Irritation

I think I'm getting a not quite Summer (looks nice but you need a sweatshirt, Spring - still) cold. I've always got allergies, and the long haired cat I call a house companion doesn't help much at all, neither do the fresh pink roses and white peonies cut from the yard, that's living, despite the discomfort! Anyhow, the stuffiness in my nose is heavier, holding council across my brow, down each side of my sinus and leaking out one nostril in a thin, clear wisp of irritation, and ultimately chapped, redness. Today I visited my allergist who was convinced I had moved to Napa, since he's not seen me in years - how had I managed, the truth, a tattered prescription for nasal steroid, used over, and over... then the desperate, pollenated call from beneath a towel breathing steam and eucalyptus. The denial of my allergy ridden life has not been a very successful war I've waged/suffered alone. My allergist looked at me with curious round eyes when I told him he only saw me every so often because I would wait until it was truly a burden in my life... not for any reason in particular, just that, I think, I still believe I will outgrow the annoyance completely. Every Spring I await mornings without the spasms of sneezing, itching eyes and swollen features. The elusive symptoms, apparently only active when I am conscious, wreak that particular havoc every morning as punishment for the hours free of their burden.

Achoo!

Memorial Day

The world seems very fragile, now. It is amazing to me how many times a day I hear of tragedy and death and hatred and disaster... and that is purely aural, no images involved, I don't have TV, just a dull murmur of public radio chatter, constantly. My heart strings are pulled daily with personal stories of strife and heartbreak and loss and pain. But, is this out of the ordinary, or a hypersensitive dramatized version of always? I think of those proselytizing souls taking their time and energy to, for decades it seems, post themselves on busy street corners, adorned in sandwich board wisdom and shouting "the truth", we are in the end of days... just read the Bible, it says so, and has been saying so for millennia.

Be that as it may, the world does seem vulnerable, or, angry, probably both, isn't that where much anger stems from? Yes the people do, they always are, but the Earth, the ground and heavens surrounding us, stormy, unstable, bustling with nervous energy, lashing out arbitrarily... and it makes the people even crazier than usual.

Marinating in a constant stream of dismay, or, several hours of news radio, daily... (and probably, my ever-onward march to middle age and motherhood) I have become a worrier about that which I cannot control, more than ever. Death seems to loom suspiciously around every corner, just listen to the news! Last week I felt a lurch in my belly and my heart rate quicken exponentially after hearing of a plane crash in Sao Paulo, Brazil... I have a friend there, or, his home address is there, but I actually had no idea where he was in the world on that day, but that "plane crash" and he merged into one news story in my overly active imagination. I was absolutely panicky... texting and emailing, frantic. I combed the internet for a shred of information, knowing his name would be highlighted somewhere in the coverage, dreading it. It feels needless to say that this was my own exercise in mania...

Regardless of my Pisces tendency to over emotionalize anything, everything and nothing... the intimidation of a world that takes life so ruthlessly and so unexpectedly has paralyzed a part of me, a cavalier piece that seems to have vanished from my personality, entirely.

Proof that my mom is cooler than yours

Oh the treasure one can find when spring cleaning in your childhood home...

Bah!

Way back in March I was so happy. Everything seemed to be going great. I had that elusive, calm, soothed spirit, that feeling I can only describe as intense "aloha". I think I even wrote a line about 'the world spinning my way' or something else equally as naive and cocky. I was holding my chin up high on the sunny side of the street and truly expected things to stay that way... all of life's strife behind me, walking on into Happy Land, with bags packed to stay. It's funny when you feel that kind of (hormonal) high akin to falling in love, but not with anyone in particular... with everyone and everything. It can be so deceptive... it must be why mother's everywhere tend to get itchy with nerves when things are too good... too calm.

March seems a year away from me, truly the time and space between us is perceptively gigantic for me. The good things are so good, yet so clouded in space and removal, in emotional distance, in self preservation, in fear. I have had a tough time judging up from down and reality is always just this side of the road, the side I don't trust as much, I pause and look around myself and think, "Is this really happening?" more often than is comfortable.

That up from down, good from bad, black from white dilemma keeps posing itself, and on top of everything else, it's posing in disguise... just for fun, I guess. "Here I am, I love you... I'm outta here, I hate you," it seems to laugh spitefully, mockingly, stupidly. I keep wondering how I keep getting fooled, then I keep wondering, and then I keep getting fooled... sometimes, not always, not black, not white, probably more grey. The huge highs followed by pounding swells of disappointment have been exhaustive. The brain power devoted to their mysteries, maddening! The sheer size of their outlandish displays of lunacy have left craters of confusion so big I believe my brain will implode like a black hole, a black hole of the unasked and unanswered.

love don't live here anymore

I recently had one of the saddest moments in my life pass me by, without much fanfare, and with a dead-weight thump in my heart. I don't know what is the worst thing to witness, but I assume it includes abuse, death and gore... so far, the worst thing I have ever witnessed was someone nosedive off of their own pedestal, a self indulgent leap into the shallows, regard thrown aside. I built the pedestal, of a good design and solid construction... it was built to stand forever, a safe place where the sun shone, but it was cracked with the hefty swing of a blunt and rude instrument, it crumbled to rubble, when the dust cleared, it was an ugly and cruel reminder that you never really know anyone.

Slumming

The last time I thought I was in love was fun and fast and over pretty quick. It is good that it was over quick... within the first date I witnessed 3 negative marks from my own list of "relationship" criteria (on which there are a minor 10 items, so 3 is pretty bad). I knew these things, and still I marched onward with reckless abandoned.

The first time I met him he was dressed in an all-white, western-cut suit and white hat, and part of a bluegrass ensemble all dressed just like him... dreamy. He was the mandolin player in that band, and it was like meeting Elvis... he was the one, and I knew it immediately, and he was, the one, the only one, for two months.

He was also the bass guitarist in a honky tonk band... exclusively, by the time we began dating, the white suit and hat were a thing of the past. Bar rooms, whiskey shots and risky women abound, I loved it, for those two months. In retrospect, two months was probably just about the length of time I could convince myself I could live this way.

These boys had serious love affairs with very dangerous men, and although I have tremendous commonality with that, it wasn't such a good match. They wanted to be Merle Haggard and Waylon Jennings... all nighters and beer hangovers were their idea of a good time, and it was, for... two months.

Tonight I happened across their recorded "Portland sessions", before their album came out, if their album came out... and realized that I don't even have the final mixes to these songs I soaked into my consciousness that one Summer. Timidly, I put the CD in, and was pleased to realize that, aside from my blind-love for a boy, deeply entrenched in a lifestyle I would never be able to embrace, I still like his music, silly as it is.

Songs like, "Either Way We're Fucked", and "Livin' on Pabst Blue Ribbon", not to mention, "Too Broke to Overdose" reminded me of the disparity factor... while, "Be My Crutch" made me misty with those memories of drunken whispers.

That boy, I understand, made his way to Tennessee, I hope that means Nashville.

Be Stoked

Wonderful things are happening.

Personally a not-so-landmark birthday just passed (unless you consider that I now have 5 years 'til 4-0). The Earth seems to be spinning with my little universe at the moment... or, following it's lead comes easier to me right now. I have so many things to be happy about and I truly am. I have so many people to love, and for a girl who has cried loneliness for most of these 35, I've finally realized that love is present even when those that are loved are not.

I became an aunt on March 5th, unofficially, but as close as I'll get. The birth of this baby boy to my dearest friend has touched my heart in a much different way than any other baby welcoming I have done. I know this has less to do with this baby, or even my friend, but with me. With this child my capacity for loving increased, maybe one full size.

My oldest friend started this whole marriage and child bearing adventure already many years ago, and frankly, I just couldn't relate... until maybe right now. This is not an "Earth Mother" cry for pregnancy and babies, let alone husbands... more an affirmation that I am growing up, and it feels good.

Getting close to the children of my friends, and to them, again, is important to me. Being nice to my parents is important to me. Being in touch with everyone I want in my life is important to me. Being calm and happy and kind is important to me. Loving myself as much as I love others is important to me. Not taking this life for granted is the most important thing ever, and I just discovered it.