this video makes me happy. i just love to bob and wiggle to it.
28 August 2008
22 August 2008
tag, you're it
Well, actually, I'm it. I just noticed this morning that Miss Courtney tagged me in her blog, and for once, I'm going to play along.
now, i suppose the i will tag wallace, because i am for sure he looks at this from time to time.
right now i'm in california, staying with a lovely family that mostly wants me here, but that little edge of doubt has me in the room with the door shut, still writing poorly. i can't wait to get back to my hawaii home and jump back into my life.
I am.....
I am inbetween
not gone, not arrived
going nowhere, making plans
still growing
at my maximum height
loving where i am
and longing to be elsewhere
tip toeing the shoreline
clapping hands, playing games
moving in and out and up
in and out and full of love
busy hands, racing feet
slow heart heavy beat
ready. reluctant.
waiting to begin,
already in the game.
i am pieces, patterns,
this and that.
still stitching it all together.
I am inbetween
not gone, not arrived
going nowhere, making plans
still growing
at my maximum height
loving where i am
and longing to be elsewhere
tip toeing the shoreline
clapping hands, playing games
moving in and out and up
in and out and full of love
busy hands, racing feet
slow heart heavy beat
ready. reluctant.
waiting to begin,
already in the game.
i am pieces, patterns,
this and that.
still stitching it all together.
now, i suppose the i will tag wallace, because i am for sure he looks at this from time to time.
right now i'm in california, staying with a lovely family that mostly wants me here, but that little edge of doubt has me in the room with the door shut, still writing poorly. i can't wait to get back to my hawaii home and jump back into my life.
06 August 2008
the opposite of creative and bored at home
I hate going to the dentist. And I hate cats.
Well, hate is a rather strong word, and I wouldn't really use the word "strong" when describing myself...unless we're talking muscles. I'm not even kidding.
So I went to the dentist this morning. I was running rather late, so I called ahead to let them know I really was coming. The nurse lady who doubles as secretary-phone-answerer told me that I wasn't listed in the schedule. Not today, or yesterday, tomorrow, the rest of the week. Or ever. Hmmm, that's interesting, I replied. I'm holding my scheduling card right here. (Oh well, now I don't have to go to the dentist! Wahoo!) But they fit me in a couple hours later. So I had lunch with my mom and came back.
I drug my feet to that wretched door and I hesitantly passed the desk into the waiting room. It smelled like teeth. And latex. Little play house restaurant sets were folded in each corner and a giant lego table took up the window space. Enchanted played on the screen hanging from the ceiling. I glanced to my left. Old magazines. The kind that give you the heebie jeebies when you touch them -- you know, they're probably recycled and at one point a homeless man used them for pillows or blankets and then some kid drooled all over it and then about a million more sat down in the chair after someone left the booklet sitting there. The old man hobo child mouth butt seat magazines.
I picked one that didn't look to bad and proceeded to read the entire thing. Finally the tooth smell got to me and I rose, looking for my dentist. If she wasn't coming to me, I was going to her. We met halfway and I was led to the torture chair. She wasn't really my dentist, but a not-quite-professional nurse type. She spent about an hour cleaning my teeth. She scraped and scrubbed each one, and with each little swipe my skin crawled and I fought my gag reflexes. The worst is the spit suction tube. She sprays my teeth with lightly watered down air and then sucks it all back up. I always wondered if she expected me to keep my mouth open and dry, but every time she turns her back to me, I clamp my mouth shut. Gulping. Swallowing the nasty pond of saliva all her prodding is excreting out of me. You know those shivers you felt just reading the word "excreting" ? That's how I feel the entire time I'm sitting in that chair.
After the cleaning lady finished up, my dentist came in. This man has been watching over my teeth my entire life. He kinda reminds me of a horse. He pried my mouth open, tapped each tooth and called it good. I've never minded him, even if he does smell like teeth. He's a good man.
On the drive home, I took some photos. Really, I was driving and taking photos. I want to remember what Iowa looks like in the summer. This might be my last one for awhile. Then I decided to take a little trip down my favorite gravel road. I guess I don't remember it so well because I got lost. I ended up nearly 8-10 miles away when I finally surfaced. Pavement is a breath of fresh air when you are lost in a maze of dust, trees, corn, and cattle.
Well, hate is a rather strong word, and I wouldn't really use the word "strong" when describing myself...unless we're talking muscles. I'm not even kidding.
So I went to the dentist this morning. I was running rather late, so I called ahead to let them know I really was coming. The nurse lady who doubles as secretary-phone-answerer told me that I wasn't listed in the schedule. Not today, or yesterday, tomorrow, the rest of the week. Or ever. Hmmm, that's interesting, I replied. I'm holding my scheduling card right here. (Oh well, now I don't have to go to the dentist! Wahoo!) But they fit me in a couple hours later. So I had lunch with my mom and came back.
I drug my feet to that wretched door and I hesitantly passed the desk into the waiting room. It smelled like teeth. And latex. Little play house restaurant sets were folded in each corner and a giant lego table took up the window space. Enchanted played on the screen hanging from the ceiling. I glanced to my left. Old magazines. The kind that give you the heebie jeebies when you touch them -- you know, they're probably recycled and at one point a homeless man used them for pillows or blankets and then some kid drooled all over it and then about a million more sat down in the chair after someone left the booklet sitting there. The old man hobo child mouth butt seat magazines.
I picked one that didn't look to bad and proceeded to read the entire thing. Finally the tooth smell got to me and I rose, looking for my dentist. If she wasn't coming to me, I was going to her. We met halfway and I was led to the torture chair. She wasn't really my dentist, but a not-quite-professional nurse type. She spent about an hour cleaning my teeth. She scraped and scrubbed each one, and with each little swipe my skin crawled and I fought my gag reflexes. The worst is the spit suction tube. She sprays my teeth with lightly watered down air and then sucks it all back up. I always wondered if she expected me to keep my mouth open and dry, but every time she turns her back to me, I clamp my mouth shut. Gulping. Swallowing the nasty pond of saliva all her prodding is excreting out of me. You know those shivers you felt just reading the word "excreting" ? That's how I feel the entire time I'm sitting in that chair.
After the cleaning lady finished up, my dentist came in. This man has been watching over my teeth my entire life. He kinda reminds me of a horse. He pried my mouth open, tapped each tooth and called it good. I've never minded him, even if he does smell like teeth. He's a good man.
On the drive home, I took some photos. Really, I was driving and taking photos. I want to remember what Iowa looks like in the summer. This might be my last one for awhile. Then I decided to take a little trip down my favorite gravel road. I guess I don't remember it so well because I got lost. I ended up nearly 8-10 miles away when I finally surfaced. Pavement is a breath of fresh air when you are lost in a maze of dust, trees, corn, and cattle.
I sewed a dress with my gram this afternoon. The stupid devil cat wouldn't leave us alone. I'm not sure why I feel such animosity towards my pet. My sister's pet. I feel more anger and animosity to this calico spotted fatso of a feline than I do toward any human being. Maybe that's a good thing.
We had one of my favorite casseroles for dinner. Yum.
01 August 2008
musing aboard a modern flying machine
July 30 or 31st
I've never seen a grander sunset than through a 12x6 window with the blind half pulled. I smashed my face against the glass, watching the white clouds bunch and bulge into cotton balls; the ocean looked calm and flat beneath. And the horizon, oh the horizon stretched as far as I could see: the boldest, clearest rainbow I have ever witnessed. It was as if the heavens poured every ounce of thick paint into those heavily saturated skies. I pried my eyes open wider, and pressed my nose flatter -- the steely grey wing interrupted my view. I always choose a window seat. Always on the wing. I thought I knew why, but I don't. Not really.
You know, I always thought some things about being in the sky. In the years before my first plane ride, I was convinced I would pack a jar. Once we ascended into those gorgeous white puffs, I would open my window and catch some cloud. Of course, I was a thoroughly disappointed 15-year-old who should have had more sense. You can't keep the sky with you on the ground.
I also always supposed being in an airplane at night would project me right into the midst of the stars -- surely they couldn't be more than a few thousand feet from the ground. It took an astronomy class my junior year of college to figure that one out. Being in the sky doesn't bring you any closer to the stars.
Did you know that every single element is created in the stars? Those burning balls of hydrogen, helium, carbon etc...somehow have worked together to form an incredibly and incomprehensibly beautiful Earth. I mean, I know God had a whole lot to do with it, but still. Simply outstanding.
Tonight, as I gaze out the window, I see a few stars. I guess I'd rather be looking at the from the beach. I glanced down and saw city lights. We've crossed the ocean, and now have half a country to go. This if the first time in my life I've looked at city lights and felt breathless. The ground below is glowing -- hot coals, lightening bugs, Christmas lights, lava pits, glow sticks, clusters of stars --- the milky way galaxy tipped upside down.
Anyway, I suppose the point is that I've always glorified being in the sky: my dreams of an airplane ride, sitting atop a farris wheel, climbing to the uppermost branches of a tree, or swinging nearly up and around the pole that held the set together. Now, I love being in the sky -- I do. There is a beautiful in-betweeness to it: reality but unreality -- escape from all the world below, release into the elements. But, as I (slowly) grow older and (more quickly) grow up, I cherish the moments with my feet planted firmly on the ground. Living in and on what is around me. Enjoying my place int he world. Experiencing instead of observing from about. As attractive as unreality is, there is just something absolutely charming about really living.
Novel idea, hmm?
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