a few weeks ago, i had the pleasure of interviewing a professor at the university of texas at san antonio.

that same institution to which i'd run in the months following the demise of a relationship with the only man who's ever really mattered to me (he mattered too much, which terrified me, and i didn't matter enough, which i knew... and so the thing was doomed to fail) and the cessation of my employment at borders (turns out i'd had the sense to jump ship before the thing sank) and the months prior to the death of my older brother.

to this day, i want to weep with the gratitude that i had that place to turn--i made wonderful friends there, and i learned from some of the most incredible professors i've had the privilege to know. i'd not been blessed to know barker--not until the other day. she'd been invited to speak at the small college here in town, to read her poetry. i'd been tasked with writing an article advancing the event. i sent her questions; she sent me answers.

i'd never read her work until a few weeks ago. she'd written a poem called color analysis. here are some excerpts that resonated with me:

Swatches of fabric held to my face

I am a “Summer,” am told

I mustn’t wear winter, clear, sharp

colors of gems: rubies, sapphires, emeralds

Nothing too strong, definite

I am semi-precious: amethyst, aquamarine, colors

of sky. I am probably an air sign

Think of breezes, says my color counselor

I am told to have nothing to do

with the press of bright yellow, liquid greens

that rush the landscape in April and May.

Autumn would overwhelm me. 

To what season, then, am I linked

apparently forever, floating

rootless on pale air? Am I simply

to sway here on wisps of gray

pale cloud, a little gasp of pink

i read this, and the whole time i thought... i am a winter.

i am winter
who longs for summer, for the warmth

the heat and the light

the brightness, the airiness, the softness
of the pinks and the pale yellows
the sweetness of baby blue

the joy and the fun and the peaceful easy
the long and lazy sunny day

i am winter clothed in sapphire

i am cold and stark and barren

frigid and chilling and dark

i am winded. i am crisp and sharp

bold and brutal, bleak and depressing

i am howling and blustering, wounded

and haunted. ruby red from the rage

and the weeping. i am bitter and broken

emerald green from the envy

i cannot for the life of me fathom

how anyone could want to be winter

the journalist and the novelist: two writers talking

the woodlands college park high school will host the montgomery county teen book festival feb. 27. in the past couple of days, i've corresponded with a few of the authors featured at the event. the one with whom i most enjoyed communicating is kathleen baldwin, author of a school for unusual girls, the highway came waltzing, diary of a teenage fairy godmother, lady fiasco, mistaken kiss and cut from the same cloth. here i have for you my questions and her beautiful responses:

when did you discover an interest in writing, and how difficult, or easy if that’s the case, has it been for you to pursue that interest?

As far back as I can remember I’ve enjoyed telling stories and writing poems. Early on my mother and my teachers were convinced I would be a writer. On the other hand, I thought I would grow up to be a heart surgeon. Looks like they won the bet. It’s a good thing, too, because I love writing. In some respects, I still get to work on people’s hearts – just not with a scalpel.

Twenty years ago, I sold a few nonfiction articles and poems, but my real love was short story. Unfortunately, the short story market was dwindling by the time I started submitting. But I kept trying and garnered a tall stack of rejection notices. Later, the humor of Georgette Heyer and Jane Austen drew me to writing full length novels and that’s when I met with some publishing success. My very first Regency romance novel was published by Kensington’s Zebra Books and voted best traditional regency by Cataromance readers.

what do you feel is your greatest honor or achievement, and why?

I am over the moon excited about being chosen for the 2016 Spirit of Texas Middle School Reading Program. The reason is: I absolutely adore talking with young readers and writers. Kids who like to read are incredibly fun to interact with – the astute and quirky questions they come up with amaze me.  Every time I get to visit a school I come home inspired to write more.

what do you love most about writing? what keeps you doing it?

Writing itself is a joy for me. I love developing characters, weaving them into a story and blending in themes that are important to me. I like integrating tongue-in-cheek humor in my books. Humor helps me deal with difficulties in life, and that’s one theme that drifts through everything I write.

Reader letters keep me going, too. It seems like every week I get one or two very emotional letters from readers, readers who are struggling with tough problems in life. They take the time to write me and tell me about how one of my books lifted their spirits for a few hours. If I can do that for a fellow human being I’ll keep doing this the rest of my life. 

what’s been the biggest challenge?

I am a highly visual/experiential writer, which takes and enormous amount of time. This can be challenging when on a deadline. Sometimes it takes me days to visualize a scene before I can write it. Then, I go back in and rework it over and over again until it aligns with my vision.

My second biggest challenge is your next question. 

how do you balance your work as a writer with the other roles, whatever those may be, you play in life?

Like most people, I have difficulty balancing life. I’m married to a man I adore, we have four wonderful kids and I like to spend time with them. Writing could absorb my entire life if I let it, and sometimes it does. There’s a huge danger in that, the danger of writing from an empty place. Living life balanced is essential for a writer, taking time to play – and for me that means getting out in nature – taking time to reflect, spending time with God, family and friends, helping those in need, taking long walks, exploring new places, all these things gives me the depth perspective I need to write full rich stories.

who are some authors you revere? what stories do you hold close to your heart—what i mean by that is… i am in love with rainbow rowell’s eleanor and park and landline, vanessa diffenbaugh’s the language of flowers, audrey niffenegger’s the time traveler’s wife, john green’s the fault in our stars, ellen shanman’s right before your eyes, dickens’ our mutual friend, rowling’s harry potter series and several of nora roberts’ novels. i go to these stories when i have lost faith in my craft, in love, in life… when my internal landscape is at its darkest. i have read some of these stories dozens of times and others only once or twice. i aspire to write as beautifully as these authors do. maybe someday i will achieve that goal, maybe not. regardless, these stories bring me much joy. what stories do that for you?

I loved Eleanor and Park, too! and Time Traveler’s Wife and Fault in Our Stars. Right now, I’m hooked on Marissa Meyer’s Lunar Chronicles – it’s almost living inside an anime. I’m blown away by how she weaves multiple story lines together. That’s extremely difficult to do.

I grew up reading Dickens, Alcott, Daphne du Maurier, and Twain. They’re my literary heroes. Mom didn’t allow a TV in our house when my brothers and I were little. Instead, she read to us at night, all those great old classics: Oliver Twist, Little Women, not to mention Heidi, Black Beauty and The Amazing Miss Polifax (I think that’s when I fell in love with spy stories).

In college I read C.S. Lewis, Frank Herbert and Tolkien for pleasure. However, I studied and fell in love the great humorists, in particular O’Henry, Wodehouse and Oscar Wilde. You can see why Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer later became inspirations for my own work.

who's your favorite character in your work; in the whole of the literary realm?

That’s like asking me to choose a favorite from among my children. Can’t do it. But I have a really big crush on Lord Wyatt in A School for Unusual Girls.

I still love Heidi. She became my best friend when I was five, and I still love her.

coincidence... and the six ounces or so

today would've been a good day. it would've been. the weather in texas is glorious right now, which is a rare thing in february. i'm caught up at work. as in... not only did i turn in all the calendars i create each week, but also two of the three stories i'm to write for the upcoming edition. two of three because the folks i'm interviewing for the third failed to provide me with responses to the questions i'd posed them by the time i'd requested, which means come monday morning, i'll have to nag them, and that's not something i enjoy doing. but yall, usually i'm turning stories in on tuesday morning; that i got two of them turned into today is also a rare thing.

it should've been a good day. i know by others' standards it would be. one in five children go hungry... so far this year, two-hundred forty have lost their lives on the texas roads... there are children battling horrible things like osteosarcoma, and when i think of them, i think of john green's the fault in our stars, of gus who loses a leg and is fine for a while, of some line in that book where the narrator, hazel, says something about how that particular cancer takes a limb, and then if it likes you, takes the rest, and it takes gus... it could very well take the little girl i'd interviewed not so long ago, could be a tease and let her live ten years, could be a sneaky bastard and hide and then all of the sudden be everywhere at once. it could. i've met her mother. i've met her father. i've been to their house... there are people dying every second of the day.

one of my friends from high school... her mother died yesterday. there's a visitation on valentine's day. a day meant for love... for her it will be one of leaving, of loss.

last night, i put a picture of some ranunculus on her facebook wall because i couldn't give her the real thing, and i thought she needed the light and the love. ironically, she'd just finished ordering the flowers for the service right around the time i'd posted it.

i've no right to say it's not been a good day. none whatsoever.

but i'm going to say it anyway.

tonight i went to the come to the garden event at the woodlands united methodist church. i sat in the second row near the center and watched while a woman i'd interviewed a week or so before talked about her experiences with divine dreams and things, talked of how she'd dreamed of having five children to learn she can't have any because her body won't let her. she's made do. she's somehow found some sort of peace. or at least she seems to have done so. and it occurred to me tonight that maybe i'm not meant to know love... not that kind. it occurred to me that perhaps i need to let that dream die. it's been forty-two years, after all. almost forty-three.

i can do this life by myself. i can. i've endured decades of emotional and mental abuse. i've buried a brother. i've stood by the other while his family fell apart and his so-called friends fell away. i've traveled overseas by myself. i've moved from one apartment to another... one city to another by myself. i. can. do. this.

that list of reasons i have for living? the one i failed to mention, the only one that's truly kept me going is that i've had hope that i could know love, if i just wait. i just have to wait.

the woman i'd interviewed... i'd told her about the experience i'd had two days after my brother's death, of how i'd been coming home from running some errands, of how i'd taken the long way because i needed some time to myself, of how i'd all the sudden heard his voice like he was sitting right next to me:

you can do anything you wanna do, jenny.

i know that, you dolt. that's not the problem.

well, what do you wanna do?

the only thing i've ever known that i wanted for myself was to get married and make babies.

you will.

how do you know that?

because i'll find you someone.

and i believed him. i believed he could. i was twenty-nine and grieving and in the throes of some pretty significant inner turmoil before he'd departed this world, and his death, of course, compounded all that. but i believed him.

i don't wanna make babies anymore. but i do wanna know love.

and the men i've known... they've not been good to me. but i've had hope, despite this. i've prayed. i've clung to the dream even though i've known it's foolish to do so.

but tonight, i kept thinking, you should really let this go. it's time. it's time.

so i went to baker's street to see a friend who works as a bartender there. she's battled cancer. twice. she's spunky as hell, and i needed to see the smiling face of a strong woman... only it's been some time since i've been, and she's not there anymore.

and here's the coincidence...

the spot of bar i'd managed to snag was a patch near where my younger brother stood. my younger brother who's engaged, whom i learned tonight will be getting married--for the second time--in ten days. my younger brother who's there with some of his friends--those who have stuck by him--for his bachelor party.

i'd meant to have one drink. three ounces of liquor on ice: vodka, bailey's and kahlua. one drink, the first i've had this year.

i had two. the second didn't sit well with me. so i walked to the movie theater and watched how to be single.

and it's all about how you have to relish the moments... you have to be able to enjoy that time... those seconds when it's just you.

yeah. i don't have a problem doing that. i've been places. i've seen things. i've stood on the side of a very big hill in wales and marveled at the countryside. i've stood on the shores of the carribean, the atlantic and the pacific and reveled in the glory of the sun on the sea. i've driven the backroads at sunset and hiked in the mountainsides. i've sat in my father's chair in the living room and read and watched as the sun sunk below the black of the pines in the pale blue sky. i've known that kind of glory, thanks. i'm good. i know how to appreciate it. i have no trouble doing so.

a man has told me of how i'm beautiful twice in my life. twice. two different men. and both times they were drunk. the first time i didn't realize it was because he was trying to get in my pants. i'd never heard it before. it was so pretty. the second time, i didn't care why he'd said it. both times, when they'd said it, i'd believed them. foolish girl that i am. foolish because i keep wanting someone to send me some ranunculus. and not just anyone. someone special to me. but that never happens. foolish because i keep thinking a man could care. because i keep wanting one to do so.

one of the things the woman had discussed tonight was that coincidences... maybe that's god talking. if that's so, i'd really like to know what he's trying to say. of course, even if i could tell, i'm not sure i'd believe him.

how do i let go of a dream when it's kept me alive?

allergens and irritants and the plague they've caused

just a heads up... this post ain't pretty.

there's a thing called contact dermatitis. and i guess if you don't treat it quickly enough, it can create another problem called a staph infection.

it's like a combination of a thousand ants marching across my body paired with a game of whack-a-mole. i get little patches of nastiness, and they itch like the dickens. and then... they go away, and a new one crops up somewhere else.

i don't like it. i don't like it one bit. what's worse is the amount of time it's taken me to learn that the dermatitis thing is the issue, which can be caused by allergens and irritants and such.

flashback to february of last year, the week before valentine's day and the douchebag i was dating.

prior to this, i'd had a handful of encounters with guys, but--pardon the baseball analogy--none crossed home plate. none of them had been able to soften me up enough to get it done. but that guy could.

and the next day, some lovely marks showed up on my face. i couldn't figure out what the hell they were. i knew they weren't zits because i never get zits. i'd had a well-woman exam weeks before which came back clean.

i changed skin care products and invested in some seabreeze and some cortizone ten, but all that did was zilch, of course.

april: gynecologist for another well-woman exam and std testing, the results of which i never received. the gyno said they were zits.

may: general practitioner said they weren't zits and prescribed acyclovir, which freaked me the hell out because that's what's used to treat herpes. this caused me to plummet into what's been some pretty nasty depression. i sought a second opinion from the general practitioner who'd been treating me since i was a child but had retired. he didn't seem to think much of the blisters and called in a prescription for a cream. every time i thought, okay, i can handle this... more spots would appear on my body. more spots that seemed to completely disregard the pills but would respond to the cream.

july: i learned of all of the wonderful services offered by an organization called pregnancy assistance center north, which is a blessing, yall. that business is pretty damned phenomenal. the women at that facility are the best example of godsends i've ever seen. ever. EVER. i got tested for three diseases, the results of which were all negative. it was recommended i visit another clinic and get two other tests done for syphilis and herpes, and both of those tests came back negative, too. thank, christ. i'd truly begun to think that i was going to have to tell my parents i'd made a horrible, horrible choice with godawful consequences.

months go by... more spots. some of them change from pink to purple and increase in size, similar to that of a mole.

they are ugly. they sometimes itch. and it's usually worse right before my cycle begins. i started thinking that perhaps it had something to do with hormonal changes in my body, like i was approaching that stage of pre-menopause or something. that the arrival of this is just coincidental to the interactions i'd had with that man.

january. yesterday. sometime around three a.m. i awoke because my body was itching horribly on my legs and arms. i figured it's cause it's been a little over a week since i'd changed my sheets--i'm lazy, okay? i showered and slathered lotion and calamine and cortizone cream pretty much everywhere. it'd worked in the past. it wasn't working at this point.

so i go back to the clinic i'd gone to in july and regale the physician's assistant with the plight from the past year and get that diagnosis. eleven... almost twelve months later. such an ordeal. all because i was allergic to that irritating jackass.

. . .

clinic again today (friday). apparently i'm also allergic to sulpha. so i'm to cease taking the antibiotic for the staph infection. and the woman with whom i spoke said it's not the guy... it's something in the house that's causing the irritation, and the guy is just a coincidental thing.

i wish these people would make up their damned minds. it's the guy... it's not the guy... it's the guy... it's not the guy. how the hell am i ever to close this despicable chapter if i can't get a resolute conclusion?

i think... therefore i'm single

yesterday was the wonder twins' seventh birthday. SEVEN. how the hell did that happen? why, WHY can't they stay little for a little while longer? gah.

i had two errands to run before the party (which was at little beakers in oak ridge north, which is pretty danged nifty, yall... you local folks should totally check them out): snag two papers to send to some folks and pick up some shampoo. real exciting stuff, i know. but first, i needed food. so i headed for market street to potbelly's for a skinny turkey (i'd meant to get a strawberry banana smoothie but got sidetracked).

sidetracked because i snuck through zulee's first. i love that place. i got distracted by the quotes wall. and the books, five of which caught my eye enough that i forked over some fifty bucks to take them home. but the thing that really made an impression was a little black and white foam coaster at cashwrap: i think, therefore i'm single.

i bought that, too, because at first i was amused. god forbid a woman have more brain power than a man. and my brain is pretty danged powerful, yall.

but the more i've thought about it, the more troubled i am by the thing.

because THAT'S the damned problem. it's not that i'm smart. it's that i have to think and think and think and think... i think so much and so hard and so often about a thing... can't see anything but that thing. can't care about anything but that thing. i worry over whether i should've said this or shouldn't've said that--more the latter than the former, of course, because i never know the right things to say.

it's fucking exhausting, and there's a stretch of months that exhaustion tends to whammy me: from thanksgiving to my birthday... the end of november to the end of march.

ten more weeks 'til my birthday. ten more weeks of valentine's crap followed by my brother's death day and my birthday and the calendar--thank god--goes easy on me again.

the only saving grace for this torturous stretch is football. it'd be nice to have a guy to watch the games with--i've never been involved with a guy during this time of year, save for that jackass i'd dated last spring who couldn't even be bothered to TEXT me happy birthday--but i can't shut my brain up long enough to get one to think of me in that way.

one of those quotes on the wall was positive attracts positive. yes, i know. i'm positive i've got a lot to offer. i'm positive i'm worth knowing.

i'm positive i don't know how to market myself so the many gifts i possess can be seen in the best light. i'm positive that the majority of my experiences with men have been negative, and that part of the blame for that falls on me. i'm positive being in a relationship with a guy terrifies the ever-living hell out of me.

i want to be distracted.

i want--so much--for a guy to say to me i'm not going to let you fuck this up.

the fall film challenge recap

one. any set in new york city. the intern. i wish they'd cast someone other than anne hathaway. normally i don't mind her. but you can't pair her with someone like robert de niro. and the dude who played her husband? he basically ruined this movie for me.

three. any that features a child as the main character. stand by me. so good. SO, SO good. best movie on my list. easily. i don't know that i'd watch it again, though. i feel like once is enough.

four. any disney film. brave. i dozed off a lot in this one--not so much that i was oblivious to the plot and all, but... ugh. the only thing i liked were the triplet's scenes.

ten. any mentioned in denim in the oscars: a look at jeans in cinema. erin brockovich. i liked this one a LOT (except for aaron eckhart. pansy). i'd watch it again.

eleven. a film about a knight. gladiator. man, i miss richard harris on the screen. that man had mad skills. connie nielsen's pretty good here, too. the rest of it, though... meh. not russell crowe's best work. and i definitely did not care for the story.

twelve. a love story. the duff. it's cute. completely unbelievable, of course. i liked the main characters quite a bit, though. i love mae whitman, and the boy's nice looking... for a boy. i ended up buying this one.

thirteen. a movie about something miraculous. cinderella. so bad. SO SO bad. richard madden was too pretty... and not anything like i imagine prince charming being. no. just... no. cate blanchett wasn't quite awful enough. helena bonham carter wasn't quite magical enough (and usually, i LOVE her).

fourteen. a film starring an actor/actress with the same first name as yours. alexander and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. meh. i have no strong feelings about this one. didn't love it, didn't loathe it. won't watch it again.

eighteen. any film with a score of ninety percent or greater on rotten tomatoes. how to train your dragon two. cute. i LOVE, LOVE, LOVE toothless. i liked the first movie better, but this one was alright. i'd watch it again.

nineteen. a film about a superhero. avengers: age of ultron. meh. not nearly as good as the first. parts of it were alright. it's not one i'd make an effort to see again, but if i came across on one of the television's movie channels, i might watch it again. it's got some nice eyecandy.

twenty-two. a film about a personal victory. big eyes. i'm glad i watched it. but i'm over amy adams, and while christoph waltz typically owns despicable and loathsome, he doesn't quite do so here--though there surely are moments of utter nastiness. it's not a film i'd want to see again.

twenty-four. any set in a country you would most like to visit. woman in gold. i'm glad i watched this one, too. i can't say the cast does a remarkable job of telling the story--even helen mirren--but they do well enough. i liked it. i'd watch it again.

twenty-five. a film set in a zoo. fierce creatures. kevin kline's got skills, too, yall. i forget. it's a pretty funny movie. complete nonsense, of course, but i knew that going in. my older brother loved movies like this. i'm sorry i couldn't watch it with him. i don't know that i'd watch this again.

so...that's my list. as for the challenge's collective results, check this out:

andrea: fifty! finished original list thursday, october fifteenth; finished bonus list monday, november second.

christina: fifty! finished original list friday, october second; finished bonus list tuesday, november third.

christopher: fifty! finished original list tuesday, october thirteenth; finished bonus list thursday, november twenty-ninth.

michael: forty-five. finished original list monday, september twenty-eighth.

karen: forty-two. finished original list thursday, november fifth.

stephanie: thirty-six. finished original list friday, september twenty-fifth.

cherie: twenty-five. finished original list monday, november thirtieth.

strategy matters

excerpts of a guest editorial by the caledonian record of st. johnsbury, vermont:

"Black Lives Matter" student protests are happening on college campuses throughout the country. The following represents a small sampling of some of their demands:

Smith College: Media must pledge support for protests or they can't cover them.

Amherst College: President must make a written apology for "institutional legacy of white supremacy, colonialism, anti-black racism, anti-Latino racism, anti-Native American racism, anti-Native/indigenous racism, anti-Asian racism, anti-Middle Eastern racism, heterosexism, cis-sexism, xenophobia, anti-Semitism, ableism, mental health stigma, and classism; White students who put up "All Lives Matter" and "Free Speech" posters must be disciplined.

Emory: Raises and promotions for all black faculty.

Towson, Brown: White students stop protesting in favor of black students.

Kansas: A separate, black-only student government.

A number of protesters called for buildings to get name changes. Still others, ironically, have demanded separate buildings and/or campuses exclusively for minorities. In all cases, people who disagree with the protesters or who won't bow to their (often ludicrous) demands are being labeled bigots.

this post is not an attack of the editorial. the piece concludes with the counsel that a different strategy might be best.

i work for a newspaper. my job is to cover the news. i don't have to agree with or even like the people about whom i write. i don't have to attend the events i cover, unless i feel a personal interest in doing so; many of the articles i write are either about individuals who seek to raise awareness of a cause or have an impressive story to tell or about upcoming events of interest to a majority of the community's residents. my editor says write this; i write it.

the requests made by these individuals ARE ludicrous. a man should make more money because he's black? my standing with my black friends who feel slighted is offensive? a separate, black-only student government?

are you SERIOUS???

thousands of african-americans have fought for equality in this country. it's been sixty years since rosa parks was arrested for not giving up her seat on a bus. it's been fifty-two years since the march in birmingham.

martin luther king, jr. and his friends marched in suits. they presented reasonable, eloquent arguments to sway the majority to be better to each other. they had patience and class.

what the hell is this with wanting separate student governments? why are we regressing? why are these people so incensed by past tragedies they themselves have not experienced? how can they justify such egregious demands?

some citizens of this country have done AWFUL things to each other. SOME. the answer is not perpetuating this by exacting awful revenge on ALL people of a particular race by making such ridiculous requests. this disrespects everything for which king and other civil rights activists fought. there's a right way to fight. it's not this way.

. . .

this, yall... THIS. the president of oklahoma weslayan university nails it.

the thirty-fifth question

this post is one of many for a creative nonfiction project i began several years ago. i call it the griffin inquisition. i've asked my friends and family to pose questions, things they want to know about me that would require more than a yes or no for an answer. the most recent addition comes from my friend, erin.

i know you are a big fan of music. pick a song that is a favorite lyrically, and tell me why and how the lyrics speak to you so strongly.

the prince of darkness
the indigo girls

my place is of the sun, and this place is of the dark

and i do not feel the romance; i do not catch the spark

i don't know when i noticed life was life at my expense

the words of my heart lined up like prisoners on a fence

the dreams came in like needy children tugging at my sleeve

i said i have no way of feeding you, so leave

but there was a time i asked my father for a dollar

and he gave it a ten dollar raise

and when i needed my mother and i called her

she stayed with me for days

now someone's on the telephone, desperate in his pain

someone's on the bathroom floor doing her cocaine

someone's got his finger on the button in some room

no one can convince me we aren't gluttons for our doom

but i tried to make this place my place

i asked for providence to smile upon me with his sweet face

but i'll tell you my place is of the sun, and this place is of the dark

and i do not feel the romance; i do not catch the spark

my place is of the sun, and this place is of the dark

(by grace, my sight grows stronger) 

and i do not feel the romance; i will not be

(and i will not be a pawn for the prince of darkness any longer)

maybe there's no haven in this world for tender age

my heart beat like the wings of wild birds in a cage

my greatest hope my greatest cause to grieve

and my heart flew from its cage and it bled upon my sleeve

the cries of passion were like wounds that needed healing

i couldn't hear them for the thunder

i was half the naked distance between hell and heaven's ceiling

and he almost pulled me under

now someones on the telephone, desperate in his pain

someone's on the bathroom floor doing her cocaine

someone's got his finger on the button in some room

no one can convince me we aren't gluttons for our doom

but i tried to make this place my place

i asked for providence to smile upon me with his sweet face

but i'll tell you my place is of the sun, and this place is of the dark

and i do not feel the romance; i do not catch the spark

my place is of the sun, and this place is of the dark

(by grace, my sight grows stronger)

and i do not feel the romance; i do not catch the spark

(grows stronger)

by grace

(my place is of the sun and)

my sight

(and this place is of the dark and)

is growing stronger

(i do not feel the romance)

i will not be a pawn

(i will not be)

for the prince of darkness any longer

the song is the fourth track on the indigo girls' self-titled album. i was sixteen, i think, when that album was released. i'd been battling depression for eight years. i was terrified i would lose the war. every night i cried myself to sleep. every night i prayed i wouldn't wake up. every morning i woke. every day i was certain i was in hell.

there were songs that i favored, like bette midler's the rose, for example, and this one that i would sing to myself. and if i couldn't sing them, i'd be writing the lyrics down. over and over again. 

it didn't occur to me that the songs were prayers. not until i was in college, and my aesthetics professor was telling the class that singing was the highest form of praise, of prayer. and maybe i survived then, maybe i survive now because i sing. maybe it's because of songs like this.

the lyrics with which i most identify are these: 

the words of my heart lined up like prisoners on a fence

the dreams came in like needy children tugging at my sleeve

i said i have no way of feeding you, so leave...

my greatest hope my greatest cause to grieve

and my heart flew from its cage and it bled upon my sleeve

the cries of passion were like wounds that needed healing

i couldn't hear them for the thunder...

it's so easy to get lost. it's so easy to give in. to feel as though there is no good within you, that no good can come from you. that all your dreams are wasted. i struggle, even now, especially now. the thunder is so raucous, so ominous. and hope can be so vicious. 

but there was a time i asked my father for a dollar

and he gave it a ten dollar raise

and when i needed my mother and i called her

she stayed with me for days

and i know that's the other reason i've survived... because of them. because when i woke, my mom had my clothes clean (and sometimes pressed), and my breakfast made and my lunch packed and a smile on her face. and when i came home she was there with a snack and kind word and all that jazz. and even though i didn't see my father much in my youth, i knew he was always there, giving... and that his extraordinary generosity wasn't limited to the cash in his pocket. they give and give and give. i do my best to be as generous as they.

it's hard for me to sing this, now. it doesn't work quite so well as it did in my younger days. but i have loved this song for decades. the lyrics... the melody... they can be soothing. also, i like the reminder that everyone struggles with something, and maybe my struggles are much smaller than they seem. maybe i am much stronger.

what tune(s) do you most love and why?

the picky playlist

erin made a soundtrack for her life -- her hot one hundred -- using billboard's year-end lists. i'd originally done the same, but i didn't love the result, so i redid it. instead of using the year-end's selections, though, i'm using hot one hundred lists compiled each year (mostly) the week of my birth, only i don't love anything on the charts that week, so we'll start with the year after. and it's hard whittling it down to one hundred, yall. it hurt to cut some from the list.

seventy-four

la grange. zz top.

seventy-six

dream on. aerosmith.

bohemian rhapsody. queen.

seventy-seven

go your own way. fleetwood mac.

seventy-eight

you really got me. van halen.

mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys. waylon jennings and willie nelson.
we will rock you/we are the champions. queen.

seventy-nine

i will survive. gloria gaynor.

roxanne. the police.

eighty
lost in love. air supply.

the rose. bette midler.

eighty-one

don't stand so close to me. the police.

eighty-two

open arms. journey.

eighty-three

separate ways (worlds apart). journey.
should i stay or should i go now. the clash.

photograph. def leppard.

i melt with you. modern english.

eighty-four.

against all odds (take a look at me now). phil collins.

hold me now. thompson twins.

eighty-five.

crazy for you. madonna.
save a prayer. duran duran.

don't you (forget about me). simple minds.
everybody wants to rule the world. tears for fears.
the boys of summer. don henley.

eighty-six
kiss. prince.

why can't this be love. van halen.
your love. the outfield.

the power of love. jennifer rush. 

eighty-seven

livin' on a prayer. bon jovi.

with or without you. u2.

eighty-eight

hysteria. def leppard.

angel. aerosmith.

eighty-nine

one. metallica.

wind beneath my wings. bette midler.

ninety

nothing compares to you. sinead o'connor.

hold on. wilson phillips.

personal jesus. depeche mode.

i remember you. skid row.

ninety-one
get here. oleta adams.
where does my heart beat now. celine dion.

silent lucidity. queensryche.

she talks to angels. black crowes.

ninety-two

right now. van halen.

ninety-three

ordinary world. duran duran.

i will always love you. whitney houston.

ninety-four

streets of philadelphia. bruce springsteen.

ninety-six

name. goo goo dolls.

i got id. pearl jam.

caught a lite sneeze. tori amos.

high and dry. radiohead.

ninety-seven

foolish games/you were meant for me. jewel.

secret garden. bruce springsteen.
the freshmen. the verve pipe. 

silent all these years. tori amos.

ninety-eight

sweet surrender. sarah mclachlan.

given to fly. pearl jam.

ninety-nine

angel. sarah mclachlan.

back to good. matchbox twenty.
special. garbage.

two thousand

breathe. faith hill.

one.

yellow. coldplay.

pour me. trick pony.

two.
in the end. linkin park.

how you remind me. nickelback.

wherever you will go. the calling.

a thousand miles. vanessa carlton.

standing still. jewel.

three

i'm with you. avril lavigne.
unwell. matchbox twenty.

four
my immortal. evanescence.

numb. linkin park.

someday. nickelback.

you raise me up. josh groban.
when i look to the sky. train.

five

she will be loved. maroon five.

collide. howie day.

somewhere only we know. keane.

six

because of you. kelly clarkson.
photograph. nickelback.
over my head (cable car). the fray.
black horse and the cherry tree. kt tunstall.

seven

how to save a life. the fray.

eight

love song. sara bareilles.

nine

the climb. miley cyrus.
so what. pink.

ten

when i look at you. miley cyrus.

eleven

don't you wanna stay. jason aldean.

for the first time. the script.
arms. christina perri.

twelve

stronger (what doesn't kill you). kelly clarkson.

rumour has it. adele.
shake it out. florence and the machine.

lonely boy. the black keys.

thirteen

stay. rihanna featuring mikky ekko.

just give me a reason. pink and nate ruess.

fourteen

all of me. john legend.

say something. a great big world and christina aguilera.

brave. sara bareilles.

fifteen

shut up and dance with me. walk the moon.
shake it off. taylor swift.

believe. mumford and sons.

what songs comprise your hot one hundred?

twenty-five favored sports flicks

entertainment weekly made up a list of twenty-five sports movies that score. and it's a pretty good list. i'm not opposed to it. but it failed to recognize some stories that are worth some recognition, and i felt inspired to make a list of my own.

the blind side

chariots of fire

chasing mavericks

cinderella man

the cutting edge

draft day

eight seconds

the express

fever pitch

for love of the game

glory road

happy gilmore

invincible

the karate kid

major league

miracle

moneyball

the program

rocky

rudy

saint ralph

the sandlot

seabiscuit

sixty-one

we are marshall

what's on your list?

the north and the south

shot seconds before the pack scored on the panthers 

myrtle beach... two days before departure

myrtle beach... two hours before departure

north carolina

bodie lighthouse, kill devil hills, mayberry, rodanthe and woodfin valley.

fall film challenge: bonus list

one film for each of the following actors. have fun.
and be sure of you what you pick... no changes permitted.

one. anne hathaway.

two. ben stiller.

three. miley cyrus.

four. vin diesel.

five. eddie murphy.

six. will ferrell.

seven. gwyneth paltrow.

eight. katie holmes.

nine. ione skye.

ten. jonah hill.

eleven. ashton kutcher.

twelve. justin long.

thirteen. maggie gyllenhaal.

fourteen. nicolas cage.

fifteen. owen wilson.

sixteen. pauly shore.

seventeen. john c. reilly.

eighteen. sylvester stallone.

nineteen. tyler perry.

twenty. channing tatum.

twenty-one. vince vaughn.

twenty-two. patrick wilson.

twenty-three. megan fox.

twenty-four. gary busey.

twenty-five. renee zellwegger.

wanna play? original list and rules are here.

what i don't want

i had lunch with a friend yesterday. we were talking about how she'd met her husband through a dating website. that instead of making a list of what she wanted in a man, she made a list of what she hadn't liked about her exes and then looked for the opposite.

that scene in the notebook when noah's badgering ally with what do you want? it's so easy to ask that question. answering it should be simple. but it's not. not for me anyway. i'm a typical aries -- the thing i want most in this moment could be the last thing i want five minutes from now. add to that the raging hormones of a bipolar gal. it's like i'm doubly-jinxed.

i'm off men at the moment... maybe forever. i don't even know why i'm writing this post.

except... i don't want to be off men. i like them... even when i don't want to... even when i shouldn't.

what do i want...

when i was a kid and people asked me what i wanted to be when i grew up, i'd always say teacher and a waitress because teaching didn't pay very well, and i wanted to make lots of money.

that's what i said. but what i really wanted was to be like my mother.

one of my oldest memories... and i don't even know if it's real because i can't picture it... but i sense it, i feel like it's true... coming home from elementary school, maybe when i was seven or so, to find her standing at the ironing board starching my father's shirts and the table linens while she waited on my older brother and i. it's a good memory... if it's true. i like thinking that it is.

my house had such warmth in it. the world was so cold outside. when i grew up, i wanted to make a home as welcoming as ours was... i wanted to be so giving, so good. i wanted to love that well and be loved that well.

i'm forty-two now. the likelihood of this want ever being a reality for me is almost nonexistent.

but... yesterday in my facebook feed... i kept seeing pictures like this:

that's not to say i'm not guilty of doing this with guys. the last couple i've played with... i didn't really care to know anything too serious about them... i just wanted the company. but even then, i strived for thoughtfulness -- i'd send them cookies and curb the sarcasm, and that, yall, is a rather huge feat for me. i didn't want to dig too deep into their histories. i didn't want them digging too deep in mine.

i was less compassionate than normal. mostly because i've all but given up on that dream i had as child. almost...

what i haven't liked:

the guy who showed up two hours before i was supposed to meet him and at my apartment, an address i had not given him. who'd researched every residence, every traffic violation and god knows what else before i'd even known he'd wanted to go on a date.

the guy who assumes that my seriousness is disinterest... i tend to clam up when i'm interested, the best kind of defense mechanism... the more interested i am, the less likely i am to speak... and then, when we'd finally gone on a date, he couldn't be bothered to park his truck and walk me back up to my apartment after having seen the movie... in fact, he was so eager to bail, he didn't even put the engine in park when he'd gotten to my complex... he'd stopped just long enough for me to get out and was out of sight before i'd even gotten to the sidewalk.

the guy who does what he needs to do get himself aroused without considering whether i am.

and...this is worse... the guy who arouses me and then disappears. bastard.

worse still... the guy who wows me and then vanishes. so rare. so beautiful. such jackasses.

the guy who holds you while saying he doesn't want a relationship. what the fuck are we doing laying on your couch then, with your arms around me? what's the point of dating, then? if you don't want a relationship why do you toy with a gal's affections? do you think we give them so freely? seriously... three guys have impressed me. in forty-two years. three.

the guy who can't say when he's not pleased by something trivial, let's the little things build until they've snowballed into something huge and unforgivable and walks without a word. and then, when confronted with the silence, says he thought he'd addressed it.

then there's the guy who says a gal's got reservations and internal conflict... he's aware there's an issue, he mentions it, but he can't be bothered to scratch the surface of the thing. can't be bothered to care. can't be bothered to help.

the guy who would rather make like there was bad connection and hang up -- because his gal was saying something he didn't want to hear -- over and over and over again.

the guy who makes a gal do things she wouldn't normally do because those things please him. and i'm not talking about little things -- i've put fake nails on my hands for a guy before... i've colored the grays because, while i have accepted the things are gonna be on my head, the guy doesn't want to see'm. it's my hair, and i've had enough of coloring it. god gave'm to me. i'm trying to embrace this. i've earned the damned things (partly from putting up with all this bullshit)... but those are little things. i've done bigger things i'm not proud of doing because the guy had asked me to, and i was weak... or something. i don't want to be pushed. i don't want to be made to feel like i'm less because i'm unwilling to do a thing.

the guy whose idea of a valentine's day gift is phone sex.

the guy who can't be bothered to remember my birthday, even with something so small and simple as a phone call... even when i'd told him twice that my birthday was coming up.

the guy who catches up to the gal in the bmw on the freeway to check her out because she'd been checking him out and paces her for a long moment... with me in the passenger seat.

the guy who takes a gal out for dinner while he's still married to someone else.

the guy who brings champagne instead of vodka... first of all, you can do a lot more with vodka than you can with champagne. second, i'm not posh and gloss, by any means... champagne's not my style. but mostly, when you offer to bring something over for the dinner i'm cooking you, and the thing i'm cooking calls for vodka... be a good listener. bring me my vodka. and it's tito's, dammit... not that skyy shit.

the guy who asks what i'm looking for... and in that moment i realize it's him and say so... guess what happens then...