"Labels and Tags"

A Poem. It doesn't rhyme and that's how I like it. Love, Me.

"Labels and Tags"

These monarchs in my midriff, they are
eagerly anticipating your arrival,
maybe reminding me of my fear that tends to crop up
this time of year.

So I am labeled a worrier, not a warrior
and tagged as a sensitive young girl.
Perhaps the Luna moth’s green left me envious, jealous
of lime-colored wings.

Heavy mist settled the morning’s valley
allowing peak autumnal rich hues
to pique my interest, needle my thoughts and remind me
of fall’s lesson taught.

I placed October in the box labeled ‘moody’
and there it has stayed. Quite true to form,
you’ve made yourself a comfortable corner in the far back,
outlined with strict borders.

Somehow I trapped my gossamer wings in
an awkwardly folded fashion while peering in to see autumn.
I struggled and stretched but the tall frost-covered grass permitted
neither flight nor fall.

My hopes have lain with the gypsy’s life
but though my heart wandered, it always returned.
My captive view into darkened box cocoon saddened me greatly,
barely hearing your tune.

Our migration together aloft the wind currents
and gyres, alight on milkweed to feed and flutter
and flit on to warmer climes, suffer hardships to
free our delicate lives.

And now you join October quite without warning.
The harshness of my wanderings, my flights did
nothing to reassure you of my warrior wishes, so my swallowtail tag
still sadly spells ‘worrier.’

The White Stuff

This morning, as I was walking around the property, the pink horizon was illuminating the snow and ice over the fields and bare trees. White sparkly balsam firs, heavy with yesterday's weather remnants, accented the borders of the house and 40 acres of fields. It was gorgeous, and I stood there thinking how lucky I am to be able to live in a quaint (albeit run-down) farmhouse with land and such a pretty view. A far cry from even last year's residence.

Two more storms on the way, one tomorrow that may give 6-12" of snow, and one on Sunday evening. These are the days I wish I had some snowshoes, and I predict a trip to Freeport to shop at L.L. Bean upon my return from the holidays. I don't really like cold weather very much, but at least the winter season is beautiful and white where I live now.

Feeling Holiday-ish

After about a mile of sliding all over the road and squinting to see through the completely iced-over windshield, I decided to turn my little green Saturn around and head back home rather than chance the trip into work. Usually, she does pretty well in bad weather, but she is no match for the ice underneath the snow and slush.

So I spent the morning writing at my breakfast nook. Every now and then, I looked up from my work to watch the snow fall softly, all the while listening to some great Christmas music. I even took some time to bake cookies, and that scent mixed with the balsam fir smell made everything seem very festive.

Relationship Thoughts

A few thoughts from a friend upon reflecting on situations in my life:

(1) People sometimes control others when they feel they have no control in their own lives.

(2) Your actions teach people how you want to be treated.

(3) Each moment is an opportunity to start over. It's never too late.

(4) You have to take care of yourself first before you can take care of others.

A Wrinkle In Time

I noticed yesterday that it is becoming more difficult to smile. Hear me out on this one.

It's not that I'm less happy than usual. It's that physically it feels more like a chore to force my face into a happy position. Have my cheeks gotten bigger? Perhaps. I examined myself in the mirror and smiled a big, thousand-watt smile. It was tough. And suddenly I saw wrinkles. Loads of them.

I didn't have any before graduate school, and now the regions around my eyes are completely inundated with deep wrinkles, almost folds. I tend to think women with smile lines and crinkly eyes appear lovely--they've clearly enjoyed their lives and never once worried about plastic surgery, a la so many celebrities of our day.

I just read an opinion online that said this: "Don't believe the hype: plastic surgery is misogyny practised on a surgeon's salary. Why is it so hideous for women to have wrinkles and, God forbid, expressions? Why can't they age disgracefully and embrace the coming of the crone?"

Why indeed. While it may be difficult to see myself with a more serious expression, or with wrinkles all around my eyes when I do succumb to a deep belly laugh, I hope I am viewed as someone (with big cheeks) that enjoys my life and embraces the journey my body takes. Bring on the Crone! Well, okay, let's experience the Queen phase first, then we'll deal with the Crone.

Writings

In hopes of jump starting my creativity, I'm going to post pieces of my novel and poetry on here from time to time. I have been negligent in working on my personal writing and I need to get back into it.

And so, without further ado, Poem #1.

Why seek my southern cross,
my northern star?
When travels along those lonely dark
highways have yielding nothing, and
yet I move onward.
Not without purpose,
someday to discover that which is within
cannot be lost.
The burial of optimism and
hope was only mourned temporarily,
narrow curvy asphalt led to
a resurrection.
Switchbacks and steep hills removed
the nails, grinding gears not knowing
the cover of old world leaves
over new ugliness could soften the
landscapes within.
Instant karma, instantaneous change
and the spiral circled back around
to the very start.
But only after years of a straight-line path.
Underneath layers of lives, subconscious footprint
awakened and remembered by
souls mingling in this place,
today.
Joyful, this natural celebration is one
for the records
in the annals of individual time.

Hard Times Come Again No More

With everything that's been going on in our country lately, it's bringing up a lot of mixed feelings for me.

On the one hand, I feel extremely blessed to have everything I do. I am in relatively good health (although the massive kink in my neck this morning does not allow me to move my head, hence turning my entire upper body to check for oncoming traffic while driving like a granny); I have a stable job that I enjoy; I live in an adorable farmhouse (complete with mice, spiders, no insulation, etc.) with great neighbors; I have time to pursue hobbies (yoga, running, playing with my dog, knitting, banjo-ing); I have a supportive extended family.

On the other, I feel really guilty to have all those things. I met with a woman my own age yesterday here at work. She is the niece of a researcher I know very well. She has a son in third grade and just finished school for photography and graphic design. I asked her how she was, and her reply was "Desperate." It's difficult to have a face-to-face discussion with someone who, although has a different path in life, is in many respects similar to you. Goal-oriented, motivated, wants to provide a good life for herself and her loved ones. She can't find a job. Anywhere, not even at Target because they only want night/weekend workers, and she can't due to her child. And here I sit at my desk, listening to her plea for work, and not being able to do much of anything for her other than give her the names of some people she could try talking to next. That's literally all I could do. I felt really helpless and guilty.

And yet, that interaction has given me more insight into my life. It has renewed my feelings of appreciation for what I have and who I am, it certainly gives me a lot to be thankful for, and it helps me to understand how easily my life could be like hers. I could be the desperate one. Because I am not desperate, at least not right now, I am feeling very blessed and it has reminded me of the importance to work hard in my life. To focus on the intangible, like improving personal relationships and living more ethically, or serving others in ways I am capable (knitting for the homeless and abused is a good first step), to push myself just a little bit harder at work, to being a better person.

Starting at point B

What better time to start a blog than the day after our country elects its first African-American president?

So let's start at point B for beginnings.

I cut my hair, almost as short as when W. first was elected. Time to get rid of all that dead weight that's been hanging on, dragging me down for the last eight years. A new beginning.

I'll be turning 30 in two short months, so it's time for reassessment of my life and my goals, not to mention a time for celebration. I'm excited to turn 30 and enter into a new decade of my life. A time for renewal.

I hope to ride this wave of national enthusiasm and pride and remind myself that I do indeed have the strength to get through the tough times, to have the courage to confront an issue and make decisions, even if they might lead to uncertainty.