Fine lines. There are many. They wrap themselves around our hearts, tie
knots, and sink in. When that heart finally breaks, we’re left with a mess to
untangle from the rubble. Lines everywhere that must be sorted through and
straightened out. There’s a fine line between forgiving someone because you’re
strong enough to stay and forgiving someone because you’re too weak to leave.
There’s the fine line between believing in someone because you see all the
good they posess and believing in someone because you’ve forgotten how to
believe in yourself. There’s the fine line of loving one another through
betrayal, pain, and heartbreak because even the broken pieces of you can’t go
one second without them by your side and then there’s loving one another through
all of that because the shattered pieces are to weak to stand up and believe
you’re worth anything better. And finally there’s the fine lines of going
through the motions of leaving because you know that's what you should do and
going through the motions of staying because you just don’t know how to do
anything else. All of these lines shape the outline of our hearts. Sometimes we
cross them. Sometimes we tie knots in them. Sometimes we cut them. If we could
just learn how to string our lines together and tangle ourselves in love,
respect, honor, and truth we would end up with a knot worth tying and the fine lines
would be those made by the sun on the morning petals of promises.Thursday, December 20, 2012
Fine Lines
Fine lines. There are many. They wrap themselves around our hearts, tie
knots, and sink in. When that heart finally breaks, we’re left with a mess to
untangle from the rubble. Lines everywhere that must be sorted through and
straightened out. There’s a fine line between forgiving someone because you’re
strong enough to stay and forgiving someone because you’re too weak to leave.
There’s the fine line between believing in someone because you see all the
good they posess and believing in someone because you’ve forgotten how to
believe in yourself. There’s the fine line of loving one another through
betrayal, pain, and heartbreak because even the broken pieces of you can’t go
one second without them by your side and then there’s loving one another through
all of that because the shattered pieces are to weak to stand up and believe
you’re worth anything better. And finally there’s the fine lines of going
through the motions of leaving because you know that's what you should do and
going through the motions of staying because you just don’t know how to do
anything else. All of these lines shape the outline of our hearts. Sometimes we
cross them. Sometimes we tie knots in them. Sometimes we cut them. If we could
just learn how to string our lines together and tangle ourselves in love,
respect, honor, and truth we would end up with a knot worth tying and the fine lines
would be those made by the sun on the morning petals of promises.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Monday, November 12, 2012
The History of Love by Nicole Krauss
So many words get lost. They leave the mouth and lose their courage, wandering
aimlessly until they are swept into the gutter like dead leaves. On rainy days,
you can hear their chorus rushing past: I was a beautiful girl, please don’t go,
I too believe my body is made of glass, I’ve never loved anyone, I think of
myself as funny, forgive me… There was a time when it wasn’t uncommon to use a
piece of string to guide words that otherwise might falter on the way to their
destinations. Shy people carried a little bunch of string in their pockets, but
people considered loudmouths had no less need for it, since those used to being
overheard by everyone were often at a loss for how to make themselves heard by
someone. The physical distance between two people using a string was often
small; sometimes the smaller the distance, the greater the need for the string.
The practice of attaching cups to the ends of string came much later. Some say
it is related to the irrepressible urge to press shells to our ears, to hear the
still-surviving echo of the world’s first expression. Others say it was started
by a man who held the end of a string that was unraveled across the ocean by a
girl who left for America. When the world grew bigger, and there wasn’t enough
string to keep the things people wanted to say from disappearing into the
vastness, the telephone was invented. Sometimes no length of string is long
enough to say the thing that needs to be said. In such cases all the string can
do, in whatever its form, is conduct a person’s silence.”
— Nicole Krauss, The History of Love
aimlessly until they are swept into the gutter like dead leaves. On rainy days,
you can hear their chorus rushing past: I was a beautiful girl, please don’t go,
I too believe my body is made of glass, I’ve never loved anyone, I think of
myself as funny, forgive me… There was a time when it wasn’t uncommon to use a
piece of string to guide words that otherwise might falter on the way to their
destinations. Shy people carried a little bunch of string in their pockets, but
people considered loudmouths had no less need for it, since those used to being
overheard by everyone were often at a loss for how to make themselves heard by
someone. The physical distance between two people using a string was often
small; sometimes the smaller the distance, the greater the need for the string.
The practice of attaching cups to the ends of string came much later. Some say
it is related to the irrepressible urge to press shells to our ears, to hear the
still-surviving echo of the world’s first expression. Others say it was started
by a man who held the end of a string that was unraveled across the ocean by a
girl who left for America. When the world grew bigger, and there wasn’t enough
string to keep the things people wanted to say from disappearing into the
vastness, the telephone was invented. Sometimes no length of string is long
enough to say the thing that needs to be said. In such cases all the string can
do, in whatever its form, is conduct a person’s silence.”
— Nicole Krauss, The History of Love
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Standing ovation
It's hailing right now. Little pellets of frozen rain are falling from the sky with such a fury that they're bouncing like tiny gymnasts when they hit the ground. The tin roof of my cabin sounds as if it's applauding the spectacular show and welcoming winter with a standing ovation. There's something magical about this transformation from light to dark, from warm to cold. No matter how many times I witness this transition, I still gaze in awe and wonderment everytime. The kids and I huddle up and stare out the window as Mother covers us with her white blanket of snow and we all breathe a deep sigh. It's a breath of comfort; it's a breath of reflection; it's a breath of gratitude. The world will slumber. Our hearts will rest. The promise of new beginnings will enchant our dreams. So, welcome home, winter. I've put the kettle on for you.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
over the moon
sometimes my silence means that i've decided that my mouth couldn't possibly be qualified
to say all that my heart needs it to.
so rather than ruin the song,the poem, or the tender breaking that my heart strings are stitching together with deep breaths and deeper exhalations, i sit quietly and let the beating of my heart carry the words through my veins to escape through my fingertips.
i sit under a starry night and stare at a moon that stares back.
my heart beats wildly with an eagerness and desire to jump over that moon.
but, i have planted roots in the ground that tether me to the treet tops.
i share the wind with wood nymphs, sunbeams with the tips of wings and my heart soars with the secrets kept by the rivers...
but, i long to see what's on the other side of that moon...
the flutter of wings and the whispers of raindrops have me believing
that it's there that i'll find the other side of my heart.
to say all that my heart needs it to.
so rather than ruin the song,the poem, or the tender breaking that my heart strings are stitching together with deep breaths and deeper exhalations, i sit quietly and let the beating of my heart carry the words through my veins to escape through my fingertips. i sit under a starry night and stare at a moon that stares back.
my heart beats wildly with an eagerness and desire to jump over that moon.
but, i have planted roots in the ground that tether me to the treet tops.
i share the wind with wood nymphs, sunbeams with the tips of wings and my heart soars with the secrets kept by the rivers...
but, i long to see what's on the other side of that moon...
the flutter of wings and the whispers of raindrops have me believing
that it's there that i'll find the other side of my heart.
...an antonym i shall be
FRAGILE
1.
a: easily broken or destroyed fragile
child>
Related Words dainty, fine, gossamer; eggshell, flimsy, slight, tenuous; brittle, crisp, crispy, crumbly, crushable, embrittled, flaky (also flakey), friable, shaky, shivery, short; feeble, infirm, soft, spindly, tender, weak; inelastic, inflexible, stiff, breakable, brittle, eggshell, frangible, friable; feeble, flimsy, puny, slight, soft, tenuous, weak; nonhardy, perishable, resistless, susceptible, unresistant, vulnerable, yielding
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
When the bough breaks...
Tonight, I am broken hearted. But, in these tears I will bathe a new beginning and grieve lessons learned. I will raise a glass to feigned bravery and friends that hold my chin high until I find the strength to stand with shoulders back and a heart eager again for the sun. In the meantime, I will sort through these pieces and sew seams with snowflakes and twine. I will seek wisdom from the bough that is broken and I will plant a stronger tree in its place.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
aaaand we're still at 2 of 4
no exciting progress pics to post tonight. last night's lack of sleep did me in. I decided to play with the dogs instead. however now, I'm feeling an incredible amount of guilt for not having worked on the kitchen AT ALL and for not having worked out. I believe I will at least rectify the latter by banging out some pullups, pushups, and burpees before i collapse.
I DID however, make a huge score off of craigslist today. Free stone and tile to my hearts content. NICE stuff. The stone is amazing... Can't wait to show you what I plan on doing with it!
With the exception of Sunday plans with friends and the inevitable search and rescue mission(s), I'll be steady working on this little project all weekend. Watch for pics. ...maybe even a video. :)
I DID however, make a huge score off of craigslist today. Free stone and tile to my hearts content. NICE stuff. The stone is amazing... Can't wait to show you what I plan on doing with it!
With the exception of Sunday plans with friends and the inevitable search and rescue mission(s), I'll be steady working on this little project all weekend. Watch for pics. ...maybe even a video. :)
2 of 4
2nd piece is down as of 7:20 am this morning. Last two pieces will go down when I get home from work and my new subfloor will be done! :)1 of 4 ....
Ok...it's 12:06. Drywall is repaired except for one last piece behind the water heater and the 1st piece of new subfloor is layed. 2nd piece has been measured, marked, and ready to be cut as soon as I get home from work tomorrow. 3 more pieces to go and the last two only need small cuts. Subfloor will be done by tomorrow evening! Woohoo! After that's finished, I start designing the cabinetry/countertop space and choosing materials...Wednesday, August 29, 2012
I feel like...
the current state of my kitchen.
empty, but hopeful for pretty, warm, comforting things to fill the space.
empty, but hopeful for pretty, warm, comforting things to fill the space.
a blank canvas..
I will leave them there I think.
I already have an idea for their makeover.
Here, there used to be the kitchen sink and single long countertop.
I'm looking forward to this gigantic mess I've jumped into. It will keep me busy for weeks...potentially months.
My goal is to have a completely finished kitchen by Thanksgiving (if not sooner)...
In the meantime...
the former kitchen is in my living/dining room :)
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
jelly toast heaters
Why does jelly taste different on toast?
It immediately conjures warm childhood memories of mommom.
I miss her.
I wonder if she knows that...
It's cold in the cabin.
It has been for the last several nights and the same crisp chill greets the dogs and I in the morning.
We all awake in a tightly spun huddle of our bodies with a slightly more apparent reluctance to leave the heat of our pile.
The pellet stove is broken so, I use the excuse of wanting toast and jelly to warm myself, although briefly, with the heat of the toaster oven.
Winter is coming.
I'm looking forward to hibernation.
It immediately conjures warm childhood memories of mommom.I miss her.
I wonder if she knows that...
It's cold in the cabin.
It has been for the last several nights and the same crisp chill greets the dogs and I in the morning.
We all awake in a tightly spun huddle of our bodies with a slightly more apparent reluctance to leave the heat of our pile.
The pellet stove is broken so, I use the excuse of wanting toast and jelly to warm myself, although briefly, with the heat of the toaster oven.
Winter is coming.
I'm looking forward to hibernation.
Monday, August 27, 2012
breathe shallow
there are relics in this breath.
pieces of memories that float away like souls.
this ache is their death.
and i breathe shallow
so as not to pull them back in to hold closely.
pieces of memories that float away like souls.
this ache is their death.
and i breathe shallow
so as not to pull them back in to hold closely.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
an inside job
I've started yet another remodeling project in the cabin. This time it's the kitchen that fell victim to my hammer and grandeur ideas. It's not like it was merely a whim based on aesthetic boredom. I mean the "grandeur" part of my ideas certainly runs away with crazy concepts suitable for the cover photo of Home and Garden however, there are some real structural issues inside the can of worms that i just opened. A seriously sloping subfloor, for example. Electrical issues, drywall repair, and space utilization also abound. Being the glutton for punishment that I am, I've decided to build my own countertops and cabinetry. Of course I am. Why would I want to go the easy route and buy something. I've been pondering the very thought myself actually. I've noticed some patterns pertaining to my need to "destroy and rebuild stonger" mentality. This mindset literally runs rampant in everything I do.
Everything.
Don't give me the brand new, shiny stuff. I want the old stuff that someone decided wasn't worth it anymore.
Worth.
There are volumes and volumes of depth in this word for me.
I am consistently attracted to worn, dilapidated, and discarded things. It's an insatiable need to expose the beauty hidden in the cracks, bent edges, and neglected bones of whatever it is that has cought my undivided attention. It's a need to prove that what someone else had given up on, thrown away, left on the way side...was really a buried treasure that was merely waiting for someone to see.
It was worth it all along.
These patterns I mentioned...
Inevitably, I find myself reaching for my tools or looking for a project that allows me to create whenever there is noise on the inside. My insides.
My brain, without fail, turns the non-stop musings of thought and emotions into a physical manifestation of "destroy and build stronger".
I subconciously address my own internal "sloping subfloors", space management, cracks and bent edges by fixing that which is front of me. Things I can see and touch and feel. Things that I can sand, cut, bend, paint, and beautify in order to feel some fleeting sense of having accomplished the directive. By the time I'm done with this cabin, my insides should be remodeled just perfectly.
Whether it's my own body that I abuse with workouts that leave me puking on the side of the trail, or a kitchen that feels the swing of my hammer as I rip it apart, I always offer the reassurance to the subject of my destruction that the pain will be worth it in the end.
There will be strength.
There will be beauty.
And someone will see that it was worth it all along.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
...Little Man
that's what i used to call you. remember? u were such a scrawny little guy with a toe head too big for your body until you were about 14, lol.
remember when you wanted to dye your hair? we ended up turning your head aaaand your eyebrows orange and you were screaming that it burned so badly that your eyelashes were gonna fall off. the only time we laughed harder was the time we put Nair on ONE side of your chest. ..or maybe we laughed harder the time we went through the Dunkin' Donuts drive thru and you ordered "milky" in your demonic voice. i was laughing so hard i couldn't see..or talk and the girl at the window and EVERYONE inside DD was looking at us like we were insane.
we laughed a lot. which in hindsight, i think is pretty damn awesome considering the shit we dealt with at home. i remember so many things about growing up with you. i remember when i realized that i would stop at nothing to protect you. i remember that trip that we took with dad on the boat.
i think that's actually when i took ownership of being your big sister. i wanted to keep you safe. you seemed so little to me. and look at you now. i doubt that there's a single person that would even think twice about crossing you. surely, you're the protector now. right, little brother? how did you get so big?? i saw your photos... i wish there was happiness in your eyes. you look so angry.
you look exactly like dad.
what happened?? where did all your light go? where did you go?...........................
i've written more letters to you than you can imagine. i sent none of them. the last time we spoke...you told me you hated me. told me that i wasn't your family and to never call you again. i begged for a reason why.... you could only re-iterate your hatred for me.
but i don't hate you back, little man. not even for a second.
i wish i could take all this love that i've been storing for you and send it to you in a bottle...but it would take a lot of bottles..and the thought of you breaking every single one of them is heartbreaking. but, i would send them anyway. maybe you would decide to open just one....
i never sent the letters. they live in a box and i pretend that you got them.
i sometimes pretend that you and i haven't missed the last nine years of each other's lives.
i pretend that i know all about how busy you are...and that's why we don't talk.
you're just busy. that's all.
i don't hate you back. not even for a second.
it's been nine years but, tonight i am missing you beyond imagine.
i would give anything to hear your voice.
to laugh with you again. to hear all about your life...
maybe someday, baby brother, if you find the time...
i know you're just really busy.
i'll be right here.
i love you.
remember when you wanted to dye your hair? we ended up turning your head aaaand your eyebrows orange and you were screaming that it burned so badly that your eyelashes were gonna fall off. the only time we laughed harder was the time we put Nair on ONE side of your chest. ..or maybe we laughed harder the time we went through the Dunkin' Donuts drive thru and you ordered "milky" in your demonic voice. i was laughing so hard i couldn't see..or talk and the girl at the window and EVERYONE inside DD was looking at us like we were insane.
we laughed a lot. which in hindsight, i think is pretty damn awesome considering the shit we dealt with at home. i remember so many things about growing up with you. i remember when i realized that i would stop at nothing to protect you. i remember that trip that we took with dad on the boat.
i think that's actually when i took ownership of being your big sister. i wanted to keep you safe. you seemed so little to me. and look at you now. i doubt that there's a single person that would even think twice about crossing you. surely, you're the protector now. right, little brother? how did you get so big?? i saw your photos... i wish there was happiness in your eyes. you look so angry.
you look exactly like dad.
what happened?? where did all your light go? where did you go?...........................
i've written more letters to you than you can imagine. i sent none of them. the last time we spoke...you told me you hated me. told me that i wasn't your family and to never call you again. i begged for a reason why.... you could only re-iterate your hatred for me.
but i don't hate you back, little man. not even for a second.
i wish i could take all this love that i've been storing for you and send it to you in a bottle...but it would take a lot of bottles..and the thought of you breaking every single one of them is heartbreaking. but, i would send them anyway. maybe you would decide to open just one....
i never sent the letters. they live in a box and i pretend that you got them.
i sometimes pretend that you and i haven't missed the last nine years of each other's lives.
i pretend that i know all about how busy you are...and that's why we don't talk.
you're just busy. that's all.
i don't hate you back. not even for a second.
it's been nine years but, tonight i am missing you beyond imagine.
i would give anything to hear your voice.
to laugh with you again. to hear all about your life...
maybe someday, baby brother, if you find the time...
i know you're just really busy.
i'll be right here.
i love you.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
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