Much fun

"Miracles are like meatballs, because nobody can exactly agree what they are made of, where they come from, or how often they should appear."

Lemony Snicket in "A Series of Unfortunate Events" book 7, "The Carniverous Carnival."

....But when they do we are happy to be interrupted and willing to be changed

(miracles, I mean... not meatballs. Unless they give us the runs. Conceivably it would apply then.)

Leah came... and went. I can't believe the amount of time she spent with me. That screams love to me. You gotta put in the time... well, she did! We had the greatest week ever. It included some "what happens here stays here" material but for the most part was just quality, soul-connecting time in each other's company.
There aren't many people on earth who I could say I have a similar connection with. It's the stuff that a concept like "soul mates" is made of. I don't need many people like that... one or two is enough... but it is a necessary relationship. If I lost her I couldn't make it.
I'm grateful for the advice, drinks, laughs, gym runs, coffee, outings, golf-carting, silly dancing, guitar playing, movie watching, sitting in silence intimacy of it all. Grateful to God and grateful to you, Leah.
Our friendship - its staying power and soul-y-ness - is a miracle.

Her rendition of our time is so much funner than mine: check it out - Leahevangalyn.blogspot.com aka The Rant

Dad

I love my Dad... even if he did play "Butterfly Kisses" at church, leaving the three women in his life a pile of crumpled Kleenex and sobs... there is something so different and distinct about the way I feel toward my dad. I don't feel this way on Mother's Day or toward any other family member. The older I get the stronger it gets... the more I realize how connected I am to my Dad and how he, though maybe less vocal than Mom, has shaped me irreversibly. I love him. I'm so grateful for how close to great he's always been... and always tried to be. I respect and admire him. It's inarticulable really. He's my dad.



"Sherman made the terrible discovery that men make about their fathers sooner or later...
the man before him was not an aging father but a boy, a boy much like himself, a boy who grew up and had a child of his own and, as best he could, out of a sense of duty and, perhaps love, adopted a role called 'Being a Father' so that his child would have something mythical and infinitely important: a Protector, who would keep a lid on all the chaotic and catastrophic possibilities of life."
-Tom Wolfe in "The Bonfire of the Vanities"

Love Cool Love

"I like it when things break down. There's something about a flat tire, or a train getting stuck, or long weather delays at the airport--any time when the earth stops turning the way it's supposed to--that releases me. I am a child again, curious, confused, not knowing what will happen next. For a moment, a space, a breath, I'm not responsible. All I have to do is respond--until time catches up with itself, the tire is changed, the train starts rolling again, or the snow melts, and the weight of accountability is hoisted back up on my shoulders. Sometimes I wish for a tornado or a hurricane, even a war. Anything to stop the inertia for an instant. Being an adult, the awareness of opportunities that have been compromised, the stunted growth I feel in my bones, is simply exhausting. A disaster striking can be a relief--as long as it isn't your fault."

-Ethan Hawke in "Ash Wednesday"

Despite my stalwart committment to despising contemporary authors, in an effort to be open-minded, and rather begrudgingly I must admit that Hawke has written something not only true but rather elegant.

What is not love

Love is not shallow. If you dive in and jar your head then it probably isn't love... or isn't love as it should be. There are no lifelong scarring effects because love is, at its best, healing. It's the deviations from real love that cause pain and separation. Love doesn't leave or quit. Love is actually enough, end of story, because *insert theological extrapolation here*. You know what I mean.
Specifically in Joy's world today: Love is not giving up even when every door has been knocked on and every opportunity pursued for rendezvous; love is not saying, well it wasn't meant to be, but getting in a sketchy Saturn and making the trek all the way down to Florida for a friend who is in need; love is not checking out but being the partner in crime for whatever lovely girl outings need to take place to remind me I'm okay; love is not about giving anything but yourself.

Love is not hanging up too early or copping out too soon.
Love is not forgetting or letting someone fall through the cracks.

Love is rescue... however seemingly benign my peril.

No shallow end, here.
This is love, baby.

So much

Not to be contradictory... but since when has that bothered me?
The pic is for Leah - cute, huh? (It is NOT smiley faces) (and I am NOT copying Britney Spears, bleck, I spit on the idea) (AND one word two syllables: demarcation) (if you don't get that watch The Office I beg of you) (COME SEE ME or I may finally go insane)
My hands smell like peaches and my shirt is covered in baby spit.
Last night I put on makeup and - with shock - remembered that, whoa, I'm cute. I mean, as opposed to the totally-oblivious-to-my-appearance-never-wearing-makeup-living-in-workout-clothes mentality I've been sporting of late.
This week was so fun with the kids but... well... I'm a perpetual problem these days... not unhappy always by any means...Well, here. Prose doesn't suit me.

New

Uncoiled
Unfurled
Released
Unleashed
The first burst is the best
From there it seems to peter
But at least the first is so great
The shaking off of
And basking in
New sensations
And fresh perceptions
Life is so… tasty
Everything is so vivid
Colorful
Contrasting
Bright
There is newness
And it is good
But it doesn’t last
And what I have to learn
Is how to truck it out
When new isn’t anymore.

Done

It hit the fan. So .... 6-6-06 was a rather bad day .... despite my anti-superstition policy ....

Done 6-6-06

I’m done waiting.
I’ve been sitting here
Thinking it’s character
Or some kind of technique
To get him to come
But he’s not coming
And who am I kidding?
It’s so… delicate.
It’s like this threadbare tightrope,
This tentative dance,
This reluctant admission,
It is short-lived and dissatisfying
Because they come on so strong
But leave so soon.
I can’t be ready now
I can’t be willing right now
This minute doesn’t work for me
But you won’t wait for me
So goodbye is all I can say.
I’m done waiting for someone
To step up and say
He’s here for the long run
Because no one is
Or wants to be
And I have to admit
I wonder if it’s me…

Goodbye

I hate saying goodbye. It hurts. I miss Brookey so much and this week has been so... full, so rich, so memorable. I love her so much. She is going to be such an amazing woman... she is such a big girl... so beautiful and big. We had the funnest week ever! Here's to the greatest 4 year old on the planet! I love you and it breaks my heart that you have to leave, Brooker.
I feel sorry for everyone who isn't me and who doesn't have the greatest job ever.