Yesterday was my Pop Pop's birthday. Each year I travel to the hill of his gravesite to celebrate his birthday. I've always been silently teased by the irony, but ultimately understood by my family for this ritual. When I was a kid my Pop would sneak roll ups of salami and bags of seed cookies when my Mom wasn't looking-a betrayal to the current diet he was sworn to follow. He would quietly look at me from across his kitchen, lifting his pointer finger to his lips. Secret's safe with me.
I bring seed cookies to his grave, dig a little hole in the soil in front of his tomb stone, and push lit candles into the soil for the wind to blow out. Over the years I've convinced myself that I know he's still near me because eventually the wind blows, and for a moment he's still here. Sneaking seed cookies and rolls of salami when my Mom isn't looking.
This year I got caught up in whatever tedious detail that was on my plate at the time, and I forgot his birthday. And his seed cookies. And since I've remembered that I've missed it, I've been beating myself up for not only what I've missed in 24 hours, but what I've missed in the past year. Since I've "moved on." Since I've "grown up."
I think it's interesting how we keep track of our weeks and days, well, nowadays.
It's been a year since I've posted. And not even figuratively. Down to the week, one year. In the past year I've caught myself saying "since" and "until" more and more. But since and until what?
The ebb and flow of the since-and-until can be terrifying when you've forgotten where you're standing right now, all because you were too busy holding on for the storm you were told was coming tomorrow yesterday.
Each year I renew my calendar with a new starting point. January renews our calendar, but it leaves the fiscal year in the red, the zodiac's spliced and the seasons in flux. What used to be arbitrary dates are now pillars in our personal history creating anniversaries much stronger than calendar days. We catch ourselves living day to day looking forward to whats coming our way, but constantly reminding ourselves of the past. Never present, never focused, never living in the minute.
I've let some days fall off my calendar, forgetting that they've even passed. With a little effort, I've picked up some new dates to add to the 365. Some dates have passed that still leave me heartbroken, others not. Some dates make me blush, others still make me nauseous. Some dates remind me of bright blue walls and exhaust fans, and some remind me of pools with sprinklers.
I'm living in the ebb and flow of the since and until, and it's terrifying and comforting at the same time. I don't know what I'm waiting for, or what the until is. For the first time in a long time, I've stopped counting my weeks since the big fall. I'm not waiting for things to get better, they just are. But some of the big questions still remain. What am I moving towards? What's next.
It's been 11 months since I switched jobs, one month until I can finally celebrate a happy anniversary. One year since I finally started rowing again, one month until my big vacation. I don't know whats next, what I'm waiting for, or what I think is waiting for me. I guess for now, I'll just go with the flow, or in my case, with the breeze.
Happy Birthday
Monday, July 26, 2010
Friday, December 25, 2009
2009
“Think back one year.
What were the top 3 things you experienced? How did you grow? What did you learn? Who supported you? What did you transcend? What light came into your life?
What were the top 3 things you experienced? How did you grow? What did you learn? Who supported you? What did you transcend? What light came into your life?
I haven't had much time to write these past six months, but to stay in line with this time last year, I wanted to ask myself the same questions, and compare answers.
It's funny how some answers change so drastically while others stay the same. I stopped myself from reading the entire post, because I wanted to answer this year honestly. 2009 was interesting, from start to finish. The first day in January I spent jet-lagged in a pink dress.
Top 3 things experienced:
1. Finding myself on a bike ride through France, and being shockingly surprised, and happy to find the girl I used to know.
2. Breaking, but more importantly, healing when I didn't think it was possible.
3. Taking a risk and jumping.
It's funny how some answers change so drastically while others stay the same. I stopped myself from reading the entire post, because I wanted to answer this year honestly. 2009 was interesting, from start to finish. The first day in January I spent jet-lagged in a pink dress.
Top 3 things experienced:
1. Finding myself on a bike ride through France, and being shockingly surprised, and happy to find the girl I used to know.
2. Breaking, but more importantly, healing when I didn't think it was possible.
3. Taking a risk and jumping.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
near and far
There's been a lot of traveling in the midst as of late.
I just got back from Europe, spending 18 days throughout the Netherlands, Belgium, France and Italy. I had an amazing time. Stretching my wings and flying around, finding new faces and corners of the world that made it easier to smile, easier to breathe, and easier to write.
I managed to keep a journal to record thoughts here and there, pieces of scrap paper to remind me of moments, and a few scars on my legs (to add to the pile) that will still help me tell my story in years to come.
I haven't really written anything longer than a blog post, and if I have, I haven't shared it. Not even with my mother. Which says a lot. I'm always "writing in my head" as I tell my mother, when she finds me staring off into a rock, or a corner, or at my feet. She was really a sport while we were traveling around and I would spontaneously bolt for my bag, sit down and write for a minute.
That being said, I'm going to buckle down and write down the long version of my trip. Not that anyone needs to read it, but I need to get the words out of me and onto paper. Because honestly, I'm running out of room in the cramped space in my chest. And some thoughts and feelings should go recorded, even if it's just for me.
I've made a few trips that have changed my life. That sounds dramatic huh? But it's true. Hopefully, by the time this short story (?) is done it will cover events, the impact, and why any of it mattered. I read a book while I was riding the rail system about a women who was the first woman to row across the Atlantic ocean in a single. She said it wasn't enough to write about the rowing, she had to talk about the boat, the woman, and the ocean. And it's true.
To be continued...
pictures will be here soon! I know I always say that, but this time I promise
I just got back from Europe, spending 18 days throughout the Netherlands, Belgium, France and Italy. I had an amazing time. Stretching my wings and flying around, finding new faces and corners of the world that made it easier to smile, easier to breathe, and easier to write.
I managed to keep a journal to record thoughts here and there, pieces of scrap paper to remind me of moments, and a few scars on my legs (to add to the pile) that will still help me tell my story in years to come.
I haven't really written anything longer than a blog post, and if I have, I haven't shared it. Not even with my mother. Which says a lot. I'm always "writing in my head" as I tell my mother, when she finds me staring off into a rock, or a corner, or at my feet. She was really a sport while we were traveling around and I would spontaneously bolt for my bag, sit down and write for a minute.
That being said, I'm going to buckle down and write down the long version of my trip. Not that anyone needs to read it, but I need to get the words out of me and onto paper. Because honestly, I'm running out of room in the cramped space in my chest. And some thoughts and feelings should go recorded, even if it's just for me.
I've made a few trips that have changed my life. That sounds dramatic huh? But it's true. Hopefully, by the time this short story (?) is done it will cover events, the impact, and why any of it mattered. I read a book while I was riding the rail system about a women who was the first woman to row across the Atlantic ocean in a single. She said it wasn't enough to write about the rowing, she had to talk about the boat, the woman, and the ocean. And it's true.
To be continued...
pictures will be here soon! I know I always say that, but this time I promise
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
bottled up, boxed up
I remember the day I cleaned out my apartment and moved from 15th and Spruce to Queen Village. I came home from labor day weekend to find my entire apartment filled, floor to ceiling, with roaches. Some dead in my toilet and bathtub, some roaming free on the walls and on the floors. Apparently my dear o'neighbor set a roach bomb while I was gone, and they all ran under the floorboards and walls.
Poor stella (RIP kitty) was left to fend for herself, battling against the roughest bugs on the east coast. I on the other hand wasn't prepped for the battle, and spent the night on a friends couch.
The next day I came home to clean up the mess. Top to bottom I sprayed, laid traps, disinfected as much as I could. At the end of the night there wasn't a bug to be found. I decided a bath was the way to go. I turned the nozzle on the bathtub on and i saw something JUMP up at me. It was a mouse. Swimming. Swimming in my bathtub.
I bought boxes the next day.
I've boxed up my life many times now. There's something cathartic about putting all of your belongings into a box. Deciding what is worth packing, what is worth leaving behind, what should go to good will, and what belongs in the trash. Forever.
In all the times I've boxed up my life, I've found that it's during a pivotal time in my life. When I'm leaving my first one bedroom apartment, when I'm moving across the country, when I'm moving back across the country, when I'm establishing my space in an oh-so-cramped world.
The process of boxing up memories can be the worst. Re-reading letters of love, tokens of good times, and clothing with memories too painful to revisit. Well not all painful. You get a very unique opportunity to watch yourself grow. To see a transformation from year to year. In shoe choice, in home decor, in underwear, in love. You can see a change from that of a girl to a woman, from that of a lover to a loved one, from that of a significant to an insignificant, from cowering to courageous.
We box up and bottle up everything that's too overwhelming, daunting, or challenging. Throw on a shipping label or a 3x5 cards labeled "livingroom", "fragile", "open when you're ready."Why? Why not throw it all out for a landfill to deal with? Closure? Once something is packed and shipped it's gone for good? We think.
I've unpacked enough boxes in my day to say the least. The latest was probably the worst. Although good friends helped sort the dry cleaning from the washer safe, the living room from the "open on a rainy day."It brought back old memories involving hoop earrings and christmas cards. But finally closure, on the opposite end of a box that I didn't pack myself.
Gone are trips to the beach, vegas and new york. Scrambled eggs and bacon, movies at the ritz, walks to the park, sunday mornings, chinese food in the middle of the night, special light through my window, blueberry muffins and chocolate chip cookies. Bottles of wine, dinner over candle light, and pumps from west broadway. Mexican food, plans for the wine country, shoulder nook, love in the morning, grey's anatomy during finals, nina simone at the end of the day. Never learning to dance, singing while fast sleep, singing while crying. Walking through the snow, meeting in the cold, my red nose in the winter, my cold toes in the morning, my hair through the sunroof.
Bottle it up, box it up. I'm ready for the next move.
Poor stella (RIP kitty) was left to fend for herself, battling against the roughest bugs on the east coast. I on the other hand wasn't prepped for the battle, and spent the night on a friends couch.
The next day I came home to clean up the mess. Top to bottom I sprayed, laid traps, disinfected as much as I could. At the end of the night there wasn't a bug to be found. I decided a bath was the way to go. I turned the nozzle on the bathtub on and i saw something JUMP up at me. It was a mouse. Swimming. Swimming in my bathtub.
I bought boxes the next day.
I've boxed up my life many times now. There's something cathartic about putting all of your belongings into a box. Deciding what is worth packing, what is worth leaving behind, what should go to good will, and what belongs in the trash. Forever.
In all the times I've boxed up my life, I've found that it's during a pivotal time in my life. When I'm leaving my first one bedroom apartment, when I'm moving across the country, when I'm moving back across the country, when I'm establishing my space in an oh-so-cramped world.
The process of boxing up memories can be the worst. Re-reading letters of love, tokens of good times, and clothing with memories too painful to revisit. Well not all painful. You get a very unique opportunity to watch yourself grow. To see a transformation from year to year. In shoe choice, in home decor, in underwear, in love. You can see a change from that of a girl to a woman, from that of a lover to a loved one, from that of a significant to an insignificant, from cowering to courageous.
We box up and bottle up everything that's too overwhelming, daunting, or challenging. Throw on a shipping label or a 3x5 cards labeled "livingroom", "fragile", "open when you're ready."Why? Why not throw it all out for a landfill to deal with? Closure? Once something is packed and shipped it's gone for good? We think.
I've unpacked enough boxes in my day to say the least. The latest was probably the worst. Although good friends helped sort the dry cleaning from the washer safe, the living room from the "open on a rainy day."It brought back old memories involving hoop earrings and christmas cards. But finally closure, on the opposite end of a box that I didn't pack myself.
Gone are trips to the beach, vegas and new york. Scrambled eggs and bacon, movies at the ritz, walks to the park, sunday mornings, chinese food in the middle of the night, special light through my window, blueberry muffins and chocolate chip cookies. Bottles of wine, dinner over candle light, and pumps from west broadway. Mexican food, plans for the wine country, shoulder nook, love in the morning, grey's anatomy during finals, nina simone at the end of the day. Never learning to dance, singing while fast sleep, singing while crying. Walking through the snow, meeting in the cold, my red nose in the winter, my cold toes in the morning, my hair through the sunroof.
Bottle it up, box it up. I'm ready for the next move.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
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