Tuesday, April 30, 2013

.I Should Be Sleeping.


Dab on perfume before bed…wrists, knees, neck, hair; lilacs and rain under an old t-shirt, the origin of which I don’t recall but probably some ex-boyfriend’s drawer. If there was a memory attached to it, I’ve forgotten it. The perfume’s a new thing. The forgetting was probably on purpose.
I trip over boots and trip over the dog, stub my toe, say a dirty word. Feel bad for my unladylike sailor mouth and try replacing the four-letter exclamation with something tamer, but it doesn’t have the same effect. Say another dirty one. The dog gives me the stink eye.

I pick up my Bible from the nightstand, all soft leather and delicate pages, and take in those letters in red to soothe my heart. Sometimes I wonder if there’s any saving this gypsy soul of mine – I’ve always been a little more Jack Daniels than Jesus -- but I guess it was the Lord who made me hard to handle in the first place, and He knows what He’s doing.

I say my prayers. None of them are for me. “Just take care of the people I love and care about.” A friend once told me, just talk to God like you’re talking to me. I told him I don’t think God would appreciate the innuendos -- always the smartass. I decided a long time ago that since the Lord knows my heart, it’s better to let that do the talking than muck it all up with words.

And I know this is His doing, the wandering mind, the long-dormant butterflies now awakened. Mysterious ways and perfect timing indeed. It all happens for a reason. I'm no stranger to looking like a fool, to leaping before I look, to falling fast and free without worrying about what's waiting below to catch me. This well-worn heart knows the way. It's in the hands of the Lord, to do with what He pleases. I trust Him implicitly.
I say another little prayer, just in case it makes a difference.
And I wish you were here.

Sunday, April 28, 2013

.Pride.

They say, "Pride always goeth before the fall."

Nuh-uh.

Pride usually goeth when you're laying flat on your back on the ground watching your colt buck away from you, when you're not sure if you should try to get up or just lay there a minute until you get your wind back. It goes when you get a little too big for your britches and start thinking you've got things figured out. It goes when you get cocky. It goes when you stand up and feel the bruises forming on your hip and your rear end where you bounced when you landed. It goes when you have to call your grandma to come doctor you up after you get your horse caught and notice the rope burns on your hands are starting to bleed on your starched pink shirt.

Before the fall, my ass.

But you pick yourself up anyway. You pull your hat down low over your hot, beet-red face and brush the dirt and shit off your pants. You pick your coils up out of the dirt. You get back on even though your back and hips and hands are complaining. You line out your goosy colt because if you don't, he'll just figure out that if he can get you off his back, he can be done with his work for the day. You get back on because Grandma's watching you, and you'd hate to let down the toughest, bronc-stomping-est old lady you've ever known. You finish out your ride, because that's just the way it's done. Wrecks happen, colts buck, ropes burn, the ground never gets any softer. It's life. You were born a cowboy lady and you'll be one through every breath you take until your last.

I guess pride never really goes anywhere. It gets bruised, it gets stung, but it really never gets wiped out. And it grows and swells each time the job gets done in spite of the obstacles and the falls. That's where the real pride is...in getting back on when you get thrown off.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

.Nothing Good Gets Away.

I have discovered an amazing website called Letters Of Note and it is literally a blog of transcripts of personal letters and vintage correspondence. As a lover and letters and notes, especially from the time when that was the way in which people communicated with each other, I devoured pages and pages of letters, and stumbled upon this one, written by John Steinbeck to his son. I've read it many times before and it has always been one of my favorites. It's so simple, poignant, beautiful, and such very sound advice...enjoy ♥


New York
November 10, 1958

Dear Thom:

We had your letter this morning. I will answer it from my point of view and of course Elaine will from hers.

First—if you are in love—that’s a good thing—that’s about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone make it small or light to you.

Second—There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you—of kindness and consideration and respect—not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.

You say this is not puppy love. If you feel so deeply—of course it isn’t puppy love.

But I don’t think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. What you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it—and that I can tell you.

Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it.

The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it.

If you love someone—there is no possible harm in saying so—only you must remember that some people are very shy and sometimes the saying must take that shyness into consideration.

Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also.

It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another—but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.

Lastly, I know your feeling because I have it and I’m glad you have it.

We will be glad to meet Susan. She will be very welcome. But Elaine will make all such arrangements because that is her province and she will be very glad to. She knows about love too and maybe she can give you more help than I can.

And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens—The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.

Love,

Fa



Thursday, April 4, 2013

.Enough.

Insecurities are inescapable. Some days they lie dormant, waiting, just under the surface. Other days they stare you right in the face. I wrote this almost exactly a year ago, and to this day I can’t escape the feelings that inspired it. No matter what I do, what I accomplish, who I’ve come to be, there’s so much still missing.




Enough

I wish I could be someone else.

I wish I could be prettier. I wish I could be more witty, more charming.

I wish I was the type of girl that people miss when she’s not around. I wish I was someone worthwhile.

I wish I had important things to say, so that when I speak people want to listen. I wish I could have a conversation.

I wish I had talent, so people would look at what I do and think, “Wow, that’s really great.” I wish I could do something important.

I’ve always wondered if maybe some people on this earth aren’t meant for great things. I know we’re all temporary, but I’ve always wondered if some of us are more temporary than others. If some of us are just stepping stones and fillers of space in the lives of those who are destined to be great. If we’re only here to help them pass a certain amount of time until their true purpose comes to call, or show them all the horrible things they must avoid in order to reach their potential.

I have never been brilliant. I have never been the kind of girl who captures the attention of everyone in a room when she enters. I have never been a holder of great discussions, the creator of a great work of art, or the great love of someone’s life.

I am plain. I weigh a little more than I should. I can be slow to catch on to jokes, oblivious to things that are right in front of my eyes. I cry too easily. I talk too much. I’m not strong enough.

I have a big heart – bigger than most. I have more love to give inside this little body than most, and an intense need to give it. I am loyal. I can take anything you can throw at me, and I will never waiver in my love or my loyalty.

Maybe that isn’t enough.

I wish someone would tell me what is, because I would give anything to just be enough.