All sorts of growing up

December 14, 2008
Wow, it has been exactly one month since I blogged. I can not believe that I have been such a slacker about it, but honestly, I've just had a lot going on. My heart, my mind, my days...they're all busy, but in an effort to recenter I pulled two old journals down off the bookshelf tonight and decided to share some "poems" circa 1997. *smiles* I had forgotten how brooding I could be as well as how full of whimsy I was at times. Really, reading 16 and 17 year-old Karen got me thinking about the growing up that I'm still doing at 28.

Tomorrow marks the one week anniversary of finally getting my driver's license. I have to say, it's kinda nice being able to get myself places, but I still definitely like to be chauffered. While lots of people liked to taunt me about not driving, saying I needed to join the grown ups, it's not the actual license part that makes me feel like I did some growing; it's the deciding it's okay to not do everything perfectly and to let people see me make a mistake here and there. Todd Smith was a fairly patient teacher, and I am thankful it was him that I learned from. After 11 years, there is a best friend kinda comfort that you can't get with anyone else. We all know that I am a spoiled brat that can not stand to be anything but "right", and the boy was tolerant of my nonsense.

Anyway, tomorrow...it is also the day that I teach my very first yoga class. Obviously, I am an attention whore and like for people to take notice of me (positively, of course), but I am kind of nervous to be in front of people in that sort of venue. I'm told it's an audition, and to me auditions = a little scary (back to that only wanting to do things in front of people if success is guaranteed).

Not only do I love the practice of yoga, but instructing is another step in growing up for me. In general, I like where I am am but I need to put myself out there a bit more so that I can move on to bigger and better things. The fear of putting me out "there" isn't what kept me from finishing school though; however, I think it certainly certainly factors into what keeps me from going back. Things are both different and the same for me as they were 7 years ago when I stopped, and that is a falsely dichotomous life revelation that I just don't want to address.

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January 6, 2009

Goodness! It has been a while since I've written anything, but I heard a little cinematic dialogue that reminded me of something I was thinking when I left this one to nearly die on the drafting clipboard. I was watching a movie with my highly cherished nieces, and one of the main characters referenced something about how people were always talking about her artistic, musical potential as a child because they were impressed with her abilities at the time; however, when people talk about her present-day "potential" it seems lost because she is playing the same piece now as she was then.

I immediately empathized with the character. My writing seems dreadfully vapid now. My toes just barely test the waters of writing anymore, and I seem to have been reduced to a good copy editor (skills for which I don't technically get paid). I also see now that perhaps writing wasn't the path for me anyway.

I truly am smitten with the fitness world, and in particular, I am in love with the practice of yoga. That first class went well, and I am going back this weekend to teach again. Additionally, I was asked to take part in an extra-curricular program for 1st-5th graders this Spring in which they select after-school electives. Some of the little Girl Scouts I put in volunteer yoga time with asked for my class to be an option. I am honored and excited to share yoga with the little peeps.

These new ventures, along with both the acquisition of some amazing new friends as well as the remarkable endurance of existing friendships, are an invigorating start to 2009 that will hopefully bring me out of the darkness I fell into in 2008. I am eager to move forward, to forget about the things that I can not change, to dream of bigger, better things and to achieve them, to sincerely find and to know the joy that exists in me independent from all else.

So yeah..., just for fun here are a couple of high school Karen writings (both a bit o' the brooding and a bit o' that whimsy):

This is from the 1996 book:

Who will keep the human beat when we have all this money for bombs yet not enough to keep homeless off the street, while children live in boxes of their own discontent I want to be a cat, a dog, a mouse - then, maybe the world wouldn't be So insignificant.

This is from the 1997 book:

Staring at the back of a head my mind beings to draw a blank Turn the corner, and pass right by trudge on home and finally drawn to sleep So hard to resist the lure and bait of my dreams when lying on a pile of pillows beneath a weight of days that tend to drain Dream along the thoughts that rise while sleeping and fly perhaps for a time.

Sorry, this particular journal was almost completely lacking in the light and whimsical genre. Someday I might see what I can find in the garage. There is one that I wrote for our little "underground" newspaper that was all about growing up and would have been extremely a propos for this post, but alas I could not find it. Just be grateful you didn't get relationship-driven stuff from that time *rolls eyes*.

Upon, looking back at this one, I should have titled it "Dear Diary"...oh well.

I am wishing everyone the most beautiful day, night, week, month, year, etc.

Hare I go, hare I go, hare I go again...

Sorry, you’ll see what prompted it in a second (you know beside my obvious love for Salt-N-Peppa since my Blacks’ Magic cassette circa ‘93).

It’s Columbus Day, an almost over Columbus Day, but I am just now getting around to posting. I thought maybe I’d get all tangential about the number of government employees that were comfortably lounging today while I sat utterly annoyed in my office and read more about our (insert sarcasm now) flourishing economy – how ‘bout that Dow today? – I know I’m convinced that all is well now! Then I thought: why bother? Why begrudge them their paid holiday? Am I not elated when Labor Day and Memorial Day roll round?

Instead I starting thinking about how when you’re in grade school you’re force-fed some historical nonsense as to why you will have Monday off just prior to being reminded that you should use that time wisely to work on whatever your big project is for the semester. With Columbus Day, in particular (yes, my Catholic grade school was closed), I can recall a cheesy Bugs Bunny cartoon (that I probably saw 10+ times thanks to my paternal grandfather’s love of Bugs) helping to form some of my ideas on Christopher Columbus’ historic role. Of course, the older I got, the less credence I gave to cartoons as historic references (wink), but just for the sake of discussion I think it’s a bit crazy that I ever allowed it into my psyche at all. That’s what we do though right? Form a popular consciousness with regard to historical events via a pervasive cultural layer that's been added like that of Bugs and Chris?

The cartoon delivers that same ol’ story of Chris attempting rather unsuccessfully to convince potential financiers of his voyage that the world is round, etc. Historians know very well that in addition to a majority of well-traveled sailors, most educated people in early modern Europe were perfectly aware that the world was not flat. If anything, Columbus was kind of deluded, just not about the shape of the world, but its size. He thought it was much smaller than it actually was.

When you ask why people have heard otherwise, you can’t really zero in on any single text or source that is responsible for creating an alternative folk knowledge about Columbus and medieval European knowledge. Even when you can find a source like that housed within a Looney Tunes there’s often so much whimsy or simplicity, something intended for children, that is maybe infused with a sense of reference to common sense knowledge about past events, are we really getting anything historically accurate? It’s not that the cartoon teaches you about Columbus, or even that it purports to; it’s more like it’s human capability at work. Together we strive, whether consciously or sub-consciously to innovate, to accumulate and to diffuse culture. While there is of course, always going to be someone trying to write and teach history to his/her advantage or protection (see Lies My Teacher Told Me for some examples), there are also cases like that of Bugs; there’s no malicious agenda in the cartoon to rewrite history, at least I don’t think.

Crap! I'm not going to do it, but the whole thought processes for tonight have ended me at memetics...ugh, another time perhaps. I am tired and extend my apologies for messy though without any fun or informative hyperlinks; what can I say?...I suck tonight. Only blogging to distract myself from familial drama.

Just coming up for air

I have been a naughty blogger and promise to try to whip something thoughtful up this week. Debate was entertaining, yes? Anyway...

You contained me in your universe,
fed me, educated me, bedded me in slippery

sheets, removed my blankets as I slept.
I needed not to leave you except to star gaze.

You were red, and crushed apples along
a stream frozen save for bursting rocks.

Stealing me away from I, we spoke,
listened, lingered over other.

A pearl is round and smooth and lustrous,
Yet your floors slant and porously grit.

You slam doors and disturb dreams,
enter without knocking, give me no key to lock

Your slide-shows warmed the cold church,
And articulated metaphor, design, and thought.

Conscious Chaos

I've had a crazy week thus far and am ready for some down time this weekend!

Like a broken compass,
I don't know whether you're pushing me away
or pulling me towards.You seemed so alive then,
so soft and so bright,
yet quiet inside of you.
I never knew how to be
still like that.
I wrote your words on my arms,
never too clean to get a tad dirty.
The words are pungent and broken on my tummy,
but they are alive.
Alive, because sometimes you speak to me this way,
with touches and tattoos,
in whispers and shouts,
eager for your words I tug my hair out,
and I remember that you must have been
broken once, too.
I'm close to okay, though.
Almost fixed,
I've glued me back
with little thanks to you.
There are few cracks in sight
and then just this
seamless whisper
of your hands
on my shoulders
pushing me or pulling me
in every direction
of you.

Lexiconic Prurience, I guess…

So those that know me know that I am a complete sucker for neologisms and fancy myself a rather creative lexiconist (yep, think I’ll write my own dictionary of fun words someday). Additionally, I just love words, grammar, language, et. al. Today, I share with you a silly post along those lines. Let’s wordplay.

Orchasm – n. The immeasurable distance between one choice and another.Or, with its grammar of gestation. Or, with its suggestive reservoir of participles of posing; its gerunds of guessing; its infinitives of "to do this" or "to do that." Or, the signature nomenclature of choice and mystery.But is it possible for the divide between "either" and "or" to be exciting? I don't know. Anxiety-producing, yes, but exciting? Probably not. After all, can Sir Climax enter, stage right, without Madame Tension's exit, stage left? [Reverse genders there, if you like.] Anyway, ask Soren Kierkegaard.For orchasm, picture Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken," a paean to the possibilities of choice.

Orgasm: Such a fun…a-hem, word to play with.

orghasm - n. A ghastly but somehow pleasurable sexual experience.

boregasm - n. The peak of sexual pleasure evoked by an utterly boring person.

floorgasmic - adj. Having the qualities of a sexual crescendo that just floors you!

soargasmic – adj. Having the qualities of a sexual crescendo that cause you to feel as though floating or flying.

Catching Kisses: Sometimes life reads like a storybook

So before I get started I’d like to preface this one by saying it doesn’t matter what you or I believe; I mean that’s important, just not in the context of this story. Most of you know that for the most part I post my mood or personal goings-on, my musings on religion, politics, current events, etc. Sometimes it’s a sad commentary on ethics and morality. Sometimes it’s just a repost of something silly for your entertainment. Sometimes it’s just a poetic effort lest I explode. Today though, I’m going to share a chance encounter that I had with a charming 6 year old and his father, not because I want some sort of affirmation that I did a “good” thing, but because I hope it inspires at least one person that reads it to do something nice for someone else, that it makes even just one of you smile, and honestly, I was just so touched that I couldn’t keep it to myself. This, of course, implies that I will able to relay it with justice; I’m aware that sometimes my offerings are mediocre at best, but I think the source for content will out-weigh any literary short-comings. I implore you to read this post in its entirety.

Preface correction: I said it doesn’t matter what I believe for the context of this story…scratch that; there’s something that matters. I believe that everything happens for a reason. Now then, let’s go.

This weekend I took a little trip to the StL simply because I needed to get away and to relax a bit, to see some faces of the people that I rarely see but totally love, to pretend like I don’t have anything to worry about at work or elsewhere in life, to forget about drama with my family and the Studio, to just sit by a pool, read a book and enjoy the sunshine. I did all of that; it was nice, but do you ever have that feeling like your heart has been broken and no matter what you do you can’t quite get all of the pieces to put it back together in its rightful state? Yeah, even after my little respite I was still feeling quite forlorn, but then something amazing happened on my way home, and it changed my outlook.

The whole “not-driving” thing meant that I had to take the MO-X Shuttle to StL and back. You know how I said I believe things happen for a reason? Well, I had some plans change and decided to switch my return transportation time. If I hadn’t changed I would never have met Aric or Mark (the aforementioned 6 year old and his father). I needed to meet them, and I think they needed to meet me. As I stepped onto the shuttle I heard the driver mention that it would be a full trip so I scanned the open seats and weighed my options. There was one single seat open and a couple of empties next to other people, but I looked to the back where I saw the sweetest little face, complete with perfectly chubby cheeks, big blue eyes and curly brown hair. That face also had a pretty adorable pair of dangling legs, lightly kicking the seat. I decided that I definitely had to sit next to this little person. Someone else could sit with the grown-ups. I took my seat and exchanged smiles with this little boy and his papa. I then proceeded to read my book and text a bit with my girl, Nicole.

About an hour into the trip I notice the little boy next to me is crying. I looked at his dad and asked if he was okay. His dad said, “His mom, my wife, passed away about two months ago. We were taking her car to his aunt in St. Louis. He still cries a lot; it’s hard.”

In that moment I almost lost it myself, and then the kiddo spoke up. “She smells like mommy,” he said to his dad. Immediately I looked at his father and said, “Sorry, maybe it’s my body splash.” He replied, “Yeah, I noticed it when you sat down; it’s the same.” Again, things happen for a reason. I almost didn’t put my body splash on; it’s almost gone, and it’s been discontinued. As I was getting ready I wasn’t sure I wanted to waste any of my favorite splash on a ride home. I was feeling kind of blue and ugly that morning though so I went ahead and spritzed as usual. When I heard this little boy say that I smelled like his mommy, just after his dad told me she had passed away, my eyes welled with tears so big I don’t know how I stopped them, but I did and said to him, “Thank you. I think that you thinking I smell like your mommy is the nicest thing that anyone’s ever said to me. I bet she was a beautiful lady that smelled like cherry blossoms all of the time. Do you want to tell me your name?”

He said, “Aric with an ‘A’.” Ah so cute! I knew at this moment that we were going to be friends, and I said, “Well Aric with an ‘A’, I’m Karen with a ‘K’ which is way cooler than Karen with a ‘C’ sorta like Aric with an ‘A’ is way cooler than Aric with an ‘E’. Don’t you think?” He did, and I think he knew too, that we were going to get along. Because I think it’s important to talk to kids in a way that makes them feel respected and appreciated I proceeded to ask him his dad’s name. We chatted for a few moments as I was working up the nerve to ask his dad, Mark’s, permission to tell Aric a story.

You see, for some reason something my mom did when my sister and I were little popped into my head. When we were really young if she had to be apart from us for any extended time (a weekend at our grandparents, with our dad, etc.) she would kiss the palms of our hands and say, “If you get scared or miss me just put your hand to your cheek and know there are kisses for you there.” It’s silly, but it’s lovely and something that I do with my nieces and other little peeps that I love. I looked at Mark and said, “H-E-A-V-E-N, yay or nay?” He gave me the thumbs up so I said to a still teary-eyed Aric, “Can you blow kisses?” Obviously he responded with a yes so I asked him if he could show me by blowing a kiss to his dad. He did, and I, of course, offered much praise for his talent at blowing kisses. He smiled, pleased with himself, and then I said, “Aric, did you know that you can blow kisses to people in heaven too? You just toss them up instead of out.”

Aric looked at me rather quizzically, and then he looked at his dad. Mark nodded agreement. I continued, “It’s actually pretty awesome because they can blow kisses back. You know sometimes when you feel just the softest breeze, the kind that sort of tickles your cheek and just barely moves your hair?”

Aric answered, “Yep.” I said, “Well those are kisses from people in heaven, and they’re just grazing by you so that they can get to the person they’re supposed to go to. Sometimes they never get where they’re going because they catch too many other people on the way, but you know I think that’s okay too because maybe those people need the kisses more.” He leaned back into his seat, swinging those little legs again and was clearly storing this new-found information away. I think he was just old enough to get what I was saying but not so old that the story was implausible for him.

I then taught him how to play yellow car, and we did. I am so good at yellow car that I totally could have won if I wanted to, but I let him win. When we stepped off of the shuttle I held my breath as I knew what was coming. Sure enough, Aric tried it. He blew a kiss right up into the sky, and I kid you not, quite a good breeze hit us just as soon as he dropped his little hand back down. The look on his face is forever ingrained in my memory. His dad gave me the most heartfelt smile, and when Aric asked if we felt it we both said “what?”, knowing that would make it all the more special for him. Mark could have wanted to slap me for filling his son’s head with a story, but he shook my hand and said thank you when they left. Aric hugged me; it was soft and sweet, and he smelled good (you know that little kid smell that reminds of you of playing outside, just enough earth and sweat that you know the little one has played but doesn’t stink).

After they were gone, the elderly lady that had been sitting in front of us, touched my hand and said, “That was beautiful. May God bless all of your days.” It was so kind of her, but I didn’t know what to say in response so I just said, “Thank you! May he do the same for you.” When the cute, little old lady got into the car with her husband I saw her point at me. She’s passing my meeting on so why shouldn’t I?

The whole thing was quite surreal, but as the title said, sometimes life really does play out just like something from a storybook. Those storybook moments, whether delightfully fanciful or wistfully solemn, are often few and far between, but I am so very grateful for this one, any of them really because of the way that they stick with you. While my heart aches for that little boy, his papa, the rest of their family, I welcome what our chance meeting brought to me. It reminded me that no matter what you’re feeling, no matter what’s happening in your life; there is always someone whose sorrow is greater, their pain just that much worse. I’m certainly not an expert at anything, nor am I in a position to make remarks with such omniscient implications, but when have I ever been one to keep my thoughts to myself? So at the risk of delivering something so cliché or grandiose, I’d like to close with saying ultimately, even in the face of suffering, both great and small, even when it just isn’t what we expected or what we want in that moment, life is still something to be grateful for. We should try our best to appreciate every day and to just be good to each other.

Anyway, I respect the beauty that is in you, that is also within me…you know…namasté. Sending out kisses and wishing everyone many beautiful days!

Pieces of another restless night for me (an encore posting)

Recent My Space blog archival move (you're getting two today, and then something brand new tomorrow or later this week...on texting maybe...) For now, it's a bit of some recent prose, poetry, whatever you wish to call it; I don't care as it's just what shows up on my screen sometimes.

Originally posted on My Space May 20, 2008

A haunting shadow draws across my room.
This evening's remedy has yet to kick in.
I'm losing the bookshelf wars.
Not to a teacher, but to a dream horizon
dotted with cumbersome pillow sacks
of arrogance, longing and more gloom-filled nights.
I wanted more. There it is.
I wanted so much more to issue forth.
Wrong or right, I wanted to walk under a bridge
wearing a skirt made of words
and recite Yeats, Morejón, Alexie, you name it.
I wanted to be fire, water, air, idea…
forget earth for a bit.
I wanted it yesterday. I want it now.
My soul drank enough to know how thirsty it was.
Parched and starving, I could drink passion felt
and eat the breeze right off the curtains.