Monday, July 28, 2014

Making sinking stones fly


I'm not dead. Thank goodness there is that silver lining. And now I can drink bourbon and take advil and eat six listeria-ridden plums on accident. So there are those silver linings too. But I'm still processing a lot, which means that the story is like a half-baked pie crust and you'll have to wait to hear it. Until then I find myself going internal and searching songs for meaning and taking pictures of nothingness. I'm like a weary version of my 16 year-old self. I have a strong desire to post the lyrics and images on my aol profile. That doesn't exist anymore, so this blog will have to do. I apologize two lines worth ahead of time. Not only for the barf-ness of ill fitting metaphors but also for hiding from most of you. I'm okay. It's okay-ish. And you all deserve a gold-medal for being patient.

A Comet Appears - The Shins

One hand on this wily comet,
Take a drink just to give me some weight,
Some uber-man I'd make,
I'm barely a vapor
They shone a chlorine light on,
A host of individual sins,
Let's carve my aging face off,
Fetch us a knife,
Start with my eyes,
Down so the lines,
Form a grimacing smile,
Close your eyes to corral a virtue,
Is this fooling anyone else?
Never worked so long and hard,
To cement a failure,
We can blow on our thumbs and posture,
But the lonely are such delicate things,
The wind from a wasp could blow them,
Into the sea,
With stones on their feet,
Lost to the light and the loving we need,
Still to come,
The worst part and you know it,
There is a numbness,
In your heart and it's growing,
With burnt sage and a forest of bygones,
I click my heels,
Get the devils in line,
A list of things I could lay the blame on,
Might give me a way out,
But with each turn,
It's this front and center,
Like a dart stuck square in your eye,
Every post you can hitch your faith on,
Is a pie in the sky,
Chock full of lies,
A tool we devise,
To make sinking stones fly,
And still to come,
The worst part and you know it,
There is a numbness,
In your heart and it's growing.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Summer. Almost.


It's not summer acceding to the calendar yet, but given the long-winded winter that we just finished it took Matt and I all of the few good weeks in late May to make the most of the good weather.


Most of our free time has been spent outside, usually working on the yard and exterior house projects.


We have a deal not to work on interior things again until winter.


Maybe those projects will get us through the dark long nights if the cold sets in again.


We have taken a bit of time for relaxing, some time for playing, a sprinkle of entertaining, and a douse of travel. I even got the banjo back out.


Come July it will be time to take our breaks in the sand at the late. Ukes in tow. Film in the camera. Hats on heads.

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

A gift



This weekend we celebrated friends of ours getting married. I have been looking forward to this day for years. Though all of my friends seem to be incredibly kind-hearted (it is how I like my people to be) there are a few especially so. Chris is one of those few whose crazy kind-heart was just waiting for the right girl to find it. He's a loyal lot (as any of you who have survived the 'welcome to my friend group who I protect fiercely' interrogation of questions by Christopher can attest) and I can say that I believe his heart will be hers forever. I'm happy about this, they are a perfect match and she is a delight on her own. Just as you'd like one of your favorite people to marry.

There were other fantastic outcomes from this wedding as well. A chance for Matt and I to get away. A reason for loads of dancing. An opportunity to sleep in without house projectssssssssss looming. A reason to order Seabreezes.

But I have to say my favorite thing was getting to see (nearly) all of my favorite college people sitting around one table. It was the best gift, one I haven't had in a good 8 years. We've all had our ups, downs, and busy-ness pull us away. I'm glad to see we can still come together, have fun, and just be. It felt good. It felt right. It felt long-coming. It felt safe. And it made me incredibly happy.


A really old flip-phone selfie (before there were selfies) of some of us on the Fairport bridge.
We sent it to Dave because we missed him, near the time of Chris's epic realization. It occurs to me I took
(or at least still have) very few photos from our RIT days. That makes me sad.

Though I was hopeful, I wasn't always sure we'd get here. I wasn't sure we'd get back somewhere near the point we were at when Dave, Chris and I sat on the sidewalk in Fairport listening to a cover band in the street play End of the World As We Know It and eating premium-gelato when Chris said something like "You know, this is it. This is the moment. This moment now. It will never get any better than this for us."

He wasn't quite right, but he wasn't far from wrong either. That moment, however, has stuck in my head like a pop song refrain. I've been trying to remember its lyrics, the feeling it brought with it: happiness, safeness, and promise, for a long time now. I'm glad it came in a glint of light and hope this weekend. May it continue to grow until we evolve into our next chapter of us.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Living a beautiful life



When I was little, I had a bunch of ideas of what I wanted to do when I grew up. In the beginning I wanted to be a comedian. My mother, who was concerned because I was a very un-funny child, thought perhaps that wasn't the best idea. I then had all intentions of marrying John, the older boy next door, whose life ambition was to be a garbage man. Getting married was apparently next on the list of what I wanted to do when I grew up. Nice.

In my 33 years on Earth I have so far wanted to be: a comedian, a wife, a marine biologist, a writer, a biologist, a journalist, a trust-fund baby, a cartoonist, a greeting-card writer, a designer, a boss, a gallery owner, an entrepreneur, an artist, a stay-at-home mom, a world-saver, a shop owner, and a sign-shop painter at Wegmans. Some of those I've added to my resume, and some of them clearly I have not.


I take you through this to see the sea. The swimmy, choppy sea of the place this boat has always been in. Looking at it from above (as I sometimes, in moments of clarity, I am capable of doing), sometimes it is a pond, and sometimes it is an ocean. At the moment it feels immense, vast, empty, with no horizon in sight and the constant rocking of my chipped red-painted rowboat.

The one thing I have always known, deep inside somewhere, is that I want to have a beautiful life. I'm enamored with beautiful things; particularly words, moments, and vignettes of objects. It is the one thing I truly love, something so deeply part of me that when I have too much, or too little of it my reaction is visceral. Usually it comes in the form of tears.


Maybe it was traveling. Maybe it was being with the people I love. Maybe it is the changing of spring to summer (finally!). Maybe it is nothing, maybe it is just the way it is when you love something as nebulous as beauty, when it's the constant thing you're searching for to make you fufilled.

Whatever it is has made me unstable; created a rocky boat and an endless ocean. And I'm bouncing, floating, searching for something beautiful.