Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Thirty-six years later I know what it means, and as I sit in my apartment and play it over and over, it rushes through me like a train. It opens my 45-year-old heart and lights a fire in my body--and though I've walked through countless love songs, it still feels like the first step toward the hopelessly romantic woman I am becoming. It still feels like the first time.
Click the music player to listen.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
I look out the window, the sun hits the brick across the way, and a single yellow flower rests on the green leaf of a tree--and my heart is full. The room is filled with music and I am filled with love, and as I move closer to joy, I am both fearless and afraid.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Two years ago I asked you to send me a masculine man--fierce, determined and confident, powerful and sexy with the ability to make me laugh as well as swoon. I also asked that he have talent, depth and integrity, be free of attachments and ready to love only me.
I thank you for the prospects you've delivered so far, and hope I don't seem ungrateful. Each one has almost fit the bill, and I ask if next time, you would please consider making a few minor adjustments.
(You know what they are)
Friday, July 18, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
"What's up with you today, little sister?" I asked, to which Annie replied: "I guess I'm just having a junior-senior moment."
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
especially if you have waited years and especially if part of you never
believed you could deserve this loved and beckoning hand held
out to you this way.
I am thinking of faith now and the testaments of loneliness
and what we feel we are worthy of in this world.
Years ago in the Hebrides I remember an old man
who would walk every morning on the gray stones
to the shore of baying seals, who would press his
hat to his chest in the blustering salt wind and say his
prayer to the turbulent Jesus hidden in the waters.
And I think of the story of the storm and the people
waking and seeing the distant, yet familiar figure,
far across the water calling to them.
And how we are all preparing for that abrupt waking
and that calling and that moment when we have to say yes!
Except it will not come so grandly, so biblically,
but more subtly, and intimately in the face
of the one you know you have to love.
So that when we finally step out of the boat
toward them we find, everything holds us,
and everything confirms our courage.
And if you wanted to drown, you could,
But you don't, because finally, after all
this struggle and all these years,
you don't want to anymore.
You've simply had enough of drowning
and you want to live, and you want to love.
And you'll walk across any territory,
and any darkness, however fluid,
and however dangerous to take the one
hand and the one life, you know belongs in yours.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
I want to write about faith,
about the way the moon rises
over cold snow, night after night,
faithful even as it fades from fullness,
slowly becoming that last curving and impossible
sliver of light before the final darkness.
But I have no faith myself
I refuse it even the smallest entry.
Let this then, my small poem,
like a new moon, slender and barely open,
be the first prayer that opens me to faith.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
She wasn't angry, there was no fight, it was simple: I wanted her here but she wanted to be there, and suddenly without warning, a stream of missiles were unleashed and headed my way.
Rejection from above, boom! Abandonment from below, boom! Failure as a mother, boom! But the biggest explosion came when I realized the rejection I felt from my daughter was no different than the rejection I'd felt from my father, from my mother, my brothers, my friends and from lovers. It was all one big thing, my own creation, a manifestation of a lifetime of beliefs.
I've been accused of being so sensitive that I cry when the sun comes up, and although that's a gross exaggeration, I do have easy access to my feelings and to their tears. But today was out of the ordinary even for me, because after saying goodbye to Annie, I retired to my bedroom and proceeded to cry for hours--I couldn't stop.
I waited for answers, I waited for a sign, I waited for my period but it didn't come. I knew there was a lesson, because the intensity of emotion just didn't fit the crime.
I've never been wrapped up in my identity as a mother, I've never concerned myself with whether or not my child loves me--I only know I love her. I've never understood why people complain about their children's growing independence or the inevitable Empty Nest Syndrome when they finally go off to college. Surely these are good things--kids spreading their wings, parents reclaiming a bit of lost freedom. But I suppose they've just been concepts to me, until today.
Annie recently said, "I love you now Mom," implying that she might not love me later. And when I told her I accepted that, I thought I really did. But this morning, after finding myself curled up in a blubbering ball on the bed, maybe I need to question how much I don't accept.
What became the trigger on a loaded gun was actually something simple and benign. All Annie wanted was to be there when I wanted her to be here. My mother wanted to be at the theatre, my father wanted to write his books, a man I dated wanted to be alone, and a man I loved wanted to stay where he was.
"People have their lives," my mom sometimes reminds me. Her message being that when I don't get what I want, it's bigger than my perceived inadequacies and deficiencies. It's not about my lack of knowledge or because I'm a mediocre cook, it's not about what I don't possess or can't provide, and it's not about my thighs because it's not about me.
When Annie said she wanted to stay at her dad's, I made up stories and turned nothing into weapons. When Annie said she wanted to stay at her dad's, I saw the faces of everyone who ever hurt me. When Annie said she wanted to stay at her dad's, she gave me a gift--and I knew once the fire was out, it would be delivered.