What’s your sign? Well mine is Taurus. Bull headed is what my mother always called me and now agents opposite me call me a bulldog. Not sure if that is meant to be a compliment. I never want to give up on a deal and have saved a couple from extinction. I’ve also hung on to one that cost me over $1,100. Ow! So I’m working on it. (Need to learn when to let go.)
Lately I’ve been contemplative about my life, leading to much uncertainty. I suppose (hope) everyone looks back at some point and wonders what it all means and “where am I going”. I never had any doubts about my direction; I’d just check for the wind and fly where it took me. My path has always seemed to be right in front of me.
At 17, when I moved to Connecticut, it was to a job as a nanny and some distance from my family (mother). My move home to Salem was to my fiancé and another adventure. Together we moved to Portland and Portland State was my next challenge. Then kids and back to Salem following his educational needs. Now we’re here in Springfield. The kids are a little older and we have a little more freedom. I’m back to school hoping to finish what I started 19 years ago. My mind is in a much more receptive state than it was all those years ago and I would guess, has something to do with this contemplative place I’m in.
I was telling a friend about my first car. It was a very “beautiful” Brown Ford Pinto. I was 16 and working full time as a dishwasher at a nursing home in Dallas, OR; about 10 miles west of Salem where I lived. I convinced a family friend and car lot owner that I was a good risk and he sold me the car after a friend over 18 signed the contract too. (Needed to cover himself and all) What prompted the purchase was the job. My mother had been taking me to work everyday that my boss and neighbor didn’t. When my boss was fired, my mother refused to take me to work anymore. I didn’t care much for her logic, this was just her pattern. Do what she wanted until she was tired of doing it. She gave me no reasons, she was just tired of having to get up in the morning and drive me in. Now rather than give in to higher powers, (the authority of my mother which seemed arbitrary and unfair) I decided that I just needed to get a car, never mind that I didn’t have a license. (I didn’t drive by the way. My 18 year old friend drove me to and from in exchange for use of the car until I got my license.)
This just patterns out my look at life; full of choices, obstacles, and paths…I don’t see walls or barriers, just something to work on.
So what does it mean to be a Taurus? To charge through life with your head down and then when you lift up to see how far you’ve gone, you get dizzy and fall down. Still waiting to see how long it takes me to get back up again.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Laughter, kisses
She smelled rain today.
Heavy sweet air.
She just wants to sit and breathe it in,
let it fill all her empty spaces.
Anticipation
hidden in those gray clouds,
the leaves shiver, wind dances around her with delight
pulling at her.
Then a deep breath and the air
sighs; relief.
Small drops - teasing kisses, tickle her leaves.
I can hear her laughter.
Heavy sweet air.
She just wants to sit and breathe it in,
let it fill all her empty spaces.
Anticipation
hidden in those gray clouds,
the leaves shiver, wind dances around her with delight
pulling at her.
Then a deep breath and the air
sighs; relief.
Small drops - teasing kisses, tickle her leaves.
I can hear her laughter.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Son
Halfway stopped
by the chair
his door hangs loose on hinges.
Used to swing
across castle moats,
crocodile rivers,
whatever he imagines.
Treasures
In the closet crowded with whims,
Where his clothes
ought to be,
Sculptures carved
in walls,
Painted his favorite hues
Red. Greens, and blues,
On the floor,
yesterdays underwear,
this mornings towel
Today’s T-shirt & jeans,
No shoes to be seen.
Piles of discarded days,
Inked bed frame
proclaim words forbidden,
On the window sill
his latest Lego creation
next to dishes of crumbs not allowed.
Moonlight shadows
soften her mood.
On his bed
with blankets bunched
Softly sleeping,
his tousled head askew.
No sign of his mischievous might,
small hand, a tender touch,
Oh, how much he’s grown.
This son holds his mothers heart.
Something she’s always known.
by the chair
his door hangs loose on hinges.
Used to swing
across castle moats,
crocodile rivers,
whatever he imagines.
Treasures
In the closet crowded with whims,
Where his clothes
ought to be,
Sculptures carved
in walls,
Painted his favorite hues
Red. Greens, and blues,
On the floor,
yesterdays underwear,
this mornings towel
Today’s T-shirt & jeans,
No shoes to be seen.
Piles of discarded days,
Inked bed frame
proclaim words forbidden,
On the window sill
his latest Lego creation
next to dishes of crumbs not allowed.
Moonlight shadows
soften her mood.
On his bed
with blankets bunched
Softly sleeping,
his tousled head askew.
No sign of his mischievous might,
small hand, a tender touch,
Oh, how much he’s grown.
This son holds his mothers heart.
Something she’s always known.
Your eyes
Tell me the name of those clouds,
the thin rippled wrinkled ones, a thinking
man’s forehead. Threaded dreams
surrounding pale blue; soft - irresistible depths
of blue, bound only by the horizon.
A labyrinth world,
blue washed through sun baked eyes,
glassy reflective waters of unknown depths.
Surprising waves, wakes from past
Explorers, stroke the banks,
Shifting the sands,
Again and again.
Dreamy day on the docks,
one boy fishing with his homemade pole
the other reading,
both on their bellies, one nose
searching the depths, the other
searching the depths,
sun darkened bodies together,
companionable.
the thin rippled wrinkled ones, a thinking
man’s forehead. Threaded dreams
surrounding pale blue; soft - irresistible depths
of blue, bound only by the horizon.
A labyrinth world,
blue washed through sun baked eyes,
glassy reflective waters of unknown depths.
Surprising waves, wakes from past
Explorers, stroke the banks,
Shifting the sands,
Again and again.
Dreamy day on the docks,
one boy fishing with his homemade pole
the other reading,
both on their bellies, one nose
searching the depths, the other
searching the depths,
sun darkened bodies together,
companionable.
Vent
In the quiet moment before I sleep as the body goes limp giving up the day’s efforts both mental and physical; I finish an argument with you.
No, I am not special or unique. I have been deluding myself for the last 30 years believing that I saw more beauty in the world than most. Than my mother and sister, neighbors I grew up with, you. Then I realize you are just like them.
I write and you mock me “Dear diary”. I read and try to share an interesting story of the famous rope walker Phillip Petit, something that if you’d seen it on TV you would have thought it fascinating, but I try to tell you and you don’t look at me, and just walk away, “petite, must be a small guy”. And I’m six again racing home to share the day’s new knowledge with Mommy, just to be barked at “Don’t lecture me” as she turns her familiar pinched eye brows and turned down mouth back to the day time soaps, more real to her than the depressing life she lived.
For you it’s hiding upstairs playing video games. Our children talk about “Need for speed most wanted” more than the books I know they read. To see this, recognize this, but not know what to do about it, fills me with frustration. I know you can see it. So when you comment that your futile search for a phone number via internet for our God daughter is “just to placate” me and I respond in the only language that seems to reach you; “Fuck off”, do you understand then? I am not 17 anymore!! You can not speak to me as if I have no brains. I want our children to grow up with more in their heads than violence, cartoons, and video games. Either help me or get the hell out of my way!
Now I can sleep.
No, I am not special or unique. I have been deluding myself for the last 30 years believing that I saw more beauty in the world than most. Than my mother and sister, neighbors I grew up with, you. Then I realize you are just like them.
I write and you mock me “Dear diary”. I read and try to share an interesting story of the famous rope walker Phillip Petit, something that if you’d seen it on TV you would have thought it fascinating, but I try to tell you and you don’t look at me, and just walk away, “petite, must be a small guy”. And I’m six again racing home to share the day’s new knowledge with Mommy, just to be barked at “Don’t lecture me” as she turns her familiar pinched eye brows and turned down mouth back to the day time soaps, more real to her than the depressing life she lived.
For you it’s hiding upstairs playing video games. Our children talk about “Need for speed most wanted” more than the books I know they read. To see this, recognize this, but not know what to do about it, fills me with frustration. I know you can see it. So when you comment that your futile search for a phone number via internet for our God daughter is “just to placate” me and I respond in the only language that seems to reach you; “Fuck off”, do you understand then? I am not 17 anymore!! You can not speak to me as if I have no brains. I want our children to grow up with more in their heads than violence, cartoons, and video games. Either help me or get the hell out of my way!
Now I can sleep.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Doubts
Everything is working out beautifully today! Much of what I do is facilitate. I get people together with mortgage brokers, homes, inspectors; I work hard to make the deal happen by coordinating people and transactions. Today I put together a buyer and two different mortgage brokers so he'd have choices. The brokers agreed to meet at my office so my buyer wouldn't have to drive from office to office over several days. Very important to a busy small business owner. Here is the beautiful part. Everyone showed up; and on time too! Why should I doubt? They of course don't know that I do. I just do.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Drive home from the lake
I feel like a split personality sometimes. Today I drove the kids to the lake and spent the afternoon lounging in the sun reading. The kids played together like they can only do at the lake. No arguing, fighting, or pressing for space. They could swim when they wanted to, eat when they wanted to, relax on a towel dripping from their last swim, chase each other with oars in a mock ninja battle, race each other to the giant orange floats that delineate the swimming area, and walk on the black tubes that frame the marina. We all got to enjoy ourselves. When it was time to go everyone was tired and ready. Packed up, I cranked up the radio.
Loud and pulsing, the freedom of the drive took me back to me as a teenager driving my first car; the ugliest brown ford pinto, which took me away from the dismal reality of my mother’s apartment and her latest boyfriend. The curve of the road rocked with the music and my hand draped out the window caught the currents of air alternating cool and warm as we flew in and out of shade. I could feel my hair blown across my face and when I caught a look at myself in the rear view mirror the looped strands framed a content and relaxed face with a soft smile. For just a moment I didn’t recognize the person looking back. Were did she come from? Trees and hills rolled by, houses, yards, someone on a bike. Paul (my 3 year old) fell asleep in his seat and the other six kids in the car talked under the music, calm, pleasant, content. I just wanted to keep driving, not let this moment end.
A couple of speed zones later and we’d reached civilization. First a neighborhood, then a school, people out for an afternoon walk, and at each milestone I reached over and turned down the radio just a little more. By the time we reached the first stop light the decibels had been turned down to a respectable level. Life’s restrictive hand slowly wrapped around me again. I dropped off the extra kids and ran into a client. Visited about her new baby and how they have been having trouble getting the financing together for a house. I told her to call me so I could help her find a good mortgage broker. When we got home the kids unloaded the van and put away the food and I went to work. Pulled out my laptop and emailed a contract to a lender, made a couple of calls to confirm a meeting for tomorrow morning, and spent some time writing this.
Am I a free spirited teen, mom, working woman, writer, sometimes all of the above. Today helps me feel like maybe I can be all of the above and not loose who I am.
Loud and pulsing, the freedom of the drive took me back to me as a teenager driving my first car; the ugliest brown ford pinto, which took me away from the dismal reality of my mother’s apartment and her latest boyfriend. The curve of the road rocked with the music and my hand draped out the window caught the currents of air alternating cool and warm as we flew in and out of shade. I could feel my hair blown across my face and when I caught a look at myself in the rear view mirror the looped strands framed a content and relaxed face with a soft smile. For just a moment I didn’t recognize the person looking back. Were did she come from? Trees and hills rolled by, houses, yards, someone on a bike. Paul (my 3 year old) fell asleep in his seat and the other six kids in the car talked under the music, calm, pleasant, content. I just wanted to keep driving, not let this moment end.
A couple of speed zones later and we’d reached civilization. First a neighborhood, then a school, people out for an afternoon walk, and at each milestone I reached over and turned down the radio just a little more. By the time we reached the first stop light the decibels had been turned down to a respectable level. Life’s restrictive hand slowly wrapped around me again. I dropped off the extra kids and ran into a client. Visited about her new baby and how they have been having trouble getting the financing together for a house. I told her to call me so I could help her find a good mortgage broker. When we got home the kids unloaded the van and put away the food and I went to work. Pulled out my laptop and emailed a contract to a lender, made a couple of calls to confirm a meeting for tomorrow morning, and spent some time writing this.
Am I a free spirited teen, mom, working woman, writer, sometimes all of the above. Today helps me feel like maybe I can be all of the above and not loose who I am.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Lunch
A BLT and a diet coke; Lunch was so good. The cold coke stung on the way down, very satisfying. Soft slightly gummy white bread; not my first choice for bread but it was all we had. I like bacon cooked right between crisp and under done, just a little chewy. These slices were perfect. Fresh tomato and lettuce, out of miracle whip so just a little horseradish mustard. This sandwich hit all the right spots at 2:30 this afternoon breakfast and lunch all at once.
Balance
I’ve calmed my mind and quieted my heart. There’s security in knowing “it’s all in your head”.
My grandmother told me that age was “all in your head”, “your only as old as you feel”. I never wanted to grow up. To be bitterness, pain, pessimism, to suffer with heartache and loss. To fight with a lover and beat my children and work two jobs and still have nothing. To be surrounded by poverty and the pain of others. To scheme and fight and cheat, to step on others to move up lifes ladder.
I wanted peace in my world. To have security and a home, happy children and friends, a supportive husband that would give me the freedom to be a mom first. I prayed for this; and god gave me everything I asked for. And part of me knows that I should be grateful for his beautiful gifts. I’m surrounded by people with less and still I’m dissatisfied with all that I have.
What I didn’t know to ask for was something else. Intimacy. Trust. I’m not talking about fidelity. It is the intimacy of sharing without fear. I’ve never told all my secrets to anyone. I locked them up so I could be this peaceful person. The only problem is they haven’t stayed locked up. I used to call them ghosts. Mostly childhood memories of abuse and neglect. I’d wake up from a nightmare and my strong, safe, loving husband would hold me until I slept again. I would press my face to his chest and breathe in his scent and I could feel the nightmare fade and the memory soundly locked away again. After a few years it happened less often, now nearly not at all.
The ghost that haunts me today is the old me; or younger me, how ever you want to look at it. The passionate, boundless person that lived in the moment and didn’t know any other way. What part of me have I traded to be the "peaceful" person I try to be today? Is it really peaceful to hide behind a mask.
This "me" is so close to the surface now I feel transparent, as if someone looking at me can see that I might be different. The mask has slipped. The person I see in the mirror is more creative, calm, satisfied with what I'm doing. I'm discoverying how to balance but sometimes the weight is a little shifted.
My grandmother told me that age was “all in your head”, “your only as old as you feel”. I never wanted to grow up. To be bitterness, pain, pessimism, to suffer with heartache and loss. To fight with a lover and beat my children and work two jobs and still have nothing. To be surrounded by poverty and the pain of others. To scheme and fight and cheat, to step on others to move up lifes ladder.
I wanted peace in my world. To have security and a home, happy children and friends, a supportive husband that would give me the freedom to be a mom first. I prayed for this; and god gave me everything I asked for. And part of me knows that I should be grateful for his beautiful gifts. I’m surrounded by people with less and still I’m dissatisfied with all that I have.
What I didn’t know to ask for was something else. Intimacy. Trust. I’m not talking about fidelity. It is the intimacy of sharing without fear. I’ve never told all my secrets to anyone. I locked them up so I could be this peaceful person. The only problem is they haven’t stayed locked up. I used to call them ghosts. Mostly childhood memories of abuse and neglect. I’d wake up from a nightmare and my strong, safe, loving husband would hold me until I slept again. I would press my face to his chest and breathe in his scent and I could feel the nightmare fade and the memory soundly locked away again. After a few years it happened less often, now nearly not at all.
The ghost that haunts me today is the old me; or younger me, how ever you want to look at it. The passionate, boundless person that lived in the moment and didn’t know any other way. What part of me have I traded to be the "peaceful" person I try to be today? Is it really peaceful to hide behind a mask.
This "me" is so close to the surface now I feel transparent, as if someone looking at me can see that I might be different. The mask has slipped. The person I see in the mirror is more creative, calm, satisfied with what I'm doing. I'm discoverying how to balance but sometimes the weight is a little shifted.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Body Song Unsung (revised)
Why does music heat my blood?
Inside my head the throb of bass
rhythms vibrate to essence.
Speaks screams to each heightened nerve.
Body responds with movement
no thought.
Wildness shudders awake,
pulls againts restraints.
Why does this body want to do its
primal dance?
Under control, wrapped tight in duty.
So easy it is to fall,
back to primordial roots,
strong is the pull of pasts
passions.
Flesh tuned to the rhythm
Feeling the sweet pulse of finger tips
To cheek – neck – shoulder – heart, tracing
Songs traveling within,
hidden under skin,
stirred embers
that once was flame.
What fuel is swelling this desire
of mind
of body
stirs of memory,
Sweat, muscle, arms, thighs
Ache - Waiting – Anticipating –
(so missed),
Charged and blind to disapproving eyes.
Firm heavy hands on my shoulders;
could be yours.
Weight of life.
Open your eyes.
Music’s over
Inside my head the throb of bass
rhythms vibrate to essence.
Speaks screams to each heightened nerve.
Body responds with movement
no thought.
Wildness shudders awake,
pulls againts restraints.
Why does this body want to do its
primal dance?
Under control, wrapped tight in duty.
So easy it is to fall,
back to primordial roots,
strong is the pull of pasts
passions.
Flesh tuned to the rhythm
Feeling the sweet pulse of finger tips
To cheek – neck – shoulder – heart, tracing
Songs traveling within,
hidden under skin,
stirred embers
that once was flame.
What fuel is swelling this desire
of mind
of body
stirs of memory,
Sweat, muscle, arms, thighs
Ache - Waiting – Anticipating –
(so missed),
Charged and blind to disapproving eyes.
Firm heavy hands on my shoulders;
could be yours.
Weight of life.
Open your eyes.
Music’s over
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Today is my Anniversary!
We've been together for 20 years now.
When I first saw him, he was just another guy in a world full of them. I've never had much hope for the male of our species and I won't go into why just yet. Hubby was different. He didn't look at me like I'd go well on a platter. He has this magnificent smile that poured into me like cool water on a hot day and I was just coming out of the desert. I drank in the sight of him.
He worked at the neighborhood gas station on a stretch of road not more than a wayside, hemmed in by the highway off ramp at one end and an on ramp at the other running parallel to this same highway. The 25 mile speed limit drove you past the bar on the corner to the left, the fruit cannery took up a couple of blocks on the right, an office building and a vet clinic back on the left, small mom and pop businesses lead up to the gas station on the right. Further down was the health clinic and finally the grocery store then your back on the highway on your way to the coast. His job as a mechanic and gas jocky, made him accessible to random observation and the more I saw the more I wanted him. I loved his friendly easy going nature, he smiled at everyone, and when he laughed I could see it all in his eyes. It didn't feel like he could hide anything. That's what I wanted; no lies. And I suppose it didn't hurt that he rode a motorcycle, had sun bleached shagy blond hair just over his ears, and beautiful blue eyes.
Now I was bold, but not enough to ask him out. I was only 17. So instead I just made myself available. I got gas everyday for weeks. .20 cents here, .43 cents there, very rarely over a dollar. He must have been locked away inside himself to take so long to notice. The day it dawned on him, he apparently had been goaded into asking me out by his boss. I pulled up in my brown ford pinto, hopped out and leaned against the door. He smiled that tingly smile of his and took the small change from my hand. He didn't stand close or look me up and down, just looked in my eyes. His glance toward the garage could have been him looking for fortification or an audience. His boss, a slight man with grease embedded in his creases, just stood there smiling, absently working a rag over his hands.
I still don't know what hubby thought of the whole thing.
When I first saw him, he was just another guy in a world full of them. I've never had much hope for the male of our species and I won't go into why just yet. Hubby was different. He didn't look at me like I'd go well on a platter. He has this magnificent smile that poured into me like cool water on a hot day and I was just coming out of the desert. I drank in the sight of him.
He worked at the neighborhood gas station on a stretch of road not more than a wayside, hemmed in by the highway off ramp at one end and an on ramp at the other running parallel to this same highway. The 25 mile speed limit drove you past the bar on the corner to the left, the fruit cannery took up a couple of blocks on the right, an office building and a vet clinic back on the left, small mom and pop businesses lead up to the gas station on the right. Further down was the health clinic and finally the grocery store then your back on the highway on your way to the coast. His job as a mechanic and gas jocky, made him accessible to random observation and the more I saw the more I wanted him. I loved his friendly easy going nature, he smiled at everyone, and when he laughed I could see it all in his eyes. It didn't feel like he could hide anything. That's what I wanted; no lies. And I suppose it didn't hurt that he rode a motorcycle, had sun bleached shagy blond hair just over his ears, and beautiful blue eyes.
Now I was bold, but not enough to ask him out. I was only 17. So instead I just made myself available. I got gas everyday for weeks. .20 cents here, .43 cents there, very rarely over a dollar. He must have been locked away inside himself to take so long to notice. The day it dawned on him, he apparently had been goaded into asking me out by his boss. I pulled up in my brown ford pinto, hopped out and leaned against the door. He smiled that tingly smile of his and took the small change from my hand. He didn't stand close or look me up and down, just looked in my eyes. His glance toward the garage could have been him looking for fortification or an audience. His boss, a slight man with grease embedded in his creases, just stood there smiling, absently working a rag over his hands.
I still don't know what hubby thought of the whole thing.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Years before kids and my life, I worked at a laundry. Taking in others laundry, dry cleaning, pressing...people flowed in and out of my days, none more memorable than another. There is one memory that clings, well, maybe two, but we'll talk about just the one now.
I smiled a lot then. Everyone got one free of charge. Now this may sound cheap, with no feeling behind it but that isn't so. I had the blissful ignorance of youth and serenity of a satisfied spirit. Work is all the joy I needed. Work offered itself as food to feed my spirit and I ate it up, working long hot hours over steam presses, breathing in the fumes of solvent, and earning the respect of my bosses. Money and clothes passed back and forth across the counter. Looking back, the distance between me, and those on the other side was cavernous. I don't know that I ever thought that, and if I had, what that might have meant to my future. For now I'm grateful for the blessed ignorance.
One bright day, I was working at the register. You might say I was glowing. I'd just finished wiping down all the washers and sweeping the floors; everything gleamed. The floor to ceiling windows filled two walls of the building and the sunlight glossed the floor. All the dry-cleaning machines were running, and everything that needed pressing was done. I just had to wait for the reclaimer (basically a large dryer) to finish so I could press again.
A shadow approached the door and my youthful eagerness bounced me to the register to take care of another customer. A young man came in of course to pick up some dry cleaning. Now, his face escapes the memory and all other things about the process were ordinary; I got his name and collected his things, check the ticket to be sure nothing was missed, hung the clothes on the hook, and rang up his costs. He handed his money over to pay the ticket and then I handed back his change. In the brief moment that our fingers touched, I felt a charge. I know he felt the same tingle because he looked up at me just as suddenly as I looked at him. We both stared uncomfortaby for a moment longer shy and looking down and away, then he was gone.
Now at the time I was living with my now husband. That brief encounter gave me pause but nothing more and why it still stays in my mind has never bothered me before.
I smiled a lot then. Everyone got one free of charge. Now this may sound cheap, with no feeling behind it but that isn't so. I had the blissful ignorance of youth and serenity of a satisfied spirit. Work is all the joy I needed. Work offered itself as food to feed my spirit and I ate it up, working long hot hours over steam presses, breathing in the fumes of solvent, and earning the respect of my bosses. Money and clothes passed back and forth across the counter. Looking back, the distance between me, and those on the other side was cavernous. I don't know that I ever thought that, and if I had, what that might have meant to my future. For now I'm grateful for the blessed ignorance.
One bright day, I was working at the register. You might say I was glowing. I'd just finished wiping down all the washers and sweeping the floors; everything gleamed. The floor to ceiling windows filled two walls of the building and the sunlight glossed the floor. All the dry-cleaning machines were running, and everything that needed pressing was done. I just had to wait for the reclaimer (basically a large dryer) to finish so I could press again.
A shadow approached the door and my youthful eagerness bounced me to the register to take care of another customer. A young man came in of course to pick up some dry cleaning. Now, his face escapes the memory and all other things about the process were ordinary; I got his name and collected his things, check the ticket to be sure nothing was missed, hung the clothes on the hook, and rang up his costs. He handed his money over to pay the ticket and then I handed back his change. In the brief moment that our fingers touched, I felt a charge. I know he felt the same tingle because he looked up at me just as suddenly as I looked at him. We both stared uncomfortaby for a moment longer shy and looking down and away, then he was gone.
Now at the time I was living with my now husband. That brief encounter gave me pause but nothing more and why it still stays in my mind has never bothered me before.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Work
OOOHHHH HOW I HATE TO LOSE!!
Knowing that about myself I'm driven. I have something of a competitive job. Today I spent most of the afternoon pulling the financing together for a client to make this deal work just to find out it may not be a done. Tonight at nine I will know if all my hard work pays off but until then I have to decide why it is that making this or any deal work is so important. My boss might say that I get to emotionally involved. I work with people - families - dreams. How can one not get 'emotionally involved'! I try to make it fun but, at least to me, it comes off manic. The 'Deal' gets me going. My creative thinking kicks in and I will do any ethical thing to make it happen. Ethics being very important to me.
I really love what I do.
Knowing that about myself I'm driven. I have something of a competitive job. Today I spent most of the afternoon pulling the financing together for a client to make this deal work just to find out it may not be a done. Tonight at nine I will know if all my hard work pays off but until then I have to decide why it is that making this or any deal work is so important. My boss might say that I get to emotionally involved. I work with people - families - dreams. How can one not get 'emotionally involved'! I try to make it fun but, at least to me, it comes off manic. The 'Deal' gets me going. My creative thinking kicks in and I will do any ethical thing to make it happen. Ethics being very important to me.
I really love what I do.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Feeling a bit quivery right now. Uncertain as to how I should feel about someone. Wanting to reach out but not sure what it is all about. Just want to find out more. Is reaching out the same as running away?
First there is some sort of beating brawl on TV, so I go into my room to read and check email. Next thing I know, He's upstairs hiding out with the boys. I don't want to watch men describe the intense need to make another man bleed, the thrill of knocking another man out, so I go to the bedroom. Now I hear "Dirty Jobs" is on and the sounds of Video games upstairs.
I am then overcome with the desire to seek out another individual that may talk to me. Someone I know. He is not interested in getting to know me. I know it sounds pathetic. To want to get to know someone that, now that classes are over, is satisfied to just move on. I have no right to expect anything more but I'm disappointed. I had hoped for time. Time to get to know him better. I suppose I'm a bit of a parasite. When I find characteristics in someone that I find distinct and desirable I try to take them into myself, make them part of me. There is much about this man I find attractive. He seems deeply moved by - well everything; literature, poetry, nature, his passion for teaching, simple pieces of life. He's also involved in theatre so I'm probably deluding myself. I thought I'd finally found someone that could still see the world the way I always did. He's helped me regain contact with this more open part of me.
First there is some sort of beating brawl on TV, so I go into my room to read and check email. Next thing I know, He's upstairs hiding out with the boys. I don't want to watch men describe the intense need to make another man bleed, the thrill of knocking another man out, so I go to the bedroom. Now I hear "Dirty Jobs" is on and the sounds of Video games upstairs.
I am then overcome with the desire to seek out another individual that may talk to me. Someone I know. He is not interested in getting to know me. I know it sounds pathetic. To want to get to know someone that, now that classes are over, is satisfied to just move on. I have no right to expect anything more but I'm disappointed. I had hoped for time. Time to get to know him better. I suppose I'm a bit of a parasite. When I find characteristics in someone that I find distinct and desirable I try to take them into myself, make them part of me. There is much about this man I find attractive. He seems deeply moved by - well everything; literature, poetry, nature, his passion for teaching, simple pieces of life. He's also involved in theatre so I'm probably deluding myself. I thought I'd finally found someone that could still see the world the way I always did. He's helped me regain contact with this more open part of me.
Today
She did it, the summer sun shinning
Behind her back, smiling conspirator.
Daddies eyes shinning approval today.
Sun, dust, sweat, heavy, clinging to her skin.
Counted hours and dreams of payday
Lost in the mindless drone of hard machines.
Today she did it.
Cheek to cheek, the feel of his whiskers
Against her skin fast and fleeting, then gone.
No big house. Just the sun to see the day.
She did it, the summer sun shinning
Behind her back, smiling conspirator.
Daddies eyes shinning approval today.
Sun, dust, sweat, heavy, clinging to her skin.
Counted hours and dreams of payday
Lost in the mindless drone of hard machines.
Today she did it.
Cheek to cheek, the feel of his whiskers
Against her skin fast and fleeting, then gone.
No big house. Just the sun to see the day.
17-40
At seventeen
No thought was clean,
So close to purity of thought.
At eighteen
stuck in between,
never understood what she had wrought.
At twenty-one
So much fun
Oh, he really is the one!
At twenty-three,
Does he love me?
At twenty five,
Again -
Does he love me?
At twenty-seven,
Does it matter?
At thirty-four,
Not any more.
At nearly forty,
What will I do?
So filled with doubt.
Uncertain – Fool!
At seventeen
No thought was clean,
So close to purity of thought.
At eighteen
stuck in between,
never understood what she had wrought.
At twenty-one
So much fun
Oh, he really is the one!
At twenty-three,
Does he love me?
At twenty five,
Again -
Does he love me?
At twenty-seven,
Does it matter?
At thirty-four,
Not any more.
At nearly forty,
What will I do?
So filled with doubt.
Uncertain – Fool!
Me
With my baby’s small body snuggled to me,
last night, just before sleep, the house silent
and dark. Wandering through today, days gone,
days to come - dreams, never and forever.
Sixteen is days gone. Getting high with Prince.
Dancing above dark rivers, his moon smile
shines rhythmically to the stars over me.
Sitting atop jagged boulders, moist breeze
of salted spray, the sent of sea, pure -
cleansing, my mind wrapped in a cocoon of
sweet chaos.
The rhythm of the sea, my heart pounding,
surrounded by the open expanse of
sky and sea.
This is freedom. If only I can hold
time. -- My mans study breath, my baby
snuggled next to me safe, his secrets waiting.
With my baby’s small body snuggled to me,
last night, just before sleep, the house silent
and dark. Wandering through today, days gone,
days to come - dreams, never and forever.
Sixteen is days gone. Getting high with Prince.
Dancing above dark rivers, his moon smile
shines rhythmically to the stars over me.
Sitting atop jagged boulders, moist breeze
of salted spray, the sent of sea, pure -
cleansing, my mind wrapped in a cocoon of
sweet chaos.
The rhythm of the sea, my heart pounding,
surrounded by the open expanse of
sky and sea.
This is freedom. If only I can hold
time. -- My mans study breath, my baby
snuggled next to me safe, his secrets waiting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
