Summer Storm

It rained. Rained and rained until the streets flowed like rivers and the trees bowed like paupers to the king. The trails lost their footing and rocks slid down the path to find a new resting place until the next big gush. I didn't think much about it; so isolated under my big red roof in this muggy adobe house. The white stucco walls keep the solidified wetness out and I am just left with the pitter patter and the sensation of moisture upon my ears and on my skin. But I really notice what has happened when I hit the hills. Nothing is the same on the same old path...no leaf left unmoved and not bird left unsung. It's still so dark from the passing storm that the crickets chirp in confusion and the frogs croak at noon. Just like my taste buds, my nose is drawn to life by the pure dampness of my surroundings. Eucalyptus, fir, lavendar, blossoms, dirt, earth, balsam and vetivere all rush inside me. A prick on my side lets me know I am alive and the bee stuck in my skin reminds me of the passing summer. It's gone. Summer, sunshine, and that chunk of life I tossed to the wind. The skin on my ribs begins to swell in response to the venom and I feel warm. Rain, warmth, and the opposing cold. I feel asleep in this weird other world. Everything looks the same but nothing is...only I am the same. Constant, walking, always trying to change but never really feeling the rain. It's time to flow, move. Even if the pace is a trickle...just like the droplets on my window. They may go ever so slow but at least the get somewhere. Rain on me.

Moving again. Not sure when or where. Just know it is going to happen soon. Will I ever stop? Probably not!

Written 2009 -A Wilson

Thoughts Of The Day

For some reason this blog has recently become a place for whiners, i.e. me, to come and do their deal. I don't like writing whinny things and I don't like reading them so that will stop promptly.

Life is so freakin nuanced. Sometimes I can point out the 101 things that I love about my current life and in the same breath feel completely swallowed by the weight of my world. Most recently my time has been spent wrestling with the following-

+ I would love to leave the country without a return ticket, but I can't imagine living a day without my family.. I like who I am more with my dogs. But I really want to see Nepal.

+ I love dancing (duh) but don't know how much. It's hard to sort out your loves into "love-less" and "love-more" and "love-first". Do I love it enough to sacrifice relationships for? Do I love it enough to justify working a job I hate so that I can enjoy that love? Do I love it more than I love my other loves? It seems trivial until you find yourself having to make lists of what you value in life, and you can't even do that.

+ Vegan pumpkin pie is to die for. Bananas in the filling, coconut milk in the whip=amazing. Although 4 pieces may have been too many. Thanks nice lady cookie friend!

+ In the past 8 years I have experienced being a minority. In my silly little life this has happened very few times but now it's normal, and weird. I don't know how to feel about this; happy, mad, uneasy, free, bad, etc. Examples in the last 3 days: only white girl in the shoe store, only English speaker in the bank, only straight girl at the Halloween party, only degree holder at the show, .I want my children to be minorities sooner than in their 20's that way they know it's okay to be alone in something and to respect others who hold that spot often. Does this sound weird?

+ I love sleeping and scrubbing. I would go to bed at 8 every night if I could and use the most rough, exfoliating, invigorating soap out there all over my body every shower if I thought I could do that without loosing both my social life and my skin.

I think it's marvelous how fog sets so low, so close to the ground, so that those who want to venture above it, can, and in return get to experience the god-like view. Cloud tops like cushions. Night

Balancing Life

I feel I've lost a bit of my touch with reality, or at least that feeling of reality. Like when you know that you are somewhere and when you wake up tomorrow you will still be there and that people expect you to show up to work and such. It's probably all the moving forward I've been doing in the last 8 years that's keeping me from ever sensing permanence or anything like it. Really I don't mind; I like the sense of floating above the world, moving through it like a piece of hair that floats from one edge of my glass of water to the other.

I do admit however that things in the last few weeks have felt something almost sustainable. My home is cozy and warm, and  my bills are minimal, and life costs here are low. I've got a handful of loyal and loving people in my life, and I love this city. I wonder how long I will appreciate these things. Really I think it's rarely the things in my life that bug me but usually me who bugs them ya know?. Usually, I just change enough to grow tired of it. Yet three things in my life I have never grown tired of; my career, love and dance. That's why I hope and almost believe in success here. Also, the lovely Vagabond band leader whom I listened to perform on the quaint Mississippi street reminded me that Baltimore today is like Paris in the 20's, booming with arts and life. That means we all get creative, band together, and make something work. This whole idea of being here and now in a time that could possibly be historic makes me want to invest and invest in a very real, serious way in this community.

 I very much fear being surrounded by kids, having to be their leader, and in a way want to meet that challenge ( this is very uncharacteristic of me, a hard-headed let-me-at-it type of lady). I grew this way a few months back But in the last week , I have had numerous rewarding laughs, hugs, kisses, and tickles with some munchkins that makes me think I've created this wall of fear and maybe it's time I take it down.

Food For Thought

It's like somewhere in my afternoon sandwich, logged between the slices of wheat bread and casual conversation, I swallowed an egg the size of a rice grain. It finds a resting place in the pit of my stomach and begins to grow. It's noticeable the instant I ingest it; a parasite that I'm watering. Stupid enough I know that I'm it's only true blue source of inspiration, the reason it has to go on, it's one and only. I should have the power to kill it; no I DO have the power I just need to find my worries kryptonite. It's not good enough to ignore it, to find another thought to think or keep my hands busy with work and games. Growing hunger tells me that the source is the cure, the mind is the poison and I need to think these thoughts away. This is my new imperative. I am committing myself to the recognition and destruction of worry, distress, and pain. Not everything is in my control and that's ok. And for those things that are? I need the patience to wait until I can address them. This is a world that works fully and completely separate of my daily doings and to expect it to mold around my stress is ludicrous. When it can be approached it will, and till then I wait. Not hungry, not fostering a little life deep in my stomach. Simply living with the freedom and knowledge that it will be okay. It all will be okay.

Home is where the heart is

The gravel lets me know I've arrived. Somehow I make my way from here to there with not so much as a single thought about direction until the time comes to press the clutch and rail up hard on the old, gurgling E-brake. Home....or at least something like it, pulls up into side view. I'd be lying if I said I knew my exact thoughts at the sight of the place because usually my head is juggling 5-7 thoughts simultaneously. I don't say this to brag but rather to lament since as a fully-fledged member of the female sex I tend to multi-task with less than perfect efficiency. In fact, the constant task balancing tends to detract from my overall effectiveness at daily living as simple tasks like recovering keys and remembering to remove my laundry from the drier become epic when I recall that I was not thinking about the laptop I set my keys on when it came time to abandon them but rather at what time my dog's last had a bowel movement. Even that very run-on sentence pales in comparison to the trains currently running through my head. As such thoughts digest I reach the door and am met with barks, paws, tails and my own scrambling to contain the wiggling beasts. My bed peaks at me from the corner of my eye and walking toward the bright rays coming through the window I think "this is my adult room". Honestly, I think like that. I look at the color of the walls, the pattern on the bed sheet, the computer on the small side table and think that never in my childhood mind did I picture this room when I thought about my life when I grew up. I try to remember what or where I thought I would be and the memories are still bright and in tact, as if I had spent enough time creating them that my effort laminated them in time for future reference to such a masterpiece of forethought. I pictured myself in a big, open room with lots of light colors. I would have a small part time job and thus devote a lot of time to decorating my home, which of course, I owned. I could hear a family in the background, a husband for sure and a dog too. I had no roommates, no benefactors, and I was very proud of myself for this. The kitchen smelled of fresh cooked foods and outside was a small farm. All this by 20.

Now, my mind knows I was just dreaming of my home down South. As, I lay on my bed, comprised of, sheets my mom bought, and a comforter that I loved and had to have because they matched the sheets mom bought. wondering how I got here. Don't get me wrong; I love where I am and would not change a thing. I love the freedom I have as a young, unmarried doctor, living simply and honestly off each paycheck. I love the distance I keep from the place I live and the friends I leave at the end of each workday to come find my retreat in this small rich suburb.. I love the snobby feel of the coffee shop and how I laugh every time I pull up in my used Toyota next to the BMW's for my morning .50 brew. But the discourse between what is and what I thought would be creates a sort of permanent tenitus in my mind, reminding me of the nature of dreams. How do I see my future right now? What pictures have I sold myself about tomorrow? How much more distant can they possibly be from what I used to think today would be? If nothing else, the suspense is killing me. Let it be tomorrow already.