bruises

i fell in slow motion today.
the distance between where i wanted to land
and where i ended up landing
stretched out ........................... i........ n ...........d ...... e . . f ....... i ......... n ....... i...... t .......e........ l ........y
as my body floated downward
carried forward by the weight of the television i carried in my arms

until it hit the wall and i hit the ground.


i had to sit on the floor for a few moments in amazement and shock, staring at my ring that so recently adorned my right pinky and now was sitting in a pile of crumbling plaster that had also until recently been living peacefully on the surface of the wall. then we scooted quickly on in to eden's new apartment before anyone figured out i put that new gouge in the wall.

i immediately hit the ground again, with her this time, laughing, all the while nonchalantly surveying the damage to my knees and ankles and listening to her in disbelief as she said

well of course, you even fall gracefully.

hmm...that even weighs a few pounds.
i guess i did feel a bit graceful as i smoothly glided for the 15 seconds (perceived time) that i spent traveling the one and a half/two seconds (actual time) between the tricky step and the floor, but i don't feel graceful most days.

just big and flailing.

more thinking on the difference between perceived truths and objective truths when it comes to self-image. all this personal growth since high school and yet the gap still seems to be lingering.

small rituals of sanity

the five, or more often ten, minutes i spend in the shower alone
always seem to start off with me looking up beyond the shower head
to some indeterminate space between me and the floor above.

i don't know what i say, exactly. i don't think i ever even finish a thought,
but i always seem to send a few silent words
in the pointed direction of god as the water starts pouring on my head.

the prayer emerges in the shape of big and full words
that are drawn out, rounded and whispered into the sudden listening stillness of my inner monologue.

i say maybe just a phrase or two what is weighing down on me at most
and then i'm off to complete the usual showerly tasks of soaping, rinsing,
standing under the stream of water as hot as i can stand it and letting my body release itself.

they call him mr. buttons

saturday was a stay at home, be lazy and make pancakes for breakfast day. it was good and much needed. the week of heatwaves, moving boxes and fanless nights had taken a cumulative toll and it has been an extra long time since he and i have had time together when one or the other {or both} of us haven't been exhausted out of our minds and bodies.

so, we had a leisurely morning involving aforementioned pancakes and then we slowly meandered into closet cleaning. i put on an extended show and tell and he helped me get rid of a garbage bag full of clothing. sometimes a little encouragement goes a long way.

by 4pm i was getting a little stir crazy and sifted for some incentive to get out of the house that didn't require a copious {read: any} amount of money and landed on the easy, catch all solution: walk down to the antique store on the waterfront to go button shopping. at ten for a dollar i can splurge and only spend a few bucks, maybe five, so we put on our walking shoes and trekked down the hill.

despite running headlong into a wall of exhaustion about three blocks from my apartment {my adrenals were super taxed out during my time on the farm}, we made it down uneventfully, albeit a little too sunnily according to some people.

i walked back to the huge basin that holds the store's button collection only to find it almost entirely empty. even though i was glad to be out and moving around a bit, it was a sad sad day that i couldn't indulge my button collecting genes. after double checking the neighboring aisles to make sure the collection hadn't migrated to a new location, i took his very good advice and asked the people behind the counter if they knew what had happened to the buttons. true to my insticts, someone had swooped down on it, spent $120 and cleaned out the house.

but

he had a new supply in back. a tin he had recently purchased after a split second decision so i got to happily spend fifteen minutes of my life sifting through one handful at a time. the worker pointed out this button and that button, speculating one is from the 1920's and another is made of resin, or wood, or what have you. i kind of tuned out his helpful suggestions of what a cool button was since they tended to clash with my very particular aesthetic i can't put into words, and eventually he stopped trying to be helpful and let me sift and sort in peace.

it was a good trip, despite not living up the the big $17 haul i made shortly after finding this source. those buttons are the pinnacle of my collection, but i guess these little handfuls help flesh out the collection a little bit at a time. and there are some gems i nicked this time around and for a steal as well. i knew i had close to 40 buttons, but he kept on insisting it was about three dollars worth, so i accepted his deal, smiled and we headed back up the hill for a celebratory he's done moving dinner from a little tucked-away-to-the-point-of-near-invisibility fish 'n chips bar that opens at 5pm and obviously caters to the local bars' late night clientele. good food though. particularly eaten out in the park under the shady trees.

it wasn't till long after we got home again, probably some point after we watched coraline together on my bed {where buttons are featured rather prominently, coincidentally enough} that he told me about a little exchange that happened in the store. one of the workers {there were two of them bantering around} came up to him while i was happily pouring over the tin of buttons and had asked: "are you mr. buttons?" and he just smiled and nodded yes.

mr. buttons. i like it.

and it's a day later and it still makes me smile.

a real farmgirl

a few things happened today that have finally pushed me over into the realm of bona fide farmgirl.

1. i got up at 5:00am.
2. i had a breakfast of {chicken} sausage and eggs.
3. i walked up the "hill" to the cherry orchard in about 20 minutes {about a 600ft altitude gain}
4. i watched the sun rise from the top of the farm while i tried to catch my breath and convince my heart to stop fighting its way out of my ribcage.
5. then i was told i had to go back to the veggie patch for the morning since some of the cherry pickers hadn't shown up {3rd time in a row}, which meant....
6. i got to ride the tractor back down the hill. this involved a short lesson on where the clutch, breaks, gas pedal and "forward" lever are and a scary descent down said "hill" with tractor tires skidding on gravel as i dug my foot into the breaks. a little scary. i tried to take a detour through the apple orchard but only found a steeper hill that scared the bejeeeezus out of me, so i called the manager of the veggie fields {who at this time was just on the other side of a fallow field from me and could see me sitting astride the tractor at the crest of this hill}. unfortunately she hasn't had any experience with the tractor yet {didn't even know how to start it since i had stalled it when i stopped}, so i put on my big girl underpants, threw the big rig into reverse and backed out of the orchard with a bold plan to continue on down the first hill. at some point during the extended reverse out of the apple orchard, the obvious solution to the traction problem dawned on me.
a. keep the tractor in first gear.
b. if it still decides to run away from me, just steer it onto the field next to
the road where there is considerably more friction.


needless to say, i eventually made it.

you'll notice that i'm already using my phone and driving the thing.

the circus of the damned

it's late.
my nose has been running constantly since the car ride to work this morning.
the start of the final quarter of meisner was tonight.
and my little brother, fresh from iraq arrives in seattle tomorrow to spend the weekend with me.

but i can't let last night go without writing something down while it's fresh.

i woke up before my alarm this morning still buzzing.
my mind was rolling before my body was awake.
questions.
answers.
images.
an alive stirring that isn't even restlessness but a burning desire to linger in one of those rare moments of a heightened state of being.
i went to a prison last night for the first time ever
and i watched thirteen women put on an original piece of work.
the circus of the damned.
one they created from scratch.
from their writings.
their improvisations.
from their stories.
and the images that linger around a full day later:

the web one never can exit
a white translucent cloth drawn taut
by bodies pressed up against it.
the audience can make out the contorted limbs and the dead faces through the cloth
and it was this ominous back drop for an entire scene
silent only in volume

then the black monster
an actor straddled two ladders
draped in shiny black all the way to the floor
ten feel of darkness crowned with a black, faceless mask
wielding two insectlike arms
that opened and closed in an attempt to swallow one of the main characters

and the humor:
the wiccan actor who played jesus disputing with the christian actor who played the devil
they both pull out contracts for a third character's soul
then decide they cancel each other out
directing the character to spiritual bankruptcy

but my favorite part: the talking at the end.
the questions and answers like:
did any of you consider yourself an artist before starting this production?
many shake their heads.
only one had been a musician before being incarcerated.
a strong word that tastes like institution and razor wire.
did any of you discover a tool or a process that you intend to continue with even after the program is done?
yes.
the writing.
and writing of the write whatever comes to mind and don't stop moving the pen for x number of minutes variety.
the things that came out that we didn't even know was there.
several nod their head in agreement.

and then faces.
the beautiful girls. the women. the grandmothers.
the tears.
so many tears.
they spoke of hope
this is my first and only time in prison and in four months time i will be knocking on your door freehold.
they spoke of ownership.
for the first time i feel responsibility for what i have done and i don't want to let that go.
they spoke of community
out there {nod in the direction of the outside prison area} we aren't allowed to be who we are, but in here, you don't care what our past is and you just let us be. and we're a family now.
they spoke of success
when the other prisoners saw our work last night, we were like celebrities.
and victory
and they see our stories and how we tell it and they respect us for it.
and forgiveness.
i used to tell myself i wasn't cut out to be a mother. that i wasn't mother material. but i realize so many things now and i can forgive myself for the choices i made.


i was in tears. several times. with them. for them. because of them.

and robin.
the driving force behind it all just named prison volunteer of the year.
teary voiced. throat closed up and struggling to speak praises and appreciation of these ordinary heroes doing this kind of work: each and every woman in front of us.
and how that is where the magic is.
there.
in each of them.

it was a brilliant night.
and just a beginning.
for them
and for me.
kismet in the form of a random email paired me with my carpool buddy who has done similar work in a maximum security prison on the east coast.
she's starting her next project now working with vets.
and i want in.

carnival

lane himself lit a cigarette as the train pulled in. then, like so
many people, who, perhaps, ought to be issued only a very
probational pass to meet trains, he tried to empty his face of all
expression that might quite simply, perhaps even beautifully,
reveal how he felt about the arriving person.
.

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

franny & zooey

~j.d. salinger

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

.

i was on the bus riding home today and experienced a visceral moment of recall while reading the above passage:

.

alabama.
bayou la batre.
late afternoon waning on towards evening.
the field behind st. margaret's school.
carnival rides suggesting that perhaps it is the yearly blessing of the fleet.
and i am on a ride that circles round
passing a parent rhythmically.
and each time as i come back toward them,
i steel my face so that none of my giddy pleasure is visible.

while i remember distinctly the jittery life of my simple joy
shut away but still vibrating inside my ribcage,
the figure itself switches fluidly between my father and mother
and the ride blurs between a kiddie ride where i am alone
and a ferris wheel crammed with siblings.

at first i found it mildly bothersome
that i couldn't conjure the exact details.
i worried that my mind is confused perhaps,
or uncertain.
{yes, even my stunning memory flails at times,
joining disparate fragments haphazardly
like a four year old's first collage.}

but i've settled that, truer yet, this moment took place more than once.
it evolved from the shyness/shame of riding {and yet still enjoying} the kiddie rides alone
while my siblings are off on the bigger kid rides
to being unable to show any enjoyment whether not i was by myself.
and now i have merely reconstructed/discovered

a centerpiece for this experience--
this need to hide how much fun i was having
because it would make me too vulnerable
even for a parent to see.

i recall considering the fact that they would enjoy my enjoyment
and that i could/should leak a smile or two for their sake,
but if i conceeded, i made sure they saw it was forced.
a lie on top of a lie.
somehow even the possibility of disappointing them
was not enough inducement to risk them seeing a real smile.

the feeling of aloneness in joy
as well as the feeling of holding in joy
i still remember very well:
the unbearable pressure of hiding an explosion inside my chest
while nonchalantly pretending that everything is no big deal.

and now i wonder:
when did i learn how to do this?
and why?

and now i understand:
the simple and transcendent pleasure i will never take for granted of a laugh that is so overpowering it escapes my body and sings loud and clear from my throat.

it amazes me every time.

red, red wine

a nice meal+amazing dessert+two glasses of red wine≠a belly about ready to hurl.

or at least it shouldn't.
but somehow if you add 'nathania' to the above equation, it seems to be the case.
so it doesn't matter if i get way past tipsy, or just on the far side of tipsy, my belly doesn't appear to like x>one red glass of red wine.
it has stubbornly decided: return to sender or else i will make your food return to sender.
that is the threat it has made so boldly the last two times i've had red wine.
and i'm a little grumpy about this. not that red wine has ever been my drink of choice, but i like having the freedom to drink it if that's where the night is heading.

buuuuuuuut, i shouldn't be drinking much at all right because of a little discovery my chiropractor and i made this last friday.....more on that soon.

twig

it's my new bit of british/assie slang to be added to the ever growing list:

loo - bathroom
rubbish - trash
nick - steal, take, grab
oz - australia
brekky - breakfast
avo - afternoon
cheers - thanks
ta - thanks
toodle pip - byebye (still not convinced i can pull this off)

and some others i can't think of currently.

and now:

twig - i understand

marcus: ah, you told me about that, didn't twig it was that one!
me: twig?
marcus: ha! twig... guess you don't use that then! apparently from the gaelic 'tuigim'- "I understand"...

currently listening to: found sound 2 - dj elijah

absence

i haven't posted since last thursday.
excepting the post i just conjured almost for the sake of posting--almost.
i have been meaning to mark my progress on the painting for a while,
but,
i think i really just wanted to mark my presence here.
ping.
enter this space that is personal and purposeful.
i don't have anything in particular in my hands except a desire to sit here and hang out.

i feel a little like the man in last pages of the book the giving tree. he just wants to sit and rest with the stripped and bare tree. nothing in particular beyond just that.

lasagna

from the title you would think this is about food.
ha.
far from it.
it's my new nickname.
given to me by a boy a little short of four years old.

you try saying na-TAHN-ya really fast as a four year old boy.
trust me, it doesn't really work.

he was pretty enamored with his creation once i explained that i liked my new nickname and then described what a nickname was. while he denied it when his mother suggested that one of his nicknames is sugar-booger, he took every opportunity to say mine.

what's this, lasagna? will you read me this story, lasagna? mumble mumble perhaps a made up word or two, lasagna?

me: um? what was that last question?


currently listening to: lastfm.com beirut channel.

ode to my peace of mind

{spoken in the cadence of a five year old reciting their first piece of poetry}

ode to my peace of mind.

how easily you're stirred
i would rather have kept you all nice in snug
in a state of complete ignorance
but the suggestion of satisfying a
morbid curiosity
and the ease with which one can google a name
and
voila
the peace is broken.

the end.

go to hell google and all your deliciously accessible information.

fog

the drive in was stunning this morning.

the play of sun and fog a duet of celestial magnitude
that warrants a whole set of photos in my winter sun series.

and it makes me think of the radiohead song fog {see below}.

fog - radiohead

there's a little child
running round this house
and he never leaves
he will never leave
and the fog comes up from the sewers
and glows in the dark

baby alligators in the sewers grow up fast
grow up fast
anything you want it can be done
how did you go bad?
did you go bad?
did you go bad?
somethings will never wash away
did you go bad?
did you go bad?




currently listening to: fog - radiohead {which you can also find here}

a slip of silly

from last week.
i was marcus batey's 200th facebook friend {another loyal ten15er}.
he suggested trumpet fanfare would be appropriate.
{i think} he was joking.
but i took it as an offer and here is the end result:





currently listening to: kanye west on youtube. in a sassy mood today.

a parking victory

i came up to a spot just after a car of identical make and model pulls up and puts their blinker on. it was a perfect spot. zone 21 so i wouldn't have had to repark in the morning and less than a block from my place. but alas. it wasn't meant for me. i drive away as the car reverses into the first point of their parallel parking space.

i drive around the block.

and come back around to explore a different area of zone 21 parking, only to find the spot vacant. i notice it's a wee bit on the small side but i go for it anyway.

and i made it in where the last driver didn't.

yippee for me and my parallel parking skills.

happiness is:

eating trader joe's banana wheat free waffles at ten thirty at night.
complete with earth balance and organic maple syrup.

bliss is having a chum to chow them down with. :}








currently listening to: blood bank & skinny love - bon iver (thanks for blood bank, michael)

[juhst]

just
[juhst] adverb

1. by a narrow margin; barely: the arrow just missed the mark.
2. only or merely: he was just a clerk until he became ambitious.

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

waiting for the elevator on one of the rare occasions i wanted to ride instead of climb to the 5th floor: you will never be just anything.

thank you.
i want to believe you.
secret: {{{{{{{{{and part of me already does.}}}}}}}}}}}


currently listening to: from the cloudie day mix, 747 - kent.

three thoughts.

procrastination.
certainty of failure.
frustration.

{repeat.}

nut.

has officially been added to my list of nicknames.
as always, it's as much a reflection of the giver as it is of their perception of me.
this one makes me smile all the way down to my toes.
and that's a good long distance.

xanthous

\ZAN-thuhs\, adjective:

yellow; yellowish

an interesting color word. it slides off the tongue with assonance and flair.

alizarin & viridian are two other favorites. and if i take after my mother and grandmother and produce a set of twins (boy/girl being my wish), i would name them alizarin and viridian. nicknames could be zarin and dian. red/green. i always loved warm/cool color combinations. and it's a complimentary color scheme to boot.

currently listening to: silence. because i don't listen to music really when i'm sick.

winter break

a much needed vacation. complete vacation from both work and class.

early in, i decided not to do anything i didn't want to do, so all meisner reading and prep work for the 20 minute piece (with rehearsals beginning next week) begin tomorrow.

in the meantime, i got to know my sewing machine, made four scarves, and played a three hour game of scrabble.

and re-re-re-re-re-re-reread sunshine by robin mckinley. i stayed in bed until 2pm two days in a row and finished it this morning. it was still fantastic. and the stabbing pain that hits somewhere between my heart and belly (or both simultaneously) every time i finish a good book does, in fact, lessen over time.
today i read the last lines, closed the book, and simply felt satisfied.

i'm not looking forward to work tomorrow.

but i am looking forward to friends of all shapes and sizes
returning from their respective vacations. e, a, and s.