I've been wanting to write this for months but wasn't ready to do so. I attend a church whose benediction, spoken at the conclusion of each service, goes like this:

Because we have received the DNA of Jesus and because we want to see His kingdom come, we will be His hands and feet in a broken world. We will be love where there is no love, we will be peace where there is no peace, we will be hope where there is no hope, and we will expect extraordinary God activity at all times, knowing wherever we go, the kingdom goes with us for His fame and glory. Amen.

I have never witnessed such extraordinary activity in my life as I have this year.

For three weeks in January, we fast with intention to develop new habits, whether they're emotional, mental, physical or spiritual. The church seeks to develop a habit of daily, hourlong time with Jesus from six to seven a.m. It's still black outside, and cold (yes, Texas knows cold), and the drive to church takes a good twenty minutes for me. The last thing I want to do is get up in the bleak of morn to drive twenty minutes to church to spend time with Jesus and pray with other when I can't keep my eyes open. But I do it... not daily, of course, but I do go enough that I am content with my effort.

The church isn't open on Friday. They give the staff that morning to sleep. I'd forgotten this. He woke me. I got up, dressed, drove and found that only one other car was in the parking lot, one belonging to my friend, also named Jennifer. She sad her cat had woken her by sitting on her face. She figured she was supposed to get up. We sat in her SUV talking for a good while. I'd asked her why people didn't want to spend time with me. She didn't want to upset me, was wary of answering, but I told her I wanted to know so I could be better with people. She told me then I talk too much.

I wish I could tell you I've always struggled with this. My parents spent a significant amount of money taking me to assorted counselors in my childhood and adolescence. I had so much about which to talk, so many subjects I could broach, so many wounds needing healing. But I was ashamed of them all. Some still weigh heavy in my mind and heart. I couldn't talk. I couldn't let the world know how much I hated myself for the things I'd done, how much I hated my peers and teachers. How much I wanted to die. I couldn't admit any of it.

When I thought I'd found love twenty years ago, when I'd been spinning at the top of a glorious whirlpool and he said things that, like the hand of God, shoved me into its depths where I stayed for years afterward... the things he said made sense. It was the way he said them... on his couch with our legs and arms entwined, my head resting on his shoulder, my hand resting on his heart, my tears leaking onto his shirt... NOT because of what he'd said, but all the ghosts, all the boys I'd known. I heard him. I was on the same page he was. If I could've said so, maybe I would've found a way out of the water and onto the shore, where he'd gone. If I could've said I'm with you... but in that moment, I wasn't there. Somehow I'd found the drain and gone through it into the abyss where the ghosts, all the terrible things boys have said to me up to the time I'd met him, where they hide and lie and wait. And I cannot kill them. I could not tell him where I'd gone or how I'd gotten there. I didn't want his pity. 

I've dated since him... but still I could not communicate. One said I had internal conflicts and reservations, and that pissed me off. What woman doesn't? What man? I wasn't able to communicate with a man until my last relationship bought it six years ago. Oh was I glad to be free of him. I had no trouble whatsoever losing him. His idea of a relationship was emotional and mental abuse. I got enough of that from myself, especially for completely dropping the bar my fathers, uncles and cousins had set, allowing him the opportunity to all but ruin me. Damned if I'd take it from him, too. Damned if I'll do that again.

The point is... like in every other aspect of my character, I've gone from not talking about things that matter to me to talking about ALL the things. I share too much. I've yet to learn to listen. 

I say all this because a few days ago, I'd been talking to yet another Bumbler, a traveling nurse who was in my neck of the woods. I'd notice the traveling bit in his profile but had overlooked where home was for him. I'm too hasty with the swiping sometimes. I know this. We exchanged numbers and began talking. One of the first questions I'd asked was about the traveling and where he was based. He'd said Lubbock. 

Lubbock. The mouthbreather from six years before, his last location known to me was Lubbock. Two thoughts: Oh, this again. SWELL. Also, fuck if I drive to Lubbock. I don't care how good the guy might be. I am NEVER going back to that city. I felt this in my gut. I acknowledge it but didn't act on it. And then there were all the words, the keys shall we say that unlock a woman's defenses. I recognized them, but didn't act on them. We met. More unease. And that same day, I let him go.

Yall. I can't tell you how proud of this I am. I engaged in what had, for the most part, been good conversation. I was more alert to the flags. I saw them waving. But I also didn't want to assume the dude was a jackass just because the rest I've known had been so... and I would've wanted a man to give me the same grace. I gave it. I rescinded it, and I did so in what I thought was a mature and eloquent manner. Of course he didn't respond... just disappeared as all the others have done. Yes, I probably should've heeded the first flag and nipped it in the bud then and there. I'm learning. Still. 

Listening's hard stuff. God's been teaching me, and I'm starting to pay attention.

BUT, while that is, to me gold, these other things, like Jennifer and I both going to church that Friday when it was closed, I have seen miracles.

I've talked about the dental work, and all the ordeals from that. I believe I referenced in that post the goodness I've known through those experiences.

Let me tell you about my favorite, the most extraordinary activity of all.

I severed ties with my previous employer, a tutoring facility, January fifth. They'd cut my hours from full to part-time and reduced them to something like five per week. That would've been about eighty dollars, and with taxes cut I would've seen about sixty-five. It cost me, at the time about sixty bucks to fill up my tank. So I would've been commuting an hour round trip three days a week to earn the money I'd need to spend on gas to get me to work. No thank you. I cleared out my cubicle, most of my belongings there were food, and resigned, effective immediately. On the way home I found a woman dressed in a pink parka with heavy brown fur lining, standing roadside on the edge of Trader Joe's parking lot. I thought, help her. And then I thought I've twenty bucks, and I just quit my job. I passed her. I thought again, you have food, and she needs that twenty bucks more. So I turned into the parking lot, circled back to her and gave her what I had.

Two days later, as I was leaving Target, I saw an elderly man standing at the lot's exit to the intersection. I had ten dollars. I gave it to him.

The next day, Saturday, I got up and went to prayer at the church, I'd dreaded the immature way I'd handled my funds over the past week or so. I needed roughly a thousand dollars to get me through the coming month. That's how irresponsible I'd been. I stood and shared the troubles then sat while others prayed aloud for me. I felt called to turn the gentleman behind me and reach for his hand. When I did, he took it and slipped something inside it. I knew it was cash. I didn't look then to see how much it was. When I left the church, the prayer pastor handed me money she wanted to give to me. And then I had breakfast with another church member, and she hired me, paying me five hundred dollars, to help her with work for the charity she ran.

I tithed, in my own way, thirty dollars after resigning that job, one God had been telling me for weeks to leave.

The man seated behind me blessed me with one hundred dollars--ten times what I'd given the man standing alone. The prayer pastor, a generous woman, blessed me with two hundred--twice what I'd given the woman standing alone. And then another woman blessed me with five hundred. 

I took fifty dollars from the money she'd given me and bought groceries for the church's children's food drive. Exactly fifty dollars worth. When has that ever happened? I used some of the money to update my vehicles registration and inspection, and while there, I asked the manager, a friend of mine for almost three decades, about the food drive going on, and how hardly anyone's donated, and would he be willing to contribute fifty bucks. He said yes and reached in his wallet before I'd finished the question. So with his help, I purchased one hundred dollars of food and took it with me to church the next day.

And while I sat in the 9:45 service, the prayer pastor texted wanting to know if I were there and then, yes, she saw me on live feed. Someone else had given her money to pass onto me. Two hundred more dollars. Twentyfold what I'd spent the day before. 

Yall. It is so easy to look at the people following too closely or sitting too long at the light or constantly getting in your way when you've got ten minutes to grab something for that dinner with friends and think the day is SHIT. It is SO easy.

I dare you to look instead for the extraordinary.

Light in the Darkness

I am clinging... perhaps a little too desperately at the moment... to the kindness others have shown me. The friends who came to help me move my shit the other day. To the brief conversation I had with a Bumbler:

Dude used the word nuanced in a sentence. That's not something I see all that often. Of course... I think he's vanished, but... I did like the momentary distraction. I'm not so experienced with relationships. That tends to be a dealbreaker. So be it.

But mostly... the brightest light has been this comment from one of my freshmen at college:

You're SO good. Not just 'good enough'... NO. You're just Goooooood.

I am leaning on that something fierce right now.

This was in my Facebook memories. Something I'd shared a year ago, and it still rings true for me today. I strive to be open. It's often a struggle for me, to be honest. But I know that withholding my thoughts and feelings doesn't serve me in the slightest.

I'm trying. I'm hoping one day it will count for something. That said... I totally jacked with my Bumble profile. I'm really not in the mood for more disappointment. My plate's full. It's gonna take me a good while to chew on this shit.

A Girl Gives Her Testimony to a Group of Much Better Women than She and It Is Well-Received

I presented my story at one of those Bible studies in which I participate. I worried over what to write for two weeks. I was asked last night if I could go today instead of next week. I said, "Sure." I hadn't figured out what I was going to say, didn't have any props (because people like to look at things)... I knew it would come to me, but... yall... it came to me at eight-thirty a.m. this morning... sixty minutes before I was to speak. Once a procrastinator, always a procrastinator. I thought I'd share what I'd said--most of you who've followed Picky for some time know the spiel, but for the newcomer:

I don't look good on paper. Three years shy of fifty, unmarried, childless, physically and mentally disabled, financially and emotionally insecure, underemployed with no prospects or drive for better opportunities, living with my parents, driving a twelve-year-old vehicle with nearly two hundred thousand miles on it. The longest romantic relationship I've had lasted four months... four months longer than it should have because I had no interest in him. The one that mattered most lasted six weeks... if that... because I had too much interest in him. The worst one lasted three months and ended with him verbally, emotionally and mentally abusing me. If I could manage to find and keep a good man, I've doubted whether I could give him children anyway because I have cerebral palsy: my hips were dislocated at birth; my bones, ligaments, tendons and muscles are poorly-constructed things; and my brain suffers chemical imbalances that cause severe depression and rage... even if I'd been physically capable of carrying a child and having a healthy pregnancy, I questioned whether I would've been sound enough to be a nurturing mother. I've not kept any job for longer than five years, and none of them have paid well; the majority of them have been in retail.

I don't look good in person. My face feels like a Picasso painting: scraps jumbled together and colored red for the rage, yellow for the jaundiced skin, blue for the sadness and the tempest, and black for the fear and the despair. I've had six surgeries, three of which were on my eyes. I bear some thirty scars from those surgeries, and ten of them are above my chin. I've been told of how ugly I am more times than I could possibly begin to fathom. I've been told I should kill myself because I'm taking up valuable air and space and there are more important people who need it. That no one would ever want to marry me because I was too ugly and no one wants to wake up next to something--not someone--that ugly every morning. I had a teacher put my desk in an appliance box because she couldn't stand having me in her classroom, couldn't bear the sight of me, but couldn't put me in another one because I was too smart to be in special education. The world is flat to me--I have no depth perception. I see things like you would see them on a television or theater screen or in a magazine or photograph. I constantly have to guess where things are, and my hands often reach for things to help secure my place--walking in a crowded mall or grocery store is more terrifying to me than driving on an interstate. People move around like gaseous molecules with no regard for others. And when I stop to wait for people to go by or I press myself against the shelves in a store until they have passed, people stare at me and ask, "What the hell is your problem?"

Life has been my problem. Loving it, wanting it. I have battled suicidal ideation since I was eight years old... since that teacher put my desk in that refrigerator box.

I am that electron that doesn't belong anywhere. The free radical floating in the cosmos, screwing things up. The fifth wheel. The black hole. The voyeur. The wallflower. Eager for, but incapable of, belonging. Unwelcome. Unnecessary.

Two and a half years ago, while on a Sunday drive, my father said I seemed happier, that I wasn't fighting as much. I wanted to cry. I wasn't fighting at all. I'd stopped clambering for the surface. I had dreams of an Aggie ring, marriage, family, home, career. One by one they'd died. I'd been mourning their deaths and waiting for mine, knowing it could be decades away. And two weeks or so later... My oldest friend called, inviting me to her classroom to teach first graders how to write. I met a little boy, and then I met his mother, the woman who leads the small group of which I am a member and heads the women's ministry of the church I sometimes attend.

I know the ways I have been blessed. I am here today because of those blessings, those lifelines God has thrown me. He's never thrown me so many as He has in the past two years.

never forget

my munkle served in the navy. so did his brother, my great uncle joe. my mom told me once that joe served with patton and marched with him in germany. i hope i'm remembering that right. i like thinking of it. my uncle chris served in the navy, too.

i will never forget the time we'd gathered in washington, d.c. with my uncles and their children and we'd toured the museums and monuments. the time we'd gone to the wall, and i'd walked the length of it, intending to go back and really look at it, only to find my uncle at the end with tears in his eyes and a gruff voice. get the others. he needed to leave. he didn't need to say anything else.

my aunt's only son was in the marines. two of my other uncle's sons were in the military -- the marines and the army.

i will never forget how they joke with each other about which branch is better. the shirts their mother wore in support of them both. the time the cousin who chose the army spent in san antonio while i was there... the times my younger brother and his then wife and their mutual friends came up for a weekend to spend time with our cousin and me. the time my cousin and i were at red robin, talking about the eye surgeries i'd had in my infancy, and how doctors would've made the corrections then... how he, who was training to be a mash doctor, paused from his meal to look behind my ears to determine whether they'd taken my face off, told me that they'd done so, then resumed chowing down on his royal cheeseburger, unfazed.

i will never forget walking into borders at selma the morning of september eleventh to see one of my staff standing at the information desk with a radio playing, my pointing at him as i passed saying, you know you can't have that up here. we're open. his face as he asked me you haven't heard? i still didn't stop. heard what? that my manager told me not to go to my parents' house. to stay put.

the younger cousins enlisted after that, i think. i remember my aunt's son had already served in one war. i remember the worry from that. i remember the last christmas we all had together, with his mother who died a year or so afterward. i remember he left on christmas day to go to saudi arabia. that he was on the front lines.

i will never forget the night i sat outside my great aunt's house when we were in colorado to bury my brother. i remember sitting on the steps, staring up at a midnight sky and the specks of white and imagining one of my older brother's oldest friends overseas in afghanistan or iraq or whever the hell he was, praying that my older brother could somehow be with him and get him home to be with wife and sons.

i will never forget the days i worked at a shipping store and a man would bring in red polybags with white stars on them, freedom hard t-shirts and other paraphernalia being distributed across the globe. the time he brought in boxes of t-shirts and caps and coffee for me to repackage and send to florida or utah or london. i will never forget how much i loved that i got to have some small hand in those products making their way to others. i will never forget the joy i felt when i'd ordered, then received, my own freedom hard t-shirts. i've worn them with pride.

support our troops.

get your freedom hard gear here.

never forget.

romance

about a year ago, a friend invited me to join her book club. it's a great group of women, and i feel so blessed to be considered their friend, but since joining, i've read two of the books chosen, and one of them was my pick (also one i'd already read -- the language of flowers). the other was a man called ove. i eventually read a third, beach music, but not because of the book club so much as i needed a book for one of the categories of erin's book challenge (feel free to join... there are about six weeks left in this session, but she always welcomes latecomers, and she'll start another challenge in a couple of months... it's neat to flip through the albums and see what others have read). anyway. three books out of like twelve. that's not bad, but most of the girls have gotten in the habit of joking that i won't read it anyway...

we're reading beautiful boy this month. i'm on page forty-four. i'm reading it because i've chosen to watch the movie adaptation for the fall film challenge (we're only a couple of weeks in, and i, too, welcome latecomers... it's neat to flip through the albums and see what others have watched).

i've been more hopeless the past couple of months than i normally am. probably more than i've been in my life, actually. i'm not fighting as much, i'm becoming more and more merciless about the things i keep. gwyneth paltrow plays plath in the film sylvia. there's a line: i feel like there's nothing behind my eyes but air. i understand that line now. i understand how a person could feel that way. for most of my life i've felt like there's nothing behind mine but water. it doesn't feel like that anymore.

i started bible study this week. we're reading joshua. that name means the lord saves, by the way. or so my notes told me. i've gotten off to a good start, much better than i have in the past. yesterday and today, i spent the better part of an hour reading parts of proverbs, of my own accord, and the recommended reading from our notes: bits from genesis, psalms, romans...

and then i've taken my copy of beautiful boy and read while walking around my neighborhood.

off and on in the course of my life i've thought that i don't believe it's possible that a man could love me. i know why he should. i know i'm worth loving, even when i'm feeling my absolute worst, i know that in my heart. my head, though... the older i get, the more difficult it is for me to believe in that possibility. i've given up, actually. not because i want to, but because it's almost easier to live without the hope.

so i'm walking and reading and come across this passage on page thirty-two:

our first cautious date is at a friend's party on the upper east side. the fine young cannibals play on the music system, waiters circulate with trays of champagne and canapes, and then, though it is a sweltering night, i walk her the length of manhanttan to her downtown loft. it takes a couple hours, during which time we do not stop talking. whenever we come upon an all-night grocery, we get popsicles.
it's dawn when we say good night at her front door.

i stopped when i read that. stopped and read it again. and wished i could know what a date like that was like without having to read about it in a book. how sad is it that a forty-five-year-old woman only knows love from the books she reads and the people she sees?

before i fell into that well of despair, i made myself get moving again, reading and walking.

i want someone to see me the way ove's wife sees him, the way grant sees victoria. i want to know the man who can't help but stay and talk with me.

my friends are quick to suggest bumble. i've been on there. i can barely get a man to say hi. i don't want to meet my guy that way. it doesn't have to be anything fantastic. i don't need extraordinary. that's what books and movies are for.

i've prayed. i've gotten down on my knees and sobbed against my comforter and begged. 

the last gift my older brother gave me was at christmas: a bottle of ralph lauren's romance. i spray it and think of the day after he died when i was out running errands, getting things for the memorial service. i heard him say i'll find you someone. such a delusion, but i believed it.

which is worse? wanting love in your life and not getting it or wanting to live without it?

my mount rushmore

so my friend at the view from the third floor has been doing an ongoing contest since the beginning of the year. i'm pretty sure i'm losing, but that's okay. for round seven, we were asked to create our own mount rushmores, tributes to those americans who have not served as presidents whom we feel are worthy of the recognition. i was quick to google stupid shit like best americans and had a look at lists like this one because i thought for sure the four i would pick should be ones of whom others could approve... otherwise how could they be the best? but then i cleared that crazy notion and realized i wanted to make a list of the four people who have best influenced my life, the ones who have saved me, who have been like a patronus when too many dementors have circled much too closely. i'm sure i've mentioned them before, but i can't mention them enough. i can't. they are my rocks.

one. pauline elliott. sixth grade language arts teacher at what was then o.a. reaves intermediate. she was not the most well-liked teacher by the students mostly because of her size, sense of style and simplicity. my peers made fun of her. but then my peers made fun of everything, everyone because that's what sixth-graders do. i remember underestimating her, making assumptions that she would be like every other teacher i'd had for the past few years. she was a light, which is what teachers should be; i'd not seen one shine upon me in quite some time. i've mentioned her in this post and this one. the other day, i thought i've failed her because i've not used my talents anywhere near as well as i should. it's not a sentiment that sits well with me. i hope i can do better by her, and others listed here, and soon.

two. carol newsom. counselor at york junior high school. i was in high school, i think, when i met her. her husband worked in the administration building with my father. my parents, terrified for my well-being (they were right to be so... and it shames me greatly to say that), had already sent me to a couple of counselors without success because i didn't want to talk. i played games, literally and figuratively. my psyche had been plagued, by this point, for six years. there was far too much to discuss, and the words were as ugly to me as i thought i was, as the majority of the world thought me to be. the high school i attended was across the street. i remember that i would walk over after school and meet with her. i'm sure i played games with her, too. i'm sure i didn't say much that was worth saying. i'm sure i would've been much better off now had i cared more for the compassion she'd shown me then. i loved her for her kind nature and the warmth she bestowed upon me. not many were gracious enough then to show me such consideration. i knew that she loved me. i clung to that knowledge.

three. brother nicholas. born clarence prinster. monk at abbey of our lady of the holy trinity in huntsville, utah. i've not known a man to have more faith and devotion, more goodness in his soul than this one. he is my maternal grandmother's brother, the last alive of eight siblings. he's been more a grandfather figure to me than a great uncle. he has always thought the world of me. i'm grateful that the last time we were at the monastery -- a year ago -- i had a moment to sit with him and look out over the fields and beyond to the mountains. i wish i could remember what he said, but i know that it was good, that it had something to do with my history and how i've endured. not many can beat me at scrabble, but he could and soundly.

four. amanda holloway. more commonly called minn. neighbor and friend. she was always so happy to see me, and knowing that made me feel good. she was patient with me when others couldn't be, willing to listen when i needed to vent, quick to share her faith and friendship. she had a smile that seemed bigger than her face. i miss it. i miss her.

you get what you give

i started writing this post and had six or seven paragraphs down before i realized i was burying the lede. 

sometimes interviewing people for the articles i was assigned to write while working at the newspaper, sometimes those people intimidated me. the more beautiful they were, the less comfortable i felt in their presence.

one of those people was an artist, a painter from mexico who provided the art for the office building her husband owned. i'm in jeans and my docs and probably a polo, and i'm sure my hair was tied back in a pony tail. i doubt i had put make up on. the usual m.o. for me. this woman, who was at least a head shorter than me, had long, flowing brown hair, gorgeous skin and eyes and smile. she knew how to dress. she knew how to be a woman, in every sense of the word. i was intimidated by her, but i managed to get through the interview alright.

so imagine my surprise, after my having sent her a note a few weeks ago letting her know how much i'd enjoyed meeting her (because i did... i always love talking art with people), how much i admired her talents and skills. imagine how pleased i was to get a note from her. a note that included the following:

i feel so blessed that we met. let me tell you, the day of the interview, my nerves were killing me. hahahah! but you made me feel so comfortable that suddenly i started to talk to you as if i knew you for years. you are such a sweet, kind, smart and wonderful human being.

i'm a little weepy reading that. and i've read it at least a half a dozen times today. 

tuesday topics: two letters

so one of my new year's resolutions was to send out handwritten notes instead of emailing or leaving compliments on friends' facebook walls and such. lauren used this post to write two letters to her younger self. i'd like to share with you two messages i got from folks who received notes i'd sent... because i want to remember them. because i was touched to receive them. because i need to have the reminders that what i do is good when it's hard for me to see that.

the first is from a gal i knew in my youth, one of my artistic friends whom i'd written for one of the tasks from last month's scavenger hunt:

i just checked my mail and got your beautiful letter. i couldn't hold back the tears that welled up from the multitude of emotions i felt while reading. it's so wonderful to connect with someone through shared experiences, even if they aren't exactly the same. i've been wanting to paint recently, but just haven't felt the motivation to kick myself into gear. i think you may have given me the nudge i needed to get back to my creative outlet. i'm sorry i'm not taking the time to hand write a reply. i just had to message you immediately. i love having a stronger connection with you now. this is where i begin to love facebook again. thank you so much for you sweet letter. i will keep it always to remind myself that i share my life publicly for a reason.

the second is a message i'd sent to my cousin, via facebook because he travels FREQUENTLY, and mailing him a letter is NOT a good idea. he probably would never see it. so i made an exception in his case. this was a task for this month's scavenger hunt. i sent a card to another friend, but it was imperative to me that he know of this conversation:

me: hey there. i wanted to take a second to remind you how awesome you are. the other day, when i was talking with bambam (my nephew) about his cousins, and i started naming them off... when i mentioned your name, he said i like him. he didn't say that about the others. just you. i thought you might like that.

him: nice. that's awesome.

it takes maybe ten minutes to write a letter yall, one into which you've put thought and care. it takes one to pop a line through facebook's messenger. and those ten minutes... hell, that one minute, could make a huge difference in someone's day.

two years ago, when i'd dumped the douchebag, i'd told a not-so-close friend, a woman with whom i wanted to have a stronger relationship, what that man had said to me, the words that cut the ties between me and him. this was the day after i'd cut them. so the words he'd said were too much in my head. interestingly enough, AMAZINGLY enough, having told her of this... she's become one of my favorite people. she sent me a card the day after i'd told her. i can't find it right now. but it always shows up when i need to reminded of the goodness she'd sent my way. i see her at least once a month now, when i'd seen her maybe once a year before. she invited me to join her book club, and i've met some truly incredible women because of it.

one of them's riding the ferris wheel with me today so i can polish off the last of this month's scavenger hunt tasks.

it's amazing what can happen when we open ourselves up to each other.

share some letters, any kind you'd like, with lauren and me!

stuck on you: where there is love there is life

about a month ago, i drove into west houston to attend an author event at blue willow bookshop, which is probably where i should buy all my books but driving from the woodlands to memorial city sucks ass (i usually take ninety-nine which means i'm spending money to drive on a road not funded by my tax-payed dollars, and then i have to get on interstate ten which is the devil's freeway: the stretch from ninety-nine to six is like the third layer of hell, six to the sam houston tollway's the fourth, toll to chimney rock's the fifth, chimney rock to loop six ten is the sixth, loop to shepherd's the seventh, shepherd to forty-five's the eighth, and then you're in it... the ninth layer of HELL), really, so... and i forget i could just call them and say ship it to me... because barnes and nobles is closer and there's this computer right here...

anyway... i drove into west houston to hear gayle forman talk and get a signed copy of her latest, leave me. while waiting, kept finding things to buy, and so i left with a bag of books instead of the one.

and the one i liked most of those purchased that day is stuck on you: one hundred forty quirky love quotes that stick in your memory and on your stuff. (it's in the bag, the brown and pink one on the left.) on the cover are the words where there is love there is life. i picked it up and flipped it open and landed on these quotes:

the deeper your scars, the more room there is to fill them up with love (daniel chidiac).

i have found that if you love life, life will love you back (arthur rubinstein). 

i had to buy it. i have to remember to fill the scars with good things. because i so often forget to do this.

so... a few of the good things:

great mystery, teach me how to trust my heart (lakota prayer).

if grass can grow through cement, love can find you at every time in your life (cher).

you are a conductor of light (sir arthur conan doyle).

random, but not the quarter kind

this is one of those posts that i'm doing because i feel like i should post something, but i really don't have anything to say...

the random quarter posts began for this very reason. but i already did one this month. i can't do another one.

so i guess i'll just tell you about what's been going on with me.

my great aunt passed away two weeks ago.

i missed her granddaughter's--my godsister's--wedding that following weekend because the booking company my mother used screwed up our tickets. i could've spent saturday in san diego (bummer).

she got a voucher for their error for less than half the value of the two tickets. she let me use it. it's not easy, using one of their vouchers. it's not like you can go to their website and book the flight yourself and enter some code. you have to call. you have to spend three hours of your time confirming the flight details with a dude who can barely speak english, only to find out that he screwed your flight up, too. so for a second there, i was going to go to north carolina for a week in november (YAY!). but the idiot booked the flight for november first rather than november fourth (fucker). and i can't take ten days off work. at least i'm pretty sure i can't. i've asked my boss. she didn't seem too eager, but she'd said she'd ask.

me, my munkle and the red truck

my family went to utah this past weekend to see my munkle (for those of you new here, my great uncle--one of several older brothers to the great aunt who recently passed and the only brother left alive--is a monk). i did not get to go. part of me is bummed about that. in forty-two summers of going to utah, i've only missed two. part of me is just like my great aunt--not too keen on watching a loved one leaving. and he will be leaving, and soon. i know it. i know it. he walks with two canes now, relying very heavily on them both. from what my parents and brother have said, he's not all there--he's not quick-witted; he'll have conversations with my mother where he'll talk to her about her, like she's someone else. his hands don't work. he's a carpenter, my munkle. he makes the most beautiful things. the fact that he can't make his hands do the making is a source of great contention for him. understandably so. but mostly... what i remember most is the way his face beamed with pleasure and how fiercely he would hold on to me, his arms so much like the carpenter's vise. i don't want to see his face if i can't see it the way it's always been. i don't want to hug him if he can't hug me the way he's always done.

i've been working on five stories. one of them is about a woman and the efforts she's made to raise awareness for the fatal, degenerative, genetic disease that's plagued her son for seven years.

and i have friends who are very sorely troubled by life at the moment.

i need a light. has anybody got one?

. . .

and of course, moments after i post this... browsing my facebook feed, one of my friends had posted this hours before, and i only just now saw it:

you will be nowhere tomorrow where god hasn't been (max lucado).

that's a pretty good light.

saturday spotlight: texas sentinels foundation

the texas sentinels foundation was founded eight years ago by richard and jean filip of the houston area to provide wounded warriors from september eleventh, two thousand one and beyond homes, financial stewardship, counseling, job placement and more. richard filip, who served in the army, and his wife established the organization because so many of their friends had family members coming home from iraq and afghanistan physically and/or mentally traumatized from their service.

since its inception, texas sentinels have provided a number of debt-free, mortgage-free homes to men and women who have sacrificed.

the most recent home was dedicated to sergeant greg dotson, an army combat medic with six daughters, all under the age of ten. dotson served two tours in iraq and saved more than one hundred sixty lives on the battlefield. 

the dotson family with texas sentinels foundation's founders, richard and jean filip.
photo courtesy of texas sentinels foundation.

the foundation's executive director, lieutenant colonel susie barlow, said dotson, "didn't think he deserves a house because he couldn't save everybody, and so he didn't think any goodness should come his way." 

one of dotson's daughters peers at the crowd gathered at the home dedication ceremony during the flag presentation. photo courtesy of texas sentinels foundation.

after the world trade center collapsed, staff sergeant mike burns felt inspired to join the armed forces. he'd intended to serve two tours as an m.p., but his first was cut short due to injuries. he was living in phoenix, arizona with his wife and four children in a deer-lease trailer that had no air conditioning or hot water. he was sleeping in a chair and confined to a wheelchair. his wife and children were sleeping on a mattress on the floor. when the foundation learned of the family's plight, they relocated them to texas, paid for a rental home for a year and the furnishings for it while the family's new home was under construction.

the burns family at their home dedication ceremony. photo courtesy of texas sentinels foundation.

army specialist jeramie green takes a break from physical therapy to visit with his daughter.
photo courtesy texas sentinels foundation.

the next home will be awarded in september to army specialist jeramie green, a man who has had seventy-four surgeries and is still at walter reed in bethesda.

the foundation is at work building its nineteenth home. to learn more about the services it provides and those it has helped, visit texassentinels.org.

saturday spotlight: the red lion project

in march, i changed jobs. a long, long time ago, i worked for a weekly newspaper. after a couple of years, i got sick of doing that and went back to selling books. i got sick of doing that, and spent four years selling children's furniture and accessories. i got sick of doing that and went back to working at the newspaper because i found i missed the work.

the thing i most love about this work is the perks... like the time i got to meet cheech marin and free entrance to events like the woodlands waterway arts festival and the tomball crawfish festival and the much more expensive ymca's dancing with the woodlands stars. the best perk is the stories we discover.

like the one about six marines killed in afghanistan and the red lion project the father of one has orchestrated to honor them. the father is thomas logan. his son was named joseph. 

prior to departing on that fateful tour, joey had expressed an interest in buying some land with his dad in montana because he'd loved going fishing there with him. 

they couldn't do it together, but tom bought the land anyway. more than a hundred acres of serenity near the clark fork river, surrounded by three thousand square miles of national forest. a quiet respite, ideal for horseback riding, fishing, hiking, canoeing... or just relaxing and observing the wildlife.

the plan is to build six cabins, one for each of the fallen, to be used by soldiers and their families... to create a haven, a place to heal, reconnect and ease the stress of transitioning from the military life to a civil one.

for those of you who live in southeast texas and like to fish, the project is holding a catfish fundraiser on may ninth. the deadline to enter was the first. but maybe latecomers will be welcome. doesn't hurt to ask.

i'm not necessarily posting this to encourage people to go fish. my older brother would've been all about that... he would've rallied all his friends to participate. and they would've done it because he could convince anybody to do pretty much anything.

i'm writing because my family goes to northern utah every summer for a week to visit my munkle (i've a great uncle who's a monk, for those of you are new here... yes, there are monks in utah, though not for long). anyway... that's our haven. that's my heaven. and i know full well how wonderful having that respite is. 

i know full well how our soldiers could use a place like this. like the one tom logan and his friends are making. 

i'm writing this because i want to help him make his son's dream a reality. i want to help our wounded. if they're hurt, we mend their bodies and then we send them home where they have to fend for themselves. we can do better than that. they deserve better than that.

to donate, click here.

fifty reasons to live

one. because they said you couldn't. 

two. because they said you wouldn't.
three. because they said you shouldn't.
four. because you wake up in the morning. there must be a reason for that, even if it's something so small as to smile at a stranger. because maybe that small smile is the lone bright spot in someone's incredibly dark day. and your smile... it's amazing. remember?
five. cupcakes.
six. because you have friends. you do.
seven. there's music. everywhere. and it's beautiful.
eight. and flowers. the bluebonnets. the roses. and ranunculus. daisies in the sun. magnolias in the trees.
nine. daddy.
ten. mama.

eleven. films. the ones that make you laugh. the ones that make you cry. the ones that make you want to tell a story. the ones that manage to do all three things at once. like steel magnolias. you would've missed that, had you given in all those years ago. you would've missed its perfection.
twelve. aggie football.
thirteen. poetry.
fourteen. at the end of the day, you get to crawl into your supremely comfortable bed dressed in its star wars sheets and sleep knowing that you made it one more day. that you hung in there. that even if you hadn't accomplished anything else in your day, you did that. and that was enough.
fifteen. pappadeaux's.
sixteen. literature. think of all the characters you've yet to meet.
seventeen. it's glorious outside. one last lovely glimpse of the spring...
eighteen. minn. she would want you to. can't you hear her in your head? jenny griffin...
nineteen. shazam.
twenty. bambam. those two... they need you.

twenty-one. you quit smoking. there's a reason for that.
two. your teachers... your professors... they saw good in you when you couldn't see it in yourself. they saw you.
three. disneyland. or world. either one will do. well, no. world. universal studios. harry potter. a person needs to see that place.
four. utah.
five. colorado.
six. england. london, specifically, but... really, the whole country's kind of magnificent.
seven. germany.
eight. ireland. you've not been there. and you know... there's that branch of the tree. on your father's mother's side.
nine. austria. you've not been there, either. and you know... there's that branch of the tree. on your mother's mother's side.
thirty. greece. you've not been there, either. and EVERYONE needs to see that.

thirty-one. coca-cola. yeah. i said it. a soft drink. a damned fine soft drink.
two. speaking of teachers... there's those ones who never taught you, but they know you (mostly because of your father, sure, but also because when you see them, it shows in your face how much you love them)... they ask about you. you. not your brothers, but you. even though you never had the privilege of learning from them. they ask about you because they love you.
three. you haven't gotten whitten her chocolate-covered coffee beans yet. or kaitlyn's yankee candle. or brenda's gift card... or whomever else out there in need of some kindness and generosity. you haven't shown everyone the love. and they could use some.
four. phineas still has about fifty thousand miles him. oh, the places you could go...
five. shakira hasn't won the voice yet. not that she's gonna win it this year... but it could happen... someday.
six. chicken spaghetti.
seven. calvin and hobbes.
eight. blueberry muffins.
nine. settlers of catan.
forty. scrabble.

forty-one. bookstores.
two. movie theaters.
three. house of blues.
four. macaroni and cheese.
five. halibut. with the piccata sauce--the crab meat and the lemons and the capers.
six. laughter.
seven. you've stories to tell. you do.
eight. because if you die, then they win. don't let that happen.
nine. because your brother can't.
fifty. because you promised someone you would. you promised.

these are my reasons. but you out there... if you're struggling, feel free to borrow them.

l is for lifesavers

no. not the candy.

i'm talking about the kind that saves me from crazy. the kindness. the givers. the giving.

friday sucked. it was ugly. a couple of times a year, all the anxiety i feel, all the insecurity and inadequacy and irresponsibility and ugliness, everything hideous inside me swells. that scene in clash of the titans (not the one from a few years ago... not the one with sam worthington, liam neeson and ralph fiennes--what a waste of money that was--but the one from a few decades ago... the one with laurence olivier, maggie smith, burgess meredith... and, yes, harry hamlin). sure the special effects SUCKED. but the story was good. heck, the heart of that story's pretty awesome, i think. it's got some fantastic components. anyway. at the end, andromeda's chained to the cliff and the kraken's rising up out of the water.... and the whole world's certain that she's gonna get gobbled up. until perseus swoops in to save the day, thanks to the wings of pegasus and the head of medusa.

friday, all that ugliness was the kraken. and i was chained to the cliff. (i was lying on the kitchen floor, concentrating on not bashing my head against the ceramic tiles.)

you know what saved me?

my friend meredith. just her smiling face is so often enough to do the trick. i don't see her very often, because she's a very busy girl, but that day, oh, lord, i thanked the heavens she was there. her faith in me is a wondrous thing. her laughter is beautiful. and that i can make her laugh, even when i'm feeling despicable... that's a miracle, too.

my father. i know i'm not the daughter he hoped to have. there're many, many, many things i can't give him. i'm not the coddly type. and he is. very much so. he always wants to hug. to run a hand over my hair or my back. and i almost always balk at that. i don't always like to be touched. that night i looked at him and said, sometimes i wish i could just crawl up into your lap, like i did when i was little. and he just said, you still can. i can't. i really can't. but it mattered to me that i let him know i thought of it, wished for it. that he's proud of me, anyway... that matters, too.

my friends at pappadeaux's, especially the ones who've signed up for swapportunity. one of the servers passed to me two gifts to hand out. and so that night, after i defeated the kraken (however temporary that victory may be... because, unlike perseus, i don't have medusa's head to wield as a weapon), i made myself get up, get out... get over to deaux's and deliver the goods. and it made my heart happy to brighten those girls' days.

there's a song we sang in college... you gave me smiles, so you are my friend. friday? i was capable of inspiring laughter. and i made people smile. despite the darkness. despite the threat. but more... these people made me laugh. they made me smile. they saved me.

and the reason i write this now is because i want you to know, you out there... no matter how small a thing may seem to you, even if it's something so simple as a smile... whatever kindness you can share is all anyone needs to get through an ugly day. that smile? that kindness... that's just as strong a salvation as perseus riding on the winged back of pegasus. it's enough. you're enough. i wanted you to know that.

roses and ranunculus

i've this friend. she's the sort of girl who'd go for the hundreds of rose petals spread all over everywhere to celebrate an occasion. she's been married for more than a decade. and on the surface, things between she and her husband seemed pretty perfect. both very sociable people... they had a good group of friends, good jobs, good house. then they became fairly concerned with their standing in society, with their possessions. and then it became an imperative that they have children.

and that's when things went downhill.

it's been ugly ever since.

the friend? she's not the same woman she used to be. she's selfish and self-absorbed. and she's angry, because this supposedly perfect world she's constructed isn't so perfect. and i'm not entirely certain she's realized that part of the reason it isn't is because, while she's found good things for herself, she hasn't been good.

now she and her husband argue over who gets what and when. and they're too tired to bother with those children they had to have.

today, i drove into houston to check a popular florist to see about getting some peonies. it's a small shop... used to be in river oaks... now it's in rice village.

it was pretty busy today. of course it was. a dozen men shopping for their spouses. i overheard one gentleman, a handsome man in this thirties, tell one of the associates that he'd used them before, that they'd put together some arrangements for his girlfriend in the past, that he'd been quite pleased with their work.

another gentleman pointed to two arrangements on the table, both very similar, and asked me which one i liked better.

as complicated as my brain likes to make things, at the heart of it, i'm a pretty simple gal. i don't need a lot. if a guy were to buy me flowers, i'd hope he'd veer toward the buckets in the refrigerated cases... the ones holding the batches of a dozen of one kind. i'd hope he'd choose the ranunculus over the roses. something sunny. because it's winter time, and i hate the gray. or, if he felt like really impressing me, maybe he could've called ahead a couple of weeks in advance and found me some peonies. the white ones with the splashes of red. those are my favorite. they're hard to find right now, but from what i understand, it's not impossible. just takes some time. and a little more money. a handful of either of those, and i'd be content.

but the roses and the lilies and the baby's breath and the ferns... cut in a pretty bouquet and arranged just so.... i don't need perfect.

so i told the guy that i wasn't fond of either of'm. that he should have a look at the ranunculus in those cases over there.

another guy showed me a bouquet of white and red roses cut short in a vase, with a topiary above them cut in a heart shape. he asked me what i thought of it. i hated it, actually. made me think of those horribly cheesy weddings... way too over the top. this particular arrangement cost well over a hundred dollars. i told him, i'd rather a guy spent twenty bucks on some posies and took me out to a nice dinner than a hundred plus on something that was gonna die in a week. that it didn't need to be so much.

it doesn't need to be. it just needs to be good. the people need to be good. my parents they've been married for fifty years. they've seen worse; they've buried a son. they're not perfect. they have just enough. they had children because they wanted them. not because society said they should. not because of how having the children would reflect on them. sure, they fight. my father's the most regimented, patriarchal, stubborn man i've ever met. but he's good to my mother. my mother? she's pretty set in her ways, and stubborn, too. but she's good to my father. and their marriage works because they give instead of take. because she doesn't need hundred dollar bouquets.

ranunculus, by the way, symbolizes something like you're radiant with charms. i love that.

seems to me that a strong relationship isn't determined by the size and style of the arrangement.

but i'm just a single gal. what do i know?

for father's day

when i was a kid, i really only saw my father on the weekends. usually sundays. i would sometimes hear him talking in the morning with my mother before he left for work, before she'd come in to get us up for school. maybe, maybe he was home for dinner at night. maybe i saw him on saturday. if he was here, he was in his office, usually with the door closed. on sundays, he'd get my brothers and i out in the yard under the guise of quality father-children time. he'd get us started raking and sweeping and then he'd go inside, situate himself on his maroon leather recliner with his bag of popcorn or his half gallon of blue bell or his mixing bowl filled with cereal and his diet coke and watch television. and if it were fall, it was football, but only if the cowboys were playing. otherwise he'd flip through the channels until he found a film that was just starting.

and we'd bitch and moan about how he said he was gonna do yardwork with us, and then left us there to do it ourselves.

it never occurred to me, then, how taxing my father's job was. how that one day was his respite from all the bullshit with which he had to deal.

he wouldn't like that i called it bullshit.

partly because he wouldn't see it that way, but more because he hates it when i cuss.

i used to hate being the daughter of a school superintendent. probably as much as he hates my foul mouth. maybe more.

"hey jenny! tell your dad that we shouldn't have school tomorrow!"

twelve years of public school. roughly one hundred eighty school days in the year. six periods in a day. i heard that crap in almost every class. my teachers looked to me to be some stellar student because my father was their boss.

i tried to skip class. once. one time i wanted to be that girl who said screw this shit. i'm not sitting through boring driver's education. (i was that anomaly that didn't want to drive a car.)

so i didn't go.

and my teacher called my father wanting to know where i was.

my father had driven me to school that day.

i had driver's ed first period. so he'd practically just dropped me off.

i got spanked for that. for ditching. for lying about it.

when i left my books in my locker because i didn't care to complete an assignment and i was failing the class (which my father knew because my teachers would tell him so), he'd haul my butt to school, unlock the doors, shut off the alarm and make me get my shit. and then my mother would practically stand over my shoulder to make sure that i got it done.

i got caught shoplifting. the manager gave me two choices: she could call the cops or she could call my mom. and headlines flashed before my eyes: superintendent's daughter caught stealing. uh, you can call my mom. thanks.

i think i got spanked for that, too. for being stupid.

it sucked having a super for a dad.

or so i thought.

there's another superman film in theaters again. another reboot. with another actor trying to prove his worth. i don't need to see that. i live with superman.

all i ever learned from love

  but all i ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya

(leonard cohen, as sung by jeff buckley in hallelujiah).

(nobody sings that song better, by the way. nobody.)

imagination only gets you so far. you ride the rest of the way on the tide of experience.

below is the best example of my experience. this is what love has taught me.

drain
the structure outside in the park reminds me of a whirlpool, of you, of drowning, of lying on your sofa with your arms around me, your legs entwined with mine, your words beating on, then breaking my happy, idyllic bubble, sinking me, my
tears leaking onto your shirt, mopped up with your tissue. a boy whizzes past on his skateboard. the wheels over the concrete sound like water down the drain. there i go. there we go. but everything goes on around me, just as it had
seconds before, reminding me that this was years ago and not yesterday, that i have resurfaced. memories of you pull me
back under, but not as deeply as before, and not nearly as long
there’s laughter, squeals, joy in almost everything. a
girl hangs upside down and
grins. i watch
from inside
and
wish.

this is what my childhood taught me.

that one was taught at a catholic school by a sour-faced, plain and unremarkable woman. the only concrete memory i have of her is that she wore the black and white headpiece of a nun's habit atop her straight, chin-length, dry, dirty blonde hair.

my mother says this teacher placed me in a cardboard box.

i've no memory of this. i can, however, recall feeling segregated.

i can also recall the day we'd made valentines for our classmates. first we decorated those plain brown paper lunch bags and placed them on our desks. these were for the valentines we received.

and then we made valentines (or filled in the to/from on our storebought ones) for our classmates.

i remember that my peers' bags were stuffed with cards.

i remember that mine was not. in fact, mine was practically (if not) empty.

thirty years have passed since this.

and i feel as unlovable now as i did then.

i suppose that's my fault.

i'm not afraid to say it. i'm a firm believer in that if you have a thought, you speak it. because holding on to it, letting it fly around such limited space in such protected air, that's not being true to the thought. speak it and be done with it. no matter how heinous and hurtful the thought could be.

i've been called sir more than i've been called ma'am. most people who have committed this infraction (and it is an infranction ... not only are you not seen as a woman, but after closer inspection, you're found to be an ugly woman. and all this does is separate the parties. i've been looked upon as though i am lesser because of my face.

i've learned enough,  gone to enough bars and such that i can see who's interested in whom and who's interested in him or herself.

take this date, for example, that a friend of mine witnessed at some taqueria (that it's at a taqueria should tell you alot about the thing from the get-go).

and the lady--who is the avatar of geek hot, speaks arabic and spanish, and has a great sense of humor--is clearly more interested than the dude. she keeps flirting and asking engaging questions...

...and he keeps playing with his phone and talking about his house, and past vacations with other girls. and he hasn't asked her. one. single. question.

a barkeep asked me why i didn't flirt with a guy a little. ask him out. i said, i'm tired of having to do the asking. it's his turn.

i've made these four couples, and they will find success. i've made them pretty. i've made them with at least one redeeming quality apiece.

the basic bones of the story are there.

i know crushed and anxious and overwhelmed. i don't need helping writing those things. i've got'm down. really, really well.

so this is what i suggest.

i need to know joy. that time when you like every single thing about that person because neither of you have opened the dungeons yet.

i don't remember that point in things from my experiences. not well enough to write them.

if you bother to read this maligned post (most of which was written as the ambien kicked in--i've been pretty sick and haven't been sleeping well), and feel compelled to contribute to the creative process at all (PLEASE) ...

leave a comment telling me about a cool thing that you and your guy/gal did. a nice conversation. good quality time. that sort of thing.

a long, long while ago, i asked for bad date stories. now i want the good ones.

so go ahead. brag a little. thanks.

love is like communism

i think i've mentioned this before, but for the purpose of this post, you get to read it again ... i attended three different third grade classes at three different schools in a six month period. the first was taught by a woman who ended up becoming my favorite teacher. the third was taught by someone so unmemorable that i couldn't tell you if that teacher was a man or a woman.

the second ...

that one was taught at a catholic school by a sour-faced, plain and unremarkable woman. the only concrete memory i have of her is that she wore the black and white headpiece of a nun's habit atop her straight, chin-length, dry, dirty blonde hair.

my mother says this teacher placed me in a cardboard box.

i've no memory of this. i can, however, recall feeling segregated.

i can also recall the day we'd made valentines for our classmates. first we decorated those plain brown paper lunch bags and placed them on our desks. these were for the valentines we received.

and then we made valentines (or filled in the to/from on our storebought ones) for our classmates.

i remember that my peers' bags were stuffed with cards.

i remember that mine was not. in fact, mine was practically (if not) empty.

thirty years have passed since this.

and i feel as unlovable now as i did then.

i suppose that's my fault.

i love me. i do. so it's not that. it's that i can't believe a man i find attractive could love me. why should i?

twice in my life i've found the courage to say, in no uncertain terms, how i felt for a man. the first time was january second, nineteen ninety-nine. i'd driven from houston to austin to have lunch with a friend whom i'd known since i was ten. i was twenty-five at the time. i thought enough of our friendship, felt comfortable enough with him that i thought i could talk with him about what i felt and thought and not damage things. i suppose i should've known better. i was scared shitless of the consequences, good or bad, but i'd never really had the courage to be so direct about my feelings before.

he was not thrilled. in fact, he was quite upset with me. he'd been strumming his guitar when i'd said, after finally finding the gumption to spit it out, that i thought i might be in love with him.

there's a whole lot of possibility in that statement. a whole lot.

thought and might are a helluva lot different from know and am. but of course, he didn't take it that way.

his fingers fell over the strings in a way that created this jarring cacophony.

i said, i probably shouldn't have said that.

he just sat there, saying nothing.

i said something about how i definitely shouldn't have said that and muttered something about needing a cigarette and bolted for the door. he hated that i smoked, so when i was at his place, i left my smokes and lighter in my car. i sat there in the driver's seat, with the door ajar, one foot on the floorboard and the other on the concrete of his driveway, chain-smoking.

after a minute or so he'd come out to stand by my car, one arm resting on the top of the door. he looked down on me and berated me for what seemed to be a half hour at least. he couldn't understand why i would say that. he'd thought i'd learned by now it was better not to say that. we were friends. nothing more. i was never to mention it again.

i cried the whole way back. when i got to the intersection of highway two-ninety and f.m. twenty-nine-twenty, i realized i didn't want to go home to an empty apartment and couldn't go to my parents, so i drove north to huntsville and spent the night with my younger brother and his friends. i cried some more.

and in doing so, i wrecked two friendships -- the one he and i'd had and the one he'd had with my brother. so quite a bit of damage, that.

i went back to my apartment the next day. in my mail was a card from his mother, wishing me a happy new year and hoping it had gotten off to a good start. i cried some more.

the second was almost three years later, which is actually a surprise to me because the years between the first incident and the second? it felt as though twice that many years had passed.

i can't remember the date, which is odd, really, because i can tell you, even now, pretty much every date that this boy and i had seen each other. but this particular date escapes me.

we were sitting at his breakfast table in his apartment, having dinner -- pork and asparagus. i don't like pork. he'd volunteered to cook dinner for me, which was nice, but he hadn't asked what i wanted. which i guess was fair in the end, because when i cooked dinner for him the following week, i didn't ask what he would like. i made what i could cook well enough -- penne a la vodka. i did, however, know that he had a fondness for capers, so i found an appetizer that had those in the recipe and made that.

anyway. we were dining, and i'd gotten quiet. i was happy, though. really happy. it was a good quiet. i was just sitting there, thinking happy thoughts. a rarity for me.

he asked what i was thinking about.

i remembered that afternoon from the first incident, how it had gone so badly. you probably wouldn't want to hear it, i said.

he smiled at me and said that he did.

and i, being the ever hopeful girl that i am, the one who's been too much the coward for much of her life, the one who's always saying the wrong thing, said something similar to what i'd said three years before.

i can't remember it verbatim. kind of strange, really. i can't remember the date or the phrasing.

i can remember that his expression changed from one of amusement to wariness. of course, it did. i'd just ruined a perfectly good evening.

i said something about how i knew he wouldn't want to hear it. he replied that it was too soon. and i'd said something schmaltzy about it not being an obligation. the rest of the evening went well enough.

the relationship did not.

that was nine years ago.

i haven't met a man who's compelled me to feel that way since.

but i keep hoping.

silly me.

that woman i mentioned in a previous post, the one who educates me about current events and politics? the last time we met, we were talking about communism and how it's founded on this grand idea that eventually, if people were to adhere to its principles, a communistic society would evolve into this abundant, idyllic realm.

the thing is, that ideal is never realized.

love, for me, is like communism. it's a beautiful, grand, marvelous thing ... in theory. and yes, i'm aware it's a flawed thing. it's beauty and grandeur and marvelousness exist despite this. but the reality, for me, is horribly sad and depressing, and i am impoverished.

and yet, i keep hoping, keep believing that something good will come of all this. i keep thinking someday, somewhere, there's a guy with whom i'll wanna be who's not gonna balk at the prospect of being with me.

more for ms. jen (but this is all you get)

because i read a quote on a friend's page today from the film bounce that stirred another bit of nice. well, two, actually.

she'd written a post about how much she liked gwyneth paltrow. me? not so much. except for the film sliding doors. that is a cool flick. yall should see that one. i didn't mind her so much in that.

your company. the pleasure of your company. i want your input on video rentals. i stand there for hours. i can't pick anything out. i want someone to say goodnight to -- a last call of the day. 

back to san antonio. back to borders. generally, as a rule, i was on closing detail, mostly because the inventory and office supervisors had to be there during the day. the music and cafe supers usually worked mid-shifts, and i got the closes. except for tuesdays, but that wasn't so much because i sometimes wanted to go home and more because tuesday is usually a huge new release day, which meant the front tables needed to be reworked, which meant i would either be reworking them or overseeing the reworking. usually it was the former, which was fine, because that was my favorite part of my job.

but because i worked a lot of closing shifts and never really had a weekend off and because he worked nothing but first shifts and always had the weekend off, we only really got to see each other twice a week or so.

he'd asked me to call him when i'd gotten in from work. i'd thought that was kind of silly when he'd mentioned it. he'd be sleeping. i'd be exhausted and possibly cranky, depending on how work had gone.

but it ended up being kind of sweet, actually. i'd wake him up when i got home from work. he'd wake me up when he left for work. we wouldn't talk for long. maybe a minute or so. mostly because one of us would be more asleep than awake. but it did put a nice little cap on my day, that last call. i did quite like the sound of his voice.

the other?

one sunday after i'd gotten off work, we went to blockbuster and rented jay and silent bob strike back. i had never seen it. he was surprised by this.

you ever try making out while that movie was playing? it's pretty fun. i highly recommend it.

why i love bubble wrap

i'm not sure i've told you this story before. i don't think i have. one of my readers commented on a post i'd written months ago that she wanted to hear more about the boy mentioned in that post. i'd kind of tagged one of my blog challenge entries to another post -- mostly because i hadn't felt like writing about it at the time.

and then yesterday, when i wrote that bit about knowing about a guy, it kind of caused a memory of which i'm pretty fond to stir to the surface.

it comes up every now and then, usually when i need to remember the good things about love and all that crap.

so ... here is a flashback for you from many, many years ago. and no, i don't recount it because of the boy, but because of how i felt that day.

it was, all in all, a pretty good day.

it was march twenty-sixth. a tuesday. according to astrology, tuesday is my day. whatever. three days before my birthday. i was working at borders at the time, residing in san antonio. my schedule was set up so that i opened on tuesdays, which meant i got off work at five or six, had off wednesdays and thursdays and closed on fridays, which meant i went to work at three. but i'd requested off for my birthday (or borders was nice and gave us our birthdays off ... i can't remember). so i was looking forward to a three day "weekend". and i'd just started dating this guy i'd thought was pretty cool. so i was in all kinds of good spirits. anyway, it was set up this way because if i felt like going home to visit the family, i could leave on tuesday after work and come home to my apartment on friday afternoon.

but the boy talked me into staying on tuesday night and going to my parents' house on wednesday morning.

i met him at his apartment at seven or so. we hung out for half an hour, then went to jason's deli for dinner, where we drew pictures for each other on napkins in brown (mine) and black (his) crayons. and then we went to the amc theater at huebner oaks and saw ice age.

we stood in line to buy the tickets. we went inside, and i made him wait while i hid out in the women's room to recollect myself. because i was pretty overwhelmed by him. i'd never been that way about a boy before. it kind of freaked me out. so i stood there with my hands pressed to the countertop, just inside the doorway, sucking in air and glaring at my face, telling myself to calm down. a woman walked by and asked if i was alright. sure, i said. no, i thought. not so much. but i got it together and got back to the lobby.

where he was sitting on a bench, popping bubbles on a sheet of wrap. i stood there, watching him, one brow raised and my lips curved in amusement. and all the anxiety i'd felt magically disappeared. i don't know how long i stood there. it wasn't more than a minute or so. but eventually, he looked up and grinned and slowly set the wrap aside and stood.

we shared a coke. i never share coke. with anyone. and i got those little shivers you get when your hands touch. those things i'd always thought were some crazy, hokey story-telling tool to make a girl appreciate romance a bit more. those things i'd always thought were impossible.

and every time i see a roll of bubble wrap, i think of that day. of how good i'd felt in that moment.