The Front Porch

I remember our front porch. I bet it wasn't as big as I see it when I close my eyes. But I can remember running to the end where the wrought iron rail would stop me. It seems there must have been bright green indoor/outdoor carpet on the porch at one point. I think the foundation was cement. I'm not sure. There were two steps that led to the front door. We had a screen door. I know this for certain because we didn't have air conditioning most of the time we lived in that tiny house on the East side of town. I remember time spent on that porch, on those steps, with my brothers.

I grew up in that house. I was about three years old when we moved there. I think many of my memories of it aren't real though. They are simply imprinted from looking at photographs of myself and my family with the house in the background. A few instances I absolutely remember, though. I remember my first day of school. I walked home alone and I was so very lost. I remember crying and being terrified that I wouldn't make it to my house. I came upon it from the back yard. I didn't tell anyone what I'd done. I was afraid I would get in trouble.

I remember running away once. But I didn't know where to go. So I went in my room and went to sleep. It's something I've repeated throughout my life. If I don't know where to go. I go to sleep. Back then, they didn't even know I ran away. It still holds true today.

Back to the porch. I remember playing jacks on the porch. And hopscotch on the little sidewalk that led up to it. And my final memory of that house and of the porch was waiting for a man to take me skating. He didn't show. He just didn't show. He was replaced. It happened almost overnight. Don't get me wrong. I adore my Dad. He was the replacement. But for some reason I'm so goddamn melancholy now, and I think much has to do with that porch and that house and my unquestioning acceptance of men who don't show. And how I can just go to sleep. And how no one knows if something is wrong. It's all on that porch, with that little girl. Sitting by herself.

Sunday morning: I've had time to sleep on this. A lot of time to sleep. Some of it not so good, most of it very good. And I've had time to think about replacing the man who did not pick me up for skating. I know, as a woman, that he can not be replaced. I know, as a woman, that the hurts from long ago are the left-over hurts of a little girl who didn't understand why/how a man goes away. And I also know that I have carried these hurts with me, reliving them when someone leaves. I also know that I have fear of sitting on my porch alone, again. But each time I go through it, I am that much more aware of from where the pain springs. And I am not alone this very moment, this very day. I need not wait to be abandoned...for that is a waste of the miraculous life that I have now. And who is to say that it will happen again? I have no idea what the future holds. I simply have no idea. The woman is asking the little girl to step aside.

Uh, no thanks, not now.

7am appointment to get my mirror fixed on my car. I nudged one of those big ol' cement poles in a parking garage a couple years ago. The silly thing has been loose ever since. I kind of press it in place, it loosens up, I push it back on. It never really falls all the way off. But I know I can't drive through a car wash. That's ok, because I don't wash my car that often, and when I do, I don't mind doing it by hand anyway. It's kind of therapeutic for me to wash it, and dry it. It's kind of a Miyagi experience for me, I escape from the rest of the day for about an hour...nice.

But I finally reached that point on my to-do list, and got a verbal estimate from the service guy at the Chevy dealership. $47.00 plus "a little" to fix it. I sat in the customer service area today, drank a cup of what passed for coffee and read up on the latest fashion out of Paris and Milan. (If my Elle magazine ever stops coming, I fear I will perish!) After an hour, Jewels (my oh-so-friendly service manager) let me know that it can't be fixed!!!.

I need a new mirror. They will gladly order one for me, and of course, it will be black, so it will need to be painted. All for the happy, grand total of $400.00.
I said, okay...I'll be going out of town in a couple weeks, why don't I drop it off then? Sure, happy to set it up for me. (Of course he was, dammit!) I drove home. I walked in my apartment, thinking of my upcoming vacation.

You know what? I've been pressing that mirror into place about once a week for almost 2 years. My vacation is in less than 2 weeks.

I called Jewels. "Hey, guy...I don't know what I was thinking. I'd like you to cancel that order for that mirror. I'll call you when I'm ready."

He didn't sound surprised.

I'll continue to hand wash. And I'll enjoy my dollars in Cozumel more if I'm not thinking about that silly mirror.

Pledge to One's Self

A pledge to not,
to none, to self.
So there it sits
upon the shelf.
But how to do it?
How to be
the one where two
I thought I'd be?
Commit to void,
to empty space.
Turning 'round,
I caught your face.
Looking back in
my mind's eye,
as I walk off
we've said goodbyes.
It seemed the answer,
was so clear.
Now in this promise
is bred a fear
of holding on to nothing,
of losing for the sake
of winning an illusion
that isn't worth the stake.


I've written several pieces that received comments (on another blog site) from women regarding the fear we, as women, can face when making the decision to be alone. The interesting thing to me, is this. Strong women (and I suspect strong men, also) may be able to make incredibly difficult decisions at work without trepidation, but when faced with relationship decisions...we waiver, quiver, and question. Of course, we question, for emotions are at stake. But emotions are also wrapped around and through and tangled to the point of tripping us when perhaps we (I) should simply be stepping through the door. This was the case in the relationship that dragged on and on until I finally pledged to myself that being alone by myself was better than being alone next to someone.

Revisiting Gratitude

Long, long week. I was fed up and (at the same time) happy that I had not thrown in the towel. I'm being pushed, not stretched. I know this. A girlfriend called and asked if I wanted to meet up at a club for a night of dancing. Normally I would have jumped at the chance, but I am simply tired. I knew that there was a gathering at a quiet pub and that several of my friends would be there. I wanted to sit, to catch up. I needed to cool off mentally.

As soon as I walked in and caught sight of the first two at the table, my mood lifted. And the evening just got better. Great conversation, wide-open laughter, hugs...it was like medicine for me. I got home early, I slept well. This morning, I am reminded once again of all for which I am grateful. I could never make a complete list. It fills me. I am so thankful for the awareness of my blessings. The way I fill my hours in the day will be worked out. This will come to resolution. My life (the experience), and my living (not how I earn it) are such an adventure. Such a simple, pleasant, thrilling, excellent adventure.




My Gratitude

3/12/2007 8:56:23 PM

For sweet voices and the gift of familiar converse, I am grateful.
For time spent 'round the table, I am grateful.
For answers attempted to questions stammered, I am grateful.
For allowing tears to fall when they must, I am grateful.
For each day old friends grow older still - together, I am grateful.
For the opening of a circle to form one anew, I am grateful.
For yesterday, for today, for tonight, for tomorrow, I am grateful.

Folding Chair

I watched a woman.
She walked down the street carrying a folded folding chair.
She wore a black sack of a dress.
She carried her chair,
and a plastic sack,
and a conversation.
She conversed with herself as she walked in her
black sack dress,
and white canvas shoes.
Her legs were swollen
and folded over her white canvas shoes.
She stopped on the street and leaned on the
folded folding chair to pick at a sore on her leg.
All the while she carried on the conversation.
When she walked away, she left the plastic sack
on the street, but kept her chair and conversation with her.


10/21/06

Running Not-So-Wild

Happy 4th! I got up early, early, early today to run the Run Wild 5K in Uptown Park. Pulled into the little upscale shopping center, fully expecting to duck into Starbucks and get some calories. Ack! Closed! What? What? Oh, right. Holiday. I found a McDonald's around the corner, though...and an english muffin. Ok, that disaster was averted. Disaster, heh.

Finally met up with my friend, Ken. We are often signed up for the same races. I see him at the start. He's faster than me. But it's nice to see a friendly face. (I never saw you again after the start, Ken...hope you had a good one!)

Light sprinkles, cloudy sky. It seemed deceivingly cool. It was humid as all get out. A woman sang the National Anthem and we were off. I felt it again. The same old heart-racing, can't catch my breath, adrenaline charge that I get at the start of each race. It would be super if only it didn't pull a mind f* on me. It does. I tried to pull back, but I was sucking air before I even got into the first quarter mile. I wonder if hypnosis would help?

Anyway, first mile, 8:30. Ok, that's good. I was calming down a little. 2nd mile, 17:00. Pace still where I wanted it to be. Then, I have no idea what happened. Well, maybe I do. I watched someone I know pass me. I recognized her as she ran by. I was surprised, because I knew she was there, but I would have thought she'd be quite a bit further up in the pack. I shouted out, "Go Maria." She waved a hand as she turned on her kick. And I felt my energy flag. Oh no, I was slowing down! In my training, the 3rd mile is where I speed up to an 8 minute pace. I rounded the 3 mile mark and had to push to come in to the finish at 28:30. That's a 9:08 pace.

It was a good time for me. I don't know where I finished in my bracket, although I suspect it wasn't as high as I had hoped. And this is where I think I need to get my head in line. I need to compete with myself, not the rest of the pack. I'm only running for myself. This is a solo sport for me. But when I was passed up, I felt deflated, I slowed down. There is work to be done around this. I feel it. Oh, and there are Clif bars to be purchased and to be kept in the car. No more showing up on race day with an empty stomach. Bad form, that.

Her Sacrifice

Introspection strikes again. I've heard, and I believe, that the "next step", the big stretch in writing poetry, comes when one can step out of the autobiographic. I'm trying, but so many fantastic things have happened and continue to happen in my life that the task is difficult. I use the word "fantastic" in it's most literal sense: Some recent occurrences seem to be conceived of the most unrestrained imagination. They are nearly remarkable. They are marvelous. So I am left with my thoughts when I am quiet. Again...I am in my head. And I am drawn to comparative speculation. I am drawn to this autobiographic piece from earlier this year. I am sad as I read it. But with my sadness also comes acceptance that I needed to go through those emotions. I am grateful for the happiness and joy I feel each day, for the sadness I've experienced...because that sadness allows me to be comparative and to appreciate my joy...and for the courage to realize that this was about me when I wrote it.


Her Sacrifice

Internally apologetic,
She steadies the craft before she embarks.
Calm is her credo,
Or so it seems.

Like a lamb, she stares dumb-faced.
Sacrificially stupid and willing
To take the blunt force
Of the blow.

Amassed on the deck are
More sisters, more sheep.
Some seem to know better
But none will turn back.

The wind has turned cold
And the hour is now late.
This is her solitary meal of
Warmed-over optimism,

Served on a teak-smooth
Plank of hope.
Splashed by salty waves,
She sails toward her extinction.

1/21/2007 5:41:18 PM