Archive for April, 2010

April 27, 2010

a letter to the village

dear you,

you said i should be able to express myself to you, so here it is.  what you should know about me, or what you should know about me in an effort to try and understand me.

i’m fiercely introverted.  fuh-heerce-lee.  this does not mean that i am a bitch, or that i am standoffish, or that i’m shy, or aloof.  it means that i process my thoughts internally, i desperately need my alone time to charge my mental batteries, i am energized by solitude.  i prefer to avoid idle, senseless chatter and speak my thoughts only when they matter most.  if i don’t reach out to engage you in conversation, this is not a sign of me rejecting you.  please don’t read it as such.  i’m not going to sit down and have a conversation about a highly-charged emotional situation just because that’s how you think it should be handled.  that’s not my style.  i am not going to “push myself outside of my comfort zone” in this regard because “that’s what people should do when they grow up, even if they are introverts.”  there is nothing that will push me away faster than having someone tell me how to think, act, do, or be.  i stay in my head and follow the beat of a different drum.  that’s not going to change.

i’m also an aquarius, and i know that this part will probably sound like astrological psychobabble to you, but it helps me understand and explain my character so bear with me.  aquarians are honest, loyal, independent, and intellectual, but on the flip side of that coin, they tend also to be unpredictable, detached, and unemotional.  you may get your feathers ruffled because i’m not overly effusive with my emotions or demonstrative with my affection, but it’s never intended with malice.  i am loyal and loving and lovable, but i protect those feelings carefully.  you’ve got to be pretty tight in my circle of trust for me to let you in.  so if you tell me “i love you,” there’s no guarantee that you will hear it from me in return.  not because i *don’t* love you, simply because i don’t give of myself easily.

in my spiritual, yet godless, belief system i strive to remain open to and tolerant of other’s viewpoints, even when they are diametrically opposed to my own.  yet there are a lot of areas between us in which we will likely never see eye-to-eye.  when you judge me because i “don’t disapprove of homosexuality” or because i don’t believe in (your) god, or because i question those who live their lives with blind loyalty and patriotism for a cause (or country) they’ve never thought to second guess, i will probably ask you to leave my home.  if you question my fitness as a mother i will probably ask you to leave my home and never come back.

obviously there are things i could do to bridge the gap between us, but i think there are a lot of things you could do on your end to throw out an olive branch of reconciliation as well.  i hope that by sharing these bits of my inner-self you will come to understand how we might be able to find a middle ground between us where positive communication and comfortable interaction can occur.

maybe.  or not.  i don’t know.

signed,

me

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April 19, 2010

knitting a dream

purl, slip slip knit, yarn over knit, purl

i sit knitting in front of the open window, illuminated by moonlight, the cool night breeze gently dances across my cheek.

purl, knit, knit, knit

my attention is pulled to the sound of cars driving by.  not the noise of traffic, but a steady stream of vehicles, even at midnight.

purl, knit, knit, knit

i listen beyond the cars and hear the faint croaking of frogs and chirping of crickets.  ahhh…now there’s the sort of silence i crave.

purl, slip slip knit, yarn over, knit

my husband and i are knitting together a dream of a simpler, quieter, life.  one with tree frogs and crickets, water gently lapping the shore of a lake, the lazy knockthudbump of a small red rowboat and its oars dancing on the water, bumping into its mooring.  breezes blowing through tall grasses, our children’s laughter and footsteps as they run barefoot on red earth.  our piece of earth.  our simple life, our tranquility.

knit, knit, knit

a car horn in the distance rattles me out of my daydream, back to the midnight breezes of my suburban reality where i sit, knitting; a hat in my hands, a dream in my head.

purl, slip slip knit, yarn over, knit

April 15, 2010

you know it’s time to have a baby when…

the thought of getting dressed, even in pajamas, makes you want to cry because nothing fits properly nor comfortably.  not even your husband’s size L boxer shorts.

the bathroom counter is littered with lotions, unguents, potions, and creams, all with the purpose of making habitation in one’s own skin more tolerable, yet none of them is living up to their promise.

every spasm and twitch in the birthing region is enough to make you gasp and hold your breath because 1) it kinda hurts, and 2) you stop to pray that this is the start of something big

even drinking water causes wicked heartburn, but you battle through it in a vain attempt to quench the unquenchable thirst

your dear friend and pregnancy buddy, the one who had to go first because her due date preceded your own by two weeks and it would be rude to cut in line, goes ahead and has her baby in the front seat of her car on the way to the hospital.  true story.  congrats, dear kate.  there’s no way my birth story (or anyone else’s, for that matter) will ever top that.

April 12, 2010

living life a decade at a time

i looked at my driver’s license tonight and realized that it’s set to expire in one year.  big whoop, right?  but here’s the deal.  i left california and moved to colorado in 2001.  when i got my new license i looked at it and was dumbstruck by the expiration date.  2011.  ten years. ten. long. years.  i remember thinking, “wow, certainly i’m going to look different in ten years.  will i really still have this picture on my license then?  what the hell will my life be like in ten years?”  it was an odd mix of feelings: sort of like being told to go sit in a waiting room and chill out for a really long time, but it also vaguely felt like i was being handed the challenge of seeing what i could make of my life in the upcoming decade.

so, now, here i am; almost a decade later and i cannot believe that almost ten years have passed.  i was 23 and single when i moved here.  a year out of college, feeling lost and lonely, looking for a fresh start and some sort of direction.  now i’m married, i have a kiddo and a second one due to pop out any day now.  we live in the suburbs.  we talk about things like funding our retirement and paying for our kids’ college tuition.  i wear yoga pants every day.  i have far more wrinkles on my face now than i did in that driver’s license photo.  next year i’ll go back to the DMV and get a new license, one that won’t expire until i’m 43 years old.  i am looking forward to seeing what i can do in those ten years.