arrivederci, babies

it suddenly came to me that i'm addicted again.

the summer is come and is beckoning me with all her powerful magic. the girls are beckoning too, and they are even stronger and more skilled in the wooing arts.

i want to answer. i want to follow. away from the bright white screen and into the u.v.

up from the ass-flattening chair and out into the wide, active, toning world.

just like the tv, i have to quit internet cold turkey. unfortunately, i'm not one of the models made fit with moderation capabilities.

chances are, i'll be back sooner rather than later.

until then, catch you in the real world.

until we meet again

of course, she did the dishes before she left. her last night here and it's spent watching my kids and scrubbing my flatware.
apropos because that's how i met her.

all anticipation of others' needs, all joyful execution of true care and nurture.

masterminding a church-wide parents'-night-out at her bachelorette pad complete with games, crafts, movies, different helpers for different age groups.

truly a captain people willingly follow. a servant leader.

kids everywhere, literally canvasing the floorboards (as i remember it, amelie peed all over herself and one of joanne's conscripted volunteers that night) and joanne as cool as a cucumber and radiant as a star.

that confidence that warms people--the welcome of a safe harbor.

who would even think of it, let alone carry it out to successful completion--this generous gift to the weary child-rearers.

and every week she's done it small-scale for me. insisting on it--this mom's night out while she mans the fort. i come home--refreshed and awake and we chat of the stuff of our lives, of prostate exams and practitioner's vocab, of martinis and mayhem.

i got to carry her boots out to the car she'll take off to texas in tomorrow. comfiest she's ever worn, she says. just like her, they are practical, strong, capable for endurance and still that soft suede that says, "we can get this job done right and still be sweet as pie."
already missing you, joanne.

mickey is an old man

happy birthday, blue eyes!

jesus, according to cosette

he has no stately form or majesty

that we should look upon Him,

nor appearance that we should be attracted to him.

he was despised and forsaken of men,

a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief;

and like one from whom men hide their face

isaiah 53:2,3

todd: "who is this, cosette?"

cosette: "jesus."

todd: "who is jesus?"

cosette: "i'm going to marry him."

neverwinter

the bush noticeably thickened just today
no longer vulnerable and angular
strong with leaves and hard to see through
full and impenetrable, lovely and thick

the girls ran
in the yard
in early evening low-light
in only their nighties

they went to bed, but not to sleep
chatting and bouncing and singing together
the fairy tale of sisterhood i always knew must be true

i left the door open
only the screen between me and the wide, wild world
until the night got too cool and too dark
to be naked and backlit

a very merry un-birthday

more than many a thing, i love a just-because thing. something given, not under compulsion or expectation, but out of spontaneous love. thank you, zettie-pants, for the mudcake and song and for doing it again (oh, the irony--under compulsion) for the camera.

1984

my own track day memories.
st. paul's lutheran school.
beatrice, nebraska.
first grade.

track day

the stuff memories are made of

opa turned sixty

celebrated with cupcakes and park play and opa giving the kids a run for their money on the playground equipment. our own jackrabbit herman smith-johannsen.

holiness as relief

i've heard more sermons than a whore's heard protestations of love. words upon words. wheels within wheels. spiritual wallpaper for my head. everywhere you look and 24/7 and yet i'd be hard pressed to tell you the pattern. many a sunday that i just know i wouldn't have been able to give you a summary of (nay even a tidbit from) the message if you nabbed me in the foyer.

but then there are happenings. a glimpse of the coattails of God and, bam, that little phrase that gave me the glimpse has me bright-faced for months.

last year, ken spoke three of those words, "holiness as relief," and they are always just right here. not wallpaper--they are touching-my-skin close. they are the favorite necklace. they are the rosary. i am rubbing them and it is anything but mindless. they are doing their job. little ebenezers. smooth beads of remembrance taking me always (gently, hand holdingly) back.

back
to a room that i always assumed would be cold because it was too too bright to be hospitable.
to holiness
where i realize (because of the absence) that i had been running scared
and now i am relieved
because (go figure!) it's not cold and haughty in here, it's exactly the atmosphere i was made for.
in here, i can rest from trying so fucking hard.
put on that comfy bathrobe of righteousness bought for me by the Holy One
and get to the business of all those unburdened by grace--unabashedly grateful lovin'.

blondie's is two,

and i've been there for half of her life.
happy birthday, girl.

the bin marked "kira's journals"

they were pulling me down
a sinkhole in my dungeon basement
one step ranker than pubescent poetry
incessant prose musings
20 plus years of diligent navel gazing

i elevated them
out of the giant tupperware tub
into a giant plastic bag
and then the lovely arc
my arm the slingshot
their flight into the dumpster
serene, relinquished

a moment here
an ode to the dumpster
so that you understand this to be a right honorable urn
most highly favored of all my highly favored bins
"a place for everything and everything in its place"
this place, nearly holy
(you remember i can't smell)
receiver of all things past utility
stuff now daring to possess the possessor
demanding to be
noticed, shuffled, cleaned, given attention
using you with their shame

this dumpster then, the finisher
the bottom line
you have done what you came to do
well done, good and faithful

rest in peace, my pen's so-far-lifetime of landfill fodder
happy earth day

sick and tired

when i am sick (going on two weeks now) and tired (these silly cocktail hours),
i need
--more than vitamins, emergen-c, kick ass immune booster or even rest--
large doses of laughter.
those come (for me) in several flavors, all far-and-away more palatable than the organic bull crap that makes me want to vomit.
some of my favorite flavors are...

the otts,
(like nonpareils--"without equal" and crunchy and creamy paired so nicely.)













the mavels,
(definitely the first people to pull me all the way in to the laughter stream--pee pee in your pants, that is. the humor is always a little dark and that makes it oh, so cathartic.)













mickey blue-eyes
(laughter is what we do exclusively. mickey supplies a liberal portion weekly. my sanity meds.)













and my darling angels. (i wish i remembered a tenth of the stuff they say that stops me in my serious-mommy-mode tracks and brings laughter out of nowhere and into our midst. my saving graces.)

colorado's spring

the pledge
false nature, a warm honeyed voice coaxing buds and blossoms out of every almost-dead branch. a magic trick in itself, though repetition has made us neglect awe.

the turn
a terrible, efficient frost.
the base of the rocky mountains--no place to hope come spring.

the prestige
it's coming though watching for it won't reveal the trick. God in all His glory. jazz hands worth marvelling at. regeneration not enough. this one's gonna take your breath away. life from death put to death and resuscitated. everything verdant and me a heap of bronzed laughter for this time of fear when i was sure all was lost.

hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but desire fulfilled is a tree of life.
proverbs 13:12

i will survive

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eim5jLlEPYI

april fool

i've played the fool to hope. now i'll have to figure a way out of "the pit of despair" on sheer survival tactics, the life-luster being significantly snuffed by the news. "no, you were not selected. those shining stars got their acceptance long ago. chin up. always the chance for second string."

silly how it could have gone either way, but here i am doubting nearly every bit of the dream. certainly i am ill-suited to the field, an illegitimate literature-lover, a memory-dunce, and a now a snivelling and sore loser.

the recent call to hope seems a mean trick in light of all this, and my old standard--practicality--a welcome friend.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z05StkAKKF0

upon julia's breasts

word on the street is that robert herrick invented julia. a talent in need of a muse and no suitable lover in sight. i get it, i think. i'm imagining he took the next best thing and just projected upon her the qualities he wanted so desperately to laud. some young maiden he didn't love, but for which love could be worked up with ample stoking.

cosette, aurora, phoenix and amelie

mark 10:
13 and they were bringing children to Him so that He might touch them; but the disciples rebuked them.
14but when Jesus saw this, He was indignant and said to them, "permit the children to come to Me; do not hinder them; for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.
15"truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it at all."
16and He took them in His arms and began blessing them, laying His hands on them.

keinohrhasen

rough, not soft. it will hurt. it always does when it's real. i know i will cry in the end, because i always have. but that's never stopped me from going all the way to the curtain call. this is life. the rabbit has no ears. why is that cute when the child makes it, but not when it is the result of a sincere effort on the part of an adult? we are to be as children, right? those of us who want desperately to inherit the kingdom of heaven? we work so hard and still it turns out to be a piece of crap. a handicrafter's nightmare. a lover's prized possession.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZlVhV0AtE0

1000 miles to fall down at your door

do men still do this sort of thing?

http://www.last.fm/music/The+Proclaimers/_/I

did they ever? is it disney, fairy nonsense poured into little girls' ears? is it time to hope? to let go of the tragic little defense of hoarding males who confirm that i am not worth it? to stop this havering followed by question marks?

(my thanks to the proclaimers for the new word.)

little girls, new spring shoes, matching

darndest things

zettie after a fit- "sorry, mama. i had a big feisty attitude."

in the bank drive through after learning they will no longer carry suckers
mama- "i'm sorry, honey. that's sad business."
zettie- "no, mama. that's bad business."

go figure

we were relieved to discover that the tooth fairy visits even if the tooth is dislodged by an apple and the apple is thrown away in the cafeteria trash can.

cosette is crazy-jealous of what amelie calls her "new smile." poor dear keeps reiterating that she too will lose her tooth--see?

mark says i have a classic "kool aid" smile.



looks like the girls and the otts have it too.

today's manna

matthew 6:11
give us this day our daily bread.

i am oft the beggar child. convinced that with the banquet before me, i must consume it all before it vanishes.

matthew 6:20 -21
but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal;
for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

so i bend my will [and (ugh) attempt to bend the will of others] to the end result--complete satiation--and my heart ends up catapulted into the far distant future that actually doesn't often come to pass. in other words, my heart ends up detached and in la la land without blood or oxygen.

matthew 6:33-34
but seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.
so do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. each day has enough trouble of its own.

ah, ha. my lenten vow. all made possible by the truths elsewhere in this amazing passage--that even the sparrow is cared for. that my heart in His hand is enough and that makes this moment superbly sufficient. tomorrow, the manna in my pocket will be rotten. today, it is fresh out of the heavens and full of the nourishment i require. it tastes good.

sell crazy someplace else. we're all stocked up here.

there is no weather forecast for my clawfoot tub. same time, same place, but a different day means i part the curtain to an unknowable climate.

flaming hot and i am in physical ecstasy and mental anguish. the marrow of my frigid bones singing hallelujahs, but my mama brain certain that the babies will be scalded to pieces if i don't get down to the water heater and turn the temp down. but i don't. i haven't touched the dial and yet, the next day it is so arctic cold i'm almost willing to go greasy rather than endure.

because of my ignorance regarding hvac, i am given to mysticism. secret meanings to be deciphered in the struggle or pleasure of a certain bathing experience. it must mean something. it is cold today because i must learn endurance. it is warm today because i need comfort. some reason innate in every circumstance.

this persistence to believe there is a "why" of all things seems an exercise in insanity. making sour grapes of obviously wonderful missed joys and trying to squeeze lemonade of obviously entirely terrible experiences. bean-reading silliness to me these days.

dial in on circumstances for fortune telling, and i'm a mad hatter. all over the map. even last week's single moment (a friend's honest words. "i love you like i love myself, kira.") held so much kindness and recklessness, tender mercy and deep wounding that i'd be better tied up than trying to find out what it means. because it means all manner of comingled things that add up to a moment better savored than analyzed.

yes. that is what i aim to do these days of lent. truly, in the economy of life, to give up one thing is, necessarily to embrace another. i will embrace the flavors of the moment, and in doing so, i will "give up" the craziness forecasting, fortune telling, "why"ing, deciphering and all manner of borrowing trouble. i will give thanks for bitter, salty, sour, sweet, and umami of this good day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MCOxcDcZ69o

ash wednesday

blackout drunk from a sort of mardi gras.
laid waste by the fornication of it all--
the foray to the other side of shut down.
fat and sassy.

now bent-down-ready for the ash--
the ash from those palm fronds i used to wave so frantically before the face of God.

that old amalgamation of demand and projected praise.
"save me now" and "that's my Saviour."
the needy bleacher mom
making God in my image.

all that burnt to a crisp and rubbed in my face
"remember (o man) that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."


(http://www.doers.org/sermons/022598.htm)
(http://www.crivoice.org/chyear.html)

which hat?

we are waiting on funding, but ryan and i have already determined there will be a device made. it will be a nightlight or a special wristband. it will glow and the difference in its color will indicate the mode. like starboard shining green and port glowing red, one color will indicate single parent mode and the other just single. this will be of great use on the nights when one wakes in sheer terror, sure that she has somehow forgotten her responsibility and her children are out, shivering in the cold, waiting for her to remember. the wristband would bring her breath back sooner and avoid the heart damage that occasionally occurs from waiting for blood flow after a mental checkpoint of day, time and hour to determine accountability. it would say with alacrity, "you are alone right now without blame. your children are cared for. all is well. go back to sleep."

for to see

lucho and the krueger boys (actual friends, not a boy band) concur--dancing before a mirror is time well spent.

to my knowledge, i have never partaken of this delicacy. i am thinking this is a practical result of knowing what a wretched dancer i am and not needing more proof.

after this weekend, though, i'm wondering if i've missed a growth milestone, maybe something to do with self-nurturing.

we celebrated cosette as three by doing a slumber party at the antlers. every moment was all anticipation and luxury. pick anything.

packing our little individual bags with jammies and sweets and toothbrushes (!) was just as satisfying as the hollywood room service (huge kettles of hot cocoa, soup, salad, berries, an entire bowl of whip cream). the wonder at all those little cereal boxes (the power of choice) at the continental breakfast as memorable as the delight at being painted up (toenails and fingernails). little piggies only in hot tub foam (auntie heather adheres to the 14 and over rule) as powerful a moment as zettie and amelie hunched over (blowing them out a second time because once just isn't enough) three candles in our traditional cupcakes.

the thumbnail image for me though, is the girls (all anticipatory jitters for pool-time) dancing their fool hearts out atop the toilet. dancing perched there of all places because that was precisely the only spot for to see themselves. dancing for the delight of delight in their own beautiful bodies. a celebration (maybe the truest expression of birthday gratitude) of the wonder of their breath and blood casings.

"for you formed my inward parts;

you wove me in my mother's womb.

i will give thanks to You, for i am fearfully and wonderfully made;

wonderful are Your works,

and my soul knows it very well"

(psalm 139:13-14).

that my soul knows very well

29 pictures capturing how she (and we) are beautifully and wonderfully made.
View Album at Shutterfly

as good as it gets

i am really, really flustered. i have used really twice. clue as to the level of flustration.
because all of these people who are so beautiful...

(i want to kiss, kiss, kiss them when the tears are all over their laps.
i have this hunch that these people)

...would not be so miserable in their brokenness
if we could all accept that this is
as good as it gets.

and that, to me, is a very nice thing.
that this is as good as it gets means that, after all, it is not about conquering.
that progress is enlargement of capacity not victory or capability.
that a posture of humility can initiate flight because it is the only honest place to start.
and flying is maybe just being fully self--fully me but with all the power of heaven as ammunition for a unique and lovely (lovely precicely including all the bumbling) life.

p.s. i think the movie by the same title is a little slice of heaven.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZqZux5_lAmI&feature=related

kira eats world

so easy to get pegged. single mom, thirty-something, cocktail waitress, ex-wife.
and it's true what they tell themselves when you're away.
and you are everything the bitter hearts are gonna say.

somehow, though. all this hope butts in.
because you're still in the middle of the ride.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZ7ZvxXvn90

thanks, heather

like whole foods, the office could quite easily go by the moniker
"whole paycheck."

zephaniah 3:17

"i believe God made me for a purpose,
but He also made me fast.
and when i run i feel His pleasure"
chariots of fire .

i have been (and hope moreso to be)
the wild-eyed fanatic
the one who can meter the delight of God.
with my head back and the my mouth a cathedral, i have sung ecstasy
i have written fever,
my brain on standby. an alive and awestruck witness.
words straight to paper from cosmos.
even in a simple act of obedience--
doing this that i was made to do in moment "now"
instead of the appealing that--
i have felt, from stem to stern
destiny.

1,612 years later, i presume to relate

saint augustine was a self described "man who writes as he progresses and who progresses as he writes" (letter 143).

lightbulb: on

no lie. the light in the eyes is cliche for a reason. amelie has read her first book. she is now and forever among the word lovers. welcome to the worship circle, my daughter.

flying in the teeth of it all

one time, the conjugation of a word brought me home a'weeping. pure insanity. word worship. but, alone and in conglomeration, in form and in function, words have me.

"flying in the teeth of it all"

this little set of words has won me today. annie dillard reminded me of it. how even "coded cells and mute water pressure" can pull it off, though they have no idea how "grandly" they are doing it (pilgrim at tinker creek, 164).

i've only been coasting. seemingly a contrast to the courage of dillard's phrase. my gerund of choice as of late. necessarily at the whim of the elements and the landscape. beggar sails up. i've wanted to coast. and maybe i've needed it as remedy for all those years of pedestal living, although need seems a bit strong unless it refers to my sensory issues. the fact that truth has got to touch me and i it. finger in the wound as the only form of understanding or belief.

for a minute, the coasting was good. i stepped down from wonderlust and shook hands with the lesser me that turns out to be the original and actual. and for a minute i was in great shock because i took the thumb out of my eye and God turned out to be really big and capable. for a minute i initiated the divorce of foolish pedestal-pride from upright living. the performance drained out of obedience and i was agile anew. malleable and capable in that available effectual form. actually flying in the teeth of it all because i was doing tough stuff courageously, just with inordinate borrowed strength. willing.

but these days it's rudderless coasting. the road dips. the wind changes and i am just chaff all over the place. i went too far. from humble and lithe to flaccid and resigned. and there's nothing more pathetic than trading in the divine and letting the world become the "wind beneath my wings." i'd weep over that phrase, but not for joy. made for a terrible song. even more of a trainwreck in a life.

ephesians 4:14
1 timothy 4:7-10

awash in hope

"I don't care if anyone comes for me," said Edward.

"But that's dreadful," said the old doll. There's no point in going on if you feel that way. No point at all. You must be filled with expectancy. You must be awash in hope. You must wonder who will love you, whom you will love next."

"I am done with being loved," Edward told her. "I'm done with loving. It's too painful."

"Pish," said the old doll. "Where is your courage?"

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, by Kate DiCamillo

gerunds

i am drying still
i'm still so damp
clinging to this wet towel
delaying inevitable exposure
freezing for fear of freezing
begging all the while for warmth
i'm
evaporating still
and it's still so devastating
letting go
releasing "security"
for hope not yet realized

wrote this years ago for a grammar class. leaning on it now as a space filler just so that the first word on my blog isn't "dick."

dick habit

hang up the chick habit
hang it up, daddy,
a girl's not a tonic or a pill

hang up the chick habit
hang it up, daddy,
you're just jonesing for a spill

"chick habit" by April March
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rRCw3pxX1M

i like skull and crossbones.
i like to be unnerved by them.
i like them done in filigree just daring to be beautiful.
they are my dia de los muertos. "you are not omnipotent."

there can be no sincere wonder
when men
used for comfort
suddenly become dicks.

there is a certain dick who has scared the stupid out of me.
i'm thinking of silk-screening his face before crossbones on some apparel.
i could get some volunteer models--friends to wear them and scare me anew on occasion.
that would be frightfully helpful.

the remains of the year

while mickey was fixing my computer, the year passed away. here are the remnants.


queen nana and the princesses.
the earll gang- steve, kaylee, cosette, kira, amelie, carrie, and matt, emily and riley shoup
uncle matt is the best sport.
heather moffie, my buddy from cu boulder days comes home from the field and visits the kiowa gals.
the guys from the office celebrate christmas
mark ross, nathan johnson, nathan windham

cheesy smiles at dzia dziu and grandma pam's house
cousins- jordan neal, caydon howard and tristan neal

sleeping at the foot of the dead tree

christmas morning tradition- chocolate chip pancakes with uncle matt and tommi sue

the doll house, sweet

christmas dinner at the teel residence- a gourmet feast, ginny. amazing.

the mavels minus a.j. and reason

christmas cookies with auntie elly and uncle scott- a beautiful disaster.

uncle scott is very long-suffering.

opa plays trouble.

of course, the girls get snow gear from my father. he is still looking to create mountain folk out of tegtmeier stock.

the live nativity at the gathering with the crawfords.

a midget makes off with the shepherd's staff- a new plot twist in the christmas story

christmas eve's eve spent cleaning up after freida.

not really, but zettie was up all night puking

and frieda (like everything and everyone else) got in the crossfire.

this is my favorite pic of the season. amelie teaching zettie to read and write exactly as i taught matthew.

new year's eve at the office

we love lucy

name for me, something that is moreso--

more simultaneously cliche and splendid than a kitten for christmas.

lucy has a last name that i have forgotten (it is that unique). makes me smile that amelie has created a last name for a feline that bridges the gap in our multi-last-name household.

maybe lucy could adopt us all so that we could just start fresh. we could be the laochindas, or was it peligrina?

all i want for christmas

i was napping by the heat register. there were two sets of "pitter patter" passing by my ear. and then there was a bedroom recarpeted with books. i run ragged trying to create order. they thrive making chaos into beauty. i decided that all i want for christmas is childlikeness. i need it. i hope santa understands that.

merry christmas

I cried when I wrote this
I’ll always remember
The worst kind of lonely
Is alone in December

The act of forgiveness
Is always a mystery
The melting of ice
And the future of history

Some call it obsession
I call it commitment
I make my confession
I make it in public

I hope that it’s helpful
That others can use it
That it’s more than my ego
And my need to abuse it

I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
And here it is

The leaves on the oak tree
Hold on through the winter
They’re brown and their brittle
They clatter together

I can’t seem to let go
I’m so scared of losing
The deeper the love goes
The deeper the bruising

The trouble with talking
Is it makes you sound clever
The trouble with waiting
Is you’ll just wait forever

There’s a loop of excuses
That plays in your mind
And makes the truth
Even harder to find

I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
And here it is

When they blow Gabriel’s horn
Rip fiction from fact
I want to get caught
In some radical act

Of love and redemption
The sound of warm laughter
Some true conversation
With a friend or my lover

Somewhere down the road
We’ll lift up our glass
And toast the moment
And moments past

The heartbreak and laughter
The joy and the tears
The scary beauty
Of what’s right here

I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
And here it is

here it is, over the rhine
http://www.overtherhine.com/recordplayer/recordplayer.html
thanks for the intro, hazel
http://hazelcade.blogspot.com/2008/12/darkest-night.html

wrath as comfort

i was crying while ken was preaching. the same sort of cry that wet my stinging cheek the night before. the two sets of tears drawing a big circle around the truth ken was dispensing in chewable tablet form for my night-tired brain. wrath as comfort.

the swipe was meant for the other brawler. so, when i stepped in, it was slowed and redirected as much as the split-second-recognition allowed. it wasn't particularly strong or painful. but it shocked me enough that the world went slow-mo. i watched, in that frame-by-frame way, mark vaulting over the bar and landing square on the stunned swiper. enacting vengeance, taking care of business, protecting with his deft and willing strength.

that's when the crying started. and every time someone showed empathy and care--asked me if i was ok--the waterworks started again. and i've had enough pain to keep from crying at the comparable tickle of a swipe. i've had the childbirth pains that made me feel more animal than human--pains that lasted for literal days and still didn't bring those kind of vulnerable, ridiculous crocodile tears.

but the morning after, the understanding alighted on my pew-brain. wrath as comfort. safe comfort in God as the strong and capable avenger. the cross as a lighting rod for His righteous wrath against everything that swipes us. His wrath against everything that takes us down and out and away from the sweet relief of holiness.

the puny little cocktail waitress who steps in between strapping brawlers was crying as only a puny little cocktail waitress can cry. a puny little over-confident tough girl who has been her own deliverer for a very long time. who has not seen those designated as her protectors come to any kind of rescue whatever. who feels, in a very visceral way, through this bar brawl, the relief of protection--the comfort of rightly-placed anger--and is stunned and brought to humble, grateful tears.

columbia cougar/tiger gives thrilling 8:00 a.m. performance

one of amelie's classmates gave a spirited rendition of "eye of the tiger" this morning during talent time in the cougar den meeting before the bell. it was complete with air guitar and air drum during the instrumental interludes and a significant amount of shuckin' and jivin'. this kid was in 100%. i hooted and hollered to the extent that is appropriate for a kindergarten mother.
okay, well maybe a little more than is appropriate.

a seuss for grown-up use

i find this "children's" book beautiful and disarming. have you read it?
thank you, trista, for the referral.

"i don't have a face"

yesterday, matthew put this purse on his head under duress from zettie, i think. it's hers because she loves purses. the designers-that-be make kids purses too small for the kind of gear cosette totes, so when i'd given up on the baby blanket, i made it into this horrific creation that she really finds handy for outings.

wild, a memory's shelf life. before thought, "hey, hey, hey, it's fat albert," came out of my mouth, and instantly available was this very clear picture of dumb donald in my mind's little eye. i think donald was a type of winnie the pooh (have i mentioned how much i want to be able to write like a.a.milne, and how much i want to love like pooh?) --the idiot-child who kind of ends up the only guy with enough heart and common sense to save the cartoon day.

it's easy for the tegtmeier kids to feel pretty dumb. our brains on crazy grew kinda lumpy from compensation and survival. we try really hard to be socially acceptable, and for the most part we keep it together brilliantly, but we're emotionally handicapped and that makes for a tough cover-up. i think it's easy for people to view us as a project, or even, conversely, as amazingly resilient and awe-worthy, but we're so damned antsy to be tagged normal we risk hyperventilation. when we are weakened by whatever, we both cry for what can never be, and that makes us feel silly and weak. mary ellen says it's time for that to make us feel angry. that's a new one i don't know what to do with yet.

p.s. this pooh thought happens to me every time i hit "post."

"When you are a Bear of Very Little Brain, and Think of Things, you find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside you is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it" a.a. milne, the world of pooh

thankful...

for a two-hour delay of kindergarten. time to go get breakfast at mickey-d's, hunt for a tree in wal-mart's forest and come home for decorating.

succumb

i have entered the personal info. i have uploaded the requisite ridiculous "artsy" photo. i am officially a member of both facebook and my space. i regretted it before i even did it. but how long can one cling to cassette tapes and vcrs? at some point, the tide is stronger. i'll be the last one to let go of snail mail, but i'm willing to join the masses online in order to supplement.

against entropy

my brooms are intentionally broken in half by doormen or bartenders convinced they serve their purpose better pint-sized
they are dollar-store brooms that quickly saturate and deteriorate and are thrown away or taken by other cocktail waitresses
i hunch and use my midget broom to collect the broken bottles, spittle and cigarette butts
my brain, 12 hours late, acknowledges the senior citizens that are my feet, crumpled and complaining
patrons on the street watch me sweep while they await arrest or taxis or the passing of drunkenness

his broom is strong and wide, industrial
his receptacle, an old and sure tin pail, making my plastic bin seem, to me, a newfangled disaster of cheap convenience—
he is tired and kind and collects the large bits of broken tail light and fiberglass
we watch him, huddled, cold, awaiting tow and ticket
watch because it is motion
because his mundane is our extraordinary

mr. and mrs. ott

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Shove Chapel

Colorado Springs, Colorado

konbanwa

when the children are unnaturally absent, there remains comfort in signs of life like pooh-san left by chubby fingers under my bedclothes.

nearing wedlock

celebrating the bachelorette on her way out of fancy-free singlehood into holy matrimony.

mimi

it isn't out of respect for the deceased nor rosy-colored hindsight to say that she was truly lovely right up to and through purple death. even under that hideous furry red mortician's throw on the gurney in her living room, she was just really beautiful. and while her daughter/best friend stroked her hair, i decided right then and there that this "just a shell" stuff is a big fat cover up. a cover up for our insecurity, perhaps, with these frightfully strong and delicate bodies with so much lust and vigor and need. i like shells. they are as much artwork as the strong muscle animals that live in them. that "flesh" has become synonymous with "sin" seems a serious mistake to me. because flesh is so miraculous and so beautiful.

her flesh was beautiful. in its age it was still warm and elastic. her cheek bones high with pride and strength. her eyes, stunning, like a sharp blade cut the openings for steady, discerning sight. her lips lipstick red and so often pursed with surety. her prominent ears that listened and fielded opportunities for her consistent generosity. her hands with long delicate fingers for perfect piano and lucrative keystrokes and the mixing of batter of her ancestral recipes. her core, solid and capable of long hours and long rides to make certain her grandchildren knew her and her love.

i only knew the claudia whose spirit was one with the beautiful art installation that was her flesh. that whole person is the woman i miss and mourn.

maelstrom

i wasn't paying enough attention, i guess. i've ended up head over heels in the maelstrom. not the first time i've come too close to the whirlpool, too near the given radius of downpull, but every time is the worst. progressively worse because it's pain on pain with the additional agony of shame for being taken in again, like a fool. pulled close to the breast that turns out to be completely soured to the point of disease. coming in for nourishment and getting a really strong punch in the face. the emotional pell mell like drowning, grasping for up but with a water-logged brain making rational thought all heavy in the boots. just way too much drama like we're all conscripted soap stars.

i saved the new voicemail--all damnation and spitting hate--so that it will play after the only other message i've ever saved. it's a roast from my friend--dead on right about some of my most laughable idiosyncrasies. in a weird way, the messages share a theme--"you are flawed, kira." the contrast though, is polar--the second message dangles me over hell-fire, the first takes me to the hearth of human kindness.

stuff white people like

when my friend get's the daily update from this blog http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/ (visit and enjoy), he often calls to ask me if i like the certain thing that is the blog's topic of the day. unfailingly, i do and am laughed at most heartily for being such a silly honkie.

scrabble night

we celebrated scrabble night's nearly-one-year birthday last night. all the usual trimmings--wine, salties, savories, sweets and those little tiles that are our vocabulary clay. conversation is always rich with women who know how to wend words.

i'm getting a little nostalgic at the coming of my baby's first birthday. thinking back to the first scrabble night i hosted at kiowa cottage and how i learned that relief can be so potent that it gives you a sucker punch and takes your breath away. i was still new to freedom of choice and to peace. the lack of inhibition, the absence of oppression of spirit was so fresh and strapping that it felt like a sort of oppression itself. i've had to regress, and, like a teen, learn how to gracefully carry the wonderful weight of independence.

with liberty comes responsibility. a different kind than i'm used to. not management of other adults' indiscretions, insanities and insecurities, but the duty of choosing for myself, which necessarily means knowing what it is that i want. tricky business.

and with liberty comes lovely loneliness. another new addition. it has been trying to whisper in my ear, this loneliness, and i'm trying to stay still and quiet enough to listen and learn because i know it has a lot to teach. but when i get weary, i turn to other voices. they are less didactic and in them i find solace. scrabble night is one of those communion events. i drink deeply and chew thoroughly and am healed.

kira, linda, pam, christy, lori, joan, laura
we women have a weakness for words.

halloween at the office

halloween was my parent's anniversary which translated into matthew and i doing the rounds with our great aunt verna. verna felt a visit to a few of her friends' homes sufficient halloween fun, so we came home in the bright of still-day with a booty of apples and pennies.

this year was a little different.
here's a sampling from the 12 hour shift at the office.
most of these masqueraders are our regulars whom i've grown to love.
still no candy.

i beg to differ

i feel i must insist that men and women can be friends. more specifically, that we must be friends. that we were created for the full measure of community and that we are selling ourselves very short when we shrink from cross-gender communications.

i am almost sure that it is fear that keeps us from this gift of interaction with creatures who are, from stem to stern unique and carry offerings wonderful and "other" from ours.

there is a spectrum of fear, but at its apex is infidelity of one sort or another, or at least inequality of feeling. it's the slippery slope argument that certainly one will fall for the other, or feel something "more" (as if eros is more weighty than agape). or worse, that a married one will fall for their friend and then chaos will ensue. these fears are based, of course, on the realities of many a failure. failure of same-sex friendships is as common as air, but why the failure of a man and woman in friendship is a certain sign of its ungodliness i cannot fathom.

i wonder what is different here from any other scenario. in same-sex friendships there is most certainly always some inequality of feeling. indeed, in any relationship whatever, there is a constant flux of investment with never a freeze on whom exactly carries what percentage of the love, commitment, enthusiasm, etc. and there are all manner of emotions within any relationship--some appropriate, but a good many inappropriate and requiring constant attention to keep from destroying the delicate mystery of human connectedness against the entropy of humanity.

certainly infidelity happens whether men and women become friends or not. it seems to me that the longer the taboo is in place the more easily fools will rush to another specimen. if one is in contact with others of the opposite gender, it seems to follow that one would be more apt to understand the nature of the entire species toward flaw and disappointment and stand a better chance of being cured of hoping that the "off limits" ones on the other side are somehow greener.

in the same breath, i am sure that it is absolutely impossible for men and women to be "just friends," as much as i believe it to be impossible to be "just friends" with anyone. nearly every one of my friends are very much more than friend. some are confidants, helpers, partners, encouragers. the feistier ones are ass-kickers, annoyers, at times even sargents of truth and bringers of pain. in fact, i believe that we are far to fearfully and wonderfully made to be "just" anything. we humans are all complexity, all conglomeration, all factors. and then put two of us together and the intricacy and entanglement is like artwork.

there are risks. thankfully i'm in low enough estate at this point in life not to set out to prove anything, but mickey-blue-eyes and i are giving peace and friendship between the sexes a chance. send out a prayer for us. according to the masses, the experts and the sceptics this is an exercise in failure. soldier up, mick.

flash back

michael and nate
sam, cosette, kira, nathan, amanda, jayden, amelie












tomorrow (or thereabouts) our children will be as old as we were when we were inseparable best friends. reunited by a mutual friend after 15 years, amanda and i shared dinner and dessert, old photos and new stories tonight. our collective 5 camped out in the toy shelf and played like angels--screaming ninja angels. amelie serenaded michael and me for the trek down the pass. spontaneous lyrics about creepy bears and lovely sprinkled stars with cosette on echo.

amanda carpenter and kira tegtmeier

b.f.f. in the late great eighties

first snow

after the first snow flies, it doesn't matter how great or shabby your wardrobe is. all anyone will be seeing of you is your coat. oh, yeah, and your face. these are some faces, eh?

venetucci pumpkin patch

another dream actualized. amelie rode a school bus today. she rode all the way to the pumpkin patch where all colorado springs kindergartners have gone for over 30 years for their free pumpkin thanks to nick venetucci. nick's rule--you have to carry it out on your own--no help from mom. watched cheating start early. zettie fell and scraped her nose. absolutely insisted on a band aid. my little gridiron hopeful. amelie was uberproud to have me there. as jonathan safran's character oskar would say, "that makes me feel like one hundred dollars."

thank you, mary chapin carpenter

Girls like me aren’t hard to find
We grow like roses on the vine
We wear our hearts on our sleeves
You probably know a girl like me.

We live alone and in our heads
We eat standing up or in our beds
Guilt and fear merge easily
In the quiet souls of girls like me

And loneliness is like a cold,
Common and no cure we’re told
We take to bed per chance to dream
In the blue light of the TV screen.

Girls like me like summer light
And cold beer on a summer night
And boys who aren’t afraid of what they see
Inside the eyes of girls like me

And hopefulness is like a drug
It makes a girl believe in love
And if somehow you love us back
You think there’s something wrong with that

Girls like me aren’t hard to trust
Your deepest secret’s safe with us
And when it’s time to set you free
You can always count on girls like me

It’s good to know a girl like me
You used to love a girl like me

cowgirls

1984- dad rigged a chance for me to ride boggs. my memory is mashed potatoes, but those rides are intact.

2008-dad is at it again. this time as the grandad. the stuff dreams are made of for little girls. riding atop pip's feisty 32-year-old mare

this good day

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gK6D31c7oL8

professing

this summer, i got schooled on how sweetening up works. they were classes similar to arlen and mercer's mama lessons in "blues in the night." i signed up. i paid the tuition. and i learned some things. it was costly, but not without reimbursement. i gained knowledge.

since classes, there's been a long walmart-returns-take-a-ticket line of eager professors. it's no indication of my popularity--just a hazard of the job that there are more who want a shot at it.
"sweetheart, if i was your man..."
and the ingenuity is actually pretty impressive. the persistence is too. there is some elementary material out there, for sure, but some of these gentlemen have accredited Ph.D programs. their doggedness is frankly embarrassing it can get so shameless, but it almost gets me in certain moments. then somehow i snap to. i remember the summer syllabus and that i've already got the grade. i don't need a refresher course just yet.

little fall acorn

phantom cell phone

i amputated on monday. just walked into verizon and said, "i'm done." and she said, "may i ask the reason?" and i said, "freedom."

and she tried to appear calm while hunting for the corresponding box. and i wanted to tell her to take it easy. she could just check something pedestrian like "switching services."

since monday, the phone has been giving me phantom sensations mostly in the form of a brief spurt of anxiety (oooh, need to see if anyone has tried to contact me) followed by sweet relief (who gives a damn?)

not that i want contact to stop. God knows i adore contact. i think i am fueled entirely by the joy of the Lord and the contact of humans. just that i feel i've put the telephone in its place and that means that i'm not perpetually waiting by the phone anymore. its absence has made it infinitely easier for me to be present.

unfinished

as i understand it, some people "season" skillets. i only know this because i have occasionally been asked not to use soap on certain pans and that seemed interesting and unsanitary enough for me to remember.

we are seasoning our dining room table. it is unfinished and absorbs everything we throw at it. there is a lot of marker ink, big scratches from toys at dinner, oil splotches and soy sauce splotches and gouges from...? tonight we christened it with the first hot chocolate of the season--hot chocolate and marshmallow goo.

simplify

there was a noticeable thrill of delight/relief internally when i perceived that my new 2GB ipod came with indistinguishable earphones. i felt grateful that every time i use them i will not fight any obligation to discern which is the right and which the left. i will take a little less refined comfort for simplicity's sake. alternately, there was letdown when i found the little "R" hidden in a non-standard location. that says something certain about me, doesn't it? but what?

breakfast before bed

i have heard that this greatly reduces life expectancy--working these insane hours. nevertheless, the crew from "the office" has made it tradition to have breakfast together after our nearly 12 hour shift on friday/saturdays.

we are so tired at 3:30 in the morning, but hunger and the desire to gear down together outside of work seems to be strong enough to possess our aching bodies. this week we cooked at the cottage. it felt like thanksgiving. everyone lazying around while we slowly made each course of a feast with the only suitable pan i own.

just because day

"children never forget.

For this reason, it was so important what one said,

and what one did, and it was a relief when they went to bed."

virginia woolf, to the lighthouse

comparison is useless. yes, there are worse mothers out there. certainly there are far superior ones. my venture in parenthood sometimes feels like one long exercise is fighting off regret and guilt. the future still has possibility, but it's tricky when i'm hauling around the all the images of failure.

yesterday i got brave. took a sharp scythe to my back and just let all of the shit fall away. called in an unapologetic absentee and introduced amelie to playing hooky. this is a new version of the "just because day" i've observed as often as possible in my adult years. just doing wonderful things because life is so miraculous and brief. my birthday always makes me a little nervous--all of that expectation and obligation for kindness, but when someone has just picked up a little something because they thought of me and dropped it into my hands without compulsion, i go wild with blushing joy. that is the just because day in a nutshell, and we had a glorious one.

hot chocolate and french toast at king's diner downtown--the girls louder with the novelty than all the men on the stools combined. america the beautiful park for so long that it was the girls ushering us to the car-a reversal of the classic-parents with screaming kids in tow away from the swing set. relaxing on the lawn. lunch with the godlike uncle matt. cool sheets napping in the heat of the indian-summer day, and then off to the station for drop. this time without that guilty presiding relief--the relief of woolf's character that relaxes when the children are asleep and can no longer be marred in any way by the disappointing humanness of their parent. yesterday i left the girls in his care and left myself in peace.

yes, there are better mothers. but no one else can be theirs, so there.

more on being seen

cosette decided that she is ready to wear big girl panties, which neccesarily meant that she was ready to balance precariously on the porcelein and join the ranks of the potty trained. it was appropo that auntie elly was here to witness this rite of passage. she has, in so many ways been a significant one of the cloud of witnesses that have hovered over, taking notice of the trivial things that collectively make up the piece of work that is my life.

since i first saw the movie "shall we dance," i've ruminated over the justification susan sarandon's character gives for marriage.

"All these promises that we make and we break…why is it that you think people get married? Because we need a witness to our lives. There’s a billion people on the planet, I mean what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you’re promising to care about everything…the good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things…all of it, all the time, every day. You’re saying… Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go unwitnessed, because I will be your witness."

i believe that it is truer than any other reason i've heard, and i am also convinced that it applies to friendship and to relationship with anyone whom we draw into community. elizabeth, along with so many beautiful souls, has been a witness for me and my family. she has seen me and that alone-even if it were without words, without gifts, without touch or any other such support (though it most certainly is not) has given power and worth to my existence.











the doctors at work on elly.
the breast is an excellent mass through which one can measure overall health.
suffocation works too.

new friends

teryn and mia bella are mountain zoo experts. they showed us the inside scoop today.

with child

jeanette is all adventure--all spunk and verve and joy. this child is getting the kind of mom that makes other kids jealous.

the office

i am not from samaria

i should have been the one to jump out of the bentley. i am the one who makes so many claims. but i was all defense while the drunk coke addict soiled her designer wardrobe with the thief's blood that came out in spurts with every heartbeat.

uncle jungle gym

when uncle matt rides away on his steel horse, the little nieces, who usually employ every stalling technique, fall to sleep even as i am singing their first bedtime song.

cocktailing

there was just one singing this day. i could tell he was alone. he would start and stop, and it was distinctly only one voice. he was out of place.

i was too. sitting on the stoop opening yesterday's mail. letting the sun have its way with my pale face. first the flat-rate envelope. i tried not to, but the bell rang, "ding," and then the automatic response from me-salivating with hope. of course, it wasn't from that someone. after all, that one isn't the only one eligible to use usps priority mail. instead of tokens, there were white pants ordered on impulse-completely out of season and budget. my first ebay purchase with a congratulatory email, anticipating the buyers remorse they would have to assuage. then the utility bill, a reflection of the chill that returned to the air, and the student loan bill making ironic my current profession.

and then the soloist. not even a voice technically. a grasshopper rubbing his wings. but here, misplaced in the daylight, this insect version of me, sacrificing the time of sleep to make hay while it shines. i turned back into the house, the breeze opening my yukata for no one at all to see my naked form.

short

i start out wanting and end up wanting.
and in the middle space there is a lot of water poured on the ground.
the waste is breath-catching. it is exhausting to do a rough estimate of all i exert to come back so empty. and empty is actually the high end of homecomings, because there have been some times when i'm far worse for the wear. and not in the velveteen-rabbit-sort-of-way. these are not the "real marks" of being loved but the signs of trauma from being careless with myself. and, honestly, careless with others.

labor(less) day

nana and duke plus aunt kaylee and the shoups converging on denver aquarium for a memorable day of family fun

for fifteen years

wendy, carrie, jeanette, elizabeth, kira
high tea
the castle at glen eyrie
colorado springs, co
for fifteen years, these women have been my friends. of course there has been all the stuff of life and of death that we have taken together. there have been weddings and babies, funerals and divorce, the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. but more than what has happened to us, through us, there has run a great compassion. for that, i know i am lucky and blessed.


"When we honestly ask which persons in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not-knowing, not-curing, not-healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness...makes it clear that whatever happens in the external world, being present to each other is what really matters." Henri J.M. Nouwen


wendy mcfarland, kira tegtmeier, jeanette boydston and elizabeth gilbreath at glen eyrie

summer 1996

elizabeth gilbreath (soon-to-be elizabeth ott), kira tegtmeier, wendy brightbill, jeanette klausmeier at glen eyrie

summer 2008

i still don't know

i want to want without feeling needy, clingy or ridiculous. is this a feasible hope? i also want to be wanted, which (i think) is another way of saying that i want to be seen. because, frankly, if any one of us is seen for who we truly are
--all of our God-image-wonder revealed--
how could we be but desired?

claudia and her beautiful friend turned me on to the slam poet buddy wakefield who says, in this excerpt from his poem my point forever endless...

you’re still fighting.
you’re still grinding your teeth.
you’re still not moving fast enough forward
but you’re still after me.
you’re still talking and talking
but you’re still in over your head
cause you still talk and talk by the gallon
but you still don’t want to burn that padded bed.
and you still open wide for salt
when it’s pouring down your wounds
and you still bow to gravity
and you’re still taking it literally
and you’re still laying down the law
but you still don’t know the truth
and you’re still not sure what’s happening here
cause you’re still not going to try
and you’re still addicted to way back when
instead of coming back to life
and I know you don’t want to hear it
cause you still can’t stand to see
and I know you still won’t drop your guard
cause I just might knock you free.
yeah, but my point forever endlessly
is you still don’t know you’re amazing,
you still don’t know you’re amazing,
you still don’t know you’re amazing
for the things you see

being seen

i have thought about this daily for many months. it has almost been every single post for all of these months, but i never feel ready to do the topic justice--this drive to be seen, noticed, loved, desired. certainly all the humans i've met have some fashion of it, but mine seems to be the stage version--the hungriest kind. i'd love to start a dialogue with you, my online community. do you have any thoughts on the notion of being seen?

one more generation and we'll be in the guiness book of world records

did i mention that
my mother turned 55
i turned 31
and amelie turned 5
all on july 30, 2008?
this was our first year to celebrate together.
wonderment.

when in boulder...

an unforgettable way to celebrate thirty-something is with extraordinardy friends.

check out the photos at:
http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0AbNGLVu2ZM2LKtA&emid=sharshar&linkid=link5

amelie is five

celebrating amelie is easy business.
this little soon-to-be kindergartner is a wonder.

check out the photos at:
http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0AbNGLVu2ZM2LK0g&emid=sharshar&linkid=link5

http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0AbNGLVu2ZM2LK8A&emid=sharshar&linkid=link5

"chocolate caramel flavor topping freezes in seconds"

i gave ira glass his just deserts for helping me through divorce, but i have been utterly negligent in thanking smucker's magic shell--specifically triple delight with pecans and artificial flavor. a pindaric ode is in order, really. but the cocktail waitress is dwarfing the poet. she is feisty and demands the carnal pleasure of sleep over the metaphysical satisfaction of creative writing. for now, suffice it to say that there are few delights like triple delight, and if one tops safeway select moose tracks ice cream with magic shell, that one has found a pleasure many odes cannot contain.

a wretch like me

if i blog for a few more months, there will be nothing left for people to accuse me of.
by that time, i'll have admitted to every evil known to the human heart.

heather hates when i do this. this upside-down-recrimination. this faulting of self before being faulted as a sort of protective maneuver. she is right for despising it. a big piece of that self-abasing pie is just flat out cowardice. but i think there is a small slice that has something to do with wanting to "out" the truth. devil-may-care the cost.

and because i believe that we're all made with the same basic ingredients, i'm generally willing to be the whipping boy. to bare my butt in the light of day before every other clothed one who has the same butt under his pants. but i could be wrong. i could be the freak among us. not the scapegoat, but the actual and only true miscreant.

and then there's divine, amazing grace, so that somehow, i spend the better part of every day smiling because life is so beautiful--even for fuck-ups--because of undeserved love in its many-splendored forms.

neverwinter

i get the yin/yang, differentiative power of perspective, but in the belly of my heart i still yearn for eternal summer.

against such things there is no law

john blase gave me a slice of apple at i.a.c. this week and reminded me that the agricultural process of creating fruit is neither efficient nor mechanical. i can be both so tyrannically and this is called exploitation. fruit creation requires the opposite--care and nurturing from the vine and from the one tending the vine. i often ask the question, "how much can i get from this?" but forget the clarifying phrase, "without diminishing it."

thanks to wendell berry and galatians 5:22













this "fruit of the Spirit" diagram makes me giggle.

in my shoes

there are two little people who have felt the fullest possible impact of my my life's reverberations. of all the world's inhabitants, they have come the closest to "walking a mile in my moccasins." sometimes it damn near breaks my heart to consider how my mistakes and decisions have affected them. but most times i just marvel--how tiny their feet, how bright their eyes, and(despite so much heartache) how gloriously hopeful their future.





may i suggest a quick read?
someday by allison mcghee and peter h. reynolds.
http://www.alisonmcghee.com/someday.html
only when amelie is in a certain space, she chooses this one for the bedtime story. the handoff is always accompanied with the question, "mommy, are you going to cry tonight when you read this?" the answer is always, "yes."

speaking of jobs

i got a work permit when i was 13 never looked back. so far i have been a(n)...

1. ice cream and brazier server
2. hostess
3. chicago dog assembler
4. usher for minor league baseball
5. genetics lab assistant
6. dude ranch staff girl
7. international airport ramp agent and baggage handler
8. cashier
9. waitress
10. university financial aid assistant
11. landscaper
12. administrative assistant
13. city greenhouse planter
14. cafe manager
15. pastors' secretary
16. teacher
17. professional organizer
18. stay-at-home mom

yes, i realize this is more than one job per year. please consider that i like adventure and i am also competing with my father for most professions explored. he's got woodcutter and coalminer on me, but he has also had a few years' head start. i think i'll skip insurance agent.

the niche advantage

at job #3, i feel that i am in a less playful version of this photo of my girls and their grandpa steve where i am the one with the small bit of plastic squirt gun and the others all have power hoses.

i haven't felt like such a numb-skull since my first year of college wherein it became quickly and painfully obvious that i was not cut out to be a doctor. even more humiliating, then, to find out that i'm also not up to the task of waiting tables. can i tell you what sauce is on the kickin' chicken quesadilla? no, i cannot. nor can i remember the 30 beers on tap or the possible substitutes for every entree. i also cannot remember the numbers of the 40 plus tables or which of the myriad seasonings goes on which of the myriad fries, pies and pastas.

i see that everyone else in this profession does these things with ease, and the temptation is to conclude that i am a heretofore undiagnosed idiot and have severely missed the window of opportunity for detection to make any difference in intervention. then i remember how it felt to change my major to english literature and discover that i could do a small measure of my own shining afterall--just with the pen instead of the scalpel. job #3 is motivation for GRE study.

travelogue

it kind of was like flying solo. i hydroplaned my way to nebraska and back in one very long and strong car wash of a ride. i have the speeding ticket to prove it--the obligatory kansas state patrol ticket that proves small towns can survive if they get creative with a badge.














it was hallelujah weather for my day at the lake and for the wedding day that was straight out of the pages of country living. but then there were hours and hours of the car ride that were just like a fantastic, hyper wash cycle. so many miles during which i only kept driving because i couldn't see well enough to pull over. literally just a deluge and no visibility whatsoever.

there were miles too of roll-down-all-the-windows weather, and i spent those with my greasy hair whipping everywhere and the sound of the wind beating my brain senseless.

and that was really exactly what i needed. over 1,000 miles and just no time to turn on the radio because there was this work that needed to be done. this work of letting the quiet set in. of letting the crazy leak out and going through a couple rinse cycles.














not that i returned hyper-enlightened (that would be so cool if a pilgrimage to nebraska were all it took, eh?). just that it is a really powerful thing to get past the terror into the territory of aloneness and to find that the cliche is oh-so-fantastically true. one is never alone. God is there and because that is so, healing, grace and joy are available for receipt.

we are family

it is good to remember from whom you have sprung. these people with their own stories and secrets--their own hopes and disappointments--seperate and fully unique, but with a cord of lovingkindness tied between you and them.

congratulations maybalians. vahe, welcome to the clan.

lake mcconaughy

only because of these beach angels did i not prove the mother hens right by being killed camping alone at lake mcconaughy. after they towed my car out of the sand, bobby and simone insisted i move my tent into their little "camp" and out of the geographic center of the beach where many a camper has been run over in their sleep by hapless, cruising drunks. after saving my life, they adopted me, fed me, took me on their boat and made me promise to come back soon with the girls. great aunt verna insisted i tell the story to every unsuspecting wedding guest as proof that "there's a big guy up there lookin' out for my little kira."

flying solo

on friday i will hit the dusty trail that takes me from our wild, wild west to the farm country where i spent my grammar school years. almost all of the road trips i have taken have been on this same stretch of road between beatrice, nebraska and colorado springs, colorado, and they have always been in a packed car.

i made my first trip in my first week of life. those were the pre-paranoia days, the pre-five-point-harness system days, so i literally made the journey to my aunt's wedding in a moses basket resting on the seat. as a kid, i watched the miles from the back of a blue oldsmobile without air conditioning . it was usually dad and pam in the front seat, and it was always summer, so us four kids mingled sweat and bad attitudes in the two-seat back, vying for the chance to take a turn on the "hump"--the armrest up front between "the parents" as we always called them. later, there were trips with just dad, matt and me, but they were still raucous with lots of petra music and gas and corn nuts pit stops. in my own little family's early days, we made the same trip--stopping every hour to nurse amelie at picnic tables on the side of the highway. another trip, my brother joined me, amelie and the little poop factory, cosette, and we inched our way across the miles praying for trash cans to relieve us of the stinking burdens--matthew with a back ache from spending so many hours turned around providing comfort and an earache from being unaccustomed to that much crying.

but friday i will head out to nebraska for another aunt's wedding with only myself at the wheel. nothing to accomplish but the speed limit and no distractions coming from two car seats.

my mother figures are taking their job seriously, as usual, those saints. they are worrying about the destruction of my finances engulfed in gasoline and about my little beater steaming at the side of the road and whether i'll survive the inevitable takeover by savages at my campsite along the way. frankly, i'm given to terror only at the thought of me, myself and i crammed into that honda--a more frightening scenario than all those disasters combined. frightening and, yes, exhilarating too. we were made for community, but it is also good to be alone, eh? i suppose one solo road trip in the course of thirty years comes due.

the proof makes me a little woozy

just like that, in the moment between stranger and friend, an actual specimen awakens the glorious realization that yes, there really are men (or at least one man. does one sighting indicate there are others?) who are interesting, intelligent, and nearly law-breakingly beautiful. men that elicit respect (oh, hallelujah!). men that have something to teach--plenty to offer. but not didactic or assuming--just friendly and comfy in their skin. no evidence of posing or agenda. human, and at peace with that status. men that you want to hear talking. makes me giddy just to know these males are still running around out there in the wild.

better than the circus

a lovely day at the zoo

sweet joey and the giraffe
heather and cosette in the sun

lori and joey with adea and phoenix, tandem strollers

making ends meet

had i joined the circus, i could not have felt any more-fish-out-of-water than how i feel at job #2, but the circus travels and requires skills.

monday night gals

my girlfriends help me recall that life is beautiful. that we are beautiful the way were made. crazy dancing, annie-soundtrack-singing, happy and simple and lovely without the pouty lips and the silly flaunting. yes, of course, we are also alluring and that is part of the package. but maybe the smaller part, like the tiny print on the wrapping. certainly not what's worth anything. the stuff you tear through to get to the good stuff. but this analogy isn't actually working so well. never mind. elizabeth and heather make me feel alive. i laugh-the deep and cleansing ache-laugh and i remember to breathe.

cute little piggies in peep-toe shoes

one definition of spring has got to be "fun skirts and peep-toe shoes."














notice the accoutrements? little frieda girl for zettie and amelie's "sleuth kit" which she wants me to refer to as a purse when we are in public to maintain incognito. my little nancy drew has all a good detective needs in there--paper, pen, flashlight and perfume.

not horses. lions.

beth and scott sing for their supper.
they are consistently love in action.
they ruin their knees for the love of us.
we adore them.

aesop's fox and the grapes

maybe it's hard to tell, but i rarely despair. i have this crazy joy-strength that i know is entirely a gift from God and it is there no matter what i do or don't do to nourish it. but i despaired. i had a good span of time where i couldn't get out from under the cloud and it had to do with love (surprise) and how it turns to so much misunderstanding and even (if you're not really careful) to hate.

i know where it came from. as always, the wildest stuff comes from nonfiction. no one could conjure up my family's dynamics. my dad coming to see his daughter from his second marriage and to watch his granddaughters who are from his daughter's first failed marriage. coming to town in a coordinated effort with his fourth wife who will visit her son from her first marriage and his daughter from his first failing marriage. we, none of us are all that comfortable jumbled together, so there is this moment of tension when we all converge and it is just absolutely bleak and (can i use this next word? will it carry meaning anymore?) depressing. i shouldn't have to note that there is no condemnation directed anywhere in the midst of this depression, being as i myself am in this long line of losers--losers in the most literal sense. we are continually losing.

i felt hopelessness creep in and wrap the wet blanket around my perpetual hope and joy. i felt the misplacedness that cleft families create and i heard amelie, but i just didn't have the strength to give her the honest answer she persistently kept driving at the whole ride home. "where is becky? why don't you know where she is?" i don't know where she is because she won't be a part of our family anymore. because another divorce is in the works, amelie. because we can't seem to get this right, none of us. because the ground is always shifting and if you wait a few years, the family tree will have had a complete makeover, so stay flexible, cowgirl, and don't get too attached.

the despair lifted. i mean, i realize the complexity of the story because i live in its pages. i know how hard we all tried and are trying. i know that even the people and the marriages that have it all together are still messy and, in many senses, broken as well. i see that, really, we all are struggling with feeling displaced. like this can't be home because home is safer, sweeter and more welcoming than this. i reason that it is because we are hungering for heaven, and so this sense of loss is almost normal and a reminder that we were made for more than this.

i also "get" that some would say this is just a prime example of sour grapes.

tallgrass

lori has treated me to our second annual spa get-away in evergreen colorado.




check this place out. it is like a valley of heaven. http://www.tallgrassspa.com/

in addition to a hot stone massage, a gourmet lunch and a pedicure, we also enjoyed sushi at izakaya den, shopping on pearl street, catching a very good flick in golden (the visitor) and an overnight stay at the marriot on really comfy beds with lots of pillows.

the decadent generosity is so reflective of the woman who gave me this early birthday gift. when you are with lori, you are awash in her joyful, thankful aura. she is brightness incarnate. a cupcake with cheery, playful frosting. a true breath of fresh air. a barefoot walk in swaying tall grass.

this little cake shop on pearl street makes us smile
http://www.mulberriescakeshop.com/wedding-cake.html

steppin' out

amelie performed a tap dance routine to "steppin' out with my baby" before a packed wasson auditorium with the face of a sour lemon and the most devil-may-care attitude i have ever seen on stage.

it could hardly even be called a performance. she did the moves, but it was amazingly quarter-hearted and i could tell she was mad about something.

turns out she was constipated and didn't want to be bothered to leave the pot in order to entertain anyone. never mind the entire row of personal fans who paid symphony-ticket prices to sit for three hours for the chance to see her dance for one and a half minutes. i have to poop people--let's get our priorities straight.

there is something entirely unnerving to me about this characteristic in my beautiful daughter--unnerving and lovely and influential. here is a very small and very confident human being who quite literally just won't tap dance. she won't wave the jazz hands when she's constipated and cranky. she will put on the face that corresponds to the heart.

and it's not that she can't dazzle. the girl is every bit the stage queen that i was. she is all sparkle and power and she draws us all in with her magnetism and spunk. but i am grateful that she does it to her own tune and she does it, in a very real sense, for herself and not for the crowded room.

bishop's castle

this is the castle that jim built.










single-handedly, this man (jim bishop, pictured below) built this castle and is still building it to this very day in which we found him welding outside his little souvenir shop.

he is labeled an eccentric and so many people touring his castle (including us) were laughing and joking about various oddities and questioning the structural integrity, but at the end of the day, at the end of his life, there is a legacy. it is a unique legacy and certainly not the kind i am interested in leaving, but it is his and he will leave it.

and before even leaving it, he is living it--doing what others believed couldn't or shouldn't be done and, from the looks of it, loving every minute of it. relishing his dream come true.









this tough steel-worker, pulling off his huge safety mask to talk to a young woman about his humble beginnings and the way he views his work--as a constantly changing art installation--has found a way under my skin today. and somehow, tough as he is, he's having this cheese-effect on me. so forgive the cliche, but honestly--

how lovely would it be if we were all living our legacy?



the castle-chasers.
our first (of many) band poses.
thanks for a great day, gang.



see more of bishop castle here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/allisondubois/sets/72157605259905465/

and here

http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0AbNGLVu2ZM2LJ4g&emid=sharshar&linkid=link4

the graduate

amelie is now an alum of bethel lutheran preschool and marching on to glorious kindergarden.












this is the boy she has determined she will marry. he seems equally confident, doesn't he?

double dog dare

erica dared me to blog about rainbows. i was quasi-lamenting that i am so damned incapable of writing like a normal person about things sane, lovely or temperate. why can't i write about rainbows?

trouble is, i don't know anything about them. rainbows i mean (yes, normal people too, admittedly). not even what colors are in them, let alone their order.

but i know their origin story. the one that's been butchered to the point of a little skiff logistically impossibly burdened with animal couples clinging for dear life to the sides, bulging out of the top. and the bearded man and wife smiling alongside.

the real deal is so brutal and terrifying that it really must have been a serious feat of censorship and editing to get the first dumbed down version into the sunday school canon. grimm brothers turned disney.

the world in chaos and filth. everyone doing what seemed right to him and God alienated and grieved. repenting that He made man--repentant enough to commit global genocide. the remnant spared but the rest annihilated. and after the madness, this thing of beauty and delicacy. the rainbow as gigantic post it note for the Omnipotent. "remember to not do that again. You promised."

it all gives me some breathing room. the fact that the rainbows represent anything but the sane, lovely or temperate. God as scorned lover. desperate and angry. madly ga-ga and jealous. repentant and eternally adamant for happily ever after.

marine debris

at the docks, i started out with a shipfull. lots of supplies and a hell of a lot of things i was sure i couldn't make the full journey without. i expected storms, but it was all guesswork.

so i've been surprised at how much i have had to part with to be able to keep going. some of it has nearly taken my entire soul down into the water with it, and there are other things i've relished chucking. but no matter what it is or meant to me, it all becomes waterlogged and, pretty quickly, once it's overboard, just flotsam.

a lot of the stuff was notions of what i was sure i needed to have or do or be. come to find out, they were mostly just snippets from others' stories of what they needed. i took on these notions like beggar children who had food elsewhere, but wanted mine too. as if my life were a conglomeration and not a one-time miracle.

so, last week i was lied about. a purely vengeful tactic--all manipulation and game. the eight-year-man out to prove he is still in control and ending up only proving he is no man at all. unfortunately, it just so happened to be a lie that was put in writing before the law of the land and is turning into the kind of big ordeal that makes for a small, quiet life of desperation. but i think this might be linked to another piece of cargo that needs ejecting. a notion that i need to be Safe from Accusation and Understood to be o.k. i was just sure this one walked the plank with the divorce, but i think it's one of the die-hards.

fathead

my brother has purchased a harley davidson. one ride and i think i'm already bitten by the hog.
could be "goodbye" to my cager lifestyle.

my dear susan believes we're made for joy

there was joy in this day. simple and basic, but undergirding joy.

joy

in making ends meet--being blessed enough to be able to do that.

in naptime and the decision to join in instead of getting a few more things done.

in the way kids make play into work and vis a vis.

in the ladder collection of a new aquaintance
"because every job requires a ladder you thought you didn't need."

in a few renegade tears of a friend so grateful to be treated tenderly.

and in, of course, a game of speed scrabble.
God bless those little tiles.

jars of clay, "work"

http://www.last.fm/music/Jars+of+Clay/_/Work

just in case,
i will leave my things packed
so i can run away
i cannot trust these voices
i don't have a line of prospects that can give some kind of peace
there is nothing left to cling to that can bring me sweet release
i have no fear of drowning
it's the breathing that's taking all this work

do you know what i mean when i say,
"i don't want to be alone"?
what i mean when i say,
"i don't want to be alone"

empty spaces with shadows hit by streetlights
warnings signs and weight of tired conversations
in the absence of a shoulder, in the abscess of a thief
on the brink of this destruction, on the eve of bittersweet
now all the demons look like prophets and i'm living out
every word they speak, every word they speak

do you know what i mean when i say,
"i don't want to be alone"?
what i mean when i say,
"i don't want to be alone"
what i mean when i say,
"i don't want to be alone"

i have no fear of drowning
it's the breathing that's taking all this work

and i am angry.

i thought that i was only angry at this man
who can still manipulate, deceive and harm me when 8 years of purgatory should have instructed me in a better defense.
but it turns out that i'm mad at myself with equal ferocity.
because the way that man made it into my life was by invitation--mine.
and the invitation was given out of a pain i had had enough of.

i had been jilted and i was grieving. and for a gal who had experienced a lot of trauma, grieving was surprisingly a new arrival. i had to consciously choose grieving because it just wasn't in my arsenal of tools for coping. i was damn good at stuffing and achieving and diverting, but grieving was a weakness my childhood could not afford. and then this heartbreak came in adulthood and i sensed so clearly that it was time to move from milk to meat. that the coping strategies that kept me alive as a wee one were going to tear me apart as a big girl. and i made this very real answer of "yes" to this very real question God proffered me on the night i got slammed. "will you let yourself feel this?"

so i started feeling and it was beautiful chaos. the control freak was out of control with sorrow and it was a scary wonderful that left me so depleted, vulnerable and alive. feeling in real time was like waking up. but like waking up with a wicked hangover. it's good to be alive, but wow this hurts. and then the 8-year-man entered and he was offering only one thing--the drug that could put me back to sleep. to be beloved. and i took it to the surprise of everyone including myself. i took it despite the obvious ridiculousness and all the warning flags. i took it because i was tired from being so alive.

and being his beloved was the cruelest thing i have ever done. cruel because it was a cop-out and an escape. it was taking the dram that doesn't actually kill you because your blood still courses, but what sort of life is a coma?

so somehow i outlast the coma, re-enter my life, experience some more serious jilting
(because it turns out that being alive is mostly for suffering somehow. it makes me crazy, but it seems mostly true and beautiful).
and what does this enlightened, mature woman do with all this excruciating, beautiful life that has been swooshed back into her? yes, indeed. she starts taking "sleeping pills" again.

does this make any sense to you? because frankly, i am at a loss. what responsibility does the populace have with this sort of individual? i am certainly a threat to all things rational and progressive. how can it be that i feel very strongly i have "learned so much" and still somehow be so utterly fucked up and so absolutely right back where i started? this is a rhetorical question for which i am not prepared to have an answer. someone just put me out of our misery, please.

romans 7:24 "Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death?"

coming out of retirement is always ugly, so don't feel bad if you have to look away

i'm coming back
with the full assurance that it will be a sweeping failure.
as much as absence seems to register only as pain, everyone would probably (in the tippy toppest of their hearts) rather i "slip betimes away from fields were glory does not stay" than watch me "swell the rout of lads that wore their honours out" (Housman, "To an Athlete Dying Young").
but because i'm really just being grandiose kira
and most people don't give two craps about this blog or its contents
and because writing here somehow helps me act more like myself
and because the person who pissed me off enough to induce me to stop
has pissed me off enough to induce me to stay,
i'm coming back.

i'm no mary, but

it's time to hold this all closer to my heart.

to treasure it up where it belongs.

goodbye and thank you for walking a stretch with me.

luke 2:19

"let your pain tell you

what really matters

to your heart"

the life model (124).

starfish

this is one of those things that i won't be getting over.

you can cut it off, but it will grow back every time. i promise. i've tried it.

you persist and i acquiesce.

yes, there will probably come a day when there will be enough hopeful, joyful things to make the big anguish more manageable. a day when maybe i can leave the "what if" alone more than not.

but the Dream will never change

and i'll be dreaming it

'til kingdom come.

the girls are my weather

they have blown in this morning and they are more fierce than monsoons.
there was no underwater wrestling this morning. no picture of comfort and domestic rest.
literally kicking and screaming, they are crying and distraught.
cosette has gone into her little kitchen and has, sobbing, thrown everything to the floor.
the large wooden pots thudding, the plastic cups and saucers tinging against the walls.
amelie awash in anger--refusing to share that ugly bobbing head kitty that they both can't live without.
how do they do this, these little sixth-sensers?
my chubby barometers.

it is a great comfort when the weather reflects my mood. tonight, God has failed to bring earthquakes and monsoons

please,

if you are ever given to thinking me melodramatic or exibitionistic

stop reading now. this entire post is nearly unintelligible anyway, so you really won't be missing out. it will be a sort of mercy.

salvage the beauty we share and whatever it is that makes you think well of me.

this post is for the audience (of which somehow i remain a member)

that still and always believes me to be only kira

terrifyingly honest and ever wearing my heart wide open.

the picture alone will offend the former crowd.

this is me at my ugliest and most ravishing and i am grateful to scott for putting the truth of it into pixels. it is me, keeping my dinner date with elizabeth and scott about 20 minutes after receiving the words i had been waiting for. the words that finally ended the wrestling i took up again over my dream.

i have similar pictures documenting extraordinary loss. pages in the true history of me that document with photos the losses that are as significant as the victories.

there is one page in the 1999 book. a picture of me in the hospital bed when we were all convinced i was becoming a sort of vegetable. when i couldn't talk or communicate in any way because my eyes were rolled back, my arm contorted up and bent and my breathing--a fight for all the drooling. strapped down because they were sure i was having seizures that were taking away my capacities and i was inside of my head astonished at the life before me. it was dystonia brought on by medical poisoning, but it was a great fright and it is a part of my life i never want to forget or marginalize.

there is a page in the 2004 book. some pictures documenting the life that grew in me but never made it stateside. pictures that unapologetically declare there is a soul missing from every other event following that day of death.

so this one is for the 2008 book. i told you the train was coming. this day is train wreck day. or maybe just the reality of the train passing by and me not being on it which feels more explosive than carnage.

my soul knew first. long before intelligence came, there was the undeniable tearing of spirit. a withdrawal that is too real to be unseen, but is unseen nonetheless. of course, i kept grasping miserably as one does so ineffectually before death, but the connection was torn. then there was lots of weeping and trying to figure out how to break it to the brain that this dream wasn't going to materialize. the brain heard the whisperings (my soul was talking to my weeping body) and my brain kept telling the other two that i was only in self-defence. this "knowing" was just a way to protect myself from rejection and i must keep believing, as i was admonished to do. but today the word came. the brain had no defence against the word and succumbed to absolute despair (see photo). but the heart is such a bastard child. it will never say die, i think, and will run amok always believing and hoping. how i will ever manage as shepherd of my heart is beside me. i suppose i will have to leave that to God.

and that is just as well. i had this feeling all along of peace because despite my complete inability to understand most of what the disciples and prophets have to say about the actions and words of God, i have this deep down trust in the character of God. so the peace was this incomprehensible knowing that this trustworthy God was going to be artistic and powerful enough to make something very beautiful out of the whole. and i have actually been smiling behind the snot and tears because this is, in a very real sense, the most brilliant train wreck.

the word came to me in the form of a letter. the most beautiful letter saturated with the love and agony characteristic of real life. and the word was one of hope for something greater even than happiness. i will be astonished for the rest of my days that, in a very real sense, i was the greatest mistake that almost happened in the lives of some people who are more wonderful than i have energy tonight to detail. and still, i feel no regret. i believe that these same people will marvel at how they almost lost it all because of want of long-suffering and capital L love that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things (1 corinthians 13) and will be grateful for this chance to walk to the very end of the dream with me. to look it in the eyes and chose to walk away. the power of the possible and the unknown being thus diminished. the cord severed. the letter confirmed that these people are as beautiful as i know them to be and are influenced by the Creator Who is as wonderful as i know Him to be. and that somewhere in there, as much as i fear i am dangerous, i am really a very small and beloved thing of beauty who is promised, at least, comfort for all of the mourning by the Man of Sorrows, Himself so acquainted with grief.

shameless hope

"Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ:
By whom also we have access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God.
And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience;
And patience, experience; and experience, hope:
And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.
For when we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly."
Romans 5:1-6

stay close

"Observe these landmarks well," said Don Quixote, "for I will try not to go far from this neighborhood, and I will even take care to mount the highest of these rocks to see if I can discover thee returning;

however, not to miss me and lose thyself,

the best plan will be to cut some branches of the broom that is so abundant about here, and as thou goest to lay them at intervals until thou hast come out upon the plain;

these will serve thee, after the fashion of the clue in the labyrinth of Theseus, as marks and signs for finding me on thy return."

don quixote, cervantes

a clue of thread, branches, breadcrumbs

whatever resource the thralled hands grasp

as surety against loss

as faith (ancient and sustained) in togetherness as victor

on ice

when amelie found out that the grandparents were treating us to "finding nemo on ice" she clutched herself in a brrr embrace and said, "sounds chilly."

the smiliest, cotton-candy-eating kid of the gang

thanks, annie grannie and grandpa steve

Dem Leben sind Grenzen gesetzt, die Liebe ist grenzenlos.

thankfully, claudia is an intuitive friend who knows when it's a day to change plans and stay for dinner.

jagged little pill

i have about 40% of normal human smelling capacity. unfortunately, this has nothing to do with a faulty nose. m.r.i confirmed, this is straight out brain damage. there were clues along the way. oh, you say you saw them? right, well... i kind of meant clues that i couldn't smell. hrmm. awkward.

anyway, yeah, so not registering a stink bomb and wondering why the middle school halls were evacuating--that was a clue. and being incapable of distinguishing the finer points of taste (like the difference between nearly any two foods if my eyes are closed)--another big clue. wild, but having a really crappy memory turns out to be clue numero uno. smell is huge in sealing memory, so it all adds up--me being so so clumsy when it comes to recalling large chunks of my very own life. (and i thought it was pure repression. pah!)

but there are a few memories that even the two punch combination repression and brain damage have dealt me still can't knock loose.

i will always remember the day i decided that i would fall in with Jesus. it was so easy because i knew Jesus was responsible for the way my daddy's face was all stars and fireworks. there wasn't anywhere safer than robert tegtmeier's smile and, as it turns out, Jesus' arms were the same deal.

i will always remember the first time i really clasped hands with sorrow. the conscious choice i made that college night to fall on the cold tile. to let reality catch up with my emotions in real-time. to sense the slash of rejection. feeling it cut me to ribbons--so small i even talked like a child for days, all unintelligible sobs and murmurs.

i will always remember the way the world fell away when amelie came stateside of the womb. agony (i couldn't figure out how to communicate in japanese that the pain from the c-section seemed, to me, to merit pain meds) mixed with melting (no a.c. in the middle of the best heat asia's summer has to offer) and then this love that was so...almost angry it was so strong.

i'm in the middle of one of these unforgettables. i know that

i will always remember this moment that is coming on so hard i can't sleep or eat or escape wakeful dreams. these aren't hives, they are the affliction of pure dread and pure hope doing battle on the field of me. there's a group of us in this one and no one has a chance of coming through unscathed. i know for certain that i will never be the same again no matter how the details fall out. alanis morissette assures me that this is how "you learn."

"Wear it out
(the way a three-year-old would do)
Melt it down
(you're gonna have to eventually anyway)
The fire trucks are coming up around the bend."

i'm ablaze, but i recommend it too.

don't care if i never get back

fresh sky sox fans

my daddy, crazy-hat vendor

amelie attempting a re-enactment of "lady and the tramp" with poor jessie. licorice instead of pasta. tricksy.

barb, heather, jessie and allison, thanks for the night of shameful losing, $2 draughts and so many laughs at the old ballgame.

come

"At the time of Lewis and Clark, setting the prairies on fire was a well-known signal that meant, 'Come down to the water.' It was an extravagant gesture, but we can't do less. If the landscape reveals one certainty, it is that the extravagant gesture is the very stuff of creation. After the one extravagant gesture of creation in the first place, the universe has continued to deal exclusively in extravagancies, flinging intricacies and colossi down aeons of emptiness, heaping profusions on proligacies with ever-fresh vigor. The whole show has been on fire from the word go. I come down to the water to cool my eyes. But everywhere I look I see fire; that which isn't flint is tinder, and the whole world sparks and flames."

"pilgrim at tinker creek"
annie dillard

joyous belated birthday, sandra!

"Every age can be enchanting, provided you live within it."

bridget bardot





http://www.flickr.com/photos/allisondubois/2412010017/in/set-72157604130228621/

miracles

is it possible that i drank wine and ate bread and that somehow this morning it was Him in me--life for death?
is it natural that as carlessly i bounded up the steps between church and lunch, my car (out of gear) made its way up onto the center island but did not follow the natural slope down into my neighbor's house?
is it feasible that a lovebird (not native to colorado? o.k. maybe just a pigeon) cooed over me from the blossoming tree as i napped in the warm grass?

for saturday

XXII

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.


william carlos williams

for friday

when you go out with your brother
for hot wings and beers
then you sometimes forget to blog

because you get to tell him so many things and are understood
(because he remembers that you were once a child too)
and because you laughed so hard
and had so much fun

and that is a good thing.

midget mcdonalds

"All grown-ups were children first.

(But few remember it). "

antoine de saint-exupéry

it is snowing outside again, but we're not wearing our stocking caps to cut utilities. we are wearing our snow gear because i remembered tonight that i was once a child. and like amelie, i felt heartbreak as real as anything because the grown-up decided that it wouldn't be advisable to visit mcdonalds at bedtime for ice cream cones yet another weeknight.

like so many million moments in the day, i had a choice. wield my power to save exertion. just, "come along and let's run off to bed like good obedient pickles." or use my authority for benevolence, my power for edification and create a world even better than mcdonalds with (really) such little effort that it's remarkable how lazy i can be at such a great expense to wonder.

so, finally, i drug myself out of my own heartache and chose awe. amelie became the expert and i queried her for details. what elements did we need to make our own mcdonalds? hats, first thing. right off the bat, we needed some "cooker hats." and then music, which delirious? was happy to provide. we didn't have that special thing she didn't have a word for, but she decided the kitchen counter would do.

amelie was the "head cheft." each bowl got less ice cream than than the last and they were all nearly melted by go-time, but she did literally every bit of the ice cream scooping. her arms shaking with fatigue, tiny little melting flakes with chocolate on top as her glorious offering to the gang. we ate with relish. (see how zettie has chocolate lipstick?) and then amelie insisted on doing the dishes while cosette attacked me with the oven mitt on the floor of the kitchen.

"Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is exhausting for children to have to provide explanations over and over again. " the little prince

better for the wear

i'm tempted to think that i've been worn, washed and dried too many times and come out worse for it. but look at the earth--at it again. down for the count in the grip of winter. torn to shreds for the billionth time. now all blithe and sassy and new. bold buds busting out of every dead branch and slippery, sexy rain daring to make it all flourish. when i lay my weary body down on the ground today to take this picture of two youths in spring, the earth was warm and i felt a transfer of hope. they say youth is wasted on the young. but i think the exhaustion of age is a gift. i need the heat the earth has to offer. it makes me aware of the source and grateful for the grace to attempt transformation again.

from my stoop