Family

Families come in many shapes and sizes. They are our blood, and our broods, our kin and our kindred, and for many, little provides more opportunity to be near loved ones than the holidays.

Today at lunch, as coworkers casually tossed around a general distaste for the Thanksgiving holiday at various sides of their respective families, and certain joys from some at the prospect of multiple Thanksgivings due to split households, I became accutely aware and grateful for my still whimsical take on the season.  There have been many occasions when being one of the very few females in a gaming company have left me uncomfortable in my own skin; embarrassed over, and (rarely, but sometimes) even ashamed of my more innocent or non-cynical views.  But in this I find my innocence a comfort, as I cherish the notion of keeping a firm grasp on holding time with family in high reguard. Families are our foundation - the people in our lives who celebrate us at our greatest hights, and reminds us of our strength when we've fallen low. Whether we've chosen them, pulled them together in rag tag groups, if we were born into them naturally, or were tossed in amongst them, satellite relationships mingling with anchors, families keep us grounded in ourselves.

So this Thanksgiving, for those of us fortunate enough to be spending time with family (ours, or someone else's), my hope is that we're able to appreciate and see the people around the table in the best possible light...be it for the first time, or the hundreth and first time.

And if we can't do that, then for fuck's sake, let's find something to loosen up and laugh about with them.

Also, please be kind to the many retail workers you encounter on Black Friday, should you choose to partake in that "holiday." They would rather have the day off to be with their families, and keeping that in mind while you search for deals just may make the day better for all.

As for me, I think Black Friday is bullshit. But that's another rant for another day.

Happy Thanksgiving!

P.s. I'm grateful for Tyler, and the chance to spend Thanksgiving with he and his awesome family.

Honor

When a man has only honor to call completely his own, and honor is told not by deeds done before the eyes of others, but in the secret moments only he shares with himself, then truth is in a man's choosing to show another the same face he wears alone.

A Little Green, A Little Literary

Sharing just a little bit of xkcd genius, as it tickled me this morning.

Find more xkcd here.

In Retrospect

Things I've learned this week:

1.  My cats like cherry tomatoes - especially those that are freshly picked.
2.  My kitchen floor and living room carpet are less happy about the prospect about cherry tomatoes.
3.  Love comes in many shades.  My favorites are the deep blue hues, and the fiery, passionate reds.  Those that make you feel saturated with life.  The unconditional white kind is pretty excellent as well.
4.  Families are always the best when filled with love, no matter their shape or size.
5.  I have an uncanny ability to make terrible tasting alcoholic cocktails.
6.  Steve Martin is one of the more remarkable people on the planet.  (see Rare Bird Alert by he and the Steep Canyon Rangers for further justification of the preceding statement)
7.  Baking and cooking for people I care about is still one of the most heartening, soul calming, enjoyable things I've come across to spend my time on.
8.  Cats also quite like $25 greenish couches from Goodwill. 
9.  When you make a pie and are used to using parchment paper to roll out the crust, you tend to have to up your pastry skills when you discover mid-way through pie creation that you are out of said parchment paper.
10.  Come 12:42am on a Monday, no matter how good the episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I still find myself yawning.

Excellence

On those rare occaisions when things occur just as you hoped, when moments embed themselves in your memory, fixed to stand gloriously still for the rest of your years, gratitude tends to find a way of filling your heart.

Heartbeat

The average human heart beats about 70 times per minute while at rest.  This miraculous muscle, over the course of an 80 year lifespan, puts out about 2.5 gigajoules, making it an easy forerunner for the muscle that performs the most physical work in the whole of the human body - thus, potentially one of our most valuable assets.

However, to put things in perspective, a barrel of oil holds six gigajoules of potential energy (once combusted).  One could certainly make an observation or two here about the worth of a human body versus the worth of a barrel of oil, at least in terms of energy.  Similarly, one may pause to consider whom else might have pondered that same comparison while making governing decisions that would effect the lives of many such low output human hearts.  However, that goes rather off on a different tangent.  The focus here, remains the heart.

To get down to the heart of it, if you'll excuse my overly blatant pun, we're all run by these little beating batteries; steady clocks, thudding away in our chests, keeping time with our lives.  What's curious though, is not the form or function of the heart, but the story its been woven into.  So inseparable is the heart now from the concept of love that its difficult to trace back to a time when the two were not joined - even ancient Greeks and Egyptians believed that the heart controlled our thoughts and feelings, not the mind.    Ironically enough, when it comes to the physical manifestation of the feeling of love, it is in fact the brain that plays a greater role.  The production of estrogen, testosterone, dopamine, and serotonin lead from infatuation to comfort, then in time, the brain ups its protein levels and begins to bridge between certain neurons, leaving the memory of what we call love in our very grey matter.

Yet, all science aside, it is the heart that aches when another heart is near. It is the chest that feels empty, when a heart pulls away.  And, it is the heart that fills with joy at the smile and touch of someone held dear.

Right now, my heart, is quite full. 

This has been a bit of a ramble, with little point, and even less of a conclusion.  My personal serotonin levels are pretty high currently, so I'm going to have to leave things in this half thought out state and sign off for sleep.  Enjoy this while I enjoy that.

Enjoying the Unexpected

Despite the bad wrap that moving gets from most people, I will admit, I still remain convinced that overall, its an enjoyable experience (my family, whom have helped me move nearly every year since 2004, will most certainly cringe at this statement - however, I like to think I've streamlined the process considerably by this point - my last move took less than 3 hours, and ended in a lovely lunch of pizza at a local pizzeria).

In every move it seems there is a magical period of time - those first few days when everything in your new place finally comes together to form a home. Whether makeshift or permanent, this shelter becomes slowly your own, and with each move comes the possibility for reassessment and reinvention. There is a natural space for purging the old and unused and time to build up the new. We find ourselves thinking quite literally about what reflections of our person we choose to display to the world, but more importantly, what we choose to view of ourselves each day as we craft our new surroundings. Its stunning how the photographs that held such meaning in one building - one stage of our lives - can be packed away and out of sight without a second thought in a room with fresh paint; intriguing how the color schemes that seemed just right now drop away in exchange for more fitting hues. The act of moving is a shedding of skin, the dance of a chameleon, the practice of remaining flexible and fresh.

Imagine the first week of any given moving experience. Without fail, there will be stress; you are uprooted, your belongings are shuffled about, misplaced, and you must actively rearrange everything that holds distinct familiarity and comfort in your life. The unexpected is bound to arise; leaky sinks, furniture that doesn't fit as planned, questionable neighbors - there is simply no telling what you will run into. But this, all of this, is a huge gift. In these moments of unrest, we are forced to rise above ourselves, to step out of our comfort zones and step into stronger and better versions of whom we've already become.

Moving, for all of its tension, is a fairly good reminder that everything is temporary, and that nothing should be taken for granted. Each moment, even those riddled with stress or unwanted change, is a unique opportunity for growth, learning, or just a smile you didn't see coming.

So, here's a toast to enjoying the unexpected...in moving, in romance, in life, in fishing even. Whatever the universe throw at your feet, stare it back in the eye and say, "You there! Let's do this!"

And if you absolutely can't for some reason...might I suggest investing in some donut holes and seeking out a sunrise.

Skinny Love

So, let it be said first and foremost that I'm fully aware that I'm rather late to come around to Bon Iver. For years now I've heard fine reviews of Justin Vernon's musical stylings, especially in respect to his lyrics, but have only ever given him a passing glance. Perhaps due to a few bad song referrals - it seems I had only caught the handful of of YouTube music videos by the group that leaned a bit to close to angsty production value than true, heartfelt songwriting. This past summer even, my mother expressed great interest in the band, driven by their close ties to Wisconsin and an inspiring article written about them in a local newspaper. Still, I resisted, and Bon Iver remained a group I regarded as simply another indie up-and-comer with whom I'd never connect.

Well, my occasional musical snobbery has bit me in the ass once or twice before, and will probably do so again, but I am happy to say that for whatever reason, I gave Bon Iver a go this evening, and have been pleasantly surprised.

Lyrically, yes, Vernon shines. His narrative, yet metaphorical style provokes vague imagery, imbuing sensation and emotion far more than any firm sense of place, which is fitting, considering his hauntingly strong vocal range. In fact, although that range was one of the things that initially turned me off of the band, upon further listening, I'm really quite impressed by it. And certainly, no one can argue his vocal talent.

Further than that though, the band as a whole, and Vernon himself, have a strong sense of musical honesty. Perhaps not in every song (unfortunately), but in handful of very solid gems, its clear that strong technical skill enhances their ability to play with their music in a very innocent, inspired way. From arrangements featuring lurid but intricate acoustic guitar work to unison clapping and stomping, Bon Iver makes full use of their tool set to bring listeners an enjoyable - although not always entirely original - sound scape.

To share a taste - my favorite thus far - I present Skinny Love by Bon Iver.

Despite a raw beginning, Vernon's passion in this version of the song is exemplary; it reminds me of someone I used to know.

This Beginning's End

Eleven twenty-eight at night, central time, on January thirty-first, two-thousand and twelve.  There's clearly a reason we abbreviate dates and times (and I, far too lax in grammatical form at present, am sure I've botched the full form in one way or another).  Yet, saying it slow - typing it even slower on my phone - has a certain appeal. There is an almost poetic calming of the mimd that occurs when we pause to fully consider the date and time, without attaching to them any anxiety or preconceived notions based on our daily tasks and goals. Today simply becomes a day, in a year, in a long string of years, that has more to do with our short blip of existence in the vast universe than anything else.

Yes, I am waxing philosophical. And yes, precursor to reading that long-hand date aloud I imagined hearing "Captain's log, stardate..." in Patrick Stewart's velvety voice. Say what you will, but the truth is, its good for the soul to remember just how infinitely expansive the universe is, how incredibliy small we seem, yet how inseparably linked we are.

So, now marks the end of this month's voyage here on earth. Humankind continues to amaze and perplex itself. Much of the rest of the universe continues to generally ignore us - or speak to us in ways we choose to ignore right back. Earth soldiers on, despite our heavy weight. Flora and fauna persevere. And in galaxies, far beyond our scope of reality, stars are born...then die.

Happy February.

From One Bird to Another

Things here have been a steady mix of improving strengths and conquering demons. Small demons, like self-criticism, defeatist attitudes, and an uncanny ability to eat oneself silly when faced with emotional overload. Luckily, all of those bitter things are a taste familiar to my tongue, and I've learned to stare them down. Yup, its been a week, and a tough one at that. Tough in terms of resolve, but where I've let myself indulge in some respects, I've had iron will in other, far more important areas. Few words spoken out of line, and none spoken or written in areas where weakness might have me slip. Instead, my time these days is spent between coding tutorials, photography books, and the strings of my guitar. Actually, not my guitar - a guitar I've been babysitting for my mum's friend for a few years now. Its an old Yamaha, nothing overly impressive, but its got a sound that fits the echo of my heart these days, so I've left my guitar to sit lonely in the corner in exchange for unfamiliar strings. Metaphor? Perhaps. But there is little to be done about a changing of hands and the subtle twists a heart makes when it picks itself up from a bad fall.

Generally, I'm content.  It's a bit hollow - I still have trouble looking around my room, looking at my phone, catching myself remembering how close I came to something so damn good.  Feeling a little crazy sometimes, because of the way things worked out and the fact that there are only really a handful of people who know just how close we were.  And none as much as he and I.  Losing a best friend is the fuckin pits.  No matter how kind I am to myself, or how much I bury myself in time with friends/family or doing the things I love in my free time, there's still this second version of me, walking just a step or two behind, living a half-life in which things are what they could have been.  In time, that's bound to pass, I'm sure.  I just...wish.

Anyway, I've been recording myself singing and playing the guitar.  Sooner or later I put something up here...for now though its just good practice, and good reference to see how much my vocal habits have changed since show choir. 

Of course, I'm catching up on Dexter too. I was sucked in two years ago, but haven't seen much since. In the past week I've watched season 4 and really enjoyed it. Kudos to Michael C. Hall (LOVED him in Six Feet Under as well) and John Lithgow (yea, I totally watched 3rd Rock from the Sun) for playing off of each other so well, and being incredible actors overall.

As always, there's a song to my day. Today (a rather momentous day in my small world of baby steps that lead to standing apart from a dream that's been dear to my heart for longer than I care to admit), I find myself drawn yet again to the hauntingly simple and sweet stylings of Geri X, an artist from the Tampa Bay area. For its lyrics, gentle guitar accompaniment, and subtle soul, I give you Seven of Spades by Geri X.

And once that's said and done, the follow up is Paint Yourself Crazy, also by Geri X.

Lucidity in the Face of Fire

Had a dream last night that I watched a meteor fall. I was in a park, in Wisconsin, getting ready to meet Dustin. We were talking on the phone when I noticed a streak of light in the sky getting larger, closer. It reached out of the distance, all at once, yet in slow motion...burning blue - the size of a 1 story building. I happened to be standing by a pool, so when it hit, I jumped in and huddled under water as the blast and burning debris flew above and churned the water around me.

Somehow I managed to hold my breath long enough to survive, and when I emerged, everything had changed, yet nothing looked terribly different. There was a huge crowd forming, and I began to walk around and listen to neighborhood kids as they described what they had seen. My phone survived, as only it could in a dream, so I began to take video of everything. The last thing I remember is taking video of a boy and his sister. He had named the meteorite Orion's Foot because of where it had fallen from. He had tracked it in his telescope.

Hands

My hand,
In search of yours
Reaches out
Touches nothing.
Touches what it can;
A blanket, a pillow,
Poreclin, moist and cool -
Stark in contrast
With the near scalding water
Of this near nightly tub.
But these things
Are breathless.
No take, all give,
And what softness they lend,
Your rough fingers lacked.
What tenderness lived -
There in your far-off palms -
Will not be matched
In your inanimately filled absence.
So out reaches
My hand,
Searching
(without my full consent).

This One is for the Author

There lies thin a haze over this sleepy Christian city, and I, a misfit child of some other, less-descript non-dogma, sit content amidst the halflights that will not dim. Here, on the edge of consumerist havens, brick facades litter my birds eye view, patches in an incomplete verticle quilt. But up, up a few miles, past the feeble glow of suburbia, past the steady trail of air traffic flowing reassuringly from the South, crisp winter skies give way to vastness.
Numb fingers make slow and steady work of voicing the wordless healing of sensitive vitals, but peaceful reflection amongst stars feeds the soul unsparingly. This moment knows little of past events; last year's squabbles, or poignant dreams. This place remains safe from intrusion...no jarring memories of what could be or what has. Simple, clear, and barely even a passing notion of wishing for you here.

Last years trials were somewhat other than simply personal, and as such I made a choice to take a step back from this blog for a while. I made a commitment to air out as little laundry as possible here, at least as it concerned others, and I'm happy to have stuck to that resolve. This year marks the beginning of a new era for me. It had to start out a bit differently than planned for me to fully see where I was, and I'm still pretty uncertain about exactly where I'm headed, but the past two weeks have given me an almost entirely foreign (until now) insight into where I am. Its a huge work in progress, but I think I'm learning something big - how to feel comfortable in my own damn skin. Years I've spent pretending...raging, whining, crying, smiling, dancing, and generally waiting for something to click. And you know what? It never did.

What did happen, however, was something between relaxing into a comfortable dream, and waking up to realize that it simply doesn't matter. I am this, and I may not be anyone's ideal - hell, I'm not even my own - but that's fine. This work in progress is messy and beautiful, and the people who see me clearly get it & love me greatly without being afraid of any of the chaos, or trying to change even the slightest molecule of my wild (yet somehow altogether mellow) energetic mess. They stand by, let our atoms mingle, share stories, smiles and tears, and then continue on, knowing we'll share it all again soon.

I'm not always that confident, and one of my greatest wishes is that I will develop that skill. To trust that those around me will stay near. I've leant my heart out and had it put back prematurely a few too many times not to be a little concerned in that department.  Maybe next year I'll be able to report better news there. I just hope that the man who starts to mend that organ will stick around in earnest, long enough to see the job through.

And there it is...can you tell I stepped inside? Warmer hands, warmer heart...and much more vocal. Well, its a lovely night, in any case, and I'm happy to be crawling into a big warm bed - one that for now at least, I get to keep entirely to myself.