your assignment...

until next we meet...

go to mr. simon's website here. and listen to track 5 (wartime prayers).

it was the second (of three) encores.

the best concert ever.

p.s.

My blog is one year old today!
To celebrate, Lynn interviewed me (yes! this means she has started blogging again!) - go check it out at Sprigs. (And while you are there, take a moment to read her poetry if you haven't already. This girl is amazing.)
Over the next few weeks I am going to write a series of posts about blogging...what it means to me, what I have learned in this last year, and other things. Stay tuned.
Thank you for all that you have given me in this past year - kindness, frienship, validation, humor, more kindness - I feel so blessed to be part of this community.

the poem that woke me up {poetry thursday}

It seems like Poetry Thursday was just a couple of days ago, but here it is again. I smile this morning knowing that the next Poetry Thursday will be here next week. I love poetry.

Sometime in the last two weeks, I visited Christina over at My Topography and read this post about a conversation between Robert Bly and William Stafford. Although my heart was warmed by Stafford the story (if you visit me here every now and then you know how I adore William Stafford) and I appreciated the idea behind a poem a day, my instant thought was, “Well, I don’t have time for that.”

This morning, I found myself awake an hour before I planned to wake up and the words for this poem came to me. Even though I drifted back to sleep, they woke me up an hour later and insisted they were a poem meant to be written. This is just a draft, a simple morning poem, but I share it with you.

A morning poem (9/28/06)

In the hour of vulnerability just before dawn
my fuzzy thoughts are with you
in your hospital bed as you took your last breath.
In the kitchen, my husband takes a plate
down from the cupboard that
clanks as it touches the counter.
That sound incites my memory
to grab my hand like Peter Pan,
and we slip out the window.
I pad down the hallway and
curl up on the couch with sleepy
anticipation of our day together.
Sliding open the kitchen door
you see me and say the magic words,
“Do you want a Surprise?”
A slight smile curves around the security blanket
thumb in my mouth as I nod.
Before you turn toward the kitchen,
you walk to the television and turn on Channel 9,
knowing my internal clock sets to
“The Bozo Show” the weeks I stay with you.
In a few minutes you will appear again
with exotic treats of sliced banana, cranberry juice,
and peanut butter sandwiched between Cheerios.
In this hour of vulnerability just before dawn,
grief and love tuck me back into bed
as I drift off to memories of
you, laughter, and sounds of “The Grand Prize Game.”

with my jonny {self-portrait challenge}

We have a secret phrase we say to each other so we always know one of us isn't a clone (hee, hee...yes, we watch too many sci-fi movies). It is the response to the phrase that is the key. Whenever this phrase comes up it is when we are looking eye-to-eye like we are here.

We have a secret handshake. Every few months we add another step. By the time we have been married twenty years, it will probably take us ten minutes to complete all the steps.

We have silly names for each other. I call him Stinkbug. He calls be Lady Belle. (No, he doesn't stink. It just started because I love that word stink. Isn't it fun to say? Seriously. Say it out loud. Love it.)

We annoy each other. I have been known to start singing songs about how annoyed I am...only to, of course, become the annoying.

We crack each other up. We think we are the funniest people we know.

We never forget one another. Even though life creeps in and invites stress, we are learning to remember that we have one another for support. We are realizing always we have to do is lean back a bit and the other person is right there.

(to see more self-portraits taken with someone else, head over to self-portrait challenge)

good night monday

studio 60 on the sunset strip.

how you ease my pain of losing the west wing.

(thank you.)

good morning monday

singing
Paul Simon's new album (and guess what [she says with a whisper], as of two hours ago we will be singing along with Paul Simon in person Friday night. not with an image of him in my mind...no with him. yipppppeeeeee!!!!)

Marc Broussard's "Home" because i just can't get enough of it. i dare you not to dance/sing along when you hear this song.

watching
grey's anatomy (because what else would you watch?)

disc four of oprah's twentieth anniversary DVD collection (netflix. it's a good thing.)

season one of the office (netflix. gotta love it.)

dinner for five, season one (you guessed it. my friend. netflix.)

reading
a wondrous article, really it is almost a small book, about Bill Clinton in The New Yorker (how i wish we could do away with the 22nd amendment for four years and bring him back).

(finally) some Poetry Thursday posts and other blogs. i have been so busy lately with work and life and stuff that i haven't been able to read blogs as much as usual over the past few weeks. i had a little time this weekend to read a few and it was wondrous.

creating
a purse or two. i have my first commission (thank you a.) and will get started on it soon! so exciting. i have purchased some gorgeous fabric in the last few months and can't wait to create some bags from all the succulent colors and patterns.

enjoying
time with my dad and his girlfriend. they are visiting and we have had a great time so far. tomorrow they go down to portland to visit my brother. then back up this way later in the week. it is so much fun to share our favorite places with them.

cuddling on the couch with millie the pooch. she keeps me company as i work late into the night some nights.

the fact that my little office/studio is almost done. i am getting there. organizing ain't as easy as some of you folks make it seem. (and anyone who wants to come help me figure out the rest of it is welcome any time. i promise to feed you tea and cake.

eating
the ponzu salmon bowl at anthony's. oh yummy.

peanut butter on toast. (i am that easy. yep. just love it.)

pumpkin doughnuts at starbucks (have you tried one? oh my goodness.)

drinking
genmaichi (green tea with brown rice). oh it is some kind of good.

a strawberry mango margarita that just makes a person so happy. i enjoyed two last night as we watched the notre dame game at a restaurant/bar in seattle (we couldn't get the game at our house). it made the game go down a little easier since we were plainly going to lose. except for the part where they won as we were driving home in the car. so glad they won. so sad we missed it!

it is fall and that means pumpkin spice soy lattes. i just can't get enough. i just can't get enough.

anticipating
a new dishwasher!!! one of the many great things about having parents visit is that they sometimes buy you things you need...like a dishwasher! i spent part of yesterday morning contorted inside ours, unscrewing things and cleaning out the "self-cleaning filter." oh it was some kind of gross. i mean really. imagine the stuff you clean out of your drain only with food that has been in there for years. ugh. triple ugh. so after breakfast tomorrow my dad is taking me to get a new one. hee, hee. love it!

going shopping on thursday with my dad's girlfriend. this is really the first tiem we have done something just the two of us and i think it will be fun. it will be great to show her around seattle. i am getting excited about/greatly anticipating a fun weekend i have coming up in november and i want to get a few things for it.

thinking
about the time i spent with maureen in seattle on friday. oh i just adore this woman. i will share a bit more soon...

about the letter i wrote to my teenage self last week. i think i am going to write a few more to myself a different ages. a very interesting, thought-provoking exercise. and most of all, this practice was very healing. healing wasn't my intention when i wrote it, but it is permeating from it i think. i keep thinking about that girl who would receive this letter as someone who is really out there. i keep wondering what she is thinking when she reads these words. kind of crazy i realize, yet i feel she is there...because...of course...she is.

loving
the way my husband just loves me. even when i bug him. he just loves me.

meeting bloggers is one of my favorite past times i think. i just love it. all of you who i have met and talked to and emailed with during these past few months...well...you just fill up my spirit. thank you.

a letter to my teenage self {poetry thursday}

It's Poetry Thursday!

This week I am sharing the first part of a writing exercise I am doing. I am trying to jumpstart my writing a bit because I have spent so much time on my laptop lately that I am not always motivated to come back to my computer to write for fun, to write for me. Earlier this week I was jumping around from blog to blog and found a letter a blogger (check out Megan's blog - it is full of truth and crafts and great writing and other good stuff) wrote to her teenage self. I loved this idea and immediatly thought, "this would be an incredible poem." I decided to let this be a prompt for me this week. I wanted to first write the letter and then create a poem from it.

So here is part one...the letter. I was imagining writing to myself the summer after I graduated from high school.

Dear Liz Elayne,

I am just going to put this out there first. I know it is hard to believe that I do not have at least three of the five children you were convinced I would have. That I am thirty! and do not have even one child but instead I have, of all things, a dog (she is my second golden retriever by the way). I know it is hard to believe that I am not a doctor (chemistry was not any easier in college) or a Constitutional Law lawyer (still love it just didn’t take that path). Something happened, not so unexpectedly, that shaped this path. I don’t want you to be afraid. You are safe; nothing happens “to” you. But your life will shift a bit. Remember that feeling you had when you thought mom and dad were getting divorced when you were 14? Remember feeling alone, lost, and scared? Those feelings continue to guide you for a while. I don’t want to scare you, but it isn’t as easy to work through it all as it might seem. I am sorry about that. But you will realize that the feelings you have now are part of the human journey. They do not go away. The feelings you had reading The Awakening will continue to wash over you for…well, from what I can tell…your entire lifetime.

Know that you will find a sense of support from a few amazing friendships. Some books and a golden retriever will change your life. You will begin to loosen the grip your fingers have around fear and loneliness. I promise. And many of the friends you have now, yes, right now, will be your friends still today. I know you know that, but I just wanted to tell you. However, you will never have sex with Lee Travis. Nope. So just let that go. Seriously sweetie. Just let it go. The girl everyone thinks you are in high school…the good girl…the good girl who never really does anything that might get her “in trouble.” That girl. Honey, that is just who you are. It is okay. (Though when V. has a heart to heart with you in a bathroom in Boston, listen to her. You just might do something that is totally unlike you, something of little importance, yet something that will remind you that you can be just a tiny bit reckless. Of course, take R. up on it when she wants to come too. Bravery in numbers.) You will fall in love with a wonderful man who honors every inch of who you are. I don’t want to spoil it all for you though. Just trust yourself like you always have.

I feel a need to say I am sorry I am not saving the world like you wanted to. Yet, I feel closer to you now than I ever did. The hopes, dreams, funny (good funny) way you have of looking at the world…I feel a bond with all of that. A bond that got a bit lost in my twenties. You know how you want to be an indian and live in a teepee in Montana? How your spirit yearns for a connection to the Great Spirit you have read about? You will continue to seek this connection. It will be an important part of your path. And don’t let anyone tell you how this connection should look. There will be a time when you feel terrified that if this connection doesn’t look a certain way you might lose people who are important to you. Keep listening to that voice inside. That voice is, just as you suspected, the voice of what you will keep calling god in your own mind because that is a word that makes sense to you. When you find yourself out in the Pacific Northwest, away from the expectations of those around you, you will step into a world that embraces all you want to be, which is all that you already are. You will begin to shed the fear like a clothes on a hot Indiana day and honor that maybe you are saving the world, just in a different way.

And know this…I would do it all again to be in this place where I am now. All of it. That thought isn’t a cliché; it is truth. Your truth. So even in those dark moments that are coming your way, trust you. Trust. You.

Oh and have fun. You will begin to understand the fragility of life when you get to be my age, and laughter and joy and moments filled with truth and caring and love will become more important than you ever realized. Notice those moments, so that you can remember them when life hands you something else.

I don’t want to give away anything more than I already have. Just live it baby girl. Live in your life. I am always here for you; all you have to do is sit quietly and breathe and you will find me.

Love,
me

my grandmother, memories, and grief {self portrait challenge}

With a loved one. With my grandmother. With memories and grief.

I cannot talk to her anymore, but I can surround myself with little pieces of her.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a poem about my regret that I did not brush my grandmother’s hair away from her face when I saw her in her casket (I hate that I just typed “her casket”); you can read this poem here. I keep reading this poem, and I cry every time. The feelings in this poem are tangible to me; I feel like I can actually touch them in the air in front of me.

After she passed away, I wished I had a carpet bag like Mary Poppins so that I could sweep the entire contents of her room into my bag and take it home with me. I didn’t want to recreate her room in my home; rather, I just wanted to go through each little piece of that room. I felt like she would have wanted me to do that. But as the granddaughter, it was not my place. There are things I would have taken with me. Little things. Like the pen next to her bed, a tube of lipstick, a piece of paper with a grocery list, a hair pin, socks, the sweatshirt we bought her that had chickadees on it, her radio that she would listen to at night. But I didn’t know how to explain that I wanted these things. Everyone was dealing with their grief, and again, it was not really my place. I may have been the closest person to her, yet I had a role. I had to step out of the way.

A few weeks after the funeral, my aunt sent me a package that had a tote bag and these slippers in it. The tote bag is an “antique” Epcot Center bag that my grandmother would have purchased on a trip to Disney World with my family. I am the Disney lover in the family so my aunt sent it to me. It was actually the bag my grandmother packed with little things to take with her to the hospital (at least I think this is true). Her Ponds Cold Cream and other things. I sent my grandmother these slippers as a silly little gift a few months before she died. When I was at her house when we were there for the funeral, they were sitting right next to her bed. When I opened up the package that contained these two items, I was struck by this realization that my grandmother had been wearing these slippers. That she had been alive with her feet snuggled warmly in these slippers. Alive. And she had touched them. I felt so far away from her all the way across the country from everything that was hers, that I was simply overwhelmed by this reality that these slippers had been worn by her. I left them inside the bag and tucked the bag far up into my closet. I just couldn’t go there.

Today, I reached up to that high closet shelf and took down the box that had kept this tote bag and slippers far away from my mind and heart. I pulled out the slippers and slid them onto my feet.

My grief feels even deeper and wider lately. Bigger than it did seventeen months ago when she died. I have moved to a place where I just let the sobs and moans come and settle in sometimes. Last week when Jon was working late at school, I found myself sobbing while warming spaghettios on the stove. I was thinking about how even though my grandparents have a microwave they always heat things up this way. Our microwave recently sizzled and died, so we are doing the same, but not by choice. I had the thought that I would have to call her and laugh about that the next morning. Then I remembered. She is totally dead. I found myself just moaning through tears as I stirred my dinner, poured it into a bowl, and settled on the couch. Moaning seems to be my new way of grieving when I am alone and the feelings bubble up.

My aunt also sent me this framed picture of a stem of lily of the valley. I have the same one up in my home office. I took the picture out of the frame and realized it was a card I had sent my grandmother about twelve years ago. She had kept it and put it in a frame. Little did I realize we were both looking at the same card each day. I learned to love lily of the valley because they always seemed to be in bloom when I visited my grandparents’ house as a child. Their smell will forever make me think of her. They are our favorite flower.

When the family was together for the funeral, my aunt and mom decided that I should have the turquoise ring we bought for my grandma when I worked at a Native American store in Jackson, WY while I was in college. To be honest, I am the only one with fingers the same size as my grandmother’s (not small), but it did make sense that I would have it. I wear it and think about how she would wear it and probably think of me. And now I think of her.

I think what I feel sad about now is this idea that is captured in a line from a Trisha Yearwood song, “we were just getting to the good part.” I feel like we were just getting to this place where I was learning more about her, her past. A place where she was opening up a little bit more. And I feel like this has been stolen from me. I had so much I wanted to tell her and ask her and learn from her. I still don’t know how to make a pie crust. I. Have. No. Idea. She taught me at least twice. But I needed her to show me again.

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”
Kahil Gibran

(to see more self portrait challenge photographs, click here.)

reflecting on a reflection

Something interesting has happened over the last few weeks. I have been looking at myself in the mirror for a few minutes, almost every day, and I have started to see someone else.

This is somewhat challenging to explain. But it is as though I have begun to feel comfortable with this person who stares back at me, and we have previously unknown level of familiarity.
She looks me in the eye. And her eyes are softer and a little more accepting of what she sees when she sees me.

And when I look at her, I pause to really look. I don’t just look up quickly and move on. I take time and honor who she is, even if only for a moment. This happens when I brush my teeth or wash my hands and look up into the mirror or when I unexpectedly spot my reflection somewhere. I pause and honor this person who stares back at me.

And she looks different.

Sometimes you see people only in pictures and then when you see them in person, they look different. Not bad or better, just different. They become alive for you. Maybe you have seen pictures of a friend’s sibling and then when you meet him, he looks similar but now he is moving and breathing and laughing. You see beyond one millisecond in time.

This is how I feel when I look in the mirror.

I kind of love it. I feel like I am meeting myself for the first time. Seeing beyond a frozen sense of self and into the deep, wide places of who I really am. And it isn’t scary or someplace I do not want to go. It is just me.

********

If you have been looking in the mirror during the last few weeks, what are you seeing? An old friend? A new one? New layers of who you thought you were? Confirmation of who you always knew you could be?

And if you aren't taking part in this meditation, I invite you to get up, walk over to a mirror, and look for a moment. What do you see? Who do you see?

yoga and poetry {poetry thursday}

When my students rest in savasana at the end of class, I sit on my yoga mat and breathe deeply, opening myself up to the possibility of something bigger, greater than what I know. I am seeking a tiny glimmer of something that will prompt me to know what to share at the end of class. Sometimes I share words that come to me. Other days I will share a chant, meditation, or pranayama (breathing technique). Lately, I have been picking up a book of poetry (Oliver, Stafford, Sarton) before I leave my house and taking it with me. After I sit silently for a moment, I will open the book. I might find a poem that demands to be read aloud or the tiny glimmer I felt earlier will grow. It is as though I feel like I am communicating with a greater energy (the universe, the divine) through the words of the poet that I hold in my lap in the form of a book. Last night, this came to me through Mary Oliver and one of the sections of her poem "The Leaf and the Cloud." A few lines from this poem:

Even now
I remember something

the way a flower
in a jar of water

remembers its life
in the perfect garden

Over the last few months, there has been an undercurrent connecting yoga and poetry and my journey with them both. They each invite one to see one's own reflection. Through words, through the breath, through a journey inside. I want to share more about this as my understanding continues to unfold.

I feel as though poetry and yoga could save the world.

********

On this Poetry Thursday, I have a question for you:
Are there poems, poets, books of poetry that come to mind that might be seeking a journey to one of my yoga classes? I would love to hear your recommendations.

with my brother {self-portrait challenge}

With my baby brother

(Though fall does seem to have arrived in the Seattle area, this picture was actually taken last winter. I tried to get my brother to pose for a picture today but he just wasn’t feeling all that photogenic so I am sharing this one.)

I spent part of the day with my brother today. It was an unexpected gift in the midst of the craziness of things lately. We had lunch and did a little bumming around Portland. And at some point, in the middle of the afternoon, I had this realization, “my brother is an adult.”

I feel lucky to know him and to call him my friend. He is pursuing his dreams in a way that makes me stand back and grin. He has realized he has a gift and he is using it. It really is quite fantastic and inspiring.

We spent part of the afternoon with Alexandra and she was asking us about our relationship. As we talked, Matt and I had this realization that we don’t really have a lot of baggage about one another. There have been times when we haven’t been as close or have bugged each other in the way that happens when you are siblings, but we don’t really have a lot of “stuff” within our relationship. We may have feelings about the roles we play in our family, but when it comes to me and my brother sitting and talking…well, we just seem to get it. I think that this is partly because we have other stuff to deal with in our lives and we are the kind of people who just realize that it is easier to support one another than find reasons not to care and love. Even though we may have chosen different paths (and he is a lot cooler than me), we can meet in this safe place.

The image that comes to mind is that in my family I have often felt like I am on an island sitting in the dark. The way I look at the world; the way I want to talk about things; the kinds of relationships I have with people – how I want to just move on past the crap and get to the good stuff; the beliefs I have; the books I read; and on and on…these things have invited me to feel a bit apart. But in the midst of today I felt as though my brother arrived with a flashlight and some candles and said, “Hey, you weren’t ever really alone, you just forgot to call out for me. I was here the whole time.”

And that is a really beautiful gift.

today

seek compassion

for yourself

for those you love

for those you will never meet

for the world

on a warm summer's eve {the idea that might become a reality}

If you have been reading my blog for a while, you know that I love Kenny Rogers and his music. In March, I wrote a post that detailed a history of how his music has impacted my life. Since that post (and the fact that for about four months his twenty greatest hits and the Indigo Girls were the only music on my iTunes on my computer – until Jon gave me my Nano for my birthday), I have listened to his music over and over while I am working and writing. A few weeks ago I downloaded another album (the one the Bee Gees produced, Eyes that See in the Dark) and have been singing it several times a week. My current favorite is “This Woman.”

Last month, we decided we were going to visit my family for Thanksgiving. Around here, I start playing Christmas music the weekend after Thanksgiving. Because, well, why would you not? I mean you only can really listen to it for a few weeks out of the year. One of my favorite CDs to listen to is Once Upon a Christmas with Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. They had a Christmas special on in the 80s that went with this album. Did you see it? So good.

There is a song on the album called “A Christmas to Remember.” It’s about how the two people singing planned on spending a Christmas alone in Tahoe but ended up having a love affair with one another. “You made this a Christmas to remember. Spring time feelings in the middle of December. Beneath the mistletoe, you kissed me warm and tender.” I remember that even as a fifth grader I was hopeful about finding such romance when I was older. There is also the ultra-serious song “Once Upon a Christmas,” that tells the story of Jesus’ birth and Kenny narrates part of the song. My family wasn’t very religious but the seriousness of the story of a young couple trying to find a place where they would be safe resonated with me. I don't think I have ever shared this next story with anyone. In fifth grade, my aunt and my cousin (actually the one who just got married in Durango) were both very ill. My memory tells me that we were worried one of them might die, but that might be more the active imagination of a serious young girl talking. What I do remember is praying every time I heard this song. Praying so hard I would almost cry that god wouldn’t take my mom’s sister from her or my cousin who, at the time, I thought of like a sister (she and my brother are the same age. I thought of her as like his twin in some way since they were born on the same day). I can remember being in the back of my parents' Lincoln Town Car praying and praying whenever that song would come on the CD player. Of course, it was always followed by the song “I Believe in Santa Claus” which can snap a person right out of such solemn thoughts, and it always did. They each recovered from their illnesses.

Last week, my dad mentioned that Kenny was going to be playing in my hometown the Friday after Thanksgiving. A Christmas show. He thought I might want to go with my mom and Jon to see the show. Yes. I. do. Bought the tickets right away!

Last Sunday, I was telling Jon about the show and how I haven’t seen Kenny in concert in almost twenty years. I was sharing that over the last few months I have realized that part of my connection to the music of Kenny Rogers is that it feels like it represents the best of my childhood. The memories associated with his music are all really good ones. And I said, “I wish I could tell him that.”

As I thought about this, I had this odd little thought that maybe I could ask my blogging community for advice on how to write to him and maybe even ideas for how I could meet him in person in November to tell him.

Then on Tuesday I had dinner with my fried Julia and I explained all of this to her. I said that I knew Kenny was going to be here on September 11th to play at the fair but that I wasn’t going but would be going to the concert in November. She said, “I know the woman who books the talent at the fair. Maybe I could ask her for an address where you could send a letter to him.” Aha!

On Wednesday, she called to say she was sending me an email but wanted to be on the phone with me when I received it. It said that her friend would be happy to hand my letter to Kenny’s manager if I mailed it in time for Monday’s show. Insert excitement and gratitude.

I spent part of the day Thursday writing a letter to Kenny Rogers. I printed out the blog post from March and enclosed it in the letter. I realized that it was more about letting him know that even though he doesn’t know me, he and his music have been part of my life, and I have realized that when someone has touched your life, you should tell that person. It isn’t just about being a fan and meeting someone but saying thank for being in my life.

And if all goes well, his manager will read it tomorrow and then hand it on to Kenny.

I am giggling with glee in my corner of the world and singing along with The Gambler.

We really can manifest magic in our lives.

checking in

I am still out here...and am not trying to take a break from blogging...but somehow I have for the last few days. Creating a prompt was about all I could do for Poetry Thursday this week.

Jon and I are up to something today, something I hope to share in pictures tomorrow or early next week. Something my attention has been turned toward in the few free moments away from working this week. I feel like my behind is glued to my little corner of the couch with all the work I have been doing.

I have also had something serendipitous happen this week with regards to something that was just a thought last weekend. I will explain more about this as well. Until then, I leave you with this gorgeous photo from the garden right outside the casista we stayed in when we were in Durango last month.

Blessings to you all!

me and my golden child {self-portrait challenge}

Working from home can be a bit lonely at times, but the Mill-dog is always here to keep me company. Her personality took some getting used to but now I can't imagine life without her sweet face.

She is my dear golden child Millie...and she is sick again. We rescued her a little over a year and a half ago, soon after we lost Traveler, and in this year and a half, she has been to the vet more times than Trav was in all the fours years I had him (not counting the last few months of his life when he had cancer).

This time...well...I don't want to embarrass her and have her give me a look like this:



So I will just share that she has an irritation. And when dog's have irritations they tend to lick them, and our vet decided that licking was not the way to go with this irritation. So when we are not around, she gets to wear this special head gear. I keep trying to tell her that it is fashionable, but I think it is safe to say she is pretty annoyed by the whole thing. I would be too.

Millie...my golden child...my friend...my daily companion...

To see other portraits of people with their loved ones visit self-portrait challenge.

a fortune cookie's fortune {sunday scribblings}

When I first thought about the prompt of fortune cookie, I was thinking about the idea of finding a fortune from a fortune cookie tucked into a book. A fortune that would one day make sense. A fortune that would come true. And the fortune that came to my mind was, “one day the living room of your heart will be full.”

This led me to think about how I spent so much time with my nose in a book when I was in college. So many evenings in Barnes and Noble. I lived on campus, and how much money I would have saved if I would have just gone to the library instead of buying new books. But to go to campus in the evening, alone, meant admitting I didn’t have friends with whom to do something a bit less nerdy. My friends were from my boarding school and they were all at other schools around the country. I loved my classes in college though. Everything began to seem connected. The books I read for school connected to a book I would pick up at Barnes and Noble connected to a conversation I would have with my therapist connected to a passage from a book that my theology professor would hand us to read and so on. Even though I often felt very alone, I began to believe that the authors of the books I was reading understood the path I was walking on. They understood feeling like you might be the only person to see the world in a certain way. But because the connections of the writing sometimes washed over me in such a joyous way, I was certain I was not the only person who saw things the way that I did.

(disclaimer alert) At that time in my life, I did have people who I know loved me (and still do), but this is more about the loneliness that is simply inherently part of who I am.

During the last year and half of reading blogs and the last (almost) year of blogging, I am sometimes overwhelmed in the best of ways because it feels as though this loneliness is lifting. One aspect of being “friends” with the authors on your bookshelf is that there is not interaction. They can share things with you and you can learn, but you can’t really talk about it. With the blogging community I feel a part of, there is a connection, an interaction, between the reader and the writer. You can let people know when their writing resonates deep within you. This is pure magic at times.

Even though it sometimes feels like the people who get me have simply appeared inside a laptop instead of sitting on a bookshelf, I am starting to feel as though the fortune is coming true.

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I love that this year I have been introduced to the joys of writing prompts.

As I was driving home after spending a wondrous afternoon with acumamakiki, I was thinking about how amazing it is to feel such a deep connection with someone when you meet them in person for the first time. Then I was reflecting on waking up to three delightful emails from Meg. And even though I felt a tinge of sadness that these women do not live down the street from me, I still was smiling from ear to ear at the realization that I am not quite as alone as I think I am. And some where in the midst of all of those thoughts, the fortune “one day the living room of your heart will be full” came to me. Another layer to this prompt is that in thinking about all of this an idea for a piece of fiction came to me as well. I am still working on that but will share soon.

To read what others felt prompted to share about fortune cookies click over to sunday scribblings.

if you were a fly on the wall tonight

you would hear things like:

"go! go! go!"

"catch it!"

"don't you touch him..."

"get him. get him. get. him!"

and one thing i know for certain is that somewhere across this country, right there in one of those "middle states," is a man who looks a bit like me, who has a similar nose and hair and eyes, and if you were a fly on his wall you would be hearing something similar because i learned these phrases from him.

it's notre dame football season folks. and those boys are winning.

when i was a student at nd, i became a bit negative about "domers" and some of the ego that sits on that campus. but as a kid, i loved that place and the football and basketball teams as though those boys were members of my family. my dad went there; i couldn't wait to get there. (sidenote: the education i got there was incredible and i would do it all again, but i never fit in there. ever.)

but last year, i caught that football fever and enjoyed watching when i could. and this year, i plan to do the same. i found my inner domer. and darn it if that ain't some kind of fun.

"go! go! go! go! go!"

and they did.

(and the away games are on often on abc, like tonight, and that means a commercial for grey's anatomy. that patrick dempsey is some kind of cute.)