Noisy Little Things

They are just words.

Allow them to linger on your lips.

Luscious

Cantankerous

Lollipops

Enchanted.

The scratching of pen to paper, the clicking of fingertip to keyboard, the strike of each typewriter key imprinting the letter onto crisp white paper. Words have melody, whether written down or said outloud. Each sound unique; defiant or delighted, savage or serene, irritate or inspire. When I say, "I love you," the L rolls off my lips languidly. When I say, "I hate you," the T bites the air, cuts it sharp. I love the sound of words, love their shapes and curves. When I was a little girl I would enjoy writing in my notebook, looping the L's when I learned cursive. Today I still love the freedom of the pen on notebook paper, my handwriting changing with each mood. But there is definitely something about the soothing sound of words to paper or screen that calms me down after an intense day, or brings me serenity at the beginning of one. Words are not silent, they are just a noisy bunch, looking to spice life up a bit. 

To Live or Not to Live

About five years ago I took a course titled Death and Dying at my Community College. The professor had us write one paper that changed my life. The assignment was to write out an alternate life. We could make up anything we wanted, be an alien living on Pluto, poor Pluto, or a rock star. The purpose of the assignment I believe was to open our minds up to possibility, no matter how absurd. It was a course more on living, because so many people are afraid to die because they are actually afraid to live. In my paper I wrote about my day in my new life, how I woke up, went for a run along the shore with deer and wildlife running beside me. I would get home to find my paramour waiting for me in my studio, which was part of a spiritual retreat center I owned. I was an interior decorator with many clients waiting in line for my work. My paramour, a tall blond man with blue eyes, would run with me in the mornings. Today I see that the assignment pointed me in a direction. I was no longer a gal without a clue of what she wanted to do with her life. I had a goal. A gentle man, a retreat, self employment and animals surrounding me. Taking that down to basics, those are achievable dreams. I have the man described in the paper, the details, the personality are so similar it is almost creepy, and I am working toward writing as a paid career choice. I am surrounded by animals, of whom I am so grateful, and would be even more grateful if I could get the hair out of my esophagus. My apartment sits on acres of land, near a pond and stream, and the deer stand there while you talk with them. They don't understand, "get off the road please," but that is besides the point. What do I want from my time here? A relaxing, joyful, passionate, spiritual, abundant, and sober life. What steps can I take to achieve that life? The first and only step may be, just do it. Nike would love me. Get up, take a run and find joy in each moment. Because when that happens, the fear of dying is replaced with the joy of living. I will say hello to the bears for you.

Spiritual Chaos Theory

My house is a mess. My cats have been redecorating as usual and my Siberian huskies have been shedding non- stop since March. I also have a teenager, enough said. This evening I decided to clean. My goal, the entire house, my finished product, half the kitchen and part of my desk. I am going to put everything into storage containers, papers, shoes, books, everything. The chaos has taken over my life. Every time I put a book on the desk, orange cat #2 comes by and moves it, to the floor. I think it looks better there, something about the pattern in the tile. When my house is chaotic, my mind is chaotic. I focus on all that has to be done, all that the teen has not done, all that the animals keep doing and what has been messed up within 45 minutes. I obsess and I kvetch, if that is the correct Yiddish term. And it is THE perfect excuse for my mind to chatter on, to build up resentments and to ultimately slack in my part of my relationship with God. What does the mess signify, that I am a slob, or that my mind is racing and my life is unmanageable. Probably both. It is also a representation of a mom trying to juggle responsibilities, raise a son, get to meetings and live a healthy active lifestyle, while partaking in a relationship and going to school. Maybe if I simplify a little bit, cut down on the chaos that surrounds me I will be able to slip into serenity. That is why this is a theory, because it is yet unproved. By the time I get the kitchen and bathroom clean and start on the living room, the kitchen will be a mess again. Time for some more experimenting.

Daily Definition of Courage

Today the scariest thing was to stay in the present. I don't like being there sometimes, unless it is a blissful moment. I wanted to hike up to Laura's Tower and fully experience the journey, hear the birds, smell the moss, and feel the air as it gets cooler the further you go. It is a shorter trail, 2/3 mile up, but my goal was terminated as soon as the mosquitoes swarmed. I felt truly loved, thousands of adoring fans surrounding me, just waiting to get a tiny piece. It was then that I realised I didn't have what it took in that moment to remain full present. I wanted out. So I tuned out, still ended up with welts from someone else's feast, but I had a great walk. Guess I'll try again tomorrow.

It just ain't bragging if it's the truth

I have been working at a children's summer program this week, and it has triggered memories of myself at that age, 6 - 7th grade. One girl in particular I have found fascinating. I don't quite know what to make of her, but I do know that I have to develop skills that she possesses. She is highly intelligent and very skilled at many different things, crafts, gymnastics, and trivia. She was demonstrating one of her strengths the other day, when one of the boys called her a show-off. Now I can see myself at that age, I was a good student, artistic and creative. I did not show off, but it would have been better if I had. I instead yielded to peer pressure, and I started to hide. Smart kids were made fun of, called nerds. My chiropractor can show you where my spine curved as I started to round my shoulders and make myself appear smaller. In middle school showing skills in the classroom and arts is frowned upon by other students, yet showing off in sports, male dominated ones, is perfectly acceptable. I never noticed a baseball player not hit the ball because it would appear as if he were showing off. He gave it his all and got the accolades. Flash forward to today. I am in a highly competitive all female school, where intelligence is applauded and demonstration of skills appreciated. I took a summer course at my community college and instantly regressed, ashamed that I knew many of the answers to questions the teacher asked and forced myself to stay quiet. I feel shame now as I write about my intelligence. Why? The easy thing would be to blame the public school system that I attended, for building athletes up and reinforcing stereotypes by remaining silent. But I cannot, because I had the best education afforded by a public school. Some day I will be able to be like this child, and say, or maybe shout, "Here I am world, look what I can do." Until then maybe I'll just write about it.

But but but but

But what about me? I can be such a child sometimes. I have been watching a group of children this week, and noticing that they are such suckers for attention. They are seeking their very special place in the world, a place no one else can fill. I watch them crave attention, and to compete for an adult's focus. Their voices get louder and I actually start to see them as tiny adults making their way in this big big world. But as an adult myself, I need to realize that I don't have to be the center of attention. It is not all about me. I have carved out my 1000 square feet, and am out there, living life. I don't need the attention. I know that, but the little one inside is always screaming, "but what about me?"As an adult, I try to outdo other adults with tales of woe. I know I am not the only one out there. But my big toe hurts, but my leg hurts, but my whole body hurts, but my city is engulfed in pain, flaming pain. We try to outdo each other in these tales of how horrible life is to us. You don't see adults get attention and concern if they answer you, "I am having the most fabulous day of my life, I just want to sing love songs to all the world." No, that would be a crazy person. We are rewarded for our suffering. We are helped through the jungle when we are sick or suffering. Today I need to consciously make the choice to have a day where I do not need to be the center of attention, or even an object of attention. And that is hard, considering that mean lady just took my parking space and I am too tired and my pinky hurts. So there.

To Dance Like a Grizzly

The day started out sunny and bright, then quickly changed to downpour. Welcome to the Northeast. The theme song for this year should be "Bright Side," by Monty Python, "Always look on the bright side of life / always look on the light side of life." Today, at the Bronx Zoo, I learned from a Grizzly bear a very valuable lesson. We were caught in a downpour making our way over to the Monkey House. As we passed the Bear exhibit we saw a Grizzly dancing in the rain. He did a full turn followed by a series of small hops, and finishing with a turn. He was splashing in puddles and having a grand ole time while we were covered in rain gear, making our way quickly to the next stop. I want to learn to dance like that bear, to take the rain as the bearer of puddles. I want to be able to always enjoy puddles. I guess I will have many chances to practice this summer!