Old Mossy Steps

“Old mossy steps know lots of secrets.”

-Old Moss Woman's Secret Garden

The old mossy steps know lots of secrets. At their base is where my childhood pals and I met to plot treasure hunts and adventures. The bottom step was the starting point of many secret missions and the tall wall on the left is where I decided to try to fly, resulting in a spectacular fall into the the lower wall on the opposite side of the steps, and a dozen or so stitches in my chin.

Then it was the place of my first kiss. I still remember standing at the top of the steps looking out across the valley below as I held her hand and tried to work up the nerve to kiss her. She gave me a peck on the cheek, then I turned and looked at her a moment before leaning in and kissing her lips.

As a teenager I snuck off to the same mossy old steps to share deep talks with my girlfriend. We'd sit on the third step from the top and I would lean back against the taller wall while my girlfriend rested against me and we shared our most intimate fears and dreams.

But the middle step, staring at a patch of moss on the taller wall is where I told my biggest secrets. With no one listening but the moss and a few trees I would spill out my secrets and talk through my problems. That wall knew when I fought with my parents and what my girlfriend and I disagreed about. It knew when my childhood best friend and I stopped being best friends. It knew when I was depressed, when I was afraid to ask for help, and when I had big dreams I was too scared to hope would come true.

The old mossy steps know many secrets, and I'm sure they know more than just mine...

Photo and prompt found here.

The Kiss That Wasn't

I should have known

when he tried to kiss me,

before a first date,

when I didn't even want it.

I never should have gone,

on that awful date.

I never liked the guy,

with his flattery,

he only hurt me.

He only hurt me

with his flattery.

I never liked the guy,

on that awful date.

I never should have gone,

when I didn't even want it.

Before a first date,

when he tried to kiss me -

I should have known.

Flash Fiction Friday prompt: A Kiss to Remember

This is Not About...

This is not about you. It's about me. It's about me and where I'm going, where I'm stuck, what I need, and what I want. It's about trying to find what fits into my life and what I want to do. It's about being me without catering to preconceived ideas about who I am and what I'm supposed to be like.

I'm not who you think I am. It's all a lie, except more like I've just outgrown who you see me as and haven't yet had the courage to tell you who I am now. I've changed and grown, and I feel good about who I am and what I believe, yet it feels like a lie to keep my thoughts to myself.

I wonder sometimes if I should be more blunt to come out and say what I believe and feel. Often it's not really anybody else's business - what I believe, what I feel, how I meet God, my thoughts on this or that, who I happen to think is cute, or what I see as meaningless ritual is all a matter of who I am and really have nothing to do with you. Yet I can't help wonder... Would you see me differently if you knew the truth about me? Would you be bothered that I'm no longer the kid you think I am? Or would you still accept me, grown up and changed as I may be?

Things I Saved

Prompt: These are the things I saved.

Bits and projects,

stones and shells,

a stack of tee shirts,

I won't ever wear again,

a million papers,

my best artwork,

middle school essays,

my high school portfolio,

“important stuff”

that means nothing to me

- tax forms and pay stubs

from old jobs

snips of writing,

quotes from random places

- most I've forgotten why I saved,

but still make me smile,

relics of childhood,

and teenage years,

stuff in itself unimportant,

yet glued to precious memories.

My New Queen Sized Bed

Last night* I slept on a queen size bed in my own room for the first time in my life. I've always had a twin size bed and was never interested in trading it for a larger bed when I've been offered other beds in the past.

There's been a whole list of practical reasons for my attachment to my twin bed:

• I already have twin size sheets and blankets I like and have to find new ones if I got a larger bed.

• It takes up less space in my room.

• It's what I'm used to.

• Switching beds would take more work than keeping the one I had.

• The bigger beds I've been offered have been water beds, which I'm not a big fan of.

Those practical reasons haven't changed and still kind of annoy me a little, but there's something else, and that has changed.

There's a song by Death Cab for Cutie (see lyrics below) that puts into words better than I could why I didn't want a queen size bed in my room until I “needed” it. I wasn't exactly afraid, but almost. I didn't want that much extra space to feel lonely going to bed by myself at night. I didn't want to make room in my bed for someone else only to have them never come, or to end up sharing it with the wrong person. I didn't want to wait forever for the right person to come fill that space beside me.

But now there's a different feel to all that. I'm not trapped waiting for someone, and I'm not trying to fill a space beside me with guys who aren't worth it. I've actually met someone I want to wake up next to because it feels so right being with him. I'm not adding an empty space beside me (even though it's physically still empty most nights), and I'm not adding space for someone just because having anyone beside me sounds better than another night alone.

I don't want to jump ahead of myself, but I can't help thinking that sharing space and my life with this man will continue to feel right for a very long time, and I hope that's true, cause this is a good feeling.

Your New Twin Sized Bed

You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed

with a single pillow underneath your single head

I guess you decided that that old queen was more space than you would need

and now it's in the allay behind your apartment with a sign that says it's free

and that I hope you have more luck with this than me

you used to think that someone would come along and lay beside you in the space that they belonged

but the other side of the mattress stayed like new...

*actually two nights ago cause I rarely get things posted the day I write them.

Newness

So apparently I've been slacking on the blog front...

I spent a large chunk of this past fall stressing over work, school, relationships, and my in ability to balance everything. I decided I needed to cut stress, so I planned to make some changes for the beginning of the new year. I also found some unexpected changes happening, which led to a whole lot of newness in my life.

Newness:

Unexpected: New Boyfriend - Ironically, or perhaps by fate, I met a really great guy the day after the guy I had been dating dumped me. He's cute, he's fun, he's silly, he's mature (well, at least in the important stuff :-p), he treats me well, he's a poet, he passes friends' approval, and is all around wonderful to have in my life.

Planned: New Job - working in the daycare center was becoming to much stress, so I decided to look for a job as a nanny and leave the daycare center. The change of pace has been just what I needed, and also left me with more time and energy for thinking and writing.

Planned by Default: No Classes - When it came time to register for spring semester classes I was running short on mental energy to plan what classes I wanted to take. I also wasn't sure what my work schedule would look like, so by default my lack of energy to plan for classes led to me not taking any classes this semester. While it's slightly disappointing that I can't do everything well all at once, I feel good about taking a break from school to settle into other new things.

Added Bonus: New Writing Time and Goals - While I'm nannying I can use the time the kids are napping for writing and such. Since I'm not taking classes I can also use the time I would have set aside for homework to do creative writing. I'm hoping this post will kick my blog back into gear (I even have some other stuff written I intend to post, I just haven't gotten around to it yet). I also have some other writing goals I'm working on, but actually getting stuff posted here again is what is relevant here.

The Dust I Know

When the dust settles,

what will be left?

Will we still remember,

the clash of sticks,

scratching at ground,

the fascinating ability,

to find the fun in anything,

or will we be wired,

inseparably tied,

to electronic beep,

and flashing light?

When the dust settles,

will we still know how,

to play in the dirt,

make mud pies,

make cookies from scratch,

and laugh at a poof of flour?

Or will we forget,

what it means to get dirty,

how to sustain ourselves,

the taste of homemade bread,

and the thrill of waiting,

as it's smell fills the house?

When my kids are grown,

will dust mean the same thing,

or will the only dust they know,

be stirred up by power,

outside of themselves,

a race car's wake,

or the danger filled cloud,

whisked up by the buzz,

of a rotary saw,

big boys toys,

to be carefully guarded?

When the dust settles,

will we still be human?

Prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: When the dust settles.

Letter to Myself

Dear Self,

One day you will see how important you are. One day you will believe it when someone says “I love you” or “you're beautiful” or “you're worth it.”

I know you mean it when you say those things, but sometimes it's so hard to believe. I want to be the smart, strong, beautiful woman you say I am. I want to be confident in myself. But...

I know it's hard to believe now, but one day you will see. You're already starting to. You know you want to believe it, to understand yourself that way, and that's the first step to getting there. One day you'll realize you don't just want to believe it; you'll know it's true.

You are strong. You're smart. You're beautiful. You're powerful. You might not believe it, but it's true. And, if you look deep enough, you're confident too. You know you are all these things and more. You deny it, but you know it.

I can be... but...

I don't feel worth it. I want to be. I want to be worth it. I want to love myself as much as you say I deserve to be loved. I want to be happy with myself. I want to celebrate who I am, but so often I can't until someone tells me to.

But you are worth it. You know you are. Right now you need someone to tell you you are important, but one day you'll know it and believe it all on your own. One day you will tell yourself that and it will be true. One day you will stop doubting yourself, and then you will be truly free, truly alive, and whole.

I like the sound of “one day.” I want to tell it to come faster, but some how I think that would slow it down.

So smile and enjoy the journey. You're worth it, and I'm here if you need me.

Love,

Me

This post was inspired by the daily prompt "One day, . . . " and a suggestion to write a letter about why writing is important to you/a letter of encouragement to yourself (both from A Writer's Book of Days). I thought it was just an odd reflection on myself and no one else would really relate to it, but after a couple of my writing buddies told me they could relate to it I decided I should post it.

Fireworks

I cannot think of fireworks without remembering long afternoons with family waiting for the fireworks at Long's Park. Going to the fireworks is always a family affair. When we go it looks like we're packing for a week. We pack a cooler or two full of drinks, and dips, and cheese spread and chicken kabobs, bags of chips and crackers, stacks of blankets, dice games, trains, and perhaps a board game, always a deck of cards and of course books. We bring a huge canopy and stake out our claim on the hill with a tarp and blankets, but the best thing is the twenty foot bamboo pole. Every year we strap a bamboo pole to the roof of our car and then carry it into the park to mark our spot with a kite or a flag or a windsock. Then we chuckle to ourselves as we hear people saying on their cell phones "yeah, I'm by the big pole, where are you?" Course then there was the year we sat beside the sofa....

Prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: Write about fireworks.

Sepia

A black and white photo,

shades of sepia, really,

capturing memories,

of nervous giggles,

childishly sophisticated,

declaring myself grown-up,

sharing intimate giggles,

loosened up by drinks,

blurred shades creating,

false closeness among strangers,

and yet it feels just right.

Tipsy

First nervous sips,
taken shyly,
between glimpses stolen,
by the cameras eye.

Carefully tasting,
grown-up versions,
of mint chocolate chip,
in a martini glass.

Giggling,
hiding,
shyly avoiding,
pictures taken,
to celebrate the day.

Slowly sipping,
raspberry ice cream,
in a glass,
but more fun.

Softly she croons,
come closer and share,
this sweet release,
raspberry laced unleash.

A small red drink,
tasting like cranberry,
lit on fire,
beckons giggles of glee,
to our merry table,
melting away,
lingering shyness.

Rise with a giggle,
like stepping ashore,
stumbling,
swaying,
and giggling more.

IHATU

for my Pre-Ker, who's only beginning to find the power of writing

"IHATU",
carefully drawn,
in big pencil lines,
angry words,
in a lined paper book.

A cruel face bares teeth,
upon page two,
all because he couldn't place,
the carrot seeds,
that he wanted to.

Of Age

First legal sip,
slips,
bubbling down my throat,
ice cold bottle,
pouring warmth into me,
a taste of beer,
ironically taken,
not from my own bottle,
but offered by mom,
a simple taste,
same as past,
but legal now.

Something Different

Caught off guard,
by words I heard,
"It seems to me,
there's something different."

Something different,
a change in me?

I shrug,
and wonder,
what it means.

Have I really changed,
silently slipping,
into something different?

More colorful,
more confident,
more sure of myself.
They say I'm becoming,
a person of my own.

I try to fight the words,
to change is frightening,
but maybe,
it's true.

I'm a different me,
from what I used to be.

Excerpts from "My third Grade Journal"

While cleaning out our old school/craft/storage/everything room earlier we pulled out a box of workbooks and school notebooks my brother and sister and I used. I flipped through a few of the books looking at the work I did and thinking back to when I was in school. We were discussing getting rid of the used workbooks when my mom handed me a small notebook "You might want to keep this."

Wondering what it was, I took the notebook and opened the cover to see "My third Grade Journal" and my name written neatly in my best cursive. I couldn't have even told you that I had a journal in third grade, but it's neat to look back and remember the things I was doing.

In honor of the nostalgia I'm posting a few excerpts, complete with horrible spelling.


First entry:

Tuesday, September 3, 199*
This week I started school and ballet. Miss Becky is my ballet teacher again this year and, I remember most of the girls from last year. My school work is fun. I like science the best but phonics is to easy.


When Nana helped me make a quilt for my baby doll:

Wednesday, October 30, 199*
This week I made a quilt for Joy. I picked 7 different faberics. Next I cut the faberics into 3 1/2 inch squares. Then I sewed them together on my Nana's machine. Next I cut batting and backing. then I sewed the top, batting and backing together. Then I used heavy thread and made 9 knots.


When I was going to Nana's to make a quilt for my sister's doll:

Friday January 3, 199*
I'm going to Nana's house for the weekend. I am excited. me and Nana are going to sew a quilt for Emme. I thingk I'll have fun whith Nana.


Trying to sail (probably without wind):

Mach Friday 28, 199*
Today we trid to go sailing ,but we didn't, we just moddered around. I sawl a person capsised. I was in the lookout touer most of the time!!


Going on a field trip:

May Fryday 30, 199*
Today we when to fish lift. I thoght I knew how it worked but how it workes is totelly different from how I iccepted. My faverit thing was whaching fish zoom by! Nekst stop greek food festavil where we piked-up 3 gyros, 2 dissert sippers + 1 laghe sald. When we got home the kids chached into swim-suits to have some water fun!


* Year removed because I don't want to publish how old I am online.

Happy New Year

As I write this it's just a few hours into 2009. I could be all nostalgic about what a great year 2008 was, or I could be all optimistic about what I'm going to do in 2009, but I'm not feeling terribly inclined to do either.

It's fun to celebrate the New Year, and growing up it was always such an exciting night, but the older I get the more I tend to wonder what we're really celebrating. Has it really been such a great year that we should celebrate? Have we really accomplished as much as we could in the year? Done as much as we should have? Lived life to the fullest, and changed the world around us? And if we're celebrating the coming year do we really think we'll accomplish everything we say we'll do?

When I was a kid my family always went to the same family's house for New Years Eve. We'd spend the evening eating shrimp and lots of munchies. The men and the kids would play with electric trains, legos, or whatever cool toys we'd get out. The women always fussed at the men to aim away from the picture windows when it came time to pop the cork on the champagne bottle.

As midnight neared we'd gather around to read last years resolutions, and write resolutions for the coming year. It was always fun to look back at what we said we'd do a year ago, but I don't think we ever accomplished most of the thing we said we'd do. We don't get to spend New Year's with the same family any more, and with that change we've fallen out of the habit of formally writing resolutions.

As I look back on 2008 I'm finding myself wondering if there are things I should have accomplished and just didn't bother to? Are there goals I could have met but didn't in the past year? It seems like the year has gone by so fast, and I don't really have much to show for it, but maybe I just expect too much of myself.... Maybe I should stop worrying about what I haven't done and be proud of what I have accomplished.

As I look ahead to the New Year part of me wants to declare out loud my goals for the year, but why bother? I know that no matter how ambitious I am about sharing goals for the year, I'm not likely to stick with or accomplish anything that I wouldn't do any way. Saying something is a New Years resolution doesn't make it any more or less realistic a goal than any other goal.

Maybe the thing I really don't like about New Years resolutions is it gives people a reason to put off working toward their goals until the New Year. When I get something in my head I want to accomplish, I tend to need to start working towards that goal in a few days, or I end up losing interest or just putting it off indefinitely. Waiting until the New Year or some other "start date" to start trying to reach a goal just doesn't work well for me. I have to accomplish as much as I can while the idea is fresh, or I get too distracted from it.

I'm sure this is rather incoherent and scatterbrained since I'm up too late to write intelligently, but I want to post it before bed anyway.... Because if I don't do it now I'm likely to get too distracted to come back to it.

Christmas Magic

Remember Christmas as a kid? The hyper excitement? Not being able to sleep, but being afraid Santa wouldn't come unless you did? Waking up and realizing it was Christmas day?

When I was a kid we were never allowed to see our gifts until Mom and Dad were up. If we woke up before they did we were allowed to go to the bathroom or each others bedrooms, but we weren't allowed in the living room or whatever room the tree was in.

My brother was always the morning person in the family, but the excitement of Christmas made it easier for me to wake up than other mornings. With whispering and creaking footsteps we'd try to sneak peaks at the tree. There was something magical about waking up knowing the tree we'd carefully decorated would be surrounded by gifts, and the stockings we'd bickered over would be filled with candy, batteries, chapstick, and assorted "little things."

As kids we didn't question the magic of Christmas, simply anticipating the day made the magic real. Somewhere along the line - perhaps when we started to see the gifts Mom and Dad slipped into shopping carts, perhaps when they in inadvertently showed us a tape of them wrapping our Christmas gifts, or perhaps just when we got too old to believe everything we were told - somewhere believing in the magic turned to pretending to believe in the magic. I've considered myself "too old" to believe in things like Santa Clause for a long time, but even in the years I declared "I know where those presents really came from!" there was something magic about seeing gifts around the tree for the first time on Christmas morning.

This year I found myself wanting to hang onto that magic.

I woke up to the smell of coffee, and the sound of my parents in the kitchen. I've never liked the taste of coffee, but I love the smell of it, and waking up to the smell of coffee always makes me think of family time. Though we're no longer banished to our room until everyone is awake, I found myself not wanting to get out of bed. Nestling in my blankets I breathed in the smell of my parents coffee, and smiled at the realization it was Christmas day. As long as I stayed in bed the anticipation made the magic real. And who doesn't want to believe in a little magic?