nataliekresen's posterous - Stumbling through...

February 5, 2009

yellow and black and grey and other Winter woes...

The way I see it, Winter lasts too damn long. Sure the snow is beautiful, falling ephemerally, delicately, piling into bulky hunks like white icing on the ground. Nature's cupcake. But damn is it cold. Not to mention the fact that that pretty white snow gets tainted like all pure things eventually do. It gets peed on, tromped & stomped on. It turns yellow and black and grey.

I walk the streets buried in my parka, hood buttoned and erect like an igloo blocking my face from the urban tundra. My face! It's peeling from the wind; I pulled a tiny piece of skin off my forehead this morning in horror. I'm starting to feel like an onion, shrinking with each layer the cold slaps off. I'd be okay if it was the result of sun soaking and salty margaritas but there's no joy in losing your skin to an ice battle. I'm on alert, the guard is up, I'm ready to fight at any moment with this atmospheric warrior. Dukes up, you! I've got my gloves and scarf, fuzzy boots, my fleece simulated hoodie, and wool slipper socks, I've packed my hand warmers and chapstick, my snow goggles and Theraflu. I'm ready now, have at me.

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Filed under // personal reflection

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January 28, 2009

Why I ♥ New York

Reason #96:

misplaced pieces, street art, public/private divide, gifts, garbage, all the same scene sometimes...

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Filed under // why i love NY list

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January 26, 2009

It's all just a matter of perspective...

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January 23, 2009

"Grace will lead me home."

grace: a.) a virtue coming from God b.) the quality or state of being considerate or thoughtful

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January 22, 2009

Smiling, Silly, and in Awe...

There are things in life we forget. They simply slip our minds. Who can help it? It's a part of life, really. The intriguing thing is we don't remember what we forget until we have it again.

So, here's the truth I'd forgotten, Root Beer floats make you happy as hell. I mean, happy as hell, people!

The story: My overworked, under appreciated roommate came home last night. She did what any overworked, under appreciated roommate would do, she made a three course dinner, plated it, and served the whole thing. All while I sat at the table chatting and opening my arms to receive the next plate. I sympathized with her worries while I popped a cherry tomato in my mouth, comforted her woes while I sliced the raviolis in two, and all but cried with her when she...when she...came-to-the-table-and-placed-a-root-beer-float-in-front-of-my-seated-chest. I swear the frosted spoon tilted towards my heart.

Shit, this was intense.

In re-remembering Root Beer floats, I forgot all about my roommate and her sticky life. I forgot about mine too. I forgot about anything & everything while that creamy sweet liquid goodness took over. It was a magnificent combination of textures, soft, bubbly, smooth. Cold ice slivers crept through and melted on my tongue, half a scoop of ice cream nestled snugly on the spoon while the Root Beer rushed in & around it, a white island in the midst of bubbles, an angel's paradise.

My body slid into glee, heady and rushed, sugar filled every inch of me. It ran, pulsingly, through my fingers, and glittered through my head and arms, my legs tingled with the stuff and my body flooded with serotonin. I was floating, dancing, diving and jiving with this glass. We were smiling, silly, and in awe, the glass & me. And when I took down the last swallow, a little dollop of ice cream streaming down, I breathed straight euphoria. This moment was priceless.

In one moment more, the room returned, the table, strewn with crumbs and sauce stains, came back into view. I sighed, looked over at my roommate, her glassy eyes staring off in the distance, and put my sticky hand on hers, "It's going to get better, girl. Real soon." And real soon it would.

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Filed under // food

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January 18, 2009

Carry Us Through...

Everything old becomes new again. And so it goes with life. Plants sprout, grow, whither and die, but not before burying their seeds deep in the earth, and those new seeds, sprout, grow, whither, and die too. The cyclical nature of things. It all comes full circle again. I remember the first time I experienced heartache. Heart ache. It was as if someone was burning out my insides, stealing my breath and replacing it with deep pockets of sorrow, heavy like sand. But we heal, we grow stronger, we stitch back together all the parts of us that have split apart. We forget. And then remember-- through experiencing the emotions all over again, at slightly different degrees and with new back stories but the same familiar feelings take hold of us again.

On this same vain, good things happen like this as well, euphoria, excitement, glee, connection, the pendulum swings in their favor too. So, whatever side you're on, whether it be grassy and green or glum and grey, things will keep turning, this too shall pass. Change is the law of life, it never stops happening from the moment we are born. Embrace it, for it will carry us through the highways of our tumultuous lives. And never fear, while things are constantly in flux, we are always returning to the familiar roads of our past, and we carry their lessons, their comfort, with us into the dark roads ahead. Nobody knows where this is going, we're all along for the ride. But one thing I do know is life is not linear, it's a series of related events, all swirling backwards, forwards, in place, at the same moment in time. Time, spinning. A million different directions.

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January 16, 2009

Paper Towel, Doormat, Please?

Hello? Is this thing still on? I haven't blogged for almost a week. Which of course feels like an eternity. Is 2009 even a new year? I feel like it's still tracking in the mud from 08. But then I suppose there was that plane miracle yesterday and that was pretty amazing-- to think, no one got hurt, except for the bird/s of course. It makes me happy (again, sans the bird part).

So anyways, I'd appreciate a paper towel or doormat or something so I can wipe this sludge off my boots and truly have a clean start.

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January 10, 2009

Why I ♥ New York

Reason #97: glimpses of sky

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Filed under // why i love NY list

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January 6, 2009

A poem for Carlo and everyone else

Let it go,

she says. Let

it go.

It's the

yearning that

eats away the lining,

bald & pale like a

newborn baby

bird. Let

it go.

The tighter we cling

the deeper we kill

suffocating

lungs with each

embrace.

I'm so tired.

Tired

of crushing bones

& burning holes

in my

heart.

Let it go.

Do it, open those

clenched hands

and fill them

with nothing.

The nothing is whole,

deep & heavy, it'll

erase all this wanting.

This wanting

that makes us cry like

newborn babies,

cancer patients,

drug addicts,

human

beings.

Let it go, let it go, let it

go--

Breathe

and be satisfied.

With these shaky hands I shall

release my fears, my longing, my desire,

with these open hands I shall

release the part of me that's

cry i n g .

Fuck waiting, Iet it go

the dying,

crying,

wanting,

lying.

Rebuild these walls with

emptiness.

Stop waiting here, quit

lying.

--

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January 5, 2009

Finding Home...

I thought home would just be, in all its glory and comfort, waiting for me when I returned there. Thought I'd find slivers in my mother's smile; thought it'd be lingering in the air of my childhood bedroom. Childhood. Looking back it all seems so simple. But that is never the case. Even children have their struggles.

But alas, home was not found in that first week. Frustration, confusion, unsettled feelings, they all greeted me at the door but that warm bellied feeling named Home was no where to be found. It was only after the current of emotions settled its tides (in the second week), that I began to glimpse moments of it. The soft hum of the computer in the library room, the hardy breakfast and strong coffee consumed alone in the morning while sitting at the first wooden table I'd ever known. I traced the rings in the wood, the creases in the panels. I found home in soft blankets, the cooing voices of friends who'd visit late into the night, found it in old photographs and my father's tools in the basement, in an old wicker mirror and a shoebox filled with memories (old ticket stubs, dried out flowers, fraying love letters)... and home brought me a feeling of love, of loss, of nostalgia, and heated connections. It brought me happiness & melancholy and whispered in my ear, you know nothing yet, my dear. you're only just beginning all this...

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