Finger To Finger

E told me the other day that he was all done with me. I looked at him sadly, and asked him to reconsider.  It must of hit him what exactly that meant because he turned to me with concern and a hug, saying "Oh, no."  It's nice to be needed AND wanted at the same time.


I wish I could say exactly what I wanted to say exactly when I wanted to say it.
Instead, I think of those words while pumping six miles out on the treadmill.


I always, always think of that show Out of This World, and how marvelous it would be if I really could freeze time so easily and collect my thoughts to deliver in an eloquent but effective manner.  There are few feelings worse than the feeling of being pushed aside and letting it happen...don't you agree?  Please do.  And please admit that you lose your nerve too. It would make this day not so crap.

The Rise and Fall and Rise of Man

When man left the ground

To walk the days with God

Shoulder to shoulder in conversation

And no beast turned to stare

As if it were an unusual sight,

"Oh, there those two go again,

Sharing dreams and sketching plans,"

They shrugged, or didn't even notice

The comfortable silence between

Those who share the same breath,

Together in each other's presence

Like lovers the two were swooned;

Maybe the Lord whistled a tune,

While Adam admired the blooming roses

But surpassed the slither in the grass

Until the will gave way to an envious thought

And the descent of man began;

The Heavens grieved and bent

Pondering a redemption, a rebirth

Restart the course of the Universe

As man took the life of his own,

First one brother, then another

Divide and conquer, pillage and plunder

Across the ever striving land,

A constant source of remorse

But still glimmers of glory emerged -

The angel pinned beneath Jacob's thigh,

The waters split on either side

Or walls fell under shouts of praise

Obstacles in a heap, at their feet

And a giant under a single foot,

Slain by the toy of a boy,

All sown into the great unknown

But one man an even greater deed

Saw this whole world in a fright

Children in need, a father to please

Kill this increasingly rampant seed

Offer a trade for the future and past

With a gush, a flood of blood

Over wrong, over flesh, over death,

And all other costs to be lost

In a sigh of sadness of relief

By one who let go of his son;

The sky broke, cracked open wide

And the Earth followed its lead

Crumbling as it shook itself free

Of the burden it took on its knees

It sent out marvel, mirth, and mercy

Along the nerves of creation they ran

Like an electricity, like an affinity

Towards the irrefutable end,

And again, a perfect union was found

When man's body returned to the ground.

copyright 2009

The 4th

I may need pie days more often.  Of course, I'll have to extend my gym time, but it would probably be worth it don't you think?  Or maybe, it just wouldn't mean as much if it happened so often.

So far, the holidays haven't lost their charm as I've gotten older.  I wonder how long that will last...I can sense a state of obligation, the strain that falls upon some people at this time of year.

THOSE people, somewhere along the way, have let the evils of the world break the spell. The spell that makes you feel like a little kid, because you have nothing to feel but excitement.

I'm resting on two helpings of turkey and stuffing, a couple rolls, a side of sweet potatoes, about 4 glasses of wine, some liquered up coffee, and 3 slices of pie. I think I'm still trying to make up for the year I missed.  I don't know if you can get the holidays you miss back, but I sure plan on trying.

Things For the Garage Sale

I'm turning into an old woman, about forty years too early.  One who everyone knows, whether it be a neighbor or their Grandmother, and ask her the question, "Why in God's name do you sill have this," or  "What the hell is this for?"  She stacks things on shelves and crams things in closets, and even pushes them under the bed.  Her furniture tops are never clear and she begins storing things in places that aren't meant for storage, i.e. the laundry basket.  Yes, I am on the fast track to annoying pack-rat.  I tend to hang on to things that have no function in my life, things that are useless due to various reasons: they are falling apart, I have no room for them, I should have outgrown them...I cannot bring myself to do away with these things, however, because of some emotional attachment I have developed towards them.  Telling myself that I will most likely have a use for them later on has worked quite often as well - that candle chandelier that was a gift would fit nicely in the center of the dining room table or in end table at the spacious apartment I will have someday.  I have a Lava Lamp that has sat on the floor of my closet for at least three years, probably more like five or six, but it was the Lava Lamp I begged my parents for because "everybody" had one.   Picture frames and key chains and candle holders...too many to put them all to use.  Old magazines about fitness or travel will come in handy next time I need to tone the buttocks or want to escape for awhile.
I am a girl and with that declaration I think its safe to assume that I am emotional. Utterly, helplessly, and unreasonably emotional.  Why or when certain emotions come forth, or attach themselves to people, places, and things is a mystery.  Especially things; they're just things, but then I remember.  There's the first Michael Jordan card I got that my Dad gave me when I was sick but still had the energy to jump up and down over.  Now there are two shoes boxes full of most likely valuable basketball cards; I've never even come close to selling them. There's the Winnie-the-Pook figurine that adorned one of my birthday cakes and the stuffed animal I was given when I broke my wrist.  I have a pile of stuffed animals which do nothing but collect dust. I will proudly proclaim that I do not sleep with any stuffed animals, though I have a few which are still displayed in my bedroom.  I have a stereo - my first big purchase - which now only works when it wants to.  Then there are the collections I was really into as a kid: stamps, coins, magnets.  When I get married I am unsure how I will explain to my husband why we need to make room for the rock collection I had in the fourth grade.
I should get rid of clothes.  Clothes that (A) I have nowhere to wear them to or (B) I have worn and washed to such a thin layer they will eventually have to be peeled off and buried respectfully or (C) no long fit me.  I will fit into them again some day I tell myself, but in some cases, they never fit me in the first place.  It was a hopeful buy - a motivation or an ends mean for all my hard work.  I have the dress I wore at my eighth grade graduation, over ten years ago, and haven't worn since.  "I don't remember ever seeing that shirt before," my Mother will say.  Well, that's probably because you haven't, Mom.  "Is it new?"  Depends on what passes as new.  What about that skirt you got awhile back?  Well, what about it?  You still have it?  Yes, its being preserved, you know, for that possible wedding or funeral...or an appearance on a late night talk show.  I just like believing I'm prepared for things. Even clothes have sentimental value to me - I bought them on a great vacation or trekked through Europe with them.  These are the pants I was wearing when I saw the most spectacular view of my life; this is the t-shirt I wore when my college team won the national championship.  I imagine trying to move and realizing how many trips I have to make for boxes or how much I will have to pay someone with muscles to make the trip for me.  Worse, my kids will be complaining after I die about how long its taking to go through my stuff; the weekends they're having to set aside and the garage sales and trash pick-ups they're having to arrange.  Who gets what...or who actually wants what?  
Or maybe it will be genetic, and they'll be spared the trouble.

Be Our Guest

My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree, she walks the sodden pasture lane...Not yesterday I learned to know, the love of bare November days."  --Robert Frost

First Pitch

I typically don't thrive at these kinda things - the kinda things you have to keep up with.  So I don't want to wow you right off the bat.  I'm not making this first entry all fancy and engaging, leaving you with a false sense of excitement or hope. I'm also not making any promises. Come back and visit; or don't.  I may not either.