borrowing eternity

Rev. Jimmy's gift...

2011-11-02T14:10:00.001-05:00

"What I believe is that (marriage equality) is a movement of God in history toward community, justice and freedom, and equality, toward the wholeness of the human person and the community, and I don't believe it can be resisted. I don't think even the Church can resist it. ...I do believe that this movement is of God and God will prevail." Thank you, Rev. Jimmy Creech- Author of Adam's Gift.

I attended a lecture today given by Rev. Jimmy Creech. It was moving and affirming and I thought I might share that above quote here because it made me feel hopeful. While I'm not a United Methodist, I think this speaks to more than Methodism and more than just the church's stance on this issue.

The Civil Wars

2011-07-14T09:08:00.002-05:00

Nice way to finish off the day...
The Civil Wars performed a short 3-song set at Good Records in Dallas on Wednesday afternoon.

I hope you enjoy as much as I did.

French Braids

2011-07-12T09:55:00.005-05:00

I try not to think about the things that haven't happened for me, the way they have for others. But, lately I've been feeling nostalgic. Weird. I know.

Yesterday I stopped at a crosswalk where two little girls were crossing with their dad, and one of the girls had her hair in a kind of sideways french braid, kind of diagonal. It was loose and rogue hairs had escaped during furious play. But it was mostly intact. And it made me think of how long she had to sit still that morning as her mother threaded and and braided her hair. And that made me think of the times my sister would herringbone braid my hair, or roll it in pink sponge rollers before bedtime. Family. Swim meets and little league and chasing fireflies in the front yard. Safe schools and safe neighborhoods and walking in Poland Woods through the blue belles. My blue two-wheeler with the banana seat. I thought about how old my siblings were when they had their first children. And how most of them were long-since parents by the time they were my age. They had long been french-braiding the hair of little towheaded girls.

My life is different. I have time to myself and I get to choose my schedule and I don't have to worry about how I'm going to take care of anybody else but me (and Libby). It's wonderful, and it's also hard sometimes.

I babysit a little girl, she's precious and about to turn two. Her mother is younger than I am. Sometimes I feel old and young all at once. I relate to the mom like I'm younger than her, like we're not even or on the same playing field. It's strange. Because we could be equals. She's only a few months my junior. Sometimes I feel old and young all at once. I know I said that already, but it was worth saying again.

I feel like there was a major thoroughfare running straight through the middle of town, and well, I wandered off through a path in the wood. Nearly everyone else was clamoring down the main road and getting married and having families. I'm still wheedling through the woods. It's not bad. It's quiet and I can hear myself think and I can read books and write and study and do whatever I want to. It's not an unequal path, for its goodness and it is at least as enjoyable at times as the thoroughfare.

I should really get to some point. But I think we smile at those on the other road - we listen to their stories of diaper rashes and first steps and children in the front yard, of first houses and vacations where families play at the beach. I listen to all these and other stories and I have no idea what that's like. Sometimes I feel like an alien in a married universe. ...and sometimes I take naps just because I want to... in the middle of the day... on a weekend. When's the last time you did that, moms? I try to remember that my life is no less full, despite the fact it has considerably less drama.

And I think about the day I'll french braid my own child's hair... or at least a that of a niece or a friend's daughter. I should get practicing. I'm all thumbs when it comes to braiding other people's hair.

Thanks sis, for the braids and the curlers and the times spent that make me winsome for times gone by, and times yet to come.

a lateral move

2011-06-27T14:41:00.009-05:00

So about 5 weeks ago, I came home from work to a notice on my door that the apartment complex was being torn down and I and all my neighbors had a little less than 2 months to vacate.

I chose to follow the managements' suggestion and keep my lease with them and for all intents and purposes, merely transfer up the road to a sister property. In the end it was the least expensive option and also required the least amount of time looking for another apartment (an activity I loathe beyond belief).

As you can see, I've been packing...

I'm okay with the move. I've gotten over the initial worry over where to live and how much it's going to cost to move and get set up in a new place. The movers come Friday, and I will be the happy renter of a different apartment, owned by the same management company, with exactly the same square footage as my last place, for exactly the same price, with an only slightly different floor plan. Oh, and it's a half mile (at most) from my current home.

I remain hopeful that the new place will offer the same critter-free luxury as my current abode, as I'm still (unsuccessfully) trying to block out memories of the Casa Villa days.

I don't recommend making 4 apartment moves in 4 years, although it does keep the clutter to a minimum. Here's hoping at the end of my six-month lease, I am utterly compelled to stay and I find that I've never loved an apartment complex more. ...or that I'm at least moderately satisfied. ;)

I want a house.

I want to live in one place for longer than 2 years.

I want to NOT have to box up everything I own again and again and again.

but, I survive a vagabond for the time being... and play the Lotto.... and hope.

--------------------

What I'm reading:

The Warlock: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel (Book 5)
Michael Scott

tenbyfourteen progress report

2011-04-04T14:42:00.002-05:00

13.5 hours down... who knew I had it in me to exercise this much in a week? I'm pretty much sore all the time, now - but I'm getting used to it... and I'm looking forward to the day when I don't get sore as quickly, because that will mean I've gotten stronger.

Sleeping has also become an issue, mostly because of the soreness and endorphins. I'm finding it difficult to get myself back down to an attitude of rest after the evenings spent in African Dance. But - I'm also hoping my body adjusts to this over time. The hours I do spend sleeping are very restful... but oftentimes I wake up 5-6 times a night, now.

The eating went well, but I do know now that I need to be a bit more cautious about snack foods. There was an incident involving a goodly portion of a bag of yogurt-covered raisins in class the other night. I have a difficult time staying awake in class, and while the snacking helped to keep me alert - I really had more than I should have. This week I will pack a correct portion size, and not be tricked into bringing the whole package into the classroom. ...Maybe a protein shake will help with the sleepiness.

It rained this morning. We needed the rain, desperately ...but it did keep me from my morning stroll with the pooch. So, I already owe myself (and the Libster) an hour at some other time during the week. But, I'm confident I can make this up. I've scheduled it for Saturday

So - this week it will be more of the same:
Mon: African Dance = 1.5 hr.
Tues: Walk, Water fitness, Cardio-kickboxing = 3.0 hr.
Wed: Walk, African Dance = 2.5 hr.
Thurs: Water fitness, Cardio-kickboxing = 2 hr.
Fri: Walk, Water fitness = 2 hr.
Sat: Make-up walk from Monday = 1 hr.
Sun: African Dance = 1.5 hr.

Total ~ 13.5 hours

I'm hoping for one more piece of validation for my birthday celebration... I want to be in my next-size-down jeans. I'm currently in-between, in that "ugh stage" where the current jeans are definitely too large, but the next-size-down jeans look like they've been painted on, and that ain't a good thing... So... ten more days, a few more pounds, several more hours of exercise... and another size. I got this on lock, baby.

If I knew getting healthy was this much fun, I'd have done it years ago!

tenbyfourteen - setting new goals

2011-03-28T11:35:00.002-05:00

So, lately I've been off to the races with my workout schedule and I have found a new rhythm with my eating plan - so it's been exciting to see the scale moving in the downward direction. Also exciting is fitting into clothes better and having my co-workers ask me if this is a new suit, and being able to tell them that it's just one I haven't worn in a while. ...and not having to add why, but knowing why inside, and smiling.

My birthday is coming up in a few weeks... 18 days or whatever, but who's counting? And I'm not trolling for celebrations, but what I am doing is making a goal for a birthday gift to myself. I want to lose ten by April 14. I want to stick to my eating and exercise habits for the next 18 days and hope to goodness that I can see the results in time to have some Amy's Chocolate Cake to celebrate. I might even go all out and have TWO servings. It will be my birthday, after all. And I know - ten in 18 days is a lot. I promise to be happy with whatever number comes flashing up from beneath my feet on April 14, as long as I can stick to the eating plan and exercise... if it's not ten, I can still feel great about sticking to it!

So - here are my exercise goals for the week:
Walking: 1 hour per workout, 4x/week - 4 hours
Water Fitness: 1 hour per workout, 3x/week - 3 hours
Cardio Kickboxing: 1 hour per workout, 2x/week - 2 hours
African Dance: 90 min. per workout, 3x/week - 4.5 hours
= ~13.5 hours

....I'm putting my game-face on, and thinking about making 33 the best year yet.
woop woop!

Color Wash

2011-03-04T11:18:00.002-06:00

Dark night for a dark
man with darkest intentions
not sinister or base
but sweet and rich like
velvet on my
tongue

I want to wrap my arms around your darkness
pull you into me
color wash my soul

I said to you as you pulled on your coat, “If nothing else, we’ve got great stories.”
But what if I want
something else
something more
all epilogues being one great story that lingers and continues…
its heady scent growing stronger over years
darkening

as you - I - we color wash this life.

------------

I wrote this a few months ago, and just happened upon it again today. I think I like it. What do you think?

West African 101

2011-02-15T13:12:00.004-06:00

The first day my body
didn't want to move that way I was
all knees and elbows flailing tripping
tripping over feet both my own and others

I slapped a girl
It was hand to hand combat on the too small wood floor
warped cracked boards tearing
at the soles of my feet with every
twist twist turn
and down right left down

but I was beaming
my heart like to explode with some
combination of adrenaline and joy

I am a dancer
a very poor dancer
but the rhythm is in me

listening to the drumming within...

2011-02-14T10:22:00.008-06:00

I'm all about women's empowerment lately.
Mostly I think this has to do with too many times giving up my power, and being delighted to see women in my circle living out theirs. I want that. to embrace my power, and live in it.

West African Dance is part of that.

These are our drummers. They are amazing.
I am having a blast learning West African Dance, and I even garnered my first compliment from the instructor last night while learning a new step. Surprisingly - I picked it up the first time out. So - while I still have along way to go before I consider myself a dancer... marked improvement is being made. I signed up to perform in the studio showcase in a few months, it should be a good time.

My grad class is also going well, I'm taking a humanities course on Aboriginal Religious Life. We spent the first few weeks studying this book:

Daughters of Copper Woman
by Anne Cameron

It's a bunch of creation myths and stories from a group of Northwestern Indians. They are very matriarchal, and all of the stories are woman-centered. It's an interesting read for those willing to open their minds to other perspectives on creation. I wholeheartedly enjoyed it. ...and I will not be selling it back to the bookstore at the end of the semester - which is always a good test of a textbook, I think. And, I like that it gives us a break from the androcentric viewpoint.

--------------------------------------------------

I need to write.
There, I said it.
I've been pretty happy of late, and as per usual, my contentedness has led to less need (and/or perhaps less time) for creative outlet. But, that said, I need to write.
I'll let you know when that happens.

The next books on my list:

The Way of the Shaman
by Michael Harner

...for my grad class

Commencement
by J. Courtney Sullivan

....for my book club

A letter to 2011

2011-01-03T09:21:00.007-06:00

Dear 2011,

It's me, Amanda. I don't need to tell you that your friends, 2010, 2009 and 2008 have not been all that nice to me. Sure, we shared some laughs and we made it. But, when the chips were down, they just didn't come through. And I'm not necessarily looking to lay blame, because I didn't hold up my end of the bargain either. But, that was then and those days are behind us. So, 2011, you and I, I think we really got something. And it's worth fighting for.

So, let's fight together for every ounce of joy ahead of us.
Lets suck the marrow from this year and squeeze every drop of sweetness from the vine.
Let's hold nothing back and leave it all out of the field.

So, here's our song, let's sing it loud:

Gloria (Michael Franti & Spearhead)

When many little people in many little places do many little things,
then the whole world changes. But sometimes not fast enough for me.

You see I'm just a little man, trying hard to understand
What kind of living is a life if I can't stand on my own two feet.

You see we are looking for the same thing, and we are trying to survive.
But I know each day in life don't get much easier than the last,
So today I'm just glad to be alive.

And I'm singing:Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, stay by my side.
Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, I'm glad to be alive.
I'm glad to be alive.

I think that life is a blessing, and every step, every lesson,
You offer love and protection to those in need.

To all my mothers and fathers and all the angels who saved me,
I'm so glad to be alive.

Seems like there's never enough time to do the things I wanna do
And it never ends. But at the end of the day I might not have no money to count or spend,
But I know I can count on all my friends. (call on me)

See we are looking for the same thing
And we are trying to survive
And I know each day in life with you gets better than the last
So today I'm just glad to be alive

And I'm singing: Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, stay by my side
Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, I'm glad to be alive
Glad to be alive

I'm just trying to find a way to say
I'm just trying to find a way to say
Don't you ever, ever, ever go away

When many little people in many little places
Do many little things, then the whole world changes
But I just want you next to me

And I'm singing: Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, stay by my side
Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, I'm glad to be alive
Glad to be alive

Singing: Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, stay by my side
Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, I'm glad to be alive
I'm glad to be alive
I'm glad to be alive.

-----

So, 2011 - - whats say you and me take it to a whole 'nother level?
We got this.
It's gonna be a great year.

Peace and Love. lots of both.
------------------------------------

What I'm listening to:

Michael Franti & Spearhead
The Sound of Sunshine

What I'm Reading:

Meeting the Family
Donovan Webster

Tale of a Chicken...

2010-12-03T10:17:00.006-06:00

So, I think it all went well with the chicken. I used this recipe from the Pioneer Woman and her friend, Ryan.

I didn't have any canola oil and I regretted not picking up any at the store, because of the lower smoking point of other oils. I ended up using veggie oil, and it worked with only a few trips to towel-fan the smoke detector. Libby was no fan of the beeping alarm.

So here's a before and after:

It turned out pretty great. I pulled about 5 small baggies of meat from the carcass. So I'll probably freeze two for soup, and use the other three for meals. Tonight, I'll attempt the making of stock from the leftover bits. Hopefully with equally great results.

So far my December plan has been going along very well, and my body has begun to show its happiness and gratitude. I've shed a few pounds and all-around I'm starting to feel better.

...and Libby is much enjoying the longer morning walks.
So it's good for all of us, really. :)

on bugeting and healthier living...

2010-11-30T13:09:00.004-06:00

So I've kept a record of nearly every dime I've earned and spent this year. (I don't keep track of cash - so that's just listed as occasional ATM withdrawals - but I do most of my debits with my debit card anyway). And what have I learned? I spend too much, and most of that comes down to laziness, and most of that has to do with food purchases. I spent easily twice what was necessary on food because it's just easier to swing by someplace and pick up something, whether that be a grocer, a deli, or fast food. But - I actually like to cook. I've just gotten out of the habit.

I have also gained a few unwanted pounds this year, to no surprise.

So, welcome December. December is my new year. I'm starting early. Going to get a jump on the resolution crowd waiting until January. I'm going to attempt to cook or otherwise prepare all the food I consume this month. This means no eating out, unless it's purely social - and even that, I would like to see cut back to next to nothing. It doesn't make sense, for my health and for my finances to keep spending money on food this way. Also, the portion sizes are too large and the overall health of the food I eat out is questionable at best. So - here goes. For this evening, I have purchased a whole chicken. My first whole chicken I've ever prepared. Now, I have done one turkey, so how much different can it be? But, I figure I can get at least 3-4 meals from the meat on the bird, and also make stock from the leftover bits. So, I'm kindof excited about that... because the chicken was only about $5.

I'll post tomorrow about how it goes, and maybe even do a few pictures.

And I'll try to blog about my experience through the month - about how it goes with trying not to eat out or result to quick drive-thru meals... and hopefully about other healthy choices and their happy consequences.

What I'm reading:

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (audiobook)
J.K. Rowling

One Day
David Nicholls

Animal Dreams
Barbara Kingsolver

Vocalise

2010-11-12T10:58:00.008-06:00

You were the notes on the page
The notes and the chords
Curly-Que’d reminders red penned in margins
Begging BREATHE

Slender painted fingers mirrored on the fall of a
nine foot black baby grand,
taught me to trust the noise from my body
Could be music
pulled room-spinning resonance from my
Shy sixteen year old frame.

As nervous Doc Martens perched
on an ornate maroon Persian rug,
threads of worn denim mingled
with those from other worlds.
And unknown words in other languages teased
my tongue when you were near.

You were the light in the corner
The amber-soaked pages
and the sounds of their swift turnings.
You were all the music in the room.
All the music in the world.

You were the notes on the page
The notes and the chords
You are the light in the corner
And all the music in me.

For Deborah Dunn Rumble

Civil Rights Pilgrimage

2010-10-06T12:09:00.010-05:00

In the Spring of 2009, I took a class and subsequent trip to discover our Civil Rights heritage and continuing journey. I have finally collected some of my writings from that tour and share them here...

------------------------------

“If you want to say that I was a drum major, say that I was a drum major for justice; say that I was a drum major for peace; I was a drum major for righteousness. And all of the other shallow things will not matter.”
-Martin Luther King, Jr.

Reflections

I am in a fishbowl
wide bulbous eyes glare
but the glass separates
the glass
ostracizes glass
glass ceiling
glass wall demarking a segregated waiting room

I will never know how it feels
the sensation of
that particular brand of
fear
of fury
passion erupting when he cried out

THEY KILLED OUR DRUM MAJOR

I looked through the glass
camera lens and
snapped a photo

---------------------

The Ripple affects

It started with small hands and wide
Eyes looking
Looking for freedom for
Righteousness
A few grains of sand can
Change the tide
A few hands
Clap Clap Clapping out a foreign rhythm
An African beat the
Gospel percussion of a single dreamer
Battle cry of a generation
My sons and daughters cry out
For change change change
For FREEDOM

crying out like children often do
crying out like children with their
small hands balled in fists
small hands and wide eyes staring
small miracles
begin
a revolution

---------------------------

Bloody Sunday

A man in a dapper black suit and bowler hat marches in front of me. He is seventy or more. I busy myself taking photographs, star-struck by dignitaries and yet here in my sight view, I also snap this frame, the outline of black bowler against so infamous a bridge and I wonder what was his story.

I don’t make a habit of talking to strangers. The very act makes my heart seize, the breath
Short. I’m not certain the source or reason for this fear. The look in his eyes. Haunting.
An opportunity missed for the connection, the immersion, I was so certain I desired.
The segregation is in me.

---------------------------

US-80 W

Driving, or well, riding, as the case may be, down this road from Selma to Montgomery is something of a trail of tears experience for me. I look at the two lane highway with its grassy median and try to imagine the rich soil beneath. This Black Belt – Lowndes County soil and the share-croppers who once picked cotton here, day in and day out. I stare down the road imagining the thousands of marchers making their way on a wide dirt road.
I see tent cities and determination. Conjure visions of the outstretched masses gaining to some twenty-five thousand by the time they reached Montgomery. They are singing freedom songs. In these individuals bound together is the richness of this Black Belt soil.

The kind of foundation of firmament from which good things can grow.

--------------------------------------

Archives at Ole Miss

A table littered with hatred mass-produced
mimeographed pamphlets demanding the right
God-given at times
to segregate and denigrate a people, a race

And we move closer to see their eyes
This darkness of skin pigment, other
subtle ways we separate

We move in to touch these
advertisements, an invitation to join the Klan
Slave records
N’ words
Hate
Hate
The audacity of Hate

How can this be overcome?

Calliope Sounds

2010-09-30T18:58:00.005-05:00

What a funhouse mirror is love
Our carnival act closed on a
Two bit train to another town
You the tattooed strong man mustachioed and bald
Vulnerable flesh concealed by
Sleeves of translucent dyes
Patterned scales and tribal offerings.

What was I but your Pagliacci
Sad clown to make you smile
Our tragedy a comic affair
Now that years have swept the last of
Cotton candied sweetness
From our sudden summer spectacle.

I look for you among lion tamers
And stilt-toting tall men
You the organ grinder
With your dance monkey dance
Who will play for me
When the train moves on?

More recent poems

2010-09-22T14:54:00.000-05:00

Bibliophile

This one was put in a jacket
Binding cracked, chapter three now removable
As if its words, quite unnecessary
Could be dispensed of entirely
Dependent on the reader’s mood

These time-yellowed pages, a second skin
I admit much smoother than my own
She carries her own set of scars
A coffee stain on page seventy-three I could
Attribute to the dog but I’d be lying

Lines on margin notes
Small doodled stars and open
Circles perhaps she is
More pocked than I
The years I have studied her

Her form now safely shelved
This simple covering
Betrays not her condition
Both well worn
And well loved

------------------------------------------------

For L., now five years mine

Recumbent Anubis
Ears piqued to grasp the breath of a dying dream
Creases of skin and hair black as the dead of night
Black as the Nile soil from which you came
Jackal Terror Guardian at the Gate

Take this heart to the scales of Ma'at and weigh it
Is there truth enough in me
Love enough in these deeds

Mercy me Anubis
As I follow you through the dark
To the tombs of my Fathers
My Kings and my priests

Scavenge this remnant to the Kingdom of Osiris
Smile on me with feral eye
Something so familiar
My companion in this world
Guide in the next

------------------------

Creating Poetry - FNAR 6394

2010-09-02T09:39:00.006-05:00

Last night our prompt was "today, I started..."

today I started shifting
like the sky in a storm
blue to gray and green even
darkening and darkening

did you see it when the light flashed?
my face a fury, the dream and its awakening
the bliss and the afterglow
the summit and the space from which once crested the summit can be seen

today I am a changeling
both a part of you and yet my own
I am a weed, a wild thing, dandelion
weave me in bracelets and bangles, tether me as you will
but I will not be beholding

-----------

What I'm reading:

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

by Seth Grahame-Smith

How to Read a Poem and Fall in Love with Poetry

by Edward Hirsch

As Requested by Amo... or, how I found out I'm stronger than I ever knew

2010-08-12T08:45:00.003-05:00

It's been a long time since I posted, cause you know... sometimes things get ROUGH. And when you're in the middle, you know nobody wants to hear the story yet. It's hard to even tell it because it's unfinished. You're in the bleak and you haven't yet learned the blessed lessons of the dark. But now, now I can see my way into the light. I'm not quite there but man, there's gonna be a brighter day (about this time next week, give or take a couple of days).

I'm moving. I know, I know... the last post was all about how I loved my neighborhood. And I still love this neighborhood. It's just the neighbors I'm not crazy about... specifically, the six-legged neighbors. About two months ago, the roaches started. I've got a mixture of German and Brown Banded cockroaches that have taken up residence in my apartment walls. No matter how many times I have tried to evict them, they still refuse to leave. I have resulted to open murder, hired professionals and in some cases, genocide-like warfare. Still they hang on.

So, I got out of my lease. I'm tucking my tail, packing my things - and only my things - and leaving. I'm heading about 3 miles North, so technically, still East Dallas. But, a better leasing company with a great reputation. I'm super excited, as you can imagine.

But I learned some things about myself in the midst of trial by roaches:

I can totally survive on the one meal a day I microwave at my office. The apartment has become a food-free zone. I'm sure this will change when I have a functional kitchen again, but it's a good exercise to live on less.
I have too many things. Too many things for roaches to crawl upon. So, in the process of packing, I have gotten rid of probably a third of my belongings. Thank you Goodwill and East Dallas Freecycling.
...and probably most stunningly, I've had to take a hard look at my sense of entitlement... how many times I have cried out that I don't deserve to live like this. But - why not? What makes me better or more deserving of living without calamity?

Certainly, I don't want to, nor do I feel convicted to stay in the apartment with all of its excess tenants. That's not the point. But, maybe I can take with me this bit of humility. Surely, the three or four cockroaches I kill nearly everyday are not the worst thing I could experience. It's bad. And I won't soon forget these past two months... but ultimately, this is something I can and will live through, and something that will not alter the path of my life.

and further... I get to see most wonderful friends this weekend.
I get to hug necks and take zany pictures and love on friends I haven't seen in far too long.
does anything else really matter?

Brighter days are ahead, my friends.

I live in East Dallas.

2010-03-10T10:02:00.005-06:00

Everyday I walk down streets that take me back in time.

tree-lined lanes that look like this:

it's like something caught up out of a dream
a movie set from a place that only exists in memory

Libby and I stroll down these streets near dawn each day and it's a blessing. It's nostalgia and hot cocoa and apple pies cooling on the windowsill. It's a dream and a wish held together and these kinds of neighborhoods aren't being built anymore. It's more than the clapboard and columns, the sidewalks set in off the road. It's wholesome and it makes me feel safe. I imagine the tenants feel safe, too. safe, and proud.

I live in a two bedroom apartment in a building out on Gaston and it's nothing like these - but I get to share in all this neighborhood offers because it's mine too.

This past week there was a murder in my neighborhood.
And I guess I share in that, too.
I share in the grief and the shock and the feelings of violation.
Aghast that someone could take the life of a harmless eccentric old man.

I understand maybe a little more why some of the homes are barred, though I'll always wish it didn't have to be that way. The truth is that simply because it's east doesn't make it any less dallas. and while one block looks as whimsical as Victor between Munger and Colette, the next block's homes have suffered unholy surgery; chopped into four and five unit apartments, unkempt and showing their age. and always the homeless are among us.

but it's such a great metaphor for all of us, I think - and that's maybe why I love it here so much. Parts of all of us are like a dream of something wholesome and sweet and homemade. and parts of all of us have been violated, or have aged without care. I'm in this neighborhood. I'm in the streets and the hillsides, in both the rotting clapboard and whitewashed window boxes full of pansies. I can see that even the most abandoned of homes was at once hope for the best life imaginable, a place where home and family and a piece of the american dream was all anybody ever really wanted anyway. It's caught up in the bones of these homes - good strong homes that will continue to line East Dallas long after I am gone. They whisper to me... that the dream is still alive.

...in which I am corny and talk about thankfulness and The Neverending Story

2010-02-09T11:28:00.004-06:00

I suppose it's mostly during the rough times when I stop long enough to think about how good I've got it. Sure there have been a lot of tears and scary nights recently - but mostly it boils down to a lot of near misses and even though we've taken some hits, it seems most if not all of them will heal - given the right amount of time and treatment.

some things I'm thankful for, in no particular order (and by no means a complete list):

I've got GREAT parents. Okay, okay - Dr. Spock or whatever parenting expert you want to poll might have frowned upon a few of their "unorthodox" methods and no they didn't always do everything right - but they're mine and I love them and I wouldn't trade a day I get to spend with them.
my siblings are pretty keen, too. We don't hardly ever see each other and there are like a dozen or so years between me and them - but differences in time zones and age don't negate care. We've had more good phonecalls lately then I think we have in the last several years combined. ...and I like that. I think I'll try to be better about making regular calls to my brother and sister - 'cause I think they're pretty amazing individuals and I think maybe we're finally old enough to bridge some kind of substantial relationship.
This day. Today, the people I love are still with me. I have wonderful and brilliant friends. I'm relatively healthy, as are those whom I love. and as long as these things remain true, each new day is a gift I want to hold out just for a moment and admire.

It makes me think of that scene near the end of The Neverending Story:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2noq4itRq3Y

...where the empress holds out the one remaining grain of sand, all that is left of Fantasia. Each day, each moment when all of our hopes and dreams are still alive - when the people we love are near - each moment is locked up in that glistening grain of sand and we hold it out and we build from there. If I have these things - I have all I need. I have all the world and all the vast possibilities in my open hand.

a poem

2010-01-26T11:51:00.004-06:00

somewhere there is a poem
to inspire me
to breathe
this simple involuntary act that seems to require
so much effort
since the rains came

poem take my hand and teach me
the rhythms of getting through
the steps to cross over
a dance so holy as to rise above
take flight
take on
all the demons facing us
and fling them back to their
unearthly home

poem build in me a fire
whose embers will last
through this unyielding winter
flames to lick the sky and
laugh at its chill
enough smoke to signal some hope to those
who wait for our safe return

poem I know it's a lot to ask
but you have done it before
and I know
I know
together
we're gonna make it through

***

What I'm reading:

The Hunger Games
and
Catching Fire

by Suzanne Collins

2010 - no regrets

2010-01-04T09:26:00.007-06:00

I know you've got a little life in you yet
I know you've got a lot of strength left...

These years, these days that pile upon days - they're hard on all of us. hard on me.

but today is a new day and a new year and I'm trying to start something. and maybe start something by ending some things. I know I'm being cryptic, but it's my right... if you know me, I'm sure you can imagine some of the things I could end and be better for the ending.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JYxc5ftEzg

It's probably difficult to understand how the above link can be an anthem for new beginnings, but I think it talks a lot about regrets. We all have them, regrets about relationships, about personal goals unfulfilled. I don't want them this year. This year - I want to do right by me.

...All the things we should've said that were never said
All the things we should've done that we never did
All the things that you wanted from me
All the things that that you needed from me
All the things I should of given but I didn't

I want to say and do what I need to this year.
In some ways, I want to take my own hand and do what I need to do
for me.

...and perhaps allow myself the freedom to let go of some things - so I can grab hold of of what I need. I'm standing on the cusp of a new year, and I've got a lot of strength left.

What I'm reading:

The Bookseller of Kabul
by Asne Seierstad

my nativity has six wisemen

2009-12-10T16:31:00.010-06:00

my nativity set has issues. It's a wooden stable with plastic figurines glued inside. The shepherd broke some years ago so that only his feet and a small patch of grass were left in the manger scene. Broken off at the legs is a tough way to go... and no amount of glue could reassemble feet to legs (as witnessed by the oozed and now solidified glue stuck to the once attached legs of said shepherd boy). You'll be happy to know I have pried up the patch of grass and feet and now my manger scene is shepherdless.

Joseph became unattached from the stable last year. Intact, but removable - in case Mary would like to try it on her own. But, assumedly raising the Son of God is not recommended as a single-parent activity.

I have various animal figurines that are actually several sizes larger than the human figurines, so Mary and company are either all dwarfs, or the animals in Bethlehem are freakishly large. A three-legged sheep watches over the baby Jesus. A large three-legged shepherdless sheep.

There are six wisemen. Three are glued within the manger scene, watching over Mary's shoulder as she watches over the babe, and three (sized extra-large) stand outside with their camels, also extra large. I post them because perhaps little extra wisdom (or at the very least a little more gold) might help us all.

All this to illustrate something... perhaps that it's easier to accept and find room on my countertop for a mixed-media manger scene (Oh little plastic Son of God), than to actually find room in my heart for Christmas this year. I used to be a real fanatic about the Jesus stuff. Got more Bibles than any one person really needs. and I can beat myself up pretty well when I think about losing the faith... but here in my kitchen/living room on the countertop bar next to my foot-and-a-half tall pre-lit Christmas tree is a plastic metamorphosis. a momentary revelation. and maybe my religion is as mixed up as my manger these days - but I have a feeling that plastic Baby Jesus has a little grace for me.

So, I'll keep plugging in the small naked light bulb that is supposed to be coming from some star over the manger. And I'll think about Christmas and faith and the kind of room needed for all representations of the love and peace and joy we all want at the holidays and throughout the year - no matter what or whom we believe in. ...or even if we don't know, anymore.

Dear plastic Baby Jesus, is there hope for us yet?
I hope so.

I want to ride my bicycle!

2009-10-29T10:16:00.004-05:00

I have that song - you know the one - Queen, Bicycle - stuck in my head. It's been there since I left work yesterday to pick up the old Schwinn Suburban from the bike shop after a near complete overhaul. I guess I should have expected that since all the parts were original and the bike is a 1970s dinosaur. But what a pretty dinosaur she is, and I can't wait to take her out for a ride. But - it's raining. again. And so she waits by the door... calling to me... and I tell her... soon...

In other news, I'm looking at a comparative/contrasting study on Black poetry with the theme, mother. The first poem I chose was Langston Hughes, The Negro Mother. Then, Gwendolyn Brooks, The Mother. .. I'm looking for more - but these two are a really great start with incredibly conflicting and moving lines. I need at least one more from the Black Arts period ... and then I need to find a few contemporary examples to round out my little study. I'm reciting these poems for my class on African American Poetry. The class lacks the structure typical even to undergraduate (let alone graduate) courses, but is otherwise not completely aggravating. If you're interested in what other poems I find, hit me up and we'll talk it out.

The orange juice lifestyle change 2009 is still going strong. I've lost more than 15 pounds in about 5 weeks. I'm excited - and I can't wait to keep losing more. woohoo!

oh, and yes - I'm completely unpacked - or at least 95% there... found the kitchen knives! ...and I love the new place - I should post some pictures. I want to do that "week in the life of me" photoblog that I've seen others do... I should rock that next week - we'll see what happens.

for now - Mr. Raincloud, please go away so I can ride my BICYCLE!

of orange juice, boxes, kitchen knives and spices...

2009-09-24T09:01:00.002-05:00

Orange Juice.
I was accepted into a program at work that is essentially for people who have the potential to cost the university a lot in insurance and health care. (that's me!) I and my cohorts have enough risk factors that the university is paying for a program designed to lower that risk. So - day one. four hours in and I'm kindof excited about it. 32 oz of watered-down orange juice and the worst part was trying to figure out how to store the rest of the OJ after I watered down the portion I'm supposed to drink today. I finally settled on a pitcher I purchased from Fiesta! and the jug that used to hold margarita mixer. I won't be needing the margarita mixer for awhile... no sugars until I break the addiction. so - down the drain it went. I didn't cry. I'm guessing it was because I'm also out of tequila and haven't yet found the blender so - no big loss. I'll let you know the progress of this new adventure as it unfolds.

Boxes.
I have unpacked exactly 10ish boxes. which, by my count leaves about 30 (or perhaps 300) more. Things are slowly finding their way to where they belong. Tonight... I need to decide between the kitchen and my clothing... But I like the new place. I met some neighbors, Danny and Laura who live upstairs and diagonal across the courtyard. He's a seminarian and she's just as sweet as can be. They go running every morning. They made me cookies. I invited them over for boardgames once I find them among the boxes. Perhaps they are geeks like me.

Kitchen Knives and Spices.
These are things I haven't found yet. They exist somewhere behind and underneath layers of stacked cardboard in what is supposed to be my office/spare bedroom but what is now just a room full of boxes. I'm having trouble cooking with only half my kitchen unpacked - and that half not at all placed where it's most convenient or makes the most sense. My mother found and unpacked a box labeled "kitchen" which happened to contain coffee mugs, shot glasses and wine glasses. So, all beverages in the past 5 days have been consumed in coffee mugs, because it seems silly to consider drinking water, lemonade or juice from a shot and or wineglass. She did not find the dishes, bowls or drinking glasses. they're around somewhere.

Let me know if you want to lend a hand. ... and if you find those kitchen knives!

a moratorium on rooftops and jumping

2009-09-14T09:25:00.003-05:00

damn.

Found out today that the aforementioned assumed good news was well... premature. Someone was promoted. ...just wasn't me. So congratulations to that other girl. and for me.. well, it's one day closer to my turn.

preparing for changes: a kind of catch-all

2009-09-11T09:12:00.014-05:00

There's so much going on and I can't really say some of it out loud as of yet so this seems some sort of substitute for the type of rooftop shouting or at the very least jumping up and down that has been building inside me for a week or more.

First off - the movers will be here a week from tomorrow and truth be told I'm not much farther along than the last time we talked.
So this is apt to be a busy weekend indeed. The hope is to leave out only what I need to survive for the next 7 days and box tape and label the rest for transport. I pick up my keys in a week and will go over to the apartment that night and figure out furniture configuration.

Second - I think it might be nearly safe to consider the possibility of saying here, while not actually announcing (ie. rooftops and jumping), that I should hear (good news) about a (possible) promotion today. I have no details. I have had no details for a week and it is killing me. Gotta love bureaucracy and all the paperwork and steps involved. This could mean a sizable move up in position and ...benefits. of course again... no details. did I mention that it's killing me? ugh... the waiting.

soon, the jumping

A milestone occured the other day. It's been four years since I rescued Libby from the shelter, and since they figured she was about a year old when we adopted each other, she's now about five years old. ...and still as goofy as ever. So - in tribute and celebration I offer some of the silly tidbits about my faithful companion:

Yesterday, I needed to do a little vaccuuming and as I sucked up bits of doghair and dust from the carpeting, Libby felt the need to inhale all the food in her bowl just incase the vaccuum decided to pick up more than what was on the carpet. She looked extra-satisfied when she licked the bowl clean, just as the vaccuum was moving from livingroom to bedroom, past the now empty bowl. Mine, all mine.

Motorcyles crive her especially crazy... that, and city buses. Their presence, idoling on the street below our picture window, is known to throw Libby into bouts of high-pitched whining and increase the need for her to jump from the windowsill to the floor run about in cirles, only to return to the windowsill for more whining. Special caution is to be taken while traveling with dog in car, passing motorcycles and city busses as there is considerably less room for the running in circles/whining routine.

Waking is a duty Libby does not take lightly. After the alarm, but before the master has risen from the bed, if I linger too long... Libby will take to her post. She stands directly next to the vertical blinds which cover the sliding glass doors to the balcony and wag her tail. This sets the blinds into a frenzy, knocking against eachother and filling the room with light from outside. This, I have decided, is the worst noise in the world.

I'm hoping she adjusts to the new home well, and somewhat sheepishly - this is one of my main concerns about the move. I hope she will love that the new apartment is bigger, even if the windows are not as dog-friendly. I hope that she appreciates my shorter commute as much as I know I will. Plus, we will be within a few miles of two dogparks. w00t!

Well - today's a big day with the building dedication at my school - so I best be off to greet the VIPs... hopefully this day will go quickly with all it's festivities... and the news and the yelling from the rooftops and the jumping up and down can begin shortly thereafter. for now - the waiting... and the VIPs.

31 days and counting...

2009-08-19T16:27:00.002-05:00

The movers come in a month. I have exactly 6 boxes packed. Well, two of those were boxes previously packed and stored in a closet. I have exactly 4 boxes packed, and 2 boxes moved from storage closet to the dining room/moving staging-area.

I packed my books first. Time for leisure reading is something I don't plan for in the next 30 days. Except of course for my book club book. We're reading "Same Kind of Different as Me," by Ron Hall and Denver Moore. It's an interesting book so far and proving to be one of many easy distractions from the menacing job of packing up my life and moving to Lakewood.

I have lots of projects planned for once the move has actually happened... painting walls, hanging curtains, making the place homey and all that I dream it will be. I think about where to place furniture.

Pre-moving is always difficult. It's hard to get excited about getting cardboard-dry hands and the fear of accidentally packing something you desperately need in an unmarked box at the bottom of the pile. But I will prevail.

Tonight's goal... 3 more boxes. ... and maybe - packing something other than books.

Downsizing. . .

2009-05-20T15:30:00.005-05:00

I've been living beyond my means for a long time. ...my whole life it seems.
It's a pattern ingrained and I want to undo it.
So I'm looking to downsize - to make larger payments to my debts and learn about living with less.

It dawned on me recently that the Lord will care for my safety and security and that it's time I start pairing down - thinning out... what it is I really need? a room with a place for my bed, a place for my things and a home for my dog. (she is non-negotiable).

seriously - who could abandon this face?

but many other things I can live without.

I can budget and make progress and eat more ramen and rent a room instead of an apartment and sell or give away much of the material things that cling to the surfaces that surround me.

I can...
live with less.
eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
ride my bicycle or take public transit even more than I already do.
read library books.

so - it looks like I'll be selling much of what I own over the next couple of months.
let me know if you're interested.
also - know anyone who has a room to rent come September?

a sunburn

2008-10-30T15:14:00.008-05:00

These train conversations are passing me by And I don't have nothing to say...

The other night, Jared called and set the phone down on the piano so i could hear his rendition of Raining in Baltimore. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dnzU0IzJJrY

it was a good feeling - to hear him crooning out a mellow melancholy tune while thinking about how much I miss him. I guess that I should. three thousand five-hundred miles away. what would you change if you could?

maybe things aren't going so well in parts of my life - but I do have a big love... I have a lot of great big loves in my life - my friends - the people who have seen me at my best, and seen me at my worst... weighed the options and chosen to stay.

I haven't had much to say for a long time.. work and school have been getting the best of me and I hate that... because there is so much more.

I live backwards - I've known this for awhile now.
certainly the best days I've had in my life to this point are pretty far removed in the past.
sometimes there's sadness in living backwards and imaging all of the "if only" moments, but today I live backwards and I savor. I think of days and nights in Burnett Park and know it will always be a happy place in the middle of the city for me. I think of hoblitzelle and time spent soul-searching.

laying on the grass with Paul in front of the stockyards museum feeling the sun on my skin and the warmth of friends in my midst.

a good friend who sent me a homemade witch for halloween... and showed back up in my life after a long time gone.

thanks for the phone call...
and thanks for the raincoat

early lessons in diversity...

2008-08-29T10:36:00.005-05:00

I caught the scent of baby powder in the breeze today and it made me think of Grace Betty.

Grace Betty was my first Cabbage Patch Kid. It was Christmas, 1983, and I was five years old. Coleco had mass-marketed the Cabbage Patch Kid as the "it" toy for every little girl. There were riots in toy stores, akin to the 1996 Tickle Me Elmo craze. My parents were always strapped for cash and shopped last minute, but tried to get us kids what we most wanted each year. And what I most wanted was to adopt a Cabbage Patch Kid.

In smalltown ohio, the population was 99.99999% caucasian and .00001% hispanic/asian. And by the time ~~Santa~~ my mom made it out to the toystore to purchase the doll of my every five-year-old desire, the only dolls left on the shelf were African American. and so - Grace Betty came to me through a quite progressive inter-racial adoption. Her cloth skin, yarn hair and painted eyes were brown and her bulbus plastic head smelled - oddly - of baby powder. She didn't look anything like me... but she was mine. ...and no power in the universe, not even a cheeky older brother - could sever my love for her. (note, also - I quickly discovered that the large plastic head attached to the soft cloth body made Grace Betty an apt weapon against my brother's various torments.) Grace Betty didn't seem to mind this - and so she was my baby, my heroine and the bruiser of my annoying older brother.

I don't know if this simple happenstance made it easier for me to adapt as my smalltown grew and accepted its first African American families. I'm not certain of the impact of Grace Betty on my views on racial equality and social justice. But I think maybe in some small way - she's always been there as a reminder... a reminder of my parents' love and courage, and their refusal to sway to social stereotypes. ...and it makes me think that one day I will buy my own daughter baby dolls of different races - so she can learn to love all people.

the competitive edge

2008-08-07T11:30:00.005-05:00

my navy blue speedo suit stretches over the area just north of the great white thighs, I don my super-sexy swim cap and new hot pink goggles and plunk... into the pool.

Morning swimmers are an interesting breed. there's the old(er) woman who, let's admit - has better form than me; one or two men who would tell you they are rehabing an injury from some sport that seems more masculine; a few young whipper-snappers, either still in, or barely out of college - slicing through the water like torpedoes... and me. But, three mornings this week, I have dutifully shown up at the pool to swim laps.

It turns out I'm a bit competitive. (I know - it's ridiculous) It's difficult for me to just concentrate on the line on the bottom of the pool coming to a T as I near the wall. I steal glances at the rotund white -haired man in the lane next to me shod with flippers that give him what seems to be remarkable speed. I tell myself I should be faster than him, even without the flippers. I swim faster. I pull my own rotund body through the water and quickly flick my head to the side to steal a breath between strokes. And of course - as I come weary to the wall, huffing... he arrives and gently turns with his flippers, head above water, and starts back up the pool.

I am aiming low. for now - he is my nemesis... and we will meet again tomorrow.

humility, pride and voice lessons

2008-08-01T09:17:00.010-05:00

Bend your knees every time you breathe.
Yes, like a plie.
and don't let your jaw go back. Breathe deeply,
and let's speak the line before you sing it.

anyone who has ever taken voice lessons knows that when walk in, you leave your pride at the door. ~~humility~~ humiliation is at least 80% of what is taking place. Thankfully, Ben is willing enough to demonstrate, so I don't feel like a complete fool as we make faces at each other and add body movements designed to release tension, increase breath support and improve posture and balance.

It's an interesting exercise in breeding confidence; trust that the sounds emanating from my face do not actually echo those of a skein of geese. My own sense of vulnerability reaching its fullness when, as the lesson comes to a close, the door is opened only to discover the ~~five or six~~ multitudes of students and music school faculty within earshot outside the unfortunately thin wood door. But, I emerge and looking none of them in the eye, usher forth to the stairs and the door and the outside world telling myself that Ben would not lie to me, that history has not lied to me... that I can sing, quite beautifully... (when all the elements in the world and those the unconscious space around us come into perfect alignment).