimicum, WA to feel the pain of failure and separation anxiety, I left to California to beat myself up for flaws, across the southwest, we stopped in Vegas, I pierced my nose, got lost in the desert, back to Michigan, and settled in Wisconsin in a desperate attempt to grow-up. That was quite a run-on of life. Sometimes I wonder, is life just one constant runaway game?
I'm not complaining, although I can see where I might come off as if I am. Life is pretty good, but so busy and I'm tired, and I miss my family. I am listening to Adele's new song on repeat, Someone Like You. It is really good, but puts me into a bit of a melancholy mood remembering everything that has happened in my life in the past few years. It feels as if, after I graduated undergrad, someone hit the gas pedal on my life car and everything started to get really intense. Now, in grad school and completely consumed in work and school, I have done a pretty good job blocking it out, but then ghosts from the pasts reappear. 30 years ago, if I had lived this nomadic life, no one would be able to find me. I would be able to escape the people that fucked with my psyche, but today, I have facebook, the same email address, google...3 years ago I left Washington in a bittersweet haze. I continue to miss the children that I worked with, but the knot in my stomach from colleagues was in desperate need of being cut free. I successfully freed myself from the situation and was on my way from Michigan to Texas, Texas across the deep south to Florida, on a plane to New Orleans, a drive back to Michigan, on a plane to Galveston, onto a boat to float in the Gulf of Mexico, back on a plane to Michigan, back in the car to Texas, On a road trip to face bears and tumultuous relationships in Colorado to Michigan to Vashion Island to Chimicum, WA to feel the pain of failure and separation anxiety, I left to California to beat myself up for flaws, across the southwest, we stopped in Vegas, I pierced my nose, got lost in the desert, back to Michigan, and settled in Wisconsin in a desperate attempt to grow-up. That was quite a run-on of life. Sometimes I wonder, is life just one constant runaway game?
Monday, April 18, 2011
Honoring the Sunshine
Do you ever have moments in the grocery store, the airport, or the coffee shop, where you see someone out of your periphery who you know. You turn to look at them and maybe walk up to them and ask them how they have been, but then something stops you. It is not the person you think it is. The person you think it is, is no longer among the living. A few days ago this happened to me. I was in the airport, sitting down to drink my overpriced Starbucks tea, when I saw my Aunt Pam at LAX. Upon first sighting, nothing seemed odd about this acquaintance, until my memory kicked in. My soul reason for being at the airport was to gather with my family in her memory.
Our minds are beautiful body parts. Anything is possible, if only for a brief moment in time. Right now I want to take it all in, embrace the loss, learn about the finiteness of time and how we should cherish each moment. We should not wait to call our Grandparents, parents, brothers, sisters, family, friends We should grasp everyday with positive love for the new day given to us. We should love until there is nothing left to love, find something or someone new, and love again. Hope until we are exhausted, sleep, and hope some more. We should take care of each other without asking questions and without expecting anything in return. We should be as selfless as our sanity allows. We should dream and chase those dreams until something forms out of them. We should travel the world, but return home every few months just to give the people who love us a hug.
Life is really hard and I have found that it never relents. It is in our handling of the world that builds or destroys our character. We must remain within reach of our homes and pass on our spirit. This is how we live forever.
Our minds are beautiful body parts. Anything is possible, if only for a brief moment in time. Right now I want to take it all in, embrace the loss, learn about the finiteness of time and how we should cherish each moment. We should not wait to call our Grandparents, parents, brothers, sisters, family, friends We should grasp everyday with positive love for the new day given to us. We should love until there is nothing left to love, find something or someone new, and love again. Hope until we are exhausted, sleep, and hope some more. We should take care of each other without asking questions and without expecting anything in return. We should be as selfless as our sanity allows. We should dream and chase those dreams until something forms out of them. We should travel the world, but return home every few months just to give the people who love us a hug.
Life is really hard and I have found that it never relents. It is in our handling of the world that builds or destroys our character. We must remain within reach of our homes and pass on our spirit. This is how we live forever.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Time: The Misleading Factor
It's what we crave most in this world - more time. More time to to finish that project. More time to spend on our Spring Break. More time to share stories with family on Christmas Eve. More time to spend with the people we love. More time to laugh. More time in that final embrace. If only that last breath lasted a lifetime, we could suspend time, hang in a moment, dangle our lives over a life that is quickly dissipating.
Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever. No one stays forever. Eventually, we all walk away on our own path. We all abandon someone in the end.
In less abstract terms, the abrupt illness of my dog, Harriet has caused a catharsis of memories to erupt. Christina's Dad in a casket; Toe's Mom 4 years later; my Grandpa screaming for it to stop; my cat, Pizza, lurching her paws forward in pain; the last time I saw Kay...and then there is the worst sense of abandonment, loss, fear, grief - the day my Grandma, my best friend, my soulmate's eyes went stone. Her breath was still constant, her hands still warm, but she was no longer there.
More time. I would give my left kidney for more time.
Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever. No one stays forever. Eventually, we all walk away on our own path. We all abandon someone in the end.
In less abstract terms, the abrupt illness of my dog, Harriet has caused a catharsis of memories to erupt. Christina's Dad in a casket; Toe's Mom 4 years later; my Grandpa screaming for it to stop; my cat, Pizza, lurching her paws forward in pain; the last time I saw Kay...and then there is the worst sense of abandonment, loss, fear, grief - the day my Grandma, my best friend, my soulmate's eyes went stone. Her breath was still constant, her hands still warm, but she was no longer there.
More time. I would give my left kidney for more time.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
My Worried Shoes
I'm hiding under the wicker table with my dog, Droopy. My Mom is screaming, running down the street in her pajamas, "Pizza!!! Pizza!!!! She's dead! I know she's dead on the highway." My Mom is crying. I am crying. Droopy is snapping at my face. My Dad puts a leash on Droopy and takes her outside to look for Pizza. Within ten minutes, Dad comes inside with Droopy hungry for a treat and Pizza under his arm. Mom and I gush over the cat, crying tears of joy into her fur until she scratches at us and wanders to the food dish...Tomorrow, Pizza will be dead, again. I will cry under the table once more, and Dad and Droopy will bring her home.
Fifteen years later, the daughter under the table's stomach will start to churn, her fingers begin to twitch, the memories of what has happened circle around her, laughing and taunting her with "you dumb schmuck. You let this happen to you, again." In the end, it will be out of her control and have nothing at all to do with her, but she will still think it does. Since she has been bred into this fucked-up illusion of a world, she will assume that the world is out to get her. If you got burned once, why not twice, and over and over again? If this is not about me, though, than something horrible must have happened. Someone must be dead on the highway and in some way it is my fault. Whatever the case, something is just not right. I can feel it in my gut. The normal has been compromised and I've picked up on it by 2pm. It is the curse that my Mom has gifted me - the curse to feel when something bad is happening or about to. It is a curse that leaves others thinking you are crazy, because you cannot offer any proof, but you can also not shake the feeling. It will consume you, until the answers are realized. When you finally find out, you look back at the situation and realize that the person you were insanely worried about, is a person you barely know. So who is this worry really about? It's really a fear of being left behind. The fear of someone walking out, again and again. The fear of countless broken promises. The fear of rejection. The fear of death. The fear of lonely.
Fifteen years later, the daughter under the table's stomach will start to churn, her fingers begin to twitch, the memories of what has happened circle around her, laughing and taunting her with "you dumb schmuck. You let this happen to you, again." In the end, it will be out of her control and have nothing at all to do with her, but she will still think it does. Since she has been bred into this fucked-up illusion of a world, she will assume that the world is out to get her. If you got burned once, why not twice, and over and over again? If this is not about me, though, than something horrible must have happened. Someone must be dead on the highway and in some way it is my fault. Whatever the case, something is just not right. I can feel it in my gut. The normal has been compromised and I've picked up on it by 2pm. It is the curse that my Mom has gifted me - the curse to feel when something bad is happening or about to. It is a curse that leaves others thinking you are crazy, because you cannot offer any proof, but you can also not shake the feeling. It will consume you, until the answers are realized. When you finally find out, you look back at the situation and realize that the person you were insanely worried about, is a person you barely know. So who is this worry really about? It's really a fear of being left behind. The fear of someone walking out, again and again. The fear of countless broken promises. The fear of rejection. The fear of death. The fear of lonely.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
The Time has come the Walrus Said
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings." ~Lewis Carroll
I guess I was feeling pretty nostalgic as I awoke to my text message and could only stare at the ceiling. I know who it is. I don't need to look at it. I get texts from the same person everyday all day long and often times I wonder who I am this year. Perhaps this nomadic life has given me several lives and each year does not just bring a new level of character (or lack thereof) but a fresh start. How many people can I be? Is it the pills that make me act differently, unafraid of consequence or am just experiencing normal?
I was writing a letter to my 10 year-old self last night. I was telling her that life will not be as you imagined. You will not become the next Michael Jordan. You will not go to Yale. You will not have a steady job at 25 or a stable boyfriend. I'm not sure I wanted the latter at ten, but I'm certain I figured it would happen. You will cave into the shadow of homosexuality, a fate that scared the shit out of you at ten, but you did not understand it. You do now. "Shit" is all you have to say for yourself. You have never done drugs, never crashed a car, you always wake-up sober. You take your job seriously, dress appropriately, speak eloquently when provoked. The last one is a lie, but is sounded cool. You are better at being away from home, but the homesickness still stings, you just bury it and drive away. You know deep inside that you belong somewhere else, but you're a stubborn motherfucker,,,you still have a foul mouth. You are better at talking to new people than you used to be. This ability has been both a blessing and a curse. It has changed you.
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings." ~Lewis Carroll
I guess I was feeling pretty nostalgic as I awoke to my text message and could only stare at the ceiling. I know who it is. I don't need to look at it. I get texts from the same person everyday all day long and often times I wonder who I am this year. Perhaps this nomadic life has given me several lives and each year does not just bring a new level of character (or lack thereof) but a fresh start. How many people can I be? Is it the pills that make me act differently, unafraid of consequence or am just experiencing normal?
I was writing a letter to my 10 year-old self last night. I was telling her that life will not be as you imagined. You will not become the next Michael Jordan. You will not go to Yale. You will not have a steady job at 25 or a stable boyfriend. I'm not sure I wanted the latter at ten, but I'm certain I figured it would happen. You will cave into the shadow of homosexuality, a fate that scared the shit out of you at ten, but you did not understand it. You do now. "Shit" is all you have to say for yourself. You have never done drugs, never crashed a car, you always wake-up sober. You take your job seriously, dress appropriately, speak eloquently when provoked. The last one is a lie, but is sounded cool. You are better at being away from home, but the homesickness still stings, you just bury it and drive away. You know deep inside that you belong somewhere else, but you're a stubborn motherfucker,,,you still have a foul mouth. You are better at talking to new people than you used to be. This ability has been both a blessing and a curse. It has changed you.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Feeling Gray in Blue Skies and Sunny
I am having one of those days and I cannot wait until my Sister from another Mister gets here to relieve my pain. I guess that is life, especially the life of a depressive. We have our days of elation, when we think the pain has gone away and then we remember that it takes time to feel alive, again. Even my magical pills cannot mask everything.
Friday, December 10, 2010
The Ups and Downs and Flubber me Fuck-ups
Life has a way of putting you in your place. It has a way of forcing you to be grateful for the good things that happen to you, because it also gives you heartache. I am grateful for so much in my life and although the times of disappointment and failure and fear and trauma and pain have taken their toll on me, I am grateful for what they have taught me and the times they have given me.
I met a person in Texas who changed my perspective and altered the path of my life. In the beginning, she talked with me until our eyelids became weights. In the middle, she kissed me until sunrise. In the end, she broke my heart. Two thirds of our time was great, but I will always wear the scar she gave me as a reminder of the consequences of risk. For now it feels fresh and painful and unexplainable. Later I will pull out the pictures and remember how it once felt to be someone's other, someone's more than a friend, someone's girlfriend. I wrote so many personal journal entries for years wondering why no one that I liked ever liked me back. One day it happened and it was real for a moment, and then it was gone. I am, however grateful for everything, even the pain I feel right now. For this pain means that I loved someone and although it is lost forever in the future, it lives forever in my heart.
I met a person in Texas who changed my perspective and altered the path of my life. In the beginning, she talked with me until our eyelids became weights. In the middle, she kissed me until sunrise. In the end, she broke my heart. Two thirds of our time was great, but I will always wear the scar she gave me as a reminder of the consequences of risk. For now it feels fresh and painful and unexplainable. Later I will pull out the pictures and remember how it once felt to be someone's other, someone's more than a friend, someone's girlfriend. I wrote so many personal journal entries for years wondering why no one that I liked ever liked me back. One day it happened and it was real for a moment, and then it was gone. I am, however grateful for everything, even the pain I feel right now. For this pain means that I loved someone and although it is lost forever in the future, it lives forever in my heart.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
When you're going through hell keep going
My Mom once sent me Winston Churchill's wisdom on a refrigerator magnet. It's true. Why can't a happy slice of success just be a happy occasion? There always has to be someone in your life fucking with you and making you feel like you can't do anything right.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Pills, Bills, and Mountainous Hills
Who do I know in their twenties that is not constantly wrestling between thoughts of positive potential for the future and thoughts of failure, disgrace, and depression? Unfortunately, most of my friends seem pretty damn happy, stable, and well...married. I suppose I received more eye rolls at my ideas, when I was younger than my friends, but I cannot help but wish I were them sometimes. It would be nice to know that you have a place of your own to go home to every night after your stable job. It would be nice to know that you have someone who loves you so much he or she offers assurance that they want to be with you for a very long time. I guess that I never realized that all of the "normal" parts of adulthood would be so stressful. Maybe I make them stressful through my choices and own obscene mind. I just want to go camping when I make plans to camp, so I can buy s'more fixins' and snacks. I sort of want my old life back and at the same time am so addicted and in love with my new life that it breaks my heart with the thought of giving it up. Everyday, I just really miss my Grandma, because when it came down to it, she was always the Bestest Person, Thing, and Idea in the whole wide world. I want to be brave like her.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Wild Berry Zinger
Tea Time at my Grandma's made me so giddy that I hopped. It was a special occasion, maybe I was sleeping over or we had just finished Chinese food, when someone would get the idea to put on the tea pot. Coffee mugs would be lined up awaiting the impending boiling water. We would pick our tea, traditionally from a variety box of Celestial Seasoning and my Grandma would always choose Wild Berry Zinger. I would remove my special zoo cup from the cupboard, wrapped in a plastic bag and taped, so no one else would use it. The cup had dancing, happy, clothed zoo animals on it and fit perfectly into my hand. The water would begin to steam and the stove would be turned off. The cups with tea bags already inserted would be filled with boiling water that immediately changed colors upon impact. My Grandma's Wild Berry Zinger would turn a dark purple and would zing with a berry berry aroma. We would add half and half and let the white swirl until it mixed with the tea. My Grandma always wanted me to add a half spoonful of honey and let it cool. I would push her cup to the edge of the table, so she could reach it from her wheelchair and we would talk about the time she hit a the boy in her class over the head with a baseball bat. We would sip tea and time would stop. My bestest friend, a cup of tea, and seemingly all the time in the world.
Somewhere in my mess of moving from state to state is the zoo cup, an item I inherited upon my Grandma's death. Today would have been my Grandma's 84th birthday, if she were still alive. Maybe we would have batted a balloon back and forth together, eaten grilled cheese, and in the evening sipped Wild Berry Zinger from a cup colored in dancing zoo animals.
Somewhere in my mess of moving from state to state is the zoo cup, an item I inherited upon my Grandma's death. Today would have been my Grandma's 84th birthday, if she were still alive. Maybe we would have batted a balloon back and forth together, eaten grilled cheese, and in the evening sipped Wild Berry Zinger from a cup colored in dancing zoo animals.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Popcorn in a metal bowl
My dad makes the best popcorn on planet Earth. In his scorched and broken popcorn popper he pops red kernels while standing over the stove in his girl's AAU sweatpants, knitted slippers, Detroit Red Wings sweatshirt, and knit cap. Usually he hums as he retrieves the set of variously-sized metal bowls to fill for each family member watching a different television show simultaneously. The Dodd family has never done the Friday night TGIF family line-up together. Years ago, it may have been tried, but was quickly abandoned due to remote controls hurled across the room at siblings' heads and wet sobs saturating the popcorn. Thus we occupy all five televisions. However we do all share a common fondness for freshly popped popcorn...my Dad's freshly popped popcorn.
When the the popcorn popping in the popper becomes a weaker pop, he pulls the pan from the burner and distributes the white puffs into the variously sized metal bowls. He sprinkles salt and sometimes pepper or Parmesan cheese onto the corn and distributes it amongst the television viewers. Crunch.
Often my Dad surprises me with a metal bowl full of freshly popped popcorn and I unfailingly have just brushed my teeth. Unfailingly he says, "You can brush 'em again. Eat your popcorn!" I miss my Dad's popcorn. I haven't lived at home for sometime and thus have not tasted his popcorn for sometime. I haven't even talked to my dad in awhile. We don't have much of a phone call relationship, but more of a road trip across country relationship.
I hadn't thought about my Dad's popcorn in awhile, until I was laying in bed watching the season premiere of Glee on my computer. There was a knock on my room door and I soon found it to be John, the farmer I work for. He apologized for not making dinner, which I found to be ridiculous. I usually fend for myself and welcomed the chance to tonight. Usually the stove top is brimming with stockpots and cast iron pans cooking enough food to feed an orchestra. Looking at all of the cooking food day-after-day makes me tired. Occasionally I just want to put some peanut butter on bread and call it a night. Tonight was my night. I sneaked in from the library to an empty stove top, grabbed a bagel from the cupboard, some pesto, and bott.a.bing bott.a.bang - dinner! I scurried upstairs, typed hulu.com into my search engine, and started watching Glee. My Glee addiction started in Texas during my second season at TOS. My "sister" Jess, K, and I would stay up late in the office watching every episode diligently. Tonight, as I watched from a lonely room in Chimacum, WA, I remembered those days fondly-the beginning of everything, before the sleepless nights of worry mixed with the frolic of new countryside.
Glee had just begun when John came into my room to apologize for the lack of dinner. I told him that I had found something to eat and was quite content. "Would you like some popcorn?" He said in a caring voice. I thought about it for a moment and decided that popcorn would make an excellent compliment to my Glee viewing and said, "Sure." About ten minutes later John came up the stairs with a metal bowl filled with white, puffed kernels. Popcorn in a metal bowl...but not my Dad's.
I guess before this ramble commenced, I wanted to reach a moral. I tried to think of a metaphor that compares popcorn to life, but it didn't sound decent. I suppose my moral is this: Enjoy your Dad's popcorn, because you never know when the Pop will stop!
When the the popcorn popping in the popper becomes a weaker pop, he pulls the pan from the burner and distributes the white puffs into the variously sized metal bowls. He sprinkles salt and sometimes pepper or Parmesan cheese onto the corn and distributes it amongst the television viewers. Crunch.
Often my Dad surprises me with a metal bowl full of freshly popped popcorn and I unfailingly have just brushed my teeth. Unfailingly he says, "You can brush 'em again. Eat your popcorn!" I miss my Dad's popcorn. I haven't lived at home for sometime and thus have not tasted his popcorn for sometime. I haven't even talked to my dad in awhile. We don't have much of a phone call relationship, but more of a road trip across country relationship.
I hadn't thought about my Dad's popcorn in awhile, until I was laying in bed watching the season premiere of Glee on my computer. There was a knock on my room door and I soon found it to be John, the farmer I work for. He apologized for not making dinner, which I found to be ridiculous. I usually fend for myself and welcomed the chance to tonight. Usually the stove top is brimming with stockpots and cast iron pans cooking enough food to feed an orchestra. Looking at all of the cooking food day-after-day makes me tired. Occasionally I just want to put some peanut butter on bread and call it a night. Tonight was my night. I sneaked in from the library to an empty stove top, grabbed a bagel from the cupboard, some pesto, and bott.a.bing bott.a.bang - dinner! I scurried upstairs, typed hulu.com into my search engine, and started watching Glee. My Glee addiction started in Texas during my second season at TOS. My "sister" Jess, K, and I would stay up late in the office watching every episode diligently. Tonight, as I watched from a lonely room in Chimacum, WA, I remembered those days fondly-the beginning of everything, before the sleepless nights of worry mixed with the frolic of new countryside.
Glee had just begun when John came into my room to apologize for the lack of dinner. I told him that I had found something to eat and was quite content. "Would you like some popcorn?" He said in a caring voice. I thought about it for a moment and decided that popcorn would make an excellent compliment to my Glee viewing and said, "Sure." About ten minutes later John came up the stairs with a metal bowl filled with white, puffed kernels. Popcorn in a metal bowl...but not my Dad's.
I guess before this ramble commenced, I wanted to reach a moral. I tried to think of a metaphor that compares popcorn to life, but it didn't sound decent. I suppose my moral is this: Enjoy your Dad's popcorn, because you never know when the Pop will stop!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
There's a Cat in My Bed!!!
Currently, there is a cat in my bed, snuggling next to my right leg on this cold, rainy, Pacific Northwest night. I should have gone to bed almost 2 hours ago, the reminiscing about snow with Alphabet got me in the mood to write.
I am laying in a new bed, again, in a new house, with a new family in Chimacum, WA. I am working on an organic farm, but this farm offers more than a pungent flower. Having worked on the farm for just over a week, I have already worked with bees, built a chicken coop, moved a sheep fence, worked with strawberries, harvested squash, dealt with chickens...It's a wonderful experience, but not really what I want to write about at this moment.
A few months ago, my nightly ritual was to sit on the dock on a lake in Texas next to K, shoot the breeze, and listen for splashes in the lake. We convinced ourselves that these splashes were not hungry bass, but lake LBJ dolphins and so we listened. We watched and listened for months and months, through cold chills and warm breezes. For me, there was no other place that I would have rather been, but with K listening for those dolphins. The days moved through each other and we both eventually left Texas. I turned off my ignition in Colorado and she in Washington. Then a storm fluttered by and I started my ignition and vacationed in Michigan for a couple of weeks, before I drove to Vashon. The details are now important, but only as a reminder of the the reasons we believe in what and whom. Sometimes you get that feeling and you just know that you have to be somewhere else. Thus I found myself on the lavender farm and eventually in Chimacum. K and I found ourselves, last Sunday night, on a dock in Port Townsend, WA watching and listening in the cool night air...then suddenly a puff...and again. We bent our knees and strained our eyes to the distant water polluted by the yacht club light. A fin splash! More puffs! Our hearts were racing as we hugged each other like a kid hugs his aunt after receiving a Super Soaker 2000. Orcas, we assumed were swimming in the distance and we were in Port Townsend, WA, together on a dock...listening. What strange courses life takes us through. A few short months ago neither of us could have predicted this moment and if we had, neither of us would have believed it. It happened, though and I am grateful.
Life is amazingly good right now. I am working in a field that I have always wanted to try, living in a beautiful place, and I have someone willing to scratch my finger when it is bee stung, triple in size, and filled with puss. That my friend is special.
I am laying in a new bed, again, in a new house, with a new family in Chimacum, WA. I am working on an organic farm, but this farm offers more than a pungent flower. Having worked on the farm for just over a week, I have already worked with bees, built a chicken coop, moved a sheep fence, worked with strawberries, harvested squash, dealt with chickens...It's a wonderful experience, but not really what I want to write about at this moment.
A few months ago, my nightly ritual was to sit on the dock on a lake in Texas next to K, shoot the breeze, and listen for splashes in the lake. We convinced ourselves that these splashes were not hungry bass, but lake LBJ dolphins and so we listened. We watched and listened for months and months, through cold chills and warm breezes. For me, there was no other place that I would have rather been, but with K listening for those dolphins. The days moved through each other and we both eventually left Texas. I turned off my ignition in Colorado and she in Washington. Then a storm fluttered by and I started my ignition and vacationed in Michigan for a couple of weeks, before I drove to Vashon. The details are now important, but only as a reminder of the the reasons we believe in what and whom. Sometimes you get that feeling and you just know that you have to be somewhere else. Thus I found myself on the lavender farm and eventually in Chimacum. K and I found ourselves, last Sunday night, on a dock in Port Townsend, WA watching and listening in the cool night air...then suddenly a puff...and again. We bent our knees and strained our eyes to the distant water polluted by the yacht club light. A fin splash! More puffs! Our hearts were racing as we hugged each other like a kid hugs his aunt after receiving a Super Soaker 2000. Orcas, we assumed were swimming in the distance and we were in Port Townsend, WA, together on a dock...listening. What strange courses life takes us through. A few short months ago neither of us could have predicted this moment and if we had, neither of us would have believed it. It happened, though and I am grateful.
Life is amazingly good right now. I am working in a field that I have always wanted to try, living in a beautiful place, and I have someone willing to scratch my finger when it is bee stung, triple in size, and filled with puss. That my friend is special.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Shooooot Daaang!
Shoot Dang. Since my computer had some sort of nasty virus, I have not been able to blog. However, with the virus eating away more, and more of my internet capabilities, and my current situation as a paid couch potato, I decided to remedy the problem. Although I almost threw my computer out the window of this lovely mansion, the awe-inspiring and thus calming image of Mt. Rainer through the glass settled my frustrations. Thus, we are back in business.
The many months of blogging hiatus have given me some time to think about where I want the nature of this blog to go. Here I am a 25 year-old broke, college educated, career-confused, nomadic, virtually unemployed person. As sad and scary as my life sounds, it really isn't too bad. I have, so far managed to: make all of my college loan payments, sustain a car, feed myself, keep a roof over my head, buy the essentials plus a few non, and go on some really awesome adventures. In this economy and in this world, life is tough, especially when you are in your mid-twenties. As alone as I sometimes feel, judging by the lives of a few select friends, I know I am not. This is my life and This Time it IS Going to be Awesome!
Here's the short of it: I live on Vashon Island, WA, but will be moving in less than a week. Where will I go? The answer is somewhat up in the air, but I think it will be Chimacum, WA. Sometimes, when I tell people what I am currently doing, I startle myself. I'm working on a Lavender Farm selling essential oils and sachets to elderly women and olfactory-confused yuppies. I have said the word "lovely" more times in the last month and a half than I ever wanted to in my whole life. Despite it all, I sort of enjoy it. I am ready to be done with the lavender farm, but it was a decent place to go, when I felt like I didn't have anyplace to go.
It seems like I have been doing an interview a day for awhile. I have gotten a few jobs and been denied a few times. It's been an adventure and I'll keep you updated.
The many months of blogging hiatus have given me some time to think about where I want the nature of this blog to go. Here I am a 25 year-old broke, college educated, career-confused, nomadic, virtually unemployed person. As sad and scary as my life sounds, it really isn't too bad. I have, so far managed to: make all of my college loan payments, sustain a car, feed myself, keep a roof over my head, buy the essentials plus a few non, and go on some really awesome adventures. In this economy and in this world, life is tough, especially when you are in your mid-twenties. As alone as I sometimes feel, judging by the lives of a few select friends, I know I am not. This is my life and This Time it IS Going to be Awesome!
Here's the short of it: I live on Vashon Island, WA, but will be moving in less than a week. Where will I go? The answer is somewhat up in the air, but I think it will be Chimacum, WA. Sometimes, when I tell people what I am currently doing, I startle myself. I'm working on a Lavender Farm selling essential oils and sachets to elderly women and olfactory-confused yuppies. I have said the word "lovely" more times in the last month and a half than I ever wanted to in my whole life. Despite it all, I sort of enjoy it. I am ready to be done with the lavender farm, but it was a decent place to go, when I felt like I didn't have anyplace to go.
It seems like I have been doing an interview a day for awhile. I have gotten a few jobs and been denied a few times. It's been an adventure and I'll keep you updated.
Monday, March 22, 2010
One Year and a whole lot of fear
It takes the cake for the worst week of my life, watching my best friend in the world slowly and painfully die. That fucking dry mouth, it comes back to haunt me almost every time that I close my eyes. That feeling of helplessness and just praying that I could somehow slip peacefully away beside her. What else did I really have? I've tried to explain what she meant to me, to many people, but I don't think anyone can fully understand why it hurt so goddamn bad. She was my soul mate-my other half. My Mom has my Dad and Paul to look after. Christian has Laura and Sally. Marianne has Craig. My friends are all married or practically so and no one ever liked me in a mono y mono type of way, but it was all ok, because I had my Grandma. With my Grandma, I knew that we had a very special bond and no one could take that away, until the gods of age and time did. I didn't know what to do. It was like a part of me just died right along side her, so I ran away, basically. My life has been so hard and confusing for the past couple of years that there just didn't seem to be any reason to live, except for her. I knew that she would want me to do good things with my life and help people and see the beauty in everyday. Thus I tried like hell to be the person she saw in me and I am still trying.
Then, it happens out of the blue and you seem to find the one person who gets you for who you are. The one person that you spill out your life story to in the first couple of weeks. The one person that doesn't make you feel like you have to be anyone, but your neurotic, half-crazy self around. The one person who truly makes you a better person, but life is too complicated for simplistic happiness. Nothing ever makes sense and life just barrels on in pools of pain with droplets of happiness that are hard to find.
Then, it happens out of the blue and you seem to find the one person who gets you for who you are. The one person that you spill out your life story to in the first couple of weeks. The one person that doesn't make you feel like you have to be anyone, but your neurotic, half-crazy self around. The one person who truly makes you a better person, but life is too complicated for simplistic happiness. Nothing ever makes sense and life just barrels on in pools of pain with droplets of happiness that are hard to find.
Monday, February 15, 2010
A while without style
I don't know what I am doing in my life. Does anyone? I think I am going crazy.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Because My Mom Told Me to Write
A good friend of mine wrote me an email, yesterday that asked the age or question: Why is life so unfair? Why, Gertrude, I don't know. Life is a shit storm. It will suck your guts out of every single orifice in your body, tie them into knots, blend them in a rusty old coffee grinder, mix them with sulpheric acid until they are the consistency of a YooHoo, before they pour them back into you...through every orifice available, of course.
This said-that's life. It happens to virtually all people. Thus, the question should not be "Why is life so unfair?" but "What can we do to make this unfair life a bit more bearable?" Do I like my life? Eh-it's ok, but there are a lot of aspects of my life that really piss me off. However, I might as well keep going and continue to try to find something that makes me happy. On the way, I might even help make someone else's life a little happier. That's what I am going to try to do.
My friend also has Lyme's Disease. A disease transmitted by a tiny tick that changes the health of your body forever. There is pain, fatigue, depression...This existence of this disease alone should be an answer to the question "Why is life so unfair?" It is random. If a tiny tick can change your life, why should you take anything seriously? You cannot control the shitty shit that happens to you, so why care so much about what other people think? Just live. Do what you want to do. Don't wait. Don't fear. Don't care.
This said-that's life. It happens to virtually all people. Thus, the question should not be "Why is life so unfair?" but "What can we do to make this unfair life a bit more bearable?" Do I like my life? Eh-it's ok, but there are a lot of aspects of my life that really piss me off. However, I might as well keep going and continue to try to find something that makes me happy. On the way, I might even help make someone else's life a little happier. That's what I am going to try to do.
My friend also has Lyme's Disease. A disease transmitted by a tiny tick that changes the health of your body forever. There is pain, fatigue, depression...This existence of this disease alone should be an answer to the question "Why is life so unfair?" It is random. If a tiny tick can change your life, why should you take anything seriously? You cannot control the shitty shit that happens to you, so why care so much about what other people think? Just live. Do what you want to do. Don't wait. Don't fear. Don't care.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Drive By Lifein'
In a travel station in Missouri, they sell barbecue pork and old men sit in the far back corner smoking cigarettes and talking about the weather. Their chat halts momentarily when the two yanks come in to use the bathroom and buy a few sticks of sugarfree chewing gum. The Missouri bathroom smells like the perfume I used to use when I was 13 and trying too hard to be normal. If I knew then that I, eleven years later, would smell that same scent in a dirty Missouri travel station, would I have bothered sneaking it from my Mom's dresser in the first place? If I knew when I was thirteen, by the age of 24, that I would have lived in Watford City, North Dakota; Packwood, Washington; Marble Falls, Texas; and on a seismic research vessel in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, would I have believed it? All of those years of dreaming and flipping through National Geographic magazines wondering if I would ever see the outskirts of Greenville, MI, I finally reached beyond the pages. My brother, Christian, is reading a book called Factory Girls about Chinese factory girls. He says the Chinese believe that a family's history begins when the first person leaves. Until then, you are living someone else's life. That seems pretty accurate to me.
In the past few months, I have neglected my blog, primarily because I was living at a summer camp in Texas. TOS was not devoid of drama in the least bit. If we called ourselves a family, we were quite the incestuous family. Of course I did not partake in incestuous behavior as my options were quite limited and even in my drunkest states, I was not going there. I had a lot of fun, blobbing, water sliding, rock climbing, surfing, and exploring a state I once vowed never to visit. I'm glad I broke my vow, because life, at least my life, is not about picking and choosing where to go. It's about adventure being thrust upon me and grasping it and going wherever the wind takes me. I refuse to let chances pass me by out of fear. I've made a lot of odd choices, like living with Biggy C in a trailer park or attempting to befriend a crazy homeless man in Ann Arbor, but out of the odd spewed rich stories. I've also had a lot of failures, like my Austin basketball group or that Ironman I met with or that Mississippi embarrassment, but in the end, who the fuck really cares. My failures all have one great likeness - they all began with a taken risk. If I don't continue to take risks and stuff money down homosexual men's pants, who will I become? Will I become part of my family? - someone living an ancient man's story? Thus, in three days I will pack my life into a thirty pound bag, board an airplane flying from Grand Rapids, MI to Houston, TX, then board a helicopter that will fly me onto a seismic research vessel in the Gulf of Mexico. Life is a daring adventure, or nothing at all.
In the past few months, I have neglected my blog, primarily because I was living at a summer camp in Texas. TOS was not devoid of drama in the least bit. If we called ourselves a family, we were quite the incestuous family. Of course I did not partake in incestuous behavior as my options were quite limited and even in my drunkest states, I was not going there. I had a lot of fun, blobbing, water sliding, rock climbing, surfing, and exploring a state I once vowed never to visit. I'm glad I broke my vow, because life, at least my life, is not about picking and choosing where to go. It's about adventure being thrust upon me and grasping it and going wherever the wind takes me. I refuse to let chances pass me by out of fear. I've made a lot of odd choices, like living with Biggy C in a trailer park or attempting to befriend a crazy homeless man in Ann Arbor, but out of the odd spewed rich stories. I've also had a lot of failures, like my Austin basketball group or that Ironman I met with or that Mississippi embarrassment, but in the end, who the fuck really cares. My failures all have one great likeness - they all began with a taken risk. If I don't continue to take risks and stuff money down homosexual men's pants, who will I become? Will I become part of my family? - someone living an ancient man's story? Thus, in three days I will pack my life into a thirty pound bag, board an airplane flying from Grand Rapids, MI to Houston, TX, then board a helicopter that will fly me onto a seismic research vessel in the Gulf of Mexico. Life is a daring adventure, or nothing at all.
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