Sacred Writing Time -- Strike One

I had a strange dream last night.

You know what I would do if there was an earthquake?

Can you do the closure on my bra?

Then the dog stepped on my foot.

You know why I love the internet?

And in my dream I:   (insert HUGE story here).

Could you get the stuff ready for me cleaning the back door? I can't find the vinegar.

I'm hungry. I'm not saying you have to get up right now and get me something, I'm just saying that if I get too much more hungry, I'll get a little bit grumpy.

Yaw-Hoo! Yea, Baby! Uh-huh, Oh Yeah! (exclaiming over the computer game my son is playing.)

I take it the dishwasher is clean.

I would wait except for the fact that I'm so hungry it hurts!

Poison Arrow! (more computer gaming) Booya! Poison, poison, poison, poison, poison!

Will you stop chanting poison?

What? It's a poison arrow. (pause) Fine.

Two slices of deli meat.

Deli meat? What do you mean deli meat?

Turkey.

Oh.

My work time/writing time is from 10am to noon. This is the rule around here. I write, the kids leave me alone unless there is blood or a fire.


Today. It didn't work so much.

To Be Free of the Me Others need me to Be.

Creation channels
the Rage in the Cage.
Battering, fluttering
Held against my will.
Who does the holding?
None other than me.
Set yourself free!
I yell.
To no Avail.
What's keeping me?
Why do I curtail?
Fear.
Of.
Me.
Who Am I?
Will I like what
I discover?
Set Fire.
And banish
The old thoughts
And patterns.
Screaming to be me
To be free.
To be free of me?
No.
To be free of the me
Others need me to be.
What do I want?
To find the hidden spring,
The well that
Holds all my passion
And ernst.
My glorious, cleansing
Complete.

~6/14/2004

A Precious Paul Day Off ... spent at the pool

"Strange Things are Afoot at the Circle K."

As I was trying to find a suitable picture to insert in this posting, I ran across this shot taken at Mt. Pisgah earlier this month. It seemed appropriate considering the path disappears into the trees, not identifying what direction it's heading -- let alone where it'll end up. And that seems to epitomize my life right now.

Not in a vaguely frustrating restless sort-of way, but more in a the future's so bright I gotta wear shades sort-of way.

The future holds delicious uncertainty for our family, and exciting things loom. Or maybe not. Maybe we'll stay right where we are on our path, but I think not. I don't feel at liberty to go into detail right now. But in a couple months time, I'll have a better idea if big and wonderous announcements need to be made.

So, for now, whether you are an occasional lurker on this blog, a die-hard follower, or even a family member -- continue checking back to see what things are afoot.

I don't say these things to be coy, or mysterious, but simply because I haven't been posting here because the only things on my mind are these unmentionables, and I wanted to reach out and explain my absense here. But I also am not divulging information because I just don't know the outcomes. I don't know where the path leads, or even if we'll stay on it. I could tell you what we are debating, but that might set things in uproar before we are ready to discuss it. So, please, be patient ... and maybe look for clues on here. (Because it is exciting, and I'd love to talk about it, but it just seems pre-mature.)

Summer Snarkiness

My lovely children are soaking in the summer rays and sinking into the lazy mentality of, "It's summer vacation, Mom." This quote comes complete with either eye-rolling or a snarky tone to the voice. Fully automated. Batteries included. Every time I ask them to do something.

I'm getting a little bit tired of it.

But here are moments captured that don't involve said snarkiness:

The Celebration of Me

At first contemplation, the only times I've been celebrated have been on my last few birthdays where I've invited my friends to congregate around me and share the most precious of things with me ... time. Their time.

But that is not true ... for I am celebrated every day. Every day my son hugs me, every day my husband touches his skin to mine and every day my daughter smiles at me.

I am celebrated because they love me and choose to share that with me.

Whenever I receive an email from Jesse he signs it *Big Jesse Hug* and when I see my friends, their faces light up like they are so happy to see me. And they are. And that is how I am celebrated.

When I read something at a No Shame performance, I receive applause, and (though all do) I see this as a celebration of me. Of what I've shared -- that piece of me.

When I share my writing excerpts to Paul, or my critique group, I receive honest feedback and constructive critique -- and I feel celebrated then, too. Celebrated for my words and honored that I am spoken truth to. That I am worthy of being told the truth.

And so, I celebrate me for being me. Because I am a good person. Worthy of love and compassion and friendship and truth and authentic relationships.

And I celebrate me because I like who I am.

I'm me.

Why I Love Music and Movies

I often wish that I were more musically inclined -- either with playing an instrument or with singing. But not enough to actually put the work in for learning and training. But despite this I feel a great affection for musicians and have at times in my past called them my friends and supported their musical efforts as best I could.

I've had musicians as roommates, friends, and co-workers.

I listen to all sorts of music and, like reading the written word, I find myself moved and swayed through emotions depending on what type of music I'm listening to. This is one of the reasons I've been in awe of musicians -- as well as writers: their ability to carry people on waves of emotions, and usually at their own manipulation. They write sweet melody to sway listeners to love, they write angry rants to instill indignity so people will sit up and listen.

When I listen to music, I remember. And that is why I love it.

If I listen to Frank Sinatra, I think of Paul, my husband and love.

When I listen to The Cranberries and Dishwalla, I think of Mobin and searching and my time spent living at Zach's house trying to find who I was.

When I hear Seal, I think of Tim and our few perfect moments and the more moments feeling not that perfect.

When I hear No Doubt, I remember a restless time in Montana and secrets and a crazy summer working at Blockbuster and riding a motorcycle and a jet ski and flirting outrageously and being the 'other woman' briefly. And oddly, I think of my sister, Leslie.

When I hear eighties music, I'm transported to 7th grade innocence and dreaming of my crush, Mike Spowehn, and discovering masturbation (but not because of Mike), and then later high-school and dating my first real boyfriend and MTV and 'butt rock bands,' like Bon Jovi and Europe, Poison and Warrant.

But Firehouse and Erasure remind me especially of Eric (that first real boyfriend), and OMD reminds me of Kari Martin -- my locker partner in junior year.

And movies. There are certain movies I watch over and over purely for the feelings they instill in me. Like a nurturing friend.

I'll watch Sabrina (with Harrison Ford) when I feel lost in myself and need to feel stronger. I watch Little Women (with Winona Ryder) when I miss my sisters. I watch Jane Austen (especially Pride and Prejudice) when I want to go to a slower time, when I feel like I'm trying to do too much, or that too much is expected of me. Or, strangely, when I feel carried away romantically or sexually with a new partner or crush and I feel I need to slow down -- to take lessons from a time when you only kissed a man if you were engaged to him. I watch Uncorked if I want to remind myself to be authentic. And I watch Serendipity when I want to feel closer to Paul and re-live our early dating days.

And then anything foreign is awesome. :)