My Land of Women

Finding good roommates is kind of like dating.  Like dating your best friend, living with them can either bring you closer or completely obliterate any crumb of a relationship you may have by the time one of you moves out in the middle of the night.  And like dating on the internet, you really never know what you are going to get.

Now, I know the fallacies of Craigslist.  I have experienced some of them myself.  I once found a roommate who advertised herself as "Quiet, but still likes to have fun occasionally.  Looking for someone who can be a friend as well as a roommate."  Well, quiet ended up meaning absolutely crazy and likes to have fun meant watching the mold grow in the bottle of ketchup she kept in the fridge that she refused quite profusely to throw out.

Single White Female, anyone?

My experience with internet "Roommate Dating" was different this go around.   I have had the fortune of falling into a group of wonderful, beautiful women who are so diverse but have no problem finding a common ground in any situation.  And believe me, these girls are VERY different than anything that I'm used to...seeing as they are all lesbians.

Living in the South, I was never really exposed to this Land of Women.  I had two good friends who were homosexual, but they were the only two people I knew who were openly gay.  One of the reasons why I love my girls here is that they are uber out.  They rejoice in not only other women's bodies, but their own also.  They are so confident in their womanhood, and it is wonderful living in an environment where we are so celebrated.

And, of course, they are so much fun.  Whenever I am not with the boyfriend (yes I really do have one and the girls have affectionately named him "Beardy," as he will now be known to you all), you can find me doing something completely ridiculous with the girls.  We all openly love 30 Rock and are secretly obsessed with Glee.  We love dressing up and going out, or putting on our most unflattering pj's and cooking dinner for each other.  I realized how lucky I was the other night as we gathered around the tv for our weekly Glee viewing.  Everyone was a twitter about how the team would perform at Sectionals and why we all are in love with Brittany.  Trying to be more health conscious, we were all chewing wilty spinach leaves with the least disgusting of the fat free dressings we had begrudgingly purchased at the store.  We soon became bored with being healthy, and I was chosen as the one to make the snack run.  After I had collected the money, I sprinted, literally, down the street in my pajamas in the 30 degree weather to the tiny convenience store on the corner to buy ice cream sandwiches for everyone.

I luckily made it back home before the show came on (not that it was my favorite anyways), but whether we enjoyed the episode or not, all of us broke into song when the kids on tv started singing Florence and The Machine.  We apparently became re-interested in being healthy (it was probably the adrenaline of our spontaneous performance talking) and then engaged in a self made group exercise program.  When our earnest working out disintegrated into riotous laughter at the spectacle we were making of ourselves, we decided to look to the professionals for help.  We found something that looked like it may be easy on our Video on Demand, "Beauty Body Sculpt."  I'll admit we were a little sexist in choosing this.  It sounded like something that toothpick women who didn't really need to work out but wanted to look like they were doing something to make themselves look so beautiful would do.  And, in the beginning, we seemed to be right.  Our self-induced illusion was soon quelled when our pretty exercise guide informed us that what we thought had been a moderate workout was actually just a warm up.  The little workout devil woman then launched into some hellish exercise routine that had five girls jumping and pumping fists and lunging and twisting themselves into such a frenzy that by the end, those of us that weren't laying in the floor claiming their legs did not work were trying to hold ourselves up on the bookshelves while we gulped in breaths of hot, sweaty, living room air.

We then fell on the floor with our fallen comrades as our tired, tired bodies were raked by more laughter.

This is my life now.  I know that my best friend M was worried when she let this baby bird fly out of the nest we had made in SC, but I already cannot wait for her to come visit me and meet not only Beardy, but this group of radical women who are breaking down boundaries not only within the realms of the society in which  we live, but, as sappy as it sounds, in my own heart too.

It's "wicked pissah." :)

The Catch-up Quickie

No, I am not dead, I did not lose my computer on my way up to Boston, and I did not forget the password to my blog.  So there is really no reason as to why I have given up writing for the past three or four months.  I simply just got busy!


But I have returned, with plenty of ammo to last me until my next slump.  From food to landscapes to really crazy people, I've been experiencing some pretty wonderful things that I absolutely cannot wait to tell you about. Here is a quick run through that will bring us up-to-date on my travels (in semi chronilogical logical order):

*On my way here, I found that the farther you go North, the faster and more erratic people drive.
Virginia- people drive like turtles.
Pennsylvania- people drive like Speed Racer.
Boston- people drivers are replaced by bats out of hell and allowed to do whatever they want on the road.

*I arrive in Boston carrying nothing but a trash bag full of clothes and a bookcase full of books...That's...it.

*My new home for the next month was very old and scary.  There was only one roommate to be found.  She is awesome and has the cutest puppy.

*I buy an air mattress that has a hole in it. (Hole is undetected upon purchase).

* I find a boyfriend.  This is him.

*Second day:  I walk up and down the street until I find a part time job- barista at a crepe cafe in Davis Square.  SWEET.

*1 month later:  I really freaking hate my part time job as a barista in a crepe cafe.  NOT SO SWEET.

*I find a full time job with my English degree at a university in Cambridge (no, not THAT university) in Accounts Receivable.

*I quit my part timer to go to the beach with said boyfriend (and I am starting my new full time job).

*Did I mention I found  full time job?

*I find a new apartment with 4 girls who all happen to be lesbians.  THEY ARE AWESOME.  Expect many blogs about our late night Tetris tournaments and new bars and restaurants we like to try out.

*Oh, and of course...I fell in love with Boston.  Here are some reasons why...

So there ya go...  I can't wait to tell you all about my adventures :)

Last Day in Town

So it is officially my last day in town.  I'm spending the day with my family, and I have to say, they make it a little hard for me to leave.  I have a very tight-knit group, and I'm going to miss them terribly.  I know tomorrow, as I drive away, I'll be crying like a baby.

Old South Rising

Today, I sat under a tarp in a cemetery and watched as my grandfather was lowered into the ground.  It was hot and not just to the point that it was uncomfortable.  I mean "feel like your skin is burning when the sun touches it, hair clinging to your neck after 5 minutes of being outside" hot.

My grandfather lived in the Lowcountry of South Carolina- the land of Spanish moss and people who smell the pluff mud and think of it as a sort of "Welcome Home" from the land that they are so tightly tied to.  The people who live here are a different breed- they consider you family once you've sat down and had a meal with them, they live and breathe the land that they work so hard to help yield the livelihood of their families, and they always find someway of leaving an everlasting impression on your heart- no matter where you head to after you leave.

As I sat there, surrounded by family (blood and "adopted"), I couldn't help but soak in the wonderfulness of the life of a Southerner.  My grandfather's remaining brothers and sisters (4 of the original 12 are still living) sat together, acting as if they had never left eachother's side, and all the grievances that they held had melted away when they heard one of their youngest brothers was sick and needed their help.  My "highfalutin'" great aunt held her head high, almost regally, as she rested her hand on her older brother's knee as he wept into her shoulder.  On the other side of him sat the other brother, who traveled the world and settled in Texas, making deer sausage and writing postcards to the family he left behind.  They did not try to hold back their tears, but in true Southern fashion, they remained as reserved and proud as the pastor spoke of their late sibling.

People were sniffling and crying, and tissues were passed around, as much for the tears as for the sweat that trickled down the chins and the throats, making the grief only seem more real.  I looked at these people, who drawled their soft "r's" and who would suffer a blizzard to watch one of their fellow kinsmen be committed to God, and thought of how much the Old South still survived.  And as an African American sergeant folded the flag that rested upon the coffin that held my grandfather and sat it in my grandmother's lap, I watched her cover his dark hand with her pale one, thanking him for honoring her husband; I realized that maybe some of it had died and something more beautiful had been born and was growing in its place.  (They still have a long way to go, but prayerfully the lines of race that have marred the life of Lowcountriers for so long will finally start to fade.)  The pastor boomed his wonderful, deep southern voice across the yard, teetering on the edge of comfort and the fire and brimstone that only men from the southern part of the country can achieve.

I was comforted by these people, my people, and the things that I saw.  I thought "How blessed I am for getting to experience a life such as this."  I will miss the South; it has been ingrained in my soul in such a way that I know I cannot ever fully leave it behind.  And today, I knew that I would never want to.

Casual(ly Uncomfortable) Friday

About 20 minutes before we closed yesterday, my boss poked her head in the door and announced that it would be Casual Friday today.  The initial rush of excitement and flurry of ideas of what I could wear the next day were later to be quelled by two contrasting ideologies:  cute, truly casual wear, and the exasperation of trying to look professional and having to wear jeans in the middle of summer in the hottest state in America. (My office Casual Friday rules state “You must wear jeans or khakis, with a work appropriate shirt.  You must also pretend like you are not sweating and smell like a mule. “)

Now for some, this would not be such a big deal- say if you worked in an office that you didn’t have to deal directly with a client, or some movie-like newspaper/magazine where you could wear whatever you wanted to as long as it was trendy and “cool.”  But when you are working in an insurance office where you are always dealing with clientele, dressing for “Casual” Friday is a little more complicated.

So I’m sitting in my room last night, in a pile of clothing, gripping a beautiful salmon colored shirt that I want to wear so badly and wiping the nervous sweat that beads up on my brow with the dark, dressy jeans that I don’t want to but know that I will have to wear the next day.  I realize something at this point, as I clutch the twirly skirt and the cute shorts and large waist belt to my breast with a wild look in my eye…I hate Casual Friday.  Because it is never really “casual.”  Because people will be judging by just what you are wearing, employees and clients alike.  I mean, you can take the chance and wear those light-washed jeans and graphic tee from Banana Republic, but all day you will feel self-conscious that you have killed your professional integrity by actually coming to work in comfortable clothing.

Now you may be thinking, So, just wear a skirt or something, Ryan.  You don’t have to look like a bum. Ah, yes, but then you will be the party foul who showed up on Casual Friday in something sassy and semi-professional.  The next thing you know, someone is spiking your coffee with copier ink and leaving Hate post-its in your cubicle. I do not want to be that girl.  

So eventually, I had to resign myself to my jeans and spent today sweating my face off every time someone opened the door to the inferno that lies outside and shifting uncomfortably as my dark dressy jeans moved into strange and foreign places after sitting in the same chair for so long.

The next time you hear someone resounding joyfully at the mention of this mythical day of casual fashion, do me a favor and punch them in the face.  It will ease the pain for them of dealing with the fallacies of Casual Friday later.

If I had been able to dress in my regularly scheduled clothing, this may have happened:

Help Me, Gerry!

I have had no idea what to write about for the past few days.  It is ridiculous!  I get little flickers of ideas through the day (The Value of the Cheeseburger, 8 Signs Your Boss Holds Attila the Hun as a Role Model, Why Gerard Butler is the Celebrity Love of My Life, How I've Developed My Boston Driving Skills, etc.) But when it comes time for me to sit down and type something up, my mind goes completely blank or Facebook notifies me of one more college mate of mine getting married, to which I stalk the bejeezus out of the wedding I was not invited to.

*Scottish, ruggedly handsome, funny.  And he sings in my favorite musical??  Um...yes?*

I just can't think of anything to write when it comes down to it.  And I feel like as a writer, emotional madcap, and American Lit extraordinnaire, staying shut up is not healthy.

What do you do when you suffer from the dreaded writer's block?

Soundtrack Saturday

Ladies and Gents, welcome to the first Soundtrack Saturday of this blog's life.  Every Saturday, I will attempt to remember to post a soundtrack for the day.

A soundtrack, you say?  Are we in a movie, here?  Why no, we aren't unfortunately.  But, I know that you know what it is like to be walking down the sidewalk and think, Wow, it would be really great if there was music playing right now that expressed how I feel.  Which is what IPods are for.  But it would just be better if everyone could hear your own personal soundtrack as you were walking down that sidewalk, so people could bust a move or just walk up to you and hand out a hug (depending on what songs you are playing).

And since I had such a dismal, awkward posting session yesterday, I thought today I should make a playlist early and let it set my day for me.  I also feel like I should say that I don't own any rights to any of the following pictures or links.... don't sue me.  So without further ado, here is my soundtrack for Saturday, June 18th:

#1  "Daylight" by Matt and Kim

Yes, this is the song from the Bacardi commercial.  But it makes me so happy.  And these two crazy kids just seem so in love and facy-free that it just bleeds out through their music.

#2  "Something Beautiful" by NeedtoBreathe

I love this song for so many reasons.  I heard it first while I was living in Charleston, and I loved listening to it on the way to the beach.  Lots of guitar, lots of the raspy, sexy vocals.  This is a great song no matter which way choose to take it, spiritually or just a feel good song.








#3  "If It's Love" by Train

Train, I love your happy, quirky lyrics, and the way you make me want to shake it while I'm driving down the road with my windows down!






#4  "Ladies of Cambridge" by Vampire Weekend

This indie band has a ton of great songs, very upbeat and unique.  This one in particular just gets me in Boston-mode.









#5  "Babylon" by David Gray

This song makes me think of driving downtown at nighttime.  And not taking notice of all the drunk college kids (or maybe noticing them and embracing them as a symbol of the last carefree moment and making it last).  Plus, David Gray is too cute.







#6  "Drowning Mr. and Mrs. Palmer" by The Restoration

Ok, you have probably never heard of this band.  They are more locally known, but I have a feeling it won't be like that for long.  The Restoration has a very ecletic sound, a mix of rock, folk, and bluegrass.  They have such a unique sound and vocalists Daniel Machado and Adam Corbett have some of the best pipes around.  From the banjo to the violin, the drums to the bass, this group knows what's up and is inventing a new kind of sound.  What is even cooler is that Machado has written a short story to accompany the tracks on their album, sort of as a bakground/prequel to what you will hear in the songs.  How awesome is that??




#7  "Fidelity" by Regina Spektor

I love this song.  Spektor has such a versatile voice and a quirky sound.  This song make me want to skip and learn how to play the piano.










#8  "Song Away" by Hockey

Don't dance to this song...I dare you.







#9  "Africa" by Toto

This song is timeless.  It is just that good. Plus, the video is AWESOME.









So, what are some songs that you would use for this first Soundtrack Saturday?

When You Give an English Major a Boat....

Hello again!  I have been on vacation this week (2 days physically, 5 days mentally).  It was very nice to not think about what I have to pack, how much I am going to miss my life here, how I am going to scheme my way into a reputable New England Master's program, or other such problems.  Ugh, if only life could be a vacation at the beach all the time.... but then I would probably sitting in some hammock, complaining on my blog called something corny and unoriginal (because who has the energy to be original on vacay?) like "Life's a Beach" about how I am so bored and just want to spend a week in the thick of it and all.

Anyways, maybe it is because I am not on vacation anymore, maybe it is because my ex-boyfriend, who broke up with ME, has decided to start playing mind games with me by leaving me messages and then not answering his phone when I return the call ( and yes I know what the obvious solution is, I'm working on it people), but for some reason, I have lost my sparkle today.  So I'm not really in the writing mood, but ya gotta start again somehow.
In conclusion to this weird post, here is a picture of a boat down in Charleston.  This person HAS to be an English professor: literary and pushed to drinking:

I Am Woman, Hear Me Giggle With My Friends!

As time goes on, my quirky take on feminism will be revealed, and it will become clear that I follow an edict that is beautifully stated in one of my favorite books, If Women Ran the World, Sh*t Would Get Done by Shelly Ranchanow:  it isn't about "male-bashing" so much as "female-applauding."  And today has been a "female-applauding" type of day.

Media has always been speculative about female relationships, and it bothers me to no end when women cannot be depicted simply as friends.  They are either constantly stabbing each other in the back with a smile (The Women, anyone?) or some other underlying, sexual insinuation haunts their companionship.  And unfortunately, this sentiment isn't completely false.  There are plenty of girls out there that I would like to kick in the face with my Gianni Bini. 

But there are so many more that I am truly friends with and cherish the bond that I have with them in a completely non-sexual way.  Women understand each other; we know how you feel.  Remember that time you ate 7 gallons of ice cream and didn't know which was worse:  getting dumped by your boyfriend or hanging your head in the toilet while revisiting all the ice cream you just ingested?  Yea, we've been there.  Remember when you were in college, and you thought that making a statement was shaving a passage from Vagina Monologues in the back of your head?  Yea, we've all made bad hair choices.  Remember that time when you were feeling so lonely because no one in this world understood you?  So do we, and we were just as happy as you were when our best friend came over and listened to all the venting we had to do while just nodding and telling us she understood.


Today, I had the blessing of realizing the value of my girl friends.  During work, I was reminded of the bond my grandmother, Mary Rae, and I had while she was alive.  She was, and still is, one of my greatest role models.  I learned how to be a woman from her and my mother.  They taught me some of the most valuable lessons I know.  I was also asked by one of my co-worker's 13 year old daughter to help her find a style.  While I was flattered, I also saw it as an opportunity to connect with another female and impart some worldly advice on her that only another woman could share (I told her that while looking fine and enhancing our personalities should be a priority, that none of it matters if we don't have the brains to pull off that much sass.  Being intelligent will always be in style).  And tonight, I had a 3 hour coffee rendezvous with one of my closest friends, M.  M. is one of my favorite people because she is such a good listener and never tries to tell you what to do.  She only tries to understand.  She is also my music soul mate, but that is another blog for another day.  Over coffee, we talked about everything- from books to boys, hiking to hang ups.  And I can't tell you how many times the phrase "I know EXACTLY what you mean!" was excitedly punctuated with a fist slamming down on the wobbly, metal table crowded with lattes and purses.


The point is, I find power in numbers when it comes to feminism.  The more women that I connect with, the more confident and powerful I feel as a woman.  The women (old and young) that I encountered today not only made me aware of the importance of those kindred spirits, but it flat out made me proud to be a woman.  And as I close this tonight, with my 11 year old sister asleep beside me, I look at this tiny woman-to-be and pray that she will be as fortunate as I have been in my platonic, female relationships to realize how wonderful and powerful it is to be a woman.

Facebook wins again

Ok, so I usually try to ignore all of the little ads on the sidebar of Facebook whenever I log on, as I feel they are either A) begging to steal my credit card number or B) promoting that week's "hit" show featuring 4-6 teenagers well above the poverty line and well below the high school reading equivalency.  But there has been one that has caught my eye over and over because of their sly advertising of putting cute little dresses up that need a good home and someone to love and fawn over them.  What I am wondering is, before I spend my next month's rent on a few of these little beauties, are they of any quality?  Am I going to take them out of the package and have them disintegrate in my hands?  The website is Mod Retro, and they specialize in Indie and Vintage clothing.  If you have ever owned anything from this place, I would love to know about your experience. 

And just in case you were curious, here are some samples.  Look and them and TRY not to fall in love.  It's like trying not to tear up during a Sarah Mclachlan ASPCA ad. 

The Japanese Cherry Blossom dress is my fave... It reminds me of the famous picture of Edna St. Vincent Millay.

The Problem with Not Being Omnipresent

One question has been buzzing around inside my head like a fly that has is stuck in between the blinds and the window...How the heck do you find a job in a city that you don't yet live in? My original plan was to move up to Boston (which I have unhealthily began to fantasize as a land of wine, honey, and Gerard Butler look alikes) and find one as soon as I could. But the closer I have gotten to the moving date, the more paranoid I have become that I am going to get up there and be the next victim of unemployment. Does anyone have any suggestions? Has anyone made a big move like this and waitied until they got there to find a job?

PLUS, please excuse the sloppiness of the blog. I am currently trying to tidy it up and give it that, "New age flapper/sophisticated scholar look." I am also taking suggestions on that. :)

Secretarial Reflections

So I have just recently found another job to help me pay for my big move to Boston. Starting at 9 am, I go to work as a secretary at an insurance firm. I stay there until 3:30, where I promptly drive across town to work as a secretary at my church's gym. (Yes, we have a gym. Don't judge.) I am there until 9 pm. On busy days, it goes by fast, and I end up at home tired but satisfied that I have contributed to the "An Adult Child Living with Parents is a Mortifying Expeirence so Said Child Must Move as Far Away as Possible" fund. But today it has been extra slow, reminding me that I am not taking regular lunches to earn more money and that I'm not making that much money.

But today, I have also taken all my down time to do some thinking. And, let's admit it, when things get busy, we really don't have time to just simply think. And alot of the time, that's a good thing. A relief. But other times, it's nice to just hang out and ponder for a while. So I started thinking about my grandparents and how crazy their lives were. I'm currently trying to write a book about my grandmother, and I got to work a little on that. And then I found this picture that I took of my grandfather's hands this summer. And I just wanted to share it. It speaks for itself.


What do our bodies say about our lives? Looking in the reflective, quarter sphere camera staring down at me in the gym, mine says (slightly mussed hair with half drooped eye lids) I am tired from working hard for something I want very badly, (mostly long nails, with some that have been broken but yet to be filed) I am torn between my extremely feminine side and the tomboy that lives within, (my rather round hind end) that I am indeed one foxy lady at the end of the day.

So there are my reflections for the day. Seeing as it is only 6 pm, and it is raining (who really wants to go to the gym soggy?), methinks I may post again later. Only the unexercised masses can tell.

Plus, here is my mother's new kitchen that I am obsessed with!
Before


After

Gianni Bini be mine.

Plus, I love these shoes.

The Southern Peach goes to Beantown

So I have finally decided that yes. I am definitely moving to Boston, which is, as my favorite time-traveling movie crush Marty McFly would say, "heavy." For a Steel Magnolia such as myself, who has never lived more than two hours from my hometown in South Carolina, going up North is the equivalent to a mortal sin to some of my friends and family. But I was never one to stick to the rules all the time. And I have had the distinct pleasure of reading two great biographies that have fueled the rebel that lies within: Savage Beauty (Edna St. Vincent Millay) by Nancy Milford and Anita Loos by Gary Carey.

Edna St. Vincent Millay has been one of my favorite writers since I took a class in college called "Sophisticated Ladies." The tongue in cheek title of the class should have been a hint to me what an amazing class this would be, but at the time, I knew nothing about 1920's women writers. Millay was one of the first that we covered, and I fell in love with her the moment I read "First Fig."

My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light.

How could you not like a lady who writes something so sexy and intelligent in a time when women were not supposed to be either. She helped bring both concepts in vogue in the late 1900's. She was always fighting some establishment in her life: loneliness, marriage, sexism, political stances, etc. She marched in for the lives of two prisoners in front of the Boston capital. She made a marriage work that no one thought would be possible. She wan the Pulitzer Prize, something no woman had accomplished before. She challenged some of the leading poets, including herself, on a regular basis. She was a genius who let drugs destroy her mind. But for many years, her light did give "a lovely light."

Anita Loos was not the genius the Millay was, but my goodness, she was just as sassy! She wrote one of my favorite books Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. She also wrote dozens of plays and movies (many things for Clark Gable, Douglas Fairbanks, The Talmadge Sisters, etc.) She was a cutthroat business woman and as witty as they come. Unfortunately, she was not as dominant in her personal life. There were several times I wanted to reach through the pages, and time, and shake Loos. "Leave the crummy mooch!" But every leading lady must have a fatal flaw, and like most of her heroines in the plays and movies she wrote, that flaw was the unexplainable love for a scoundrel. Which, coincidentally, has always been my problem.

I related to both of these women on different levels, but I think it's time to take another page out of their books. I need to do something daring. And I think that that something is waiting for me in Boston. The Sweet Tea Queen is coming to town!

The Conundrum of Change

Men will never change...and that is a scientific fact. Ok, maybe it's not, but anyone with good sense can see that it is undeniably true. Scared of committing themselves to anything more than their fear of commitment, they continue to prove to us over and over again that while we are looking for a good set of genes, what they are looking for is all in our jeans.

This being said, it is equally aggravating that us women also are incapable of change, yet so devoted to the concept (applied to others of course) that we let our hearts be broken over and over again. You know what's going to happen. We are all the idiot in the horror movie that walks toward the ominous noise. You're going to get cut, stupid. It almost makes me feel sorry for men; we keep expectingthem to be something that they have never been capable. Like throwing a cat off the side of the boat and expecting them to like it. Ultimate failure. Come on, ladies. When are we going to learn to just be content with dealing with the hand we are dealt.

Of course, there are exceptions to the rule, on both accounts. There are some women who are not led by their need for companionship, and there are some good men out there looking for something more. But at the moment, concerning the latter, I'm better off going through strange wardrobes in decrepit houses looking for Narnia.

Dorothy in My Head

For today, Dorothy Parker, as usual, has put it into perfect words.

A Dream Lies Dead

A dream lies dead here. May you softly go
Before this place, and turn away your eyes,
Nor seek to know the look of that which dies
Importuning Life for life. Walk not in woe,
But, for a little, let your step be slow.
And, of your mercy, be not sweetly wise
With words of hope and Spring and tenderer skies.
A dream lies dead; and this all mourners know:

Whenever one drifted petal leaves the tree-
Though white of bloom as it had been before
And proudly waitful of fecundity-
One little loveliness can be no more;
And so must Beauty bow her imperfect head
Because a dream has joined the wistful dead!


Sigh... Why can't things just work out for once?

Have a Little Faith...

Do you ever feel like you're being followed...by a phrase? That's what I've been dealing with this past week; first it was the John Hiatt song, then I stumbled upon the Mitch Albom book today while in the library. It can't be ignored, though believe me, I've tried.

Have a little faith...It's so hard. Especially when things aren't going your way- when your heart is broken and you just want it fixed. It's hard to have faith in some guy that you've never seen in flesh and blood and to believe that he loves you and wants the best for you. It's hard for me to believe that about my dad all the time, much less a heavenly father. But I do. Like I said, letely I've tried to ignore it, because what he wants just doesn't seem to coincide with I want. And I'm getting mixed messages. But "have a little faith".... I'm having trouble ignoring that. Every time I turn on the radio, it's come blaring out at me, refusing to go away until I just do it. And I'm really thinking maybe I should just go ahead and do it.

I'm one of those people who grapples with their faith because I like to have control. When I don't know what's going to happen, I lose it. And that's what God is always asking me to do. "Just let go, Ryan. I'll take care of it." But God, what if the plan you have for me isn't going to make me happy? What if you don't want me to be with the one that I want to be with? What if I don't make enough money and you want me to live on the streets? What if you want me to be radical? It's horrible, I know. But if you believe in God, or any higher power, you know what I mean. You've thought it before. What if I know better than you do, God?

And that's what always gets me. I never do.

Bachelor's Buttons

I am blessed to have two siblings, one closer to my age and one much, much younger. Tonight I went with her to the "Spring Fling" at her elementary school (I am visiting for the weekend), and there was more than enough nostalgia to go around.

The sun was setting, and in the south, it is already warm enough to be comfortable in tank tops and shorts until dusk. There was a cool breeze, and a fabulous DJ playing a good enough mix to appease the kids and the adults. Watching the kids run around, listening to the music, watching my parents mingle...it was the perfect setting for flash flood of memories. It made me miss a lot of times, but even more so, the people that are no longer a part of my life. A memory can be a wonderful or a heartbreaking thing.

On a more optimistic note, I found out that I have a real love for gardening today. I've always scoffed at my mother when she asked if I would like to work in the yard with her. Getting dirty in the hot sun...no thanks. Well, for whatever reason, I thought I would like to go with her to Lowes to look at some flowers.

We walked into the greenhouse area, and I was instantly hooked. It's funny how you can go somewhere or do something a million times, and it will mean nothing. But under just the right circumstances, your life can change in a second. I never realized how therapeutic planting could be. I purchased some beautiful white larkspur, knockout roses and a raspberry plant. But my favorite buy of the day had to be my white and amethyst Bachelor's Buttons.

The Bachelor's Button flower is so odd looking; some might even consider it ugly. But there is something so simple and beautiful about this unique flower, I just had to get it. It looks almost like a spider with white spindly legs and a bright purple body. There were so many left at the store, left behind because it didn't fit in with the roses and the peonies. I bought three.

Hello World!

o yes, I have started a blog, at long last. I've always said that I wanted one, but life has been insistent on getting in the way of my debut! But here I am, finally. It's funny, starting a blog is like starting a book. I know all of the things I want to write about...one day. I just don't know how to begin it. What will be my prologue? How do I start a manuscript of a life that has only just begun? Do I want this to be focused on one aspect, such as my love of writing, or literature? Or another passion? The pursuit of love, my journey to find the Me that makes me happiest, a mental getaway from the world I physically inhabit everyday? Does it all depend on this initial post?

If it does, it seems that this will be the tablet in which I commit my thoughts, my fears, and my ambitions and whatever else I might become concerned with along the way. I hope that someone takes an interest in my humble attempt at being interesting, but if not, I find comfort in the fact that I can reveal a part of me that is sometimes hard to share in reality.

So if you are out there, and you are listening...welcome to my life. I hope you enjoy the ride as much as I have been.