Sarcomical

What I Got

"I am afraid to show you who I really am, because if I show you who I really am, you might not like it--and that's all I got."
—Sabrina Ward Harrison (Spilling Open: The Art of Becoming Yourself)

I'm trying to decide if I still ever feel this way...

I like to think that, as I am approaching a birthday very many women do not like (35), I have grown into myself. Sure, that would be nice.

At the very least I think I've evolved, in my already-established relationships, to a level of genuineness and comfort - not comfort with THEM, but comfort with ME. As in, not trying to put on a performance in order to impress and be liked, not exerting energy toward judgment ("I can't believe she thinks that is normal!"), refusing to nurse negative-energy relationships and not being afraid to be a little imperfect.

But really, those things don't cover the SHOWING YOU WHO I REALLY AM idea, do they?

I am not generally, in real life, a spiller. I won't sit down with you over tea and share my latest emotional struggle, tell you about the last fight the Mister and I had (that started over english muffins), or confide my Dark Day moments to you. See, a long time ago, I sort of was that person. I was younger and thought of that as connection and was eager for advice. But along the way, I began to realize that some people love to feed off the drama of your life for reasons that are not altogether altruistic or helpful. I also started to see how hasty I was by letting all of Myself out like laundry on the line, when it actually feels good to hold some of you close and warm, tumbling in the privacy of your soul as you grow with each moment survived and learned from. Not Every One needs to know Every Thing.

I suppose in this way, there are things I do hold back...but I'm not sure that means I'm holding back who I am from the people I care about. I like to think of it as working on learning to cultivate peace and balance in my life and trying to make that what I put out more than the opposite. No, I'm not all Zen-Master of Om with friends; I still toss out a wry comment here or a sarcastic wisecrack there and DO I EVER ENJOY IT, but as far as personal drama and hardship? I'd much rather be there to support you in yours than talk about mine.

Honestly, probably the thing I show others the very least is the fact that I am still figuring out WHO this person is. I've still got some questions about mySELF, questions that have gone unanswered for too long because of a muddled youth or a clouded mind or a traumatized spirit or a timid heart or any number of other culprits that basically boil down to ME. There is no one else who can clear this up, and that's been my journey for the past couple of years - well, almost 35 of them, I guess.

Showing that I don't have this self figured out completely yet...that is probably what I don't show most of all.

easing, easing...

Sparse...Our backyard, a sheet of ice the neighbor kids skated across during the recent winter blast which turned us into a HouseSicle for two weeks.

I know, that is what my space here has been for quite some time. I don't feel guilty about that, because in case you don't believe the rumor, pulling away from Internet Land can be quite a soul-nourishing experience! Kind of like a dip in a calm pool or a breath drawn in a forest. Seriously, not caring a wit about whether or not the world knows what is happening in your life is more fun than you may remember. You know, back in the Sad, Slow, Tweetless, Blogless, Pen and Paper, Crack-Open-an-Encyclopedia, Dark, Scary World. (And if you are too young to have had to ever open up a QRS encyclopedia to do research on quails or Russia or supernovas for class, I'm going to pretend for this brief moment that people your age do not yet exist to keep my brain from exploding and also ARE YOUR PARENTS MONITORING YOUR INTERNET USAGE, YOUNG'IN? Also, damn, damn, damn. So old I am feeling. So...so old.)

The thing is, I soooo love my sweet, funny, moving, intelligent, creative, inspiring friends across the InterSphere that staying connected is still important. Through virtual land I've met several of my real-life lovelies who I get to SEE and TOUCH and LAUGH WITH and SOAK IN just in the past year or two alone. Not to mention the many I admire and get wrapped up in sometimes from afar, feeling incredibly connected to people I am pretty certain don't have any idea I am in a little relationship with them...reading ...laughing ...crying ...empathizing ...SUPERFAN-ING ...adoring ...coveting ...learning ...clickety-clicking through their lives and thinking "IF I COULD JUST SMOOSH THE WORLD TIGHTER...you and I would be the closest of souls." Or at the very least, you could teach me how you do that thing with your hair or how you capture such ghostly beauty in your photography or how you keep consistent with your home yoga practice or how you deal with fertility complications with such grace or how to make those evil evil cupcakes or how you sit down and write things that are so wonderful.

And that is why I choose to share again, perhaps with slightly altered motivation. I think this year will be full of a lot of changes and struggles and victories and annoyances and deliciousness...and I want to remember every bit of it. Plus, I have so much that's been collecting dust, heaving at the seams to be talked about! LIKE HOW I MET TONY BOURDAIN. And...um...well, now I can't really think about anything else, so...ahem. I know the many who used to visit here may not remember to check back in (it's been so very, very long since I've been consistently here and talkity-talky), but that's okay with me. I'll just be over here making stuff with words and photographs and maybe a few other things...and geekishly (yes that's right) and quietly fawning over some of YOU.

Independent of Vanity

I've been spending some time on NieNie today...and if you have never been to Stephanie's blog, please take some time to visit and familiarize yourself with her unbelievably inspiring story. I always take a deep breath when I move my mouse over to the little tab with her blue typewriter icon on it (yes, I have the tab to her blog permanently up on my window), because I know that I am about to be humbled, amused, moved, and swept up in the beauty of her spirit.

I started reading Nie a few months before the 2008 plane accident she & her husband were in which caused burns on 80% of her body, so I had already fallen in love with her colorful world of handmade goodness, creativity, silly photographs, children cute enough to crumble the stodgiest character, and the sweet and deep love story between her and her husband. This young woman was a beauty by most any standards, and I like all of her followers became an adoring fan.

Since she was able to begin blogging for herself again (after months in a coma and then in therapy), we have all been able to see what a true beauty she is. She looks completely different, has had to come to terms with her new life, and has embraced it wholly and without bitterness. She stresses that she is "not her body", and exudes the same spirit of happiness, creativity, joy and gratefulness that she did prior to the accident.

I say all of this because...when I spend time reading her thoughts, seeing her daily photographs...I wonder

Could I do the same?

I am not sure. I would like to think that I could overcome the loss of my current physical self - that I could retain the sense of who I am - if that challenge was placed before me. I feel humbled (I use that word a lot in my head when I think about Stephanie) when I think about how fussy bangs can ruin my mood, or how not feeling like I fit into my jeans right can make me not want to see any human for days. It is vain. But it is there. I remember that Stephanie, before her accident, was excited because she had just grown out a haircut she thought was too short and was glad to be in a ponytail again. So...I think she gets it. I think you get it. We all have those moments, don't we? It is human.

But when I think about Stephanie now, I realize that the INTENSITY of importance I place on those things is what I must keep in check. I feel petty. I feel ashamed by my little obsessions. Things become distorted so easily. Things feel so, so, so crucial. But they are not, really.

Would I be able to feel beautiful if I no longer recognized myself? Would I be able to feel beautiful if something happened to change the way strangers saw me? Do I have the ability to take that lesson now while I am so fortunate and cultivate an inner self so lovely and strong that it is independent of vanity?

I don't know. I can only try.

p.s. Stephanie, you are stunning. xoxo

more is more.

I'm sitting here on the couch with my headphones plugged into my laptop, one of three dogs burrowed deeply into a blanket next to me (chihuahua, shocker), drowning out sounds of the Monday night football game (which, unlike in Mr. S.'s case, is of little consequence to me) with A Fine Frenzy's Bomb In a Birdcage album subtly pulsating between my ears. Once again, the evening brings time to sit and soak in the swirling bath of ideas, possibilities, worries, plans that take up the space between the notes, and this particular time of my life bears quite an opportunity for all of these to flourish.

I've recently begun delving into Twyla Tharp's The Creative Habit, and I have to share that if you are a creative person at heart and are trying to find a way to polish that gift and sharpen your ability to bring your temperament into focus, this could be an amazing tool for you. I find myself already daily reminding myself of things she says and little tools that help pull me back into a creative space. There is so much valuable guidance there I find myself needing to pace my reading to allow time to put all of it into practice.

This is to say that, I'm beginning to take my voice back, in writing as well as my photography. I've let the trials of the past several years drain away the vitality and passion from my work and my life. I became jaded. I wrote less, created less, because I felt less.

But I am more.

p.s. So are you.

 

Things people never tell you...

I meant to write about this a few weeks ago, but it kept getting pushed on the back burner and eventually after several times thinking about sharing it, I had forgotten about it completely until today when I flipped past the note I wrote in my journal about it the day it happened.

I was passing time in Borders, drooling over printed notecards and giant pads of paper in the gift section, when I looked up and noticed a couple sitting nearby in the café area. They were talking, and it was clear the woman was very upset. She seemed to have already been crying. Something about it made me stop, even though I was sure I was encroaching on a private moment, and I listened while every once in a while looking up to see them from above the small aisle.

He was wearing a Colts jersey and baseball cap, she a black t-shirt and jeans. He was a little chubby and scruffy; she, thin, with sad, flat dark brown hair. They both wore wedding bands. Each had a paper cup  of coffee at the table, and she fidgeted with hers uncomfortably. They both looked down into their drinks more than they looked at each other. I was really only there, stopped, for about a minute, but it's what I finally did hear her say after some hushed words passed between them that made an impression on me and prompted me to write some thoughts down about it shortly afterward.

She exclaimed sadly through tears, "I'm 40, you're 41 - I don't want to have to start over."

He sat silently seeking an answer in his coffee cup.

They continued talking, essentially deciding if they should continue their marriage, and I walked away. It seemed heartbreaking to me. How many of us have faced a moment like that in our relationships - the foreboding choice to forge on alone into an unknown future or risk failure in a familiar relationship that may or may not end up happily? Their scene stuck with me for several days, because it isn't often we so clearly see such a moment of critical decision between two strangers as it happens. It made me sad for them, and I couldn't help but think...

No one ever tells you when you are starting out young and dizzy with love and possibility that the fate of your relationship could come down to a strained conversation in a bookstore.

The two-week dance...

I know that some of you knew full well what this was going to be about just by looking at the title...and that's because you've been where I am right now. You've felt annoyed, talked yourself into dizzying circles, convinced yourself to see things that weren't there, become inconsolably pissed & irritatingly mopey, and generally lost all sense of your sane self.

You, like me, were waiting to find out if you were pregnant.

The truth is, I am nearing the end of this two-week wait to find out if things "took" (so to speak), and I hate that I'm so aware of every day and every hour and every stupid ache and pain in my body. I hate that I'm thinking about it as much as I am, I hate that I spend energy paying such close attention to each twinge and stitch, I hate that I'm just a tiny bit tempted to visit those gross trying-to-conceive forums where women use "DH" to refer to their "Dear Husbands" (BLEH) and thusly abbreviate every other word while discussing their cervixes in detail (and please don't be offended by my use of the word "gross" there if those spaces were helpful to you, because for all I know by the end of this I may be eating my words and stalking through those sites one day with rabid intensity and a fistful of chocolate).

I also REALLY hate how some people act like our not getting pregnant yet is some sort of hostile act against them and demand "so WHEN are you going to have a baby, already?" as if we are intentionally pausing in the middle of business to say "hey wait a minute, what if we just keep screwing with so-and-so's heads and make them wait a little longer! ohmigod ohmigod let's do it, IT WOULD BE SO HILARIOUS hahaahaaaah!". Really? Do you think that particular question is going to suddenly shed light on our supposed Baby-Despising Eyes? Thaaaat's right. Suddenly it all seems so clear! I don't know what we were thinking! Keeping a baby from you like that. Ah, and apparently Honey, we are supposed to have some sort of "relations" in order to make this happen. Whew, glad that's cleared up.

Honestly.

All that being said, we actually have been trying for a little while and I'm not completely sure how easy it will be for us. But I am (aside from above) trying to be really positive about it. But these last 5 or 6 days, man...they KILL. ME. The sense of resolution feels like it will never arrive. It's a torturous set of days and hours and minutes and seconds...and then (typically) I find out, feel a sense of relief from the sheer act of KNOWING, and set my sights to the next four weeks (often kicked off by picking out my consolation bottle of wine with the prettiest label I can find).

I think I will take delicious delight in being a mother; there's a part of me that longs for the chance to love little cheeks and take an obscene amount of photos of tiny fingernails, but I also try to tell myself that I can be a complete person before that happens, too. Perhaps there is more for me to do, more for me to explore, and I am being given an amazing opportunity to do those things with the freedom my current situation allows. I'll be happy either way, but that doesn't mean I won't continue to anticipate the day when things change.

Oh, distract me. Or tell me, how did you get through those days of limbo? I've pretty much relied heavily on Valentine's Day candy, puppy ears and Law & Order marathons. SIGH.

Rain On the Pretty Ones

i'm the actor who's scared to perform
i'm the sunshine that hides in the clouds
i'm the father that couldn't be found
i'm the cuckoo that never flew south
i'm the christian that cannot forgive
i'm the dreamer that jumps off the bridge
i'm the sinner who hates how he lives...
i'm the liar who gets what he gives.
-Ed Harcourt, Rain On the Pretty Ones

There are moments, still. Moments when I am hit with a swell of certainty that I have abandoned myself. I pause, overwhelmed by the chasm that separates me from the quiet, patient shadow that I some days am barely aware exists. What's worse is when I go days or weeks without even thinking about the fact that I miss her.

She tells me to remember how hard I've worked to make impossible things happen in my past.
She wishes I would not stuff down my desire to become a traveler because of fear.
She'd like to kick me in the ass for pretending this is enough.
She reminds me how much participating in the comaraderie of musicians meant to me.
She challenges me to take risks in my art.
She wonders if I'll allow myself to fail.
She asks if I've forgotten the exhilaration of performance.
She urges me to become fully passionate with the wreckless abandon of a child.
She can't comprehend giving so much power to my own critical voice.
She wants me to stop lying to myself about me.

*Feed reader folks, there's a video in this post. This song makes my soul ache and swirl. Please give it a listen.

participation.

It's been a really long while since I put thoughts down in a notebook, and I'm convinced this practice is a vital way to connect your internal dialogue with your physical life. I know that for myself, getting things in my headspace down tangibly lends so much clarity to what I need to do next.

True, there are our blogs, on which we can choose to sift through some things. Yet...there is something uniquely satisfying about letting thoughts spill out of a pen, filling a page with images, words, colors...that simply cannot be duplicated with text on a flat screen. I ponder and halter far less when physically writing. For me, it's vastly more cathartic, more action-spurning, more idea-churning and honestly much more spiritually fulfilling to give myself permission to scribble, scratch and earn an ink-stained wrist bone (fellow left-handed comrades, you feeling me on that one?) than to labor over a few paragraphs for an hour while staring into a lightbox that I am quite sure will eventually be the annihilation of my eyesight.

All of that being said, along the lines of fostering creativity and productive thought, I'm going to share with you some excerpts from what I wrote yesterday in my new giant red notebook, after wrestling through a creative block and doubts as an evolving creative professional:

"It's difficult for me to accept that I can or should expect or even ask for any sort of compensation for the assumption that what I do would be considered a talent. The fact that I continue to fight, battling myself over the idea that this is all too personal to risk being rejected in the light of the rules of commerce, that I must be willing to separate myself from my fears enough to demand even half a living at it...it's a stifling thought. ... ... This is the time for renewal :: and participation. ... ... There is no reason you cannot produce SOMETHING every day. ... ... Regret less each day."

Fuzzy

"There is nothing worse than a brilliant image of a fuzzy concept."  -Ansel Adams

It's become clear to me over the past two weeks or so that I've approached an unavoidable crest of decisive moments in a few areas of my life. It's not that I find this daunting; I actually am grateful for the will to even make determinations in light of the fact that my soul had been laying low and soft for a long time, zipping up inside of itself just enough to allow me to function on auto-play, get through days without experiencing any loss or disappointment or bare-naked vulnerability. Yes, I've been often tucked away on the other side of the wall over the past year and a half, and have peered out from the mouse hole during the last few months to observe the action bustling about in this bright room, and I want to do more than warm my face in the sunshine and then scurry back to the hideout.

One thing I'm most happy to see re-emerge is my intention to allow myself to feel the fear of journeys I've wanted to embark on for a long while. I'd convinced myself that I didn't care what I was doing or where I was going in my life, because things had spun so out of my own control that my defense mechanism flipped into hypersonic mode and told me to go numb. Numb. I can't stress strongly enough how destructive the state of numbness is to a person's spirit. Sometimes, the brain doesn't know what else to do with information or circumstances that are too intense to bear; it's a part of our chemistry. But left to burrow and nest unattended, it will smolder the soul in a cloud so black and so acrid that it will choke out even the desire to emerge from it.

Freeing myself has largely been a task I have borne alone. I don't have a large social circle from which to draw support and there is no family member I have the type of relationship with currently that lends itself to that sort of sharing. Mr. Sarcomical has at times tried his best to be supportive, but his own personal struggles and a schedule that has taken him frequently on the road often has limited what he can provide in terms of accountability and active encouragement. Sometimes when both spouses are working through individual difficulties, it's like two people treading water. You have to start kicking your own feet or you'll both just be going nowhere and running out of breath.

I am kicking as hard as I can.

I am going to dive back into some parts of LIVING I've all but abandoned - experimental cooking, getting messy and making objects with my hands, writing every day, having a sleep schedule FRIENDLY TO HUMANS, etc. I'm going to rely on a lot of physical exercise to be my antidepressant drug; it's something I've come to realize is unavoidable for me at this point. But hey, bonus! NICE ASS, which I think I can live with. I have to let go of the guilt of feeling so far a disappointment to anyone who ever nurtured my intelligence or talents. I have a personality which naturally hesitates at hint of failure, smack talks itself out of going after a frighteningly wonderful opportunity. The cyclical thinking which allows someone to stay stuck in Numb is ridiculously simple for me to slip into. But if I can each day do ONE thing that excites me even a little bit, or take ONE step in the direction of something I intend to be, I can be confident that my soul will be able to breathe easy. Emerging from Numb is an incredibly difficult process, but I don't need to worry about making it all look perfect.

I can be a fuzzy image of a brilliant concept.

Magnetic Serenity

Dear Jennifer from Whole Foods,

A little over a week ago, I came into the store to replenish my stock of deliciousness from the magic wall of snack bins, which usually has a tendency to make me very giddy. This day, however, I was feeling mentally and emotionally sandpapered in a way that could not be soothed by large plastic scoopers and giant tubs of strawberry/raspberry granola or carob spirulina energy blocks. No, not even the sweet faces on the animal cookies could provide any comfort.

I just remember feeling low and somewhat removed from myself. I was tired, a little sad and a lot overwhelmed. I'm sure I must have looked serious when I came up to your register, because I know at times when I'm feeling perfectly pleasant I have a naturally down-turny mouth, even when I SWEAR I think I'm smiling a little. But on this day, I felt admittedly droopy, and I was gearing up to begin the Service Person/Detached Customer with Averted Eyes Interaction, UNTIL...

You started talking to me. Okay, at first I admittedly resisted and mumbled a bit, something like "uh-hmm, yeah..." in reply to your request if I'd found everything I needed, because as is the tendency when someone with my temperament gets caught in their headspace, I sort of wanted to remain the hermit crab wallowing in its sad wee shell. But then I looked up at the moment you asked if I was having a good day, and you said it as gently and sincerely as possibly anyone has ever said it to me and you locked into my gaze as if you were really trying to find a response in my eyes that I was okay. So profound was the sensation of your goodwill and genuinely peaceful smile that it knocked me a little off guard.

I have to be honest; I am usually the type of person who detests - DETESTS - mindless chit-chat with a stranger, mostly because I am very sensitive to tone and picking up people's vibes, and the moment I sense superficiality or ingenuity a switch flips in my brain and I get very turned off and want to get out of there. But, as you continued to ask me about my peace t-shirt (holy wow, I am starting to sound very hippy-dippy in this post, aren't I?) and told me about the pigeons you used to feed when you lived in Montana, and how there was one white one who would always show up with the rest of them and we began to wonder out loud if doves are basically white pigeons, I was drawn to your grounded calm, your magnetic serenity. It was something I rarely come across but am always drawn to. During our brief exchange I was struck by the positive energy you had shone into my life at just the moment I needed it. I came out of that place much lighter and breathing freer. Thank you so much for that.

Jennifer, cashier at Whole Foods and rare soul...I think if I see you again I am going to ask if you want to meet one afternoon for coffee.

Until then,

Melissa from A House Not Far Away

A Salute to the Culture of Oversharing...

We love to see the bloopers.

When I get a DVD, which - come on, what with DVR? - is pretty rare these days except in the case of my favorite television sitcoms, I look most forward to seeing the outtakes - the bloopers. I like the idea of knowing how a character is supposed to respond, then being let into those moments when it all goes to hell and an actor breaks character. I like seeing how that person really laughs, how they naturally react after they've made a mistake.

We love to see the bloopers. We enjoy the imperfections.

Sometimes I ask myself why I slowed down my writing here so drastically in the past year or so. I ask myself why I stopped blogging regularly about the mundanities of my life, even though I was able to make you laugh through much of them. The truth is, you aren't the only one subjected to my self-imposed cut-off. Let's just say I developed a distrust of the safety of sharing and of embracing others into my "world", and that's something that I have been wrestling with a lot over this time. 

Accompanying this depression-slash-hermitage-slash-intense level of MEH-ness, grew a general crabbiness each time I tried to sit down to write. The truth was, all that was really going through my head was the mishmash of how I was trying to unravel my own confusion and gain some deeper understanding of my life events, my purpose, my direction, my my MY ME ME ME blahblahblahblech. I really grew exhausted of subjecting this space to what I felt was merely becoming a virtual spewing of self-therapy. And I thought, after FIVE years here, is this all I have to put 'out there' again? I'd really rather be be making you all insanely jealous with some kick-ass project I was taking on or bragging about my clumsy yet successful completion of some marathon or at the very least come off as the Über Sexy Confident Mastermind Take Charge of the World Creative Genius I wish I felt like.

In all fairness, I bet some of you would have really liked if I had borne the discomfort and written it all out anyway. Not that I haven't read about someone's struggle or heartache and felt intensely grateful for their ability to share, their adeptness at putting into words something that I myself had felt yet been unable to clarify so well. The fact is that some of those moments deeply define and even cement our relationships online; that's part of the inescapable nature of this culture of virtual friendships and stranger adoration.

We love to see the bloopers.

If I had been writing more during this time, I would have probably told you about feeling abandoned and betrayed by people close to me, about our dealing with my husband's diagnosis as a diabetic, about feeling inadequate in my talents, about turning into a vapid lump for long periods of time, about compartmentalizing to the point of numbness, about our first concerns regarding the possibility of children in our future, about reawakening, about making new friends, about almost auditioning for a musical, about INSOMNIA DEAR GOD, about yoga's amazing and strange healing, about a quest for mindfulness, about having to induce a little brown chihuahua to...er...regurgitate the ear of a plastic teddy bear and crying guiltily the entire time, about taking on special photographic projects, about learning to say the word "photographer" without a self-deprecating shoulder shrug and a ready dismissal of my abilities, about my hair finally growing to bra-strap length and the trip to the stylist who ripped out about a 1/4 pound of it with her fingernails, about our desire to move ANYWHERE but here, about new dreams of writing and creating...

As I grow past this shedding of skin, yet another stage of life that I suppose I have had to go through as part of my experience...my desire is to make myself Write It Out whether I feel the muse slap me against the head or not. I want to be more wildly open with you again, if only to be more wildly open with myself. Perhaps I'll even tell you the next time I crack open the door of a theater, peek around the velvet curtain just inside it blocking out the sun, barely view some young beauty in a sweatshirt reminiscent of Fame chatting up some guys, and turn & run like hell back to my car with my Singer's Anthology to drive away and get a giant self-loathing Oreo Blizzard from the Dairy Queen drive through.

After all...we love to see the bloopers. We enjoy the imperfections.

Life, as Taught Through Ice and Dogs

The dogs in the SarcomiHouse like ice cubes. They reeeeeally, really like them. Any time I open the freezer there's a click-clacking stampede across the kitchen floor, as if I were slow-roasting juicy steaks in there instead of tossing a few chips of frozen water into their mouths out of the bag of Home City Ice.

If you have ever lived with a dog, you've probably seen some version of this thing that Shiloh is most guilty of out of the three of them:  he will excitedly take his little chunk of ice over to the carpet, set it down, then nervously wander back into the kitchen (while attempting to not draw my attention), because he just isn't quite comfortable with the possibility that I might be giving out an even BIGGER! and BETTER! nugget of ice, even though everyone has gotten their ration and by now I'm just adding some to my glass for my sweet tea.

Last night, he did this particular thing, and I told him "Go! You already have yours!", which garnered a rather obvious lack of belief and further anxious peering at my hand nearing the big bag in that giant cold box where the melty dog biscuits apparently come out of. He didn't trust me. I don't know why; I'm a very trustworthy individual.

You do know, yes, that there is a certain someone named Ricky who lives here, correct? And that Ricky is the baby, and a spoiled brat who steals and will not share a toy or a blanket to save his life? Well, it seems as Shiloh's big ice cube sat on the carpet melting, Ricky - finished yet severely unsatisfied - could simply not take it anymore, and ran over and stole it just in time for Shiloh to turn, walk back for it, and then shoot me a "BUT MOM, WHAT THE HELL?!?" look.

Because I am alone in the house a lot a lot A LOT during the day, and because I have nothing else upon which to lavish the benefit of my maternal scolding, I without really thinking said, (and I swear to God, this was what I really said, even though it seems a little too convenient for a preachy post) "See what happens?!? What you have just isn't good enough for you and then someone else takes it."

Hm.

Immediately afterward I thought that was kind of funny because a) I really talk to the dogs entirely too much like Humans with Fur Who Answer Me with Words and Waggy Tails sometimes but hey I've come to grips with that and b) the concept is glaringly relevant and timely, and something The Husband and I have certainly discussed at some point or another, and more often recently it seems.

Don't neglect what you have (talents, relationships, possessions, positions, finances) in favor of pacing stupidly waiting for your perfect chunk of life to fall out of the box, while others are able to LIVE and enjoy what you already have. You'll end up with no treat at all. BITE INTO YOUR OWN CUBE!

p.s. Lucy is mad she wasn't in this story. She wants everyone to know she takes her ice cubes daintily from my fingers and then eats them quietly in the other room with no trouble like these STEWPID BOYZ. Also, these photos are from a few Halloweens ago (which some of you may recognize), and I swear I decided to dress them ironically for the good of getting the shots. Honestly.

more tightly than you ever bound me

this was the moment of Yes
the day of Not Afraid

time hung high for quieting the mind
and becoming enveloped in now

will this ache define you
or will you redefine it?
she was never sure how to answer that question
but most often forgot to pose it

the bruising
the bruising and pulping of her heart
she wanted to gently soak it in warm milk
and rub ointment on the blackened shadows

then shoot it off into space

it was easier to be fearful of the imaginary goblins of the future
than confront the apparitions of the present
who had decided to linger for tea
and swish around in front of the archways

casting inverted darkness on the bare floor

with a broom one cannot swat them away
pests can be eliminated with swiftness
fumigation is only successful if you aren't knotted to what you mean to destroy
take a step and it only pulls them in concentric unison along

she wanted to travel without the sticky web of familiar unwelcomes
imagined a lighter existence
i'm sorry but i have to let one of you go
after clumped years of simultaneous dependence and despise

i'm tired of choking as you wrap the tangle tighter against my throat

she could saw through but one taut stronghold at once
Fear was first in the priority of elimination
with knobbed muscly fingers it clung to her legs
shrieking and falling on its weight to add drag to its escort

but i'm your favorite
you love me best

clinging to you is not the afterbirth of love she replied
but instead indicates the slow suicide of my soul

and i want to put the knife down

i need to breathe Yes more than no
and embrace Not Afraid more tightly than you ever bound me

©2009 melissa glenn

Supporting the Stalks

Did you know that celery looked this beautiful when you chop the stalks off all at once? Well, I know this completely trashes any culinary street cred I thought I was building up, but prior to our becoming the beneficiaries of the Jack Juicer over the holidays, I have never had occasion or inclination to hack into an entire head of celery at once. I suppose I'm also yet again showing my hand when it comes to the way small things can send me into naïf-like joy, as in "honey, look at this celery, it's so pretty, I HAVE to take a picture, I mean don't you think this is amazing?"

(Blech. My zen, soul-searching, deep-heart side and my sarcastic tendencies often just don't know what to do with each other. What can I say, I'm a Gemini - that whole simultaneous cynicism & optimism lusciousness is part of the package.)

Right now I want to focus on my initial reaction, though. This unassuming stump of celery remains sort of got me thinking about how such a visually appealing, tightly-spiraled network of support hides under those long stalks. Perhaps this is because I've been so damned introspective as of late, but I felt like that ridiculous green lump of crisp-watery petals actually was looking at me, telling me the urge I have had brewing inside is perfectly on track.

You may be in a place where you can't even recognize your insides anymore. If someone asked you to describe them, you wouldn't be able to conjure the image clearly in your own head, much less allow others an opportunity to see how disorganized it feels like they have become. But just because you can't perceive the stunning layers of your soul doesn't mean they aren't there, and if you have to cut down to the core from time to time in order to see beyond what has become a wilted mass of unfulfillment, fear, guilt, wastefulness and anxiety...then CUT. Cut down, revisit, and reacquaint yourself with what you have to support you from the inside, and nourish it.

Monkey Breakfasts

How many people are greeted in the morning with their breakfast arranged to look like a somewhat frightening interpretation of a primate?

I sense that, though I may not be able to claim solitary ownership of such an honor, I am at least in a minority among women AND men.

Even taking silly breakfast plates out of the equation, I am what is and should be considered fortunate in the partner department. True, we've had our share of typical relationship waves, and because of how young we were when we were married (22 & 23), we've had to spar and strain through each others' evolution into almost completely different organisms in our 10 years together (14 if you count the dating, but who really sees it all during dating, anyway?). I mean, hell. I feel like a virtually-unrecognizable person from when I even began this blog 4 1/2 years ago. (Seriously. I cringe at the thought of going deep into the archives.)

My point is that we have developed a massively deep love and appreciation for one another. We know each other incredibly well. We have a secret sense of humor between us. Our conversations, and even some of our 'arguments' often take a Seinfeldian (-slash- SNL -slash- Barney Stinsonesque) turn. I swear it's true, as annoyingly made up as it sounds. We understand each other. We know we're best friends and we've realized we can balance that with a romantic relationship. We're growing up together.

And we've had to deal with some of life's ass-kickings together.

As regulars around here are aware, 2008 (otherwise known as The Year that Shall Not Be Mentioned), was a difficult one for us. I felt emotionally bitch-slapped by my family and it was hard to process. It threw me into a downard spin and just kept on twirling. We both felt betrayed, and for months, the situation escalated. Just as we had decided to say Screw it, we need to stop caring and live our life, we got some results back from a physical and blood tests which technically diagnosed him with a disease that affects the body's ability to regulate blood sugar. Yes, I could just call that what it is and what you are thinking, but you see, we have decided after these 3 months not to label him that way in our conversation, because we believe in a) the power of words and b) the fact that we will be able to aggressively normalize the condition and that eventually he will be, while still eating carefully and being vigilant in health, free of affects or signs of it. We have altered much of our lifestyle to approach this new reality.

When we first found out, we were still so emotionally raw from the 3 or 4 months prior that I'll admit, it was a severely low moment. We cried, together and separately. We took turns being angry, a few misdirected moments toward each other but more pointedly with the way our lives had just been changed. I mostly felt incredible fear at the mere thought of anything threatening to make me lose him EVER, no matter how far away. We all know, if we have partners, that there will be a day down the road...but still, in our stage of life it feels so very far ahead in a misty, distant future. However, my dear not-teenaged readers, we are getting closer to moments during which our sweet cloudy dream of endless living with the person we love is going to be challenged, and we begin to REALLY feel our humanity. And how much we can not possibly squeeze enough out of loving each other.

My heart...it still softens when I remember one of the first things he sadly said to me shortly after he told me the results:

"...but, I won't be able to make you pancakes for breakfast anymore!"

I love that boy.

Now, he has made extremely good progress toward maximizing his health and goddamit, he's also completely shrunk out of all of his clothes (boys suck) and has many more muscles for me to run my hands over, so don't worry. The path ahead looks VERY good. Finding this out when we did has ensured I will have him for MANY extra years and our eating & workout changes are working in my favor as well. Also, I have informed him that women in my family have a history of making it into their 90's, and I'd like to go first. So...you know.

My point is, I'd like to be having Monkey Breakfasts for a really long time. This guy...he's good.

"...the pleasure of forgotten things"

 Today, The Husband & I went to buy a new tree, as our last one had its final, pitiful run last Christmas. I have to be honest, I've been less and less into the "holiday spirit", and this experience just highlighted the disconnect I've been feeling. To me, as we were wandering around the room full of decorated displays, it all seemed so grossly fake. The idea of plunking down the money for a tree that doesn't look real (sadly with 3 pets, we've ruled out actually getting a real tree) and putting a bunch of shiny crap on it and all just because it's kind of expected feels hard to justify to me this year. All of it, from the first tacky lawn ornament to the last giant bow of the whole season makes me cringe a bit, because I guess I'm not feeling the genuineness in a year where so many things have imploded for us and so much disappointment has prevailed.

In order for me to get any sense of satisfaction from this next month, I know I need to release myself from bearing the burden of the things that have brought some of the black clouds into the past year, and frankly I'm tired of holding so tightly to my own unhappiness over them. I've always had a cynical side accompanying my playful nature, and really this past year has fed my cynicism and turned it into a very large, hairy, snarly Troll. I know I have changed as a person over the past 8 months in a way. But I would like to let that Troll out of the cage to take a nice vacation for a while, perhaps overseas. Maybe it can go to Pakistan and take out Bin Laden?

Anywhooo...

I don't want to let anything cloud a special time of year. I think I'd like to make some of the decorations, do things simple, and really allow myself to feel meaning in small things we can do together.

Do you have any special things you do together during the holiday season that help center the focus on the small moments, the shared experiences, the pleasure of forgotten things?