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Maybe all I need is a little seawater, sand, coconut water, and time with MKL to cure what ails me.

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Great Exuma, Bahamas.

Quote of the day: “That’s the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it’s impossible to ever see the end.” — Elizabeth Wurtzel

Daily gratitudes:
Color coordination
Flocks of birds with white underwings
That the grass is still green by the Prairie Flour apartments
Remembering clothes from your childhood from out of nowhere
Sleeping with the window open

Winter, particularly these two weeks, are very difficult for me. It seems especially hard this year. I am heavier than I have been. My depression is thick. My back hurts again. I am having a hard time remembering to be grateful for the wonderful things I have and that I’ve recently had an amazing trip to somewhere lovely and warm. And that in itself makes me sad.

When I trudged up the stairs from the bus station yesterday, as most I do most days, I came into Union Station (a story in itself). There are two remaining original benches in the new version of this place where I used to find such solace. On bad days, like yesterday, I try to lower my stress levels for a minute by sitting on one of these benches and just soaking in the spirits that still remain from thousands of travelers who passed through this building for over 100 years – including my own grandfather.

As I watched the light flooding through the high, round, window, a Cat Stevens song came on over the piped-in music. I think it was “Morning Has Broken”. I remember hearing that song when I was in the sunny front window of my first restaurant at 17. At that time, I knew where I wanted to go to college. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but I knew where I wanted to go. I was a little slip of a thing, a dancer. I was looking forward to my future, even though I couldn’t see what it was

There was a line in “Out of Africa”, one of my favorite movies, that says, “Perhaps God made the world round so we could not see too far down the road.”

I believe that.

I never thought I would be living in Denver, would have been here for over 30 years. That wasn’t in the plan when I stood in that sunny front window that afternoon. I wonder when I lost track of the plan? I wonder if I ever had a plan? MKL and I were talking about this the other day – how I have a hard time with creating a plan and sticking to it, especially when I have more than one thing to focus on. Together, he and I are building a plan, and that feels good. I never thought I’d be divorced, much less re-marrying. All of that makes me look forward to my future.

I watch my daughter planning her future – I think she’s better at it than I was, but then she’s more down-to-earth than I was. But I wonder, in twenty years, will she look back on being just 18, and having all these plans and dreams, and have achieved them? Or will she be like me, looking back and wondering, “What happened?”. If that’s the case, I hope she finds herself happy with where she is.

There’s that other saying that I love (credited to many) that “Life’s what happens when you’re making other plans.”

I believe that too.

So what’s the point of this ramble? I suppose it’s that when we are younger we cannot see our future, no matter how much we think we can or how optimistic we are. It’s great that we have that vision, but it’s a real challenge to make the vision a reality. I didn’t really understand that at 17. I do now. So that’s part of the point.

And the other part is that I am a gloomy otter and the eighth anniversary of my Mother’s death is next week.

I’ll find my light again. I promise.

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Little Cayman.

Surreality

The shadows surround each parked car,
glooming up,
swallowing hoods and fenders,
lurking in front of darkened headlights,
stealing away as my eye
catches their evil.

Innocent bunnies
bare fangs
and have a Mexican stand-off
in the middle of the street,
dashing off angrily in opposite directions
when I approach.

A dog barks deeply
the sound lingering
in my backyard,
spreading out thickly through the
cool, damp, air.

I do not have a dog.

It is snowing in May.

I tremble from exhaustion,
fumble with the light switches
curl up in a soft bed
and live inside my dreams.

Family

Why do you come to my dreams
And fill them with stars and messages?

Why does the world look so much the same
Yet so different in that wherever place?

How can I understand
What you are trying to tell me

When the skies keep shifting?

When faces change from known
To unknown?

When the words fade upon waking
Only to return
At odd hours in brief snatches?

I have no answers, only memories of dreams now.

Pigs

Racing across the field
Snouts to the wind,
Trotters trotting,
Hooves kicking up the dry Kansas dust,
They bounce,
They bound,
They skip,
They prance,
They rise,

They fly.

Note: I’m a late starter to NaPoWriMo, so I’ll have to catch up by writing a couple of extra poems in one day!

Over Tired

Tired is an insufficient word
to express
The buzzing-hollow-drained feeling sometimes
leftover from a night’s unrest,

A night when strangers
stage dream interruptions
walking though a set not meant for them,
startling the dreamer,

A night of lingering spirits
of an unrecalled past
who are unrepentant in their repetitive passing
up and down the creaky floorboards,
the product of a sensitivity to souls
or an exhaustion-striped imagination,

either way,
equally real,

and
raptly unfinished.

There are few things more enticing that a bending, streaming, strip of macadam. I have always felt this way, and always sought them out. And I will never stop. Surprises are just around every curve.

Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado.

Quote of the day: “Whatever we carry inside us shapes everyone we touch.”  —  Nancy Jensen

Daily gratitudes:
Barefoot babies
A beautiful day today
MKL
The stunning coral/golden woman on 16th Street today
Fuji apples

I love flying. I especially love flying when the clouds are creating magic, as they did this day.

Somewhere above the southeastern U.S.

Quote of the day: “There is no shame in being a victim; the shame is in living like one.”  —  me

Daily gratitudes:
Puppies
Swooping birds
Iced green tea
The vintage jewelry store on Larimer Street
Soft sunsets

I have been having water dreams lately. Lots and lots of water dreams for weeks, I think. Water dreams are strange things for me. They have always been portents of huge and significant changes. And generally not good changes. They are always similar in character. I am by the ocean and the waves are huge, engulfing everything, and I am trying to survive, to push through them, to stave them off. Doesn’t take a Jungian dream analyst to figure that one out, does it? What I know for sure is that they are certain predictors of something big happening. Generally, how I am able to survive in the dream indicates the level of intimacy with which the change will affect me, but not always. Sometimes, there are people I know with me in the dream, and they are usually impacted in real life whenever the change comes.

So, another water dream last night, coming on the heels of yesterday. Yesterday sucked. I won’t really go into why yesterday sucked. Suffice it to say that it did. BIG TIME. I am hoping today will be better. Hope springs eternal.

Ex-Pat has endocarditis and septicemia. He will be in hospital at least until Friday. According to my readings on the Internet, this is scary stuff. Really scary stuff.

The Internet can be your trusted friend or that devious individual on the street corner hissing to you that the world will end soon and he will take care of your pets when the rapture comes.  When too much information on one topic is available, it is easy and hard at the same time to pick what you are going to believe. I read that septicemia is the same as sepsis, and that the odds of survival are about even. I read that it wasn’t, and that the survival odds are about 90 percent. I read that endocarditis can cause strokes, and that he’d have about six months to live even after recovery. I didn’t read anywhere that he would pop out of his hospital bed on Friday and start romping with the lambs. And what I heard him say last night, when I pointed out to him that without getting treatment he would have died and pretty darn quick at that, was that maybe that would have been better, as his daughter is the only thing he has to live for. (Which to me is a huge reason to keep living.) But he’s lost his will. He’s in too  much pain to walk, and they don’t know why. Things are looking bleak, to say the least.

I think I will try to talk to his doctor to get the full scoop, as he is too doped up to tell me much. Then at least I can share what is real with Kelsea, who comes home today.

On the other hand, I am still at his house, and it is filthy. Filthy. Just disgusting. Even though I said it is not my job to clean this place, and I know it isn’t, I am going to do so, enlisting Kelsea to help, so she can see what clean is, and how to make things that way. I can’t let her live in a place that is like this. In clearing off the kitchen table, I found receipts from 2009. And that was probably the most pleasant of my finds. I remember he was always mad at me because of all the paperwork in the house that I never went through. Now that he’s having to deal with his own mail, and receipts, and crap, I suspect he understands, but he would never own up to it.

I may even tear up all the rugs and try to find replacements at ReStore. They will never be clean, ever, no matter what I do. I will get the handyman to come in and get the holes in the walls patched. I will try to rebuild my own sense of love and trust. I will do two jobs and manage two houses. And then I will sprout wings and a horn out of my head and become a human unicorn.

I’m being realistic.

Aren’t I?

The Light Behind

She passes from the brightest light
Through setting suns on edgeless seas,
Down wooden weaveways brushing night,
Caressed by gentle jungle trees.

Her dreams are moving far behind,
Left in the ruin of ruins past.
She exits stage right from her mind,
Remembering things that would not last.

The patterns playing in her eyes,
More luscious and intense by far
Than those she once could recognize
Though veiled and swaddled in the stars.

She shimmers, endless, full of grace,
Alive now in the world’s tired mind,
And those who loved her in this place
Spill tears in the trails she left behind.

Tulum, Mexico

Quote of the day: “Completion comes not from adding another piece to ourselves, but from surrendering our ideas of perfection.”  —  Mark Epstein

Daily gratitudes:
The little girl in striped tights joyfully doing her Irish step-dancing as she walked down the 16th Street Mall this morning
People’s individual sense of style
Artistic graffiti
The sunny side of the sidewalk
Burnt orange
Spring soon come

August 2018
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