Lighting the Way

I despise fake trees but I have one. In fact, there is one currently standing guard in the front window of my living room, white lights gazing out into the snow filled darkness of the night awaiting the beautification that is to come. But beautification will have to wait until Sunday and the return of my child from her weekend away from home.

In the defense of said tree I will say however that a fake tree never sheds, never pokes you with needles sharp like knives and doesn't leave sticky sap sliding down into your carpet or your hardwood floors. It does not however deter cats... Especially cats who are amazed by bright lights, dangling ornaments and the irresistible call of nature that inspires napping about half way up, right before the tree crashes over with their added weight.

Still there's something special about a tree - real or fake - with twinkling lights and memories hanging on every branch...

On the Wind

I went out for lunch. Went out as far as the parking lot and sat in my car with the seat tucked back, my eyes closed. Listening to the silence, to the classical music playing on the radio station, to the sound of the wind pushing its way past everything in its rush to get someplace else. To the sound of my thoughts racing.

And I am trying to say something I don't know how to say. Trying to explain this feeling I had as I sat there in my car staring up at the birch trees overhead, their barren branches bending to please the wind.

I am like this tree, I thought. I am like this tree in every season of its life. I am like this tree with roots that keep me standing strong. With scars dug deep into my skin. I am like this tree with empty branches void of leaves. But I can see the promise of tender buds, dormant now but waiting to wake.

I am like this tree. Withstanding the cold. Keeping at bay these winds. I can feel the summer beneath this frozen ground. I can feel my leaves like phanton limbs.

Dog Days

Separation anxiety dog is at it again and has actually been at it for the past four hours. Endlessly howling with absolutely no end in sight, making me want to stamp my feet on the floor and scream, "Shut up!" until my own face turns blue with the effort to get the damn things attention for just one moment of howl free living.

Thankfully I've come to some simple conclusions...

(1) I'm happy to report that said downstairs neighbors are moving out by months end and taking the I need to be on drugs dog with them.

and

(2) Stamping on the floor and shouting only makes it worse. A truth I did manage to find out first hand when I was in a particularly pissy mood one night. Bad impatient, easy to irritate me.

And I like dogs! I really do! I'm just not a big fan of living above one that never (and I'm not kidding when I say never) shuts up when his owners aren't home, and seriously, his owners are never home! And the more noise we make up here, even the very sound of our almost imperceptible breathing, really any wave length of sound emitting from my apartment keeps this dog going like it's related to the damn energizer bunny.

And if it were bunny season... I'm just saying, I'm completely ready with my insanity plea.

Which is why I'm sitting here, typing all this with my earphones in (as I am wont to do when I'm writing) to block out the sound of the baying wonder mutt and because I was looking for a reason to stay up just a bit longer listening to my new Eagles CD though that may be more to do with the pot of coffee I made earlier that's got me more wired than tired.

But seriously, I already know I'm going to regret whatever time it will be that I go to bed tonight, and the alarm I'm going to ignore in the morning. I am however about to go catch the last few minutes of Project Runway before the songs on this CD pull on any more of my heart strings, that for the sake of my sanity aren't in any need of plucking right now.

Of course now that the neighbors are home, and the dog has gone mute, the volume on their TV is so loud, I might as well be sitting on their couch sharing a bowl of popcorn... And if there's one thing I know, I hate popcorn on almost any occasion.

Going to bed with earplugs...

Cleaning Up Clutter

Tidying up a bit has kept me unpleasantly occupied these past few hours. Still a distraction - even when it requires getting your clean on - is a far better companion than that of silence. And perhaps silence is telling me I've one more towel to throw into that proverbial wash cycle of life regardless of how many times I've attempted to hear and yet ignore that message.

Chalking this one up to nary a clue

Stacey... Over, out and off to bed...

An Odd Assortment

Emma got wind that Tavi made the blog pages last week and has put up such a fuss, that I'm giving in to her demands and posting (for your viewing pleasure) Emma sacking out on the forbidden couch. Forbidden as in no cat is supposed to even think about looking at it, let alone being on it... Of course, what they do when I'm gone, or truth be told even when I'm here, happens to be pretty much one and the same.

In other news, I picked up pictures today from this weekends "animalfest" at church... Not exactly finger licking good, but these chickens have still got it going on.
I also believe I promised something about posting that picture of my Dad and his lawn mowing buddy... I've heard of dueling banjos, but dueling lawn mowers may be a bit much. Still it is ridiculously cute. Live action however is much better, as this shot didn't do any justice to all the big cheesy grins and the high fiving that was going on. Of course, if my Dad caught wind that I was posting this picture on here he'd have a total meltdown and I'd be grounded...
Speaking of my Pops, ever since they brought home their new dog Isabella (with so many middle names I can't even begin to remember them all) it's all KC has been talking about. So if any of you out there know of anyone willing to make her wish come true with a free (note the word FREE as there is no way on earth I will ever pay as much as they did for this dog) Miniature Italian Greyhound, y'all just let me know...

A Few Of My Favorite Things

Sometimes when you're feeling a bit nostalgic, it's good to remember the little things in life that make you smile and give you joy...

Here are just a few of mine. Perhaps if you have a moment, you might share a few of yours.

A good book.

Snowflakes.

A warm and snuggly quilt.

Spending an afternoon with a friend.

Laughter.

Decorating for Christmas.

Family.

Hot cocoa.

Making someone smile.

Crafting with kids. (Before the tug of war starts with the supplies.)

A quiet night with the twinkle of a thousand stars above.

Because You Can...

I'm about to go hang out with some chicks... And some ducks. Possibly some geese and maybe a few rabbits. Most definitely a cow. Perhaps even a llama. There will not however be any water buffalo to contend with, much to my disappointment.

And once again... Someone said, "Sure thing!" when she meant to say, "No way." Proof positive that I've really got to practice on my just say no skills before Nancy Reagan begins to think I'm completely hopeless... All kidding aside, if I am going to say yes to something, a good cause is always worth my time. And it does have a way of making me thankful - yes, thankful - for all the blessings that I do have.

** After post note **

Bren and I opted to share in the responsibility of donating a flock of chicks today.

If YOU can, and if YOU will, even if you can't do it all on your own, I urge you to give of yourself what you can, if you can... The greatest gift after all is not the one you receive, it's the one you give away.

Heifer International
Be the difference.

Online Gift Catalog
Make a difference.

Nocturnal Noises

There's no reason to go to bed tonight. No where to go tomorrow. Nothing but me, and time to tick, tick away until KC comes home from her Dad's. So it's just me and some music on the grand piano in my mind, bringing down these midnight hours...

I wish I had a story to tell tonight. Not that I'm very much awake to begin to tell a tale. With my eyes barely open, I can barely manage tapping in the words in the order they're determined to go. Motivation without direction without the wherewithal to stay awake much longer.

I like that sentence. Maybe we should say it again.

Motivation without direction without the wherewithal to stay awake much longer.

Maybe this is wanting to be a poem tonight... One moment while I invoke my inner Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, Adrienne Rich, and Louise Gluck... When the sentence wants to become a poem, one can only follow where it demands us go.

We'll start again...

Motivation without direction
without the wherewithal to stay awake much longer. She is easily distracted
and cannot form a thought that doesn't have something to do
with the things she said she wasn't going to
talk about anymore.
The things she said she wasn't going to do.

She shrugs her shoulders, smiles and gives a laugh.
Marks herself down for a point against herself and
decides to go to bed.

Mouse Hunt

My cat is stalking the linen closet. And honestly, I'm getting a little concerned that there just may be something I might not want to know about in there because tonight is the second night Tavi has stationed herself right outside its door.

My worst fear is that somehow a mouse could have crawled up the heating duct and is now hiding out - or at least attempting to hide out in the closet. And as much as I know I need to just suck it up, put on my Nancy Drew cap and take a look, I so don't want to know.

Because if I know and if I find something (a) I will scream and (b) I'll have no choice but to deal with it and D-Con is not a viable option.

Updates to follow on the possible mamalmas rodentia outbreak... (And no, those aren't real words - at least as far as I can tell, but I liked the sound of them.)

Happy Birthday To Me

So... It's my birthday. And that being said, I've know reached the point in my life where I have to actually say I'm thirty-three.

Eeeew... I don't like typing that, let alone saying that...

I'm going to have to re-think this enjoying my birthday as a national holiday thing. And really, that being said, shouldn't I be able to skip work today?

Outrageous Beauty

I am making muffins to take to church. Making muffins because for some stupid reason, every time someone sticks a sign-up sheet in front of my face, I lose all my ability to pass it on and say the word no. In other words, if there's a sucker born every minute, I may as well keep my hand raised up for the duration.

The problem is I'm at war with my own beliefs... Because I am one of those people who believe in the best of people.

I believe because I want to believe that each one of us truly does have the kind of qualities necessary to redeem ourselves at the end of the day. I believe because I have seen outrageous beauty in people who claim they are uglier than the ugliest person of all. I believe because I believe in this little thing called hope and hope has made me a believer that truth and beauty were created to be as one. But I believe most of all because I need to believe that there will come a day when someone will see all of this in me, even on the days when I don't see any of this in myself.

But I would be lying if I didn't say that there are those who walk among us who will prove my theory wrong. Prove it grievously wrong time and time again. Measuring their joy by the number of your tears, by how many times your soul cries out with a keening wail. It is hard to see, let alone admit that there could be any beauty left to exist in these kind of people. Those that choose to take and not give back. Those that will promise but breach their promises time and time again. Those that will raise their voice as well as their hand in anger. The kind that will push you away and still long to keep some part of you near. And they will take, and continue to take just as long as you bleed with your willingness to give.

And I am the kind of person who doesn't know when it's time to stop giving more than she can take. Born with the belief that everything on earth needs saving, from the orphan bird fallen from the nest high up in the tree, to the man who doesn't know how and in truth doesn't want to put the alcohol away.

It turns out I can't save everyone... And there are days I don't even think I'm doing a good job of saving myself.

There are days I still wake up black and blue with so many bruises on my heart I don't think I'll ever be able to get over them all. There are days when the tears win and my smile fades into obscurity. Days when I just don't feel like getting out of bed. Days when I pray to God to give me strength to move myself through the motions of another day. Nights when I pray to God to explain all that can't be explained. Moments when I know I'm hearing the answer I need to hear and moments when silence is the only sound that doesn't bother to reply.

But I do believe. Believe that inside of each and every one of us, there is still untapped outrageous beauty we're meant to share with the world... Share with each other.

Good Things

Good and unexpected things can come from having a flat tire. Like leaving work early on a Friday afternoon.

And I feel at peace. Content. A feeling I've been missing for so long. And I want to smile and laugh, and call my friends and say, "I think I found myself today at Barnes and Noble. I think I found myself today while I was walking all alone out in the cold. I think I found myself today when I smiled and it wasn't a fake smile. I think I found myself over a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a french baguette. I think I found myself and oh my God, I didn't even realize that I've been missing..."

And what I'm not going to do is negate this feeling. No staying at home and settling in for the night with my face in a book while life is living it up all around me...

Not me. Tonight I'm going to surround myself with friends, good conversations and wish myself some pre-birthday wishes for my thirty-third year here on Earth...

Restaking A Claim For Balance

Balance.

Without it my life topples over. And I forget just how delicate it can sometimes be. Temperamental like a child. Her eyes defiant and filled with silent words and censure. Drawing the line... Always daring you, cross...

Things get out of place. Little piles here and there. Bills paid and unpaid scattered across the top of the coffee table in the living room, set aside for another time. Another frame of mind. Waiting for a later that doesn't come for weeks.

And the house begins to absorb the confusion you don't see. Closing you in with arms of clutter to hold you tight until you almost feel secure until you remember just how insecure you really are.

It takes a moment of clarity and light. One good lightning strike to wake you from your walking dream. To realize that balance doesn't mean having to get your shit together all at once. It's just one item at a time. One piece of paper filed away. One dirty dish washed and put away. One trip round the coffee table with a dusting cloth. One load of laundry. One bed made in the morning...

Bedtime Bits

I've absolutely nothing to say tonight and the fact that it's bedtime means I'm not even going to try...

Oh well... At least this picture of Octavia - or Tavi as she's generally known about the house came out fairly decent.

Then again, the little neurotic beast never usually sits still long enough to get one.

Off to bed...

Not Making the Most of a Day

Yet another depressingly dull day not spent doing anything worth doing other than hiding out at home pretending I had something valid to do by sticking my nose in a book and waiting - as it seems I've forever waiting now - for my daughter to return home.

And perhaps the thought of this weekend which had been meant to be spent as a family weekend of sorts has only managed to disappoint me more by the fruitlessness of my own expectations when confronted by the reality of what is and continues to be a far cry from any idea of what the word family means in my own personal definition of the word.

I guess I'm just feeling all out of sorts and really not able to put things in perspective today. I'm crying at the drop of a hat, losing my temper over truly insignificant things and feeling altogether most unlike myself that even I don't want to be around me.

I have no words for it anymore that don't seem exhausted and tired and in my case as of late overused.

** And then she gets the brilliant idea to watch a DISNEY MOVIE (for the love of God) like that's going to cheer her up!!! Now I've got more tears, a headache, and yet more proof that Disney's got a thing for orphans...

The movie however - while animated - did have a good message overall... My opinion is watch Meet the Robinson's... Just make sure to keep your Advil and a cold compress on hand.

General Complaints

I'm forcing myself to write something this morning because I haven't felt much like writing at all this week. And I blame the whole time change thing which has set me so off my usual schedule that it's all I can do to keep myself awake after nine. Sad, I know but most unfortunately true...

Of course, on the bright side of the spectrum, I've been awake since six thirty this morning and already I've loaded the dishwasher, picked up KC's endless trail of nonsense in the living room, lit yet some more Partylite candles, fed the cats, and admired the color of the leaves gracing my neighbors lawn in bright reds and golds as snow falls in the smallest of flakes outside.

And I've no doubt that if I were just about twenty-five years younger than I am, I'd be out there right now piling those leaves up high and jumping in. Of course, that's not to say that I wouldn't do it now as I'm known for having more than my share of childish moments. Personally I think this whole growing up thing is way overrated. I mean yes, you can grow up but who among us really wants to? Anyone?

In other news, I get to make lasagna today. I'm almost excited about this but not quite. However in order to honor my family's request, I have taken on the task. Though it should be mentioned that I consider the making of lasagna a big waste of time, possibly because I'm not a big fan of it, and I would rather make something a little bit more complicated and far more delicious... The sensitive pallets of my respective family however has made this a moot point, so lasagna it is. Yay.

But back to this time change thing - which for whatever reason there are still people out there who haven't yet figured out that the whole process of revising time is quite ridiculous really... I'd like to point out a few facts, otherwise known as complaints against it.

JUST BECAUSE IT'S WINTER, DOESN'T MEAN...

We should make it easier to not see a deer on our way home from work. Add on hunting season to that, and it doesn't seem much of a bright idea at all...

I want the sunlight peeping into my bedroom windows encouraging me to do anything I don't already want to do. Waking up being one of those things on any given morning before the hour of nine.

Okay... These two things may be my only complaints although I could have sworn I had more earlier. But honestly can't we just leave well enough alone? I can't be the only one suffering from a confused circadian rhythm. I can't be the only one not still remembering what time it ought to be but isn't...

Bumps On and Off the Road

Another bad day at the office and I'm convinced it might be time to either (a) get off the I can't do it kick and write the novel I always talk about writing or (b) explore career options in other fields because I am (c) burned out and tired of doing what I do when I don't really love what I do at all...

All whining aside however the day started off with a bang, or rather with a thump I should say. Thump being the sound my front bumper made when it hit a metal post which I swear jumped in front of me like it had suicide on its mind. Needless to say I am neither (a) injured (b) thrilled or (c) happy about the new ding on my car. Thankfully however no major damage was done other than the damage to my pride which is pleading the 5th on how it is I managed to ding the damn pole in the first place.

In other news, I read a really great book over the weekend... And no, I'm not going to break it down into a book report for any of you. I will say however that if you're feeling spiritually lost this offers some new insights for getting yourself all pulled back together. And seriously, I'm going back into the book later tonight with an index card so I can write a few thoughts down to keep as reminders.

Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

My Excuse For Skipping Church

Were we supposed to change our clocks last night?

I woke up this morning making the conscious decision that staying in bed was a far better idea than going to church and that the novel I had meant to savor and take my time with was worth starting now rather than waiting a few hours of running here, there and everywhere just to get back to this moment. The moment when I decided not to go to church.

And then my phone rings.

Something it has not done a lot of this weekend - though truth be told I was no longer expecting it to, having come to the foregone conclusion that silence is an answer even when it's the wrong way to go about giving one.

That being said Brenda called and I missed the phone call. Missed, as defined as couldn't make up my mind if I wanted to break the news to her that I wasn't going to church and scared that she might try to guilt me into it. And so when it rang, I didn't pick it up. I decided to think about it.

And after thinking about it and subsequently getting very confused over the whole what time is it really thing, I called her back, thankfully to find that we're both on the same page this morning in our decision to stay home.

And yes, I know...

Skipping church is not a good idea even though the book I'm reading is all about one woman's spiritual quest with God... Though quite honestly, in the back of my mind, I've decided that somehow this does count as going to church albeit it's via my couch and my pj's and doesn't include, at least at this point any singing on my part.

Bookworm & Blogging

I was walking around with my nose in a book thinking about making breakfast and I thought of this... Sounds like it just might be the beginning of more thoughts to come.

I want the simple things in life.

Scones in the morning. Tea in the afternoon. Someone to steal the morning paper from so I can read the funnies before he can read the news.

I want the thought of my daughter upstairs asleep nestled in her warm cocoon to relax me and give me peace, while the cats sunning themselves from their bird watching position on the windowsill remind me that making the most out of every opportunity available is the spice of life.

What I really want is Sunday on Saturday morning. A week full of Sunday mornings. To slow down and take my time for little pleasures. No more short cuts to taking the long way around.

Time enough to savor every moment. Every smile. And every laugh.

We shouldn't need a recipe to know how to feel alive. Sometimes though, we need to remember how.

Listening...

I'm getting a little geeked up over these ridiculous Partylite candles I purchased a few weeks ago when my paycheck still felt like it was making a difference in my life. And then I bought these candles, spending far too much money on things I didn't really need but wanted just the same because I wanted my house to smell warm and spicy like a pumpkin pie baking in the oven.

And already, despite the earliness of the hour, my candles are already burning bright, their small flames flickering in beat to a music only they can hear, lighting this semi-darkness of dawn.

As for me, I'm sitting here in my pajamas, with a cat beneath my chair attacking my feet - listening to Dvorak's 1rst Movement from his New World Symphony. A song you can listen to for yourself if you're so inclined to do so by tuning yourself to the bottom of the page as noted in yesterday's post of irrelevant information and clicking on play...

The thing about classical music, at least what I've always loved about it is how so many different instruments can be layered, one on top of the other to create this dynamic movement of sound. This piece in particular is a good representation of a fugue, which can be explained by using simple sentence structure as an example. If I were to say a sentence and then you were to repeat that same sentence in verbatim to me, and then that same sentence was said by someone else, we'd have ourselves what in musical terms would be called a subject and an exposition. In other words, same sentence, different voices.

Or if you want the technical definition...

A fugue opens with one main theme, the subject, which then sounds successively in each voice in imitation; when each voice has entered, the exposition is complete; usually this is followed by a connecting passage, or episode, developed from previously heard material; further "entries" of the subject then are heard in related keys. Episodes and entries are usually alternated until the "final entry" of the subject, by which point the music has returned the opening key, or tonic, which is often followed by closing material, the coda.[4] [1] In this sense, fugue is a style of composition, rather than fixed structure. Though there are certain established practices, in writing the exposition for example,[5] composers approach the style with varying degrees of freedom and individuality.

I may have failed my Music Theory 2 class - because I was a teenager and therefore an obstinate pain in the arse more concerned with being cool and pretending not to care, than I was in writing the final assignment or in this case the music composition required for passing. The point is that even though I did fail, I still passed...

Because at the almost age of 33, I still almost know what I'm talking about and the truth is, I cared enough to listen.

I always have.

Stupid But True

Happy Dsylexic Birthday to me...

I can't help it... Find me a reason to celebrate and I'm on it like white on rice... Or perhaps I should say brown as that's the only color of rice I keep on hand in this house for cooking...

I put some new songs on the song thing at the bottom of the page... I found some of my favorite classical pieces and thought I'd share... Of course listening to them has tempted me to break out my flute and see if I can still remember how to play...

Maybe I'll try that... Just as soon as I get it fixed.

Help, Warmth and Guidance

I spent more than just a few minutes in prayer last night, apologizing as I usually do to God about my extreme lack of diligence and a faith that occasionally flounders when faced with a challenge.

Because every week at bible class the last question they ask of us is to answer when and where we've felt the presence of the holy spirit in our lives. And every week I feel like I'm Morales, from the musical "A Chorus Line" because my answer is always, "Nothing... I haven't felt it yet."

"And I dug right down to the bottom of my soul
To see how an ice cream felt.
Yes, I dug right down to the bottom of my soul
And I tried to melt."

Meanwhile everyone else is saying I've felt it here and I've felt it there and what shouldn't feel like a test is starting to feel like the test I'm failing. And I hate failing more than I hate not having any answer at all...

And so I prayed last night, casting up some of my concerns, making sure I said more prayers for other people than I said for myself just in case God keeps track of little things like that and I asked for help. A little warmth. A little guidance.

Maybe not everyone considers dreams the same way I do, like answers you can only get when you're sleeping and your brain isn't trying to find a way around a problem just because it's a problem that needs to be solved. Dreams are like a slow unwinding of information, conversations you'd have if you never had to worry about saying the wrong thing. Honest questions, honest answers...


And I woke up this morning feeling as if I'd been given the very best gift last night. I asked for help, warmth and guidance... And in my dream, I got my Grandma Angie. A pure and honest combination of all three.

And this feeling I have every time I think of her - which really is every day of my existence - this emptiness that aches deep down to my soul, felt full to the brim with her love. Safe... Like the child I was so long ago, a little girl who slept the weekend nights curled up next to her in bed and didn't need a night light so long as Grandma was right there.

Maybe this is what the holy spirit is... Maybe it's just love in whatever form it chooses to take.