Tuesday, May 26, 2009

An Open Door

Today I begin.
In small steps
and with purpose.

Renewed again.

Monday, December 22, 2008


I have been silent.

Ever so silent.

My Dad passed away in the wee hours of Tuesday, October 14th in his sleep. It was something I had to worry about, as he was an insulin dependent diabetic. I spoke to him that evening, Monday evening. It was about a 20 minute conversation: light. concerned. contemplative. ordinary. "See you Thursday."

Thursday was the day he took my son, G to karate. It was their special time together.

The next morning the cleaning maids found him, long gone.

I am now an orphan.

I am now the maternal head of my family line. I still feel like a small child finding my way in the world.

We have decided to move into my parent's house, located across town from our present house and our network of friends. We will have one of our friends not far from us, and my SIL close. We are moving from a weak school district to the #4 Place to Live in the DFW area. We gain 1,000 sq. ft., a place 40 years newer, and a true neighborhood with lots of neighborhood playmates. We have a HUGE backyard in which I have finally convinced my husband to have a pool built.

But most of all, I am not moving into a childhood home, but a home filled with memories. The word "memories" to me, always connotates something good.

These aren't good memories.

These are memories of a mother withering from cancering until her last breath. And a father passing of a heart attack. A broken heart, really.

This is my inheritance. I hope to fill it with good memories. Fill it to the brim. I hope to fill it with laughter and life milestones. I hope to change the dread I feel every time I have the intent to travel to that house to joy. I hope to make it home. My home.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Answers in Dreams

It is already starting to fade. I followed you through the airport, desperate to see you before you left. It seemed you didn't want to see me, and yet that look in your eyes said you wanted to see me more than anything. Finally, when you conceded, you said: "The answer to your question is yes."

Such peace. I know it is difficult for you to express those things, nevertheless, you did and it was exactly what I needed.

You gave me the courage to enter the journey. I didn't even think about my limitations. You jumped in with me and we were off on the journey. I did things I didn't think I could do. I didn't even notice when you were gone.

It was just when my fibromyalgia was brought up that I realized I was one of six. One of six, when we started with twentysomething. I had taken each step on my own.

It was when I was down that I received a small reward, an egg filled with items. Small treasures. I was asked, "Do you know what that is?" I sifted through the trinkets and noticed a pair of small, stone wings. "You got your wings!" a female voice somewhere above/around me exclaimed. Indeed, I had. Did I have to continue the rigorous journey? I had the feeling I could, if I so chose.

Had I been disqualified for this journey, this race? But the wings let me choose. I wanted to keep going, even though I knew it would only get more and more difficult.

And then I awoke.

Thank you for the messages.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Pegged: One Word

Yourself: Open-book

Your Lover: Tender

Your Hair: Soft

Your Mother: Soulmate

Your Father: Lonely

Your Favorite Item: Smiles

Your Dream Last Night: Answers

Your Favorite Drink: Coca-cola

Your Dream Home: Spacious

The Room You Are In: Living

Your Pets: Cats

What You Are Now: Icky

What You're Not: Energetic

Your Best Friend: Chris

One of Your Wishlist Items: Healthiness

Your Gender: Female

The Last Thing You Did: Eat

What You Are Wearing: T-shirt

Your Favorite Weather: Warm

Your Favorite Book: [The] Stand

The Last Thing You Ate: Saltine

Your Life: Longing

Your Mood: Thoughtful

Favorite article of clothing: Jeans

Favorite color: Red

Song: Hallelujah

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

A Thousand Beautiful Things

Look for this list to grow and in no particular order:
  1. My son's eyes
  2. The small scar next to my husband's left eye
  3. My daughter's tiny voice
  4. Sunrises
  5. Colorful sunsets
  6. The greenness of Scotland
  7. The sound of a piano
  8. Rumi's poetry
  9. My mother
  10. Apple-headed Siamese cats
  11. Men of Mediterranean decent
  12. Baba ganouj
  13. The Budda
  14. Candlelight
  15. Cuddles, with people you love
  16. Laughter
  17. Celtic crosses
  18. God
  19. Imagination
  20. Birkenstocks
  21. iPods
  22. Friendship
  23. Peter Gabriel and his music
  24. Courage
  25. Family traditions
  26. Giving to others
  27. Taking time for one's self
  28. A sleeping child
  29. The mind of Leonardo da Vinci
  30. Yoga

Monday, December 10, 2007

A Story They Know

Time to give up our souls,
to set fire to structures and run out in the street.

Time to ferment.
How else can we leave the world-vat and go to the lip?
We must die to become true human beings.


With our faces so close to the love mirror,
we must not breathe, but rather change
to a cleared place where a building was
and feel the treasure hiding in us.

With no beginning or end we live in lovers
as a story they know.

If you will be the key,
we will be tumblers in the lock.

Today was my last visit to the pain clinic for epidural steriod injections in my back. It was a series of three injections. I felt so fantastic after the first injection, even though it ended up being a bit out of schedule since I had a saddle block injection instead of having them put me fully under. This means that I was awake during the process, as they tried to find the correct spot in spinal canal and then determine that they actually needed a longer needle. I couldn't feel pain, but I could feel every tug and prod. Not a nice feeling. Afterwords, I felt immensely better and decided there might be something to this after all.

The second shot, they knocked me out. The first time I had ever been totally out. Very weird to wake up and know stuff had happened to you, but have no recollection. To top it off, I felt so horribly, I wasn't even sure they had done the procedure.

Today I woke up in so much pain that I figured nothing they could do would make it any worse, so I went. I really *wanted* the saddle block this time to help ease the pain. It's just a bitch to sit for two hours while my legs think about waking up again.

I wish to burn down this structure. To have it rise again anew. To find the treasure hiding inside of me. What might that look like?

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Dying of the Light

This is such a fantastic medium. This is my journal, for all to see. I write at times, to one, and then to a few and then to no one in particular.

And, while I am swept up in the awe of refinding a Kindred, I find my mind elsewhere at this precise moment.

A heavier place. A place I don't like to look. A place I seem to keep visiting. Slowly, slowly, I am learning the lesson.

My house reeks of cat urine. Again. Refreshed by my bitter and angry 14 year old Calico female cat.

I can't do this again. When it was Sebastian, when it was my baby, I put up with it. I put up with his inability to make it inside the catbox. But this is no inability. This is pure spite. Pure hatred of the two children and the other cats who have come (and in the cats case, may have gone from) into our lives.

We have had Bina since she was six months old. A kitten, but not tiny. Still, we are her family. She just refuses to change, to go with the flow, to adapt. As far as I can see, there is only one solution. To put her down.

Find another familly? I just can't imagine it. As I said, she doesn't adapt well.

But the thought of killing off a family member because they are old and grouchy? Well, that doesn't bode well for me down the road. I just have emotional and moral trouble with it. Sebastian had cancer. I made peace with that.

This? I just don't know.

I just don't know.

The Return of My Shams

There are no coincidences.

It's a long story that I don't have time to tell right now, but I will at some point, the meeting my Shams/my Thelma.

It is no wonder that my Webkinz Koalas have been my favorite.
It is no wonder that I have been reading Rumi again.
It is no wonder that I have been listening to Sarah McLachlan's Possession.
It is no wonder that the frame that long held your picture was accidentally broken. (The picture had been moved, thankfully.)

For years I looked for you and could not find you.

I gave up, not because I no longer loved, but because the searching seemed futile. I am everywhere on the Internet. Easy to find if you wanted to find me.

And you finally found me.

There is no anger, Thel. Just relief. I am so glad to have you back in my life, whether for one more moment, or the rest of our lives.

**aside: NJ is throwing an ultra-dramatic temper tantrum. (oh yay.) **

I have open arms for you and nothing but love. I will share our story, if you don't mind. I love our story. :-)

That to come later...