Irreverent Eloquence

 How do I tell you that you are not enough; knowing I should not be so cruel? How to say the thoughts piling up, as I push you away,  when despite my enforced distance, you stay? I see in the mirror the faces that play, the words forming and smirking, "Who's the fool?"  

 "Lay it down", just tell me, the load so heavy and constant.  "Set it aside", say it simply, "take the rest."  Permission granted and hand extended, a sigh so deep and unexpected,  I only want a moment, not help, to feel my best.  Don't do it for me, I am capable.  Don't shoulder my work, I want the burden.  Don't deprive my life of purpose and all my drive.  Don't diminish my effort, I enjoy the struggle.  Don't mistake my fatigue for overwhelm.  Working the list helps me to survive.  Nothing to need, I have it all, energy and self reliance.  A question of want, frustration builds and raises ire.  Decisions stacking, days on wash and repeat,  Maybe someone to hold me and care is my desire. 

to Choose a Life Basic  Simple Complicated Stressed Defined Rote Mundane Exhilarating Exhausting Rich Full Flourishing Relaxing Refined What's mine?

I thought I could be ready. To 'cross that bridge' To 'weather that storm' Enough time has passed, My fill of heartache endured, Now a new love could form.  Hesitant, unsteady, the path so unsure,  Cautious and tempered in each intimation. Awareness creeps in, a chill to the core, A silent heart denies love's formation.  The want of a life,  Return to before, is no longer the desired destination.  The "should be", the rote,  Patterned choices in my past, now a questionable proclamation. "You are naive and unprepared." "You have no need to explore." "Stop here," my mind stalls.  That bridge will have to wait,  Would I survive another storm?  I back away as uncertainty calls. 

it is the end of the night at the start of the week w ith a list so long it is still incomplete seasons in flux, early plans in the works years in advance, cluttered thoughts in clustered bursts.  turn the engine to off though the music plays on trapped in time, lost in mind  stay still for one more song     lovely lights beckon, you are home, please come in.                                                                                              I  do know what is waiting, just not where to begin  then the song is over and the silence starts  and the weight of the life descends on my heart how long shall i wait? how long to delay?              minu...

  the days so short and dark too quickly the chill and wind, cut and dry to capture and hold any warmth is quite tricky layers on waiting for snow to fly thin rays through the day bring no reprieve, no reply, for the black and silent night  hope for all the glittering, glowing, white, warm, and knowing, make our home full of winter light

          We got away this weekend, the kids and I, just across the state line to Wisconsin for a couple of days in the sunshine. It's a short enough drive with diversions of all types, and we have a few very budget friendly options that fill our time. This trip we shared a hotel room and with two nights of togetherness and quiet, our daytime needed space to stretch our legs and run free.  Witches Gulch was calling to me and after twenty minutes of driving and navigating, I thought we had found the trail to get there. The littlest one had fallen asleep in the last few minutes on the road and I spent some time cajoling him to wakefulness and then played some nature games to boost the mood.           I don't know if there is a better place to be than wandering in the wilderness with my people. One can start a song and the others join in, "can't go over it, can't go through it, gotta go under it." And then we are all challeng...

          It was a long day today. I took a drive after dark for a moment to myself. I am blessed that the kids hold space for me. Home is quiet when I return, with the windows closed, most of the lights already turned out, everyone settled in bed. deep breath, silently 'hello the house'.                                                                                I peek in and see the youngest, asleep in his bed mid-story.    tight smile, shake head. I climb the narrow stairs to wish goodnight to the oldest that I am certain is still awake. White noise of the ocean plays while fans try to move the stuffy air. A curtain of fairy lights fade and brighten to the waves of sound.  raised eyebrows and bite the lip....

The cast iron pans pile up in the sink Left side, They were rusted already don't worry. Weeks they have sat; "I will wash them," I think And yet still they wait and I tarry.  Papers are jumbled in cardboard and sacks Dining table, on top and below, Months of collecting in cluttered array...  "I will sort them," I mutter as I walk away,  carrying baskets of clean clothes as I go. It is chaos and not, living here in this house.  It is messy and yet organized.  It is loud and intense and I'm not qualified most days,  but I look on with pride. 

  I cannot get out all the words inside my head, all the issues that need to be teased apart and the ideas that are still unsaid. There is a bottle neck, a block, or a sense of simple ineptitude that stops everything from flowing lately.  There are moments of pure feeling, a rawness of emotion that launches a statement piece, a title at least, and a springboard for more. Then a breath comes through, a second too long, and the edge of the cutting words and ferocity of the sentiment are dulled. It's like I've lost the "write mood" to sit and let it out.  The space is clear, the page is blank and calling for me to start. It beckons me in and yet I stall. No witty quips or descriptive alliterations are tripping out, clicking the keys and running on without proper punctuation and all the wrong prepositions. It's a frustrating white space that I long to fill. I want to document these days, these thoughts, these feelings and I want to share. I feel trapped and silenced a...

Ever want to skip a day? Make the past obsolete in your memory bank? I pondered it this week when I knew how many old photos would pop up in my apps, the birthday that was impending on my calendar, the inevitable creep of grief that could start to weigh on my heart as today neared.  I didn't schedule a day off work or shop ahead for a memento. I didn't bake a cake or plan a special dinner to make at home.  My wall calendar was marked, "Griffin '9'," with nothing but a little blue star as an accent.  It could be a day, just like any other. And it isn't.  There are constants here. We talk about memories in this home. We look at those photos when they pop up and sometimes search for them when we recall something specific in an odd moment. We touch the feelings, even the soft and soppy, somber and sad. There are plenty of memories though that I think I could hide, should I choose to.  I know there are ways to go blank and numb, both through technology and in m...

               The happy bungalow has been under renovations. I imagine that if these walls could talk they would say that construction has never stopped here. This house is over 100 years old, a story and a half with more stories than we could ever have time to hear. Rumor has it that it was built in a neighboring small town, along a block of houses just like it, whose street was destined to be razed 60 years ago. A developer bought some land in Marion township, new lots subdivided off and platted for single family living. Instead of the new little ranches that others were designing, a bit of ingenuity brought a handful of older homes into the neighborhood and transplanted them on full basements, juxtaposed every other amid the perfectly proportioned patio homes and ramblers. I'll tell you that mine is the cutest on the block by far, having maintained its leaded glass windows and open front porch with hipped roofline and Crasftsman style...