Monday, November 5, 2012
A love lost
A time that had been written
On the lines of a feather that has blown away
Where did it land?
Or perhaps it keeps flying
Always in route, always in motion
Never to settle
Or be written on again
You chase it, try to find it
But it is gone
Hiding from the very home it left
But what if you forget
What was shared on those lines
You forget how it went
As it started to fly
Away away and further away
A love lost
Like a ripple of water finding it's end
The dance is over
Everything is still
No movement, no knowledge
Only a silence so deadly and near
What now will come?
Something new? Something unwanted?
But you can't recognize
The view in sight is clouded
You are unsure
Nothing is familiar, nothing is home
You are the love lost
Both grounded and in flight
Both homeless and bound
Both shattered and whole
A new time has arrived
New lines are written
To fly away once more
And just once more again
They are loves lost
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
it makes you remember, makes you forget
time tries to push you to your limits
I can hear myself crying as I stand silent
still in the night just trying to fight it
you can't go back, there is no forward
just a price on your day you can no longer afford
there is too much fighting for your heart
darkness and light as they tear you apart
are we nothing, are we something
are we trying and proving tiring
we wake in the morning, and fall in the night
to return to the answer that should make it alright
sometimes the beginning is simply the end
sometimes the end is where you begin
Thursday, June 14, 2012
I took the liberty of making a list to get me started. I am going to share the list with you and then elaborate. So that way if you are in a hurry, you can just read the list of reasons why I write and then move on. I'm all about pleasing the people today, aren't I?
Reasons why I write(in chronological order):
1. coping mechanism
3. story telling
4. creative outlet
I was born a writer. I am not really sure how or why, but I know as soon I was old enough to pick up a pencil, I wrote. As soon as I was old enough to type, I put down the pencil and got a type writer, and as soon as there were such things as online journals, I had one. My relationship with writing began when I was very young, and it started as a
1. coping mechanism. When I was a child, there were many things going on around me that shouldn't have been exposed to such a young mind. These things made deep rivers in my head that were dried up and stuck, and all I could do to get the rivers flowing out into some kind of tangible destination, was write. I would pick up a pencil and write about what I felt. I would write these stories of pain, loss, death, and hopelessness. Some of these things I wrote, I still have, and when I look back and read them, I cannot imagine my own child expressing the things I was desperately trying to express at such a young age. I was angry, sad, confused, and, for lack of better word, haunted. I asked many questions in these early writings. Many of them were just sentences of whys. I felt I had no answer. I felt writing was my only escape, the only thing I could really understand. You know how many lonely characters in literature escape by reading books? (like Francie in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Matilda, and Jane Eyre.) That is how I was as a child, but along with reading, I turned to writing my own stories. Writing started out for me as a way to cope with what was going on around me, things I could not comprehend. It quickly became my best friend and my favorite way of
2. communicating. I found as I started growing up, I would get very easily frustrated when I would try to explain what I was feeling or thinking. I couldn't quite get my words out and I remember many times where I would get overwhelmed and just start to cry. Eventually I just stopped trying, and wouldn't say anything. But when I really needed to communicate something, I wrote. I remember telling friends on the phone, "I can't explain it, I will write it to you." And I did. I wrote many letters, stories, and poems to anyone I wanted to communicate with. Friends, boys I liked, and even my family members would get these written expressions that I just couldn't seem to say out loud. It was around this time I got a type writer from Santa (yep, the big man HIMSELF) and started really going to town. I was 11, and all I cared about was
3. story telling. I would sit indian style on my bed in my house off of Pacific Terrace Drive and just fill up sheets and sheets of paper. My favorite part was naming the characters. There was Jackson Rose, she was a girl with a boy's name and you did not mess with her. There was Mr. Tiny Brown, he was not tiny. My most common character was my brother but I would disguise him with different aliases. I started getting notes home from my teachers telling my parents that I was going to be a writer. My teachers would ask for a 2 page report, and I'd turn in a 5 page report. Once I would get going, I just found it hard to stop. I started living through my characters and stories, and for the first time in my life, I started to feel alive. I got into poetry, online journaling, pen-paling, writing contests, and anything else that had to do with writing. I didn't know much about myself then, but what I knew was that I loved to write and I wouldn't ever stop. I never stopped, and though my life has changed dramatically since I first began writing, it is still my number one
4. creative outlet. I wrote a quote when I was 17 that goes like this, "I must create. In a moment, we are either simply living or we are simply dying. Creating is the only way to escape it, the only way to be something other than dead or alive." And it is true. Writing is creating. I create because I feel it is the only escape from just living or dying. It is the "more." It is the "why." When someone creates something, they have the CHOICE to share it or not share it. That is freedom. We have the freedom to liberate what we create and birth it into something that just doesn't live or die, it IS. And it wouldn't be without us. I am so passionate about this, that my hands are shaking now as I write this. Tim Burton could have kept the idea of Edward Scissorhands in his mind, J.K. Rowling could've left the entire WORLD of Harry Potter unknown to anyone else, Van Gogh could have kept the visions that haunted him and left them to their haunting, and Stevie Wonder could've given up what he simply couldn't see. But they didn't. They created and birthed things that will never die, they have been released and no one can EVER undo it or take it back. If you have anything you were born to do, want to do, or suck at doing but love it anyway, do it. Share it. Be it. There is a number 5. I write because
5. I am a writer.
Friday, June 1, 2012
1. I make a pot of extra strong coffee. I will add one scoop over the usual 1 scoop to two cups of water ratio. my coffee pot also has a "strong" button option on it that I use as well.
2. once the coffee is done, take the pot and place it on the stovetop to cool.
3. this is when I make my syrup, which I only need to make every couple weeks. take two cups of water, and two cups of sugar (honey or agave will work as well too) and heat in a sauce pain on the stove, stirring constantly until sugar dissolves. add 1/4 teaspoon of coconut, vanilla, or peppermint extract (depending on what flavor of iced coffee you want.) pour into bottles and cool. this syrup does not need to be refrigerated and lasts forever.
4. once the pot of coffee is cool, pour into a pitcher and place in the fridge.
5. once the coffee is cold, take pitcher out and give it a quick stir. pour in glass with room from cream or milk, and your syrup. I put a little 2% in mine, and my coconut syrup. give it a stir, add ice and wallah!
the pitcher will last the whole week if you have any self control with it. we love busting out an iced coffee whenever we want. I've noticed giving the coffee a stir before each time is vital to the flavor.
quite simple right? And super yummy. special thanks to my fantastic friend Jami and her glorious syrup-making skills.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
I wrote this for my darling husband.
the ocean it heard of.
so what if there is a love
that's bigger than the ocean it heard of
it twists and twines, always in motion
like branches folding into hearts
no end or finish or start
it found me by surprise
like a ship all alone awaiting the tide
flooded, shipwrecked, there is no surrender
only the science and silence of a bitter cold winter
the pain and the beauty become one in the same
all it can do is consume and invade
my only chance is no chance at all
inside it's eyes I find where to fall
our story begins after it's over
I stand still but it keeps moving closer
I see you now, on the horizon
The gain and the loss, it all ties in
I believe we're inside a love
it's bigger than the ocean it heard of
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
when we decided to name that baby Moses, we immediately thought of the nickname Cozy Mosey, and knew it would be perfect for him. and it is. as soon as he was born, he was sensitive, sweet, and very cuddly. in fact, I think he was happiest when he was just be snuggled. he also loved to eat. which is also much like me.
after a few months of trying to get to know Moses, I found myself complaining to a good friend about how needy he was. she replied, "hey! you prayed for a snuggler!" which was so very true. Vaelyn and Chris are doers, they don't stop doing unless you force them to, and I did pray for a child who would be more like me, and be ok with just laying low at home with me while Chris and Vae went and conquered the world. Moses is an answer to prayer in many ways and he has taught me a lot about myself. he loves to be loved and he loves to give love. if I go and sit on the floor, it doesn't matter what he's doing, he will stop and crawl over to me and just kiss me and hug me and slobber all over me like he hasn't seen me in days. it's the greatest feeling in the world.
there are things about "us" that are harder to handle. like when he is over-extraverted or when he is overtired or when he is uncomfortable, what he feels is so amplified, and I have a hard time calming him down or making him feel safe. I know I am the same way. sometimes I get frustrated about it and just have to laugh, because it's like I am looking in the mirror and I suddenly realize what Chris has to deal with.
Mosey also has an incredible ear for music like I do. I have lost hearing in my left ear yet can always "hear" music that other people can't, like in a loud restaurant or music coming from somewhere far away. Moses has a deep love for music, as soon as he hears it, he comes whipping around the corner to find where it is coming from, or when I am singing to him, or Chris is playing his guitar, he just stops and stares at us. he loves it so much, and to see someone so little and young respond to something he loves is just the most magical thing. Vae has that same love for flipping off of things. :)
some days are really hard, and some days I almost feel defeated in my attempt of "getting to know Moses," as my daughter wasn't nearly as hard to figure out. but there is something great about us "hard-to-figure-out" people, we are who we are for a reason. I am so grateful to have someone like me to love, someone who teaches me about myself. he is someone who I know years from now, I will be able to talk to about things and he will understand what I am feeling because he has felt it himself.
Moses Louis, he is someone who is apart of me, someone who came from me, someone who I treasure so much. He is still new, everyday he is new, and everyday I love getting to know him, my son.
Friday, February 3, 2012
the next morning I told Chris about it, and he was on board to help make my vision come true. we went to home depot and bought just a few supplies and got to work. Here are some images that will explain how you can make your own light bulb bouquets!
check out a short youtube video here.
these bouquets can also be made with tissue paper or fabrics. you could even paint your coffee filters if you felt so inclined! run with it. special thanks to my wonderful hubby and to Annie, my inspiration! love to you all.