Heart's home.

Sitting there and trying to feel something. Prominent picturesque perfection sprawled before me, blinding me with all its evidence. Waiting for my heart to gambol. Nothing. It is not possible to force feeling. Like your mother it just exists or existed. Like drinking table salt to fill the sea of memory or is it memory of the sea. But not this one. My footprints were not born here. For what crime am I being punished? As much freedom as a glass cage in an open field. An illusion presented to prove that my longing is deeper than the surface of the sand. Much deeper. It is the proverbial hole in the heart, the missing puzzle piece. It seems as though others have found their way with more complicated maps or simpler destinations. It seems as though some are not looking. But you are sure when you see those who have found it. Or more accurately have found yours. The deep green envy pounds in your heart, making you know there is life left. So it is just the situation that has to change. I hope it is always waiting and that my truth does not get more complicated then that. For at this moment I know my heart's home, I have just taken a lengthy detour with a stubborn tour guide.

Lost? Found...

Short and sweet these days. Like sunlight woven through clouds projecting breathless proof of our insignificance. I lean on my bank of memories. Heart stopping moments of existence. The blue of that fire taunting my truth that this perfect moment is only here now and won't be tomorrow. This part of recollection is mine alone and most likely not being witness by anyone else here right now. That golden sun on my path to nowhere. A path I took a thousand times without notice of that color. Life is short and sweet and we could linger on either explanation. But you will be different if you prioritize "Short" over "Sweet" life. I don't get it, and I am a little more okay about that everyday. Sometimes it is wise to believe that your luck is just being able to taste a fresh strawberry.  Your privilege is the freedom to not just catch the moment but to linger in it, love it...live it. We don't know how short it is but we all have the capability to swim in the sweetness.

My road trip was fast and fruitful.

What to say.. I am almost numb with normalcy. I am light with the weight of cloudless high, by and by. Untouched by the heavy grief of our usual provincial sky. Free and happy and hopeful and light. Rhyming words and without plight. Seems meaningless to write.

Wrapped in the warmth of familiarity. Confidence defined by friends and family. Rooted in relived memory. 


Did you know there is a world out there?
And oh it is grand, this country…our land.

It struck a cord in my soul of souls as I drove deep into the walnut grove. Peachy peaches…green landscapes replaced beaches. 


I saw it as if it were a painting. 
It evoked raw happiness that paddled me back to life. 


I felt my heart beat for the first time in years. It was a back road in my backyard…and it blew out all my fears. Maybe it was the sun, or my mind…or mindlessness. When I left my umbrella and ran for the hills I brought my sun block and forgot my pills.

There was an ease of regroup. A solid hand. A puppet, a witch and a handsome man. There was a princess and dinosaur, a father’s kiss and a family of four. There was magic that connected me back to the world. A reminder of that normal little girl. There were colors and hills and miles of drive. A brave baby bug and a big water slide.

My road trip was fast and fruitful. Literally there’s a lot of fruit in the valley. May I never get so lost again.

Got home and stepped in a new load of poop. Shook it off, re-gathered, recounted, regrouped.

Allergies and Effigies.

Climbing down my throat, like a kitten's claw on sandpaper. Tiredness sets in. I want to curl up with it and sleep for a week. I may be harbouring a bug. It may also be the lorax like pollen falling as softly as snow. Spinning through the tree tops possessing the wind, and my lungs. How can I so innately reject something so natural. I have already forgiven nature for her crime for she is only doing that which she is meant to do. I envy her for knowing what that is and then for executing it with such fervour. Alas, there seems to be a growing anxiety, not within me, but all around. I want to panic but weariness pulls on my lashes and purrs. Wanting to captain the ship I steer headlong into the crowd. Seduced only by the sirens of sleep. The light hangs late, so late that the birds still chant. I remember how much I love Lilacs. And not because I do but because my mother does. I call to mind her visceral reactions every time she has stumbled upon them. A burning memory exporting her to youth, times of easiness and her mother. I want to hold her. She must be so tired. I grant myself a moment to feel the pain of our distance. Tiny little woman who carried my world on her shoulders. I am fading and drifting and hoping to wake up tomorrow rested. I wish no discomfort to any heart who loves a part of me. Tonight many innocents suffer, I know not of this kind of pain. I am merely in selfish discomfort within entitled plentifulness. Oh, I just disgusted myself. Don't let me fall into the pit of ignorance and injustices. Let me do enough. My mind passes faces cold as stone. People who have been there for me. People who could need me. People who think they don't need anyone. Frozen reminders of what? Fatigue drapes herself in my lap. My heart slows. My lovely little life full of allergies and effigies.

Cute little bastard

My closest confidant quips "you are never happy" regarding me and my weekly rants. I always quietly respond internally with "if I have nothing to strive for then I might as well be dead." I believed this to be true, wholeheartedly for most of my life. It was my understanding that the gift of life was not pure existence it was the unravelling journey of discovery. The endless opportunity to grow, change and challenge. I mean how can one be content if they have not experienced it all? How can ignorance be bliss? Are those gratified islands of peace truly satisfied or are they clothed in fear of what they might find behind door number 2? I love being in the moment and am becoming rather skilled at recognizing and bathing in it. But I see those moments as accomplished blocks building towards a new discovery. And failure doesn't deter me. I welcome her in at least once a day. She teaches me as much as any moment of solitude or stillness. Then I wonder, is it my ego that pushes forward? Am I unconsciously ticking off boxes and building new lists in an attempt to avoid my reality. Or worse, to impress the droves and drones...those passing souls and their musical listings of social norms. I am surely passing that stage but worry often if I've been propagandized into a incoherent submission. The sun is out and my skin is burning with it. Blue skies obliterate all memories of grey. I am putting water on the ground where it pour relentlessly for the past 8 months. Maybe longer. The days pass all the same. I am not lonely or pained. I recognized cracks in my skin like blueprints drawing memories of time. Mimicking the frail mitts of my mother as I remember her washing, washing, washing. Always working. Always strong in their delicateness. I saw a bird today. I think she was me. She was gloriously free but as confused as could be. Cute little bastard. I take five breaths now before I think of where to go. That's more than two.

Moments as pictures

Moments as pictures filling spaces in my mind. A history of observation from a unique perspective unmatched anywhere. I am but a catalogue of my experiences. Each interpretation flawless and impenetrable by external criticism. Golden sunsets and perfect skin. Burning fires and witnessed sins. All formed by the same light that has created your reality. I think of frivolous things, like if I might see a map of the world with every footstep of mine recorded. What would that look like. And how many degrees of separation are between the little old Chinese man running the local confectionery and I. What would my life be like if I replaced one small detail. Would there be any change if I had not bought that shirt or if I ordered fish instead of pasta. Would I still be here if I went back in time and consciously chose every other option along my way. It's not regret see but curiosity. Regardless it makes being present so difficult. I wonder if I could photograph every moment I crossed paths with a dangerous person...how long would that album be..would I be surprised by any of them, all of them? But I digress, hard to focus but easy to digest.
So then am I avoiding something. I am not here or "there" (referring to the future). I am back there. My favourite thing is watch and recognize passion. Not in myself of course but in those around me. Not in envy but awe. I love seeing people commit so deeply and without reserve. I have a naive notion that they are all so sure of themselves. Having unlocked some secret box or discovered some hidden treasure. It is not the work ethic I lack...it is the motivation...or inspiration. You can only live vicariously for so long before you wake up, lost. So worried maybe that I may have stumbled on my life's work had I just done A, B, or C. Maybe I choose the wrong way and that is why I am misplaced. But I have been wandering for so long I can not find my way back to start again. But then again there is nothing stopping me from finding that same future from right here. By building my own bridge, digging my own tunnel or cutting my own path forward. Why do I always want everything to be so neat. Looking for life's mulligan. Life's a messy thing whether I am or not.
I also conclude that there are those who travel aimlessly. These people I think I may envy. For to live without haunting thoughts or fearless drive, this is what I admire. I imagine a blithe disregard for the wall of rules I have built in my heart. Successful gratified being. Like zombies taking in what they need in the moment and almost completely unstoppable. Not a wasted moment of worry, only existence in it's purest form.
This paragraph was to be for all those whom could shoulder my blame but I am so over it. I own this moment. Life is good. I have gotten exactly what I have put into it. It is not over yet and everyday I meet fantastic loving people with good hearts and honest souls. Some as confused as I am, many an example for me. But it is in the end- my movie. My photographic equation that leaves me standing hear as the answer. I  own the magic sweet spots of my life. Some days I am just grateful to have a memory beyond what I imagine a squirrels to be. Past the knowledge of where I have stashed my nuts is an excess of smells and sounds and sights. It is my fathers talent and my mothers heart, the smell of Nana's house and the time I sat motionless watching a ship sail by. There are the fall leaves and that girl's laugh from first year college. The smell of oil paint and burning wood and lilacs and chocolate rocks. Cheap Christmas tinsel and the love of a stray cat. The warmth of my husband huge hand more rugged 23 years later. Little toes and angels song. The causes, and leg warmers and cartoons and curlers and magazines and hope and grapefruits and more. So much more.

in love with two

I have the perfect marriage. By no one's standard but my own. But there is a catch. I am madly in love with two men. My husband and my father. Together they are the perfect partner for me. Naturally I can not imagine a life without the father of my children but truthfully, based purely on logistics, I can not have them both forever.
I must ask my dad to train me in all the ways of peace, in the moment, in myself. If ever I should lose him I fear that I will lose all that is magic too. I may stop believing in fairies and elves. I may forget the big picture of the universe and our small scientific place in it. I may not stop time to imagine I was a bird riding the wind. What if I should forget I was a child, a daughter, someone who was loved as much as I love my babies. I think I shall forget what true perseverance is. Walls may become taller and puddles may become wider and deeper. Life may seem so lifeless.
And yet because of his belief, not mine, I will be sure to see him in the wind, and in the marvel of a hummingbirds wings. I will know he has not stopped working his magic but he has finally become it. I will believe that his feathers are spread across the sky and that for eternity he is riding the wind.
So this is a reminder to love who you have before you forget what they mean to you. I only hope I can inspire my children in such an extraordinary way. I slowly store a little strength away everyday to draw on when that fateful day comes. I should need an endless well of it. And I suppose that is why I was given him. My husband the rock. He may not believe in fairies, although he plays along, but he is the strongest well of giving I have ever seen.
Now don't even get me started on my mother.... love now, don't be foolish. And don't feel like it's too late. If you missed your chance with someone do not swim in regret and lose but use that gift to love who's left there holding your heart, helpless and hopeful to see you smile again.