There are definitely ways of coping with the events from ten years ago that are more crippling than reparative.

But remembering that loss helps me to acknowledge in a healthy way the time in my life when I was terrorized.

It’s not a patch I’ll ever sew on my sleeve. I don’t talk about it all the time. I was a kid. It was in the ’80s.

It happened. I can’t unhappen it.

But I also have chosen not to let it discourage me.

Through it, I have learned resolve and determination and forgiveness. I have exercised faith. It has taken a long time.

So, of course I see loss and sorrow, but I also see hope and trust that our country will recover.

We will heal.

“Swept Up Whole”

You aren’t swept up whole,
however it feels. You’re
atomized. The wind passes.
You recongeal. It’s
a surprise.

Kay Ryan

And, an excerpt from the linked interview:


What do you think about the state of poetry and the reading of poetry in our country?

I never, ever worry about poetry or its survival because it’s the very nature of a poem to be that language that does survive. Poems are even better than tweets – they don’t require any electronic equipment. They can lodge right in your brain. They are by nature short. You don’t even have to remember all of them — you can remember just a phrase. That can be something you can turn to in any emergency, good or bad. You’ll pluck out a little group of words, just maybe a phrase, and that’s exactly what poetry is for. It’s for the things that really last. Because it lasts.

“Thirty-five is when you finally get your head
together and your body starts falling apart.”
- Caryn Leschen

“Thirty five is a very attractive age;
London society is full of women who have of their own
free choice remained thirty-five for years.”
- Oscar Wilde

“Very few people do anything creative after the age of thirty-five. The reason is that very few people do anything creative before the age of thirty-five.”
- Joel Hildebrand

Keep it coming, life.  I can’t wait for more.

Happy birthday to me.

This combination is primo. My favorite is the one about the fur pillows. The bike stores one is pretty great, too.

***

In other news, the semester is almost over. I really hope this isn’t news to you. I’ve only announced it somewhat consistently this past week. Finals start Saturday. They end Tuesday.

In yet other news, I’m slowly coming to terms with some hard truths in my life. I wish my heart didn’t have to break.

The style of the video is beautiful. The sparse animation is powerful.

I love this little film.

In the galley, my shackles clink as I rouse. They say the rest of the fleet is gone, destroyed. The bow slowly slices the horizon, and our synchronized oars obey the coxswain’s rhythmic commands: stroke, stroke.

The vessel lunges forward, forward. Our bodies move in unison, backward, counter to our progress.

The air smells of rot. Death has gone sour.

Our lungs huff and hum, and arms pull and legs push. The skin we shed is the grime that cakes in the creases of our throats and the crooks of our elbows. We never molt completely. Never down here.

The chains drag and swing, thud and clack. It becomes a dance, and I hear it in my sleep. It makes me sleepy.

Light peeks through a porthole. A point. It perks my pupils.

Your eyes used to be empty, too.

Eventually shadows fade, booming subsides, and we hear cheers on deck.

We keep rowing, rowing.

Sitting in bed, lights off. Pajamas on, double the covers because it feels particularly cold in my room. I’m ready for bed. I usually don’t blog in bed, because bed is for sleeping. But I can’t sleep. My thoughts defy me. Some really interesting things are coming together in my life that make sense of why I’m down here in Florida. Right now, I don’t know what I could possibly offer. Prayers, I suppose. Those come in a constant stream. I mean, the whole predicament with the bank hasn’t completely cleared yet, and I had to approach my mom to borrow some money, and when I was telling her on the phone about the situation, I felt a blush heat my face, and all this shame washed over me. And it’s not like I’ve done anything wrong, but it’s the habitual association: all this bad stuff is happening, and that must mean I’m being punished. My logical brain grimaces, but that’s the best it can do, just because the emotional half has taken over. Good things happened today. I finished babysitting and the friend’s parents took over, and my friends seemed especially grateful for the service. Some friends sent me a pretty sweet package from New York City, complete with snickerdoodles and cool music and thoughtful missives. And my mom did agree to loan me the money to conduct some Utah-related business, not so much because she knew I could repay her, but because I happen to be in a little bit of trouble, and I am her child, and she wants to take care of me. Also, my hives are clearing up and now whatever itching comes from my more familiar dry skin, and that’s nothing a good slathering of lotion can’t fix. But, you know, it’s been a well-balanced day, because when I started the car to leave my friend’s from babysitting at 6:30 this morning, it wouldn’t start. And when I thought back to the previous day I’d taken the kids for a short drive to a park, and when I pulled back into the garage and hauled the children back into the house, car seats included, I’d left one of the car doors open, and that drained the battery. So I had to trouble people for a jump start. My friend’s parents, who were taking over the rest of the gig. They were nice enough about it, but that little lapse happened to settle on the pile of things that have made me feel like an idiot. Two bags of snickerdoodles came in that package today, and when I came back from meeting my mom at the bank, one of those bags was missing. And it turned out that the resident dachshund had his way with that bag. I mean, I’m glad he enjoyed the cookies, and he did provide some comic relief to my day. It could have been much worse. And it’s not like the universe rides solely around my life. I’m well aware of kidnappings in my town and shootings everywhere and the world even more quickly crumbling on itself. So now, while I’m not sleeping, I’m trying to sort things out: It’s all personal. It’s all related. But some things hold clear priority over others. And I have to figure out a way to step up and reach out and face some of the real reasons why I’m here in Florida. Because I’m a good friend and daughter and sister. I just have to keep praying. I’m trying not to feel helpless, but something tells me that’s at least part of the point. And the very reasons I can’t sleep right now might also explain why I want to curl up in a little ball. And close my eyes. And pull the double covers over my head. Until it all goes away. 

But that’s not going to happen.

I’ll continue with the weekly friend features after the new year. People seem to do other things, like gorge on food nonstop and spend time with friends and family during the holidays instead of reading my blog. What’s that all about? Oh well, I don’t blame them. Anyway, I don’t know if the spotlights for the next couple of weeks would get the attention they deserve if I posted them, so I’ll wait until everyone’s back on a quasi-normal schedule. I hope that’s okay.

Here’s a photo montage and a song. This is one of my favorite newish artists. She seems cool, so I’ll start off by calling her by her first name. And since I’ve been feeling a bit off-kilter, I’ve listened to this song about twenty times today to help me feel better. This is a shout-out to my friend Alicia, because she’s got to be just about the biggest Ingrid fan in the universe. And this goes out to all of you who might be feeling a bit down or discouraged or trodden underneath the steel-toed, deeply-grooved, thickly clod boots of life but were nowhere near a department store on Black Friday. This song is upbeat, it will pick you up. I was bouncing in my chair and bobbing my head about 20 separate times today at work. The melody is cheery and light and very, very catchy. This song will make you dance, and while the lyrics aren’t entirely shiny-happy, they are hopeful and encouraging, and they feel like a big hug. A big, bouncy, buoyant hug.  Thanks, Ingrid. And now I’m hugging you -  you, out there – you know who you are. I’ve caught wind of your situation; I’ve talked to you; I’ve read your blog.

I have incredible friends. Thank you for your support and strengthening words and prayers. It means so much to me.

 

more about “Be OK“, posted with vodpod

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