Jul 31, 2009
Jul 30, 2009
There's bad news on the other line.
Good news first:
I am sipping a glass of whole milk and apologizing to my body as I feel the fat curdle in the pit of my stomach.
Sometimes I read over this blog and think, Yeah, I remember when I was thinking that. And how I felt. And what was around me and in me and beside me. Through me.
These words on this paper.
The color in the storm.
----
Whole. Milk. Not halved nor split in quarters so that it's X-percents of heightened health so I can sip my latte without choking.
Yes, I remember what I was thinking when I wrote that: Belladona.
That's a secret.
---
Today's mental boundaries got left at the foot of a waterfall: Rainbow Falls--aptly named for the colorful arcs that stretch across the mist where the water smashes into the creek below. Of course, if you decide to wear polarized lenses,
you will not be able to see it.
Interesting that there is something in this world that can only be seen if you're looking through the right eyes.
----
Bad News: Steve Meissner, a close friend of my cousin's family and our family, just died completely unexpectedly. Wonderful singer/songwriter who glowed with joy and whose heart's kindness was soft as velvet and calm like the depths of the sea. I don't understand how a man could drop dead at 48. I don't quite ... understand.
And you can talk about the man, remember his voice on the tape from my parents' wedding--"To lead a better life, I need my love beside me" (thank you Beatles). He would handle the Oscars in the evening and be at family breakfast in the morning, tinkling along at the piano next to my aunt who LOVES Aude to Joy (and, though his talent far surpasses the oldie, he'd eagerly play along).
You can say all these things but it won't bring him back. I can't chatter in delight about the Life in his smile, then bring you to meet him at our next family gathering. He can't sing at my wedding, can't share a conversation with my uncle, can't admire my cousin's beautiful, newly renovated home.
We should get a warning: A memo from the Watcher that says, "Hey. Heads up. Friend: This is the last time he's going to play you this song. Mother: This is the last time he'll kiss you goodnight. World: This is the Last. The Last."
And if Death is not a complete end, it is a stopping: a resting in the Waiting until someone else follows. And then another. And another. Until we all step in our place to find out the Next.
regretful Cheers to another Last. and Fond Prayers for the departed.
I am sipping a glass of whole milk and apologizing to my body as I feel the fat curdle in the pit of my stomach.
Sometimes I read over this blog and think, Yeah, I remember when I was thinking that. And how I felt. And what was around me and in me and beside me. Through me.
These words on this paper.
The color in the storm.
----
Whole. Milk. Not halved nor split in quarters so that it's X-percents of heightened health so I can sip my latte without choking.
Yes, I remember what I was thinking when I wrote that: Belladona.
That's a secret.
---
Today's mental boundaries got left at the foot of a waterfall: Rainbow Falls--aptly named for the colorful arcs that stretch across the mist where the water smashes into the creek below. Of course, if you decide to wear polarized lenses,
you will not be able to see it.
Interesting that there is something in this world that can only be seen if you're looking through the right eyes.
----
Bad News: Steve Meissner, a close friend of my cousin's family and our family, just died completely unexpectedly. Wonderful singer/songwriter who glowed with joy and whose heart's kindness was soft as velvet and calm like the depths of the sea. I don't understand how a man could drop dead at 48. I don't quite ... understand.
photo courtesy of the Insider
You can say all these things but it won't bring him back. I can't chatter in delight about the Life in his smile, then bring you to meet him at our next family gathering. He can't sing at my wedding, can't share a conversation with my uncle, can't admire my cousin's beautiful, newly renovated home.
We should get a warning: A memo from the Watcher that says, "Hey. Heads up. Friend: This is the last time he's going to play you this song. Mother: This is the last time he'll kiss you goodnight. World: This is the Last. The Last."
And if Death is not a complete end, it is a stopping: a resting in the Waiting until someone else follows. And then another. And another. Until we all step in our place to find out the Next.
regretful Cheers to another Last. and Fond Prayers for the departed.
Jul 29, 2009
Harry Potter and Huckleberry Finn
This morning,
1. Coffee at the customary crack-of-dawn-hour with my mom
2. Hiking through a meadow at the foot of the mountain.
3. Delong and V stranded in the middle of a lake on a Huck Finn raft.
(Delong gets a phone call from his wife: "Lisa? I'm on a raft in the middle of a lake!!")
4. Itchy skin from invisible bugs.
Next:
Push-up contest Round 3
Lazy hours by Ruby Lake
A run around Convict Lake.
Mmm.
Last night, I ate a three pound burrito (don't worry, it was veggie) and saw the new Harry Potter. Barring my disgust with J.K., the movie was really fun. Probably cause it cut out most of the worst parts of her run-on-novel.
I can't wait till the story gets good again with the last book. The first 200 pages anyway. And the last fifty.
Cheers
1. Coffee at the customary crack-of-dawn-hour with my mom
2. Hiking through a meadow at the foot of the mountain.
3. Delong and V stranded in the middle of a lake on a Huck Finn raft.
(Delong gets a phone call from his wife: "Lisa? I'm on a raft in the middle of a lake!!")
4. Itchy skin from invisible bugs.
Next:
Push-up contest Round 3
Lazy hours by Ruby Lake
A run around Convict Lake.
Mmm.
Last night, I ate a three pound burrito (don't worry, it was veggie) and saw the new Harry Potter. Barring my disgust with J.K., the movie was really fun. Probably cause it cut out most of the worst parts of her run-on-novel.
I can't wait till the story gets good again with the last book. The first 200 pages anyway. And the last fifty.
Cheers
Jul 28, 2009
Jump in the shower while no one's here
Today consisted of:
1. Starbucks with my mom
2. Long walk around Mammoth Village and up a forest path called Uptown
3. Observe the Canyon xc "push-up" contest and remember when I used to be able to do (three) push-ups in a row.
4. Interval work-out at Shady Rest Park
(Note: I haven't worked out since December. Sprints through the dusty trees? Glory)
5. Water fight with high schoolers in the Snow Creek
6. Thigh attacked by leeches.
7. Sugar-free popsicles. Flavored Grape
8. Popsicle-stick jokes. My punch lines were better than theirs.
Tonight we're off to see a movie in the Village. It's time I got out of these wet clothes
1. Starbucks with my mom
2. Long walk around Mammoth Village and up a forest path called Uptown
3. Observe the Canyon xc "push-up" contest and remember when I used to be able to do (three) push-ups in a row.
4. Interval work-out at Shady Rest Park
(Note: I haven't worked out since December. Sprints through the dusty trees? Glory)
5. Water fight with high schoolers in the Snow Creek
6. Thigh attacked by leeches.
7. Sugar-free popsicles. Flavored Grape
8. Popsicle-stick jokes. My punch lines were better than theirs.
Tonight we're off to see a movie in the Village. It's time I got out of these wet clothes
Jul 27, 2009
Restless
I find it difficult to think if things to say. Increasingly--difficult.
It's not that nothing buzzes in my brain--I see, feel, experience a lot each day and I spend (hours? minutes? a breath?) processing. Or just thinking. Or observing the repeated images that parade across the back of my eye-lids
(grotesque)
when I close the (blue) eyes that See
that Look
a lot.
Too much, sometimes,
but a lot.
But those are pictures and abstract
thoughts that don't like to
sit still
on a page.
This is not a poem.
This is a brainstorm.
It's not that nothing buzzes in my brain--I see, feel, experience a lot each day and I spend (hours? minutes? a breath?) processing. Or just thinking. Or observing the repeated images that parade across the back of my eye-lids
(grotesque)
when I close the (blue) eyes that See
that Look
a lot.
Too much, sometimes,
but a lot.
But those are pictures and abstract
thoughts that don't like to
sit still
on a page.
This is not a poem.
This is a brainstorm.
Jul 26, 2009
On (not) Forgetting
Hey,
shadow at the cusp
of Remembering, you:
Somebody,
the Not-Nobody of
"Do-you-Remember that
One-Time" and all
The One-Time(s).
The air outside my window
crackles, like the crisp
of your heart that--echoes
faded moonlight, before you wake
with the Reaching,
while smoke twists star-ward from a
corner-couch.
Like the curb of a Santa Barbara street
between the 'Hey: Somebody'
and the 'You'll always be'--
Somebody--
To me.
(krp)
shadow at the cusp
of Remembering, you:
Somebody,
the Not-Nobody of
"Do-you-Remember that
One-Time" and all
The One-Time(s).
The air outside my window
crackles, like the crisp
of your heart that--echoes
faded moonlight, before you wake
with the Reaching,
while smoke twists star-ward from a
corner-couch.
Like the curb of a Santa Barbara street
between the 'Hey: Somebody'
and the 'You'll always be'--
Somebody--
To me.
(krp)
The Mountains gape at their reflection
Oh, yes, I've seen a glass lake. I'd post pictures but I can't put the SD card into this little laptop. Wrong size.
Hiked up a mountain today: two miles past the burnt carnage of forest which a fire recently used for a snack, and onto the beach of a smooth lake. Occasionally, the wind picked up and rippled the water in a ghost of the sea.
Lisa Delong and her sister and Anne Riggin all went swimming in water cold as snow (it is melted from the still-snow capped peaks that frame the valley). I also collected many rocks. This is becoming a horrid habit that I've had since kindergarten. Only in Kindergarten, I would dump out all my schoolbooks on the playground so I could fit twenty-pound boulders in my backpack. I lugged them home (to the dismay of my mother) and dumped them on the kitchen floor alongside that day's collection of acorns.
I only kept the acorns who still had their hats on, though. And I never tried to eat one. They're poison.
Little wood-imps whispered from the trees when I loitered behind our hiking brigade and I snapped pictures but they don't show up on the film.
Like vampires in a mirror.
Like a heart on a sleeve.
Hiked up a mountain today: two miles past the burnt carnage of forest which a fire recently used for a snack, and onto the beach of a smooth lake. Occasionally, the wind picked up and rippled the water in a ghost of the sea.
Lisa Delong and her sister and Anne Riggin all went swimming in water cold as snow (it is melted from the still-snow capped peaks that frame the valley). I also collected many rocks. This is becoming a horrid habit that I've had since kindergarten. Only in Kindergarten, I would dump out all my schoolbooks on the playground so I could fit twenty-pound boulders in my backpack. I lugged them home (to the dismay of my mother) and dumped them on the kitchen floor alongside that day's collection of acorns.
I only kept the acorns who still had their hats on, though. And I never tried to eat one. They're poison.
Little wood-imps whispered from the trees when I loitered behind our hiking brigade and I snapped pictures but they don't show up on the film.
Like vampires in a mirror.
Like a heart on a sleeve.
Jul 25, 2009
Mammoths are large ancient elephant things with fur.
Pretty sweet.
I'm in Mammoth for a week with Canyon's cross-country team and my momma.
Oh guess what, the trees are green here, the lakes are pure blue and lovely jade-green, and the temperature is (at most) eighty degrees. Fahrenheit. Yees.
Well. Fahrenheit is a hard word to spell. Had to use spell check twice.
I haven't yet submitted myself to the whole running thing. But out here among my coaches and my old team (new faces, same atmosphere), I can't help but want to run again. It also didn't help that I decided to go on a walk wearing running clothes and shoes. I'm asking for trouble.
I'm sitting aronud swinging my legs and watching Wizards of Waverly place. We left the house before six this morning. I'm ready to sleep!
Weird. I haven't said that before 1am in weeks.
Zak's on his way home at the end of this week. Yay!
I'm in Mammoth for a week with Canyon's cross-country team and my momma.
Oh guess what, the trees are green here, the lakes are pure blue and lovely jade-green, and the temperature is (at most) eighty degrees. Fahrenheit. Yees.
Well. Fahrenheit is a hard word to spell. Had to use spell check twice.
I haven't yet submitted myself to the whole running thing. But out here among my coaches and my old team (new faces, same atmosphere), I can't help but want to run again. It also didn't help that I decided to go on a walk wearing running clothes and shoes. I'm asking for trouble.
I'm sitting aronud swinging my legs and watching Wizards of Waverly place. We left the house before six this morning. I'm ready to sleep!
Weird. I haven't said that before 1am in weeks.
Zak's on his way home at the end of this week. Yay!
Jul 22, 2009
Do you think they picked us to do this cause we're ... young? and dumb?
Some_where.
That's probably where I am, though I pretend I'm suspended in the nowhere that is the sweltering desert summer.
Dessert--with a cherry.
Desert--like the .. storm. (chuckle)
I've spent today hacking at my sister's Mac, desperately trying to resurrect it from the (death trap) it is.
Pearl Harbor is playing in our living room. Not the steamy aircraft hanger scenes, not the "Oh, Raif, but you were DEAD" scenes. The shooting scenes. And the surgery scenes. And the war.
LEAVE NO MAN BEHIND!
Guess who's behind the remote?
My father :)
---
"Victory belongs to those who believe in it the most."
Somehow I find this .... odd.
That's probably where I am, though I pretend I'm suspended in the nowhere that is the sweltering desert summer.
Dessert--with a cherry.
Desert--like the .. storm. (chuckle)
I've spent today hacking at my sister's Mac, desperately trying to resurrect it from the (death trap) it is.
Pearl Harbor is playing in our living room. Not the steamy aircraft hanger scenes, not the "Oh, Raif, but you were DEAD" scenes. The shooting scenes. And the surgery scenes. And the war.
LEAVE NO MAN BEHIND!
Guess who's behind the remote?
My father :)
---
"Victory belongs to those who believe in it the most."
Somehow I find this .... odd.
Jul 19, 2009
Sometimes I wear my slippers on the beach
Whoa, wierd. Totally forgot I had this thing.
Update:
We put Woody to sleep. Animals need to not ever die. I sometimes forget they probably don't have souls and then when it comes to the end of their lives, I realize--saying goodbye to animals might be tougher than saying goodbye to (some) humans, cause you're not guarenteed to see them again. Ever.
At the same time, it's not like we're for sure going to see humans either.
Dumb. Done thinking about death for now. Let's think about today.
Postcards have been arriving in the mail from Zak's African adventures. For those of you who were wondering, he's still alive. For those of you who weren't wondering: I admire your faith in humanity. I keep worrying he's going to get bitten by some rabid bug and come home infected with an incurable disease. And then instead of being a writer, I'd go to med school and find the cure. Happily ever after.
In other news, I worked at Canyon's triathalon this morning; found myself incapable of spelling, counting, giving change, or reciting the alphabet in order; watched wrinkled men in speedos come galloping across the finish line and demand the removal of their racetags from where they'd stored it on their unmentionables; chatted with friends. All-in-all, a warm day (105 degrees) and I'm only slightly cranky from the 5:30am wakeup call required to get us out to Castaic on time.
Hugs
Jul 13, 2009
Jul 12, 2009
Defeated
dog has cancer in his jaw.
Lame.
---
Dear God,
Why did you make cancer?
Why did you Create something that over-Creates?
It's weird.
You should (could, you, please) un-Create the over-Creators?
----
Sigh. On the floor of my room there is an unframed painting, three library books, a worn out braided rug, and me: sprawled out in a long, flowy skirt and flipping through old photographs from--dance, cross country, high school, college.
I'm excited for the next (part) of my life that has
none of these things
in it.
Just because those things will leave a Space to be filled with
new
somethings.
Lame.
---
Dear God,
Why did you make cancer?
Why did you Create something that over-Creates?
It's weird.
You should (could, you, please) un-Create the over-Creators?
----
Sigh. On the floor of my room there is an unframed painting, three library books, a worn out braided rug, and me: sprawled out in a long, flowy skirt and flipping through old photographs from--dance, cross country, high school, college.
I'm excited for the next (part) of my life that has
none of these things
in it.
Just because those things will leave a Space to be filled with
new
somethings.
In the middle of
nothing
I found: something, that reminded me
of that--
nothing
I
almost hadn't
forgotten.
Remind me again, why, we (breathed)
in the shallow end of the pool,
while the clouds swirled overhead and you
picked out the Rabbit
as it dove down the
hole.
And bubbles rose--under--your
skin in the thin
breeze of the (ecstasy)
that stank
like the
crust
on your
heart.
Remind me
for (it seems) I
forgot.
(krp)
nothing
I found: something, that reminded me
of that--
nothing
I
almost hadn't
forgotten.
Remind me again, why, we (breathed)
in the shallow end of the pool,
while the clouds swirled overhead and you
picked out the Rabbit
as it dove down the
hole.
And bubbles rose--under--your
skin in the thin
breeze of the (ecstasy)
that stank
like the
crust
on your
heart.
Remind me
for (it seems) I
forgot.
(krp)
Jul 10, 2009
Someone once said "The best Words were: Invisible."
It's a Song
like the trip of my
fingertips on the (black-and-white)
Keys of an old wooden
piano, too tired to stay
in tune
(but still happy to 'do-mi-so'
along, as I squint at yellowed sheets
of familiar music).
The Piano bench creaks with
the sigh of a flat note's drone
which warms the room, like
buttermilk at sunrise.
(c)krp
like the trip of my
fingertips on the (black-and-white)
Keys of an old wooden
piano, too tired to stay
in tune
(but still happy to 'do-mi-so'
along, as I squint at yellowed sheets
of familiar music).
The Piano bench creaks with
the sigh of a flat note's drone
which warms the room, like
buttermilk at sunrise.
(c)krp
My so-Called...
I think the epic of Gilgamesh could be replaced with my new ballad: the Quest to Find the Floor of Kellie's Room.
It's been going on since I got home from Ireland and I think this place must be under a spell cause the more I clean, the messier it gets.
That makes noooo sense.
I made popped corn and now Beth and I are sitting in the middle of my room pretending to get things done. She's great morale support. Doesn't make me clean like my mom does.
I suppose I'll go downstairs and get a popsicle.
It's been going on since I got home from Ireland and I think this place must be under a spell cause the more I clean, the messier it gets.
That makes noooo sense.
I made popped corn and now Beth and I are sitting in the middle of my room pretending to get things done. She's great morale support. Doesn't make me clean like my mom does.
I suppose I'll go downstairs and get a popsicle.
Jul 9, 2009
A-fric-a
Mmmhm my body's in the middle of a newly cleaned room, trying not to melt away in the heat of the Santa Clarita sun
but my heart's in Kigali, Rwanda.
Yeeep he made it.
*huge sigh of relief*
----
Now: make a list of things to do in my job-less world.
Any suggestions would be most appreciated.
Hugs
but my heart's in Kigali, Rwanda.
Yeeep he made it.
*huge sigh of relief*
----
Now: make a list of things to do in my job-less world.
Any suggestions would be most appreciated.
Hugs
Jul 8, 2009
Echo! (echo, echo echo...)
Hey reader-world,
I just returned from a trek north to see Zak off to ...
wait for it...
AFRICA!
The man's insane but I suppose that's why I love him.
As of now, I've received two updates: he breezed in and out of Amsterdam with no set-backs and has currently paused for another plane change in Kenya. Where I hope he 1. gets his bags changed alright and 2. runs laps around the airport because its another long flight into Rwanda.
I LOVE travel. How exciting.
In my own news, I received my housing assignment for Mills, my room has once again imploded on itself, and my Ireland scrapbook is begging to be worked on.
----
Good thing I'm not responsible for Planning out my life.
Christ is among us.
I just returned from a trek north to see Zak off to ...
wait for it...
AFRICA!
The man's insane but I suppose that's why I love him.
As of now, I've received two updates: he breezed in and out of Amsterdam with no set-backs and has currently paused for another plane change in Kenya. Where I hope he 1. gets his bags changed alright and 2. runs laps around the airport because its another long flight into Rwanda.
I LOVE travel. How exciting.
In my own news, I received my housing assignment for Mills, my room has once again imploded on itself, and my Ireland scrapbook is begging to be worked on.
----
Good thing I'm not responsible for Planning out my life.
Christ is among us.
Jul 3, 2009
Oh, to kill a Mockingbird
It's 5:30 in the morning. And no, I'm not just rolling over into the blue haze of the day.
Outside, in the tree on our street, a mockingbird loudly lets us know that he's made his fort. And he's been letting us know for two weeks now. Every night. From midnight until 9am the next morning.
Incessant little bugger.
Unfortunately, the mockingbird is a protected creature (something about a Migratory Act) and I cannot (either on purpose or 'accident') use the tempting air soft gun to aid his untimely demise.
I tried shaking his tree and got spiders in my hair. I tried cooing and he just copied me.
He does a great car alarm around 4am each morning. Pretty impressive. I tried teaching him a new whistle and he repeated it a couple times and returned to his usual mournful wail.
I wish he'd lose his voice. He's not even getting hoarse.
---
In other news: no job but not worried about it yet. The bill for grad school isn't due until August 3. I've got a few weeks anyway.
Headed to San Francisco this weekend to see Zak before he ditches the states for his immersion into Africa. I'm takin the train early Saturday morning. Never done that before. I'll let you know how it goes.
---
As the blue light of dawn fades to the gray of another summer morning, I miss ... Santa Barbara. And the friends that go with her.
Hey Westmont. You're my Sunshine today.
Outside, in the tree on our street, a mockingbird loudly lets us know that he's made his fort. And he's been letting us know for two weeks now. Every night. From midnight until 9am the next morning.
Incessant little bugger.
Unfortunately, the mockingbird is a protected creature (something about a Migratory Act) and I cannot (either on purpose or 'accident') use the tempting air soft gun to aid his untimely demise.
I tried shaking his tree and got spiders in my hair. I tried cooing and he just copied me.
He does a great car alarm around 4am each morning. Pretty impressive. I tried teaching him a new whistle and he repeated it a couple times and returned to his usual mournful wail.
I wish he'd lose his voice. He's not even getting hoarse.
---
In other news: no job but not worried about it yet. The bill for grad school isn't due until August 3. I've got a few weeks anyway.
Headed to San Francisco this weekend to see Zak before he ditches the states for his immersion into Africa. I'm takin the train early Saturday morning. Never done that before. I'll let you know how it goes.
---
As the blue light of dawn fades to the gray of another summer morning, I miss ... Santa Barbara. And the friends that go with her.
Hey Westmont. You're my Sunshine today.
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