December

What's left to say that hasn't been said?

I worked hard in December and asserted myself rather than holding onto resentments; I made time for family and friends and romance; I tried to be kind to myself and others and celebrate the season without stressing out over it too much. In early December, preparing for a parade of holiday visitors and recognizing an abundance of blessings, I pledged to document. (And, gratefully, have come to an end.)

I'm saying goodbye to 2011 and hello to 2012 surrounded by people I love. And, even if it were just me and the cat and a prayer, I think that I have the tools I need to make it ok. 

Peace and love and cheers and a very happy new year to you!

November

I spent the first week of November in Memphis for a work conference. I had been there once before, also for work, and saw nothing but the inside of my hotel room and the Rhodes Career Center. This time around I got to see a bit more of the city, including the Civil Rights Museum where MLK Jr. was shot. And I spent three days with coworkers from all across the country, some known and many new. This coming off the heels of an announcement that my current manager would be leaving her position at the end of December, with the possibility of a long vacancy.

In the midst of this excitement, I lost my temper, hard, twice. The first time was in the security line at the Houston airport. I told the TSA agent waving me through that I was going to opt out of the scanner. He said, "no, this isn't what you think it is, it's fine," like I was some sort of confused child, and I snapped. He made me wait unnecessarily long for the pat-down and I glared at him the entire time, fuming. The second time was in a Memphis restaurant. I just asked if I could substitute something, anything, for the coleslaw, and it turned into a fiasco. I did not want a fiasco. I didn't even care that much about the stupid coleslaw. But when I saw the fiasco coming and tried to reverse course ("nevermind nevermind!"), it was too late: "So, lady, what do you WANT?"

On the plane ride home, I wrote a few reminders to myself about the resources at my disposal. On changes and choices, I wrote: "Don't decide. Don't even think about it. Pray, wait, stall, stall, stall, stall, ask for help, wait, and do the next right thing."

I celebrated Thanksgiving in San Francisco with Josh, where we were blessed to spend some time with friends, including those who drove up from LA to spend time with us. Sitting around the table with this group of old and new loved ones I found myself thinking again: stall, stall, stall, don't decide, don't DO anything, just sit in this moment for today and drink it up.

And I've been thinking a lot about how to reply to people who ask me in all the different forms: "SOOOOOO what's next??? What are you going to do? Where are you going to live? Who's moving where? When are you going to decide?" Maybe they are just being polite and maybe also people want to know what to expect, and they think that you should, too. What's the plan, lady? What are you having?

I don't know, is generally my reply. Something great, somewhere, yes, and I'm not in any hurry.

October

I want to be so careful with October and the months that follow. Having found the thing I was waiting for, I have to treat it differently. It's like when the cat does something really adorable and you're caught between "I want to go grab my camera but if I move she's going to change position." Or, a more appropriate analogy, caring for an orchid. Orchids require special soil and a certain light and juuuuuust so much water* and a lot of patience, and the payoff is breathtaking.

Breath taking away is actually a good way to describe all of October. At the beginning, it was the mad rush to the big event at work and I was done with being calm and had moved on to a morning prayer that consisted of: "Dear God, please help me remember to breathe today and to be nice and not yell a lot so that I may be of better service to others, amen." The gala came and went and everyone says it was a great success and I believe them, because I was there, but I don't remember much from the actual evening.

(Breathe, Mary)

And after, a long nap? Not hardly; work remained a mad dash and has sustained that pace through all of quarter 1. In the middle of it, Josh came back and stayed with me for a week while conducting some work in Houston. That initial connection sustained across time zones was already starting to take deeper roots; it was real and immediate and here in person in front of me: living and working and loving and making plans and delivering my lunch to the office on a busy day when I forgot to bring it.

(Breathe)

It rained in October. The first time all summer, it seemed. Two weeks later, the city was hit with a massive mosquito attack the likes of which I had never experienced before. Thick clouds of mosquitoes hovered on the back deck waiting for a warm victim. Despite our collective best efforts, they got inside the houses, the restaurants, stores, offices, cars--the mosquitoes were everywhere and making up for lost time. Cause (rain) and effect (mosquitoes).

Josh had to leave, of course, but not before I bought a ticket to visit for Thanksgiving. The cost of my ticket with airline miles: $5. The thought of that visit sustained me through the mosquito swatting, through multi-hour calls on Pacific time, through the nights I went to sleep and woke up alone, and into the morning prayer: Lord, whatever your end may be, accept my amazement.** 

And in a twist none of us would have seen coming in April, it was back to California for the second time in 2011. 

*Unless it is a really high-quality fake, in which case, do not water it.

**John Berryman, "Eleven Addresses"

September

Some stuff happened in early September and it seemed noteworthy at the time* but who am I kidding let's just jump to the 16th when I got an email from Lana saying "Mary, meet Josh. Josh is in town this weekend and you guys should hang."

I thought it was a friend date so I had no stress or fancy outfit going into dinner; I was actually wearing pants a size too big for me because over the last two months I'd started losing weight. So in walks this sharp-looking, handsome, bespectacled guy who looks way too cool for Houston and I'm like, hi, I'm Mary, and we get to talking and it's like HUH, you are also smart, and well read too, and sincere, with interesting life pursuits and you are so so easy to talk to. None of this was surprising given the mutual friend connection but it did make me sigh a little and think "my chances of finding true love would be SO MUCH BETTER in San Francisco, seriously."

After, on the phone with my friend, I asked, Lana, why am I settling? This is the type of person I want to be with. If not this person exactly then someone very very close to him. And her response was, "Really? Because he thinks you're a dreambabe."

Armed with this "he likes you oh she likes you too" knowledge we arranged to meet up the next day and spent the next twelve hours together until he had to get on a plane back to San Francisco. In parting, we agreed on three things: 1) This was really special. 2) A long distance relationship probably doesn't make sense. 3) Yeah, about #2....

So it began that over the next two weeks my cell phone was constantly running on low battery due to the calls and the texts and the tweets and the emails. As we approached the big dinner my coworkers reiterated, "No, really Mary, it's two weeks away, you're not stressed?" and I was like, we've done all we can, we're all competent professionals, it will be fine... does anyone have a charger I can borrow?

And when Josh said "there is a chance I could be back in Houston in October; is that something you would be interested in?" I said YES.


*I met Michael Ondaatje! I saw the Weepies! I went tubing in the middle of a drought! I am sorry you got eclipsed, September stuff... but not all that sorry.

August

Having admitted that the bus I was driving was headed nowhere good, fast, I stopped driving and spent the rest of July and most of August as a passenger, doing what other people told me to do. I found meetings for people who have chosen to abstain from alcohol, and I went to those meetings every day. I joined a running group and ran when and where they told me to run. I closed down the dating shop. 

And I spent a lot of time thinking about God, gratitude, and humility. When I prayed for serenity and stopped trying to control everyone and everything, it often found me. And you will not believe this but also the world went along just as before. Faced with my own relative unimportance, I tried to conscientiously focus on "how can I be of service to someone today" rather than "how am I going to get that thing I want." Sometimes that worked.


By August, we were just two months away from the biggest fundraising dinner of the year, and more than one concerned colleague confronted me to ask why was I so calm, why wasn't I freaking out, what were we missing because this didn't feel normal. Some things, of course, did not change--I discovered this as I pulled the  pen labelled DO NOT TAKE out of my purse and then proudly displayed my inadvertent theft for the rest of the month.

By mid-August I was back online and sort of peeking through the windows of the dating shop, curiosity mostly, what sort of match might be out there for me now: which is how I wound up hanging out with the vegan heavy metal accountant.

July

Twelve months is a lot to write through.

You may be thinking what I would probably be thinking: This is over-dramatic and self-centered. I hope she doesn't plan to do this every year.

Well, yes. And also: a year ago at this time I thought--well, I didn't think my life was over, but I sure didn't know where it was going. I lost a four year relationship and a roommate. I found myself tied via property to a city where I no longer had a vested long-term interest. In love, I realized: I am 30. Anyone I marry at this point, barring any rekindled past relationships, will only know me as a 30 year old. I felt sad for those lost years, grateful for another opportunity at happiness, and completely out of my element.

By the grace of God and kindness of strangers, I'm here to write about what I learned in a year and how things changed for me. Maybe other, future years will get the same treatment, maybe not. And, yes, maybe that's self-indulgent. Maybe these problems are first world problems. Let us sit in that discomfort for a minute and then move on.

July.

The beginning of July found me in Portland, OR where I met up with my mom, her sister and my cousin. I had a very elaborate guide of bookstores and other places to visit that the poet had generously written for me before I drunk-texted him one night listing out all his faults and had to cut off communication after. I wasn't very interested in the conference in town (except to occasionally make fun of the geniuses and rescue my family from eating conference breakfast in the parking garage, insisting that we go out into the sunshine and find a coffee shop instead), but I was interested in exploring, having perfected the walk-a-bout while in Los Angeles.

Portland is home to the mecca of bookstores and I went every day. There are also bridges and gardens and trolleys and food carts and, that weekend, a blues festival. With Lucinda Williams! And 4th of July fireworks!

I had given up the vague hope of finding an attractive single 30something MENSA genius with social skills when from out of nowhere, one bummed a cigarette off of me. I didn't realize what was happening until the middle of unexpected and effortless banter when we both realized, wait, YOU'RE here for the conference? In the span of maybe three minutes, tops, I gave him my number with a "you seem like my kind of people, we should hang out this weekend."

And we did hang out. Dinner, no more. After, I wrote: "Surprise dates with a stranger. All the sweeter for their lack of script and narrative. I am for the moment a safe ear to whisper in: This is really personal..."

I left Portland feeling alive, empowered, and connected to the people and places I had visited.

And so I boldly re-entered Houston with an invitation to go see my crush play a show. An invitation I accepted after drinking all the beer left in the fridge. On an empty stomach. After waking up at 3am to catch a flight. And the next morning everything was a blur, and I didn't hear from him again, and two days later, on July 9, I stopped drinking altogether.

June

I don't really want to talk about June, because June was pretty manic. What I'm telling you about my bustling spring season is what most people saw and heard: a busy Mary, probably with a funny story about some recent date or weekend outing, working irregular hours due to after work commitments and frequent offsite meetings. I'm not telling you about the spaces in between, about the alcohol I regularly consumed at the end of a long day, or at the start of a rare obligation-free weekend. In June, with all the outdoor festivals and their focus on drinking in the streets, those private spaces started seeping into public view--enough to scare and shame me but not enough to make me slow down.

Other people achieved some notable things this month. My best friend Heather had a baby. On sadness, Lana's advice was: "more mango: fruit and color" and also to take an exercise class with a murderous ballerina. I did the mango part.

Coming off a couple months with no real romantic interest I developed an all-consuming, idealistic crush on someone I had met through work. Combining the shared interests and resources of our respective organizations was not enough for me (although I remain proud of that budding partnership to this day) -- ALSO we were going to fall head over heels for each other via a shared passion for social justice and I was going to tell all the internet dating sites to shove off. It Was Thus Destined. At work I started referring to this poor boy as My Future Boyfriend and when my colleagues tried to warn me about putting the horse before the carriage (or is it the carriage before the horse?) I brushed off all perfectly rationale arguments and dove into hawk-like pursuit, determined to turn this work relationship personal.

And it worked, because I get what I want.

We were right at that stage where I'd integrated him into the work/social happy hour hybrid (having exchanged cell phone numbers and texts in the process--do you see how this works, this is all very calculated) and I had learned enough to want to know more.

And then I went to Portland.

Buyer's Remorse

me: can I tell you something
about myself?

Josh: always

me: ok
I paid $1 for an application called Catculator
it is a calculator
that meows

Josh: ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
that is awesome and good and basically what smart phones are for so good job.

May

Mayday: I had a lot of expectations for my date scheduled for the first of May; how could I not, coming off of The Month That Ate All Other Months? I had a nice time, but I asked the wrong questions and got very long answers. And when he asked me, 45 minutes into sharing a pot of tea, "so, tell me something about YOU," I couldn't think of anything I wanted to say. The sharing window had passed. He asked, was I doing anything after this, would I maybe like to go to the zoo, and I said perhaps some other time.*

*This is a pet peeve of mine: the afternoon beverage that could presumably turn into an invitation for an evening date. I have places to be, people. And even when I don't: I'm planning to go home and recover from the stress (good or bad) of this first date. It's booked. No fair springing a new invitation when I've pumped myself up enough only for the time we have planned. I'm going to say no whether I like you or not: why put me in that position at our first meeting?

There were some other beverages and chats that went nowhere productive, and I didn't mind so much because the calendar was still thick with activity. I wrote at the time: "I am getting choosier. I no longer feel the drive to date solely for the hell of it, to see what happens, and to 'get myself out of the house.' I've found a better balance of calling on my friends, and work has just been crazy with events. When I have free time, I like spending it on my own these days."

On my own I raided the annual friends of the public library booksale, scoring some sweet panoramic photos of Houston in the early 1980s. I tore through three seasons of Parks and Rec on Netflix. And I jinxed a horse at the Kentucky Derby. At work, I wore heels well into the evenings: guest lecturers and fundraisers and various spring networky type events.

By the end of the month I was seeing a lawyer with some regularity. And even in the thick of that, I felt sad. I knew we weren't communicating very well about feeeeelings and I thought that was probably ok because I wasn't really having any feelings anyway. I thought: keep it light, go through the process, etc. etc. I thought that maybe we would be able to talk and draw each other out of our shells, if and when it became necessary. And that's how I learned about The Disappearing Act.

April

I spent a lot of time and energy convincing the world what a great trip/time/month I was having in April. Which is not to say that it wasn't genuinely amazing and well timed to finally visit California and see a bevy of beautiful ladyfriends and sing songs at the Pacific Ocean and jump out of big trees and to go on a bonafide hike (this was billed to me as a "walk" through Muir Woods and then we climbed approximately 10,000 stairs). I started to feel like myself again after having spent a long time away.

Who then was I trying so hard to impress with all my yakking and picture posting?

On April 1st I flew into Los Angeles where I stayed with Lana and Kevin. Having been talked out of the Drive The Coast Find Thyself option (9 hours, really? Without breaks?) I then hopped on a plane to San Francisco where I stayed with Caroline and later Andrea. We met up with my college roommate Mindy and went ziplining through redwood trees, an adventure I first read about on Mighty Girl (I will repeat her advice and say: you should do this!). With Caroline, I pledged to "put holes in the walls" and we made a five year plan. One that strives toward graduate school, and books, a potential relocation and focusing on family (existing and future).

When I got back to Houston there were more lady and boyfriends to visit; my calendar was bulging with Debi's visit and Raveonettes and Bunnies on the Bayou and some feel-good education events and bingo and I of course told everyone about it. If I was trying to impress the poet, it didn't work, and he missed the memo about being the end of my dating line. No matter, I thought. Life is wonderful and people are great and my job is fantastic and how much fun can one person have in a month--this seems disproportionately AWESOME and it won't last.

It didn't, of course, but then I didn't expect it to. Thanks to a surprise layover travel voucher and an invitation from the airline that set me up with fancy travel status for two years (O why can't every month be like you, April?), I knew there would be more "just for fun" travel in store, and I resolved to stop neglecting it as an ongoing part of my life.

March

We pause for a note on memoir. I'm not telling you the whole story. What I'm shooting for, instead, is something close to but not exactly the true story. In the retelling, certain names and details may be omitted via author's privilege. That argument, that slip-up, that boy who didn't call, they don't fit the narrative. No matter. Years from now, I'll remember the retelling with more clarity than the parts that got cut from the page. Such is the power of memoir, how we shape our memories. What we include and what we leave out.

That said, some of this narrative gets uncomfortable.

In March I discovered okcupid and all Hell broke loose. I started seeing a therapist, by which I mean that I started dating a therapist, and we had--surprise--a lot of long talks about feelings. One of those talks, according to my phone log, lasted four and a half hours. When your phone shows an outgoing call at 1:21am for 36 minutes, and you don't remember the contents of that conversation, that's a scary thing. Worse are the alcohol soaked online chats with strangers that get recorded, like it or not, for your viewing pleasure the next morning (delete, delete).

Outside of that chaos, I saw some nice films about space under a big full moon, I went to a (mostly ineffective) rally to preserve Texas education funding, some of my worlds collided at an intimate house show with Owen, and I brought home a new Empty Bowl. I don't really remember what I was doing at work but I do remember accepting a couple big checks and going to an event where I was asked to talk on camera (surprise!), so I must have been showing up and earning my salary.

I had cut things off with the therapist and closed all the open loops except one: I agreed to meet up with an attractive poetry phD candidate for coffee and a reading the night before I left for CALIFORNIA. Just this one, I thought, and everything else goes on hold while I take a break and re-evaluate. The poet did not disappoint, and later we texted throughout my whole trip. This is it, I thought. This is what this whole process has been leading up to. I was meant to be a muse! And on April Fool's Day I woke up very early and practically floated onto a plane to Los Angeles.

February

In February I tried very hard to dance on my own, thankyouverymuch, but I kept getting thwarted. On the 11th, my entire office picked up and got on a plane to Washington DC for acronym's 20th Anniversary celebration. One of my favorite moments was waiting in the security line (what a strange way to begin a sentence) and all around me, seeing people that I knew. There were co-workers, of course, but also a few supporters -- some on their way to the summit; others there by coincidence. In general air travel has felt like a solitary activity for me, and I was glad for their company: glad to feel included, a part of something.

I spent Valentine's Day at a poetry reading with Major Jackson and Alicia Ostriker, and I cried when she read this poem about insomnia: But it's really fear you want to talk about. I planned to spend my birthday alone, but some friends intervened, put a bird on it, and fed me cake. I was glad that February was a short month, and happy to get away from memories and milestones that made me sad. Instead I looked forward to April, and the trip I had booked to CALIFORNIA. I imagined driving up Pacific Highway 1 in a rented convertible, hair streaming behind me as I Found Myself on a coast very far from here. CALIFORNIA (in caps), I knew, would Fix Everything.

Two competing truths made themselves very clear this month: 1) I had little left tying me to Houston, and great uncertainty about the road ahead; and 2) good people and good work surrounded me in abundance, both in the city and a phone call away, and it was up to me to reach out. Except I wasn't reaching out. In the words of Melanie, a first grade student, "Somebody can help you if you tell them. They can't help you if you do not tell them."

January

My year started with a midnight kiss with a guy I'd been seeing for a couple weeks, some dancing and a lot of hipsters. Do you want to go to the Warpaint show on New Years Eve, he had asked. I don't know, was my response. It's a day fraught with symbolism. Maybe we shouldn't. Later I recanted: Ok, I will go to the Warpaint show with you on FRIDAY.

A few days later it was back to work after two weeks of mucking about, staying up too late, and trying to get comfortable with myself in a home that felt newly foreign to me. I did not handle the transition back well at all. Work felt like something to "get through" while my attention was elsewhere, saying yes to dates and stalking the arts calendars for things to get me out of the house. It was a cold January and that did not help things, dragging all the plants inside and clumsily wrapping the pipes. So I said yes instead to dinners and Aeros games and pie and films about Alan Ginsberg and painting with pinot and supersized Jenga and dark animations.

By the end of the month that boy I'd been seeing called me out for dating multiple people: It's ok, he said, I understand and I don't blame you; but I thought about it and I'm not really ok with it. "And then I realized that the idea of not seeing you didn't really bother me that much." I remember sitting and letting this statement sink in, and realizing that I felt the same way. Huh, I said. Yeah. And then probably: "I feel like a jerk."

January was a month of saying yes. Not always to the right things and not always for the right reasons, but I started saying it, and I said it over and over. Eventually I realized that I didn't need a date to go out and do the things I wanted to do, and by the time February hit I was dating no people.

Annual Report to Stakeholders

Gentle readers,

It's been a quiet fourth quarter on this site, with lots happening on the homefront. Recently I have been reflecting on what an amazing year it has been -- one of the best in recent memory and possibly in the last decade. Like a Phoenix who rose from the ashes, set herself on fire, and rose again, 2011 was a defining year. In the coming days, I'd like to share a year in review with you. A lot of what happened was too fresh to write about at the time, but time and space has made it more dear to me, and I'd like to document that.

I hope your year was a banner year, too. And if not, remember that just like you can start your day over at any time, I think you can also start your year over. Like, from today. These things are circular, we might as well take advantage of them.

I hope you will continue to invest in Fruitcake at Rest (get it--we go from Fruitcake Redux to Fruitcake at Rest--Updike reference anyone?) and trust that your attention and time are well spent, and appreciated, and will be returned to you tenfold to the best of my ability even if its just a long overdue post saying hey, thanks for reading, it means a lot to me.

So, thank you.

Love,
Mary

I do not think it is a coincidence

that Continental upgrades me to Elite status and in that same year I develop an inexplicable urge to visit the West Coast more often.

Nosir.

Songs About Rain

I have a lot of songs about rain. Some rain would be nice.

I mean, nicer than everything being on fire...

From my cold, dead paws!

Messing with TX

Me: hey--are you there?

Brother: Yes, I'm here. What's up?

M: I have to share this with someone and it can't be anyone at work
I just had the first treatment to get my TX tattoo removed
and it HURTSSSSSSSSSS

J: Ouch
Did I even know you HAD a TX tattoo?

M: did you?
it was/is on my back
just an outline of the state of TX

J: I see
But you can't tell people at work, because they will find excuses to slap you on the back?

M: I dunno, it's embarrassing

J: To be removing a tattoo?

M: yes, and, to admit that I have one in the first place

J: Just tell them that you didn't want your back associated with Rick Perry.

M: ohhhhh YESSSSSSSSSS
I knew there was a reason I came to you

J: Tell them that your tattoo has decided to secede from your body

M: Bwwwaahhhhhhhhh

Preventative Care

Houston FIT recommends "preventative sports massage."

YES!

An excuse to go get a massage before things get all achy: what a good idea.

The idea being that if you take care that all your joints are well-oiled and loose, you're less likely to get shin splints or later blow a knee out while training for your marathon or half-marathon or whatever.

There are other implications for this idea.

I've been writing elsewhere, privately (part of my preventative self-care regime, I suppose). I might come back here later.

That's all for tonight.

Waiting for the Yap

I've had a difficult time sleeping lately.

This weekend, at least, I blame it on pre-vacation jitters and all the stuff that needs to get done to prepare for that: the work in various states of completion put to hibernation or delegated, the house cleaned, the bags packed, the cat cared for, a key exchanged, the music updated, a book purchased, the (6am) flight caught.

All the various forms of communication yapping at me, or not yapping, and me waiting for the yap.

This might be a good trip to go into airplane mode, and stay there.

(But... but... live-tweeting!!)

To shut it down, for a week, to stop listening to the din, to stop broadcasting, and be present instead to my family and myself in a new place and experience.

(You can take paper notes, and consolidate when you get back.)

I think when you check in to a place, you should really be there.

In 48 hours, I will be in Portland.

CLEAN ALL THE THINGS

My, what a surprise pleasure April and May have turned out to be.

Between vacation, girlfriends, adventures, stuff to do, re-connecting with people I love, meeting new and interesting people, and taking care of the homestead, I'm giving 2011 a thumbs up.

Oh, we have had some lows.

Let's not gloss over the lows; the lows are defining. I have bruises on my knees. I cut my chin and bled all over the white sheets I never wanted. Who in their right mind purchases white sheets? Why would a person want that?

But for now: my house is clean, my work is valued, my bed and my eyes are open. The loops are open or closed or somewhere in-between. I am being honest; I am trusting the process, I am keeping it light.

We scrub the dirty residue of a week, or many weeks, or a year; whatever it is, we bleach it clean, we imagine a new tomorrow, we seek out that new life right around the corner, and try to be present and keen and real. If we fail (and we might fail) we imagine a map--the faint outline of a world map, and follow that, knowing that the outcomes will lead to more questions, and decisions, and possibilities.

Update Your Blog, Mary

OK, here in this moment...

-we are listening to KTRU, in its last week on air
-we are making progress on action items from CALIFORNIA, the vacation that ate all other vacations
-we are practicing California Cool at work, all the while things threaten to implode and eat our 4 day weekends.

That's ok if they do. There will be other, self imposed, four day weekends.

WE HAVE A TRAVEL VOUCHER.

We travel soooooooooooo well. Thanks United (boooooo!)/Continental (I miss/love you).

What is with this month, that has allowed us to eat and drink and see (girl)friends in such luxurious abundance? We can only declare this month, possibly, the Best Month Ever. Pictures are on Facebook, and if you aren't a Facebook friend, perhaps they will be posed to flickr soon.

Or perhaps not.

Ziplining!

We love ziplining.

It is not so much about "Jump Off The Thing," although that is good advice, as it is about what our tour guide suggested: "I am afraid of heights, but I TRUST THE EQUIPMENT."

Trust the equipment.
Invest in the right tools.
More maps!

These are all life lessons we took from California, plus others.

Oh the others!

I can't tell you how much I enjoyed travelling for travelling's sake. In the future, I will invest my relatives in meeting me places, so we can explore together, and experience less stress.

And more journeys.

What is life, but for the journey?

Yours,
Mary

font size and terror alert

me: jesus, I can't even visit the washingtonpost homepage anymore

friend: what happened

me: I keep looking and every headline gets scarier and in bigger font

f: with this meltdown biz?

me: yes
me: we are in a 36 point font situation

f: the houston chronicle is more reasonable, local basketball is the headline
f: if the washington post is at 36 pt, then the huffington post is at 80

me: that's what our government should adopt... screw this red, orange, yellow alert business...
me: how big is the font is what I want to know
me: yes, huffington post is same size, plus ALL CAPS

f: AHHHH
f: DOOOM

me: ohhhh! funny. but so not funny

Dearest Fruitcake Redux:

How are you? I have been pinging words to you more often over the last few months. I hope this is a welcome change, and not a burden. I hope you are not reading into it too much. I might go away again, and get very quiet, and that will be ok too. It doesn't change my feelings of affection towards you.

So let's just go there, shall we?

I have now been living on my own, in my own home, for upwards of three months. I have inherited some good habits from the most recent roommate, and I am also reverting to some bad ones pre-co-habitation. And let's face it: the last time I was not co-habitating, I was a lot younger. It was a different decade.

Speaking of decades, we are 31 today.

Pause for applause.

I was going to wait and paste this video at birthday #32, but who knows what happens between then and now. Maybe I'll need it more; maybe I'll need it less.



Whatever happens, we keep pressing on. We strive for "ah-HAAH" moments and dilated pupils and when presented with a choice to get out there or stay in, we get out. We seek out these opportunities. We do good work. We have our "automatic veto" list and are true to it, and we are also open to new people of different genres. (p.s. How's that genre been working out for you?)

But today is not a day to beat oneself up. Today is a day to breathe deep, enjoy life, be thankful to one's parents, and look forward to pleasures to come.

Happy birthday to me, internets.

The Thing About Starting Over Again Is...

It's not about you, it's about me.

As in:

Who am I when I am with you?
Do I still value the things I think I value, and am I living it?
Are you into other things that maybe I should get into?
Do I have anything interesting to say, when I am with you?
Do you understand me? Are you even trying? Am I comfortable enough to make you understand me?

It brings to mind the motto for 2002-2003, that is, "fake it 'till you make it."

I think.

I don't know.

I think maybe you have to pretend, like, "HEY! I am totally comfortable in this weird-o situation" until you get to a point where, presto, you are.

Maybe I shouldn't take dating tips from the Bachelor/Bachelorette.

I am just going to say it

Putting my books on shelves and alphabetizing them is the best drug out there.

I mean, really, what a high. Especially when they are positioned in the room in a place where I can look at them in all their curated, Dewey decimal glory.

MARY. Become a librarian. What is wrong with you?

I have multiple copies of many, so come take a look and we'll work out a loan system.

TurboTax Passive Aggression

"Your income went down a little this year, but don't fret! We'll keep an eye out for new money-saving write-offs for you next year."

Robyn

Y'all, I am so excited for this show...



But, probably, it won't sound like that. It will sound like this:



And they both sound great, right?? Mark of a great artist.

Who is this newfangled lady, you ask? Actually, you know her, remember? We were 17.



Did you know she is Swedish? Like ABBA!

Anyway, excited.

Assignments

I have been doing a poetry back and forth with Evan, which probably no one cares about, for good reason, but here is this:

I asked him to: Write a poem about falling, include the word "earnings." My feedback: It's very Margaret Atwoody, which I love, and also very you.


Earnings

The whole body draws a salary -
hands, ribs, knees, hearts -
and if you refuse to pay,
you discover the body is a union
and has been planning this strike for days.

Listen to me, please:
Pay the heart first.
Count out the coins.

No one asks more than the heart,
I know, and so often you'll be tempted
to pocket the extra, save it for the mind
forever roaming, for the hands that feel
so good in the dark, for the acute angle
of the shoulder blade that digs into
the mattress at night, pleasured.

If the heart goes broke,
it will not simply go on strike,
go cold on the picket walk,
protest as loudly as a joint
or a ligament. No, no, no:
it becomes fragile
and then it falls. It falls
far, and fast, but unwisely.
And when it falls, it will easily
break, unable to make a landing.

Pay the heart first,
it earns its wages most.
Don't let it fall so easily.
You'd think it was your servant,
trapped there among the viscera,
among the hug of lungs,
the sternum paid to thicken
with credit of milk over years,
among the blood that runs
faster and faster.
But you'd be wrong.

If it falls, it will be that much harder
to pick up the pieces and rebuild,
retrain, and start over.
The salary goes up every time.
I know because I've paid
a king's ransom to keep things together,
to keep from falling,
falling,
falling.


My assignment: (1) Write a short poem (10 lines or less) that is an ode to your favorite food ingredient.

Come kiss me, quick
the sharpness on your tongue
delicious, rich, and seeped
with garlic afterbite. Let
the hunters come:
mosquitoes beaten back
and vampires that sneer
and sulk away. We ate
all the cloves
we are roasting in it
bold, exploring, bursting
to feast on each other.

The City

A friend posted a link to this and I love it so much, I keep watching it over and over.



I like when he yells.

Also, watch Portlandia.

What I Wrote To Evan Stephens

...when he asked me to write to him about the most recent movie I had seen.


Howl

I saw the best minds of my generation
merged, in a creative writing class and twisted,
involuntarily, through the years. Endlessly seeking
ecstasy, truth, and intuition in a partner or
in many partners or in the pursuit of something larger than all of us.
We visit over social media and in 400 level classes and in museum corridors and like and unlike what is happening in our worlds.
We laugh because the names are all the same, recycled, a relic of what we once grabbed and fed upon and experienced for the first time, ecstatic.
And each time is new, and each time is a redemption for what was lost, and each time we shyly look down at our shoes, and smile, and remember, and face the present gazing upon us: brilliant, social, bright.
We force the truth to flow out of our mouths and are grateful for whatever kind landing it arrives upon; we want to be understood, we do not think you possibly can, and you surprise us, time after time, kind eyes and strong fingers.
Your touch is an unexpected gift, it stays with us longer than we expect it will.
We are teeming in the here and now, we are -- you cannot understand -- we are bursting into this new life
which begins now
which is endless
which is home.

New Year's Resolutions

For the record... I gave up using 4square. I am not the mayor of anything.

I have found there are more enjoyable ways to interact with the world and the people contained within.

And, there are no points, and no winners, and no prizes.

I am sorry, but whoever told you there are prizes was lying!

I am, however, interested in checking in to places. I think that when you are in a place, you should really be there.

Which brings me to the few New Year's Resolutions that have kept coming back to my head over the last few weeks:

1. Earn your weekends

I usually work hard, but lately I have been distracted, perhaps for understandable reasons, but not in a "feel sorry for me" way, more like a "good for you; you gave your life a kick in the ass, now start living it" type of way. But still, it's easy to fall back into the "feel sorry for me" camp if it means that maybe we can coast a little until the holidays... and then until business really gets started up again... NO, earn your weekends. Go kick ass. The stakes are too high. Get a raise!

2. Follow your bliss

BECAUSE WHY NOT?? Bliss is great. Let's make more of that.

3. Get better

This is not to suggest any current deficiencies. You are fine. What I mean is: where do you want to grow this year? Do you want to get a passport and travel abroad? Do it. Do you want to be a good homeowner and trim those bushes and take out the trash on Sundays without an Outlook reminder? Girl, get on that. You could know what cleaner will work best on your wood floors. You could have awesome lamps. You can find a flush mount light fixture you don't hate. You could ENJOY going to Home Depot (ok, let's not go overboard here...). The point is, Mary, your Strengthfinders says you are a learner, so keep learning, and think of it less as "chores" than as "amazing ways to glean knowledge" and then relax in your super clean and eclectic home and if all else fails, keep frequenting the gym and the coffee shop around the corner, because we want them in our corner for years to come.

Happy Birthday, Daniel Johnston

Upwards Over the Mountain

I tried to share this awhile back, but couldn't find a link at the time.

Listen and love:

Watch the full episode. See more Austin City Limits.

Listen to the whole episode. Aimee Man + Iron and Wine = Melt.

The Old Man Who Saved Some Ungrateful People

The third installment from Children of Wax:

(I am not making this up.)

I know what you are thinking -- OH MAN this is a great book. The young people could learn something from this book!

Well, yes, the young people could probably learn something from this book. But mostly the rich and fat people could learn something from this story!

So a bunch of rich and fat people live in abundance in a town with bountiful grain and they are all happy. They think this is a great place to live, where their grain silo regularly overflows and they are fat and happy.

You know who else thinks this is a great place to live?

The birds! The birds think this is a great place for birds to live, and they build little bird condos in the trees and help themselves to grain from the silo.

The rich and fat people are not happy about their new bird neighbors, who are eating all the grain. They realize that if this situation continues, they will become poor and skinny. They attempt to get rid of the birds with arrows, but the arrows are either very slow or the birds are very clever, or both, and it does not work.

So the people think and think and think and eventually they realize that they are not very smart, and one poor sod is like "you know who would know what to do... that old man we ran out of town because of his witchery."

And a hush falls over the crowd, because everyone was thinking it but no one wanted to say it. But eventually they concur, yes, we need to go ask the old man for help, le sigh.

The leader of the rich and fat people travels not too far away, to a bush where the old man has been living and is very skinny and is eating leaves to stay alive. And he's like, heyyyyy... and the old man is like, piss off, and the leader begs him to return and help them deal with the pesky, crafty birds, and the old man finally gives in and gathers some magic arrow formula and returns to the village.

The next morning the birds are literally singing and strutting and taunting the rich and fat people and the old man tells the people to dip their arrows into his magic arrow formula, and viola--arrows now go into the birds. Any birds that don't immediately die make for the hills.

And the rich and happy people celebrate and make the old man their leader, and bring him cows and beer to his heart's delight, and he governs justly and all is good. UNTIL some nitwit is like, hey--did you see how that old man used magic to kill those birds? He could probably do the same thing to us. We should probably run him out of town.

And this sentiment spreads throughout the town until eventually the old man is, once again, run out of town (are you paying attention, Texas Board of Education, are you seeing how history repeats itself and why you should not monkey with the social studies curriculum?) and all the while the birds have been quietly watching and waiting for this moment, and what do you suppose happens once the old man is run out of town?

Alfred Hitchcock happens.

The four highest ranking men run after the old man, and beg him to return and help them again, and the old man looks carefully at his bush, with its scarcity of leaves and hard ground to sleep on, and its absence of stupid people, and he says: No.

-------------

Ed. Note: I started rewriting this story in May of 2010, and never finished, but decided it is a story that deserves to be told, even though I couldn't find the life connect at the time. Not least because the title and the beginning of the story remind me of my dad, and I started retelling it for him-- so here you go Dad, a few months belated.

-------------

And what lessons can we draw from the old man who saved the ungrateful people?

Well, first of all, I'm not sure I can't sympathize with the ungrateful people. It is good to be rich and fat. And, birds are super annoying. And, people who insist on using magic: weird. Also, grain, yum.

But, let's suppose the old man is a hard decision, but something that is good for you, and one that you keep making, time after time. And then you get attacked by birds. And sooner or later, you might be living on leaves. And you are stupid, you know this, but you run the old man out, and you try to remember what he taught you, and you try to shoot straight, and get rid of the birds. You might not be as rich or as fat, over time, but you'll be more wily, and God willing, you'll get smarter. You might wind up in a bush. This might take some time.

And let's say the old man is in the right--and it is hard to argue that he is not--let's say you are the only sane person in the village. You could show up again and again to argue your case. You could go insane in the arguing. Or you could learn to live in the beauty of the bush. You could learn to like leaves. You could make your own magic.

Catching the Tail Ends of Compliments

What the man at Spec's said to me, in passing:

FUL!

What he said to the woman walking in front of me:

You are BEAUTI

Brink

"Jill's face changed constantly. She was always affectable, always vulnerable. The penalty she paid for being honest was that she lived most of her life poised on brinks. They were real brinks too. At first the sight of Jill poised on a brink scared me badly. I had no confidence in my ability to pull her back, and if I said something false or wrong and she went over she would really go over, into some kind of different life. She never poised on phony brinks."

from All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers, by Larry McMurtry

A Good Pupil

Lately, I've been noticing that the pupils of my eyes seem abnormally dilated, without the influence of drugs, alcohol, or medicine.

And at first, I summed it up to the company I was with at the time (which still applies).

But then, I noticed it happening more frequently, and in a variety of contexts. And I realized: this is what my eyes look like.

This is what my eyes look like when they are letting the light in. When they are seeing and are wildly attracted to the world.