"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..."
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
03 February 2011
02 February 2011
Love Notes
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.
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.
14 January 2011
Hello Again
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.
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.
10 December 2010
Minneapolis Freeze
I don't care how cold it is, I'm still falling in love with my new city...
(Via Stuff About Minneapolis and Flickr.)
(Via Stuff About Minneapolis and Flickr.)
01 December 2010
Old Friends Are Gold
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.
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.
07 November 2010
Maybe
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.
27 October 2010
Pandora, Sharp and Sweet
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.
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.
20 August 2010
Love Story
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.
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.
31 July 2010
Tick Tock
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.
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.
07 July 2010
June Was a Big Month...
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.
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.
25 June 2010
?!?
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."
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."
18 June 2010
Across The Park and Two Decades
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.
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.
03 June 2010
Wonderful Day
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.
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.
17 May 2010
The Things Left Unsaid
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.
11 May 2010
What It Is
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.
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.
04 May 2010
Bad Boys, Bartenders, Boozers, Bruisers, and Bad Decisions
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.
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.
12 April 2010
Tired Heart
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.
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.
06 April 2010
Pablo
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.
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.
01 April 2010
Country Song
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?
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?
11 March 2010
Old Friends Are Gold
"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.
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.
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