this morning, running with free thought in a now-busy coffee shop that was empty when i got here. now there are people looking for places to sit and our voices are hushed so as not interrupt or jeopardize the interesting conversations we are so lucky to overhear (like finding horses, or something else that was $2/lb, from the people behind me, craigslist farm/garden, perhaps? i think they are looking for meat).
i am wanting to be curled up here with a sketchbook, wanting to make this a regular weekend "me" thing, realizing that when my ultimate goal is writing, creating with words and text and not pencil or picture, the two genres blend and i bet i could fill a book quickly with ink or prints, big words on pages. i have so many great images i've saved to my computer and of course, no credits, no information as to where i may have found them. shit. bad, awful habit. there is a beautiful man sitting across from me with his headphones on and great stories to tell about getting kids (adults) to write and his face looks so soft (but scruffy, still) and i am wearing knit armour, a flowered sweater and thick scarf and therefore i retreat to the backboard of this chair and sink, tired, into my seat. my coffee cup is empty. he was telling me about this book (and film), about a family who moved from kentucky to willow run, to my neighborhood, for a factory job.
the people behind me are, in fact, talking about buying local meat. last night, i opted for a black bean burger instead of beef after staring at the menu reviewing the facts in my head, that factory farmed beef creates a huge carbon footprint, and i didn't know where the meat was from. i am anxiously awaiting food stamps and time for the farmers market, oh my god today is sunday and i. am. not. at. work. i am inspired by these images, this craft, wanting to take some linen and stretch it over a frame and embroider simple flowers, or to draw leaves with those thick dark veins and some good, deep ink. i want to get my hen colored in.
there is a church not far from here that holds a piece of nostalgia for me; once, in the winter, i met a friend there and we sat in this little room for reflection, i had on flip flops and it was cold and i brought this book and stared at the little altar and tried, tried, tried to find something thick to say, tried to feel anything at all about this figure in front of me and all i could think about was the weird waxy finish on the wooden bench and the staleness that spit from my mouth when i pushed forth obligatory prayers and then, it was finished, and i was done and felt nothing. nothing in the same way you would feel after the most awful love-making, awful in the way that you hoped it would be so god damn amazing and then it, just, wasn't. this church has a beautiful stained glass window.
yesterday at work i lost my composure after a conversation with our opener as she was leaving and the heaviness of her eyes as she told me about how her infant son puked all over her as she was walking out the door and then once he was settled into his carseat, pooped one of those massive baby poops that flies out the diaper and up the back, and so, therefore, she was late for work. Late. it was like this, or at the very least, the empathy evoked from a similar place.
last night, grace's dad told me that he didn't know what i sought anymore. this is not a rare conversation, and it is always a feeling of defeat, in the way that this person who swims through my bones does not understand that the things i seek are both concrete and evolving at once, that they have always been rooted, but that they are like the trees that lose their leaves and participate in the seasonal cycle. what i seek now is no different than what i sought five years ago, though my short (and long) term material goals, plan-able things, have naturally evolved. it is that the only constant is change, yes? and it is this explanation that i offer, and then i wrap my sweater a little tighter, put my hands in my pockets, and go.
it is national poetry month. here is a poem that i like from 37days: the woman in the ordinary.
this is beautiful. i need a wool carder and a drop spindle. i tried to make felted soap yesterday with uncarded wool. durrrrr. now, i'm wondering what to do with a little uncarded wool. any ideas?
i have an errand to run, one last thing before the bug comes home.
4.25.2010
4.24.2010
i'll see you in the morning light
it isn't that late (it is). i hoped to come home to housemates on the couch but instead all the lights were off and even the cats are asleep. this song by bon iver (re: stacks) has been my breath when it feels like my lungs are being pushed up and through my throat. it hums, off the walls of the upstairs of my stepdad's house where i stayed, where we stayed, where the floor was wood, the walls were panelled, and grace's sweet bed was under the window. where i weaned her, where i stacked books next to the bed, books i still have not read. it echoes here, where i am curled up with a cup of tea, listening to the neighborhood noise. i am likely getting up early and heading back out to the garage sale in pinckney, the woman selling emailed me this afternoon to let me know she had 15 more boxes. i have a short work week, though it doesn't feel much less stressful. here's to pulling one's self out of the mud.
i finished lisa's hat today, aside from the buttons. i've also got some new things on etsy and more to come, so please head over to your left to find the mini-store and check it out.
i finished lisa's hat today, aside from the buttons. i've also got some new things on etsy and more to come, so please head over to your left to find the mini-store and check it out.
hey there.
we're hanging in there. remembering to remember the things we have said to soothe our souls. no, dear, do not stop here, not even to rest. put on your coat and your hat and scarf (these things for spring) and keep walking.
4.23.2010
on spring and sexuality
spring nights. my memory is moved by smell. the numbers on the clock are blinking. i am literally feeling, tasting, the crunch of fresh spring grass, old leaves, like they are my bones and the sore muscles wrapped around them, remembering firsts and lasts and the same panicked transition from one season to the next; it is so powerful that i am unable, for a moment, to remember that this is now and that was then (pull yourself up, dear girl), that was last year, the year before, and the year before and so on. that the smell and the warmth of the sun coming through the balcony window, or the way it felt to have an actual front door onto an actual porch, or the cheeks and lips that match hers so perfectly and the blanket we picked out but rarely shared and the morning i woke up to find him on the front lawn, i am up and down and up and down and wait, here, stop. breathe. these spring nights belong to nobody but myself, and the conversations had between women on couches or porches with glasses of cheap wine and a silent goal: community. wholeness, even more so. it is wholeness that we are pursuing.
the idea of nursing as a career intrigues me in the same way that dating women intrigues me. it is something i often imagine myself doing, and something that i generally conclude is nothing more than myself being swept up by a romantic idea that is far from reality. it intrigues me in such a way that i daydream, that i place myself there, in a scene, and try to imagine myself drawing blood, touching somebody's greasy unwashed skin, or falling in love with a woman and trying to replace the men i've dated with the body and mind of another female. there are days in which i say yes. this is what i want. there are days when i think that in another life, i am probably this or that. in another life, i have been a lesbian nurse or something extremely grey's anatomy-like.
yesterday grace asked if she could show me a "cool trick," and proceeded to take her screwdriver from her tool kit and stick it between her labia like it was this cool thing she could do, to make it stay there just like its cool to hide things under your neck or pick things up with your toes. how do i explain to my two year old who seems to have a fascination with her vagina, that vaginas are not for cool tricks? how do i teach her about what her vagina is, without also attaching shame or extreme privatization? how do i address the fact that i am interested in dating women? where do i begin? honesty. honor. familiarity and confidence. dear child, your vagina is for peeing and for babies to come out of. you can touch it and you can look at it, but it is not for cool tricks. my girl, my little one, has been locking her tiny fingers with mine for the last several days and apologizing when needed and understanding that momma will tell you once, maybe twice, to do something before there are consequences...she is learning respect, and has now offered me this area of (near) total unfamiliarity - yeah, i have a vagina, but i was not the kid who cared about the fact that she had a vagina until i was well into adulthood, and i will admit that even then, i was a little unsure of what exactly that meant. i do not want to shatter her progress, i do not want to teach her shame. this is not eden, i am not god to teach her that she shall now bear the pain of childbirth as punishment for desire, i want to teach her that she has something sacred. i want to explore what that sacredness means to me, outside of traditional relationships. i'm interested in dating women. i am also interested in men.
i am, more than all of this, interested in having the kind of home that my friends are welcomed into. a fire holder, and shared meals. i am seeking wholeness. i am committed to raising my daughter in a place of wholeness, a place of respect and gratitude and consideration for the people with whom we share our space. i will teach her confidence and identity, i will challenge her with questions about who she is and what she believes in and i will give her the support she needs to then question herself. i will teach her, when i have learned it myself (while i learn it; is there really a learned point?), what it means to have faith in one's own abilities and the beauty of a simple desire to learn. i will teach her about things that last, and things that don't, and we will set out after them together.
the idea of nursing as a career intrigues me in the same way that dating women intrigues me. it is something i often imagine myself doing, and something that i generally conclude is nothing more than myself being swept up by a romantic idea that is far from reality. it intrigues me in such a way that i daydream, that i place myself there, in a scene, and try to imagine myself drawing blood, touching somebody's greasy unwashed skin, or falling in love with a woman and trying to replace the men i've dated with the body and mind of another female. there are days in which i say yes. this is what i want. there are days when i think that in another life, i am probably this or that. in another life, i have been a lesbian nurse or something extremely grey's anatomy-like.
yesterday grace asked if she could show me a "cool trick," and proceeded to take her screwdriver from her tool kit and stick it between her labia like it was this cool thing she could do, to make it stay there just like its cool to hide things under your neck or pick things up with your toes. how do i explain to my two year old who seems to have a fascination with her vagina, that vaginas are not for cool tricks? how do i teach her about what her vagina is, without also attaching shame or extreme privatization? how do i address the fact that i am interested in dating women? where do i begin? honesty. honor. familiarity and confidence. dear child, your vagina is for peeing and for babies to come out of. you can touch it and you can look at it, but it is not for cool tricks. my girl, my little one, has been locking her tiny fingers with mine for the last several days and apologizing when needed and understanding that momma will tell you once, maybe twice, to do something before there are consequences...she is learning respect, and has now offered me this area of (near) total unfamiliarity - yeah, i have a vagina, but i was not the kid who cared about the fact that she had a vagina until i was well into adulthood, and i will admit that even then, i was a little unsure of what exactly that meant. i do not want to shatter her progress, i do not want to teach her shame. this is not eden, i am not god to teach her that she shall now bear the pain of childbirth as punishment for desire, i want to teach her that she has something sacred. i want to explore what that sacredness means to me, outside of traditional relationships. i'm interested in dating women. i am also interested in men.
i am, more than all of this, interested in having the kind of home that my friends are welcomed into. a fire holder, and shared meals. i am seeking wholeness. i am committed to raising my daughter in a place of wholeness, a place of respect and gratitude and consideration for the people with whom we share our space. i will teach her confidence and identity, i will challenge her with questions about who she is and what she believes in and i will give her the support she needs to then question herself. i will teach her, when i have learned it myself (while i learn it; is there really a learned point?), what it means to have faith in one's own abilities and the beauty of a simple desire to learn. i will teach her about things that last, and things that don't, and we will set out after them together.
4.21.2010
thoughts on here and now
i feel like i've been tricked into liking this neighborhood out of obligation. there, i said it. i firmly believe that if we run from the opposition, we will never evolve into a better world. if we segregate ourselves from the things (or people) we disagree with, the kind of world we try and create amongst ourselves will fail to thrive beyond our front door. we have this house and this busted up front yard and creeptastic backyard behind the garage (yesterday i ventured back there a few feet but got nervous with grace being behind me and i swear to god i thought there would be scary people living in the trees...behind our backyard is land, trees, a dumping ground, whatever you make of it). anyway, i feel obligated, for this reason, to like this place. i feel obligated to like ypsilanti because it's an up and coming city, because it's becoming more family oriented, because it has potential, because we have the power to make it clean, safe, cozy, etc. because i will likely be spending the next few years here so that i can finish school at eastern. because it would be ignorant to state that i actually dislike this city and would rather live somewhere less broken, somewhere less empty, somewhere with white fences and happy faces. somewhere i could ride my bike with the trailer attached and actually have a sidewalk to ride on. i'm trying to like it. i'm trying to like that there are good coffee shops just a few minutes away by car. i'm trying to like that there are good things here, that there are families moving in and settling down. that there is a chicken permit, and that there are beautiful parks. i am trying to gather my balls to stand up for myself and the things i deserve to have just like the next person (ie: sidewalk, or the ability to run through my neighborhood and not have to duck down a side street to avoid someone's loose and angry dog that they are in no hurry to catch).
i am thinking this morning about the time i thought i could do laundry in my bathtub and hang dry everything. i poured a little detergent and some dr. bronners soap in there, rolled up my pant legs, and stomped around for awhile. i should mention that i was hugely pregnant at this point. yesterday, after writing the above, i had to turn around a few blocks from our house to go back and get something and i ventured down a side street i hadn't gone down yet. all the houses were clean. the backyards were full of clothes hanging on the line. it was sunny. the porches were safe. the grass was green. just a few blocks from here.
i am thinking this morning about the time i thought i could do laundry in my bathtub and hang dry everything. i poured a little detergent and some dr. bronners soap in there, rolled up my pant legs, and stomped around for awhile. i should mention that i was hugely pregnant at this point. yesterday, after writing the above, i had to turn around a few blocks from our house to go back and get something and i ventured down a side street i hadn't gone down yet. all the houses were clean. the backyards were full of clothes hanging on the line. it was sunny. the porches were safe. the grass was green. just a few blocks from here.
yesterday we went to mill pond park in saline with a coworker and her son to discuss the battles of working for a big company as a single parent. the battles are ten times harder when said company promotes family and community values, which is about as much as i'm willing to get into here, right now. the rest i'll save for a letter to our regional president.
i have 8+ tabs open in my browser right now, all pertaining to etsy sales, etsy shops, and craft. i am not expecting to make a living through my shop. i would, however, like to push it more and increase sales because i LIKE vintage shopping, and vintage clothing, and if i don't sell some of it, i can't fit any more in this house. thank god for housemates (or husbands) who also share the thrift love. i was reading one in particular about making a business plan. i like this idea. i found this to be the most useful because it pertained to my craft, but i'm also intrigued by other crafts that sell - like soap making, or sewing. i am weighing the practicality of things, i guess. i don't want to start making something just because it will sell, and i certainly don't want to start selling something that there are already millions of on there. what are your thoughts?
4.19.2010
slowly, surely
i have possibly encountered one of the hardest weeks. i could take the time to list everything here, but i think it can be summed up as follows: a very expensive car accident on the way to my ballet recital (needless to say, i didn't make it there), and the sadness stirred by extremely angry individuals (daily) that leave me questioning why, why are you so angry? top that with my job being in serious jeopardy because of "attendance issues," boyfriend losing his job, losing (letting go of) boyfriend, and an immense amount of chocolate cookies being eaten and baking being done, and an exhausted person behind this screen, who still feels a little broken and deeply puzzled by the inability to cope with the tiny dots that might be freckles near the corners of my daughter's eyes, and the paralyzing resemblance she shares with her father when he does his hair and shaves his face just so.
the good news? there's a kroger not too far from here that is really nice, and i grocery shopped (peacefully) there today instead of at the ghetto kroger by our house while my mom took grace for the afternoon. i have a rental car until mine is fixed. i have some beautiful yarn in my hands to make into a hat for a dear friend. amanda offered her house for us to stay in when we come to pittsburgh for her wedding in june. my teacher extended the due date on our final presentation (i'm still behind). there is good coffee in our house. there are stories like this. there were great conversations on npr this morning about public school funding. my housemates have been working in the yard and it looks beautiful and loved. this is our neighborhood, too. i still feel uncomfortable going for walks, and i feel defeated.
if you haven't stopped by my etsy shop recently, i'm offering free domestic shipping on all vintage clothing and accessories until 4/25. i'm planning on listing some new things tonight, if i don't pass out right here first. (i'm about to pass out. i'm going to bed.)
also, i've been itching to check out some local food/coffee shops. anything in the metro-detroit/ann arbor/toledo area, and anyone willing to tag along? i'm looking for some soul nourishment and some damn good coffee, and some place that grace won't be bored.
4.18.2010
a long week
yesterday she put on the headphones, said she wanted to hear music. bon iver's "flume" came on lastfm, "i am my mother's only one."
she is the starlight over a deep, dark sea. dark and heavy, thick, sad waves pumping the boat along.
she is the starlight over a deep, dark sea. dark and heavy, thick, sad waves pumping the boat along.
4.15.2010
hiatus
we are here, just taking care of some things that have pulled me away from time to write. a little rough around the edges right now. i hope to be back soon. in the meantime, any pleasant thoughts or good karma wishes to the universe would be much, much appreciated. i'm also making a shameless plug for my etsy shop, as any sales there would help immensely right now. new vintage listings should be up within the hour, and don't forget that i can also make custom hats (or a purple lovey!), i have some great cotton yarn here for spring and summer.
egg coloring meditation?
4.06.2010
fragments
finished homework, sleeping girl
considering the frequent absence of reproductive thought during sex
wishing my mind were more apt to think of things like climbing a tree, bearing fruit,
nurturing the ground (that i know so little about)
fighting the taboo that is to see sex as anything more than an act of pleasure, something to keep from the kids
something to shut up in boxes in drawers by our bedsides
wishing for spiritual satiation, engorgement, gratification
wondering if it could be found in yoga
reading the sweet birth story of embir eadie
reminded of a break up that began with a conversation
over this new mother's choices, then
didn't think i'd be this worked up over her new babe, all the way down in georgia now
i am, and i am reading about the midwife teaching her husband to catch
his daughter
feeling some, like i took that from j
but my gut, my unsure, uneasy belly
was so sure then, so absolutely sure, that it had never begun
anyway
its song never began again
the baby was born into my midwife's hands
you catch her.
why not the chosen absence of such thoughts, when we need a night to ourselves?
i have caught up on my emails
words for and from beautiful women
i heard there was supposed to be a storm
but we are in the basement
can't hear it anyway.
(wait, there it is)
4.04.2010
words
dear gracie girl
you are sleeping on the couch
i am your mama
proud, always.
i brought flowers home,
they are on the counter
still in their plastic
and i am watching how
your lips take shape like a
house when you are laying down
even with the top one still fat from your crash
lopsided
remembering the quivering of my body
bearing down, reluctantly
to let you greet the world
to hand you fresh from my gut
into the same hands that
left me alone
no, god, no, not yet.
i am, for the first time,
seeing you
holding you
greeting you
like a brand new baby
snuggled up in blankets and making your
baby grunts
these days were taken from me
lost to restless hours upon hours
thirst
hands on the wall, trying
to walk to the bathroom alone
these days were swept up
by hard words
these days are laid out in front of me like
pictures, their explanations did not survive
i am the casualty
of a mother's dream
and from the mouth of a mother
come borrowed words
and flowers
offerings
i am waiting for redemption
fingering the loose ends
and tying them
calmly
meditating on the things i hope for our lives
our little lives like little streams
so fluid and restful now
you are sleeping so sound.
it is easter. i am thinking about the "go now in peace of your god" that you hear after a church service, and the way they walk out into the world demanding their coffee and sliced bread. i am thinking about what i will give to my daughter that is worth more than this, heavier than entitlement and stronger than greed. i am struggling with the lack of my features in her face, the color of her hair, the cheeks that are so very much her father's (though she sometimes resembles my little sister which is comforting). i am hungry. the house is quiet, my roommates took their dog down to ohio indefinitely, and i heard there might be a storm. i have a paper to write on "who moved my cheese?" (what is my cheese?) i haven't had red meat in a long time, and would like a good cheeseburger. my friend went into labor this morning, and several hours ago was at 8cm, and i haven't heard anything since. she's in georgia, and i'd give just about anything to be down there right now watching this new life come into the world. i am spending one last minute in this hypothetical place, like an empty apartment, like i did last summer, assessing the fear and how many threads are still tied around our limbs, and then walking away, shutting the door for the very last time as i warm up the kettle for tea, for wellness, for the olfactory memory that comforts, for the same smell of red raspberry and nettles that i loved so much when i was pregnant.
you are sleeping on the couch
i am your mama
proud, always.
i brought flowers home,
they are on the counter
still in their plastic
and i am watching how
your lips take shape like a
house when you are laying down
even with the top one still fat from your crash
lopsided
remembering the quivering of my body
bearing down, reluctantly
to let you greet the world
to hand you fresh from my gut
into the same hands that
left me alone
no, god, no, not yet.
i am, for the first time,
seeing you
holding you
greeting you
like a brand new baby
snuggled up in blankets and making your
baby grunts
these days were taken from me
lost to restless hours upon hours
thirst
hands on the wall, trying
to walk to the bathroom alone
these days were swept up
by hard words
these days are laid out in front of me like
pictures, their explanations did not survive
i am the casualty
of a mother's dream
and from the mouth of a mother
come borrowed words
and flowers
offerings
i am waiting for redemption
fingering the loose ends
and tying them
calmly
meditating on the things i hope for our lives
our little lives like little streams
so fluid and restful now
you are sleeping so sound.
it is easter. i am thinking about the "go now in peace of your god" that you hear after a church service, and the way they walk out into the world demanding their coffee and sliced bread. i am thinking about what i will give to my daughter that is worth more than this, heavier than entitlement and stronger than greed. i am struggling with the lack of my features in her face, the color of her hair, the cheeks that are so very much her father's (though she sometimes resembles my little sister which is comforting). i am hungry. the house is quiet, my roommates took their dog down to ohio indefinitely, and i heard there might be a storm. i have a paper to write on "who moved my cheese?" (what is my cheese?) i haven't had red meat in a long time, and would like a good cheeseburger. my friend went into labor this morning, and several hours ago was at 8cm, and i haven't heard anything since. she's in georgia, and i'd give just about anything to be down there right now watching this new life come into the world. i am spending one last minute in this hypothetical place, like an empty apartment, like i did last summer, assessing the fear and how many threads are still tied around our limbs, and then walking away, shutting the door for the very last time as i warm up the kettle for tea, for wellness, for the olfactory memory that comforts, for the same smell of red raspberry and nettles that i loved so much when i was pregnant.
beautiful renovation in chicago
she is smiling and stretching in her sleep, now. tomorrow, we will be butterflies.
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