Thursday, March 27, 2008

of things of then and now

I had two days of my spring break set aside to write on my novel. I was supposed to start two hours ago, snug in my little coffee shop on this crisp, cold, dreary day. Instead I am at my house waiting for a service man who promised to be by this morning. People suck. Yes, of course, I know that I could be writing here. But I am a creature of habit and a creature made of pure stubbornness. My plan has not had a chance to come to fruition, so I can’t do any part of it. I will wait until he shows or I simply give up and leave. Of course, that doesn’t mean that I can’t blog. Often that helps get me in the right space to write anyway. It also gave me time to do research on strokes for one of the characters in my book, now that was happy reading.
I was just reading the latest entry in my friend’s blog ( [check it out]). His writing is very different than mine, but I often can relate to what he is speaking about. Plus it is just nice to know about his life. This particular entry was about the surreal strangeness of talking to his parents on Easter while they were going through their traditions of which he used to be a part of, and now is not. That strikes me often. How so very different life is that what I thought it would be, how different I am. I have very pleasant memories of church, religion, and all the traditional ‘rituals’ that surrounded me when I was growing up (all except those that constantly had me in terror of hell and forever told me I was wretched and vile, but, you know, nothins’ perfect). I believed in them all. Fervently. I don’t now, at least not in the same way. With the exception of when I hear TB’s teachings, I can’t even handle being in a church service. It all sounds so trite and overdone. I swear I haven’t heard anything new or truly thought provoking in years in a typical church service. Maybe one of the dangers of going to Christian school for so much of my life and attending church three times a week for twenty years.
Mom was discussing things with me over the phone the other day. We were talking about her love for me (which never ceases to amaze me how much my family really loves me) and about her fear due to the whole gay-vs-Bible thing. I told her, yet again, that I truly am not afraid of hell anymore, and that I don’t believe it is simply because I have suffocated my conscience, and that I still believe in God and love Him. Although I don’t believe He is the same god as He was presented to be from the pulpit and through some parts of the Bible. She confided that with that one exception that she could not picture anyone getting into Heaven if I couldn’t (I am paraphrasing), that she doesn’t know anyone kinder, more loving, etc., etc. She thinks I am better than I am. I only hope to one day really live up to her image of me.
I do miss absolute truth. Knowing things black and white and not having any questions. There was comfort in that, at least a form of it at any rate. Now I read that Bible and so many parts don’t add up. Things I never questioned, now are blaringly either contradictory or repulsive. The little boy who had all the answers who lived with the heat of the fires of hell on his back has grown into a man who has very few (if any) answers who rests comfortably in the belief that he will wallow in paradise.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008


Here we are at the San Diego airport. Waiting. Waiting to get on our plane that will take us back to the mountains, to the puppies, and to snow. Goodbye beach, goodbye seals, goodbye homemade tortillas.
It is amazing how an experience that filled you with such fond memories, relived comforts, and enjoyable firsts can be momentarily forgotten by the suffocating weight of other people’s humanity. Or lack thereof. It starts with your suitcase being five pounds too heavy. Then somehow that five pounds equating to fifty dollars of extra fees. In a frantic, you open your suitcase and grab out the five suggested items and stuff them in your boyfriend’s satchel. In a rush, you fling your suitcase back onto the weigher machine where it says that has magically gained weight. With an unappreciated chuckle, the ‘attendant’ pauses momentarily as the weigher adjusts and shows that the suitcase is now only half a pound over the limit. In an act of divine graciousness, she smiles and says that she will let that pass. Isn’t she a sweetest? After that, you head onto to the security lines to unpack everything in your computer bag, removed your belt, shoes, and everything you wouldn’t want stolen and send it through a cancer inducing machine. As you walk through a similar human sized cancer contraption, you glance over at your boyfriend as he passes through a comparable checkpoint. The friendly Uniworkers are taking out the brown paper wrapped parcels that you removed from your oh sooo heavy suitcase and placed in his carry-on bag. You turn away in disgust as you realize that your San Diego-made jam you bought for you Dunkyn-n-Dolan-sitting parents is going to be tossed in the trash. You continue on your way through the cloning line and reclaim your lost items. Finally you take a seat in the awaiting plane area an hour and a half early only to be informed shortly that your flight is going to be delayed two more hours. Really? And they didn’t even have the courtesy to have the cute military boys strip search you…
I am sure that I when we return home that we will be able to recall that vacation was in all actuality extremely wonderful. Chad loved San Diego nearly as much as I do. Plus he bought a little ukulele type toy guitar. So, happiness. I am sure it will bring us closer together when it is brought out on quiet, peaceful nights back home.
Well, I was going to offer more thoughts/fears/insights about the possible/probably move to San Diego someday, but Chad purchased some SD playing cards. So time to play while we wait upon our long lost plane.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

of feathers and sand

I woke up on a cloud this morning. I wanted to sink into it, letting the softness overtake my body, the whiteness cover my eyes, its lure lull me into unconsciousness—never again to wake. Chad and I just purchased a memory foam mattress and a featherbed pillow top covering. The memory foam is still airing out downstairs, but judging from the first night sleeping in feathers, this may be the last anyone will every hear from me. I will be lost in the world of dreams and oblivion. A true sign of age. I used to hate going to bed. It was such a waste of time. Now, I can’t think of anything more wonderful. Well, maybe a cheeseburger.
After school tomorrow, Spring Break begins. Chad and I are rushing to the airport and zooming to San Diego. He has never been. I am anxious for him to experience it, since that is where he will spend the rest of his days. On the beach, reading a book, eating endless homemade tortillas (a food I like even more than cheeseburgers). I hope he likes it as much as I do, as I have plans for us to live there one day. I have no idea how that will ever come to pass, short of ending up on the best sellers list or winning the lotto (preferably both, but if I had to choose, it would be the first one). Of course, my family would have to move with me. How can you be enmeshed when you are a thousand miles apart? Can’t wait!!!
Can’t you just see it? I would lock myself up in a little shack on the beach (and by little shack, I mean a darling little stone cottage with bay windows, winding chimney, and a fairy tale perfect backyard), writing a novel as the wind plays with my never graying hair and caresses my ever-bulging muscles while Dunkyn and Dolan sleep at my feet, and Chad waits in the other room waiting with tortillas and burgers, ready to make love. Sigh. Gonna happen.
It surprises me how much this thought really does thrill me (even the realistic version). I swore a few years ago that I would never move from Colorado. I love the mountains and all my friends are here. All that is still true. However, sleep is not the only new realization that comes with old age. When I was a kid, dad would always tell me that family were the only ones that I would be guaranteed would be with me my whole life (as long as life allowed anyway). I always scoffed and felt him to be unfriendly. I now understand what he meant, and am gradually reaching the place where I can accept it without sadness.
A few years ago I would have said that my number of everlasting friends were countless. I still love all of my friends. However, I am coming to find very few are everlasting (what really is after all?). I can count on less than two hands the friends that I now know will be with me forever, and even some of those will not always be ones I see weekly, or even yearly. Surprisingly, I am ok with this realization. I think it is probably true for everyone. I am sure I have talked about this before, but it is striking more and more true all the time. People change so much and life requires change; it is only natural. It doesn’t lessen the love between friends and the treasure of what we share. It may only be seasonal, that doesn’t change its beauty. The ones that last a lifetime may be even less flowery and beautiful, but they will be the strong ones, ones that endure. So, what are you left with? Well, if you are truly lucky and blessed: yourself, your spouse, your family, your dogs, your books, and God. Pretty good deal, if you ask me.