"I Love You", a love poem.

I love you so much that I would let you borrow some of my stuff that has sentimental value.
I love you so much that if we had to park in a space that was 2 hours only and we were going to be out for 4, I would volunteer to move the car. Except if it was raining. Probably not then.
I love you so much that I will tell you after I eat some of your food without asking and offer to buy you more the next time I go shopping.
I love you so much I would never let you have a chunk of salad stuck in your teeth without staring at you pointedly until you flossed.
I love you so much I will think twice about throwing that perfect snowball at the back of your head the next time it snows.
I love you so much I would give you a wet willie and then offer you a q-tip.
I love you so much I will write you a lame poem now while I am procrastinating.
I love you so much I will try extra hard not to snot on your sleeve so much when I cry.
I love you so much that you can have the last box of Oreo cookies.
I love you so much that we can keep pretending you would be in Gryffindor even though we both know you are Hufflepuff material.
I love you so much that when you need chocolates I'll walk to Theo's with you and crawl back with you when we eat too many samples.
I love you so much that if you were Frodo and I was Sam I would carry you to the top of the mountain even if you were really heavy and most likely complaining.
I love you so much that I would even offer to carry the ring and only put it on a couple of times just to try it out.
I love you so much that I'll try to make that face that you hate less often or at least not when you are around.
I love you so much that every night, I want you to hold Marvin the cat.
I love you so much that I am going to stop prosing and finish my paper so we can hang out.
yeah. I love you all that much.

Restless.

I walk. I talk. I shop. I sneeze. 

I'm gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back. 

There's trees in the desert since you moved out, 

and I don't sleep on a bed of bones.

shake the death away!

I think I was born in the fall to learn how the trees relinquish their treasures.

discombobulated Jet lagged thoughts.

When I get this PoliSci degree under my belt, my first acts as mayor of Seattle will be as follows:

A. Develop a real public transportation system
B. Personally shoot all crows
C. Govern from somewhere else
D. Replace Pioneer Square with a petting zoo filled with miniature goats (see video)

But for now I am off the plane for a day and get to fly again tomorrow. The world is my overpriced oyster. Bonzai!

Kiyoo

i see him watering those flowers
attempt at a new hobby
i butcher his name everyday at the same time
he says
"just call me 'honey'"
and even though he's sweet
i don't because that's his wife's name for him
and he always makes the joke
"i'm just out here to get away from the wife!"
but he loves that woman to pieces
you can see it in every wrinkle
on his war torn face
and even at eighty-seven
he is still just the soldier
coming back from korea
for her.

-(she reminds him to water the flowers)-

you need to look up seattle.
when you walk past me, you need to look up.
stop staring at the cracks in the pavement thinking that missing them will give you back some semblance of caring for your mother.
Chances are you lost your closeness with her when you stopped making eye contact.

so you need to look at me when we walk past each other.
lock eyes with me and fake a smile if you must.
I don't need your "hello's" or a weather report
because its either raining or its about to
but I do need that mutual recognition of our human
I just want to see that you have nostrils!

you need to look up seattle.
you need to look up seattle.

I think of all the times I’ve tried to hold your haunting

Think I’ve spent a little too much time holding onto your haunting

The best of you in the worst of me

Made the worst of we

This inspired me today.

"When our noses are no longer pressed up against the tapestry, freed from preoccupation with the individual threads and the knots, the pattern can be seen, and the very particular purpose that has always been there in the fabric of one small life is revealed. And we realize that it all comes down to this: all the struggles and challenges, all the blessings and benefits have all been in the service of the task that is ours.

And the question changes. Once it was- what is my purpose? Now it becomes- how will I live the one word I have taken life to say? How will I deepen the one healing I have taken life to find and embody? How will I embody this so it may help alleviate suffering in myself, others and the world?"

-Oriah, Mountain Dreamer

This ham

can't wait to be back in that Eurozone! Giant cured meats here I come!

I'M NOT TIRED!!! Oh holy crap I am NOT! TIRED!!! 

IRON LEVELS SUCK IT!
I've slept my way though SO many days and now I am AWAKE and Uncertain and OVERWHELMED and READY TO PAAAARRRTAAAAY WITH THE BEST OF THEMMMMMM!


I feel like I imagine Lance Armstrong did after probably blood doping!
Like Columbus when he discovered the wrong continent!
Like a 5 year old on Christmas morning!
A middle schooler trying energy drinks for the first time!
The Mariners getting their first home run after a decade of walks!
Like the first time I cleared the high jump bar at 4'4!

Like I am going to be in one of my dearest friend's wedding and dance wild with other dear friends and hop on the plane to germany with a dear friend the next day!

Queen size.

I've haven't gotten over my fear of sleeping in marriage beds. The mattress continent to the left still scares me. I only sleep on the wife's side, because anything further would feel indelicate. I want to treat their sex as sacred. I have been awoken by a golden retriever licking my ear. Fat cat flopped on my face with a paw to the jugular and by the 4th night I didn't even scream. After 3 years sleeping in the same room and 9 months in this queen bed, Liz mostly refuses to cuddle with me but we've had our pillow chats and she amuses my insomnia with semi-conscious mutterings.

I just don't know what to do with all that extra space, you know?

My childhood loft is perched upstairs with the names of first crushes scratched into the rails.

I felt protected by those boards. A sleeping ship on the monster's high seas. Used the space well-- me, Spot, BunBun and KeeKee, Crayola Bear, Kissybears and Ladybug.

The perfect height for hug-mug-mug and a reading nook below.

I am a hugging little kicker. I have a sleeping affinity for the diagonal, the criss-cross, the slant-ways. I steal the sheets and leave the covers, tasting the midnight air for better dreams.

fwends

Carmen is like a cat. I am like a horse. We get along swell! She's always got my back, and to carry her is never a burden.

 

I'm coming out of the country-pop closet.

I effing like Rascal Flatts. Drat that!

paws

putsy putsy p.o.s.

The long surrender

All my favorite people are broken
Believe me, my heart should know
Some prayers are better left unspoken
I just want to hold you and let the rest go

All my friends are part saint and part sinner
We lean on each other, try to rise above
We are not afraid to admit we are all still beginners
We are all late bloomers when it comes to love

All my favorite people are broken
Believe me, my heart should know
Awful believers, skeptical dreamers, step forward
You can stay right here, you don't have to go

Is each wound you've received just a burdensome gift?
It gets so hard to lift yourself up off the ground
But the poet says we must praise a mutilated world
We're all working the graveyard shift
You might as well sing along

Cause all my favorite people are broken
Believe me, my heart should know
As for your tender heart, this world's going to rip it wide open, 
It aint gonna be pretty, but you're not alone

All my favorite people are broken
Believe me, my heart should know
Awful believers, skeptical dreamers, you're welcome
Yeah, you're safe right here, you don't have to go

Cause all my favorite people are broken
Believe me, I should know
Some prayers are better left unspoken
I just want to hold you and let the rest go



-Over the Rhine, "All My Favorite People"

Alrighty Almighty--

the rest is up to you. 

"But now I don't fear again--now I'm free"

Today she asked me where the bad dreams come from, and I couldn't answer her.

But I do know what the good ones are made of.

Intro to Voice Final: This Thursday at 5!

Are you going to Scarborough fair?

dearest friend will i see you there?

life's not always pretty

it hurts to care

and sometimes love's too much to bear

parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme

am I yours and are you mine?

give me reason

give me rhyme

the tardy fruit's the fullest wine

Remember me to One who lives there

if you knew would you still care?

he says "truth"

and i say "dare"

far from home in a villain's lair 

he once was A true love of Mine

is this life more than a tombstone's line?

a hope chest of maple

a casket of pine

we'd make something good, we'd make something fine

Tell Him to make me a cambric shirt

can i hold your hands when they're covered in dirt?

I want to dance

in a flowing skirt

made for joy and prone to hurt

without no Seams nor needlework

if death is drowning is Life the murk?

my heart still flutters

my knees still jerk

you see my silence you hear my quirks

tell him to find me an acre of land

Is there treasure under this sinking sand?

we stole our hearts

and took our hands

so full of desires and whispered demands

tell him to reap it in a sickle of leather

is it just me, or is it the weather?

raised in glory

Falling together

i caught an angel and hold Every feather

parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme

you will always remain a true love of mine

San Pellegrino

Pre-worn leather furniture on cowhide rugs. Old foreign trinkets that pique curiosity but not memories. Finger paint art in gilded frames. Marble philosophers with vacant eyes and stiff hair. Some things too ornate, others expensively plain.
Even their children seem like living accessories-- growing collectibles whose main purpose is to warrant an oversized house.

They are an attractive power-couple. More put together than I could ever hope to be.

Him: George Clooney's suave meets Brad Pitt's hair. Add a pinstriped sports jacket to dark wash jeans. A distinguished grey with professionally whitened teeth. Hospitable upon request, but not naturally. He has it all and knows it. This recent outgrowth of yuppie pursuits unsettles him to the core, reducing purpose to pretentiousness and servitude to show with lots of tell.

She, for her part, is ostensibly Italian. Beauty, mannerisms, dress, complexion, charisma. But no flourish. No spark of joy without coaxing. Her movements are floundering; a fish out of water doing its best to breathe air. She has subdued herself to his dreams. She misses her parents more than the best tomato sauce could ever convey. Here, she is reduced to half a spirit, and this adventure Americana has become a desperate search for anything familiar. She too has begun to realize that no amount of wine and kickshaws could ever make this home, but its not for lack of trying.

After petting the dog and mentioning thirst, I am offered filtered water or fizzy water. Aqua frizzante it is. There is no discussion of the two dependents sleeping above us. She rushes upstairs to powder her face, and he takes the opportunity to show off his new stereo system. I am lost in bubbly water and contemporary Jefferson Airplane. Of course my first instinct is to spill all over my shirt, which I disguise admirably. After dabbing at my chest with a burlap pillow, I wander the house awkwardly while my employer entertains a British chum with similar grooming habits. My ears are impressed, but I sense that my opinion on vintage turntables is inconsequential. I begin to feel like yet another accessory, so I bite my tongue and let the water tickle my nose away from snootiness. I turn then to the strangest art I have ever seen. It is a conversation piece, at best. A demon's nightmare at worst. Besides the myriad of non-plastic designer toys, this place feels inhospitable to sticky fingers and sibling rivalries. Kids, it seems, were an afterthought. Or perhaps far to planned?

After a few minutes of grooming each other, Brad and Angelina leave in a hurry to dine across the street. A trial run for me, apparently. From one place with nice things to another place with nice things, though somehow I doubt she will care for the meal. When you are raised on Strega Nona's homemade pasta, even the best that metropolitan market has to offer tastes like shit. Which makes me laugh, actually. But only for a second, because in all this finery I too have forgotten that there are two small children sleeping upstairs and that I am here to guard their dreams of ipads and leather bound books and stainless steel and treasures not to touch.

Part of me wonders if I should have come more prepared. This feels more like nightshift at the Louvre than babysitting, and I wonder if I should be patrolling with a weighted maglight. The dog, of course, is no help. Obviously starved for attention, he is more likely to fend off an intruder with bad breath than ferocity. At best, he might stall them with desperate hugs and kisses. Useless.
So its really just me here, with my unintelligent phone and glass of flattened Pellegrino.

Don't get me wrong. I am not angry, nor am I bitter. People have nice things, and that is great for them. Heck, I have nice things. I appreciate the work that it took to acquire and display them so artfully. I enjoy looking at things from a different time, a different land, a different perspective. People have nice things and they like that about themselves. Good for them. Good for me.

But after spending a weekend in the simplicity of home, I am reminded once more; that's just not my best.
I was born in mess, I live in mess, and I will die a glorious mess.
Despite a tone of mild annoyance, the past few hours have not emblazoned permanent disdain upon my face, but have instead strengthened my desire for something else.

When I have a home, there will be no untouchables. Nothing so valuable that it cannot be treasured by tiny hands. There will be leather bound books and paperback books and children's books jumbled together--probably all with juice stains-- and they will share many many shelves and we will read them. Walls decorated with things we think are beautiful and things our children create and scuff marks from wrestling matches and coloring endeavors. We will sit on the kitchen floor for the deepest talks. There will be messes made and messes that don't get cleaned up until days later. Dusting will be easy. Keeping animals out of the house will not. My children will be loved enough to be disciplined, and just poor enough to share.

My house will not have an abundance of niceties, but it will be filled with joy. I dream of a house where the highest and the lowest are made welcome. A space where even the wanderer can feel at home. A place that knows it's place.

Until that day, I will continue getting paid to do homework in this quasi-gallery, and I will enjoy my fill of fizzy or filtered water with these delicious imported organic apples.

But hear you me, and hear me clear: you can't keep this girl under a bell jar, and these nice things will outlive us all.

One of my most exciting musical moments was getting to play bass drum for the 9th grade band (as an 8th grader, no less!) on Verdi's Requiem: Dies Irae.

I would love. To hit a bass drum right now. I would love that so much.

This is as close as it gets.

something inside of me has s n a p p e d.
like a neon glow stick I have been b/r/o/k/e/n and
s-h-a-k-e-n to the point of
no return and
--low and behold--
I am alight
for the first time in ages.

The Golden Times

Walks along the railroad tracks with a lifelong friend, talking about things discussed the day before. 

Meandering through the same old streets on a rusted bike, wishing for enough money to buy a donut. 

The only limitation is to "be home by dinner"-- fresh corn, watermelon, barbecue, beer. 

Skipping rocks on the beach--or watching as Carmen challenges my dad and always wins

Forcing miniature crabs out from under rocks and into a dug-out "battle arena" to fight 

Swimming out to the dock 

Picking blackberries and rhubarb with a mother's promise of pie

Ghost stories at bonfires

Sleeping outside to watch the meteors fall

Building a tree house with dad's lumber scraps

Papa plays guitar after dinner--we belt "Angel From Montgomery" through mouthfuls of s'mores

Raiding my best friend's fridge for otter pops 

Running through the sprinkler and chasing water rainbows in a circle

Pegging my sister with water balloons while she tans

Catching fireflies 

Playing horse shoes at the park (hahaha, Charlie!)

Long drives across the sound 

Sailing to Mye island and trekking out to the sea dragon 

Long walks to nowhere in particular

Naps in the hammock

Losing myself in a book without the guilt of "wasting time"

Listening to blues music

Outdoor movies in the backyard 

Driving that truck to god knows where and blasting twangy country tunes

Road trips to wherever the sunsets hold the most promise

Lounging around Grandma and Grandpa's house--drinking milkshakes in exchange for gardening

Surviving on dried mangos, peas, cherry tomatoes and pizza

Trekking through the woods, finding the Big Mama clay wall and inscribing our own hieroglyphs 

Sitting in the double-Kayak and letting the current have it's way with our destination

Hiking those Olympic peaks and gorging on Chimacum Cheeseburgers and Root beer afterwards

Cutoff shorts, Tevas, tie-dye tshirts, farmer tans, ray bans and whirring fans

Watching Stand By Me, The Sandlot and Breaking Away for the nth time

Laughing with friends and family

Putting all our efforts into the 4th of July

The smell of sulphur and the ear-ringing blasts for days

Weddings at the park

Slip and slides

Rope swings

Drinking on the porch

Making water marks on the street with your butt

Becoming overly serious about the rules of croquet 

Fresh cut grass

and sun. Sun. SUN!

The Weight of Words.

So last night I put my foot in my mouth and said something I immediately regretted. It was the kind of phrase that you want to take back after each word is expelled but the drive to form a complete sentence urges you to continue and before you know it the thought is out and offers no hope of retraction.
Listen here-- I am no stranger to this feeling. I have tossed words around my whole life, like pizza dough or salad or crumpled up pages of bad poetry. I've flung some slings and arrows in my time, like anyone with a fickle tongue on the defensive and a desire to impress. I've chucked my verbal deuces up and turned peace signs into peace-out lines that really zinged (or so I hoped). And as a general rule, I've been really impressed with myself about all that. Those casual stabs and jabs got me through middle-school taunting. Survival mechanisms, baby.

But the past 9 months or so have been a toughie. Trying to reconcile my protectionist instincts with the desire for authenticity and vulnerability, I have become increasingly aware of the weight of words.

At the Seattle Science Center, there is a giant lever with a huge steel weight attached to one end and a rope on the other. When you pull the rope to the far end of the lever, away from the weight, you can lift the 2,500 lb. mass on the other end with relative ease. For little kids/me, its like having super strength for 5 seconds. Pull this rope, move a ton. Done.

Then things get a little more complicated. As you move the rope closer to the weight, it becomes increasingly difficult to gain any leverage. This is the point where kids/me start piling onto the rope like squirming rock crystals in attempt to shift the defiant mass on the other side. Pull this rope, be reminded of how much my arms resemble spaghetti al dente. Done.

I've found the same concept of leverage applies to words. When my heart is far away from relationships/people for whatever reason (be it time, injury, apathy, annoyance or as a protective measure),  I can flick around words that should be weighty as if they were dried goobers. "I love you", "I hate ____", "You're great", "You're my favorite", "You're mean", "I trust you". I've said all these things at some point, probably even today. Drat that!

Inversely, I find that the closer I get to someone, the more those words mean. The heavier they become. They can't be spoken as easily, and they are taken a lot more seriously. I couldn't even tell my parents that I love them until late in my teen years, yet I could readily profess a love for Spike by season 2 of Buffy.

The harsh truth is that precious few of us are prepared to take on the responsibility of stewarding our words. We yearn for closeness and a tangible sense of reality, but not if there is the possibility of getting hurt in the process. We love our security, and we love our pride. No one wants to pull the rope and look like weak sauce in the middle of the Science Center. Its downright embarrassing.

Yet I've learned from personal experience that after a time, hanging around the fringes of vulnerability to preserve the upper hand stops being impressive and starts being strangely isolating. It didn't take long for the 5 year olds ooing and ahhing my superwoman antics to get bored and move onto other exhibits. Especially when they realized they could do the same thing.

But I digress. Something always has to give. Last night, I made a snarky comment towards a close friend that carried more weight than I wanted to take responsibility for. I pulled the lever from the outer edges and those words shifted without effort and without thought and without impressing anyone, really. Including me.

"With the right leverage and the proper application of strength, the door will come free." So true, Will Turner. But it's up to us how we use that leverage--that strength. Because there are some doors we don't want to open, and there are doors that we do want to open but are too afraid to because they represent vulnerability in a relationship, and some doors that should stay closed, and not all doors are holding Jack Sparrow captive, and criminy I am horrible at extended metaphors.

Regardless, taking responsibility for the weight of your words requires a strong element of humility. Sometimes it means saying, "Yes, I do have noodles for arms. Will you help me carry this?" I am fortunate enough to have a few wonderful individuals that are willing to share the weight. Every once in a while (sic last night) I slip up and get a little too cocky, but like so many unimpressed 5 year olds, my antics are quickly called out. Thank you.

So here I am learning the weight of words. It isn't glamorous and it isn't easy and I still put far too much stock in my defense mechanisms, but in learning weight, I am learning how to hold what is real. I am learning self-respect and other-respect and what it means to be truly vulnerable. And within this vulnerability, I am learning what it means to love and be loved.

Tiring? Yes.

But a shared tired. And so incredibly worth it.

To a promise made long ago

I will learn how to miss you the way I promised.

Everyone tells me I am stubborn as hell but
if it takes a spotless mind to love you best,
I will relinquish these memories
one
by
one

re-direct my neurons to other names
stop thinking that
synaptic do-overs
could keep you near

and obsession could hold you close.

I am learning to let you be an absence that no other can fill,
and I promise that on that day when our voices meet again
my heart will leap for joy from the weight of what it holds
and my mind will re-remember that


Yes.


I have missed you well

open your hands of it

Father 

Oh Father,

I trust You

with 

my 

loves

the weather has caught up to my leg hair.

Spring love is wonderful. I find myself gazing into the eyes of birds and even that one crow who always tries to shit on me can't take the skip/trip out of my step. I look out my window at night and am torn between a love of leaves and lament that they block the stars. In spring, Scandi Seattlites get back of the neck burned at 68°. She got her first kiss last night on a dock with meteors in the sky, which I love for her. There are flowing skirts and cutoff shorts with prickly winter legs and floppy hats and sometimes shirtless lawn mowing or fully clothed weed-wacking in our case. Our darling neighbor planted flowers in our dandelion patch when he thought no one was home. I finished the best Steinbeck/book I have ever read, and I know now that I have a choice. I am loosely pursuing the harmonica and drinking beer on the porch, both of which are learning me how to pucker my lips, which are starting to regain feeling 3 or 4 years post jaw-saw. I told my bedmate that I wanted a musical outlet, and she thought that was funny. "You're the best whistler i know, and you sing and drum and stuff. What more do you need?" She's probably right, but this season just brings out the creator in me and I want to perform and create and maybe even procreate (shock value!) because hanging out with a baby and a 4 year old every week makes me so. So. Happy. To be in love with spring.

Now Put Some Voodoo On It!

My good friend Kjersti showed me this video a while back and it is one of the best things I have seen/heard in a long time. This world needs more soul. 

This isn't a music forum or anything, but get your soul on today. 

some slide guitar, some motown, some voices that dare to go above a raspy whisper and singers who aren't afraid to look ridiculously affected by the tones they belt. (*See Galen Dissten of Pickwick waggling his fingers out of control to hit those juicy notes). We don't need to play it cool anymore. 

You can't tell me you don't feel like groovin when Marvin "Heard It Through The Grapevine" Gaye comes on.

That your frugal sensibilities aren't swayed by the smooth pleas of Aloe "I Need A Dollar" Blacc

That Jamie "A Little Bit More" Lidell doesn't put a bounce in your steps

Just try and convince me that Janelle "Tightrope" Monae doesn't make you want to shake off the bad mojo and move on. 

There's a reason its called soul. Its good for ya. 

the me in your mind

How about this: we introduce our shadows of each other and wish them a happy ever after. Then maybe You and I can sit and drink tea in peace. That would be so lovely nice. 

boosh.

Questions I am currently contemplating:

Do deaf people think that people who are yawning are screaming?

How do blind people dream?

What if there was a carnivore amidst the Land Before Time gang?

Where do rogue socks end up during the laundry process?
What if Rosa Parks had had a car?
Can primordial soup ease the common cold?
Why is it that we are sickest before the symptoms kick in?
How do you throw away a garbage can?
Why isn't phonetic spelled the way it sounds?
Are there any other words for synonym?
Why does a 24/7 convenience store need locks on the doors?
How does the snow-plower get to work in the morning?
Who comes to the rescue when the tow truck breaks down?
What if a surgeon had a heart attack while performing a surgery?
Why do vegans like things shaped/textured/colored like meat?
If there was an earthquake right now, would I really trust the door frames to protect me?

Questions I can't answer and am frustrated by:

Why don't Seattlites greet each other in passing?
What is the balance between grace and accountability?
How is Denzel Washington always so attractive?
What purpose did my bedroom serve 100 years ago?
Did our house originally have a fireplace?
Why do the things I make an effort to ignore crop up so often?
How come people don't sing to each other anymore?
Why is it that I always make eye-contact with creeps?
How many things do I claim to not like but, given a second try, would actually love?
If I were to repeat my same life looking just 10 degrees in a different direction in every instance, what would I see? Who would I be?
What is my favorite season?
Why does my hair take so long to grow?
Why do things cost money?

Questions I know the answer to but cant/wont say:

Why am I frustrated right now?
Who ate all the m&m's in maddy's trailmix?
Why does my heart race when I smell honeysuckle or cigarettes?
How awesome is the 4th of July?
Where does the restlessness come from?
What makes him so inescapably wonderful?
Where is home?
Will I always be so stubborn?
What if I had said something sooner?
How did I stand to listen to the Destiny's Child's first album every day for months?
Why did I ever think it was a good idea to buzz cut my head?
Why do I ignore my instincts?

What happens to a dream deferred?

What am i going to eat for dinner?

"A Case of You"

Just before our love got lost you said
"I am as constant as a northern star"
And I said "Constantly in the darkness
Where's that at?
If you want me I'll be in the bar"

On the back of a cartoon coaster
In the blue TV screen light
I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
With your face sketched on it twice
Oh you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet

Oh I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
oh I would still be on my feet

Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid

I remember that time you told me you said
"Love is touching souls"
Surely you touched mine
'Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet

Oh I could drink a case of you darling
And I would still be on my feet
I would still be on my feet

I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
"Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed"

Oh but you are in my blood
You're my holy wine
You're so bitter, bitter and so sweet

Oh, I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I would still be on my feet

Dear Joni Mitchell,

Thank you so much for writing this song.

Dear Seattle,

They call you the Emerald City,

but there's still no place like home.

"Welcome to the human race...

you are a mess!"

-The Books, All Our Base Are Belong To Them

Ahh final's week. There is really nothing like it.

Even more so, "Ahh, life. There is really nothing like you."

Enjoy your worries. You may never have them again.

And I believe we'll be able to laugh about this when the seasons shift. Even more so than we've ever cried.

"Tutto è santo

Tutto è santo
Tutto è santo
Non c'è niente di naturale nella natura ragazzo mio
Tienitelo bene in mente"

"For the first time in the history of the world a young girl climbed into a tree one day. She climbed down from the tree next day. God bless her."

together in electric dreams

 I realized my smallness again the other day, while cuddling with Amanda. When our two figures could not even fill a bed, let alone a room or a house or a city in a state of a country in a world of histories and simultaneous actions and life. On my worst days I convince myself that I have never been touched because the electrons rotating the atoms of my cells are too chaotic to let me get hurt like that. On my best days I revel in the collision of two energy fields when I get to hold the hand of someone I love. Sometimes it is on the smallest level that the most profound connections are made. Lately, thats been a really big deal to me.

This is a cold war

This is important.

I am going to talk about the bystander effect right now and you listen the hell up because it could be a matter of life and death.

Definitions

Bystander: A person who is present at an event or incident but does not take part

Effect:1. Something brought about by a cause or agent; a result. 2. The power to produce an outcome or achieve a result; influence

Bystander Effect: The bystander effect or Genovese syndrome is a social psychological phenomenon that refers to cases where individuals do not offer any means of help in an emergency situation to the victim when other people are present.

For some reason or another, when we get together we get stupid. It happens in our house all the time. We start in on the Bridesmaids quotes and the voices and we become interwoven and indistinguishable from one another. It can be a form of solidarity to have those things, those jokes and moments that make collective memories and form a knowing. We start quotes with the expectation that someone else will finish them.

Now and again (ok, quite often, hypocritically), the group think gets to me. I realize that it is exclusive and somewhat obnoxious and repetitive and limiting. I participate, of course, in this friendly collective thought process, but that is because I have found it to be mostly harmless. Until today.

Today, as I sat in a coffee shop doing homework, a girl had a seizure 5 feet away from me. She fell on the ground hard. Her mug shattered on the floor. Shards everywhere and she was convulsing in them. But thanks to many hours as a kid spent pouring over EMT books and living now with a group of passionate premed/nursing majors, I knew what to do. I'm sure I was not alone in these faculties. My knowledge base is hardly more than common sense.

BUT. In a matter of seconds I was the one on the ground, clearing her airway of vomit and turning her on her side.

Let me be clear about this: I did not want to be the one in charge of this situation. I am not medically qualified to handle anything of the sort. There were 10 other people and 2 baristas in the coffee shop. And yet there I was, crouched on the ground, holding this girl's violent body and taking the lead because everyone else was looking at one another for direction.

THIS. Is un. acceptable. There were 5 grown men in the coffee shop. The girl was kicking a table, and I had to tell them to move it so that she didn't break her leg. Everyone had a cell phone, but it wasn't until I specifically instructed someone to call 911 that anyone acted. There were sharp bits of porcelain everywhere, but until I barked for a pillow, I was holding this girl's head in my arm so that she didn't get cut.

She eventually came too and the EMT's took it from there, but NO ONE else who had been present could give them any information. Here is what I assessed in the midst of the ordeal: She seized for approximately 2 minutes, had possible cuts due to the glass, could have sustained a head injury from her fall, had a pulse of 160 and was not wearing any medical tags.

Unfortunately, these situations are not uncommon. But for the first time today, I realized the importance of thinking as an individual. Solidarity is great, but if we spend our life looking for cues that tell us what to do in any given situation, we will not only miss opportunities for boldness, but possibly endanger one another. When there is an emergency at hand, NEVER expect someone else to "handle it". Life is not a knock-knock joke. It is not the start of a quote that we can depend on others to finish. You have to finish your own quotes. You have to be the first responder.

I am in Love--

And I don't care who knows it!

Rousseau, where have you been all my life?

"Prudence! Prudence which is ever bidding us look forward into the future, a future which in many cases we shall never reach; here is the real source of all our troubles! How mad it is for so short-lived a creature as man to look forward into a future to which he rarely attains, while he neglects the present which is his? This madness is all the more fatal since it increases with years, and the old, always timid, prudent, and miserly, prefer to do without necessaries to-day that they may have luxuries at a hundred. Thus we grasp everything, we cling to everything; we are anxious about time, place, people, things, all that is and will be; we ourselves are but the least part of ourselves. We spread ourselves, so to speak, over the whole world, and all this vast expanse becomes sensitive. No wonder our woes increase when we may be wounded on every side. How many princes make themselves miserable for the loss of lands they never saw, and how many merchants lament in Paris over some misfortune in the Indies!

Is it nature that carries men so far from their real selves? Is it her will that each should learn his fate from others and even be the last to learn it; so that a man dies happy or miserable before he knows what he is about. There is a healthy, cheerful, strong, and vigorous man; it does me good to see him; his eyes tell of content and well-being; he is the picture of happiness. A letter comes by post; the happy man glances at it, it is addressed to him, he opens it and reads it. In a moment he is changed, he turns pale and falls into a swoon. When he comes to himself he weeps, laments, and groans, he tears his hair, and his shrieks re-echo through the air. You would say he was in convulsions. Fool, what harm has this bit of paper done you? What limb has it torn away? What crime has it made you commit? What change has it wrought in you to reduce you to this state of misery?

Had the letter miscarried, had some kindly hand thrown it into the fire, it strikes me that the fate of this mortal, at once happy and unhappy, would have offered us a strange problem. His misfortunes, you say, were real enough. Granted; but he did not feel them. What of that? His happiness was imaginary. I admit it; health, wealth, a contented spirit, are mere dreams. We no longer live in our own place, we live outside it. What does it profit us to live in such fear of death, when all that makes life worth living is our own?"

-Jean-Jaques Rousseau, Emile

And so it has been, that by spending my life making future plans out of fear, I have spent my waking days in the very death I planned to escape. Truth be told, I fear life more than death. Creatures of habit hate the unknown.

But here's what's real. You don't have to be PERFECT for life! Life does not require your readiness. I don't have to be "there" to live right now. Because that doesn't even make sense! There is no there. Not one I'd ever want to reach anyways.

Such is the knowledge that kills fear.

So begins my political love affair with life.

Tweet tweet and C h i r p !

I was born from a whistle. Freed by that sound I make with my teeth that is so seemingly sourceless. I will whistle you a concerto if you'd like. 1812 overture is a personal favorite. I can whistle with the clarity of a piccolo or the soul of Aretha. I can whistle with my retainers in (see mom, I DO wear them!), when it's cold out, after 7 hours of jaw surgery and with the birds in spring. People know me by my whistle. It is something I do without thinking, when singing requires too much effort and talking is superfluous. Inspired by my grandma, taught by my siblings, it is something I will always have. And I like that about myself.

Worth the risk?

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be b r o k e n. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell."

C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

To isolate from love would be a hellish thing indeed. So H a p p y V a l e n t i n e s d a y. May you never fear this thing called love.

"I never knew a time more fit than the present"

-Machiavelli, The Prince

lets try this again.

I am in a season of second chances. Rekindling abandoned friendships. Extending my hand towards family members. Giving myself the grace to mess things up and the strength to relinquish my desire to fix it all. I will take my brother out to lunch. I will help my grandmother sort old photographs and go through the memories she treasures. I will sing with my sister and learn about the things that are important to her. I will spend time really listening to my friends. I will travel with my uncle and see the family farm. I will call my parents and visit home. I will let my heart's Melody know that she is loved--that her life is not a failure.

I will be someone who is dependable. I will make that commitment to the people I love.

God has made it clear that I am to steward my relationships. I cannot save, fix, or heal, but I can embody joy and love. I can appreciate what I have been given and the love that is around me. I do not have to be a victim of circumstance. I am not the poster child of tragedy.

From Genesis to Exodus and back again. I have been given a new beginning. Hold me to it. Help me share it.

the limits of choices.

Think about the ways in which your freedom is impeded by the weight of too many choices. We are so often chained to options. It's time to Houdini our way out of this mess.

Ursa Major.

you are the black (k)night crook

in my handle on reality

keeping me attached to a constellation

I can no longer find.

A bodiless bear in search of his tail.

oh bother!

conduit

and I know that you're angry. That it isn't fair. And it kills.

me.

you.

but life is happening. It is here and now and real and passing.

don't wait for it. don't let this be your death. it is just one more time your life has ended.

Through Heaven's Eyes. (New Years day revelation)

A single thread in a tapestry
Through its color brightly shine
Can never see its purpose
In the pattern of the grand design

And the stone that sits on the very top
Of the mountain's mighty face
Does it think it's more important
Than the stones that form the base?

So how can you see what your life is worth
Or where your value lies?
You can never see through the eyes of man
You must look at your life

Look at your life through heaven's eyes

A lake of gold in the desert sand
Is less than a cool fresh spring
And to one lost sheep, a shepherd boy
Is greater than the richest king
If a man lose ev'rything he owns
Has he truly lost his worth?
Or is it the beginning
Of a new and brighter birth?

So how do you measure the worth of a man
In wealth or strength or size?
In how much he gained or how much he gave?
The answer will come
The answer will come to him who tries
To look at his life through heaven's eyes

And that's why we share all we have with you
Though there's little to be found
When all you've got is nothing
There's a lot to go around

No life can escape being blown about
By the winds of change and chance
And though you never know all the steps
You must learn to join the dance
You must learn to join the dance!

So how do you judge what a man is worth
By what he builds or buys?
You can never see with your eyes on earth
Look through heaven's eyes
Look at your life
Look at your life
Look at your life through heaven's eyes

(Prince of Egypt)