tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90689089080663380582024-03-14T05:51:42.949-05:00v in the city"Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get all loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
- <i>The Velveteen Rabbit</i>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-19103349022538676592013-04-04T14:14:00.000-05:002013-04-04T14:17:44.578-05:00Squander Your Love, Starling....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuAEY-xw8B54aClIqF5PzMt0AhoobJDqI9NsZzuKbbOscA7yzmO_sHJ4Hu9rPORlZGHN9hO6MGV21rXHp3fmDTtP6WuAruybDWmrPC0OHBgLiEX_Soq_MHIAGr2gBM4sJ5sGu0FjJxZEg/s1600/People-Holding-Hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuAEY-xw8B54aClIqF5PzMt0AhoobJDqI9NsZzuKbbOscA7yzmO_sHJ4Hu9rPORlZGHN9hO6MGV21rXHp3fmDTtP6WuAruybDWmrPC0OHBgLiEX_Soq_MHIAGr2gBM4sJ5sGu0FjJxZEg/s320/People-Holding-Hands.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>"Cultivate interior life as though it were a garden
sanctuary. Give away what you can. Squander your love." - </b>Frances Mayes<o:p></o:p></div>
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A deep online
discussion with a dear love prompted me to plunge the depths of this phrase,
"Squander your love." I fell hopelessly for it when it crossed my
path while reading Frances Mayes' <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Year-World-Journeys-Passionate-Traveller/dp/0767910060/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1365100752&sr=8-1&keywords=A+year+in+the+world">A
Year in the World</a>. It sounded incredibly reckless and it spoke to a
certain element of wildness that I've felt growing in me recently. (Lock
up your guns, girls <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>) So, what can this strange and
seemingly careless phrase mean. Is it truly as irresponsible as it
sounds?<o:p></o:p></div>
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When Little
Starling asked, "what do you think this looks like for our crew?" I
spouted off several scenarios that included: <o:p></o:p></div>
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Holding your
phone on your chest all night and getting three hours of sleep so you can be
there when the other one needs us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Talking me down from an anxiety attack via phone or text or
FaceTime when I can’t see my way out of the darkness.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Holding each other virtually or physically when sorrow or tragedy
hits to close to home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And seeing the massive flaws we all possess yet finding that they
only make us more beautiful to each other.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Another cupcake, looked into my soul recently and said (he claims <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>)
jokingly, “You’re kinda broken, aren’t you.”
He saw me. Identified my
incompleteness. Yet recognized I’m
working through it. I’m healing. And all the loves that surround me, faraway
friends, close familial ties, new acquaintances, and virtual space families are
making that process continue to unfold.
They may not know they are doing it, but every encouraging word, every
overlooking of my multitude of flaws, every hug and virtual wink is a tiny
reckless bit of squandered love on me. And I’ll take it. Every single careless
bit. And you better believe I’ll be
doing the same. Watch out IRL (in real
life) friendlies, Twitter, FB, random strangers at Starbucks, because I am
getting ready to squander my love all over you….<!--3--></div>
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V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-87760273856089977032012-07-25T21:28:00.000-05:002013-01-18T21:32:21.934-06:00Talisman<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">Isn't it funny how we take physical objects and tell them what they are going to be and then sometimes they become that? "This is my new "my life will never be the same once we finally meet" dress." Yes, its purple, which I never wear and has satiny bits hanging off it, which I also never wear and I'm wearing flats with it....which I normally wouldn't be caught dead in. But it doesn't always seem to matter how wrong the outfit may be for the occasion or how dirty the yellow piece of yarn worn knotted around our wrist in remembrance of someone gets, what matters is the faith we put in these objects. They are our talismans. They hold the power with which we endue them. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157); color: #262626; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">I stack the too-big turquoise and silver ring that I haven't gotten around to getting sized under the spiraling silver spoon ring with the scarab beetle carved into the end of the handle. The turquoise my father spent far too much money on at a souvenir shop near the Grand Canyon and the spoon ring is the first gift my husband bought me when we began dating. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">Next, I slip on the silver Michael Kors watch outfitted with the date, a timer, and another circle I haven't quite figured out how to use. It gives a satisfactory snap as I close the clasp and immediately slides towards my elbow. It has been sized, but I can't seem to get it small enough for my abnormally tiny wrists. This piece was a Christmas gift from my brother, and I can't help thinking that he gave me the gift of order. Dad's gift was of beauty, color, creativity and even space. And, Todd's gift, though incredibly beautiful, it more than anything promotes stability....keeps the beauty, color and creativity in place. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">On my right hand, I place another spoon ring...this one copper also bought at the Grand Canyon, but paid for by me. I add a couple of copper bracelets to my right wrist. Gifts from my mother who doesn't wear jewelry but purchases it for me. The copper warms me and glows sunshine and strength which my Vitamin D deficient body and soul so desperately longs for. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">The final talisman I wear also slides on to my right wrist....a grown up multi-colored friendship looking bracelet I found at Farmer's Market and purchase for myself and two good friends. I look down at it, praying that it holds together firmly with the double knot I've tied and that this friendship which has caught me unaware will be tighter for the three of us and not just two. I think of all these things as I dress for the day. These pieces, they are my sacred things...guarding against fear, intimidation, and despair, just ordinary objects till I told them what they were.</span></span></span>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-59252432088931512322012-07-23T18:13:00.002-05:002012-07-23T18:13:48.633-05:00Introspection from the InteriorI'm a city girl to the core. I love the energy that flows up through the soles of my boots as I take brisk steps on the bustling streets teeming with people. I sense my own "otherness" yet know completely that I am a significant piece of this puzzle. Inspiration is forever revealing itself in the sea of faces that envelope me. Every crumbling facade, tarnished brass door knocker, and tower of steel and brick call to the magic in me.
Yet the power of the Interior speaks to me, as I stare up at the tiny summer waterfalls that cascade down the crevices of the massive mountains. Here, I recognize my place in the universe. These swollen rivers, dignified Spruce, and endless stately mountain ranges have no need of me. They stare down Mother Nature and me with their vast systems of roots that continue to perpetuate their story. Someone called it their "indifference" but I think rather they are teaching me what it means to thrive.
Two halves of the whole, I think I need them both. To contemplate the world around me. To know myself. To recognize the next step, or where this part of the journey ends. Elemental and terrestrial.V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-48601113143485617452012-07-21T21:25:00.000-05:002013-01-18T21:25:43.715-06:00Alaska - Haiku for Mindylight, suffused with you<br />
glisten strong conqueror of<br />
rock and mud and meV in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-25718116475037354902012-07-20T21:20:00.000-05:002013-01-18T21:23:57.987-06:00Fierce SunlightI have to relax in Scottsdale the sun shines so fiercely it yells at my anxieties...pay attention to me...there is no time for you...only I exist. I see the large manhole cover the steam rising from its tortured lid and think of it as a gateway to other more magical worlds.<br />
<br />
My body absorbs the heat and calls for more. Between the sun and the desert winds, my soul is wicked dry of anxiety and fears.<br />
<br />
To live in a place where the door is turquoise because I made it so...V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-28602009976138487862011-08-04T11:25:00.000-05:002011-08-04T11:25:20.939-05:00marry a man who will feed you....<div class="MsoNormal">My dears, this is for you.<span> </span>Marry a man who will feed you.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I visited him for the first time the day after Thanksgiving.<span> </span>Upon my arrival there was an awkward but tight hug, as we were “just friends” and both a little nervous about where this was or wasn’t going.<span> </span>Next on the agenda was the Hollidazzle Parade.<span> </span>Friends, family, random Facebook stalkers, if you have never been privy to the glories of the Beloit Hollidazzle parade, you have never truly lived.<span> </span>People turn out in 28<sup>o </sup>weather in their best jeans and hoodies holding their non-gloved small children to do the Wave while the high school cast of <i>The Grinch</i> stroll by shivering and throwing candy canes.<span> </span>It was a slightly different than what I was accustomed to, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.<span> </span>And then he said magical words, “I know the perfect place for dinner.”<span> </span>I braced myself for the long cold walk back to the car, but I found he had turned around to the building behind us and was holding the door open for me.<span> </span>If Trader Joe’s and Luke’s Diner from <i>Gilmore Girls </i>had a love child, Bushel and Peck’s would be it.<span> </span>Since I have a deep and abiding love for both of those places, I was enthralled.<span> </span>A fresh, organic meal with two of his wonderful friends, who have since become my friends too, fed my stomach and my soul.<span> </span>There was life outside of my little world, and it was good.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Two days later, as I was getting ready to head off to Milwaukee with a couple of the girls, he showed up with a Styrofoam box of piping hot whole grain cinnamon apple pancakes from Bushel and Peck’s.<span> </span>“I know you can’t really eat fast food, and I wanted to make sure you ate.”<span> </span>If my heart had not already been his, that moment would have clenched it. <span> </span>This beautiful man wanted to take care of me, no one besides my family and some good friends had ever given the appearance of wanting to do that. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The first time he cooked for me was dark wintery Wisconsin evening and his creation was a perfectly square sunny yellow omelet with a tiny bit of cheese sprinkled on top.<span> </span>Placing it precisely in the center of the plate, he presented it to me.<span> </span>This was the first time a man had asked if he could cook me dinner.<span> </span>Though it lacked salt and pepper (in his nervousness he had forgotten them), it was one of the best meals I had ever eaten. <span> </span>And somehow, my heart was lighter…happier.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">February came and he was struggling with the idea that his future was finally here, whether he was ready for it or not.<span> </span>I was tired of the how he loved to take care of me and spend time with me, yet didn’t want to commit.<span> </span>I decide to take matters in my own hands….my dears, do NOT try this at home.<span> </span>In my love-addled brain I had come to the conclusion that if I kissed him it would be awful and I would finally be able to move on.<span> </span>So, one day I got all dressed up, tried to make myself as beautiful as possible and I met up with him.<span> </span>“Look,” I said nervously, “we can’t continue on this way.<span> </span>I’m going to kiss you and it will be awful and then I’ll be able to move on…..and you don’t have a say in this matter.”<span> </span>So I kissed him, I mean REALLY kissed him, and he kissed me back.<span> </span>It was intense and when I pulled back I expected him to say something about the fact that it WASN’T an awful kiss!<span> </span>“Did that help?” he asked instead anddddddddddddddd I wanted to punch him.<span> </span>I didn’t know what to say.<span> </span>I had been sure that this would help me move on, instead it cemented the fact that I was completely and totally in love with him.<span> </span>“Oh, yeah….sure,” I said, not meaning a single word.<span> </span>“I can still come over and cook pasta for you tonight, right?” he asked worriedly.<span> </span>What is a girl to do?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Easter arrived and things came to a head with a simple invitation for Easter Dinner.<span> </span>He had taken me out for breakfast for my birthday the week before.<span> </span>He had also accompanied me to dinner with my parents in Schaumburg one evening, which had ended in an awkward and confusing hug.<span> </span>Two days later, he asked for space.<span> </span>Anddddddd, I gave it to him.<span> </span>I didn’t answer his calls or texts.<span> </span>I ignored him at church and ate with others or alone.<span> </span>After three days of this alone time, it was time for our Easter production and I knew I would see him.<span> </span>However, I promised myself that I would find others to talk to and spend time with.<span> </span>After the performance was over, he approached me.<span> </span>“I’d like you to come to Easter dinner with me at my family’s house.”<span> </span>I stared at him in confusion.<span> </span>“We need to talk first,” I said, “Its final decision time.”<span> </span>And then came the conversation that would change both of our lives forever.<span> </span>I knew that if need be I could move on, eventually my heart would heal, but I could not stay in this half state of spending all my time and emotion with him.<span> </span>I knew I couldn’t allow my stomach, heart, and soul to continue to be fed by this man if there wasn’t a future for us.<span> </span>Turns out, ignoring him was the best thing I could have done.<span> </span>“These past three days have been awful,” he said looking completely worn out, “I realized that you’re the person I always want to talk to….to be able to tell what happened in my day and find out how your day went.<span> </span>You’re the one I want to spend my time with.<span> </span>And, I want to be able to sit down to breakfast with you for the rest of my life.<span> </span>I love you.”<span> </span>I had always said I wanted to be best friends with someone and then one day they would realize they wanted to spend the rest of their life with me.<span> </span>The process was a lot more painful than I thought it would be, but the end result was exactly what I wanted.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Two months later, on a sticky June evening, we found ourselves back at Bushel and Peck’s.<span> </span>It was the annual Art Show weekend and he was one of the featured artists.<span> </span>I had ran around all day making business cards, helping set up the table and the artwork, and trying to figure out the best pricing for each item.<span> </span>He seemed a little more quiet than usual, but I put it down to exhaustion and nervousness at how his art would be received.<span> </span>Many of our friends came by to check things out and we talked to a multitude of characters that Beloit is excellent at attracting.<span> </span>The night wore on and the place began to fill up.<span> </span>All the regulars were there, Mike the teddy bear-like foodie, Jim the lonely photographer, and many others.<span> </span>Live music was playing and then Greg, the emcee, stepped up to the mike to inform the crowd that the band would be taking a short break.<span> </span>Recorded music began to play in the background.<span> </span>I had just begun explaining a few business ideas that had come up, when I noticed that he was shaking.<span> </span>Beads of sweat stuck out on his forehead and his face was paler than I had ever seen it.<span> </span>“Are you okay,” I asked, “You look like you’re going to throw up!<span> </span>Hey, this is that song you played for me the other day….the one about <i>The Question</i>…..OOOOHhhh,” I said finally understanding.<span> </span>He got down on his knees, reached in his pocket and pulled out one of those little plastic containers from gumball machines that hold tiny metal rings.<span> </span>It was very familiar to me because every time we ate at Domenico’s I would finish the meal by asking for a quarter in order to purchase one.<span> </span>Then, nervously with tears in his eyes he asked.<span> </span>And my heart sang.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Three months later, I sat in our honeymoon suite.<span> </span>He had run out to find a dessert for me that didn’t contain chocolate even though I had told him repeatedly it wasn’t a big deal.<span> </span>“I want you to have something you can enjoy,” he had said.<span> </span>Finally after what seemed like an eternity of waiting….<i>Click, </i>the door went and there he stood, arms piled high with boxes.<span> </span>“I wanted you to have choices,” he said smiling sheepishly at my wide eyes.<span> </span>I melted.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">This Saturday, it will be a year since we promised to love each other forever.<span> </span>There have been gut wrenchingly painful moments and perfect, irreplaceably happy times.<span> </span>We have begun to learn how to really love each other on another level that neither of us were very aware of.<span> </span>Daily we teach each other about life and love and how to deal with small victories and sometimes catastrophic losses.<span> </span>He has taught me how to truly feed another person. <span> </span>Sometimes I cook and sometime he cooks, but every day we work at feeding one another’s minds, hearts, and souls.<span> </span>Though I have much wisdom to learn, I do believe wholeheartedly that if you will marry a man who will feed you and whom you desire to do the same for your hearts will never hunger for something other. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-31639799859665358282011-03-18T11:59:00.000-05:002011-03-18T11:59:56.948-05:00Pain and Beauty<div class="MsoNormal">Sometimes letting go of the past is a just a matter of speaking the words that give shape to the picture in your mind causing your heart pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last night I had a moment of memory, one of those beautiful perfect suspensions of time that is crystalline in its clearness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet it brought with it such overwhelming sadness that shocked me with its depth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The very core of me seemed to mourn at this precious experience and the passing of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since marriage is a constant teacher on the necessity of communication, I knew I needed to share this with my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, it seemed so profoundly personal, that I found difficulty even describing it out loud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laid there in bed and replayed over and over bringing with it other less than happy times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pain of my heart grew until finally I decided to share.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I began haltingly to try and describe it, he wrapped his arms around me and heard me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It was just…I just felt like….” I said as tears poured down my face, unable to speak that defining word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You felt like…” and he said it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spoke that title that had caused fear and anguish to fill me and the dam broke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yeeees….” I wailed between sobs which rocked my body and as the tears fell, I felt peace fill me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just looking the past in the face and being genuine about pain and beauty can heal bits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One more tiny piece back in its place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One more step toward wholeness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I can look back on that jeweled moment now and smile. </span>It’s a journey.</div>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-58547778438415675022011-02-24T11:31:00.000-06:002011-02-24T11:31:09.281-06:00Sliver of LightYa know when you step out side on a sunny day and out of nowhere a ginormous rain cloud crashes open right above your head. You stumble a couple steps trying to find shelter from the torrential downpour and instead trip into a massive pothole that has managed in those few seconds to fill up with mud and bugs and more water. You are directly in the middle of the storm and not only does every bone in your body hurt from the fall into the hole, but you're also filled with disgust at the muck and mire now covering your once clean body. And where is everyone, what had seemed before to be a street teeming with life is now deserted and there isn't a helping hand to be found. The longer you try the climb out of this pit the angrier and more frustrated you become. <div><br />
</div><div>Life was going perfectly and now you're hurt, alone, dirty, in distress and questioning the pointlessness of this detour. The question WHY rages in your mind as you reach out for something to cling to...is there a lesson here? Am I learning some important skill that will enable me to play the role God has designed for me? Every thing seemed okay...I was on the right track, right? I followed Your voice even when others didn't understand. I left what I knew to do Your bidding. Doing everything I was supposed to, making all the right decisions, being the perfect little soldier, so what the heck is going on? God, where are you? Are you there? Are you listening? DO you even care anymore? I have dedicated every part of me to you since I was a child I've done everything you asked, right? Why do I lay here broken now? So far from that "strong faith" I once thought I had.....and then the voice comes finally, speaking words so ancient and so healing...so full of depth and only a bit of understanding....Hosea 6:1&2 <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"> "Come, let us return to the L</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><span class="textSC" style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 1.5em; text-transform: uppercase;">ORD</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;">He has torn us to pieces;</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"> now he will heal us.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;">He has injured us;</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"> now he will bandage our wounds.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;">2</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"> In just a short time he will restore us,</span></span></b></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"> so that we may live in his presence."</span></span></b></i></span></span></span></b></i></span></span></span></b></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><br />
</span></span></b></i></span></span></span></b></i></span></span></span></b></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">.....and for now along with a new task He's given me, they're enough.</span></span></span></b></i></span></span></span></b></i></span></span></span></b></i></div></div>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-31004736434266159132011-01-28T12:36:00.002-06:002011-01-28T12:36:34.350-06:00the Ink<div class="MsoNormal">I’ve always thought of my life as a Story and yes, that is a capital S.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, this is not just any old short story anthology sold on the bargain shelf at Borders next to the generic <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pasta</i> cookbook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My imagination has, instead, placed each experience in its own chapter of what in the science fiction world can only be described as a space opera; a saga of such grand importance that it spans not only generations of time but also the vastness of space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every conversation, business introduction, failed relationship, letter written, so essential to the whole of it, that even a passing glance with a stranger is given weight when retold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course I have considered myself to be the main character of said narrative and from a young age understood that my ability to perform flawlessly in the heroic role required of me was the only thing that kept the around me world from spinning off into oblivion. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fast forward to present day and here I sit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I now am married to the perfect male character, so gentle and true yet beautiful and passionate that my readers can’t help but be enamored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The retelling of our serendipitous meeting and surprising courtship has their romantic hearts quivering with contentment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the Story has now taken a most unsatisfying turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My body has once again been taken over by a myriad of physical issues and I await yet another doctor’s appointment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of the various symptoms, I’ve been stuck in the house for what seems like an eternity and yet in reality has only been a couple of months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This brilliant adventure has ground to a halt and I find I’m living a Story that even I wouldn’t want to read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I find myself struck with the thought that not only is there the distinct possibility that I’m not the Heroine and I may not even be the Sidekick or wise Teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if I’m only the Bag Lady that is vaguely mentioned in the second chapter as the main character heads off to another crucial encounter?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This shock to my egocentric system has caused fear and anger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where is this Author anyway?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even through the critical dramatic moments that have caused my character to grow I have trusted Him, recognizing that it was all for the good of the Story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet this plot gimmick makes no sense, the Story appears to be standing still.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This isn’t one of those tales that skip over years with the change of a paragraph or turn of the page.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And still there are no answers, only the clichéd endings that cannot satisfy such an elaborate epic even if I’m not central to the resolution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">For the moment I sit, trying to think of a way to tunnel through the paragraphs to the next “good part” and yet it doesn’t appear to be up to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it was in my hands, I would have moved on from this topic to fulfilling Dreams a couple pages if not a chapter ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can only come to the conclusion that the Author’s hands hold the pen and I am only the ink with which He writes.</div>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-87633591065703312332011-01-19T17:22:00.001-06:002011-01-27T18:16:23.088-06:00Living Room<p class="MsoNormal">The weak winter sunlight nudges against the blinds, firmly shut so as only to allow faded illuminations.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Though slightly dim, the saffron walls infuse the tiny space with cozy warmth that penetrates the January chill that seems to seep through layers of wool, cotton, soft tissue, and bone all the way to the soul.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Classic white molding with circular flourishes frame the room and lead the viewer back through time to a softer era.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The décor itself is a hodge-podge of eccentricity enchanting and surprising the eye with unexpected delicacies.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>An oversized dark chocolate colored steamer trunk, complete with shiny metal hinges peaking through a layer of years and rust, stands in for a traditional coffee table.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The top of it holds dusty carved wooden bowls which each cradle a different treasure.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In one stands the tiny iron Eiffel Tower, brought back from the City of Lights, now towering over a growing collection of tarnished coins.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Another holds a matching ancient iron and copper incense burner topped with a conquistador style hat with a fleur de lis cut out on each side to allow the hazy perfumed smoke to exit.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Balanced in the very center of the trunk on the Dominican landscape of a cigar box is the bowl which holds a most cherished possession, a miniature replica of the goddess, Nike.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Carved from a single piece of alabaster, the feeling of the wind swirling the yards of her garment and rustling her wings as she prepares to take her victorious flight encompasses you. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Piled high on wooden tables, cream leather benches, even covering some of the mocha painted wooden floor are books of every shape, color, and topic.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The black and white checkerboard version of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">The Real Mother Goose</i> sits on top of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">The Book of Classic French Pastries</i> while <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">The Complete Works of Voltaire</i> balances precariously on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Ireland from the Air</i> and Kate Spade’s kelly colored <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Style.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></i>Stacks of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Vogue</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Fast Company</i> intermingled with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Food Network</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Wired</i> spill out of a lopsided dark woven basket and into a haphazard pile beneath its table. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Deep wine and golden threaded pillows the size of couch seat cushions lounge intermittently among the feathery throws and down comforters that grace the arms of the couch.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Overlooking this scene is a large painting that foamy green color copper turns when it tarnishes, splashed with fluid streaks of crayon box sienna brown.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And on the thick wooden door ornamented with a large brass doorknob, complete with a skeleton key lock, hangs a peacock wreath strewn with shiny plum and cerulean balls accompanied by a sparkling rhinestone peeking out from behind the turquoise eye of one misbehaving feather.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Dangling off to one side cheekily is a metallic trinket, daring its reader with a single word upon entering this marvelous room, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">dream</b>.</p>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-34941636605290793062010-09-20T17:21:00.000-05:002011-01-27T17:22:23.311-06:00Glorious Addiction<p class="MsoNormal">I have to admit the smell of a book is one of my most favorite things in the universe.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I still remember wondering through our giant public library as a child and finding that perfect book.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Climbing up into the car with my newly checked out book in my hand, I couldn’t wait to get home to open it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Garage door would open, the seatbelt would snap off, and I’d be shooting through the door and onto the couch.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I would pull open the cover and the smell of paper and adventure overwhelmed my senses.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It is not just the smell that captured me, but also the feel of a new book, never been read, in my hands.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The story that awaits me, promising never before imagined excitement, a new tale.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The truth is, there is nothing new under the sun.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Every story is just a re-telling of the same ancient content that has been handed down since early days of mankind.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Yet, the setting and the adjectives, the unexpected twists and turns of a re-imagined hero’s tale, is enough to send a quiver of expectation down my waiting spine.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It doesn’t seem to matter that I can predict who the killer is, when the heroine will end up with the right man, or what the thief actually stole when prying in the secret desk drawer.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It simply doesn’t matter because, yes, it is true, ladies and gentlemen, I’m a bookaholic.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Let me rephrase that.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“Hello, I’m Melissa, and I’m addicted to books.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s been twenty-three minutes since my last sniff/touch/read.”</p>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-42419717713163114172010-03-27T10:43:00.001-05:002010-03-28T15:30:43.711-05:00Truth is more fascinating than fiction...<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"That little smirk…" as he spoke his discomfort was palpable.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"Annoying, huh" she replied…the smirk deepening with the merriment she was experiencing from the distraught appearance of his beautiful face. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Softly, so softly, the words she least expected were spoken, delicately, as if the sound of them could cause the façade of nonchalance to which he clung to fracture.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"I love it."</span></span></span></span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Admitting is the first step.</span></span></p>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-23801669317002822202010-03-25T22:47:00.000-05:002010-03-25T22:49:38.239-05:00Love: Fairy Dust and Land MinesLove is battlefield. Full of hidden land mines. Shark infested waters when you can't swim and all you have are floaties. Love is a many splendored thing. Pink fairy dust, and poetry. An entire pint of Godiva Dark Chocolate Raspberry Truffle ice cream. Love is dishes washed, dinner cooked, stories listened to that would be incredibly boring if it weren't for the enticing eyes of the storyteller. Love is forgiving of flaws, embracing of reality, and a demolition expert when it comes to destroying jealousy that claws its way up from the pit of your stomach. Love gives time without expectation of acknowledgement or a thank you card. It doesn't come with a manual or podcast and even if there are instructions on ehow.com they probably aren't accurate. Love is multi-dimensional yet simple. It's never having to self-edit, yet speaking truth with self-control. Love is scarier than any of the "Saw" movies, Cher's face, or the thought of being married to Kevin Federline. More joyous than a perfect ancient tree so massive arms don't fit around it. Full of peace deeper than the first step taken into the ocean as face is tilted to steal sunlight. Love is a place. I'm there.V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-25599582213294034002010-03-22T13:04:00.000-05:002010-03-23T13:57:19.415-05:00Add Friend...There is something mysterious and fascinating about getting letters from someone you don't really know...something almost intimate about a stranger stealing time out of their day to think of you and spend expensive bits of time and energy to share thoughts, dreams, ideas -asking questions...and then the feeling when you discover you're actually anticipating the next letter and you open your inbox to find it waiting for you...a whole new world to read. Thrilling. Surprising. Unexpected, yet comfortableV in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-31076660526874601692010-03-19T23:50:00.001-05:002010-03-19T23:50:54.144-05:0053511<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">There are moments when it creeps up under your skin…you know that damp grayness that hangs around after the universe has decided that three days of sunshine in Wisconsin is far too many for this time of year.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It tries to steal into your soul and dissolve the joyous emotions of Spring and potential and love and….hope.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The horrific abomination which is the scent flowing from Frito Lay Corp envelopes you as well and causes the inevitable vow to yourself to never again eat<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>a potato chip for as long as you shall live.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Uneasy restlessness digs its talons into your center and your stomach knots deeply.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>breathe in and then out, trying to cleanse the dirty sock feeling that lingers inside.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Looking up at the clouds you think, "clouds are momentary.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The stuff they are made of dissolves in sunlight."<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And the unbearable load that weighed on your heart begins to lighten...<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-14140460086480318772010-03-18T22:22:00.002-05:002010-03-18T22:30:44.936-05:00Night in Paris via text...<p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">9:13 - Me:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Night in Paris, the Eiffel Tower lit up, café on a small street, where an old man with a saxophone sits on a curb.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Me and you.</p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">9:16/9:18 - Him:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Under the striped overhang, café double glass doors still open, reflecting shimmery lines from the small shop across the street, while strong rich smells ease / out of the café with the passing of the waitress, the fresh batch of dough for morning cooking at the next shop over, hinting raw vapors of fine flours and grains.</p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">9:21 - Me:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Crusty French baguettes wrapped in a crisp white linen with rich thick soft butter on a small china plate are placed on the table by a gaston, named Louis.</p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">9:31 - Me:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He winks at us as he passes with a knowing look.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The cool night air laces fingers with the scents flowing from the heated perfectly lit kitchen of the café.</p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">10:08: - Him:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The barista looks at a coworker as she says with a mischievous smile to suggest to him, “those two, you can see it all over them,” and continues her duties. </p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">10:10 - Him:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The walk down from the art district over the cobblestones that still line the back alleys, hiding the best shops, well worth the difficulty of you in heels.</p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">10:15 - Me:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And the tiny little bookshop tucked away in a corner showcases a multitude of delights that enrapture me, you wait patiently as I dig through literary treasures.</p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">10:21 - Him:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The pages turn, scents pass with every page as though not relating just the story, but also its long twisting history of the hands, houses, and cities its passed.</p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">10:23 - Me:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Minutes turn into an hour, than two and at the clearing of the owner’s throat, we two treasure seekers are brought back to reality that its closing time.</p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">10:27 - Him:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Sorry, have to pause, out to eat, ttys.</p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">10:27 - Me: Paris and I can wait for you.</p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">11:35/11:37/11:42 - Him:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Closing time, a special treat to witness in itself, giving us an excuse to walk the streets, holding each other close as the cold nips at the heels, making our / way back to the streets still alive with action, though late now, the world is still open for anything, yet the call of the quieter park bench calls out more /than anything else, a bench at the end of the stair fountains, or close to the Triumph Arch, next to something that offers beauty with ambient street lights.</p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">11:38 - Me:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Let’s go.</p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt">11:54 - Me:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Now, she says, hoping that the word picture being drawn will be an eventual reality.</p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt"> </p> <p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt"> </p>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-21207465940321795372010-03-18T17:59:00.000-05:002010-03-18T18:00:49.510-05:00Beloit<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; ">I have fallen head over heels, totally completely, sparkly eyed in love with this city. When I moved here in January it was just a tiny infatuation, like the one with the man with dancing eyes that you see behind the counter at B and P's. Recognition, a smile that reaches through the eyes, and causes you to pause and catch your breath for just a moment at the possibilities. You look forward to the daily intersection of your worlds, but accept the briefness of its passing with grace. What I feel now that spring is here is indefinitely more complex, deeper, messier, complicated, and oh so refreshing.<br /><br />Beauty resides here, tucked amongst the tall Victorians, sturdy Italian villas, and run-down mansions, reminiscent of houses painted by your imagination from the pages of a Nancy Drew novel, the old hardback green editions with the illustrations on the front that cause a longing for strawberry-blonde hair and a predilection for fighting crime. It isn't a hidden beauty but rather an overlooked one. Hopelessness has clouded over it for many years and tried to blot out the bits of light pinpricking the darkness.<br /><br />Hope has returned. It is here to stay. It's the twisted loveliness of the leafless branches reaching towards God right next to the clean creaminess of the First Congregational Church, which isn't actually the FIRST since the original burnt down. The sculpture of the iron birds taking flight off the pedestal tucked away next to a non-descript house on Harrison beckon, "There is truth here. Life."<br /><br />The pale spring sunset fading over the eaves of an rather ungracefully aging grey shingled house, the window propped open brings surprise delight to passer-by (namely me) as the thick juicy sounds of jazz, a well-played saxophone pours out. I want to stand on that corner and listen for hours. To sit down, cross-legged in the middle of the cracked sidewalk that leads directly to Beloit College and drink it in. It feeds my soul as I press pause on the iPod and bounce. Left foot , right foot. Waiting for the cars to pass, so I can cross the street. I want to press pause on this moment. I want the rest of the world, the people in their cars, the ones with the sad-eyes, the broken, the restless, the bored, the just plain tired to experience this moment. To feel what I feel.<br /><br />Welcome to Beloit. God lives here. So do I.</span>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-76929721429489848152009-09-16T17:25:00.000-05:002011-01-27T19:22:46.830-06:00Picasso's<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Picasso's is what every indie coffee shop aspires to be....exposed brick and hardwood floors are the natural canvas for the latest showcased artwork and pithy sayings that cover the walls. Huge burlap coffee bags have been sliced, hemmed, and painted, then hung as curtains to shade the massive floor to ceiling windows. Sandwiches are full of healthy goodness and toasted to absolute perfection and served to me with a dill pickle and banana, as opposed to Sun chips. The essential mix of coffeehouse music plays over the speakers...Colbie, John, Norah, and even that song that AT&T has procured for their commercials...that one about "I think that possibly, maybe, I'm falling for you..." that makes you want to change your phone service in hopes that a beautiful man traveling across Europe will be thinking of you and realize that he is falling crazy desperately in love with you. I'm curled up with my laptop in the back top tier in a tall chair with a real porcelain cup and saucer full of soy chai and Norah singing "Come away with me...." when I feel the stress twisted up in my neck and shoulders relax and I find that I'm taking deep slow breaths, and the little tiny cappuccino spoon sitting sweetly on the saucer turns out to be an ingenious way to scoop the fluffy clouds of foam that rest in the bottom of the mug into my mouth....a most excellent day. Can't help but think of you as I take my rest from the craziness ensuing about me....</span>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-64951724006036852242009-07-25T17:28:00.000-05:002011-01-27T17:28:58.001-06:00Musings<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Ever step out of the house into the silvery light of the moon when its just a shadow of its former whole self? Cool almost damp air presses in on your skin refreshing you even as it leaves a misty trail along your neck. And the stars, polished to sparkling points, brilliantly arranged in their exhibition of celestial artwork, stand out starkly against a perfectly clear velvet darkness. You breathe in deeply, absorbing the magnificence of it all, until it becomes a part of your soul...along with a profound feeling of being at rest in the midst of the spinning chaos called the 'verse. Recognition dawns...your voice, albeit a small one, is a necessary part of the cosmic Love Story playing out all around. You have a role to fill that against the beauty of this incredible night seems so irrelevant...but is the exact antithesis...in Truth you are an intricately created being whose actions affect all those within your orbit. You take in the moon, the air, the stars, and wild untame-able joy is unleashed in the inner most part of you as the decision is made to....pursue with passion the Big Dream. After all, you remind yourself, life is too short and the days are to long for you to be ordinary....</span>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-844054713553195962009-06-20T16:29:00.000-05:002011-01-27T16:30:07.489-06:00Little Deaths<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; ">"You told yourself you would accept the decision of fate. But you lost your nerve when you discovered what this would require of you. Then you realized how attached you still were to the world which had made you what you were, but which you would now have to leave behind. It felt like an amputation, a "little death," and you even listened to those voices which insinuated you were deceiving yourself out of ambition. You will have to give up EVERYTHING, why, then, weep at this little death? Take it to you - quickly - with a smile die this death, and become free to go further - one with your task, whole in your duty of the moment." - Markings, Dag Hammarskojld, 1957<br /><br />Little deaths may not be ultimate death, but they are still crazy painful deaths. They often overwhelm us. They are the release of our favorite hiding places from life and turning toward THE Hiding Place. They are the dismissal of "less wild" lovers in favor of running to the One and Only who can console and fulfill our hearts.They are the reluctant surrender of our cherished dreams into the hands of the One who created us to realize them. And they hurt, they sting, the separation of these things that have so long boundaried our lives is difficult beyond words. However, if we are moving toward the Dream that God placed in us, we will have to give up everything at some point. The "little deaths" are just to teach us how to trust Him and to make us realize that when it comes to necessity, He is all we need.<br /><br />God, show us how to "die the little deaths" without argument or complaint. Teach us to be willing to accept your instruction and shaping.</span>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-63574739286470792242009-06-16T16:28:00.000-05:002011-01-27T16:29:34.897-06:00Starting Places<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; ">We all have many starting points on our journey. About two years ago, I began a prayer journal. Looking back over these entries, I see the continuity of the events that God is using to shape me and how each of them were a "starting place" for a specific time of shaping that God was beginning in me. If you find yourself at one of these starting places in your own journey, start with this prayer. "God, show me how to process this place that you have brought me to. I don't know where to begin. I don't even know what tools I need to ensure that I get to the end point that you desire for me. I don't know how to do this. I need you to show me the way. Please bring the resources and the understanding that I need in your impeccable timing. I'm embarking on this journey with you, the Love of my heart. I trust that whatever place you bring me too, you will give me the strength to stand there, regardless of those surrounding me who may not understand." At a pivotal moment in my life, I prayed a similar prayer. Mine went like this:<br /><br /><i>3/28/09<br />Show me how to process these events in my life in the correct way - through the lens of your eternal purpose not through the short sighted pain that overwhelms me. Give me peace in this time of turmoil and show me how to rest in your arms, rather than picking up the bricks and mortar to rebuild the walls that have been torn down. Your wisdom is infinite - mend, renew, and rebuild this broken, battered, and bloodied heart of mine in the way that you desire.</i><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">He did.</span></span></div>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-42226601652162484312009-06-14T16:27:00.000-05:002011-01-27T16:28:29.013-06:00Yield Signs<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; ">Sometimes you have the perfect thing to say and then you say it and then your computer deletes it. So, you get angry for a few minutes and say things like "Well, it must not have been meant to be" and "Maybe, I was the only one who was supposed to learn something new from it" and then you think "Okay, so I'll start again and this time it will be more coherent and someone else may actually understand what I'm trying to say." Round II :)<br /><br />God has brought me through a "wasteland" -- a time of being broken open and spilled out in order to clean out some of the mess that I had shoved down inside me for so long. It was brutal, full of moments when I was unsure I would even survive, and speaking plainly, hell. But, here I stand, on the other side of that desert place. I have been reveling in life for the past month -- so excited about the things God has spoken to me. Ready to pursue the Big Dream that He created me for. I've heard His voice, "Change is coming...better get ready." And, I've listened...walking by faith or rather acting by faith. And now here I stand, waiting for Him to open that door. And in the midst of all this excitement I wake up to find, I'm still broken. There are pieces of me hidden away in my darkest corners that are festering there...broken shards that have been pushed down so deep I forgot they were there. Bits that if left alone and never addressed will cause untold problems in accomplishing God's plan for me. So, I cry out from this new place of semi-wholeness, "Shine Your light on my darkness...use Your love to push it out, to heal and reshape, to show me how to let go and release myself from the prison of the past. I'm ready, ready to follow You wherever, ready to for whenever, whatever, whoever, but if You still have more to do in me, to change in me, to make me ready to fulfill Your will, then I'm ready for that too. Continue opening my eyes to the things that need changing in me. I will pursue You and Your heart and believe that in the process I will learn about my own."</span>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-9328784324314812132009-06-13T16:25:00.000-05:002011-01-27T16:27:51.357-06:00Jump...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; "><h3 class="module_subtitle" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 14px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; vertical-align: baseline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; font-size: 14px; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); line-height: 22px;">"Someday I'll fly</span></h3><h3 class="module_subtitle" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 14px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; vertical-align: baseline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; font-size: 14px; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); line-height: 22px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; font-size: 14px; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); ">Someday I'll soar</span></h3><h3 class="module_subtitle" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 14px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; vertical-align: baseline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; font-size: 14px; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); ">Someday I'll be so much more</span></h3><div class="write_module" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 14px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); line-height: 21px; ">Cause I'm bigger than my body gives me credit for...."<br /><br />In the immortal words of our quintessential modern day philosopher, John Mayer, my soul speaks. But I find that it is saying, "No, not someday....now, now is the time for me to spread my still growing completely unstable wings." It is finally time to BE. Every day is a decision, the decision, really. I get to decide; today will be a good day full of laughter, music, magic. No matter what I'm handed, what circumstances arise, I GET to decide. I'm free to decide. My dreams that had become so limited to only what could occur within the tiny structure of who I thought I had to be have now split (though painfully) wide open. I can and will be who and what I am supposed to be. Which is really anything. Even EVERYTHING. And I get to take this amazing leap of the cliff with Creator God, the true Lover of my heart, clasping my hand in His. I look below at the achingly beautiful cold turquoise water below, close my eyes, take a deep breath of the fresh air, feel the tender yet strong reassuring grip of His fingers around mine, smile a little crazily, and......jump. Today I'll fly. Today I'll soar. Today I'll be so much more...</div></span>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-32038917912187635502009-06-11T12:45:00.001-05:002011-01-27T16:25:08.390-06:00Living the Adventure<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; ">"The doorway to your future and destiny is only big enough for you to walk through, not you and your past" - Danny Gokey<br /><br />Shedding the past and its sharp claws that have entangled themselves in your soul is actually easier that what it sounds. The reason so many people can't move forward is not because their past won't allow them, its because they are to afraid to release their past. Whether they have desired it or not, it has become the thing that defines them. "I react in this way to this specific situation because of what happened in this past relationship." I've said similiar words many times especially in the months leading up to the complete and utter shattering of my world. I was figuratively curled up in the fetal position, eyes wide with fear, repeating my mantra of "Please don't hurt me, please don't break me, I'm so fragile." Fear tainted every moment of every beautiful day. It was only when I came to the end of myself...where I had faced every horrifying fear and found myself still there....still shockingly able to dream</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" > that I realized this was no way to live. I've always prided myself on being strong, I would always be "okay". But now I'm tired of being just okay...I was made for more. Not to live a boring ordinary "safe" life. I'm done with that. I'm leaping off into the unknown, walking through the giant lipstick red door to the next stage of my life with only the Lover of my soul by my side. In my massive future, there is no room for fear or my past....</span></span></div>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9068908908066338058.post-49360398474561175012009-02-28T16:41:00.000-06:002011-01-27T16:42:37.080-06:00The Other Side of Sleep<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; color: rgb(68, 68, 68); "><div class="articleText" style="line-height: 18px; margin-top: 15px; "><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">oh, King of the Land of Tuesday</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">oh, Emperor of Everlands</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">(far beyond the light of stars)</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; "> </p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">the deep abyss of</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">your eyes</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">flips my heart directly out of</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">it's tiny pocket</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">flinging it higher than</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">steel and glass castles rise</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; "> </p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">craving</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">your warm palm</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">finger kissing finger before embracing</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">savoring</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">the spiciness of you</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">needing</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">a perpetual drink of you</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">that swirls and spins me</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">backways sidewards</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">only</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">breathlessness remains</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; "> </p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">your secret smile</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">leaves behind</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">the reflections of a wish</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">another rendezvous</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">in the wonderplace</p><p style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; ">on the other side of sleep</p><div><br /></div></div></span>V in the Cityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05237538955988161397noreply@blogger.com0