I used to walk during my lunch break... most days.
One day, as I left the parking lot with it's big iron gate, and turned the corner to the first stretch of my walking route, a blue bird landed in front of me and began to hop along beside me, as though it's purpose for the day was to join me while I dutifully worked exercise into my life. The sun was shining through the many clouds that cover that beautiful city on an almost too regular basis (in most people's opinions... I however, love clouds, rain etc). This magnificent creature, with it's impossible-to-describe-the-exact-shade-of-blue feathers, made itself a part of my life for just a few moments, looking curiously up at me; a giant compared to it's tiny frame. Yet it was not afraid. It did not fly away. It just hopped happily along with me, taking in my thoughts, like an old friend listening to my troubles without me needing to say a word.
Just seeing that bird, with the sun shining on our backs as we walked together for that brief moment in time, made me think about all the beautiful things in my life that I should be grateful for.
Oh, to be a blue bird. To be able to inspire as this bird inspired me.
At first, I thought it was it's physical beauty that made me think about beauty itself. But I was wrong. It had nothing to do with the stunning display of color which adorned it's wings, but the innocence and absolute trust with which it presented itself to me... somehow knowing that I would not dream of abusing that trust by hurting it in any way.
That innocence is what made me think about true beauty for the remainder of my walk.
Perhaps it is time to remember that lesson again now. To truly appreciate the beautiful things in my life, to keep myself grounded and humble.
Oh, to be a blue bird...
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
The little engine that could
It's tough to write a lit crit paper, and say what you mean, while arguing that your perception of the book is the true and correct meaning.
I have an A in all my other classes and can finish my first semester with a 4.0 GPA, providing I get one in my English class... so I am terrrified!
Perhaps that is the problem; knowing that it is so close, and putting excess pressure on myself.
Time to recite positive affirmations and continue plugging away.
I can write this paper. My thoughts are valid, and I am presenting them in a way that pleases Ms Cheraz. They are clear, meaningful, and true to my thesis.
I will succeed. I will succeed. I will succceed.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
He won't forget you in a hurry
St Patricks Day. One year later.
I was walking along that same dirt road I had seen one year ago. So many bad memories, so much hurt and heart ache. The bar was lively, oblivious to what this day meant for me. I could already hear the music flowing through the open windows. Cars that were headed to the pub were driving along beside me. One in particular, a dark SUV with a young, good looking guy inside slowed to my walking pace.
"mmmmm you headed to the bar? My friends are over there in that other building and I don't wanna be lonely in there by myself"
"you don't want to be around me today, trust me"
"yeah I do cutie... I'll buy you a drink"
I jumped onto the front of his car. I could feel warm metal underneath my butt, and we drove to the bar slowly with me riding on the hood.
"you should call your friends and tell them to get out of that building, it's gonna go up in flames anyway"
Some people, especially when they are strangers just don't know how to take a comment like that, so they laugh it off; take it as a joke.
"hahahahaha we don't need them around, I'm not lonely now I have you to hang with", I watched in horror as yet again, my words rang too true.
The building lit up the night sky, smoke quickly forming a screen so no-one could see what was going on. My new 'friend' ran to the burning cage that held on tight to his friends. I sat in the gutter and cried.
What was it about me and this place? Why was it that when I woke that morning I just knew that I had to be there again that day? Why did I know that my feeling of doom was going to be lived out as it had one year before?
That's when he walked up. A stranger wearing a dark hoodie pulled tight around his face, dark galsses and a long, red beard. The wirey, stringy kind of beard. He made me nervous as he approached me, but he sat quietly beside me and followed my gaze as I watched that guy run to his friends and cried.
"he's not going to forget you in a hurry"
"what? what makes you say that?"
He laughed.
I got up to walk away and he grabbed my arm.
"You're a witch. Don't EVER forget that"
I woke up screaming for the first time in quite a while yesterday. It freaked the absolute hell out of me. The smell of fire and death is still in my nose and has been making me ill ever since I woke up.
I was walking along that same dirt road I had seen one year ago. So many bad memories, so much hurt and heart ache. The bar was lively, oblivious to what this day meant for me. I could already hear the music flowing through the open windows. Cars that were headed to the pub were driving along beside me. One in particular, a dark SUV with a young, good looking guy inside slowed to my walking pace.
"mmmmm you headed to the bar? My friends are over there in that other building and I don't wanna be lonely in there by myself"
"you don't want to be around me today, trust me"
"yeah I do cutie... I'll buy you a drink"
I jumped onto the front of his car. I could feel warm metal underneath my butt, and we drove to the bar slowly with me riding on the hood.
"you should call your friends and tell them to get out of that building, it's gonna go up in flames anyway"
Some people, especially when they are strangers just don't know how to take a comment like that, so they laugh it off; take it as a joke.
"hahahahaha we don't need them around, I'm not lonely now I have you to hang with", I watched in horror as yet again, my words rang too true.
The building lit up the night sky, smoke quickly forming a screen so no-one could see what was going on. My new 'friend' ran to the burning cage that held on tight to his friends. I sat in the gutter and cried.
What was it about me and this place? Why was it that when I woke that morning I just knew that I had to be there again that day? Why did I know that my feeling of doom was going to be lived out as it had one year before?
That's when he walked up. A stranger wearing a dark hoodie pulled tight around his face, dark galsses and a long, red beard. The wirey, stringy kind of beard. He made me nervous as he approached me, but he sat quietly beside me and followed my gaze as I watched that guy run to his friends and cried.
"he's not going to forget you in a hurry"
"what? what makes you say that?"
He laughed.
I got up to walk away and he grabbed my arm.
"You're a witch. Don't EVER forget that"
I woke up screaming for the first time in quite a while yesterday. It freaked the absolute hell out of me. The smell of fire and death is still in my nose and has been making me ill ever since I woke up.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Sure, go ahead.
It was early in the afternoon, and I could almost feel the light draining from the day. Something wasn't right. Still, I ordered another round of Guiness and sat down with friends; friends that I had made through M. He, too, was there. I could feel the rough grain of the wooden table beneath my fingers as we talked and I fidgeted, as is my way. Conversation led to the cars we could see driving up and down the dirt road that ran alongside the Irish pub we were in. A couple of the boys thought they should ask if they could join in, since fishtailing up a dirt road is somewhat appealing to boys, especially after a few drinks.
"Sure, go ahead, they're gonna burn up once that one hits that tree and rolls back into the other two."
Blank stares from everyone at the table followed by "what the hell are you talking about Fliss?", "why would you say something like that?", "that's not even funny. I thought we were having a good day today, why start in on that bull?".
"Sorry" I said, and finished the last of my beer.
The boys that were going to play in the cars got up and walked out, visually and verbally making their annoyance with my comment known.
The sun started to set and it seemed like the afternoon was disappearing quickly into some kind of time warp. I watched the boys walk along the dusty road towards the now moonlit cars, childishly playing in the soft surface beneath the tires. The people left at the table with me seemed oblivious to what was going on just outside that window, yet I could not take my eyes off them. I tried to continue conversation while we drank our beer and celebrated the day that everyone is a little Irish.
The celtic band was playing all sorts of magical, happy notes as young girls dressed in traditional Irish dress danced about in their tap shoes for the well-on-their-way patrons. Those notes and sounds became blurry as I watched my comment from earlier in the afternoon drift word for word out the window and along the dirt road to where it settled in slow motion on the car sliding into the old, oversized tree that was looming above them. Then came the loud and thunderous boom as the side of the car made contact with the solidness of that tree. Everyone in the bar turned to look out that window by our table, as the sound was so intrusive it had deafened the band. The sky lit up with flames that had been forseen, and the smell of fright and disbelief hung heavy throughout that bar. All eyes watched as the car ricocheted off the tree and into the path of the other two cars that were now frantically trying to gain control and get out of the way. It was useless. More flames as the sound of metal against metal scratched against everyones core.
"What the hell did you do? YOU KNEW!!!!" Accusing eyes were now upon me, like somehow I had something to do with this. All around me, people erupted into panic and disarray. There were so many legs running towards the burning cars, and screams of help could still be faintly heard above the noise from the twisted wrecks. Confused questions were still being screamed at me while I sat and wondered what had made me say what I had said this afternoon. Had I seen it before? Had I dreamed it? Hadn't those words just come out knowlingly, without even really having to think about it beforehand at all? Yes. That's exactly how it had been. It was as if the image of it was seen for the first time as I spoke the words; like it was something I was conjuring up as I went. As the final moans of helplessness came from the trapped bodies inside the charred remnants of what once were cars, I walked away from the people who had called me their friend until today. I knew that this would change things. It already had.
"Sure, go ahead, they're gonna burn up once that one hits that tree and rolls back into the other two."
Blank stares from everyone at the table followed by "what the hell are you talking about Fliss?", "why would you say something like that?", "that's not even funny. I thought we were having a good day today, why start in on that bull?".
"Sorry" I said, and finished the last of my beer.
The boys that were going to play in the cars got up and walked out, visually and verbally making their annoyance with my comment known.
The sun started to set and it seemed like the afternoon was disappearing quickly into some kind of time warp. I watched the boys walk along the dusty road towards the now moonlit cars, childishly playing in the soft surface beneath the tires. The people left at the table with me seemed oblivious to what was going on just outside that window, yet I could not take my eyes off them. I tried to continue conversation while we drank our beer and celebrated the day that everyone is a little Irish.
The celtic band was playing all sorts of magical, happy notes as young girls dressed in traditional Irish dress danced about in their tap shoes for the well-on-their-way patrons. Those notes and sounds became blurry as I watched my comment from earlier in the afternoon drift word for word out the window and along the dirt road to where it settled in slow motion on the car sliding into the old, oversized tree that was looming above them. Then came the loud and thunderous boom as the side of the car made contact with the solidness of that tree. Everyone in the bar turned to look out that window by our table, as the sound was so intrusive it had deafened the band. The sky lit up with flames that had been forseen, and the smell of fright and disbelief hung heavy throughout that bar. All eyes watched as the car ricocheted off the tree and into the path of the other two cars that were now frantically trying to gain control and get out of the way. It was useless. More flames as the sound of metal against metal scratched against everyones core.
"What the hell did you do? YOU KNEW!!!!" Accusing eyes were now upon me, like somehow I had something to do with this. All around me, people erupted into panic and disarray. There were so many legs running towards the burning cars, and screams of help could still be faintly heard above the noise from the twisted wrecks. Confused questions were still being screamed at me while I sat and wondered what had made me say what I had said this afternoon. Had I seen it before? Had I dreamed it? Hadn't those words just come out knowlingly, without even really having to think about it beforehand at all? Yes. That's exactly how it had been. It was as if the image of it was seen for the first time as I spoke the words; like it was something I was conjuring up as I went. As the final moans of helplessness came from the trapped bodies inside the charred remnants of what once were cars, I walked away from the people who had called me their friend until today. I knew that this would change things. It already had.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Finally
My friend died on Friday. He had cancer that started out as melanoma, and in the last 7 months spread to his organs, his spine, his bones and his brain. For the last week he was barely a shadow of the person I knew, laying in his bed with a diaper on, unable to speak, barely able to breathe. I'm glad that he is gone, and no longer has to suffer the ridiculous amount of pain that no 35 year old man that served his country in the United States Army should have felt outside of combat. I am glad that his wife no longer has to sit by his bed, day after day, holding on and being strong for him, trying to be just his wife instead of his nurse. I am glad that I don't have to think of him writhing in pain whenever a breath was trying to work it's way in and out of his lungs. Oh, the joy to know that his brain is not trying to function through the mush it became anymore.
But I hurt. I hurt so bad for his wife, and his family and for myself. I hurt for the people who are not over the suffering, but are beginning yet another round of it. I hurt for the fact that I won't hear him laughing on the other end of the phone, telling me that a dingo ate his baby in a horrible Australian accent. I hurt knowing that he won't be coming to visit this summer like we planned. I hurt knowing that he wont fly another kite with my daughters.
I hope he doesn't hurt anymore.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Paths
A twisting path does lie ahead
where my desires must be fed.
The road it goes from here to there,
which way to go, I just don't care.
It's not the best thing I could do
to choose the path that leads to you,
for when I look that way I see
the broken mess that could be me,
to give the love I feel inside
with leave me with nowhere to hide.
You'd have it all and in return
my heart is left to slowly burn.
You care enough to roll the dice
but what you feel does not suffice.
Now there I am, I'm all alone
I can not breathe, I cry and groan,
all torn and hurt I'm pushed away
left to fight another day.
So I turn and face the other road
which also bears a heavy load.
To choose this way would leave me blind
for with this path you're left behind.
I walk along with deep regret,
forever more I pay the debt.
I am so lost, I feel so cold,
my dream of you I did not hold,
for selfishness did take control
now lonely tears I must console.
I'm holding back, I am refined
when suddenly there's love defined.
But though I see another's face
I can not seem to fill your place.
So here I stand, two paths I see,
I must choose one, which will it
Is leaving what I have to do,
where my desires must be fed.
The road it goes from here to there,
which way to go, I just don't care.
It's not the best thing I could do
to choose the path that leads to you,
for when I look that way I see
the broken mess that could be me,
to give the love I feel inside
with leave me with nowhere to hide.
You'd have it all and in return
my heart is left to slowly burn.
You care enough to roll the dice
but what you feel does not suffice.
Now there I am, I'm all alone
I can not breathe, I cry and groan,
all torn and hurt I'm pushed away
left to fight another day.
So I turn and face the other road
which also bears a heavy load.
To choose this way would leave me blind
for with this path you're left behind.
I walk along with deep regret,
forever more I pay the debt.
I am so lost, I feel so cold,
my dream of you I did not hold,
for selfishness did take control
now lonely tears I must console.
I'm holding back, I am refined
when suddenly there's love defined.
But though I see another's face
I can not seem to fill your place.
So here I stand, two paths I see,
I must choose one, which will it
Is leaving what I have to do,
or do I risk my heart on you?
Friday, February 6, 2009
Noisy
"Will you guys please be quiet?" I beg.
My girls are feeding off each others frenzy. My older two daughters both have a handful of friends staying over, and there is way too many squealing little girls for an entire square mile, let alone one little house.
"Enough!" I scowl. "It's time to settle down. There is a 4 year old in the house and it is too late for you all to be carrying on this loudly."
The giggling continues.
I don't mind that they are having fun. In fact, I encourage them to laugh and it gives me great peace to know that they are able to feel this way with Nick being gone. I only wish I could be so simply delighted. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe its not the fact that they are rambunctious, or that its after 9pm at night. Maybe its just that I am jealous. It's been so long since I was able to feel so free. Every day that he is gone is like another pound added to the weight of loneliness that rests upon my shoulders.
"Mum, can we please have some soda?" my daughter Brianna now asks.
"Not a snowballs chance!" I reply with a scoff, appalled that she would ask such a question in the midst of my attempts to calm these kids down.
She runs back to her room and blasts a cd. The jingle of the high pitched, fast beating song that she continues to amplify grates against my nerves. I twitch. More squeals. My eyes close and I take a long, deep breath, picturing the air filling up my lungs and washing my insides with calm as I do so. The door closes to her room, softening the intensity of the music. Better. The other group - Tayla's friends - are still downstairs, and still chattering loudly about this boy and that boy, and that girl and what she was wearing and oh my god did you see who she's going out with and what about Mr so and so from school, he's so WEIRD!
Deep breath.
"Girls, do you maybe want to go into Tay's room to talk? At least that way I can have Angel down here with me and she can have some sort of quiet." I ask gently.
No answer, just more girl talk.
I try to ignore them and get lost in my own thoughts. How long has it been since he deployed anyway? I haven't counted in a few days because work has been so crazy, and then there was the arrangements for tonight's sleepover. Friday, Thursday, Wednesday, Tuesday... that had been day 153, so 156 days today. It's too long. I want my husband home. Then maybe I could leave him here with all this commotion and I could go out and enjoy my own kind of giggling folly with my friends. I knew how to be fun, didn't I? At least I used to.
"Mum, we're hungry, what can we eat?"
The cupboards smack open and closed as graffiti stained, teenage hands tear apart my kitchen looking for snacks.
"There's some popcorn up top. Go upstairs and I will make it for you, but please just take it down a notch or five, okay?"
They hear me now, and a mess of skinny legs, not quite fitting with the rest of their frames, run upstairs. The giggling continues.
I prepare the popcorn in the microwave and focus on the blue numbers on the display, counting backwards, yet exponentially adding more seconds to how long Nick has been away. I look away, not wanting to think about it.
I turn to see Angel snuggled up silently under her blanket on the sofa. At least she is quiet.
As the microwave beeps to let me know it is done, I reach inside and pull out the popcorn. It's hot, but they can deal. The faster they have something in their mouths, the faster they are likely to be hushed. I take it upstairs to their little bellies, waiting for the buttery goodness.
"Thanks Mum."
"No worries," I say, "just please keep it down now okay? It really is getting late and I don't want the neighbors complaining."
Back downstairs, the thumping of their feet reverberates through the floor, shaking my pictures on the wall. I wonder what Nick would say if he was here. Would he be mad at them? I hope not. Frustrated I would understand, for I am feeling that now myself. Brianna's door opens, and the bass thunders down the stairs from her room.
"Brianna! Turn it down!" I yell.
Squealing again, and running down the first flight of stairs, then back up again.
"Brianna, its time to stop."
Then I hear the thumping on her sisters bedroom door. Another door opening, sending sound waves of the constant teenage garble downstairs entangled in the nerve grating song that seems to be on repeat.
I get up from the sofa where I've been sitting with Angel, trying to get her to sleep among all the noise. I walk to the bottom of the stairs and look up. I see all the girls on the landing outside of their bedrooms.
"SHUSHOLA!!"
They stop. Every last one of them.
Satisfied, I float back to the sofa triumphantly and snuggle up under the blanket with Angel. I hear the silence from the cd player. The voices turned to whispers. The doors close.
I'm looking forward to Nick coming home. I can't wait until its my turn to have that much fun again.
My girls are feeding off each others frenzy. My older two daughters both have a handful of friends staying over, and there is way too many squealing little girls for an entire square mile, let alone one little house.
"Enough!" I scowl. "It's time to settle down. There is a 4 year old in the house and it is too late for you all to be carrying on this loudly."
The giggling continues.
I don't mind that they are having fun. In fact, I encourage them to laugh and it gives me great peace to know that they are able to feel this way with Nick being gone. I only wish I could be so simply delighted. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe its not the fact that they are rambunctious, or that its after 9pm at night. Maybe its just that I am jealous. It's been so long since I was able to feel so free. Every day that he is gone is like another pound added to the weight of loneliness that rests upon my shoulders.
"Mum, can we please have some soda?" my daughter Brianna now asks.
"Not a snowballs chance!" I reply with a scoff, appalled that she would ask such a question in the midst of my attempts to calm these kids down.
She runs back to her room and blasts a cd. The jingle of the high pitched, fast beating song that she continues to amplify grates against my nerves. I twitch. More squeals. My eyes close and I take a long, deep breath, picturing the air filling up my lungs and washing my insides with calm as I do so. The door closes to her room, softening the intensity of the music. Better. The other group - Tayla's friends - are still downstairs, and still chattering loudly about this boy and that boy, and that girl and what she was wearing and oh my god did you see who she's going out with and what about Mr so and so from school, he's so WEIRD!
Deep breath.
"Girls, do you maybe want to go into Tay's room to talk? At least that way I can have Angel down here with me and she can have some sort of quiet." I ask gently.
No answer, just more girl talk.
I try to ignore them and get lost in my own thoughts. How long has it been since he deployed anyway? I haven't counted in a few days because work has been so crazy, and then there was the arrangements for tonight's sleepover. Friday, Thursday, Wednesday, Tuesday... that had been day 153, so 156 days today. It's too long. I want my husband home. Then maybe I could leave him here with all this commotion and I could go out and enjoy my own kind of giggling folly with my friends. I knew how to be fun, didn't I? At least I used to.
"Mum, we're hungry, what can we eat?"
The cupboards smack open and closed as graffiti stained, teenage hands tear apart my kitchen looking for snacks.
"There's some popcorn up top. Go upstairs and I will make it for you, but please just take it down a notch or five, okay?"
They hear me now, and a mess of skinny legs, not quite fitting with the rest of their frames, run upstairs. The giggling continues.
I prepare the popcorn in the microwave and focus on the blue numbers on the display, counting backwards, yet exponentially adding more seconds to how long Nick has been away. I look away, not wanting to think about it.
I turn to see Angel snuggled up silently under her blanket on the sofa. At least she is quiet.
As the microwave beeps to let me know it is done, I reach inside and pull out the popcorn. It's hot, but they can deal. The faster they have something in their mouths, the faster they are likely to be hushed. I take it upstairs to their little bellies, waiting for the buttery goodness.
"Thanks Mum."
"No worries," I say, "just please keep it down now okay? It really is getting late and I don't want the neighbors complaining."
Back downstairs, the thumping of their feet reverberates through the floor, shaking my pictures on the wall. I wonder what Nick would say if he was here. Would he be mad at them? I hope not. Frustrated I would understand, for I am feeling that now myself. Brianna's door opens, and the bass thunders down the stairs from her room.
"Brianna! Turn it down!" I yell.
Squealing again, and running down the first flight of stairs, then back up again.
"Brianna, its time to stop."
Then I hear the thumping on her sisters bedroom door. Another door opening, sending sound waves of the constant teenage garble downstairs entangled in the nerve grating song that seems to be on repeat.
I get up from the sofa where I've been sitting with Angel, trying to get her to sleep among all the noise. I walk to the bottom of the stairs and look up. I see all the girls on the landing outside of their bedrooms.
"SHUSHOLA!!"
They stop. Every last one of them.
Satisfied, I float back to the sofa triumphantly and snuggle up under the blanket with Angel. I hear the silence from the cd player. The voices turned to whispers. The doors close.
I'm looking forward to Nick coming home. I can't wait until its my turn to have that much fun again.
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