(read tuesday 5pm post for details...or at least a vague idea of what i'm talking about.)
I am calm again.
I am focused--
well, as focused as I get.
i cooked salmon and threw some baby romaine in a bowl with cesar dressing.
ate it here, reading blogs.
i mopped and vacumed and washed odd parts of my bedding--
mattress cover, quilt.
my neck hurts from--
something at the gym,
but it's all a blur.
my thoughts today were like a heavy rainstorm,
I prefer the steady flow of a mountain stream.
like the one in Camden...
curling its steady way down the side of Mt. Battie,
slipping under Rt. 1, and into the ocean.
that stream, wide but shallow.
that stream, cool and crisp and soft with mossy rocks.
up a stream--
up a mountain?
rustling leaves all around, sunlight only peeking through in bits and pieces.
ferns and moss,
damp brown leaves--
slippery-when-dry (but they are wet) pine needles.
I miss that hike.
I miss passing cars on those narrow winding roads.
I hate the things about Utah that aren't Maine.
why can't Utah be Maine?
those are just the rules, Lisa. get over it.
yeah. I am.
and my thoughts wander...
like that stream.
I wonder about some things,
and I ponder others...
all those words, just one letter different from word to word...
but so similar.
I think that makes me un-creative.
I could be wrong.
I have thoughts just out of reach today.
thoughts i think at the wrong times--
no keyboard lies under fingers,
which makes any time the wrong time.
what the fuck would I do with a pen?
don't have one, anyway.
I feel things shifting--
more of my life than I know is changing.
I heard it, whispered across the alfalfa field--
did it come from the setting sun?
or from the blue-white mountain?
did it come from the hawk overhead?
or the horses at the end of my road?
it doesn't matter...
none of them know me.
none of them could really know what's happening inside the walls of this house,
or the walls of my skull.
besides, I dig change.
...sometimes I dig for change (in the bottom of my purse).
and I do love change, if I expect it...
but mostly I love the feeling of the waves hitting my boat--
I get sea sick easily.
"...watch the horizon," they say.
it works, too.
I WANT TO WRITE SOMETHING REAL.
I want to write something my mother would be proud of.
sounds silly, i know...
but I do.
I want to write about her life, as I see it.
I want to see if she guesses...
I want to describe the taste of the first raspberry cobbler I ever made...
that golden topping so insanely rich and perfect--
perfect, yes: i have yet to duplicate it.
my mother taught me everything worth knowing.
...i'm a slow learner, it seems.
but I have a lifetime to do extra credit...
I hope I use my time wisely.
One of the dearest friends that I have, and that anyone could hope for,
turned 30 today.
I called her, left a message.
I miss her so.
She is the Anne to my Diana--or vice versa?
Lucille to my Ethel--at least in our silly game of childhood "old lady names."
She is one of my greatest heroes, one of my fondest-memory-sharers,
she has a heart of gold and the outer beauty to match.
...when we were 5 or so, and first became inseparable, I remember watching my 16 year old brother get dropped off from a date with his girlfriend and giggling over their kiss (they've now been married 20 years...) and i remember lying on the front porch, on a warm summer night. staring up at the moths, swarming the porch light, and telling each other which new kid on the block we wanted to meet, and how it would go--with endless variations, of course. I remember sending her off to the University of Kansas, the week before I left for Utard...crying over the first big step away from our childhood. feeling the end of innocence in our guts, hard and sharp. no more sleepovers, no more whole pans of brownies while watching Grease, no more...shit, now i'm crying. fer fuck's sake, girl! I should have made a better effort to talk to Ethel on the first day of what is our 30th year...Lucille, as it turns out, is a shitty friend. I'm sorry, Ethel... I will fly home to see your first baby, though. (don't tell my sister...) and I will call YOUR sister... and... maybe someday we can spend hours and hours in your kitchen, cooking and chatting as our kids play...a relaxed chatting, though. not these hurried, almost awkward catch-up talks, after months and months apart. i want to be your neighbor. maybe someday.
I hate loving people, sometimes.
happy day to you all--