Moments When

You see farther than thoughts can reach.

You stand taller than you measure.

You smell the past like you could touch it.

Tears create a map and wash your footprints away.

Confidence pumps your heart floats away.

Your lips Tango.

Falling accompanies no impact.

You awake before the world starts spinning again.

You hear everything like pieces of a puzzle.

You feel deeper than words have traveled before.

. . .

Quirk Tag, I'm it.

Okay, the only reason I'm doing this is because of the person who sent it to me. She's wonderful and makes me feel happy about my quirkiness though she may not even know what that consists of. She's just one of those people that makes you feel normal and loved, no matter how strange you might be.

The game:
1.Link to the person who tagged you
2.Mention the rules on your blog
3.Tell 6 unspectacular quirks about you
4.Tag 6 following bloggers by linking to them
5.Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger's blogs letting them know they've been tagged.

Well, it shouldn't be too hard for me to find unspectacular quirks since I dare classify myself as a writer...or in other words, an artist of words. ;)

1. I have a quirk for straightening things. Victims: The pillows on the couches at my parents house (and those are also organized so as to distribute the patterns and colors equally); Any slanted framed item, be it in my home, the dentist's office, etc.; Bed spreads, couches, chairs, mats, papers, dishes in the dishwasher or items in the refrigerator even; you know, any inanimate thing really.

2. I'm unspectacularly obsessed about my eyebrows. I suppose it kind of branches from the straightening quirk. I pretty much can't stand it if they aren't perfectly in place. Once upon a time I even combed clear mascara into them to keep them from moving. So don't even think about touching them, btw.

3. I eat in an interesting fashion...at least according to my mission companions (several of which were foreigners). So, first of all, serving in France, they eat one food at a time. In the U.S. we eat Thanksgiving style every meal: the whole meal on one plate. So I don't know if it's really all that particular to me, but I taste all the foods that are on my plate and figure out which one I like best and eat it last. It ends up being a sort of prioritized wheel of fortune experience. I don't often physically turn my plate, but I'll eat a little salad, then a little lasagna with bread, then the veggies, then I'll finish off the veggies, then the salad and end with the bread. If there's bread that will usually be my favorite and last bite. It was well demonstrated by lunch with Ben on Saturday, actually. I had a gourmet turkey sandwich and an Australian orange. :) I took a bite of my sandwich, which was really great, so I moved on to taste the orange. As Ben finished his first sandwich, I finished peeling my orange. It tasted great too, so I alternated, rather equally, bites of sandwich and orange til my plate held only napkin, peels and crumbs.

4. I can't fall asleep without a blanket. Except twice so far. Both times I was stinkin exhausted and it was perfectly warm.

5. Wow I'm really struggling now. Well, something I haven't seen anyone else do is roll their tongue upside down. Pretty much everyone can roll it up but I can do it the other way. Ask me, I'll show you. Then you'll try and I'll be impressed if you can, too. Yes, that means I'm a great kisser. ;)

6. Okay last one....I used a life line for this one. My friend Graham has some observations of when I'm thinking. He says if someone is describing something or if I'm reading I apparently curl in my bottom lip. I squint at things when I think. Or I tap my cheek with my index finger. And when I'm all done looking at something I'll let out a sigh. Observant fellow, eh? I didn't realize I did any of that! But as if to prove it all, I was squinting as I pondered if it were truth.

Well there. And I'm not going to obey the rules and link other people to do this, because I'm a big fan of not passing on forwards. No offense intended, Barb. But all comments are welcome.

Can't Sleep

My dear roommate warmed me some milk and Billy Joel serenades me with his lullaby, so hopefully that sandman's not too far away.

I was talking with a friend and out came a quotable line:

The heart: it's a curious instrument. It can change as fast as it beats.

Later as I lie in bed, someone was playing music far enough away that I only heard the low beat and I imagined it was the heart beat of my nearly-life-size stuffed alligator so it wouldn't annoy me.

Depending on the beat, the instrument will reveal a melody that sometimes the mind couldn't hear. The composition is complicated for a single instrument and one wonders how the heart survives itself.

My own heart suspended in my chest beat like it usually does, pumping blood, for which I'm grateful. It too summoned a distant tune and I felt like humming.

The melody leaks into the stream where drifts my life. It bleeds through my voice; a wound that will hopefully never heal.

I want to hear your heart beating in your chest. I will see if our voices harmonize.

Some people have such beautiful circulation.

To The Men

from the ponderings of a single woman's mind.



Is there a(n un)spoken rule of dibs? If two guys see a girl at the same time and guy A says "dang, I wanna get with that," ever so respectfully, but when the girl meets both guy A and guy B, she is more attracted to guy B, but must guy B yield to guy A to make his move? If so, why?

How long does it take for you to fall in love?

If you're dating a great girl, would you ever risk that security if you found another girl attractive (not just physically) to give her a chance? Isn't it a bad sign if you're even looking around to notice her?

If you don't like a girl, or spending time with her, or frankly you just don't see a future, but she's showing interest, flirting, what have you, will you (please) just tell her you're not interested?

At what point can she fart in your presence without grossing you out?

Do you agree with the general desire that the girl wants to be with a guy that weighs more than her potential weight at pregnancy?

How tall is too tall?

Do you care about the shoes we wear? Are there ones preferred over others?

What communication problems? Let's hear 'em.


Your masculine thoughts are very much appreciated. Ask your friends. Return and report.

Did you hear the one about....

Ode to Spectacles

Due to the impending surgery of tomorrow, my glasses will be of no use in less than 24 hours. These glasses and I have been together for a long time. Sure, I've messed around a little with contacts, but still glasses and I have had a forgiving and lasting relationship. In honor of these memories, I make up a poem for glasses. And it's my 100th post. Neat.

Before you, my life was incomplete.
Looking ahead was a painful feat.
When you came into my life
It was as if a big knife
Cut through the air
And removed the glare
Of what seemed like two hands made of wax paper held always before my eyes.

You did something to me.
I mean, besides help me see.
It's like you made everything clear
Like I could finally hear
As if I'd been deaf before.
Or as though you opened a door
Where there had only been a wall as far as eye could see.

I remember when I left you on the bed.
Thinking for sure you were elsewhere instead
I rolled over and heard you cry.
When I held you up, all was awry.
Gently, tightly, I bent your frame
back to normal; but you were never the same.
But later we were able to look back and laugh at the experience that night.

There was nothing between us;
I was me, you were you: we've been us
since every day we've been together.
Over hills, under roofs and into weather
we always got along. In fact,
Even your disappearing act
Would make me laugh for the irony of seeking that which I can't see so I can see.

As I say goodbye it's like...like
hard, I guess. Sometimes I think, 'yike
s' because now what will I do
When I'm nervous and need to
Nudge you into place
On the nose on my face
As I think of what to say to whomever awaits my reply.

Friend, window to the world;
Now an oyster unpearled.
I will not forget you fast.
After all, we have a past.
But my days as caterpillar are through
As flying above I will have a view
More like that of a butterfly's, in the sky, twice as high as a caterpillar's.

Dangling Modifiers

In my English editing class we had an assignment to create ten sentences each featuring a dangling modifier. What is that? Well, I can't really tell you in words of definition. I like to show. Here were some great ones. You'll see what it is.

I saw my brother being born sitting in the chair.
Marinated in the finest seasonings, people enjoy themselves.
Having been dropped from a ten story building, Sean examined the egg for any damages.
Fred explained why he wanted to get married to his aunt.
After being decapitated, Fred began to prepare the chicken for dinner.
Jack waited for his parents to go inside to light the fireworks.
Squished by 80 MPH speeds, Tod flicked the bug's body off of the windshield.
Upon walking into the room, the ancient mummy caught the archeologist's eye.

and from my own list:
He punched me with his fist in my eye.
I walked the dog in a bear costume.
Luke fixed the clock with no hands.

Do you see the beauty of this language? :)

heartburn

to the third degree

Our Parents

I hope you don't think that's too graphic, the blueberry world bursting from a belly beneath big bosoms. It's relevant....keep going....

With the official passing of summer I've been feeling mysteriously... close to the moon - er, poetic, actually. And that might be enough, but today's date is also 9/23. So of course in my bizarre, unexplainable attachment to this number, I post. And it will be poetic. We hope.




Time and Earth

He was there, as always, and growing lonely
So he took a couple of years from his side and made her.
After that they two were made one, never apart.
He aged every moment and yet never changed.
He went on.
She swirled at his touch.
He went on and she spun.
She spun and he went and went.
From seeds, together they created life.
She was the apple blossom, he was the rotting apple.
Weaving
Always together and never apart.
She only gave. Gave, and recycled to give again.
He went on, ever unforgiving, never looking back.
She would stir from within and take back.
He left the apple there; she swallowed it to her bosom.
She would always heal; life went on only with him.
Advancing
He aged and went on unchanging.
And sometimes he felt forgotten, unnoticed.
-My children don't appreciate me, said he.
I am always with them and complain only do they.
'Too fast, too slow.'
I take forever to arrive, say they, but I know forever,
which is why I take it.
She weaves a new gown.
He threads into her what with he'd be remembered.
Skeletons prove he was there.
Layers reveal her timely beauty.
Collections hint to his unimaginable age.
She would change gowns.
He loved to watch.
On her ice he would skate and never fall.
When it melted he would swim and never drown.
When it cycled again from heaven he would never thirst.
-My children don't appreciate me, said she.
On me blame they the bad; to them goes the good.
If I stop the bad I must stop entirely and then
where would they be?
It's where they're headed, taking all the good.
And she changed to blossoms.
-I go on, said he.
-I grow weary, said she. If but for a moment
Your hand released mine, how rested I'd be!
He went on, he looked on,
-Not much further, said he.
He held her hand in his as the last marble.
The last time.
She again changed her gown.
The leaves fell from the shivering branch.
The children piled them
The wind blew them away.
Her tears welled in puddles; how she hates to pause.
The children put on their boots
And splashed the pools away.
Never a wasted drop, she swallows them back to her bosom.
He ties his laces, he can't wait
nor stop, nor arrive, nor leave.
Does she spin as he stands still?
He went on and she swirled at his touch.