Saturday, November 27, 2010

Outta Your Mind

I'm sure you all know how much I adore Ellen. I have a soft spot in my heart for obnoxious women in general - Roseanne Barr, Mary Murphy, JACK from Will and Grace, Wanda Sykes. The list just goes on and on. Anyways I have probably watched this video a million times. Ok more than that. I have the moves practically memorized. And I love lil jon, love sytycd, love twitch. You get the point.

Outta Your Mind

is that the cat?

It has been peaceful here. Thanksgiving was a quiet dinner with Audrey and Robert - crab legs and chocolate pudding (YOW!) and roughly eight hours of skipo. The night before Thanksgiving Robert briefly indulged my desire to have a cat. After dining with friends we arrived home and there, up on the neighbors roof, was a yowling cat. He was one unhappy critter. After a little prodding Robert managed to scare it off the roof. I immediately went inside and grabbed my emergency can of cat food and within minutes had the cat in the house, purring in my lap. It appeared to be clean and well-fed so we kept the door propped open and after about 20 minutes it left. Although rumor has it that it's most likely a stray, it didn't appear to mind. Needless to say I have had my ears and eyes wide open. Robert is getting tired of me asking, "is that the cat?" at all hours of the day. It may sound like the freezer humming to you, oh dear Robert, but to me it's the cat, wanting to come inside and bat at the strings on our blinds.

And here you go again, courtesy of the shuffle on my itunes.

In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning


Linda di Chamounix

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

it's magic

Even before I volunteered I knew I would love working at the library. As a teenager I used to drag my French horn and all my books several blocks to the town library in Camdenton, MO. At the time it was in the town square and it was everything a library should be. It had secret hallways and mysterious doors, a labyrinth of cubbies and small dark places. Usually I would wait until no one was looking and then I would sneak into the back hallway and clatter through the tight maze, my French horn smacking my knees and my book bag dragging behind me. Occasionally I would see a staff member and they would reprimand me, and I would scurry through one of the doors that would lead me back into the stacks.

I used to believe that somewhere in that maze there was a door that would lead me to another time, another life, a different reality. Of course I used to believe this about a lot of places: my grandparent’s old airstream, in the cave behind their couch, with the craggy cliffs of the fire place behind me, and the weathered upholstery in front, the creek at the back of the cove where I grew up. Even now I question the solidity of this reality. I still feel that there are soft spots here and there between us and other worlds. When I sit in a certain spot just behind the rock wall in my brother’s backyard in Tucson, I know I am almost there. In my dreams I often revisit these places, mostly my childhood library, and I cannot help but wonder if my dreams illustrate the fluidity of life.

The Camdenton library was my haven. I never fared well in the public education system, and after the double doors opened I would escape to the 811s of the Dewey Decimal System. I initially did not understand poetry, only that I belonged in some way. It didn’t help that the library only carried stuffy and hard-to-reach poets. I found myself begrudgingly attached to Frost for some time just because I could understand him. After I found a book I would sneak into the back hallways where I would find an abandoned desk to hide beneath and I would tuck myself into its depths until my mother picked me up.

I went through quite a struggle in my teenage years. By the age of sixteen I simply collapsed beneath the weight of expectation. Expectations of self, from self, of others and of life. It was a battle, but I fought through and swore to never let go of my control again, to limit my trust and expect nothing of others and everything of myself. A lot of solace came from Melody Beattie and AA. While I have never had an issue with alcohol I am a firm believer in many of their beliefs. The biggest gift they gave me was the power of surrendering things I have no control over to a higher power. Now, this was slightly tricky for a person with no defined higher power. I had to create one on the spot, and for awhile I searched for Gods that would work for me, some real, and some imagined. After awhile, I discovered that God is a shape shifter, and for me, she is a compilation of magic and serenity. It made sense to give a name to those places where I felt the presence of another world. Now, I can say that for me God is Robert’s arms, the moment when the spring at Ha Ha Tonka turns into muddy lake, the wide open closeness of the trees on the other side of Hermit’s Holler. When I surrender my helplessness, I give it to the jewelweed at the back of Turtle Pond, or the spot on Roller coaster road where the city opens up. If I can’t control a hateful gesture from another driver I give it to the stacks of the first library that stole my heart.

Every day, as I dragged my French horn and books to my safe place, I dreamed of my future. I knew that I wanted to write, but as a practical person, I also knew that I needed to make money. It only made sense to work at the one place that would always feel like home, no matter where it was. Of course I briefly pondered working at and/or owning a bookstore, but I decided early on that I didn’t want to be a book pusher even if it meant that I could probably bring my cats to work with me every day.

Shelving is so peaceful. I enjoy the constant interaction I have with words and numbers, the repetitiousness of reading the spine and tucking it into its right spot. I do hope to eventually learn all of the library positions, and will attempt to attain my MLS starting next semester.

Friday, November 19, 2010

a little cheap

I don't have much time so I'm going to drop more music on you, courtesy of the shuffle on my itunes.

Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons


Sarah Mclachlan

Monday, November 15, 2010


recent etsy loves:




song loves

Jesse Cook

and Alanis Morissette

a photographer that blows me away

Thursday, November 11, 2010

: )

So much is going on here.

I got the job : )

And also another part time job - home care for seniors.

Somehow I managed to get both jobs on the same day, just as I was getting over the cold/strep throat fiasco. So I have been scrambling around a little, but I wanted both and am very thankful.

Here's a little peek into my private world: I have known since the age of 12 that I wanted two things out of this lifetime, to write and to be surrounded by literature. I am 24, almost 25, and am living the life I dreamed about. That just makes me so f****** happy!

For awhile I pitied myself, laughed at and pushed my dreams around. I thought that I needed to prove myself, that success had a lot to do with money and comfort. Nope. I throw all that to the sky. I am here to write, and to appreciate and learn from other writers. It only takes a little of the green stuff to get by.

I still have moments of doubt, but there is only so much room for that.

I have never felt more balanced and alive.

That doesn't mean I wouldn't pack up tomorrow if we found a way to survive on the road ; )

But I am happy either way.

OH and I also started my dad's blog. As most know, he is an artist with a collection containing hundreds of drawings. I will be posting as fast as I can scan and edit. If you have any questions just shoot me an email.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Remember when bathroom doors were out to get me?

I was sitting here, reading The Best of American Poetry 1994 and listening to Ravi Shankur’s Raga Devgiri Bilawal and all of a sudden Mark Doty jumps from the pages and I am changed forever.

I have these unrealistic dreams, and then I realize that the reality is in my words, and that this is my world, such a bright kaleidoscope of nonsense. I am grateful for that tonight. That I can take a poem and pull it inside of me and watch it bloom. Tomorrow as my thumbs stir spines or as I make my next tuna noodle surprise Mark Doty’s words will surprise me.

As most know I have been volunteering at the library, and also trying to find work there too. It’s as close to a home as I’ll ever have. I mostly search for people’s holds, which are books people have ordered on the online website. Every time I volunteer I am blown away by the types of books people check out. The funniest ones from this week? How to enjoy sex in your marriage (I can’t remember the exact name), Welcome to the Jungle: Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Bipolar but Were Too Freaked Out to Ask, and The Complete Guide to Irish Dance. I had these back to back, so that increased the hilarity. I am not superstitious, but occasionally I like to put my itunes on shuffle, and listen to what the songs tell me, like they are a coded message from some other world. Lately I’ve been doing this with the holds, but in a different way. I’ve been keeping my eyes out for signs. So far, not a gosh darn thing. Obviously.

But right now Secret Garden is on, and the song is Moving, which can only mean that I need to move on, get back to poetry. ; )