tailor

sometimes i am haunted by songs... this is one of those times.  and one of those songs.   and it's so beautiful, i don't mind a bit.  

d:  her album.  stat.  

b:  no hesitation, i'm downloading it. 

g:  lyrics that haunt me. 

contrast

i read a news article today with a surprisingly astute admonishment and it got me thinking...  the statement followed a woody allen quote as a total non-sequitur and i paused a solid thirty seconds trying to marry the two passages with the topic of the article.  by the time i determined the allen quote was the one to be discarded, the other, somewhat obvious, reminder had resonated with me.  

...In life, what matters most isn't how a decision compares to your ideal outcome.  It's how it compares to the alternative at hand.  

i think the reason it struck me is because i so often get stuck in that cycle.  the one in which i'm contemplating my options versus an ideal that i have created entirely in fantasy, complete with bells and whistles and dancing monkeys too.  as if my choice is this or that, with the that being something i had hoped for and fully believed possible, oftentimes despite reality.   but perhaps what i should really be considering is this or not this.  

and though i feel myself bristle at the idea of not this and observe the adrenaline of oh no! then what? rise within me, i am pushing back on that reaction.  or perhaps, pushing through.  i am choosing to honor then what?  as an invitation to possibility.  and in fact, it is the only position in which i could be open to possibility.

some spiritual teachers refer to the not this as contrast.  i like that.  contrast strikes a positive chord within me as it is defining, rather than limiting.  it is clarity, rather than ambiguity.  it reassures me rather than scaring the shit out of me.

contrast.  not this.  possibility.
yes.

d:  possibilities beyond my wildest dreams
b:  not this teeth and claws removed, welcome mat laid down instead
g:  a poor editorial decision that stopped me in my tracks

solid

my boys are about to have birthdays.  one will be sixteen and the other eighteen.   this summer i've ping-ponged between their two vastly divergent lives and interests, much like the last (nearly) two decades of my life.  the dual extremism of their personalities and pursuits has stimulated me, as much as challenged; and i wonder and fear for the loss of that dynamic tension when todd leaves for college.   though my nest won't be empty, it will be unbalanced and i anticipate that with curiosity.  

i am beginning now to develop a vision for my new nest.  imagining how i will feather it fully, bringing the laughter and energy from shared passions with todd to my home without him.   one of my friends, also the parent of a rising high school senior, remarks that she had a life before kids and looks forward to revisiting many of those pursuits.  that's not me though. 

while clearly i lived before i had children, i had no adult life prior to their birth.  i was in college, young, working part-time, broke, floundering.  i had lost my sense of direction, and somewhat blindly wandered from one thing to another, hoping to gain clarity.  i didn't plan to have a baby at twenty-three, but when i learned i was pregnant, i clung to the mission of motherhood as if a life-preserver.  i took pregnancy very seriously, charting my daily servings of vegetables and dairy and tracking every developmental milestone; utterly mystified and obsessed with the miracle of life.  

my interests have always ebbed and flowed, one into the next, meandering alongside and in tandem with the boys'. acquiring many skills and passions and leaving many along the path as well.   so i have no clear picture of my empty-nest life, but my vision is full nonetheless, of curiosity and creativity..and more to come.  

as my boys become young men, they are each quite spectacular in their own ways.  each driven and motivated to their goals, respectful of adults, desiring to make a difference in the world, and both very loyal and loving to me.  in their own unique ways, of course.  

and i can't really emphasize the latter point strongly enough.  where todd wants to serve in the peace corps after college, become a civil rights activist, and currently spends his free time in the summer volunteering at the civil rights museum and debate camp; luke is single-mindedly focused on admission to the air force academy and a career in special forces, serving in the most selective and respected SF unit, dedicated to rescue and evacuation of other special forces troops.  his summer has consisted of multiple leadership camps through jrotc and rifle team practice, interspersed with circuit training.   yes, indeed they are polar opposites one to the other.  

but then, when i really take the time to observe, i recognize one common ground below the three of us.  and it is solid.  underneath our vastly different approaches to life and the paths before us, there is something strong supporting us.  i contend it is love.  

d:  continued solid ground beneath our feet.

b:  my boys are pretty amazing.  it can't all be coincidence. 

g:  the privilege of loving them and being loved by them.  it is my bedrock.  

aligned

today on my way to work, i said to a friend, i really don't have time to work if i want to do all the things i love.  for some reason, that was funny to the other person, though i meant it with sincerity and earnestness.   

i think most of the time, i hear the reverse, there's no time for the things i love to do.  and i've certainly misspoken and said that myself on occasion.  but i am here today to say, emphatically, my heart aligns with the former declaration, rather than the latter. 

one of my best friends and i have discussed this notion that 'working', as in having a job, is a criteria that she evaluates people on.  the conversation started after she met someone who taken an early retirement and it made my friend suspicious.  in contrast, i found it fascinating and admirable.  when i said to her, if i didn't have to, i wouldn't work either; she was appalled.  and i laughed.  

there are so many things i love to do.. and i give the best and bulk of my day to my job.  i find it ludicrous and incredibly disappointing that a certain presidential candidate publicly stated that americans need to work more hours.. history and an astute study of the rest of the developed nations would prove quite the opposite.  

but i digress... my point was simply this:  while i love my job (most days), i love many more things, much more.  one day, my time allocation will reflect that.  i am certain.  meanwhile, i will dedicate quality time in the place of quantity time to the things that make me happiest.  

like making ice cream. 

d:  mocha chocolate chip, yum

b:  aligned with happiness

g:  sharing ice cream with mom, soon.  very soon. 

riddled

not long ago i wrote here wishing i operated this blog anonymously.  that i didn't have to be quite so vulnerable or specifically that my vulnerability didn't have to reach as far as my friends and family.  (hence not very vulnerable at all.  that point was lost on me.) but the reality is that my wish for anonymity was sort of tongue-in-cheek because if it weren't for my own sharing of my writings, via facebook or otherwise, nobody would ever know. 

this week as i've written a few times and shared none of them with my social networks, i keep thinking of the age old philosophical question: 

If a tree falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound?

i once was in a forest and heard a tree fall.  it was terrifying.  every time that question runs through my head, i remember the crack and crash as if it just happened.  my immediate response when posed that question is 'of course.'  but then when i really started to consider it (and research it, to be totally honest...because that's what i do)  i've learned that's not the 'correct' answer.  

according the 1883 magazine, The Chautauquan, and later supported by Scientific American, sound is technically vibration of air and only recognized as sound by our ears.. hence, no ears, no sound.   i attest that's a semantic conclusion and i would make a case that if sound is vibration and vibration still occurs, the sound is there regardless of whether it's heard.  but so be it.  i won't be the one to solve that riddle.  not today at least.

but when it comes to my writing.. i am happy to report that whether i'm read or not read, whether i'm known or anonymous, the words are still here; preserved, so to speak, in pixelated cyber-ink.  and perhaps without the bugler's proclamation of a new posting, those who do find their way here will know the words they stumbled upon were meant for them.  

d:  stumblings-upon
b:  writing for me instead of you
g:  synchronistic logistics

dread

maybe it's just me, but when i see the word Greetings! i expect something good to follow.  perhaps a holiday message or an invitation or a notice that i've won an unexpected jackpot.  i can think of a few other appropriate situations, but even when i stretch and reach for the third tier of most-likely-memos-to-follow, jury summons doesn't make the list. 

sigh

i am tortured by this single piece of paper.  it has evoked an emotional response that doesn't normally follow a cheerful greeting.   

i have no qualms at all about my civic duty in principle and in fact, being a mystery-loving, puzzle-solving, obsessive-researcher i've always been innately curious about what transpires behind a jury's guarded door.   so why, you may wonder, was i overcome with apprehension and dread when luke handed me the Greetings! last night...

almost two years ago exactly i received another jury summons. it was from fulton county, rather than dekalb, and decidedly less enthusiastic in the conveyance of my obligation.  i made up for their lack of cheer with my excited anticipation.  

it was early summer after todd's freshman year and he accompanied me to court, to observe our justice system in action.  [note:  i'm using the word 'action' loosely, as the jury selection process is about as action-packed as one of those algae eating snails on the side of an aquarium.]

i served on a criminal jury for a week that june, hearing a case against a young man charged with 11 felony counts, including murder, aggravated assault (ran over a person with a car, twice) and kidnapping.  we sat through hours of expert witness testimony on blood spatter,  saw an incarcerated witness flip sides mid-testimony,  heard from prostitutes and drug dealers, and studied maps of streets and businesses that i'd driven by dozens of times... in short, it was everything my patricia cornwell and john grisham filled head could have imagined for a riveting juror experience.  

except for one thing.. in the end, i had three pages of questions. unanswered questions.  and the answers simply didn't exist in the cases we were presented.  it also turned out that the attorneys didn't have scripts. they flubbed their lines and were at times inarticulate or ineffective in making their points clear.  after all, a jury 'of your peers' may need it spelled out quite simply...(well, that's another story altogether.)

but i think it can be summed up in one tragic revelation: there are no tidy bows in real life criminal court.  verdicts are messy.  there are loose ends.  there are unanswered questions.  there is evidence untested or even uncollected. and every person in the courtroom, aside from the defendant and the jurors, are quite simply at work.  and just like me, they have good days and bad days, they forget things and screw up.  they are distracted by their personal lives at times and they are pushed and pulled by their bosses at others.  just like at my office, there's a range of acceptable performance and people fall at both ends of the spectrum.  

and the jury room is no better. there is no magic behind the heavy door. there are just people, also distracted by their kids and jobs and grocery list and that defense attorney looks like this guy i know and that prosecutor was too loud and the forensic analyst was boring me to tears so i drew a grid on my notepad.   and..and...

i was wrecked by my jury experience.  

i couldn't sleep.  

i poured over my notes, well after the trial ended.  

i saw the car from the crime everywhere (really, they were everywhere suddenly).  

i drove the streets from the maps and then i avoided them too.  

i was wracked with guilt for not standing my ground or being more clear.  

it was like a song stuck in my head,  but it felt more like morning sickness.  continual nausea on the verge of much worse. 

a week later, i called the judge's office and left a message.  he called me back the same day.  reassured me.  gave me more background and context on the case.  thanked me for my service and told me to put it behind me.  

and i did, though i still have all my notes from the trial in my work bag.  i see them daily and am momentarily reminded of our individual human-ness. inherently imperfect.  and in those imperfect, human hands, we hold each other:  lives and hearts.  

so, back to the issue at hand..  my Greetings! from dekalb county courthouse.  i called and rescheduled, first thing, as i have travel already booked for the following several days.  the court clerk i spoke to advised me on tips to get out of serving altogether, but i simply thanked her and said i'd just like to reschedule instead.  

i have a pit in my stomach about it.  i am praying for a civil case or a corporate litigation or simply a day wasted in the jury pool holding room.  but no matter, i'll be there, with much less curiosity and much lower expectations.  and should i wind up on a jury that is sent to deliberation without a final chapter in the book, with great heaviness i will take what pieces i'm given and do my best.  

d:  please not a murder, please 

b:  rescheduled, rather than evaded

g:  at least it's been two years

drowning

i grew up at the beach.. playing in tidal pools and thrilled with the discovery of a sandbar underfoot.  but where i found my greatest delight, in these jessica-sized oceans, i also had the saddest moments.  sometimes i found fish trapped in there... as a child, i imagined that they were relieved to be protected from the predators and dangers of the tremendous sea, but soon it was apparent to me (and them) that these perceived refuges were instead likely to be their demise. 

the fish trapped in these pools would sometimes fling themselves up on the sand trying to get back to the ocean.  there, they would flail about, hoping to be overtaken by the fury and power of a wave that would sweep them ironically to safety.  but, generally, that didn't work.  they would thrash about on the sand and eventually fall back into the tidal pool.  their suffocation temporarily stayed.  

as the tide recedes, tidal pools both warm and shrink.  these fish realize (or so i imagined) their slice of peaceful respite was not all they hoped.  the need for a larger body of water, the security and stability of open sea, the refreshing temperature brought by ever flowing currents - these once feared elements were desperately needed by the fish, in order to merely survive.  

over and over the fish fling themselves toward the sound of the surf in hopes that this time the foamy waves would be within reach.  but time and again, the fish fall exhausted back into the once refreshing, then tepid, and now dangerously toxic tidal puddle.  the oxygen depleted from the still water, the temperature hot to the touch, a stench would rise off these pools as all life died there.  

there's a place in my world too, in which i've dreamed of sanctuary and escape.  a place i imagined myself enveloped in a depth unlike most others and seemingly idyllic.  a place i could be submerged without drowning and yet held buoyant by the life swirling around me.

much like a tidal pool it has dwindled to a salty, scalding cesspool and i find myself flopping about on the sand, praying for a wave.  but instead drowning on dry land.  

d:  tidal wave

b:  master of the metaphor

g:  experienced breath-holder