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Archive for the ‘friendship’ Category

A day ago, or a few days ago, or every day, a woman was out on her lawn on a mattress that she had pulled out and laid in the center because, “I like to sleep in the sun.” And she was doing just that, she was asleep and the sun was pouring down on her and moving its way underneath her skin and making her brown and warm and smell like the earth, and that’s when her boyfriend came around the corner and covered her in gasoline and lit her a flame. Did anyone even hear about this? I like to imagine that as the gasoline poured down her face and over her body she was dreaming of being a little girl in the bathtub when her mama would bathe her. Except, she was full sized and the bathtub was huge and her mama was even huger. As the gasoline ran down her face and over her hair she dreamed of her mama with a big plastic cup and her hand sheilding her eyes. She was singing “Amazing Grace” and the warm water was running down her cheeks and over her shoulders and the bathtime suds were floating in the water around her. When he lit the match and threw it over her body I imagine that she had a brief moment where she thought the sun was just too hot, and that maybe she should go inside and get a glass of sweet tea, but then the flames burned so fast and so hot that her body turned the heat into cold and she considered a blanket, but was just too tired to get one, and so instead she slept and slept and slept inside the warm sunlight.

Things like this have been keeping me up at night. This, and scenes from the Holocaust that I’ve been reading for class, and the chance images of men and women being shot in the streets of some place far far away from me popping up on screen while momma daddy baby and me had dinner. I don’t think I fear for myself or for pain or for death. I feel peaceful about these processes, that this is just a body and that death and life intermingle and get tangled up and are just more pieces of existence and non-existence. But, I worry about the babe. My thoughts center around keeping him safe, away from fear. I worry, if we were taken away somewhere, carted off in the darkness, what would I do? Could I hold on tight enough, sing loud enough, smile convincingly enough to drown out the blanket of fear? I know that I have to let these things go, that they are outside of my control. I know that I need to just relax and enjoy the softness of his cheeks and the way that his breath still smells faintly of milk. And while I love his sweet rolls and the way he clings to me, I do have an inkling of desire for the days when he will be giant and strong and be able to destroy armies and catch bullets in his hands.

What, readers, are your fears? Do you fear the things that go bump in the night?

When I get restless like this I cut my hair. I had my dear Jessie to help me this time.

This is new.

In the sunshine.

Frrriieeeennndddssss

Mon Bebe

More on life later.

 

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Good early morning to everyone out there who is up and grasping gasping clinging to their pieces of aloneness, like me. Even when there are pieces of toys all over the floor and dishes to wash and clothes strung up on the lamp shades, I’m alone I’m alone I’m alone, and it’s nice.

Today was a beautiful day. Maybe not as beautiful as those days that came before it, weather wise, and maybe the babe and I spent most of it sitting around playing Legos and watching cartoons and listening to French music, but it was beautiful. Beautiful because the babe was happy all day. The perfect little person, who giggled and occupied himself with toys and got on all fours with me to play puppy. Who, when asked if he wanted a drink would reply, “Oh, no sanks you”, and who sang frere jaque to me and who danced a silly dance and shook his booty with me, even when usually he would tell me to stop, “No, stop mama, don’t shake that booty”. It was beautiful because we were happy, and we ventured outside even, and outside I looked over at where kitten is buried and today I didn’t cry. Today I let go a little more and said to myself, “It will be okay, this will all be okay.”

Today was even more beautiful because today (okay, let’s go with technically yesterday, but I haven’t slept yet, so it’s today), is my Grandma’s birthday! I’m not going to say how old, because I’m not sure about the manners surrounding that, but I will say that she is marvelous. One of the most important people in my life. A lot of the time when I write, I’m writing for her. Not necessarily to make her proud, because I know that simply in writing, in doing something I love, I’ve made her proud, but more just because I’d like to show her that little piece published one day and make her smile. Hopefully, the babe and I will get to spend an extended weekend with her and the dogs. We both like it there, and there more than anywhere else my soul feels at rest.

So, readers out there where ever you are, I’m going to retire tonight with a smile and hope for more days filled with sunshine and rainclouds and beauty. Cheesy, yeah yeah, but I deserve cheese sometimes.

What fills your days with beauty?

Oh lookie, a bird of paradise!

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Tonight I found myself with my arms wrapped around the tree-trunk chest of my dog. I rubbed my nose on his fur and held on. I held him like he was a person, a friend, a family. I haven’t done that in a long time. I haven’t run my hands down the creases of his face or let him press his big head into my hip either.

I spent this Thursday out with one of my dearest friends that I see all too little. We met a nice boy with a nice accent and she said, “Isn’t sad that we’ll never again love like we did with our first love?”, and it’s true. Our hearts will always be a little protected and a little worn and a little broke up. We’ll always smile for our new lovers when we may have cried for our first.

This is how I feel about the dog. When I held on to Sully I had to tell myself to breath out, to let go. I had to tell myself that I could hold and and cuddle him and speak softly like I did to Tiny and to Cleatus before him. I told myself that it was okay to see him as more than just Dog, or more than just a fleeting moment of happiness that will run out before I would be able to grab onto it, that it would be more pain than comfort. With Sully I’ve found myself holding back. Maybe because he’s not my first dog. He’s not full of the promise of maybe a life time together. He limps with the promise of an early death and another day week month lifetime of heartache.

But this isn’t how we are supposed to love. Maybe I need to love harder, knowing that the love that I get and give is so restricted by time.

I think of the kitten similarly. Some days I want to give up. The simple stroke of fur seems almost too little of a reward. Almost. Then, I see him sitting there. He is calm and he observes me. He likes to watch us now. And maybe he’s teaching me something. There’s something encouraging in the silences between us and in the ways he’ll stay within earshot just to watch us. Maybe the lesson is that it’s okay to love someone without being able to grasp them at all.

These pictures don’t fit the blog, but I was never good at that anyway.

Rainy day adventures

Oh look, a puddle

Cue nice weather, we sat in the car and rocked out to Metallica

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It’s been a while since I’ve been around these parts.  I’ve been in the midst of a hurricane of school work, scrambling to graduate in December.  I’ve also woken up covered in diarrhea, vomit, tears the past week.  No, I have not clinked chardonnay glasses one too many times.  Yes, both me and the Babe ended up with the stomach flu.  It was the Babe that was taken down first.  Right before I left for French class he wandered outside with the G-pa to take a swim, let out a pitiful cry, and then projectile vomited a days worth of half-chewed hot dogs and tea all over the pool deck.  My poor sweetie, he’s never experienced the sensations associated with major stomach upset before and wasn’t sure what to do.  He was scared.  He wimpered, “Mommy”, and I cried along with him because all you can do in that situation is wait.  He galloped between sessions of serious tummy troubles where he laid out on the floor and whimpered before I helped him hover over a big blue vomit bowl, and running around the room laughing in glee.  Babies are the strangest creatures.  His troubles lasted about 48 hours, and where his ended mine began.  Needless to say, I wasn’t as exuberant as dear babe in the throes of my affliction. But, enough about vomit.  Today is more special than stomach flu.

Today is devoted to one of the most important people in my life.  Today is for my dear friend, J-to the essie.  She turned the big 25 two days ago, when I had originally intended to write this blog, but got caught up in life.  Her, the babe and I all went on a journey to the beach.  We watched the waves while we sunk ourselves into the shoreline and the surfers on the horizon played God’s game with the sharks at their toes.  We pondered the notion that the babe would one day be a surfer, and then rejected, remembering that most surfers are elitist assholes who think that the sea and the beach and the sky all belong to them.  From the beach we went to hang out adult style and dance and forget who we are and where we came from and where we’re going.  We evoked the name of Buddha and laughed about our existence and insisted that we did indeed exist.

It’s hard for me to describe what my J-to the-essie means to me.  At times she has been a mystery that I’ve wanted to pry open and untangle and set straight.  She’s tall and thin and fashionable.  She’s all made up of art; an amazon with poetry lips.  Most of the time I just want to sit with her and talk about all the things that most others wouldn’t understand.  Or laugh about jokes that we came up with years and years ago.  Mostly, I just love her.  Because she’s special and a mix of artsy nerdy doesn’t fit in, and Latina goddess.

This one goes out to all best friends.

😀

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Sorry I’m a little late today, folks, but here’s the picture:

Me-12:00

I didn’t even look at this one after I took it.  I figured if it didn’t look wonderful and sexy and sumptuous, it would at least look happy.  And it does.  The reason?  The little guy and I slept in, almost till noon (see, that’s me, still in bed!).  We cuddled and giggled and had a good wake up.

I could go on and on about what is unsatisfying in this picture, but I won’t.  All that I need to know is that I look happy, and I am happy.  Not only that, but that smile set the stage for the rest of the day.

Last night I was left full hearted after spending time with a group of friends that I rarely get to see.  I was there with one of the best friends, and I remarked that we were in a Jack Kerouac novel, where the two feathered birds flew in circles over our heads, and the multicolored glass bottles gleamed like fireflies on their way out.  Then we laughed at how stupid that sounds.

When I got home my stomach was protesting in fits of piss and bile.  Possibly from the hidden celiac’s disease and the copious amounts of pasta I consumed for dinner.  I pushed it down for a bit and snuggled with Baby, who was surprisingly happy and upbeat, an unexpected surprise as his separation anxiety has been at full mast lately.  Then it pulled up again as I took little bit up to bed.  I closed my eyes and assumed the fetus position, telling Baby, “Sorry Baby Face, mama feels so sick”, to which he responded, “I have ‘sage?”.   I figured he wasn’t referencing the herb, but couldn’t glean the meaning of his words, so I said, “Yes baby, whatever you want.”  My main goal at that point was to avoid destroying the bed with a waterfall of vomit.  Then, baby commenced to placing his little hands all over my back, rubbing in tiny circles.  ‘Sage, massage.  Then he leaned over my shoulder, rubbed my arms, and said, “Feel better, Mama?”.  I may have spent the rest of the night curled up on the bathroom floor, but at that moment, indeed, I did.

"Feel better, Mama?"

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There’s a little black and white stripped kitten that is hanging out in my parents backyard, despite the presence of our nearly 200 lb mastiffe.  He mews at me from afar.  A little helpless mew that is just begging for a good kitten snuggle.  I’ve been feeding him cans of tuna in an attempt to bribe him to my fingertips, but every time I make a move in his direction he darts off like the little tease he is.  Finicky bastard.

This is as close as Kitten Little lets me get.

Baby is happy to watch from afar, splashing around in the pool.

I’m not even sure I like cats.  They come out cute and puffy with those big eyes and that little mew voice, but before you know it they’re all claws and teeth and piss.  This kitten looks like he’s the type.  Wiley, skinny, giant green eyes that are just oozing cute innocent kitten.  I know the risks, but over the past two days it has become my own personal goal to harness my animal spirit skills and give this kitty a proper ear scratch.  It is a healthy obsession, and more than that, it has distracted me from life events that I would rather not be a part of.

The first being the three year anniversary of my sisters death.  The day always creeps up on me, it’s like this terrible heaviness that sits inside of me and makes me smell of rot and feel even worse.  I was determined to make it a beautiful day, wonderful and full of hope.  I was determined to bask in the happiness that my sister afforded me in her life and to try to push away all memories of the day of her death.

Unfortunately, fate, or god, or the universe fucking hates me.

My dog, Tiny, that my family has had since we lived in our old house, went into cardiac arrest.  His heart gave away and his lungs filled with fluid.  We spent a night listening to him hack and pant, which isn’t that unusual since he was about 14 years old and he was always old manning it, clearing his throat, shedding, farting.  But this time the pants were heavier and his tick rottweiler tail didn’t quiver in gleeful anticipation of our touch.  We took him to the vet, the vet told us the news, and we all took turns patting and kissing him until it was time for him to go.  I sat with him so he wasn’t scared and stroked his face.  He relaxed and smiled and seemed okay with going, and then his eyes got a little dim and it was all over.

Even though I know he hurt, I feel like in some way I did him a disservice.  I keep thinking about if he wasn’t ready to go.  I keep thinking that maybe he would still be okay, or we could have done more, even though the vet said we couldn’t.

His face smelled like a sweet dust.  Always kind of perfumy.  I liked to hold my cheek to his and smell him,  he would tap his tail to the ground and smile at me when I did. And I miss that the most.

Part of me wants to believe that Tiny chose this day with more knowledge than I have.  That he wanted to help heal me.  That by being beside him when he died, and knowing that he was soft and peaceful and gone when he was gone, would give me some kind of closure.  That he was healing all of us.  I’m just not so sure I believe in that.  I’m not so sure it makes anything hurt less.

My two favorite lady friends came to cheer me up, and to take me out dancing.  Sometimes I feel like maybe I’m too high maintenance of a friend/lover/person.  Like I have so many things that I’m sensitive to, and so many times where I need a helping hand, that I’m just not worth it.  My two best of friends proved to me that I am worth it.  That I always will be.  I am eternally grateful to them for all the love and happiness they give to me, and last night when we danced we were the hottest ladies in the club, and I laughed and smiled sincerely, even if there was sadness behind it, I was free and happy for at least a couple of hours.

I will continue to stalk this kitten.  With every can of tuna he/she/it sneaks closer.  The kitten reminds me of sister in a lot of ways and his presence seems like another coincidence that isn’t so coincidence.  It makes me happy that even if this little pussy runs when I get within 5 feet of it, it comes out mewing when I call.

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