I Love You, Still

This was supposed to post on Valentine's day. I don't know what happened. 2nd in a series.

Because you’re a fighter

a wriggly wiggler

a bed-time breaker

and a soccer ball kicker

I love you because you love rock and roll

porcelain dolls

eating at the Mecca

and anything on which to climb, even me

I love you for the way you move with a destination in mind

play your music

kiss those little fingers

and belch like a sailor

for the tomatoes, the potatoes, the corn

and because after all these years

you talk about that venison steak dinner, still

I love you because you love hats

like me

and pet rats, um, not me

for late night chats

for the sharp sound of 'crack' every time you got up to bat

and I miss those days

but I have my memories

I love you because she slobbers

a lot

and you don’t mind

for that home-made macaroni and cheese

and because your lemonade is too sour

but your enthusiasm makes up the difference

I love you for saying yes

for not asking why, though I think you knew

your expressive hands

your fat toes

and your tight little butt

Ok there

I said it

I love you for allowing the anguish

to push you up, not down

for after dinner walks

for walking the talk

talking the walk

and Grammy, come see the moon!

I love you for your apple trees

your apple crisp

your sparkling apple cider

and the Unbelievable Apple

I love you because you’re generous

you sing with your whole soul

kiss with your mouth open

and 'do when the spirit say do'

I love you for the squeak in your laugh

the bounce in your dance

for teaching me how

and for what Jessica Rabbit said about Roger

I love you for surprises

big surprises

I mean, really—Big Surprises

and for that time

eating plums from a tree in the dark

I love you for your work ethic

your working man

your working man’s hands

and for giving me my first pair of earrings—gold, Trifari

I love you for your wild bushy hair

their buzzed heads

and mine too

1-2-3

I even love your bih

your buh, your do, your duh

and your fro

because I’m your guh

and you’re my bo

I love you for your art

drawings that fly and blast create chaos

like bombs and rocket ships and farts

and make you laugh out-loud

I love you for the raisins

the easy hugs

the way you hitch up your pants because you walk

just like him

and no one tries harder than you

I love you for your French fries

your give-it-to-me-straight philosophy

for being the slowest to anger I've ever seen

and sparklers on the fourth of July

I love you for tri-tip on the grill

June bugs

your stubborn will

for telling me the truth

even though

it made me cry

and camping in the hills above Burley

I love you because you get it

you got it

and that’s good

I love you now

I loved you then

I loved you before

and probably

I've loved you forever

I love ya

I love ya, darlin’

I love you—still

Infusion

I wore fur and diamonds today
took extra care with my makeup my hair
practiced my lines in the mirror
then marched in
and sat in the big chair
the same one I always sit in
by the window so I can
see my reflection
in the glass
only to discover
that everyone
was cheering and clapping for the silent
hairless man with the IV
sitting just across from me
in total
peaceful
surrender

I found out

yesterday that Paul, a friend of Brandon's, died recently. I was devastated, especially for Paul's aunt and her family who are cherished and long-time friends. I've tried several times to write about all the feelings that emerged as a result of this news, but there's a limit to what should be shared in a blog. Sometimes life's most sacred events call for privacy and intimacy between friends and this is one of those.

I wrote this last night in the middle of the night, not as poetry, but trying to define the experience which was too real to call a dream, and too wonderful to say it wasn't.

realm skipping again
in my sleep
Brandon and Paul are laughing,
making puns of human vocabulary
suddenly archaic and unnecessary
here
in this ivory twilight between rest and dawn
more laughter between them
brown eyed boys to men and
I hold my breath,
and love this place, this interaction,
and whoever gave me permission to see it,
thank you! Oh,
if I could linger just a bit
longer pretend
I belong here too but,
too late
I have returned
to where moonlight embellishes
these periwinkle walls
and a mound of pillows cradles
this mortal frame
I will sleep now
even though more laughter,
the kind that only men can make,
deep chested and uproarious
continues to echo
my return

Rebounding

OK. So I'm back on track. I have some work to do emotionally, still, but I'm beginning to see this experience with cancer as a spiritual halt, a time to reflect, to regroup, to decide what I want, to examine my relationships with my family and friends, with the Savior, with my Heavenly Father...Are they where they should be? Do I have any messes to clean up? Words left unsaid? Behaviors that need correcting? Am I taking care of myself the way I should? Is it part of the plan that we live our lives at such a pace? That we're so busy 'producing' that we miss the basics? Sometimes I think all we produce is chaos or more drama. Yes, of course, I have dreams yet unfulfilled, but I have decided that my relationships with others, both here and beyond the veil, are the only things that really matter. All the other 'things' we stress about--bills, insurance, accumulation of wealth, retirement, tomorrow, and what ifs and whys and on and on--most of those take care of themselves, or they're not worth the energy we spend fretting. I've missed a lot of todays by worrying about tomorrows instead.

I will need to come back to this post occasionally, as it's much easier to talk about zen and making changes than to actually do it. But I have had a second chance at life and I hope to make the very best of it. So until next time.................PS...my hair is growing back in! Now doesn't that sound weird? How does hair grow back in? Baby head fuzz...it's growing out!

Put a Fork in it. We're Done.

The title of our senior thesis reading event at Mills on April 30. Everything I've written so far about that night sounds cheesy or dull, and then...and then...and then... The experience was too big for words. So this is my last attempt. I can't do justice to it, I know, but to say nothing doesn't feel right either.

The words flowed: I knew how to modulate, when to pause, what tone of voice to use.
The room was mine: When I looked out, which I did, often, every eye was on me, with interest.
My family looked expectant; they also looked proud of me. Even before I read.
The applause was great, and the cheering. Zen.
Even my professor was crying.
At the end of the night, strangers were shaking my hand.
Someone said, "Book tour..."

Thank you, dear family, for coming to support me, and for classmates who encouraged me to keep going, especially Sarah Tannehill who is an amazing writer and now, a dear friend. To Gloria who believed in me and believes in me, still. To Brandon who listened to me read aloud and didn't mind his story being told. And to my Telly who has been a constant source of love and support, and who didn't seem to mind doing a long-distance critique at the last minute. Hugs, everyone.

Zen

Last night was a public reading of the senior creative writers' theses. Preparation was intense. This was no ordinary final. This was a presentaion of the culmination of all our work at Mills College. We were fortunate to have use of the historic Bender room, with its high ceilings and beautiful arched windows. I'm told that the Bender room was the original Mills College library, and it appeared so with its dark wood glass-faced cabinets lining the walls.

Brandon came with me and we went early to help with set-up. It was a party, complete with beautiful food and drinks and fresh flowers. talk about brandon and what he did to help.

I wanted my family to be there so much and they came: Larry, Brandon, Clayton and Michelle. I felt varying degrees of nervousness all evening. Everyone sat with their friends and family. We came up from the audience as Elmaz, our incredible professor, introduced us.

My best friend, Sarah, read first and set the standard. Each woman as she was called, walked up to the podium with confidence and read with clarity and pride. Hearing these final presentations, I was so proud of them. Every one! At the beginning of the semester we workshopped together--everyone read everyone else's work. Then we broke off into small groups for the majority of the semester. I didn't hear the completed versions until last night, and what a transformation.

When it came my turn, the clapping and cheering sounded extra loud, but it made me smile and I was still smiling when I turned around to face the audience. I looked out and saw my family all smiling at me, and others. The room was dead quiet. It was my turn. I opened my mouth to read and a strong settling energy came over me. Any nervousness vanished. I was in my element, in my space, doing what I do; I knew how to pace the reading. Where to pause; where to slow down; when to speed up. Elmaz had told us that readings are really telling stories, that our paper copies are just for reference. I felt myself doing that, being connected to my audience. Every eye was on me. When I finished, the applause felt GREAT! Elmaz was crying. I knew that I couldn't have done any better.

How Do I Love Thee?

Early dawn stillness, waking up softly to the sound of birdsong. Peace filling my periwinkle room with gentleness and light. My favorite time of day. My hope for heaven--perpetual morning.