Whitman & Flowers

From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary

lines,

Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,

Listening to others, considering well what they say,

Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,

Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds

that would hold me.

I inhale great draughts of space,

The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are

mine.

I am larger, better than I thought,

I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me,

I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good

to me I would do the same to you,

I will recruit for myself and you as I go,

I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,

I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,

Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,

Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless

me.

- Walt Whitman "Song of the Open Road"

(Most of what I am ever going to say, Whitman already said best. I firmly believe this.)

Some New Leaves

Today begins a new season. Minus one dear guest-roomie. Later this week begins Autumn, which has become- despite my slow-to-change mind, my favorite season. And the beginning of a renewed romance with activity, vegetables, and risk-taking toward a healthier me. What better way to start than with a salad, I ask.

Romaine, radicchio, and homemade croutons! No, the picture is not professional-quality. It is a bit blurry. Yes, it is still digital. Yes, I aspire to more, but for now... let's face it. My pictures are less about the "art" of it, and more about giving you a peek into my life and the simple things I find most beautiful in it. And if that isn't art, then I don't know what is. So... more pictures! And really, in the immortal words of Alice, what is the use of a [blog] without pictures or conversation?

There are many things I sit back and watch others do and think, "oh my". Today is the day I start doing some of those things.

So... here's to the under-loved salad. Here's to not paying too much for the little things (like croûtons) that with a small amount of extra time and love become so much more. (Made out of stale bread no less.) And most of all... here's to saying the things and doing the deeds that I find beautiful but am too afraid to try.

Dear Heart, Don't Break

I'd be lying if I didn't admit, these last few weeks have been rather rocky. There've been some rather high points, but numerous doubtings and misgivings and one rather large fight with the love of my life. Arguably the first large fight since our wedding a year and a half ago. The classic, first-big-fight-as-a-married-couple. The one that shakes you both and makes you afraid that it was all just a good dream.

Of course, it was over money matters. Which of the scariest fights aren't? Okay, some. But really it was classic. Suffice it to say, my husband had been lying to me about a sizable debt. I had given him the money weeks ago to settle it, but he had accidentally spent it on other things. Not wanting to alarm me he decided to lie to me and try to get a second job to cover it.

The problem with me is I just try to forget and cover up major scary things instead of confronting them. So this blog post is sort of a self-therapy session for myself, forgive me. If I can write this out the hope is, it will be more real and also seem less frightening.

I have large trust issues. I think most people do to some end. Being lied to for a whole month by the one person I never really doubted has me quite flattened. Not to mention, I am no stranger to debt but it is usually the kind I see coming and plan around. It seems stupid that all the well-earned trust between us seems cheapened by this one little mistake. Oh heart, why do you falter so eagerly?

This comes also at a time of great change inside me. I notice I am sharper around the edges these days. My mind is keener and I catch a hint of gravity in my every word and deed. There is some feeling of maturity sneaking up on me. A renewed desperation over the shortness of my stay here. Even my language, it would seem, has tended toward an unusual formal bend. I stand as a stranger to my rapidly evolving heart and mind. (Did I note an extra dose of the dramatic?)

I have long been content to play on my pan pipes and drink me some wine. Now a cool autumn breeze blows and I feel like the fabled grasshopper trying to catch up. But, to what and to what end?

And all the while my heart aches at the change in the air. It creaks and sputters in confusion at all this newness. Not just newness in me, but in those around me. People are always changing, but right now I am acutely aware and concerned with that change. Some changes, as always, I will not like. I already do not like everything, though. This too was once a change.

I want to feel good about people leaving. People growing further apart for the sake of adventure. But. What I wouldn't give to live near some of them again. What I wouldn't give for a safe-house we could all run back to between adventures and swap tales and wine. Or even to have some sense that it hadn't all been a dream, that I was as important to them as they were to me. That they won't just disappear, we won't just lose each other in the changes.

Do I ever really let people know what I hold in my heart for them? Hardly.