sewing.

it started innocently enough: a small attempt at procrastination when i should be digging into an afternoon of work. the button that has been missing on my coat for almost a year suddenly had to be replaced right away, so i pulled out my sewing basket to do this quick 5 minute chore. it was filled to the brim and beyond, chaotic as always, and in the exact same condition as it was throughout my entire childhood, all the way down to the same sewing crumbs and dust bunnies floating around the bottom.

this was the basket that accompanied my mother on all of her multi-tasked-perpetually-distracted movie watching, the one that was pulled out for all the missing buttons, broken zippers and lengthened hem lines. it was around during my first sewing attempts, some scraps of which are still wandering around in the bottom of the basket {see photo below}.

yet somehow, by some act of the nostalgia gods, it defied the mold and moisture that claimed so many of our things that my parents haphazardly stored away in a friend's dirt-floor basement when they packed up and moved to europe shortly after i went off to college in the fall of 2000.

the despite it's claim on my memories and immediate family history, the basket used to frustrate me. always a little too full to close neatly, a jumble of thread bits worrying themselves into knots as you try to find the one color of thread that doesn't seem to be a part of the collection, it always felt a little raggedy, like most of the things we had growing up, and the list of minor grievances added up against it. but i learned about a year ago, that this humble bit of woven wood is actually a lovely bit of family history in disguise: it belonged to my great-grandmother and was one of the few things that my mother asked for from her grandfather that got passed on before he died suddenly.

so on monday, when i should have been doing any number of other things, not only did i fix the button on my coat that would have been handy to have mended this past fall, but i also allowed the procrastination to spread out further and completely emptied and reorganized the basket. i started with the thread, lining it up {by color}, taking out duplicate colors to be stored elsewhere, disposing of all the bits of dead rubber bands, little tails of scrap thread and completely unnecessary bits that really had no right being in a sewing basket.

now the lid shuts nicely. the thread is organized and accessible. fingers are no longer in danger of being caught in a thread trap or stabbed by stray pins and needles floating around among the items. the dust is gone. and for the first time really, i feel as though i've finally taken ownership of this box that now has traveled across four generations of women in the mikesell family.

it still has all the old charm, though. the thread collection obviously spans the decades back to my great-grandmother when wooden spools were the norm and the plastic tub of buttons i will probably never use {and don't feel right just absorbing into my own button collection} will never leave residence inside. it makes me smile whenever i see the 8 year old handwriting that declared them mom's buttons in uncertain sharpie penmanship i outgrew decades ago. but i've added my own mark: the thread is arranged by color, it's pared down to things i might actually use, and a piece of my own history that i salvaged from the purge will always remind me of one of my few successful high school attempts to make my own clothes:

{sea-oh, look familiar}

and the shabby chic exterior holding a wealth of history and dust continues on its journey one day to be passed on to my own daughter. or if i don't end up with kids {i guess it's possible} or, only of the boy/tomboy variety, i know of one niece at least who will probably take after her mother and find some good use out of it.

h o p e

somedays hope feels like just another four letter word, but then the universe delivers a branch of gorgeous and fragrant spring flowers and my mailbox delivers another blue envelope.

thanks, universe.

thanks, kate-o.

why i love my job...

state of the union

two weeks ago, my body fell apart entirely. it was a complete stalled-by-the-roadside parts-strewn-about-the-highway sort of breakdown. and this second time was rough, particularly so close on the heels of being sick this january. it's hard asking folks to come bring me food, heat things up on the stove, pick my dirty running socks off the floor where i had dropped them 15 minutes before not being able to bend over for about a week. take me to the chiropractor. clean the litter box for the cat that drove me nuts the first few days. cheer me up {there was a lot of that needed}. i am blessed with amazing friends.

but after my body began to mend, my spirit had its own little breakdown, as usual hot on the tails of some major physical ailment {much like in january of this year}. luckily, i have been able to burn through some fairly significant fears of mine, hold them tightly between my hands and stare them in the face. repeatedly. because reasoning them away once wasn't enough.

today was the last move in the internal war. i took the day off and spent three hours traipsing around discovery park, finding lovely places to sit and write and look at the fears at {calm} length--spread them out before me with words on a page. journal. journal. and journal some more. i wrote three long, small-cursive-filled pages and dialogued with the fear, asked her a few questions, and sent her packing as i stepped confidently into what i know of myself, of the situation and reconnected with the self-trust i am mostly quite good at living into these days.

stolen poetry

i just read this on my friend's blog and had to share it here. my hunger for summer is strengthening.

from blossoms

from blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted peaches.

from laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

o, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.

there are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

- li-young lee

and this is one i found on my own today from a collection of poems by billy collins that my good friend gave me for my birthday.

books

from the heart of this dark, evacuated campus
i can hear the library humming in the night,
a choir of authors murmuring inside their books
along the unlit, alphabetical shelves,
giovanni pontano next to pope, dumas next to his son,
each one stitched into his own private coat,
together forming a low, gigantic chord of language.

i picture a figure in the act of reading,
shoes on a desk, head tilted into the wind of a book,
a man in two worlds, holding the rope of his tie
as the suicide of lovers saturates a page,
or lighting a cigarette in the middle of a theorem.
he moves from paragraph to paragraph
as if touring a house of endless, paneled rooms.

i hear the voice of my mother reading to me
from a chair facing the bed, books about horses and dogs,
and inside her voice lie other distant sounds,
the horrors of a stable ablaze in the night,
a bark that is moving toward the brink of speech.

i watch myself building bookshelves in college,
walls within walls, as rain soaks new england,
or standing in a bookstore in a trench coat.

i see all of us reading ourselves away from ourselves,
straining in circles of light to find more light
until the line of words becomes a trail of crumbs
that we follow across a page of fresh snow;
when evening is shadowing the forest
and small birds flutter down to consume the crumbs,
we have to listen hard to hear the voices
of the boy and his sister receding into the woods.

and i'll leave you tonight with photos of the last weeks suns and skies.

date night

a little black cloud perched on my shoulder last night releasing words of discouragement at the pace of a steady drizzle. it started before i went to bed, hounded me through my insomnia and maintained a steady presence just behind my right shoulder all day today.

much like the beginning of the year i found myself weighed down by my body and spirit's attempts at fighting my fragility. and the same solution presented itself: spend a day away. turn off the cell phone. get away from people and obligations and to do lists. re-integrate yourself.

since that isn't an option in the next day or so, the idea of a date night by myself presented itself. take myself out to dinner, go to a couple of fun stores like the art store and elliot bay book store, treat yourself, be creative.

so i did.

what a perfect way to spend the night.

first, a leisurely snack. a detour through a chapter or two of my newest guilty pleasure read {soon to be supplanted by never let me go}. a long shower. shaving my legs {the first time i've attempted that since pulling my back out of line. it's a long way down to my ankles on a good day and an unspannable if i can't lean over}. a walk into capitol hill {also a first in a week and a half}. a copy of never let me go without keira knightly on the cover {as much as i loved the movie, i want it to stand apart}. a postcard for a very dear friend. dinner for one at boom noodle. vietnamese salad. yumm. dessert evidently mandatory: molly moons chocolate raspberry sorbet with a waffle cone and hot fudge we'll pretend didn't have milk in them. a detour through the drug store on the way home to pick up supplies for the flock installation {we're getting closer to more details on my collaborative birthday project...} and a meander through the bubble bath isle. couldn't decide between vanilla, coconut & tangerine and rose geranium citrus so i went with both. they'll both get used. and who can't use extra of both time out and harmony which is what these flavors profess to create.

then, a walk back home under the super full moon and a night of radiohead's new album {which came out last full moon} and painting. finally, painting.

the cloud seems to be gone. good riddance.

notes from an insomniac

caffeine induced insomnia. oolong tea, you betrayed me. anxiety. earthquake predictions for seattle. a ceiling crumbling on top of me. disconnection lies on the other side of silence.

is this just my body rebelling against my attempts to give it the sleep it's needed these past six months or are darker truths making their way to the surface under the light of the nearly full moon?

sleep, please be my friend. courage is failing me and confidence has turned her back on me so at the very least you can give me a warm embrace.

in between spaces

sometime i have a hard time in the silences.

i get restless.

separated not from you but from my truth.

yeeees...

yes.

that's the crux.

static on the line that covers up that internal quiet that i know to trust and come back to.

so i don't need to know about your silences, just that my own is the only thing i really need to pay attention to.

a year ago today...

i had tickets to see thom yorke in new york city at the beginning of april. the flight was booked. i was ready and stoked. but more on this later....

a year ago today i was also one week into the injections for the egg donation. bruises were starting to accumulate on my lower abdomen but it was only getting easier and easier to poke myself each night. at this point, it was still one injection a night, but that was enough to handle for the time being.

and today i got a reply to an email asking if the family was willing to share any details or even confirmation of a healthy birth. the email was so warm. the glow carried across in the words forwarded from the worker assigned to our match. they had a wonderful pregnancy, a long, but complication free delivery and are now parents of a healthy three month old girl. they are in love. she is beautiful. and i believe every word of it.

never let me go

a movie hasn't broken my heart like this in a while. i still can't make sense of it all--or not in a way that doesn't simply contain spoilers. but it was flawless. nothing wasted. so many perfect moments. so deep and powerful and churning i never even spent a second being envious of the actors lucky enough to tell such an incredible, elegant and heartbreakingly beautiful story.

it makes me think of my friend and her time in india--how the caste system has relegated individuals to living in houses made of cardboard and tarps and no one is even asking whether or not it's humane. it makes me think of true love. missed connections. made connections. requiting the unrequited. it makes me long, which connects me to be-longing. it makes me think of art and how it's the evidence of a soul--my soul. it makes me ask if i am living my life enough. if i am grateful enough for how much freedom i've been given.

and it makes me want to go out, buy the dvd and watch it on repeat at least twice in a row.

and of all the myriad thoughts, emotions, responses, words i have rustling around in response, what i most want to give you i can't seem to find. it's a quiet long shot of the two main characters sitting together in silence on the bridge. they've just said to each other {roughly}:

we should go.

yes.

and then the camera slowly pulls away leaving you to watch them still sitting there not moving and not saying anything either.

the image was taken away and turned into the movie poster of the two running down said bridge which is completely contrary to what the movie is about and even the way their story is told. {bah! advertising decisions.}

anyway, i leave you with these two images {a much more appropriate movie poster is pictured above}: two movie stills that embody some of the spirit of the movie that lingers with me still. but you should go see it and discover it for yourself.

recovering

today is different. finally. i can think of and execute non-vital tasks. i can start to straighten up the apartment. i even washed my face this morning, marveling over the fact that i could lean over the sink to wash off the soap. music is playing. i feel my spirit returning.

and now is when i need to be the most careful. make haste slowly, nathania. make haste slowly.

thanks for all the well wishes, trips to the chiropractor, phone calls and the deliveries of food, dessert and medication. thanks to the folks who could come and take out the trash, warm up food for me, put socks on my cold feet, clean up the litter box or just chatter away for a few minutes to help me forget my body is mortal.

set backs and slow downs

it was supposed to be a good day today. a bonus day off. nothing planned.

initially i had envisioned a play day with nothing should about it. a day led by whim and creativity. install my birds, work on my paintings, put up the little installation above the stove that will finish the kitchen, etc. but then reality hit and i realized i would rather spend the day getting things done. organizing. catching up on work. prepping for taxes. things that would help me feel on top of my life again.

but in the end i got neither.

it started well at 8:30 in the morning after shoving off the cat {a temporary flatmate} who decided my shoulder was a good place to stand for some reason about an hour earlier. oatmeal for breakfast. a little organizing. and then a run. one that i thought maybe i shouldn't go on: take a break. use the day to just get things done i whispered to myself. then loudly and firmly: no, you need to keep up your momentum. you can take tomorrow as your rest day when you'll have less time because of work and commitments. you're doing so well. 9 miles on saturday. back in yoga. keep it up.

so i went on the run, took my usual stretch at home and then threw in a little yogic plow and shoulder stand to finish up the workout. i was done and heading toward the land of shower, lunch and then more productivity. all i had to do was gently roll down my spine like i've successfully done so many times before and move on with my day.

half way down to the floor, just as i was admiring my slow, even descent, i yelped. then froze. stuck mid air knowing up or down would only cause the flare up to strike again. helpless. a turtle stuck on its back and in a lot of pain to boot. i don't know how but i managed to wiggle my way gently to the couch, support my legs and slowly lower them to the ground. but i was still stuck. i could find no way of rolling over and pushing up with my arms that wouldn't cut right into the screaming area of my lower back. so i lay there, unable to stop the belly sobs of pain and helpless frustration that only served to hurt my back further.

it was a rough ten minutes, probably more, with thom yorke crooning to me in the background and a neighbor i should have called out to walking through the hall. i didn't bother saying anything even though i was sure they could hear me crying. i thought my door was locked {turns out later it wasn't, strangely} and by the time the off-site management could come and open my door i would hopefully be up on my own steam. hopefully. so i wiggled. pushed up with my arms. grabbed on to the couch. pushed up some more. tried to get my legs underneath me and thought often of the stupid phrase wailed by little old lady actors on 80's commercials i've fallen and i can't get up.

no falling here, just graceful descents gone awry.

i finally did manage to make my way vertical and promptly, but oh so slowly, went over and shut off my ipod {sorry thom, but i never have enough energy to devote to you when i'm sick or in pain. it's a lot of work to listen}. next i grabbed my phone and left a disconcertingly sob-filled voicemail for my friend while clutching the wall and my book case for support. then i was able to reach another friend who wasn't in the middle of work, just in the middle of a pajama clad lunch. a trip to the savior of my chiropractor was planned and executed. help in and out of the car mandatory.

and now i'm at the slow waddle around the apartment stage. curses or hisses slipping out here or there as i ease up and down. standing. prone. moving between the two. picking up the orange i dropped on the floor. refilling the water jug. getting food. putting on shoes. picking up the yoga mat. taking out the trash. these are things i took for granted that my body could effortlessly do not even 7 hours ago that are all now a trial or non-negotiable. luckily the first friend could come over bringing thai for dinner, coconut milk icecream, brownies & theo chocolate for dessert. laughter, gentle cuddles and an arm for support for in between. he's also the sort to take out the recycling, refill the water jug, roll up the yoga mat and make sure my advil {and leftover vicodin from my root canal} is by the bedside.

but the biggest irony of all is how much i've used the phrase i feel so strong lately. strong in mind, body, spirit, and patience. there is an ease, gracefulness and grounded power i have felt connected to since returning from vancouver. i've noticed it in my body and mind as i find in myself the surprising capacity to run farther and farther {i know today could have been avoided if i had simply listened to the need to rest today or take a 3 mile run instead of a 6 mile run}. and i feel it in my spirit as it is moved in new places by deep and meaningful connections while also staying grounded, realistic and patient {the last three characteristics have always been missing in the past}. hiccups that come are weathered well. relationships coming and going are met with calm acceptance.

i am strong and i am living into that strength in new ways, but today's lesson is one my mother repeats to me often: make haste slowly, nathania. make haste slowly.

pray for my speedy recovery. or however it is you send support...

a little inspiration

i need to buy tickets to her show in seattle this spring. like, tomorrow. i missed out last time she was in town and i refuse to do so again this time. about two years ago when i was just starting to journey into my presence as a sexual being, i remember posting a video of her and just watching again and again, in complete awe, how quirky yet sensual this woman is. her voice. her movements. her songs. her sass. it's all just present for all to see. of course, she is scandinavian and they are legendarily wonderful at embodying their sexuality, but that doesn't in any way lessen her victory of self.

seeing here again reminds me of how far i still have to go. i still am only a fraction of the way there on my red dress days, much less all the ones in between.

Lykke Li & Bon Iver doing 'Dance Dance Dance' in L.A from Lykke Li on Vimeo.

just desserts

{should have posted last night...posting issues for some reason}

a well deserved serving of dessert {organic strawberries, sweet/spicy pecans & lots of water}, relaxation {blameless--my current comfort read and guarantee i am getting a few pages of relaxation per day} and a soothing bath for worn muscles. 9+ miles and the entire elevation gain from lake washington to the top of first hill. a new record. i am quite proud of myself.

half marathon in may anyone?

you

there was the first dream
unexpected and tender
a sweet surprise
in the wake of those first soft words

i had spoken into the vast space between us
one that speaks back the rhythmic refrain
separation connection
connection separation
till i'm not sure which is which anymore

but i am alive
and patient {for once}
and the dreams continue:

a detour through disconnect
sex dreams with no sex
and back again.

i got to hug you so long last night
onetwothree times that never ended
somewhere on some plane
inside my spirit

and for the moment,
perhaps, sadly, for all moments
that will have to be enough.

once

what is there to say?
the first words are always tentative
hand to face
hide
smile
melt just a little more
repeat.
it's oh so much that we are even here
and yet, somehow, still not enough.

white

white: it's the color i'm breathing into these days. white running jacket that will keep people from running over me on my night runs. white curve hugging tank top i wear under flowing t-shirts, around the house on warmer days and to the occasional yoga class. white beaded calvin klein shirt that i almost didn't take off the rack because my dad told me as a kid it wasn't my color. and yet, i was surprised to note, now it is. with darkened hair and pale skin, the white brings out the creams i can't seem to remember are there. i only think of my skin as bad, despite the words i've been given. and despite the fact that the connection between white and my skin tones was a random meandering of my writing tonight, my friend lindsey jo was the first to expose me both to the glories of the color white as well as reflect back to me the quality of my skin. what's the connection here? maybe merely the circuitous ramblings of an overtired mind.

............................................................................

a few words on white from two books that haunt me:

markus zusak's the book thief {that is narrated by death}

first up is something white. of the blinding kind.

some of you are most likely thinking that white is not really a color and all of that tired sort of nonsense. well, i'm here to tell you that it is. white is without question a color, and personally, i don't think you want to argue with me.

* * * A REASSURING ANNOUNCEMENT * * *
please, be calm, despite that previous threat.
i am all bluster--
i am not violent.
i am not malicious.
i am a result.

yes, it was white.

it felt as though the whole globe was dressed in snow. like it had pulled it on, the way you pull on a sweater. next to the train line, footprints were sunken to their shins. trees wore blankets of ice.

as you might expect, someone had died.

............................................................................

janet winterson's the stone gods:

there is a white that contains all the colours of the world but this white was its mockery. this was the white at the end of the world when nothing is left, not the past, not the present and, most fearful of all, not the future. there was no future in this bleached and boiled place. nothing, not wild, not strange, not tiny, not vile, no good thing, no bad, could begin life again here. the world was a white-out.

let it shine

my spirit these days...as full, hectic and vulnerable they've been.

updates {in 4.5 parts}

1.

today was a good day, but the old familiar feeling cuddled up in the pit of my stomach sometime in the last few hours and now it's almost to the point of unmanageable. fear, that ravenous beast taking harbor in the cozy spot between my stomach and heart offering up an endless monologue running counter to everything i feel in that still and true part of my soul.

so i keep telling myself it's just one of those weeks. a little dip in the highs of the past month.
three steps forward. one back. hormones are always a bitch. and for the second year in a row, i've avoided the oscars.

artist envy at its worst {though this post both is and isn't about my art}.

in honor of moving beyond artist envy, i bought a card on sunday that merely said:

i never wanted to be famous,
i only wanted to be great.

ray charles

.........................................................................................................................................................................

2.

my dear friend sheree was in town this weekend. what a treat. a trip down into a particular part of my spirit that i always seem to find when she's around. her laughter is glorious. her honesty a simple fact she breathes into every moment.

we had a lovely day of it on sunday with eden. coffee {or rice milk hot chocolate for me} at bauhaus. a trip into ballard. a fantastic sale rack find on my part that scored us both these adorable hats. boom noodle for a late lunch. goodbye to eden. a nap. a movie {true grit} that ended with us exiting the theater, taking three steps and exhaling identical sighs simultaneously. we looked at each other and threw an arm around the other and shared in the fullness of the story we had just seen. next we went to poppy, this lovely restaurant with the most amazing honey-covered eggplant french fries. incredible. trust me. a little martin millers gin for her. some tea at roy street coffee and then an impromptu top-of-our-lungs singalong dance party on the car ride home. the soundtrack: home by edward sharpe and the magnetic zeros. we sang along to it twice. full heart and full volume. then we rounded off the night stretched out on my couches in a candle lit room as i gave her her first listen to radiohead's newest album.

it was a good visit.

sheree in the awesome restroom at poppy.

.........................................................................................................................................................................

3.

i needed a little pick me up. it was a long day on friday going from work to photographing a wedding with thankfully a few hours between. even still, i was looking for a little perk. a little treat. a little sweetness for the spirit. so when i came up to the mailbox, i thought to myself wouldn't it be great if there was a stray bird that arrived today? i pulled out the mail and was disappointed to find only the usual handful of junkmail and bills. but the feeling only lasted for a split second until i heard myself think that isn't right. look again. and sure enough, a longer reach into the back of the box yielded the glorious results: one pool colored enveloped.

thank you, karina. lovely to be in contact again and you couldn't have picked a better landing date for your bird as "late" as it seems.

.........................................................................................................................................................................

4.

i was on a search for the perfect red lipstick, a particular red that would be the reddress equivalent for my lips. something to be bold in when the weather's colder. it was hard to find but we finally met at the chanel counter about a month ago. even so, it's not a color that can be pulled out any old day and it finally made its debut on the night of sheree's party. wanting to post the color here, i snapped a few photos, some more, some less successful at highlighting the color. but one of the least successful was also one of the most interesting {pictured above}. it gave me an angle of my face i don't normally see {albeit distorted a bit as my iphone usually does at close range}, and somehow it's given me pause. a way to reevaluate how i see and understand my face. and as quirky as the angle and my face is within it, somehow, there's a little more softeness in my opinion of myself than there was before.

some of the "more successful" at showing off the lip color that is appropriately called dragon.



.........................................................................................................................................................................

1b.

why is the way never clear? my marching orders aren't in line with the present conditions so i guess perhaps the direction is off.

kismet, why are you such a tease?