exactly and precisely

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice --

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do --

determined to save

the only life you could save.

The Journey

Mary Oliver

this is exactly what my life looks like right now

With the map of Africa and everything.

Nojustkidding. Completely and utterly.

Rather, if that suitcase was taken overhead and opened and all its contents were shaken out and strewn about and then shook just a little more for extra messiness and good measure and maybe even stomped on a bit, my life would be better exemplified.

I try to laugh, to make the mess not seem so messy, to make it seem like I could pick it all up and put it back into the suitcase neatly and properly and easily--and sometimes the laughing works, but usually it just bounces around dully in my head, failing to take up the space of the other thoughts I wish it would.

photo.

the top

It's like when you're spinning a top,

maybe the kind that has the marker on the tip and draws spirals,

(I think that's the only kind of top I've ever spun),

and you sit and watch it spin round

and round

and round,

faster

and faster

and faster,

but then it begins to slow and wobble,

and you can almost hear it shouting,

wobble! wobble! wob-ble! louder and louder,

and you lean in closer to wait for that exact moment you're fearing,

and then all at once

it falls to its side in exhaustion,

sputtering once or twice,

until it completely stops,

and everyone sighs,

and shakes their heads, saying

too bad.

fridays

For some reason, I usually don't have any big plans on Friday evenings. I get out of work a little early, stop at the gym on the way home, and then have some time to myself at home with dinner and a glass of wine while parents and sisters are out at softball practices and meetings.

Sometimes I feel nerdy that I'd rather stay home late at night and drink wine with my mom in yoga pants and watch terrible television and catch up on crocheting and reading rather than make plans and go out and be tired/hungover the next morning.

But you know what?

I kinda like it.

macro, and forgetfulness

Lots of times I have so many ideas of things I want to blog about that I'll save them as drafts so I don't forget them.

This morning, as I was driving to work, I remembered something that I had been thinking of writing about for awhile now and of course hadn't saved, and vowed that those would be the words to accompany these photos this morning.

Alas, I'm here at work, the photos are up, and I've forgotten any inkling of what I was going to say. Sigh.

blogmail

Hello.

I can't come to reality right now.

I'm having trouble showing up for life at the moment.

It's just a bit much to handle just now.

If you'd like to leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as I'm able.

And coherent.

And calm.

And possessing clarity.

Thank you.

daffodils in the morning

Early this morning (which I suppose wasn't really that early since the sun was clearly up, but for me was kind of early), I decided that too many springtimes had gone unphotographed in my life, so I hopped on a bicycle with my camera in a backpack. I rode down to the greenhouse at the end of my street, where hundreds of bright yellow daffodils line the entranceway. I'm pretty sure they were planted in full bloom, since they just appeared there one day, which makes me appreciate them less than if they had been planted by seed, but all the same--they're gorgeous.

And they made a fantastic pick-me-up start to my morning.

I've been thinking a lot lately about where I live.

Earlier this week at work, a sixth-grader started talking to me about street violence (he's a very mature sixth-grader). He explained that his dad had recently been assaulted on the street, and was going to buy a gun to defend himself. When he got older, he said he was going to buy a gun, too. He gets nervous when he walks home from school with his younger sisters, afraid someone will be following him. He said he needs a gun to defend them, even if just to wave it around and scare off any attackers. His family has "swords" in their home, to thwart intruders, he told me. Violence is a good thing, he continued, if it can teach kids how to protect themselves on the street.

And then he asked me, "Miss, I know you don't like violence. But what would you do if someone was trying to assault you?"

I was at a loss for words. I told him I honestly didn't know what I would do.

Then he asked, "But Miss, you don't live in the city, do you?" I shook my head slowly. "You must live in the countryside," he said, sure of himself. "There are probably farms and animals around where you live." All I could do was agree, with a guilty feeling in my stomach about this truth of my life.

I do live in the countryside. I do live near farms. I haven't the slightest idea what I'd do if someone tried to attack me, and it's definitely not something I contemplated in sixth grade, either.

The disparities that exist in our world--they continue to shock me, even now.

sore glutes, anyone?

Last weekend's hiking excursion with my mom and my sister definitely kicked my butt. Going to Pilates class right before probably didn't help much, but man--climbing uphill for 45 minutes is definitely a workout.

Of course, that was seven days ago when summer came early and it was 70 degrees and sunny outside. Which definitely gave me incentive to get outside and stretch my glutes.

We did some rock climbing.

And decided this boulder most definitely came from the glaciers of the Ice Age.

Which then led us to pretending we were actually in the Ice Age (the movie, of course), and tried not to get crushed by the rocks rolling our way.

Why yes, that sweater is tied around my waist like I'm in 1994 again, thank you for asking.

We ended the afternoon with acorn-top-whistle-blowing: you know, the important skills little sisters depend on big sisters to teach them.

power outage

Sunday morning, when we woke up without power, I was a little miffed. I couldn't check my email or straighten my hair. Hmph.

But mostly, I was secretly happy. Go all day long without the ability to clean the bathroom, do my massive amounts of laundry, pay online bills, or vaccuum? I'd take it. Sure, it'd set me back a day, but I got to focus on things I probably wouldn't have thought of. Like sewing a sunglasses case I'd promised Rachel. Or work on crocheting. Or reading a book. In complete silence. It was kind of relaxing, actually.

When I was little, the days we lost power were always sort of magical and fun. We'd light lamps and play Monopoly at the dark dining room table. We'd beg each other to accompany us to the bathroom so we wouldn't be afraid, with only the beam of a dying flashlight. We'd get out the candles and jugs of water and solar-powered radio and it'd almost be like we were camping for the night. Everything's so simple in childhood, isn't it?

Now, I'm a little irked. It's been over 24 hours. My wicker basket full of dirty laundry is overflowing. Lukewarm showers are not for the faint of heart (we have a well and a small generator, luckily). The clocks have been set forward and it's dark in the morning--combined with the gray, rainy weather that made it a little difficult to get up this morning without turning on a light. I had to escape to a friend's house last night to charge my dead cell phone. I couldn't even distract myself with my camera, because my battery decided to wimp out and it wouldn't turn on. Oh, and my small addiction to the internet is being tested TO NO END (good thing I have a computer at work).



It's funny how much we rely on electricity, isn't it? Connecticut Light & Power, please hurry.

newport

Calling all New England travelers!

Does any of you have any good recommendations for restaurants, coffee shops, yoga studios, shopping spots, or sights in Newport, Rhode Island?

I'd love to hear your suggestions!

Thanks!

(Photo via)

returned

Finally, I'm back.

As free as I feel when I'm away from the internet and phones and connected-ness, I also get a little antsy when I desert my blog for so long. I feel sad for the little thing, like when I'm away from my cat for too long and think she must be getting sick of my sister feeding her for me and running after her to catch her by the tail and drag her out from underneath the bed.

Blog, Stella: I'M HOME. You can stop worrying.


However, I'm home, yes. And I need to:

pay bills
and catch up at work
and clean the bathroom
and plan a birthday party
and get my hair cut
and finish scholarship essays
and clean the litter box
and get in a better mood
and clean my room
and get back to the gym
and and and and . . .

And I have about a million posts lined up in my head, so I'll be back in full-blogging action very soon.

If I can make a dent on that list, first.

thursday nights.

What, you don't spend your Thursday nights playing Monopoly Junior?

weekend vows.

I am sitting in Starbucks, early this Saturday morning,

with the intentions of completing some scholarship essays

and consuming at least two shots of espresso.

So far, so good (besides being distracted with blogging.....uh, oops).

Yet I'm surrounded by a group of old men

with velcro sneakers and lots of rings on their fingers,

talking loudly about things like leaky dishwashers,

and seafood in Key West,

and reverse mortgages,

and Citizen of the Year awards.

I'm trying really hard not to let it bother me.

But this is something I'm working on:

instead of ignoring any negative feelings I might be having,

and subduing them into illegitimacy and forcing artificial optimism,

I'm going to recognize this annoyance as a real feeling,

and then move on.

Because really, it's all about our own reactions.

I could have the most horrid, awful, despisable morning,

which could put me in a bad mood for the rest of my day or rest of my week,

even (I'm a pro at getting into bad moods),

or I could acknowledge that I'm having a rough time,

feel sorry for myself for only the tiniest moment,

and then vow to not let it ruin any more of my time.

I think that's the trick.

It's an extremely difficult trick,

and not a very nice trick,

but I think I might be getting the hang of it.

So I'm going to down some more hot coffee,

bang out these essays like I haven't been out of school for almost a year,

and move on with my weekend,

not complacently,

but with the intention of having a fantastic weekend

that beats all other weekends.

Here's to a happy weekend.

*Addendum: The old men have left. Now a nice old man wearing plaid and working on a crossword puzzle has assumed their place. Also, Feist is happily being played. See?**

rice pudding.

All day long, I've been reading Smitten Kitchen. I've read the words "Smitten Kitchen" so many times today I could make up a song about it. Smitten Kitchen SmittenKitchen SMITTEN KITCHEN. I don't know what it is--the witty banter, the gorgeous photos, the scrumptious little baby, or (perhaps) the mouth-watering cuisine.

Either way, I'm smitten.

You see, I'm trying this alternative lifestyle (did I hear someone say diet? I didn't say that. I said alternative lifestyle. You know, alternative to my old gain-ten-pounds lifestyle. The word diet implies it's bound to fail, in my mind. So it's an alternative lifestyle. Say it with me: ALTERNATIVE LIFESTYLE.) In other words, reading Smitten Kitchen all day is making my insides churn and my tongue seize up. I need some carbs and I need them now.

Fortunately, A Day That Is Dessert somehow heard my inner plea for help and sent out her latest post into the blogosphere for me to find. She made rice pudding for dessert, for her family. Um, PRINT. I brought that recipe home with me and whipped it up pronto. It sure did placate my Smitten Kitchen obsession. I'm not sure how fond I am of rice pudding to begin with, but if I was, this would be one great recipe. It was Vanilla Almond Rice Pudding, actually, and it was divine.

Unfortunately, my body tried to make up for the day-long goodie-starvation and forced my mind into thinking an entire bowlful would be okay. Now, my tummy hurts and I'm pretty sure I just confirmed my fear of lactose intolerance. Oops.

That's all.

inner grace.

she has a face of light

and is the calm within the depth of any storm.

gentle stranger, earth angel

without ego or expectation

only dreams and hopes for those she loves,

and she loves many . . .

but many more love and adore her.

when our hope is lost, it is her smile,

her indifference to all fear and chaos

that opens each of us to the greatest love of all.

her love and legacy teaches us only

what we should give, not what we can take.

her inner grace is our light in the dark,

her flame is eternal.

Okay, so maybe this just came from a little purple bottle of shower gel

that my mom bought me for a stocking stuffer

that Santa lovingly handmade,

but I think it's sweet,

although full of silly cliches.

Maybe if I keep using it I'll attain some inner grace.

Lord knows I could use me some.

Day 1 . . .

. . . of my fabulous week off!

I'm so excited to have a whole week away from work--spent reading, crocheting, catching up with friends, and sleeping in. Let's hope :)

Today, my day was spent:



walking around, eating, and shopping in Northampton,

and cuddling with MH and Stella.

(Christmas photos to come!)

ah, saturdays.

My day today will (hopefully) go something like this:

1. Drag my butt out of this chair and start my day by SHOWERING.

2. Tackle my huge big long list of to-do items (clean the litter box? do laundry? vacuum?)

3. Work on (finish, perhaps?) my grad school apps.

4. Maybe make an impromptu trip to Starbucks for a gingerbread latte.

5. REFUSE to go shopping. No matter how tempting.

6. Babysit.

7. Enjoy the expected SNOW that's coming :)

8. Try to avoid this perpetual headache.

9. Call Abby, my long-lost-friend who probably thinks I'm ignoring (I'm not, really).

10. Revel in SATURDAYS and try not to think ahead to Monday . . .

What are your plans for this Christmasy Saturday?

(right now.)

(Right now)

(I'm in a coffee shop)

(pretending like I'm getting my grad school apps done)

(but really, I'm checking up on all the blogs I missed yesterday)

(and reveling in gingerbread latte.)

(I gave myself this afternoon to be all mine,)

(simply doing what I'd like to do)

(and reading what I'd like to be reading)

(and thinking about what I'd like to be thinking about.)

(This day of mine has also included a long hot shower and homemade guacamole for lunch.)


(But I feel a teensy bit guilty,)

(so don't tell.)

thank heaven.

Is it Friday already? Thank the Lord . . . . . he must have known I needed this week to end.

Now if he can just get the weekend to stick around a little longer . . . . . I plan on hanging out and sleeping and wandering Northampton and studying for the GREs! Yikes!



Happy weekending!

(Photo via miniaturerhino)