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 |   Reflections and ruminations from a modern day Alice - Life is Wonderland |
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Reflections and ruminations from a modern day Alice - Life is Wonderland  Welcome to the place were I chronicle my own falls down dark holes and adventures chasing white rabbits! Come on In, Take a Bite, You Never Know What You May Find... "Curiouser and curiouser." Alice in Wonderland    |
| I received a trigger this am that I'm not updating my blog lately, which translates into the fact that I'm not writing...anything. That's not holding up my end of the bargain for keeping the craft fresh. Fortunately some playful banter with a few old college friends provided some inspiration for me.... The smell of the clove cigarette drifted across the wall of her senses awaking a long ago memory that slumbered like a dragon in the dark recesses of her mind. As she turned the corner, Elson saw the smoker, a scrawny teen perched on a ratty skateboard, a cellular phone tucked between his head and shoulder. As Elson passed by the teen, she inhaled the sweet smoke and the memory floated up with a clarity that was almost painful. Maya had loved clove cigarettes. She had purchased them in flat metal boxes and smoked the long, dark sticks with the dedication of a true addict. She wore their scent like a perfume and after kissing her, Elson’s tongue and lips would often be left with their tell-tale tingle. The memory of those kisses made Elson’s stomach roll and she trapped an involuntary moan in the back of her throat. Pomegrantes, those had been Maya’s other vice. She would buy them by the bushel then polish them off, one by one, her fingers prying free bloody seed after bloody seed and then sucking them into her heart-shaped mouth. The damp, eviscerated rinds had a bitter smell that, as much as the cloves, became a part of her signature scent. Clove cigarettes and pomegrantes, two things that could spirit her off to a time when her entire world was ruled by an olive-skinned pixie with twitching hazel pools. Maya had been her awakening and her ruin in barely the space of one calendar year. The magnetism and passion between them made the implosion of their relationship all the more devastating. When it all came crashing down, it left Elson wanting and wounded in a way she never really recovered from. |
| The sky for most of the day has been a dark mass of motion. There is something unsettling in the humid air that hints of violent clashes soon to come. As much as I enjoy the sudden fury of a summer thunderstorm, it can still put me on edge, particularly when it feels as if a storm of a different kind is churning in my heart. Life is stressful, in small and unexpected ways. There are times when every conversation feels like a catalyst and even the most menial actions can ignite an argument. It seems that we can not help crushing eggshells under our heels or that the words seems destined to boom between us like swollen thunderheads. |
| Your eyes always turn the softest shade of blue after you cry. I could get used to a color like that. Today, the three inches that separate us might as well be miles and there are too many hours in the long, dark night to go without an accidental touch. My pretty prose will not be salve for wounds ripped quick. Once upon a time someone whispered a fairytale in my ear and it had sounded like a song. Today it just sounds like noise. |
| Jaden is feeling better. There is still a slight rumbling sound when she breathes but her eyes are bright and her laughter and smiles are again effortless and joyful. She bounced around the house this morning leaving a narrow swath of destruction in her wake. She kicked over the dog's food bowl, scattering pieces across the floor, tossed my neatly folded laundry all around the living room, crushed a graham cracker under her shoe in the kitchen and left a trail of cherry puffs down the walkway. I followed after her, amazed by her energy and enchanted by her gleeful giggle. There was a moment this morning, when I was so captivated by the beauty in her little face, that the world stopped for me. There was only the morning light and the perfection of her tiny profile, still so much her father's yet still so exceptionally unique at the same time. If she would let me, I'd love to cup her little face in my hands and just study her, every inch, so I could memorize her features before they change again, before she grows up - growing ever closer to the girl, the teenager, the woman she will one day become. When Fatih and I got married, we played Van Morrison's "Crazy Love" for our dance with our wedding party. I always loved the song. I always wanted to be loved like that, have a love that was that powerful, consuming, unconditional. Dancing with my new husband, I had felt like I had found it at last. This morning, that song came on the radio and as I listened, I found a whole new meaning in it, a new connection in my life. That feeling I get with Jaden, the desire to hold time still and just watch her, take her all in until my heart aches with the impossible fullness of it...that's my Crazy Love. She is the thing that "brightens up my day", "takes away my troubles, takes away my grief" The heavens really do seem to "open up every time she smiles" and I feel as if I could, without any effort at all, "hear her heartbeat for a thousand miles", that same sweet sound that pulsed inside me for nine months. But nothing is more true about this Crazy Love, than the fact that her very existence makes me complete in a way I never imagined was possible... "Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me whole, yes it makes me mellow down into my soul.." |
| After a week of almost solid rain, a soft morning sun crept through the cracks in the blinds and spilled over the Shepard sleeping on the end of their bed. He had heard the old dog sneak in during the night, felt her settle down by his feet. Maxie knew the bed was off limits but it had been storming and her fear had over-ridden her natural desire to obey. Nicholas hadn't the heart to chase her out and had moved his body to accommodate the gentle interloper. He sat up now and stretched, startling Maxie, who raise her big ears in alarm. "You're fine lady," Nicholas whispered, reaching down and petting her affectionately. Exonerated, she dropped back down into her slumber. Moira's side of the bed was empty. He glanced at the bedside clock. 7:15am, a bit late for a run. They had made a habit of sleeping in on Sunday. He sat up and listened, she wasn't in the shower either. Puzzled, Nicholas dragged himself up, shrugged into his bathrobe and padded out of the bedroom to look for his wife. The kitchen was empty, the coffee pot was dry and there no tell-tale pulsing lights to indicate someone had begun brewing a pot. He resisted the urge to call out for her, knowing she had to be somewhere in their tiny home. It took him a few more seconds to notice the glass slider to the deck was open. A feeling of uneasiness washed over him and for a moment, he stood still, unwilling to move past the door. "Moira?" He called, the mere tone of his voice summoning Maxie who immediately fell in beside him. When Nicholas stepped through and onto the deck, the dog went with him. They made it halfway across the wide deck before they saw her, lying face down in the kidney-shaped pool, the red fabric of her nightgown looking like an ugly stain on the still surface of the water. |
| Rain clouds rolled across a sky that only moments before was a brilliant shade of blue. Rose listened, and thought she could hear the distant rumbles of thunder. A summer storm always stirred something inside her, a strange and restless ache that she usually managed to repress with seventy hour work weeks and boxes of cheap white wine. The rain had started by the time she was crossing the open lot toward her car, swollen droplets soaking through the collar of her suit jacket and running in icy rivulets down the back of her neck. Cursing, Rose dropped into the front seat and punched the key into the ignition. The old sedan coughed to life. Rose sank back into the driver's seat and waited for the car to warm up, the ache in her gut growing more insistent as the downpour raged. Suddenly, a frantic pounding startled and she sat up, peering through the curtain of water where a familiar face pressed against the driver's window. |
| Jaden was five months old the first time Mother's Day became a holiday for me. Last year I was still struggling to find balance, not at home yet in my new skin but still floating on the euphoria of having a new baby. Looking back, the day seemed uneventful and remote. This year I looked forward to a day I really felt like I earned. I was excited to welcome the recognition and appreciation of mothering a growing toddler, managing a full-time job, trying to cook and keep a clean house often at the expense of any real "me" time. The day did not disappoint. I received surprise bouquets from both Fatih and my father and the fresh blooms filled the house with the smell of Spring. We had a beautifully graceful morning, waking to bright sunlight and Jaden's sleepy smiles. My husband graciously took the dogs out, a chore that usually falls to me and even entertained Jaden so I could break away and enjoy a little "me" time. The morning slipped smoothly by and soon we were on our way to brunch. We met my mother and Rick at Stonecroft, a lovely country inn/restaurant in Ledyard. Jaden behaved almost the entire time and her playful smiles were the perfect compliment to great food and the live classical guitar. We even managed to sneak in a decent new family picture before leaving the grounds. Without a real nap, I expected Jaden to be monstrous but she passed the rest of the afternoon with grins and giggles and we made it home with her smile and her outfit still intact. She went down early after dinner without a whimper and I sank into the couch with my mint chocolate chip ice cream feeling very content. It had been a very good day. The inscription on my mother's day card had said all the wonderful things I had hoped for, all the things I had aspired too. Maybe I didn't get it right every day but I was getting it right often enough for the two most important people in my life to notice. Sometimes, I just want to know someone notices. It is not an easy job, being a mother, but there isn't anything that's as rewarding. Every sleepless moment is replaced by other waking moments full of joy and wonderment. Every tearful breakdown is outweighed by the laughter and delight of watching our beautiful daughter bloom and grow. |
| I made the mistake of staying up last night to watch Hereafter, a movie directed by Clint Eastwood and staring Matt Damon as a reluctant medium and tells the story of three lives altered by death and their ties to the hereafter. It was one of those films that tells a story in such an understated manner that you are forced to ponder the subtleties well after the credits roll. I laid awake in the dark hours after, thinking about life after death and what I really believed. Do I believe there are those among us who, like Matt Damon's character, have the ability to attain psychic connection with the dead? While the idea comforts me, do I really believe men like Jonathan Edwards can in fact, pass along messages from those who have passed? As a student of science, I demand proof but as a woman of faith, I am willing to accept that true mediums exist. There is a scene when the young male character who has lost his twin in a tragic accident, goes in search of a way to connect with his brother. He meets a range of people who claim to be able to put him in touch with his departed, only to find that most are either charlatans and cheats or well-intentioned people who posses no true ability. Meanwhile, Matt Damon's character is trying only to lead a normal life, one not dictated by the demands of the grieving or burdened by the messages their dead wish to impart. There is a line where he insists his ability is "not a gift but a curse" and I can see how much that might be true. Think about it, nearly everyone has lost someone we love and if we knew of someone who could step in and forge a reconnection, a conduit to that person, no matter how brief, wouldn't we seek them out? Wouldn't we demand an audience with our dead? In fact, the need for us to stay connected to our loves ones even in death is the reason why there are so many out there claiming to have the ability to deliver just that. It is a demand-driven industry, one with no down season and no target demographic, it is a universal need. While I missed those that have passed on terribly and I want to believe that some bonds are too strong to be separated by the wall of death - I also hope that what lies beyond that wall is far more rewarding and compelling than hanging onto the outskirts of this life. I believe our souls are always connected to those that have passed but that is not a connection that is supposed to remain open like a telephone line we can access at will. I think there is supposed to be a point when we are left behind to live the lives we are supposed to have and that it is the promise of being able to connect with our loved ones again in the hereafter, that keeps us believing, keeps us questioning, that gives us hope. I think it is what keeps us honest and fragile and beautifully human. |
| Last night I had a strange dream. It was very brief, lasting what seemed like only a minute or two but it was so visually stunning, so cinematic, that the details have stayed with me all day. I was walking through a mountain range with snow-tipped peaks of what looked like chiseled pewter. The path below my feet, which were barefoot, was a soft, orange suede. The air was warm, not what you would expect to encounter while traveling through the mountains. There was a low lying fog, thinly ringed around the peaks and pooling in thicker patches between them. The oddest part was that all through this mountain range there were pockets where the ground leveled out and here what looked like shaggy white and orange walruses collected in small groups. Every so often, I would stop, along with a few of my unknown companions, and watch these creamsicle-colored beasts - feeling euphoric and excited by the discovery. I had the pressing urge to arrive somewhere and was acutely disappointed to find the path lead ended at the edge of a cliff. I watched the other travelers continue on, jumping down into the water and stroking out into the openness beyond. I felt acutely disappointed that I had come a long way for nothing and woke up shortly after I had turned back in the direction from which I had come. It was fantastic...beautiful really. And I have no idea what it might have meant. |
| On day two of an obnoxious stomach bug I learned Every Night Erotica had picked up one of my newer pieces, "Pillow Talk" for publication. It was a surprise because I had admittedly not spent enough time editing and polishing what was a saucy, yet predictable little tale about infidelity and revenge. It was published on April 10th, and to my delight, has been rated the highest by the subscribers/readers. It seems the classic tale of twisted revenge never ceases to attract people, no matter how clearly you can see it all coming. I may have been considerably more excited had I not felt my body was revolting against me, or if the pay had been more but publishing creds are publishing creds and they all have value when you are an unknown entity. I'm just impressed I could turn out anything publishable lately, let alone in this genre considering I have never felt so decidely unerotic in my entire life! |
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