'If we are A&E, then I think you are kinda more accident prone and I have more emergencies.'
(Don't worry--we're fine. More than fine, actually, we're celebrating Thanksgiving!!!!)one
Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Where I Go
I hear a voice say, 'You asked me once, where I go.' The voice, she continues. 'This is where I go.'
The hill slopes down from a ring of oak trees where cloth tents are nestled on the even ground. A natural patch of trees upon a hilltop, overlooking a field, overlooking a lake (it is hidden from my sight by the tall grass, and eclisped by the great red-brown boulder I am heading towards), overlooking the valley which slopes back up into hills covered in oak trees. This is the place where my soul is truly happy.
This place is a neverland, a meditative happy place, but this place is neither of those things. This field with its trees looking over, its boulder my home in the center, this is where I was truly happy. This place is a memory of where I once was as I planned to be in my happiest days, and it is where I return to when I am my most lonely.
The contrast between the joy of the wind across the tops of the grasses and the breathlessness of my being inside. They are interconnected. They are never without one another. I am never without the other in the reflection of tears, of water droplets, of rainy puddle days.
The hill slopes down from a ring of oak trees where cloth tents are nestled on the even ground. A natural patch of trees upon a hilltop, overlooking a field, overlooking a lake (it is hidden from my sight by the tall grass, and eclisped by the great red-brown boulder I am heading towards), overlooking the valley which slopes back up into hills covered in oak trees. This is the place where my soul is truly happy.
This place is a neverland, a meditative happy place, but this place is neither of those things. This field with its trees looking over, its boulder my home in the center, this is where I was truly happy. This place is a memory of where I once was as I planned to be in my happiest days, and it is where I return to when I am my most lonely.
The contrast between the joy of the wind across the tops of the grasses and the breathlessness of my being inside. They are interconnected. They are never without one another. I am never without the other in the reflection of tears, of water droplets, of rainy puddle days.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Dude, One a Day
Today, I'm just gonna go uncatergorized. I can't even remember which day it is with all the buzzing going on in my head.
Monday, November 23, 2009
When In Doubt
New Thanksgiving/Work mantra:
"Yams! Turkey! Pumpkin pies! Oh my! Yams! Turkey! Pumpkin pies! Oh my!"
Thanks for the inspiration, DS.
"Yams! Turkey! Pumpkin pies! Oh my! Yams! Turkey! Pumpkin pies! Oh my!"
Thanks for the inspiration, DS.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Hereditary Laughter
My g'ma has narcalepsy and it gets triggered by laughter: when something strikes her as really funny, she passes out. Some would consider this an unfortunate turn of events, given that her four children have an uncanny ability to tell a funny story and put her to sleep.
My memories of the family gathered as a young child (the oldest girl granddaughter I was usually alone and hanging out with the adults) was of someone telling a story that was obviously so funny they could barely contain their own laughter and then someone saying 'Oh, catch Mom!' or 'Catch, Grandma, quick!' as she tried to fight off the sleep and, ultimately, slumped in her chair. That said, she does wake up pretty quick and the laughter doesn't miss a beat.
Remembering just makes me miss her more. Thanksgiving is this week and ever year she hosts the epic feast in her living room turned restuarant come Turkey Day. When I missed Thanksgiving one year because I was living abroad before, she said she'd kill me if I ever missed it again. Thankfully, she's understanding this year, and as an honor to her, my living room too will become a banquet hall and, who knows, maybe it'll be a night where we all fall over in laughter.
My memories of the family gathered as a young child (the oldest girl granddaughter I was usually alone and hanging out with the adults) was of someone telling a story that was obviously so funny they could barely contain their own laughter and then someone saying 'Oh, catch Mom!' or 'Catch, Grandma, quick!' as she tried to fight off the sleep and, ultimately, slumped in her chair. That said, she does wake up pretty quick and the laughter doesn't miss a beat.
Remembering just makes me miss her more. Thanksgiving is this week and ever year she hosts the epic feast in her living room turned restuarant come Turkey Day. When I missed Thanksgiving one year because I was living abroad before, she said she'd kill me if I ever missed it again. Thankfully, she's understanding this year, and as an honor to her, my living room too will become a banquet hall and, who knows, maybe it'll be a night where we all fall over in laughter.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Silly Little Girl
A week or so ago, someone I care about called me 'a doll.' It was a compliment of my figure and fashion. A phrase said in a loving tone. It ruffled all my bad feathers.
A few days ago, multiple people in one evening called me 'beautiful,' specifically or a variation of it. I brushed it off on good looks, decided it was the shallowness of people that drove them to such pithy comments. This was despite being told that it was not just my looks to which they were referring.
A few hours ago, I called myself 'a silly little girl.' How awful is that to say of my gorgeous, strong, intelligent 24 & 11 month year old self.
I've made these connections, drawn the line between believing in myself as more than a pretty face, a shallow object, and I want to cross to the other side.
A few days ago, multiple people in one evening called me 'beautiful,' specifically or a variation of it. I brushed it off on good looks, decided it was the shallowness of people that drove them to such pithy comments. This was despite being told that it was not just my looks to which they were referring.
A few hours ago, I called myself 'a silly little girl.' How awful is that to say of my gorgeous, strong, intelligent 24 & 11 month year old self.
I've made these connections, drawn the line between believing in myself as more than a pretty face, a shallow object, and I want to cross to the other side.
For Friday - Trends
After a while, you start to notice trends about yourself, or other people start to point them out to you and make the connections. Or, rather, after a while, I've started to notice trends in my thinking and suddenly, as they're forming, other people are starting to point them out to me and make connections.
My reaction to other people feels a dichotomy of either/or: either it is an epiphany moment where "ah" I am making sense to myself again (through someone else's notice) or I reject their connections made as below me. Kind of a crappy either/or system.
What trends I have noticed, and others have pointed out to me, is that I am intensely interested in love. I am interested in love and I am interested in love relations to sexuality--and, as a subset, desire for as a result of that human sexuality. I am increasingly and intensely interested in love and sexuality. And it's seeping in, popping up, infiltrating all facets of my daily interactions.
It's fascinating. I love it. (See, it comes in everywhere.) Love, as a describable and indescribable being/feeling/thing, is something I wholeheartedly believe in, rally for, and consider and re-consider over and over. It is powerful and I don't ever want to stop thinking about it, feeling it, ruminating on it. Why would I?
My reaction to other people feels a dichotomy of either/or: either it is an epiphany moment where "ah" I am making sense to myself again (through someone else's notice) or I reject their connections made as below me. Kind of a crappy either/or system.
What trends I have noticed, and others have pointed out to me, is that I am intensely interested in love. I am interested in love and I am interested in love relations to sexuality--and, as a subset, desire for as a result of that human sexuality. I am increasingly and intensely interested in love and sexuality. And it's seeping in, popping up, infiltrating all facets of my daily interactions.
It's fascinating. I love it. (See, it comes in everywhere.) Love, as a describable and indescribable being/feeling/thing, is something I wholeheartedly believe in, rally for, and consider and re-consider over and over. It is powerful and I don't ever want to stop thinking about it, feeling it, ruminating on it. Why would I?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
