~The Tree In Me~

Lay down my roots and plant me up
a portrait of sorts and mixed up muck
through heat and chill and winds whipped raw
I sprouted. I weathered. I owned. I saw.

There’s a fire that burns. Inside the tree of me.
It gleams of love dripped in mystery.
It’s bolder than a forest of vibrant dreams
Twisted weeds. Torn up. Laced tight at the seams.

My colors are sporadic, adapting to my tree.
I open one eye. Tuck it all inside of me.
Swaying within the winds of my mind
Hope flutters. Wilts. Leaves burdens behind.

Seeds can flourish but with knowledge and might
A regret. A whisper, A struggle. A fight.
But it’s when the worst has finally past
Then the truth sets in. Blinds you. Like a flash.

Delicate am I in my firm little stance
Unaware of the beast. A game. A dance.
Of mingles and spice and leaves and rain.
Lifts you up high, cuts your branches to shame.

The storm can be bred from a glimmer of sun
Starts softly. Solo. Hugged up in a hum.
Rumbles of thunder haste to tackle your core.
Give you noise, and dilemma, and utter uproar.

Though withered up fierce and wrinkled inside
I took the beatings, I groaned in stride.
A strong arm pierced amid that gust
Spins all the maybes into one big MUST.

Mighty fierce am I. Tough as bark can be.
Grace ignites. Flares up. Batters the coat that covers me.
It nurtures through every ache. It weeps.
Tears shed. And water. Grinds the roots in deep.

Through contorted vines built on twisted lies
It glows. Truth burns. Pokes holes in jagged lines.
Roots intertwine around deceitful tales
A heart withers. Rebuilds. And thy will prevails.

Between Summer’s scorch and Winter’s freeze
Of farewells and loss and dampened dreams
Blossoms of Spring weaves the gold of Fall
My soul flies away while my insides crawl.

A trunk of secrets bears leaves of remorse.
I scoff. They shed. Grow up. Trek the course.
Inhale come together. Exhale fall apart.
Acceptance wraps me up. A noose around my heart.

Weathering it all. Those roots won’t quit.
Day in day out. They endure. They Commit.
Wrongdoings hidden in the shadow of dark.
Light brings out truth. Wisdom strengthens the bark.

I stand tall. I stretch far. The sky is my domain.
It fuels me. Heals me. The Earth. It knows my name.
I am shining in the NOW. That is the tree in me.
Beautifully weathered.

Firmly planted.

wild

scarred

.....and Free.

Not such a bad day after all....

I had a rough morning. A rough night rather. My little biological extension, my munchkin, my only, my 6-year old little boy with the longest legs on the planet was not doing well. He had an unexplained outbreak of hives all over his tiny frame and an itchy scalp, rashed up belly, a fever, and according to him “a tongue that felt scratchy and hot”. Poor little boo. He slept beside me as I lay awake to his scratching and rustling about trying to get comfy. His refusal to let us put any type of cream on the welts (because that would require us touching them) had left Steve and I to watch in sorrow as he chose the burning and inflammation over a remedy.

So yea, my night was not of the sleeping kind and by morning we had decided to split the day staying home with the little munchkin. I headed to work at 7 a.m. with a numb headache and a hot cup of coffee to save me. By 8 a.m. the hot cup of coffee in my cute new ceramic thermos had gotten knocked off the counter by my elbow during an urgent situation at work. It shattered and took 1/2 roll of paper towels to clean up. I had to shout out a quick “F my life!” just to validate the fact that this was NOT my morning. The icing on the cake of course was that I had my period and had forgotten to toss tampons in my purse (that would be the cherry on top of it) No pun, really people. My mood was sour and stressed until I started to print the reports for the day and clicked on the calendar day of Sept.11th.

Then I snapped into reality. And felt like a shit.

The switch flipped and I felt sorrow, regret, and then deep THANKS for the good news in my life. Such as:

I am ALIVE.
This is a day of remembrance for many lives lost but not for the life lost of MY husband, MY sister, or MY child.
I am glad to have a child covered in hives because that is all it is: HIVES. It will go away, he will get better, and the hugs I get will continue to multiply.
The sky isn’t falling. I am safe, worry free and loved.
I have a beautiful home that awaits my return every day.
I have the most exuberant free spirited bunch of giggle boxes for friends. I couldn’t have molded a better selection from my dreams than what I already have in my reality.
I have all my limbs and they work. My lungs have air and my eyes are clear. (I was really feeling grateful here...)
I have money to buy a new coffee mug.
I have the ability to create light at the end of the tunnel no matter how long or twisted that tunnel may be.
 This is very important: I am having ice cream for breakfast tomorrow because life is too short to not spoil myself and because I CAN.

Lesson being is this: No matter how crappy your day is someone in the world is always having a worse day than you. No day is really that bad so as long as you can retire at the end of it and start a fresh one again in the morning. Be grateful for what IS and forget about the minor things that don’t really matter. Difficulties pass. Days move on. Life slips by. Hold onto the good things, blink away the hardships and keep looking forward towards the light because that is where the beauty is.

Friday Night Confessions...

Vikings game? Free tickets? Whoo-hoo lezzzzzzgo! Ok, so perhaps I was more sold on the idea of a night out with friends and some cold beer at the end of the work week but what the hell. Game on however you want to look at it.

So we hip hop over to Grumpy’s bar last night to meet up with a bunch of our friends pre-game. Rocked a big ol’ plate of tater tots and some drinks then we walked our purple attired bodies over to the dome. I wore my one and only dark purple colored tank so at least I looked the part of a legit Viking/football fan, but that was about the extent of it.

This blog is a confession actually. So it’s not like I despise football or anything, it’s just that... well it’s not my “thing.” I used to cheer for it in high school and all, but that was mainly because I liked to dance and wear a short skirt and watch the boys run around in tight uniforms (that would be confession #1). Confession #2 is that I never truly understood all the rules of the game and thank god the other cheerleaders had somewhat of a clue or I would have been totally confused as to when I should be jumping and rah-rah-ing for joy or when to put on my cute little concerned face when the play didn’t go in our favor. Ok, so I’m not dumb (my I.Q. is pleasurably above average), but like I said, the sport isn’t really my choice of interest. I’d rather be shopping. (When wouldn’t I rather be shopping?) Or reading a book for that matter. I’m a book worm shop-a-holic who isn’t into football. Yup that’s me.

It was a blast though! Not because of the game or anything, I maybe watched 1 minute total. The conversation with the ladies though? Fabulous. We debated the "age span" of a Vikings cheerleader and how often we shower a week, it was great. I could sit and chat with women all night long while sipping beers and munching on popcorn. That was some damn good popcorn by the way, but $9 for a beer was completely nonsensical.

Oh yeah, this is a confessional. So confession #3 is that (*WARNING: this is cringe worthy) for the 2+ hours I spent sitting in my seat, semi-peeking up at the players running and tossing a ball 'round the field and no doubt some touchdowns happened (yes I know what that is), I can honestly say without a shadow of a doubt that I have NO idea what team they played. Not a clue. I know! It’s horrible! And the final confession I have is this: I have NO idea what the score was. Tsk-tsk. I’m still a fan though because I was wearing purple and I did scream a few whoo-hoos when prompted by screams and fireworks.

What I can tell you though is that the cheerleaders had gold pom-poms and white boots. Oh and my seat was blue.

Excuse me while I go figure out my penance....

The heart's connection to a pan of brownies: A dedication to my Mom

I believe that memories and feelings are tied to certain “objects or tastes” throughout our lives. For example, the smell of bubble gum (Hubba Bubba watermelon flavor) instantly takes me back 20 plus years and puts me in my childhood driveway, colored chalk in hand and drawing a hopscotch game onto the cement. I’m in jean shorts smacking and popping bubbles under the sun and can feel the warmth of the driveway on my butt. When I smell suntan lotion I can also simultaneously smell the fabric softener my Mom used on my beach towel and feel the sensation of my body laying on it, the tiny blades of grass poking through onto my back and the feel of sunshine on my face and the tightness of my ponytail.

Smells are huge for me and memories flood back once I catch a whiff of something familiar. Wrigleys Spearmint gum makes me think of my Grandma’s purse as she always carried that green gum with her and gave me a piece every time I rode in her car. Fried fish, boom I’m a child back at our cabin in Alexandria, I can hear the waves of the lake and my dad is standing over the frying pan with a spatula in hand and I can hear every sizzle. One of the biggest memory trips I get is when I smell baked goods. In particular, bars, cookies, and brownies. Oh, my Mom’s brownies were divine. I remember running through our front door when I got home from school and right away I’d know that she made them even before I saw the 9x13 pan on the counter. The scent gave it away. I’d open the lid and the frosting was still warm and gooey as if she had timed it just perfectly to when we walked in the door. She was so sweet like that. They always had a tiny little corner piece taken out because she always had to give it a taste. Damn they were good and I haven’t had them in years.

What I do have though is the recipe and so today I decided to glance it over. Hmmmm, well the only healthy ingredient on the list was the 1/2 cup of boiling water and I’m trying to eat very clean and conscious as of late so I thought I’d make a few substitutions. I mean it can’t hurt to swap a few things out right? So instead of butter I used coconut oil. White flour, bleh, I used some gluten free flour mix. I thought it looked a little thick so I added another egg. I didn’t use the regular white sugar Mom would use but opted for some raw cane sugar and a little coconut palm sugar. The mix looked the right consistency so I crossed my fingers and stuck it in the oven, getting excited for the wonderful smell that would soon fill my house.

Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. What the hell? Did I forget to turn on the oven? Nope, it’s hot. I walked outside and walked back in, and still I smelled no chocolate. Did I remember to put in the damn cocoa? Yes, I had. Is my nose broken!? I opened up a jar of peanut butter and sniffed. No my senses were definitely in working condition. Then the timer went off but the smell never came. WTF!? Ok so I stuck the toothpick in and it was perfectly done and looked really good even though the smell was blank. Maybe the taste will make up for the non existing aroma?

Um, yeah, not so much. I let them cool just enough to dig a fork in and take a nice big bite. Huh? Where’s my Mom’s brownies? I got a hint of candle wax flavor on my tongue. This rectangular pan of dark brown something was a mirage to what should have been a sweet moist bite of warm chocolate sin. Granted, I hadn’t attempted to create the frosting yet but why bother if the base is all jacked up? Crazy enough though, the kid thinks they’re great (under a mountain of whipped cream that is).

Lesson learned: Some things you just can’t mess with. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. And honestly? Sometimes it’s worth it to just keep things as they are, even if they’re on the unhealthy side for the sake of memories and satisfaction. My Mom had tons of cookbooks and recipe boxes and this was the ONE AND ONLY brownie recipe she reverted back to for as long as I can remember. Obviously, she knew it was the best and if she knew anything it was how to bake. So I’ll put a little star in the corner of the recipe and note “No adjustments” because at the end of the day, you just can’t mess with perfection.

Exclusive: Kim, Kanye, and baby North "take naps together!"

Warning: Venting ahead.

OK so I just saw this “update” in my news feed as if it were some ground breaking-OMG-can you believe it?! type of jaw dropping news and well I have to blog it out and give it a big old “WHO GIVES A F#@K?!”

So let me break it down for you famous people who think that spending 5 hours on your Swarovski encrusted fingernails and 1/2 day in the make-up chair, oh and wearing a $10,000 pair of socks equates to your worth, you need a reality check (no your Kardashian show does not count as reality). This is not how normal people in society function.

Just because you are so busy spending money and time trying to look hot (your double plumped lips are not by the way), this does not constitute as a job. Just because people publish ridiculous articles about how doting you are to your child or how miraculous it was that you actually made the time to sit by your (not yet divorced) girlfriend while she pushed a baby out of her (Brazilian waxed) vagina, this does not mean you are actually worthy of any praise doing what all of us other normal people in the world would do without thinking.

Just because you are famous does not make you more special for oh let me see here...holding your child, napping with your child, or giving them a bottle. Wake up people this shit is normal, even if you think you came up with some erratically cool, “no one will ever be able to copy” name for your wrinkled baby such as North West. It isn’t original, it’s obvious. It’s not cool, it’s desperation. The shock wore off after 6 seconds. Poor little North West (who will likely end up directionally challenged) was worthy of about 10.5 million eye rolls before he hit his first 24 hours of life all for a little “oh they finally reveled the name!” publication.

Word up Kanye and Kim: No one gives a shit. Nobody cares that Kanye is by your side certain hours of the day during his busy schedule, or that the crib cost $10,000 (they just piss all over the sheets anyway fyi) or that Kanye refuses to change diapers (really!?). Just because people know your name it doesn’t make your baby any more special even if the gossip mags do pay you multi-millions for a brief (likely exaggerated) 1/2 page print of a few sweet words that you whispered or photos of the cute baby blankets and booties you bought. Ugh.

Get over yourselves. I’d like to see a nice real article about how the baby pooped on your Gucci skirt or how you only got 2 hours of sleep because your bawling baby kept you up all night and it took 2 more hours in the make-up chair to fix the under-eye bags. Because honestly? Having a newborn is not all sunshine and roses (even if you toss out the money to make it appear so in the glossy pages of a magazine). Us real people know better.

So shut-up. Put away the false lashes and put on the sweat pants like a new mommy should. And Kanye, I don’t care how much money those jeans cost or how toned your ass is, you still need to pull up those damn pants.

Vent over. Aaaaaand breathe.

The five year twitch

Our cell phone. Our “smart” phone. Our love. Our wing man, assistant, stereo, camera, and calendar in one. These tiny rectangular objects have slowly become our LIFE all wrapped up in a cute little package that can fit in the palm of our hand. Access to anything our heart desires is practically a click away. We are spoiled incessantly by the convenience of this little smart rectangle and yet we completely take it for granted, but what the hell it’s technology, times have changed and I love to love it. My iphone and I were inseparable for almost 5 years...

But....

Like any relationship...

Things get a little too comfortable after awhile. Things get slightly uneventful. Same ol’ same ol’. The parts feel the same, the sounds are repetitious, same colors, blah. Sometimes you want to spice things up a bit. Try something new. Could the grass be greener? Could the mind be quicker? Maybe there’s a better fit for me? What can I say, I got the itch. My palm? It got the twitch.

Along comes something “bigger.” Enter "The Samsung Galaxy" (even sounds more macho doesn’t it?) Wow! The size spoke volumes right away. The face was brighter, the package was larger. Made my little iphone look like a teeny weenie next to a rocket. It took awhile to figure out my new relationship and how “we” would work together. At first it kept piping up and beeping, ringing, vibrating at all intervals through out the day and I was powerless to stop it. I went nuts. It finally stopped for no reason on day 2. By day 3 I had stopped text messaging all together as the keyboard was a pain in the ass. Mr. Samsung couldn’t read my body language and adjust to my touch like thee old iphone could. You literally have to have fingers the size of toothpicks to hit the damn keys right. But the ring tones of seagulls and waves? Well, my ears were in love. I didn’t have time to figure out this new personality and what keys to press for what. We had more than one verbal altercation which resulted in me saying : “I f#%*@g hate this phone!”

But....
My new case with the bright colored stripes looked all hot and fashion forward. It went with my personality. We looked good together. Things were going alright for a new relationship  but while I had Mr Macho Samsung charging up on my night stand I was still sleeping with my iphone. As in spooning it actually.

Why?

Because there’s a particular sleep app that I rely on the soothe me to sleep and to wake me with angelic harps and a breeze. Samsung doesn’t have the app. There are similar apps with similar features, but not like this one. (It’s called sleep cycle and it’s the bomb)There’s just certain things an ex has that the new fling will never have. I missed my itunes. I missed the way my iphone knew my thoughts before I thought them. Read my mind and practically typed my messages for me. It spoke my language, understood my slang, and well, it just “got me.” I tried to get over it but couldn’t. I still found myself yearning for my old comfortable relationship and still reached for my old iphone in the morning only to be reminded that the functions have been stolen away from it. I felt like I was cheating on a rectangular object. How messed up have I become?

End scenario? I got me a new iphone5. I love the iphone. I didn’t need a new relationship, I just needed to work on the old one. It’s like my technological box got a makeover, worked out a bit, and slipped into a new pair of skinny jeans. I just need to get a hot new case for it to slide into and we’ll be rocking the world again.

I broke up with Samsung and won’t look back. At the end of the day “size doesn’t matter.” At least not in the smart phone world! But if you love something? Go ahead and set it free, it will always come back if it’s meant to be. Me and my iphone, my iphone and me, forever and always in “sync” we will be.

Death and New Beginnings

Death.

The word that sounds like darkness. It makes me feel cold and if spoken in the right tone can create a tiny trail of goosebumps along the outer portion of my arms. It’s not a pretty word. It’s a clouded term dripping with depression. I think of graves, gloomy skies, black weeds, sunken hearts, and a deep night sky. It feels like an END. A sorrowful end. I like happy endings so the word death does not appeal to me.

I don’t like the word die either. Again it sounds like an end. A life has now become final. They have DIED. They are no more. Gone. Evaporated. Nothing.

I don’t belief in death and I don’t believe in dying.

I believe that people move on to the next the level. I believe they change forms. They graduate. They blossom. They start anew like a sunset in the early dawn. They wake up in another place. Their soul floats away into the beauty of their next phase. When they leave this world another one awaits and greets them with open arms of which they willingly embrace and breathe a sigh of appreciation for. This is the circle of life. There are no end-of-the-roads here, but a constant turn of phases. A ring of change, a big circle of constant improvement and growth. A horizon.

New beginnings. This sounds like a light-hearted phrase. I see sunshine. I feel hope. A challenge perhaps, but change is a certainty in life. You accept it or resist it. I see it as a clean state.

I wrote a little poem about it. Just kept typing as the thoughts popped up. Random and quick but true to my perceptions on the topic. Wanna hear it? Here it goes...

Do Not Think Of Me as Death (a tale on new beginnings)

Do not think of me as Death
I am a new Beginning
I am not dark
I am not withered
I am glowing, awake and singing.

Do not think that I am over
I am not final
Forever is me
My journey here is complete
I came, I conquered
now I’m free.

Do not think of me as death
I did not stop,
Just left an open space
My soul went up and away
gave me new meaning
in a brand new place.

Do not think of me as gone
You can’t see me
can’t touch me, but I’m here
I’m not tangible
to your hands
but an emotion
full of love, not fear.

Do not think that I have died
I live in your mind
I can’t be erased.
I’m the warmth in your heart
the swell of your chest
The catch in your breathe
and the tears on your face.

Death didn’t take me away
My path changed
a new journey has begun
A world unknown
to those still here
I’m one with the stars
the moon and the sun.

I am not death
I did not die
I moved on to a new beginning
On a road built of peace and love
still growing
still learning
and still singing....