All This Useless Beauty

Blueprint

2011-06-26T12:57:00.000-05:00

I remember this pain. I remember this sadness, that permeates everything, that makes the sun less warm and the smiles confusing.

There are no cliches for murder trials. There was no blueprint of what-this-might-look-like when it's done. There aren't books to tell me how to get the crime scene images out of my head. There isn't an obituary in the newspaper that lets everyone know it's our tragedy, our time to grieve. We have to figure out this new pain, this re-run of our hearts shattering, this opened raw wound on our own. There isn't weeks to take off of work, there isn't a black armband to wear for a year, no black veil to let me people know to be nicer to us, to be quiet, to please be gentle.

I remember all the crying, the desperation, the unwillingness to accept the new normal and inability to comprehend the depth of the absence, the profundity of my loss. Laughter is tainted, everything feels heavy. I don't know if it should be better doing this now because it's familiar, but it feels worse, it seems so unfair to have to go through this again. I've said they can't kill him again, and they can't, but I am questioning my own spirits survival.

2011-05-02T21:47:00.002-05:00

I might be actually in love with this man.

2011-04-17T15:44:00.000-05:00

"You do have beautiful eyes, but I think my most favorite thing (or at least top 3) about spending time with you is the moment right after you start to tell me something and before you actually say whatever is on your mind. I realized it the second time I was at your house. You have a pattern - you start, then you pause and you think about it, then you say it. Every pause I got a flutter in my stomach and a mix of feeling like I wanted you to just-say-it-already and please-wait-another-moment, because the anticipation of whatever you were about to share with me was delicious. More delicious than coconut oil popcorn and the best brussel sprouts in the world.
I know we've only known each other a couple weeks, and have taken some quick and intense steps, and I think we're still within the time frame that either of us could just cut off the other one without too many hard feelings, and I can't say that I want this to go somewhere concrete - but, I know every time I drove to your house I felt really excited and really comfortable, almost relieved, like I was going home. And ever time I was there I didn't want to leave. And I don't want to be removed from your life."

There, now I've blogged about you.

I'm starting to think I'm not cut out for this online dating thing. I like people too much.

To-Do List

2011-02-10T20:58:00.000-06:00

11 Things Every Minnesotan Should Try in 2011.

Now everyone come visit me so we can check some of these puppies off this list.

Green & Gold

2011-02-06T09:07:00.000-06:00

In honor of my beloved Green Bay Packers being in the Super Bowl today, here are some of my favorite links from the last week:

(For a soundtrack, listen to this: Lil Wayne's Green N Yellow

and this: Feelin So Fly Like a Cheesehead

Why The Packers are really "America's Team"

Jeff Hanisch/US Presswire

" It's no leap to say the Packers have the most rabid fans in the NFL."

100 reasons the Packers are the greatest sports franchise of all time

Photo: Allen Fredrickson

Aaron Rodgers photobombs every team captain picture

Packers' Rodgers Has Deep Roots In Chico

Walking On to the Super Bowl

Howard Smith/US Presswire

Long-locked Clay Matthews is eyeing his first Super Bowl win, but as Rick Reilly uncovers, he had to face his fair share of setbacks first.

Musical History

2011-02-03T14:39:00.000-06:00

"You belong among the wildflowers..." Tom Petty sings over the cafe speakers, bringing me back to as close to a time of sweet naivety as I can claim to have. I wrote a love letter then that it didn't matter where we were as long as he was "somewhere close to me". His love was sweeter than chocolate, Sarah McLachlan style, and one of my favorite memories of all time is driving together in a truck with classic rock on the radio and as AC/DC was playing I said, "What are American thighs, anyway?" He paused for a moment and turned to me with a mischievous smile that he couldn't hide if he tried, patted my upper leg, and said, "These are, honey." Although he really hated where he lived, It's a Great Day to Be Alive was one of his favorite songs and the only country song he liked, and he turned up that Travis Tritt tune for me driving around that North Carolina town. I learned more about sex that first summer in that apartment than I had all my years leading up to it, in the two twin beds pushed together to make a nest, surrounded by strings of lights and candles with roommates outside who just giggled and understood, as we listened to John Hiatt and William Topley and John Mayer, who by the way wrote Your Body is a Wonderland just for us. When he started looking at me like I was choosing Spain over him I held up the phone to his voice mail as "Have a Little Faith in Me" played in concert at the Barrymore. It's only recently that I can hear Staind play It's Been Awhile and not get choked up when I hear "It's been awhile since I've seen the way the candles light your face... It's been awhile... But I can still remember just the way you taste..."

Love Notes

2011-02-02T02:12:00.000-06:00

I sat down with the intention of shutting everything down and hopping into bed to be really warm for the first time all day.
Instead I started sorting out emails (deleting, archiving; something that is a little of a time waster but actually is soothing to me in an OCD sort of way). Inevitably I see ones about my brother that make me cry a little, but tonight was not the night I stopped on those. The ones I kept coming across in a random-seeming manner were ones from him, from this man I have this dance with.
I haven't ever gotten too far away from thinking about him since we met, some years ago now, but in the last couple weeks he's been especially present in my thoughts. Maybe it's my maternal clock, or my gray hairs, or my count-down to 30, but anyway the thought that has been re-appearing in my head is that maybe we should give it a shot, like a real shot, like we never really have before.
I read these emails from every few months over the last couple years and I felt foolish tonight. They aren't notes, I realized, they are love letters. Spread out it's harder to see, but then I think of him and how little he gives up, how as little as he's let me in is many times more than he's let almost anybody else in, and I think of the things I've written about him, and how he's seen me in many a situation (with family, at a party, by myself, healthy, sick, sad, happy, on vacation, at work, in a relationship, in a break up, single, single and hunting, hot, cold, naked, clothed...) and I have clarity. Not direction or purpose, maybe, but clarity.
I don't know if we'll ever really make that leap. Sadly, but sweetly too, I write that knowing how much I'll miss him one day if we don't.

White Stuff

2011-01-31T14:02:00.000-06:00

It snowed again. I have lost count of how many times it has snowed since the first snow, back in November, the one that kept me in the suburbs for an extra night and made me realize I needed new tires before I did anything else.

It's really pretty again, as the new snow has covered up the dark gray mucky slush stuff that everything was transformed into. I put on my galoshes to run the trash out today and didn't lose feeling in my fingers during the 30 seconds it took to complete the task, so that means it's not quite as cold as it was two weeks ago.

Last week was the first time I woke up and thought, "Ok, this is getting a little wearisome." It's still ok, I'm still fine, I'm just more excited to see colors again in a few months than I am for the snow. And they'll come; tomorrow is February, a short month, then in March we get the official start of spring. The colors and warmth will inevitable come, the blooms, the late light, the heat, then in 7 months I'll be writing about how the humidity is getting wearisome and that I'm getting excited to be bundled up and trudging through white stuff.

"Why We're Here"

2011-01-30T23:01:00.000-06:00

To everyone who asked me "Why would you move from California to Minneapolis??!?!???":

Why We're Here: Twin Cities from Seven and Sixty Productions on Vimeo.

JOY

2011-01-23T23:30:00.007-06:00

As I recover from my annual knock-me-on-my-ass cold and finish thank-you notes from the holidays, I've been reflecting on the holiday season that was actually packed with lovely things...

On Christmas Eve I got to have brunch with Mami, liquor shop with my Dad, and see my original nugget, home from teaching and selling cheese in NOLA. On Christmas my parents and I went to a really good movie, did some decorating, and opened some presents. That evening we hung out with our second immediate family and their extended family for lots of food and gab. Later I went to a bar two blocks away for a major high school flashback (plus more drinking legally minus making out in bathrooms). Even later that night I came as close to fulfilling a freshman fantasy as you can without ruining it.

The next day we had our 3rd annual party and it was a doozy. I felt a little extra pressure to make sure it was one people talked about until next year because Megan is overseas and I wanted to make her proud, plus some lovely sisters even came down from Minny just for the occasion. I think I succeeded; the number of people that tell me they look forward to the party more than the actual holiday supports this, as well as the number of people that slept on various surfaces around my parents house that night after playing games until 5am that are always a bad idea except for when you're drunk enough. (We were.)

I stuck around town a few extra days to hang out with some snowed in East-Coasters, and it meant more quality time all around, especially with my parents and miniature people. (See below.)

To top it all off, I got to go to New York for one of my besties 30th birthday party a couple of weeks later, thanks to the generosity and airline miles of a dear friend. It was, as Tommy put it, one of the "Top 5 epic weekends". Truly. Complete with margaritas and whiskey all over Brooklyn, speeding cabs in the snow, making friends with Australian strangers, karaoke in more than one private room, discovering that bar time isn't until almost dawn (with the drawback that you can't get pizza in Brooklyn at almost dawn), one cousin, one favorite musician, one really Bad Kitty, some of the best friends that the universe has ever beheld, and last but certainly not least a big Packer win celebrated with a bunch of fellow cheeseheads plus my new future ex-husband who doesn't know it yet.

Some select moments that make me happy all over:

Which one is my mother? Sometimes we can't tell:

Another Big and Mini that I love:

Epic Morning After brunch:

2nd Day of Recovery Lunch:

In this picture there are two of the best friends anyone could ask for (who also happen to be sisters), three glasses of wine (out of the shot), one baby whom I love, and one puffer fish bath toy:

"I will buy you beer one day...":

Rachel's favorite French beer to start NYE:

New Year's Day Roses and Champagne:

Somebody's afraid of heights...

Bad Kitty...

"And maybe be your baby tonight...":

"Maybe be my baby tonight..." from Caitlin Scanlon on Vimeo.

I sort of want to live in Tommy's video of his trip to WI:

Horray Wisconsin! from thomas schwenn on Vimeo.

2011-01-21T11:16:00.001-06:00

Courtesy of Stuff About Minneapolis (I love this guy):

Workers chopping ice along the dam, Falls of St. Anthony, Minneapolis (1899)
Wow, it is going to get cold tonight and tomorrow. What are they saying, -20* to -30* below zero? Yeah it’s going to be mighty chilly walking from your house, into your car, and then into the coffee shop. What will your total outside exposure be? 10 minutes? Sure hope that Columbia Omni-Heat Squall Line Fleece Jacket you have on under your North Face McMurdo Parka keeps you warm.
Do you think these guys with the shovels and pickaxes in this picture complained about chopping ice outside for ten hours in the cold? They probably got paid a quarter an hour and for lunch they sat on the ice and ate a stale biscuit with a piece of pickled bacon. And they probably had to hear slurs all day long about being Irish.
When you pull out your laptop do the people at the coffee shop verbally attack you for your Irish heritage?
Didn’t think so.
Remember your roots Minnesota and get a little tough.
Photo by Minnesota Historical Society

Hello Again

2011-01-14T13:44:00.000-06:00

Sometimes, because of solitude or loneliness or a craving for familiarity, you let down your good-sense guard and open yourself up to feel again for something that you thought you had let go of.
Sometimes you allow it to feel good when you hear the need in his voice, even though history has shown that nothing will come of it.
Sometimes you allow yourself to feel his pain when he talks of his nightmares and his fears, sometimes you allow yourself to worry for him, to call to check on him, to tell him not to shut you out again.
Sometimes you let yourself hope a little, you let yourself taste and enjoy the fantasy that has made up 90% of your relationship.
Sometimes you can admit to yourself that he may be that person for you even though he is deeply imperfect and might love you for all the wrong reasons, although they've always felt like the right ones.
Sometimes you let yourself remember that he is the person that carried you to confidence, to safety, to hope, and that in truth we saved each other from a curse of deep cynicism and shallowness.
Sometimes you savor the inside jokes, the nicknames, the stories that you only share with him, because after all this time they still are the most funny, the sweetest, and the best that you've ever had.

Morgue

2011-01-04T00:53:00.000-06:00

Sometimes still, after all this time, it is too much. I sit and can't understand what happened, how he could really be gone, and how I am never going to hear his voice again.

To make it real I inevitably think of seeing his body, which is horrible. Horrible that it was a body, that it was my brother's body, and that my mind goes there because that was the most real moment of his death. It was a nightmare out of a poem that we stood in the morgue on Father's Day and looked at his face hovering in front of us on the closed captioned TV screen they now use for next-of-kin to identify bodies. We knew cerebrally he was in there but before the screen flipped on I know our souls were screaming for it to be a mistake and to see some other young mans face appear. It was Brendan, unmistakeably B with his messy curly blonde hair. He had a bruise on his cheek, his mouth was slightly open, as were his eyes. He didn't look asleep, as processed bodies almost do, he just looked dead. You couldn't see the bright beautiful blue-gray color of his eyes, but they weren't cloudy or creepy. They just weren't anything.

I had to eventually ask the old sad man who was working alone in the morgue on Father's Day to please turn it off. I was crying and I said something about yes it was him and what were we supposed to do and please turn it off, and I remember feeling like I had to because I was the only one not sitting on the couch in the room and I could feel my family crumbling behind me. Later in the car my mom said she though Brendan looked like a picture of Jesus on the screen, because his hair formed this gold halo around his face. He did. He'd laugh at me for saying that.

2011-01-03T23:55:00.000-06:00

This is beautiful and funny and wonderful:

http://tomywife.tumblr.com/

(It made me feel a little lonelier than I did already, but that's ok.)

HOLY F&%#ING SNOWSTORM

2010-12-11T14:53:00.008-06:00

Well, it's snowing like crazy. I know eventually it won't freak me out so much but holy shit. There is so much snow dumping down I don't know if it's exciting or scary. Both? Do I want to go play? Do I want to go to bed? Should I try cleaning a few inches (feet!!!??!?) off of my car that is parked out front in what looks like an increasingly large snow bank right now?

I'm fortunate I don't HAVE to go anywhere right now, but knowing I'd have a really hard time getting anywhere makes me feel claustrophobic. I'm trying to appreciate that there's food and alcohol in the house, the heat's on, and my car is parked on the side that doesn't have to be clear until Monday morning.

Minneapolis Freeze

2010-12-10T00:08:00.000-06:00

I don't care how cold it is, I'm still falling in love with my new city...

(Via Stuff About Minneapolis and Flickr.)

2010-12-07T13:22:00.000-06:00

I don't know what my first memory of my sister is, but I like to tell people it's the time when I was still a baby and she, a toddler, was holding me on her lap, and she leaned over as if to kiss me but instead bit my ear. (She describes it now as if she meant to show me, her baby sister, affection, but was overcome by a wave of jealousy that somehow manifested into an ear bite.)

Megan is two years and twenty days older than me; she was born on my parents 10th wedding anniversary and I like to think many of her personality traits reflect the manner in which she was conceived: planned, organized, calculated, logical... (She will think I'm teasing there, but really, they are traits that I wish I carried more strongly. Or at all.) My growth spurt and puberty hit not long after hers did (I think because I was always trying to catch up and play with the big girls, maybe my body took a cue) and I used to make people guess who was older, and giggle with glee when they guessed me. In reflection, I shouldn't have been surprised many years later when after a couple bottles of wine my sister mentioned casually how much she hated me in high school.

Megan didn't go to college right away; instead, she went to South America and worked with orphans, learned Spanish, ate lots of street food, and got her first tattoo. Then she went to college, which included a year in Africa as well as a return trip to Bolivia to research her undergraduate honors thesis, and graduated about six months before I did. The years between then and now included two in the Peace Corps, three getting two masters degrees from an ivy-covered school in the Northeast, and lots of travel.

If Megan and I hadn't had Brendan to balance us out I think we may have actually hurt each other in middle or high school. He was often a little shit, but he was our little shit, and we loved him more than anything, and that was often the one thing we knew we had in common. The morning that Brendan died, and I called my sister after hanging up with my parents, knowing she already knew and dreading what we had to do, I remember holding on to the phone and listening to her sob and telling her I loved her over and over. We knew from that moment that the only way to survive was together. It still is, and we are, and we do.

Last Friday at 5 a.m. my parents and I put Megan on a bus to Chicago to get on a plane headed to Indonesia. She'll be there a few months certainly, most likely a year or two, or more. She's in Jakarta now, I've gotten a text and a couple emails, and all is well. I miss her terribly.

Old Friends Are Gold

2010-12-01T22:51:00.000-06:00

To the ones I can sit for two hours with or twelve and we never quite get to the end of the conversation:
You Are Awesome.

When did we grow up enough to be married, to have children, to have careers, and aging parents? Hell, when did we ever get old enough to drive, or vote, or drink, or rent a car?

And yet here we are, sitting at the bar (the fancy one with tablecloths and candles over bottomless margaritas and buckets of salsa) talking about our few grandparents that are left, our parents that love you like you're their own and me like I'm the daughter that got away (that's a longer story isn't it?), and checking the time in case one of us needs to get home to nurse.

I love you old friends. I am so blessed, or lucky, or smart, or however one decides is most appropriate to describe someone who gets to have friends that knew them in their awkward stages, who knew them at their highest and loved them through their lowest, and still wants to drink bottles of wine and figure out the problems of the world together.

Lovelies

2010-11-19T18:50:00.000-06:00

About a year and a half ago I got to finally meet Lilly in San Francisco, through our mutual friend Tommy. Lilly's sister Fuzzy used to live with Tommy in Brooklyn, and I met her for the first time when we were first visiting NYC last January. Now, Lilly is living in an apartment in Loring Park with their cousin Nora, and Fuzzy lives in the Whittier neighborhood. A few days after I moved in, we figured out we live two short blocks away from each other.

I got to be sister wives with them for Halloween, along with Chelsea. I also get to hang out with another cousin Lyz a lot. I met Fuzzy and Lilly's mom, she told me welcome to the clan. It make my heart smile.

These women are some that make me happy I get to be one, happy that I live here, happy to be tall, happy to be alive. They are, individually or as a group, incredible. Along with my loves Katie, Kate, Lauren, Erin, Anna, and Stephanie (and a few members of the male species too) they have made this city feel like home.

I saw this video today on Fuzzy's blog. Hard to believe, but she's even more wonderful in real life.

working from home from Fuzzy on Vimeo.

Affirmation

2010-11-12T12:39:00.000-06:00

Today is a good day.

I am alive. I am healthy. I am warm. I have a beloved family and beloved friends, and I am not alone.

What is difficult today won't be difficult forever. What is forever difficult makes me stronger. I will let my strength sustain me when I feel the flickers of self-doubt.

I will thrive.

Maybe

2010-11-07T00:18:00.001-05:00

One day you're going to make coffee for me in the morning and wonder why you never did before. You'll know already how I like it (with just enough cream to make it caramel colored) and you'll have milk in the fridge for just that. You'll forget you hurt me, because I will have already. You'll forget you used to go days without really talking to anybody. You'll want to wear jewelry for me. You'll stop nervous-talking around me when we wake up and are still naked, because there won't be anything to be nervous about (there really isn't already). You'll accept what family can be and appreciate ours both for what they are. You'll teach me to camp. You'll be disappointed in me if I smoke cigarettes. You'll still drink much less than me but not mind how much I do. You'll be the first person I bake a raspberry pie for, and you'll eat it with vanilla ice cream (lots of it) because I will screw up at least one thing. But you'll eat it, and you'll pour me another glass of wine because you know that's what I prefer over a piece of pie. You'll know when I need to hear that it's going to be ok when I'm crying, and you'll know when I just need to be held, and you'll hold on to me. You'll tell me you love me, and I'll tell you I know. I love you too.

Today Megan and I Ordered This By Accident...

2010-11-04T22:30:00.000-05:00

This was the best we could do...

Good Advice

2010-10-28T22:06:00.000-05:00

Tommy: "Why are you dating guys that are shorter than you?"
Me: "Tommy, it's hard not to, I'm taller than the average male."
Tommy: "Stop dating average men."

Wise words.

Pandora, Sharp and Sweet

2010-10-27T12:35:00.000-05:00

I should have listened to the little voice saying "No, silly girl, leave that box there on that shelf." Alas, I did not, and that box that's been on a shelf in the very back corner of my parents basement came home with me last weekend.

I'd peeked at it before, but always had the sense to just leave it mostly alone. It had been on that shelf since the fall of 2003 when I left Wisconsin.

So last night, I opened a bottle of red, settled in on my bed, and I opened that box. Oh Pandora.

First cuts are indeed the deepest, aren't they? I still look back at that time with that man and feel deeply appreciative, and deeply sad for how we hurt each other. We were each others first real loves. In the box were some photos, a dog tag, some post-it love notes, and the St. Michael necklace his mother gave me.

Mostly though, there were letters. So many letters. Did I have any idea how special it was to get so many letters? To have a man that wanted to put on paper how he loved me, how he wanted me, how he'd never felt like this, that he'd always love me? The beauty of it is that I know he meant it, just like I did. It was the first time, it lacked the scars and cynicism that we all carry into any subsequent relationship. We weren't afraid to write the most ridiculous, corny, over-the-top bits to each other, because we weren't experienced enough to have the eye-rolling response that would mostly likely result from that now.

There were letters from a few states and a few countries, over a few years. I had printed out our emails because I remember not being able to have them in my email anymore, but not wanting them to disappear. Some of the letters had "free" marked where the stamp goes and came from an FPO address. There is a card that was written on the back of an MRE box and taped together. His parents got one just the same. They keep it in a frame on their wall.

What was hard about it is not that it happened, or that it ended, but I never felt real closure. I still don't. I don't know if that's because it was real and wonderful (until it was horrible) and he was really wonderful to me, and he really did love me like crazy, and I was the one that first ended it, or maybe it's because you just don't with your first. Maybe none of that?

Next time I go home, I will bring this box with me. There's a spot for it, in the very back shelf in my parents basement. One day in a few years I will open a bottle of red, open the box, and think "Oh, to be young and in love..." and smile.

Coffee, Wine, Home

2010-10-25T23:04:00.001-05:00

About a week and a half ago (before coverage of the northeastern portion of the country, which is another story...) I was working for a few hours in the afternoon with Fuzz at Common Roots and it all sank in a little bit... I walked there, and would walk home. When I broke the coffee grinder a couple weeks ago, I walked there, bought a couple cups, and walked home. Walked. For the last few years I lived in one of the most beautiful places on the planet, with two of my favorite people. But I couldn't walk to get myself a cup of coffee. I know this might ring hollow to a lot of folks, but as I was sitting with my friend drinking coffee, then a glass of wine because it seemed like the right thing and we could, I realized I was exactly where I should be.

There is the stress of not being employed and the worry about how long it will take to find something I can love. There is the settling in with the roommates. There is the weather getting just cold enough to make me realize how bitter cold it is actually going to get. There is a lot of Vikings fans. (There's a lot of Packers fans too though, so I'm not alone.) But then there's being able to walk to get coffee, wine, pho, ice cream, cheese curds... There's the walk to the lake that I can run around. There's the beauty of the electric autumn trees. There's music, so much music. I haven't been in a place that's this musically inclined since Viejo San Juan. (There - reggaeton and salsa. Here - indie rock and local hip hop. It's all delicious.)

So I'm going to shop for mittens and sweaters and other winter accessories. When I see a Vikings Jersey I will smile and so "Go Pack!" I will find a job, and it will be because I want to be there and I chose it. This apartment will be my home. I am home.

Job Search Work Spaces

2010-10-14T13:53:00.000-05:00

So I am working from an eclectic mix of settings...

(Back patio, Madison's east side, 10/10/10)

(Dining room table, Uptown Minneapolis, 10/14/10)

Be Still My Autumn Heart

2010-10-09T22:13:00.002-05:00

I heart the Midwest in the autumn...

(Photo of tree in Madison, WI, taken from my aunt and uncles front yard.)

My Mantra This Summer...

2010-10-01T17:33:00.000-05:00

Soak it all in...
The warmth of the sun as the grass tickles your feet through your sandals... The coolness of the shadow... The shadow of your body moving across the grass lit by the early evening light... The gentle haze that is the bugs lazy above the pond... The beauty that is so much it seems unreal... Soak it all in.
Soak in the joy of the bounding puppy as you head towards the pool... The hesitation of the old dog that would rather rest... The call for a "bartender!!!" when everyone's ready for a cocktail... The laziness of nowhere to be on a Saturday night...

Start

2010-09-28T12:32:00.000-05:00

I'm in Minneapolis.

I arrived 9 days ago, but then left for three days, so it's just now that I feel like I'm actually here. Mostly. I've slept most of the last 2 days on an air mattress that I think might be responsible for a backache and some really strange dreams.

I have to get a bed. I have to get a job. I have to start getting out of bed before lunchtime. I have to stop letting the fact that the movers in charge of my stuff are jerks put me in a bad mood. I have to write some thank-you for the wonderful, generous, loving things people did to help me leave. I have a lot to do.

It's cold in the mornings, warm in the afternoons, and other than rain last week sunny and cheerful outside.

So it begins.

The Day After Tomorrow

2010-09-12T11:12:00.000-05:00

Less than 48 hours until I'm no longer a resident of California...

My room/house looks like a hurricane came through it, but its getting better.

I'm writing this from my knees. My computer's here on the desk that will be picked up by movers tomorrow, and my chair is elsewhere. I'm surrounded by clothes to take, clothes to pack, and clothes to donate. CD's to sort through. A few boxes of journals and letters that will come with us in the car.

"Us" is my sister and me. We're going to go see the Grand Canyon this week; neither of us ever have. We'll see a good amount of desert too, then we'll see lovelies in KC, then we'll pull into Minneapolis about a week from today.

I keep thinking about what's the same and what's different from when I did this the last time. Almost everything is different, but yet here I am, surrounded by items, a car still to clean and route to plan, drinking coffee, listening to a mix of sappy country and angry rap music, thinking it's a beautiful day - just like I was three years and three months ago.

I'm not alone this time. When I left Fayetteville I was gloriously alone and all was right. As I leave Healdsburg I have Megan, and all is right.

I've said goodbye slowly and quietly here. One at a time. I won't get to see everybody I'd like to say goodbye to before I leave this time. Last time there were parties. A few of them. This time, I want a conversations, a glass of wine if there's time, and hugs. I still cry a little but I know all is well.

It is indeed a beautiful day.

Hug It Out

2010-09-01T01:46:00.000-05:00

Him: Why do we hug? What does the action represent? Are we trying to become one with each other? Why do some hugs mean nothing yet others transfer warmth and love and lust and passion and love? Why do we hug?!*

Me: Hugs are good. It's human touch, it's knowing we're not alone, it's the warmth of two bodies, it can be comforting or comfortable or it can be tense with passion. We hug so we can physically know what we cerebrally understand, that we're one part of a whole. We hug to feel connected.**

*Sent via text too late at night from someone who's getting over someone to someone he never got over.
**Sent via text so early in the morning it seemed like a dream when it was remembered, from someone who doesn't want to get over someone to someone she never wanted to get over.

Love Story

2010-08-20T01:36:00.000-05:00

My cousin sent this link to me today with the label "a dose of mushiness for you". I told him I've been a little emotional lately and that I didn't know if I could handle mushy and he wrote "it's pretty mushy".
So I waited til now, not that it was a less emotional moment, but I don't have to function so mushiness is more easily handled. I'm glad I did.

Danny & Annie from StoryCorps on Vimeo.

Ultimately this is what we're all looking for. Maybe not actively searching and working at it like a project or a mission, but this is what we all want, to love wholly and be loved in return. At least I do. I want a love that was more easy than it was hard, more bright than dark, more smiles than tears.

Ring Ring Glug Glug

2010-08-03T22:24:00.000-05:00

Today was one of those days when I wanted to call all of my ex's that never totally got over me.

I'm aware this seems pretty self-indulgent, at best, cocky and narcissistic more likely. I forgive myself for that today.

I've had a difficult couple of weeks. Lots of things in upheaval, lots of stress, lots of loneliness.
Today I wanted to hear that I'm lovable, I'm a catch, that I inspire him to be a better man, that I'm sexy and desirable and unforgettable. Instead I found myself waiting for a call from a man who, while he may very well think those things, has his head caught elsewhere right now. (Without getting too far into it, it's somewhere his head should be, not something sketchy and questionable.)
Waiting for a call, no matter how much I end up accomplishing in the meantime, is quite possible my least favorite thing in the entire world.

I feel a little proud of myself that I did restrain myself from calling any of my ex's. Even the one that is totally over me and legitimately my friend. The one I did talk to (he called me!) was just for a minute, and I didn't indulge in any ego-masturbation at all, even though he was practically begging for it. (He said he called just to tell me I would have beautiful babies one day. We're trying to be friends.)

Instead of any of these phone calls I worked out and am about to have a nice big mostly liquid dinner. I think this is a healthy trade-off, at least on my mental health scale. Cheers.

Tick Tock

2010-07-31T16:57:00.000-05:00

Who knew? The maternal clock is not a myth. I always thought it sounded a little far-fetched, maybe an excuse for women who wanted to settle (sell-out?). This may sound uncharitable, but it was so foreign. Until very recently I was not sure I ever wanted kids of my own.

I just spent five minutes crying over photos of my dear friend (and ex-boyfriend) and his girlfriend and their newborn baby. The way they looked at each other and they way they look at their baby was overwhelming. It's not that he once loved me, and it's not that I want a baby now, but something inside me twinged... I want that one day, and I want one day to be not so far away.

I spent last week in a house on a beach in North Carolina on vacation with a family that I've known for a long time. We adopted each other when I was a girl and the neighbor girl decided we would be friends, and now that we're grown I'm getting to know the neighbor brother I grew up with in a whole new way. He has two kids with whom I spent days playing on the beach and nights reading books to these beautiful blondes, and it makes me sad to not know how much they'll remember the next time I see them. I feel drawn to their father in part because I see him as that, a father, a loving and devoted father. I see in him how I want the father to my children to be. Until now, this is not a quality that I ever would have looked for or particularly valued in a man. But now it seems so inherent to the quality of the person as a whole I can't imagine not taking this into consideration.

So what now? I guess for now I make sure to be really careful about birth control and start thinking more than a year out, so one day soon I can not be careful about birth control.

June Was a Big Month...

2010-07-07T21:48:00.001-05:00

Which should explain why I only published three blogs over the month.

I was my best friends maid of honor and shared a magical weekend with her family, mine, and a group of some of the most wonderful people on the planet. I loved taking charge and knowing what needed to be done without her having to tell me, I loved feeling like I was really helping her marry this man, whom I love too; I loved being around all the people, I loved the ceremony of it all, I loved the kids, I loved staying up until sunrise every night with her brother who became a man and a father in the eight years since I had last seen him, I loved all the music and drinking and food, all the quotations that only those of us who were around all weekend really get ("that's what she said"), I loved my sister being such a help to me and everyone and my parents being able to celebrate with us, I loved being around my oldest and best friends for days straight, and I love being included in everything this family that invited me in 20 years ago did.

I spent about 36 hours in Virginia for a wedding that most of this country would consider invalid. The 'best-of-times-worst-of-times' year of my life was survived because of a small group of friends, a few of whom have survived in this group we call the Jager Girls. (Yes, that Jager.) That year in Fayetteville we drank a lot, we fought a little, we never got arrested, and together we survived what was for most of us the most difficult year of our lives. They are the ones that didn't ask but just showed up after Brendan died; they cooked and brought liquor (Jager, duh) and cigarettes, distraction, tissues, hugs, and so much love.
Around that time two years ago Mel was about to leave the job she had held and excelled at for most of her adult life because they said she couldn't love Dawn and still do her job. (They are proof, by the way, that that rule is bullshit.) Dawn and Mel live together in Virginia now and as of early June are happily (and legally, thanks to the District of Columbia) married. I got to be there to celebrate, help with a garter, drink a lot, cry a little, laugh more than anything, and love some of my favorite women (and some of their children) in the world.

My sister spent the last three years, arguably the most difficult of her life, working on a masters degree from a very important and very expensive school. She'd argue the ivy is bullshit but damn if it doesn't have a nice ring to it. She finished in May. In June (the day I came back to Madison from VA) we had a nice little party for her. Our sister from another mister gave us the theme, my mom and I brainstormed the map as guestbook, I found Dora napkins, and we had enough sparkling goodness that Megan had a full glass the whole night. It was lovely.

The day after Megan's party was the day before the 2-year mark of our brother dying. This year it rained, and there were fewer people, but it was just about perfect. There was printing and drinking and crying and laughing. Brendan was remembered, and toasted more than once. This sting is so much less now than it was even a year ago, yet the absence is larger than ever. It's been that much longer since I heard him laugh, since I heard him say "HI sister...". I have some new shirts, and Solve has many more fans. He'll never be gone, but my life will never be whole.

A few days later, I came back to California. I wasn't as happy as I should have been to come home, but seeing Aunt and Uncle and the dogs (who helped Uncle pick me up from the bus stop, along with a cold beer hidden under an ice pack) made it warm and loving.

Now I am moving forward. Spending lots of time on things that feel good and spending enough time on things that I have to. I am making decisions and sticking to them. I am practicing trusting myself. I am feeling loved. I am feeling hope. I am so excited for what's to come. I am 10 days in to being 29, and it's going to be a great year.

Blowing In The Wind

2010-07-05T20:07:00.000-05:00

On July 4th weekend two years ago I arrived back in California with my boyfriend Greg, who had packed me into his truck to carry me home after spending three weeks in Madison following my brother's death.

Today I had lunch on the porch at the farm, with my aunt and uncle and two friends, and I was staring absentmindedly at some laundry I had hanging to dry when I focused on a shirt that was just screen printed on the day we commemorated the two year mark of Brendan's death. It's a print of his face from a photo where he had aviator shades and a cigar in his mouth that was shaped into a cocky smile. He would have been laughing when the photo was taken.

The shirt was inside out blowing in the breeze. Two years ago I was in the cab of a Toyota Tacoma curled up on the passenger seat wearing my brother's sweatshirt that still smelled so much like him. I remember being hot and crying into it a lot and wanting to sleep and erase reality. Today was a gloriously beautiful day, hot and sunny but breezy; we drank some tumblers of cold dry rose with lunch, and I watched a shirt with my brothers face on it blow in the wind.

Today my brothers sweatshirt hangs from the back of a chair in my room and smells mostly like dust, but if you bury your face deep enough there's still a faint whiff of Brendan. I guess I should wash it when I pack to leave here in a few months, as it's hard to justify not washing it for even this long. I'll probably hang it on the porch to dry, as clothes dry so quickly in the dry heat we get here in the summer.

?!?

2010-06-25T16:49:00.000-05:00

Me: "I think it's good to a certain extent to question... well, maybe not Question like you question everything and doubt and stuff, but to have questions... to question what you feel and maybe think about why it might be a bad idea or to just really... I don't know."
Him: "Why?"
Me: -silence, trying to answer that-
Him: "Why do you have to question it if it feels good? Why not just let it feel good? We're taking our time, we're not making any big decisions, so why not just enjoy it?"
Me: "That is a really good question."

Across The Park and Two Decades

2010-06-18T01:58:00.000-05:00

Two weeks ago I was celebrating the last single days of my best friend.
We helped her marry her best friend, a man I wouldn't have imagined her with and cannot now imagine her without.
I grew up a half a block away from her family, I've been scolded and celebrated by her mom as I have my own, we've cried and laughed together more times than can be counted, and now she's with the man she is going to make a family with.
Her brother and sisters have children now, beautiful blonde, funny, smart little kids that I couldn't help but stare at. These kids that shared the park with me are now adults, beautiful and handsome, raising kids that I actually want to be around.
I spent these weeks thinking about what is really important. This life is short, and this life is now. If I am always waiting for it to start, I'm not really living am I? What's really important is not what grand imaginations I entertained since I was a teenager, but rather what makes me feel good, what calms me, what brings me safety and celebration now.
I want to leave my imprint on the world in a way that will carry love forward past when I am gone. I want to be a mother. I want to raise children to be better and smarter and happier than have ever been.
It is said that friends are the family you choose, and I'd choose her and the whole clan from across the park over and over again.

Wonderful Day

2010-06-03T10:54:00.000-05:00

I'm in Minneapolis for my best friend's wedding.
Tonight is the bachelorette party, tomorrow is the bridal shower lunch, then nails/rehearsal/meat raffle/rehearsal dinner on Saturday, then the big shebang on Sunday.
I arrived last night and the bride, groom, best man (who happens to be the bride's brother, who I grew up with too but haven't seen since before he had babies), and me (maid of honor!) went to a bar, drank lots, ate a little, and made friends with everybody.
I woke up to coffee and sticky buns retrieved by the boys. Katie and I talked about our families, and how mine gets to be here for the wedding; we talked about our crazy kitty that belongs to Katie but I helped raise and is currently entertaining herself by flitting about the room manically; we've talked about poems and music and love and crying. We are still nursing our hangovers.

I couldn't be more happy right now. It is a beautiful wonderful day.

Secret V

2010-05-22T19:16:00.000-05:00

I wish your mysterious poetic Facebook status updates were written for me.

2010-05-18T12:06:00.000-05:00

Solve Across the World from Cyber Pyro on Vimeo.

The Things Left Unsaid

2010-05-17T19:04:00.000-05:00

I miss you. I miss your calming presence, I miss your quiet. I miss your comfortable shape, I miss you holding my hand. I miss your soft voice and the way you curve your r's. I miss the way you kiss me. I miss your hands. I miss your beard and I miss your clean-shaven. I miss loving each other but not daring to say it.

How About Not.

2010-05-17T01:52:00.000-05:00

I probably don't owe you. If I tolerate you putting your emotions on me, it's because I am a kind and generous person. And, you probably just created an awkward situation that I would rather walk away from than make you feel bad about, because I generally don't like to be the cause of other people feeling bad.
Please don't confuse you saying something to make yourself feel better with saying something just to to put it out in the open. Because most times, if you're not sure how I was "going to take it", it's probably something I didn't really need to hear. Especially if we have for the most part a casual relationship. Just because I'm nice and you've imagined there may be more happening doesn't mean I want to know any more about you than I already know. You may have thought you needed to tell me, but really, and let's be honest with ourselves here, you really just wanted me to know. Please don't act like you're acting from a selfless place.

I know that I don't need to respond any which way, and actually I don't need to respond at all. I know that. I may or may not when I get my head sorted out, but you may not want to hear what I have to say to you. If your therapist, or friend, or inner voice, or whatever, told you that maybe you should just be open with me, maybe think twice about whether or not I'm really going to want to hear what you have to say. Maybe, just maybe, you may be turning an otherwise nice day in the opposite direction for me. So maybe keep your mouth shut.

Warning

2010-05-12T01:49:00.000-05:00

Do not tell me "I can't get you out of my head" if you want to be out of mine.
Especially when it's based on little more than a few hours and a healthy dose of chemistry. Especially when preceded with the words "I don't know what you did to me but..." Especially when certain specifics seem to align themselves just right, yet others seem so impossible. Especially when I believe you actually have the will and the way to make it more than just potential, more then a far-off fantasy of maybe-one-more-night-together.

What It Is

2010-05-11T02:37:00.000-05:00

Just so you know, it's not the thing that you always talk about, or that's become a little bit of a joke, the number one thing on our list. Nor is it the number two thing on the list.
It's the way you talk to me about things I know nothing about and not once have you ever made me feel even a little bit less than smart and worthy of the explanation. And you explain things over and over and over and I really like that. It's the way you are genuinely interested in what I have to say about everything from food and farming to puppies and hyperlinks.
It's the way you've changed your body a good amount over the years but you are still so powerfully familiar to me. The way all of you feels really soft all the time. It's the way you show me that you think I am beautiful and sexy in a way that would be ridiculous to doubt. The way you can move me where you want me but are perfectly ok with me moving exactly where I want to be. It's also the way you are really confused and funny and annoying yet endearing in the early morning when neither of us want to be awake.
It's the way your face changes when you talk about someone you love, or when you talk about something that might make me cry, or when you talk about something that you're just figuring out is happening inside of you. It's seeing how much it matters to you that you don't do anything with us that will make me not want to be friends with you anymore.

C&R left early this morning for Mexico...

2010-05-08T02:15:00.000-05:00

In the car on the way to the airport I told them about something that happened last night that was horrible and terrifying. It was resolved, but such a scare left me in a bit of a haze.
A few hours later I wrote them this email:

"So,

I have the most anxious dreams last night that consist of being late to a choir concert, to my best friends wedding, not having the dress altered, not having make up on, being locked out of the hotel room and when I finally get in finding they have taped over everything in the shower to fix something.
As I'm standing in the kitchen this morning looking at the oil and vinegar next to the stove (irl) I remember that part of the dream was also that you had turned around and come home from the airport because they wouldn't let you check everything that you wanted to. (In the dream Colleen you were defiantly telling Ridge I'll make that same stuff without all this, you won't even know the difference.)
I'm so glad you weren't actually back home. Not because I (and the pups of course) don't want you here but because you two of all the folks in the world deserve some sun on your bods and smiles on your faces - 2 things I think you'll be able to find on that Mexican beach.

So. After one of the weirdest (horrible) nights, feeling such darkness and desperation, albeit briefly, last night, then with those dreams, then when I finally decide to pay attention to things around me and can handle whatever might be in the roll on the coffee table, then I read your note on it Colleen, and then I cry because I don't know what else to do. Then I unroll Brendan's painting, and it is, and it's different then I remember, but more beautiful then I could ever imagine.

I don't know what planets are shifting or passing or setting, but in a completely weird moment I am so grateful for these dogs, so grateful to be here at this place, and so grateful for you. (In no particular order.)

I love you,
Ole!
Caitlin"

Bad Boys, Bartenders, Boozers, Bruisers, and Bad Decisions

2010-05-04T01:24:00.000-05:00

With those simple words my friends I basically summed up my love life over the last three years.
Actually, more like five or six.

Those labels are by no means mutually exclusive. And bruisers doesn't mean they beat me. Just to be clear.

Aprimay

2010-04-25T20:08:00.000-05:00

OMG!

Hi EndOfApril! I so did not expect to see you here so soon!

If I would have known you were coming, I would have finished so much more shit on my to-do list/cleaned my winter weary cobweb riddled windows/shaved my legs. (That last one's a stretch but I try to go all out for guests, even if they're unexpected and temporary.)

Since you really surprised me this time (no, really, it is ok, really, seriously... seriously it's fine... It will be fine...) I didn't get groceries/meet deadlines/practice choir/call anyone back that I was supposed to. But you know I can pull a party out of nowhere so let's get shakin'. Would saltines and cheap vodka and ginger ale be ok? What's that? You're on a no-carb diet? Is that a crack on my gaining weight instead of losing it before my best friends' wedding in a month and a half that I haven't finished planning the bachelorette party for yet? (Ok. You're going to have to lay off, I told you this is a surprise visit.) No? Well my apologies, it's just that's what I have leftover from my little nausea episode last week.

No, no, no chance it was morning sickness. Thanks for asking I guess, you're the 3rd person so I guess I still seem like I might be having fun/getting some action/being irresponsible.

Seriously, you don't have to go. What's that? May is on his way?!?!?!? Well f#*@. You can't just stay a little longer instead, make him wait a little? Fine. No, it's fine. Have a nice year I guess. I'll see you again in threehundredwhatever days. (What now? If I knew the exact amount of days maybe you wouldn't be a surprise? You know what, no need to get snarky. Here, have a saltine for the road.)

Stroll

2010-04-20T00:57:00.000-05:00

Take a walk with me...

I go to clean out my inbox every once in a while but there are emails that I cannot archive much less delete - emails from my brother Brendan. They remain in my inbox, the most recent one almost two years old.

I notice tags and stickers, graffiti, street art, on public property everywhere now, some ugly and poorly thought out, others well planned and well executed, real works of art. I know that the former are probably gang tags, and the latter most likely have nothing to do with turf. I know this because since Brendan died his friends, many of whom put art on the streets, have done what they can to educate me about the difference.

Sometimes in the morning I eat oatmeal. Brendan went through a phase when he was small where he would eat instant oatmeal for breakfast everyday, and after one St. Patrick's Day when Dad added green food dye to his bowl, I don't think he ever ate an oatmeal colored bowl again.

Brendan was born on the 20th day of a month. He died on the 14th day of a different month. Every month has a 20th and a 14th. Every so often, a Friday falls on the 13th day of a month. The last full day Brendan was alive was a Friday the 13th.

I spend a couple days a week standing behind a table at a farmers market and I get to see lots of people, lots of families walk by. There are some boys that have very blonde curly hair. That's what Brendan looked like when he was a child.

Sometimes in a conversation it is relevant for someone to bring up their siblings. Many other women have younger brothers. Brendan was my younger brother.

Most of us every day will deal with font and typeface. Most of us don't know the difference. I found out from his graphic design colleagues that people using those terms interchangeably was a huge pet peeve for Brendan. I also found out that he "didn't do bullet points" in presentations. I use bullet points. Since he died, I question whether I really need to.

Do not hesitate in conversation with me out of fear of reminding me of Brendan or that he died - I would rather you say something that could sound insensitive and have it in front of us than see your pause and the flicker of worry behind your eyes. I need no reminder; my brother, and his absence, are always present. Better you share in it with me than keep yourself at arms length from my honesty - it is much warmer here walking closer to me.

Great Advice

2010-04-15T11:04:00.000-05:00

"No ONE, I repeat, No ONE ever gives you the message that your 20s are going to be hard, do they? It's a vital message that I missed or was too cheeky to hear until suddenly I found myself in the throes of it and was, like, "shit this is really hard." 20s = tough times. Just climb your way, tool and nail, up to 30 and then have a drink."

I really hope she doesn't mind me quoting her again. After a rough patch and a brief exchange of messages, I found this in my inbox, and it was like a warm blanket on a cold day.

Tired Heart

2010-04-12T00:19:00.000-05:00

We say goodnight and he catches me off guard when he says, "Think about what you said about your heart... That doesn't sound like you."
I was so tired but thought I had enough bravado in me when I slipped earlier in the conversation and said something about the state of my heart. "I've given too much of my heart. Now my heart's tired." I said thinking we could casually move past that as it wasn't something I considered much before I said it out loud and now that it was out loud I realized I didn't want to dwell.
It doesn't sound like me, he's right. But I am tired. My heart is tired, a little hopeful, a little sad, confused, and pulled in many a direction.
Spring is here. Change, and new hope, will be her gifts.

Jonesin'

2010-04-09T20:01:00.000-05:00

I have got such a girl crush...

2010-04-09T10:47:00.000-05:00

"Of all your work, you are the most beautiful. The most beautiful work of all."

-Patti Smith in her last letter to Robert Mapplethorpe.

Pablo

2010-04-06T02:20:00.000-05:00

Some thoughts on Neruda.

This should be a verb. To Neruda is to be swept away in moment of blissful beauty, of romance, of love and warmth.

I cannot say whether I'd feel this way if he wrote his poems first in English but if for him along I am so fortunate to know Spanish.

I know little of his work, mostly I've read the Veinte poemas de amor (20 Love Poems) and the Cancion desesperada (Desperate Song, but usually with very little focus, always wanting to return to the 20 poems), and the Cien sonetos de amor (100 Love Sonnets).

While some lines, so lyrical and seducing in spanish, seem almost spooky in english (I like when you are silent because it's like you're absent sounds so tender when it's Me gustas cuando callas porque estas como ausente...)* some seem to have a love in them that transcends literal reading in any language. Se que existes no solo porque tus ojos vuelan / y dan luz a las cosas como ventana abierta he writes - I know that you exist not only because your eyes fly / and give light to things like an open window.**

Read more poetry. Learn another language. Love bigger, love more, and love with beauty.

---
Please excuse the lack of spanish punctiation as I can't figure out how to do that on here.
*Poema 15 de Veinte poemas de amor
**Soneto XV de Cien sonetos de amor
Poems by Pablo Neruda, with [loose and probably mistaken, but who cares it's poetry] translations by me.

Country Song

2010-04-01T00:11:00.000-05:00

We did burn brightly didn't we?

We were a beautiful story, a true romance you only read about.
I changed my curvy wandering path to nest where you had to be. I played a roll because I wanted to be the most you could love. You wrote me love songs because you wanted me to be enough, but really you hadn't yet found the bottom of the hole that you needed to fix before somebody else could fill it.

We knew we were going to love each other the second time we ever met. I knew my children would have your humor, your eyes, your fingers. I hoped they would have my humor, my honesty, my politics.
I felt what I never knew I could feel, a faith in the unknown, an exhilarating fear; awash in my new-found adulthood I said I would follow wherever you needed to be - I was willing to make my life fit the shape of yours, and I almost completely convinced myself I wouldn't be giving up too much.

I heard the rose song tonight and I feel a heaviness in my chest. When it was good, it was so good, wasn't it?

Even at the end there were moments when delusion outweighed sadness, and I could envision us making music and love and babies, and living the fantasy that had shined so brightly not but 18 months earlier. You would sing a song you had written for me, or the everything song, or the rose song, and for that moment love softened misery and I didn't want to run away.

I learned to take care of the rose bushes at our house together. When we moved in they were neglected and ugly. When we moved out, at different times and each with our own scars, they were gorgeous. That's another country song right there, isn't it?

Favorite Things

2010-03-27T19:32:00.000-05:00

Since I have been really preoccupied lately, I haven't been writing much and what I have posted seemed (at least to one) "a bit morose".
In the spirit of spring, and to assuage any concerns about my state of mind, here is a list of things that make me really happy, particularly so in the last week:
*Note: This is by no means a complete list, but rather a highlight of current goodies.

- Della Fattoria, aka the best bakery in the world, and all the folks associated with it. I get to be next to Mr. Edmund, aka Poppa, one day of the week at a farmers market, and it is a true joy.

- Sitting by the fireplace long enough to feel the cold leave my perpetually chilly fingers, feet, and rear end.

- Bourbon. Maker's Mark and I have been really tight lately, but my cousin Phil and adopted cousin Ritchie are going to introduce me to Bulleit next week. (I think that was the one anyway.)

- The fact that I have a disproportionately smart and creative family (see above and below), and that we number so many that I keep being pleasantly surprised by "discovering" wonderful things they do. This week? Baby cousin Katy's visit to the farm, conspiring and shopping, watching her sew with Colleen, and talking about her blog. (Baby girl's got chops, y'all.)

- Red Wine. My uncle always tells the story when somebody asks "Red or White?" of Sophia Loren responding to that question by saying (with the delivery I imagine only Sophia Loren can do), "Darling... Wine Is Red."

- My sister. One day we'll live close enough to walk to the bar on the corner and get drunk on a Tuesday for no good reason.

- I live in one of the best areas of the world for really good food. Be it something straight from the market, or at one of the multitudes of amazing restaurants within a couple hours of me, I love to eat. One of the worlds few pure pleasures. Love it.

- Playing with puppies. Our puppies, cousin puppies, or friend puppies; spending hours running around trails or after dinner rolling on the living room floor in a pile of puppy pulchritude; all of these are good for the soul.

- Being able to stop what I'm doing, turn my face up, and feel the warmth of the sun.

This week has reminded more than usual that it's not really the paths we take that matter as much as who accompanies us on the journey. I sent some messages to people last weekend on the occasion of Brendan's birthday to tell them how much they mattered to me, and the responses I received were beautiful and touching and a little overwhelming. What right have I to feel lonely with such incredible people in my life?
I am so grateful.

Nothing Owed

2010-03-22T00:53:00.000-05:00

"You are not accountable to me" he said with the familiar sweetness in his voice after he said it was good to hear you and I apologized for being less than available.
I never thought those words would ever make me feel less than comfortable and liberated, but from him it made me want to be accountable.

Tomorrows

2010-03-16T15:40:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about what's next.

I am ready for a transition to something more, but what that will look like is still very fluid and fuzzy.

The most difficult part of any change, for me, is the way it changes my relationships with people. In the last couple months I have been savoring moments with people a little more deeply, and a little sadly. Part of this is because I am not talking about what might come next with more than a very close handful - really, those that would be affected directly. Intentionally not discussing a topic does not come naturally to me. If something is there, on my mind or imminently present in some way, you can usually bet I'll have some words on it.

In the last week my demons of insecurity of loneliness have been especially pungent. Ironically, because I have been really busy with work and socially and have been around people more than in the average week. I think maybe that's the crux of it - the more I feel fulfilled and stimulated socially and emotionally, the more difficult it seems it will be to decide to leave.

I am taking a day off today and so far I've done exactly what I wanted to do, which was nothing. I slept a long time, and am more or less still in bed into the afternoon. Letting my mind wander as I search birdcage veils and watch Friday Night Lights on the internet is what I needed; rather than putting off thinking about hard things or making hard decisions, it's actually letting my mind relax into itself. My mother has told me on several occasions that she knows when I'm making a big decision, or figuring out a problem, because I won't talk about it and I'll go more or less radio silent for a time, and when I do surface I'll have some answers.

I found a moment of acceptance in my bed meditation today. Wherever I go, be it down the road or a continent away, I will still be with myself. My insecurities, my demons that I've been dancing with as long as I can remember, are likely to stay with me. So let those not guide my path. Let these decisions be made based on what I know about me and my abilities rather than what I fear.

Old Friends Are Gold

2010-03-11T19:01:00.000-06:00

"p.s. You can't do a V-day post without thinking of me because of youth and roses and snow and walks and Pulp Fiction and kisses in the rain and Madison and weddings and my family and decades of each other. Pretty simple, really."

One of my best friends in the whole world also happened to love me when we were teenagers. I loved him too. Sometimes he seems to forget what a long and tricky path we took to get here so I have to remind him.

Antidote

2010-03-08T19:21:00.000-06:00

I've discovered last week on a particularly heavy day that I've got the secret antidote to depression, to that feeling like the world is weighing on you, that you are truly alone and breathtakingly lonely:
The first step is to pull up with the dogs romping around the driveway. Because as you try to stop crying when you open the door, the puppy with have his nose in your lap wrestling to get in closer while the old dog is shoving in just to get a little pat.
Next you want to catch a sight of Uncle carrying chickens one by one from the alcove outside the chicken house to inside the coop, as they had accidentally gotten locked out during the day and had already hunkered down for the night. The chickens are going to be pretty bent out of shape and clucky, and Uncle's going to need to be cooing to and chatting with them as he does this for the full effect.
While he's reorganizing the chickens you're going to run around the other side of the house to herd the ducks, who had planted themselves in the middle of the lawn, towards the chicken house. The wet grass will probably soak into your pants and maybe even your shoes but you won't mind because at this point you're already laughing.
When you get in the house and tell Auntie the funny sight it was, she going to laugh and pour you a glass of champagne, "just because". You will want to stand there chatting with her for a while because she's started to cook dinner and the house is warm and it feels like it's full of love, and, there is champagne in your glass.
This should just about do the trick, but there are a few last things that can really solidify the turnaround. Realizing jeans that used to be quite snug are now loose is a good one, helping Aunt peel garlic and then watching her make and explain carbonara are big boosters, and then of course convincing Uncle to downlowd a song to play really loud and sing along to together in the kitchen is really a cherry on top of my home remedy.
I recommend this method of mood-turnaround for anybody, as often as you can get any of it. There are no negative side effects, other than muddy shoes, fully belly, and happier heart.

Cherries

2010-02-28T23:07:00.000-06:00

It's not too late to reflect on the old year, is it? I'll use the excuse that I've been busy racking up entries for next years list, which may or may not be true.
Things I did for the first time in 2009:

Sang in public sober
Reduced rather than grew my personal debt
Sipped bourbon and enjoyed it
Didn't tell someone I loved them when I was pretty sure I did
Was asked to be a bridesmaid
Sat for a painted portrait
Wrote for public consumption

I like this list. I think it should be longer. I used my discretion and left off things I don't feel like thinking about (that's a very short list). I have a good feeling about the list being longer for 2010. I'm already taking notes.

Come Inside

2010-02-27T17:39:00.000-06:00

I arrived at another theory on men and relationships today, one that will join a lengthy, well researched, and dare I say it wise list.

All of us have had someone (or more likely someones) who seems to have the secret password to our defenses. They can get to us beyond what may seem reasonable or in many instances a good idea.
This is not to say that we automatically turn into suckers or doormats for this password-knowing person, but it is much more of a struggle to not spend an exorbitant amount of time thinking about the next time you'll see each other, whether they think about you even close to as much, and how bad you want this to be more than it probably ever will.

Allow me to digress... I am one of the most open people I know in terms of personal subjects. Relationships, friendships, pain, sex, and any number of awkward things that people usually tend to keep pretty close to the chest are all things that I, for the most part, am happy to discuss. (That's basically what this whole thing is about after all.) I am also easily comfortable around just about anybody. This openness and comfort level allow me to form a bond with people more quickly than most. I realized long ago that even if my enthusiasm for someone isn't reciprocated, it will probably be appreciated, and to me that is still a win.

It is safe to say my knack for bonding with people has also lent itself to me getting involved too quickly in romantic relationships. I crave a deep connection with people which means that I tend to look past things that will eventually prove to be fatal flaws in a possible relationship. After recognizing this pattern, I find it very difficult to trust my emotions for somebody on a romantic level. I am getting better at following my gut instincts, which time and time again have proven to be a reliable compass, but I still have my doubts and my hurdles. (Remember? And this?)

My point here is that even though I'm getting better at filtering who I really let in, there appears to be someone that has figured out the secret door and has more than once slipped inside to where I want to hold on to him and share more of me than may be prudent. Not purposefully and unbeknownst to him I believe, and probably as surprising to him as it is unsettling to me.

The First Cut

2010-02-25T22:01:00.000-06:00

We met in high school, dated, and I cried in the cafeteria when we broke up. It took him a few years to apologize and by that point I was in college and he was off in the military; he came to visit me in my dorm room and we went to his parents house and made out but I had to stop because I felt mildly repulsed at anything sexual between us. Not because I didn't care about him, but I think because I knew how much he wanted to.
Fast forward about a year, and he (we'll call him G) was back in town on leave for about a month. I was living in an apartment on campus with six (yes, 6, in one apartment) other women. (Girls, really, we were all of 19.) I think I saw him once or twice while he was around but he had his friends and I had my I'm-a-little-too-busy-and-over-you stuff going on so it wasn't anything special. He moved to Camp LeJeune and called to give me his new contact info, you know, just in case.
I surprised myself as much as I surprised him when I actually decided to call him a few days later. It just seemed like a nice thing to do. What was even more surprising was that I kept calling, and looking forward to his phone calls. This was in the fall and by winter break we were speaking every day, and instead of repulsed I felt intensely attracted to him with a rawness and need that reflects youth and inexperience. The kind of attraction that consumes most of your waking thoughts and some of your sleeping ones, where you feel like you will actually ignite when that person finally touches you.
I was so young and still really didn't know what I was doing, or what needed to be done, in bed, and we had never gone much beyond second base so there was the mystery element present... he is still the only person I've ever hit home base with over the phone before we got there in person.
In early February G's best friend was going to be home on leave after graduating from boot camp. G decided that he should come home and surprise him. I was very much in favor of this, as at this point it would be ridiculous to think (especially being so much less cynical and critical than I am now) that he wouldn't spend every possible minute with me. He came, he surprised, and he did spend every possible minute with me. I think we had a total of maybe 48 hours together, after he drove to Madison, WI from Jacksonville, NC non-stop with a buddy. Then they drove back.
The next week was Valentine's Day. It was on a Wednesday. He sent roses, then he asked if he could come back the next weekend. I said yes, he did, and that was it.

How to explain what happened next? We fell in love. I had no doubts. I look back now and I see such purity, such faith, such trust. Not before or since have I felt with such certainty that this person was on my side - that we were on a team regardless of what fell around us. I never considered cheating and it never felt like a sacrifice even though I saw him at the most once a month and usually for a rushed expensive weekend. I don't regret any of it. We loved each others families, and they loved us. (Still do actually - his sister is about to have her first child and I will be Aunt Caitlin, and I see the other sister and usually the Mom and Dad every time I'm home. It's been more than five and a half years since I've seen him.)

When it dawned on me that if I didn't study abroad in college I would forever regret it I realized that it would be a challenge for G and I, but I always believed we'd be one of the the couples honest and strong enough to make it through a semester. We weren't. I still believe that as soon as I made the decision to go, he felt I was moving away from him rather than moving forward in my life. I didn't think the two had to go together. The 9 hour flight to Europe changed us irrevocably. It took two months to break up, three more months for him to try to get back together with me, then five months and a war for me to ask him to be with me again. He said yes, then realized he didn't, then broke my heart to equal his.

It's Official

2010-02-24T02:03:00.000-06:00

I don't have the stomach or enough I-don't-give-a-fuck-ness to be the "other woman". Be it with someone who is married, or may as well be. (More than a few years together? Check. Live together? Check. Kids and/or property together? Check. You're a cheater.)
I see how it could be really fun, and freeing in a way, but it's just not it me. I just can't stop thinking about the person who he's technically not supposed to cheat on, or all the other ones who he probably is cheating with. I understand the appeal, and I have had a lot of fun, but ultimately... I Deserve So Much Better. So does she, and even he maybe, but I digress.
So here's to all of us who have been cheated on, who have cheated, and who may have played a part; more than anything, here's to those of us that are going to be honest and deserve the same in return.

Bedtime Stories

2010-02-22T10:16:00.000-06:00

Last week I had the marvelous experience of listening to someone read to me blogs I had written. It may be the most self-indulgent moment I can remember but it felt good. Especially when the reader realized he was reading about himself, and then a little later when it made him cry.

I find myself walking a fine line with more than a couple relationships right now. (Don't come to conclusions and assume I'm talking about one kind of relationship or another.) I am questioning all the rules and guidelines I had set up for myself, which can feel very exciting but also untethered and unstable. How do I know when to say no now? I've never enjoyed having to say no, I tend towards going too far and dealing with the consequences.

I got my Valentine's Day package from Mom and Dad today...

2010-02-10T14:28:00.000-06:00

And it reminded me of a few things...

Love is scratching out the "I" on the Valentine's Day card you send your children so it says "We", because it's from Mom and Dad.

Love is sending candy for every Halloween, Valentine's Day, and Easter, no matter where your children are in the world, no matter that postage costs more than the goodies inside. (It's also, for that matter, sending Girl Scout cookies even though the daughter says she doesn't want them because she's getting fat.)

Love is leaning over your adult daughter as she cries in her bed, not asking why, and touching her hair and saying "You are loved."

Love is parking at the airport, walking your daughters into the airport, and then waiting outside the rope at the security line just so you can wave until they are through.

Scatterbrained

2010-02-04T19:51:00.000-06:00

My mind is all over the place this week...

Americans who tried to take Haitian children across the border to a Dominican orphanage have been charged with abduction. The whole story is creepy to me, especially that they keep saying they were just trying to do God's work, and that they're looking to God for a positive outcome.

I had weekends off last month and I've been using the time to get caught up with friends, take care of loose ends that have been dangling for months, and just cavorting and sin in general. There's been a lot of eating, drinking, laughing. It has felt really good, but as I start to get a little more focused and sober some of the questions I was dealing with before are coming back in even higher relief and with more urgency...
How can I trust my emotions?
How can I trust anybody else?
Where do I want to be?
What do I want to do?
How many rules will my moral compass allow me to break?
How much discreetness before it becomes secrecy, and how much secrecy before it becomes lying?

Oscar nominations were announced, and ever since I was a kid I've been a sucker for the Academy Awards. I get excited for the nominations, and then I feel all this pressure to see movies before the awards. I never see all the ones I want, yet I never let myself off the hook. It's not even fun, yet I do it year after year. Maybe it's residual Irish/German/Catholic guilt leftover from my parents generation. The same guilt that gets me when I'm late in Thank-You notes, when I don't call my parents back, when I think about my messy room...

We got ducks last week. A neighbor winery was diverging of it's assets, and Colleen said we'd take the ducks. She and I hopped in the Element with some boxes and came back six ducks and a bunch of duck poop heavier. They are massive - I was worried about them in with the chickens but they're about as big as the rooster so not so worried anymore. Today's the first day they're waddling around outside the pen. At first I felt a little emotional about them, they've got such cute quacks, but now I'm totally ok with the foie gras and confit that is to come.

I have learned some intimate things in the past month about myself, and about some others in my life, all whom I consider to be at the very least close friends. It has been entertaining, and educational, and a little emotional. (Hey look at that! Three E's.) I wish I could share more but I can't until I get it all a little bit more sorted out in my own head. Lesson - keep yourself open to learning from those that you think you know already. The universe has surprises for all of us, and some of them are bound to be good.

"Pro-Life" Is A Lie

2010-01-29T15:48:00.000-06:00

Today Scott Roeder was convicted of 1st degree murder in the killing of Dr. Tiller in Wichita, Kansas.

Last May Mr. Roeder went to the church of Dr. Tiller, found him inside, pressed the gun to his forehead, and killed him. He pointed the gun at two other churchgoers as he tried to get away, for which he was convicted of aggravated assault.

His defense focused centered around Mr. Roeder's belief that Dr. Tiller was murdering children; that is, the doctor was was an abortion doctor, including legal late term abortions, and that Mr. Roeder felt he was saving lives by murdering Dr. Tiller.

I find it preposterous and sad that this would even be presented as a legal defense. This is a man who planned for years on killing another human being. This is murder, regardless of that other human's actions.

This jury seemed to agree. They took 37 minutes to come back with a guilty verdict, which is just a little longer than it took a jury in this same courtroom last March to acquit Dr. Tiller of 19 misdemeanor violations of Kansas's abortion law.

I don't usually write about things too far outside of my personal life, but I am compelled by this sense I have that we are becoming more and more disengaged with the importance of abortion as a right. It was not always legal, and it could not be legal again. I bet you know at least one person who has had at least one abortion, and I bet that they did not treat it as a frivolity. We have to stay aware of the attacks on it's legality, and attacks on the individuals that risk their safety to provide us the equality that access to safe and legal abortion allows us.

Attachment Revised

2010-01-28T19:37:00.000-06:00

Today Laundry Girl put up a fantastic post...

" 'Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.' - JD Salinger

When you tell someone something personal about yourself, you have essentially given a part of yourself to that person. That's called attachment. In the most basic sense. It's just that simple. So, if you don't want to be attached to someone, keep your goddamn mouth shut. And no touching.

But, if you ask me, that all sounds very boring. I'm going to tell you things. I might even touch you. And if I do, I will most definitely get attached. And, consequently, I will miss you if either one of us decides to leave. Deal with it. I can."

I will probably tell you lots of things, and some of them you won't want to know. I am an over-sharer. I also really like touching, and I'll want you to touch me too. But if you want to touch me today, and then don't tomorrow, be an adult and tell me. Don't show a lack of respect by running away and therefore taking from me the the opportunity to deal with it and still respect you. That's basically all I ask.

I've been attached to more people than is probably healthy for my young age, and I couldn't feel better about it. I would change very very few things about my love (or sex) life as I've lived it, and I don't plan on starting to keep my "goddamn mouth [or legs for that matter]" shut now.

So with all due respect to Mr. Salinger, may he rest in peace, I am going to keep taking my chances on missing you one day.

What Does Bottom Look Like?

2010-01-21T23:13:00.000-06:00

Does it look like being drunk in more than one bar with less than 3 other people in each of them in one night? (I'm not counting the dog.)

Does it look like texting your ex (from memory since you'd deleted his number more times than you can count) and then proceeding to text him meaner and meaner things until you find yourself having to text an apology the next day? (Even though you had erased all evidence, other than a snapshot of some of the really nice things he was texting back to you.)

Does it look like texting your current very complicated crush at 3am his time that you 'need to talk'?

Does it look like seriously considering making out with a man whose girlfriend you had met not but one hour earlier, because he told his friend he thought your were hot?

Does it look like scolding the friend, who also is your friends boyfriend, for trying to hook you up with him, when in fact it was you who told him to do it?

Does it look like accepting a trip back to the bar to drive by to see if the attractive man that was sitting there when I left to chase taken tail was still sitting there?

Does it look like discovering about forty fuzzy photos on your phone of you trying to get a cute picture holding the puppy, and having no recollection of it?

Or maybe, does it look like all these things combined?

Just wondering.

Wreckxting

2010-01-19T19:15:00.000-06:00

"My love life is like a minor car wreck... A little messy a little interesting a sprinkle of exciting but mostly just destructive and costly."

- Me to Jamie via text when asked about the prospect of me getting hitched.

Pizza, Brooklyn, and Jameson Oh My! (or Goodbye NY: My East Coast excursion comes to a close, NY Winter Adventure pt. 6)

2010-01-13T22:45:00.000-06:00

Wednesday was my last day in the hood, and rather than push it just to make sure we fit in a museum while I was there, we relaxed and walked a lot and talked a lot and made it one helluva last day.

We had pizza, which Megan was insistent on (after our food tour and not doing pizza OR hot dogs she still felt she hadn't fulfilled her New York hosting duties). It was good. I shamefully could not finish my piece. I knew we were going to a pot luck within a few hours and I didn't want to shame myself again in front of more than Megan by not eating there.

We went to visit an adorable new deli and specialty shop that we sell some oil and vinegar to, to check it out, meet the chefs, and buy some goodies for the aforementioned pot luck. Torrisi Italian Specialties is warm, inviting, adorable, and has salami in the window. If you find yourself with access to Mulberry and Prince in Nolita you must go, and eat something. Anything. It's delicious.

After a hit of shopping in Soho we hit the subway and landed in Brooklyn. We had a couple beers with Kryn, who grew up across the park from us in Madison and I hadn't seen in too many years, and then headed to Tommy, Hannah, and Jen's for what would be one unexpectedly boozy pot luck welcoming Fuzzy back for a visit.

(A little background - Tommy's been one of my best friends since we met in the dorms the first week our freshman year in college. He's a master of friend mashing - as in, so many people have met because/through him we could start a cult. How many people I have specifically because of him is a blog for another time, but I will say that good people tend to attract good people, this rule applies to Tommy, and Tommy's one of the best.)

It was a fantastic night. There was a scrumptious spread of a ton of cheese, some Torrisi goodies, taco dip, polenta somethings, wine, and lots oh lots of Jameson which we started enjoying with Hannah's hot toddy concoction, and then went on the rocks after we ran out. Needless to say the night got progressively more fuzzy, but some of the topics we covered:
Jersey Shore
Felatio
Blogs before blogging was the thing
Frat boys
Freshman slutties
Jersey Shore
Man stank v. stank
Man stank in contrast to weed smell
Smoking
Titanic (the movie not the boat)
Jersey Shore
Madison High School Girls Swimming 1992-2007
Advertising
Reese Witherspoon's high level of bitchiness

Scary baby dancing:

Still life of whiskey and Tommy's face:

Middle School Dancing!

Megan and I got home late and got very little sleep before we got up to get me to the airport in the morning. I was exhausted for days, but it was beyond worth it. The trip was fabulous. I would not have changed a thing, other than to have more time. I can't wait to go back.

Champagne Cart, Maria, and Maybe the 3rd bottle IS a Mistake... (or NY Winter Adventure pt. 5)

2010-01-12T02:15:00.000-06:00

We knew our Tuesday lunch was going to be a doozy but I don't think we knew knew...

We had wanted to do a splurge meal, and since Colleen said that when she was in town last spring the best meal she had was at Eleven Madison Park, we decided a lunch there would be a good treat. The lunch menu is actually pretty reasonable priced (especially considering the real estate, as Megan pointed out in a whisper about a half dozen times) so with Christmas money in hand we were ready to be dazzled.

Within three minutes of entering the restaurant four people had already attended to us, and that was a pretty good indicator of what we were in for. I fell a little bit in love with the place as soon as our waiter asked if he should bring over the champagne cart. (Champagne cart?! A cart that exists for the sole purpose of getting a selection of cold champagne closer to me?! Ummm Yes.) He should. He did. We toasted. Then we ate, and drank, and repeated. There was an amuse-bouche followed by three courses each of intricate, beautiful, technically perfect and most importantly delicious food. The highlights:a veloute (that means velvet I learned!) of butternut squash being poured around a plate already in front of me; Megan's face when the waiter showed her what to do with the bowl of bone marrow covered in some sort of light creamy stuff served with her beef tenderloin; our waiter bringing us a dish of macaroons with our coffee and promised it wouldn't be at all filling but wanted us to have something sweet to finish even though we hadn't ordered dessert (way too full).

So what is so special about it? It is not just the food, or the wine, or the dessert, or the environment. I think in this situation the whole was much greater than the sum of its parts. We easily could have been attended on less than we were, but they went above and beyond with everything they did. I guess this is standard for four-star dining, but it was new to us. What I was probably most impressed with (aside from the food and the wine list. which was so beautiful and extensive that I wanted to take it with me and read it like a novel) was how good-humored everyone was as they went about their jobs. From the sommelier to the man refilling our water to the chef to the woman who took our coats - everyone not only seemed happy to do what they were doing, but to do it for us. Seamlessly.

Ideally after this lunch we would have had a bed or a couch in a quiet dark place to lie down on for a few hours, but we had planned on staying out through West Side Story that was a gift from our parents for that night so we bundled up and off we went.

We tried to do some shopping but other than finally finding the boots I had been searching for, we probably had the most fun when we finally decided we could quit and stood in front of the store windows with a view of Union Square taking pictures of each others reflection for twenty minutes.

We headed uptown to Times Square to take some jump shots and then get cozy with the tourists at Junior's waiting to go to the 7:00 shows. Still being full from lunch we ordered drinks to tide us over and I enjoyed the best martini I've had in months. This was also the location of that days reality check from Megan: When I commented on how many good looking men I'd seen at every establishment we'd been to that week and that I felt like I was in a candy store she reminded me that there was such a disproportionate number of them because most of them were probably trying to be in the entertainment business. Entertainers that make a damn good martini anyway.

West Side Story was wonderful because we grew up watching nothing but musicals on TV and have probably seen the movie two dozen times. (I was shocked and disturbed when I found out Natalie Wood wasn't Latina. Not so much that they would have a white actress play that role but more because it ruined the fantasy for me.) It was also a good contrast to Fela from a couple nights before, WSS being very much the standard song and dance number you expect from Broadway. This version does have a lot of Spanish mixed in which I think made the story, which I realize now is pretty over-the-top, that much easier to get carried away by.

After the show we skipped outta there to head north to meet my Binty, who met us at our subway stop to come have lots of wine and a sleepover. She's been one of my besties since I met her in health class freshman year in high school, and the three of us definitely solved some of the worlds problems by the end of our second bottle of wine that night.

Coming up the next day was treats in Soho and fun in Brooklyn - a pretty darn good way to spend my last day in New York.

Manicures, Music, and Mangia Mangia! (or NY Winter Adventure pt. 4)

2010-01-08T20:27:00.000-06:00

Monday was another late start, although we did manage to get out of bed before noon. First thing we had to take care of was getting our nails done, as a manicure only lasts about two hours in my normal life I was determined to have one for at least part of my vacation. (And the toes are important too, I don't care if nobody is going to see them.)

We then visited some Columbia buildings to soak in some of that Ivy. Kidding; Megan had to get a replacement for her missing student ID, but I did get to see some of the inner part of campus. It's interesting, being buildings of higher education again. It reminds me that I really don't miss being a student, more than six years later.

We headed a couple stops south on the 1 to go to buy some pretty undergarments for ourselves. I think a lot of people... well, a lot of men would be really surprised by all the technicality and pulling and pushing and stretching and tucking that goes into fitting a brassiere properly. It was the first time I'd had anybody be so thorough, and I can't imagine going back to the children that they've begun hiring other lingerie stores. (I'm good with teens having jobs, but I don't want somebody that's been alive for less time than I've been having my period to tell me how my bra should fit. At least give me somebody who might understand something about gaining and losing more than puberty weight. I digress.)

From there we headed further uptown to meet some lovelies (Leah, Niki, wonderful) and have a little bite and see a classical music recital. This is a perfect example of how we grew up amongst the most wonderful folks in the world: We grew up in the same neighborhood as Sarah, and she and Leah are still very close, and Sarah lives in NY with her girlfriend who is a professional pianist. She was playing in a show that night, which Sarah had written Leah about, so Leah passed the word so we all trotted downtown and culturized ourselves. It was warm and wonderful and lovely.

Megan and I ended up cutting out a little early because we wanted to get dinner at her favorite local haunt, an Italian place called Pisticci that's just around the corner from her apartment. We sat right at the bar and started with one of the more delicious cocktails I've had in a while, involving whiskey, reduced apple cider, and just a bit of cinnamon - perfect for the bitter cold that we were still moving through. We had a decent bottle of wine and some quality comfort food that was perfect that night. The highlight was the spinach salad with pancetta and the funny friendly employees who laughed at almost all of my funny bits. (Definitely not the tiramisu that Megan forced down my throat at the end that I was much too full and drunk to appreciate. Sorry Megan.)

We were very happy by the time we got home three minutes later, and I fell on the floor and almost peed my pants when Megan tried pulling down the blinds but instead pulled the whole thing off and knocked over a vase with dead flowers and then could just stand there and say, "shit". About half hour later when I finally got off the floor and stopped taking funny pictures of Megan (which are all actually too fuzzy to tell what they are) we drank as much water as we could while balancing out the high culture we had experienced earlier by watching Jersey Shore on her computer.

We should have known we needed to stretch our eating and drinking stomachs for the next day... 11 Madison Park, more Broadway, and wine with Binty.

Sake It To Me, or Fela + Pork Buns = Happy Soul (or NY Winter Adventure pt. 3)

2010-01-04T13:29:00.000-06:00

After waking up mid-afternoon yesterday, we drank coffee and did dishes and just putzed around for a few hours until realizing we needed to leave the house relatively shortly to make it to the show. So we ordered in (having food delivered to my door is one of the top three things I miss about living in a city) Vietnamese food, switched from coffee to wine, and started to get pretty for our night out.

Our aunt and uncle Colleen and Ridge got us tickets for Fela last night. (Read this if you're lost like I was when I first heard of the show.) One of the reviews I read of it before summed it up pretty well - not much of a plot, but the most entertaining two and a half hours you'll have all year. The entire theater was transformed, and I can't remember being in a happier crowd. They had us shouting and singing and dancing... oh the dancing. I don't know if I've ever seen so many beautiful abdominal muscles in one place either. (The couple to my left may have been the whitest people in New York, but even they seemed to have fun. That's what polite applause as you sit with your legs crossed means, right?)

From the Eugene O'Neill Theater we hopped on the R and headed downtown for one of the most anticipated stops of my trip: Momofuku Ssam. Colleen, Ridge, and Megan had all regaled me with various stories of the pork buns, the beautiful space, the pork butt.... Megan practically had tears in her eyes for that one. We hopped in, sat at the gorgeous bar and proceeded to be waited on by what seemed like an endless string of very attractive, very tattooed young men. I had the Momofuku sake, Megan had some viognier, and we ordered simply: the pork buns and the "bread and butter". Their version included not only a dish of whipped cows milk butter, but whipped lardo. Lardo. I'll say it again: Lardo. Pork fat. It was pillowey and creamy somehow, and had just enough chili flakes sprinkled on top to balance out the smokey savoriness of the lardo.

The pork buns were... They were amazing. Steamed, sticky chewy bread folded over to envelop hoisin sauce, thinly sliced vinegary cucumbers, and a few strips of pork with layers of fat that were so delicious, so moist, and so so perfectly prepared that it felt like they literally melted in my mouth..

Everything about this dish was perfect. The gentle heat and tanginess of the hoisin sauce; the thin crunch of the cucumber, and the nirvana that was the pork combined for a little piece of heaven in my mouth. I know I'm veering really close to floweriness here, but oh... Oh. Also, as if I wasn't already falling in love with this little nugget of a place, Megan noticed that at the bottom of the menu they had an advisory reading "We do not serve vegetarian friendly items." The kitchen was open in the back part of the restaurant and after all of this I almost walked back to hug the staff in there. I don't imagine it'd be the first time.

Today we slept in (again) and are lounging before we head to get our nails did, make some Columbia stops, and maybe do a little shopping. Tonight is a classical music recital (Culture? Yes please.) with some dear old friends, and more eating and drinking. Tomorrow we have Guggenheim, 11 Madison Park, and West Side Story. My tail is a' waggin.

Lamb, Karaoke, and A Cold Quest for Cocktails (or NY Winter Adventure pt. 2)

2010-01-03T23:51:00.000-06:00

I woke up at the crack of 2:22 p.m. today. After the shenanigans of last night I didn't even feel guilty.

Yesterday Megan and I took what was quite likely the coldest walk to the grocery store in the history of cold walks to the grocery store to stock up for the week and prepare for our dinner party. It really is impressive how New York (well, and most of the rest of the urbanized world outside of this country, but I digress) has figured out how to fit So Much stuff into So Little space. Other than my favorite brand of polenta we found everything we wanted and more, and the huge cold room with a whole lamb aisle pretty much made up for the polenta failure.

We cut time too close to make mani-pedi's but then were able to actually get dinner done in time. The menu consisted of soft parmesan polenta, roasted brussel sprouts, red and golden beets tossed with green beans and lots of black pepper and vinegar, a salad of spring mix greens and arugula with pears and roasted almonds, and lamb shoulder chops with a rub of salt, pepper, and chopped rosemary done under the broiler.

We had a smaller group for dinner than we expected but quite the mix of folks. A few best friends from elementary/high school, best friend from college, roommate from Puerto Rico, roommate, Megan's school friend... and almost more importantly we had quite a diverse selection for, oh yes... Karaoke.

We got to Koreatown almost an hour late for our private room reservation, so wasted no time in getting that machine cranking. Who would have known that Bon Jovi (Bed of Roses) could be such pure poetry? Or that we all knew all the lyrics to Jagged Little Pill? Or that Self Esteem (by The Offspring, by way of Leah and Caitlin) could really just plain rock the hardest? Now we know. Be advised.

After a couple hours and many drinks we exited to what should have been a much easier quest for an open cheesy bar in times square. We finally found one that was underpacked and overpriced, drank some more, knocked a chair over a few times, found no strangers to hit on, and came home.

Today was mostly recovery, as evidence by my wake-up time, but we managed to fit in a lot of spectacular in the few hours we were awake.
I will write more on this later, but leave you with this tidbit that I learned by experience this evening:
Lardo can be whipped to the consistency of soft butter, and has the flavor of smokey bacon. Oh sweet lord yes.

New York Winter Adventure pt. 1

2010-01-02T11:56:00.000-06:00

I'm in New York City!

It took a short and beautiful plane ride from Chicago (of course, after having to come to and from the west coast everything feels short)...

We arrived last night and opted for the bus rather than taxi to Megan's apartment in Morningside. That was the first great decision of the trip, for a few reasons:
-We spent about $2 each (or for me, nothing, because it was the first swipe of my one-week-unlimited Metro Pass that was my Christmas gift from sister) rather than the $30 we would have spent on a cab.
-Our luggage was easily manageable and I'm pushy enough that we snagged the one tiny luggage area on the city bus.
-We were packed tightly into a space full of people from completely different places doing completely different things, and we all managed to get along just fine to get where we wanted to be. That is being in a city, and it was perfect.
-I got a seat offered to me (by a young loud friendly Puerto Rican man), and then, I got to offer a seat to somebody (an elder, friendly gentleman from Chicago).

We got to the apartment about 8pm, freshened up, lounged around, I started to rearrange Megan's room (the beginning of a bigger project that I will finish by the time I leave in five days), I called a few of my New York based friends to "trumpet my arrival" (yes, I'm quoting me), and we wrapped up to hit the streets. We had to come back a few times because I needed a hat, then a pen, and then we were on our way.
Where were we walking to at 10:30pm? ANYWHERE! Why? BECAUSE WE COULD! The noises of the city gave me energy and I could have skipped down Broadway, although it may have warrented some looks from the security guards sprinkled about the Columbia/Barnard campus. (There were plenty of NYPD about too, but I doubt they would have looked sideways.)

We made quick detour onto Columbia campus - so pretty! So important! So twinkly! - and exited just in time before Megan made her standard "Ivy League is Bullsh*t!" comment to continue down Broadway. (She can say that, she's an Ivy Leaguer.)

We walked and walked as it snowed and people happily made their way in and out of bars and restaurants around us. Even a few people asking for change wished us a happy new year. Our destination turned out to be a Chinese restaurant that not only has tasty and cheap food, but unlimited free wine with dinner. It's white and sweet and says Franzia, but did I mention free? We left full and drunk for around $30.

We crossed the street, bought bagels for this morning, and headed north already looking forward to today.
Today we lounge (as I write this, lounging), mani-pedi, grocery shop, cook dinner for a group of friends, then... KARAOKE.

My Trip to Wisconsin So Far...

2009-12-30T12:03:00.000-06:00

Snow
Hugs
Portraits
Love
Wine
Kisses
Dresses
Jameson
Besties
Crapples
Candles
Love
Coffee
Scrabble
Food Stamps
Casablanca
Beer
Photos
Love
Bridesmaids
Quiet
Socks
Love

'Tis...

2009-12-23T10:28:00.000-06:00

Now is the moment, before the parties and the hugs and the reunions and all the things that I know I will be "on" for, when I question if I can do it, when I feel my most fragile and my most sad.

I realize what I am in a room of people, be it three others that I know when or 50 that I may not, that I attract attention. I have since I was a child although I've owned it since I was a teenager. Usually I like the attention, I like the energy, I like that I can feel close to people fairly quickly with little more than a smile and a touch on the arm.

It has been a very busy two months and I have not taken almost any time for myself. I don't know what this would have meant two years ago but now it means I haven't allowed myself to think too much about how much I miss my brother. I realized that some nights ago when I found myself on the floor in a ball sobbing for I have no idea how long hoping it wouldn't hurt as much the next day.

So now is the lull; the busy push of our harvest and holiday season is over, and I am days away from being in Wisconsin then New York for a couple weeks, for the purpose of seeing my family, some friends, and having a good time. Now is the morning when I wake up wondering how I am going to make sure there is a smile on my face for Christmas with my family here, for Christmas with my family there, for the party at my parents house we've turned into an annual event, for dinners, for reunions with friends in New York... These are all things I've been looking forward to for months, and I know I will get there, but I have to find my way.

Today I shall be quiet. Today I will let it be ok for me not to be anything for anybody else. Today I have no obligation and no pressure. Today I can cry whenever I want to. Today I will look forward to Christmas however I am moved to, be it enjoying the ridiculously Jesus-y carols or scowling at people as they cheerfully shop.

Ex.Haust.Ed.

2009-12-16T02:40:00.000-06:00

I just realized I have published all of one post in December.

This is mostly due to the fact that we do something ridiculous like 30% of our business between harvest (early November) and Christmas (usually 12/25). I still can't help but feel a little lax in my blog-writing and like anybody who is interested and kind enough to look over it every once in a while has lost interest by now.

I promise I'll be back and better than ever. I am contemplating switching to Tumblr, mostly because they have many more background options for non-code educated people like me, but if I do you'll be the first to know.

Until next time I'll leave you with this tidbit. I woke up today to the sound of a lemon juicer (a humming mechanical noise plus a "THUMP" every few seconds), Mexican ranchero Christmas music, and what sounded like about 7 or 8 roosters but was really just the standard two. This is all in all pretty standard for December on the farm.

After arising to said cacophony of noises, working twelve some hours, realizing Christmas is in less than 10 days, and realized I hadn't published any blogs in weeks, I find myself here now getting ready to do it all again tomorrow, only with what appears to be a much rainier day at hand.

Hopefully roosters will be kind and let it get just a smidgen lighter before their greeting.

Snow Day

2009-12-11T00:18:00.000-06:00

Everybody loves a snow day.

Many of my folks enjoyed a doozy of a snow day yesterday in Madison.

This is taken from the side of my parents porch before they started shoveling:

This is some time later, taken looking down the block, after quite a bit of shoveling:

I miss it so much.

Give Me My Cookies

2009-11-30T19:24:00.000-06:00

While I was made aware of sex and relationships and the potential consequences, physical and otherwise, from an early age, my parents didn't get too far into the "It can feel really good" portion of the discussion. (They did like to make us squirm with the "It doesn't really get good til you're 40" comments, but I digress And gag a little.)
Maybe because it was assumed I had already figured that out at some point between getting a time-out for kissing boys on the playground in kindergarten, getting a time-out for sitting on boys laps in 7th grade, or getting grounded at various points during high school for various boy-related violations.

Laundry Girl's mom apparently filled her in on that part too. (Please click on that link, especially if you're a straight man.) Wise, wise, wise words. It's all about how everyone should get their cookies, and since the encounter usually has a way of winding down after the boy finishes his, that it's only appropriate and polite that he makes sure the girl gets hers first.

This may explain why LG was always one of my few friends who seemed to know the in's and out's (pun intended) of getting down and dirty, not just the did-you-or-didn't-you technical details. If I would have prescribed earlier to her Mom's way of thinking maybe I would have put up with much less poor-effort-sex over the last decade, and really, the less of that in the world the better.

Skinny Idiot

2009-11-21T19:48:00.000-06:00

I read something yesterday that quoted Kate Moss as saying "Nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels."

At first it made me want to punch her and then force feed her bacon. Then it kind of made me angry - the woman has a daughter for crying out loud, talk about pre-determined eating disorders.

Now, I think pity is the best way to describe what I feel. Because I'm not obese, but I'm certainly big enough that I can enjoy some of the delicious things the world has to offer (ribeye! cheddar! funnel cakes!) without worrying about having an outline of it show through my abdomen.

And that, my friends, feels pretty damn good.

Sunrise

2009-11-18T14:24:00.000-06:00

I woke up with my head on his shoulder facing away from him. I studied his lower arm, the design of his moles and hair, that led to his strong hand that works hard but knows exactly how to touch my hair or hold my own.
The muted early sunlight was on the bed and the veins in his arm built a topographic map of his skin. I could feel him breathing behind me in the soft gentle pattern that meant he was about to stir. Although I wanted to hear his voice I wanted more for him to sleep peacefully next to me for just a few moments longer.
I felt sad that I had to say goodbye to him in some hours, but it was ok. I felt more calm and safe with him than I do at any other place I can think of. I knew I would see him again soon, I know that because we have applied no rules to each other it won't be a desperate rushed meeting. Any time we have together is surplus.
I kept wanting to say words to him that would change the rules, so I didn't. Instead I drew a heart on a piece of paper and put it on his pillow. When I woke up the day after he left I felt almost euphorically happy, embracing the joy I feel just to know I get to have him in my life.

Hypochondriac

2009-11-13T01:14:00.000-06:00

My sister did her best at convincing herself and everybody else that the 2-day fever she had at our cousins wedding two months ago was actually swine flu.

These are the texts between us today:
Megan: I think I have mecury poisoning.
Caitlin: WTF
And swine flu?
And autism?
Megan: I can be awkward... but i font think its bad enough for a diagnosis.

p.s. I've used her original spelling. She's in graduate school, by the way. I fully expect her to come at me with a list of supporting reasons for her self-diagnoses of aforementioned diseases. Except for autism. Probably.

It's Veterans Day

2009-11-11T13:41:00.000-06:00

My Grandpa John was in the Army Air Corps during World War II. He was shot down over France, smuggled out, came home and married his sweet love Annie, and raised ten children with her, including my mother.

My Grandpa Jim was in the Navy, he worked on radar and was on a submarine in the South Pacific when a torpedo hit it. It was a dud, he came home and married Virginia and had my father then four more kids.

I was in love with a boy named Ryland when he was in the Marines, and was in Iraq during the start of this war. Clifton was also there and is still one of my best friends. I moved to North Carolina because of Justin, who was in the Army for almost ten years and Iraq for one. Derek has served countless tours and is looking at another one. Brent is overseas again as his love Liz waits for him in Texas. Brandon is in Afghanistan right now, with his wife Annie and new baby waiting for him in Alaska. Melinda served a few tours and just got out so she could get married. Mike, Teeter, Mark, Boots, Steve, John, Scott, Dylan, Josh, Chris, Rob, so many others...

Thank You.

Made For Walkin'

2009-11-09T19:38:00.000-06:00

In October of 200something I sprained my ankle bad enough that I could barely walk on it for a few weeks, let alone wear high heels. I love wearing high heels so this cramped my style. That New Year's I was finally ready, and I bought an adorable low-ish heeled, uncharacteristically girly pink with black adornment pair of heels and built an outfit around those. They remain some of my favorite pair of shoes I have ever owned.

Fast forward a couple of years and a couple of long distance moves. I was dating and had fell hard for somebody that was about to relocate, we'll call him T. We had a brief but intense courtship that was great in some ways for both of us; in the years that followed, up til almost present day, neither of us were really able to let go when we should have. (For me, the first second and third time he lied to me about having/getting back together with a girlfriend were the big should-have-let-the-hell-go moments, but I guess I've always liked a lesson to be really pounded into me.)

In the months that we were together we rarely spent a night, or moment for that matter, apart if we could avoid it. Naturally, there were some objects that got mixed up, which isn't normally a problem because as you clean or sort or whatever you say "Hey dollface, you left your blabla here, I'll bring it over later," then you do and life moves on. However, as this individual was about to be relocated as a member of the armed forces, there was a super swat packing crew that boxed and moved every last item not clearly labeled and separated.

T and I were trying to be realists and didn't have plans on being a couple, or even necessarily seeing each other after we both left town, other than a brief stopover on my way westward across the country. So it was with much annoyance and a little sadness that I realized later in the afternoon after all the boxes had been moved out of T's house that my girly pink sprain-recovery-celebratory heels had been packed and relocated to T's next government chosen location.

In the years since we met and swept each other off our respective and proverbial feet, we have stopped talking only to start again, for one reason, excuse, overdue apology or another every few months. He has been the "What If?" for me, and I always held out just a little hope that we'd find a way to work something out. He is a nice guy and I think for the most part has meant well, but the failure to disclose when he was with his girlfriend became a regular theme that, admittedly, I should have learned a lesson from earlier.

T was moving again a few months ago, from the house he had lived in (and deployed from a few times) since we parted ways. (AKA the house that held my shoes.) Since we were in the midst of another talking streak, and this overdue apology had really been a doozy, it occured to me that this would be the time to get my shoes back. I knew he'd send them to me when they were uncovered because he was in the process of trying to prove that he was the one for me, to show me he had made a mistake in letting me go, and to prove I could trust him so we could really build something. (I've paraphrased a little here, but most of those are not my words.)

One of the last times I talked to him, as I was deep in realizing that I needed to cut him off again, he made the sad report to me that nowhere in the house had my shoes been found. Shoes gone. Forever.

I talked to him maybe once or twice after that, and I don't exactly know why or how to describe it, but I realized distinctly that this was the last time. I held him up on a pedestal for more than two years and over and over I was disappointed, yet at least a small part of me had held on, had clung to the awesomeness of the time we had spent together as an example of what should be.

I don't want to over simplify things, but I realized something striking after the last time I hung up the phone with him...
After I found out the shoes were not to be found, it was shockingly easy to let him go.

Good Wife

2009-11-06T00:17:00.000-06:00

I got this little nugget from my mother in an email a few months back... (click on image to see it bigger)

Such gems include:
"Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him." and
"A good wife always knows her place."

I love watching the suppressed rage of Betty Draper on Mad Men as much as the next person, and I got a good laugh out of this. Then I read it again and I thought, "Holy Shit are my sisters and I lucky that my mothers and hers worked so hard and didn't mind the label of feminism... Cheers to you women, and cheers to our grandmothers for not losing their intelligent and underused disrespected minds. We owe you lots."

Harvestey

2009-10-31T20:07:00.000-05:00

It's Harvest Weekend!

Every year my aunt and uncle throw a big party to celebrate harvest and new oil. I'll write more on that later, but for now, a taste of what's been happening around here this week...

SadNaughtySexy

2009-10-30T01:04:00.000-05:00

I have over 1300 emails in my inbox right now.

Ever since Gmail advertised to me that I'd never have to delete a message again, I almost haven't.

While the sheer number is a little astounding, the breadth of emails have proven quite an interesting exercise in self-awareness and examination over the last few weeks as I've been trying to whittle the total down. I go to the oldest emails on the last page of the inbox and apply the handy little label and archive most of them. Some of them I do delete, and it is quite satisfying to delete a bunch at once.

This system has hiccups though when I run across ones that I can't decide how to label, or ones I don't want out of the in-box, from some compulsive fear I can't really specify. Namely ones from Brendan - how on earth can I archive those? They are proof of his existence, mostly brief and sporadic and often funny thoughts passed through the internet that are infinitely more poignant because of his absense.

The other inner conflict I have regarding my filing arises when I come across messages that I don't really want to label and archive because it's not deleting - which would signify a decision not to delete, which means I've made the decision to keep. In particular messages between old loves/lovers and me. (I forgot how filthy and creative I can be when someone makes me feel comfortable enough to take the filter off.) I've almost convinced myself that keeping these messages is more a way of preserving my past rather than remembering what inspired such straightforward expressions of desire and love.

Favorite Marriage Proposal So Far...

2009-10-27T21:32:00.000-05:00

Nathan: wanna marry me?

me: sure do

Nathan: beautiful

well get out to chicago

i know a real nice courthouse

me: reeeeeeeeeeeal nice

Nathan: can we get married to zeppelin IV?

me: hell why not

we're gonna have the tallest most awesome babies ever

Nathan: when you walk down the isle we'll play "been a long time been a long time been a long lonely lonely lonely time"

me: perfect

do courthouses have aisles?

Nathan: our babies'll probly be midgets

me: ha!

but they will wanna rock

Nathan: yes

just like mom and dad

me: exacto

Nathan: courthouses are perfect

we can prance around and noone will car

me: for our wedding? definitely

then we can have a party at the farm

Nathan: !

me: yup

Nathan: country courthouse and a bluegrass shakedown

me: yes

i'm gonna put a bow on your dog

Nathan: my dog is with the ex

me: oh NO

Nathan: bummed

me: honey

sweetie

love

i'm sorry

i'll still marry you

Nathan: we'll get our own dog

me: i'll just put a bow on you

Nathan: a bull mastiff

me: ha

that'll eat our midget children

Nathan: yes... we'll name her thor

me: of course they could put a saddle on it and they could ride it around

oh thor

sweet puppy

Nathan: thor! stop looking at the children like that and eat yer alpo

me: poor thing gets hungry, midget children are like tasty nuggets

tasty nuggets who wanna rock NOT get eaten by thor

i loved the songs you sent me

Nathan: thanks

me: welcome

Nathan: come over and we'll listen to my scratchy copy of stairway

me: sweet

and drink whiskey

Nathan: it's really good

yes

me: i'll bet it is

Nathan: whisky

but only if we feel irish

me: we do

Nathan: i always do

me: me too

bye husband

i have to go play with oil

Nathan: i have to go re start stairway

me: yeah you do

Nathan: have a good afternoon

me: you too

Nathan: <3

me: oh honey

xoxoxoxoxox

you should write me a song then i can tattoo your lyrics on the inside of my left arm

i've got the perfect place picked out

<3 Nathan: sure

WTF

2009-10-24T15:26:00.000-05:00

My ex and I haven't spoken for more than a year, on purpose by my choice, and we have very few mutual friends at this point (he burned a lot of bridges on his way out). Other than a couple blurbs through the grapevine and one drunken and curious episode where night I looked at his family's photos on facebook, I haven't thought about him much. However, twice in the last two weeks I have dreamed about him, both dreams them involving him, his wife, and their baby son.

The most weird scene of both of them was when in one, I was in charge of holding the baby when a whole bunch of family was around (I'm pretty sure it was his, hers, and some weird combination of my family). I adored this child, thought it was the most cherubic thing ever.

From both dreams, I woke up feeling weirdly neutral. I've written before about how powerful dreams can be, but not in this case. I just felt really curious. If anybody has any theories as to why I would have these dreams or what they mean, I would love to hear it. Seriously.