ummm. hi.

the second the coin hit bottom
the clicking sound of acceptance
anonymity as the ring began
gone are the days of the pay phone call
gone are the days of the crank
of the hang up

did we lose something when technology caught up with us? did the thrill of surprise escape us? or has the mobile phone, computer age and caller ID made us all noticeable, mysteriousness escaping us, leaving us displayed in a connected non-shadow.

i remember as a young girl the thrill of crank calling at a slumber party...boys from school not knowing who we were. slyness cloaking our need to just hear for one second the life of someone we had a crush on, on the other end of the line. talking to boys was fun then. asking them questions, when playing coy was an innocent game but not really a game.
i remember how we thought if we just wore the right outfit, if we just played the right game, they would like us. for maybe just one second the world lifted up, the fluttering began in our stomachs.

now in our adult years, how much has it changed? really. people flock to websites. they think they can put up a front..the about me's; the interests; the music and books to impress...intrigue until you meet, finally over at an innocently expectant drink. then it hits you...how similar it is to being young again. guards are all up, the best photos posted... when in reality it's all just the same.

people want to be liked and they put their best foot forward. when in reality, all we need is a little reality. not watered down. not fantasy. but a good dose of the real us. the real you. and a connection not found in a world made up of zeros and ones.

Floods and signs

Last night I dreamt of floods. Floods took over all of Nashville. The only areas where you could be free and dry of all the water was on the highest overpasses of the highway system. It was one of those dreams where cities from your past present themselves in small unexpected ways. The waters of the Cumberland slowly merging and then mixing with the dirty brown waters of the Houston Brazos river. The two waters coming together in the dream were hesitant at first like two apprehensive hands coming together for a handshake, and then as the force of nature pulled them together, there was no visibly discernible difference between the waters. People grabbed onto table tops, some had boats, others just simply drifted along in a quiet and accepting back stroke/float. There was no panic, no cries. Just a simple acknowledgment of "hey this sucks" and then "well, shit happens". Della Robbia sofas floated by with beautiful textiles browning from the muddy waters, artwork dotted the waters with vibrant colors, and strips of white reflective tape from the highway danced on top of the water breaks.

After having dreams such as these, I wonder the significance. Why did my mind conjure up these images? Floods typically mean "emotional issues and tension". And all I can think is what? me? never.

It's rare to actually have time to sit and think these days. That is, unless the flu takes over your body and you end up in bed for 3 days. Unfortunately, the kind of thinking that occurs is more of the "no one loves me, woe is me" kind of crap. Needless to say, I am still not feeling so very optimistic today. I am beginning to need a sign. A sign I can grab onto in the middle of flood filled streets....a beacon of hope to help guide me back to my usual state of optimism. I guess when you ask for a sign, it doesn't really present itself.

from my past.

Insomniac
by. ms. plath

The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole ---
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.

He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue ---
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.

His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.

Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.

turn up the music, take me over, take me anywhere....

i love...obviously...:
1. my family both immediate (my mom and daddy are fantastic) and the family i have made here in nashville.
2. jill, ollie, leia, richie, elijah, molly, stephanie & charles, cameron, allison....etc, etc.
3. modern design, mid-century modern.
4. modern art.
5. vintage furniture, art, objects.

things you might not have known i love:
1. cooking for friends over many bottles of wine and great conversation.
2. the way flour feels on my hands and between my fingers.
3. picking dead leaves off of house plants.
4. the smell of dirt and soil.
5. watching movies over and over until they are so funny i can't stand it.
6. annabelle sleeping in a curled up ball (i can't believe she can get so small) next to me in bed.
7. the way annabelle gets insanely excited when i say "annabelle, outside?"
8. clean sheets right when i have had a shower and shaved my legs (weird, yes. i know.)
9. good lighting. mostly modern classic pcs, but good overall "lighting" in general. dark and comfortable...not glaring.
10. walnut wood. i love the grain and color.
11. george harrison, frida, marimekko, jonathan adler, angela adams.
12. henna orange, the palest blue, and marine blue/green.
13. coffee on sundays when i have nowhere to go and i can sit and drink as much as i want, as slow as i want with friends coming and going not caring if i am still in my pj's and no makeup.
14. my house almost anytime.
15. being able to remember most of my dreams. reliving them all day the next day. flying in my dreams. lucid dreams.
16. white. pottery, furniture, lighting, dishes...etc, etc.
17. hardware stores. i get so INTO them. it's hard to focus.
18. my backyard after dark when i am all alone and the sky is clear. being able to find the little dipper and seeing where it is in proximity to my home.
19. small town feelings (east nashville) and big city anonymity.
20. great music that makes me forget who i am and then remind who i am 4 seconds later.
21. getting postal mail from someone i love (postcard, letter, card...a nice little hello) it makes me smile.
22. people who "get" me.
23. researching. learning. exploring.
24. black and white photographs. old. new. people i know. people i don't.
25. spending the day completely alone with nothing to do. (only every once in a while)
26. slightly damp paper.


things i don't like AT ALL:
1. arguments that don't go anywhere.
2. unfounded judgement.
3. ignorance.
4. being ignored.
5. my computer freezing (which hardly happens...its an apple)
6. people misusing "in regards to" (it's "in regard to")
7. holes in my socks.
8. overdraft fees.
9. car trouble.
10. misunderstandings.
11. assholes. bitches. with no reason.
12. the last sip of beer.. when its warm and ick.
13. seeing my friends in pain or suffering in emotional turmoil and knowing there isn't anything i can do to help.
14. seeing stray dogs or cats.

Hussein

I must be more compassionate than I thought. I am so very disturbed by the public execution of Saddam Hussein. I have always been one to believe rotting in jail is more punishment than capital punishment and this situation is no different. I understand all the points which have been made- a coup could free him from prison, thus allowing him the opportunity to gain power again….etc, etc. I am conflicted...but I think Gandhi said it best, "The law an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."

me?

me?
i wear a monocle.
it allows me to see half of what i need.

do i really need to see the rest?
what's the point?
everyone shows what they want.
anyway.

things.

for the last few weeks i have been attempting to post an update on what is going on in my little part of this world we ride. unfortunately i have not been able to do so...and tonight is not any different.

things have happened. things i wanted to happen. things i didn't want to happen. things i didn't see coming. things i may have missed while i was focusing my attention elsewhere... and all i can do is hang on for the ride...sometimes paddling along to help out the momentum and other times dragging my heels to slow it all down.

i had a conversation with my granny on christmas eve. she is a lovely and insightful woman. she told me, "you just have to stay positive, you just have to keep moving forward." Forward motion has been my mantra for years and years now...someone wise from my past believed in it too. i thank him for that...but i wonder if i am missing out on things while i am moving forward, am i moving at a pace where my fate can't catch up with me?

this isn't going anywhere and it seems cryptic, but in my head, its a jumbled mess...and if the output is jumbled, maybe that's the way it has to be for a while. maybe i'll get it all sorted out in the new year.

here's hoping.

ps. things=things. don't attempt to read into it.