Wednesday, April 29


Left work last night
completely satisfied.
Glad to go home,
glad to leave behind completion.
I walked into a
quiet night,
low moon,
crisp air,
grass twinkling under foot.

A lovely spring is taking shape.

Tuesday, April 28

Happy Belated Easter

Last night as we were making a late dinner, Tom opened the cupboard and said, "Oh."

I turned to my beloved, waiting for the epiphany, thinking it must be some declaration regarding food in the cupboard. He continued, "I think there's a chocolate bunny under the passenger seat in the old car. I'm gonna go get it. It's probably still good, right?"

And away he went to retrieve it.

Monday, April 27

A Gem

Jewel is one of my most favorite musical artists. I've been going through all of my music on shuffle and every time one of her songs pops up my heart lifts a little. In particular, I love her album 'Pieces of You' because of all the acoustic tracks and maybe, just maybe, because I've been listening to it for 15 years. The songs are non-conventional (in a good way) and just a treat to hear. She is a true poet and her lyrics always move me with their honesty. If you haven't explored the wonder of Jewel, perhaps I can entice you with this -- one of my favorites:

"Morning Song"

Let the phone ring
Let's go back to sleep
Let the world spin outside out door,
You're the only one that I wanna see
Tell your boss you're sick, hurry, get back in I'm getting cold
Get over here and warm my hands up, boy, it's you they love to hold
And stop thinking about what your sister said
Stop worrying about it, the cat's already been fed
Come on darlin', let's go back to bed
Put the phone machine on hold
Leave the dishes in the sink
Do not answer the door
It's you that I adore
I'm gonna give you some more
We'll sit on the front porch, the sun can warm my feet
You can drink your coffee with sugar and cream
I'll drink my decaf herbal tea
Pretend we're perfect strangers and that we never met...
My how you remind me of a man I used to sleep with
That's a face I'd never forget
You can be Henry Miller and I'll be Anais Nin
Except this time it'll be even better,
We'll stay together in the end
Come on darlin', let's go back to bed
Put the phone machine on hold
Leave the dishes in the sink
Do not answer the door
For you, the poor man's wife
I'm gonna give you some more
Let the phone ring
Let's go back to sleep

Ahh. Perfection.

Sunday, April 26

An Island to Vacation On


What does this mean? Plastic is bad, garbage island is sad, humans should be mad. I'm reflecting on all the plastic bags I've tossed...and trying not to hate myself.

Saturday, April 25

A New Threat to Our Youth

I'm at the grocery store buying ingredients for funeral potatoes which I am making for a friend's birthday. Tom is there and we are in a hurry, arms full of sour cream, milk (because there is none in the house), hash browns, and cheese. As we approach the check stand we set our things down and I happen to see this on the rack:Oh. My. God. Were you aware of this danger to our (and by 'our' I mean society's) children? Tom and I were immediately horrified (and by 'horrified' I mean thought-it-was-ridiculous) and began reminiscing on why we hate Reader's Digest, as well as why we hate rampant sex-scandal paranoia. Tom scoffs, and then, using his best indignant woman voice, cries out, "Oh no!" I start laughing and as we turn to begin our approach to the cashier, we notice a different cashier from the aisle adjacent to ours glaring at us. Openly, un-apologetically glaring.

I guess she doesn't find sexting a laughing matter. And she's right. Please change the nation's threat level to RED.

PS: I don't appreciate Reader's Digest using an iPhone for the cover. First of all, most people who read Reader's Digest don't understand the wonder of the iPhone. Second of all, most people who are concerned about sexting don't understand the wonder of the iPhone. It's practically slander.

Friday, April 24

Parking Wars

I have new neighbors, well, neighbors period. Our apartment complex is just beginning to fill up. We've had blissful quiet and free reign of the area for the last 4 months. Now we have neighbors. And on the one day we have the old car out for the day, they steal our parking space. It's not technically 'ours' but we park there all the time -- it's right outside our door. They live on the other side of us and the distance means that the space shouldn't be theirs. They park this huge, disgusting truck in a space meant for cars. Their little hooky towey thing sticks out into the road. I hate this. So for the last two days I've been stalking the slot in the hopes that I can slip the car back to its home.


Shortly after 10:30 this morning I just happened to peek out the window before hopping in the shower. I was actually looking to see if the truck was still there, but lo and behold, I saw two people walking past the apartment. These mystery people are said neighbors. I run downstairs and crack open the front door. Yes, they are in fact entering the monstrosity and then driving away. Ah ha. I quickly jump in the car and return it to its established parking spot, where it will sit for the next week, proving to the new neighbors that that parking spot is OURS. Eat our car, people we don't know.

Thursday, April 23

Use Your Words

I would rate my ability to speak and understand the English language as 'moderately high' to 'high.' And even then, I'm sometimes stunted by my vocabulary. Words are the best way to describe something, a feeling, a moment, but my words don't seem to do justice.

I've just finished reading 'The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.' Edgar is a young boy born mute. He is obsessed with the dictionary. He loves words and their sounds and meanings. He revels in naming the puppies on the farm, trying to find the exact and perfect word. He succeeds where I fail. And he is fictional. Of course, the author of Edgar's story is magical. He weaves a story of beauty and fascination unlike anything I have read in a long while. In particular, the words. Words fill my head all day; which is the most true description of a person, place, or thing? But most often I feel like a mute. Unable to express myself the way I want, constantly searching for the perfect word.

The other day my niece asked me "aren't 'plan' and 'idea' the same thing?" What an interesting question. Merriam-Webster says: idea - a plan for action; something imagined or pictured in the mind; a central meaning or purpose. plan - a drawing or diagram showing the parts or details of something; a method for accomplishing an objective. So it would seem from the definitions that an idea could be a plan and vice versa, but the subtle nuance of difference in the meaning of the two words is fascinating to me. And that's why finding the perfect words is a neverending quest. And why I keep writing.

Wednesday, April 22

For Miles and Miles

To help me get back to the gym, because I need help in that area, I am doing this running thing with my friend at work. I invite all of you to play along.

What you need:
  • A treadmill/elliptical that shows distance or a pedometer, if you prefer to run outside
  • Running shoes
  • Clothing (although I guess this could be optional)
  • Time to run

What you do:

  • Week 1 you run 10 miles -- you can break up the miles between elliptical or treadmill, and spread the 10 miles throughout the week; i.e. you don't have to do all miles in one sitting.
  • Each additional week you add on one mile, working up to 32 miles per week, eventually
  • For every mile you don't do, you pay $1.
I'm only up to 12 miles. Please don't let me die. I love to run, but I don't think I like death.

Tuesday, April 21

A Note

Dear Blogger:

I hate your formatting. Sometimes I have to re-post and re-post in order to get the spacing exactly the way I want it. Is this, or is it not, MY BLOG? If I say I want a break after each paragraph, I fucking mean it. Shape up or ship out. Let's not let our friendship fall apart because you're an occasional piece of shit.

Monday, April 20


When I was in High School, I did NOT take psychology. I wasn't that interested...and I also figured best not to wade in uncharted waters. But once at University, I took a 1010 course in sociology and then an advanced course titled 'Sociology of Gender.' Fascinating stuff, sociology. Of course, it's a 'soft science' based on the general, not the specific, but it is nevertheless, fascinating. And, being a feminist, I love to ruminate on the sociological effects of being classified as "female" because I know how much of gender is reared -- not biological. I for one enjoy the constraints of girlhood; I love pink. I love getting dressed up. I love shopping. And so on. And if you were to ask my mother she would tell you that I loved those things as a small child, nay, an infant. She always tells people about how I loved dresses as a little girl. My mother is not a girly girl. Where did my ultra conformist feminine personality come from? Who knows. Perhaps I am simply more willing to go with the societal flow.

I am happy as a girl.

That is not to say that I am constrained by my gender, or by the gender of other people. I will stretch outside of my comfort zone to non-traditional territory. For example, many of you know that my husband did not work while he went to school and I was the bread winner. It did not bother me, but it did bother others. Maybe "bother" isn't the correct word; people thought the situation worth commenting on. And by commenting, I mean make snide remarks about how he wasn't employed even though he was not employed by choice, and a student, and we made plenty of money. These comments pissed off my gender sensibilities. WOMEN stay home all the time. WOMEN are unemployed often, or do intermittent work with no career path in mind. MEN do not comment on this situation.

Why don't they comment? Perhaps because they think it benefits them, or the family, or the wife herself. I for one do not think the cost is worth it. For those of you who know me personally, you know that I enjoy being busy, and yes, my opinion is slightly jaded towards being a "working woman." Part of this is because I know myself and I know that if I stayed at home I would be insane. Said insanity would then drive me to an asylum of some sort -- just to get me out of the fucking house. That is what I call self preservation.

I suppose this rant is coming from a head full to the brim of thoughts about wifedom and domesticity. Because, like I said, I don't mind my gender assignments, but maybe that's because I'm not trapped by them. Tom allows me to do and BE what I choose, and I in turn allow him the same. I'm reading 'The Feminine Mystique' and let me tell you; the mind reels. In the late 50s, after emancipation, during civil rights, even extending out to the hippy era, women all across the country were falling for the happy housewife. This myth that women are better in the home than in the work place. And women all across the country were tricked into thinking that college, even high school, were only as good as the husband it would catch them. Education was a means to an end; that end being a husband and family. Birth rates skyrocketed as women believed that their sole and best purpose was to procreate. Women were "happiest" at home cleaning and raising kids and taking care of their husbands and reading drivel and selling away their own dreams. (Does this sound familiar to anyone? Hello, Utah? Are you listening? Utah is still, to this day, a place where women stay home to raise a family and even though they are some of the most educated women in the country, they aren't doing anything with it. Perhaps this cultural phenomenon is tied with Utah's high methamphetamine abuse...) Sometimes I wish I wanted kids, simply because it would be an easy out. Throw my passions into my children, into motherhood, and worry about their well being rather than my own future. But that's not fair to me or to my hypothetical kidlings. That is not what would make me happy.

I think Carrie Bradshaw said it best: "Perhaps as women we've been given too many we're unable to make a decision." The women's movement empowered women to think that they could do and be anything they wanted because they had been given the right to vote. But sometimes I think -- men always had the right to vote and they don't feel as though they can do or become anything. So maybe we got the wrong idea; our dreams got so big we couldn't possibly attain them and to make the failure less painful, we stay home, stay small, stay safe. I'm not meaning to bash stay-at-homes by saying this. In fact, Charlotte, in the same episode, said, "The women's movement is supposed to be about choice" which I believe. I believe in doing what makes one happy and obviously this is something I wrestle with in my own brain quite often. And I still have a difficult time putting the thoughts down in a comprehensive manner...

I guess what I'm really trying to say is: what will satisfy me?

Monday, April 13

Turns Out...

...I'm alive after all.

After taking a break,
which came from nowhere,
I am back to here,
wherever here is.

Why the absence?
No idea.
Had love, had friends,
had happy.

Perhaps just preparing
for something new.
Stick around
for the plunge.