Undergraduate Dramatics or Organizing Journals

I'm working on an organizational project this afternoon - arranging my journals chronologically. Yes, I am fully aware of my nerdiness level. This is turning out to be an interesting exercise. There are 27 volumes in various sizes. I began recording my life in 1981. It was sporadic (there's nothing from high school - that's probably a blessing!) until 2006 when I discovered the value of morning pages. The tone runs from angsty, to heartbroken, to euphoric with stops for every emotion in between. What a histronic little thing I used to be! The college years were especially tumultous. (Ha!) Here's something from a piece of notebook paper crammed in the Laura Ashley looking book that covers summer 1990 - fall 1992. The page is entitled Work in Progress.

I need to get out
I want to scream
too much to do
no time to dream

Oh my!

Scribbled on the same page are Greshwin Prelude 2 (not sure what that was about) as well as the beginnings of a poem about my best friend giving a piano recital. That one is too embarrassing to share. Sorry!

Now, 28 years after I began this personal record, journaling has become a daily ritual for me. I show up, first thing every morning, with an extra fine black ink roller ball pen in hand and scribble for at least three pages - no excuses. It's a wonderful centering activity and on good days, gets the creative juices flowing!

If you're interested in journaling as a way to tap into your creativity I highly recommend reading some Julia Cameron, especially The Artst's Way.

I'm going to go relive my past a little more. It's amusing.

Inspired by Mary Oliver's Red Bird

I recently revisited Red Bird, Mary Oliver's book of poems published last year. Ah, do I ever remember why I adore her work! Listed below are the items that I marked with my pencil, her words that particularly spoke to me. (Never fear, library types. It's my book.)

p.37 from Sometimes
Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.

p.39 from Percy (Nine)
Emerson, I am trying to live,

as you said we must, the examined life.
But there are days I wish

there was less in my head to examine,
not to speak of the busy heart. How

would it be to be Percy, I wonder, not
thinking, not weighing anything, just running forward.

(Percy is Ms. Oliver's dog. I love that she writes about him.)

p.45 Watching a Documentary about Polar Bears Trying to Survive in the Melting Ice Floes
That God had a plan, I do not doubt.
But what if His plan was, that we would do better?

p.47 from Not This, Not That
or for you, oh blue sky of a summer morning,
that makes me roll in a barrel of gratitude
down hills,
...
or for you, silliest and dearest of surprises, my
own life.

p.53 from We Should Be Well Prepared
The way somebody comes back, but only in a dream.

p.55 I Ask Percy How I Should Live My Life (Ten)
Love, love, love, says Percy.
And run as fast as you can
along the shining beach, or the rubble, or the dust.

Then, go to sleep.
Give up your body heat, your burning heart.
Then, trust.

p.57 from Mornings at Blackwater
What I want to say is
that the past is the past,
and the present is what your life is,
and you are capable
of choosing what that will be,
darling citizen.

So come to the pond,
or the river of your imagination,
or the harbor of your longing,

and put your lips to the world.
and live
your life.

p.67 from I don't want to live a small life
I don't want to live a small life. Open your eyes,
open your hands.

p.72 from There you were, and it was like spring
Why are we made the way we are made, that to love
is to want?

p.75 from I will try
I did not come into this world
to be comforted.
I came, like a red bird, to sing.

p.77 from Someday
I am sorry for every mistake I have made in my life.
I'm sorry that I wasn't wiser sooner.
I'm sorry I ever spoke of myself as lonely.

Do yourself a favor, read some poetry today! It only takes a couple of minutes and you'll have a spring in your step. I promise!

The Wedding Guest: A Fake?

Her life was all about authenticity. She was true to herself. She practiced what she preached. It was impossible for her to lie; her face was an open book. She had to live this way or else she’d become physically ill – seriously, it had happened before. Then why did she feel like an absolute fake?

She was immersed in celebration. She was surrounded by love. There was drink and food and dancing. Arms in the air, twirling bodies wrapped in tiny strapless summer dresses or covered by dark suits with crisp shirts and pastel ties, the inevitable uncomfortable shoes. And candles – glowing, flickering from every table – what lovely light. Everything draped in white fabric – graceful, flowing. This day was about two gorgeous young people who were especially dear to her. Her eyes swept to the middle of the banquet hall. Directly in front of the dance floor they sat, their entire bodies smiled, up from their toes through their eyes all the way to the tops of their heads. She silently sent them a wish that they’d always be as happy as they were in that moment.

She was full of honor and gratitude, for this newly married couple were the first people to ask her to write – to write for their wedding. They had surprised her by enlarging the love poem and placing it in a dark wooden frame. When she’d arrived at the reception she encountered it in the entry way – displayed for all the guests to see. She’d expelled a whoop of excitement and done a little dance when it caught her eye. She was thrilled.

“See,” she said inside her head, “this is indeed a day of joy. What’s this fake feeling about?” She shook her head, smiled and muttered crazy artist under her breath. She smiled again - at herself and at the couples – mostly young, but some not so young – as they filled the dance floor. The song was slow and as it moved along they became more and more intertwined. Just like in her poem. Suddenly she knew. If she were alone she would bonk herself on the forehead. It was the poem – clearly – and it was out for the world to see. The problem was not that she has ripped open her chest down to her soul and exposed her heart to the open air. She did that all the time; she walked around this world with her heart wide open. It was that, in that poem, she declared what love is. She, the poetess on high, had proclaimed what love is and shall always be, forever more. Now she felt like as ass. And a big, fat faker! She should have put an asterisk at the end of the poem with a tiny disclaimer.

*This is what I really, really, really hope love is, however; I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.

The few times she’d loved like that, the man involved was all in – for a while – and then suddenly, without explanation – stopped loving her. She wanted to believe (and most days she could manage that) that she simply hadn’t found her equal yet. That the different, upturned, better, brighter was out there for her. (Wherever there is. Maybe she should invest in a gps device ) But – and here’s the fake part – sometimes, when she was in her little bungalow, late at night, she sat in the dark and worried that there was something dreadfully wrong with her. Why else would they have stopped loving her? And why couldn’t they tell her why? She smiled again, not bitterly, (she gave up being bitter many years ago) looked at the swirling couples and longed – just a little. Yes, it is out there for her. Somewhere. She refuses to give up. Damn it, her poem is right, it is rare, but she will not settle for anything less. She smiles once more, this time in hopefulness, and comes out of her reflective fog.

Her twenty-something friends, her table mates, who are now ready to bust a move return. The slow dancing was over for now. Two of them grabbed her by the hands and tugged until she agreed to join them on the dance floor. She slowly shook her head one last time as they drug her out to play with them. She’s no fake – she was completely certain that the poet inside her knew exactly what she was talking about. She only had to keep her heart open and she’d stumble across there, somewhere, whatever you wanna call it. Right then, it was time to dance with her friends who loved her, no matter what – even if there was something dreadfully wrong with her - which she never really believed anyway.

Happy Wedding Day to Tim and Lisa!!!

A Love Poem

Life presents others to us.
Some bring laughter, some bring lessons.
Once - if one is fortunate - an equal appears.

Suddenly everything is different, upturned, brighter, better.
And you know.
Finally, without question.

When souls touch and long to intertwine.
When hearts meld and never want to part.
That is rare.
That is love.

When Trains Pass By

Mitchell’s triangular ears are flat against his head.

He paces the perimeter of the living room, even venturing behind the purple couch.

His pink paw pads are noiseless against the hardwood floors.

I know what is about to happen.

Now I hear it too – the rumble, the squeak, the squeal,

those churning wheels begin to slow down the ones spinning in my head.

My slow and purposeful movement toward the back of the house counteracts the building momentum.

As it comes closer, closer and closer still, my heartbeat quickens.

I stand on the porch but am soon in the yard to better absorb the vibrations.

They are soaking into my body, into my being.

I stare just beyond the trees at the back of my yard until it arrives.

Rapid flashes of the wheeled boxes zoom past and I close my eyes to ward off dizziness.

I am still, I listen – I am truly present in this moment.

This has become a meditation for me – a reminder to stop and feel the grass between my toes.

I acknowledge my gratitude for: the cat who is now hiding under the bed, the whippet who stands nearby un-phased, this yard, this porch, this tiny bungalow, this space in the world, this life of my own.

Cool Art in the NC Mountains!!

Check out:

1. Bluewing Art Studio in Asheville - Jennifer Barrineau
   
2. ASU - Turchin Center for the Visual Arts - Charlie Brouwer exhibit

More about my mountains adventures to follow. :)

An Update from mka - What?

Yes, my friends, I'm still here. I know, I know I haven't written in almost a year. *hangs head in shame* Can you find it in your hearts to forgive me?

I'm here tonight posting a note because I'm involved in Web 2.0 training at work. We're into Week 2 which focuses on blogging and so I'm updating. Hopefully, the creative juices will start a-flowing and you'll see some cool little poems and epiphany-induced she stories soon. Who knows, I may even do some interpretive dancing for 'ya. I'll bet this training will teach me how to do that in blog format! :)

If you're new here, cruise around and send me comments if you're so inclined. I love the comments.

hugs and kisses,
mka

looks like the darkness has passed :)

Hello Friends,

I had a 3-month case of the yucks mostly as a result of losing faith in my judgment. I've come out of this realizing that I need a lot of things these days - to live on my own, to change my work schedule, and most importantly to trust my instincts again. When I'm underneath tough stuff I tend to shut down, cocoon and stifle my creativity. Today I happily report that I am feeling much sunnier. Here's part of the reason why.

My roommate and I were Meandering in our local Barnes and Noble this evening (yay Spring Break which equals a Sunday night free of work!) when I stumbled across Poetic Medicine: The Healing Art of Poem-Making by John Fox. I thumbed through the first few pages and decided that the book was just what I needed to begin writing again. After arriving at the apartment I settled in with my new treasure, read the first few pages and decided to give the first exercise a try. Here's the description (pp. 5&6).

Sacred Place. Imagine or recall in detail the place or places you feel most able to let your writing emerge. It doesn't have to be just one place. This place could be in your present home - or a home that you design to support your creativity. It could be an interior place shaped by your imagination or a spiritual realm you visit. Nothing is too mundane or exotic to name as your sacred pace. Workshop students say things like: the kitchen, a coffee house or a rookery where blue herons live and feed. What kind of objects are in your place? Things from childhood? Things from nature? What common objects are in this place? What other signs of expression of life are there? What particular vegetation, animals or people thrive there? What colors, smells and textures? What is the shape of your place? What feelings exist here? What is the quality of the light and dark in this place? Turn your acute observations into a poem of place, a place that invites your poems.

I am going to share my poem with you below. I am pleased that it is longer than the poems I usually write. I experimented with rhyme because my rhyming poems, with the exception of Gratitude, are usually silly birthday poems. I wanted to try non-silly rhyming. This poem is not an example of my usual free-form style. It has a definite form - 5-part double couplet (7-6, 7-6 abab) followed by a quatrain (4,4,4,4 ccdd). I think that I like it, mostly. I'm sure to fiddle with it over the next few days. I'd be interested to hear what you think. (That is if I have any readers left.)

A Writer's Ritual

Sunbeams are eyelash dancing
creating rainbow glee.

Joyful whippet is prancing
ahead, delighting me.

Ears are flappers,
toenails tappers.
Liquid eyes, doed.
Back legs are bowed.

We have no time for stopping;
muscles are in a groove.

My ponytail keeps bopping.
We really like to move.

Wise gnarly tree
must stop to see.
Grass – fresh and new,
wet earthy dew.

Mottled tree frog on the bank
of the glittery creek,

where the great blue heron sank
to hide from those who peek.

Energies flow.
Ideas sew.
Inspiration,
a creation!

Back home to incense burning,
cat purrs, window breezy.

Scribbles and page turning.
Time would make this easy.

Candle flicker.
Buddha snicker?
From shelf above,
a sound of love.

Type before the words are lost.
Starting to feel frantic.

Sanity could be the cost
if I start to panic.

All will be well
that I can tell.
Reminder: write!
It ends the fright.

Love and light ya'll,
mka

two hearts were open now one is closed

like windows in summer, their hearts were flung wide open

sweet freedom, nothing held back, no disguises

enlightenment seekers, treaders on a path of light, cultivators of silliness, artists

she felt finally understood, accepted, respected, admired and loved

he felt the same – but platonically, he gently told her

she slammed her window, yanked down the blinds and balled herself up in the darkest corner of her house

he called her back to play in the sun with him

she wanted to go - she misses him

how can she protect her heart from the brightest light she’s ever seen?

a light that shined through all her ego’s layers and took up residence inside her very essence

Crisis Averted

four-year old beauty

hair almost comic book superhero blue in its blackness

huge inquisitive brown eyes, so dark that she appears to have no pupils

her tiny hands pull on the chipped, wooden knob

until the nightstand drawer slides out

revealing a new toy – black and shiny and heavy

so heavy that she uses both hands to pick it up and carry it into the hall

she gallops across the bedroom threshold to involve Mama in her discovery

sweaty and tired the mother stands at the end of the narrow tunnel that connects the two
bedrooms in their mobile home

sweaty and tired, she’s been scrubbing floors and at first doesn’t see her toddler

they’d watched a John Wayne movie the day before – a Sunday afternoon family ritual, Daddy loves the Duke

“Shoot Mama, bang-bang!” the child giggles.

Mama doesn’t naturally lean towards calm

instinctually - at this moment – she channels Ghandi or Mother Theresa or some other really patient person

that thing - in her baby’s hand - is no toy and she knows that there are bullets in its chamber

the too-young mother stands up straight, looks at her pint-sized unknowing life threatener, gulps, takes a tentative step forward and says, “Sweetheart, please give Mama the gun.”

“No, shoot Mama, bang-bang like John Wayne.”

Mama smiles, takes another step (this tiny hallway has never felt so long), “Darlin’ Mama really needs that gun.”

“No, no Mama. Shoot like John Wayne!”

Mama can’t contain herself much longer, she wants to scream

her legs are quaking and her breakfast is trying to escape her digestive system

slowly she takes 3 more steps toward her smiley gun-totin’ fairy child

embracing the little one with her left arm she grips the firearm with her other hand

the munchkin wiggles out of the embrace and scampers off in search of a new game

the mother melts onto the floor in terror and relief

she is overcome with sobs - she is a ball of emotion on the linoleum

the child is outside swinging around a tree and singing

that evening Daddy empties all his weapons of their ammo and places them on the highest shelves in the tiny tin-can trailer

the child has no recollection of the day she tried to be Jane Wayne

that day that could have changed everything

she does have an overly strong distaste for westerns

and a strangely physical repulsion to guns

their appearance makes her want to run and hide

Morning After Pumpkin Carving

two sweet girls slumber on my pullout couch

a salad serving bowl full of roasted pumpkin seeds sits on the kitchen counter

the sink is full of pumpkin-gut covered carving utensils

mugs ringed with sticky leftovers of hot cider hang out all around the house

shoes are scattered near the front door

newspapers litter the living room floor

I went to bed at 1 am and left three lovely ladies watching Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson fall in love

their laughter made me smile in my slumber

the puppy kept watch over them all night from the big purple chair – she never came to bed

the watch-cat stared out the window scanning the shadows for mischief-makers

no one had ever been so well guarded

how wonderful that people are comfortable enough at chez moi to be overjoyed

Upcoming Readings - You're Invited!

Dear Readers,

I'm planning to read at least twice in November. If you're in the area I'd love to see you. As always, thanks for your support!

love,
mka

This Thursday!!! 7 pm open-mic coffee house at The Sanctuary
- 900 Sixteenth Street Greensboro, NC

Monday, November 19 7 pm Monday Night Poetry open-mic Poems of Thanksgiving at Greensboro Public Library, downtown branch

i am overjoyed

Overjoyed

(Christine Kane)

The midnight sky all stars and black
Like darkened glass and glitter
Suggests that I go back inside
And wait for warmer weather
So here it's New Year's Eve again
And everything keeps changing
I raise my glass and toast the Gods
In charge of rearranging

All of the world is designed to remind you
All of the light you could find is inside
Under all of the noise
What's it like to be overjoyed

In spite of day-time planners higher standards
Dreams defended
There's not a single thing that's turned out
Quite like I intended
And so you learn that holding on
Is nothing less than panic
When big things fall apart
Then hearts get that much more gigantic

All of the world is designed to remind you
All of the light you could find is inside
Under all of the noise
Are you scared to be overjoyed

It used to be a race to see
Just who'd get there the fastest
But this frozen night it's only right
To consecrate the madness

All of the world is designed to remind you
All of the light you could find is inside
Under all of the noise
Here's your chance to be overjoyed


photos by Cris Taylor

Eating Crow or How Evil Wal-mart Saved My Butt, Literally

So I pretty much hate Wal-mart and I don’t use the h word lightly. I won’t get into why because I vowed to promote only positivity through this blog. Let’s just say me and Wal-mart, well we’re on very different life paths. My family and some of my friends shop there; I don’t give them a hard time. We all make our own choices and do what works for us. My family likes to tease me about it, the same way they always say we’re going out to dinner, mka you wanna go to the K&W hahahaheeheehee, aren’t we funny? Yeah, you’re hilarious!

Thursday night after my amazing experience at The Santuary I had a celebratory dinner with Sarah (thanks SBD!) and then packed up the pup and headed to Mayodan to spend the night at my old house. I still have moving work to do there and I was planning to spend some time with my dad and bro on Friday morning in celebration of Dad’s upcoming birthday on Sunday. I arrived about 11 pm, unloaded the dog (who hates – there’s that word again – riding in the car) and all my stuff. Next I checked the mail. You see, my grandmother still hasn’t forwarded her mail (I lived there for over a year…) so the box was a bit full. Smashed into the middle of the mail pile I saw a yellow card from the City of Mayodan. Uh-oh, sometime during the move I had missed a water bill – oops – and since my grandmother hasn’t been checking the box regularly the water had been turned off on Tuesday! So there I was 11:15 pm, with a weary whippet and no water! I called my dad who, like his daughter, works 2^nd shift so I knew he’d be awake. The conversation went something like this.

mka: Hi Dad, sorry to call so late. I tried your cell phone first but it was turned off.

Dad: Yeah, I turn it off when I come home at night.

mka: Oh, I wish you’d leave it on until you go to bed because I hate calling the house phone because I know Mom and Big Daddy are already sleeping.

Dad: I’m sorry. I’ll start leaving it on, that’s a good idea.

Very, very sleepy and grumpy Mom picks up the other line: Why are you calling so late?

mka: I got to Mayodan and the water’s been turned off. Please tell me that there is something other than Wal-mart open.

Mom: Just come stay here.

mka: No, it’s too late. You guys are sleeping and Annie’s not gonna wanna ride again and I don’t wanna pack up the car again. I’m tired.

Mom: snores

Dad: Honey, (laughs) I think Wal-mart is your only choice. Call me when you get back.

Alrighty then! I head out to Wal-mart, the place I never give my money to so that I can flush the toilet and brush my teeth. I was laughing my ass off and shaking my head all the way there. Never say never – how many times do I have to re-learn that lesson?

My plan was to kind of sneak in, buy a few jugs of water and slink back out to my car. Then I remembered that I was almost out of saline solution, and oh look they have those rewetting drops that I can never find, I better get two of those and I also need rubbing alcohol – if I buy that it’ll totally save me an errand tomorrow.

As I was walking to the register with my rolling basket containing 3 huge jugs of water, a bottle of saline solution, 2 boxes of contact lens re-wetting solution and a bottle of rubbing alcohol I thought I’ll pay with cash and that way there will be no evidence that I ever gave evil Wal-mart any of my money! Uh-huh. The bill came to $28 and some change and I had exactly $21 in my wallet so now there’s a debit on my bank account to prove that Ms. Liberal Environmental Organic Fair Trade You Get What You Pay For wimps out when she can’t flush the potty for one night. Sad, isn’t it?

What a Wonderful Week!

My week has been top-notch! I can’t hold myself back; I must tell you all about it in great detail. Indulge me…

On Wednesday of the previous week I had received an email from my good pal and Assistant Director of the Residential College (RC) at UNCG. mka, would you be willing to take part in an easy chair panel at the RC Renaming Ceremony on Saturday? My plan was to attend the ceremony but sort of melt into the background. I am the co-chair of the Alumni Steering Committee so I felt that I really should be there and I might even run into some RCers from my years, plus I adore RC. It could be fun, but mka doesn’t do public speaking. I continued reading the email. You’d be filling the chair of one of your favorite people in the entire world, the person who kindly admitted you into this glorious life-changing program after a five-minute frazzled conversation when you were an 18 year-old orientation attendee and freaking out because you didn’t have a dorm room. And his wife – the one who introduced you to some of your favorite authors and treated you with respect even when your essays really really really sucked. They have a family emergency and can’t be here. Remember what I said about not doing public speaking. Scratch that. The old mka didn’t do public speaking.

I won’t go into all my angsty moments leading up to Saturday afternoon at 4:00. I won’t tell you how I sent an email to one of my retreat groups or describe how it was peppered with phrases like I’m gonna be up there with like former deans and administrators and stuff. What in the world will I say? What if I panic and my brain stops working? No, I won’t share that with you. Nor will I detail the Saturday morning conversation in which one of my dear, dear undergraduate student supervisees attempted to convince me that I’m just as smart as any former dean or even the Chancellor (who I ended up sitting next to on the panel.) I’ll be kind and shield you from all that emotional drivel.

What I will tell you is that when it was my turn to speak I took a deep breath, stood up, explained that I was heartbroken to report that I’d never met the amazing Warren Ashby (the great gentleman who founded RC and whose name was about to become a part of the program’s title) but I knew that his influence and legacy lived on in Mary Foust Hall and would continue to for a very long time. I explained how I am involved with the Alumni Committee, that I’m in the dorm several times a year and can attest to its unchangedness. I let them know that the students are just as lovely as they’d expect – open, accepting, loving, intelligent, and super talented. I also encouraged the crowd to visit often – I assured them they’d feel right at home. Well, actually, I managed to get something along those lines out, I think. I’ve been told – in writing - that I didn’t sound anywhere near as gooberish as I felt. (Thanks Jeanne!)

After the ceremony I was invited to a dinner with all the other dignitaries (giggle). I sat next to Em, an amazing classical guitar student, RC (excuse me WARC) upperclass mentor, and incredible speaker – she closed the ceremony. Also seated near me were Tom, former RCer, current “dorm dad”, music faculty member and dissertation finisher. Rounding out the group were my pal, Jeanne, the AD and Susanne, a RC faculty member who teaches book making and book history. Of course lively conversation ensued. It was a beautiful thing. I’m glad I did it. Three cheers for (hold on while I gather myself – I want to get this right the first time) The Warren Ashby Residential College in Mary Foust Hall at the University of North Carolina Greensboro. Phew! That was a mouthful.

On to Tuesday when I met, wait for it – SUE MONK KIDD! I’m not kidding you – I actually talked (kinda intelligently) to one of my favorite writers. I love her novels, The Secret Life of Bees and The Mermaid Chair, but by far my favorite of her work is the memoir, The Dance of the Dissident Daughter. I had read a library copy so when I was last in Raleigh I bought my own at Quail Ridge Books and took it along to Salem College on Tuesday night. The event was billed as a Conversation with Sue Monk Kidd. A local newscaster asked the questions – some of his own, some that had been emailed from readers. Sue (maybe I should call her Ms. Kidd or Mrs. Kidd – but I feel like I know her so I’m gonna stick with Sue – I hope that’s not offensive to her)answered them eloquently and with good humor. Next she read a short piece from her newest book Firstlight which I had finished earlier that day (I’m a good student – I like to be prepared). Actually, I read my roommate’s copy – it was my Christmas gift to her last year. I took it along too. Then she took questions from the audience. Salem College has a Center for Women Writers so that were lots of young women ready with well-thought out questions. Of course one of those was what advice do you have for young/new writers. I was on the edge of my seat. I’d heard this question answered by Mary Oliver a few months ago and was high off her response for weeks afterward. Sue spoke of courage, how women especially are afraid to listen to their creative voices and to let their ideas out into the world. She urged her audience to be courageous – to just do it – to write. My soul was soaring and I had tears in my eyes. And I was grateful that I’d come alone to this event because the folks sitting near me and witnessing this rapture are people I’ll never see again so I didn’t care if they thought I was some kind of lunatic.

After the talk, I joined the book signing queue. I was so excited (not nervous – surprise, surprise) to meet Sue. I knew it would be brief and I knew exactly what I wanted to say. When I made it to the front of the line I chatted with Sandy, Sue’s lovely husband (what a sweetheart!) who was making sure that all the post-it notes had the correct names and spellings for the inscriptions. I explained that I was mk and that the other book belonged to my roommate who was hearing Van Cliburn play just down the street. Oh, Van Cliburn is in town, how wonderful! Sue, Van Cliburn is in town. Sue took my book and wrote To MK. I thanked her for what she’d said about courage and told her what I was going to do on Thursday night (see below). She stopped writing, looked intently into my eyes and said, good for you, MK, good for you! Then with a flourish befitting her southern girlishness she floated her pen across the page leaving behind Courage! Sue Monk Kidd. I smiled, thanked her and practically skipped away full of absolute and complete joy. If I just convinced Sue Monk Kidd that I’m a writer then it must really be true! DAMN!

There was no sleeping that night!! Instead I spent the wee hours preparing my reading notebook for my big premiere later in the week. I made mini vision boards for the front and back with calming images and images of the things I want most in life. I did this to help me remain present and calm when my first reaction when I’m nervous is to get stressed out, scattered and fidgety. I don’t want to go to that place anymore. I also made a photocopy of the title page of The Dance of the Dissident Daughter so that I could take Sue Monk Kidd’s courage with me wherever and whenever I bare my soul to the world.

And that’s exactly what I did on Thursday night. I read four of my pieces at an open-mic night – my first EVER! I rocked – it was awesome! I’m getting a little ahead of myself here. So sorry! I’d been thinking for the last couple of weeks about what I wanted to read and I’d narrowed it down a bit. I decided that even if I made the final choices once I got to the mic that was okay. I had all my work in the notebook and it was well organized so I could afford to be flighty about which pieces I was going to share. I was so calm and I was shocked by that. This was the first open-mic coffeehouse at The Sanctuary (very cool place, by the way – good people, good vibes) so the audience was small for which I was grateful. I had a chat with the hostess beforehand, Kristen Leigh a very hip and sweet local musician. She put me at ease right away. I signed up to be the 3^rd of 4 performers. Kristen was first (she rocked!). Benji was next (yay Benji!) and then it was me. And I was not freaking out at all! I walked up there, put my notebook on the music stand, adjusted the mic and said hi you guys, I’m mk and I’m here because my friend Dalyn told me that I have to do this and she’s not here so I’m going to have a great time teasing her about not showing up (What!?! Who is this confident, at ease writer woman who has taken over my body?). I’m going to share four of my pieces with you tonight. Three of them I consider poems – my friend Barb who is a poet calls them hybrids – the other one is a prose piece. The first one is brand new so be nice. (What the hell!) The audience laughed and I launched into Maxfield Parrish in the Sky. There was nice applause at the end. Next I told a little story about my friend Barb and how she helped me get to my mantra of we’re all doing the best we can with what we have. Then I read doing the best we can with what we have. There was really nice applause after that one and I was moved so I said, you guys are sweet to which a girl in the front row replied, as if she were at a rock concert, you rock! I was floored! Next I read Cat’s Eye – a she story (my own term) about my relationship with my brother – which garnered amazing, emotionally-charged responses when I read it to my retreat group in March and caused my brother to weep when I gave him a copy for his birthday earlier this year. I ended with gratitude, a rhyming fun list of things that make me happy. I did it. I made it all the way through. I had a great time. And they loved me, they really really loved me. I have an open invitation to come back anytime! I plan to be there next month – November 1^st at 7:00. I have an eye appointment that afternoon and my eyes will be dilated which I’m usually quite sensitive to so reading could be interesting. Hmmm, maybe I should change that appointment…

And how did I end this wonderful week? Well, on Saturday night I saw one of my favorite shows – Stephen Sondheim rocks my socks – with one of my favorite people – who also rocks!

Love to all my readers!

Maxfield Parrish in the Sky

July early evening commute,

the red light is an opportunity

to breathe deeply and look at the sky.

Wow – it is a Maxfield Parrish painting!

Vibrant sky in his trademark color,

Parrish blue they call it.

Thin streaks of steel gray transverse

fluffy whiteness and juicy orange.

There is a cloud on fire in the distance

as if Mother Nature were about to make a proclamation.

I bet it would be damn it people, pay attention!

Invisible for an Hour

I planned to post this ages ago and am just getting to it. This was part of our Music Library Retreat in July. On the second day we did a 10-minute writing activity (à la Natalie Goldberg – love her!). There were two prompts from which to choose. I picked what would you do if you had an invisibility potion that would work for one hour. I have changed absolutely nothing from what I scribbled that day. So here it is repetitive vocabulary, bad punctuation and all.

If I had an invisibility potion what would I do? Well, I’d use it that’s for sure and I think that I’d go around fixing things. I don’t think I’d rob a bank or anything like that – even though it would be nice to have lots of money. I believe in abundance so I know that there is plenty for everyone. I’d start with my grandfather and my mom. I would whisper things in my grandfather’s ear that would shift his perspective, I’d say things that would make him appreciate this life, the short time that he has on this planet – and help him to be kind to my mother and be grateful that she takes care of him. I would also do some whispering in my mom’s ear – I’d help her realize that my grandfather really isn’t intending to cause her misery – it just works out that way because he’s so miserable. I would also spend some time being the fairy of lost things. I’d find all sorts of things that people have misplaced and put them in very obvious places. That would make lots of people smile and probably scratch their heads too. Maybe that’s what was happening when my dad’s money clip ended up in my back yard. Hmmm, who was being invisible that day? What else, what else, what else would I do? I’d like to say that I’d establish world peace, get rid of poverty, ensure that anyone with the desire for higher education had the opportunity – that teachers are paid more than lawyers and doctors, that companies always played fair, that people always told the truth, that everyone everywhere was always happy and healthy and doing what they please or what their calling is, I mean. I think that would take more than one hour.

Power Breakfast?

Saturday morning – warm and sticky; my steps are springy

I round the corner from the coffeehouse heading toward my office

a college kid leans one shoulder against the door frame of the entrance to the apartments above

cigarette dangling in his right hand, so loosely held that if I say boo he’ll drop it

in his left hand is a juice glass full of dark, almost flat looking cola

the same breakfast my mom had every morning when I was a child – Pepsi and a Salem

the boy’s eyes stare at the sidewalk – his posture says, " my life sucks and don’t you dare disagree with me"

I look down at my reusable mug full of organic lemon green tea and my blueberry/blackberry vegan muffin

my posture says that I am enjoying the sunny morning and am happy with my place in the world

I reach in my pocket, touch the flat stone inside and mutter, "I am grateful for being 36"

Hollywood Endings – Yee-ha or no way?

A while ago while playing around on Netflix I ran across a film called The Painted Veil (2006) that intrigued me. It looked like a pretty movie – you know beautifully shot, great locations, good story. Many of my favorite movies are pretty: Out of Africa, Emma Thompson’s Sense and Sensibility, her ex-husband Kenneth Branagh’s Much Ado about Nothing (don’t you just love them both in the Harry Potter series?) Far from Heaven (the use of color is way cool – especially red), Chocolat, blah blah blah. I decided that I’d add it to my queue but that I’d read the book first. That’s one of my rules – read the book before you see the movie. So I hit the library’s online catalog and found myself a copy.

Since my to-read pile usually resembles a small mountain, the book sat around for a while before I got to it. I finally started it near the end of my time at the house in Mayodan. Prior to this all I knew about W. Somerset Maugham was that a girl named Cyndie in my senior AP English class adored him. When we were writing practice essays for the AP exam she managed to mold every topic so that she could use her favorite Maugham book. (I think she made a 5 on the AP exam. Way to go, girl!) I don’t even recall which book she loved.

So how did I like The Painted Veil (1924)? Maugham kept my attention; I finished the book within a couple of days. One thing I can say for certain is that I didn’t like his main character, Kitty Fain, all that much. She did redeem herself somewhat for me. Her work at the convent showed that she could be compassionate and her discovery at the end of the book that she, her mother, and her sister had ignored her father – except when they needed cash - their entire lives showed that she really could see past the end of her own nose. (I’m sounding uncharacteristically harsh here I realize so I remind myself that these are fictional characters, not real people.) As for her husband, Walter Fain – I know, I know Kitty hurt him with her deceit and betrayal - but he took her into a cholera epidemic hoping that she would die and he’d be rid of her. It felt a bit on the severe side to me. You may have guessed the Dr. Fain and I were not buddies. He didn’t even forgive her on his deathbed. Then, last week I watched the movie. Twice.

This is definitely a pretty film. Not only was the location shooting well done, but Kitty’s hats and dresses added to the prettiness. (I’m a sucker for a festive chapeau.) The men were not unpleasing to the eye either.

Kitty and Walter are definitely more likeable in the film. Kitty plays piano (some of my favorite people are pianists so that made her more appealing to me right away). As for Walter, the film shows much more of his work in the cholera-infected community. In the book all we ever see is him with his head in a notebook as he scribbles research notes – not to say that research is not important work – but when you see a handsome man smiling from ear to ear because he’s figured out a way to give sick and tired people clean water you just gotta like him at least a little. And the kicker? Walter saves Kitty from an angry Nationalist mob, they spend a lovely afternoon together during which Walter shows Kitty all the good work that he’s done with the water supply, he forgives her and they fall in love.

So this got me thinking about forgiveness, a topic that’s come up a lot over the past couple of weeks: on Christine Kane’s blog, in an article in Pure Inspiration, from things said by the Buddhist monks I met last Friday (more about that later) and in a conversation I had with a new friend via the comments on this blog. Honestly, I think I’ve gotten pretty good at letting go. Of course, sometimes it’s really really really hard, but usually I can get there – eventually. So with this whole Walter Fain thing I began thinking about how sometimes people don’t forgive you. That’s one of the ways things get messy. If you’re like me, most people like you. You’re approachable, helpful, true to your word, caring, sensitive, kind, empathetic and silly-funny. So when someone really gets angry or upset or hurt by you and can’t find it within themselves to forgive you it can hurt – like crushing hurt, man. What I think I have finally learned is that the only things that I have any say in are my own thoughts, feelings and reactions. If someone is unhappy with me then that is their stuff to deal with. All I can do is be kind and hope that for their sake they will be able to let go of the damaging feelings inside them.

The other issue that the film brought up for me was how we define tragedy. I’m not talking about big, world changing events; I’m thinking of individual tragedy. In this movie, for example, there was a time in my life when I would have labeled Walter’s death as tragic. [Begin on-the-verge-of-weeping voice and large sweeping arm gestures now, please.] He traveled to this cholera town, saved a bazillion people’s lives, made up with his wife, he was going to go back to London and have a happy little family with his pregnant-by-someone-else wife. It’s just so tragic! Yeah, it’s sad. People die. We lose people. You know what though, nothing is permanent. Everything ends. Yes, mourn, process, let go. Then be grateful for that person, for the time you shared with them. Realize what you learned through your experiences with them. Take that stuff, the good stuff, and keep that in your heart. And miss them when you need to. (And I am well aware that none of this is easy. I work on this stuff constantly.)

So now we’re back to my opinion on The Painted Veil. At first I couldn’t decide if I was upset that the movie people Hollywooded up the film. So I went searching online to get some other opinions. Most people seem to have hated the book and loved the movie. I didn’t hate the book; the characters made me angry, made me cry, isn’t that what good writing is supposed to do? Move you in some way? I found a few hold outs who liked the book and enjoyed the movie as well – I think I’m in their camp. It’s neither yee-haw or no way for me. Once again I’m in the middle of the road. I can appreciate them both – as separate pieces of art that made me do more exploring of what’s inside my heart and my head.

Two Lovely Saturdays

When I lived in Mayodan I rushed home on Saturdays to get to my sweet little dog. I usually stopped at EarthFare on my way home, but there was no hanging out with folks or event attendance. My dad usually walked Annie for me in the middle of the day, but I had to be home for the dinnertime poop and scoop. I happily report that this is no longer the case. In fact, my last two Saturday evenings have been quiet lovely.

Last week after closing the library at 6 pm I set out on my 10-minute walk home, ran the pooch out the door and changed from jeans into a skirt and big girl shoes. (I know, can you believe it? mka sans Birkenstocks!?!) Then three of my building mates and I walked 10 minutes to Greensboro College to hear the Fibonacci Chamber Orchestra play its first concert of the season. I fell in love with this group last year during their premiere concert. Matthew Thomas Troy, (that makes me giggle, he’s Matt Troy to me) one of our recent masters conducting graduates, and lots of other folks have worked their boodies off to get this group up and running. And oh boy can they play! What impresses me most though is how much fun the musicians have when they perform. They smile at each other, at Matt – they radiate pure joy. I highly recommend them. They have 3 more concerts this season. Come out; I’ll see you there. (I became a first-time-ever season ticket holder for this group.)

This week I took a quick ride downtown to the Greensboro Historical Museum because my dear, sweet friend, Liane, was in 5 by O. Henry. O. Henry, famous short-storiest, has a Greensboro connection (he was born nearby and grew up in town) and this adapting of 5 of his stories into playettes has been going on for 25 years. And yes, I admit, I’ve never been before – not even when I worked 2 weekends a month in the museum shop for extra dough. It was a fun night. There was lots of singing, silly humor and of course O. Henry’s jabbing, fable-like twisty endings - very family-friendly. By far my favorite moments were when Ms. Liane, opera singer in training, stood at the piano and sang terribly, on purpose and looked so pleased with herself (as her character was supposed to.) Go girl with your ethereal smile! Unfortunately today was the last performance. Go next year, especially if Liane makes a second appearance!

Am I happy with my move back to Greensboro? Folks have been asking me lately and my response? Hell, yes! Bravo GSO!!!

Family Tree

A big, beautiful tree once stood watch in her grandparents’ front yard. This was back when the town’s textile mills ran three shifts, six days a week. Its thick, solid arms hid the porch from the neighbors and passersby while the ebony-haired child sang songs and twirled – her favorite entertainment.

Today the girl steps out onto that porch to collect her mail. As she twirls a bit of grey-streaked hair around her right index finger her gaze falls onto the front yard. When did her grandparents cut down her guardian tree? She’d forgotten it until now. No wonder she feels unprotected, living back in this town with her road-less-traveled life exposed – split wide open for all to gawk at and judge.

Late that night she arrives home and finds more come-to-our-church-so-you-won’t-burn-in-hell paraphernalia stuck inside the door knocker that still reads Mr. & Mrs. Grandparents. A sigh moves throughout her entire body and she’s overcome with weariness. Where exactly was her tree? She walks around the yard trying to recall its location with her arms spread out in front of her. It feels like the right thing to do; she doesn’t care if she looks silly.

The next night there’s a missionary magazine addressed to her grandmother in the box. She abhors its message - we must force the entire planet to believe exactly what we do. She drops her head to her chest, shakes it sadly, and walks into the yard thinking how much some good tree energy would help her at this moment.

Sleep is evasive that night. Out of frustration she wanders around the house going from window to window staring at the stars and moon. Soon the house starts to shake as the jarring noise of an 18-wheeler moves. She buries her face in her hands and sinks to the floor.

Before long she is a little girl again, snug in her grandmother’s lap on the porch swing. The street is quiet; together they count the cars as they pass by. She uses her fingers and doesn’t reach two hands full. Her grandmother smiles and waves at the drivers. From the other side of the open bedroom window she can hear her papa’s guitar and twangy bluegrass voice. The smell of his pipe tobacco means cozy to her.

She awakens with a sense of contentment but realizes that it will soon be ten years since she’s heard that voice and now she lives in his house. She misses him and even though it’s the middle of the night she goes out onto the porch seeking his presence. He too sat here for hours at a time but he watched the squirrels and birds instead of the vehicles. She is surprised to see her tree proudly displaying its greenness. Is it always here while she's sleeping? Quickly before it figures out that it’s not supposed to be here she climbs it – something she never did as a child. Near the top she finds the perfect resting place – the branches are strong and the leaves are soft and earthy smelling.

Before long the sun rises and the town awakens – this town that has greatly changed yet really not all that much. The obese, bow-legged lady next door waddles to her old sedan, obviously in pain. She drives through her yard to the next house over, struggles to the door and settles in for a day of tending her Alzheimer’s-stricken neighbor who no longer recognizes her. Across the street the usually cranky, twice heart attack victim is admiring her dozens of potted plants that are stuffed onto her tiny porch. The neighborhood nice guy, a 60-plus year old bachelor, bakes pies filled with artificial sweetener and passes out slices to the diabetic ladies. It seems that he is incapable of keeping any of his opinions to himself.

She has witnessed their nightly gatherings, usually on the bow-legged lady’s porch. They watch the traffic pass, discuss Wal-mart’s weekly sales and gossip. What else do they have to do? They’re retirees of the now closed mills. Those jobs and their kids – except for the bachelor man – were their lives. Their families are all grown up and moved away. They are their own little family now. They don’t realize that their words hurt when overheard.

We are all connected – we are all one. She firmly believes this. We are all doing the best we can with what we have. This too she believes. These ideas could be called her religion. Yet she knows that she is different from these well-intentioned people. I don’t belong here. I don’t want to turn into these people. She says these things to the morning sky. “Then why are you here,” the tree asks her. She is not surprised to hear its raspy yet warm voice. “Because it’s the right thing to do, my family loves that I am here but I am unhappy.” “Who says it’s the right thing to do? You don’t have to live here to love your family. Go! Be Free! Be happy, child! Find your own people.”

So she went. She made a new family with people of her own tribe – creative people, people who read for fun, people who make her laugh hysterically. She loves her biological family from less than an hour away. And she loves trees now even more than she did before, for they are as wise as they are beautiful.

new semester, new home

So I did it, ya'll. I moved back to Greensboro. The apartment is fantastic. My roommate is lovely, as expected, and the housemates are swell. Annie and Mitchell love the new digs and the extra attention. I really enjoy my 10-minute walking commute. AND I finally bought a laptop. Life is good. (Oh yeah and I've survived the first 3 weeks of fall semester at work - my most stressful time of the year.)

With the new computer and the extra time I can get back to writing. I'm working on a new piece - I'm not sure yet if it's a poem, a she story, or a me story. I'll post soon.

Much love and think rain,
mka

Dragonflies

All shall be well,
And all shall be well,
And all manner of things shall be well.
-Dame Julian of Norwich, 13th century English mystic

All was well.
-JK Rowling, last three words of her Harry Potter saga

I used to have a dragonfly inside my heart. She introduced me to the Dalai Lama's The Art of Happiness, vegetarianism, and the local food co-op. We hung out at bookstores. We played with my cat while enjoying black bean chili and leftover birthday cake during our lunch breaks. We confided in each other and blew bubbles out car windows. Soon we were best friends and she starting calling me her other sister.

I fell in love and moved an hour's drive away. She fell in love and got sick. These obstacles did not deter us. We stood in line at midnight in my town with lots of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and maybe even a few Slytherins to buy Harry Potter 5. In her town I stood on a balcony in an iridescent hydrangea colored gown and sparkly silver sandals as I sang with two other angel-friends. Then I stood up for her as she became a wife.

When my life was in pieces she gave up her New Years Eve to help me pack it up and move it back to her town. (Actually, she took over the last of the packing. I was too much of a mess to do it myself.) We attempted to assemble a computer desk and successfully painted a bookshelf (which crashed to the ground, books and all, several months later when I moved it across the room). She got better. We carved pumpkins, stared at rainbows, and screamed Aretha Franklin songs on I-40 at 2 in the morning with all the windows rolled down while I played percussion on the steering wheel.

Somewhere things started changing. She was mad at the Dalai Lama. She thought it was unfair that I didn't have cellulite. She was aggravated that I didn't want to watch American Idol or shop at the mall. She played around with the name of my favorite 80's tv show trying to make it sound like a porno. These things bothered me - I didn't change my ideas or behaviors - I didn't express my hurt either. I'm sure I was not blameless.

The day my friend hurled red hot balls of anger straight at me I knew that I had to walk away. I thought I was simply walking away from that conversation. Weeks later I realized that I was walking away from her. With the exception of a few initial heated comments I was calm and kind to her. I knew that we were headed in different directions and we could no longer share our paths. I thanked her for being my dragonfly and said goodbye. I took the bad feelings, put them in a tiny invisible box, tied them up with iridescent hydrangea colored ribbon that only I could see, tossed them in the creek across the street and watched them float away. I left the good memories inside my heart. She was angry and hurt.

I knew that I'd done the right thing but I'd also lost my best friend and that never feels good. I wasn't finding folks who made me feel comfortable right away as she had. There was a hole in my heart and I was lonely. I needed to find my people. That was how I was feeling when I went to my first women's retreat. The retreat began with an hour of silent solitary walking meditation. During that mediation I stumbled upon a patch of trees sheltering an altar with a Buddha statue and a small waterfall. I stopped, sat on the grass, and closed my eyes. Eventually a calming, absolute quiet came over me and I sat that way for many minutes. When I opened my eyes the first thing I saw was a deep turquoise colored dragonfly and I started to cry. I knew everything was going to be fine.

And it was and it is. At that retreat and the three others that I've attended I've found my people. Women who are totally themselves. Women who are open to others, who are creative. Women who are joyous. Women who love. These women are dragonflies! Once I got home from that first retreat I vowed to keep my heart open. I've found that my friendships have deepened and new wonderful people have come into my life. Now my heart is always open and ever expanding. It is also full of dragonflies!

Recently I stumbled upon my original dragonfly girl's photographs on a website. Absolutely breathtaking! I felt such joy to see that she is creating beautiful art. When I read there that she is moving to Europe in a couple of months I was tempted to write to her to let her know that I valued her friendship but I stopped myself. I told her that already. She knows. The Universe knows. All is well.

Music Library Retreat - Haiku

I spent the two previous afternoons in the Willow Room of the Elliott University Center with my colleagues, Sarah and Ted. This was our second annual Music Library Retreat. We used this time to evaluate where we are as a team and as a library, what we accomplished in 2006-2007, what our priorities are for the remainder of the summer and ended by setting goals for 2007-2008.

Because the three of us are like-minded in many ways, we agreed to begin the sessions by dappling in creativity. Why you ask? It's simple. Being creative even for just a couple of minutes changes you. It gets you out of yourself and away from all your crap. It opens you up to new perspectives and ideas. It also makes you feel really good. (Christine Kane has great posts about creativity - try this one and this one too.)

Yesterday's activity was writing haiku. I think I'm really bad at haiku and I groaned a little. I did it anyway. I immediately got into it when I decided that I should express my fear about my inability to write haiku. I share these, not because I think they are good - I share them as an example of why it's always good for me to step out of my box and do something that is gooey and exposes the real, true me to others. (And isn't that part of what this whole blog thing has been about, I ask myself.)

So, ladies and gents I present yesterday's haiku. Giggling is encouraged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

haiku eeew

I am a bit blue
because I suck at haiku
maybe I'll just moo
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

commute art

pale blue, steel gray, white
clouds at dusk - early July
over-my-head art
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

fall

the weather changes
new students blow in
we ride out the storm
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

willow lunch woes

salty lunch - yucky
perhaps Boba for dinner
to cleanse the palate

Mary Oliver

Through my recent devouring of your work I feel a kinship.
I imagine your solitary walks and quiet writerly afternoons.
You may find this evening difficult - I think I was projecting.

For here you are in the middle of a lively pre-presentation conversation.
You're introduced and then enter the stage from the audience,
dressed in simple black with a frill-less red scarf hanging from your neck.

You explain that you are waiting for friends to arrive
but begin to tell us about Percy, who ate the Bhagavad Gita
and now is the "wisest of little dogs."

The friends arrive and I am enchanted to once again hear of precious Percy.
You read of deer, of a dead fox and various birds, of trees, of a river -
so poised, so authentic, so in the moment, so impressive.

I am awestruck. When someone thanks you for your work,
you smile and say you're simply thanking me for having a good life.
And your advice to writers, I will never forget:

Be joyful.
Be hopeful.
Keep on writing.

I wanna be...

Nancy Drew.
I don't think fast enough.

a Broadway star.
I'm not comfortable completely letting go.

a teacher.
Damn, this is hard work and groups of children scare me.

a librarian.
I can't start graduate school until I pay off my undergrad loans.

an indie bookstore lackey.
I'll only make $7.00 an hour.

not really a legal assistant.
I let someone convince me that I should try a "real" job.

a counselor.
The blind leading the blind, maybe not a good idea.

a librarian (again).
I could do this, but it's not what I really want.

a writer. Huh?
I'm just now realizing that I've always wanted this.

I wanna be a writer.
A writer - that's what I'm gonna be.
Yep, I'm a writer.
Are you listening Universe?

doe, a dead deer

by the side of highway 220
with her head in the air
as if she'd lick my hand if I reached out to her

do, a deer, a de-ad deer
(I watched The Sound of Music last night)

who do I think I am
what right do I have to be upset
how many thousands of termites did I murder

what makes a deer's life more precious than a termite's
nothing

Is the drama queen ever really dead?

Not only am I a cry baby, I am also a recovering drama queen. I'm proud to say that it's been a long time since I got all wrapped up in the drama.

At the mid-march retreat while gathering images for my vision board I came across a dead drama queen. She looked like a doll or a hand puppet. Her gown was Dorothy Gale ruby red; her head dress looked like two or three candy canes twisted together and lying flat underneath her was either a pair of gossamer-like wings (I like to believe that only happy, pretty things like fairies and dragonflies and angels get wings) or a lace-y Elizabethan collar - we'll go with the collar because Elizabeth I was a tough, kinda scary broad. The words drama queen were printed next to her tiny corpse. I tucked little DQ into my journal and brought her home with me. I didn't put her on my vision board - you put stuff you want there - I eventually glued her into the front of my journal and added words in red glitter pen so that the caption reads the drama queen in me is DEAD! She hangs out next to a photocopy of Mary Oliver's poem The Fawn and a Shunryu Suzuki quote "Zen is not some kind of excitement, but concentration on our usual everyday routine." I was all patting myself on the back when I pasted her in there - look at me, I'm not a drama queen anymore...

Cut to March 25, 2007. It's late Sunday morning. I've just gotten out of the shower and have headed into my bedroom to get dressed for work. Guess what I find? The floor covered with ugly little ant-looking winged bugs. Before I have time to figure out if they are friends or foes they start to swarm. They climb around on my bed - they walk on my dog who is sitting on the bed - they land on me and I f r e a k out. Under normal circumstances I take insects outside and set them free. These are not normal circumstances. My house is being invaded and I feel like the main character in some stupid horror flick. I jump up and down while flailing my arms about. I convince Annie to come with me and we flee the bedroom. I've worked hard on being cool-headed in stressful situations but that's flown out the window and I start to cry - I want my mommy. So I call her. It's no surprise that she immediately knows something is wrong but she can't help because she's on her way out. I call my grandmother - she'll know what to do - it's her house after all - she's not home from church yet. I call Dad at work. He and I determine that I've got termites. He tells me that I can suck those boogers up in the Hoover. So I do, bazillions of 'em and I don't feel all that guilty about it - that comes later. I grab my cell phone and start making calls to insure that the library will be open on time - I leave a message for my boss, track down a student employee, and ask the campus po-po to meet him and unlock the door. By this time the evil ones are making their way into other parts of the house. I chase them down and one by one I hoover them to death.

No matter how hard I work (and that shower that I'd just taken, yeah well, about that) they keep coming. Seeing them climbing on my bed is disgusting so I decide that my bed has to come out of there now - there is no waiting for someone to come over and help. So in my adrenaline-driven hysteria I wrestle not only the double pillowtop mattress but also the springs into the living room where I end up sleeping for the next several weeks until the termite nightmare is over.

I did get a post-lunch call back from my grandmother and by the time she came over there weren't many termites left. The first exterminator who came the very next morning couldn't do the job because of the way the 1970s addition to the house was built and the second guy took like 2 weeks to get the job done. (Thanks small town living!) In the interim I had several more swarms to deal with. One, which was witnessed by my grandmother, forced us to put thick towels and blankets over all the windows in the living room. That was not fun, but at least it proved to my grandmother that I wasn't completely nuts. Living with totally blacked out windows for a week was a bit saddening.

So what I'm telling you about my drama queen is that she's not morally, ethically, spiritually, physically, positively, absolutely, undeniably and reliably dead she's only mostly dead. And that, I think I can live with.

My longest love affair

Almost nine years - we've set up house together 6 times.

Depressing apartment complex, renovation, mold outbreak,
three months in a basement, bad neighbors, and termites -
obstacles overcome, my dear.

Our routine is a bit dysfunctional,
you yell at me to wake up and make your breakfast.
I whine and say just five more minutes.

Your employment is being handsome, taking naps
and annoying the pooch. It's all good.

I'll keep bringing home the kibble and litter,
as long as you're here to greet me.

We're forever together, my kitty companion.

Crazy Wind - April 16, 2007

Trees, much older than me, real beauties
breathe their last breaths stretched across busy streets.

Compact little cedars in a line
their tops wave like wagging witch fingers.

Mother Nature is saying something is not right
people, pay attention - be kind.

I arrive at work and turn on my computer. I'm shocked
and horrified. I recall the crazy wind and the trees.

A Cabin in the Woods on a Rainy Night

Once she got past her hatchet murderer fear
and turned off the lamp
the darkness engulfed her.

Raindrops landed in staccato on the tin roof
and dripped off its corners onto the deck's floor.
Jasmine incense cleared away the cabin's mustiness.

As she climbed under the cold sheet her eyes adjusted
and she could see the water logged leaves
on the surrounding trees.

Her attention was drawn to a pulsing green light
that hung at the open unscreened window's edge
as if it were looking at her.

Soon there was another one and another and another
sprinkled all over the woods - a personal July 4th, only better
because she didn't have to block out the noise.

Soon she started drifting into sleep. She peeked
and found her friends still there
keeping watch over her.

She remembered the first time she'd been to this place
how she observed the firefly magic with Ruth and Maggie.
Ruth must sleep in the cabin next time.

She will love this show
of tiny dancing lights.
What yumminess!!

Welsh Love Spoons

the house had been filled with the noises of packing since late morning
tape being unrolled and ripped along the jagged edge of its dispenser
sighs from the solitary packer

three mountains of flat cardboard have become containers
surrounded by bulging boxes now
he's almost finished

he makes another box that will carry the contents of the last end table
as he lifts the back-hinged lid the scent reminds him of his childhood
this table has lived longer than he

an eight-year-old unfinished project lies among the chisels and small saws
Welsh love spoons that he'd carved on the balcony of his tiny apartment
during the hours that he spent on the phone with the girl

they are a gift never given, a blessing on the marriage of his friend
a union long ended, he tosses them into the waste bin
and seals this last box

upstairs he searches for items that escaped the first round and finds none
he sits on the naked bed and reviews his six years here
he can't help but think of her - the girl who bought the house with him

she would rescue the spoons from the garbage and tell him to finish them
that the completion would bring something good and lovely to him
yeah and she's crazy he mutters

downstairs he looks at the boxes - his life in cardboard
he takes the trash out to the curb, grins and reaches in
what the hell, he thinks, maybe...

Oh, the woes of a truant blogger girl...

Dear readers who haven't given up on me,

First off I'd like to say many, many thanks to those of you who have emailed me and pretty much said what the hell is going on with you. I've learned that people who give me that kind of crap are the ones who care most about me. So thanks for caring ya'll. I could feel the love, even when actually especially when I wasn't able to respond to it.

In a nutshell I've been all wrapped up in my 9-ness and hit a wall of overwhelm which led to an almost complete shutdown. After the termite fiasco which made being at home feel icky - not at all good for a big time homebody - and a sorta I-gotta-stop-living-here panic and then an oh-shit-I-finally-figured-out-that-I wanna-be-a-writer so let's practice our self-sabotaging techniques, I embraced the I of my Meyers-Briggs INFJ pretty much to the point of hermitness except for going to work. (Damn is that one horrible sentence, but life felt like that sentence reads so I'm gonna leave it. Sorry English majors.) The good news is I think I'm finally on the other side of all that mess. I HAD to do something creative today for work and that really helped to get things going again. And after work tonight I watched Christine Kane's dvd again which gave me a good and much needed kick in the derriere. Hip, hip hooray. So I'm back. More to come, I promise.

mucho smooches,
mka

On the road AGAIN

I know, can you believe it? Ms. Homebody has been quite the roadtripper over the past couple of months. I'm off to Linville Falls - back on Friday evening. (Annie gets to go with me this time - what fun!!)

love, love, love,
mka

paw withdrawl

A week ago I convinced her to hop into the backseat of the Mazda
and I drove her to safety, to her dad's house on the beautiful greenway
away from our home whose soil would soon be filled with poison.

The first two nights weren't so bad - the termite killer hadn't come yet
so her feline brother was with me. The next morning I took him to safety too -
with my dad. Then I left town.

After four days' reprieve I have returned.
The house-eating bugs appear to have met their demise.
I brought the kitty home yesterday so I'm not alone,

but there are no just climbed out from under the covers ear-flapping sounds.
All the toys are in their basket.
No cold noses or wet tongues sneak up on my bare feet.

I haven't been woken up with blanket scratching requests to be let under the bedclothes.
There's no spine to spine slumber.
I miss my sweet whippet girl.

Last night I dreamed that she jumped through a car window
and was quickly retrieved with the calling of her name.
Thank god she comes home tonight.

A Reminder from Old Blue Eyes

Monday morning I fled the house
wanting to escape the exterminator.
I drove to the park, away from the crime scene.

The plan was three rounds on the trail through the woods:
one to warm up, one for moving fast
and the last to slow down - three miles total.

My mind was cluttered - thoughts of
last week's stress, the weekend's wonders
and desperate yearnings to follow my bliss.

Near the three-quarter mile mark I almost missed him
as he quickly slithered through the tall wheat-colored grass toward the lake
his bulging blue as that lake eyes and thick, aged gray skin were gorgeous.

I did hear him mumble though - pay attention girl - as he made his escape
and I did. On the next round I heard it all
birds singing, the trees' leaves moving in the breeze, rushing water.

Thanks for the reminder, Mr. Snake.

Going Away

Dear Readers,

I'm hitting the road for a few days. Feel free to leave comments, I will post them upon my return Sunday evening.

mucho love,
mka

doing the best we can with what we have

For Barb who taught me that we are all doing the best we can with what we have

as I do t'ai chi with David-Dorian Ross I look out the window
and see camouflage clad men with rifles against their shoulders
was it Bambi or bunnies they terrified today

occasionally when I go to the coffee house I see my friend's nephew
the 17-year-old drunk driver who smashed my car and drove away
he has no idea who I am - he looks strung out - I wish him peace

I walk by a car with a Papa John's sign on its roof
across the back window is a hand-made V E G A N sticker
must be a kid who has to deliver what he won't consume to pay his tuition

old lady across the street is cranky about everything
told me once that I shouldn't do my own yard work because I'm a girl
she beamed like a proud grandma when her cactus bore 3 new blooms

high school heart breaker who left with no real explanation
calls 17 years later to apologize
for crimes forgiven long ago

some of it feels like ignorance versus a path to enlightenment
others seem to be examples of yin and yang
maybe it's us all genuinely doing the best we can with what we have

I'm not sure I'll ever figure it out
but I am grateful for the wisdom
that leads me to pay attention

invaded: a poem in progress

my queen-sized double pillowtop mattress and its springs
are filling up my living room
they're squeezed between the hearth and the purple sofa
they don't belong here
I womanhandled them from the bedroom in a fit of hysteria on Sunday
while the adrenaline was still pumping through my body
after I'd successfully murdered hundreds of the little demons with my Hoover
I felt guilty

finally, today, the third day there was not a swarm
but I can see them through the 6 holes they have made in the wall
eating my grandmother's house
this place I've tried to make my home
tomorrow the exterminator will spray
and they will swarm again

For safety's sake
I've taken the puppy to her dad's house
I hope to take the cat to my mom's
the man says I could bathe in the poison and be 100% safe
I know that he believes that
I do not

I lie on the bed and look up as if I could see the sky
it's warm - the windows are wide open
the ceiling fans twirl
I can hear a slight tinkling from the bamboo curtain
its movements are reflected on my white sky
for a moment I'm feeling kinda zen
this textured ceiling with squares that are patterned exactly the same
ugly - it looks nothing like the sky

then I remember those nasty little termites
lurking in the walls of my bedroom
my Buddhist leanings don't extend to them
I did let a big hairy spider out the back door the other day
I'm frustrated and try to think about effortlessness
I stare at the ceiling and soon fall asleep

this morning I found one of those fuckers
he was crawling on the floor of the bedroom closet
I smashed him with my Birkenstock
shades of gray, it's all shades of gray

it'll be great to get out of town for a few days
I leave tomorrow

do no harm

for E, a new friend and fellow river rock borrower

During this hour of silent walking meditation she had two tasks - to find an object to bring back to the altar and to discover what her intent was for this retreat weekend. Since her favorite sound was rushing water she meandered toward the river. She knew she couldn't take that sound back with her so she decided a river rock could represent it, plus she loved their simple beauty. There was a plate full of polished ones on her coffee table at home. She walked along the bank looking for just the right spot, the place where she could reach a small rock without having to actually get in the water. She didn't want soggy sneakers. (She'd recently figured out that her enneagram number was 9 after all, so comfort's a big deal to her.) Eventually she find the perfect place and gingerly made her way through the not-too wet-but-still kinda-slippery mud and scooped up her prize. She dipped the rock back into the river to wash off the mud. Then she rolled it around in her hand feeling its smoothness. It was the color of sand with spots of gray. A small area was orangey and ran against a black strip covering about a quarter of the edge. She thought how beautiful this rock was and turned it over to reveal that the black strip continued and the colors ranged from greenish with black spots back to sandy gray on the far edge. Her hands, as well as the stone, were wet and she wanted to put her treasure in the pocket of her burnt orange corduroys before she walked back to the lodge, so she decided that drying it would be a splendid idea.

Earlier she had noticed a fallen log positioned between two trees in such a way as to make a good seat. She sat down on the log chair - it adjusted itself under her weight - and laid the rock in the sunlight next to her. She removed a cliff bar from her pocket and munched quietly, it had been a while since lunch and several hours until dinner. While she enjoyed the black cherry goodness she thought about setting her intent. She was grateful to be able to be present in this moment, to enjoy the sounds of the river, to be soothed by them, to pay attention to them. So many times in the past she'd had revelations or tiny epiphanies when she simply got still and paid attention. And then she knew that was her intent - to pay attention. Her cliff bar was long gone by this time, its wrapper was safely tucked in her pocket, and the sun-facing side of the rock was dry so she turned it over. She noticed a tiny insecty critter on the rock and immediately began to worry that she was taking his home with her to the lodge. What to do, what to do, she wondered. She stopped, got still and paid attention. The answer that came to her was return Mr. Critter to the river so she did. (The answers usually are that simple when you really listen.) She picked up a tiny twig and managed with much finagling to get the insect onto it. She carried him back to the river and onto a rock. She was worried that she'd screwed up the bug's life and promised herself that she'd return this rock to the Ivy River on Sunday afternoon before she left for home.

Two days later the retreat was over. She'd done lots of new things - had a massage, took a yoga class, and read her work for the first time. The encouragement she'd received was phenomenal. She was starting to feel like maybe she could be a writer after all. She'd connected with amazing, wise, talented, soulful women. Before she packed her bags to leave she'd found E, the first person she'd met upon her arrival on Friday, who had also brought a river rock to the altar. They had decided that they'd journey back to the river together and return their rocks. Their new friend, C, came along. As they walked down the hill they saw two fellow retreaters, K and R, returning from the river. She explained to them what they were doing and K thanked them for taking the rocks home; she'd been unable to bring something to the altar because she couldn't bear to tamper with Nature. The three going to the river said goodbye to the two heading back to pack their cars. She and E tried to retrace their steps from retreat day 1. They both wanted to place the rocks where they'd taken them from. She was pretty sure she had found the right spot and as she returned the rock she thanked the river for lending it to her. The women arrived back at the lodge about the same time as K and R were leaving. C was already packed and ready to leave so the three hugged and wished each other safe travels. She felt like a sap as she held in the tears that were threatening to fall. C drove away and then the first two to arrive were the only two left. E finished packing first and came to say goodbye. They both got teary and then said how sure they were that they would meet again.

She was exhausted and knew she'd better leave soon or she's poop out on her 3-hour drive home. She was pleased to be the last to leave; it seemed right to her somehow. After she loaded the car she took one last look around at the beauty surrounding her. She was peaceful. She uttered a thank you to Bend of Ivy Lodge for another wonderful retreat. She knew she would return soon.

September 12, 2006

Yesterday I wore my peace symbol earrings
and a black skirt.
Most of the day was overcast
which seemed appropriate.
During the afternoon there was a short time of bright sunlight
just enough to make me hopeful
that sometime soon we'll all be able to simply hold hands
and love each other.
Then the sun went away
and I was left with my black skirt and peace earrings,
alone and sad.

gratitude

dragonflies, pumpkin pies
rivers that run, basking in sun
fuzzy socks and Birkenstocks
pajama pants, house plants
pink kitty noses and pup yoga poses
perfect jeans, window screens
chats, hats - naps, saps
reading books, resisting hooks
learning new things, glorious green springs
women on retreat who I'm honored to meet
friends - new and old, weather - warm or cold
family who've known you forever and still sometimes think you're clever
being me, the ability to see
journal and pen that I use again and again
this burning passion to write every day and every night

fun at the coffeehouse or silly spring feverish girl

This morning while I was doing my morning pages I remembered this little piece that I wrote almost two years ago. (Long before I gave up coffee.) I tracked it down, polished it up, and now present it to you. Happy spring fever!

She left her office and headed to the coffeehouse for a skinny vanilla latte. She giggled as she thought what her friend who was macho about his coffee - one of the few things, other than driving, that he was macho about - he'd call her drink sissy coffee and mention how his was black and manly. Before she'd left she thought hmm, maybe the cute barista di caffe will be there so she re-applied her lip goo (aka lipstick with a smidgen of gloss.) She walked the long way to the coffeehouse because it was warm and she needed some sun on her face.

At first she only saw Jeff behind the counter. He's a cool kid. She always enjoys chatting with him. While he made her latte he told her a funny story about his girlfriend's dog. While Jeff was telling her about the escapades of Larry the pooch she spotted the cute boy as he returned from filling the syrup bottles. Once he was behind the counter and saw her she smiled at him (all the while knowing that her lips were kinda shiny, luckily she'd pulled her hair back so that the wind wouldn't make it stick to her lips on the walk down - that would have been icky.) Anyway, Jeff finished his story and the cute boy said "you wanna see the scariest dog ever" and opened his cell phone to show her a sweet picture of one of the dogs who hangs around near the coffeehouse. Then he said "I was kidding, here's a real cute one" and showed her a picture of his roommate's dog. Dogs are just about her favoritest thing ever so she gushed, a lot. A guy came in to order coffee, the cute boy acknowledged him with a look and one of those guy nods - you know a slight head movement that means I see you there, be right with you, I gotta talk to this girl a minute longer - and kept right on listening to the story she was telling about her super cool dog. She eventually stopped gushing and Cute Coffee Guy took the waiting guy's order for a mocha. She moved over to wait for Jeff to finish her drink and glanced behind her. A line had formed at the register during their chat . She smiled to herself and thought, one point for shiny lip goo. She took her girlie drink and skipped back to her office, grinning all the way.

I read my way through February

It's the beginning of the month and this is when I look at my list of goals for the past month and set new ones for the current month. Well, this time I'm going to be carrying quite a few to-dos over to March. (And I have 2 trips this month so I'm not going to create many new ones.) What did I do with my "free" time in February I ask myself! When I decided today to catch up on my reading journal I realized that I spent a big chunk of my birthday month reading and that makes me pretty gosh darn happy. So I'm going to share the entries from my reading journal.

Sweet Tea And Jesus Shoes - Deborah Smith, Donna Ball, Nancy Knight, Sandra Chastain, Debra Dixon, and Virginia Ellis
(Okay, I actually finished this one in January, forgive me, I like being thorough.) This book ended up on my amazon wish list mainly because I found the title amusing. (I grew up on waaaaay too sweet iced tea and sometimes people refer to my birks as Jesus shoes.) It came into my house because I was doing an amazon order several months ago and I needed one more item for free shipping (sucker!). I love southern fiction and I enjoy a short story at the end of the day. The stories in this collection are very down home. In fact, most of them I could picture being being told to me by relatives or folks with whom I grew up. They felt very familiar. The writing is simple and gritty; it doesn't feel as polished as say Clyde Edgerton or Lee Smith. They're fun and sometimes funny. My favorite is Chastain's Bigdaddy's Outhouse, not simply because my maternal grandfather insists on being called Big Daddy, but because the story reminded me of the way my grandmother usually managed to get her way without asking. Today I'd probably call it manipulation, but when I was a kid I thought of it as Grandma being very smart! This story inspired me to put a moon tile that I'd had in my Music Library office on the door to my bathroom at home. My own little joke - it makes me laugh every day. If you're a Southerner or someone who wants to know what it's like to live in the rural South from a female perspective then these stories just might be for you. :)

Winnie-the-Pooh - A.A. Milne
When I was in college studying to be an elementary school teacher (I kid you not!) I went a bit kiddie lit crazy. I bought kids' books every time I was in a bookstore. My mom thought it was great because she always had gift ideas for me. One of those gifts was a very charming hardcover set of four A.A. Milne books, including this one. This is a "redesigned" set published in 1988 with Ernest H. Shepard's drawings which I adore! One morning I was feeling very tired and emotionally wonky so I laid down on Annie's rug in the study. I stretched out flat and tired to find my center. Schubert string quartets were playing on the stereo and I was crying a little. I turned my head and looked at my wall of books and noticed the set - how inviting it seemed - so I pulled it off the shelf and removed this book from the three-sided sweetly decorated box that holds the four volumes. I got off the floor, climbed into my study's reading chair, put my feet up on the stool that sits next to the chair waiting until I need it and read the first story. I felt much better. What a genius was A.A. Milne! I was in love with Pooh and all his friends immediately. I'm sure to make it through all four volumes in no time - although I'm going to try and pace myself so that I can savor each wonderful adventure.

I've also been using these stories as a balance to Part 1 of Diet for a New America. (More about this one in a later post, I finished it today.) After reading about slaughterhouses I needed something lovely with happy little animals. It's much easier to have peaceful sleep if I read about Christopher Robin's pals the last thing at night.

Also, I kept remembering how Lionel on As Time Goes By got a kick out of reading Winnie-the-Pooh! (I adore that britcom. Thanks PBS for showing it in the states!)

The Southern Woman: New and Selected Fiction - Elizabeth Spencer
I first became aware of Elizabeth Spencer a while ago when I was flipping channels and came across a production of a musical called The Light in the Piazza on PBS. I'm a musical theatre buff so I stopped pressing the up arrow and watched the rest of the show. It was good - not cheesy musical theatre (which I really like, by the way) - it's very serious actually. After the show there was an interview from 2001 I'm guessing because this collection was being discussed and that's when it was published. I was immediately impressed by Elizabeth Spencer. She is a well-spoken, well put together, very intelligent southern lady. I enjoyed listening to her stories about her life and about writing. So I, of course, found this book at Jackson Library and brought it home. It and Sweet Tea & Jesus Shoes have been my nighttime reading for quite some time. When I was tired and knew I'd only read for a few minutes It was ST&JS. On nights when I had some energy left I went for this collection. Ms. Spencer's writing is eloquent and her insights are simply amazing. I think she rocks! If I had to pick favorites I would say the Italy section appealed to me the most, especially The White Azalea and The Cousins. From the New Stories section I very much enjoyed The Master of Shongalo. This is a book that I'll purchase when I see it at a used bookstore.

Why I Wake Early - Mary Oliver
Wow!!! I've found my new favorite poet. Lots of my retreat friends adore Mary Oliver so the last time I was at Quail Ridge Books, a great indie bookstore, in Raleigh I purchased some of Ms. Oliver's work. Wow! Wow!! Wow!!! This is one cool poet chic! I first turned to What Was Once the Largest Shopping Center in Northern Ohio Was Built Where There Had Been a Pond I Used to Visit Every Summer Afternoon and I was blown away - this woman speaks my language. Evey poem is soooo good. I'm going to hear her read in Asheville in March and I'm so excited that I went to Jackson Library and checked out all the poetry of hers they have. I'll bet that you're not surprised by that! :)

Being Vegetarian - The American Dietetic Association
One of my goals for January was to start reading about vegetarianism. I knew that I wasn't going to eat meat anymore and I wanted to do it right. Christine Kane had recommended some books to me, Jackson didn't have them, and I didn't have book money in my budget until February. I still wanted to get started with this and I remembered that I had this book. I bought it years ago (does this give you any clue as to how long I gnaw on things in my life?) so I pulled it down and dug in. It's a thin volume and a good start to understanding the levels of vegetarianism. Because it's small I was able to carry it around in my bag of tricks and read a chapter here and there between things. I'd say it's a decent introduction - it's light reading. I've still got lots more veggie reading to do.

Pharaoh, Pharaoh - Claudia Emerson
I borrowed this collection of poems from Jackson Library after reading about Claudia Emerson winning the Pulitizer Prize for poetry. She was working on her MFA at UNCG while I was working on my BS (tee hee). Her newest collection was already checked out so I took this one instead. I like her poetry very much. I'm learning about writing styles from reading her - I find the way that she breaks up lines intriguing. The poem from this book that most touched me was Transgression - about a woman going back to her family's farm to care for her ailing father who doesn't like her very much. I'm looking forward to reading her newer work.

The Secret Life of Bees - Sue Monk Kidd
This is my second reading of this book. I read it the first time in 2004 when I borrowed it from the library and promised myself that when I ran across a used copy I would snatch it up. I did just that in December at Ed McKay's. I put this book in my bag when I went with my mom to a doctor's appointment at Duke a few days after Christmas and again a few weeks ago when I went with my bro and Big Daddy to Moorehead Hospital for BD to have a test done. Because I can get caught up in it easily it's a good western medicine buffer for me. I adore this book. I think Sue Monk Kidd is way cool. I identify most with May, the youngest of the calendar sisters. May is very sensitive and affected by situations and her surroundings. Bad news sends her into a tailspin. There have been times when I have felt just like that. May has a stone wall in the sisters' backyard where she goes when she is distraught. She writes what's troubling her on a slip of paper and takes that paper with her to the wall where she inserts it between two of the stones. These worries are rarely about her, they usually involve people she cares about or the world in general. Usually after she goes to the wall or when she's having a really bad bout of sadness she retreats to the bathtub. I am a firm believer in the healing properties of an old ceramic bathtub. And when I build my eco-friendly house on Cedar Oak Farm near Dragonfly Pond I plan to also build my very own wailing wall to help make my world a more peaceful place.

A New Earth - Eckhart Tolle
I picked this one up at Ed McKay's soon after my first retreat with Christine Kane. This and the Dalia Lama's The Art of Happiness are hands down the two non-fiction books that have most touched me. (and Pema Chodron and Thich Nhat Hanh and and and crap...) A New Earth is so amazing, so thought provoking, so right on! I felt as if Tolle wrote it for me, as if he was saying, hey mka, I'm talking to you girlie girl! (Okay, he might not say girlie girl.) Each topic spoke to me in some way, so much that I could only read a short sub-topic at a time and then go away and digest it. This is why it took me from June to February to finish it. I recommend this to anyone who wants to travel a path of self-awareness. As with The Art of Happiness (and and and) I'm sure that I'll read this book many times in this life.

The House at Pooh Corner - A.A. Milne
More Pooh - Yayhoo! My favorite story is Tigger is Unbounced in which Rabbit learns (when he's plan to lose Tigger in the forest bites him on his cute little cotton tail) that you have to let your friends be who they are - bounciness and all.

Twelve Moons - Mary Oliver
Did I mention before how much I'm adoring Mary Oliver? The Fawn was my favorite poem in this one. I don't think I'm going to take this book back to the library until I buy my own copy!!

the news that's fit to post

Hello friends! I've been a bit out of it this week - I was on the couch for three days. This started on Tuesday when I was simply exhausted, deep down to the bones weariness, I'm tellin' 'ya! The second day I was still tried and felt like I was going to hurl all day so I didn't each much, and yesterday I spent making myself eat even though I didn't really want to. So I am happy to report that I am feeling almost spiffy today. Bad, bad stomach bugs! I spit on you!!! The good news is that I still have happenings to report.

On Saturday morning I did my second audition day parents' talk at the Music Library. I was much calmer this time and didn't think that I came across as a deranged lunatic which is always a good thing. A couple of the parents were interested in our LP collection (yeah some folks still listen to vinyl) so I had fun showing them our record collection and telling them how much I enjoy it when a student asks me to instruct her/him in using a record player. After all the parents were gone I didn't have to go in my office and sit down to steady myself. I'm so proud.

I was trying to drag my birthday out for as long as I could (as I do every year) so I had a Music Library Game Night/mka's birthday party at my house Saturday night. It turned out to be a small event which was fine by me. I was introduced to a new game called set which forced me to think out of my everything matches in a particular way box. It was cool. We also played taboo (my favorite!) for a long time and much hilarity ensued. I'd tell you about it but I was sworn to secrecy. What happens at mka's house stays at mka's house. (Makes you wanna come to my next party, huh?)

My other bit of exciting news is that I made my last car payment this week. Meredith is all mine. I should soon be seeing that title in the mail. Wahoo!! (It takes a damn long time to pay off a car!!!) I'll be feeling even more abundant next month when that payment is not taken from my paycheck by my lovely friends at the bank. I'm going to figure out a way to celebrate this momentous event as soon as my energy level has returned to normal.

What splendid things did you so this week?

love, love mka

three spring noses

Earlier this week I said
once my birthday is over I will be ready for spring
and so it is.

Today I've opened the windows wide;
their curtains flutter and sway.
From the backyard Papa's wind chimes tinkle and a birdie chorus sings.

In the bedroom the cat will soon wear out his precious pink nose from all his intense air sniffing.
The pup stands on the edge of her queen-sized bed pressing her gum drop nose against the screen.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath (through the nose that Grandma habitually pinched as she wished it to turn up a bit more) and feel it too - spring bliss.

This day has great joy in it.

this week's headlines

in chronological order...

I have huge public speaking issues. I'm great one-on-one or with a few folks but put be in front of a group of people and I get all flustered (or flusterated, that's for you Christine) and weird. A little while back I decided that I needed to address this issue. So I volunteered to do tours of the library for the parents of potential students on audition Saturdays. My first one was last weekend. Being the detail-oriented (some people call it anal retentive) type that I am, I created a handout with everything I could think of that parents would want to know about the library in the school of music where their kid might end up studying for their bachelors. I photocopied the handout on Wednesday evening before I left for my weekend. On Saturday I arrived 20 minutes before the tour was to start in order to get myself centered and ready to start tackling this big fear. Well, the tour folks were right behind me when I unlocked the door - 20 minutes early! I'm very proud of myself for telling them to give me 5 minutes to get the library open and then going with the flow. I felt like I went on a total ramble fest but I was assured that I did a fine job. The second group of parents even laughed at my jokes and asked me questions afterward. It was really cool. Of course, when I was done I was kinda shakey and had to go sit in my office for a while but that's okay - progress was made and the next one (on the 24th) will be even better. Yay mka!

We've had a world-renowned cellist in our midst this week. He's a lovely gentleman and I wanted to do something nice for him so I created a display in his honor last Sunday night prior to his Monday afternoon arrival. All of his recordings in our collection have blue on their covers. The posters and programs related to his visit used purple (my favoritest color ever) so I pulled them together by using blue and purple display paper. At first I couldn't decide what I wanted to call the display and then poof it came to me - Rock On, Mr. Varga! Some people looked at me kinda funny while I was putting it together. I interpreted those looks to mean they were thinking, come on mka, Mr. Varga is one classy guy, rock on, are you sure? I was sure. And I was right. Mr. Varga loved it. So you rock on, Mr. Varga and I'll keep rocking on too.

My mom is too sweet - she gave me an Earthfare gift card as a Valentines gift. I used it to buy fancy, delicious smelling candles. As for VD, I had a wonderful dinner with my friend, Elizabeth, at Boba House. Tofu makes me dance.

I have another documentary recommendation for you, Who Killed the Electric Car? I netflixed it this week. Watch it. Tell me what you think. I cried when GM took away the last of the EV1's to be crushed and when the folks who tried to stop them were handcuffed. Needlessness...

You'll never guess who sent me an email this week. I found it in my bulk folder. It was death. I didn't open it...

On Tuesday I will be the age that my grandmother was when I was born - 36. I'm not freaked out about being 36, I'm fine with that. It's the fact that someone my age could be a granny - kinda weird. My grandmother made a family birthday party for me at her house last night. It was great fun and my sister-in-law sent me home with the rest of her homemade mac and cheese - yumm-y!

Wednesday I will be traveling to Morganton, NC for a funeral. This morning I learned that my great uncle, Norman England, died sometime in the wee hours. Uncle Norman, you are such a sweet spirit. You will be missed.

Tell me about your week.

mitchell morning moment

Engrossed in my morning rituals
I hear the bamboo curtain's shimmer
and know I'm about to be visited.
You jump onto the old desk - the one I really should replace -
I say hello and pat you on the head,
then return to my writing.
You turn in circles on the small magazine pile;
you sniff the Sun - its pages folded back -
then you settle in and tuck your front paws underneath your silken gray body.
You don't notice Shambhala Sun in the stack -
you've got buddha nature already -
you sit on it, making me giggle.
You position your back toward me;
the 8 am sun shines on you, making a dancey rainbow on your fur,
I think of Roy G. Biv and start the petting.
You purr and begin to bathe,
the bell on your collar marking each lick;
I am enchanted by your catness and grateful for this quiet moment.
The bamboo curtain rustles again and I know our alone time is over
for the whippet has come to bust up the kitty lovin',
how does she always know?
I would have sworn she was in a deep sleep, chasing bunnies in her dreams.

first love, revisited

Meeting him for lunch was all about him, or so she thought...

She had returned the previous day from her second woo-woo women's retreat so she was all about being her true self when he'd called a few weeks earlier to apologize for breaking her heart 18 years before. She told him that she'd let all her crap attached to him go years before and there was no need for him to apologize. During their conversation she realized that it was really important to him. So she shut her mouth and let him say things like I'm sorry and I still don't know why I did the things that I did. She thought she knew why, but she continued to keep her mouth shut, this was about him. His last few years had been traumatic and she sensed that this was one thing he felt he could fix. His words were kind and she did appreciate them. She didn't need to hear them but she appreciated them all the same. And she understood that he needed to say them.

They spent some time catching each other up on what they'd done and where they'd been since 1989. When his kids arrived home from school he ended the conversation by saying that he'd really like to take her out to lunch and she said that she'd like that. She thought he was just being kind again, that she'd probably freaked him out with her weirdnesses and that she'd not ever hear from him after the phone call. She was wrong.

Six or so weeks later there was an email in her inbox inviting her to lunch. She accepted without hesitation. She was happy to give him the opportunity to feel as if he'd made things right.

His first words were - except for your hair you haven't changed a bit. Once again he was being kind, but he was oh so mistaken. She was nothing like the girl that he used to know. Other than her deep-felt love for all things four-legged almost everything she thought was important, her fundamental beliefs - it had all changed. She was an entirely different kind of person. She did not point any of this out to him because the lunch was about him, not about her.

They had a pleasant time together during which she successfully convinced him to taste a salad that wasn't made at Ragazzi's or the Olive Garden and unsuccessfully tried to convince him that eggplant was his friend, to which he replied - is it an egg or a plant? It was comforting to realize that his cheesy sense of humor was still intact.

She was amazed by the things he remembered - people, events, even outfits - things that she either had no recollection of or hadn't thought of in years. He recalled it all, down to the teeniest detail. She was surprised by this. He had really been paying attention all those years ago.

After lunch she suggested that they go for a walk. As they wandered about the arboretum, she was reminded of the very different paths they had taken. She did not have it in her to tell him that a long time ago she'd figured out that his breaking up with her had been a really good thing. She'd always wondered if he'd had some strange kind of wisdom at 19 years old. Was there some higher power that had told him that she'd never be happy as a young wife and mother, that her destiny was to go to college and begin figuring out who she really was? She'd never know for sure, but again she kept her mouth shut because today was about him finally reaching some kind of closure.

After their walk she drove him back to the restaurant, thanked him for a lovely afternoon and hugged him goodbye. She didn't have much time to process the experience because she had to rush to work to prepare for a 6 pm meeting after which she was going to enjoy her upteenth viewing of The Princess Bride with members of the student staff.

Many hours later as she was running her bath she realized that the afternoon had not only been about him finding a tiny thread of peace, it had also been about her. She realized in that moment that there had been a few months in her life when she had been absolutely and completely adored. And that was a good thing to remember.

me and my bro in the snow - ho ho!

As different as my brother and I are we do have some things in common - at our cores we are both oversized kids and we love, love, love snow. Actually I think my bro loves, loves, loves, loves (to infinity) snow.

There was a snowstorm predicted for early Thursday morning. We were expecting 3-5 inches of accumulation - that's a storm for around here these days. I was pleased because Thursday is my "Saturday" and I could play and not have to worry about commuting. On Wednesday evening I received the following phone call.

bro: (sing-songy voice) what 'ya doing tomorrow?
moi: well, Jerona and I have a date to clean out the shed and I'm supposed to sit with Big Daddy for Mom in the evening, but
bro: (know-it-all voice): it's gonna snow, you're not going to be able to do any of that stuff.
moi: yes, I know, if you would've let me finish my thought I would have said that I think it's gonna snow so I won't be doing either of those things.
bro: (a bit chagrined) (pause) so, um, what are you going to do tomorrow?
moi: just hang around here.
bro: (very excited) you wanna play in the snow with me?
moi (also very excited): hell, yeah. maybe we can build a snow person!
and the silliness monster reared its cute little head..

Thursday morning arrived, I arose about 7 and there was no snow - not a flake. I actually thought it was kinda funny because I knew all the schools had closed in anticipation of this storm. I started my morning puttering and an hour or so later it started - huge flakes!!! I bragged on Christine Kane's blog that it was snowing at my house and Christine was jealous. I decided that I was going to have enough fun for me and Christine in the snow and I'd tell her all about it later and she'd be all excited too. Then the snow stopped.

My brother arrived and boy was he bummed. He actually stood at my back door, staring through the glass, rocking up and down on the balls of his feet, talking to the sky, begging and pleading for more snow. I tried to distract him with my high speed internet connection, and a yummy breakfast of homemade french toast and hash browns -which he did enjoy- but he would not be distracted (I'm surprised he didn't do a snow dance - I bet he would have if I'd suggested it.) He kept asking for snow. Soon I heard, it's snowing again!!

So we headed up to Farris Park to play in the falling snow. We had a great time walking around, taking pictures and feeding the ducks and geese. There wasn't any accumulation. It didn't matter all that much (I don't think my bro would agree with me here) - no snowballs to throw or snow people to build - but it was such a lovely day.

(And my bro ate mostly vegetarian all day and asked me to explain to him exactly what organic means.) I heart my bro. Now the inner core little kid in me needs to do a happy dance. See 'ya.

just had to share

this kissable moment

stuff & things

Well kiddies, this has been quite the exciting week for mka. Following are the highlights. Enjoy!


Last Saturday evening I had some friends over for a birthday celebration. We enjoyed a nice salad and this beautiful pizza pie that I made, from scratch! (Thank you, bread machine!!! ) Isn't it lovely with it's whole wheat crust, yummy tomato sauce (I made that too), green peppers, calamatas, mozzarella and parmesan. I am so doing this vegetarian thing! (Notice that I said vegetarian and not vegan - there was tons of cheese and Ben and Jerry's for dessert - the birthday girl's request and you can't say no to the birthday girl, now can you?) After dessert the birthday girl introduced me to the brandy alexander. Quite a yummy drink, just one made me quite woozy. mka can not hold her liquor. I feel asleep during Memoirs of a Geisha. It's a good thing that I read the book years ago and sorta remembered the ending.

Several months ago one of the music students brought a dvd to me that he thought I'd like. I finally got around to watching it and he was right, I did really like it. Celtic Women features four female vocalists accompanied by an orchestra, including a harpist and one damn good fiddle player. The performance includes traditional Irish songs, show tunes, and some light classical stuff. What most impressed me was the purity of the soloists' voices. Check it out if this sounds appealing to you.

One day last week I was being a bit whiny about that fact that my town does not do curbside recycling and I'm pretty sure that folks aren't driving their recyclables to the county landfill. I commented that I don't want to think about what's in those garbage cans that are dumped into those really loud trucks every Monday morning. One of our student employees was in my office while I was whining and challenged me to do something about it and I'm gonna. My plan is to borrow the family farm truck and do a monthly pickup in my neighborhood. If you have any suggestions for me about how to get a small Southern town fired up about putting their recyclables out on the curb once a month please share them. Other than calling up the city office, distributing fliers, and writing a letter to the editor of the local newspaper I'm out of ideas at the moment. I'm in the initial planning stages so all advice is welcomed.

I discovered a new natural products store in Stokesdale, Sadie's. They make their own soaps, lotions, etc. I got some lavender water to spray on my sheets - yum, yum - and some natural upholstery cleaner that will assist me with removing the whippet butt smell from my couch and chair without causing my eyes to burn from nasty chemicals. If you decide to check out the store or buy from them online, make sure you read the labels because I did notice that some of their skin care products contain parabens. The folks with me were in a hurry so I didn't get to do much label reading. The next time I go I'll do more research and report back to you.

In addition to giving up meat I've also mostly given up coffee. I have turned the afternoon coffeehouse journey ritual into a green, occasionally peppermint, tea break instead. (You win, Christine!) I've probably had half a dozen coffees in January - 3 of them during the Monet adventure. If I'm leaving work heading out on my commute and I'm really tired I grab a cuppa joe, but I've definitely given up the afternoon java, I was hitting the after coffee crash at the wrong time of day and it was causing me to overly tired in the evenings.

Fairies visited my yard on Tuesday night! When I took Miss Annie out for her morning promenade on Wednesday I noticed a dollar bill in my back yard and next to it a silver money clip with a little clock in it. It was obvious from their condition and location that they had not been exposed to the elements for all that long. I thought - this looks like it belongs to my dad, maybe he and Annie had a clandestine visit last night. (My dad and Annie absolutely adore each other and I wouldn't put it past my dad to sneak over and say hello to his granddog and not tell anyone.) So I called Dad and asked if he'd stopped by on Tuesday and he said that he hadn't been to my house since Saturday. Then I asked him if he was missing his money clip with a dollar in it and he said yes that he'd lost it on Tuesday. When I told him that I'd found it in my yard a few minutes earlier he was a bit freaked out. Pretty twilight zoney, huh? (I put that in for you, Barb!)

I have a mini me! Two of the music students sent me this the other day. Isn't she cute? There's a website where you can go and make your own. It's fun, give it a try if you're so inclined.

This is my favorite event of the week. Here's the story. I commute with a lot of paraphernalia. I carry my briefcasey kind of bag (aka my bag of tricks), at least one extra layer of clothing (it's sometimes much colder at 10 pm than it is at 1 pm), and enough food to get me through an 11-hour day. On Tuesday (the day before the night time fairy visit) I arrived at work and went around to the passenger side of the car to gather my belongings and head across the street to the library. Once I got myself situated I realized that I had put the car keys in my bag of tricks without locking the car. I said out loud to myself "I need to lock the car." Guess what? As soon as the words were out of my mouth the car doors locked and the horn beeped. At first I thought - oh my god I have super powers - and then I realized that the key ring with the door lock clicker on it was in my bag right against my butt and that I had moved in some way that locked the car. How cool is that - I have a magic ass!

So how was your week?

pizza photo credit to SLS

it's hard to be truly present on 5 hours of sleep...

also known as Sarah and mka's Excellent Adventure

Last Saturday night Sarah and I had a grand adventure in honor of her birthday on the following Monday (yes, she shares her day with MLK, Jr - how cool is that?). We had a lovely dinner at Boba House in Greensboro. (Who knew you could get eternal bliss on a plate with a side of brown rice?) We visited some friends in Durham (hi L and C or is it K?) who treated us to coffee, treats for the road, Dar Williams, and lovely, lively conversation.

We headed to the $1.50 theatre in Raleigh to see Stranger than Fiction. We were 15 minutes late because I got turned around in Raleigh and the ticket girl didn't want to let us in. It was the last showing of the night and we had hours to kill before our 2:30 main event so Sarah, quite beautifully, convinced the ticket girl that we didn't care that we'd missed the first 15 minutes and that we were fine with the fact that the concessions were closed (that food is icky and overpriced and we wouldn't have bought any if it had been open - but we didn't tell the ticket girl that) and we got in. The movie was great! I love Emma Thompson and I thought she was especially good in this - quite hilarious actually. Dustin Hoffman's coffee obsession was too funny. And I have a new respect for Will Farrell - I usually don't care for his films - I believed him this time.

The movie was over about midnight and we headed to the North Carolina Museum of Art for our 2:30 am viewing of Monet in Normandy. The exhibit was way popular so the museum extended the last day to be 24 hours. Boy was I glad because I had tried to go over Christmas break and it was completely sold out. Anyway, Sarah and I grabbed our tickets at the will-call window and headed for the coffee shop to caffeine up on lattes. We had a hilarious time trying to do a crossword puzzle. (Did you know that yodass means 3 or more yodas. I tried to convince Sarah of this for the "wise one" clue but she wasn't buying it.)

About 1:30 we decided to see if we could get into the gift shop before going through the exhibit because there was a particular postcard that I was looking for to send a friend in Kentucky who love, love, loves Monet. When we asked one of the ticket-taker dudes about the shop he asked when our reservation was. I told him and he said go on in. I was so excited that I started saying things like really, we can, an hour early and he indicated to me, in a subtle and nice way, that if I didn't shut up I was going to get him into trouble so we should just move along into the exhibit. I took the hint.

Wow! I always knew Monets were beautiful - but damn - prints , books, and postcards do not do them justice. I sooooo wanted to touch them. The textures are amazing. I 'm still reeling from all that gorgeousness all in one place. Being a sucker for trees, I must admit that the ones with trees were my favorite - Poplars, Pink Effect, 1891; The Seine at Giverny, Morning Mists, 1897; Wheat Field, 1881; and Road at La Cavee, Pourville, 1882. Sarah liked Wisteria (my Monet book has no date for this one) best. It is very cool, I agree.

There were a bazillion people there and I'm not a crowd person so I didn't spend as much time with the art as I wanted to. I would have preferred an empty museum with just me and Sarah being hyper-excited about what we were seeing. Alas, I am not in charge of the world so I'm happy to be grateful that I saw these paintings in person. :)

Sarah and I got separated in the exhibit and when we found each other at the end of it we were both smiling and tired. We headed back to the Meredith the Mazda (my car) and Sarah took the driver's seat this time since I'd driven the to part of the trip. I put Christine Kane's orange cd in the cd player and we sang along (we both know all the words). After the orange one was over I put in the green one (my favorite Christine cd) and before it was over we were back at Sarah's sweet little cottage in Greensboro. It was 4:00 am and we crashed.

I was wide awake the next morning at 9. Sarah and I had a pleasant morning having breakfast and visiting with her kitty friend, Calvin. I went into work at 1:00. When I left work that evening to pick a friend up at the train station who was going to crash at my place I hit the play button on my cd player and there was no Christine. Huh, I thought, that's weird the cd player is on the fritz. The entire following week I would hit the eject button every time that I got into the car to see if the cd player had worked out its kinks. Nope! By Friday I was pretty bummed that I was going to have to take my car in somewhere to get my cd player fixed because a girl who commutes can't be without her cd player. I'd gotten through the week with the classical station out of Roanoke, VA but it fades when I get close to GSO and I need my tunes to get me through the 10 pm commute. So I talked to my dad about it. He told me that as soon as he had some free time he'd look at the cd player for me. What about my cd Dad? He told me that we might have to use pliers to get it out. Oh man not only is that my favorite cd it's the first Christine Kane cd that I purchased. There's sentimental value there. But I figured, I can get another one, no big deal, I guess. (mopey face)

Yesterday morning I was gathering up my things to go to work and my cd case that goes in the car with me fell open and there 'lo and behold was the green cd. (chimey miracle music, please) It was not stuck in my cd player. I had taken it out the Sunday after the Monet adventure and had totally forgotten. Hip hip hurray. I have my cd and my cd player is perfectly fine. I feel kinda like a goof ball but hey it's hard to be truly present on 5 hours of sleep.

I love postcards!

good friends

for RB

During my second grade year I became friends with the smartest girl in class. We were both quiet and shy, but not with each other. I have fond memories of recesses spent on the playground together, talking mostly or arguing over Three’s Company trading cards. Throughout elementary school we were close at school. I’m certain that I considered her my best friend. In sixth grade she was still the smartest girl in class and we were still friends. We’d both outgrown a bit of our shyness and were part of a circle of girl friends. There were 6 of us who hung around together and were called the gossip group by our teacher. (She meant it in a good-natured way; that name makes me cringe a little in retrospect though.) That year for my 12th birthday I had a slumber party at my house on the family farm. I invited the entire gossip group minus one – my friend since second grade. I lived in a small town and my family thought that I shouldn’t invite her because she's Black. I’ve never been able to forgive myself for leaving her out, but she did easily as soon as I explained that the decision had not been mine. As I got older and more strong-willed and my parents began to worry less about what other people thought things got better for me and my friend. We even double dated to the prom and she stayed over at my house that night, a real triumph. At the end of our senior year we were excited to be the first ever joint receipts of the French club scholarship. (We’d both taken four years of French. She was the president of the French club and I thought I was going to be a famous classical music vocalist who would spend her days singing en français.) Even though we attended different universities we stayed in touch. We continued seeing each other during our twenties. Now that we’ve reached the mid-thirties mark and life is more complicated I realize that we’ve lost touch and I miss her. I wonder how she is - I’m willing to bet that she’s still the smartest girl I know. I think we live in the same county now. I must look her up. Even though I wasn’t a good friend to her in sixth grade she was to me, something that I will never forget. I’ll bet our reunion will feel like we’ve never been apart. I’m off to google her right now.

Notice how rb looks all classy and I look very 1989. sigh...

I think this is so cool...

While I was working on today's earlier post I looked to my left where I had left the digital camera on my desk and this shot was just sitting there in the view window. I simply pressed the button. It shows the spine of my journal (which is almost full and I'm sad because I really like the funky flower design), my favorite morning pages writing pen, and some of the books that I'm currently working on. Awesome things are happening all the time; if we just pay attention we'll notice them.

my first vision board

I created my first vision board (I didn't realize that was what I was doing at the time) on Labor Day. Here's what I wrote on the back of it.

9/4/2006 - Labor Day

This week I've been dealing with letting myself let go of a graduate class that I was attempting. I've been struggling with the differences between letting go and being a quitter. I am again coming to terms with the fact that I am not a go-go-go person. I move slowly. I contemplate. I create. Today I turned to the first affirmation in a Louise Hay book and it reminded me of all this. I started with the quote and created this collage.

Began with quote from Louise Hay's Meditations to Heal Your Life. Paper came next based on colors from the quote. Greeting cards I'd received for my last birthday and Christmas provided words and glittery pictures. Then I turned to the January 2005 issue of Shambhala Sun from which I wrote down words and phrases that jumped out at me and I photocopied 2 images. (Note: the librarian in me won't let me rip up magazines or books so I copy things instead.) I also used the September/October issue of Utne for words and phrases. Lastly, I used glitter pens, gel pens, and colored pencils to add the words and phrases. The butterfly is from a set of stickers I purchased on an Adventure Day to Mabry Mill, Va with my parents during the summer. The flower and dragonfly are from junk mail.

The collage was too large for the scanner so I'm including this photo as well.





The words and phrases on the collage are: inner peace, being truly present, center, nature, natural, authentic, music, time, the scenic route, buddhism and more, all we need is love, books, writer, helper, talk, share, laugh, moonlight, listening deeply for peace, friend, celebrate, on the path to enlightenment, love, daughter, namaste, sun, I am safe, green, balance, civility, good life, and spirit.

Sarah's Birthday!!! Hip hip hurray!!!

Sarah's the one in the middle!

(This photo is of the trio who tried to break my wedding singer curse. And yes that is a bridesmaid's ensemble that I am wearing. Lisa, we miss you like crazy, girl!! )


To celebrate your birthday
we went to see some Monet.
What a cool adventure!
We kept our composure (mostly)
and our sleepiness at bay.

photography credit to VanderVeen Photographers

nipping negativity in the bud with silliness

Spring semester began yesterday at UNCG. My colleagues and I discovered that a piece of equipment we'd hoped would be fixed over break was not. It is an essential part of our photocopier, Baron von Copystein. (Yes we named our copier and we even had a name the music library's photocopier contest a couple of years ago when he was all shiny and new). The Baron is our only public copier so this was not great news for our patrons. The good news is that folks can still make copies, they just have to use real cash instead of the e-cash on their university cards. Knowing that this could cause some crankiness I posted the following sign today.

{clip art of surgeons working on an unseen patient was inserted here and the text wrapped around it on the right side} We, your friendly neighborhood music library staff members, are sad to report that the First Card reader attached to our copy machine, the Honorable Baron von Copystein, is ill. We have sent the Baron’s sidekick to a specialty electronics hospital off-campus and fear that his convalescence will not be short. In the meantime, you may feed cash to the Baron or use your First Card at Jackson Library. We apologize for this unforeseen complication.

I haven't seen any incredibly cranky people in the photocopy area...

I live in a house filled with thieves...

and these are the culprits.

I am happy to report that the university where I work shuts down from about Christmas Eve until January 2nd. Because all of my immediate family live in the same town I didn't have to travel at all over the holidays. I spent leisurely days at home with my cuddly animal friends. Bliss...

Annie is a trickster who likes to steal human food and beverages whenever she can. As I go about my morning routine I carry a cup of tea around with me. I try to keep track of that cup at all times, but once in a while I get distracted. Annie attempts to empty all abandoned teacups. Since the entrance of Petunia and the new tea kettle into our lives, my tea starts out hotter and remains hot for a much longer time. (Don't worry she's fine.) One morning over break I had gone into the study to check my email or something and I heard this strange noise in the living room. Have you ever heard a whippet cough? It's pretty funny to witness. Annie had gotten herself a mouthful of hot Earl Grey, spit it out on the couch (there was a small puddle) and was walking around the living room coughing and hacking kinda like someone who's just inhaled their first cigarette puff. I made sure that she was uninjured and after a couple of minutes she stopped coughing. I've been keeping an even closer eye on my teacups lately.

After Annie's little adventure I went into the kitchen to make cinnamon toast. Mitchell is always interested in what happens on the counter so I wasn't surprised when he jumped up to see what I was doing. I put tiny little bits of butter on the bread in each corner and one in the middle (just like Grandma used to so when I was little) and sprinkled cinnamon all over the bread. Cinnamon = gooooood. I turned around to put the butter back in the fridge and Mitchell seized the moment. When I got back to the counter - like a second later - he was chowing down on some organic, unsalted butter (yum-yum, says Mitch). Lesson learned, put the bread in the toaster oven before you return the butter to its home.

I'm surrounded by thieves - cute, sweet, cuddly ones who I love hanging out with - but thieves nonetheless.

Something Else You Should Watch - The Secret

I first heard about The Secret at Christine Kane's October women's retreat. I used some of my Christmas cash (thanks Mom) to order a copy and it arrived yesterday. Check it out and learn about the Law of Attraction. This is powerful stuff, kids! You have the power (and so do I) to make your life into whatever you want it to be. Kinda scary when it's all on you, huh? No worries - positive thoughts are way more powerful than negative ones! And make sure to check out the outtakes. If these people can have this much fun laughing at themselves, they must be doing something right, eh? If you've already seen it or decide to watch it leave me a comment and let me know what you think.

An Inconvenient Truth - Watch It!

Thank you, Al Gore!! I finally saw An Inconvenient Truth today. We can fix this problem, people. Let's do it! Start with watching the dvd, if you haven't already.

I get frustrated because I live in a town that doesn't do recycling pick-up. I pack up my recycling every week, take it with me to work and drop it off in a friend's recycling bin. I can do more...

I'm impressed by Bend of Ivy Lodge's commitment to being carbon neutral.

2007: Groovy Stuff that I'm Looking Forward To

It sounded really dorky to title this post - 2007: Groovy Stuff to which I Am Looking Forward - so I went with the bad grammar. Sorry. As with yesterday's post these are in random order and subject to additions.

This year my word is health so I'm concentrating on making good, conscious and healthful choices in all areas of life. One of the first steps is exploring the world of vegetarianism.

Going to the Monet exhibit at the North Carolina Museum of Art next weekend at 2:30 am! On this adventure I will be accompanied by Sarah whose birthday will be the following day.

Christine Kane's March retreat and her dvd that's coming out that same month.

Publication of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the final HP book. J. K. Rowling, if you're reading my blog (yeah, right) please let Harry live. And the release of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix in theatres. It's a big HP year. I most likely will stand in line at midnight for both of these events, as I have in the past. What's super cool is that the UNCG bookstore does a book release party and not many people have caught on to it. I was like #9 in line for Half Blood Prince and was out of the store by 12:10. HP is the only thing I've ever stood in long lines late at night for.

Helping Sarah write her book. She tells me that I'm her favorite editor. (Sarah, am I allowed to mention the subject matter or is that hush-hush?)

Nurturing my friendships.

Continuing to make mindful strides in my family relationships.

Meeting new people.

Filling my life with Annie and Mitchell love. (That's my whippet and kitty, in case you're new here.)

Continuing to work on making my house cozy.

Attending great concerts in UNCG's School of Music.

Reading tons of stuff. (Please leave a comment to tell me whether you were able to access my amazon wish list. This is not a plug for gifts, I just thought it would be fun to show you the huge numbers of things I wanna read.)

Taking pictures (I think it's time to purchase some sort of zoom lens for my camera).

Posting, at the very least, once a week on this blog.

Going along for the ride with Creativity in the driver's seat.

Helping.

The Year in Review, Part 2: Accomplishments and Other Cool Stuff

2006, what a good year! The following is a list of the stuff that I did, experienced, worked on and/or accomplished. These things make me happy. Note: This list is in random order and subject to additions as more items come to mind.

Stepping out of my comfort zone (and I am a girl who really likes her homey comfort zone) by:

• moving back to the area where I grew up (something I swore I'd never do) - where all of my family lives - and into my grandmother's house (yes, my grandmother is now my landlady)
• attending two of Christine Kane's Women's retreats - I met a bunch of amazing women who I'm proud to call my friends and carry in my heart every day
  
• really exploring my creativity for the first time by making displays at work, cozying up my library office, re-doing my grandmother's former bedroom and making it into my study, taking tons of pictures, making collages, writing poetry, making Christmas presents for my grandparents, playing with crayons and markers, creating mka's Wall of Inspiration in my study and
  
• creating this blog - the more I write here the more comfortable I become with putting myself "out there"
• doing tons of mindful work in relation to my family, including discovering how to not fall back into old patterns, it's working out way better than I expected, especially with my brother (I'm beginning to realize this is part of why I moved back here)
• helping out with some Information Literacy classes at work and volunteering to do library tours
• letting more and more people see the real me - silliness and all
• writing, writing, writing
  

Reaching a new level of trust, understanding, and respect with my "boss." She and I were friends for many years before we became supervisor/supervisee. She was on sabbatical for 6 months this year. During that time I think that we both shifted and gained new perspectives. Her sabbatical was good for both of us, and I'm happy that she came back in July. :) We've managed to strike a balance between work and friendship that works for us. And she lets me edit stuff for her. I love to edit.

Taking library school for a test drive and deciding that I didn't want the payments. This adventure inspired Christine Kane to write a posting for her blog.

Trusting myself.

Trusting the Universe.

Treating people well, specifically our library patrons, our student employees, and my colleagues.

Being a good friend.

Meet Petunia

Mitchell, Annie and I are proud to announce the newest addition to our household, Petunia the purple tea pot. Okay, generally the only things without legs that I name are automobiles and plants but this new teapot makes me so happy that just I couldn't help myself. The new tea kettle is great too - I love the whistle when it yells at me because I've gotten distracted from the kitchen (which never happens around here because I am always so present) - oh hell maybe the kettle will get a name too. You never know with me.

A big shout out to my pals, Robin and Art, at The Extra Ingredient where I purchased these lovely items. I did three (or was it four) years as a part-time employee there during the days of working about 70 hours a week. Three cheers for local businesses that provide fantastic customer service. One of these days I'm gonna go in there and buy a ton of All-Clad cookware. That just might cause Art to do a happy dance - he's the owner.

Yeah, you think I'm completely nuts now don't 'ya? Well, I am in that adorable, fun to hang out with way, not the scary turn around and run the other way way. :)

Cat's Eye

for Wayne

She peered into the room that she'd made her own where he sat taking advantage of her high speed connection, something he couldn't get on the farm. Preening behind the black frames she asked, "What do you think of my new glasses?"

He turned his head away from the screen, looked at her, dropped his chin to his chest, and laughed. "You know who you look like, don't ya?"

As far as she knew he'd never heard of Lisa Loeb so she had an idea of who he meant. "Grandma, right?"

"Yeah, those glasses look just like the ones she had when we were little." She smiled at him, choosing to take his comment as a compliment.

A memory flashed across her mind, that night 17 years ago that she always used to illustrate their oppositeness. As she sat in Aycock enjoying the fickleness of Mozart's Fiordiligi and Dorabella he was at a tractor-pull or monster truck show or some damn thing where you could buy a cap covered in fake mud. She remembered that ugly hat and she chuckled. And that was when she knew that it had all fallen away - all the differences, the old aggravations, the petty crap. Suddenly her heart was full of love for him, the one who really wasn't so much her polar opposite after all. Even though they didn't agree on most things - the environment, politics, religion or Wal-mart - it was okay now. Some time recently they had reached a good place and she had missed it until now. It was a place of mutual respect, not understanding really, they'd probably never get there, but she no longer thought of him as a redneck and she was pretty sure that he didn't think of her as a snob anymore.

She walked across the room, took his hand, and they left the house to embark on some sibling-only mini-adventure. She didn't tell him of her epiphany. She kept quiet about how grateful she was for her brother and how he'd helped her realize that she actually believed in unconditional love, something that only a few years before she'd denied even existed. For if he could love her this hippie-dippy, artsy-fartsy, organic food eating, unaffiliated voting status sister of his then maybe, just maybe there was a chance for world peace.

well, she's not telling him 'til his birthday, anyway. :)

The Year in Review, Part One: Reading

Note: This post is under construction. I intend to include annotations for all of these items. My original idea was to have this done by January 1 but as I made the list I realized that I'd undertaken a huge job so I'm going to work on it a little at a time. Keep checking back for updates.

I have always been embarrassed to admit that I forget the details of most things I read. At the beginning of 2005 I decided to do something about it and started a reading journal. It's a 6 1/2" by 9 1/2 " spiral-bound green med grad recycled notebook in which I jot down my thoughts upon the completion of a book. Most times I am very on top of things and write as soon as I finish something. Other times I'm not so with it, let a few books pile up and then have to reconstruct my thoughts and try to remember when I read what. And sometimes, like the second half of this year, I forget about my reading journal all together.

Earlier this week I read Stephen King's On Writing. He talks about how important it is for writers to read constantly. He says that he reads 80 - 90 books a year. My reaction? Oh man, that's a lot of books. King's book inspired me to look back at what I've read this year and because of my reading journal I am able to present to you, ladies and gents, the following annotated (or currently partially annotated) list.

Wherever possible the links point to the actual edition that I read, not necessarily the easiest to find. I tend to buy books and let them sit on the shelf for a long time before I read them. I also buy a lot of used books so they may be out of print or older editions. If the book was borrowed then I've linked to what seems to be the easiest to find.

Books read cover-to-cover

January

Alexander McCall Smith The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Detective Agency
(note to mka - OP?)

Sue Monk Kidd The Mermaid Chair

Sue Monk Kidd The Dance of the Dissident Daughter
(note to mka - read library copy)

Anne Tyler The Accidental Tourist
(note to mka - different edition)

Milan Kundera The Unbearable Lightness of Being
(note to mka - read library copy)

February

Thich Nhat Hanh Being Peace

Pamela Duncan Moon Women
(note to mka read library copy)

March

Elizabeth Peters Naked Once More

Ellen Degeneres My Point... And I Do Have One

Charlotte Kasl, PhD if the Buddha dated: A Handbook for Finding Love on a Spiritual Path

Scott Ely The Angel of the Garden - Stories

Mark Epstein, MD Going to Pieces Without Falling Apart

April

Barbara Kingsolver Small Wonder

May

Bryan Peterson Learning to See Creatively

July

Joyce Carol Oates Black Water

Barry Lopez Apologia

Sometime between July and October

**Louise Hay You Can Heal Your Life

October

Catherine L. Hobbs The Elements of Autobiography and Life Narratives

**Anne Lamott Bird by Bird

December

bell hooks All About Love: New Visions
Without change, we cannot grow, our will to grow in spirit and truth is how we stand before life and death, ready to choose life. Chapter 11 Loss: Loving into Life and Death, page 205

**Stephen King On Writing


Books in the study that currently have a book mark in them

Alison Chisholm The Craft of Writing Poetry

Elisabeth W. Schneider Poems and Poetry

**Julia Cameron The Artist's Way

Homer A. Jack, ed. The Ghandi Reader

Anne H. Hoy The Book of Photography

Erich Schiffmann Yoga: The Spirit and Practice of Moving into Stillness

**Eckhart Tolle A New Earth

** Sarah Ban Breathnach Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy

Barry Lopez River Notes

Paulette Mitchell The 15 Minute Vegetarian Gourmet

**Don Richard Riso and Russ Hudson The Wisdom of the Enneagram

Louise Hay Meditations to Heal Your Life

Claudia Emerson Pharaoh, Pharaoh

Sylvia Plath The Colossus & Other Poems

Coleman Barks with John Moyne, translators The Essential Rumi

C.F. MacIntyre, translator Rilke Selected Poems

Rainer Maria Rilke Letters to a Young Poet

Sue Monk Kidd The Secret Life of Bees

And on the bedside table with a book mark

E. Annie Proulx Heart Songs

Donna Ball, Sandra Chastain, Debra Dixon, Virginia Ellis, Nancy Knight, Deborah Smith Sweet Tea and Jesus Shoes

Elizabeth Spencer The Southern Woman: New and Selected Fiction

Magazines

Alternative Medicine
#New Yorker
#Ode
Shambala Sun
Spirituality and Health
#The Sun
Utne
#Vegetarian Times

Okay, so I have touched about 1/2 of the number of books that King reads in a year and completed about half of those. There's some magazine reading in there too and since I don't read trashy magazines I think that counts for something. Not too shabby for a commuting, full-time library technical assistant and part-time writer for fun, huh? I must say I am proud of me. Now to just finish the ones I've started and try to keep up with the mags. I hope that your 2007 is filled with good reading.

** = from Christine's Post Retreat Reading List
# = new subscription

trying to make sense out of senselessness

It started with a voicemail from her beloved former boss. “Let’s get together soon. I’m sorry that I’ve been out of touch. I’ve been swamped lately. I’m sure you read about what happened to D’s son…” She hadn’t.

Before she called back she wanted to find out what this terrible thing was so she went to her computer. Oh my god, the words flew out of her mouth as she scrolled down the page skimming the first article. It got more and more terrible. His son - the son of the man who had sent her that lovely email when she decided to leave, the one who noticed how good her work was when she was left alone to do it, the one who ate banana pudding with her when they were away on a business trip, the one who toasted her at that last Christmas party, the good ‘ole southern boy - his son was dead.

She called back, set a date, wished happy holidays, and said how sorry and shocked she was by the incident. She attempted to distract herself by thinking about how good the voice students had done with their performance the night before, about how uplifting the opera’s story of the healed boy had been. She remembered the gingerbread house decorating party she’d gone to earlier that week and how silly her friend had looked balancing gum drops on his nose. And how the kitty had amused herself with the unbraided strands of red twizzler. She laughed as she thought about the post-performance-high opera director who had made prank calls to the library service desk the day before. She was looking forward to having dinner with her co-workers that evening, the last time they would be together until after the new year. She drove to work; she went about her day. It worked for a while.

At work, she was weird. Things were bugging her. She caught herself thinking about the dead boy. She read more – a stolen toy, a swat team, a battering ram, noises mistaken for gun shots, law enforcement gun shots fired through the closed door, dead boy, dead dog, officer falling on the ground with a scream. None of it made sense to her - senseless, all of it. Why did this happen? Why would he steal, why would they bring a swat team? She had to leave her office, to get away from the computer. She moved her in/out magnet to out saying that she was going for coffee. She didn’t write a back time because she didn’t know when she’d be able to return.

As soon as the cold air hit her she started to cry – quiet crying without too many tears, the kind you can cover up if you run into someone you know. She walked first to the coffee house where she pretended to be okay. Choclatey coffee drink in hand she headed back outside. She needed solitude to process this. What she really needed was nature, but she wasn’t going to find much of that here. The students were gone for winter break so she thought quiet would be easy to find. Everywhere she went there was noise – construction noise, parents picking up kids from the daycare center and then starting up their cars, 12-month university employees running around passing out cards and gifts. She was overwhelmed. Why was there no fucking quiet place on this campus? She considered calling her friend, the one from the retreats, the one who was so wonderful, but decided that it would be unfair for their first non-airplane arrangements phone call to be weepy and frantic. She ended up on the back porch of her old cherished dorm. It seemed an appropriate place. She pulled her journal from her bag and started to write. It helped a little and so did her pink flowered hankie and her girlie coffee.

It was cold and she wasn’t ready to go back yet so she got up and started walking again. She was still trying to figure out where there would be quiet and then she remembered the meditation room in the student center. On the way there she ran into a friend who gave her a small purple silk bag filled with lavender and a hug – two things that she hadn’t realized that she needed. She arrived at the student center - the meditation room was locked. Her first instinct was to start crying again but she stopped herself and walked to the help desk and asked if it was possible to get the room unlocked. Of course, it’s not supposed to be locked was the response and the student behind the desk went downstairs with her to unlock the door.

She chose a bench near the window. With the bag of lavender in her hand she looked out at the fountain. The garden was prettier than it used to be when she worked on this side of campus and took her lunch breaks here on sunny days. This area was renovated during the 4 years she was away. She sniffed the lavender and thought about the boy that she’d met only once. He must have been a middle-schooler then - so kind, full of love for his parents, happy to be included in his dad’s work party. How could this have happened to him?

She walked across the room to the zen sand garden. She used the rake to remove the Merry Christmas that she imagined was left by a post-exams student right before he left for home. She picked up a small rock and wrote the boy’s name. Then she wrote the officer’s name – the man who killed him. She drew a line connecting their names, in hopes that something good can come from senselessness.

Every day I win tiny victories...

and last Monday was no exception.

My mornings are all about ritual, moving slowly and balance. Last Monday was mostly like that. While I was watching Ellen I forgot that I was boiling an egg and let all the water boil out of the pot. I salvaged the pot so no real harm was done. Then I left the house and things went a bit more haywire.

I was ten minutes past my I-absolutely-have-to-leave-the-house-by-this-time time so I knew I was going to be a late for work. I hate being late - somewhere in my childhood it got burned onto my brain that it is disrespectful to keep people waiting - so I always, always, always strive to be on time. (My parents and my brother would laugh at this. Keep in mind that they expect me to be places in the morning - mornings have entirely different rules for the always cranky in the morning, mka. I'd also like it on the record that I arrived precisely on time for Christmas breakfast this year.)

Back to last Monday. As I opened Meredith's driver door I remembered that it was soon going to be time to feed her. Drat! I didn't have time to stop by Dad's store and fill up. My normal routine is to wait until the little orange light comes on before refueling. The light wasn't on but it was gonna be soon and I had a 45 minute drive ahead of me. (I am very picky about who I give my money to so I try to hit indie gas stations whenever possible.) I decided to chance it.

Before I got through the back alley I noticed a strange scraping noise so I put Meredith in park and jumped out to investigate. There was a rather long and skinny piece of tree limb protuding from Meredith's underneath area. I bent over and started tugging. The limb was not moving. So I got on my knees, started pulling again and coughing - I hadn't realized that my face was right in front of the exhaust pipe, nasty! I moved my head and was able to get the limb loose. I congratulated myself on not getting worked up. Victory #1.

I was having a happy time in the car, singing along to a cd that my friend, Ruth, sent me. Everything was good. I was talking to myself. School is over for the semester, we're not going to have any patrons, we've got two or three students working today, and anyway it's library work not brain surgery no one is going to die if I am 10 minutes late so lighten up, missy. And that's when I saw the traffic jam. I rarely encounter traffic problems on my lunchtime commute so this was a bit of a surprise. It was time to chat with me again. You are not allowed to freak out. This is not a big deal. You're 30 minutes into this commute and the little orange light has not come on. Everything is fine. Cue little orange light. Okay, so the light is on, you still have plenty of gas in the car. What if you have to sit here forever and you do run out of gas? Well you'll just get the car off the road. There are tons of people stuck here someone would help you. Thanks to ex-boyfriend you have one of those red plastic gas cans in the trunk. You'll just get some gas. No worries here. Guess what? I really believed all that stuff that I said. Victory #2.

I continued listening to Ruth's cd. I really was enjoying myself. There was even some car dancing. Now that the being late part was out of my control I was okay with it. I called the Music LIbrary and let my co-workers know that I was stuck in traffic. More car dancing and singing. I noticed the folks in the truck in front of me throwing their arms up in the air. I was hoping that my car dancing was making some people smile (not laugh at me, mind you). We moved ahead a bit and I was happy to see that the truck with the flying arms people stayed still and let some cars out from the private school parking lot. Now we were really moving. Wahoo! As I drove past the girl holding the slow sign I smiled. She was sitting on an orange cone, swinging her legs and having a snack. She looked like she was having a great time, not letting the stress of the cranky drivers get to her at all. I looked down and saw the little orange light go off. I had plenty of gas left to get to work. (And I didn't let myself get pissed off that the reason for the traffic jam was the construction of ANOTHER shopping center with ANOTHER huge-ass Harris Teeter in it. I mean how many Taj Mateeters does Greensboro need... Really, I wasn't pissed off about it that day.) Victories #3, #4 and #5 at least.

Some days it's hard to see them, but the tiny victories are always there. We just have to remember to look.

Blooming and Bed Making - Camera Fun

The amaryllis starting blooming a couple of weeks ago and I, of course, grabbed the camera for documentation purposes. Have a looky. Thanks Mom. (I ended up with 4 beautiful flowers, the first of which is now starting to look sad.)








That first night of the flower photographing I was putting clean sheets on the bed. Annie came to help. She helped by getting in the way, being the cutest whippet ever and making me laugh.

Grandparent Christmas Gifts - Part 3 - Jerona (aka Mama Mac)

Jerona’s Roses

Merry Christmas Mama Mac love, mka

one perfect pink rose
waits for others to open
fragrant solitude

next door lives her friend
yellow with tattered edges
soon she will be gone

three red rose bushes
spread about the front yard

separate unity

Grandparent Christmas Gifts - Part 2 - Roy

See the post below to understand what I am up to here.

July Sunset on Roy’s Farm

Colors to see,
just past those trees.
Yellow, orange,
pink mix with blue.
Then the sun sleeps.

Merry Christmas Roy love, mka

Grandparent Christmas Gifts - Part 1 - Big Daddy

Yes, my mother's father who has been shorter then me since I was about 8 years old insists on being called Big Daddy. I'm Southern. Don't give me any flack. :)

Every year I find Christmas gifts for my grandparents to be the hardest to come up with. I mean they have everything they need and I refuse to buy pajamas AGAIN. Sadly that boce ball set (that I really thought she'd like) I gave Jerona (my dad's mom) several years ago, well when I moved into her house this summer I found it in the "back" room (now my bedroom) never opened. So I decided this year I'd try something completely different.

I bought a digital camera right after Christmas last year. I've gone a bit crazy taking pictures and I've been wanting to do something with them. So I decided to turn some of them into gifts for Big Daddy, Jerona and her husband, Roy.

I've purchased pictures frames with ready-made mats for multiple pictures. I'm leaving a few of the spots for pictures blank and writing something to put in those spots. They are collages, I suppose. I just finished Big Daddy's and thought I'd make a blog version too.

Here's a little history as a way of explaining what this one is about. Big Daddy spent most of his adult life as a supervisor at a textile mill - well, that's what he got paid to do. He's come home from that job and work on his cattle farm until dark every night. He loved it. He'd walk around making this buzzing kind of sound with his lips. He'd talk to the cows and pet them. (I still don't understand them how he could sell them to be turned into hamburger - I never will, I guess.) When Grandma got sick he eventually sold all his cattle so that he could be inside with her all the time. Now he's a pretty sad old man, suffering from macular degeneration, who sits in his recliner all day. Another farmer uses his pasture land. These are pictures that I took back in February when I was on the farm for the weekend and woke up to snow. (yay snow!) When I went back inside from my 130 shot morning I told him about what happened with the calf and the mama cow and I got a chuckle out of him. I'm really hoping that he'll be able to see the pictures, but if not I can describe them to him. And I hope that he likes my silly cow comments.



Moo-moo-moooooo! Who’s that strange girl pointing a silver box at me? I’ve never seen her before. She’s scary. Mom. Mom! MOMMMMMMM!


What’s going on Junior? Let me just peek around the stables here and see what’s got you all riled up. Oh my, she is a bit scary. Alright lady! Stop looking at my baby. I mean it. Walk away from here and no one will get hurt.

Don’t make me come over there. Take your silver box and leave us alone. That’s right, go point it at some trees. See Junior she’s walking away everything is fine now. I’ll just stare at her for a little while longer to make sure she knows who’s boss. You run along and play. Man, just what does a mama cow have to do to get a little peace and quite around here? Geez, just trying to enjoy a nice Saturday morning…


Merry Christmas Big Daddy! love, mka

I'm It!!

Evidentially there is a game of tag going on in the blog world and Christine Kane got me. It's not freeze tag it's here-are-five-things-that-you-don't-know-about-me tag. So here it goes.

I waited until I was 22 years old before I got my driver's license.
And no, I didn't grow up in a big city with good public transportation. I grew up in rural North Carolina where you had to have a car to get anywhere. The problem was that I was genuinely terrified that I was going to kill people if I got behind the wheel. (Have I ever mentioned that I grew up afraid of my shadow and that I am prone to overwhelm?) After I graduated from college I knew it was time to learn to drive so my little brother agreed to teach me. He was much more patient than my driver's ed teacher or either of my parents had been when I was in high school and to be honest, I was a bit less of a drama queen. My bro even took me for my driver's test, which I passed on the first try, only because I went to the one dmv in the county that did not require parallel parking - I still suck at that.

I played Marian the Librarian in my high school's 1988 production of The Music Man.
Yep, and boy was it fun! Singing with a barbershop quartet. Wearing a shiny blue dress, climbing the footbridge and singing Till There was You. There were bells on a hill but I never heard them ringing, no I never heard them at all.. sorry, I was back on that bridge for a second there. I still have the videotape and no, I am not sharing it with you. It's a real gas to see my 80's perm and to watch how I kept rhythm with my head. I looked like one of those damn bobble head dolls. My friend who played Harold Hill in that production back during our junior year is a professional actor now. He finds the fact that I do library work to be extremely amusing. About 10 years ago he showed up at my old office in the main library and pretended that he had a bag of marbles. Side-splitting laughter all around that day, let me tell 'ya!

I sang in Carnegie Hall.
A couple of weeks before I graduated from college I went to NYC with a choral director professor from my school who was having his NYC debut, my roommate/best friend, and a ton of other people to sing the Mendelssohn Hymn of Praise over Thanksgiving break. It was all very exciting. Everyone back home was certainly impressed. My friend and I decided to have Thanksgiving dinner on our own at The Russian Tea Room, where my credit card was declined. How embarrassing!! I was trying to be all fancy and sophisticated, not so fast there little miss rural NC!! I only had a $500 credit limit on my card and I'd made sure I'd paid it off completely before I left for the trip. The problem was that the hotel had put a temporary charge on my card because they gave us the key to the snack cabinet! Luckily my friend had another card so my honor was saved.

I'm not cut out for a "real" job.
I tried it. I worked as a legal assistant at a prominent Raleigh law firm for two and a half years and I was a basket case for all but about a month of that time. That place was way too fast-paced for this girl! (See the overwhelm comment above.) I did, however, work for the nicest man I've ever met who treated me like a fifth daughter. Thank you, Howard Twiggs! You are a true gentleman.

As a wedding singer I am a jinx.
I'm thinking back to every time I've done the wedding singer thing and there's only about half a dozen, but each of those marriages has either ended in divorce or the death of one of the partners within three years. I am not kidding you. The last time I was asked to do it I sang in a trio - I thought that would break the curse. Nope, D I V O R C E! When my brother asked me to sing at his wedding I turned him down and I'm happy to report that he and my lovely sister-in-law are going strong - it'll be three years this spring. (Don't worry I didn't just jinx them - that evil power only comes out if I sing. I only use my super powers for good these days.)

Okay, that was fun. Thanks, CK! I tag Darth Larry and Justin.

Cuddly Cuteness and Scary Silliness

The cuteness comes first!

This is Mitchell in a box on the "dining" table. Isn't he a handsome boy? (Mac, that's the box that your Wallace action figure came in.) Why spend money on cat toys when a box or a bag will keep our furry friends happy for hours?

Here's Annie basking in the morning sun at the backdoor. What a cutie!

Here comes the silliness. Watch out!

I came back from a meeting this afternoon and thought it would be a great idea to put my gloves in my hat as I walked into Sarah's office. I call this one mka, the blurry reindeer. I'm betting Santa's not gonna wanna hire me. {photo credit, if she wants it, goes to Sarah.}

And this, my friends, is what exams week does to you even when you are not a student. Notice how the huge glasses are cock-eyed? If only I were cool. Nah, I'm embracing my library nerdness! {photo credit is all Mallory's}.

Anyone else feeling a bit nutty this week?

There's a butt on my blog - oh my!!!

My pal and fellow blogger, Darth Larry, recently returned from a trip to Italy where he and his lovely wife wowed Florence with their musical prowess. He on cello and the missus on piano - they are quite the duo. So today DL was in the library - mka, he says, I brought you a present from Italy! I saw it and instantly thought of you and knew that I had to buy it and bring it back. With a big smile on his face and after much rummaging around in his bag he proudly presented me with this postcard of Michelangelo's David's boodie! I began laughing and thanking him profusely for David's butt. I mean, it's a gift from Italy, ya know and David is an amazing piece of art and it is funny that his ass is on a postcard. I can appreciate all that. (I'm not going to share with you what part of David Sarah got a picture of, naughty, naughty. You'll have to ask her if you're interested.) The thing I'm wondering about is what is it about me that caused DL to see a butt and think of me? Just what image am I projecting, I ask 'ya? :) Here's what I've decided - I am very touched that Mr. World-Renowned Cellist thought of me while he was away and I'm happy to have his lovely gift. I'm going to put it on the wall in my bathroom and see if anyone notices. My family's reaction may prove to be interesting. Mom, it's art, I swear!

My Mom is a Sweetheart

Various members of my family take turns walking Miss Annie for me on the days that I work. My mom takes a turn at least once a week. I am extremely grateful that she helps me out with this. Yesterday, not only did she take care of Annie and give Mitchell some attention she left gifts for me. It is so exciting to come home after an 11-hour day and find presents on your kitchen counter. Tomorrow I hope to get the amaryllis in its pot so I can start watching it grow. It's going to be gorgeous when it blooms. And I plan to use the Santa mug (ho ho ho) to carry my tea on my December Saturday work mornings. I mean, how can I be grumpy when I'm drinking tea out of Santa's head.

My mom rocks!!! (And she told me tonight that over the weekend she ate an organic apple and liked it so much that she bought a whole bag. I am sooooo proud.)

For Christine

Christine Kane has been talking about gratitude over at her blog lately. She's not just whistlin' dixie - this stuff works. You should check it out. I am a firm believer in the daily gratitude list.

I drive past lots of churches during my commute. I find the messages posted on these churches' signs intriguing and sometimes exasperating. There is one church that regularly delights me with what they put out there each week. New things are posted sometime between late Wednesday night and Saturday morning. I know this because there is always something new when I come into town to begin my work week on Saturday mornings (my cranky day). When I saw this message I immediately thought of Christine so tonight I stopped and took this picture.

This is for you Christine. Keep on doing your groovy thang!

Some Words to Live By

I read Don Miguel Ruiz's The Four Agreements last year. I was thinking about it today. I decided to copy this from the inside front cover to post in my study so that I'd see it every morning while I'm doing my morning pages and starting my day. I highly recommend this book. It helped me to shift some of my thinking especially in the "don't take anything personally" department.

Have groovy days, all of you. Love, love, love...

Missing Mary Agnes

If Grandma were still alive I would have called her this morning to sing a silly version of Happy Birthday that includes monkeys, lions and elephants and she would have laughed, just like she did every year. And we would be taking her out to dinner (at about 4:30 in the afternoon.)

The following is the eulogy I delivered at Grandma’s funeral in September 1999 – one of the most difficult things I’ve done thus far. It was completely self-imposed; I felt a real need to do it. Grandma had been sick for several years so I had a long time to think about what I wanted to say when she died. (I apologize if it repeats any information that I have previously supplied on this blog.) I wanted to read it today so I thought I’d share it with you.

I feel that I have been truly lucky in the fact that I have known all 4 of my grandparents. It was a wonderful experience having them involved in my childhood, my adolescent years, and now in my young adult life. Last December I lost my dad’s father. My Papa. But I am comforted by the fact that he’s learned the ropes and is now serving as my Grandma’s tour guide.

Grandma, or Mary Agnes Tuttle Peay, as a lot of you know her… Actually she wasn’t always known as Grandma. You see, I’m the oldest of the grandchildren and have always been somewhat of a practical-minded person. When I discovered that my grandfather, Robert Craven Peay, Sr., wanted to be called Big Daddy, it made perfect sense in my young mind that my grandmother should be called Big Mama. So not realizing the connotation attached to the phrase – Big Mama she became. She hated it! When my brother, Wayne, came along she convinced him to call her Grandma, but I was stubborn even then. Then my first cousin, Caroline, was born, and next came her brother, Craven. Well, Big Mama was more persuasive that I. The score was 3 to 1 and I was losing. I may be stubborn but I’m also realistic and I eventually gave in, but I still giggle when I see the sign on her pantry door that her dear friend, Mary Catherine Neal, cross-stitched for her, it reads – Big Mama’s Kitchen.

Over the last couple of years I’ve thought a lot about my maternal grandmother’s life and realized how much she has shaped who and what I am. And how much like her I have become. Please bear with me while I share a little of this with you.

During my sophomore year of college I interviewed Grandma for a school project. She told me that when she met my grandfather she was living and working in Greensboro away from her family. (She also told me that she had a big belly laugh about his last name – but that’s another story.) I was totally amazed by that fact that my grandmother had lived in an apartment on Tate Street just a couple of miles from where I live now. I had no idea that she had been a single girl on her own. Way to go, Grandma! It’s difficult enough for a 90’s girl to make it on her own. I find you such an inspiration.

Grandma taught me many things. In fact, her lessons are evident in my everyday life. There is a magnet on her refrigerator door that says, “tray a little kindness.” I believe that Grandma lived by the words on that magnet. She was indeed a very kind woman and when she thought one of us had been unkind to someone she would take us to the refrigerator, show us the magnet, and have a little conversation with us. I think that I’ve learned that lesson well. I strive to be kind to everyone I come in contact with and at the same time stand up for myself when it’s necessary. It’s a hard balance to maintain – I struggle with it daily, but I think Grandma would be pleased.

Grandma always told me – there is a place for everything and when you’re finished with something you should put it back in that place. And we all know her home was always perfectly organized. I definitely took this lesson to heart – maybe to my detriment in some cases. These organizational skills have proven to be very useful in the work that I do – but my friends love to tease me when I explain to them how I have to straighten my house each night before I go to bed and how I can not sleep if my shoes aren’t in the closet. [2006 mka says, er well umm, not so much anymore…]

I also learned about the importance of creating an attractive environment for yourself from Grandma. She always filled her home with lovely flowers from her garden and created a comfortable and beautiful living environment for herself and Big Daddy. She was always either inside working on some sort of project or outside in the garden making her outdoor environment more beautiful.

She taught me that gardening is an extremely rewarding hobby. If she were here right now she’d laugh at that. She used to take me on Sunday afternoon walks around the farm to teach me about plants and trees but I wasn’t interested back then. Now when I pittle around with my houseplants and daydream about the garden I hope to have someday I wish that I had listened much more intently to those horticultural lessons. What I could have learned from her and her incredible green thumb…

And speaking of green – I have picked up an affinity for that color from Miss Mary Agnes. If you’d ever been to my apartment you’d soon realize that it is mostly furnished from Grandma and Big Daddy’s basement. There are two pieces of furniture there that Grandma painted antique green. I refer to them as being from Mary Agnes Tuttle Peay’s Green Period. I am preparing to do some painting in my apartment. I suppose that you won’t have to ponder very long to come up with my color choice. A chip off the old block, you might say?

The last lesson I want to talk about is the classy lady lesson. My grandmother was one well-put-together woman. From the top of her well-coifed hair-do to her spectator pumps she was perfectly groomed. It wasn’t just her appearance though – she knew how to treat people. Remember her motto, try a little kindness – she lived true to it. I hope that I can live up to her standards. [2006 mka also says I was in my little black dress, pearls, and dying the hair to color the gray phase in 1999, again not so much anymore on the appearance part of this.]

Yesterday morning I was trying to come up with as many beautiful memories of Grandma that I could. Among the many thoughts that ran across my mind was this one. She loved to watch Lawrence Welk on Saturday nights and many, many times I watched it with her. There was a lady singer on the show who, for some reason, reminded me of Grandma. I used to tell Grandma that and it always made her smile. So here’s to you – Mary Agnes, Big Mama, Lawrence Welk Lady, Grandma – as can be seen by the presence of all these folks here today – your life touched many hearts. Thank you for everything you taught me and for loving me so dearly. I love you Grandma and I miss you.

Thank you for allowing me to share these memories about my grandmother. At this time I would like to invite any of you out there who would like to – to share memories or talk about a way in which Grandma had touched you personally.