Simply put, nothing is as I thought it would be. One could argue that I should have been prepared for that revelation or that, in fact, it isn’t really a revelation for anyone over the age of five. Alas, I continue to be surprised by the depths of my self-deceit and the prevalence of fairy-tale thinking that permeates my perceptions and, yep, expectations about the universe and my role in the grand scheme of things.

Valentines Day by EyePoetryPhotography on Etsy

Take relationships, for example. I’m in one at the moment. It terrifies the hell out of me to even type that, much less own it. And yet the number on my driver’s license indicates that I’m an adult.

It’s Valentine’s Day. My heart, my mind, and the messaging created by those good folks currently employed at advertising, marketing, entertainment and publishing companies are in a bit of a tussle for supremacy.

Things are complicated.

I hope someone gave you a kiss today. I hope you gave one to somebody. And, hell, in this case, I vote for anthropomorphizing pets.

xo

Well, I’ve found another alternative to the easily wilted and eventual decaying floral arrangement brides and first communion lambs must carry down the aisle…

camellia bouquet created by The Green Vase

Beautiful bouquets made from paper by Livia and Joanne at The Green Vase. Slightly less expensive than the afore-mentioned vintage bauble option, I find these creations tobe both delightfully delicate and reassuringly permanent.

pastel paper camellia bouquet by The Green Vase

And no, this does not mean I am planning any walk down the aisle.

What do you think? 

le skunk

Pepe Le Pew
may be my favorite cartoon
animal
beast
savage
lover.

But the skunk
who waddles over brambles
and noses under fences
as I trudge, or
dare I say it,
waddle myself
up the hill
at dusk –
I should know better –
does not receive
my innocent infatuation.

Curiosity.
Wariness.
Appreciation
at a safe distance.
These mark my response to
the wild creature,
not so wild,
that could raise its tail
and leave me
in a pungent mist of
disillusionment
and regret,
tears streaming down my face,
unable to escape
the symptoms of his rejection and
craving
a pen and ink drawing of
romance.

“Don’t move, darling. I want to remember you just as you are…”

On behalf of One Shot Wednesday.

So, I’m going to drag my ass out of bed tomorrow at the virtual CRACK OF DAWN to go watch Cars 2 with this non-blood-related boy who has stolen my heart.

"popcorn" by Homemade Polaroid

Side Note: Have you checked out Homemade Polaroid on Tumblr? If not, don’t even read the last sentence of this post – GO!

I guess this all means I’ll have to refrain from my latest midnight addiction – Instagram.

Le Grande Sigh…

heart

I sit and watch, waiting
for what’s mine
to come. Forget dating.
That’s a crime
against my heart.

I want love to strike
faster and more true,
cause this ain’t like riding a bike.
I end up black and blue
every time.

I get tired of my own wailing,
of pretending I’m just fine,
of well-meaning others saying,
“Just don’t date a slime.”
Really? Fuck you.

See, I can no longer be polite.
I’ve already paid my due.
Only an idiot would like
to search for a clue,
with all on the line,

a way to be one of two.

On behalf of One Shot Wednesday.

by maxnathans / flickr

How many sunsets have you watched? Enough that if yesterday’s had been your last you wouldn’t miss them?

How many times have you made a wish on a faded dandelion and blown its seeds to the winds? Enough that you have no more wishes?

I think about these things sometimes, when I think of those loved ones who are no longer here to do the things we fail to do as often as we might.

Jamie died two years ago today. It feels both like a lifetime ago and only yesterday. I was transformed by having her in my life and again by her passing. I’ve walked in her shoes, literally, until the heels broke. Relationships have been forged and shattered. Lessons have been learned. I am a different human being now – because of her – than the one she knew.

by Gayle N / flickr

I cannot know what she would make of all that has changed in the past two years – in the world, in her family, in me. I miss her. But I’m okay now. I no longer need things that tie me to her or remind me of her because she’s now part of my heart strings.

And my heart is so much bigger and stronger than it was. Thank you, chica! xo

So, when I saw today’s #reverb10 prompt, I was in a quandary.

Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail. (via @aliedwards)

Do I remember ANY MOMENTS from this past year, much less those during which I felt most alive?

“…Tonight while we played tag for five minutes in the yard
Just for a moment, I caught you off guard…”
– Harry Chapin, “Tangled Up Puppet”

My dad used to sit on the edge of my bed at night and sing songs to me when I was a child – well, really, I insisted he do it until I graduated from high school and moved away from home. We were big on ritual in my house. Harry Chapin’s “Tangled Up Puppet” was always one of my favorites. And this past weekend, I recalled the above lyric as I found myself drenched in a moment during which I felt joyously and sublimely alive…

It was 4 o’clock on a Sunday. The air was cold and sharp, solely responsible for reminding me that it is winter even in Los Angeles. And I was visiting family in their new home.

They aren’t blood relatives – this woman, her husband and their 3-year-old son. They are family by choice. My love for them, and theirs for me, has been earned and nurtured without the weight of obligation or ancestral baggage threatening to rend the connections. The Kid has stolen my heart.

I was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, an outfit that used to be my mainstay but has now become a sweet weekend treat – a byproduct of office-based employment. My wardrobe choice for the day was convenient since I found myself rolling around in the grass of my friends’ new front yard, growling and wrestling and laughing with the Kid.

by Lulu P / flickr

I don’t know the mechanics behind how having a three-year-old stand on one’s stomach and collapse into one’s embrace while battling a fit of giggles in order to emit a high-pitched roar in one’s face makes life crystallize in heightened relief.

I don’t care.

All I know is, those five minutes in the yard were my moment.

What was your moment?

I can’t relate to the woman who considers her mother to be her best friend.

I can’t relate to those who call their families every day, just because.

I can’t relate to those who trust others simply because of DNA.

I can’t relate to those who truly believe that blood is thicker than water.

What I can relate to is SURPRISE when old wounds are re-opened and throb just as sharply the 70th time they are poked as they did the 7th.

What I can relate to is DISAPPOINTMENT at discovering people grow but do not change.

What I can relate to is CONFUSION about how to dodge the slings and arrows of love.

Ah… family.

I noticed new blossoms, confused and arriving too early for their celebration of life.

I noticed the purity in a child’s shy smile and prolonged hug.

I noticed the power and vitality embedded in an expansive, full-body stretch.

I noticed the depth and breadth of love.

What did you notice today?

***

Dear Child Star: Of course we had to end. I could never admit how I felt and you didn’t know how to ask. No relationship can withstand the pressure of partners who are stuck only playing parts; neither of us knew of a way to put aside the masks we’d created to navigate the world at large.

Dear Greek God: You made me see stars and I wasn’t prepared for a trip to the moon. Passion that intense is the antithesis of safety. Control and ridicule kill passion with brutal efficiency. I am a skilled assassin.

Dear Angry Man-Child: Emotional safety is not the same thing as financial security or physical protection. I don’t think I really knew that until you. Love was never on the table but it took a while to realize that meant the table was just empty.

Dear Tennis Ghost: We met under false pretenses, using fake identities. How is it we were both caught off guard and so thoroughly disappointed when unmasked? We should have seen it coming; if one buys a diamond thinking it is cheap plastic, no one should be surprised if it ends up in the trash.

Dear Hitcher: You were everything I didn’t want – kind, approachable, responsible, giving, funny, loving. I didn’t know that’s why I turned you into the villain in our story. I can’t rewrite it but I hope you found another one with a happy ending.

Dear Driver: I thought you should know when I stopped playing games. I’ve since learned I never should have started them.

Dear Starbucks: You thought I was a risk-taker because I didn’t shy away from physical danger. Silly man. I have a million reasons why jumping off a cliff is child’s play compared to asking you… anything.

Dear Red: I waited for you to prove you would protect me from the inevitable. I waited so long that the inevitable happened. And the idea of getting burned twice? Inconceivable.

Dear Climber: I bought the package without any real interest to discover what was inside. I should have glanced at the list of contents. That might have saved us both a great deal of drama.

Dear Lost In Translation: You got blasted to kingdom come by the power of my intentions. I hope you can laugh about it now. I’m beginning to do the same.

Dear Moustache: I never knew manipulation could be so easy until I met you. That is heady knowledge to have. It’s taken me a while longer to realize I don’t have to act on it and that, in fact, I’m much, much happier when I don’t.

Dear Gargoyle: You wanted a wife and I hated you for that. I wanted a toy and I hated me for that. Neither one of us would have known how to be in the moment if our feet had been cemented into it. You did more for shattering my preconceptions in the midst of our confusion, however, than anyone else. I’m grateful for that, and for your willingness to concede when I demanded your defeat.

Dear Cheater: I played with fire. I got burned. I can’t blame the fire. I also can’t continue to stoke it while expecting it to retreat. I simply need to occupy myself with other elements, regardless of the allure of flames.

Dear Boy with the Band: You revealed a side of me I didn’t know. I thought I could fake it in your world without having to commit to anything. I didn’t realize I was just being a grifter until the con fell apart. I’m sorry I drew you in to such a mess. I’m even more sorry it didn’t come off a success. Honestly, I’m still intrigued by the idea of pulling it off with aplomb.

Dear Bazzaar Find: You kept me safe when I didn’t even realize I was in danger, and I will always honor that truth. But having you reveal the mine-field you’d just taken me through, I was too shaken to continue walking in your footsteps. I had to stop. I don’t think I’m cut out for navigating a war zone, and I’m beginning to be okay with living without the adrenaline rush.

***

Have I really let go of my need for danger? Am I really ready to embrace emotional nakedness and honest love instead of the edgy roller coaster that accompanies what I identify as emotional safety – relationships that I instinctually know to be doomed or destructive so I’m already braced for the crash? I guess only time will tell…