Awake and Dreaming

New Site

2007-07-01T21:16:00.000-06:00

I have a NEW blog site to chronicle my year in Sudan.

http://www.emilyinsudan.blogspot.com/

I'll be keeping that site updated with tales of my journey. Check it out.

Eastbound. Again.

2007-02-08T10:37:00.000-07:00

I go in for my last shift tonight. Whew. This has been a fast four weeks. I've worked a LOT, played a little and spent some time thinking about the "what now?" in my life. As is usually the case, I have no idea where my feet will fall next. I can only successfully plan about 2 to 3 weeks out, it seems.

Time will tell.

But, I come home tomorrow and it will be good to be in Dallas for a while. Maybe I'll stay until the rest of the country stops being a dang, cold mess. As I type, "sunny" California is covered in a blanket of damp, cold fog.

Someone please tell me Dallas is warm and sunny...

Crappy Innovation

2007-02-07T10:34:00.000-07:00

Why does this "gleaming monument to personal convenience" have an astroturf seat cover?

And, a bullhorn?

Dear Friend-

2007-02-06T04:35:00.000-07:00

Our friendships hurry to short and poor conclusions, because we have made them a texture of wine and dreams, instead of the tough fibre of the human heart. The laws of friendship are austere and eternal, of one web with the laws of nature and of morals. But we have aimed at a swift and petty benefit, to suck a sudden sweetness. We snatch at the slowest fruit in the whole garden of God, which many summers and many winters must ripen. We seek our friend not sacredly, but with an adulterate passion which would appropriate him to ourselves. In vain. We are armed all over with subtle antagonisms, which, as soon as we meet, begin to play, and translate all poetry into stale prose. Almost all people descend to meet. All association must be a compromise, and, what is worst, the very flower and aroma of the flower of each of the beautiful natures disappears as they approach each other. What a perpetual disappointment is actual society, even of the virtuous and gifted! After interviews have been compassed with long foresight, we must be tormented presently by baffled blows, by sudden, unseasonable apathies, by epilepsies of wit and of animal spirits, in the heyday of friendship and thought. Our faculties do not play us true, and both parties are relieved by solitude

Emerson

Colour like no other

2007-02-03T10:07:00.000-07:00

I've since discovered that "intestine soup" is actually menudo, a traditional Mexican dish made with "tripe" or cow stomach. And, I guess it isn't so weird that a hospital 2 hours from the Mexican border would serve a traditional Mexican dish.

It's still gross, though.

Didn't Ricky Martin get his start in a boy band called Menudo?

Things that make you go hmmmm

In other news, I recently rediscovered a commercial on youtube that I LOVE. How fun was it to make this commercial, I wonder?!

Are you gonna eat that?

2007-01-23T09:17:00.000-07:00

I ordered soup in the hospital cafeteria last night. It looked good. It didn't have a name, but the main ingredients were hominy and [what I thought was] chicken. But, the more I ate the "chicken", the more I realized that it was very unlike any other chicken I'd ever eaten. Then my spoon uncovered a large (tubular) piece of the "chicken" and I realized what it was...

Intestines.

What kind of a hospital serves intestine soup?

Al Gore and his global warming

2007-01-21T09:12:00.000-07:00

Several mornings ago, I conversationally mentioned the cold weather to a random guy at the bus stop (because all great conversations begin with obvious statements...). He disdainfully muttered "Damn Al Gore and his global warming".

Somewhere Al Gore is feeling like a wounded messenger.

I'm fairly certain this bizarre weather isn't Al Gore's doing, but this week it snowed in Malibu [insert Ed Young's rewind sound effect], this week in SNOWED in MALIBU, and I want someone to be held personally responsible.

Random bus guy and I suggest Mr. Gore.

Adventures of Bus Girl

2007-01-19T10:19:00.000-07:00

So, I arrived in not-so-sunny-Cal early Monday morning. The temperature when I landed was 37 degrees. A mere 4 degrees higher than when I left Texas. Now, I know I shouldn't complain about the weather in California to people dealing with snow, ice, sleet and cold cold mess...but, well...it's COLD here! I mean, really!

In other news, I now ride the public bus. Daily. Twice daily, really. It's been kinda great, I must admit. My first taste of the public bus has gone something like this:

Day One: Arrive at my bus stop. Wait 45 minutes in the cold. No bus. Realize I'm on the verge of being late to work. Call a cab. Pay ten dollars for the 4 mile ride. Feel bummed.

Day Two: Realize Day One was MLK day. Realize the 102 doesn't run on MLK day. Decide to give it another go. Wait at the bus stop for several minutes. Realize I'm waiting in the Westbound stop, when I need to go Eastbound. Begin making my way to the correct bus stop. See the 102 pass the correct bus stop while I'm still waiting to cross the street. Feel bummed. Go into McDonalds to have a coffee and wait for the next bus. Watch the (early!) 102 zoom past the McDonalds AND the bus stop. Without me. Feel bummed. Throw my coffee away and head to the bus stop. Wait 35 mins in the cold. Finally board the correct bus. Feel triumphant.

Day Three: Get on the correct bus. Make it to work. Feel like a bus riding PRO.

Day Four: Take the bus to the mall. Finish a book during the ride. Shop. See a picture show. Ride the bus home. Feel like the bus is the greatest thing EVER.

So, as you can see I'm back in California and having a good time. Work is work, but it's been nice to have it. A few of my old friends are still here, so it's been good catching up with everyone. And, I realized that I did sorta miss the craziness of this hospital while I was in Dallas. Just a little, anyway.

Okay, I've gotta go now. I'm sure I have a bus to catch, or something...

[In case you don't know] I'M HOME

2007-01-03T14:27:00.000-07:00

So...yes, I am back in Dallas (the sunrise today made me happy to be so!). And, I know, I know...I fell off the blogspot bus (or is it a bandwagon?) again. Honestly, I really do have awfully sincere intentions to "keep at it", but....well, I just haven't been good at the follow-through, have I?

Well, let me catch you up. After we last "spoke" , I had a great final two weeks in Sunny Cal. And, smack in the middle of those weeks, Joseph came for a 4 day visit. I do believe it was my favorite 4 days in California. We packed a lot of "doing" into those days...went to San Diego, La Jolla, Coronado Island, Hollywood, Santa Monica, Laguna Beach, Newport Beach, Manhattan Beach, Seal Beach...and, well, the list goes on. Needless to say, we had a great time.

At the end of my stay in LA, Amy flew in and we had an amazing road trip home. Unfortunately my computer had a myocardial infarction along the way, so those pictures were never really published online...kinda sad.

But, the trip was great. We started with a bang by spending the entire day sightseeing in LA and THEN driving all night to get to the Grand Canyon by dawn. We made it just in time to see the sun rise over one of the seven wonders of the world. Breathtaking. We spent several hours there before heading to Santa Fe. We watched the sun sink back into the horizon just as we drove into town. We felt quite privileged to be able to see the sun set, rise and then set again in THREE different states, in a bit less than 24 hours. The rest of the roadtrip was just as awesome...

I arrived home just in time for Thanksgiving and I've been half working, half "vacationing" since. (Okay...maybe it's been more of a 1/3 : 2/3 split...).

I go back to California for another 4 week assignment in TWO WEEKS! I'm excited...but, also a smidge sad to see my vaca come to an end.

But, alas...such is life.

And, I think this picture is Dallas trying to sweet talk me into staying a bit longer...

19 days left (but, who's counting?)

2006-10-30T09:34:00.000-07:00

Hitting the halfway mark of my assignment has been accented with a touch of homesickness.

Not that I'm not having fun.

Not that I haven't met some great people.

Not that I'm not getting to do a lot of cool things.

But, at the end of the day, I miss my family. My Dallas family and my actual family.

The good news is that Joseph comes in 10 days for a 4 day visit and then Amy comes in 19 days to drive me HOME. Yea!

Despite the mild homesickness and 52 hours of work this week, I have managed to have some fun...

Yesterday I went with my new friend Stacy (who has been a very timely blessing from above this week) to Catalina Island. It was great! The weather was beautiful. The company was wonderful. And, the Island was breathtaking. Catalina Island is like a Wish You Were Here postcard.

Then, last night I went to the famed Viper R oom to see my friend's husband play with his band The Royal Fever. They put on a rockin' set, and it was fun to experience Sunset Blvd and a bit of LA nightlife.

Now, I must relax and prepare myself for a long stretch of work. I've got 19 more days to power through...

(but, who's counting?)

From San Fran to San Diego

2006-10-26T11:57:00.000-06:00

So, I haven't been so great about keeping this site updated, have I? Well, much has happened since we last "spoke". I will try and hit the highlights...

Sunny Cal has a lot to offer. The more I explore, the more I "get it". I think I may be falling in serious like (if not love) with this west coast state. I hate to drone on about all the great little quirks of my newest crush, but, for real...this place is golden.

(cue opening scenes from Full House)

"Whatever happened to predictability? The milkman, the paperboy...and evening TV?"

Last week I had the opportunity to visit San Francisco for a couple days. Joseph has been traveling to Cal for business this month, and I happened to have a couple days off during the week. So, I hopped a big jet liner and traveled north. What a great city San Francisco is! There is so much to do, the weather is remarkable and the people are incredibly friendly (to which Joseph pointed out...they live in a great city, what could they possibly be mad about?).

My visit to the bay area was of the "whirlwind" nature (as have all my excursions been lately...). I arrived in Oakland on a Wednesday evening, where Joseph met me for the train ride to San Francisco. We spent the evening walkin' and gawkin' and enjoyin' a city that was new to us both. We ate fish on the Wharf and watched the Sea Lions (or otters? or seals? I still don't know the difference...) lounge on the docks. What an odd animal!

The next day I was on my own. Both my mother and Joseph gave me detailed instructions on trains to take and places to visit and...yadda, yadda, yadda...I still got lost.

I ended up in the Haight-Ashbury district, though, and was quite pleased. The people watching was phenomenal. I grabbed the Haight-Ashbury Beat and read it in a coffee shop over a warm cup of tea (tea unites a multitude of sub-cultures, I've found). In "The Beat", I learned all about medicinal cannabis and police brutality and homeless sweeps. Oh my!

Later that afternoon, Joseph joined me and we spent the evening riding the trolley, eating chocolate, exploring Chinatown and having a blast.
We both agreed that San Francisco is a great city, indeed.

Yesterday, I arrived home from a two day trip to San Diego. I went with a coworker (Kathy, from Louisiana) and we had a great time. San Diego is another gem of a city. It's a tropical paradise with much to do. We went to the world-famous San Diego Zoo AND SeaWorld. I was giddy as a child at both.

Oh, California, thanks for having such great cities for me to explore!

Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous

2006-10-08T21:25:00.000-06:00

Ah. Newport Beach. Where the rich frolic and sunbathe and tote around their yappy, little dogs in monogram bags.

I simply adore it.

My new friend, Lily, and I had a great time today. We brunched in Balboa Island amid a sea of old yachters and their botoxed brides. We wore our sunglasses the whole time and refused to give autographs. Though, for the most part, everyone was oblivious to our fame.

Newport Beach (especially Balboa Island) is heaven. People walk a little slower and a little less intentioned. I like to think it's because they're basking in the glorious sunshine...but they're probably just weighed down from the gobs of money in their pockets. I mean, fo' real, y'all.

After a delightful brunch and a slow stroll, we went to the deliciously anticipated Fashion Island. We were a little disappointed when we found Fashion Island to be just an ordinary ol' mall. When we spotted Gap, we knew we hadn't quite landed in the paradise we'd hoped for.

And, so we continued south.

Laguna Beach! We spent the rest of the afternoon shopping, strolling and trying to spot Stephen. We were successful at two of three. Hey, you can't have it all. Which, incidentally, is not the motto of Laguna Beach. In case you were wondering.

So, another beautifully sunny day in California has ended.

Perhaps tomorrow will bring me a few more of those champagne wishes and caviar dreams...

I'm, like, having a totally awesome time in Cali, dudes.

2006-10-08T00:29:00.000-06:00

It turns out, California agrees with me. Currently, I am chillin' out max and relaxin' all cool. Just like Fresh Prince.

So, my first week in sunny Cal was a bit rocky, but this week has been good to me, for sure. I am in total vacation mode which seems a bit odd given the 52 hours I've worked this week. But, after catching my stride, I've found this assignment to be easy, breezy and beautiful...like a covergirl.

Let me point out a few of the easy , breezy and beautiful highlights for you:

1. I am required to take an hour break towards the last half of my shift. During this break, I am encouraged to sleep. This break is separate from the lunch break I take earlier in the shift. So, from 3 to 4 am, everyday, I sleep. At work. Because they told me to. Yep. You heard me right.

2. I have met so many travelers at this hospital. I am learning so much great insider info about agencies, facilities and great travel assignments all over the country. Every day I feel more and more jazzed about taking another assignment after the holidays.

3. California has amazing skies. I get to see the sun setting as I head to work, and rising as I end my
shift. What a treat!

4. The people here are great. Cool. Chill. Laaaaaid back. I love the whole vibe.

5. Everday I meet someone new. Everyday I get to hear their stories. I find that to be endlessly fascinating.

6. Did I mention that this feels like a vacation?!

Anyway, I should head to bed. Tomorrow I am spending the day in OC with Lily. Lily is a Pediatric nurse from....Dallas, Texas. What fun!

"All I wanna do is have some fun...

2006-10-02T23:05:00.000-06:00

...until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard"

I spent the day in beautiful Santa Monica, California today. Santa Monica is about a 15 minute drive from me, but I decided to take the scenic route (purposely, in case you're wondering!), making it a 45 minute drive. The scenic route-- along Pacific Coast Highway-- turned out to be a great choice.

I'll be honest, Carson and Long Beach are not the best representations of LA county. At all. But, driving along PCH (not "The PCH", as I am erroneously wont to call it), provided me with a much deeper appreciation of the area. The drive was gorgeous.

Amy discovered, in her research for our roadtrip here, that travelers commonly take 3 to 4 days to travel down PCH from San Fran to LA. Now, I understand why. The view just about begs for a casual, windows-down, music up, meander.

Once in Santa Monica, I headed for an area known as the Third Street Promenade-- which is several blocks of boutiques, bookstores, shops and restaurants. I had a most wonderful time window shopping and people watching. And, I was very surprised at the amount of activity happening on a Monday. Don't people in California work?!

The day was, in a word, fantastic. I had a long and leisurely lunch alfresco (is there any other way to dine in Cali?). I walked along the beach. And, as the afternoon drew to an end, I took in a film at a small, art house theatre called laemmle (sorta, kinda, almost like La Emily...).

As I left town, the sun was setting picturesquely over the Pacific.

A perfect Santa Monica day, indeed...

On a side note...

2006-10-02T22:16:00.000-06:00

I am bruised! And, (this time) I mean LITERALLY.

After I got completely ready today, I decided that I wanted to wear a skirt. And, wearing a skirt meant that I needed to shave. So, fully dressed and ready to go, I sat on the edge of my bathtub and shaved.

When I reached up to turn the water off, I accidentally turn the shower ON. I realized immediately what I had done and quickly jumped up and out of the shower before I was drenched.

Big mistake.

My foot hit the wet floor and I landed face first (as Joseph called "old lady style") on the bathroom tile.

As I lay on the cold, hard bathroom floor of the Extended Stay America, I thought...

so this is what it's like to die alone.

It turns out, I lived. But my legs, and my pride, were seriously bruised in the ordeal.

See for yourself...

serious ouchy!

You are confident, creative and capable. Prove it.

2006-10-01T18:50:00.000-06:00

So, I promised I would keep this blog updated, didn't I?

Well, tonight marks my first night off since Wednesday. And, I am.....exhausted.

whew.

I didn't fully prepare myself for the challenging clinical aspect of this trip. I acknowledged that it would be difficult to leave my family and my social circle. I understood that I woud miss a few parties and social events. I assumed that it would not be easy to find my way around a new city. I never expected this trip to be a breeze. However, it never occurred to me that the most challenging task in this adventure would be my job. I mean, I came here to work as a NICU nurse. I do that every week, after all. How hard could that be?

WHEW.

The answer? Pretty dang hard.

I feel like this week has stretched me as a nurse. I feel like this week has attempted to kick my cocky, nurse butt. I feel like this week has owned me. Hardcore.

I was told that I would be following a nurse for three, 12-hour shifts. You know...so I could orient to the unit, paperwork, computer systems, equipment, policies, procedures, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

I came in my second night and was told that I would be working independently.

Yikes.

I spent the next 12 hours trying not to drown.

Suddenly, everyday tasks seemed monumentally more challenging. I felt like a very inquisitive preschooler: Where do you keep the feeding tubes? What's the password to the PYXIS? How often do you chart pain assessments? What is a Nutra A? Am I really supposed to discard all residuals? Why is this pump telling me to back prime? Why do people keep asking me if I need help from a TL? What is a TL?

And, on it continued for 12 hours.

I left feeling overwhelmed and under-oriented.

The next shift, I felt ready to tackle the beast once more. However, much to my dismay, I was told that I had been floated to a Pediatric floor. After 4 hours of "orientation" (seriously, these people need to find a new word for what they call "orientation"), 4 Peds patients, ranging in ages from 2 mos to 16 years, were under my sole care.

5 hours into my shift, I was administering an enema to a 3 year old boy (who clutched my hand and said "Em-a-wee, I'm scared"), and seriously thinking that I had made a huge mistake.

After that third night, I felt sure that I was ready to return to the comfort and routine of my Dallas hospital. But, then, suddenly-- about six hours into my fourth shift, I started to hit what appeared to be the beginnings of my stride. Could it be I was catching on?!

"You are confident, creative and capable". Maybe, I will prove it, after all.

What a week!

2006-09-26T11:16:00.000-06:00

Now we're cookin' with solar power!

2006-09-26T01:24:00.000-06:00

[BIG SIGH]

We made it.

After about 32 hours in the car, I am officially in LA. Or, Carson, technically-- which is just South of LA and just North of "Compton: Next 3 exits".

I don't quite understand LA suburbs. Not yet, at least. But, there is a sign on the front door of my new residency that warns against leaving valuables in the car. Also, I was advised upon check-in that guest info cards could be viewed by law enforcement agents...should law enforcement agents ever desire to view them.

But, I'm not particularly worried. Mostly because I don't think the DMB CDs in my car will be of any great interest to anyone here. And, because my guest info card is decidely void of anything juicy. Just the facts, big brother.

The roadtrip to LA turned out to be a total blast. Amy and I navigated like pros and experienced no major hiccups. Okay-- so Amy did most of the navigating, but I kept the music playin' and the pictures snappin'. You have to stick with what you know, right?

Anyway, it feels good to be in LA. God has been awesomely-faithful to me so far and I know He has something in store for me here-- I know He has something for me to learn...

But, for now, I must find some sleep. It's been a long several days, for sure.

Good night LA.

I'm packin' my bags and headin' west

2006-09-22T14:39:00.000-06:00

"You should eat some cotton candy while you're there.
Not because it's typical of CA, but because it will remind you of all the
wonderful things there are in life.
Because that's what eating cotton candy does."
-J. Christian Ross

Hello!

Yes. I know I have been very absent from blogspot lately. I'm a deadbeat blogger, indeed.

But, I am attempting to "reconnect" in an effort to "keep in touch" over the next couple of months. Tomorrow, I will be temporarily relocating to Long Beach, Cali for a travel nursing assignment. From there, I will try to keep this site updated with pictures, anecdotal stories and, perhaps, the occasional tale of 'lesson learned'.

For now, good bye to my family, to my friends and to this fair city that I am very much enamored with....

Until we meet again...

"I have always relied on the kindness of strangers" Tennessee Williams

2006-05-09T12:24:00.000-06:00

I received a hand-out today.

A kind man, thinking I was homeless, gave me two bananas.

Let me explain. I went to the gym around lunch today. I often forget to eat when I'm at home and it's only when I leave my house that I realize my hunger. So, I get to the gym and realize that I haven't eaten a thing and I was not going to perform at peak capacity with a growling belly. The solution, I decided, was to purchase two bananas from the produce stand down the street.

Let me explain my appearance: my unwashed hair was pulled into a messy pony-tail. I was wearing ratty, old yoga pants with a free, 'I donated blood' tee shirt.

And, house shoes.

(my gym shoes were in my gym bag, of course)

So, I park behind the produce stand, and walk around to the front. I find the bananas, take two off the bunch and ask the man how much they cost. I had a dollar in my pocket and was prepared to pay his asking price. After hesitating and assessing my appearance, he informed me that they were 25 cents.

"Oh...okay...I have a quarter in my car"

However, before I could turn towards the exit, he told me that I could just have the bananas. For free.

"Thank you, sir. But, really, I have a quarter in my car"

By this time, though, I'm starting to realize that he doesn't believe I HAVE a car. Nor a home, most probably.

I pull a dirty, crumpled dollar from my pocket and show the man.

"See...I have money"

But, not wanting to take the last dollar from a poor, homeless woman, he declined my money, told me to take the bananas ("It's a hot day") and then said to me what people typically say to the homeless:

"God Bless You"

I was very humbled, very embarrassed, and feeling quite bad for taking the merchandise of a man that, I suspect, makes less money than I do.

Not knowing what else to do, however, I simply smiled at him, swallowed my pride and said "No, God bless you".

Perhaps, I'll become a regular customer of his.

A paying customer, of course.

(And, perhaps, I'll purchase some new gym clothes....)

Tiny Voices

2006-04-27T08:56:00.000-06:00

She kicked her little legs in what was the beginnings of a huge fit. With nose crinkled and mouth open wide, she gave the first cry I'd heard escape her small lips in 71 days. It was a pathetic little cry, really- more like a croak- but, it was the best cry I'd heard all night. It was everything she'd been trying to say for the past 2 months, and it was proof that miracles do happen.

I remember, rather vividly, her birth. I was in the operating room for her mother's emergency c-section, and I watched as her tiny, one-pound body was taken from the womb that had been her protection for the past 5 1/2 months. The delivery was medically necessary- the only chance that either mother or baby had for survival- but, I still had that all-too-familiar tug of emotion and I wondered if I was witnessing the end of life.

But, that night she gave just enough fight to convince us that she may be a 'beat-the-odds' kinda girl. And, despite all doubts, she survived her first hours of life.

Her survival, up to this point, has been dependent on a tube down her throat connected to a breathing machine. But, last night, after deciding that she may be ready to breath on her own, we removed the tube from her throat, and gave her the first chance she's had in 71 days to find her voice. It took her, however, several hours to croak out that first feeble cry.

In that moment, I realized that hearing a baby cry for the first time- whether immediately upon delivery, or several months after the fact- was a sound that I never grew tired of hearing.

Surprisingly, in spite of the constant reminders I'm shown of life's miraculous nature, I frequently forget to stop and acknowledge it.

But, I am always awed by the tiny packages that God uses to remind me of what I've already learned a thousand times over: Life happens for a reason and life is a miracle.

Sometimes it's the smallest voice that communicates the biggest truth.

Wenn es nur einmal so ganz stille ware

2006-03-24T07:45:00.000-07:00

If only for once it were still.
If the not quite right and the why this
could be muted, and the neighbor's laughter,
and the static my senses make-
if all of it didn't keep me from coming awake

Then in one vast thousandfold thought
I could think you up to where thinking ends.

I could possess you,
even for the brevity of a smile,
to offer you
to all that lives,
in gladness.

Rainer Maria Rilke

My Family Quilt

2006-03-19T23:41:00.000-07:00

sepia-colored memories
laced with the hint of something more
I am my mother's third daughter
my father's baby girl

recollections are fuzzy
softly altered by the stretch of many years
lined in a mind that knows
some truths hide behind old ideas

I know there's a place for me
threaded behind two sisters
before one brother

my patch on this quilt
is woven delicately between generations of me
present, past and beyond

and when I'm gone, my thread will remain
as a faded promise to my sons and daughters
that on this quilt they will belong

as first and forever
I belonged

The Roots of Twenty-Four

2006-03-07T11:29:00.000-07:00

I am rich with the history of my forefathers
their blood is my blood
their pain, sorrow, joy
mine

I am the compounded noise of a raging past
water thick and heavy
with sweat from their toil

I live in the bosom of yesterday
tucked within a mind that says never
but a body that says why not

I come here to seek truth
and in truth find freedom

But, when I breathe, it's with the breath of a thousand years

found in the heartbeat of just twenty-four

Distracted by Calla Lilies

2006-03-06T08:11:00.000-07:00

Six, white Calla Lilies sit in a drinking glass on my kitchen table. A ribbon tied loosely 'round their thick stalks in a half-hearted effort to create a casually 'artistic' arrangement. They are the, oh-so-pretty, souvenir of my fourth walk down the aisle. As a bridesmaid.

I hope they survive for a while, because they are tragically beautiful. Or beautifully tragic, perhaps.

They seem to know that they're doomed to whither in the house of an 'always a bridesmaid....' who doesn't even own a proper vase. What a tragically beautiful fate for an 'oh-so-pretty' bunch of Calla Lilies.

I adore Calla Lilies. Truly. Adore. If I could dare to pick a 'most favorite' flower, I might be inclined to choose them for their exceeding sensuality and graceful, feminine curves. For some reason, the sight of a Calla Lily always brings to mind a poem by Lucille Clifton called Homage to My Hips-- which is probably a silly connection, but one that, most likely, stems (HA...'stems') from my mind's tendency to liken the curve of a Calla Lily to the curve of a woman's hip.

...there is a girl inside/she is randy as a wolf/she will not walk away/and leave these bones/to an old woman...

I didn't intend to write a homage to Calla Lilies-- or hips, for that matter--but here I am, 3.5 paragraphs in, and that's all I've done.

Perhaps, I'll go with it.

...and her lovers will harvest/honey and thyme/and the woods will be wild/with the damn wonder of it.

On second thought, I think I'll leave it at that.

World Wide Web of Confusion

2006-02-28T23:22:00.000-07:00

Fifty million registered users of MySpace, with roughly fifteen million of those being in the 'under 18' age group, and I have to wonder: What are we missing?

I have a friend that might call this the slow and painful degradation of society.

But, before I can nod my head in agreement, I must make a 'caught with my hand in the cookie jar' confession: I am one of those fifty million users. I am MySpace registered.

Of course, I can explain- my registration was merely a means to an end, a portal into the online photo albums of friends. And, I needed that entry, darnit, to answer the all important question thrown at me one day- "I met this guy on MySpace. Do you think he's cute?"

And, so, I typed in a few personal details, clicked enter, and thus joined a growing, and decidedly unexclusive, sub-culture of people who are screaming at the top of their internet lungs "Hey world, this is My Space!"

And, oh what a space it is!

It's the out-pouring of a generation (or two) of people saying "Look at me" "Hear me" "I've got something to say"

Now, I won't give in to my mind's tendency to narrow-- this is not about MySpace-- or even the hundred or so like websites. MySpace, in and of itself, is a largely innocuous enterprise (with millions of dollars in adspace sold, an affiliated record label, and an affiliated production company, MySpace is, undeniably, an enterprise)

This is about the dawn of a new era of human relationships and communication-- relationships with the foundation formed via cyberspace.

Online journals and personal pages have attracted the attention of the newest breed of 'damn-the-man, screw-the-system' young people. Young people that aren't in the streets, pumping their fists in demand of equal rights or fair trade practices, but, rather, in the privacy and solitude of their homes, bucking the societal rules of meeting, greeting and interacting with others.

Our intrinsic yearning to be heard and understood has been met with a platform on which to do so. Or, at least, a platform on which to give it a good solid try. With the elevation of that platform comes the illusion of intimacy. And, as it turns out, intimacy was what we were all clamoring for in the first place.

Too bad we've barked up the wrong tree.

Of course, this need for human connectedness is not a new phenomenon. This generation is not the first generation of emotional fornicators. In fact, when man ate of the forbidden fruit, and changed his relationship with his God, humans began their scramble for intimacy.

Fast forward to present day: We are still, very much, in 'bed' together.

And, I am not off the hook on this one, I'm as guilty as the next person, maybe even more so-- but I have to stop and question the impact that the internet's bottomless 'wealth' of personal connections has on souls that are neglecting the One connection that we so desperately need.

It all begs the question- In this online quest for intimacy generated by a 'me' centered society, who's the god of my space?

Carried Away

2006-02-24T00:38:00.000-07:00

I stood there once. On the edge of the ocean. Tasting salt water on my tongue and feeling the sun on my skin. I felt a yearning, then. Beside that great, endless sea. I felt as if a wave might come, and in one giant surge, swallow me whole. I stood there for a long time and tempted the ocean to carry me away. But, the ocean stopped each time before reaching me.

Salt lingered on my tongue long after I was gone from the waves, and long after I remembered the possibility of being carried away.

Why Should My Heart Not Dance?

2006-02-14T11:38:00.000-07:00

I may be the only single woman who actually likes Valentine's Day. The cheesy little cards and chocolate hearts. The red and pink. The syrupy love songs. I like it ALL.

I should be properly cynical today given my current situation (you know...my 'single, almost 25, with no prospects of a mate' situation). But, I just can't seem to muster up that emotion. Not, today, at least (and, believe me, I've tried). But, I fell asleep last night watching 'Sabrina' and I woke up this morning with the sun on my face (which, incidentally, is my favorite way to wake up) and I just feel...content.

I've decided to publish a passage today from one of my very favorite books, Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis.

Yes. I've used this exact passage before in one of my very first posts, but that was eons ago, and this passage just happens to best voice my current sentiments.

Romance or not, today my heart dances. Why should it not?

"And my struggle was this. You may well believe that I had set out sad enough; I had come on a sad errand. Now, flung at me like frolic or insolence, there came as if it were a voice--no words--but if you made it into words it would be, "Why should my heart not dance?" It's the measure of my folly that my heart almost answered "Why not?" I had to tell myself over like a lesson the infinite reasons my heart had not to dance. My heart to dance? Mine, whose love was taken from me, I, who must never look for other love, the drudge of the King, the jailer of hateful Redival, perhaps to be murdered or turned out as a beggar when my father died--for who knew what Glome would do then? And yet, it was a lesson I could hardly keep in my mind. The sight of the huge world put mad ideas into me, as if I could wander away, wander forever, see strange and beautiful things, one after the other to the world's end. The freshness and wetness all about me made me feel that I had misjudged the world; it seemed kind, and laughing, as if its heart also danced..."

One Singular Sensation

2006-02-10T12:02:00.000-07:00

Every Little Step She Takes

I got a phone call today from an old friend. She sounded happy and wanted to meet for lunch this week. Monica is one of my oldest friends. We met in the sixth grade after we'd both transferred to our small private academy from large public schools. We forged an instant friendship in the foreign world of prepubescent hormones and rampant emotions. She was allowed to shave her legs before I, and she kissed a boy during recess before I and she was cool- at least in my eyes.

We've drifted in and out of each others life over the years, but she is forever floating somewhere in my orbit, and I, in hers.

I watched her marry the man of her every dream about two years ago. She was radiant, as always, and I spent the night smiling and dancing and saying appropriate wedding-y things. And, tonight, I listened to her tell me about the very near arrival of her first son, which certainly explained the near giddiness I detected in her voice. A baby boy. A baby boy for my oldest friend.

I've had many similar conversations with old friends lately about pending weddings and new babies. And, I've received two phone calls this week, alone, from a friend that I haven't spoken to in six months. I'm almost certain she is going to tell me that she, too, is expecting her first child.

Weddings are great. New babies are incredible. I happen to like both, very much. And, I truly feel delighted when a friend joins the ranks of the wives and mothers. Both are titles that I feel very intrigued by, although, entirely separated from.

I'm afraid that I have landed smack-dab in the middle of singledom. And, it's a wonderful place to be at times. I certainly have no other mouth to feed but my own. I have no extra laundry to fold, or beds to make. It's just me, in an appropriately small abode, with neither animal nor plant life to tend to (my one fish and one house plant have both died in the last two weeks)

But, the thing about this place called Singledom is that everything feels temporary-- life is a constant transition. Next week I might, very well, be hanging out with people I barely know and the week after that I may be referring to them as my friends.

Everything is subject to change.

The question that I've been asking myself this week is (yes, this sounds completely disingenuous, but bear with me): What's it all about? What am I supposed to be accomplishing in my single life? Surely, God has more for me than Starbucks on Thursdays, and weekends packed with activity.

As a married lady, I would have a clearly defined role. As a mother, I would have a clearly defined role.

What's the role of a single, twenty-something, woman?

I have time. Much more time than my married friends. And, I surely have more time than my friends with babies. I have time that I seem to fill with copious amounts of activity, but how much of that activity is in service of others? If I'm honest, I'd admit that it's not nearly enough.

Maybe the role of the single woman is to be a servant. Maybe the call is to serve others in preparation for life's next role as a servant to a spouse and family.

And maybe, just maybe, if I redirected my purpose towards the service of others, single life wouldn't feel so...singular

Empty of Anthems

2006-02-05T23:35:00.000-07:00

My pen is, once again, unimpressed. So, in an effort to keep things fresh, I am posting two older pieces of sorta silly prose. The first being the late night inner dialogues of a chronic insomniac, and the second being the casual observations of a consummate people watcher...

Silly Swirling Thoughts, A-Plenty

2006-02-05T23:34:00.000-07:00

Swirling. My head is swirling in thoughts. Lightening bugs of thought. Zing! Zing! Thoughts like little electric bugs.

I grab at one thought and another jets by on his little thought Sedan.

Silly Swirling Thoughts, A-Plenty
Tried to Pen Them, But Had Many

Fleeting little devils. Those thoughts, I mean.

I try my best to pen them down. Pen the thought on the paper. Like a game. A kid's game involving blindfolds and spinning and icing-covered little faces of smiles and giggles.

Pen the thought on the paper. Blind-folded, I spin. I spin and write and hope it all comes out in sentences.

Silly Swirling Thoughts, A-Plenty
I Need to Sleep, It's Three Plus Twenty.

WHEEEEEEE!

Pen the thought on the paper. A fun little game.

Pretty On A Bench

2006-02-05T23:33:00.000-07:00

A casual brush of hair off a smooth forehead. Absently twirled fingers in a dark mane of tumble and curl.

Twirl. Twirl. Brushed bangs, then twirl.

A girl with a smile of perfect white pillars, straight and proud, behind nervous lips of pink. The smile of youth. A beating heart and twirling hair. Twirl. Twirl.

Twirling fingers in dark, round curls. As she twirls and sits, I wonder:

Does she smile for hope?
Does she hope for love?

Sitting pretty on a bench. Lost in a daydream of life. A carefree, spinning life. Perhaps a future with a man. One man. Strong hands and deep voice. A mystery to her. A shadow of a mystery.

Twirl. Twirl. Brushed bangs, then twirl.

Twirling fingers in dark, round curls. As she twirls and sits, I wonder:

Will she twirl at 20?
Will she twirl at 40?
Will she twirl at 80?

A casual brush of hair off a smooth forehead. Absently twirled fingers in a dark mane of tumble and curl.

Twirl. Twirl. Brushed bangs, then twirl.

A young girl. A young, daydreaming, hair-twirling girl.

Sitting pretty on a bench.

Mental Paper Jams, New York City and How Hemingway Would Have Dealt

2006-01-17T06:46:00.000-07:00

Here I am again. In front of this computer. Awash in a familiar blue glow. Fingers poised for action.

And nothing.

Not an essay, not a paragraph, not even a sentence to translate the lightening bolts of thought I having zinging 'round my brain. Somewhere a synapse fired and missed, and now I have a paper jam, of sorts, in the part of my brain that commands my hands to pen my story.

And, oh! What a story it is! If only...

If only I could

Wiggle.

It.

Free.

I heard a writer say once that the cure for writer's block is to persuade your pen to keep on moving. Unfortunately, my pen is as stubborn as I, and my pen refuses to move. Besides, darnit, I never was very persuasive.

Hemingway said that the key to writing is to always start with one true sentence.

one true sentence one true sentence one true sentence

Okay...Here's one true sentence: I woke up today with the words to 'New York State of Mind' turning, broken record-style, through my, already congested, brain. I have got to take Billy Joel off my turntable. And, quickly! Before I am utterly consumed by my romantic notions of taking a greyhound on the Hudson River line.

I swear, I yearn everytime Billy sings the line 'I know what I'm needing and I don't want to waste more time. I'm in a New York state of mind.'

I yearn, yes, and then my world turns black and white, and all of the sudden I am overcome with visions of Holly Golightly sitting on her window perch singing 'Moonriver' and looking positively pretty. Holly, too, was in a New York state of mind. And, most likely, she- like me- pined away for New York City winters.

(And, New York City springs, summers and falls, for that matter.)

But, I doubt that Holly would have wasted her time checking--(FOUR times in ONE day)-- for the addition of her name to the website for New York licensed nurses.

Yes. That is what I have done. Today. In case you're wondering.

In September I applied for a nursing license in New York. That was four excruciating months ago. And for four months I have listened to Billy Joel sing about New York City. For four months I've imagined that I could be Holly Golightly sitting in my New York City window. And, for four months I have checked for the addition of my name to the database of New York nurses.

But, the only name that Merritt coma Emily returns to me is a Ms. Emily G. Merritt, RN of New York, New York.

That's not me, I'm quite certain. But, I'm always left with the same nagging question: Who is Emily G. Merritt?

I like to imagine that she lives in the Lower East Side. She rents a lovely studio apartment with a view of the neighboring brick wall. She takes long walks in Little Italy and always stops for cannoli at Sal's. She collects found pennies, and 1940s pill-box hats. When she's feeling melancholy, she spends the afternoon alone, watching foreign films at the old theatre down the block. She goes to the Guggenheim on rainy Tuesdays, and the flea market on sunny Fridays. She takes the F train to work, but always walks the 9 blocks home. She thinks about a boy she once knew that smelled like off-brand fabric softener. When she misses him most, she sits at the laundry mat and reads Anais Nin novels.

But, that's her story. Not mine. I'm Emily A. Merritt, and my story is slightly different. But, my story is currently stuck behind one heckofa mental paper jam.

And, for cryin' out loud, I just can't seem to...

Wiggle.

It.

Free.

Perhaps I'll give up for now and head to the laundry mat.

(Now if I could just find my copy of 'Henry and June'...)

The feeling that it's all a lot of oysters, but no pearls...

2006-01-01T16:00:00.000-07:00

Then, all at once, you look across a crowded room
To see the way that light attaches to a girl...

And it's been a long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass
-Counting Crows

I hope you all discover many pearls in 2006...

Time to regroup...

2005-12-21T07:22:00.000-07:00

I'm taking a little break for awhile.

I'm not sure how long. Maybe a week. Maybe a month.

I'll be back, though, and in the mean time, I'll still be reading and enjoying your words...

Merry Christmas!

A Prayer

2005-12-20T06:52:00.000-07:00

I move around You today
lost in motion
and emotion
consumed by noise

I beg You
breathe again my name
that I might move instead
toward You

Gott spricht zu jedem nur, eh er ihn macht

2005-12-08T09:40:00.000-07:00

God speaks to each of us as He makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody Me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is a country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

Christmas is My Excuse to Be Giddy

2005-12-06T23:50:00.001-07:00

It's Christmastime!

I know this because I find myself having prolonged moments of sheer, unadulterated, giddiness- much like a child on…well, Christmas. I watched parts of A Charlie Brown Christmas tonight, and I just couldn't stop laughing.

My favorite 'scene' was this one between Charlie and Sally:

Sally: Excuse me Big Brother- I'm really sorry to wake you up on Christmas Eve, but I need some advice. You see, I was asleep in my bed, when visions of sugarplums danced in my head. And, I need to know- what's a sugarplum?

Charlie: A small round piece of candy

Sally: Oh good! I just thought I was freaking out.
------------------------------------------------------------

Hehehe. I'm not sure why, but that really made me laugh. Out loud. And then again five minutes later, when I thought about it some more.

Ah. I love Christmas. It really is the MOST wonderful time of the year.

Just ask Charlie Brown...

Catching Bubbles

2005-12-05T13:31:00.000-07:00

When I think of you

I think of a child catching soapy bubbles on a tiny fingertip
Pop. Pop. Pop. Upon landing, they pop

When I think of you
I think of released balloons drifting out of sight
attached to string and hopeful hopes
growing smaller, and smaller
then gone

When I think of you
I think of everything that could be, but isn’t
Everything that should be, but can’t
Everything that might be, if only

Dear future
when I think of you
I close my eyes tight
and pray that God catches your delicate bubble
on His great fingertip

I'll Find You Near the Honeysuckle Bush

2005-11-27T15:48:00.000-07:00

I remembered you then. When the smell of honeysuckle swept past me in a breeze, I remembered you. I saw you again, standing near a honeysuckle bush, tasting the sweet juice in it's delicate bloom. You stood there, wrapped in sunlight and joy. Little girl, I saw you.

"Remember me", you seemed to say with your soft brown eyes. "When you're older, remember me- remember this moment". And now, that same moment is lost somewhere in the tangles of a nighttime dream- in the breeze of a daytime memory. Little girl, I lost you for awhile.

There are moments when I remember you, though. You and your effortless faith- your effortless love- your effortless joy. And, I miss you then- in those moments. The smell of honeysuckle makes me miss you. Little girl, I miss you now.

Now, I have fears. Your fears were small and always gone as quickly as lightening dissolves in the night. But, my fears are big. You were braver than I am. I didn't know it then, but you were brave. I get lost sometimes in my fears. I get scared in the night and wake up with a thousand tears. I cry much more than you ever did. Little girl, you were brave.

I see you again, standing near the honeysuckle bush, and I ache for you. I ache for your effortless faith that eventually lost it's ease when the storms didn't dissolve so quickly in the night. I ache for your effortless love that tarnished with too many broken hearts. I ache for your effortless joy that became more difficult when the world found you and staked their claim on your dreams. Little girl, I ache for you.

I remember you now. I remember who you were, and I miss you- I'll always miss you when the smell of honeysuckle finds me in a breeze.

But, Little girl, I make you this promise: I'll forever keep your memory safe near the honeysuckle bush.

Because, Little girl, I was you.

The End of the Line

2005-11-22T17:00:00.000-07:00

yesterday was the beginning

today could be the end

making

wishes

on

stars

and found pennies

and sometimes the color red

dreams collected in mason jars

next to glass marbles and buttons

and shiny toys that kids lost in the sand

how many days have since past?

how many suns have set?

since the very first day

that I remembered

my life

was

just

a moon

away

I tried to write it all down

on a brand new spiraled book

I dotted my I’s and crossed the T’s

and lined up the words in perfect rows

but again, once again, I forgot to remember

that punctuation was meant for the end of the line

and now sentences start with points of exclamation

but end with words trailing off into space

and all I'm left with is

wishes

on

stars

I am me

2005-11-09T03:09:00.000-07:00

You ask me who I am, and the answer is simple:

I am me.

I am a girl with a fast beating heart. Made from billions of cells, I'm a molecular marvel- a miracle of life.

I have complicated ideas about this world and myself, and how my self figures into this world. I am the sum of a thousand dreams and countless wishes made on fallen eyelashes and coins tossed at wells. I hold my breath and say silent prayers through long tunnels.

When you ask me who I am, I know the answer immediately:

I am me.

I'm a girl who makes messes and still wonders why life is messy. Sometimes, I'm the girl who cries wolf, and sometimes I'm the wolf in sheep's clothing. I am as complex as I am simple. I cry when my heart says laugh, and laugh to keep from crying. I throw caution to the wind and I color outside the lines using bright red paint. I drive too fast and walk too slow and sometimes lose my way.

I am exactly who I was created to be:

I am me.

And, while everyday I find a hundred new reasons why I'll never be good enough- I always have one reason why I already am:

I am His.

A Young Mother

2005-11-03T09:39:00.000-07:00

I watched her young face contort in pain, her breathing growing more labored by the second. A cup full of ice chips flew across the room. "I don’t want this" she yelled. I dodged the ice, and waited for the pain to relent a bit. When the monitor attached to her belly indicated that the contraction had ended, I approached her. I caressed her hand and explained my job. I told her that I would be at the birth to make sure her baby was okay. She looked at me, through a fringe of dark bangs- and my heart tugged in the realization that she was, herself, just a baby. Sixteen years old, and scared. Sixteen years old, and about to take on a job that even I, 8 years her senior, felt unprepared for. Motherhood.

I thought about that word: Motherhood. It seemed too big- too important for someone so small and so unprepared. I thought about what it must feel like to be a mother, and I felt sad that she would know that feeling even before she knew what it felt like to be a woman.

Sixteen is for self-discovery. Make-up and cars. Slumber parties and school dances. Football games and Friday nights. Sixteen isn't for diaper changes and late night feedings. And, it isn't for the unending sacrifices of motherhood.

When I returned to her room later, the baby was close to being born. I recalled Psalm 139: "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb". A familiar mix of awe and humility stirred deep in my chest, and I knew that this child wasn't a mistake. "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well."

Not long after, a baby boy was born. Pink and fat. His mouth wide in an urgent cry. Demanding. Already demanding. I wrapped him tightly in a warm blanket and held him in my arms. "Happy Birthday, Baby" I whispered. "You are a child of God- above all- you are His child. Remember that."

The new mother looked at me for a moment and we locked eyes. Already she looked older and I felt a tug of sadness again. She asked if he was okay and I said "He looks great, I think he'll be fine". And, I silently prayed that she would be, too.

I handed the baby boy to his young mother and congratulated her. I told her that he was handsome and strong. She smiled at him, and giant tears rolled down her face.

"Welcome to motherhood" I whispered.

Can you feel what I feel? Can we make it so that's part of the deal?

2005-10-31T15:07:00.000-07:00

Man, Oh man- I love this time of year. The crisp air and changing weather. The sun that goes to sleep a little earlier in the day. I find the fall to be nostalgic and hopeful and filled with so many sensory triggers that instantly transport me back to childhood. For me, the thing about fall is that it's comfortable- like broken-in jeans, or fuzzy slippers. It just feels right, you know?

I had a friend in college who would eat an astonishing amount of candy corn during the months of October and November. The thing is, she didn't really like them all that much, and they inevitably made her sick, but she ate them anyway. "They taste like being a kid" she told me once. And, I knew exactly what she meant. Candy corn were her preferred method of time travel- the little sugary vessels that took her back to a more comfortable time. I guess life after 13 had plagued her with a lot of pain and uncertainty, and she would tell me- over a bag of candy corn- how 12 was the last time she felt really safe. Candy corn made her feel safe again- at least momentarily. I suppose that's the power of a memory.

I was flipping stations on the radio the other day and I came across this song called 'Broken Arrow', by Rod Stewart. It was right at the line that says "Who else is gonna bring you a broken arrow? Who else is gonna bring you a bottle of rain?" It made me instantly sentimental because it took me back to 12 or 13 years old, riding in the front seat of my dad's truck, and listening to the album 'Vagabond Heart'. Man, I loved that album. Maybe I loved it so much because I only listened to it with my dad- only in his truck- and almost always when it was just the two of us. But, hearing that song again reminded me of this feeling of being completely okay- this feeling that, no matter what, being with my dad was where I belonged.

And, hearing that song again in my own car- at 24 years of age, and more than an hour's drive from my dad- I felt okay, safe even, like I belonged somewhere.

Memories have a funny way of sneaking up on you. And, I've always been very intrigued by how closely they're tied to our senses. I guess that's why I love the fall so much- there are so many good memories that I collected during those months, and an endless amount of triggers that take me instantly back to them.

My friend with the candy corn memories, moved to Ohio after our freshman year of college. She fell in love and married a man that made her feel safe. But, I can't help but wonder if she still eats candy corn. And, I can't help but wonder if 12 years from now, hearing Rod Stewart sing about broken arrows, will still make me feel as if I'm perfectly, and completely, okay- like exactly where I am, is exactly where I belong.

Neon Lies. Scarlet Truth.

2005-10-23T21:50:00.000-06:00

Thoughts of forever, tied heavily to doubts of yesterday. Hope strangled by fear. Tangled in lies. Truth, all but gone.

So far. So far away.

Thoughts of now. Right here. Now. A broken record- skipping and scratched. Stuck on now. Where was the truth? Lost in the lies. You can't. You won't. Never will. Lies of an enemy.

Dark and cold. Feeling so cold and so real.

Thoughts of freedom. Gone. Dead on the pavement. Traded for color and light. Flashing neon light of half truths and small deaths. On repeat. Replayed for the world.

Bloodshed in Sacrifice.

Ignored for the siren call of false freedom. A world demanding payment. Entry will cost. Codemned to die. The cost of their freedom, a soul caged. The world with the key, clutched in iron fists. Death.

Bloodshed in Sacrifice.

"I am the Resurrection, and the Life." Absent of neon lights and gilded cages. Scarlet truth wrapped in Life, found in hope. Thoughts of forever, freed from doubts of yesterday.

Freedom. For His blood: Life.

A Peaceful, Easy Feeling

2005-10-20T03:14:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I have this overwhelming desire to sleep outside, under the open sky. Tonight is one of those nights. A breathtaking night- cool with a slight breeze. And, although I can't see the stars in the bright lights of the city, I know there must be a zillion of them hovering high above me. It reminds me of a line from an Eagles song "I want to sleep with you in the desert tonight, with a billion stars all around..."

There are times when I really miss having a regular audience with the stars. Stars make me feel connected to something vast- something so much vaster than I will ever know.

I was sitting on my porch earlier tonight , imagining that I could see the stars, and I had this really vivid memory of being a child at The Grand Canyon. I remember sitting under the stars on, what seemed to be at the time, the very edge of the earth-- and, thinking that the possibility of something extraordinary happening was very real. And, I have to admit that tonight, sitting on my porch, under my imagined stars-- I got that very same feeling again. The possibility of extraordinary does exist. And, the reality of extraordinary is everywhere.

Maybe it's like love- when we stop and look, we realize that it's all around us--it always was.

I guess what I'm saying is that tonight I feel extraordinary. Extraordinary, like a 10 year old girl on the edge of The Grand Canyon. Extraordinary, like a 24 year old girl who has yet to taste the best of what's to come...

"I will come and proclaim your mighty acts, O Sovereign LORD; I will proclaim your righteousness, yours alone"

2005-10-19T23:21:00.000-06:00

This is my reminder that God is a big God. Bigger than me and bigger than my life. He commands the rising and the setting of the sun each day. And, when I think about that, I am humbled by his sovereignty.

Restless Pacing and Whispered Promises

2005-10-15T16:35:00.000-06:00

Restlessness settles heavy in my feet as I pace the wooden floors of my small home. I say home, though it lacks the people that usually make a home. It's hard to except that home is sometimes a place where only one person sleeps. Home seems to be too big a word for that. But, one person does sleep here. And, it IS my home- I know this because it's filled with the things I've collected and gathered through the years. Books and paintings. Trinkets and framed smiles. Soft things for comfort.

My home: filled with things, but not people. My small, quaint home- perfectly arranged for my perfect comfort. Yet, suddenly I feel betrayed by my home, as it threatens to swallow me in a cavern of things.

Empty of people. Except one. Me and my home.

Pacing. Pacing.

I turn on the television for some noise. But, then mute it because it's not the noise I need. I watch the colors dance around the screen. I watch as it tells stories of other lives, in other homes. Silently played out scenes of life and family. Movement and color interact with me in a disconnected way. But, no comfort can be found in disconnected interaction. I turn the television off.

Pacing. Pacing.

A stack of bills. A stack of magazines. A stack of books. I choose the books, and ruffle through them absently. Flipping worn pages, and reading old words. The thoughts of other people. Other people in other homes. I'm unattached to their lives, yet reading their words. Suddenly that feels hollow. Not enough. I put the books back down.

Pacing. Pacing.

I talk out loud to God. I like the way my voice bounces off the wooden floors. I talk and talk and talk. I pace and talk to God. I talk about my empty home and my restless feet. I talk about my heart that aches in one beat and leaps in the next. He understands that- deep in my chest, I feel He understands that. An aching and leaping heart. Sadness and Joy. Loneliness and contentment. He understands.

I'm tired of pacing and I'm tired of talking. I sit. I listen for sound. I listen for Him to fill the silence. And, He does, in His way. He fills the silence with whispered promises in my ear. And I know- in my chest, I know- that His whispers will, one day, become loud and booming realities.

I recall a promise that God made to Sarah. I think, in her waiting for the fulfillment of that problem, she probably experienced similar moments of pacing and restlessness. But, God's whispered promise became her booming reality. "God has made me laugh" she said, "and all who hear will laugh with me."

In my chest, I understand exactly how Sarah must have felt.

Al Gore, A Broken Heart, Movie Romance and Other 4x6 Confessions

2005-10-07T11:13:00.000-06:00

I couldn't sleep the other night (surprised?). So, I read. Then, I got bored. So, I watched TV. Got bored. Sat on my couch, thinking. Got bored. Sat on my porch, thinking. Got bitten by mosquitoes. Considered painting. Got depressed by my lack of inspiration. Read painting magazines. Got really depressed. Thought about calling a friend. Realized all of my friends were sleeping. Read, again. Got bored, again. Tried to watch 'Alfie'. Realized my DVD player was still broken. Sighed heavily. Ended up on my computer. Realized that computers are the friend of the insomniac. Wondered what insomniacs did before Al Gore invented the internet. Wondered what Al Gore was doing at that precise moment. Assumed he was sleeping. Moved on.

Ugh. Ever have one of those nights? No? Well, count your blessings. Al Gore is not a comforting person to think about at 3 am (actually, Al Gore is not a comforting person to think about EVER. But, that's another blog, altogether...)

So, on my quest for mindless 'entertainment' (word used rather loosely), I stumbled upon this particular blogsite: Post Secret. Basically, you send them your anonymous, deep-dark, secret on a 4x6 postcard, and they add it to their site. Intriguing, n0?

My secret is that I cried while reading all the anonymous secrets. Yes. I really cried. I cried for the strangers and their little 4x6 confessions. Maybe it was the weather change. Maybe it was the early hour. Maybe it was that I'm a sentimental schmuck. Who knows?

Whatever the case, it made me wonder how my 4x6 confession would read. I made a list and thought I would share some of them. Keep in mind that I don't have the advantage of anonymity, and I will have to look most of you in the eye very soon. Needless to say, these are fairly tame. But, this exercise was kind of cathartic. In a way. I guess. Or, maybe it just helped to pass the time a little quicker. Either way, here they are...

Emily's 4x6 Confessions:

1. Although I denied it at the time, I took the easy route and voted straight party on the last presidential election. Checked one box, and I was done.

2. Sometimes, at work, I eat sandwiches from the vending machine. Pre-packaged Blimpies. Can you imagine?

3. I can sit and look at my pores in a magnified mirror for a very, very long time.

4. I go WAY past 3000 miles and 3 months for an oil change.

5. I eat tuna straight from the can. With a plastic fork.

6. When someone calls my phone, and I don't recognize their number or voice, I say "Emily isn't here" and I take a message...for myself.

7. In 1989,'Fluffy', my hamster, died. I never told anyone that the day before, I had accidentally dropped her on her head. She probably suffered from an intracranial hemorrhage. I killed her. Sorry, Fluffy. I really did love you. I was just clumsy.

8. I'm still clumsy.

9. In 1989, the most creative name I could think of for my pet hamster was 'Fluffy'. Her life-partner's (equally uncreative) name was 'Puffy' (This was Pre-Sean Combs). Puffy died a few weeks after Fluffy's tragic accident. Although never proven, I believe it was from a broken-heart. It is not good for hamster to be alone.

10. I watch the end of 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' over and over again. You know the scene where Holly is looking for Cat, and Paul comes back, and the rain is pouring down, and they find Cat, and then he kisses her? I love that scene.

He Called me His "Beloved"

2005-10-03T17:07:00.000-06:00

I believed them. When they said I wasn't good enough- I believed. He said "You were made in My Image". They said there was no way. He said "I am the Way". They gave me no hope. He said "I will give you hope and a future". They said I was a mistake. He said "You were wonderfully made".

He called me His "Beloved".

I believed them. When they said I was unloved- I believed. I said "Please love me". They said "Earn it". He said "It's free".

He called me His "Beloved".

I ran towards them. The ones who thought me unworthy. The ones who gave me no hope- who did not love me. I ran towards them.

He called me His "Beloved".

He waited for me. They never waited for me, but he waited. And when I returned to Him- Broken. Beaten. Torn. Used. He said "Behold, I make all things new..."

I am His Beloved.

Hello darkness, my old friend. I've come to talk with you again.

2005-09-27T04:37:00.000-06:00

My apartment gets very quiet at night. Too quiet. At times, like now, I lie in bed- surrounded by darkness- and listen for life on the other side of these thin walls.

Wind. Some nocturnal creature. A distant ambulance.

I swear I can hear my heart beating. Puh-dum, puh-dum, puh-dum...

Rustled leaves. Footsteps?

Puh-dum, puh-dum, puh-dum, puh-dum...

I pray for sleep to save me from this resounding silence. But, I fear insomnia has decided to settle in for the night. It always settles in on nights like this. Nights that are quiet. Dark and moonless. Seemingly endless.

Sometimes- right now, actually- I long for the comfort of another’s deep breathing. To hear another heart beating. But, it’s just the one heart I hear. Steady in it’s rhythm, but uncertain in everything else.

Puh-dum, puh-dum, puh-dum...

What if everything were different? What if I weren't so familar with the sound of darkness?

Puh-dum, puh-dum, puh-dum, puh-dum...

Man, I wish the sun would rise, so I could find sleep.

Confessions of a Pink Cupcake Eater

2005-09-22T13:52:00.000-06:00

I wake up, sometimes, with a start. Not knowing why, really, but always with a dark feeling that things aren't right. It's during those heart-pounding moments that I get the distinct feeling I'm the brunt of some cruel and terrible joke. Everyone knows exactly what the punch line is. And, everyone knows that the punch line is me.

I am keenly aware that this thought- when passing through my brain- serves as a flashing, neon reminder that I am, at times, nothing more than a scared sixteen year old girl who forgot to convince herself that she didn't care.

As I sit here on my bed, legs tucked beneath me, and laptop before me-- I wonder when, exactly, that 16 year girl will retreat to the past-- and stay there forever. And, I wonder why she is so persistent in her longing to be heard.

This all seems so unnecessarily complicated and dramatic to me, but, unfortunately, I am stuck here. Again. Trying to shake the residual effects of a bad dream. Wishing the joke would be over. Wishing I were somewhere else. Wishing I knew all of the answers. And wishing I didn't have so many wishes.

Pink cupcakes. That's what life reminds me of. They're always so inviting. They promise to be good. Delicious, really. But, pink cupcakes are always bitter. Have you noticed that? It must be the red dye #41, or something. But, I always wonder why I thought they would be so tasty.

The problem is that the world keeps offering me pink cupcakes. And I, foolishly and eagerly, keep excepting them. I gobble them up. And then, with pink stained lips, and a bitter mouth, I cry out to my Father and BEG him to show me what went wrong. And, so, ever patient, He shows me a mirror. He points out my pink lips. And reminds me that the pink cupcakes will always stain and always leave me bitter.

But, again, I forgot to remember. And so, with pink lips, and a bitter taste-- I sit here-- lost in myself and my doubts and my sixteen year old insecurities. Wanting to run, wanting to hide, and wanting to know what the joke is.

I ate the pink cupcake. I guess I am the punch line, after all.

"Please Help."

2005-09-14T18:07:00.000-06:00

I saw his body, hunched over his small bag of possessions, shortly before I saw his face, and shortly before I registered his plight. Homeless. And disabled. His fingers twisted in the familiar distortion of arthritis. He held a sign that read simply “Please Help”. Succinct. And, painfully desperate. His eyes met mine and I, for a moment, understood his desperation.

I turned away, wishing that I hadn’t read his sign-- wishing that I hadn't seen his face. I busied myself in the car--adjusting the radio dial, and shuffling papers. I pretended that I hadn't seen him.

But, I had seen him. And, I saw him still after I drove away. I see him now, days later. And, if I'm honest, I wish I could erase his image from my mind.

I wonder why the image of that man has stuck with me so vividly. The truth is, I am not entirely dissimilar to that man. I hold my own sign. Intangible and unseen. But the message is the same: "Please Help". A warm bed and a hot meal may not be my particular need. But, I too, on my own, am disabled and homeless. Desperately seeking mercy. Compassion. Hope.

I am ashamed by the ease at which I turned away from his suffering-- the ease at which I, daily, ignore those around me that are desperately seeking. They are no different than I. But, in my avoidance of their pain, I shamefully withhold the mercy, compassion and hope that I so much desire.

By turning away from the pain of a stranger, am I not, ultimately, turning away from my Father?

Computers: Friend or Foe?

2005-08-30T23:55:00.000-06:00

I've been sans computer for two weeks now, and it's revealed something about me that is kind of frightening: I'm computer dependent. I'm eDependent, if you will. As I sit here, in the midst of two IM conversations, penning an email, and writing this entry- I have to wonder: Do I need a 12-step program?

I have to admit, when I took my computer in for repairs, I wasn't aware of the extent of my computer dependency. Yes, I knew that I would miss certain things about having a computer in my home. I knew I would miss my word-of-the-day email, for instance. But, to be honest, I still hadn't managed to incorporate parsimonious into everyday conversation. Maybe I could use a word-of-the-day break. So, I resigned myself to checking my email less often, letting a few blogs go unread, and giving parsimonious some more thought. How bad could it be?

Famous last words, right?

The thing is, I'm a 21st Century gal, and at some point in the last several years, I have readily hopped on this information super-highway, and I haven't looked back. I shop online, I pay bills online, and I keep up with old friends...online. I stay abreast of current events and political happenings…online. Before I go anywhere, I get driving directions and check the weather...online. I no longer own a dictionary or yellow pages. Instead, I have high-speed Internet access. 24-hours a day--unlimited resources--at my fingertips.

It's occurred to me that the management of my life is done, largely...online.

One day I will regale my children with stories of life before computers. I'll tell them that, pre-google, we were forced to use encyclopedias. Maybe, with nostalgic fondness, I'll explain 444-FILM and directory assistance. And, definitely, in a world of iTunes and downloaded music, I'll have to convey to them the thrill of going to the record store and buying a new CD....and actually holding it in your hands.

I imagine that, in a changing world, computer dependency is only going to get more pronounced. I can't help but wonder what the implications are of living such a machine-dependent life. Even as I'm writing this, I've discovered that my palm pilot has crashed, again, for the third time in six months. My calendar and addresses have been completely erased. Again. For the third time. In six months.

Why have I put so much trust in small electronic devices? And, If technology is supposed to simplify my life…. why isn't my life any easier?

Sunset over Ameriquest Stadium

2005-08-16T07:04:00.000-06:00

Sunset over White Rock Lake

2005-08-14T19:28:00.000-06:00

Fate

2005-08-14T18:38:00.000-06:00

That you are fair or wise is vain,
Or strong, or rich, or generous;
You must have also the untaught strain
That sheds beauty on the rose.
There is a melody born of melody,
Which melts the world into a sea.
Toil could never compass it,
Art its height could never hit,
It came never out of wit,
But a music music-born
Well may Jove and Juno scorn.
Thy beauty, if it lack the fire
Which drives me mad with sweet desire,
What boots it? what the soldier's mail,
Unless he conquer and prevail?
What all the goods thy pride which lift,
If thou pine for another's gift?
Alas! that one is born in blight,
Victim of perpetual slight;—
When thou lookest in his face,
Thy heart saith, Brother! go thy ways!
None shall ask thee what thou doest,
Or care a rush for what thou knowest,
Or listen when thou repliest,
Or remember where thou liest,
Or how thy supper is sodden,—
And another is born
To make the sun forgotten.
Surely he carries a talisman
Under his tongue;
Broad are his shoulders, and strong,
And his eye is scornful,
Threatening, and young.
I hold it of little matter,
Whether your jewel be of pure water,
A rose diamond or a white,—
But whether it dazzle me with light.
I care not how you are drest,
In the coarsest, or in the best,
Nor whether your name is base or brave,
Nor tor the fashion of your behavior,—
But whether you charm me,
Bid my bread feed, and my fire warm me,
And dress up nature in your favor.
One thing is forever good,
That one thing is success,—
Dear to the Eumenides,
And to all the heavenly brood.
Who bides at home, nor looks abroad,
Carries the eagles, and masters the sword.

Ralph Waldo Emerson