Monday, July 29, 2013

She Trusts Me

She trusts me.

Sure, plenty of people do. I'm trustworthy. I don't blab secrets. I do my best not to let anybody down.

But she isn't anybody.

And she trusts me.

I turn the words over on my tongue, toss them with spinach for lunch and add the salty twist of sunflower seeds, already shelled.

She trusts me.

I referee the boy battle in my living room and change into pajama pants, a fluffy red robe, my writer hat, metaphorically.

I need to repaint my toenails. I haven't had a pedicure in going on four years.

She trusts me.

She has given me a gift, more precious than she realizes, I think - this trust

in me.

My book is open, cover and pages splayed, and I would normally be engrossed in the story. It's a new story by a favorite author and a friend. I don't pick up my book. I rearrange my own novel, consider critique, and play ping pong with ideas. I want this so bad. I want this so bad I could cry. I can taste success. I can see my book on a shelf. I try to picture its cover.

I read her words again.

She trusts me.

I am feeling alone tonight, sending husband off to going away party for someone we care about, unable to muster the energy and motivation to dress myself and go with him. I don't have it in me to take my kids out in public tonight. I am tired from their constant bickering. I live with the mother's emotional version of tsunami. I am wiped

out.

But my words are open on this screen, and her words are there as well.

She trust me.

Saturday, July 20, 2013

The Memory of Mangoes in Mexico

Taken from my journal...

Today, before the coffee touched my lips, the child was screaming. His voice is loud, his eyes wild, my body still rooted in sleep. Now there is calm. I hear cartoons on TV and sometimes a son is laughing. The air smells of popcorn, hot butter, thick crusty sea salt in the shaker. Light spills from the pink lamp across this white paper. I slide ink over blue lines. My handwriting is abysmal. I'm dreaming about Russia and the moon and rotting apples in Annie Dillard's cellar. Will anyone ever eat them? My mouth still tastes of ice and coffee, cold on my warm tongue. My memory is dancing over mangoes in Mexico, in Leila's kitchen, on Joshilyn's computer keys. My cup is red. My shirt is green. This pen writes black, and I feel at peace with myself.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Currently: A July Noon

Current Books: Writing the Breakout Novel (workbook) by Donald Maass, The Sky Beneath my Feet by Lisa Samson, Nation by Terry Pratchett

Current Playlist: Nothing particular.

Current Shame-Inducing Guilty Pleasure: My sister brought home miniature wedding cakes from the wedding she was in this weekend. They were lemon with raspberry filling. They are glorious.

Current Colors: Bright aqua and baby pink, though not together. Also, salmon.

Current Fetish: I'm liking some of the funky earrings that are out now. I want to get some.

Current Food: My friend, Kimmi, treated me to lunch at Red Bowl yesterday. I had egg drop soup, bang bang shrimp, and cheese won ton. So good.

Current Drink: homemade iced coffee with white chocolate mocha creamer

Current Favorite Favorite: Friendships that are not threatened by time and distance.

Current Wishlist: Clothes to fit my new size, my feather tattoo, a Mac desktop for our homeschool

Current Needs: I need some dental work. I hate how my smile looks.

Current Triumph: I've passed the 50% mark on my first round of revisions.

Current Bane-of-my-Existence: The distance between me and so many friends and family

Current Indulgence: Did I mention those miniature wedding cakes?

Current Mood: Pretty good. Laid back and happy.

Current #1 Blessing: My family and friends. I'm a lucky girl.

Current Outfit: Calvin Klein jeans (thrift store find), a pretty pink and navy tank top Leila gave me, and flip-flops

Current Link: Hogwarts Seminary

Current Quote: “I have come to regard with some suspicion those who claim that the Bible never troubles them. I can only assume this means they haven’t actually read it.” ― Rachel Held Evans, A Year of Biblical Womanhood

Current Photo:


Title taken from: “I've never really thought about it before, but it's a miracle how many kinds of light there are in the world, how many skies: the pale brightness of spring, when it feels like the hole world's blushing; the lush, bright boldness of a July noon; purple storm skies and a green queasiness just before lightning strikes and crazy multicolored sunsets that look like someone's acid trip.” ― Lauren Oliver, Before I Fall

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

A Scene from Real Life



I give you a scene from real life.

We traveled to a baseball tournament a few weekends ago, and we stayed with my best friend's family. Between games, my boys entertained Leila's girls, and it was lovely. One morning, Leila carried a cardboard box into the kitchen. We get enough packages that my boys instantly recognized it as something that had been delivered.

Leila set the box on her kitchen island. My boys swarmed to her side.

Boys: What book did you get?
Leila: Book?
Boys: In the box. What book is it?
Leila: It's not a book. It's a shower curtain.

My boys were baffled. Apparently, all UPS boxes contain books.

Yes, these are definitely my kids. Can you guess what usually comes in the mail for their mommy?

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