Archive for the ‘ Uncategorized’ Category

“Take nothing on its looks; take everything on evidence. There’s no better rule.” - Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Posted on November 21, 2008

Kiss the way we were goodbye...

“With longing I recall yearning for a caress. Hollow and empty, unsheltered by the pain of the rest. Not without justification, torn down for my compassion. Free formed in emptiness” ~ Shadows Fall (from 1997’s Somber Eyes to the Sky, “Nurture”)

“Daniel my brother, you are older than me. Do you still feel the pain of the scars that won’t heal? Your eyes have died but you see more than I…” ~ Elton John (from 1972’s Don’t Shoot Me, I’m Only the Piano Player “Daniel”)

The year is 1979. Carter is president, Kramer vs. Kramer has won the Academy Award for Best Picture, and a brown-eyed baby girl is born to a young, married couple in Southern California. She is instantly adored. She readily smiles and giggles and seems to relish the attention bestowed upon her by family and strangers alike. She is healthy and rarely shows signs of discontent, except when she is expected to sleep, which (much to her parents dismay) doesn’t always come easily to the baby.

The year is 1986. Reagan is president, Platoon has won the Academy Award for Best Picture, and a blue-eyed baby boy is born to the mother of the brown-eyed girl and her second husband, in New Jersey. He is instantly revered. He is a strikingly beautiful child with eyes so wide and clear that they appear to occupy ¾ of his tiny head. He cries often and doesn’t appreciate when his mother focuses her attention on anything or anyone but him. He is colicky from the start, and suffers from frequent ear infections, and sleeplessness.

The children are raised together but are completely unequal. The brown-eyed girl excels in the arts, and the blue-eyed boy is a gifted athlete. The girl is highly attached to their mother, and her brother shares a special bond with both parents. The girl has fear surrounding loss. She rarely sees her biological father and feels as though her stepfather simply does not love her in the manner that he loves his natural son. She cries easily and is deemed “sensitive”. She has an “irrational” fear of the wind. Still, she smiles and laughs, though frequently she does so for the benefit of those around her. The fussy baby-boy has turned into a temperamental child. He rarely cries but has found that yelling will often ensure satisfaction of all that he desires.

The year is 2001. The brown-eyed girl cannot cry (perhaps for the first time in history). She sits at the funeral quietly, and glimpses her brother sneaking out the back door with a boy she has never seen before. She is 20 years old, and wishes that she could numb this pain. Her mother took a Xanax on the way to the service and the blue-eyed boy reeks of marijuana. She wishes she hadn’t been so mean to her father during the divorce, she wishes she had spoken with him since, she wishes that he hadn’t looked that awful gray color which she deemed the “mark of death”, when she visited him in the hospital. She’d erroneously assumed that there would be time to rectify… She was 4 when her mother married him. 18 when they split. She had spent more time with him than any of his other children. And she cannot cry.

The year is 2008. She hangs up the phone and sips her wine, while saying a quiet prayer for the blue-eyed boy. Talking to her mother can be trying. She steps on to the balcony and lights a cigarette, an act which still does not feel totally organic. She had her first cigarette at age 25 and is a “casual” or stress induced smoker. No more than 4 a day. Never more than 4 per day. That is the rule. She loves rules. More accurately, she loves to break them. She thrives on the challenge. Nothing challenges her.

She sifts through her mental rubble and breathes in the evening. She breathes in the evening and sifts through her mental rubble. Again. and again.

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It’s Hard to Grow Roots in the Water

Posted on October 20, 2008

Children of the Water learn early that survival is largely dependent upon their ability to flow with the current. Progressive Parents of the Water are often loathe to teach this particular tenant to their young, as it can often result in frivolous treatment of non-Water people, inability to fit into non-Water society, and loneliness… both in and out of the Water.

Still, this is an innate truth of Water life which must be adhered to.

The Girl of the Water is a prime example of the dual forces of power and detriment caused by this most controversial Water law.

The Water Wedding was approximately 13 months ago and the total number of Water friends whom are still in the Water world stands at about 10. Of about 90. Family excluded, of course. The Spouse of the Water seems to be similar to the Girl in that way. We fear the responsibility involved with non-Water friends, and seem to paddle nearest to those who catch the same wave we are riding.

The shore always seems far and we like to keep our school lean. The flotsam and jetsam attract unwanted attention and the predators never seem to be far behind.

So we learn as Water Babies that if we want to become fully grown Water beings, we must be willing to swim far from the familiar and into safer territory as soon as the wind shifts.

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Getting Maid

Posted on September 28, 2008

Scarlett O' Whera ARE MY DRUGS ?

Scarlett O' Whera ARE MY DRUGS ?

It’s wedding season! I suppose technically it’s almost past wedding season, and due to the non-committal nature of the bulk of our friends, my husband and I have been largely unaffected. I’ve not donned a single bridesmaid gown, danced one Conga line (though I generally flat out refuse those anyway, wedding or not) nor eaten one piece of rubber-y chicken. Yes, wedding season seems to be here and gone and the Water people are A-ok.

Until Friday. On Friday, my possibly-soon-to-be-ex-Sister-in Law called me to tell me that she had left my hopefully-never-to-be-ex-Brother-in-Law. I stand there in the rain, with an armload of groceries, with Spouse of the Water waving wildly, begging to know why I am repeating inarticulate sputterings like “Oh my God” and “Oh, Wow…no way!”, over and over again. Sigh.

I wish I were surprised. I’m not. She was 19 when they got married (just over a year ago, by the by). He is a Doctoral student with a tendency towards stress and she simply does not possess the life experience which might help her deal with the day-to-day life situations that make marriage such an amazing but occasionally trying adventure.

That’s the logical side of why I knew there would eventually be trouble (though maybe not quite so soon). My gut instinct actually kicked in way sooner. Like, April of 07 when I opened the e-mail from my then soon-to-be Sister-in-Law which contained a link to the “dress” I was being forced to wear for their wedding that June.

“Scarlett O’Hara on Shrooms” was how I described it to the then-soon-to-be Spouse of the Water. 2 months and 250 dollars later, I stand in a row of six girls, all posing as maids of the child bride, all looking varying degrees of heinous in a putrid green satin ball gown style skirt, complete with pick-ups and rhinestone beading.  I am in a backyard in Colorado wishing there were some shrooms SOMEWHERE in the vicinity, to take the edge off of this completely in-organic situation.

The only solace I have is that I know that I will see 90 percent of these people in three months at my own ultra-glam NYC wedding affair, and I will not, I repeat NOT be wearing rhinestones OR pick-ups. But in this moment, I am a maid of a bride and I can’t help but feel completely out of my element.

I left that gown on the floor of the Comfort Inn in Alamosa, Colorado… exactly where I’d crawled out of it on that most awkward of Saturday nights.

Anyway, that was Friday. Super wierd.

On Saturday, my dear friend, who happens to have served as my Maid of Honor, announced that she was to be wed. Apparently, it all happened a week ago, while the Spouse and I celebrated life and love Hawaii-style. I cried when she told me. I think mostly because I KNEW that our closeness was no longer at the point that dictated that I was her obvious choice to reciprocate the role of Most Honorable Maid. I didn’t even know if my name had been in the running.

We four had dinner this evening, at the restaurant where they are considering having their reception. There was no speak of any special honor, though my maid status was verbally confirmed.

WHY does this bother me so? I’m not even sure I desire the committment required to be a great Maid of Honor. Maybe it’s because I fear this is my last chance. I don’t speak with my friends from High School who spent afternoons planning exactly how we would switch off so that everyone had a chance to be the Maid with the Most-est. I had to leave my “Hippie” friends in LA, my NYC “coke” friends at the bars from whenst they came, thus darling little sister and Kerri were the lone hold-outs from  my past, chillin’ in my friendhip circle. It’s kinda like a friendship triangle these days. Anyway, Kelly has girlfriends who may win out and Kerri has people who hang with her more often for sure. Sigh. At least Kerri has phenominal taste and my dress is going to be beyond cute. Still, sometimes I do wish I could be someones most important somebody.

I am most definitley my husbands most important somebody, so two points for me there, but sometimes I miss legit girl friendships.

So though it appears I MAY get Maid once or twice more. I’ve not yet decided if that makes me happy or sad and more importantly why I can’t just feel something. Even if that something is hard to qualify.

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