Growing up, my family and I used to take yearly trips down to the beach in North Carolina. We would all pack into the car, boogie boards strapped to the top, and make the six or seven hour drive down to the shore. One year, there was a huge storm the week before we got there and all these jellyfish had been washed to edge of the ocean. The waves were literally speckled with white. But my sister and I were determined to go swimming since we had traveled all this way. So we blew up two rafts and set out into the jellyfish-infested waters. At first it seemed like a good idea. We both kept our feet in the water and our rafts tied firmly together. Then we started drifting out. A huge, red jellyfish swam up to our rafts. My sister abruptly told me she was leaving, untied our rafts, and quickly stepped out of the waters. I remember drifting there, thinking: I can't follow her. I've got to stay out here on my own. But I was terrified and had lost sight of the red jellyfish. Not even a minute later I grabbed my raft and ran back to the shore to join her.
This past weekend, I traveled up to Philadelphia with my mom and dad to see my sister and my brother and his family. We spent the weekend hanging out with my new nephew while my dad replaced a floorboard in my brother's house and helped my sister in remodeling her back patio and kitchen. He got right to work when we got there and was up early on Sunday morning to start fixing things before we had a casual Father's Day brunch. After my parents left on Sunday my sister thoughtfully went to a Bikram Yoga class with me for the first time to see what I liked so much about that hot room. In the downtown Philadelphia studio there are hardwood floors and a huge painted brick wall at the back.
My sister took off of work on Monday and we drove out to the Jersey Shore to hang out on the beach. On the way out we talked about my recent break-up and how hard it can be. How you never really know why something fits and something else doesn't, but that if you don't listen to your instincts you could end up in the wrong situation. My sister and I are very different people, and growing up we both struggled to get to know one another. As adults we can talk about almost anything and I know that whatever decision I make she will support it. We talked about how even though I know my mom meant well, when she asked if I would ever get back together with him it really hurt. I abruptly told her: no.
We got some food at the local Wawa and set off for the beach mid-morning. My sister had to go find our permit tags so that we could stay on the beach while I sat and watched our stuff. Really, it was her taking care of me. It was one of those cool days where if you sit in the shade you almost feel like it might be fall. The water was too cold to swim in, but we just relaxed and read and napped on the beach. It was exactly what I needed...
I took the bus from Philadelphia to D.C. It was crowded for a noon on Wednesday bus ride and even though I selfishly tried hard to sit alone, someone sat next to me at the last minute. There was a baby crying the whole time and I was reminded of why I hate to be around lots of people. Things felt congested and closing in on me. All I wanted was to get off of that bus and out into the hot streets of D.C.
I'm here in D.C. until early Tuesday morning when I head off to Louisville, Kentucky to visit my friends from Boston. Hopefully we'll make a trip to Nashville and then it's off to the mountains of North Carolina to visit my college roommate and her husband. I hope it includes burritos at Black Cat and pool at Murphy's. I hope it rains and then clears up into a cool, open night where the mountains open up and wrap their arms around you. I hope that it feels the same way it did when I lived there: like home.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Thursday, June 14, 2007
There's a Jesus Billboard off of I-81 Going South
There's a system for everything. And the process for this system works the same in any context. When dealing with people you care about, the process can be sticky. It can take time. And sometimes all you need is timing.
We had been planning this road trip for a year. Now it's just me, 3 weeks off of work, and some visits to friends and family that I haven't seen in awhile. Maybe it'll still include a trip to Nashville or up to the mountains. It'll definitely include a trip to Louisville and Chicago. There are plans to go up to Philadelphia and I'd like to see the ocean at some point. Now all I have is time.
My drive from Leesburg to Boone during college was six hours. Sometimes I would dread the traffic and trucks along 81. And the more southwest Virginia I would get, the more churches and hell and damnation warnings I would see. Funny that I thought I was heading in the exact opposite direction: from a supposed hell to what I saw as heaven. Then one fall break my roommate came home with me. She talked about how beautiful the drive was up through the Tennessee mountains and then onto the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. I was so busy complaining that I hadn't really stopped to realize how much I loved that drive. How much thinking can be done while alone in the car. I'm looking forward to it.
We had been planning this road trip for a year. Now it's just me, 3 weeks off of work, and some visits to friends and family that I haven't seen in awhile. Maybe it'll still include a trip to Nashville or up to the mountains. It'll definitely include a trip to Louisville and Chicago. There are plans to go up to Philadelphia and I'd like to see the ocean at some point. Now all I have is time.
My drive from Leesburg to Boone during college was six hours. Sometimes I would dread the traffic and trucks along 81. And the more southwest Virginia I would get, the more churches and hell and damnation warnings I would see. Funny that I thought I was heading in the exact opposite direction: from a supposed hell to what I saw as heaven. Then one fall break my roommate came home with me. She talked about how beautiful the drive was up through the Tennessee mountains and then onto the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. I was so busy complaining that I hadn't really stopped to realize how much I loved that drive. How much thinking can be done while alone in the car. I'm looking forward to it.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Buried Lists
bottled water
granola bars
string cheese
shampoo
razors
wheat pasta
trash bags
When I was growing up there would always be a weekly grocery list sitting on our white tile kitchen counter. These lists normally consisted of things my mom would be buying at Giant, and in the corner there would be a smaller list: pick up dry-cleaning, make dinner reservations, soccer game. I imagined keeping all of these lists in a scrapbook to keep track of time and day-to-day tasks. But my mom always made sure to throw them away once the tasks were completed.
At the same time there were always flat soda liter bottles in the pantry. Whenever I searched the kitchen cabinets for an afternoon snack I was disappointed when there weren't any fruit snacks or she had gotten the Giant brand granola bars this week. It's only 20 or 30 cents more. I used to think. She knows I hate that kind. Talking to my parents now, I sometimes feel the same way. I'm thinking about becoming a yoga instructor, I say. Can you make a living doing that? They say. What about health insurance?
Growing up, I assumed my relationship with my parents would get better. That we would begin to understand each other and the different choices we make. And every so often I'm reminded of how differently we value things, and how easy it is to feel bitter about all the negative things. Then I remember how much my friends hated the flat soda I had to offer them when they came over, and how I had gotten used to it. Sometimes all I wanted was a lukewarm, flat glass of Dr. Pepper.
e-mail for addresses
clean apartment
pack
yoga
try not to fall asleep to Munich
prepare
Yoga class yesterday was one of those packed, great classes. Where everyone felt like they needed to be there to sweat something out. The humidity clouded the room, and each time I felt like I couldn't get my breath I remembered that this room was my sanctuary. It is where I go to think and relax. And when I talked to one of the instructors after class about becoming a teacher, thoughts and hesitation filled my mind. It's easy when you can think of ten negative reasons not to do something. Sometimes those thoughts can be hard to ignore, especially when practical matters are all that seem to matter.
Getting ready for the cross-country road trip has felt the same way. I've made lists. To pack: tent, maps, bathing suit, coolers, food, water. All things needed for survival. We start out on the road on Friday heading from Charlottesville to Nashville. Straight across the country and up California One, then back around. Part of me wants to get lost in it all and end up in a small farming town in Montana. I never throw away my lists like my mom did; instead I find them months later in my purse or tucked into a book. It always reminds me what I forgot.
granola bars
string cheese
shampoo
razors
wheat pasta
trash bags
When I was growing up there would always be a weekly grocery list sitting on our white tile kitchen counter. These lists normally consisted of things my mom would be buying at Giant, and in the corner there would be a smaller list: pick up dry-cleaning, make dinner reservations, soccer game. I imagined keeping all of these lists in a scrapbook to keep track of time and day-to-day tasks. But my mom always made sure to throw them away once the tasks were completed.
At the same time there were always flat soda liter bottles in the pantry. Whenever I searched the kitchen cabinets for an afternoon snack I was disappointed when there weren't any fruit snacks or she had gotten the Giant brand granola bars this week. It's only 20 or 30 cents more. I used to think. She knows I hate that kind. Talking to my parents now, I sometimes feel the same way. I'm thinking about becoming a yoga instructor, I say. Can you make a living doing that? They say. What about health insurance?
Growing up, I assumed my relationship with my parents would get better. That we would begin to understand each other and the different choices we make. And every so often I'm reminded of how differently we value things, and how easy it is to feel bitter about all the negative things. Then I remember how much my friends hated the flat soda I had to offer them when they came over, and how I had gotten used to it. Sometimes all I wanted was a lukewarm, flat glass of Dr. Pepper.
e-mail for addresses
clean apartment
pack
yoga
try not to fall asleep to Munich
prepare
Yoga class yesterday was one of those packed, great classes. Where everyone felt like they needed to be there to sweat something out. The humidity clouded the room, and each time I felt like I couldn't get my breath I remembered that this room was my sanctuary. It is where I go to think and relax. And when I talked to one of the instructors after class about becoming a teacher, thoughts and hesitation filled my mind. It's easy when you can think of ten negative reasons not to do something. Sometimes those thoughts can be hard to ignore, especially when practical matters are all that seem to matter.
Getting ready for the cross-country road trip has felt the same way. I've made lists. To pack: tent, maps, bathing suit, coolers, food, water. All things needed for survival. We start out on the road on Friday heading from Charlottesville to Nashville. Straight across the country and up California One, then back around. Part of me wants to get lost in it all and end up in a small farming town in Montana. I never throw away my lists like my mom did; instead I find them months later in my purse or tucked into a book. It always reminds me what I forgot.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Reasons Why I Should Quit My Job and Become a Banjo Street Player
1. I hear Sufjan is in need of a back-up banjo player and this is my ticket to fame.
2. All those crazy-Charlottesville-is-not-really-part-of-the-South-Bluegrass-lovin' hippies will gladly share a beat with me.
3. I hope to stand close to the five-year-old violin player to catch some sympathy dollars.
4. I will never have to read a four page e-mail about parking stamps or cleaning out the office refrigerator.
5. Yankie-Freakin-Doodle-Dandy.
6. Hanging out on the streets with the dregs of the Charlottesville community will, in the end, make me a better person.
7. Sad stories of "failure" are so much more motivating than success.
8. The TV show The Office will seem foreign and weird, not creepily familiar.
9. I can feel confident that after playing on the streets for a couple of weeks, I can get to a level above sucking.
10. Moonlighting as a hooker has always been my dream.
11. I won't feel my soul slowly sucking out of my body every time I sit at a desk.
12. I plan on taking Kentucky's bluegrass title one string at a time.
13. I hear there's a new market for street banjo players, and they are finally edging on street steel drum performers.
14. Money tips are way better than life tips. Especially when given by random, self-righteous strangers.
15. I’ve always wanted to be someone’s project.
2. All those crazy-Charlottesville-is-not-really-part-of-the-South-Bluegrass-lovin' hippies will gladly share a beat with me.
3. I hope to stand close to the five-year-old violin player to catch some sympathy dollars.
4. I will never have to read a four page e-mail about parking stamps or cleaning out the office refrigerator.
5. Yankie-Freakin-Doodle-Dandy.
6. Hanging out on the streets with the dregs of the Charlottesville community will, in the end, make me a better person.
7. Sad stories of "failure" are so much more motivating than success.
8. The TV show The Office will seem foreign and weird, not creepily familiar.
9. I can feel confident that after playing on the streets for a couple of weeks, I can get to a level above sucking.
10. Moonlighting as a hooker has always been my dream.
11. I won't feel my soul slowly sucking out of my body every time I sit at a desk.
12. I plan on taking Kentucky's bluegrass title one string at a time.
13. I hear there's a new market for street banjo players, and they are finally edging on street steel drum performers.
14. Money tips are way better than life tips. Especially when given by random, self-righteous strangers.
15. I’ve always wanted to be someone’s project.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Two Poems
What Love Is
Nah nah nah nah nah
I don't know how to spell that out
like a little kid with his hands behind his ears and his tongue out
I’ve got you
tickled and thinking
backing you into the corner of the playground
where all the teenagers smoke their cigarettes during gym class
so the teacher’s can’t see them
or at least they used to
before gym class was cancelled altogether and sitting became learning
then there’s you
and I tagged you but you just stand there
looking at a dead bird on the ground
he must have flown into the window
you tell me
eyes wide open, jaw slightly cracked
there’s nothing to bury him with
you say, arms at your side,
belly lose and charging out of your OshKosh overall jeans
you give me your lunch money
$2.50 to keep the other boys away
to keep them from noticing your blushed face
I charge away from you
keeping my secret crumbled in two one dollar bills
dropping the change as I walk.
What Love Is
We could have been on a dance floor together,
those ones that light up from below
in Tennessee we would have
drank whiskey and talked about how long the state was.
We would have played pool in a darkly
lit corner, with random sweaty stink and smoke.
We could have been in the back of your Chevrolet
if it wasn’t a big truck with only
two front seats and the smell of wet dog.
No Jesus air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror.
Then there was the coffee shop
you turned into a pancake house
at three in the morning.
And I think: this is it.
This is when we ride off into the sunset
your mullet catching the wind
my hands clinging tightly to your chest
summer sweat underneath our helmets.
Do we even need helmets where we are going?
But you just pay the waitress after shoveling down
three pancakes with strawberry syrup
and I never get to see how you bend a girl over.
I bet you ask if she likes it rough.
Do you even take her shirt off?
Let her nipples hang underneath you?
We could have been a post-prom fantasy,
the kinds that don’t require flowers or a fancy limo
or a tissue to clean things up.
Nah nah nah nah nah
I don't know how to spell that out
like a little kid with his hands behind his ears and his tongue out
I’ve got you
tickled and thinking
backing you into the corner of the playground
where all the teenagers smoke their cigarettes during gym class
so the teacher’s can’t see them
or at least they used to
before gym class was cancelled altogether and sitting became learning
then there’s you
and I tagged you but you just stand there
looking at a dead bird on the ground
he must have flown into the window
you tell me
eyes wide open, jaw slightly cracked
there’s nothing to bury him with
you say, arms at your side,
belly lose and charging out of your OshKosh overall jeans
you give me your lunch money
$2.50 to keep the other boys away
to keep them from noticing your blushed face
I charge away from you
keeping my secret crumbled in two one dollar bills
dropping the change as I walk.
What Love Is
We could have been on a dance floor together,
those ones that light up from below
in Tennessee we would have
drank whiskey and talked about how long the state was.
We would have played pool in a darkly
lit corner, with random sweaty stink and smoke.
We could have been in the back of your Chevrolet
if it wasn’t a big truck with only
two front seats and the smell of wet dog.
No Jesus air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror.
Then there was the coffee shop
you turned into a pancake house
at three in the morning.
And I think: this is it.
This is when we ride off into the sunset
your mullet catching the wind
my hands clinging tightly to your chest
summer sweat underneath our helmets.
Do we even need helmets where we are going?
But you just pay the waitress after shoveling down
three pancakes with strawberry syrup
and I never get to see how you bend a girl over.
I bet you ask if she likes it rough.
Do you even take her shirt off?
Let her nipples hang underneath you?
We could have been a post-prom fantasy,
the kinds that don’t require flowers or a fancy limo
or a tissue to clean things up.
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