Red is the New Black

It’s been a long time since I felt beautiful.

Years really.

And before you say or think anything...this isn’t a fish for compliments or affirmation or anything of the sort so, yannow, just let me finish.

When I say “felt beautiful”...that has very little to do with physical appearance - although physicality does play a small part. I think what I generally mean by feeling beautiful though is feeling good, positive, energetic, peaceful. 

I hadn’t felt beautiful or ugly or anything in between. I just...hadn’t given any thought to beauty or myself. At all. Completely disconnected. 

Invisible.

2013 was an epic year for major change - a series of (mostly) unrelated events - that would seem to change the trajectory of my life in ways I’d never anticipated. 

You know I bought a house.

You know I moved my dad to an independent/assisted living apartment.

I changed jobs.

What you don’t know is that Spux and I, well, we had a massive falling out. And someone who’d been such a huge presence in my life wasn’t there anymore and I started to withdraw from the places and scene where I might run into her to avoid conflict and discomfort.

You also don’t know that I quit Denhac. I didn’t have the time or energy or the enthusiasm to dedicate to the space anymore and I felt the members deserved a Board who could be there in ways I couldn’t. 

I suppose you might say I withdrew from that scene too.

So I was already feeling kind of lost at sea.

And then?

And then.

In November and December of that year, 2013, Acr0nym - my near constant companion, my non-sexual non-husband, my BFF - suffered a MAJOR mental health crisis. I mean, y’all, it got bad. And then it got worse. And then it got to New Year’s Eve and, well, I did the unthinkable. 

I had him committed.

It was dawn on New Year’s Day 2014 when I rolled back into my garage after having spent the entire night talking him down off the proverbial ledge and convincing him to go to the ER and subsequently sitting in the ER with him while waiting on pins and needles for the doctor to decide whether or not to place the 72-hour hold on him.

I fixed myself a cocktail at 7 a.m, watched the sunrise, and collapsed in ginormous racking sobs as the anxiety and terror and exhaustion of the prior weeks rolled right over the top of me in waves.

He was safe.

And I could shut down.

So that’s what I did. For many, many months.

Before I go any further, Acr0 was hospitalized for 13 days. During that time, his father died and so the staff worked to stabilize him enough to be able to release him so he could be with his family. It’s been a very long road since then but he is better now. So ever much better! For real!

2014 was a blur. There’s not much to say about it except to say, while my friendship with Acr0 was still intact, he had his hands full just trying to get by and so, for the first time in years, I was on my own. I think, after his father’s memorial service, I saw him a total of maybe six times throughout 2014 and even less in 2015. Also of note, my father, already declining in hearing, mobility, and function, was diagnosed with prostate cancer in February and underwent radiation daily for 6 weeks (the treatment worked - he’s cancer free). 

Mostly, 2014 and the first part of 2015, as far as I can recall, didn’t actually happen. (Although something good did happen! Spux and I made amends and are, for real, great friends again!)

Shut down, beat down, withdrawn, disconnected, I had a vague sense of the passage of time but viewed it with apathy - like time was passing but it wasn’t related to me - I was moving on automatic right through it. The more tired I felt, the more invisible I tried to become, and, with invisibility comes silence...on the blog, on social media, on any platform where I might have been heard and/or seen.

I will, however, assert here that I don’t believe I was depressed. I’ve experienced depression and this wasn’t it. Rather, I believe I was physically and mentally exhausted and getting sick...sicker by the minute and much sicker than I realized.

Until…

In the spring of this year, I suffered a series of health problems. 

I won’t go into it here...at least, not tonight...but it was an extremely loud and incredibly close wake up call to PAY ATTENTION! I wasn’t taking care of myself in any way. I thought withdrawing from people in my personal life would help me re-charge, re-energize and that would get me moving in the right direction - ANY direction - again. 

It didn’t.

The only purpose withdrawing did was to allow me an uninterrupted path to a complete physical break down. Woot.

That wake up call, as so often happens, was the exact call I needed to get moving in more ways than one. I started eating better. I started walking again. I bought a Fitbit. I started thinking more about myself and what was good for me and less about what others needed from me. I started to evaluate what was good, what was bad, what was necessary, and what was nonsense.

I started to care about and pay attention to me again.

I started to sleep again.

I started to really feel compassion again.

I started to forgive...everyone.

I started to emerge.

To see and be seen.

And THAT is how we come to now and feeling beautiful.

About a month ago, while I was on vacation, Acr0 took the day off to spend with me and he told me we could do whatever my heart desired.

I made a list. 

• Visit his mom. 
• Tour Tinkermill. 
• Have lunch with our friend, Monk. 
• Tour the Wild Animal Sanctuary in Keenesburg. 

And so that’s what we did. It was a perfect day. The weather was gorgeous. There were no hiccups or tensions. Everything was entirely right with the world and incredibly easy in a way it hadn’t been in a couple of years.

At Tinkermill, where we ran into Monk earlier than we’d expected, the three of us walked out to the parking lot together and, as the sunlight hit me, Monk exclaimed, “You are beautiful!” completely out of the blue.

I was taken aback.

I hadn’t thought of myself as beautiful in what felt like forever. No one had thought to acknowledge me as beautiful in nearly as long.

And so I chewed on that for awhile.

And then I went shopping...for clothes...which I normally dread.

And all of a sudden what appealed to me wasn’t black, black, and some more black.

What caught my eye were reds and purples and blues. Oh my, yes. Lots of red.

I spent way too much money on clothes in colors and patterns...things I’ve abhorred in the past.

And then I wore them.

And, on the first day I wore red, as I drove toward work, I thought, “I feel really beautiful. I should wear more red.”

And so...I am.

Red. It’s the new black.

And I’m beautiful.

Virtual Friends, Meatspace Strangers

In high school, most of nearly every girl's time is either spent thinking about, talking about, or scheming up ways to best subtly approach boys.

I was no exception.

Well...except that I never could work up the courage to subtly approach anyone resembling a boy and, instead, used the not so successful tactic of pining away silently and hoping the object of my affection would notice.

 

It shouldn't surprise you then to learn my first serious boyfriend didn't come along until the year after I left high school.

But this story isn't about that first boyfriend.

There was a boy I liked - let's call him The Honorable Lord Vigo, Scourge of Carpathia and Sorrow of Moldavia¹ - Vigo for short. I really only saw him a handful of times. We didn't attend the same school. Hell! By the time I met him, I lived in another town. So it wasn't one of those angsty, heart-wrenching, watching-him-lean-on-his-locker-and-slowly-dying-inside-day-after-day sort of crushes. It was simply one of those crushes where, from the moment I met him, I just really liked being near him. It felt good to be near him. He was adorable and funny. So, whenever I was in his town visiting, I was always super happy when our paths crossed.

Me, of course, being the shy, tongue-tied, type didn't ever hope to make an impression. If I recall correctly, I may have said all of 10 words to him during that time and likely they were monosyllabic. And, as one-by-one my closest friends from that town - Beasley, Brad, Nykki - moved up and out of it, I didn't see Vigo again...Not for nearly 25 years.

Eventually, the crush floated away on the winds of Wyoming as it blew in other boys who would become men.

Still...every once in awhile, I'd wonder what happened to him.

I would, rarely, get updates through the Beasley-Brad-Nykki vine. Eventually, they too lost touch with him. For many years there was nothing.

And then? Facebook happened. I think it was Brad's 40th birthday party invitation when I became aware of Vigo's online existence and knew he was physically present here, in Denver. He had a new last name and only recent pictures but it couldn't possibly be anyone but him. It was him. That was in 2010.

You have to understand...I wanted to send him a friend request back then. I really did! But! There are many people who date back from that time in my life - people I thought quite highly of - who, I fear, wouldn't even remember me. It was a time in my life I spent mostly in the corner, smoking, writing bad poetry, fearing rejection, deflecting attention. I didn't want anyone to see me...except that I really did...unless I knew they would like me. I was convinced no one actually liked me...except Beasley, Brad, Nykki.

Finally, at Beasley's insistence, near my birthday in 2013, I sent Vigo a friend request. It was weird. I felt weird. But he accepted right away.

Turns out? He did remember me.

Turns out? I intimidated him back then.

I blame it on resting bitch face.

Still got it.

And the fact that, since I couldn't actually formulate full sentences in the presence of testosterone then, I likely just grunted and growled and, occasionally, squeaked which probably made me seem a little whacko.

Anyway!

He accepted my friend request. Subsequently, I learned more about him and the man he's become through Facebook than I ever knew about the boy he was then.

But, even though he was here, in Denver, my adopted city, we weren't compelled to hang out until last week. We'd exchanged a few private messages prior to last week. Mostly about my dad, last summer, when I was looking for an elder care facility for him...something Vigo knows a lot about.

But then, last week, I was thinking a lot about being an empath. I stumbled across an article and, in reading the comments, I developed a theory about empaths. A theory that suggested empaths, including me, feel lonely, even in the presence of fellow empaths, because, in social situations, we are so used to feeling the feels of others and giving away our energy that it's all but impossible for us to know how to receive it. I wanted to test my theory - or discuss it with a fellow empath. So I posted something about it. Asked my friends on Facebook if they identified as an empath.Vigo said yes.

That's what started it. The conversation.

I think I started it - the private conversation - after he commented that he was an empath. We talked. A lot. We shared a lot via email. Not just about being empaths. About lots of things. And then he asked me to meet him on Friday for supper.

So...Friday night, we met, for the first time since 1989.

I was nervous. I was shaking as he approached. The high school crush thing wasn't the issue. It felt as though I was meeting him for the very first time. Virtual friends, meatspace strangers. What would he think of me? Would we have anything to say? Would we argue? Would we meet each other's expectations? Would we run out of conversation before we'd reviewed the menu? Would I forget my words and resort to prehistoric grunts and growls and squeaks?

 

I worry too much.

He got to the table, I stood up, and we hugged long and hard and then we both just started laughing.

The moment we sat down, we were on.

Words, his, mine, tumbling over the top of one another. Tell me this story, that story, OMG! That really happened?!

There were tears. There was laughter. There were stories galore!

Five hours we sat there asking, answering - empath to empath - about everything under the sun. We shared secrets. I told him things I haven't shared with anyone. It was a gloriously stimulating energy exchange the likes of which are exceedingly rare in my experience.

By the time I got home, there was an e-mail from him. We talked via e-mail for a couple more hours. I was so energized, I was practically giddy. I stayed up past 3, writing for the first time in months.

 

My theory was thoroughly debunked and in the best way possible. It would also seem that whatever that exchange was cured me of the constipation of the writing kind from which I'd been suffering since January. Pretty cool, huh?

 

So...that's the story. It's better than the first serious boyfriend one anyway. Trust me.

 

Thanks, Vigo. That was rad. Let's do it again soon.

 

 

1. I asked him how he'd like to be known for this entry. That's what he selected.

Not Actually About Brunch

Every time I go out to brunch, no matter the restaurant, I open the menu, I drool over all the delectable delights to choose from, daydreaming about pancakes dripping with melted butter and maple syrup...

And then I order the bacon and eggs.

Every time.

It's a lesson I learned some time ago. That even though the Belgian waffle is oh-my-gawd delicious, I will eat that Belgian waffle, keeping an envious eye on someone else smart enough to order the bacon and eggs, and then I'll push away from the table, ready for a nap while still feeling unsatisfied. So I stick to what I know will taste awesome and won't leave me wishing I'd ordered something else¹.

Recently, I had a choice to make...it was a bacon-and-egg vs. French toast kind of a choice really. It didn't seem particularly significant or earth-shattering at the time. Two options were presented, both, I knew, would be a great time either way, but, when push came to shove, I chose bacon and eggs.

And I didn't realize that's what I'd done in the moment I made my choice. It wasn't until later, when I laid in bed, sleep eluding me, that I knew I'd made my choice based on what would be fun and fulfilling in the long run and not just what would be kickass and sparkly for just a moment but ultimately leaving me wishing I'd done something entirely different.

Rarely do I know so quickly, if ever, that I've made the right decision...unless, you know, I'm at brunch and have ordered the bacon and eggs. This time, I just knew. It was right. And I liked it.

1: This philosophy only applies to brunch. Any other meal out and I'm much more adventurous.

Sicky Poo...But Still...a Little Gratitude

I had a relapse of the sick Thursday.

I'd been feeling better - not well but certainly not horribly unwell - and then WHAM! back down under and little noticeable improvement since.

For those of you keeping track (which would be exactly none of you 'cept me), I'm 14 days in on the Autumnal Cold 2011. This may be a record-breaker.

Still...some of the nicest, most nurturing things have happened to me this weekend and I wanted to share them here with you all. It is really nice to have such loving, lovely friends.

Here's my list of grace in (not-so-small) things tonight...

On Friday, even though it was out of his way, even though he had to go out of his way because I bailed out on a bit of a birthday celebration as I was unwell, even though he didn't have to...TC made sure I would have a fresh supply of Coda Coffee over the weekend.

On Saturday, even though he's been sick too, Acr0nym invited me up for the day and even drove me (both of us in our pajamas) to Little Anita's to get green chile and breakfast burritos. We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening, curled up on our respective ends of his couch, while Acr0 played Zelda - Ocarina of Time and I supervised (this was actually quite fun for me as I love the game and have played it through to the end several times). Somehow, even sick, I got me some BFF time.

Today, Maggledy brought me bloody mary supplies - to burn this cold outta my system for good - including homemade tomato-infused vodka and spicy pickles.

Also today? Spux invited me over for a veritable southern feast of gumbo, jalapeno-cornbread muffins, collard greens, and fried green tomatoes picked this afternoon from the ginormous tomato plant in his garden and served with a side of friendship and some of the best hug I've had in a long while...even though I am germy.

To top it off, tonight, Lex, using the last little bit of his tiger balm, gave me the nicest neck rub to ease the stiff soreness from the tensing up of muscles during my coughing, sneezing, miserable fits of the past 2 weeks.

So...even though I'm STILL sick, even though I wish I weren't, I'm still pretty grateful for the kindnesses of friends who gave me thought. Thank you.

Life is good.

Tired but Satisfied

This has been, in some ways, one of the nicest, most relaxing weekends I can remember having in quite awhile.

Even though the absence of Acr0nym especially has been weird and strangely hard - we've not gone this long without talking at all pretty much ever since we met with the exception of last year's Defcon and then my cruise during which there was no way to communicate - having D&D here from Seattle and spending the majority of my weekend in their company was certainly a most welcome and delightful diversion.

It was a weekend full of brunches, wine, clubbing, and friends...some I see frequently, some I don't see frequently enough. Even Lex came out to the club last night with an old friend of his (who we rarely see) and had a great time. It was good energy almost all around.

Tomorrow it's back to work audit stress, Lex's car stress, foot stress. But tonight? I'm just happy to say I got to ride on a few rainbows and bubbles and puppies and kittens this weekend. This? This is good.

I'm almost there. I can feel the difference.

Taking Charge

I have to admit...

When I first woke up this morning, the only thing I really wanted to do was curl up into a little ball and go back to sleep for a really long time. So it goes. So it goes.

No matter that I'd already spent 2 hours tossing and turning, checking the clock, bargaining with myself, with the Universe, with ohmyhell someone else's gawd to please just let me sleep until it was actually time for me to get up.

As usual, I would get my wish...about 15 minutes before the alarm was to go off. I would then startle myself awake, reset the alarm for an additional 15 minutes, and then lie there again, fully awake, feeling guilty for trying to sleep in thus deliberately making myself late for work. *sigh*

And I really don't want to be late for work because, well, I actually really do like my job and want to do a good job. You know?

So there I am, standing in the shower thinking (about what makes a man...sorry, random song lyric), slumped and feeling not a little sorry for myself when I, all a sudden, out of the blue, found my steel core and promptly gave myself a swift kick in the ass.



NO! Today? Today is a great day. And the only way to have a great day is to declare it so.



So there.

And you know? It was a great day. Not because anything spectacular happened. On the contrary. Nothing in particular happened. Except...

I decided to take charge of myself again. I have $962 flexible spending account dollars to spend prior to August 1. So I made an eye doctor appointment to get my long overdue eyes checked and new contacts. I also scoped out a place to get orthotic inserts for my shoes so I can, hopefully, get over this stupid plantar fasciitis (that ain't a peanut) and get to exercising again. And then? Then *gasp* I made a real live doctor's appointment for a real live physical and lady bit exam and requested a lab work order in advance - specifically for B12 and iron - so that, hopefully, when I go into my appointment, they'll give me a B12 shot then and there. Because you know what is a common cause of depression, fatigue, and mental confusion (I mean besides menopause and chronic fatigue)? That's right. B12 deficiency. And I can guarantee you I've got some o' that.

So yeah. There was that. All stuff to feel really good (if a little anxious) about. But, in addition to that, there was something that made this Day of Nothing in Particular an extraordinary and excellent day.

It was Friday. And do you know what Friday means? It means free pig roast happy hour at Charlie Brown's - a little routine Fables and I discovered and thoroughly embraced for ourselves. And at this particular happy hour there sat some of my favorite people in actual meat space...I mean, beyond the pig.

At one point, I just sat, quietly, breathed deeply, and then leaned over to the Divatologist and said, "I love this."

And I do.

Now? Now I want to bake. I want to bake pie. I want to bake pie with fresh strawberries given to me by spux and gifted to me for, in reality (don't deny it), this exact purpose.

Tomorrow? There will likely be pie.

And life?

Life is motherf**cking good.

Seriously.



PS Buy me this. All of you. I don't think you can have too many.

Whisper This

If you're familiar with the Denver metro area, then you are also likely to have heard of Aurora.

Aurora is the east side suburb of Denver and, to be honest, the butt of every location joke told by Denver urbanites. It's not a particularly nice place. Most of us try to avoid going there. Some of us attempt to pretend it doesn't exist.

So, when the electro-industrial-synthpop band, Synapse, announced they'd be playing a show at Whispers in Aurora, there were a whole lot of us who were thinking wait...what? Aurora?! Are you kidding? No. They were not, in fact, kidding.

And had this been any old band, I would not have even thought of going out there. But Synapse isn't just any band. This is the project of Peej's own Mr. S, Aggro Ginger, and Hippie Ginger - all friends of mine - and I happen to think they are excellent beyond a local level. So I always want to show my support for them whenever they have an opportunity to play live.

Now, I wasn't familiar with the venue itself but, from what I could gather from Yelp, this isn't quite the place you'd expect to see this type of band. Decidedly small, it's a neighborhood dive bar inhabited mostly by people who come for the karaoke and (allegedly) the piano bar. As you can imagine then, the clientele is typically older, working class, middle Americans looking for a relatively quiet place to nurse a cocktail.

More than one quip was made about how Whispers wasn't going to know what hit them when the Goth Invasion took place.

When Acr0nym and I arrived at about 9:30, the place was already packed, parking lot full (I'll give that to Aurora...there's always somewhere to park), and the pre-show playlist blaring. It was clear that Peej had been there awhile because she'd already made fast friends with a table full of regulars - all obviously in their mid- to late 60's. Possibly 70's. As I looked around, I noticed we hadn't completely run several of the regulars off. Two older gentlemen sat at the end of the bar practically giddy at the sight of so many young, fresh-faced, beautiful girls in corsets. I spoke to them quite a bit throughout the night.

The bartender, Anthony, was harried. Peej had warned him early, "Look. You're going to be slammed. We drink. A lot. But we're nice and we tip well. Still...you're going to be busy." They'd already had to re-stock beer and mixers...twice...by 10. Clearly, they were unprepared for us.

Before Synapse even took the stage, the bar owner pulled Mr. S and Aggro Ginger aside and asked when he could have them back. Turns out, this was the biggest crowd he'd ever had. The owner of a neighboring bar walked down from his establishment when he noticed the unusual traffic and asked them for booking information.

Most everyone was all smiles.

We kept expecting the regulars to make hasty exits once the band started to play. The table of Peej's older folk friends assured her, in fact, that the pre-show music was too loud for their liking and they'd be leaving in short order...

But they didn't. And when Synapse got up and began to play, something unexpected happened.

One of the women - age 66 by her own admission and, by all appearances, a typical grandmotherly type - got up and began to dance along with the goth crowd. Several of us cheered and clapped. She even began to pull people up out of their seats to join her. She was LOVING EVERY MINUTE OF IT!

My two new gentlemen friends at the end of the bar were smiling and clapping and having a grand time. Most all of the regulars stayed to the bitter end. They didn't complain (at least, not that I heard) and they took the invasion in stride, buying drinks for some of us, commenting on how friendly we were...not scary at all.

Two stereotypes were broken last night. The people we descended upon learned that while we may look freaky and listen to loud music, we're actually quite friendly, polite, and pacifists. We don't want to fight. We just want to drink and lose ourselves in the music.

Meanwhile, we learned that whatever we might say about Aurora and its residents, the residents of Whispers can hang. They also taught us a little something about capturing and experiencing youth wherever you might find it.

I can't wait for Synapse to play them again.

Cheers.

Choose Your Own Title

Have you ever stopped to consider what you want and realize that, with the exception of more counter space and no debt, you've got just exactly what you want?

Perhaps I'd not ever pondered the question properly or perhaps it's because, until now, I've always found something lacking or perhaps it's just that I'm usually so worried about only asking for what I need I don't pause to recognize it's good to want.

Regardless, on Wednesday, it occurred to me with a resounding smack of satisfaction, I've got just what I want (with the exception of more counter space and no debt). As I let that knowledge sink in, I savored the sweetness of it and wished I could somehow capture the feeling, to take a snapshot of the rare beauty of the moment.

Subsequently, I've had several of the nicest days I can remember having. Here are some of the highlights:

- Coffee with Batman.

- A trip to the state capitol with the Divatologist for the House Judiciary Committee hearing on SB172 - the civil unions bill (it didn't make it out of committee sadly) followed by patio wine and visiting with lovely stitch 'n bitchers.

- A Grotto wine night - something I hadn't done in ages - with Peej and modchen complete with cheese and brownies and girl talk and giggles and, OK fine, tears. Hormones. Sheesh. (As an aside, Lex quoted a line from Arrested Development and, after modifying it a bit, said it sums me up - I've got two things in me most of the time - an estrogen pill and a bottle of wine.)

- Setting free an unnecessary expectation from its cage and watching it fly away...gladly.

- A Saturday afternoon with Lex, lying on my bed with our kitty, helping guide him through a meditation of sorts. Having him say, "I came in here because I thought you needed me. But as soon as I got here, I forgot why I'd come. You just Know, don't you? You create amazing space." That, Lovely Readers, was a plump, juicy compliment to end all compliments.

- A fabulous evening with Acr0nym at the '80s vinyl night - jam packed with tourists - and full of kisses and laughter and energy. Roland seemed to have taken a peek at my "getting ready to go out" playlist as he played the two songs I listen to first and most often and I sang AND danced. Rare indeed. It was one of the oddest nights I've experienced there certainly. But it was also a lot of fun!

- And now, today, brunch at P17 with O and Lex followed by cheese making class and then coffee at the Matt Haus.

Life. It's so very good.

Open Sesame

I have two favorite flowers.

The gerber daisy:

Photo taken by Forest Purnell

And the sunflower:

Photo from the US Dept of Agriculture

Neither of them are exotic or elegant. Neither of them are particularly delicate - although the daisy's sturdy appearance is rather deceiving. Neither will likely ever be used as metaphor for an attractive woman's nature or form. Those are reserved for roses, lilies, iris - all lovely in their own right. But not what I prefer.

What the two of them have in common - and what appeals to me - is their openness...their bright, shining, freshly scrubbed faces and sturdy stalks. There is nothing closed off or hidden. They simply are what they are - you can see what they are - as they nod and smile, as their beautiful blossoms sometimes become too heavy for their stems.

When I first encountered a gerber daisy 20 years ago, I immediately nicknamed them "happy flowers". They just look happy! And they make me happy just to look upon them.

Other flowers are secretive, deceptive. They may conceal bee stings, spider bites, thorn pricks. Hurty type things you would not know existed until they were blown out. And almost every flower, eventually, blows out...unless it was a dud to begin with.

I love things that are open...flowers, windows, the 24-hour grocery, a good bottle of wine, opportunities, minds...relationships.

There's the metaphor. See what I did there?

Relationships that are open - whether it's by inviting other parties into an established relationship between 2 people or simply by two people remaining open, transparent, and honest with each other - provide me with much happy (on both counts). 

There is little room for doubt, jealousy, insecurity, angst, anxiety when there is nothing hidden or concealed.

And, let's face it, I've got enough random, free-floating anxiety just generally that I don't need or want to create more by lying, hiding, veiling my intent or my feelings. I'm not threatening. I promise. I'm on the up and up. I have no desire to rob someone else's joy to enhance my own. In fact, I am more likely to deny myself my own happiness if I think someone else might suffer because of it.

Really.

So, for the three of us to sit on the couch together as the afternoon sun streamed in through the windows as we joked, laughed, talked about...I don't know...whatever (I don't recall), feels like how a gerber daisy or sunflower looks.

Open. Beautiful. Kissed by the sun. Fully exposed and vulnerable - yet, safe to admire - and adored by those engulfed in its presence.

I love my life.

Exquisite

It's the unexpected in the ordinary places, the corner in which you've forgotten to look.

The sweetest of all surprises resides across the table over shared naan and stilton-stuffed brioche.

A soft smile, a laugh in the dark, a comfortable, pregnant pause, a sigh.

No explanation necessary. Unspoken, yet understood.

A hand slides into a glove made for it. Content.

I exist as I am, that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware I sit content,
And if each and all be aware I sit content. -Walt Whitman from Song of Myself

The Secret Garden

When I was a little girl - around 7 or 8 - my mother read The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett aloud to my sister and me over the course of several weeks.

It quickly became one of my favorite novels and has remained so 30 years later. Partly because it's a sweet little story but also because I have the loveliest memories of that first reading curled up in my twin bed with Mom in the middle and Jenni and I on either side.

22 years ago, my mom and I moved to Cheyenne. I was chock full o' teen angst and I hated this new place and my new school. But the house she chose - the one in which she still lives - nearly made up for all my putridity.

The house, situated on the corner of the busiest intersection in town, is a little brick cottage in the oldest neighborhood with a nice sized backyard surrounded by an 8-foot privacy fence.

If you didn't know to look for it, you likely wouldn't notice it and, if you did happen to notice it, you wouldn't think twice about it or wonder about the people who lived there.

The backyard wasn't much to look at when we first moved in. There were old lilac bushes lining the fence and some plum trees but the previous owners hadn't done much in the way of landscaping.

Over the years though, my mother, who loves to garden, has spent thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours tending to that yard and has transformed it into a magical place with Aspen trees, wild roses, lilies from her father's garden at her childhood home in Virginia, tulips, iris, begonias, and any number of other plants of various colors. About the only foliage that remains from the previous owners are the plum trees which insist on blooming and producing fruit nearly every year.

There is a statue of St. Francis of Assisi - patron saint of animals - watching over the place where we scattered the ashes of one beloved dog, Joan. There is a bird bath and a bird house and robins recently built a little nest in which to hatch their spring babies.

It is my most favorite place in the world.

It is magic.

When I talk about my mom's backyard and tell people it's a magic place, most are skeptical.

However, I know not one person - family or friend - who has spent time in that backyard and not come away feeling like they've been touched by a special place.

It is a sanctuary. It is safe.

It is secret.

Sitting out there on a picture perfect summer evening, you hear the heavy sounds of traffic idling at the stop light in front of the house. Occasional music blares from a car stereo or a Harley or big truck rumbles past.

And yet it doesn't detract from the wonder of it. In fact, if anything, the city sounds enhance the secret loveliness of it all.

As an adult, I relish the nights I steal away from Denver and head north to that garden to sit in the company of my mom, drinking wine, giggling like school girls, and talking about anything and everything from the 2nd amendment to her creepy neighbor.

And if I ever had a friend in crisis who needed retreat, I would pack them up and whisk them away to that garden, hand them a book, a sweater, and a glass of wine and just let them be long enough to feel the magic working.

It works.

That's a guarantee.

Even When Life Feels Hard...

There are still people and places in it that make it really good.



Orcas Island, Puget Sound, Washington
September 23, 2009