Peace of Pie

Thanksgiving.

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always looked at Thanksgiving as some sort of weird cult ritual: we take this headless bird, and put in it the center of a lavishly decorated table, hold hands around it and give mini-speeches about how ridiculously blessed we are. Morbid.

Prior to the table ceremony, there will have been hours of preparation; basting the beast every hour on the hour with its own golden juices to lock in the tender sacrifice. An early morning awake, a late night to bed after cleaning up messes from relatives you don’t really like anyway and never feel the need to see on a regular basis. Someone’s drunk, someone’s asleep, and inevitably someone’s crying in the bathroom. Football’s on, and no one is really thankful for anything other than the day being over.

I guess I just never understood the routine.

Often times, I’ve thought about filling the turkey cavity with dollar bills and some sort of mild explosive to liven up a bland group. If we’re celebrating here folks, shouldn’t there be fireworks? What if the turkey played a jazz number to the timing of the knife cuts (Sinatra anyone?)? What if I stood up suddenly and screamed “TADA!” as I successfully yanked the tablecloth out from under the crystal dishes, polished silverware and multitude of side dishes? It’s not just our society in real-time that is struggling monetarily, emotionally and otherwise, it’s been every generation; when the hell are we finally going to perk up and actually be thankful for the good things?


I have my dad's sense of humor when it comes to the holidays. I have a no nonsense approach to enjoying the festivities, and do so with vigor in his honor. I come to party.

I will always be the first one to laugh, and I am most likely performing a stand-up routine in the kitchen while I’m making dinner. Something will burn and nothing will be done at the same time, but I’ll have chuckled through the whole process because charcoal covered yam memories are better than none at all.

I also have adopted my mother’s fervor for being the star cook on Turkey Day. Bless her heart but anyone that know my family can agree that I have become a monumentally better chef than her. For example, on year in her great and inventive way, my mother ground up the plastic spoon she was using to push cranberries down into a blender with. I’m not sure she would have disclosed this other than the fact that someone started choking on plastic spoon bits. Between this episode and many others, I’ve learned that you can drop a turkey and wash it off, but you damn well don’t tell anyone that it hit the floor. It’s not the food that is as important as the heart you stock behind it.

There are basic rules as well, and I’ll share them because I hope one day that everyone I adore will gather around a single table in one fabulous hot mess of a blessed day. Don’t come if I don’t like you, plain and simple. Chances are if I don’t like you, you probably don’t like me. Can’t cook? That’s why God invented whiskey. Pick up a bottle or two on your way over. Also, don’t dress up; I’m more than likely covered in ten different spices and flour and would probably fry up crispy if dropped in a vat of hot oil. Don’t show up in a three-piece suit, because if we’re being honest, we all know that pants are optional. Smile. A lot. And often. Turkey tastes terrible? Laugh it off, that’s why I made extra strong gravy. Eat as much and as often as you like. No one diets on Thanksgiving, and if you are in fact dieting, I will slip melted butter into your fat-free salad dressing. I’m just saying. But seriously. Eat some bread. Take a nap if you feel like it. Hell, fall asleep at the table. I’ll wake you when it’s time for pie. Hug everyone, bring Tupperware for leftovers, make a mess; I don’t care just enjoy yourself.

I’m thankful this year that I can honestly look back with no regrets. I am overwhelmed to be surrounded by endless love. I’m thankful for the leaps I’ve taken, because no matter how hard the fall, I always land on solid ground. I’m grateful for my quirks and my faults, because without them I wouldn’t be me. I’m grateful for friends who speak my language and support and invest in me without judgment. I am rendered speechless by the small changes that have impacted my entire outlook on the future. I am astonished and amazed that I have found something (and someone) worth fighting for.

This year if I can make someone laugh and feel equally as fortunate as I am, well, it’ll make me just about as happy as a hot butter-rubbed turkey.

Gutteral

I've never been that girl.

I rarely sob, although I scream. Sometimes I sulk but it's quickly and effectively replaced with a sincere smile.

I'll never beg, but I will ask, and with conviction. I don't argue, I don't plead because I'd rather bite my tongue and hold my lips closed tight than give in to being overly human.

I don't like sharing, not when it comes to big things. Dollars, cigarettes, shoes; borrow them freely and often. Emotions, fears...and the best of you. Those should be mine to hold and keep protected.

I choose to be a stubborn ass, and grasp to what feels right by doing wrong. I am one individual making this choice of my own attrition.

There is one thing you should know: I don't have to live this way.

Redefine

Nothing stays the same, except death and taxes. Something like that. And don’t throw stones at glass houses. Right? Do unto others as you would have them do unto you (but don’t give out cash loans).

I’ve been examining ideas lately. I’ve come to no conclusions that I haven’t answered by using logic alone. Logic, I find, leaves out the heart. I need a solid walk and ideals to focus on. Logically, the head controls the body, including the heart which is scientifically nothing more than a muscle that pumps blood into veins (I’m obviously a doctor). The heart beats, the heart slows and quickens, but the heart does not think on its own.

What is the battle between head and heart, if nothing more than an excuse to be wishy-washy and claim not to know right from wrong? To make irrational decisions.

What is steadfast?

Steadfast is constant, balanced and unwavering. Steadfast is a solid ground to walk upon; it is jumping off a cliff and knowing without fail that you will sprout wings before you hit the bottom. Steadfast is the set of arms that hold you close. Steadfast does not judge.

I am not so steadfast internally. I am a cat in room full of hanging feathers and flashing lights. I am scattered and prone to frequent bouts of mind-changing. I am unsettled and happy to be so infrequent. I’d rather be a mystery than an open book.

I’m not perfect, hell, even angels fraternize with the devil on occasion. They’re not always looking to make a soul trade, but it's fun to stand on the razor’s edge of good and evil to see if you will get cut.

We are all teetering on a wire.

To me, in this moment, my steadfast is simple and reliable; my ideals include a Sunday drive with the windows down despite the weather. To stand on tiptoe and kiss away trouble. Coffee on a porch, a cardigan, a hot shower and music playing. Constant is Friday night and ash that builds up around conversation. Steady are the whiskey traces on our lips.

I lack clarity and maybe it is a false hope that one day I promise myself I will always know the right decisions to make. To be able to be that solid and unwavering. To be reliable.

For now, I will anchor myself to what I know, and sit, and wait, and breathe.

Letters, Bottlecaps and Fishing Line

I'm packing up to move into my own place. As always with packing, there is a literal cleansing that happens; you purge what is no longer needed and save what scraps of paper notes and pieces of glass you have collected from sandy beaches and tuck them away in shoe boxes and drawers. Along with it, you brush away cobwebs and tears alike as you read through old journals and discard the broken bits of your heart you forgot you had stored away.

I found some old poetry, and ramblings. I thought I'd share this one. I don't know who it was directed to, but I feel that right now it could be applicable to any meandering stranger and possibly even medicine for my own soul.

Dear Wandering One,
Let me begin gently, as I acknowledge the feeling of emptiness you are experiencing. It is only natural and I assure you, you are unsuccessful in your attempts to disguise the sorrow. My suggestion on the matter is to release it, in the best way you see fit, whether it be screaming, crying breaking things or lashing out at inanimate objects. It will not soon subside (this feeling) but linger hauntingly, convincing you the warmth you once feeling has permanently abandoned your being. At this time, I advise being fruitful, finding an outlet and unleashing a sadly inspired part of yourself you never knew existed. Let me tell you, and I know from experience, it is the most glorious pain you will ever fall victim to...heartache.

Looking for Jack Smith

I work in insurance. I quote Fords and Chevorlets, add coverages and advise you against getting a pit bull puppy to keep in your home. My job is interesting, to say the least, but I never find myself swept off my feet and my heart touched by stories of how getting into a car accident led to a marriage proposal. It's just not how my career works, and who cares about all that stereotypical mushy bullshit anyhow, right? I could never design wedding cakes or sell bridal bouquets, because I feel I would always have the urge to gag as I smugly said "Congratulations on your engagement, you're spending an awful lot of money on a cake and a few glorified weeds; and that unfortunately does not guarantee your relationship will work. But good luck anyway, kids!".

Call it bitter or jaded, but my views on being the other half of a couple with someone have changed. Honestly, I don't think I would have actually needed to get married and then divorced at a young age, but that's what happened. It's trendy now, anyway, to meet, fall in love and jump headfirst into the darkness with your fingers crossed. We've taken the phrase "life is too short" and drilled it so hard into our heads that it's damaged the discerning part of our brains that balances logic and love. Red flags are dismissed quickly, and sometimes never discussed out of fear that we will appear paranoid. The man or woman who tells you they are not afraid of being forever alone and can do it convincingly is either the world's greatest liar or a saint. Period.

So we swallow a lot of pain, we choke at the taste and we handcuff ourselves to the ideals we have set and settle for less than what we deserve because it's better than being lonely.

I don't think this is the tragic fate of humanity. I love love. Everyone knows I do. I have a huge heart with an open door policy and damaged as it is, it's no different from anyone else's in it's abilities to give and receive great things.

I spoke to an elderly lady the other day at work. Fridays are always long days for me, as I watch the clock desperately, and practice my time moving super powers that always fail me. She spoke softly as she told me her story. She didn't need an insurance quote, or to report a claim. She didn't call to yell about a bill or to tell me that her insurance rate was too high. She had been a customer of my company for over 25 years, had never married and wanted to get an old agent of her's name and information if I could possibly find it.

She told me his name was Jack Smith, and that many years ago, when she was a young woman, Jack had been her insurance agent. At 83 years old now, she knew he no longer was in the business, but for very personal reasons, it was time she finally got in touch with him. She giggled at this point, and I laughed along with her. Something in the way she said his name, made my heart skip a beat, and I could imagine her's was doing the same thing.

I searched in every data base, wracked my brain to think of a way to find this elusive man, but unfortunately was unable to find anything to help her in her search. She laughed again. "It's alright. I didn't figure you would know, but I am confident I'll find him. You know, honey, try looking for a Jack Smith. I've searched phone books and computers and everyone keeps telling me what a difficult name I'm searching for. All I can ever say is, I realize it's like finding a needle in a haystack, but he's the only Jack Smith that matters to me".

Immediately after I hung up the phone, I turned to my co-worker to tell her the story I had just heard. Hands over our hearts we swooned and cooed over the little old woman and her long lost prince. Sarcastically, to break the welling of tears in my eyes, I made a joke about it being like "The (Fucking) Notebook" and we moved on with our day.

Driving home, I started thinking about the lady again, and I realized how delicate that kind of affection is. At 83, she is still looking, with a peace in her heart, for the one man who was worth it all.

There are a million Jack Smiths in the world. It's not supposed to be like the movies and it's not ever going to be perfect, but if for one moment in our lives we had a connection with someone like my caller had, I believe with all my heart it would restore faith in truthful love.

Dear Jack Smith, wherever you are...

...high jumping in fashion...

I went on vacation and never came back mentally. A coastal adventure that renewed and brought clarity in waves.

You’re so vain, you probably think this post is about you, don’t you? Turns out, it is, but there’s no room for vanity today. Flattery will also get me nowhere, so I’ll be frank. Unless you want to be Frank, for humor’s sake, that way I can be myself during this conversation. I’m going to blindfold, gag and bind you, and not in a great sort of way. I want you to listen and be still for once, and keep your judgment in a box until I finish this all in one swift breath. Ready? Set? And, go.

I practiced my speeches leaving the sand and shores to return home. I must say, I’m pretty incredible at giving lectures while in the driver’s seat, hands at ten and two and eyes focused straight ahead on the road I’m traveling. As always, I light up a cigarette before I start one of my infamous speeches. I didn't want to have to go through this again with you because I’m so much better at this in the mirror…and action.

Center stage, follow-spot to the podium I walk to. The lights are dim, but I can see the outline of your shadow; my only audience member. A soundtrack playing thunder claps rolls in gently, increasing in volume as I take a drag from my Marlboro. A black backdrop falls heavy to the floor and I cue, by raising my eyes upward, a flash of lightening that flickers across stage left. I stare out into the vast emptiness, and scream out one single, tragic concept. Above the cacophony you hear my cry of ‘RELATIONSHIP!’. Your heart drops, the muscles in your hands stretch painfully as you grip your seat. You are frozen in time, unable in your fear to even attempt an escape. I raise one solitary finger and point at you. The curtain drops as I flick my still-lit cigarette in your direction and walk away.

It’s what you pictured, right? If not this scene, then something similar to it and I’d put all my betting money on that pony. Destruction of your life and freedom, loss of sanity and complete and utter doom, all caused by the utterance of twelve letters put together to form one single word. Already, you are crawling inside your skin, panicking, and gasping for air. This is what you’ve been afraid of all along, and I can say that with confidence as you have openly confessed your profound phobia of commitment.

Here’s the real kicker: as frightened as you say you are, I am equally freaked out, for lack of better wording. You showed up yet again, with your incredible swagger and dark hair and kicked down the door to my heart. You told me I was rare, and I delightfully soaked it up without a second thought.

I don’t want to change your life. I don’t want to mold you into a better person, or use you as my entertainment. I don’t have the time to domineer you, because as much as I care about you and being with you, I will always retain my own life, interests and friends. I value silence often, and peace frequently, and sometimes I need solitude for days at a time. Video games? Great! Play them for hours until your eyes fall out of your head. I will gratefully soak in a tub with wine and a nerdy Stephen King novel—in my own living space. I don’t care that you had eggs for breakfast, unless you are making them for me, over medium, on top of blueberry pancakes. As much as I want to know you, I don’t want to encroach on your territory and change your personality.

I want to enrich your life, and in return, have you be an asset to mine.

Read the prior blogs, I’ll have them put into animation with bright colors so you will better understand and grasp finally my attempts to connect with you on a deeper level. I’ve been harboring too many secrets, and I am dragging because of it. I deserve the best, and I am ready to develop a relationship (SCREAM!) with the right person. Sadly enough, if this is not you, I will ask you to agree to disagree and cut the ties that hold us together. Flesh on flesh, I will break bones and tear skin and walk away bleeding in order to prove my unbreakable strength. I cannot stay connected to you, and if you are going to injure my heart further, I will finish building the bridge between us, just to burn it down.

I adore you naturally and in an easy way. My care and concern does not ebb and flow like the tide, it is a constant presence and ever growing in amount. I don’t want to cling to you like a barnacle on a whale, I want to float next to you lazily in the sun, two souls, happy as clams. I’m full of sea analogies, which is a testament to my astounding sense of humor. I considered giving you this all, describing me as a starfish and you as a wild stalk of seaweed, but I declined as all in all, my goal was to finally reach you, and very intentionally so.

Once again, I am about to set sail. My greatest fear is that you will not be on board…

She built the cage...

This was not intended to be a post that worked in conjunction with another intended post, but as does everything in my life, it all comes full circle, meshed together haphazardly.

I am a bit dizzy this morning, my brain is muddled and I am having an intense struggle between heart, head and feet that do not want to stay on the ground. I provide you with this disclosure, saying, this is more a confessional today than an intelligent statement.

I want to first share this, mostly because my memory fails to remind me of things I should remember when it comes to obvious signs from the universe: "Emotions are running pretty deeply and you are wanting desperately to share this affectionate intensity that you are feeling. You are seeking to reconnect and rather deeply with someone during this period, but you will find you will get a lot further if you ease off a bit. This is one of those situations where you infamous mystique will win you much more than your infamous intensity..."

Point a finger at me, yes, I read my horoscope, and damned if it isn't so dead on sometimes I almost choke on my morning toast. Maybe I am talented in the sense that I can find subtleties in all things that somehow guide and direct me. I fully believe, however, that today the universe has picked me out of the crowd.

Entry One, and we'll label this as nothing more than a midnight rant hopped up on cough syrup with coedine. It has a strangely poetic quality, with a dash of madness and a hint of desperation. And it went a little something like this...

"The next time one of you comes running back, I want a damn good reason as to why and why now. I am not a flame and you are not the moth sucked in--I am not a glistening object of desire. Do not feed me your loaded lines and sugary apologies, or read from your dog-eared book of excuses; simply own the consequences of your actions. You come slithering back, stealthy having waited for night's shadow, and roll belly up by my heels. I wanted never to be a second thought, but the first thing your heart took in when sun touched eyelids each morning. You discover me now as a rare jewel, but all the while I was treasure buried underneath your palm. You are not clever, but oppressing, take your hands off my heart and cast eyes wayward and away once again.

I say go...and go far. Do not let hands roam, nor lips brush mine, or I will surely stay again and remain a flightless creature with wasted wings..."

Part one, over. I wish I could explain the amount of torment I put myself through to convince myself I was over and above past infatuations. I'm not a hero, just learning rapidly, and realize now I cannot stop a fire with a thimbleful of water.

I am not over you, she said, smoothly transitioning into her part two. She also began to speak directly to her captor, in quiet whispers and tiny confessions that never went away, just lingered in the air. You are always a daydream I kept, but not an afterthought. You have been trailing along behind me this whole time because I could not let go of your shirttail. When secrets came out, that were not so much secrets as they were admittedly understood but never aired, I swallowed my backlash for once. You used the word perfect, and I had a flash of striking your face in my mind, and screaming irrationally for you to bite off, and then swallow your poison tongue. Goddamn your eyes, goddamn them for harboring more misery and honesty than an entire world could handle.

I tried to be honest in saying don't leave, please don't leave again. We never made a contract in the past, and shook hands to no expectations in the future. I wanted to spit out how renewed I felt just being in your presence, and that this all overcoming feeling is ten times as potent than past times. I wanted to say that you are the only one I have ever regarded as quality, and all the empty spaces in my heart were suddenly filled with light. I would give up every audition and interview process that I've been running through to have a chance with. Just. You.

I don't love you yet, but I sure as hell do like you. I kiss you and already I know this will either be the greatest risk I've taken in a long time, or the hardest fall that will crack and break me in two. I kiss you one last time in case you don't call, and know I will miss you inevitably when you go.

I have already rehashed how you make me feel in previous posts. It's not an obsession, should you ever gain access to this. I do best when I can write my every thought; it eases pressure on the gears in my mind.

I want to get to the point, someday, where I can hold your hand. I hope you let me. I will try not to push you away. I think you are dynamic.

It's sunny today, and I am healing.

The Circus is in Town...

Sometimes you have to cry.




Sometimes you cannot stop said crying. Sometimes you get in your car for the sole purpose of driving and crying, while listening to the same sad song over and over. Sometimes, while that sad song is playing, you snot all over yourself and in the midst of your breakdown, you drop your cigarette on the floor of your car while cursing and trying to wipe your nose. Take aforementioned nose-wiping incident, the fact that people keep looking at you weird (they’re all judging you) and add in the extreme emotional rollercoaster you are currently on. Swerve slightly to the left and realize without a doubt that you are now at the peak of being completely and totally irrational. At this point, sometimes you pull over and scream. Sometimes people slow down to watch your personal circus. And you scream more.



Sometimes, you just have to cry.



I am the keeper of secrets for most people I know, and I guard the hearts of those I adore like a lock box with a lost key. I am entrusted with thoughts and dreams and sometimes guilty admissions. Honored only by the consideration of others, I am valued enough to hold such precious cargo. Strangely enough, when it comes to my own person and mental solidarity, the boundaries that are necessary to maintain one’s self-worth have slow diminished. I am a giant sinking ship full band aid-patched holes, and I somehow expect to keep floating.



Wise words come only in the rarest of form for me to understand them. Believe it or not, I have the tendency to be incredible stubborn and mildly hardheaded. I hear but I do not always listen when it comes to advice being given to me. I am capable of fully understanding what I should do to keep myself afloat, but I have the innate ability to be a stubborn ass.



My little brother reminded me of how very human we all are and there are none left standing alone. He told me that regardless of our pasts, we all have the capability to change and grow. Our miscalculations and the lessons that come from them are the shapers of our future and the cornerstones to our foundation in this life. It’s a horrifying thought to think we are forced to rebuild ourselves consistently, but the amazing thing about blunders is that once they happen, they are over. I’m no saint, and I can testify to the great rippling affects that mistakes have on a person and their circumstances, but I am learning (slowly, albeit) that eventually the water settles. Any residual injuries may sting and scar, but as any action hero will tell you, scars serve as a tangible reminder of how far you’ve come...and they look really cool.



Little brother said, surprisingly infinite in his wisdom, that if we were all to sit down and make a list of our regrets, we probably wouldn’t be able to put one foot in front of the other, let alone get out of bed each and every day. If every time we screwed up we had to document it publicly in the newspaper, would we be more cautious of our choices? Maybe, but who’s to say that the weight of temptation and the simple fact that we are just human would overshadow any humiliation we may endure temporarily. The point is this: a lot of time is wasted, considering how long we dwell on these mishaps, instead of understanding that everyone, no matter what age, will never know it all. Cold. Hard. Truthful.



You think that by now, someone would have figured out scientifically how to prevent foot-in-mouth incidents, or drunken escapades. Some doctor out in the yet undiscovered universe is calculating a way for there to be less heartbreak by creating a more discerning race of people. Until then, I will choke and stutter when I stumble over my own words and wrong doings, and stand up proudly in the center ring. I am the conductor in this grand circus, and I say bring on the rings of fire.