tip

some people are natural dancers. they have a solid sense of rhythm and enough confidence to enjoy it and look great regardless of who's dancing with them. some of these naturals even dance alone and draw envious looks from the rest of the partiers, who are self-consciously shuffling their feet and bouncing somewhat to the beat.

note: i'm not a natural dancer.

in fact, i don't dance at all unless i'm liberally, but not too liberally, under the influence. the window of dance floor opportunity is generally slim because i'm usually done for the night at two drinks and still too sober at one drink. but last night was different. somehow, perhaps magically, i hit the perfect balance of intoxication and coordination to dance.

at first i didn't feel particularly confident in what i was doing, but i wasn't so awkward as to hide out on the wall, either.

the music was great. just a fantastic dj. and i was bouncing along just fine to whatever she was spinning.

and then:

Here comes the rain again
Falling on my head like a memory
Falling on my head like a new emotion...

~eurythmics

and suddenly, without explanation, haley and i tipped. we weren't just dancing across from each other and making googly eyes any more. we synced. she moved and i moved with her. i knew which direction she was going and i knew what to do. and likewise. (not that i was doing anything inspired, unless inspired by her. but still.)

we danced for hours. and for the first time ever, i felt like we were 'that couple'. the ones that people were watching. the ones that people could feel the heat off of. the ones that owned the dance floor because they only could see each other.


i do love the rain.



d: to dive into your ocean...
b: i was half of 'that couple'.
g: dj vicki

steel

"..and the bride wore whirlpool..."

shoddy repurposing of the real estate or clever marketing? maybe the prospective bride would need a new washer or dryer...

last night the grooms wore matching suits.
the eight cakes were impeccably decorated.
the dj was spinning everything from tone loc to stevie wonder.
and the wine was pouring.

but, as the party went into the wee hours of the night those details became unimportant and the celebration was simply about love and commitment.

the stories of marriages that required permits, marriages that required exceptions, marriages that required standing in the face of criticism, and yet triumphed in love nevertheless, filled the night.

i believe that in fact the obstacles to these marriages only serve to solidify the commitment. last night also marked a milestone for my own relationship. four months ago, despite heavy protest and interference, time stood still and everything else faded away when haley and i began our love story. and now, four months later, protest and interference are still trying to be heard.

trying. and failing.

steel is forged in fire, after all. so bring on the heat. we can take it.

d: a fire-hardened love that lasts a lifetime.
b: though fire, no burn.
g: loving support around the forge

nausea

beep beep beep
snooze
beep beep beep
moan.. no i don't want to get up.. i don't want to leave..
beep beep beep

try as i might, reality crashed in on me this morning via my alarm and a wave of nausea washed over as i packed my bags to leave selman, for the week. for all the nuisance of living out of a suitcase (or three), cooking in a kitchen with limited resources, and losing a pair of panties a day to oliver's teeth; it was all bitter and no sweet to pack up my car this morning.

but i'm consoled by my boys' homecoming tonight. despite the fullness of my time with haley, i have missed them and the life we share together. i find this dichotomy of my life with them and my life with her leaves me in a state of longing at all times. and in precarious balance.

when i first became interested in exercise and fitness, i hired a trainer. meka very patiently coached me through basic form and technique and gently teased me about my lack of coordination and balance. i fell more than once and it always took me at least a set or two to master anything more complicated than a bicep curl.

she often wanted to end our training sessions with abs and core work and i heavily protested this format. at that point of fatigue, training core would invariably nauseate me and i'd leave the gym fighting to hold my stomach. we adjusted the routine to work core earlier in our sessions and i grew to love those exercises. maybe in part it was the lack of green in my face but i think even more was the immediate improvement i saw in my balance as i trained my core.

as my time and heart are held in precarious balance again, i wonder if it's my core that i should attend to and draw upon.

it is at my core that i feel peace.
it is at my core that i renew energy.
it is at my core that i am creative.
it is at my core that i balance.

and maybe, just maybe, tending to it sooner rather than later will stem the nausea.

d: 6pm, for to see my boys
b: core strength!
g: joy upon joy to balance...

see

'I See' by taxi for MOMA

sunday haley and i walked through the decatur arts festival. it's the second art show we've been to in the past few weeks and has to rank up there as one of my favorite things to do together.

so many people walk around those shows like the guy in the video, initially at least.

'where can i get a beer?'
'are they selling t-shirts somewhere?'
'$2500?!? has he f*&$ing lost his mind?!'
'can i sit over there and wait for you?'

but not haley. and her energy is contagious. methodically combing every row of tents in search of the thing that captivates her. (which i can relate to, because it's how i shop for clothes after all.) and when she finds it, there's no, 'oh that's pretty.' instead, passionate outbursts of 'that's f*&#ing brilliant!!' and 'look at the bunnies!' and 'god, that's amazing!' resonate. but even more than that is the look on her face...i wish i had a picture.

surely, it's because she's an artist. and inspired. it's how i read, voraciously.. looking for words i don't know.. expressions and literary genius. i dog-ear pages of passages i love, cry over characters that touch me, and lose myself in stories i wish i'd written myself.

...wish i'd written myself...

i've told myself 'i don't have a story' for years now. that's the story i've written. but i'm turning the page and writing a new one.

this one will have dog-eared passages and tear stained pages too...for someone else.

and my name on the cover.

d: birth of a story.
b: i see.
g: contagious energy.

fill

some people say the body is the greatest machine ever built. and in some ways, of course, that's true. intricate systems that work in tandem. complex mechanisms. efficient fuel utilization. capable of amazing strength, speed and maneuvering. when you think about it that way, our bodies sound like the biggest, baddest hot rods around.

but machines don't change or grow or adapt. maybe our bodies are more like plants, in that way. with the proper care and nutrition, they can climb walls, break through barriers and radiate beauty.

then of course, there are many who say the body is a temple. the carrier of our soul and where we house a part of god. or manifest god, depending on individual spiritual beliefs.

i agree in part with each of these metaphors.. and yet, today i am finding my body to be more of a puzzle. all the parts fit together in a perfect way, and yet, there's a mystery to it too. the edges are the easy part while the center fills in, ever so slowly. some sections apparent and others seemingly impossible.

today i woke feeling strong, healthy, rested; albeit a little sore in my calves. and then, mysteriously, after a balanced nutritious lunch, my body shut down. eyes couldn't stay open. mind couldn't focus. head started pounding. and all i could think about was coffee and chocolate to muddle through a four hour meeting without resting my head on the conference table.

after commuting for an hour and fifteen, i arrived at the gym. unsure what response my body would give, i opted for the ole 'fake it till you make it' strategy. an hour and a half later, i drove out of the parking lot with a satisfying muscle ache, gnawing hunger, and energy. energy!

my body is an enigma to me... i'm learning to trust it again. listen to its signs. and demand the results i want from it.

one of my favorite movies is the documentary 'what the bleep do we know'.. there's a scene in the movie that illustrates a research project by dr. masaru emoto called 'messages on water'. dr. emoto puts words on bottles of water, freezes them and then photographs the crystals. it sounds preposterous, but the water responds to the words in truly magical ways.

the movie then goes on to remind us that our bodies are close to 90% water (i think that's the number.. don't hold me to it), so if words can do that to water, what do they do to us?

and then i go to tattoos. after all, that's the closest application of the idea. i want to fill mine in. it took me years to decide on the edges. and now i want to fill it in, as i'm filling in. as the picture is forming, so also should my tattoo.

d: fill within my edges.
b: an intense work-out filled in a piece of the puzzle for me today.
g: large sections are becomng clear.. and beautiful.

speed

Always toward absent lovers love's tide stronger flows.

~sextus propertius, 54 b.c. - 15 a.d

i recently read an article on a research project called 'the love study'. in short, participants in the study were married couples and the point was to determine if positive thought, good energy, prayer or whatever you want to call it from one partner, at a distance, could affect change on the other partner. and if so, would training, practice and motivation of the sender affect the effect.

the test seemed to be pretty well executed. the subjects were in separate rooms, unable to view each other. the sender would see a closed-circuit tv image of their partner at random intervals, for random lengths of time, and during those times they were instructed to send 'loving, compassionate intention' to their spouse. both people were hooked up to electrodes and monitoring stuff to check for skin temp rise, heart rate, etc.

and in short, the receivers did in fact show signs of their sympathetic nervous system being stimulated. within half a second of sending the energy the recipients' skin temp began to rise, perspiration increased, blood flow increased, etc.

half a second.

speed of sound. speed of light. lightning?
speed of thought. good vibes?

speed of love.

palpable loving energy can be felt from a distance. the love study says so. (and three dozen other studies conducted by institutions such as university of washington and university of edinburgh) and the beach boys.

...I'm picking up good vibrations
She's giving me excitations
Good good good good vibrations...

~Good Vibrations by the beach boys, 1966

actually from the mid 20's b.c. to 1966, romantics; such as poet sextus propertius and the beach boys band; have proclaimed the power of love from afar. so i am in long standing company with my duh to this research.

instead of revelation, i prefer to find this study as justification to my obsession.

d: compassionate intention sent to my pounding headache.
b: i didn't need these studies to know the power of good vibrations.
g: the speed of love is lightning fast.

commitment

days and nights like this make it hard to sit down at a computer. and yet, i know they will fill the pages, when we're apart.

d: exhalation
b: dedication
g: inspiration

i do

seventeen years is about half of my life. seventeen years ago, i was seventeen. (well, ok 18 if you're being precise, but give me a little creative license.) seventeen years ago, i was a senior in high school. i got my first car. i moved out of my dad's house.

first steps into independence for me, seventeen years ago. at the same time my cousin amy stepped into marriage. she was a few years older than me and lived far away, so we haven't grown up close. but as a little girl i always looked up to her as 'my beautiful cousin amy'. there was an aura of mystery around her.

today she and her husband celebrate an anniversary of seventeen years and while it may be a non-event for some people 'on the way to twenty', i beg to differ. every anniversary is a milestone and every year is a gift. and spending half of my lifetime with a partner you love and respect is something i believe worth celebrating. (ok, nearly half. i know.)

i've been noticing marriages that span the decades lately. it's representative of a change in my belief structure on the matter. a year ago, or maybe even six months ago, i would've put myself in the 'it's overrated and unnecessary' camp on the institution. and now i find myself inspired and awestruck by the married people i know. i want that.

i do.

i left a message for amy today telling her that her seventeen years give hope to those of us in new love 'hoping to celebrate a 17th in 17 years'.. and she replied that she looked forward to reading my status then, referring to facebook.

my only doubt is the lifespan of the website...

happy anniversary amy. and thank you.

d: 17 upon 17 for you.
b: i'm a new believer in forever marriage.
g: no doubt.

rush

The only reason for time is so that
everything doesn't happen at once.
~albert einstein

undoubtedly the hardest thing about discovery, aside from my own stench, was the lack of time. or rather, the unlimited amount of time and the lack of labels to assign it. when we left the college on foot with only what we could carry on our backs, our loads were noticeably missing time-telling devices.

no watches, no clocks, no cameras with clocks allowed.

every morning, we got up and were given a 'destination' and that was it. sometimes we'd get to that destination and then be given another and sometimes we'd be told to settle in for the night. sometimes we got there and it was bright sun and sometimes it was pitch black. our arrival 'time' had zero impact on the agenda for the day, but as participants rather than facilitators, we had only the given moment's agenda to consider.

at first, the challenge of trying to figure out 'what time is it?' would be a topic for half the day's trek.

'the sun is about half way up the eastern sky... it must be 10 or so'
'no, i think that mountain range is throwing you off, it's really more like noon'
'well, we went to bed not too long after dark, i think maybe 9 or so.. so if we slept 8 hours.. it's probably only 8 am now..'
'the sun is three hands above the horizon and it rises around 6:30, so i think it's 9:30.'

everyone had a theory and a way to justify it. gut, calculations, hunger, fatigue - a combination of these.

after a few days of these head games, time started slipping from our trail conversations though. the phrases 'hurry up, we need to make 5 miles before lunch at noon' and 'it's probably going on 8, everyone get up!' shifted to 'you guys hungry? let's stop and eat at this creek' and 'how'd you sleep? i found the softest spot last night under those trees over there.'

even without time to keep us regulated, we managed to eat and sleep and reach our destinations every day, without exception. and only twice in three weeks did we hike and set up camp in the thick dark of night, long after sunset.

this holiday weekend haley and i deliberately evaded all scheduled plans and commitments. yesterday i didn't even notice what time it was until after noon and then not again until evening. i was wearing a watch, because my wrist feels bare without one, but time never crossed my mind.

there's something so freeing about letting it go. i think einstein got it wrong, in fact. everything didn't happen all at once, at all. just one thing at a time, in perfect order. simplified by the security of a rush that's in no rush.

a discovery on discovery that's been timeless.
when?now!
a story with no end...

d: a release of the constraints of time for you
b: i took a lesson from discovery beyond 'i hate patchouli'
g: two more days of timelessness.

woof

on my first date with haley, i arrived at her house and was greeted by two small jack russell'ish dogs.

in clothes.

i know, i know, it's fairly common for dog people to put their small, short haired dogs in clothes in the winter, but i was wearing a t-shirt and umm, i don't have a fur coat. it also added another layer to the haley i knew up to that point.

everyone's seen the pictures of pets and owners that appear to be cut from the same cloth, but i've also noticed that most of the time pets reflect their owner's personality. so, a jack russell chihuahua mix wearing a t-shirt that said i lost my pants to lounge around the house raised my eyebrows in curiosity. a fashion diva? haley? little did i know.

haley's closet is four levels of stacked and hanging clothes, plus two vertical stackers. add to that a set of 15 school lockers filled, two door hangers of shoes and at least 2 trash bags and 1 unpacked box of clothes that just won't fit. and that's just what i can see from my vantage on the bed. i have a feeling there are more boxes yet to be unearthed in the living room.

so, perhaps oliver's fancy blue t-shirt and studded collar were indeed a hint of haley's clothing obsession.

being on selman street for a week means that i'm sharing living space with not one, not two, but four jack russell'ish dogs. oliver, green, gg and artex. the latter two belonging to mel.

four dogs, similar breed, same house, twin sisters for owners - what better opportunity for me to test my theory on pets' personalities matching their humans.

artex: passive, independent and oh-so-vocal about his needs.. (one might even say whiney. not me, but 'one'.)
gg: prissy, playful wild ass that wants to be the center of attention. (and let's be honest, usually gets it..)

oliver: loving, sweet, affectionate to the point of clingy and known to eat my panties. (yes, my favorite black panties: devoured by oliver)
green: mature, alpha dyke, quiet unless challenged and then quite fierce (beware the bloodshed)

one more time:
mel's dogs: artex and gg
haley's dogs: oliver and green


hmm...

did i mention that oliver fell immediately in love with me?

d: a cavalier king charles spaniel of my own.
b: i can tell the four white jack russells apart and know all of their names.
g: i overcame my dog allergy, simply by falling in love.

balance

~Meret's Cat by marshall miller

i'm heading to selman street today and excited to spend the week there. how sweet it will be to spend unstructured, unplanned time with haley. her new house is fast beginning to feel like a retreat for me and being the escapist that i am, i crave places like that.

but there's a tiny niggling feeling of guilt for abandoning my kitties, jasper and stormy. these two bad boys protest my absence by wreaking havoc on the neighborhood's small rodents and birds. typically leaving evidence of their displeasure in my living room. add in a little guilt about the carnage too.

really i know they'll be ok. cats are solitary and forgiving animals and i'm not one to dote on them much anyway. so when i look closer at that niggling feeling, i find it's not related to my pets at all. it's about escaping...and coming back.

packing my things up from closet to pantry to office to kitchen cupboards to spend a week in town is the sort of thing i know will be bittersweet. i'll cherish every moment living the fantasy and i'll forget about the grass that will be growing, the dust that will accumulate, and the pets that need love. and then i'll come home and balance the indulgence with responsibility and the longing will be that much stronger to escape again.

phone calls will be inadequate.
late night visits after work will tease.
the solitude will envelop me in grey.

yet, i don't hesitate to go. my heart and mind are already there in advance of my body and belongings. they are buzzing around selman readying it for my arrival. they are nurtured by the energy of laughter and color and the aura of change.

bittersweet.

when i leave behind turquoise, i'll come home to beige. when i leave behind bouncy puppies, i'll come home to lazy cats. when i leave behind improv, i'll come home to routine. when i leave behind passion, i'll come home to family.

oh how i'll miss it.

but, now is the time for sweet! anticipating, cherishing, celebrating!

as for the kitties, i threw some bread on the ground under the bird feeders, last night. they deserve a little sweet too.

d: a week of sweet indulgence
b: i release the bitter
g: escape and return.. balance.

when?

What lies behind us and
what lies before us
are tiny matters
compared to what lies
within us.

~ralph waldo emerson

about a month ago, after another depressing day at the office, i spent a page in my journal creating the perfect job. i listed the criteria that i wanted in a new role and then i sent it on its mystical way. it seems like my ideas manifest all the time and this was the perfect opportunity to get to manifestin' about.

and three days later i was told my position was being eliminated. hmm, not exactly what i had in mind. but then i spent today interviewing for a new role that could have been lifted from the page of my journal. in nearly every way, it meets the requests i made. i haven't been told it's mine yet, not by anyone at the office anyway, but i know it is. i've claimed it. peed on the hydrant and marked it as such.

in college i took a number of higher level math classes, thinking i'd pick up a minor in it. i appreciated the literal nature of math and it was easy for me. that is, until i sat down in number theory. i've quite nearly blocked it out of my memory, it was such an educational black hole, but it lingers on.

see, suddenly math wasn't numbers - it was writing. but where i'd always found writing wonderful because it's creative and stylistic and intuitive; math writing - not so much. now writing could be right or wrong. argh.

the backbone of the number theory curriculum was proofs and the entire class orbited in an if-then universe.

if i went to number theory class, then my eyes glazed over.
if i went to number theory class, then i wanted to slit my wrists.

or something like that. i hated if-then then and i hate it now. i've rewritten if-then to when?now!

if-then is fear-laden.
when?now! is secure.

if-then is doubful.
when?now! is trusting.

if-then is controlling.
when?now! is detaching.

if-then is stalled.
when?now! is motion.

before is if and behind is then.
but joy and growth and spirit...what lies within... when?now!


d: live when?now!
b: what lies within is evolving and growing
g: kiss-ass interviews and hydrants all around

kiss

...There must have been an angel by my side
Something heavenly came down from above
He led me to you
...
When I was led to you
I knew you were the one for me
I swear the whole world could feel my heartbeat
When I lay eyes on you
...
You wrapped me up in
The colour of love
...
You gave me the kiss of life...

~excerpted from Kiss of Life by sade

i really meant to write about kisses last night.. or about one at least. and i don't even mean that first magical kiss, under a low hanging full red moon, on a sidewalk in decatur, that caught me so off-guard..

i mean the kiss that says you're safe.
i mean the kiss that says you're beautiful.
i mean the kiss that says i understand.
i mean the kiss that says i accept you.
i mean the kiss that says i want you.
i mean the kiss that says you make me happy.
i mean the kiss that says i don't want to be anywhere but here.
i mean the kiss that says good morning. and good night.
i mean the kiss that says slow down. no wait, speed up.
i mean the kiss that says i love you..

and that is where i got distracted last night. kisses are simple. they say all of those things without saying a word. and i feel very simple these days.

sometimes it seems a conundrum how i can be so finished and yet so beginning at the same time. on the one hand, i feel that something is done and complete and on the other i feel a sense of a long journey ahead. rather than confusion though, for me it simplifies nicely in a kiss.

a kiss of life.

d: a journey filled with kisses.
b: peaceful in the paradigm.
g: sade put into words what i could not.

ILY :)

If you wanna know

If he loves you so
It's in his kiss!

~It's In His Kiss by aretha franklin (et al)

todd and aretha have something in common. determining if you are in love is simple that way, i think.

and there's a lot to be said for simplicity when it comes to love.

taylor's yearbook signature to todd

haley's boots and my purse

tonight, the pictures have all the words.

d: words to express what i see in these pictures.. because they escape me.
b: recognition of simplicity as superior
g: love. plain and simple.

cake

there is nothing in this world that makes me more insane than a computer or technology problem. i have zero patience for it and zero patience with myself or anyone else who's trying to solve it. i know that doesn't make sense - if it's being solved, i should be happy. but that's just not the way i function. or malfunction, as the case were.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
deep breath (seriously)
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
deep breath

an hour ago i was relishing in the sense of community i felt in my neighborhood after a couple of neighbors, that i only loosely know, agreed to move the very, very heavy furniture that was left in my rearranging project. and now, i'm thinking that maybe i should have left everything where it was. after all, it all worked fine there.

now that my tv and stereo are upstairs and the extra (is that a problem?) cables are laying in a tangled web on the floor, i can't get the damn thing to work properly. i hooked up all the cords fairly quickly assuming everything should be much simpler now without the game systems and the cable box. right?

wrong.

the first dvd i pop in plays with sound and video, but only through the center speaker. hmm, i think to myself this is an exercise video, it may not be in stereo, or something like that. so i take it out and try an audio cd. again, only center speaker, despite mashing all the buttons and settings on the face of the receiver.

at this point, i put in a dvd that i am certain is in stereo. and now, i have sound and no video. umm. oh, i should mention that i switched the input on the back of the receiver before this. so, without video, i thought maybe i should go back to the original input. then i had video and no sound. not single speaker sound, mind you, but no sound at all.

and so on. i have now tried every possible configuration of red, white and yellow cables in every in and out connection on the receiver and i still can't get it all to work quite right. i have never, ever, never had this much trouble hooking up one single, solitary component to a not-very-fancy receiver and a tv. i mean, it should be cake.

which sounds like a really excellent idea. cake might make this all a little easier to cope with.

i take solace in the fact that it looks damn good. and i learned on discovery that that's the most important thing. (see: curtains)

now for that cake...

d: stereo installation fairy please come visit while i sleep.
b: my vision is just as i imagined it and, in fact, does look damn good.
g: i don't really like watching movies on dvd very much anyway.

changin'

hormones are powerful drugs. perhaps the most powerful. if they were visible, imagine maybe they colored your skin in bright colors, i'd look like rainbow brite. and todd would be a smurf. or something. he told me that he dreamt of kissing his girlfriend last night, their first kiss. and then today he did. he was nonchalant, but he told me beforehand that he had butterflies when he thought about it.

and me, i'm off the charts today. from irritability that has the boys running for cover to sudden sadness that has me reaching for tissues; from fatigue that has me falling asleep at the wheel to energy surges that have me rearranging all the furniture in the house, three times. i blame the invisible drugs that must be making me insane.

about that rearranging though...i alluded last week to my sweet farewell to comcast cable and today in the middle of church the thought occurred to me that, though i'm keeping my tv for movies, there's no reason for it to be central in the living room and certainly no reason for it to be tethered to its previously designated wall outlets.

so, in between an extensive recipe review and grocery list compilation i broke the monotony by moving the two couches in my living room, an overstuffed chair, an ottoman, a few coffee tables, two game systems, a tv, a book case, lamp, etc, etc into a... mess, quite frankly. i'm not sure the end result, which isn't really the end because i couldn't move some things on my own and so they are in interim positions, is going to be any better than where i started. but what i do know with certainty is that there will not be a television set in any of the central living areas of my home. and for some reason, that feels satisfying.

i filled the glass fronted cabinet that used to hold stereo components with board games. i moved my jigsaw puzzle coffee table to the living room. i moved an overstuffed reading chair to a central place. and once that damn tv is hauled out of here (it's impossibly heavy), i think i may have a new favorite room in my house, the living room.

favorite room relocated, tv sequestered, manic energy expelled. but in the end, it was just an exercise in control i think.

today at church a powerful musician sang bob dylan's Times They Are a Changin'.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand.
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command.
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'.
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a changin'.

this verse captures my weekend in many ways. friday night todd and i had dinner together. we went to an upscale restaurant that doesn't cater to or welcome children, and yet todd was at ease and our dinner conversation was as good, if not better, than what i recall from the last time i was there. suddenly, seemingly overnight, todd has become a pre-teen and it caught me off guard.

in sharp contrast to the connection we shared on friday, todd and i butted heads the rest of the weekend in power struggles. control was the issue. perhaps exacerbated by my hormones, perhaps exacerbated by his; we both were confronted by the fact that we can't control each other.

and so i moved furniture.

todd helped. he lifted the other end of a heavy table and together we carried it downstairs. a demonstration of the dylan verse i heard today and a lesson i'm stubbornly accepting.

d: that i remember to lend a hand while these times are a changin'
b: todd is amazingly mature and has a voice that is to be respected
g: he's also tremendously forgiving

eyes

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.

~marcel proust

the truck's tag holds a 1995 registration sticker.
the mailbox still attached to a post lies on the front porch, mail inside for an at&t shareholder's proxy vote dated june 11, 2003, addressed to miss grace nash.
clothes hang in a closet.
overturned boxes and open cabinet doors fill a dated kitchen.
the small workshop building connected by a pass through is littered with wood working tools, men's leather boots on a shelf, and an incongruous victoria's secret bag buried in the dust.
todd tried the lights and they worked.
through a back window sat a box labeled in cursive, 'christmas dishes'.
a bag of 2003 phonebooks sat by the front door, disintegrating in the plastic.

there are nearly 3 million hits for 'grace nash' on google and yet not one seems to be the grace nash whose deserted house i peered into tonight. but then a search on the address led me to an entry in the national register of historic places for the hudson-nash house and cemetery. it was built by a thomas hudson and there are records on it dating back to 1825. the property was privately held when entered into the registry in 1990. i suspect it is still.

held by whom is the question.

i imagine grace left her house as elderly or sick and expected to come back. but instead her family carefully went through her furniture and placed it in their homes; leaving only a short church pew in one front bedroom. they inventoried grace's kitchen cabinets and took the good silver and china, but left the christmas dishes, after all it was only june. they packed the clothes grace would need immediately, but she didn't have much use for the recent dry cleaning, and it remained. the truck in the driveway, an old soda bottle discarded on the front seat, maybe belonged to her husband who died some years before she left the house, judging by the tags.

or maybe grace was the granddaughter of the nash family, 'miss grace nash'. grandma and grandpa moved to a nursing home and grace moved in. she moved all the boxes of unwanted china and knick knacks to the back room and enjoyed the charm of the old house and especially the benefit of no rent. grace was casual about checking the mail, leaving several days in there at a time. and when her boyfriend came home from a tour in iraq, grace took the time to do some shopping at victoria's secret, but hurriedly tossed the shopping bag in grandpa's workshop to pick up later. in june of '03 an earnings statement arrived from at&t and grace decided to sell those stocks she'd inherited and elope, leaving the proxy ballot and most of her clothing behind.

oh the stories we weave... the hudson-nash house sits on 850 acres. there's a cemetery on the property as well with graves dating back to the early 1800's. some of the unmarked graves hold family slaves, records indicate. there are nine other buildings on the 850 acres, certainly registered to be protected by the encroaching subdivisions on all sides.

i can't quite wrap words around why i stopped today and peered through the windows of this little treasure. i have driven by it for the past 10 years and wanted to though. while i've been loathe to the suburbs in which i live and longing for another address, i have been blind to the history and mystery that's right under my nose.

this reminds me of another mom'ism i've heard all my life. she would tell me 'no matter where you go, there you are.' it's always me when i get there..

miss grace nash so lovingly demonstrated for me today that rather than looking for something new, maybe i should look with something new.

d: new eyes.
b: new thoughts are leading to renewed peace and new patience.
g: new friend: miss grace nash.

jessley

poor narcissus... he scorned echo and then found himself doomed to unrequited love with his own reflection. i find it funny that the woman, er nymph, that he scorned was called echo. a touch of irony there, perhaps.

i've never thought two iotas about narcissus or narcissism until haley asked me if i thought she was. i laughed and reassured her that her ego is all well grounded in truth. but ever since, i can't shake the idea that she and i are narcissistic as hell about us together.

we'll happily wax poetic to any willing audience about our story (even with reenactments if you catch us in the right mood); we'll whip out couple-photos (we each have a sheet of wallets); we'll display saved texts (thank goodness they are unlimited.. i have thousands, literally); we'll itemize the fantastic qualities of each other (and how perfectly we complement the other); we'll compete over who 'knew' first (me)... and i could go on and on.

grimace.

i'm afraid we've become afflicted by narcissus' disorder since we met each other. what does that mean for our future?

consulting my tattered copy of edith hamilton's Mythology.

narcissus, spurning all others, perished at the side of the reflecting pool in love with only himself.

so, i would like to assert that my and haley's couple-narcissism is something in fact to embrace. dismissing all others and celebrating the ways we are better together doesn't sound like a bad way to go.

and for those of you who have to endure us, i apologize in advance for i fear it will only get worse...

d: justified couple-narcissism for all. (ie. love)
b: have you met haley? (i have.)
g: see b

home

it used to be a farmhouse, i think. a white house with a big wrap around porch. two curves on either side of the front door where the house bows out creating large circular nooks just begging for rocking chairs, a glider and a table to set down my lemonade. there's a garage to the right connected by a covered path and four dogwood trees in the front yard blooming with white flowers. the grass is overgrown and an old pick-up truck has been parked in the driveway so long it won't move. i have watched with curiosity to see if the vacancy ever becomes a for sale or rent sign but there's been no sign of life there for at least the past five years. this farmhouse is home.

it's an open contemporary space, with natural light filling the rooms ceiling to floor. the floor and cabinets are all dark cherry, with steel and glass breaking the depth with shine. the space needs 'rooms', but the possibilities are endless. the view from the loft is the atlanta skyline colored in orange and red and white and the soft hum of traffic and the city street noises send energy up in wafts of excitement and buzz. i smell coffee and food and smoke from the balcony and am surrounded by voices of neighbors, known and unknown. this space is home.

it's a 1930's bungalow on a street lined with oak trees and parallel parked cars. it's brazenly painted in bright colors that look a bit uncoordinated, but could be tweaked to perfection. maybe repainting the trim would solve that and certainly a climbing rose and ferns on the shaded porch would do a lot. the hardwood floors creak in certain places and boast signs of furniture and shoes and children. the built in book cases flanking the paned windows are begging to be filled and the sunny kitchen overlooking the lush garden is hungry for a home cooked meal. this bungalow is home.

home is where the heart is.

i look at homes everywhere and imagine my life in them. my heart is splintered in this way. and yet obligated to a home that does not fuel my imagination...

but when i take a closer look at each home my heart desires, i find there are some distinct similarities. each is filled with my boys. each is filled with flowers. each is filled with books. each is filled with my pets. each is filled with beauty. each is filled with life. each is filled with love.

and then i look around at the house i am impatient to sell and realize that it is where my heart is.

for now.

this house is home.

d: a house reflective of the love that fills it. now and next.
b: i have a home to house my heart.
g: the housing market is turning around.

topless

today, i cut my house's fiber optic umbilical cord and opted to be connected soley through the personal number assigned to me and my blackberry. (and while i was at it, i cut off the cable tv. but that's another story, for another time.)

i don't mind though. i never used that phone and my cell is physically attached to me at all times. and logistics aside, i am a big fan of people connecting to people and not places or addresses... it feels more personal to me.

a number of years ago on a saturday night at blakes, i was talking to a friend in the telecom business. telecom was insane then and all of my friends worked in the industry it seemed. he was telling me that in asia, and many other parts of the world, phone numbers are associated with people, rather than places. the us was behind, he said, but eventually we'd get to that point. and of course, he was right.

i guess maybe i was slow to get on the no-home-phone bus, but i'm way ahead of the curve when it comes to personal connection elsewhere. in fact, i've got a world peace hypothesis. i think that if everyone drove a convertible version of their vehicle and had the top down on every weather-permitting day, most places (seattle excluded) would see a happier, friendlier community.

that bastard-red-car-who-cut-me-off would become that woman-who's-in-a-hurry-to-get-home-to-her-dog-who-just-got-spayed-before-she-has-to-meet-her-mom-for-dinner-who's-going-to-freak-out-over-her-tattoo-if-she-doesn't-find-the-right-thing-to-wear-that-covers-it, etc, etc. everybody has a story after all.

it's not something i just made up in my over-active imagination either. i drive a convertible and i consider it my cross to bear that the top is down when the temperature is above 60 and there's no precipitation. even if it's 102, i just suck it up, turn on the a/c, and sweat.

having the top down is widely seen as an invitation for interaction. i've had people next to me in traffic comment on my music, my clothes, my conversation. (and of course my driving) and these are people in hard roofed vehicles - other people in convertibles may as well be in my car with me, they speak so freely.

'how are you doing today? have a long commute?'
'yeah, another hour or so. how 'bout you?'
'just another couple exits for me.'
pull forward 20 yards
'what's the weather forecast for the weekend? you heard yet?'
'oh i think it's going to be in the 70's, mostly sunny tomorrow and saturday. but sunday - it's going to SNOW!'
'no shit?!'

and forget about road rage.. drivers are so much nicer when they see the person behind the wheel, freckles, cowlicks and all. it adds humanity to the automobile experience. imagine spending your commute, in bumper to bumper traffic, without a roof. we could share tunes, jokes, fashion, directions, shopping tips, recipes, advice, phone numbers (!!), and plan carpools.

we'd laugh together, coo over babies, commiserate about our jobs, empathize, help one another... and connect.

person to person. eye to eye. cell phone to cell phone.

d: more convertibles on my commute
b: i connect with people on a daily basis. (i won't say strangers because nobody really is, after all.)
g: my house is disconnected and i am completely connected.

ride

...The seasons they go round and round.

and the painted ponies go up and down.
We're captive on the carousel of time...

(excerpted from The Circle Game by joni mitchell)

as a little girl i loved the 'painted pony song' and remember retrieving the album and begging for it to be played over and over again. a few years ago, as an adult, i bought a joni mitchell cd in a moment of nostalgia but the scratchy, rhythmic sound of the vinyl wasn't there and something about it didn't ring true. i haven't listened to it in years, but inexplicably, i woke up this morning with the melody in my head.

then, in typical jessica-fashion my mind took me to another song. time and seasons and a picture haley sent me last night surely to credit...

In five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes,
how do you measure a year in a life?

How about love?
...
Measure in love
Seasons of love

(excerpted from Seasons of Love, rent)

my favorite spin instructor likes to say, 'energy is contagious!' when we're building momentum and i believe she's right. there is an energy building around me and the momentum is toward love.

on our first date, haley asked me three questions that i jokingly said were bucket list questions. "what have you always wanted to do but you didn't have enough money, balls or the right person?" and when i answered, (over email because i wanted time to think it through), i said:

...with the right person, sure i'd like to travel and all that jazz. but really i guess i'm still a romantic at some level, because i'd like to think that i'd be still. by 'still' i mean, create something deep and lasting. an island in the waves of my piscean ocean..

i believe stillness and carousels are not incompatible. though the ponies rise and fall with the rhythm of life, they remain alongside each other season after season, facing the same direction and reaching for the brass ring together.

while the painted ponies circle in time, i'm ready to be still and enjoy the ride.

d: a season of love for all of my friends.
b: i am still.
g: a painted pony that catches my breath every time i look over.

read

I know nothing with any certainty,
but the sight of the stars makes me dream.

~vincent van gogh

i've found a new favorite thing to do since i've taken up weekend residence on selman street. the neighborhood is a treasure trove for late night strolls under the stars. and it seems like every time haley and i venture out we find something unexpected and delightful.

storefronts from the early 1900's converted to homes and businesses, dog peepholes, bars and restaurants amid the art gardens and lofts, enviable color schemes - and so much more. but the best part of all is looking through the windows into the homes filled with life and personality and.. dreams.

filled with dreams. dreams coming true and dreams being shattered and dreams manifesting.

or maybe that's what i'm doing when i walk down those streets hand in hand with haley. dreaming. it's a specialty of mine and i look at the sky more than i look at the road, looking for shooting stars and full moons.

under the veil of darkness and the light of the stars the houses and yards are mysterious. the soft glow of life is inviting my imagination and the peeling paint, and dust and clutter are hidden in the shadows. thankfully, people only rarely cross the windows, intersecting my dream with their reality.

i'm on their couch with a book. i'm straightening that crooked painting and turning on the lamp. i'm climbing the stairs to the loft and turning down the bed. i'm pouring a glass of wine and chatting on the phone. and then someone shuffles by the window in their bathrobe and i'm on the sidewalk, making conversation about the color of their trim and front door and would the color be too bright in the daylight.

and i know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.

i inventory my dreams and find everything from a sheep farmer in new zealand, to an actress in hollywood, to a veterinarian with a country equine practice, to a florist in paris and then i bump into the corner of my cube wall and bruise my hip. dreams intersecting reality.

i sit down at my desk and turn to my computer screen and start to write. time and office chatter fade away and i'm back on tye street walking past the turtle park, peeking through curtains, laughing, and dreaming.

i''ve been writing for as long as i can remember. i have thousands of pages of notebooks filled with stories of my life. stories of my dreams. and a dream of being read.

dreams do come true.

d: shooting stars and full moons.
b: in my dreams i manifested my reality.
g: you, my reader.

shrug

Just because she said it, doesn't make it true.

~jeanne miller

i was first told this by my mom during a teary phone call, after a fight with my girlfriend. it ranks right up there as one of the most quotable and impactful things my mom ever said to me. it went hand in hand with the best answer to any insult, criticism or disagreement ever: 'you might be right.'

(or might not be.)

words have so much power - power to heal, power to inflict pain; power to inspire, power to discourage; power to uplift, power to degrade; power to love, power to reject; power to encourage, power to delay; power to comfort, power to abandon...

and yet, i know they have only as much power as i give them. they are only letters strung together, words strung together, sentences strung together until i apply meaning and believe it.

i find it so easy to get caught up on the issue of literal word choice. the backspace button is my favorite on the keyboard and i only write in pencil, so that i can easily erase. what i lack in punctuation, i apply to my obsession with finding the perfect wording.

and that works fine for writing, but the filter is less discriminating in conversation. in fact, i'll admit i don't have much of a filter. i find myself drawn to others with the same candor and rawness because it's something i admire and appreciate. but this has put me on the phone with mom in tears over others' words, more times than i can count. and the refrain has always been the same.

just because they said it, doesn't make it true.

and then somewhere between semantics and shrug, i learned compassion. i learned that the intention is more important than the words. i learned that pain inflicted usually means pain felt. i learned that words spoken in love will be received in love. i learned that speaking my truth is always the right thing to do, even if my truth is wrong.

and i've learned that when i hear 'you might be right' it really means i'm probably not.

d: to teach this to my boys
b: hurtful words are powerless over me. i choose that.
g: my mom

thorned

What's in a name? That which we call a rose
by any other name would smell as sweet...

(excerpted from Romeo and Juliet by william shakespeare)

a number of years ago, for mother's day, i decided to buy myself roses, rose bushes that is. my house was still fairly new and there was a sunny side of the house just begging for shrubs. i chose a hedge rose that would fill in and provide sprays of blooms to support my arranging habit. i planted five young roses and left them largely to their own devices.

the side of the house they were on is one that i don't see often, but when the meter reader or the cable guy came i'd be forced to take a critical look at them as they fought back the thorns. somehow, although these roses hadn't bloomed with much vigor at all, they had still multiplied and produced long spindly branches of saber tooth resembling thorns.

i'd look at the bushes with a bit of disdain and then set that emotion aside in favor of hope. i felt certain that eventually they would produce flowers and all my dreams of a wall of color and fragrance would be realized. and so i'd accept the scratches; wear long pants and sleeves, protecting myself the best i could; and wait patiently.

today i did the only thing i loathe about spring. i closed the windows and turned on the a/c. but then - nothing happened. the downstairs unit did not come on when i asked it to. so i marched out to the air conditioning units on the sunny side of the house imagining something as simple as an unplugged cord or a big arrow pointing out the problem.

unfortunately, the a/c unit that wasn't working was encased in a wall of thorny shrubbery. pruners in hand, i decided there was no better time than the present to free it from its chains. (still hopeful the briars were perhaps the culprit, if i'm being honest.) as i pulled out vine after vine of spiked greenery, i noticed that my rose bushes were buried under thorned weeds. razor sharp thorned weeds.

my hands bleeding in several places it occurred to me that the sunny side of the house parallelled my past relationships in a way. the roses i'd planted around my utilities were a relatively unthorned variety. a little sticky on the stems, but rather benign compared to the weeds that were dangerously armed with small daggers.

all this time, i'd been rolling down my sleeves and wearing gloves to protect myself from the weeds. and waiting for roses from the wrong plants.

d: roses, freed of the suffocating vines, to bloom and thrive
b: the yard looks great! mowed, weeded, ready for planting!
g: a love of flowers and gardening given to me by my mom...

tiara

Become a hero made of ordinary marrow and extraordinary heart.

~kate richey

i love the classic hero story. the archetype of a character that faces danger and adversity, or one who comes from behind, to triumph is appealing to me. perhaps it is because i relate to the former and strive for the latter.

*hands on my hips*
i want to be a hero!

but how would i stack up as a hero? i wonder...

a hero displays great courage and integrity.
i'm afraid of very little, snakes and spiders aside. i am moral and upright, right?

a hero is a guardian and a protector.
caretaker is my middle name. jessica caretaker pengelly. has a nice ring to it. that's sort of guardian-like, i think.

a hero sacrifices self for the greater good.
i've always called this 'martyr'. shrug. do the broken count as 'greater good'?

but then, to really meet the qualifications i read that a hero must depart on a quest, be challenged or tested by an adversary, and marry a princess.

hmm.

haley told me this week that her name means 'hero'.

maybe it's better that way... after all, the princess gets to wear the tiara.

*curtsey*

d: a thorough castle cleaning for mother's day.
b: i have just the right outfit for the tiara... bustier to petticoat.
g: a hero with extraordinary heart, opened to me.

savage

You said, 'I love you.'
Why is it that the most unoriginal thing we can say to one
another is still the thing we long to hear? 'I love you' is always a quotation.
You did not say it first and neither did I, yet when you say it
and when I say it we speak like savages who have found three words
and worship them.

(excerpted from Written on the Body by jeanette winterson)

i recently discovered that there is something very special about the time in a relationship before the i-love-you is exchanged. there's the uncertainty and anticipation, of course; but even more than that...

i'm speaking of the window in the relationship where you detect the slippery slope and in an effort to hold your footing, you haven't said the words yet. and what i treasure about that thimble of time is the care and creativity that you have to put into your language.

it's a dance.

a tango, sometimes. a sensual expression of emotion through heat and sexuality and flirtation. or maybe it's a waltz. a carefully coordinated interplay of tenderness and care in your words. and then sometimes, it's more like a booty-shaking dance club. the emotions firing like strobe lights and heart beating like a bass line and words flowing like liquor but making little sense.

dancing in words. right up to the edge of the slippery slope and then pulling back.

and then over the edge. beautifully choreographed in my mind, but more like a stumble and fall, in reality.

a kiss on her forehead.
overwhelmed.
'i love you, i think.'

and here on the other side of the three words, i still trip over my feet and thoughts to express my emotions. at a loss for words all the time. today i used 'amaze' twice in 160 characters without even noticing. creativity clearly lacking.

but...i love words. the way they look on paper. on the screen. the shapes of the letters and the space in between them. the feel of the letters joining naturally. the flashing cursor waiting for the perfect word. the sharpened pencil poised to draw the next syllable. all of it, i love. just the other day i was challenged to choose my favorite words in one of those facebook notes and i laughed and declined the challenge.

i am quite challenged enough with words elsewhere...the savage that i am.

d: the right words.
b: i have a dictionary. and i use it.
g: the challenge.

body

mind, body and soul: we are one. i know this both intellectually and intuitively. i've lived it.

i'm not a worrier. i think this goes back to my fantastic self - in my fantasy i just don't believe anything bad will happen to me. and when other people in my life worry, i'm the first to laugh it off with, '...or you could go down for chinese and not make it back up.' the first few times they hear it, they look at me at though i have tourettes and then eventually they put it all together and i get a scowl. which i shrug off.

i went downstairs for chinese food on june 24th, 2007 and came back upstairs to a near fatal medical event. near fatal. it didn't register that way for me. it took months before i understood that fact. and when i finally accepted it, i celebrated the recognition with changing my lifestyle. obsessed, in fact, with health and nutrition and fitness.

and as my body became stronger, so did my mind and my spirit. by the end of last summer, i had reached a fitness level i'd never seen and felt healthier than i'd ever been in my life. my job was cruising. i was happy, healthy and peaceful - and it's hard to discern where one ended and the next began.

now i feel a long way away from that place physically.

mind, body and soul: we are one. i'm only as strong as the weakest of those.

in this moment of my life, i take inventory. i find my soul is soaring: connecting, intuiting, loving. i find my mind at a turning point: professional change imminent, creativity surging, inspired. and my body is the thing out of balance.

and though i'm not a huge fan of balance - i blame it on my obsessive nature - i am a fan of strength.

i am alive.
i am strong.
i will balance.

d: prioritize the body.
b: mind is at a turning point...
g: soul is soaring!

ink

about five or six years ago my company had this big picnic on the lawn. it was before we'd divested the other brands, so there were a lot of people there. a couple hundred maybe? they hired an event planner to throw this picnic for us and it had all sorts of games and activities, sort of like a fair.

the most interesting thing, in fact the only thing i remember distinctly at all, about the event was that there were 3 psychics brought in to read our cards or palms or the psychic-for-dummies book under the table.

i'd never been to a psychic before, but was one of the first in line because i'm a believer and hey, it was free. and of course, just one wasn't enough. i worked my way down the row of tents to all three. the first two that i met were very generic.. saying basically the same thing to every person from what we could tell and asking lots of probing questions to hit on some nugget of truth.

and then i sat down with a girl who clearly had a gift. she didn't ask me any more than my name and to choose my cards. and then she started talking about me. and said things nobody else there knew about me and what was going on in my life.

at the time, i was working my way through a little custody issue and unsure of what my next step should be. i was told by this intuitive that many people were going to come to my defense in a legal matter and that it would all resolve in my favor. that was all true.

there were a number of other things she said that resonated true and came to pass. i asked her for her name and number, but she couldn't give them out. some contract stipulation with the event planner.

i've been on a fruitless quest for another true psychic since then...but it doesn't change my opinion on that experience or hope for another of its kind.

this story comes to mind because i've asked some people to vouch for me again regarding my job situation. a couple of them offered on their own and some of them i tentatively asked. all have been generously willing and it's touched and validated me and given me hope.

and then in the ping-pong table of my mind, my search for another intuitive with a clear vision also reminds me of love. i have a friend who said to me once 'jess, in the story of your life, love is the ink that never dries.'

my past loves have paralleled my psychic-for-dummies experiences.. well intentioned, but off-the-mark.. appearances of connection, but unable to go deep...fun and entertaining, but nothing to hold on to when the curtain swings shut..

but a hope for the real thing running through.. a promise to be fulfilled, in an ink that's drying as we speak.

d: the real thing
b: five people are writing me recommendations for the new role i'm claiming! (and maybe a 6th)
g: red doors, honeysuckle on the fence, and turtlehenge under moonlight.

vanilla

Your love is better than ice cream.
Better than anything else that I've tried...

~Ice Cream by sarah mclachlan

ice cream should be a major food group, in my opinion. i have loved it for as long as i can remember and for years a bowl or a cone of ice cream was a staple in my evening routine. when i was a teenager, i had a part-time job at baskin robbins. i was an assistant manager there, in fact, and could rattle off the 31 plus flavors in my sleep.

i was always intrigued most by the customer who would come in and order a single scoop of vanilla ice cream. this customer would come in alone, walk straight to the register, and place their order. no deliberation, no ambivalence. this customer was a yoga practitioner before it was in vogue, lived on a sailboat, taught art, drove a classic mg convertible... or so i imagined.

there weren't many of these customers. most people were drawn to one of the flavors with nuts or chocolate or caramel or swirls. the vanilla afficionado stood out among the crowd as a person that appreciated the simple pleasure of ice cream. and i imagined, of life in general.

personally, i loved chocolate. gold medal ribbon, peanut butter and chocolate, chocolate almond - just to name a few. but i admired the vanilla lovers and imagined that one day i'd grow up to be one.

and i have. i star gaze and i sky gaze and i love to arrange flowers and i love to read a good novel. i like a nice breeze and a loud storm. i love the smell of grass and autumn and lilies and wisteria and honeysuckle. i talk to my cats. i talk to the wind. i sing off-key to my car stereo. i cry at luke's baseball games. i curl my hair with my fingers. i have 9 pillows on my bed. i love the simplest things. and i love ice cream.

even vanilla.

when i moved to atlanta about 11 years ago, i discovered bruster's. though i hate to admit it, they top baskin robbins. they make their ice cream fresh daily and it's so creamy it makes my mouth water to think of it.

but perhaps my favorite thing about bruster's is that even flavors such as pistachio and birthday cake start with a vanilla base.

vanilla can take you anywhere.

d: pain, pain go away. especially in my hips.
b: simple beauties do not go unnoticed by me.
g: vanilla took me to birthday cake, which i never thought i'd like...and now i can't get enough.

curtains

when i was in college i went on a three week wilderness trip, 'discovery' they called it. there were 14 of us in my group. really too many for a good small group dynamic, but not quite enough to be split into two groups. at any rate, before we left we all weighed our backpacks for bragging rights. those went both directions, by the way - lightest and heaviest. most of our packs were right around 50 lbs, which was heavy enough thank you very much.

but chris' pack weighed in at 65 lbs. we said, 'what the hell do you have in there?!' and he just laughed at our ridicule and said something about clothes. three weeks in the wilderness. no showers. only creeks to bathe in. and 13 of us wore the same two or three things for all 21 days. but chris wore a clean shirt, socks and underwear every day. he was teased mercilessly, but truth be told, we were all a little jealous. ok, maybe a lot jealous. his reply was always, 'all that matters is that you look guuuuud.'

note: for the full effect, you have to try to imagine his dialect. good was about 3 seconds long. the emphasis in the sentence falling heavily on that word.

me: 'we've hiked how far in the wrong direction?! are you kidding me?'
chris: 'all that matters is that you look good'

me: 'all we have to eat tonight is potatoes? are you kidding me?'
chris: 'all that matters is that you look good'

me: 'we're sleeping on this rocky shore tonight? are you kidding me?'
chris: 'all that matters is that you look good'

eventually we all joined in his mantra. humor in the face of adversity is a good strategy, we learned. although, when the rest of us said it we were cringing at the irony of our own filth and when chris said it he was gloating in his perfectly matched, impeccably clean, and downy-smelling clean clothes.

i didn't discover as much as i'd hoped on my discovery trip. i spent most of the time wishing i were somewhere else, rather than appreciating the opportunity. however, in the theater of my life, i did take one lesson away: costumes do matter.

it was a few years ago that i really got the bug though, the shopping and costuming bug. i've always liked to create scenes in my life. i don't mean in a dramatic, throw a hissy fit type of way. but scenes that i can store as memories, visual memories. and one time on a photo shoot for work, i really fell in love with the magic of pulling wardrobes together in a spontaneous and creative way. i was suddenly jealous of the wardrobe girl. my own closet hasn't been the same since.

wardrobe is an integral part of my theater. one week at work i was so displeased with the situation, that i intentionally put together 5 all-black outfits as a personal statement. i'm sure nobody noticed, but i knew.

today i went to the mall to purchase the missing item i searched high and low for last night. i had the perfect outfit in mind and just one little thing was missing. should be easy in, easy out. i knew right where it was in the store. but it didn't quite go like that.

yes, that item was there. yes, i bought it. but, i passed all these other delicious things on the way.. and then next thing you know the scene i had played in my head was being rewritten in blues, rather than sequins. and soft, rather than satin. and then my hair was going to be different. and my makeup was going to be different. and everything about the night i was shopping for would have to be different. and was that really the costume i wanted to wear? and the character i wanted to play?

and then i heard chris in my head, 'all that matters is that you look guuuud.'

now i'm waiting for the curtains to open. hair: check. makeup: check. costume: check.

d: music. the right music. that's still missing.
b: free gift with purchase!
g: a discovery on discovery that wasn't in the brochure.

messica

tonight i spent a good hour or so in my closet hanging up clothes, shuffling through stacks of 'folded' clothes, and searching for a missing garment. i found seven shoeboxes that needed stacking (in case the boys need one for a school project, right?), about a dozen dry-cleaner hangers still encased in their plastic gowns, a few boxes from mail-order christmas presents so well hidden they are there years beyond the emptying, two duvet covers waiting to go to the dry cleaner.. and yet, no sign of what i was looking for.

when haley and i first were getting to know each other, we asked a lot of 'put yourself on a scale from 1-10' type questions. one of them was messy to neat. (1: messy, 10: neat) i think i gave myself a 6. haley gave herself a 4, if i remember right. i told her i tend to keep things fairly neat on the surface, but then you open the drawers, cabinets, closets, look under the bed - and woah - i start losing points fast.

this weekend, staying at her and mel's new house, it was a bit like being in a demolition yard. between the construction debris and clutter from being only half moved in and less unpacked - barefoot is unwise and even with shoes, landmines everywhere.

so imagine my surprise when mel starts calling ME messy. 'big messica', she said. i could do without the 'big' i replied. i remember mom used to call me 'messy jessie' when i was a kid. maybe i was optimistic when i gave myself a 6?

saturday night dinner story: married couple, together over 20 years. the woman is asked why the marriage turned around after a rocky 10 years or so. and she replied, 'i love about 80% of my husband's traits.. and dislike 20%. the first 10 years i was focused on the 20, and when i started focusing on the 80, everything changed.' i can't remember if angie said this was someone she knew, or if it's just a story that she'd heard, but it resonated with me.

80/20. 20/80.

people are messy. some of it out on the counter and some of it in the closet. being in a new relationship, i start to wonder when the balancing act in the cupboard will give way and the door crack open. mine and hers. we won't live in the fantasy of perfection forever, i know.

but then i hear a story of '80/20' from a couple that's looked under the bed and into the crawl spaces and i am reminded that the simple truth prevails: you find what you are looking for. should it be fault, you'll find it. should it be beauty, you'll find it. should it be humor, should it be honesty, should it be integrity, should it be respect, should it be love... you'll find it.

i choose the 80, should it ever drop that low. i choose the 80.

d: throw open the cupboard doors
b: todd has a real writing talent. i'd like to think he gets some of it from me.
g: the sun was out all weekend. despite the precipitation.

twinkle

it's funny, a year ago i didn't know a single twin. and now, i'm friends with 4. and that's not two pairs either. it's 3 different sets of identical twin women. haley says i've been twinvaded. bring 'em on, i say.

i didn't really grow up with any siblings, so to say i have no point of reference is an understatement. of course, like most everyone, i wished for a twin when i was a kid. maybe only's wish for that more. then when i was pregnant, i was just crazy enough to hope for twins. (my two single births are certainly an example of god giving us just what we can handle, and no more.) but since then, i'd never really thought much about twins and didn't know what to expect when i was twinvaded.

when i first met mel, i thought she may be certifiably insane and the thought crossed my mind, 'if she's crazy.. then so is haley.. and i just haven't seen it yet.' as it turned out, she was just drunk. and so was haley. go figure.

the ways they are similar constantly surprise me because most of the time i have to remind myself they are 'identical.' in every external way, they look different to me. their mannerisms and expression and intonation - all very different. and then, in subtle ways i see parallels. and i'm reminded i'm in love with half of a pair, half of a pair that is inexplicably linked.

and that is how i see the twin factor. even more than a genetic match, it feels to me like a genetic continuum. as though there were so many amazing qualities and talents as to not be contained within one person, and so god had to create two. and the ones that overflow into haley alone are what make her unique and individual and... amazing. and the ones that are shared are what make her and mel close beyond belief.

and i love this about her.

i imagine that it's because she is a twin, she's so able to connect. i imagine it's because she's a twin, she's so intuitive. i imagine it's because she's a twin, she's such a communicator and a caretaker and a partner...

and those qualities, i treasure in her.

i think it's no coincidence that the word twinkle is rooted in twin. you only have to see me around the twin i love to understand why.

d: key lime pie from 6 feet under
b: full night of sleep + a nap + a workout!
g: a twin that's more than doubled the joy in my life

rain

The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears.
~native american proverb

as i drove home tonight with the top down i looked up at the sky wondering. there was lightning in the distance. it looked like heat lightning, but it's not summer yet. the temperature was perfect actually. moon visible with just a few wisps of clouds hanging there.

sitting on the couch, paying bills. a breeze came through the window.

rain. that delicious smell of rain.

when it hits me, ironically i don't think of closing windows, but instead of opening them. i want to soak up as much of the rain smell as possible. sometimes i even go out in it. getting rained on is one of my favorite things.

when i first got my car, i quickly learned that if i maintain a good clip, i can drive in a fairly heavy rain with the top down, and remain dry. i can maneuver like mario andretti to avoid slowing or stopping. really, i can.

and so it is with the rain in my life too. i cried a small monsoon of tears last night over my job. and when i woke up this morning, slightly puffy-eyed, the skies were clear. i took a little inventory. slightly tired, didn't sleep well. faint memories of a strange dream.

deeper than that - no fear. a bit of nervous anticipation. a bit of excitement. a bit of enthusiasm. wait, it's a work day. but still. i am liberated.

i will not sit in the rain, i will drive on. i will keep a good clip. i will get rained on and remain whole.

a rainbow is starting to appear.

i don't know where the rainbow will take me. i don't know what the pot of gold at the other end will look like. all i know is that it's there. as surely as i invited and claimed this change, i am claiming that.

and so, i love the rain. i invite the rain to pour down. and when the sun comes out, there will be a rainbow. i know it.

d: a weekend of sunshine
b: a letter i wrote feels like it will matter
g: liberation