Fourthcoming

She came barreling down the path in a pink, ruffled dress, her legs barely keeping up with her whimsical drive. Such a tiny girl, her spirited dash infectious. I found her father with my pointed gaze. She couldn’t have been more than 3 years old and yet she left her papa in the dust.

“Wow, can she run!” I said to her dad as he struggled to catch up.

“She’s really excited” he smiled. And as he passed me, I wondered if my frown would burn on my face forever, the well of disappointment sinking deeper.

See, this was one of those days set aside to break up our oft-mundane existence, otherwise known as a holiday. And on this day, we celebrate our self-gratifying independence with noise and bright lights. We wait all year to do this in such a memorable display. And it’s fun for the whole family. At least, it’s supposed to be. I’ve always enjoyed this holiday because I’m surrounded by family and friends bbqing and celebrating. And honestly, fireworks turn me into a giddy 10 year old.

This year, no such joyful regression occurred. In fact, it was all I could do to hold myself together and not throw a child-like tantrum. I had no one to blame it on. The faceless internet gave a list of locations to view fireworks, the shows all starting at 9:00pm. Picking a park nearby, droves of people show up only to meander around aimlessly, questioning the validity of the ad. Children waited with their parents on blankets. Teens, doing their part to stay out of trouble, kept to themselves. Couples and families awaited the sky to be set ablaze. Yet, the fireworks never came.

“They had them here yesterday”, a kid told me, as he and his friends walked out as shadowy figures with their heads down. I could feel his disappointment in the dark. It was too late to drive to another location. We had missed the show.

I wanted to cry! How could I be robbed of this small pleasure? I wait all year for this day! Why did I pick the wrong venue? As I made my way back to my car, I was too upset to speak. Which was fine, because I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news for all those still waiting for a light show that would never happen. And then I saw the little girl in the pink, ruffled dress. She had the determination of a marathon runner. And her father, gasping behind her, shattered my heart with his exasperated smile. In that moment, I pulled what little grace I remember possessing, and found my way out. Not just out of the park, but out of this depressed space. It’s okay to be disappointed, I told myself. An innocent mistake certainly doesn’t define you.

On the drive home, I opted for back roads. Something in my gut told me that because I was in no rush, I should take my time and work on shifting my mood. Suddenly, as I was making a left at a traffic light, and enormous “Boom!” went off directly above me. I looked up in time to see a spray of green lights about 40 feet above my head! Then, each green dot of light turned to white and the white light slowly fizzled down like snow across the dark night sky. I have never been this close to a firework this size. I laughed out loud and told my fast beating heart that I am very much alive and well. And that's indeed what matters.

Le Pew

Holy shit.

While I was getting to it (and I will), the Fonz, who was resting by me out in the cabana, started barking and ran off – before I could stop him. Now, I already had words with him about the neighbor dog – an exhaustive topic of conversation – so, I was taken aback when he ran towards our back door. Barking ensued, and because he stayed so close (and not run up the back of the yard, as was his signature move) I realized something else was happening. I got up and drew back the curtains. The Fonz was confronting a skunk!!! Who had already sprayed him!!! And I can only wish that you had been here to see my reaction. I picked my dog up and started hollerin' HOLY HELL to the skunk. Like a real mad woman, or – rather – a mother, protecting her young. “GET OUT! NOW!!!” I SCREAMED, at the top of my lungs, at this furry rodent, his tail positioned-at-the-ready towards me. He wasn’t budging, and I wasn’t having it. Although the Fonz already REEKED, I wasn’t about to have another demonstration. I told the skunk where to go, and how high to jump getting there, my blood popping through the veins in my neck. I was literally daring him to make another motion towards the Fonz, and now me. My focus never left this skunk’s eye. He skuttered away.

Now, The Stinkiness prevailed. Allow me to interject. I have always loved the smell of skunks. Especially when they are hit, unseen, near the side of a deserted highway. When that glorious aroma wafts in through the cracks of my windows, I'm wide open to receive. Of course that sounds terrible, in lieu of prior tragedy. But as I get a sense of it’s intoxicating smell, I cannot roll both windows down fast enough, breathing in deeply. Call it taste. That smell has always appealed to me... However, the actual fight or flight scent is very different. Not unlike what gasoline would smell liked if it turned sour. And worse than that. It penetrates. Into everything.

Into the shower, I rush us, with the cans of tomato soup, juice & paste (surprisingly, there were many in my cupboard) scrubbing us both down, clothes, shoes, & towels - anything we might have touched. The Fonz shivers under such an unknown solvent. Still, after everything, there’s something in the house that lingers. I’m continually blasted with the smell. No amount of scrubbing floors and cloth will guide me to it’s source. If I am to believe that a single patch of hair carries THIS potency, well then, I have a new-found respect for that creature, the skunk. No wonder that poor cat in the cartoons was always trying to get away. I now understand it. After all these years, only now I get it.

Backagony

..or My Newfound Respect for the Back.

This will, no doubt, point to the things we dare to take for granted. It will also help remind us to celebrate when things are going great! Why not?? The two are first cousins.

Apparently, back pain can be chronic. The thought is staggering, in itself. My newfound respect was acquired from my own set of Backagony. I sit, still coming to terms with it. I insist on getting to the bottom of it. How dare the spine be so sensitive as to blow it for the rest of us! I cannot let my daily drive and inspiration be fueled by the discomfort this kind of core invasion delivers. I’m past it now. Time to figure it out and move on.

So, I did. Through the stiffness, I battled a few resistances. But I made it through. Haven’t felt that incapacitated in a while, over a week and a half of battling – and by battling, I would reactivate the pain by washing the dishes. Not a cute look for an over achiever.

Putting it in my mind, what it felt like to move.. To be able to move my hips and dance.. Well, that brought me back to center. I started to shake my hips, and it seemed to move that lower back/hip pain further south. The best I’ve felt in days!

This may seem silly, but I’m going to hail the spine. For all it does, and the nerve endings under its command. I salute you.

Folly is a Girl I Know

Folly is your own time well spent.

How wonderful to have time spent well, on you and those you care about. There is a divine freedom in that. “I choose to do this”.
So be it.

Folly is fearless. She can also be completely ridiculous! Sometimes mischievous. But always fun.

Don’t misunderstand – Folly knows Foolish. That’s clear. Because Folly likes the stage to be continued. There’s no need to end the evening so soon..

Folly will dare you. She’s wicked that way. But nothing she wouldn’t do herself. Because Folly is brave. And brave is so free.

Folly feels good.

Self-Worth

I once believed there was someone for everyone. I thought love was a very real thing and could be found if you stayed the course and refused to give up. Keep your heart open, they told me, and love will find its way in.

The pain was unbearable. Love disappointed me too many times. As I tried to hold my head high, the tears poured out of my eyes. Just then Love smacked me across my proud face and she said “What's the big idea?” to which I replied, “I’m looking for love. The kind that's caring and supportive and inspiring.” And Love laughed at me, “You don’t get it. You’re all you’ve got. You are enough.”

I didn’t listen to her and followed my heart again. I knew this next one, if lost, was going to hurt most of all. This one was my first love. My high school sweetheart! We reunited after 15 some odd years. The way it felt in our moments of true passion.. Well, I thought I was set. I could not imagine life without him, ever. We had wasted too much precious time apart already. I was certain he would be my last.

Now, I stand before Love once more. She is compassionate this time. She tends to my wounds, wipes my tears, and speaks in soothing tones.. “It’s you, it’s always been you. Don’t you see?”

“See what?” I cry. “That I’m all alone again? That everywhere I look, there are couples cohabitating, getting married, having babies? That I’ve waited my entire life to love and be loved in return and it has never worked out for me? EVER???”

Love takes a deep breath, clears her throat, and says gently, “Your idea of what love is cannot be made real. You have too much to do in this life, and until you find that within yourself that needs no other, you will not be complete, you will not feel satisfaction. You need to be enough for yourself in order to find happiness”

“But I have done the work! I’ve spent years and years alone and enjoy the company I keep! I like who I am! But my relationships still continue to fail. What am I doing wrong?”

Love sighs, “My darling, if you were to never find this ‘other half’, if you were never to have the beautiful wedding you’ve always imagined, if your children were merely to pass as discarded eggs, would you still be the same you that you’ve always been?”

“What?” I cry. “No! Never!!”

Love is patient. She says softly, “Would you still strive to be a great woman warrior? Would you continue to write and sing and celebrate your life? Would you still dance with abandon and laugh loudly and throw your hands in the air, letting the wind remind your skin and hair that you’re still very much alive? Can you still count on yourself to defy pain others may try to inflict upon you? Will you remain true to the virtues that steer you close to grace?

"You, my darling girl, have a blessed life. And it’s all yours. To share, to smirk at the odds, to tackle the challenges head on with that broad smile of yours. You have always fought for your essence and have made some incredible friends who miss you when your focus gets diluted and an incredible family that hates to see your emotions get strained. Love is not about struggle. Love is enlightening and fun. It’s possibility and exploration and full of childlike surprise. It’s not damage and regret and sorrow. It’s not guilt ridden and it certainly doesn’t want to see you cry. It’s warm and it embraces promise with both arms. Not because it must do so, but because it wants to.”

* * *

When I look back on how things could have gone differently, how it feels to have lost the love of my life, my heart aches immeasurably. But I figure this: As much as it hurts to have failed, I know life has something in store for all of us. We just have to hang on when things seem most difficult. Sure, romantic love can be so fulfilling. But defining your self worth is more important than staying the course with someone who is depleting your life force. Remember to hold tight to what feels most right so that you may continue to enjoy the moments of your life. Expand your capacity for wonder. Stand up and defend your dreams. No one can take you away from yourself, unless you let them. Don’t let them.

The Complaint Department is Closed

Several years ago, I made a New Year’s resolution to stop complaining. In all the years I bothered to come up with one (it always seems so important to make one, so some years I simply refused the added stress of finding a good one) that year I had nailed it. I was tired of hearing my own voice bitch about things I couldn’t control, and fed up with the excuses for the things I could do but weren’t doing. And really, folks, who likes a complainer?

After an exceedingly difficult year, I’d like to revisit this resolution of years past, and look hard at what complaining really means. Sure, a general unhappiness with the way things turn out tend to manifest into malaise. Despair can make the smallest disappointment turn into a huge ordeal. But what we choose to do with ourselves daily is our responsibility, so really we have ourselves to blame. To complain in front of others gives our bad or misguided choices the unfortunate opportunity to negatively effect those around us.

I can think of no occasion where complaining to others is ever truly effective. Communicating an idea of what you would like to see happen in your environment is not complaining (if you have roommates, letting them know to clean up after themselves in a constructive way, for example). But laundry listing the things that continue to ail you, whether it’s work or health related, tends to become a real burden on others. I myself am guilty of this in spades, especially this past year. I have to shut my mouth sometimes just so I won’t say something unnecessary or unhelpful.

It’s not clear when I lost sight of my goals and how to achieve them. All I do know is, they are inside me still, and beg to be given the chance to flourish if I would just stop scaring them off by pushing them further down with all the white noise. If something needs to be changed, change it. If there’s something in your day to day that isn’t working for you, take the steps to fix it. No one is in charge of the adult you, ever. There’s real freedom found in organization and follow through. Give yourself another chance.

Enough Rough Stuff

I remember a time

when I wasn't so blind.

Where fear had no space in the house that is mine.

It wasn't just me that was thriving, we were all diving.

With the means to make it all ours without hurry or worry.

We could think and we could do and we did.


Then some large hammer came down

and knocked us around.

I'm still reeling from the beating

to our collective feeding

of our needing to reach goals of

American Dreaming.


I want to see us rise

above this unsupervised demise

To get back to that state

of simple debate

As to what color bed spread

would go best with the head

of hair of a new love affair

blooming with ideas for more.


It's been too long since many have felt free

of financial debris.

We must remember who are

So we can keep reaching far.

Grab hold of what's dear

and steer ourselves clear.

Make way for the purples and pinks of the day.



It's the doubt that this brought

that subsequently taught we should accept

the worst as our new turf.

Enough of this piss.

We're better than this.

Bring forward the life that we ordered.