A: They become serious big girls.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Secret
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Sitting at the sidebar
It's been a long time since I've posted something at the sidebar, a long time since I even listened to the music I love. It's been a long time since I've done a lot of things that please me, or inspire me, or ignite a fire or even a flame. But regardless of the wrong choices I've made, being so far from my own joy was something too unfamiliar, so I spent time tracking it down, finding, then reclaiming it.Today, someone who knows me well said, "Katie, you're back." And he's right.
Lately I've been thinking about how we all have songs or albums that remind us of specific times in our lives, and since this time has been so filled with change, not just in regards to where I live or who I love, but deep down-to-the-bone change, I thought it a good idea to find new music to play in my new background. Music I've never heard before, music that reminds me of nothing else and of no one. Something clean like freshly printed paper, just itching for a pen and a new story.
So here it is, Chanda Mama, the first song on my new soundtrack, from an album fittingly titled, Playing For Change.
Click the music player up top and to the right of this post. I can only hope you'll be as joyful listening to it as I am, and if you also feel something that resembles a return to yourself, well then, even better.
Click the music player up top and to the right of this post. I can only hope you'll be as joyful listening to it as I am, and if you also feel something that resembles a return to yourself, well then, even better.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
1 more day
All in a day
Friday, December 17, 2010
Not lost & found
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
A Superior man
Two weeks ago, I met a taxi cab driver who has a wife and three kids to support. They all live in Maryland, and during the week the cab driver tutors French to high school students. Every Friday after work, he takes a train from his home in Annapolis Maryland to Penn Station in New York City, then another train to Queens. He arrives in Queens at three o'clock in the morning, walks to his friend's apartment and sleeps on the sofa for two hours. He wakes up, takes a bus to pick up his cab, then drives in the city all of Friday, all of Saturday, and all of Sunday. On Sunday night he returns to Queens and drops off his cab, takes a train to Penn Station, then a train back to Maryland, then he does it all again.From the time I got into the cab driver's car, to the time I reached my destination, he told me his story with humor in his heart, ease in his body, and a smile on his face.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
6 days
In the last six days, I've hiked more miles than I have in the last 10 years. In the last six days, I've experienced more natural beauty than I have in the last 3 years. In the last six days, I've spent more time with my friend than in what felt like forever, and if it weren't for my family back home, I might never leave.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Homecoming
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Evolving101
(Originally posted February 2008)All my life I've handed out gold stars to everyone but me, and tonight I give myself the biggest one. Congratulations Katie, for not spending your days in a career you hate, or immersing yourself in idle gossip, or believing there's a politician who doesn't lie. For being brave enough to leave a man you love, smart enough to know that every disaster since has been a lesson in disguise, and for killing a belief that was keeping you from being that woman, who tonight seems closer than ever.
I don't want to change, I want to understand who I am then customize my world. I don't want to be better, I want to be open. I don't want to be nicer, I want connectedness to become my natural state of being, and I don't want to be prettier, I just want to be so fulfilled that it's impossible to keep the smile off my face.
Monday, December 06, 2010
The need to be seen
(Originally posted April, 2008)When I was a little girl I used to watch a show called Romper Room, and at the end of each episode "Miss Carol" looked straight at her television audience through her hand-held hoop-on-a-stick.
"I see Johnny," she would say, "and Suzy, oh, and there's Bobby! I see Cindy, and Billy..."
And while she listed all the children she saw through the TV set, I would wave and shout, "And Katie! Over here Miss Carol, you see Katie!"
But she never said my name. Miss Carol never saw me.
I guess that explains it.
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Thursday, December 02, 2010
32 days
Is it wrong?
What a superior man knows
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
The way things aren't
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Evolving 201
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Thanksgiving moment #4
Thanksgiving moment #1
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Popular poultry
Monday, November 22, 2010
Earlier tonight, I experienced a self-generated feeling of powerlessness, but after taking in the air outside, I realized it was an illusion. Slipping into darkness wasn't real.For the past several weeks, my subconscious mind has been working overtime to heal what hurts on a conscious level. I may stumble, then fall into dangerous thoughts that mute the pretty colors, but I have not missed a thing. I have noticed the tree on Broadway packed with singing birds, the love inside the embrace of a friend, the dimple on the left side of my daughter's face while she chews.
I've known for a long time, regardless of psychic pain, existential loneliness, violence and turbulence, that life is sweet. I've known for a long time that when you are standing in joy, you might soon be standing in grief, and as quickly as you slip into darkness, is as quickly as the light goes back on.
I can change the channel with my remote, but bad news will always play. So I remember there's hot coffee on a cold day, or a lover who made me laugh. There's a piece of music that makes me feel, and a painting that reminds me to notice. Notice the dimple on her face, and the birds that bring in winter, as I keep open my heart, when all it wants to do is close.
Friday, November 19, 2010
13
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres.1 Corinthians 13: 4-7
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Thoughts in real time
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Homecoming
For the past 12 months, I was not the mother I wanted to be. I listened to a voice other than my own, and put someone else first. Annie has been my girl for 13 years and she needs me now, maybe more than she ever will. She can run me through the ringer, then grow up and fly away, but she's my heart. And even if I fall in love again, I'll never leave her again. Not ever. No way.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
In my dreams
Last night I dreamed I was in the wilderness, elevated from the ground on a rock. There was a bear below, and when it saw me, it began climbing to where I was. I hunkered down and hid. A ranger appeared and started to shoot, and though I was thankful to be protected, my heart was broken. I couldn't bring myself to look at the bear as he now lay dead.
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
Thoughts in real time
Monday, November 08, 2010
Thoughts in real time
I never envisioned a future, so I'm never surprised to find myself wherever I am.I have so little time left to spend with my daughter like this.
I learned about what people are made of and what they're not made of. I learned about bonds that don't break and cycles that don't end. I learned that untruths are the same as lies.
I didn't know I'd like being alone as much as I do.
When a man looks at me and tells me I give him hope, he's just looking in a mirror, liking what he sees, and what he sees is me--looking in a mirror, liking what I see.
Nice, nice weekend.
Why do I keep thinking about apples?
Saturday, November 06, 2010
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
The end
A wishbone sat on the bare counter, but what could I wish for, and who would make the other wish? Even if he were still here and agreed to play such a silly game, he may have wished for money, and I just would have made another wish for him.
The next morning I would wake to new but familiar sounds. A siren, a workman, a baby crying, but it's all quieter where I am now. The sun gets in, there's a fountain outside, and though I didn't build or create this better place, I did use my degree to get here. I could have kept living in a way that lessened and diminished my life, but that wouldn't have made me strong. It wouldn't have been a test of my character, or meant I was a good soldier--it simply would have meant that I was enduring. I knew I deserved better, and walking away is often more courageous than staying--I knew that too.
I took one swig from the last bottle of bourbon and poured the rest down the drain. I opened the fridge then emptied the milk, the juice, the can of ginger ale he was saving for later. No more cigarettes by the window, no more martinis after midnight, no more questions or doubts, no more failed attempts at everything.
No more morning embraces and hour-long kisses.
I grabbed my bag.
One last look at the bathtub where he bathed, where we were often so playful and sometimes so sad. One last look at the living room where we slowed danced, where he said it was always me--the only one he loved like that. One last look at the kitchen where I made him a first meal, where he arrived on the dot, so handsome and hopeful. One last look at the room where we loved one another and slept, then I turned to leave and turned the key.
And with my newly strung guitar on my back, I left the love nest and the battlefield. I took the train home to where the sky is bluer and the light is brighter, where sirens still blare and babies still cry, but where the world looks more like mine. Now I can wish again for the things I want, and be in a place where I am free to breathe.
The next morning I would wake to new but familiar sounds. A siren, a workman, a baby crying, but it's all quieter where I am now. The sun gets in, there's a fountain outside, and though I didn't build or create this better place, I did use my degree to get here. I could have kept living in a way that lessened and diminished my life, but that wouldn't have made me strong. It wouldn't have been a test of my character, or meant I was a good soldier--it simply would have meant that I was enduring. I knew I deserved better, and walking away is often more courageous than staying--I knew that too.
I took one swig from the last bottle of bourbon and poured the rest down the drain. I opened the fridge then emptied the milk, the juice, the can of ginger ale he was saving for later. No more cigarettes by the window, no more martinis after midnight, no more questions or doubts, no more failed attempts at everything.
No more morning embraces and hour-long kisses.
I grabbed my bag.
One last look at the bathtub where he bathed, where we were often so playful and sometimes so sad. One last look at the living room where we slowed danced, where he said it was always me--the only one he loved like that. One last look at the kitchen where I made him a first meal, where he arrived on the dot, so handsome and hopeful. One last look at the room where we loved one another and slept, then I turned to leave and turned the key.
And with my newly strung guitar on my back, I left the love nest and the battlefield. I took the train home to where the sky is bluer and the light is brighter, where sirens still blare and babies still cry, but where the world looks more like mine. Now I can wish again for the things I want, and be in a place where I am free to breathe.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Higher learning
In February of 2009, I wrote this.I had gone through things, learned things, and overcome things, and I declared it graduation day. The only thing I had yet to understand was there were more doors to walk through, and more work to be done--so much more. So whether I liked it or not, I was signed up by my life to learn harder lessons, which I did. And along with spring breaks and glimpses of a bright future, the work was as grueling as it gets. I was thrown into fire, and just as soon as I would stand to recover, I'd be thrown back in again, until burning became too familiar.
In February of 2009, I did graduate, I just didn't know what it meant. I thought I was finished, done, complete, and free, only to discover I knew nothing about myself in relation to what I needed to know, or to be worthy of my diploma.
It's October of 2010, and tonight I sit surrounded by packed boxes in an apartment where he and I dreamed of, but could not build a beautiful life. But I feel empathy, not empty, resigned, not resentful. I'm disappointed, not in despair, and I'm not disillusioned because I no longer have them. Illusions.
I have something better--an education, a master's degree in Me. And when the day comes that I am surrounded by boxes unpacked, it won't be the thing that was lost in storage, unmarked, or broken. It will be the thing that reminds me there is only one direction for me to go, and that I've done my time standing in fire.
I get it now. I know who I am. I know what I'm worth.
In real time
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Sunday night
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
One good thing
Following a day of distractions and peace, a cloud found its way to me. I lay on top of my made, empty bed, and sent a text message to my friend in California.Tell me one good thing, I wrote, and she replied, The scent of eucalyptus trees.
And the scent of eucalyptus trees was delivered to me by my memory, and it filled the room. So I sent the same text to another friend, and then to many friends, and here are some of the responses I received:
You are beautiful
Yankees won today
I'm going to Miami on Friday!
You are funny and smart
I got a 91 on my Human Sexuality test!
Annie
Annie
It is a beautiful evening
I love you
Moon is like a silver penny
Moon is like a silver penny
Monday, October 18, 2010
Thought in real time
Thought in real time
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Shadows & light
Monday, October 11, 2010
Grounded
When you fall in love in your forties, you cherish every moment of feeling that way again, and since you don't have much time, you waste no time drawing up plans. You decorate your life together on paper, and choose colors for walls you have yet to build. You drive up the coast with the radio on, and when you arrive you make a nest, drink ginger martinis, and wake up early the next morning because you can't wait to start another day.But when you fall in love in your forties, your baggage might feel more like cargo, and its weight might exceed the limit allowed to fly. When you return from the coast and get ready to board your flight to the future, the outside world stands waiting--hands on hips, with needs, wants and demands.
When you fall in love in your forties, it feels like time is running out and standing still. You've been here before so you see clearly, but you've never been here before so you've also gone blind. Like a lucid dream, you're awake enough to know what surrounds you, and asleep enough to be blissfully unaware--that no matter how many seeds you plant in your new garden, or how many beautiful colors you choose for your new walls--no matter how much anticipation and hope you use to fuel the engines of your pending flight, if the weight of your baggage exceeds the limit, you may never have the chance to take it off the ground.
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
What we forget
I remember the winter, loving the sight of his brown leather shoes on my living room floor. I remember the summer, his shirt hanging above me in a tree on a mountain. I remember last fall, wrapped in his arms, shivering from the cold and hopeful--and soon I'll remember his tanned, strong legs, his warm breath on the back of my neck, and all the times I knew he loved me.
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