You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Rambling’ category.
I’d forgotten how hard blogs are. There’s a story to tell and I keep thinking it’s about Nepal. I should be writing about Nepal. I am supposed to be writing The Nepal Story, after all. So, why can I not write about Nepal?
I was once told by my mentor to trust my instincts when piecing a narrative together, meaning I shouldn’t be so arrogant as to think I can manhandle an experience if I don’t let it unfold. My story hasn’t even unfolded yet. I want to write a redemption story that hasn’t happened, so it’s no wonder I can’t write about it. Truth be told, mine is probably not a redemption story anyway. Deep down, I know Nepal as a requisite transformative experience will be dark because, when reduced to its smallest divisible parts, Nepal is all in my head.
And there’s a writer in there, too, who refuses to shut the hell up.
From a distance, a shadowed mirage is waving at me like a summer heat reflection on hot pavement and this passage comes back to me:
Despite our best intentions, we forget the dead.
Do they forget us? Jane Summer, “Erebus”
So. Leigh “Bindo” Binder*, if you refuse to die, I’ll just have to kill you off in a mediocre poem that’s an apology as much as a lament.
When the stem drooped and the petals died,
Sleeping beauty sleep
I awoke to gold
Light too bright
You offered me a dim corner
You and I shared caramelized melancholy
Like cotton candy
Adolescent sweetness, the things that grew in our heads
Restless dreams like your cigarette smoke
From a few thousand miles away
Choke me awake
Weighed together like stone
Bound and pull down like some English great, we weren’t built for this life
But mostly: Have we lived our eternity?
*Leigh Binder was a friend and fellow writer, who died two years ago leaving only his writing and YouTube videos (https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC-43KL2khFHhJ-LmRqA-y2A) to haunt me.
It is hard facing the dark after a beautiful light is so suddenly extinguished and yet Stevie Nicks’ haunting voice rises up to remind me, “there’s a heartbeat and it never really dies.” This, I remind myself as I sit at a funeral of an 18-year-old who’d died so tragically in a car accident a few days before. I can’t help but try to remember what it was like to be that age, when everything is a promise and before we find out there really are monsters hiding in the dark.
So, why Nepal and why now? I’m going to Nepal to trek to Everest Base Camp and yet that isn’t what I’m doing at all. I’m going to Nepal to listen.
Of all the things that could have come to mind at this funeral, of all the things that seemed to mean so much when i was a just a kid myself, it was Nepal that floated to the surface. After reading Jon Krakauer’s “Into Thin Air” for an English Comp class, my 18-year-old self vowed to visit Nepal one day and see the mountain that seems to enthrall people to death. So, all these years later, I wondered whatever happened to the old promises to myself. Of course, life happened. There are so many things to figure out when you’re in college and then later when you’re establishing your career and yourself. You have to pick your battles and the promises you keep.
Sitting in the church and seeing photos of this beautiful girl drift across the projector screen, I suddenly felt ready. Ready to make some of those old dreams happen. Later that day, I Google the heck out of Nepal and then came across several articles that solidified my resolve. After the earthquake in Nepal, the Nepalese people are struggling to rebuild. So many Nepalese have lost loved ones, their homes, their livelihoods, their roads, everything. While one can argue tourism is a blessing and a curse in many ways for this country, but it ultimately will feed more money into the economy quicker than any other sources of revenue. Stimulating the economy promotes rebuilding efforts and securing infrastructure that is still in shambles in many communities.
No one questions the resolve of these people and despite the need for serious, conscientious reform of financial resources and management, the most compassionate thing we as Westerners can do is visit the country. Westerners have an opportunity to promote compassionate travel and a considered approach to tourism that respects the Nepalese culture and environment rather than contribute to erosion of it.
So, why not go now? It’s mutually beneficial for both Nepal and us bucketlisters abroad to go for it. Besides, Everest is only the surface; I can’t help but think our Western compatriots who were lost in the avalanche on Everest or elsewhere when the earthquake struck knew that, too. When it cones down to it, I really want to go to Nepal to soak up the miraculousness of the indefatigable human spirit in the faces of those who have lost so much but endure nonetheless.
So, Stevie has it right. In the rubble, you can hear it if you listen. There is a heartbeat and it never really dies. Neither does the human spirit or the promises we once made to ourselves before life happened.
I’m dead with dying
There is an eye I refuse to catch
I was born with knowing
I look and I listen and I discern
You’ve caught my eye
I’m not God
But I know
Tell me everything
The bile and the filth and the worst, pour it
All that will be left will be left behind
Listen to my knowing
Let me catch your eye
My knowing is a reflection
There’s no dream I can’t decipher
I simply know
You tell me what’s the matter
And that’s what’s the matter
through kinder eyes than you can’t bear to see
This is my knowing
I was born in January
I am dead with dying
There’s an eye I refuse to catch
It’s the eye of a child
Who won’t let me see
Something terrible happened
Something awful and humiliating
Something that drained my blood from my face my screams from my throat my heart from my chest and
Something that puddled my potty down my leg and between my toes
And I don’t know
And I don’t know
I won’t catch my blue eye that eyes me in the mirror
I was a child born dead with knowing
It was January
It was cold something terrible
And I don’t know
there are no promises that can be kept
by gift we live by right we die
grace is optional
except when it’s not
the grace to bear grief
is sometimes always never
the only prayer there is
in these hot, breathless last days, it’d do us to get on with the praying
sooner than later
I’m a writer or something like that.
I will regain my status as a tap dancer soon.
I had a boy, lost a boy, got another boy. Loss pending.
I adopted a dog, adopted another one, and adopted another one (the last of which was in part due to my fondness of odd numbers, 3s in particular.
I was born. Death pending.
I got a degree, got another one, and am working toward the end of the third one.
I have a momma and a dad and a granny and a grandma and a brother and a sister in law, 9 aunts and uncles, and approximately 17 first cousins.
I have a doggie gate that I don’t understand how to install. I have no knowledge of an Allen wrench.
I’m cursed/blessed with tragedy.
That blamed bicycle stole my virginity when I was but a girl. Ouch.
I encourage people to save the world.
I have a history of passing out. For this reason, I should not give blood but still have the urge to because I could save your life, dear reader, because I have O-neg blood. I would gladly pass out to save your life. I might vomit a little when Bryan comes to pick me up from saving your life but it’s okay, only a little will get in his air vents.
I have kneecaps and calves of steel, though I might have just cracked my kneecap just now.
I love to read. Some favorites are the Year of Magical Thinking (Joan Didion), Young Men and Fire (Norman MacLean), Into Thin Air (Jon Krakauer), I Know This Much Is True (Wally Lamb), October Light (John Gardner), As I Lay Dying (William Faulkner), Angela’s Ashes (Frank McCourt), Devil’s Knot (Mara Leveritt), East of Eden (John Steinbeck), and my current read, the Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down (Anne Fadiman).
In Lady Antebellum’s “Need You Now,” one of the lyrics goes, “oh I’d rather feel something than nothing at all.” Well, then. Clearly, they’ve never felt the peace of feeling nothing at all because although not a pleasant experience, if you can get that numb, it’s something that one really would prefer at times, especially during breakups.
They need to get a little dead inside.
Nails down to the quick
I’ve made them weak
with my neglect
I should have listened to the wives’ tales
I’m without talon to pick or perch
and it will take more time than I’ve got
to make them right again
Seriously, what has been up with my sporadic blogging. I’ve been writing but it doesn’t strike me as something I want to put on my blog. I’m working on a series of essays about different aspects of my family.
I have been going out with a much younger man, solidifying my cougar status. It’s been really fun, no pressure. And he’s tall. And I like his laugh.
I do have news. I’m a mother again. On Sunday, I adopted another dog, a beagle mix named Mindy IV who I’ve renamed Emmie (Val, your vote counted). I did adopt her in a manic phase and am now a little shell-shocked. She’s about a year old. I’m going to just say she’s one. She looks like a simple spotted dog mix with a beagle head attached. Beautiful eyes. Bryan loves her. I like her. I mean, she’s got so much energy and she seems alien and I can sense no emotion in her so I’m adjusting.
On Monday, happenstance occurred. Happenstance, I say, because I’m not sure I believe in fate or destiny, puzzle pieces fitting together just so. I see a yellow sticky note on my office floor. I leave it there for several hours. I have things to do. In the mid-afternoon, I pick up the note and take a look-see. I’m jolted to see it. His email, the asshole, who ruined the name Steve for me, although I never liked it anyway. The one with no affection for me. His email, who I’d finally forgotten. His email, written down a year and a half ago just in case we ever started communicating again, still waiting to be typed in my compose box.
He’s not much to me, not even painful to think about. He’s nothing. He’s an asshole. He is Steve.
He facebooked me a few months ago and I told him to never contact me again.
I’m not sure why I can’t bring myself to throw the sticky note away.
All about me.
In one word describe how you currently see yourself:
One prominent nickname you were given:
ML or in my other life, Lo
One strange fact about yourself:
I hate constrictions of having to come up with one response when I mostly have several responses to questions, some of which are mutually exclusive.
One bad habit?
Not washing my hair often enough
One thing you can’t tolerate?
Wordpress monster avatars that appear as my picture on some blogs. It says it saves the new avatar but then the monster shows up. And the monster looks like he’s smiling. Like he’s a happy monster. Ugh. See Bindo’s site for my monster-faced comment.
What that sickens you?
Tidiness, rinsing with salt water
One thing you can’t forgive?
Bryan, for telling me there’s no hurry to complete his contest and then calling me every 5 seconds to see if I have selected a winner.
You have difficulties with…?
grocery shopping and bullets found in my door
What turns you on in a man physically?
Tall, hair on head, brain optional
What turns you on in a woman physically?
What is a turn off for you in a man physically?
A small oh-my. Short and/or without hair.
What is a turn off for you in a woman physically?
Have you seen the white light at the end of the tunnel?
I try to block it out with my sleeping mask.
One drink you’re never touching again?
Pledge-flavored herbal tea
How many countries have you visited?
A lowly 2 countries.
How many countries still on the list?
All of them, although I might wait a minute before heading over to Somalia or Afghanistan
One word to describe you a random friend.
One word to describe your partner.
One word to describe your latest ex.
One word do describe your soul mate.
One word to describe your nemesis.
Your future in one word
You’re stranded on an island… One thing you’d want…?
One word to describe this tag
One thing you would like to say to the person on your mind right now
A good date is always a bad date for a writer. I get a rush of delight when I realize things have gone horribly awry and I’m stuck in a situation that I will be forced to endure for another 53 minutes. It’s sweet, the taste of the meat of him, the reassuring thought that I own this story now. I can twist and spin and create a reality of terror and delight for myself and, hopefully, my readers.
I had a date yesterday. It was very awkward until we started making out. He had squinty eyes and was a bad kisser. He wore a pimp ring on his finger. I admit to liking it.