I Am Your Favorite Aunt, Holiday Edition

…and every day's like Christmas Day without you…

…it's cold and there's nothing to do…

Come On Home - Everything But The Girl


(Gives a whole new meaning to waiting for the man with the bag. Seriously.)

You Know Me, I Don't Mind Waiting.

	Ryan Adams - Desire
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

So much for my Grinch-Feet, ice cold in the snow…

Open Shop

I've been meaning to open a shop on Etsy for a while now. This morning, Karen inspired me to stop procrastinating.

It's a work in progress, but I hope you'll visit.

lisa's photos

Le Mot Juste

Have you really not noticed, then, that here of all places, in this private, personal solitude that surrounds me, I have turned to you? All the memories of my youth speak to me as I walk, just as the sea shells crunch under my feet on the beach. The crash of every wave awakens far-distant reverberations within me.

I hear the rumble of bygone days, and in my mind the whole endless series of old passions surges forward like the billows. I remember my spasms, my sorrows, gusts of desire that whistled like wind in the rigging, and vast vague longings that swirled in the dark like a flock of wild gulls in a storm cloud.

On whom should I lean, if not on you? My weary mind turns for refreshment to the thought of you as a dusty traveler might sink onto a soft and grassy bank.

– Gustave Flaubert, August 21, 1853

Cause, meet effect. Effect, meet cause. You two should talk.

I was once told by my therapist that she believed one of the issues keeping me from living happily was the fact that I was constantly worrying about what had gone wrong. What had I done, what had I said, why did this thing or that thing happen…I was mired in self-blame with a constant loop of my past conversations and interactions running amok in my head. Everything was my fault. That was the only way I could have any control over the sadness; if I didn't do or say the bad thing or the bad words again, then from now on, everything will be all right. The worst thing about regret is that it makes you duck the chance of suffering new regret just as you get a glimmer that nothing’s worth doing unless it has the potential to fuck up your whole life.

Stop, she told me. You need to let go of that constant pressure and start fresh. Nothing that has happened to you up until now matters in the least.

(can she tell that to the Visa people?)

I want to believe that's true. I've worked really hard to come to terms with my divorce and what it says about me as a person. I've struggled to let go of the term "depression" and just live one day at a time. Slowly, I've stopped looking backwards to rehash and started to see that surely there is some good in the world that would not exist today if not for me. For a while I floated along feeling profound about how things were; a sense of some sweet dimension of loss and sorrow conquered. I still had my self-esteem intact, and while I sometimes had to think about the possibility that the future I was striving for was of such a magnitude that I might be disappointed, I was only too happy to remember that I could only be myself, do my best, and let whatever happened happen, without blame. It's been working. I've been happy. I've been calm. I've been successful in my work, in my home, in my relationships.

The past, however, is not so eager to let me go. Recently it loomed — heavily, destructively, heart-breakingly large — and people got hurt. I got hurt. I am hurt, and I don't know if there's any way to fix it. What if, in this case, I am the one to blame for what happened in the past, but not for what's happening in the present? Do I suffer regret? Do I ask for forgiveness? Do I get angry and tell people to just get over it and start living in the present? Do I sit silently in my pain and do nothing, knowing that I've caused pain?

Do I?

fix it fix it fix it.

What makes them walk away, after all these years?
These years of learning in the hard way
By the lessons from the tears
I know it's not a game
But it feels like losing when someone
You love throws you away.



I'm a very sad person today.

Two Things Keeping Me Happy

Tess Gallagher:

Little Match Box

And if there were two moons,
who would sleep when one
passed before the other
and took it in
on its dark side? Wouldn't
some extra light ray out
around the sustaining one?
Wouldn't you sense
the two in one, even if you'd
never seen them parted?

Sometimes a glory
is just that—a guessing-into
the seen, noticing
the fringe of presence
when it comes, trying to match
its fervency by something
as tangible, something
only you are equal to.

And really delicious oysters:


It's decision making time again. I've got that niggling feeling that the thing I've been waiting for is never going to happen. This time, however, I'm not going to let it break me. I'm just going to wave goodbye and walk away quietly into the space he leaves behind.

Maybe.

Wonder How I Get Along

I was sitting on a rock at the beach yesterday, trying to quiet my mind so I could ruminate on all the things that have been happening lately…

(goodbye to you my trusted friend)

…there's been a disturbance in the force somewhat, and I need to make some decisions about where my heart and my head…

(we've known each other since we're nine or ten)

…are at, where my finances are going…

(together we've climbed hills and trees, learned of love and ABCs)

…wtf??…

(skinned our hearts and skinned our knees)

…and what I'm going to do when winter comes and business slows…

(WE HAD JOY!)

…and I need to pay…

(WE HAD FUN!)

…shut up!! I'm trying to think!

(we had seasons in the sun)

…really? Who invited Terry Jacks to this meditation? I need to concentrate…

(butthehillsthatweclimbedwerejustseasonsoutoftime)

*****

This went on for at least 15 minutes, a battle waged between my need for the sound of the waves to lull me into peace, and the ear-worm's need to loop an AM classic through my brain at top volume, complete with the smell of baking vinyl from my mom's Ford Gran Torino wagon. I tried all the suggested remedies: singing the song through to completion, trying to sing something else, thinking of baseball (oh, wait, that's for something else…), nothing worked. Eventually I just gave in to it and hummed along. I guess obsessive moments, or behaviors, even unintended ones like broadcasting bad songs, are ways of isolating ourselves and turning away from pain. Distractions from uncomfortable realities. I need a distraction right now.

I believed, with the end of my marriage, that I had reached and conquered the final frontier of heartache. That I had turned over my fear of rejection. No more false bravado, but true comfort in my position; no more Saturday nights intoning fake profundities about how I've grown and changed, but acceptance of the single salvation of loving and appreciating myself despite my flaws. I felt that I was ready to be alone, or to be smooth and noncommittal about any sort of future relationships.

(go ahead. laugh. point and jeer. noncommittal? Is she HIGH?)

Evidently.

I can't seem to get it right. Why is it that solitary men have such a heroic patina, while women, despite their best intentions to remain ambivalent, just radiate neediness? I try to be aloof, and I feel lonely. I try to be spontaneous, and I miss the boat. I try to be organized and prepared, and I get dismissed for planning too far ahead. I'm starting to have the (mutinous) thought that it can all just go to hell. I Yam What I Yam, right?

Still hurts.

Ouch.

Chatter

All sorts of thoughts in my head, but due to NO HEAT IN MY HOUSE all efforts to post are stymied by frozen fingers. Must buy fingerless gloves.

Then again…

they do say a picture is worth a thousand words.

October 2008

In Denis Johnson’s story Beverly Home there's a description of a man in a wheelchair; his body is wracked with spasms and he spends his days drooling and staring into space. The narrator tells us “No more pretending for him! He was completely and openly a mess. Meanwhile the rest of us go on trying to fool each other."

I've been hesitant to write much of anything in this blog for a number of reasons. Initially it was simply because there was not much to tell; I preferred the occasional photographic or musical allegory to get my point across. Then I wasn't writing because I was just too busy; school, work, etc. Lately it's been a bit more complicated. Writing has always been an outlet for my frustrations, a way to look my neuroses and my befuddlement in the face and somehow try to make sense of them. Last fall, when everything was falling apart, writing in this blog was one of the only things I could actually manage on a fairly regular basis. Eating, sleeping, returning phone calls – they became the stuff of other people's lives. I only wanted to see the evidence of my misery here on the blank screen. Narcissism at its most base level. In the end, though, my musings here became evidence cited against me. Evidence that I was unstable, scheming, manipulative, unable to care for myself or my child, unable to face reality. Matt often cited "that thing you wrote in your blog" as rationale for why I was a complete misfit. Another friend with strong feelings about being "revealed" in my writing or somehow linked with me kept a constant subconscious watch over the detail with which I was allowed to describe what my life was like. My family worried if I mentioned that I was sad or lonely, and I would get phone calls from everyone wondering if I was on the bathroom floor again, contemplating my options. Writing for myself started to take on the sad aspect of writing for an audience, and it was no longer helpful.

I tried to journal offline, but pen and paper and I have never really been good friends; I'm far more comfortable in front of the computer where the sound of the keyboard and the glow of the screen give me a sense of accomplishment.

So.

Friends, family, people who might be looking for hidden meanings: I want to write here again. I want to try to work out some of the things about being me that make it difficult to get through the day sometimes. I want to comment on the things that make me smile. I want to examine some of the things that are wrong with me. Not to mention, you know, everything *wrong* with me. I don't want blogging to be the latest entry in the ever-expanding nomenclature of victimhood.

Completely and openly.

Is that possible?

Wishful Thinking

I just took an unexpected nap on the couch; it's been a puzzling day and clearly my brain needed a break. While I slept, I dreamed that I wrote this song. And then sang it to the traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge.

	Maria Taylor - Clean Getaway
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

I made my place by the door.
I didn't know what I was waiting for.
Felt just like home.
Except no grass, no yard, no pictures.

I could see across to the park.
And there were friends, they were laughing hard.
They looked just like my home.
With no face, no name, no voice I'd know.

I finally made it.
I made a clean getaway.
I finally made it.
I made a clean getaway.

I met someone at the bar.
He had a great smile and a great heart.
He felt just like love.
Except no fear of losing, and it wasn't tough.

I finally made it.
I made a clean getaway.
I finally made it.
I made a clean getaway.
And I miss you,
I miss you every single day.

Come Pick Me Up

Lisa's rules for October:

Never get involved with people who are not on speaking terms with their own desires.

When feelings have become second nature, they cannot, by any force of logic, be cured.

No matter how I focus on the ne plus ultra of precious minutes when someone comes close to me and tells me that I'm beautiful, it has terrible impermanence.

It is never very persuasive to argue that you are not the sort of person who does precisely what you are actually doing.

You can stand at the window all you want, FedEx only comes when you're in the bathroom.

I am an expert splinter-remover.

I can only feel the sad pleasure of falling because I am at the right altitude.

Just Paint What You See

I had the great fortune to photograph this wonderful little girl at a party a few weeks ago; she was holding a small cardboard guitar and had no qualms at all about dancing and spinning all by herself in the middle of the grassy area in front of the band. It had begun to rain and all the adults were cowering under tents and shivering; she just smiled harder and created her own little patch of sunlight.

file under: quit your complaining and listen to the music.

Try as I Might

Last Day of Summer Vacation

I no longer wish to be forty, please.

Blindsided

I have an iTunes playlist that I haven't been able to name. Most of my playlists are for a specific moments; working out, driving, yoga, watching slideshows with clients. This one, however, I only seem to click on when my feelings are unidentifiable. When I'm neither here nor there, but I'm not quite right. Every so often I'll hear a song that works really well for this sort of soporific state and I'll dump it in to the playlist. This is one of those songs.

If you're not yet a fan of Justin Vernon, you should be. His music, especially with his current iteration Bon Iver, is just the sort of thing for those days when you've taken an emotional inventory and decided that while there's nothing really wrong, there's not much fueling your soul at the moment and it might be good to wallow in the muck for a bit.

The workout playlist will be there when you're ready to come out.



(this is just one of several videos on YouTube. None of them are fantastic, but I liked this one for its artistic quality. And for the hotness.)

better quality:

	Bon Iver - Blindsided
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

	Bon Iver - Skinny Love
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Fiction

I stayed 'til the last of the bottles was empty
and whizzing by my head
I stayed 'til there was no more air in the room
and my tears no longer moved you

Then it was over
and I will never be the same
I finally wised up, but the fact remains
I stayed too long

I'll be back when school starts.

Cliche or not, Brian Wilson is an absolute genius. Turn it up and DIG.

"No, I mean like Floccinaucinihilipilification"

An afternoon drive.

Calder: "Mommy, why do you keep singing that song?"

Me: "I don't know, I guess I just like it."

Calder: "Well, why do you like it?"

Me: "I like the words. They really resonate with me."

(silence, as I realize my linguistic gaffe)

Calder: "What does resonate mean?"

Me: "Well, it means to...um...remind me of something, to kind of, um, stick with me and be meaningful."

Calder: "Huh?"

Me: "Well, I think it's one of those words that only grown-ups use and that are hard for mommy to explain to you."

Calder: "Oh! You mean like Fuck."

My Life is My Own

I've made all the payments
It's time to go home.

You see that person* right there, looking at their computer screen?

Sometimes I just want to punch them in the nose.

But thanks to happy people like you, I get over it.

*perhaps you (and you know who you are) should get over it too. MOVE ON.

(once again, my apologies for taking my personal business out here on this, MY website, but some folks is just too stoopid to get the hint.)

The Annual Lobster Feed

Disclaimer: The photographer had nothing to do with the actual demise of these creatures. The Dinghy Captain is the lobster killer.

New image for business card

Doesn't it just make you want to go out and buy Superior Preference Blonde Blonde Blonde?

(because we're worth it)

Opinions? Does this make you want to call me and give me money?

There but for the grace…

I can't sleep. Calder has been coughing, tossing and turning with fever. He'll be fine, I'm sure, in the morning, but for now the two of us are needing sleep and comfort.

Or so I thought.

The Girl in the Window

We don't even know what need is.

I can't even begin to comprehend, let alone comment, on the first part of this. But I say to Diane, Bernie, and William that your strength and commitment is more inspiring than anything I have ever witnessed. I am awed.

Dani is blessed.

**

Now go hug your babies.

Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

I am so very grateful for this. For that. For him. Them. Us.