Stumbling through...
I am: a poet, an idealist, a realist, a lover of life, an extroverted introvert, a seeker of challenges. I don't want to just walk through life but, rather, dance, laugh, cry & stumble through.
Why I ♥ New York
Reason #88: Street Music.
You are the music while the music lasts.
-T.S. Eliot
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quote
why i love NY list
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It is said...
I've fallen off the face of the earth. My earth. The one I used to know so well, better than the lines on the palms of my hands. Someone once read those lines and told me I would live to be a very old woman.
Week folds over week, in one rapid movement. Time is compounded, lost, turned over, and more comes at me. Never ending time. For now, at least.
This past year has been something jolting, so much change-- haircuts and break-ups and moves. And in this upheaval, I am finding buried pieces of myself. Like fossils in rock. I am uncovering lost parts of myself that are so deeply embedded, I almost can't see them.
It is said that we all have an inner child, an archetypal symbol of our youth. Mine is spunky, she's fun, she wants to run around outside until her hair tangles with the scent of summer. She wants to battle the big Me who wants to nap and groan about the responsibilities of life.
Do we all pull against some gigantic force that wants to crush us under its pressure? Some force that says: Stop Trying.
Life is a series of mind battles, I think. For each voice we hear, there is another that appears. And the trick is not to live in those voices, not to let them have all the control. For they are simply voices in the darkness of our minds. & if we shined a light on them, I bet they'd run for the hills, scatter like cockroaches to the corner of a room, show themselves as the insubstantial fluff that they are. For all they really do is keep us small, keep us stuck, keep us from stepping into something unknown. Cause the unknown is where the action is, it's the home of surprise and adventure, & my little girl is just dying to get in there, get in there and explore the giant tunnels of not knowing. For I think she does know something I do not. Like we are all resilient and wired to survive and life is not sooo scary if we choose to take the dive.
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personal reflection
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quote.
“This is my depressed stance. When you're depressed, it makes a lot of difference how you stand. The worst thing you can do is straighten up and hold your head high because then you'll start to feel better. If you're going to get any joy out of being depressed, you've got to stand like this.”
--Charlie Brown
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Palms to hearts
Like two colors of paint, we collided. But my fear cried down & our color dispersed.
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love
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The gastronomy festival gently swaying inside
Families are difficult. Especially when they are gathered together in a small area.
My parents still live in the same house where I was born. The same trees are rooted in the backyard except for the ones that got sick and needed to be cut down. Those had a tar like liquid oozing from their bark.
I flew home last weekend to celebrate the 50th birthday of my Uncle. My mom spent the past year planning the party, diligently, meticulously, the guest list, the food, the colors of streamers, and balloons, fireworks. Relatives drove in from Missouri, Florida, New York, packed their kids in tight, warm cars.
The party was a surprise, held at my parents home. The yard looked bright, grass carefully clipped, flowers in bloom. And we all gathered as a family... except for my Uncle, the man of the hour, who got sick and didn't show. (Yikes).
As I've said before: Families are difficult. I had forgotten this fact, it had gotten lost somewhere in my single life where the closest I come to family members are ex-boyfriends who pop up unexpectedly in town. About an hour and a half into the day I realized just how little I had in common with everyone, tight lipped I sipped on red wine and laid on the hammock. Avoiding a couple potential brawls, I felt myself getting smaller and smaller. And then, right as I was about to sneak into my old bedroom and cry like the old days, the food was served.
- - -
They say hallelujah is a holy word, ringing from the vocal chords like angel bells, purifying the air with its sounds. Hallelujah, Hallelujah. Well let me tell you, hallelujah rose up in the steam that filled that kitchen as aluminum foil was lifted off each homemade platter. A line was birthed as family members grabbed their plates, sounds softened and their judgments hushed with the picking up of plastic forks, knives. Great big tray-like plates were set out for each of us and when I picked mine up, I admired each smoothly formed section, separate from the rest. Everything could be tasted on this plate. The whole world could be sampled.
I walked slowly towards each pot and baking dish, savoring the appearances, melted cheese oozed, sauces oiled, herbs were colorful and wilted in the dishes. All the turmoil of the day slid out of me, making me lighter, all the more ready to consume. I filled my plate with each delight, making sure to have the proper accompaniments: the right amount of rice, the perfect slice of bread, just enough sauce to soak the meats, and just enough pepper to give it a swift kick. I carried my plate carefully over to the table and took one last look around before I swan dived into my food. My heart took a deep inhale and opened up for the first time that day.
The next hour or so became a peaceful refuge like I have rarely known with my family. Fresh baguettes, soft & floury, folded over in my mouth, heaven was found in a forkful of fresh ricotta cheese. I found my youth amid spiced ground beef rolled in cabbage. And a glass of fresh white wine rolled down like a cold & misty rain. My tongue squealed in heady delight from the curried chicken that dripped onto perfectly sticky basmati rice. And I found my soul singing to vanilla bean ice cream piled clumsily over butter cream cake.
With each morsel I was more connected to life. At one point, I even took a break, stuffed beyond comprehension, and swung on a plastic swing. My bare feet hit the back of the wooden fence and I pushed off it with glee, carrying myself even higher into the sky, the gastronomy festival gently swaying inside me.
All of those pictures shown earlier of my prepubescent years, my skinny, shiny, brace face squinting against the camera, faded away. My sisters' teasing held no weight, I was full to the brim with home cooked delights, my belly protruding slightly in pleasure. Life was expansive and home was comfort, it was milk hugs and Popsicle kisses. And all this talking didn't mean a thing, love was given through a slotted spoon and handful of napkins. And what I learned about families is that what words can separate, pasta shells and walnut brownies can bring back together.
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food
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