& they may make no sense...

As we head into this next decade, can we draft a joint resolution to drop the crazy-making expectation that we must all be perfect friends and perfect mothers and perfect workers and perfect lovers with perfect bodies who dedicate ourselves to charity and grow our own organic vegetables, at the same time that we run corporations and stand on our heads while playing the guitar with our feet? -elizabeth gilbert

This came to me through the usual random internet stream-of-consciousness-clicks but as soon as I read this quote in the second paragraph, I knew I had to respond. I've written before about Elizabeth Gilbert- her book eat pray love is one of my all-time favorites (and many others as it was an Oprah's Book Club book, of course). I admire her writing style, her effortless flow from one topic to another while still maintaining a sense of humor and self throughout. The funny thing is, the book is all about finding a sense of self. The woman who has had a boyfriend or relationship with others since she was 15 is finally at a breaking point, shaking on the bathroom floor with tears and full of gratitude that she isn't pregnant, after she and her husband had been trying to have children for months. The image always struck me, and sometimes I wonder if I relate to her in the sense that I believe I'm close to being her. It's like living a life, or feeling something dangerously close to what someone else is experiencing. Have you ever driven home after a couple drinks, and heard about someone who did the same but didn't arrive safely at home without some type of interference? It's a scary thought but that tightrope of a "that could have been me, thank God it wasn't" emotional experience is tough to describe without something as shocking as a drunk/tipsy driving story.

I don't know if I relate to her so much because she's a writer (and, as she alludes to in this article, is full of self-realization, and self-doubt just simply from being a writer), or if I relate to her as an educated woman living a career (is it the right choice?) and the suburban housewife role as well (is that the right choice?)... but Elizabeth Gilbert feels like a long-lost aunt of mine.

Anyway, I had been toying around with the idea of trying to write about the complexities of my own insecurities, and those I see around me in my friends. Somehow tie this organic living, pottery barn-home, keeping up with the Joneses Bay Village neighborhood, anti-chain restaurants, cocktail dress wearing, gym-attending expectation level into a blog post. And in one sentence, Elizabeth Gilbert says it all.

So many people have a projected ideal that they propel into the universe... and beneath the bluster is really just someone with a ton of insecurities aiming to project a 2D image to the world, while hiding the 3D version of the life they actually live (which, really, do I really care where you choose to buy your groceries?) BLAH. We doubt ourselves, which leads us to become these women who must create an image to show the world. I wish I didn't worry about the "enough" part of life. "Is this house 'enough'? Is this job/career 'enough'? Am I enough?" The thing is, although I know what the latest fitness craze is, and I have dreams of being the wife who is able to keep a beautiful home with the colors straight from the pottery barn catalog, and who still has time to keep 5 frozen casseroles on stand-by in the freezer (and take pictures of it for my cookbook/blog), and who just took a cooking class with my husband- it was SO fun, really, you must try it! ... I'm just not there yet. I'm not writing 'enough' of what I should be writing. I'm probably wasting away my writing skills in this blog, and I'm really not in the career path I thought I should be in. I still end my sentences with prepositions, and I have pushed the thought of grad school aside just like my hopes of studying abroad while in undergrad. I don't go to the hipest bars and restaurants, and I don't always eat organic (even after watching Food, Inc. I confess-- I've eated McD's chicken nuggets), I haven't planted an herb garden yet this year, and I haven't even mulched the 1 bed that I have planted so far. I don't go to the gym, and my dog pees when she meets new people.

Life is messy, not perfect. That's just what it is. I hope one day to shed my insecurities of being "enough" of a writer, or of using my creativity, potential. I hope to one day not worry about being enough of a wife, and just be. But for now... I'll pour myself some wine and see if I can find some pottery barn looking outdoor accessories on sale at Tuesday Morning... and read some more eat pray love. Appreciate a deep conversation with God, a wonderful plate of pasta, and the warmth of a lover. (because that's really all that matters).

There are things you do because they feel right & they may make no sense & they may make no money & it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other & to eat each other's cooking & say it was good - brian andreas, story people

dreams

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?


I've had this poem running through my head for the past couple of days. Not quite sure what that means, as I'm still sorting out what my dreams are... but here's a trip back to middle school/high school for you. For the record, Mr. Hughes, I think dreams crumble in fragments, barely recognizable, until the dust begins to float quietly away with the wind.

it's a system designed for silence.

Maybe it's because I didn't grow up in a rough neighborhood. Maybe I was just offended when not one, but two police cars needed to flash their lights when they pulled me over for the first time in my sleepy suburb (on the morning of my 17th birthday, no less). Maybe I have an issue with the police officer who gave me my first ticket the week I came home from my honeymoon. But I can't stand that I live in a society where I feel anxious when I see a police officer. The thing is, when I'm driving, I don't want to have to worry if 5-10 mph (on a clear day, not weaving in and out of traffic... etc) will cost me $100. I don't want to have to be nervous if I walk out of a bar in college (after I was 21, of course), or out of a house party and step onto the sidewalk. I understand that police officers have a relatively dangerous profession, but that doesn't negate the fact that a good citizen like myself should feel nervous every time I see one. I constantly do the stomp-the-brake-stare-obsessively-out-the-rearview-mirror maneuver when I pass one. And I don't really think that's right.

I happen to believe that many police officers are in a profession in which they have a reasonable amount of power over others, simply because of the power card. The gun in the holster, but "I'm doing it for the greater good" mentality. The more I think about the examples in our society in which people exploit their power, the angrier I get at how passive we are about it. Now, it's easy to give examples of the exploitation of workers, government agents, etc, etc, etc. But I'm not really talking about those... we can recognize corruption and problems in those institutions. I'm talking more about the institutions that we accept as a part of our community... the institutions that shape our children, our homes, our taxes, and the future of our communities.

When I was interviewing for teaching positions two years ago, I met with many principals... some of whom told me outright I had the job. Others called me back for multiple interviews, only to inform me that I was #2... but would I take a long-term sub position instead and perhaps they could squeeze me in next year? Beyond the principals, I met with panels of high school teachers, staring me down, asking me to dissect poetry, prepare an 8-page lesson plan, grilling me on literary theories & teaching theories alike. Not one of them smiled, except when they said goodbye. I felt frustrated... they needed someone to teach theater. They needed a softball coach. They had a system in which they could plug the exact qualifications into a database and come up with a viable candidate. A square peg to fit their square hole... full of neat, 90 degree angles and perfectly able to morph into a triangle if necessary. I became discouraged with the system-- frustrated by principals (some of whom I worked for, most of whom I met), who were authoritative, sometimes quietly inflecting their power through raised eyebrows while telling me things. Others made me wait over an hour before they were ready to meet for the interview. And the teachers... they were the worst. Silently sizing you up, determining which table you would sit at in the teacher's lounge.

Once I asked a principal (after being rejected to even interview at his school) for 10 minutes of his time, to offer an aspiring teacher some advice. Plus, I wanted to introduce myself in person. My request was ignored, and I received a generic e-mail that I had already received from someone in the administration when I requested their time. It became disheartening... it reminded me of how suppressive high school can be.

I had always thought high school was suppressive because of hormones, boys, catty girls, my own insecurities and messed up priorities. High school was stifling because the teachers didn't "get" me, because the assignments were boring, because someone told on me for going out to lunch as a junior (thus resulting in ISS, an eventual kicked-off of the cheerleading squad, and my not joining NHS), or because I was awkward and had braces and was shy and didn't do my makeup. Instead, as I waded through the endless interviews, false promises, and form letters announcing my rejection... I realized that principals had a lot in common with the police officer waiting on the end of a dead-end road in my sleepy suburb, ready to pounce with his radar gun.

As I started diving into the world of education AS an educator, I realized that the suppressive-ness doesn't end in high school. I realized how highly political the hiring process can be. And just because you may be the best candidate for the job, some other donkey will most likely get 1 of the 2 positions available. Once I was told that they had over 200 applicants. It didn't matter to me; I believe I was better than every single one of them. As I began to see the hierarchies of the education system, the complexities of unions, administration, school boards, and the inability to affect change in the system (how many teachers do you know who are fired/let go? not many, I would imagine), and tenure issues... I realize that suppressive does not begin to cover the world of education. In what way can an individual teacher affect change in a system that is clearly built around "the way things have always been"?

And, most importantly, in what way do we teach children to be forward-thinking, to problem-solve, to affect positive change in their community, if they are told to sit down and shut up in neat rows of 25 desks per classroom?

When I look back on why I decided to teach high school... I get a little stumped. It wasn't because I had a particularly great experience. In fact, I can't name one teacher that inspired me (my entire life) or challenged me, or touched me in any way, until I get to college. It's worth noting that I went to a high school with an enormous amount of respect in the Greater Cleveland Area, a top-performing, Excellent-rated, highly sought-after school district. And yet, not one teacher really inspired me to teach. I mean, you can say my mom had an effect on me... she is a teacher, after all. But she taught special ed. She taught me how hard she works, in a converted janitor's closet, sharing with another teacher, and how they usually have 15 kids in the room at a time... and don't get to take a lunch. They requested a larger room... but... again, amazing how things don't work out. I'm willing to bet the only reason they requested the larger room was because it would help the kids learn better. But, I'm getting sidetracked.

Anyway-- why teach, then? Why high school? (well, because I don't want to babysit 1st graders, for starters). But when I look back on what I love and want to do in the classroom... I'm brought back to my involvement in a (seemingly... bear with me here) nerdy program called Destination Imagination. DI is something I am passionate about, and will forever give up Saturdays to appraise kids and celebrate creativity. DI is a program that encourages kids to join together in teams to solve a central "challenge"-- an open-ended challenge with many different elements. The kids can choose which challenge they want to solve (there are ones that involve engineering, building structures, or simply creating skits), and then they present their "solution," which is always a performance of some kind that showcases their work. The kids are NOT allowed to have any interference from parents or anyone outside their team-- that's rule #1. Rule #2 states that if it doesn't say you can't... then you can. Ok... not sure if that's a written rule, but here's some bullets of what I love about the program:

- The vocabulary: We appraise, we don't judge. We offer positive feedback, and have team managers, not coaches. We value DaVinci Awards, Renaissance Awards, and the Spirit of DI (i.e. lending another team an extension cord if yours was lost in your u-haul truck)

- The vision: teamwork, creative problem solving (find the answer that is well-integrated into your solution, but something unusual and effective!), questioning, attempting new things, performing and interacting with appraisers, utilizing everyone's strengths for the greater good.

It's non-oppressive. Everyone wants the kids to succeed... and yes, it can get competitive... but a good competitive... you find yourself striving to beat the best team you know about, simply because you know that if you do that, you have achieved more than you thought possible.

That's why I wanted to become a teacher. To challenge students to question themselves, their world, to make sense of others' perspectives. To communicate effectively and creatively. To be interesting, to work together & stand out, to make a difference, and to affect positive change. And I believe that through writing and reading... there is no better medium to teach diversity, free-thinking, and creativity. There is no better medium to encourage critical thinking and problem solving, to challenge students to understand their world, and make an imprint... even if it's a tiny pinky-finger imprint... to leave it a little better.

And as I stumbled through teary rejections, or tried to polish off my edges so I could be this square that they needed to fill their hole... my vision of a classroom and an environment brimming with creativity & voices (not mine) slowly became muddled. I began to see the catty sorority sisters become teachers in other states... I looked back at some of my own teachers, and realized that the system was in place. Too many principals made me feel beneath them. Too many teachers were unable to relate to a confident, yet still slightly nervous young aspiring teacher, looking for a little guidance, even as I sat opposite a panel of them. Too many people were unable to be courteous to me... a principal I knew very well, one that had told too many people I had the job, one who joked with me that I was his favorite... sent me a four-sentence rejection letter after I went through round 2 of the interview process.

When I finally met with the company I am with now... I was tired of being that square peg, and felt reassured, somehow, that they saw me as a whole person... my family, my ethics & values, my work ethic and tenacity. I'm in a field which, by all accounts, I have no business being in. I'm not passionate about either thing that the company does... except, I am passionate about feeling valued. Feeling as though my ideas (from a young, 24 year old female) matter. And not feeling suppressed. I'm not even writing this because I know there's a chance they could read it (and no, my job is not rainbows and butterflies... sorry guys), but I really feel as though my bosses are not necessarily superior in that they need to let me know that they are above me. Instead, I respect them because of their vision, work ethic, and values. Isn't it sad I can't say the same for the education system?

I remember vaguely reading education articles about the oppressive nature of our classrooms and public education. And it wasn't until I met these people who run our schools, who treated me as though I was less of a person, less of a person of value, less of a teacher... that I realized how true that might be. Question how we equate success in school. Question how children get into college. Question how many decisions kids make every day... how many decisions they are asked to make, regarding their education, their learning, or their own thoughts and beliefs.

And then go to www.destinationimagination.org and sign up to volunteer with a program that truly is all about the kids. Because for me, that's what I signed up for when I took hours of classes on constructivist teaching, when I created silly bulletin boards and sat through a Praxis test (which I scored an "excellent rating" on, by the way. -- eat that, Mr. Principal) selecting a's and b's and showing that I knew who Robert Frost was and how many syllables are in a haiku. Because that's what mattered, right?

the heartaches that make me whole.

It's been almost 8 years since my life has taken it's turn. Isn't it funny... you can look back at one moment and realize that it set everything in motion? There's a Dave Matthews Song (so Bay Village of me to reference it... 2nd sentence, too... wow, Emily)... that reminds me of that moment. My husband gets upset when I reference it- it used to be a code for my uncertainty.

Don't you ever wonder maybe if things had been slightly different you could be somebody else? Don't you ever wonder maybe if you took a left turn instead of taking a right you could be somebody different? Don't you ever wonder could I have been...

At the time, life was a mess. I often make the mistake of looking back at that time and feeling as though it was glamorous, adventurous, and full of passion. I try to avoid the details now, because I have romanticized my time spent with my best friends. And yet I don't want to do it any injustice; those girls I was friends with were my heart and soul. They (one in particular), could talk to me as honestly as only best friends can. We shared our secrets, our greatest fears, and the best jokes. She truly was my heart. But it would be wrong of me to think that the time spent with those girls was the best I could be... it wasn't. In truth, I was intimidated into situations, sneaking off to concerts because it was believed it wasn't ok to spend a Friday night in our sleepy suburb. It's hard to say how much of that was my beliefs and how much was theirs, or maybe it was a group effort. Whatever the case, I believe that (for the most part) you don't choose your friends in high school. I'm not totally convinced you choose your friends in college or beyond, either.

But there's something about your best friend, the kind that can see the ugliest side of you, even uglier than your husband is allowed to see. The friend who won't judge because... because... well, for no reason other than they have shared pieces of themself too precious to lose, either. Best friend seems like such a funny phrase- "I like you, you, and you... but YOU'RE my BEST friend." Are we 10 again? Whatever the case may be-- my brain has been permanently wired from the time I wore my first BE-FRI shattered heart necklace. It's those people that I share the ugliest side of myself, the scariest thoughts, the ones I could never write down, not here, not anywhere, that I can have the most fun with.

I can think back to moments in my life and pinpoint my best friends. They were there for me, and I for them, for different reasons. Mostly through angry IM chat conversations with other catty girls in middle school, and through the process of separation in high school... my very best friend was heart-breaking to lose. I didn't understand how the one person who knew you the best in the world could now leave so easily. It wasn't easy, not for her, nor for me. It still isn't easy for us. There's an unspoken history that we would rather ignore than acknowledge. Maybe it's a testament to how deep our bond was. I've talked before about my "ex" girl friend on here. I'm at the point where it's sad for me to think about it... simply because I realize I'm no longer sad about losing her. It was a long process, and for a long time there just wasn't going to be a replacement-- not my then-boyfriend/now-husband, not my college friends, not my mom, not anyone. But, eventually, I found that again. The feeling that you can trust someone so completely, and even more so, you can trust them to not necessarily steer you in any particular direction. You can't really trust them to bring out the best in yourself- because to be the best person I can be, I can't show that ugly side I discussed earlier. But it's ok to be ugly and rotten, to think miserable and horrible thoughts, if at the end of the day, you are proud of yourself, and you surround yourself with people you are proud to know.

I've been thinking about writing a post that outlines my only true heartbreak... I've been told that the best writing isn't about the good things in life... and maybe its not. It's more about the conflicts, heartaches, and losses that make me feel a little stronger, even if I'm left sitting on the floor with a pounding headache.

always love.

i apologize for the stupid post title. i get sick of things easily, and have to make everything in powerpoint because photoshop no longer works on my computer, circa 6 months ago or something like that.

sometimes i like to do quick thoughts. here we go (in no particular order except my own random mind):

- it's Easter tomorrow. meaning tonight husband and i are decorating eggs and drinking margaritas. normal. i'm also sort of thinking that i would like to be one of those couples/families that goes away for the holidays. not that i don't enjoy the time spent driving from house to house to house hearing the same stories every year... but. i saw a holiday cruise on celebrity's website and it seemed right up my ally. i love our families, however, the holidays its a bit overkill... and it's never as fun as it should be. (sorry to be pessimistic. i'm just envisioning sipping screwdrivers at some bed and breakfast somewhere by the sea...)

- we have so much yardwork to do i don't know where to begin. actually, i do. today i picked up enough pinecones to fill 1.5 giant brown lawn garbage bags. husband is powerwashing the deck. we installed motion-sensor lights on the deck. and our yard/lack of anything other than dirt/stumps/weeds is outrageous. i posted to twitter that i want someone to come in and redo our lawn. we would willingly be a "before and after" promotion for our landscaping and/or our basement. i've also been voicing commercials recently so, you know, i'm like a pro at endorsing things.

- today i had an idea. there are a million and one retirement/elderly/old people-targeted condos, townhomes, communities. why are there none for people in their 20's and 30's? i would officially like to buy property, build townhomes with great kitchens and patios and basements for entertaining (make them affordable for the just-out-of-college salary), and make it a really great little neighborhood... put in a couple sports bars, a wine bar or two, and a really amazing coffee shop. i will then screen everyone who wants to move in and chose people based on what they would bring to a neighborhood block party. casserole? no, thanks. beer? margaritas? guac? sure! there's really such divisions on where the young people live in cleveland, it's sad.

- the above concept came from a discussion about how we're never going to be friends with our neighbors. but really, our neighbors are crazy. i'll do a post another day that profiles the surrounding houses and you'll understand. it's a very different suburb when you go down a tax bracket, i think. (yes, i realize we're part of that bracket. no, i'm not trying to be snobby. it's not all about money. these people are just strange).

- i was thinking about posting more pictures and links to my blog. i've been reading other really popular cleveland blogs... and the writing sucks (no comment on my writing today, i realize there are major issues. probably stemming from third diet coke i just finished today). i think the reason people love them is because they are relatable, they have tons of pictures, and discuss specific people/places that people can identify. so... i will make a better effort to take more pictures. i'm charging my camera as i type. however, this blog is supposed to be just an exercise in writing... not a typical "young professional in cleveland trying new restaurants" blog.

- if you read this blog regularly, i'd love if you would become an official "follower." i really don't know why i care that much or what the followers mean, but it's nice to know who is reading it so that i can have official readers and not just a certain amount of anonymous ip addresses.

that's it... random, lazy, no pictures. no deep thoughts on love, marriage, death, aging. (what is happening to me?!).

happy Easter, all! enjoy the holiday and celebrate with those you love!

Forever and Almost Always

"and you'll be mine, forever and almost always..." a lyric from a singer/songwriter i happen to love.

at almost(!!) 25 years old, i guess i'm young to be almost(!!) married one year, have a home, a puppy, and in general spend my friday nights lounging on the couch watching movies and doing laundry. to some reading this, that may sound like hell. i mean, it's not the 1950's anymore, right? i'm a young woman, a young professional, i should be at happy hours, exploring the city, making new girlfriends and closing the bar with a cosmo in each hand!

this weekend i talked with a friend about the concept of forever. getting married is a huge commitment- how was i able to do so and make the transition seamlessly? i guess to preface-- i did not exactly make the transition without some bumps in the road. namely my senior year in college i decided to change everything about my life (teaching? nah). i went through some pretty rough weeks sorting through my emotions and getting myself prepared to "take the plunge." however- once i made the decision (again-- I think since i was 17 i had made the decision to be with him for a very long time), it wasn't about looking back. and it wasn't that much about looking forward.

one thing i'm trying to consider and remember is the importance of each day, each hour, each moment. at 25 years old (while it IS young), a quarter of my life is over. the decision that was eventually unquestionably the right one, the decision to get married, is really more based on a here-and-now philosophy. he makes me happy NOW. i know that someday i want to build a family together. (i don't know that someday- i know that NOW, but i don't want a family NOW. does that make sense?). i know that right now, to be the happiest person i can be, it's right here, in this home, with this guy, and enjoying my time spent with another person. maybe that's a childish way to look at things, but the here and now of a "forever" perspective is important to me. it's important to remember what it feels like to laugh, to enjoy a lazy sunday, to enjoy the days we spend together. and those days turn into weeks, which turn into months and years, and eventually we've enjoyed a whole year together, and forever doesn't seem so crazy. if we make healthy decisions for the best in our relationship, then we will grow together through the years. i know that if i'm ever more unhappy than i am happy, i can make decisions to help me through that. i'm not saying that i went into the marriage thinking it could go wrong- on the contrary, i went into a marriage choosing to be happy. happiness that lasts every day (except when he leaves his socks in the hallway), and then every year.

maybe for some, happiness is living a life of a roller-coaster-- the ups and downs of dating, breaking up, dating again, choosing to be with people who don't have the potential to make you happy for days on end... maybe for some those hills and valleys of emotions work. for me, they don't. i don't believe i was too young to be married, to choose to be happy. it's an interesting concept, this "forever"... and instead, it's more like a forever and almost always concept- it's not about the forever, it's about the choices you make today and tomorrow and the next... the choices that will make you well, make you healthy, and make you feel as though you're living.

morning musing.

there are quite a few things i enjoy about working downtown... and one of them is my secret fascination with bike messengers. not so secret, i guess, because i do discuss it often whenever i see one. i love the duct-taped messenger bags, really worn chuck taylors covered in sharpie, green pants that have been cropped off and cool fingerless gloves they all wear. i love the lifestyle, the attitude, the costume.

so i just went back to bed after seeing the husband off to his job on saturday mornings (yes, we get up at 5am). i felt guilty because i put maisie back in her crate instead of sleeping with her on the couch, and turning off the lights by myself in an empty house continually freaks me out. it's no surprise, when i go to bed in such a freaked-out, guilty mode, that i would wake up with a jolt then because of a bad dream. and guess who suddenly arrived in my dream, screaming/bellowing at me in a devil-like fashion? yeah. a bike messenger. my secret fascination might be turning creepy...

whew. anyway, i felt like i should update this at some point... not sure who all reads the blog but the feedback from my very close friends has so far been positive. i've been thinking about being in my 20's and living in this great city (great... miserable? whatever). the dining out options, the bar options, everything is just so wide open for exploring and husband and i do very little of that. michael symon opened a restaurant 5 minutes from my house and it took us months to get there. yikes. the problem with clevelanders, i think, is the polarity most have in the suburbs. if we were to go to dinner, by the time we've decided we are officially too hungry to even think about making something at home, we're ready to go to the staples- we stick to our normal west-side locales. and, we're homebodies. the other week, a friend was over and at 11:00-ish, he decided it was a good time to meet up with some friends in tremont. i had been asleep on the couch for a good 1.5 hours by then. maybe if husband didn't have to work on saturdays and wake us both up at 5am things would be a little different. maybe. tonight we have big plans with our parents and some friends, and the neighbors (parents', not ours. i told you before we're the black sheep of the neighborhood), are going to see a band play at a little bar in north olmsted. ok, so its still the west side, but i am secretly giddy about doing something out of the ordinary at least. i'm planning on consuming lots of bud light and dancing ridiculously to middle-aged men rocking out to "hang on sloopy" (don't judge).

alright... i'm getting sleepy again... maisie was the most extreme version of herself yesterday- she was absolutely a complete puppy-nutcase. i've never seen her that hyper before, actually, i've never seen her awake for that long. husband chose to buy her two of the ugliest toys in the pet store last night. of course she loved them. one is a red tube thing that has a black tail on one end with a squeaker in it. i'm thinking its used to train hunting dogs to kill coons. the other is a squeaky moose- it's lime green with obnoxiously painted antlers- in a diarrhea/orange color. hideous. and maisie went nuts. i'm plotting how to throw away the toys without husband or dog noticing but so far i'm not coming up with a thing. i might just hide one under the couch (strategically, so i can implicate maisie if husband ever finds it). anyway... she has been sleeping on me this morning for a good three hours at least, after sleeping all night. poor hyper puppy... i think she totally wore her self out (at least, i hope. last night was intense!). she's doing the dog-dreaming thing now- twitching, eyes fluttering, little snorts. i almost want to wake her because she's just too cute right now. i'm getting sleepy too... i think it's time to make some coffee and then get started on cleaning this house... it's a trainwreck every saturday.

the sound of what cannot be seen.

i've been reading a new book- "reading like a writer," by Francine Pascal. it's one of those books that i find myself continually picking up and putting back down again, but i think i tend to do that with books that i read very closely, re-reading paragraphs, sentences, thoughts, making sense of the concepts outlined on the page. from my first venture into the book, i realized that i knew most of these concepts already... and it took an adjustment to learn to put aside my ego and learn from a published writer, teacher, novelist. the book encourages a close reading of the text, stresses the importance of picking the appropriate words, a strong knowledge of grammar rules, sentence construction, and the deliberate breaths between paragraphs.

all of those concepts i understand. it wasn't until i studied poetry with one of my most respected professors that i realized the impact a single word can have on the page. i never understood poetry, and was worried she would see through my facade as a top student of literature when we started diving into 19th century poetry. instead, she gently guided me through a painstakingly close reading of each text, stopping to ask what i was feeling, what emotions each word invoked. it was then that i came to appreciate seemingly minute word choices each author made. it became easy to imagine that a short poem could take years to perfect. i imagined authors erasing, scratching out words on the page, and holding their heads in their hands as they searched for the right words to place in the right spaces.

grammar is a lesson i am always kicking myself for never quite mastering. it was in spanish class that i learned about what a subject of the sentence meant. i learned words like predicate, past participle, and clause. too bad i didn't understand spanish and instead passed through spanish 4 by writing verb conjugations on my desk and then rubbing them out with my thumb the second the teacher walked towards me. in college, i stumbled through a grammar class with the most airheaded professor in the department. needless to say, my time spent diagramming sentences was as successful as my time spent learning was a square root was (read: nonexistent).

the chapter on sentence construction fascinated me, however. pascal uses the voices of the masters to point out examples- everyone from flannery o'connor to katherine mansfield and ernest hemmingway are used to bring home the fact that beautiful sentences can be the length of an entire paragraph, diagramming those sentences would look like quite the spider web of independent and dependent clauses (don't ask me what that means, i have no idea), or the short, staccato style of a no-nonsense writer seeking to evoke simple and powerful images. i found myself wishing i would focus more on each description, each analogy, each step in the process of writing. and to be honest, yes, i should read more often.

when i was little, i would write and be annoyed with myself if i found myself writing similar to the most recent book i had read. how was i ever to stand out if i continually copy the style of the author i just read? pascal addresses this issue in the first few pages- suggesting that the ability to copy the masters is the first step in becoming a great writer. it's like painters in renaissance italy and beyond- they learn by creating copies of masterpieces, slowly breaking down the techniques, learning the rules so that they can then create their own, or disregard them altogether. i'm realizing that writing as my favorite author does is possibly the best exercise for me to do... now it just comes down to reading and feeling inspired.

to be honest, one of my biggest challenges with writing is not constructing sentences or choosing words... it's feeling vulnerable to those reading my words. a professor told me once that if you've lived a year in junior high you have enough material to write five novels. i laughed and thought about all the material i have that could be used for future novels. however, even if what i am writing is pure fiction, it still comes from my mind, my experiences, and my perceptions of the world. i have so many people whose opinions mean the world to me... and for them to read my words and see my thoughts, sometimes horrible, tragic, or sensual thoughts- even if it were (for all intents and purposes) 'fiction,' it's difficult to let the wall down.

in truth, it is my life- my perceptions, no one elses, and i should be able to separate the narrator in my head from the voices outside- i realize the value in rejecting feelings of insecurities and doubts... i just don't know if i'm ready do so, yet.


in other news- it has been quite the rough month. first, bella came home and was taken away faster than any animal should be. then, we brought little, funny maisie home. in between stressing about her health (i still have fears about parvo), maisie decided to not spend one night sleeping in her crate and instead cried and barked for 5 straight nights (going on 6 now). we got up every morning at 5am to feed her and take her outside... and by friday, i was exhausted. then on friday, spencer left us. spencer was the dog i begged for when i was 11 years old. he was my first real family pet- and he was the best guy. he was fun, happy, and so loving. i really find it incredibly hard to find words to explain the amount of love i have for him. he was the best. i guess that's all you can say. at 13 years old, he had been loved and brought love to so many people. .... there's nothing else i can say about my favorite guy- the words seem fake right now, not enough, or something.

the snow is blanketing the ground and i feel deflated... i know how wonderful my life is- i'm sitting here in my warm, beautiful home with my husband and new puppy sleeping on the other couch, my family a 5 minute drive away, and dinner plans with my very best friends tonight. but after everything, after all the emotions and all the tears- i'm just not myself right now... the main question i have is the process of aging. i guess i understand the getting old part of it... maturing, growing, experiencing life and love and loss. but i don't understand the time process of it all. if we only have 100 years to live- what impact can we have on the world? i understand having children, leaving a legacy, raising a family, keeping the cycle in motion. but i don't understand the shortness of it all. it seems cruel- 100 years out of how many thousands or billions? for some- its not 100 years. it could be as little as minutes, days, weeks. 8 weeks for bella. 13 years for spencer. both seem just too short- spencer was taken from us even though he had so much love to give. people, animals, it doesn't really matter with me- it all puzzles me, and it all makes me question the finality of life and the impact of our choices, our footprints. and all of these thoughts are definitely giving me pause... time to be contemplative, deflated, reflective.


Often, i write all day long with white ink on white paper, late into the night, until it is all i can do to feel the letters curving to earth from the tip of the pen and then, i fall asleep. dreaming of running, or maybe driving in a car the color of water and i wake the next day remembering nothing and i gather the stack of paper and a pen of black on the desk in front of me and the words begin to dance over the page like long legged insects across a still lake and the words in white whisper behind and underneath the new day. if there is any secret to this life i live, this is it: the sound of what cannot be seen sings within everything that can. and there is nothing more to it than that. -brian andreas, story people

and we all keep on moving

the world just continues on after something traumatic and terrible happens. isn't that always a shock to us? and it always is a shock to me that time does help. the night bella died, i was filled with such incredible sadness, i felt that my heart was breaking in little fragments and i didn't even have the strength to grab a broom and keep up with it. bella being who she was, and being with us for such a short time really taught me quite a few things about love, loss, and family. it's no secret to those reading this blog that i'm not necessarily from the most traditional family. on the outside, sure, i even am told how much i resemble my parents. but i am adopted, and while it's a wonderful blessing to have started my life with so much love- the love of making sure i had a good home, the love of making sure i had a life, and the love of my family... etc, etc, etc; sometimes it doesn't feel like it began with love. sometimes it feels cold, calculating, unfair. and i don't just mean for one side or the other. on both sides of the exchange, it feels unfair at times. when you dive into the issues of giving up a baby, and not being able to have your own children, there's a lot of "unfair" going around, i guess.

so my concepts on family and love and the fairness of the world have been complex, starting probably when i was 12 and may or may not have screamed nasty things at my parents as i stomped upstairs and slammed my bedroom door. to come full circle with this blog in one sense, i said when i started it that it was a discovery of this post-marriage, post-maiden name, post-college me. and it has been a discovery- what goes into a marriage, what goes into creating a family is all becoming new for me somehow, in some way. bella taught me an important lesson in love- one that seems to correlate to my complex, somewhat over-analyzed views on marriage and family...

you see, it took less than five minutes to know i was going to love her. isn't that wild? yes, we didn't know her that long. yes, i held her for an hour before taking her home. yes, we discussed it backwards and forwards. and yes, she was only home for 24 hours, and only with us for about half of that. but the crazy thing is, time didn't matter. once we decided to love her and bring her into our family, that's what we did. and everything else really doesn't matter.

and by the way, time really does help things. that first night i felt anguished. the next day, i was angry, later, i was sad- projecting guilt onto myself. and later- i realize it's just not. fair.

the story doesn't really end there. i haven't stopped talking about bringing another puppy into our house since two days after bella died. i'm not quite sure what was wrong with me- maybe i needed somewhere for the excess love to go. maybe i'm just a freak of an animal lover and i needed one. and, maybe this goes back to deciding that i need something and finding a way to get it. husband needed more time. i'm glad he did- because secretly i think i did, too. we ended up bringing little maisie home on friday night (yes, it's 4:53am on monday. i clearly suck at crate training). part of me was worried- am i expecting a little puppy to heal my heart? that's a lot to expect from her. she isn't bella- she is someone new to love and in way, she deserves all the love bella received and more. maisie is easy to love... in that careful, cautious way. the i-just-got-my-heart-broken-so-don't-think-you're-gonna-get-in-the-door thaaaat quickly way. i find myself like a teenager though, a little hardened from the last hurt, but still hoping for a kiss goodnight to make me feel swoony. (for the record, i never really had my heart broken by a boy. somehow husband managed to capture me at the tender age of 17... although emotional teenage me certainly could imagine what it would have felt like to have him decide to go out with my best friend).

so here we are, maisie, husband and myself. not sleeping, unsure about what to do with disciplinging this little pistol. (she loves shoes, finding a thread to yank from a rug, and doing everything she can to distract us at the dinner table). maisie is very easy to love, and husband and i are figuring out how to love a little furbaby again. (p.s. part of me is terrified that something will happen to her. if you pray, or think positive thoughts, i would appreciate some positive thoughts her way... although we bleached our entire house, parvo is still contagious and it still fraeks me out).

alright, enough for now... i'm going to try to get some sleep with my puppy who spends every night ccrying and then peeing in her crate. (for the record, her crate is divided. there is barely enough room for her to turn around in there. i know dogs don't pee where they sleep, but she does, because 1. she doesn't seem to sleep in there unless it's 4 in the afternoon and sunny, and 2. she pees and then gets upset about it, waking us up. and 3. we take her out every hour to go pee. by the time bedtime comes she is to the point of pretending to pee so she can come back inside since her little bladder is so empty. it magically fills back up again sometime between 2-4am.)whew... it's gonna be a fun ride with this one.

sometimes it's unfair

the hardest day of my life happened two summers ago. i was driving to work at my dad's company prior to finding a "real" job... normally when i get in the car, i end up plugging my ipod in, getting my phone out to call someone, or at the very least, flipping around the radio. that morning i did none of that. i got in my car with my phone in my purse, the radio silent, my ipod put away. i was just driving, both hands on the wheel and everything. as i rounded a curve in my sleeping neighborhood, i felt my car hit something and stopped suddenly, terrified. i had not seen anything in the road and my thoughts were spinning- did i hit a garbage can? a box? something much worse? because i did not see anything, i sat in my car, dazed for a minute, listening to what i can now describe as the worst sound in the world. i heard a howling, but couldn't connect (or didn't want to) it to what had just happened. then i realized that i had clearly hit someone, and realized i needed to get out of my car.

i saw the prettiest dog you could have ever seen, sitting in her front yard, one paw dangling in front of her, howling. i almost passed out, and didn't want to go near her. she came to me, though, not knowing or realizing that i was the one who hurt her... she just wanted someone to help her.

the owner was the nicest she could have been- understanding that her dog frequently took off after cars, joggers, squirrels, and spent the first ten minutes of our interaction comforting my strange, hyperventilating sobs. my mom came after a frantic phone call- she knew the house i was at, she had seen the dog run out before cars too many times. that day i spent crying in bed, angry at myself, at the dog, and at the woman for not recognizing that her dog needed to be kept on a lead.

i'm the girl who hid kittens in my garage and my bedroom, knowing full well my dad was severly allergic to them. i've gotten out of my car to try to lure strays to come over to me... i've called animal control about baby deer too close to the road. i realize i love all animals a lot more than i love most people i meet.

so, last night was really hard for me. husband and i brought a new puppy home on sunday- a little sleepy boston terrier we named bella. she was beautiful but very timid. she only wanted to be held, and would drag herself on your lap and curl up to go to sleep in favor of walking anywhere on her own. the most excitement we had was at 12:30am, 2:30am, and 4:30am, in which she peed just a little in her crate and was very, very upset about it. she found a pile of pillows in the family room and immediately found her new bed when she couldn't find a lap, picking her head up to watch you with big eyes as you moved in and out of the room. too many people told us she was just a new puppy, adjusting to a new home, but she wasn't... 24 hours later, i rushed our new puppy to the animal hospital... she had been throwing up, getting sick, and then crying the saddest puppy cries as she pulled herself onto my knees. as i drove to the vet i kept telling myself she was just a little baby, probably weak and tired from her travelling. i told myself i was crazy to be making her go for another stressful experience. i think we knew something was wrong with her, though. my husband met me there and we learned she had parvo... a deadly puppy virus that is highly contagious. bella spent tuesday and wednesday in the hospital before she died. we called every four hours to check on her... the night we dropped her off we came home to disinfect our home, then went to buy her a leash, a pink collar, and puppy toys, convinced that if she had a nice home she would bounce back. little bella was a fighter, but she didn't stand a chance. she was too little, too young, too weak.

it's hard to feel ok in a world in which puppies die. i realize there are greater catastrophies, greater sorrows, but seeing her one last time, curled up and looking like she was sleeping was one of the saddest and hardest moments of my life. we only had her 24 hours and she had captured our hearts. i am so glad we brought her home to us, though... without us, she may never have had a home. she may never have been able to sleep in someone's arms who loved her very much... and she may never have experienced love and comfort in a time when she needed it the most.

bella also brought my husband and i closer. we worked to get our home ready for her, we talked more, let the dishes slide and instead went to dinner, cried together, and made plans for her to be a part of our family.

i'm crying as i'm typing this... and i realize i seem completely lame and sappy. she was just a puppy, after all, and not even a happy, funny little ball of energy she should have been. we never knew her but as a sad, sick little baby. but she was loved- if only for one day... and i think anyone deserves at least that.