Free Bird

Good early Sunday Morning to you...
I think I am quoting my professor here or maybe it's Frost? - loosely too - "writers are the great observers of life"
I woke up about a half an hour ago with my writer in full on observation mode, the mouthy little birds could no longer be ignored...
Birds are big in my life - always have been.
My Nana used to whistle to them on the back porch while she hung laundry, she had unparalleled bird call abilities when she made her mouth in a tight O.
And with the tears that just shocked even me, I can no longer list the bird references with my Nana - because... I realized just now that she is really dead and this reality is messing with my ability to pretend she is just in the next room drinking a cup of tea and writing out a birthday card to one of her favorite neighbors, or Niece's or her best friend from high school, Helen....
Jesus Deb, this is why you are so easy and so hard to love.
I just wrote that down in my notebook of realizations I have been as of late toting around with me.
When I observe an encapsulation, a perfect example, a snapshot of nakedness of me, a profound truth about myself - I jot it down for momentum in the race to change before it all just fades away into a morning mist where my Granddaughter misses me into pretending I am still walking and running my mouth amongst.
My mind is a poem, lyrics to a never ending song.
I can't help it, it is how the genetics worked out - somewhere in the gene pool a mind like mine existed.
I just had a full on fantasy about where genealogy could lead me....I wish I knew from what fossilized rock record I sprung.
See... I could have just gone on to write a brilliant blog about my ties to Marie Antoinette.
My mind streams thoughts like the running billboard in Times Square, you'd have to unplug me from the power source to get it to stop -
Please do not unplug me.
My boyfriend calls me "mouth" - I smile when I get the texts that say "you have quite a mouth, good thing I love you so much"
Then I will say, "oh don't you worry, I can be quiet if you want, like dead silent, so silent that the nothingness will become deafening" and he laughs at me,
because although my mouth is certainly exhausting and challenging, it is poetry and music and somewhere deep in his man cave of a heart, he knows that he is lucky that my song sings a chorus of him, scraps of paper will absorb his ink.
But.... I admit it - I do have the biggest mouth, in fact...that is the most consistent thing throughout my life that has been said about me. It started in Pre-school "she's a sweet little thing with so much to say!" and has never ceased.
Here's the thing....
I know it is hard on all of you who have to listen but.... Next time it's quiet and you realize it, imagine that you never picked up the phone again to hear me say "I love you"
Ouch. I know that smarts a little.
So deal with it all y'all.
This morning when I woke (long before my alarm), the birds inspired me to pay attention rather than dream away real moments.
I listened to them as I lay there, my open windows carrying in every "you get back in that nest right now mister" "Honey really, I just brought home two damn worms five minutes ago", "Ah sweetie Mommy loves you", "Oh hey there neighbor Cardinal, you hear Mr. Woodpecker this morning banging away in his yard at the ass crack of dawn, doesn't he know it's Sunday?" and so forth and so on.
If I didn't feel a sudden need to blog I could have lay there all my life and just listened to the birds who talk as much as me.
It's nice every once in while to just hear the minds of the birds and give my beak some down time.
I love you Mary, I love you Bob - I love my kids. They are the ones who know about my mind/mouth the best, have to deal with the incessant running of it, the stories, quips, flashes of road rage, sarcasm, gutter talk and annoying ever present moments of self doubt.
You are all so perfectly perfect for your respective positions, I think the pieces are beginning to fit nicely, the corners seem sturdy enough to support the middle.
and... there I go again - my mind blogged another complete entry on construction metaphors for love.
Why do Kevin and I not write more songs????
Okay... the morning sands are slipping and I must go - I have no idea what direction I went here - I know not of what I have rambled.
I know it began with the birds and ends here with both an "I'm sorry" and a cocky smile and a "you're welcome"
Have a blessed and beautiful day xoxo

I set fire to the poles.

And as I posted that...James Morrison came on the running play list and I was flooded with a memory of an awkward young couple holding clammy hands to my right and Mary over my left shoulder in an electric blue skin tight dress talkin floor talk to an African American security guard who made Taye Diggs look like Bill Cosby.
My life is pure magic - Viva Las Vegas Rand McNally.

jasmine in my mind.

Yesterday as I sat in Biology wanting to slit my wrists over poly peptide chains and my inability to give a shit,
my phone buzzed in my lap and indicated someone cared enough to save me...I looked, expecting it to be Bob, to find,
that it was my wife.
The rescue squad - the island of reality in an ocean of amino acids, polypeptides and diarrhea....
The text read "You're the woman I love"
Without skipping a beat because why would I,I typed in the folds of my too short sundress,
"You're the only one that can love me back to her"
For those of you who are not Jason Mraz inclined - you will completely miss the beauty in that exchange and the fact that it took about two seconds flat to occur.
Jason Mraz's new song is about a relationship - a man who will love the woman in his life back to the woman he loves when she has lost her damn mind and decided she might hate herself, finds herself her own worst enemy....
That is my Mary, the one who can love me back to the woman she loves...
And.... she loves me.
Like no one ever has.
And....the thing about that, - it is a reciprocal respect and equal need that brings us there.
I may be the beautiful mess, but without my mess she would have no one to pick up shards of glass with.
We do what we do and it is like nothing I will ever do with anyone else - and that is amazing, unbelievable, an honor bestowed that hangs a shooting star on my chest....
I am missing my wife, missing my home, the place of lush gardens, moments stolen under the apple tree, the cool blue calm, the raging seas against the machine of society lost to true importance, the birds who love their chicks and sqwak to each other about babysitting the nest and fishing dates in the early dawn, the slick of the rained on green deck, the taste of salt air mixed with tequila and too many marlboro methols, the constant complaints of stomachs stuffed beyond gluttony to plain ridiculousness, foul language that would make truckers see beautiful-smart women in a whole new light, the repetitive requests and laughter of the luckiest most real children in the world,the sun room where we go to die of too much goodness on love seats that warp a body into it's natural state,the place I long for - Prospect Harbor, all the way at the end of the world.
I just realized the other day that at the end of that song Dave says something about cutting through the reeds - really? Really Dave?
I am going there in June, going to spend like ten days in heaven and although I want the days in between (very much so) - I kinda wish it was now....
I am anxious to get on with it already - need an early misted run to the lighthouse so I can stretch by the big rocks while I gaze across the water at perspective I only gain while running or smiling for a photo.
I need that perspective like I need air.
I miss my air with my feet on the ground and I miss the air in her brown green yellow eyes.
There will never ever be enough days to this life or this love story.
Miss you wifey, miss comin' home to you on a summer breeze.

"she'll have a shot of Jameson and a glass of red"

Good Morning my friends and readers,
I write to you this morning from a sunspot behind the window at the 41 homestead, my only home which remains a place where I will again eagerly return. Beyond the sparkletasthic rays that explode from the glass, the ground is white and icy. The trees shoot to the sky like cupids arrows straight into the heart of God. And my Nana, my Papa, my Da, my lost love. I hope there is a gated sanctuary, and that they can see me all kittened up in my warm place. I hope that there is something beyond all of this, I am just not convinced that anything can surpass the perfection of all this beautiful madness and tedious yearning. Jesus I am in a state...
My wife, who always knows how to handle/manage me, has been feeding my soul and my liver. She has ordered up the Irish whiskey as is if it is water and I am desert dehydrated. She gets the drought of my spirit better than anyone - championed the wrongness of my invisibleness - understands more than she did before even, why she can NEVER ignore my calls. Even if on my behalf, defense, wonderment. I love her for the mothering - I would be no where, the sun would seek me out lonely, a childless Mother and a barren garden.
Instead I am safe, even though my old life has ended. The prologue to the bird cage door unlocking.
My Nana was lowered into the ground yesterday, I sat in the car plot side and watched as the men unfurled the straps of my life. She disappeared below the hard frozen earth and Debbie went with her, into the endless dark.
I am okay - I am relieved. Her suffering has ceased, the fear is gone from the amber - in the wake, the flecks of the frozen past can shine again - the pain and beauty has beat out the fear in the end.
I thank her God for that - her beautitudes are earned and worthy.
I am watching Adele live in concert - the tone of her voice sings of truth and a scrappers inclination. It feels right right now, like Gumption is in full force atmospherically speaking.
You gotta ultimately know your own name and go your own way - regardless of doubters persecution.
I am grateful today that if nothing else, I have been PRESENT in every waking moment of this life.
When I was drowning, I let the water rush into my lungs, let it steal my breath before fighting to surface and breathe again.
I have let this life have it's way with me, like a lover helpless to her partners divinity.
Back arched, eyes in the back of my head, limp the stiff - I have let it all have me.
I am thankful for that and thankful that I know my own name in the morning.
Mary said yesterday, I speak in tongues.
Proof positive.
Some of you will get me and some of you will say "what the fuck is she talking about?"
I love when I squint into the sun and blink and perfect circle rainbows dance in time to the music.
A miracle of my moment.
I went to my childhood home yesterday, I ran the steps as I used to - fuck the owners, I refuse to ask to climb the steps of the house that built me.
As I came down on the bottom, I realized that there are seven steps. Six wood and one concrete.
seven...
I always jumped off the bottom, two footed land.
I will miss that dismount for the remainder of the flight.
Adele is singing a song she wrote for her best friend - funny, Mary can tell me I am Scarlet O'Hara but she'll still heat the buckwheat, even if while disapprovingly scowling.
Because of her the sun will never miss me.
I have more to say, but my head just shut off. I thought of Bob Selph's salt and pepper hair and brown eyes and smiled.
I think I will sink and succumb.
Love to you all.

Now and at the hour.

There are no words for what I feel right now.
I am sitting in the wooden kitchen chair I always sit in when I write.
I feel the firmness on the underside of my thighs, feel the familiar prop of my toes, like a dancer, upright and stiff.
My body is here, I feel it, know that it exists.
I am only aware however that I am real by the extension of my limbs, the contrast of feeling, them to the wood to the floor.
I am in preparation for death mode again.
My eyes burn with tears that fill and then seem to dissolve before spilling.
The inside of my nose tickles with anticiaption of the real cry,
the inevitable, unstoppable tidal wave of grief.
There are no words for what she has meant to me.
Are not enough words, no perfect succession, pairing, poem or song,
that can ever, will ever spell out the gravity of this love I feel for her.
I am confident there are no words,
not even my own.
And here come the real tears now.
I wish that I could tell her one more time, although it has all been done and said before.
I wish that I could squint past the sunspot on the back porch peer into her amber flecked eyes and say one more time "Nana can I throw the bread ends to the birdies now?"
I wish that I could hear her whistle,
hear her say "see you later Alligator"
taste her macaroni and cheese.
Drink a cup of tea.
Have her reach in to feel my feverish forehead.
Hear the tea cups in the dining room rattle as she strides the floor towards my room.
Call me tweetie.
Call me Deb-or-ah Ann.
Hold my little hand.
Eat friendlys ice cream.
Go to the Holiday bazaar at the Knights of Columbus.
Watch her set the wishbone on the windowsil to dry.
Make gravy.
Get her a kleenex.
Watch her blot bright red lipstick.
There are so many moments from the last 41 years of life that I wish I could return to, if even for just a second, a flash of what was, one more "take a look at me now Nana" - just one more time.
Once more before it all changed, once more before she leaves me now.
I would not stop her, if I could.
I want her to go.
But I want her to stay inside me too.
I want to be little.
I want to be her Granddaughter forever.
I want keep every single kiss, every single smile, every wink.

My safe place is leaving.
Where will I go?
Who will pray for me now?

And I can hear her in my head, "offer it up."

She taught me to be gentle.
She taught me to be kind.
She taught me to write letters and send cards.
She taught me to be proud of who I am.
She taught me selflessnes.
She taught me to be respectful.
She taught me to cook.
She taught me to act like a lady.
She taught me to love.
She taught me to sing.
She taught me about dignity.
She taught me to have grace.
She taught me to knit.
She taught me to swim.
She taught me to do everything I know.

She made me every good thing that I am.

I am glad that I named my daughter after her. I am thankful she lived long enough to see her great grandchildren, thankful she was able to say "Emma Claire" while beaming with pride steeped in family tradition.
I am glad my stew tastes just like hers and that I don't flip my omelettes.
Her violet is bright purple now, a purple so saturated the color seems unnatural.
It's fitting.
You got to win a little lose a little and always sing the blues a little, that's the story of, that's the glory of love....
It's the ebb and flow, the giveth and the taketh, the balance - I know Nan.
It's always about the balance.
41 a big year for me...
She saved my life simply by living hers.
Thank you.
I love you.

There are no words for you Nana, none that strike any kind of dent.
All I can think of are these...

Our Father who art in heaven......

This is the part where I stay where I stand.

Good Morning Blog readers,
I am a bad blogger..... I fear that our time apart has made you forget about me.
I assure you, I have not forgotten about all of you.
My life, has taken a turn. Things have suddenly become so full, writing has taken a back burner, like a really far away back burner, possibly the last thing on my "to-do" list.
Full is good, we have previously established that - it was full before and yet, or however... somehow empty.
That empty has been replaced with a new love and his beautiful, hilarious children.
I have four new loves of my life, six if you count his dog and cat, fifteen if you count the chickens and rooster.
I am in love.
Wow, right?
who knew that would ever happen - certainly not the skeptic that is me. Skeptic or cynic? Debatable....
I have met a man who has literally swept me clean off my feet.
Great thing about that, he has done it just by being himself in full on, raw honesty.
No fanfare, no illusions, no smoke and mirrors - just him and who he is.
And, I love everything about him. He says that we are basking in the "newness glow" - okay fine, maybe we are - but I say, fundamentally, I know, this man has the goods that I NEED.
I was so unsure that this concept was a reality in life, that I am in shock to KNOW so surely, so soon - that I love this man with all that I am.
Crazy.
Thing about him, he makes me laugh. He is smart. He is super witty and quick. He is honest. He is good. He gives me fresh eggs. He has soft skin. There is more, but I sound like a teenager - I am well aware of my giddiness - I get I am totally annoying right now.
Have you ever seen the movie Pretty Woman?
If you have, think back about Julia Roberts character - her stand on kissing...
Remember?
She is a call girl who sleeps with men, but NEVER kisses them.
Kissing she says is intimate, the most intimate act that two people can share.
I subscribe to that way of thinking, I am with Julia full tilt on that one.
Kissing is the tell all.
I have not kissed much in my adult life - the intimacy was lacking and therefore made the kiss feel wrong, uncomfortable, compromising...
I could kiss Bob Selph for the rest of my life and never need to come up for air.
Now, he is a good kisser - and I am sure that his lady friends before him would all agree he has a powerful pucker - I am sure I am not the first woman to want to drown in his mouth.
However, I am going to claim that it was wrong with all those who came before, it is right with me.
When I put my smile to his, it is with a familiar reciprocity that I am greeted....
It is the most beautiful thing ever and I love it, love him.
Suddenly I understand love songs too.
I don't yearn when I hear them now - like "oh I wonder will I ever feel what those lyrics reference?"
I get it now....I get it all.
And so my blog readers - this is why I have not been writing - I have been too busy kissing a beautiful man.
I hope you will forgive me and root for love in my absence.
I promise I won't stay away so long....

Just leap and the net will appear.

Dearest Blog readers,
I have missed you....I find myself this evening in my bed, a glass of red wine by my side, the soft flickering glow of candle light illuminating the room. The kids are in bed, lunches made, backpacks at the door and waiting, clothes laid out, the alarm set for six and my eyes drooping heavily - the candle light helps lessen the burn in my sockets, the glare from this computer screen working against the relaxing ambiance. And yet....I type none the less - I have missed these keys, the way they click under my fingernails, the way the thoughts surface and spill as soon as the blank screen and blinking cursor say, come hither Deb...
I miss writing, miss my manuscript, miss my canary memoir most of all.
Today I was thinking about that week at PH this summer, the week I spent slaying demons, inviting them to the battle ground of my safe place at the end of the world.
I let out them just long enough to pin them to paper, put them somewhere I can keep my eyes on them,
cage them in words, words and more words.
They deserve the words just as much as I do....
I am in a strange new place right now - someplace I never really even dreamed existed - these kinds of dreams were had by others - never by me.
I was content to dream of masters degrees, publishers, healthy kids, my 4runner turning over 400,000 miles...
I never imagined I would be here.
I have met a man that has completely and utterly knocked the wind from my complacent life.
He looks directly into my eyes, and in his, I see a different possibility - one that is so clear, everything else looks blurry by comparison.
He is beautiful and gentle, kind and funny, smart and compassionate. In him, I see a man that can handle and even better yet, compliment everything that I am.
Everything I do will look better with him by my side.
I am in love.
Being in love is amazing.... and scary as hell.
Last night, this morning too, we had to unearth some demons from my past and a few from his as well.
Looking back is unfortunately, always part of looking forward - no matter how much you wish it were not so.
The past grows the present, and can surely choke the living shit of new growth if you don't tend to it, nurture it, continually pull up the weeds.
I must trust myself and him.
sigh.
He is not my past he is my future....
We walked a little of the hallowed soul ground today - I wish we had done it in PH by the shore while listening to the seagulls...I wish that instead of a challenging phone call, we were back down on my favorite rock where I could tell the stories and the wind would carry them away on a breeze of understanding.
I am too tired to write, I am too in my own head to be decipherable.
I hope he gets up on my gilded perch, and Mary that has two meanings, do with it what you will.
Just leap and the net will appear.