Monthly Archives: May 2013

more – just what you wanted, right?

It’s Sunday night and raining here. It’s been a movie marathon day, ranging from one dystopian scifi movie to another… and a romantic drama – I just finished watching The Notebook and am now a messy, snotty, puddle of mucus and tears. I should have stuck to the dystopian flicks. Nothing like watching two old people die at the same time, while holding hands. I suppose if there was a perfect way to go, that would be it, wouldn’t it?

I’m trying to remember what it feels like to love – the “aimer fort” kind of love that makes your knees weak, your blood course just a little faster and your heart break because it feels so dangerous and wonderful all at once. I am trying to remember the optimism of my youth, when I knew with certitude that I would love and sometimes (more times than not) be loved back. It wasn’t merely a possibility but a given, the natural order of things.

Now, I’m not so sure. How many people actually experience that kind of love? Is it left behind with youth, and it’s inherent naïveté or cockiness (perhaps both in same measure)?

That girl… she’s drifting further away from me each day, and it scares me; scares me that she will leave and never come back.

Oh hell – I know I don’t look the same as I used to thirty or even twenty years ago. To be honest, it doesn’t bother me. I’m so much a better human being now than I was then. I’m everything that I had hoped I’d be, minus a few things that I still have to temper and perhaps outgrow. But for the most part, I’m so much better than I imagined. I just haven’t figured out how to convey that to the world yet – or to the someone – that has been waiting for the me that I am today.

I’m really not any more special than anyone else; we all are pretty wonderful, in our own way. It’s all a matter of opinion and perception and… well, maybe need.

We see what we need in others, that we perhaps don’t have in ourselves. Someone to tell us the truth when we don’t want to hear it, in a way that we’ll listen. Someone who will hear us when we aren’t even coherent to ourselves. Maybe that’s just me. We all search for different things I suppose.

My heart hurts. Sometimes I don’t think I can stand it… and then another day passes, and then another, and pretty soon a week and a month and another year goes by and I wonder how that happened, that passage of time without living fully, and I wonder what it will take for me to truly live before the days stop.

I listened in to an audio conference on Saturday morning and the speaker she said that many people live to 70 but they live the same year over and over again, while few really live 70 year’s worth of living.

I don’t want to be to one living the one year over and over again, but the last time I really, truly, felt alive was twenty years ago, when I’d decided to marry and move to California.

I don’t know how I could have made such a mess of things, and not fully and wholly grasped the opportunity that had presented itself to me then. It wasn’t about the marriage or the relationship, per se, but about finding myself, and what made my heart sing and building a life – for myself – independently of anyone but myself. How could I have not been able to find it, sooner, rather than later?

But I know how. I was waiting on Steve – I was waiting for us to build something together and I waited so long for that to happen that the time for me to do it myself passed and I had nothing to show for it in the end. What have I contributed to this world? What proportion of what I should have given to this world has actually been given? I wonder, sometimes, how profoundly I have failed.

Anyway. I need a shower. And perhaps a tea. Yes… I’ll make myself a mug of decaf earl grey tea.

self containment

It occurs to me that I haven’t been doing much writing or journaling lately, here or elsewhere, my posts mostly photographs or descriptions of things. (Perhaps you are all thankful for that – I do go on about things, sometimes.)

I have to admit that I’ve been in a weird place for a while, and my constant self-examination was becoming tiresome (to myself; perhaps to you too).

The rain has returned after two glorious weeks of uninterrupted sun. It trickles and shooshes, somewhere between mist and shower. It calms, sometimes. Certainly it inspires me to stay indoors, though during the week I have no choice but to go out into it. I tell myself I won’t melt, but the moisture is effusive – it permeates everything. (Enough about rain, already.)

It’s quiet in here this morning. Earlier, as I lay in bed and was going through email messages on my smart phone and started link hopping, I eventually arrived at this post.

It is beautiful and simple and touching. Something that I don’t seem to be able to evoke when I write lately, so I’ve chosen to give it a rest. Mostly because if I can’t write something gorgeous and moving (and definitively lacking in despondency), why bother writing at all?

When I write, it feels like one long and wailing lament. But then… but then I think I can’t be the only one to feel this way, to feel the contraction and the need to pull myself in, the need to contain myself, because overflowing is just dangerous and wreaks havoc. Better to let things settle and reach coherence, to harden like a diamond.

So I see, and I notice, and I rejoice in little bits, by giving hand wrought things and smiles, by being present with those who surround me, by being attentive to the rain tapping at the eaves.

knitty things


Grrrr. Starting this thing over, since I can’t seem to stay focused on which row I am working(!) despite the row counter(!) and I also can’t seem to follow a pattern *cough, cough*. I inadvertently added several stitches (like five!) after resuming work on the scarf following several months of dormancy. NOT that it was a vision of perfection prior to this, mind you, because as I mentioned earlier, I would regularly lose count of which row I was on, so when I’d pick it back up again to knit on it some more, I’d do my best guesstimate and it would not always be accurate.

SO… out come all those hours of stitches, and starting it over once that is done. It is the Old Shale Scarf by Tiennie and available as a free download on Ravelry, knitted with Mini Mochi yarn in the Brandied Apricots colourway on US6 needles. It will be pretty once it’s done properly. I’ll admit that when I started this project (ages ago) I was a somewhat less seasoned knitter. Not that I’m great now, by any stretch of the imagination, but at least my gauge doesn’t wildly fluctuate between segments and I now cast on (and off) loosely enough so as not to skew the shape of the piece. Yay me. So here I go… starting over. At least The Fat Squirrel Speaks podcasts are keeping me company.