true confessions(not for the faint of heart) april 25,2005

ok.so today i'm blogging. this is so completely weird for me. i haven't written steadily and consistently for like a decade-although i'd always interject a poem or two when i was having a nervous breakdown.and then came the rapid ever approaching thirtieth birhday and that's when the whole complete hysteria and complete meltdown happened. ten years of bottled up crap came spewing out of my guts and my pores and it only seemed logical to jot it all down. double edged sword.part of me is completely excited at this new prospect-and the other half loathes everything i write. i really feel as though i completely suck,now,and i'm completely serious when i say that i truly believe that brain cells have died and that i have gotten less intelligent as the decade has rolled on. i mean,afterall, what do i have to pull from-sesame street episodes and the only reading i've really done are from books that have hard pages so that ethan can't readily eat them. i also think that perhaps things that i partook(is that even a word?) of in my days prior to being mrs.d and mother of three and an onward christian soldier-have taken their toll on me and made me more stupid-stupider? and that my memory is plagued by huge elderly grandma lapses. although i have heard that this could be caused by too much aluminum-and i do like to pile on the deodarant and eat alot of pickles-both of which are presumably high in metal. but i print out all of these poems from time to time and i have this crazy long manuscript and i realized that i use alot of "ands"lately,and i am completely afraid that i am turning into christina rossetti. if this is the case-then please just shoot me now. the one thing i do like is the amazing patterns that i write in. very vertical and it almost looks like an ekg with all of it's peaks and valleys. neat. but i write to noone.and as a writer(or someone who likes to pretend she is)-you are of course just thrilled to be writing again.afterall-it is who you are. but the secret of writers is(now bend in real close for this one....)they are narcissists.and they want their writing to be read and enjoyed and devoured and so this is the dichotomy of my life. i have noone. i am completely happily married and mike is beyond wonderful but i realized as i got closer and closer to march 6th-that i have absoloutely noone to invite over for birthday cake. or to read my silly blogs.or to give me somebody other then my creepy lonesome self to comment on how great the sales are at target. and so began the downward spiral. oh. and i got into a brutal fight with melissa,too. that was perhaps the first catapault into the depressing abyss.and my asthma returned full force.and came over me like a scary drunk 6 foot something man who covers my mouth with his calloused hands and crushes my lungs with his body and threatens to make me turn blue. asthma is scary. and i hate it.and it makes me feel powerless,again. and i'm here. and i am so powerless right now. and things are glass darkly and now it's all getting clear and i don't like what i see. i'm overgrown with insecurity. and hiding years of sad things,and scary moments are catching up with me.i have always battled the whole weight thing like a weight around my neck. i am now a size 4 and i am still a fat pig. i eat bread crust for breakfast.an egg white for lunch and bites of whatever i make mike and the kids for dinner. confession is good for the soul. the worst part is-the thinner i get -the uglier i become-my already ugly face looks more drawn the thinner i get and it accentuates the whole crooked nose-ugly chipped tooth junk that makes up my face.so i'm left with all of these pieces. i feel like a crappy mom and wife and i honestly feel sorry for mike for not marrying a beautiful girl.and i know i have to stop all of this drivel. this is worse. i never get depressed. i compartmentalize everything. i catalog all of the rainy days and pack up all of the sorrows and i'm usually very balanced. but since march-i have not been. i think it's the fact that i feel that i have no real place. i feel achingly alone on a human level. i truly love god with all of my heart-and believe me,for as ungrateful and as self centered as i totally sound right now,i am thoroughly thankful and eternally grateful for his gift of grace, i mean-how do you think i get through the day? the truth is this-i feel at peace in his presence. it's when i take my eyes off of him and look at this sad sack of a girl that i get lost. and i drown. and i scramble.or i am paralyzed.and i am fighting this. at first i felt entierly guilty-until i reread most of david's psalms-talk about depressed and hopeless. and like david it comes back -day after day-to surrender-to pressing my face hard and deep into god's nice wool coat.and he wraps his strong daddy arms around this broken spirit and he lifts my chin up in his hands and kisses my eyelids and tells me i am beautiful in his sight and that the angels are rejoicing that i have come home-and we weep together and all is well and i am infused with the strength i need to get through.and from the naked eye-from one who does not understand the whole salvation thing-i am probally a poor example of christianity.i fall. i stumble. i'm mean sometimes to the crappy cashier at target. i'm awkward and clumsy and if you peel the onion layers back from the sctv facade you see alot of icky little wounds that i keep picking the scabs off of and that won't heal until i can truly let go. and me and god are working on this. together and alone without distractions. my forty days in the desert. and i am tempted. tempted to throw in the towel and wring my hands and mad girl's love song.and i'm tempted to say that i am too screwed up and abused to be reached and that time has taken her toll,but then i feel his presence. i hear his still small voice.sing me to sleep.and cradle me.and insist on taking a look at my wounds. and somehow -in the demon possessed valley of the everday-i know that there are more mountain top experiences to come.and that it will be ok,and that the god of isreal neither slumbers nor sleeps.and i am not left nor forsaken. and i write now to him.an audience of god....

house of haddon april 24,2005

never ceases
to amaze gets me
thinking that i
really don't know
time moves on
steadily and people
grow up and have
two little boys
happy marriages
and beautiful wives
can sing the song
to blues clues before
they can sing the latest
hardcore.shows and band
practice at some kids
house haddon heights
the trees there in spring
dusty old town
everybody hangs out
station ave
when the weather
is nice and the rebel
rousing skaters
destroy property
at the bank get
chased away
threatened and john's
friendly market
where you can get
your produce farm jersey
fresh or winning million
dollar lottery tickets
the antique shops
line the way to
barrington and even though
i am old and wiser
far removed
it doesn't feel that long ago
st. rose and the acme
rendezvous spots
his mom screaming
about what a loser
he was while joan of arc
or at least of south jersey
tried to make it all right
tried to make it all fit
crying my eyes out
everytime he dumped me
for a chance with her
teenage angst
infused with
teenage stupidity
what was i thinking
as the years passed
the little felt decorations
were suspended
from the drop ceiling
came up and down
for christmas
four times before
i knew that it was time to go

and so
i see that things
somehow managed
lives found meaning
new life new
hope somehow sprang
forth in the bermuda
triangle of haddon
township and we are all
ok.people still hold onto
x'd hands and
hardcore riffs
warm days skinny boys.
and now we
raise some
of our own.

long dress waiting april 23,2005

sometimes i feel
like a gypsy last
night was one
those nights the lights
seemed lower
my favorite beaded
sweater my long dress
and my lips were painted
dark and deep
when you brushed past
touched my hand
i wanted to fred
ginger and hop
into 1945

i looked in the
mirror and wondered
if over time
the shower speeches
the gold medal multi
tasked dreams had
become crazy lady
and the way eclectic
is used to explain
nutty aunts and
peculiar neighbors
i just caught a glimpse
of that as i waited
for you to come home.

and after ten years
i still prepare
watchful and aware
when my nose needs
powdering or i could
use a little color
a splash of perfume
i wait still
after a decade
pulse races
the headlights
in the driveway
makes me feel
seventh grade
awkward before
a dance along
the wall by
the punchbowl
waiting to see
if the cute boy
that i have been
crushing on
will even notice.

you come up the stairs
and you are just as
heart pounding as ever
i kiss and you kiss
and you hold and i hold
the amber lights
the heat turned up to 74
degrees helps add
the ambience the landscape.
and you tell me i
look pretty and that
the chinese tofu i made
for dinner was delicious
in our dollar chinese dishes
pretty red chopsticks
we sit quietly
watch our favorite show
and i feel i'm back
on a date with you
kissing on the couch
young and new
electricity and it's wonderful
and i'm lucky
my wayward heart
may just have found home.

i feel a song coming on...

the truth about the tooth april 22,2005

i tell everyone different versions of the chipped tooth debacle.
most often i go with the rugged field hockey game
where in hand to stick combat.i got an elbow to the faceresulting in a chipped tooth and my foe recieved a punctured elbow.

this makes for an exciting tale.

who doesn't love a bloody war story? and when you are talking sports
even the male species sit up in attention.

this version is not altogether false.
i did recieve an elbow to the mouth
and a stick and a very hard ball to the face on another occassion...
which did in fact chip the tooth but the tooth part was already missing.
i already had a hillbillie space.
and these instances only dislodged the repair work of my dentist- dr.mack(much to his chagrin.

and then there was the insane story i told my mother and my teacher mrs.mcintyre on the day it actually happened. i told them i tripped in a crazy way. and i hit my tooth. and chipped it in a purely accidental way. this was not true.
the funny thing is that after all these years.fifth grade was forever ago.
in the tiny christian school that had become my personal hades-
i had never ever told anyone until the other day.

this is the true story and it goes something like this:
i was in a small suffocating class and when you are alone and unpopular in a class of nine then you are lonely and pretty much done for and miserable.the christian kids were not very christian.nor very god is love or onward christian soldiers and so on this particular day as i made my way down the creepy hallway to water our class plant in the musty cold grey bathroom i was interrupted by two of my arch enemies doreen and sharon. doreen was tall and lanky and sharon was short and round and i was petrified of them. they were the popular girls in a tiny little pond.and i was a guppy.children know when they don't fit and so it came to no surprise that oafy and vulnerable me was singled out.


i could hear them coming and so i hid in the stall and they talked and laughed loudly and at my expense.doreen said that i was so fat that she thought that i must be pregnant. my ten year old heart sunk and the tears collected in my throat and i stayed still and nearly died at the suggestion that they were going to lift up my shirt to check in front of the class.panic hit and my face felt red and i held onto the particle board painted door and prayed that they would leave me alone.they jiggled the lock and hurled insults and kicked and finally i thought they had given up.so i cautiously opened and peeked and saw the door slam right back into my face. slow motion.and the metal door hanger struck and i tasted blood and tooth and fell backward.broken tooth.broken spirit.broken heart.

i immediately thought of my mom and how sorry i felt that she had me for a daughter and how could i break it to her that i was the object of ugliness and the butt of jokes when parents just want to believe that all is well.i was willing to keep up appearances.why should they suffer and worry and shed tears for their lumpy little daughter.sugar and spice and everything.i had been their "patches" and chicken hawks sighter and trips to sit on the cow at richmonds and they could handle that.and i could handle this.and so i hid and i lied and i learnd to smile when i wanted to do nothing but die.the world went on without me and i covered the chip and the chinks and the holes.for many many years.

but now it's time.
and healing and mercy and truth are here
for the taking and spilling out
and now you understand a little.
my peculiarities are less of an enigma
my mellow drama less dramatic
my tears a little less out of nowhere.
i pull it all out and walk around with
an imperfect smile(we don't have dental insurance, anymore)
and i still say "field hockey"
when people ask.
it's easier and people don't really want
to know about your crummy past they really
just want neat as a pin explanations
that cause them to pause or chuckle
or feel like they are being a good friend
by seeming interested
and even though i felt like i couldn't
leave the sanctity and safety of home
with my blinding imperfection...
i do and now i wear it as a badge of courage
or of something of survival
not of the fittest
(that's how i know for sure that darwin had it all wrong)
because i was never fit or formulated
or adapted to this cutthroat life
and i would have been squashed years ago.
but survival nontheless-
i'm here i'm thirty
i'm alive and i can't hide anymore.
chipped toothy grin and all.

drowning april 22,2005

i don't know why
it is that the weather
always seems to
mimick my moods
the clouds out there
have nothing on
the ones over my head
and it's one of those days
that i'd just rather not
get out of bed and forget
dissociate cares of this world
caller id that warns
of the phonecall
knot in my stomach
bank and bills
groveling and weary
and let it pour
let it annoint me
in reality
wake me with a start.

it's easy to play
dress up and carefree
not a worry when
it's beautiful outside
and here i am
again broke and mad
penchant for pretty clothes
pretty things to hide
the not so pretty face
feelings and i rack
up the points
as i wrack up the pain
carousel craziness
just when i get my head
above water and allow
myself a quick breath
i am dunked and desperate
reeling and tired
and this year has
taken her toll.
and so square one
bailed out and back
to facades and talking
a good game and i know
it eats me alive
and i can't bear to look
can't play this way forever
and the clock ticks
the anxiety builds
and i remind you
of the sparrows
and pray that it will
amount to something
i wait and turn blue
getting drenched
succombing to the water
in my lungs as i wait
for the other shoe
to drop and the veil
to be rent in two
the masquerade ball
to be over and
over and done.
i am done for.

destined april 22,2005

i never
liked eowyn
i much prefered the beautiful elven arwen
and felt like they could have chosen
a much prettier heroine.
and the whole persona
warrior lady
sword yielding
battle ready
aragorn swooning

i just didn't like her.

and then i realized
much like you realize
that you are everything
that you dislike
about your mom your grammom your sister
how similar you really are.
and i had one
of those epiphanies
while manuerving my car around
the construction and flagmen on route 40.
i was multitasking.
reading and driving
and collecting the days
thoughts while sipping
my diet pepsi
in the cool blue can
and it hit me.

a huge hand of "how'd i miss that?"

she and i silly
and puffed up
on the verge of greatness if only....
and the fear of dying unknown and living forgotten
obscurity and killing the death king
is just not enough
"i am NO Man..."chop.
and missing the greatness in the mundane.
in fat baby hands and curly haired little boys
and eight year old dance parties in the reflection of the stove.

and i'm no-
never have been the pretty one.
always a sore thumb
and a scrappy resolve
keep looking for the grand adventure
the laurels and the applause
and i miss all of the
minute miracles and the everyday wonderful.

this daughter of kings
needs to get off her high
lofty pie in the sky
restlessness.and relax.
sunbathe

(even though i've never been able to sit that long for the color to take...............)

and be happy
with prizes and the day
of glory.the lifetime of ordinary
yet amazing.taking my place
next to all the rest
who have not done much
but are happy
nontheless.

poem 3 april 21,2005

and there is grace
and its amazing.
perfect newborn
life stretching chesire
cat smiles blue
skies.dandelion puff warm
days april that feel
like an embrace
love and kisses
neck and butterflies
stomach and belly
laughs and hope to press
the gift of his peace
the balm that fills
the cracks
the never leaving
forsaking.holes in the
hands that hide.holes
in my heart
to hold my
head high when
i'd rather
scuff my shoes
and be forgotten.
unmistakeable miracles
blessings that overflow
spill out you can't
help good and whole
restored anew
all of the silly
sunday school songs
and verses actually
mean something.
you may not chat
around the water cooler,
you are forgiven.
you are loved.
you can see beauty
out of ashes.
you can see joy
in the morning-mourning
turned to dancing.
and you
dance and
your pen lives
and your heart swoons
and your knees knock.
and happiness.
sheer happiness.
and grace
this is grace.
thanks be to God.