It's funny how we remember or how we want to remember people. There's this idea that we make stories about the people in our lives and from that, we react the way we expert things to happen. I've been trying to be more positive lately, shoving aside my usual self. And I think it's working.
I started the master cleanse yesterday as a way to transition into eating healthier and having more energy. I'm trying not to have negative expectations but not eating for ten days to clear out my system seems a little daunting. I'm trying hard to imagine the positive effects it's going to have on my life.
And in the end, it's all in the way you remember it. My sister, hiding her fruit rollup on the roof of her mouth so that I thought I took longer to eat mine because I wanted to have something that was mine. Or the note my brother left me when I cried all night and slept on my parents floor when he left for college early the next morning. Or my friend, sitting in the office in Boston during her first day, tea being wrapped around by bright colored gloves. Or in trading shoes over a first, exciting conversation in a black button-up shirt. My cousin, showing us how to do yoga in the living room that we never lived in (except on Christmas morning). My grandma and her hands, showing us how to make paper dolls before she forgot how to do it altogether.
And my mom, in her bathrobe on Christmas morning making coffee, my dad still asleep (it's the only day of the year he sleeps in). Conversations at the top of the hill in the hot summer Virginia nights, fall coming in on us. Or you and her sitting at the lunch table, clear and empty of what used to be your friends when you decided being popular was overrated and she agreed. A drunken dive into an overhead light when the Boss comes on and the rest of it on the porch surrounded by mountains and cigarette smoke. My grandma, hanging out in her white underwear when we came to visit, reminding us that she didn't give a shit what people thought about her. Those hot summer nights in D.C. where you were displaced and going to the movies and having a couple of drinks was enough to electrify the air between us.
It's all about the context. Whether you are surrounded by beautiful mountains, green and lush, or out in the desert of Las Vegas, some kind of peace can be found. That's the way I like to remember it.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Friday, November 2, 2007
I'm Officially Worried...
Politics weren't really discussed in my house growing up. With a Democratic mother who wanted everything to be equal for everyone (this included the love she shared equally for my brother, sister, and me), and a self-proclaimed Libertarian (glorified Republican) for a dad, nothing ruined Easter late lunches better than a good ol' discussion about who was doing what in the office just one hour away from our home in the suburbs of Virginia.
It wasn't any surprise that my brother grew up to be a lawyer and my sister works in marketing. It wasn't any surprise to me that I would feel uneasy or discontented the second something felt wrong to me. A lot of people in my life have called me difficult for questioning things, and I know if I weren't constantly doing so I'd still be working in the same office in Charlottesville just hoping things would change on their own. What are we all searching for anyway?
Ever since Bush, Jr. was elected I haven't felt easy living in this country. Mark my word: if Rudy, Jr. gets elected in 2008, I am leaving this country. It's not that I don't feel safe or that the price of gas is outrageous in Las Vegas (although, it is pretty darn high), it's that things haven't felt right for a very long time and everyone knows it, but no one is doing anything about it.
Last night we went to see bell hooks read at UNLV. She spoke about community and feeling connected, the way that people speak about something they are really passionate about, in a joking, down-to-earth kind of way so that people would warm up to her and actually listen. I kept thinking about ways I could be connected to the ever-changing community in Las Vegas, or how I hope to one day feel connected to somewhere. She also spoke about the idea of local politics and action on a local level, since that's where things begin. When we were walking back to the car, I turned to him and said, "I don't think it's enough to be a good person anymore." I think I finally believe that.
I was hoping that this job would help me spread yoga and peace in what seems to be a corrupt country and world. I was hoping that it would help people feel good about themselves so that when the little things happened they felt comfortable in being a good person. Not that I'm a saint or anything, but I do fully believe in the idea of spreading goodness. Seriously.
Today has been one of those days where everything seems to be too much. Where my own selfishness has gotten in the way of any kind of real change. In her talk, bell hooks also spoke of the idea of going back to where you were born, back to your roots to help contribute to that community. Even if it's one that doesn't agree with you. Even though my dad is from Vermont and my mom is from Missouri, my brother, sister, and I were all three born in Washington, D.C. It's where I lived until I was four.
When I was a child I had this bathing suit with a goldfish on it, and in one picture I'm eating a goldfish cracker as I wear this bathing suit in my backyard. Of the memories I have of that place, one that sticks out in my mind is me, holding a goldfish, in the back of our van as we drive to the suburbs of Virginia. I don't even know if this actually happened, but for some reason I'm four and I'm hoping no water spills out. I'm hoping that this goldfish makes it through the car ride with enough water to live to move into our nice, new house.
It wasn't any surprise that my brother grew up to be a lawyer and my sister works in marketing. It wasn't any surprise to me that I would feel uneasy or discontented the second something felt wrong to me. A lot of people in my life have called me difficult for questioning things, and I know if I weren't constantly doing so I'd still be working in the same office in Charlottesville just hoping things would change on their own. What are we all searching for anyway?
Ever since Bush, Jr. was elected I haven't felt easy living in this country. Mark my word: if Rudy, Jr. gets elected in 2008, I am leaving this country. It's not that I don't feel safe or that the price of gas is outrageous in Las Vegas (although, it is pretty darn high), it's that things haven't felt right for a very long time and everyone knows it, but no one is doing anything about it.
Last night we went to see bell hooks read at UNLV. She spoke about community and feeling connected, the way that people speak about something they are really passionate about, in a joking, down-to-earth kind of way so that people would warm up to her and actually listen. I kept thinking about ways I could be connected to the ever-changing community in Las Vegas, or how I hope to one day feel connected to somewhere. She also spoke about the idea of local politics and action on a local level, since that's where things begin. When we were walking back to the car, I turned to him and said, "I don't think it's enough to be a good person anymore." I think I finally believe that.
I was hoping that this job would help me spread yoga and peace in what seems to be a corrupt country and world. I was hoping that it would help people feel good about themselves so that when the little things happened they felt comfortable in being a good person. Not that I'm a saint or anything, but I do fully believe in the idea of spreading goodness. Seriously.
Today has been one of those days where everything seems to be too much. Where my own selfishness has gotten in the way of any kind of real change. In her talk, bell hooks also spoke of the idea of going back to where you were born, back to your roots to help contribute to that community. Even if it's one that doesn't agree with you. Even though my dad is from Vermont and my mom is from Missouri, my brother, sister, and I were all three born in Washington, D.C. It's where I lived until I was four.
When I was a child I had this bathing suit with a goldfish on it, and in one picture I'm eating a goldfish cracker as I wear this bathing suit in my backyard. Of the memories I have of that place, one that sticks out in my mind is me, holding a goldfish, in the back of our van as we drive to the suburbs of Virginia. I don't even know if this actually happened, but for some reason I'm four and I'm hoping no water spills out. I'm hoping that this goldfish makes it through the car ride with enough water to live to move into our nice, new house.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Halloween at the DMV
So my plates officially say Nevada. I waited at the DMV between a meeting for work and yoga class with other staff. I took a nap in between, right before yoga, on the floor of my apartment. I woke up all groggy, reminded of my allergies in Charlottesville and how I felt in that valley, trapped. I kept one of my Virginia plates and it now sits on the floor in the front seat of my car. I am still not used to it.
With the traffic being so unpredictable I was late to yoga, almost too late to go in and join the rest of the group. At the end of class while relaxing into my breath, that familiar comfort feeling washed from the tip of my heart to the edge of my hands and feet. It filled me, that warm blood rushing around inside.
When I got home I made my mom's halloween cupcakes. He had to remake the icing because we used butter instead of margarine and it came out all light brown and soupy. The icing is supposed to be bright white and thick so that it can stick to the cupcakes and hold the candy pumpkin that goes on top. But after forgetting sugar, then the margarine, another trip to the grocery store to get the candy pumpkins would be a little too much. It's getting late and I'm going to a yoga class at 8 am tomorrow morning followed by a day of work, and then we are going to see Bell Hooks read at UNLV.
Tomorrow seems to be my first real full day since moving to Las Vegas. And I even have to start writing a novel tomorrow because my best friend in LA and I are participating in the write a novel in november club. I guess it's a club, since it's an organization of people who expect you to keep writing, just get it out, no matter how good or bad it is. I am hoping that I actually do this and that it's not just an idea. We shall see. I am going to LA for Thanksgiving so between the writing and eating I am hoping that I don't miss Virginia too much.
After remaking the icing it still doesn't look right. It's not that bright, white color I remember so well from when my mom made them. But it tastes the same as I remember, which I guess is all that matters. But I know that no matter how many years I make these cupcakes, they will never compare to the way she makes them.
Cooking Pumpkin Seeds
Salt clinging to the
bottom of the pan
crispy-crewy, hands sticky
Kitchen smells move in and out
nails turned soft from the sweet mess
tangled strings orange and discolored
I wipe a grain of salt
from the corner
of your mouth
that moisture-filled sculpture
with its small eyes
an unseen voyeur
Heat from the oven against my back
that thick smell wearing us
following us all the way upstairs.
Halloween, 2003
With the traffic being so unpredictable I was late to yoga, almost too late to go in and join the rest of the group. At the end of class while relaxing into my breath, that familiar comfort feeling washed from the tip of my heart to the edge of my hands and feet. It filled me, that warm blood rushing around inside.
When I got home I made my mom's halloween cupcakes. He had to remake the icing because we used butter instead of margarine and it came out all light brown and soupy. The icing is supposed to be bright white and thick so that it can stick to the cupcakes and hold the candy pumpkin that goes on top. But after forgetting sugar, then the margarine, another trip to the grocery store to get the candy pumpkins would be a little too much. It's getting late and I'm going to a yoga class at 8 am tomorrow morning followed by a day of work, and then we are going to see Bell Hooks read at UNLV.
Tomorrow seems to be my first real full day since moving to Las Vegas. And I even have to start writing a novel tomorrow because my best friend in LA and I are participating in the write a novel in november club. I guess it's a club, since it's an organization of people who expect you to keep writing, just get it out, no matter how good or bad it is. I am hoping that I actually do this and that it's not just an idea. We shall see. I am going to LA for Thanksgiving so between the writing and eating I am hoping that I don't miss Virginia too much.
After remaking the icing it still doesn't look right. It's not that bright, white color I remember so well from when my mom made them. But it tastes the same as I remember, which I guess is all that matters. But I know that no matter how many years I make these cupcakes, they will never compare to the way she makes them.
Cooking Pumpkin Seeds
Salt clinging to the
bottom of the pan
crispy-crewy, hands sticky
Kitchen smells move in and out
nails turned soft from the sweet mess
tangled strings orange and discolored
I wipe a grain of salt
from the corner
of your mouth
that moisture-filled sculpture
with its small eyes
an unseen voyeur
Heat from the oven against my back
that thick smell wearing us
following us all the way upstairs.
Halloween, 2003
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