Archive
I am done with my graceless heart*
This morning, I woke up to frost and little birds that did not seem to care. The world looked like a pale Narnia; the snow from the weekend had melted, but as my breath formed a cloud in the air, I felt the cold right down to my smile.
The various animals were fed, coffee was had, and things began. That’s how life goes: the alarm rings like a starting bell, and we amble off into the world. Some days are better than others, but all hold their magic. Frost, even though it has covered what’s left of the garden, is still beautiful. Tiny little ice crystals that danced over the green, frozen like a memory, melting slowly.
That, in a way, is life. A series of crystalline moments, beautiful even when it’s unpleasant. So many people look at frost and merely see winter. (I know I’ve done it.) But there’s a gleam and a sparkle there, a bit of transient, ephemeral diamonds.
It’s no secret that I hate winter. I hate it, unless I’m curled up by a fire with a nice glass of wine and nowhere I need to be. But even winter has its moments, full of sweaters and snowballs. I love the absolute stillness that happens after a big snowstorm, when you step outside and there’s no sound, and nothing but a white world. (And me, looking for a lamppost and Mr. Tumnis.)
My dog, as crazy as he is, thinks snow is magic. He runs out, feet akimbo, happily pouncing around. To him, there is nothing better than snow. Nothing better than the completely awesome fluffy stuff. (No, not marshmallow fluff.)
It is, like all things, a matter of perspective. So much of life is just that, boiling down to the way we examine a choice, a situation, a moment, a kiss, a reason, an excuse, a friendship – and so on, ad nauseaum.
Amidst the insanity of life (and it can be freakin’ crazy), we often fail to really see it, failing to exist in the singular moment, too often rushing through. I’ll never forget when I went to Italy to visit family. Basically, the entire country takes the month of August off. As an American, and a partially type A personality, I cannot imagine doing nothing for a whole month. But it was a matter of perspective. To them, to my relatives, it was the same as having the weekends off.
Right now, here is what I know. I know that we talk too much about appreciating things. I’ve done it, too. I remember reading A Story to Live By when I was in high school. A friend sent me a link to the article. And I wanted to be the somewhat eccentric person who wears perfume to the grocery store and doesn’t save anything for a special occasion.
Sometimes, we all need a reminder that this minute is what we have. This love. This chance. This choice. This [whatever]. Sounds crazy, right? Wrong. Forget what you’ve been told since birth and stop trying to plan EVERY second of your life. Balls to that, I say. Plans are good. Plans are necessary. But plans should be flexible. Life isn’t set in stone, carved with irreversible intent. It’s one notch, one step at a time.
Live it. Love it. Be as wise as you are crazy.
*lyric from Shake It Out by Florence + the Machine, which is playing on a loop.
The Grammar Fairy
It’s not a secret that I love words. I love grammar, too. I am a huge fan of the Oxford comma, and I can recite several monologues from Shakespeare – as well as a few sonnets. In short, I am a geek, though I am not the kind that eats glass or live chickens. Because ouch and ew, respectively.
Here and there, I do some editing work, which always exposes me to some hilarious (read: terrifying) examples of near-English writing and word usage. I suspect, someday, I will be discovered in corner yelling, “NO COMMA SPLICES!!!” like Joan Crawford yelling, “NO WIRE HANGERS!” It will not be pretty, but I am resigned to my fate.
But you know who isn’t? The Grammar Fairy. She is approximately three apples high (aka Smurf Height), with pale skin and sparkly green wings. However, you should not be lulled into thinking she is a benevolent, despite her resemblance to Tinkerbell. Tinkerbell she is not.
The Grammar Fairy has a temper. I think the job is getting to her, sometimes. I’ve seen her sharpening her teeth on more than one occasion. You see, if you rack up a certain number of heinous grammatical errors, she will visit you at night.
She is unforgiving. She will GNAW on your SOUL. Or, failing that, kick you in the shins. Repeatedly. Unless of course you use “whatevs” or “gots” in your everyday speech. For that, she will just haul off and bite you.
Unfortunately, the Grammar Fairy cannot be everywhere at once. Some repeat offenders have yet to meet her wrath. But she’s hiring a few good fairy underlings, and I suspect they will be out en masse VERY SOON. If you want to avoid the Wrath of the Grammar Fairy (cue music), here are a few helpful tips:
- ‘Thats’ is not a word. It is not even the bastard cousin of a word. It is supposed to be a contraction, and you cannot pluralize it. For this offense, the Grammar Fairy will pull out a small snatch of hair.
- Than and then are TWO different words. Sure, they’re homophones, but that doesn’t mean that their usage is the same. Use than for comparisons (cappuccino is better than regular coffee.). Use then in instances of time. Such as a point in time (I’ll see you then), something that happens next (I’ll make this call, then we’ll have coffee), in addition to (there’s reason, and then there’s accountability), or when something is case specific (If you want coffee, then you will have to make it). For this crime, the Grammar Fairy will bite you, perhaps in the kneecap.
- Your and you’re are not the same thing. Your is a possession pronoun that signifies ownership. (Example: This is your dance space.) You’re is a contraction for you are. (Example: You’re smart.) For this grave error, the Grammar Fairy will bludgeon you with a pocket dictionary.
- It’s and its are not interchangeable. Like your vs. you’re, its is a possession pronoun (the morning has lost its chill); it’s is a contraction for IT IS or IT HAS (it’s come to my attention that Alexander Skargard is single. CALL ME.). You cannot say, “Its common sense.” I’m pretty that only works if there’s a killer clown named Pennywise involved. For this egregious mistake, the Grammar Fairy will cut a bitch. Seriously. She has a small pocket knife. *cue music from West Side Story*
- Lastly, I hate to shatter worlds (not really), but the following are not correctly rendered words:
- Alot. You mean a lot. TWO words.
- Unbeknowingly. Unbeknownst is PROBABLY the word you’re looking for.
- Work shop. You mean workshop. One word. ONE.
- Anyways. Why is there an S on the end of that?!!? WHY???????????? *breaks down into sobs*
- Wherease. What is that even supposed to mean? You mean ‘whereas,’ I think. I HOPE.
For the above crimes, the Grammar Fairy will coldcock you with an Oxford Dictionary. (Yes, the ENTIRE set.) Repeatedly.
So, folks, if you’d like to avoid the Grammar Fairy’s ire, pay attention to what you say/write. Otherwise, you are in for a WORLD of PAIN.
Savvy?
A Blog of Fall — in Pictures
(Queen Mab — Mab, for short. The happiest cat in the world.)
(Pretty trees. Slightly blurry.)
(Mab, again. This is her “I see a bird!” face.)
(This might be a finch. I am not sure. But it’s cute.)
(This picture doesn’t do the colors justice.)
(This one’s for Ana — my version of a Shadow-Thought.)
Rainstorm Apocalypses: Coping and What Fresh Hell is This?
It is raining outside, again. I feel like that is nature’s default, lately: rainstorm apocalypse. It’s so pretty, until I need to venture outside in it. Then, bad things happen. For instance, my dog (on his morning walk) didn’t realize that I might NOT want to chase a bird on a wet grass. I might have slipped. I did not, however, fall. (Small victories!) After coming in from walking the dog, I somehow managed to slip and bang my knee on an open cabinet door. Why was it open? I have no idea. Perhaps there is a ghost. An evil, cabinet door-opening ghost. *looks around* Right. Moving on…
After clutching my bruised knee and wounded pride, I did the only logical thing: brewed coffee and read blogs. And after that, I decided it was a good day for comfort food. I made sour cream and cheese biscuits, with mushroom gravy, from scratch. There was also turkey bacon, but that doesn’t take talent; it merely requires a microwave.
As I was finishing up the gravy, I realized that I have a tendency to cook and bake when I’m in a bad mood. I write, too, but there’s something helpful about keeping your hands busy and being productive. The house smells divine, which is a bonus.
It’s funny how coping mechanisms change over time. Now, when something’s bothering me or I’m in a randomly crappy mood — I need to do something. It doesn’t matter if I can’t change whatever’s wrong; if I am being useful in some way, I feel better. As opposed to what I used to do when I was a teenager, which was blast loud music (Jagged Little Pill, anyone?) or sulk to my very eyeteeth. All and all, I think this is a vast improvement, although I do still turn Alanis up when I’m feeling like someone has peeled back my skin with hot poker and salt. Some habits don’t really die; they fade and flare.
If you are relatively cognizant, you know that bad days happen. Rain happens. Shit happens. A lot of the time, that stuff is equal parts unfair and unavoidable. I know that the crappy things are rarely able to be controlled; most of the time, they can only be managed.
It isn’t always easy to manage the bad things. Sometimes, a rainy day is enough to wrangle all the stresses that come before it. Stress is cumulative, folks, which is why the little things add up to mountains, sometimes. And then you find yourself eating an entire pie, wondering why fork is such a funny word. (Never Been Kissed reference. Otherwise known as The Movie that Made Me Adore Michael Vartan).
…where was I? Right. Stress. It accrues like the world’s most bizarre interest rate, pulled from vast wasteland of What Fresh Hell is This? (Bonus points to anyone who can tell me who said that.) We’re often conditioned to ignore stress. Ignore what’s bothering us. Take a pill. Have a drink. (Or three.) Buy a bigger rug, since the one you’re sweeping things under is no longer serviceable.
It’s not a good way to go. Recognize your stress and your stressors. (Screw you, spellcheck. That IS a word.) Recognize it and figure out how to deal with it, from the smallest things (like a rainy, slooshy miserable day) to the largest ones (personal difficulties).
And if all else fails, stop by my house. I’ll make coffee, and we’ll talk over cake. (What? There’s ALWAYS cake. Or pie. Or brownies.)
Done Quickly
I remember you
as we wove through that crowd,
looking to all the world
like the couple we weren’t. I wouldn’t
let you buy me a soda,
or hold the door,
or kiss me goodnight.
It bothered you
that I could smile
without provocation –
and that I smiled for myself,
not solely for your benefit.
We were friends –
that was the line
drawn in the sand, edged
with mines, laden with grenades
and scorpions. I knew
how to get across without cutting myself,
but you could not discern
what was deadly
and what was dirt. It was alright by me.
The truth (if you want it)
is that I thought less of you
when you talked about disliking
women who liked to streak their hair
odd colors – like fire engine red
or lilac or blue. I shook my head
as we pretended to be interested
in the vendors. I told you
about dying my hair lavender.
It did not amuse you. I found I didn’t care.
I saw you once, again,
after that. We took in a Scottish play,
and during the intermission,
you made fun of the ring I was wearing,
since it was on my ring finger (the only one it fit),
asking did you marry yourself?
I think I said nothing. I was quieter then.
It made me like you much less.
Slowly, we stopped speaking.
I think I forgot to return your phone calls.
Or you stopped calling.
Maybe it was both. The result
is the same: we fell
out of touch as easily as people
fall in love. It would never be us –
I knew that then, the moment
your eyes narrowed in judgment,
the moment I realized
you couldn’t make me laugh,
the moment I saw your ego
instead of your smile –
we ended,
we let go,
we said goodbye
to the couple we never were.
Of Rainfalls and Change
The world has begun to change, again. The hours stretch out strangely, until I hardly recognize them. The light falls differently, lingering in old instants, where it once disappeared. Somewhere, a bird calls to another, but the rest is silence, save for the soft falling of rain.
That’s it. That’s what keeps me, now. The quiet caress of water on the earth, a storm cloud that empties itself of life, and hardly anyone notices. The inconvenience of it, the slick road and damp shoes, is remarked on – but what about the beauty of it? The smell of rain is one of dirt and magic, full of its own fleeting scent. It is one of possibility and change. And yet, in the midst of a day, we often overlook the miracle. We fail to see the sparkle in a single drop, in the way it glistens on a spider’s web.
(Except today. Except now. )
The air has turned its face to colder moments. Sweaters have been removed from boxes. Rain boots have been retrieved from the corner of the closet where they’d been banished. Firewood is gathered. Hot chocolate sought out. It is the beginning of a more trying season, one of snow that falls in silence.
(But forget tomorrow. Remember today.)
In the distance, the leaves have burst like fireworks, but the transformation isn’t whole yet. Gold, orange, and red against the green – a reminder. A beacon. A transitory marker for that which has come before it. Summer’s final flourish. Its goodbye heralded in the arms of branches.
It is a perfect offering of beauty.
Don’t Be a Jerk: On Preachers and Paying Attention
This morning, I’m thinking about bad behavior. I was reading through a discussion, last night and today, and it made me angry. Not the initial points, but the subsequent ones. Because there were grave errors in judgment.
Why is it so difficult for some people not to be jerks? Why is it so difficult to affirm that there’s often more than one good way to do something?
Sometimes, when listening to people, I begin to feel as if I’m standing in front of a preacher – one who’s clutching the kool-aid and snorting the coke of his own brand of crazy.
It’s one thing to be right. It’s entirely another to say, “THERE IS NO OTHER WAY, BITCHES!”
Yes, I’ve broken out the cursing. Deal with it. Or pretend I said ‘witches’ and move on.
There’s always more than one way to succeed, otherwise, we’d be living in a Twilight Zone episode. Think about something simple and fundamental, like learning to tie your shoe. Some parents give the cute rabbit hole demonstration. Some don’t. As long as you learn to tie your shoe, who cares how you learned to tie it? It’s the end result that matters, right? Or is someone going to stone you for your bunny ears? I don’t think so.
Yet, as I’ve grown up, I’ve seen that type of thing translate poorly. Adults, who should know better than to spew bile, do exactly that: berate and act like belligerent jerks, because they feel justified in doing it. If you find something that works for you, GREAT. But not everyone can replicate the same experience. In fact, it’s impossible to replicate an experience, because we’re all different people.
I’m the first to admit when I don’t know what I’m doing. If I’m winging it, I will tell you. But everything is a learning experience, if you’re paying attention. Pay attention. Be present. Try to observe things, without an already tinted lens. Because figuring out how to do something is great. For instance, as a kid, I learned to crochet…but not with a needle. No, I ended up learning how to do it with my fingers.
Sure, it was an atypical endeavor. I’ve yet to meet anyone else who can say they once crocheted with their hands. Eventually, I learned to use the hook needle. But I still learned. I can still do it. Most people wouldn’t have learned that way. I did. I rock. *ahem*
If you stop learning, if you stop seeing that other views are valid, something is wrong. You’re no longer part of a discussion – you’re on the sidelines shouting obscenities at people. Engaging in a conversation is not the same thing as preaching at people. You can be as right as you want to be, but once you still belittling people and their choices? Well, people stop listening.