seconds

I was visiting Andrea today and she got me thinking about my love for inanimate objects. I am haunted by that which does not breathe. I bought a faux fur lined vest last winter. It made me feel hip when running to the store with no make-up. The collar is tall and the fuzzy lining tickles my neck. The vest is long enough to cover my waist. No one can see my thong popping out the top of my jeans. But the jacket has never fit right. It slides to my left and somehow I look more disheveled than I am. I contemplate returning it and trying on a different one. But I can’t. Because, what will then happen to the vest once it is returned? Does it go to the reject pile, waiting in a cold warehouse until it can be shipped to the outlet store? Will the next owner love it more? Will I hurt its feelings?

I don’t understand people who return gifts. On occasion I have received things I don’t particularly care for. Its not my color or taste or size... but I can’t send it back. It was a gift and I am so touched by the gesture. Like the time my sister-in-law bought me a size XS two months after I gave birth to my son. I was so flattered! I still can’t fit one thigh into the pants. But when someone sincerely buys you an XS with every intention that it will fit, you DON’T return it.

It’s my father’s fault. As a little girl I remember going to pick out the Christmas tree with him. We would always narrow it down to two and then feel overcome with guilt about the one we were not going to pick. So it was not quite as full as the ultimate winner. The other will fit better in the corner near the fireplace. And there was that bare spot to the back. Does that mean it should be cast off, left to shiver in a make shift parking lot for another frozen night? If we don’t buy both neither of us will sleep tonight…

Today, we both own fake trees.

time is on my side

it is not that i have more "time" than you...
it is not that i have "less" to do...
i reconstruct the word "busy"
over and over each day.

my moments are delivered to me
in 15 minute increments
maybe 25...
i do yoga with my schedules
to fit in a brief moment of creativity
that does not involve decorating
the infrastructure of telecommunications
for an uninterested reader
or
attempting to engage a toddler with
something other than my screen saver.

i search for a brief moment
to feel inspired,
under the influence of just me.

but i do still find occasions during the day
to simply listen

maybe it is to you...
or maybe i am just pretending to
as i finish the email i was working on
when you entered...
but i am good at it...
and you rarely know.

because it is more important to me
that you feel heard.

and sometimes that is all i want
for you to listen...

celebrating charlie

"This is my depressed stance. When you're depressed, it makes a lot of difference how you stand. The worst thing you can do is straighten up and hold your head high because then you'll start to feel better. If you're going to get any joy out of being depressed, you've got to stand like this." ~Charlie Brown

thank you Charlie Brown for teaching
me how to be depressed
with introspective humor.

READING
her brave statement.
i couldn't agree more.

TORTURING
myself trying on bathing suits.
but it is much safer here
than in a dressing room with bad lighting.

ENJOYING
her hysterical reviews of American Idol

back together

the ad read "updated, contemporary ranch
with professional perennial garden..."

the house was perfect for us.
and five years ago we purchased
a beautiful bunch of hostas and daylilies and
grouping of other things my limited language
does not allow me to pronounce.

excitedly, i tried to nurture you.
you were a giver of lush greens and purples,
entertaining the plumpest yellow jackets on the block.
i felt like a grown-up when we were together,
trotting across your soil in my fresh new crocs.

at first i was unaware that the summer sun
was damaging our carefree courtship.
and you grew needy, insecure and vulnerable...
i guess i wasn't that into you, and
after the initial spring bloom i was bored.

i avoided you and started things up again
with my air conditioning and dvd player.

occasionally, i would try to reach out.
but you had changed.
you were more difficult to maintain.
the three oak trees that had once
draped you in shade were dead
and you mourned their absence.

we both knew you had to become something different.

i am asking for a second chance.
i hurt you and i take responsibility for
not being there when you needed me most.

just yesterday i got down on my hands and knees.
i massaged your neglected earth with nutrients
and a commitment to try harder...

i think this time we will make it because
i am finding more joy in giving than receiving.

beautiful

this is the beautiful dana.
she is charming and creative.
{i wish she knew how artistic she is}
she understands style.
she is inventive with her colorful life.
she knows how to put a room together,
with fabulous furnishing, a perfect sound,
and incredible beings...

she is fantastic with people...
small and tall...

she is always moving...
from soul to soul to soul...
and she does it beautifully.

her heart is big enough to take care of
all of us that demand her presence.

i am grateful to call her sister.
happy birthday, dana.

Swamp Angel

i never saw them play in the swamp.
i was only twelve.
but i heard about the hundreds of teenagers
that would drive their parents cars
to the end of that muddy road to breathe rock and roll
and practice the mess of youth.
they were safe in the marsh.
the angels protected them and bought them beer and
chased away the countless encounters with the local law.
the angels let them grow up a little without the boundaries of
a typical teenage social order.
they made their own mistakes and
gathered to compare adolescent blunders.

they were rock stars and groupies and roadies
in their own backyards...

~In through the night
They drank in relief
What happen so fast
In times disbelief

Living now in pain
The true at his side
A man’s simple piece
Now grieving inside

If you’ll stand once before
The house that’s been told
On a cool dark night
The hallow fogs hold

Some will have it
Sounds still flee
With visions from the dead
The Angels you’ll see

In the Hallow Fogs Hold~

~ Hallow Fogs Hold, Swamp Angel~

too funny

she is hysterical.
maybe i find her so enjoyable because she has always
laughed at my jokes.
most days she knows what i am thinking.
even when she has no idea what i am going to say next,
she tries to finish my sentences.

we laugh about typos...
true bent-over, slapping of the knee, unable to breathe because
we just created a new word while stumbling over our second...
well, third glass of wine.

we read novels together.
not like we are in a club and then discuss the book every Thursday.
actually together, sitting on a sandy beach each holding
the same paperback.
she reads faster than i do so she waits for me to catch up
before we laugh about the same passage.
then we imitate our favorite character for the rest of the day.

she’s the type of friend that you go to the movies with because you can comment on the film with simple gestures and funny glances as to not bother the rest of the audience.

or sometimes you don’t want to go to the movies with her because you would have more fun just talking and giggling and commenting on the guy one bar stool over with simple gestures and funny glances.

she is the friend you call on your cell phone immediately after leaving her because you thought of another funny story.

she always answers, she always laughs.

happy birthday, Sharon, my dear sweet friend.

sound check

check one
check one, two

are you listening...
to the sounds in your head?
are they telling you want you want to hear?

are you hearing them clearly?
or are they distorted like the bass is too loud
and the treble of your voice can't be heard?

is there feedback coming from your audience?
is their message misrepresented once it filters
through the veil around your self-image?

have you discovered your true sound
or do you simply mimic the famous?

rebirth

you are teaching me how to play outside again.
reminding me how to lay on my belly in the cool grass.
how to kneel on concrete in my best pants.

with you i am learning how to appreciate the simplicity of soft breeze
my senses are multitasking with the songs of the birds,
the smell of the defrosted ground.
i am inspired to clean up our yard and give gardening another try.


i recall how exciting it is see a new car zoom by
and i quickly shift my gaze to the big mechanical bird overhead
i help you make motor sounds and trace my hand along the sky...

i am enjoying watching the world go by at 24 inches off the street.

unfinished

i am attracted to them.
the beautiful bindings. the decorative covers.
thick crisp paper with soft faded lines.
i buy them often when visiting local boutiques or
as a souvenir from where ever i travel.
i have the best intentions to write in my new journal everyday.
i always promise myself i will unlock my inner passion.
i will finally harness the wandering thoughts that prevent me from sleeping.

the first entry for each is filled with poignant poetic prose
as i introduce myself, again, to the inner workings of my mind.

and then silence...

the pages are blank.
not even a doodle.

i am over taken by fear and laziness and television...
the beautiful hand-crafted booklet is abandoned.

and now i have started a blog.
visit me again.
maybe i will fill this one.

**a special thanks to my friend Jen Gray for encouraging me to dust off my journals...**