penelope

can you see the moon from where you are?

she's making an appearance, just now, outside my window. bright and lovely and completely full of herself. and why shouldn't she be? the sun's been chasing her round and around all day ... just trying to light up her face.

the night is slowly rolling in. everything covered in a thick blanket of fog. fog, which i'm told is actually 'the marine layer' ... the sea reaching all the way to the hills. it is the highest of tides, i suppose, and always a lovely excuse to burrow in for the evening.

you wouldn't know it now, but today was the most beautiful of days. i have a pink nose and twenty-three new freckles to prove it.

i spent the morning on the beach, enjoying the smell of june, walking through the waves and watching kids play in the sand - every one of us all sunsoaked and shimmery. i followed the shoreline up to the museum and lost myself in the exhibits there (as i'm wont to do), though, if i'm honest, it was a different sort of display that captivated me today.

he was tall. and she was not. they started together in front of a painting, not speaking, just enjoying the art and the nearness of one other. and then she leaned into him, ever so slightly, looked up into his face, and slipped under his arm and away to another piece. in another room, he came up behind her and touched the small of her back and she melted into his hand. he folded her into him and kissed her softly on the top of her head.

that's how it was. they'd separate to follow their own interests and then they'd pass one another and touch ... kiss a hand, run fingers down an arm ...

i saw them one last time, before they were leaving, i suppose. they ended up on opposite sides of the gallery and she looked past me, over to him and he smiled in such a way it made me blush. they started to walk toward one another and when they met, inches from where i sat, they spoke in a hush and though i couldn't hear, i imagine he breathed, 'i missed you.' and she whispered, 'i'm here now.'

i was trespassing in a moment that wasn't mine.

i tried to pull my loneliness around me, invoking its cloak of invisibility, but it was of no use. they redefined the force of gravity and i was overcome ...

... by their heat and their easy intimacy (reminding me what it is to be so close to someone that there's nothing between us but our breath and our skin) ... by their confidence ... by the idea that love like that can exist in a world like this ... by the absence of these things in my own world ...

when i finally stepped outside again, an hour had passed, and with it the longing and the melancholy (is there nothing sunshine can't undo?), and i began the long walk home, moving forward with a sense of responsibility for the life i've created, the life i've always wanted.

no part of this is easy, nurturing this life i want to live into being. and the resulting chorus in my head is loud and painful and sometimes sends me back into my shell. i have to force myself back out into the open, back toward the light. it is never easy for me - no matter how silly and positive and carefree i am. it's a choice i make everyday.

and so, i become penelope - weaving and unweaving, getting restless and longing to display myself to my suitors, fan their hearts, inflame them more and wondering when it will feel right.

and i wonder ... when the ending is done, where do you begin?

adrowsed

i am drunk ... with desire. with joy. with nyquil.

i don't know if it's an attack of hay fever, of spring fever or simply a good, old fashioned cold, with the attending rib-rattling cough, but i am feverish and can feel my pulse in my head. and my libido is in overdrive.

i thought sleep might give it pause, but the half-drowsy, half-aroused (or should i call it 'adrowsed') state, has only delivered the most delicious of thoughts ... and so i awake, flushed and freckled, to the sound of this ancient ceiling fan and to the idea of muscles moving beneath my hands and soup for two.

this rush of pure glandular energy will surely subside soon and in its place? ... clear breathing and peaceful dreams.

but what if it doesn't?

the french kiss

i cannot resist the call of champagne ... the way it whispers to me from the glass, the bubbles tickling my upper lip and sending my heart racing as in the split second before a kiss.

this evening, the glass was raised (repeatedly) in honor of my dear friend, megan, on the occasion of her commencement. she has left me alone, now, bottle in hand, having left the table to take a tumble with the boy du jour ... and who can blame her? delightful as the champagne's french kiss is, it cannot best the buss of your best boy.

i bid her adieu and wish her well - even if i am beyond envy.

'hap'py father's day

i have a friend who has two beautiful daughters. and when he speaks of them, it's as if he's lit from within. there is a color of light in him only they can make shine.

it is a joy to experience, even vicariously, that particular brand of love. i can't get enough of it, even if, on occasion, it breaks my heart.

i never knew my dad in any real or measurable way. i know some details:

his name was stanley frederick, but everyone called him 'hap' because, as a friend of his wrote, 'he was so goddamn happy all the time.'

he was a born leader, i'm told. had a beautiful voice - sang tenor in his acapella group. he studied philosophy at the university of chicago. he was a beta theta pi.

he was athletic and funny and loved to laugh. he was a good writer. he wasn't afraid to let his voice be heard and always had something nice or positive to say. he looked out for friends and took good care of strangers and made them his friends.

he loved music. and hunting. he loved his little town. he loved his dad. and his wife. and his baby girl.

he died when i was forty days old ... killed in the vietnam war. (which is why it sickens me that there is new generation of children who will learn to say, 'my dad died in the {fill in the blank} war.')

i have his cheekbones. and his eyes. i have his smile, his small hands, small feet. i have his 'bubble butt.' i hope i have his kindness and his generosity and his spirit, too. and i wish i had him here. even if only for the day.

i'd ask him to sing something. and tell me a story. and then we would just sit on the steps leading to the beach and watch the stray cats come close and enjoy the smell of the ocean and the closeness and the late light from the afternoon sun.

it would be enough just to see my eyes looking back at me and my tiny hand in his ... and the color of light in him that only i can make shine.

'perfect'

it's right, you know. that saying ... 'you can't go home again.' i know. i've tried. 'home' as i used to define it, doesn't suit me anymore. it's sad and true and enlivening all at once.

still, some days, 'home' comes to me - in the form of a phone call or a letter - from friends there.

today, it's elizabeth ... with all her sweetness and second-guessing. she is the only person i've ever met who loves everyone she loves wholly and without condition. except herself. but she's figuring that out. and when she gets stuck, she calls on me. it is an honor and a pleasure, indeed.

too, there's 'm' - the daughter of a woman i used to work with. she is small. and loud. and smart. and kind. and she is having a bad week. she broke up with her boyfriend and fought with her best friend and is trying to forget that somewhere in between was the anniversary of her father's death. she is a beautiful mess ... as all sixteen year old girls should be. she hates her hair and her height and her mother and, for reasons which defy logic, wants to be 'just like' me when she grows up.

she saw a photo of me and texted me to say, 'wow. you look hot!'

'hot?' i asked. (on the one hand, i'm tempted to ignore her sixteen year old sensibility. 'hot' is not a word usually used to describe me. 'cute' - i have cornered the market on cute. on the other hand, though ... who am i to deny my heat?)

'perfect.' she said.

of course, i'm not perfect, and i wouldn't choose to be, if i could. but that one word and its sentiment are still ringing in my ears ... reminding me how easy it is to forget how we look to others.

i look in the mirror and i don't immediately see 'strong,' 'confident,' 'beautiful' or 'perfect.' i see 'silly,' 'confused,' 'older,' ... a hundred different things. i look in the mirror and see that where others are made of blood and sinew, i am tempered glass - bulletproof, but shattered quietly and out of sight.

so, i think i'll tell her that if she truly wants to be 'like' me, she'll have to forget about being perfect; just jump in and make the big mistakes; she should remember the rules and not hurt anyone else; have fun and bring others along if she gets the chance. and, above all, just be real.

life, i think, demands authenticity. and kindness. and cheesecake.

luck is in the eye of the beholder

it's friday the 13th and i'm wondering ... what are you afraid of?

for me it's lizards and stage mothers ... having my car towed again ... tori spelling ... calamari ... never escaping a past i did not help create.

yesterday was the first in my long line of very early mornings. rising with the moon, feeling the weight of my job as i pour myself into bed later. (i love this time of year. i do not enjoy the actual waking, though ... looking at the clock in the dark and knowing i need to leave the warmth of my dreams hurts my feelings a little.) and the morning was especially dark.

the events themselves are not important. when viewed independently, they are comical almost - their depth and breadth not nearly as heavy as their collective weight. they will make great stories ... next week ... and i will almost be unable to tell them, laughing so hard in their midst i will have to pause for breath to continue. but i was crushed under their weight ... crushed under the wait for that kinder, gentler, easier sort of day. the kind others seem to pass through with ease and without knowledge that it could ever be any different.

as it turns out ... i didn't have to wait long.

i sent out a distress call and before i knew it, that bitter adrenaline taste in my mouth was replaced by hot coffee and cinnamon toast, delivered by a good friend who traveled a long way to get to me.

the things i worried most about, never came to pass. work sorted itself out in my brief absence. (what a joy it is to know i've not only taught them how to walk ... i've taught them how to fly!) the line at the dmv was nonexistent and the fees, smaller than i'd dared to dream.

there were other tiny joys ... a good hair day ... the soft and familiar feel of my favorite tshirt ... lunch with the girls ... getting a part in a play that i really wanted ... the warm summer sun in a big blue sky ... a cold, cold beer ... and finally lighting the candles in my new space and enjoying the sound of nothing at all ...

it's friday the 13th, and what i'm really afraid of ... are the things i miss when i'm afraid. afraid to ask for help; afraid to trust my instincts; afraid to believe that there is nothing to be afraid of.

and those butterflies? as it turns out, they haven't settled. they've just left for greener girls. and in their place there is warmth and peace and delicious possibility.

i am a lucky girl, indeed.

aswirl

the universe has come at me full stop in the last few days, bringing with it a cruel reminder that what goes up, must come down. energy. good fortune. hope.

(i never gave much thought to the weight of those butterflies tickling my insides until they settled, lead-footed. only now, do i truly understand the power of gravity.)

my world feels like a snowglobe, shaken for universal amusement. it's dizzying and stomach-turning and beautiful ... glitter swirling about, settling for a moment and moving on.

i wish it could stay in one place a little longer, though. i like it when i'm all shiny and happy.