welcome, oh one in between..
welcome, today..
welcome, infant this year!

 it is a rainy life:
…each droplet dancing it's unique ballet to one, mended rhythm
before falling
falling
falling
unto it's beginning, a birthday: assured life.

community: 
"i" am nothing special.  but we, WE are something spectacular…

a break. an escape route. a vacation. a place to breathe. i needed to get away. i didn't know what else to do, so i did the closest i could get to checking myself into a mental institution and to save myself from permanently checking out emotionally: i rented the Jacuzzi suite at the DoubleTree hotel.

it was a little more than out of my price range. i also wasn't opposed to another place of escape or type outlet for whatever it is i'm going through- i just knew i needed to GO and DoubleTree is the first thing that popped up on google.

i was leaving for a multitude of reasons, two of the biggest being i was tired of people asking what is wrong and if i am okay (because I AM OKAY), and i didn't want my sister to see my cry, yet i couldn't seem to stop.

just pulling out of my residence with my car windows down, away from my possessions, internet, and television, the tightness around my throat began to loosen.

shortly after checking into the DoubleTree front desk, i took a deep breath and stuck my keycard into the door of room 205.

exhale. i was greeted by friendly soothing colors: light blues, browns and turquoise. the first room had a couch, television and armchair, a table and small kitchenette area. i dropped my bags and ran into the second room, jumping on the giant bed oblivious to the nearby open window, or anyone who might witness this outburst. after a few minutes of jumping, feeling light and free, i collapsed face first into the down pillows, and cried out, "God! i just want someone to share THIS with…" 'THIS' carrying a heavy load of meaning with it, yet directed towards no one in particular.

the rest of the night passed as planned: without plan. i ate my Mexican take-out, watched brainless television shows, took a nap in the arm chair, drank tea, took a long Jacuzzi bath, and wrote a letter to my best friend on every sheet of paper in the complimentary DoubleTree notepad.

as i tucked myself into bed at 3 am, a piece of paper fell from the head of the bed: an order form for room service breakfast. i figured what the heck, and checked coffee, cranberry juice, eggs, bacon and hashbrowns with a nine o'clock delivery preference, off on the list before placing the card outside the door.

the next morning i awoke to a nine o'clock knock upon the door. i thanked the room service and took the breakfast tray back to my bed. it was the day before thanksgiving and i had planned to spend the day of turkey with one of my best friends, who is about to deploy to Iraq, in whatever manner she wanted to spend the holiday. i knew she was flying in from vegas this day, and called her to see if she wanted me to reserve the DoubleTree suite for a second night. she said yes.

after my dear friend arrived, the next twenty-four hour passed through our souls like a flu through the body: painful yet detoxifying. we talked, shared, cried, laughed, remembered, forgot, did cartwheels, sang, drank wine, ate chocolate, jumped on the bed, and passed out before we turned into pumpkins.

thanksgiving morning woke us a little before nine a.m. the price of a suite brings with it a late check-out hour, and we spent the next few hours leisurely getting dressed and packing up our lives. my friend was in a bit of a rush to get on the road to her next destination, but before she left we decided to stop and smell the roses, in the form of a letter. on a single sheet of notebook paper, we each filled up one side. the content was things we were grateful for, things that are important to us, and a little life lesson thrown in. we left the finished letter unsigned, and addressed as so: Dear someone who needs a kind word, or just anyone…

when the letter was finished, we rode the elevator to the 4^th floor and in letting it go, left a piece of ourselves. as my dear friend and i parted ways, i felt the sting of farewell with the promise of i'll be seeing you.

now i sit here, at nine p.m. on thanksgiving day, listening to a song by the doves; a song that speaks to the memory of home that resides inside. as i listen to the music, my own words echo in the background, "God! i just want someone to share THIS with.." my mind flashes across the faces of the wonderful 'someones' that surround me in life, bringing with it an abrupt end to my pity party and a warm rush of gratitude: i've dranken no eggnog nor eaten any turkey today, but i am well aware of my full cup.

THANK YOU, GOD. THANK YOU, FOR IT ALL.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

outdoors, along the town's riverwalk, the last orchestra concert of the season began. 

music filled the air. 
i imagined the sound waves bouncing off the water, like skipping stones and then back upwards, finally resting upon the crowd's thirsty ears.  drowning in a blissful ocean of melody was i, when that surreal moment found me. 

i first saw her limping from a distance.  a beautiful child that should not be limping.  her silhouette hunched to one side and distorted.  half of her head was shaved.  the music faded slightly.

i wanted to stare.  i wanted to hug her.  i wanted to know what happened.  and i wanted God to heal her.  i said a silent prayer and tried not to obviously look as to not be rude...
but i couldn't keep my heart from staring.

i watched as she made her way up the bleachers, finally seating herself by an older man and two younger boys, presumably her father and brothers.  her resting place, also just happened to be across the stairwell from where we were sitting. 

finally, the chance for connection arrived, as i caught her sneaking curious glances towards the group i was with- friends from church, family really, and Steph's puppy, Arnold. 

i smiled and waved at her.  she returned my wave before lowering her glace, only to be caught looking again a few moments later. 

i was surprised when she mouthed the words, "Can I... ?" and raised one hand, finger extended towards Arnold, the remaining hand gesturing towards herself as if to say, 'bring him here!"

so bring him there i did. 
after introducing Arnold, and myself, she told me her name was Kelli.  i don't think her father was too happy, but i couldn't not see this child, so i stayed.  her brothers gathered round to say an excited hello to Arnold as well. 

i was barefoot, as i prefer, and Kelli asked me where my shoes were.  i pointed to my flip flops across the bleachers, by where my friends sat. 

she told me she likes those shoes, but she can't wear them.   she examined my face for a moment, before earnestly adding "they hurt my feet." 

the emotional stirring those few words and the look in her eye revealed was much more then i was prepared for-
a near wordless confession to the physical pain and suffering this child had endured.

i felt a stab in my chest.  my eyes fell upon the orchestra, as i strangely realized they were still playing music- but i could no longer make out any sound.  the only noise i could hear, was the beating of my own heart and the flood of silent questions that were sighing to burst free.

i wasn't being nosy, but i wanted her to know she was cared about, and this was the only way I could hug her- with my small conversation and fleeting companionship.   "are you okay now?" i asked...

she told me she thought she was.  after undergoeing six surgeries, the flip flops would not stay on her feet anymore.  she had a brain tumor that kept coming back.  but it should be gone now.

i could only utter again, "are you okay now?" 
"yes", and a genuine smile was her reply. 

i wanted to learn more.  to know if she believed in God or in miracles- but i didn't want to step on her father's toes. 
instead, i smiled back, "God is taking good care of you, huh?."  "yes," she replied, shooting me a serious side glance.

the levy broke and the music returned as we parted ways.
i made my way back to my family on the other side of the stairs, forever changed by the new sister i had made that day.

the get-away plan.
the idea to go for a walk presented itself three-fold.
-one part impossible scavenger hunt: the cure for loneliness; which i couldn't even be sure i was suffering from in the first place.
-part two: my thoughts had gone mad, firing like bullets at their own will.  their ricochet off the brick walls skimmed the fine hair of my skin, throwing me into panic attacks at the realization: i AM ALIVE. 
-last part: i needed some fresh air!

goodbye bulleTs.
i scrolled through my phone-book, looking for someone to walk with me.  there were people i knew would go, but i didn't want to talk or answer questions.  i didn't want a shoulder to cry one, nor to be one for someone else.  i just wanted to breathe.  and to not be alone.

as i seriously tossed around the idea of not going at all, my nephew, angel, streaked across the living room, extremely amused by the helium balloon he was chasing.  i laughed out loud (proper use of LOL) knowing i had found the perfect date!  i got angel dressed in his very cool see no evil, speak no evil, see no evil t-shirt, threw the stroller in my trunk and we were on our way!

enRoUte.
the cell phone rang on the short car ride downtown.  i was surprised to see it was my friend in texas, Kim.   even more surprised when Kim told me there was someone who wanted to talk to me:  Amanda.  it had been years.

memories awoke from slumber: late nights of three 'ladies' sipping cheap wine from dixie cups… genuine laughter, tears and friendship.  a lump arose in my throat as i realized how blessed i am to have the people in my life that i do.  even if it's long distance.  even if we don't keep in touch as often as we'd like.  these people are special.
i knew at that moment, loneliness was not the ailment i suffered from. 

the walk.
funny how a small southern town, nearly deserted on a friday night can seem a place of bright lights and action to a mind that had been in a temporary state of lockdown.
pushing my weight forward against angel's stroller, i found myself lost in this place.
step. 
step. 
breathe. 

as i passed the shop windows, reminiscent of an old southern town, mannequins stared longingly after my departing reflection.  i imagined this place in 1920s.  the 1950s.  yesterday.  

i looked down, only to find a maze of leaves imprinted in the cement sidewalk below my feet.  proof of their existence forever etched long ago by wet cement and a gust of wind.

moving forward, my sight focused on the monotony of lines in the pavement.  following the ladder of cracks in the ground, i noticed the light spilling out onto the ground from one of the shops.  i felt my lips rise to a grin, as i realized it was the used bookstore.

la librería
we entered the brightly lit shop.  the smell of mothballs and ink blended into a musk that hung in the air.  one of those smells that is not necessarily good, but evokes memories of enchanting places that never existed and fictional love affairs that have somehow broken and mended you in the same chapter.

the music of yann tiersen melted with the chatter of people passing by the open door outside and floated dreamily down the book aisles.  titles begged to be picked up and taken home.  i thought of the growing stack of unfinished books on my dresser, and finally settled on 'the sorrow of war' by bao ninh and a book about trains for angel.

teaTime.
my nephew was growing cranky and hungry, so eating became destination next.  creeping upon 900 in the night, most restaurants were starting to take their last orders.  i walked past a tapas place where my friend works, and passed him by on the street, talking to customers in outdoor seating.  we would have stayed there and chatted, but tea and quiet were what i was seeking, not an overflow seat in a crowded restaurant. 

elephant café has remained a favorite of mine, as it's not quite on the main strip of town, and serves lady gray tea.  we were one of the last customers of the evening, and requested a seat outside so we could watch the cars and people pass-by.  diners who came out to enjoy a fag, engaged my nephew in a game of peek-a-boo; or there was the one pot-bellied man with a melodious whistle in between drags.

cHeck please.
the waiter was young, and spoke of his fiancé and daughter as he cleared away our plates and dropped the check.  i packed all of our books and belongings back into the stroller until all that remained on the table was my empty rocks glass with a slice of lemon perched on it's side. 

i stared at that lemon and my mind traveled to a recent lunch with Vianca, the intensity of our conversation and shared life stories.  i thought of how she told me she often eats the lemon out of her water at the end of a meal.  it is refreshing.  exhilarating. 

what did i have to lose?  i bit into the lemon.  "refreshing indeed", i said to angel, fighting the urge to pucker.  the sour remained pleasantly alive on my lips for hours to follow.

hello kIsseS.
not until after the walk back to the car, after the ride home, and after getting settled back into the apartment, did the end to a perfect night arrive.

we played and we wrestled.  we listened to music and spun around until we were dizzy and fell onto the carpet in fits of giggles (angel fell, i humored).  we laughed as if we had lost our minds, yet it came from a free and sincere place. 
i wondered whether i  was mad to believe i had found freedom in this world. 

the end to my perfect friday night date came with a toddler's slobbery kiss goodnight… and the realization that there really was no end at all.
the kisses and endless curiosity of a child that are never goodbye, but always hello aren't something that time or age or life can take away from you.

the thirty minute car ride home from work was like a vacation.
it felt as if it could last forever.  in a good way.
Coldplay Clocks and an orchestral version of Amazing Grace spilled out of the speakers
again
and again...
i wondered, intently about the question being blared into my consciousness:
"am i part of the cure or am i part of the disease?"

human affliction is a bitch.
harsh. 
true.

i held my breath, as to let my heart catch beat with the music.
i warred with the desire to just close my eyes and let the air fill my lungs.
Forty winks until infinity.

all this time, i'd thought i was taking the long way home.

this drive, those words, these dreams.
the gifts, can be seen everywhere; i marvel at their beauty and simplicity. 
yet natural instincts harass my mind:
complicate them...
you don't deserve them...
i'm impatient.  i'm antsy. 
and i'm easily drawn to the giant billboards of Life that line the streets of this world.

restraint has become a means of survival; yet what keeps me sober most is the    
spontaneity of truth:
there is something permanent.  it's called home.  and it lives in your heart.

Sometimes i sit for hours, with deep pains in my chest and think.  i wonder if there's such a thing as a universal heart donor.  Perhaps i meet the qualifications?

Dawn's farewell kiss to night. 
Increasingly aware of the human sensation, i force myself to roll down my car windows on the coolest mornings.  The tiny hairs on my arms stand to attention; playing king of the mountain upon my skin.  Crisp air enters my lungs, bringing me life. 

Music always sounds better on the radio… why is that? 

Sun spills across my afternoon route home.
When passing stopped cars on the left, telephone poles, quick passing signs, i instinctively go to draw my arm in from the open car window.  i'm reminded of one of my mother's childhood warnings about the repercussions of this:  lost limbs.  i laugh to myself and against my mind's will, stretch my arm to it's limit.

In it's most simplistic state.  Feeling is exhilarating. 

Unfinished thoughts, a day's growth. 
i find myself often lost in a place in a place where planes and birds are of the same proportion and shooting stars fly across my plastered bedroom ceiling. 
Of great poets and dreamers, is this the place they speak of:  the rabbit hole, the looking glass, the secret garden?  Perhaps where the sidewalk ends is really where we begin?  Perhaps, somewhere over the rainbow, there's a boy sitting on a roof. 

Perhaps, under a giant sky of mystery, he's dreaming too?

Dusk and the final surrender.
In a world of great thinkers and conspiracy theorists,  beauty and peace might just be too simple that it becomes profound in this place.  So profound, we spend lives and millenniums in search of it… wage wars and write books of it… yet so few ever find it.

Words for everything don't exist.   

 Story behind the story: there was a time in my life, where i stopped reading books- for years.  Why, i can't recall.  but I had forgotten how much a book, a handful or words, another person's perspective- could open doors, inspire and even change a life.  All underlined entries are taken from some of my favorite books.  books and minds that have changed me and challenged me, and the inspiration for my inspiration. 

for those who can't be here today... and for those who can:

some days, it's all i can do to put one foot in front of the next.  just breathe, i tell myself.  you're not dying.  relax.  trust. 

some days i live for Iain.  His life that he can't live.  or John Paul.  Big Tommy.  or Jesse and William.  the chance they didn't have.  most days i live for my sisters.  to show them there's a life they CAN live.  all days i live for Him.