And in the small wooden box that now holds the fragments of bones and ashes that once was Daisy, there is a packet of Silica Gel. In all caps. SILICA GEL. "DO NOT EAT." Why is that in quotations? THROW AWAY DESICCANT. I don't even know what desiccant means. I have gone to classes at a Community College for a long time, for Journalism and English and I keep realizing there are many, many, many words I do not know. Thank god for Google and the Internet, right? And Smart phones. So I can look up words I don't know really fast and seem as smart as my phone. Screw desiccant. I don't care what it means. My cat's bones are hollow and weird. And some have dark, what I assume is marrow in the them. The pieces. The pieces of what was Daisy. Is this sick? I wasn't gonna open the box, it has a sweet little lock on it, with her name on it and everything, a heart charm, and it says Daisy. But the lock wasn't locked. So like a cat, curiosity got the best of me. So I opened it. And it was a plastic bag full of, I don't know. Remnants of my childhood.
I have perfected the silent cry. I know how to cry quietly and quickly, to wipe away a tear before anyone notices. To wipe it under my makeup and keep it intact just enough so I look okay enough.
Tonight I cry audible tears. Like a movie. I have done this a few times in my life. Once I was listening to the radio, and "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me," by Culture Club came on. And, yeah. Movie tears. I was in a weird place. I promise I was sober. I cried audible tears once when I was at school. During Math class. I cried Audible tears once on my kitchen floor. I cried audible tears once in my friends driveway. Sometimes it feels good to be obnoxious and make noise and be human. All of these times, I have always been alone. So, while I am alone crying these tears, at least I feel a little less alone sharing it through these words. Tonight I am crying, because I can't understand how my cat can now just be a bag of bones and ashes. I mean, I understand, in the logical sense. But, I can't understand, you know? Life can be stupid.
Daisy was a good cat. And I'm not sure if I am supposed to leave the Silica Gel in the box. And that is making me cry too. I think she deserves better than that. So I won't eat it, and I will throw it away. I still don't know what desiccant means. And I still don't care.
Now, separate- but related. Last night I was reading columns, blogs? I dunno. Online published writings by Gregory Sherl. I was reminded how much I love words. Language in general. Communication. I have often said that when I feel good it is because my veins are flowing with ink.
It is weird how things fall into place- connecting sometimes if you pay attention. Yesterday at work I decided to take a break outside. I usually do. Go outside. There are tables, with black metal chairs and umbrellas. So you are still in the sun, but not a direct hit. The chairs are always cool. And the tough metal feels good. There is one chair I usually try to avoid, it has a piece of metal that has been uplifted on the seat. It pokes up just enough to cause a snag in clothing. It has ripped a pair of my stockings before. On the back of my right thigh. I know it has done this to me, and I wasn't a fan, but sometimes I sit back on this chair anyway, fully aware I am doing it.
But, I went outside, and my co-worker was there, and she and I spoke. And every time we do, it is just like we dive into a wonderful conversation, with no fake "how are yous" or "oh I'm fine" or "blah-blah-stupid." We just start communicating genuinely. We smile. We laugh. We enjoy each other's company.
You know when you are done talking to, or listening to someone and you just feel better? You feel like you connected? It is about connecting. Reaching each other.
In Fight Club, the Narrator references "single serving friends." I think that has merit. Sometimes in instances of single serving friends we do what I try SO HARD to do all the time -> just let down the walls. With the single serving friends we are fearless. We have no fear because we won't see this person again. We can be free and as much of ourselves as we are when are alone. Free of judgement- or completely judgmental- who cares- we won't see them again. After this encounter? Done.
But my point is maybe, fear of communication inhibits growth.
I don't know really. I feel like I'm going off on a strange tangent now. But it is okay. Maybe this is an honest glimpse into how my thought process works sometimes and if you are confused, it is okay too, usually I am confused.
So, I have been reading a lot lately. Soaking it in. Random stuff. One site I like is The Good Men Project. I went on last night, and the Editor's Picks took me to Gregory Sherl. I read one article/column/blog/beautiful word poetry of awesomeness that he wrote, and after reading it 3 more times because I loooooved his word use, I found a link to his website, then a link to all his Good Men Project articles. And I read them all. Some more than once. I sat for a good hour and half at least. It reminded me of when my friend R.J. posted a stellar short story by Amy Hempel (Here it is if anyone cares: http://wolfweb.unr.edu/homepage/calabj/298/The_Most_Girl_Part_of_You.pdf) and someone, I apologize as I don't recall if it was R.J. or one of his friends, captured it so well with the phrase "This Woman can write a fucking sentence." I remember it took me time to read the story because I was soaking in the words. I bought a collection of her shorts stories and I am still enjoying it. And yes, she can write a fucking sentence. So well.
I know very few things for sure.
I know if I walk by my cats, I am going to reach out and pet them. And probably say something to them in unison.
I know if I hear a baby or small child crying at Disneyland, I am going to laugh.
I know if you put Avocado on anything, it will make it taste better.
I know that if you want me to learn something, you should probably teach it to me via song.
I know that I should (even If I always don't) tell people how I feel because I think in the end, sometimes that is all we have.
I read Gregory Sherl's words last night and I wished a few things. I wished I wrote more. I wished I let myself be vulnerable more. I wished I was a better writer, that I tried more. It made me wish I called people more. That I put in a better effort. I wanted to pick up the phone at 11:00p.m. on a Monday night and just call people up and say "HEY! I miss you. That's it." or, "Hey, you make me happy, because..." I wanted to go show up at people's doors and hug them. Some people's doors are very far away. But I wanted to go to their doors. I wanted to hear voices. I also wished I texted less and called more.
This morning one of the people I was thinking of, she texted me. Crazy psychic brain powers, FTW!
I believe in the Bat Signal. A lot of you are My Batman. Or if you prefer, you can be another cool superhero. I just dig Batman. Even if you aren't reading this, I'm still talking to you. And I'll call soon. <3
I am a volunteer art teacher. Twice a month on Thursday evenings. My class is from 6:30pm- 8:00pm. I work with two different organizations, one is the art program, and the other is a healing therapy program. My art class is special (as all art classes are, really) but mine is special in a different way. I work with kids, and each one of these kids is connected in one way. They have all lost a sibling. Be it from cancer, a drunk driver, drugs. It is tragic under any of the circumstances.
The art program I work with had the great opportunity to move to a new building, so my class had to do some restructuring. The building was shared, (healing therapy program upstairs, art program downstairs)... but with the art program vacating the building, we had to find a new place to hold our art class. Not surprisingly, one of the other businesses that takes place up stairs let us use one of their offices to hold our class til we find a permanent solution.
So, two weeks ago, I had my art class. I got to the building early. An hour and 15 minutes early actually. I always got to the building early, because there was stuff to help out with for the art program, or I would go get dinner, or just relax outside, take pictures of outside, whatever. I went into the offices for the healing therapy program before I decided what I would do to spend the time though, and as soon as I opened the doors I felt strong energy in there. It was nice, and I wondered why I hadn't visited the offices before. The way the program works, is while the art class is going on, parents and teens who were also affected by the loss have a chance to stay in the offices I was in and work with therapist and in a healing group.
I looked around. There were books on shelves, available for checkout, there was a nice group of chairs in the middle for a comfortable group to talk. There were candles around to be lit, there was even a bundle of sage. I reached over and smelled the sage, the candles... and just felt calm. This was a very welcoming place.
I went to look at my art supplies I had requested, and a man showed up at the doors of the empty building. I spoke with him, hoping I could help him with what he needed. The program's founder's daughter was killed when she was traveling abroad. She was on a bus. This man who came in, his daughter was also traveling abroad. There apparently were two buses. The man who came to the building this night, his daughter was on the same bus as the founder's daughter, then switched the the bus that didn't crash before the tragic accident. So he just decided to come in this night to see if he could essentially touch base, talk to the man whose daughter was lost, and pay his respects. He let me know they had went to the funeral and he just was sharing his thoughts.
Life is short and we never know what will happen tomorrow. Looking into this man's eyes as he spoke to me, I felt he was so grateful to have his daughter.
I had a heavy heart after he left, but it wasn't heavy with sadness, it was heavy with... reality maybe. With life.
I walked around. I sat on the floor in front of one of the bookshelves and started flipping through some pages. I sat there for about 10 minutes and then got up. I went to the back of the room and realized there were photographs on a table. And on a table next to it there were more. And I looked at the faces and saw there were names written on them. And I saw there were programs on the table. From funerals. Looking at the names, I realized I knew some of these faces. They were the brothers, sisters, cousins, friends, family, loved ones... all of the kids from my art class. I was grateful to be able to share so many intimate moments with them as we created art projects, I heard them speak of these loved ones, I was now actually putting a face to those names. I picked up the frames, very carefully. Looking at them all. I read the programs. I had tears running down my face before I could even realize my vision was blurred. The emotions in the room were strong as soon as I walked in and now it was overwhelming. But it was overwhelming in a way that is hard to explain. Hard to really put in words. I know it was positive. It was overwhelming, and it was heavy, but I would not take back that feeling. I felt so connected to myself, to life, to the kids I work with, to nothing, and to everything.
I sat down again, in front of another bookshelf. And I was drawn to a book, it was called something like "Remember me. Love, Dee." My Aunt Debbie killed herself when I was a teenager. But she went by Dee. So, I picked up this book. I flipped through it. It was about a woman named Dee who led a fantastic life and her parents put this book together, like a scrapbook of her life. It was really nice, it made me smile and appreciate little things, as I think was its message. I put it back and when I did my hand was drawn down once shelf to "Life's Little Instruction Book." I remember this book from when I was little. Someone had it. My Grandma maybe. Maybe my Aunt Dee had it. But I was drawn to it, in such a strong way I couldn't deny it. There were two copies. I knew I needed to grab the one on the left. I opened it and tears flowed down my cheeks as I saw what was written in it. There was an inscription from the founder's daughter in it. She had given this book to her friend. She wrote something along the lines of "I love you and miss you so much! Sorry I kept your dress for so long! I hope you enjoy this book as much as I do!" And she signed her name. I was in awe. I felt like my evening had come full circle in my traveling full circle around the room.
It was my first time in the offices of the program, and I felt like I was welcomed with open arms.
That night in our art class, we made up our own superheroes and drew them. I may as well have just held mirrors up to the kid's faces, though. They save my life every time I see them.
P.S.
So this song came on my iTunes on shuffle when I was typing this. I don't always know what I believe, but I do believe that there are things out there higher than us, but what they are? I have no idea. But, I think that we are put places where we need to be, when we need to be there. We get people placed into our life for reasons. Sometimes we may not know it, we may not be aware of it. But when we are aware of it, it can be quite magical. It was magical the day I went in to sign up to volunteer with the art program, and the day I was connected with the healing therapy program, almost a year later, was quite magical too. So, I think it was appropriate this song was playing as I was typing out this blog.
My cell phone died today. It stopped holding a charge. I was able to charge it for just a few minutes of power and retrieve anything that might have been sent to it.
Sometimes I think the Universe is on my side. And I think my phone broke for a reason.
When I was little, I really hated mint. Of all flavors. Despised it. We held a grudge, mint and I. I used Sesame Street toothpaste Tutti Fruity flavored toothpaste til I was like 11, I think, for goodness sake.
But here I sit, sipping tea (WHAT? I don't even like tea!?) and it has hints of lemongrass and spearMINT. (And it is calming and tasty.) (...But I did add sugar and milk).
Sometimes the things we thought we hated, we just, well, maybe we didn't know them or give them a chance. Maybe we didn't know ourselves enough.
But sometimes, the Universe breaks things for a reason.
I went outside and stared at a tree this weekend. I was sitting barefoot and I was on a blanket that wasn't mine. I was on the deck of a house that wasn't mine. I was about four feet from a man I'd only just met, and he sat in silence. Behind me, in a house that also wasn't mine, I heard voices of 15 people scattered around. Laughing and giving definition to the word joy. Many who had entered my life only once before, if that. Some, very dear to me. They didn't care who could hear them through the walls and open windows as this was now our home, and we now were a family. It became our deck, our house, our blanket. Our tree. Even if it was just for a few days. (The things being ours, I mean.)
The sun beat down on my bare legs. I welcomed it. The intrusion of heat and light. I needed it. I'd been asleep for the past month, I'd been hiding out. The warmth reminded me how good it is to feel, and moments of clarity seeped into my pores. And I had no sunscreen on to block them out.
I stared at the tree, hard. And as I focused, tears tried to come out, but they only tried. I think I was done crying. I felt my cheeks involuntarily creep up and I realized I was smiling.
There were, what I thought to be, bugs, swarming and flying around the tree. Circling it. But, the tree, you see, was pretty far off. So I am going to say they were birds. And they were flying around waiting for me to see them. Not that I have a problem with, or there is anything wrong with, a swarm of bugs. But I like how this starts better if it were in fact birds.
Today I decided to focus on me, and clean out my living space. Clean out my apartment, and not just the surface. Actually dig into closets and empty boxes that had been sitting there for months and months, gathering dust and being forgotten.
It is funny how often things happen for a reason, how things will intersect just as we need them to. We may not hear things until we are ready to listen, or view things til we are ready to see them, but I think when we are ready, we are sometimes given great opportunities and they shouldn't be wasted.
Here is to me, and not wasting opportunity to be the best me I can be.
If someone is going to try to get me down, or try to convince me or some bullshit that I think is bullshit then I am going to say GTFO and move on with my life. Because my life is too awesome to be brought down or to be smelling like bullshit.
so let's play pretend
like we did when we were kids
when a plastic cup
was empty
but really was full
of so much,
much more
than imaginary tea
give me some sugar
"one lump or two?" you ask me
always two, always
(because two will hurt
just as bad
as one
in the morning)
I may as well have my tea
as sweet as I can
tonight
p.s. I have many more poems, and am producing a website to share them soon. Poem purge 2012 is coming soon. I was supposed to do it by my Birthday last year, that didn't happen, lets shoot for this yer.
My favorite thing in the whole wide world (today) is Oz and Willow. My heart got all fluffy when watching some Buffy.
I mean, come on. He got all googly eyed over her dressed as an Eskimo. Be still, my beating heart. These gingers made my heart melt and I may have dropped a strawberry straight to the floor and held my knees and went awww like an idiot.
I need to get out more, really.
Contrary to what some may think, The Tin (Wo)Man does have a heart. And it is a big sappy gooey one. Covered in hopeless romanticism and butterflies and tiny little whimsical creatures playing harps.
Now if I only had a brain.
