A day moon
Perhaps it is the real moon
And we were all fooled to believe
That the sun is the day
And the stars hold the night
But the truth lies deep in between.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
It's what I do in the middle of the night...
When the moonlight is hidden by smoky puffs of God's newborn breath, I hold power between the tips of my thumb and index finger. I toss and turn and tug at the sheets until I can feel the gravel path beneath and hear my bare feet crunch and crush with each step. In the middle of the night when no one else is looking, I do the impossible and seize every risk.
When your eyes are heavy with the weight of sleep, imagine me as I...
*Become the first American Queen of Persia.
*Sell all my precious jewels and retreat to the banks of the Nile.
*Soar above rooftops with wings made of steel.
*Write songs for my rockbands and an orchestra of frogs.
*Snore loudly.
*Scream in terror and relief at the same time.
*Run away from the terrifying grip of Mighty Mouse and Wonder Dog.
*Hide in a Junior High locker.
*Win the Noble Peace Prize for prettiest knees.
*Live as an Apache in England.
*Play the flute while smiling at my audience of seals.
*Invent eBay (in my world, it would be wedonegoteverything.com).
*Tickle fancies.
*Jump off the Golden Gate to land in a bucket of flowers...or Rice Krispies.
*Speak Yiddish.
*Dole out dreams to the sleepless.
*Carry the world to an unexplored galaxy far, far away.
*Secretly leave "Wow" and "You're Great!" stickers on all my neighbors' doorsteps.
*Ask dogs whether they secretly understand English.
*Star on a broadway musical...on rollerblades.
*Never hurt anyone.
*Drink bubbles and drink colors.
*Name every blade of grass living in my backyard.
*Invent a bed lamp that doesn't wake up my husband.
*Am a Nigerian spy doing backflips over uzis.
*Have four paws and a unicorn horn (also popularizing the name "Unihorn").
*Wear socks in the summer.
*Drool.
*Eat fairytales with ketchup and a side of slaw.
*Sleep like a baby.
When your eyes are heavy with the weight of sleep, imagine me as I...
*Become the first American Queen of Persia.
*Sell all my precious jewels and retreat to the banks of the Nile.
*Soar above rooftops with wings made of steel.
*Write songs for my rockbands and an orchestra of frogs.
*Snore loudly.
*Scream in terror and relief at the same time.
*Run away from the terrifying grip of Mighty Mouse and Wonder Dog.
*Hide in a Junior High locker.
*Win the Noble Peace Prize for prettiest knees.
*Live as an Apache in England.
*Play the flute while smiling at my audience of seals.
*Invent eBay (in my world, it would be wedonegoteverything.com).
*Tickle fancies.
*Jump off the Golden Gate to land in a bucket of flowers...or Rice Krispies.
*Speak Yiddish.
*Dole out dreams to the sleepless.
*Carry the world to an unexplored galaxy far, far away.
*Secretly leave "Wow" and "You're Great!" stickers on all my neighbors' doorsteps.
*Ask dogs whether they secretly understand English.
*Star on a broadway musical...on rollerblades.
*Never hurt anyone.
*Drink bubbles and drink colors.
*Name every blade of grass living in my backyard.
*Invent a bed lamp that doesn't wake up my husband.
*Am a Nigerian spy doing backflips over uzis.
*Have four paws and a unicorn horn (also popularizing the name "Unihorn").
*Wear socks in the summer.
*Drool.
*Eat fairytales with ketchup and a side of slaw.
*Sleep like a baby.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
It was only a dream...
A final breath filled my lungs
with the sweet sting of morning's air,
telling me, whispering
"It was only a dream."
The tightness of my body makes me stretch and reach
for the comfort of night.
Breathing deep, deeper
trying to inhale the last pieces
of the dawn already past.
My head sinks back into my pillow,
my clouded, heavy eyes
can't find what it was
from which I woke.
But it was only a dream
that made my lips smile
and my eyes glimmer in hopes of a tear.
It was only the moon
outside my window
masked as the sun of my slumber.
It was only a dream
that wrapped its arms around my waist
and pulled me into its seasons.
It was only a dream...
But for a moment
with my eyes closed
and my mind wide awake,
it was real,
it was wonderful,
and much more than just a dream.
with the sweet sting of morning's air,
telling me, whispering
"It was only a dream."
The tightness of my body makes me stretch and reach
for the comfort of night.
Breathing deep, deeper
trying to inhale the last pieces
of the dawn already past.
My head sinks back into my pillow,
my clouded, heavy eyes
can't find what it was
from which I woke.
But it was only a dream
that made my lips smile
and my eyes glimmer in hopes of a tear.
It was only the moon
outside my window
masked as the sun of my slumber.
It was only a dream
that wrapped its arms around my waist
and pulled me into its seasons.
It was only a dream...
But for a moment
with my eyes closed
and my mind wide awake,
it was real,
it was wonderful,
and much more than just a dream.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Still Figuring It All Out
I still can’t understand all the fuss over The Beatles.
Sometimes I make lists with the intention of ignoring the list and everything on it.
I love my chin. It’s just like my dad’s.
I’m starting to fear growing old.
I don’t want my parents to grow old.
In 15 years of vegetarianism, the only meat I’ve ever craved is a hot dog.
My husband is more than I think I deserve.
The State Fair is one of the greatest places on earth.
I could fill hours just watching people (see above).
If I could, I would be a performer. I would belt out song after heartfelt song in front of millions.
Everyone thinks I love Janis Joplin but I really just love one song.
I’m scared of the dark.
Okay, I’m terrified of the dark.
Green olives and Dr. Pepper is one of the culinary world’s best kept secrets.
Dancing is one of my very favorite things.
I love to sing along with the Dixie Chicks “I’m Not Ready to Make Nice.”
Sometimes I don’t feel like making nice.
I know I’m my own harshest critic.
I would give my life for my family. Each and every one of them.
If I could change one thing about me, it would be my indecision. Maybe.
I’m a sweaty sleeper.
Though their numbers are not great, I do have the greatest friends on earth.
It’s hard to remember sometimes, but I am blessed.
Sometimes I make lists with the intention of ignoring the list and everything on it.
I love my chin. It’s just like my dad’s.
I’m starting to fear growing old.
I don’t want my parents to grow old.
In 15 years of vegetarianism, the only meat I’ve ever craved is a hot dog.
My husband is more than I think I deserve.
The State Fair is one of the greatest places on earth.
I could fill hours just watching people (see above).
If I could, I would be a performer. I would belt out song after heartfelt song in front of millions.
Everyone thinks I love Janis Joplin but I really just love one song.
I’m scared of the dark.
Okay, I’m terrified of the dark.
Green olives and Dr. Pepper is one of the culinary world’s best kept secrets.
Dancing is one of my very favorite things.
I love to sing along with the Dixie Chicks “I’m Not Ready to Make Nice.”
Sometimes I don’t feel like making nice.
I know I’m my own harshest critic.
I would give my life for my family. Each and every one of them.
If I could change one thing about me, it would be my indecision. Maybe.
I’m a sweaty sleeper.
Though their numbers are not great, I do have the greatest friends on earth.
It’s hard to remember sometimes, but I am blessed.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Something for Free
If I opened my inbox on one otherwise unassuming Monday morning and discovered an email entitled “Something for Free,” I might ignore the message as yet another piece of unwanted cyber-junk mail. But not this morning. This morning was different from all of the other mornings that all look this same on the outside. Unlike the 1,612 other Monday mornings I have lived, this morning had a costume on. It was shiny, bright, and bell-jingly just like I imagine my own personal court jester might be. Yes, this morning was special. But I had no idea why…until I opened my inbox.
Among the cluttered pile of MySpace notices and e-ads rested a message containing the most potent three-word phrase known to capitalists the whole world around. My breath caught midway between inhale and exhale. Could this be? Is this a hoax? Despite the known risks, the promise of “Something for Free” was just too great to discard. What if I could really get something (what that something is doesn’t matter) for free? Who doesn’t like free stuff? I’ve had a rough few weeks, I thought to myself. I deserve something for free. This has to be God’s way of sprinkling fairy dust in my direction. (I’m also going through something of a spiritual reinvention.)
My hand hovered over my mouse, savoring the suspense for a few moments longer. Sure, I’ve had my share of complimentary gifts. Perfume samples, company notebooks, even the occasional USB storage device (I can almost hear the jealousy percolating) have found their way into my always available pockets. But this email held a fresh and new promise. “Something” could be anything – a winning Powerball ticket, a sailboat signed by the Rolling Stones, a vintage box of Frosted Flakes, even a date with Tad Hamilton. The possibilities were positively endless…
Wait. Freezing, I realized that once I click on this email, I’ll know. The possibilities will no longer be endless. The possibilities will suddenly be…known. I’ll be ahead by two free admissions to Wall Drug or a vial of sandy Maryland ocean water but my Something will have become something.
With a deep exhale, I shift the mouse and lift my right index finger to click. Deleting an email has never felt so good.
Among the cluttered pile of MySpace notices and e-ads rested a message containing the most potent three-word phrase known to capitalists the whole world around. My breath caught midway between inhale and exhale. Could this be? Is this a hoax? Despite the known risks, the promise of “Something for Free” was just too great to discard. What if I could really get something (what that something is doesn’t matter) for free? Who doesn’t like free stuff? I’ve had a rough few weeks, I thought to myself. I deserve something for free. This has to be God’s way of sprinkling fairy dust in my direction. (I’m also going through something of a spiritual reinvention.)
My hand hovered over my mouse, savoring the suspense for a few moments longer. Sure, I’ve had my share of complimentary gifts. Perfume samples, company notebooks, even the occasional USB storage device (I can almost hear the jealousy percolating) have found their way into my always available pockets. But this email held a fresh and new promise. “Something” could be anything – a winning Powerball ticket, a sailboat signed by the Rolling Stones, a vintage box of Frosted Flakes, even a date with Tad Hamilton. The possibilities were positively endless…
Wait. Freezing, I realized that once I click on this email, I’ll know. The possibilities will no longer be endless. The possibilities will suddenly be…known. I’ll be ahead by two free admissions to Wall Drug or a vial of sandy Maryland ocean water but my Something will have become something.
With a deep exhale, I shift the mouse and lift my right index finger to click. Deleting an email has never felt so good.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
From Words
Words are no longer enough.
I need colors,
Figures.
I need sounds and pictures
To shout
The sharpness, the fullness
Of this.
This love
Has taken me from words
To painting
In color
In motion
In life.
I need colors,
Figures.
I need sounds and pictures
To shout
The sharpness, the fullness
Of this.
This love
Has taken me from words
To painting
In color
In motion
In life.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Perfect Thursday
My perfect Thursday would begin with a gentle whisper, a soft caress of my cheek, and the brush of my husband’s lips across my forehead. The heady scent of our favorite coffee brewing carries up the bedroom stairs and lingers over my gradually waking senses. Stretching long and lithely, I would prop my head up on two downy pillows and reach over to discover my alarm clock had never been set for the a.m. hours.
Sleepily brushing the last remnants of dreams from my eyes I would turn to my husband for a good morning kiss only to find him crawling back into bed. He’s called in sick. Curling up in his arms, I happily grasp the reality that for today, if only for today, we have no agenda, no task list, no calendar to fill or meetings to attend. For today, our only obligations are to sleep, laugh, and love.
Sleepily brushing the last remnants of dreams from my eyes I would turn to my husband for a good morning kiss only to find him crawling back into bed. He’s called in sick. Curling up in his arms, I happily grasp the reality that for today, if only for today, we have no agenda, no task list, no calendar to fill or meetings to attend. For today, our only obligations are to sleep, laugh, and love.
A Crisis of Heart
For the past week, I've struggled to maintain something resembling sanity. At a moment when I least expected it, Life grabbed my shoulders and threw me to the ground in a block that would make even Brian Urlacher wince. My stomach rejected food. My eyes ran from sleep. And my mind... Ah, that tricky little thing. My mind won countless virtual gold medals for each of the myriad mental gymnastics meets I held for a week straight.
Why did I put myself through such anguish, such torture? A crisis of heart. For what seems like the 9th or perhaps 10th time in my relatively brief life, I couldn't understand where I am going. I'm one of those few unfortunate souls who, try as I might, cannot subscribe to a lifelong career without - brace yourself for that ugly, demoralizing, shouldbeafourletterwordifitweren'tforthethreeextraletters word - passion. Financial successes, respect, even sporadic happiness has only temporarily distracted me from what I would otherwise love to forget. I need meaning. I need to feel that what I do is unique to me. Is my own. I need to know I can write sentences with only one word and if that's what I feel, then that's truth. I need to be able to answer the canned high school reunion career question with a passion and pride that I what I do is not just a job but a vocation. There's only one small problem with all of this...
...I don't know what I want to do.
Why did I put myself through such anguish, such torture? A crisis of heart. For what seems like the 9th or perhaps 10th time in my relatively brief life, I couldn't understand where I am going. I'm one of those few unfortunate souls who, try as I might, cannot subscribe to a lifelong career without - brace yourself for that ugly, demoralizing, shouldbeafourletterwordifitweren'tforthethreeextraletters word - passion. Financial successes, respect, even sporadic happiness has only temporarily distracted me from what I would otherwise love to forget. I need meaning. I need to feel that what I do is unique to me. Is my own. I need to know I can write sentences with only one word and if that's what I feel, then that's truth. I need to be able to answer the canned high school reunion career question with a passion and pride that I what I do is not just a job but a vocation. There's only one small problem with all of this...
...I don't know what I want to do.
Friday, August 17, 2007
So long
So long
Too high, too hard
Wave off
Unwilling, unable
Going back to the lip of light
When my lashes bloom open
Soaking in the
One (breathe)
Two (breathe)
Three
First lights of fresh, crisp morning
Creaking the muscles
Ripe with yesterday’s memory
Aching to begin
Again
Too high, too hard
Wave off
Unwilling, unable
Going back to the lip of light
When my lashes bloom open
Soaking in the
One (breathe)
Two (breathe)
Three
First lights of fresh, crisp morning
Creaking the muscles
Ripe with yesterday’s memory
Aching to begin
Again
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Yesterday's Run
I ran yesterday. I did it because my legs are still underneath me and my breath is still in my lungs. For no other reason than that did I lace up my running shoes, throw on my iPod (complete with one of the audiobooks to which I have recently found myself addicted), and trot from the driveway of my semi-urban home. For anyone interested, my current tome of choice is Bergdorf Blondes. Despite my need to finish it, I wouldn't recommend it. I would, however, recommend my last audiobook - Everyone Worth Knowing. Not exactly the next Pulitzer winner, but definitely a great long run listen.
As I ran, I was struck by the lack of familiarity I had for my neighborhood. No...not my neighborhood. My neighbors. It takes me no more than 3 seconds to count the number of neighbors I have met since I and my phenomenal husband (no, I'm not biased. Why would you ask?) moved into our home almost 2 years ago. Is this anonymity a thing of permanence or a phase our culture is going through? Growing up, I knew all of my neighbors. Not just from my immediate block but for at least a two block radius. I knew them not only by name but by smell, habits, lawns, everything. I knew who gave great candy on Halloween and who gave a Saran wrapped packet of 5 pennies. Yes, someone actually thought that was a novel idea. They had no idea the pennies turned into violent projectiles launched by me and my brother, Tim, against our peacefully sleeping older brothers.
But I digress. I'm still trying to figure out the focus of this blog and will slowly stretch and work out the kinks as I write. Please continue to read and bear with me as I try to find my writing legs over the coming weeks. While these first entries may not bear much promise, my promise is that they will improve. Just believe.
As I ran, I was struck by the lack of familiarity I had for my neighborhood. No...not my neighborhood. My neighbors. It takes me no more than 3 seconds to count the number of neighbors I have met since I and my phenomenal husband (no, I'm not biased. Why would you ask?) moved into our home almost 2 years ago. Is this anonymity a thing of permanence or a phase our culture is going through? Growing up, I knew all of my neighbors. Not just from my immediate block but for at least a two block radius. I knew them not only by name but by smell, habits, lawns, everything. I knew who gave great candy on Halloween and who gave a Saran wrapped packet of 5 pennies. Yes, someone actually thought that was a novel idea. They had no idea the pennies turned into violent projectiles launched by me and my brother, Tim, against our peacefully sleeping older brothers.
But I digress. I'm still trying to figure out the focus of this blog and will slowly stretch and work out the kinks as I write. Please continue to read and bear with me as I try to find my writing legs over the coming weeks. While these first entries may not bear much promise, my promise is that they will improve. Just believe.
Monday, May 29, 2006
A Beautiful Beginning
Beginnings are inspiring. They are pregnant with the unknown and flush with possibilities. Stepping on to the gravel path this morning, I felt the rush that only accompanies the inauguration of a new journey. Four miles later and one more run complete, I knew I was still just at the beginning...
Enjoy your day. Smile because you mean it and be kind because it is truly who you are.
Enjoy your day. Smile because you mean it and be kind because it is truly who you are.
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