The Strand

You were carefully selected

based on your luster and shape.

In the past, these unique qualities

made you feel unusual and alone.

A tiny hole was drilled through your soul

and slowly

you were threaded

with others just like you.

Little knots were tied by your sides,

which silenced your insecurities.

You enjoyed the dual nature of these knots.

For not only did they distinguish you individually,

they secured your place in this beautiful strand.

The Nature Of Things

I don't want to ever be considered one who disturbs the nature of things. If I died today, let it be known that I was a preservationist of all things chippy, rusted, and vintage. I don't know if this narrative would ever succeed me, or have the kind of credence I imagine. Maybe it should be my epitaph instead, written in stone to confuse everyone for the rest of time. I'm good at that; no need to stop.

There's a rusted yellow sink in a ravine downside the path I walk each day. It's the perfect shade of faded yellow, almost butter,

mixed with rust, almost nutmeg.

It's eggnog!

I wonder how the heck I'd lug it up the ravine. It has to be rescued, for only I can see it's beauty and possibilities.

I've been wondering for a year now. The perfect planter, chicken feeder, or it could just come live on the farm next to the rusty tub by the barn waiting for the special day to have a reason. Not all things are that fortunate.

Yet each day the yellow sink turns into sour grapes. It's imagined as too heavy, too rusty, and useless. Then today it dawned on me. I can't rescue this sink, it's habitat.

I can't disturb habitat.

It's like a sunken ship on the ocean floor possibly providing shelter for all things small and smaller in the woods.

I looked up habitat and not only is it defined as a shelter, it is a way to obtain food, water, and attract a mate.

It was then that I

pictured a little "do not disturb" sign hanging from the corner of the yellow sink and I thought, Who am I to disturb the nature of things?

Lured

That shiny exterior lures you every time.

Yet, still you bite.

Why can't you see those backward facing points?

It's hard because they are hidden so perfectly behind the glitz and shine.

So, you bite again.

Dragging you deeper and deeper in.

Even further than you thought you'd go.

Time passes

and you bite once more, thinking it may be different.

But it's not.

Not until

that day.

The day when you just can't bite anymore

because you've recognized the bait

and realized it is false.

And, Oh my! ....It's Always been false!

This is the day that you swim.

Swim faster and more accurately than you've ever had before.

But, for how long?

Embracing A Tree

There is a secret to growing old that I struggle to embrace. I believe it has something to do with accepting the changes. What once was a rather unified surface is now an unexpected, lumpy terrain that refuses to cooperate with my wardrobe. Things that stood high have shifted and settled. It's taken me a long time to become settled. It should feel better. It should feel more like an arrival. It should feel like wining a medal or some kind of symbol as to how far I've come.

I see this tree everyday when I walk the dogs. She wears her lumps and crevices proudly, front and center. This embrace forms a very strong symbol; one that reminds me how much further I have to go.

Thanks tree.

Organizing Butterflies

On New Year's Day my fortune cookie read,

"It's alright to have butterflies in your stomach. Just get them to fly in formation."

My resolution for 2012 is to DISCOVER.

Unfortunately, the things I want to do, stir the butterflies.

So as I approach each endeavor, I plan to imagine organized rows, fluttering peacefully, in the place I feel the fear.

Ring-A-Ling Ring-A-Ling

For the past couple of days, I've been thinking heavily about what I recently heard a weatherman say about snow. Snow is an annoyance or an adventure depending on your point of view or your age. Pretty poetic for a forecaster, don't you think? I imagine this could be applied to just about anything, though.

Perhaps, I've grown a little cynical, but lately things seem less adventurous and more of a annoyance. Maybe it's the fact that I turned 45 this week or because it's the holidays. Maybe it's a combination.

I was shopping the other day and found myself getting really annoyed. As I waited in line, the muscles in my neck grew tense and beads of sweat rolled down my back. It was then that I realized the song that was playing. It was Silver Bells.

That song conjures up the worst of Christmas memories, worse than the Ronco Bottle And Jar Cutter, a gift from my dad one year, which is a different story.

This song is psychological warfare to me. Keep this in mind when you need me to surrender the compound.

In the first grade Christmas pageant I was cast as a Silver Bell, not Susie Snowflake, and most importantly, NOT The Virgin Mary-the most coveted role among all 6 year old Catholic girls. This seems rather absurd, now that I think about it.

Had those nuns known the repercussions of casting be as a bell and not The Virgin, my life would have been completely different. I wouldn't be sweating like Pavlov's dog every time I hear a ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling . I think he salivated, but either way there was a bell involved.

Things would have been different alright.

Who knows, I may have even liked the snow.

Ring-A-Ling

Ring-A-Ling

Soon it will be Christmas day.

Vegetable With No Cream

The German word for snow is Schnee, when pronounced correctly rhymes with the English word, knee. When we lived in Germany I found it amusing that something so dreadful that could last for months on end had such a cute little name. It sounded like a petite sneeze. A sneeze is defined as a semi-autonomous, convulsive expulsion of air from the lungs through the mouth. No offense to the Germans, but that pretty much sums up the rest of the language. Not a series of sneezes, but convulsive expulsions. In the three years we were there, I learned a few words and could fake my way through a conversation. I knew when to nod and laugh. The Germans learn English in school and welcome the opportunity to show off their multi-language skills, therefore, I learned to speak English with a German accent.

The one phrase I had down was what kind of dog I had. This I had to recite to every passerby on our daily walks. After a while, I thought I get creative and add a little more to the phrase. My dog's name is Sienna. She is a mixture breed and she has no teeth. I said this phrase for the first two years and always felt so proud of myself. I was speaking German!

One day John was with me and I felt like showing off. Since he spoke perfect German and taught himself, well...whatever, he laughed and asked if I really knew what I was saying. Of course, I added," my dog is a mixture and she has no teeth". Except I had the two most important words wrong. The word for mixture is Gemisch and I was saying vegetable, which is Gemüse. The word for teeth is Zähne and I was saying cream, which is Sahne. Hello, this is my dog Sienna. She is a vegetable with no cream.

Now that we live in Ohio and it's sneezing outside for the first time this Winter, I wonder if the people in our little German village ever ask what happened to that woman who walked her dog that was a vegetable with no cream.