Humanity

falling leaves, right?

One of the things i’ve learned from working with farmers, besides the fact that I’m not actually cut out to be an ACTUAL farmer, is that the seasons actually do follow that whole ‘official first day of… ‘ thing. As in, the weather will still be more warm than chilly until the end of the month (22nd?) and the cold will settle in afterwards. And then, the week that ‘winter’ starts, its going to be actually fucking cold.

And I’m not a pumpkin spice person, so I could probably not give less of a shit about all that. I’ll take the warm days and the cool nights forever and ever, amen.

Its been a while, and its ‘fall’ according to kids being back in school and my outdoor laboring jobs slowing down. I’m turning back to working from home, writing, editing, and the like. Well, i’m going to try damn hard. I’m pretty damn fearful I won’t make enough money and it’s still not enough to force me into some other line of work. not yet.

I’m good otherwise. I have the wood I need to get through the cold spell. Though, most of it is in the front yard, waiting to be split and THAT is waiting on me to go buy an ax. I want to memorialize this action somehow, like dress up in a loose and flowy gown with sparkles before I walk into the big box hardware store and purchase my ax. It is a once in a lifetime thing, and it should be special.

Maybe I’ll carry a lit candle.

I should bring my kids with me. Because I want them to have more core memories of me than just ‘lady who does laundry’ and ‘the boring house’ and ‘why can’t we go out to dinner?’ …. yes, i jest. we have a good time, they are sto damn funny. but goddamn. i do see this as a negative of the two-home family. the comparisons are nonstop, and i really do not do well when held up against ‘the weekend house’ and the laisse-faire. and i think i’ve misspelled that. and guess what? i’m not going to search it up or correct it. because i’d much rather have someone contact me about it and engage in a conversation. how bout that?

i’ve got to go soon, my new leaves in flip still include egg washing chores, and i’m off to wash dozens and dozens of them. While i wash, i do a lot of thinking about ‘dispatches from the cooped-up’. I do crack myself up.

See what I did there?

oh my friends, expect more from me. go on. do it.

love love,

kate

Humanity

Airport Life.

There are a million and a half things to wonder about when you arrive at an airport two to three hours early(yes, thank you to my father, not the tsa, for this trait).

Do stewardesses have to take turns and work the desks?

Why is it so much easier for men to talk to each other? Or is it just me, that i can’t talk to strangers? I don’t think its me? Is it the shared subjects, sports, weather, man stuff?

There could be some good done in the world if we were all forced to hang out in airports once in a while. I mean, the humanity. Yes, too, the priviledge and the money-spent hanging in invisible numbers above each person’s head.

But the tremendous variety in people. Saw a daughter guiding her mother through the security checkpoints. mom, with no english, tiny and wrapped in a beautiful sari. The guards were kind and accomodating, while still doing their job.

Why would anyone ever do dip? Why? And why after the first time, a second time? Whats that about? You love the drool feeling?

Astonishing.

Couples of color separated by a guard, for a ’check’. The resigned, the terror right below that, of anything that could happen.

I’m watching moms chase kids, some with partners, some organized to the very tips of their toes, some just kind of winging it with the help of a partner. ALthough, honestly, I bet there is no ’winging it’ in airports anymore. Maybe not even in parenting. The times, they have changed.

Whats up with bringing dogs?

I sit here and miss my kids. Even while i am completely aware of how i’ve settled into another stage in my life, just like that. I’m walking through an airport and into a trip just for myself, just like that.

There is something big in it, in this small trip.

The work is still there, the flurry of childcare and job restructure, it is there.

Why haven’t i felt like a grownup til now? I’m freaking 48, you know. I wonder what the real name for this feeling is. I miss my kids, yes, but they’re fine. its all fine. and i am here for a long weekend, in this surreal travel spot.

Airport life. It would be amazing to stay. So glad I am not.
Humanity

up and down.

i woke up with a headache in the middle of the night. took some medicine and went back to bed, only to have the stupidest dream ever with so many little beautiful bittersweet details; I woke up angry and depressed about my inability to move away from the old stuff. The house i was in belonged to my ex. I’m not sure why i was there, but it ended with my screaming about him having a beautiful life because mine was sacrificed for it. I wasn’t even screaming at him, I was just screaming.

hooowee. thats fun. Fantastic way to wake up. Still have the damn headache too.

but, the house was beautiful, so much so… and full of beautiful things. I loved it, there were characters all over the place, beautiful people, outfit changes. it was a franny and zooey thing, a gatsby thing, a period piece absolutely resonating with the energy of my beloved mother-in-law. Opulence, decadence, lavishness. In every corner was something you could get lost in. Tiny meditation spots, tapestry, corners and nooks and books and things of metal and mahogany. Candlelight and natural light and colors and layer upon layer of art, all of it. Embroidery, Noel, so much embroidery. There were winding stairs and linens and conversations all around. It was her, in house form.

Her son was there in all his glory, the outfit changes were his. It was sour for me, all in all, and I think i’m upset about the sourness. I wish I could go back and ignore the man for all the wonder of the place. I look around my house that I love, and I love it, and it is far too sprawling to have that level of decoration. It would eat me alive. But I miss and crave my mother-in-law. Her love for her people was lavish, and decadent. And I miss that. The entire dream may have been much more about grief than I initially thought. Her son just the clown of old costumes.

And I am alive.

I have not been sacrificed in a failed marriage. I am alive, and some might say I am thriving. Working my ass off in doubtful causes, but splendidly spilling over with life. . . Am i the set designer or am I a player? I don’t really know honestly. I certainly spend a lot of time accommodating changes in the script.

But that’s the game, isn’t it? Everything always changes, because people don’t stay on script. ever. neither does anything else. not the animals, the weather, the patterns of the clouds, nothing. There is no script, and we’re all strutting and fretting. (well, i’m fretting. )

ANYHOW.

Here’s to finding more opulence in our lives, finding the beauty that already surrounds us, and not being afraid of clowns.

RAH!!

-lovelove,

me.

Believe me. It’s everywhere.
Humanity

self-effacing humor.

oh god, i am so good at it. making less of myself, in a very funny way. always so funny. if there weren’t funny there, you might get concerned, and god knows, i don’t want any attention.

i was pawing through the junk corner to find a notebook to make a grocery list. It used to be just a junk drawer, but things have spread.

I found one, and in flipping to an empty page, i found some old writings, from back when i had time and a brain that was fluid and beautiful. there is no date but subject matter declares it to be several years old.

i’m going to quote from my own self here, there is no way to humbly quote oneself, so give me a pass today. context: i must’ve had an ugly/tense exchange with the ex via text, and was having the ugly/tense reaction privately in ink. It is not funny, as private doesn’t need that bit, does it? but I do love the imagery. Here it is:

Damnit. the time flows already, that wine river of regret. these things i want to be finished with, the list goes on and murders me firsthand with little to no hesitation.

the ex of course, i want to be done, to have no time in which i still have to cajole and negotiate with his ego.

to be done with doubt, to be done and finished and finally grown up, to be finished. my impatience is legion, doubts sway my progress and i fold and fold and fold in, like origami layered, no swan but a tank of layers, a solid block of onion skin. seems so doubt enters when i am self-effacing.

self-effacing. what a term. a thinning one does to oneself and how transparent will i allow myself to become as i go?

me.

Right? it seems an opposition, this tank of folding and self-effacing humor, but it isn’t… its just another game of hiding. Ooh boy, yes.

Humanity

A list: what surrounds me

I’m not doing ‘well-considered’ lists today. this is off the cuff and fast. Ready?

  1. I’ve got an old agatha christie book at my feet, bought it at a savers, for its cool-ass cover. it was a bit of a trip to read, the way in which hercule poirot moves through the world and I can’t do anything but picture steve martin trying to say ‘hamburger’ again and again. (Funerals are Fatal)
  2. i’ve got my feet curled up by my side, the cotton socks and the dirty jeans a sign of how little i care for myself. I had to put on dirty jeans today, because i haven’t done my own laundry in a long damn time. good thing i work in dirt. that’s all I’m saying.
  3. i was part of a writing group this weekend and I’m glad about that. It felt really nice and nourishing to have people around my kitchen table, and i really do love people, all my introversion aside.
  4. people are truly fascinating, even when they are boring or totally fucked up. (noone was totally fucked up this weekend, i swear, or boring)
  5. we’re all pretty fucked up. there’s so much goddamned fear out there. its tough to get through the day without bumping into someone’s fear and anger.
  6. i’ve got an empty package of ‘candy kittens’, mango flavored gummies that I ate the other day. the wrapper still here. I want to say i used it as a bookmark but i think i might be lying and its just trash lying around my house.
  7. a mug of tepid coffee, reheated to try and get the chill out of my bones. this spring weather shit can just kiss my ass. its ‘almost’ worse than winter. my toes get wet, its windy, raw. the mess is seething. the world is burgeoning. i suppose its the slick gross of afterbirth or something majestic.
  8. fuck. i’m cold.
  9. i am swaddled in cotton, tee shirt, sweatshirt with hood pulled up and over my hat. i am sure i look ridiculous.
  10. I’ve got dinner in the crockpot and it already smells boring and mushy, and i cannot tell you how much i hate not looking forward to eating. maybe i’ll buy us a dozen donuts for dinner.
  11. my daughter’s tablet is here, and the pile of books next to me is topped by the scissors, which are literally never where they should be. today, they are here. They are a pair of willful bastards.
  12. I’m being held up by the pink velvet sofa. And I will always and forever be happy that I picked the two of them up off the side of the road, even if the cat is mauling them mercilessly. bitch. but i love them. hold me, sofa, hold me.

love you. thats my story and yes, i am sticking to it.

-lovelove