Treading Water

This week is a marathon, y'alls, a marathon. Sorry for my relative absence around here. I do miss mah bloggins. But there's just A Lot going on around here, and I'm having trouble juggling it all.

William is in an art show this weekend, I have lots o' work going on, and lots of little errands. Plus one of my BESTEST FRIENDS IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD CAME HOME FROM THE PEACE CORPS. So it's been busy.


Stay tuned for regular programming.

Cranky

Just in case you were wondering, I'm really crabby and hate everything today.

Which means I have absolutely no business blogging. I'm liable to say just about anything.

Pandemic

For once in my life, I'm SO GLAD I don't live anywhere near Mexico. I embrace my frozen tundra of a home, where even viruses have the presence of mind to live elsewhere.

Also, I hate that this is all blamed on the pigs. Pigs are cute. Intelligent. And one of the only animals that can get sunburned, and I can get with that. One thing bad about pigs? I love pork. Bacon. Can't think about the two. Must keep separate.

And now, a swine flu haiku:

bacon, i love you
staying healthy is awesome
no armageddon

Carry on, with your surgical mask.

Poetry To My Ears

I have always loved poetry. The first poem I ever memorized was "The Swing" by Robert Louis Stevenson.

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside--

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown--
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!

Because of my good friend A., I'm aware that it's poetry month in the literary world. So many people find it inaccessible or unreadable, and that makes me sad, because there are countless numbers of poems that move me.

Some of my favorite poets include: Lucille Clifton, e e cummings, Longfellow, Sappho, Pablo Neruda, Nikki Giovanni . . . I could go on and on.

My favorite poem of all time is by e e cummings, and I was quite mad when it was featured in In Her Shoes, because Cameron Diaz read it, and I want to punch her in the face.

But here it is anyway:

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you



here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart



i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

A lot of people don't know about Lucille Clifton. This is one of my favorites of hers, called Wishes for Sons:

i wish them cramps.
i wish them a strange town
and the last tampon.
I wish them no 7-11.

i wish them one week early
and wearing a white skirt.
i wish them one week late.

later i wish them hot flashes
and clots like you
wouldn't believe. let the
flashes come when they
meet someone special.
let the clots come
when they want to.

let them think they have accepted
arrogance in the universe,
then bring them to gynecologists
not unlike themselves.

Turnabout's fair play, so I decided I'd share a couple of my poems.

arial
halfway between heaven and the stars
in a halflight with chex mix and ginger ale
over the hum of wings that god didn't make

halfway between stars of home and another galaxy
stars, mist, clouds
lights of brighter places i
know more deeply.

sign of the cross, whorls of streets
blocks like andromeda
me in a tiny seat, wondering:
who else thinks all this?

scooped into the ladle of the big dipper
cradled there
even 33,000 feet in the air
stars don't look any closer.

nine-year-old questions
so, are you, like, getting your Master's,
Or what? She questions
Saucily, a little haughtily,
with her arm draped across the chair-back.

She's like a forty-year-old aunt right then,
Instead of my nine-year-old niece.

I'm struggling through my Bachelor's
Right now, I tell her.

And I wonder if she'll follow
Through on her threat
To work at Petco
When she grows up.

florida poem
splashes of water coos of doves whisper of palm leaves
everyone whispering life stories
all in quiet conspiracy

bathing beauties desperate for a little melanin-damage
craving UV mineral deposits thwarted by radiation-blocking clouds
or so it seems.

six long slender stalks of legs barely blossoming
into post-sixteendom. barely blossoming into
womanly wavers of hips.

losing sense of time lulled by white noise
beach babble screeching laughter
everyone telling their stories.

Life Moves Pretty Fast

....if you don't stop and take a look around once in a while, you might miss it.

Just sayin'. Ferris.

The Late 20s

My whole life, I've been something of an overachiever. I always got good grades, studied hard, held down jobs since I was 14, sometimes multiple ones; in college I balanced jobs, internships, and classes, all without needing a planner. I thrived on it.

All my life, I have had a Plan. I can say with some surety that I always wanted to be a writer. I loved books and words from a very early age—once, my sister said of babysitting me, "You were so BORING to babysit. You never wanted to do anything but read books, more, more books. I would ask if you wanted to play Barbies, or if you wanted to go outside, but you always said, 'More book!' " I sat on my dad's lap and we read the evening newspaper together often.

I knew that I wanted to get married and have a dog. And before I considered the enormous reality of having a child, I assumed that I wanted a few of those, too. (I'm not saying I don't here, it's just that I have realized the life-altering nature of it in a way I couldn't imagine even five years ago.)

As my mom says, I've always been a worrier. She says I was "3 going on 30." Only, I never thought I'd get to 30, becuase it was eons away. I spent my youth worrying and looking forward to adulthood—something my mom calls "wishing my life away"—and now I'm here.

I've entered a whole new realm of worrying lately. I'm lacking focus, in a way that I never have before. I've always been lasered in on the Future, and how if I just work really hard now, I can have whatever I want, in the Future.

This is supposed to be that Future.

But what I am realizing now, is that I'm 28 going on 30, and I have less of a Plan than ever. I've gotten my degree, started my career (actually, it's been like 5 years of career now), and I got married to the love of my life. I love my dog. We live in a beautiful loft that I'm proud to call home. And I am a big proponent of knowing that sometimes the things I don't Plan for are the best surprises in the world—better than any plan I could dream up.

Still, I can't help feeling like . . . Now what? Where do I go from here? It's not to say I don't count my blessings or enjoy small things, or celebrate my accomplishments when they come; or that I don't love the things that I've worked hard for.

What's the goal? What do I work for? How do I improve certain areas of my life? For the first time in my life, I really don't know.

I guess I thought by 28 that I'd be making decent money, traveling all over the world...young enough to have fun and enjoy life and feel inspired, but old enough to feel settled, knowing myself, and being financially stable.

Some of this is out of my control, of course: getting laid off, a noncompete agreement, plummeting property prices, a shitty economy. One thing in my control at one point, but I lost my way with—is debt.

Over the last year, I've been working really hard to pay off what I owe. It has not been easy. I've had to transform my lifestyle and scale way back. It's confronting the reality and consequences of being irresponsible in one area of my life. I've had to say no to a lot of social events I'd have loved to attend. And, oh, the outfits! The clothing budget basically went out the window. I'm three months away from being completely paid off, which is going to feel amazing. And will get me that much closer to living a life I want.

But on the other hand, I'm 28. And I'm starting to feel the heat of trying to make some important choices. When do we have kids? The clock is starting to tick, and we live in a one-room place—not exactly conducive to a family. And what about travel? So many places to see, so little time. And definitely not kid-friendly. When do we try to get an actual house? It's a buyer's market, but good luck selling our place now, no matter how cute we've fixed it up. The downtown loft living bubble burst long ago. I think this lack of focus, this carnival of wandering feelings, has even led me to avoid blogging. So I have to get it out there.

I guess what I'm thinking is that life is going fast. And yet, I don't feel ready to grind it out 9-5 for the next forty years. But what to do, then? How do I find new goals and Plans? How do I get inspired? How do I amke the most of it? How do I make it happen for my family? I only get one shot.

I know there are plenty of the-world-is-falling-down-around-our-ears going on, much worse than what I am experiencing myself. I certainly haven't lost sight of that. But does that mean we or I should accept it because "that's the way it is"? Has that ever served anyone well? Isn't it the nature of the planner to always be thinking ahead? Isn't this time time that necessity becomes the mother of invention? Isn't this the time that, more than ever, we realize the importance of pushing for peace, fulfillment, and, above all, for more than the current state of affairs has taught us to feel we deserve?

How am I supposed to make the world a better place?

I feel like I'm old enough that I should have the answers.

A good day

Tonight I made a dinner so horrible we both took about two bites and then promptly threw it in the trash.

And we had peanut butter and jelly toast instead.

I keep giggling to myself about it.


Today was beautiful and sunshiny and birds were singing. I took Molly for a walk and she pranced around, trotting here and there, and wagging her nub. She cruised around in figure eights, sniffing all the new sniffs released after the snow is (blessedly) gone, finding a long-gone rabbit's trail, but chasing like she caught sight. She stopped every few to look back at me, like, Mama! Isn't this the greatest moment ever in the history of moments?

My sweet dog Molly. She has a knack for making those moments.