The Souls Of My Feet

There was no resisting the call of the wild today, no way I was ignoring the lure of sunshine and October blue skies.  The wind was up, releasing cascades of golden Autumn glory upon the road before me.  I don't honestly know how anyone can resist piles of multi-coloured leaves to shoofa-shoofa through, leaves that smell of damp earth under old logs and freshly roasted pumpkin seeds.  So I walked to Economy Park.  Those of you who know the area are already impressed-those who don't, well, it's quite far, and you'd be impressed.  For some reason, once I get moving, I can walk for hours, maybe even days, on end.  I think it is a law of physics directly related to my butt; when my ample rear gets in motion, it propels me forward with great efficiency.  Stopping actually goes against the force of the propulsion, and is difficult.  Anyway, the trek to the park is strenuous, and I went about the task with plenty of means of distraction.  I had Brou for hill-pulling, I had my music player for rhythm, and I had my camera to break up the monotony of the pound-pound-pound-pound of my feet.  It took a while for Brou to adjust to my erratic pace, as I stopped frequently to snap off pictures of finely dressed trees and fall flowers and funny looking weeds and what-nots.  I made a conscious effort to draw this journey out, to not rush my feet along.  I stopped, I studied, I sang out loud, quite loud, actually.  I was into the "r" section of my playlist.  There are plenty of great tunes in "r"- The Cult's "Rain", Flogging Molly's "Rebels Of The Sacred Heart", Rage Against The Machine's "Renegades Of Funk", Lloyd Cole and the Commotions "Rattlesnakes", Talking Heads "Road To Nowhere", to name but a few.  All through the "r" songs, Brou and I traipsed around the park, occasionally breaking for pictures of fire trees or glowy trees or the contrast of dark green piney trees.  On the trails, I can let Brou run free, so he can satisfy his doggy need to chase after squirrels he will never catch, for he has all the cunning stealth of a rabid elephant on speed.  But I think for him, all the fun lies in the chase itself, and I can dig that-the utter thrill of running after something just to run, to flap my ears in the wind.  Besides, his independent instinct frees me to think, to wander the complex maze of my own brain, where I often stumble across those perfect words to describe what I deem important in this world.  And intense, long-term walking seems to focus me, as if my body absorbs all the blockages and detours and pit falls that prevent the word flow from reaching its intended destination.  So I was there, part of all around me, detached from all the unnecessaries of the world, and I found the following revelation, so I thought I would share that with you, too.

I used to think it was a fundamental fault in my being that I could not understand why people did not feel passionate about things that obviously require passion.  I thought I must be too pig-headed, too critical of others.  I thought, too, that some things were universal, some drives part of all of the human collective spirit, and assumed others had the same feelings I did.  I see now the flaw lies with them-those who are incapable of that kind of fire, or of sharing the fire of another just for the sheer joy of seeing someone they know, and presumably like, get so interested, become so keen on something that means so much to them, even if the view itself is not shared by the other person.  This desire of some to shit all over someone's happiness, it's not something I even want to pretend to understand.  I am not naive; I know there are times when we must be critical of another person, times when it is necessary to be harsh or realistic.  I know most of us are judgmental, at least once in a while.  What I'm talking about here is people who so readily share nothing but their misery.  I don't know why they do this, why a joyous noise never arises from them.  I don't know if it's because that's all they can or choose to feel, or if they are unaware that negativity is all that exits their mouths, or if they derive pleasure from the act of crapping on other people's spirits.  I know first-hand of this quirky behaviour, sadly, from someone I love in my own family.  He takes his critic's duty very seriously, never misses a chance to find faults or darkness even in the lightest environment.  He is abrasive, stubborn, self-centered, and for all his wisdom, he knows very little about what I've spent all my years cultivating-kindness, gentility, forgiveness, inner peace, and understanding that the world is an imperfect, but still beautiful place.  He demands perfection, takes things as a personal slight if they are not said exactly how he wants to hear them.  He is restless, negative, unsatisfied with all life gives him, even when things are going fine.  He overreacts, and looks for others to blame for his feelings, never takes a reflective moment to listen to the vitriol that comes from him sometimes.  If anyone mentions any of these areas of himself which could use some fine-tuning, he explodes into inappropriate rage and lashes out with nastiness, pettiness, and hurtful words.  I've tried for many years to pull him towards even some semblance of light, and often, I can get him to peek out of the gloom and maybe even smile a bit.  The tricky part is I just never know when he's going to throw it all out of the window and return to what he's obviously always known.  The sad part is I know what a great person he is inside, underneath all those layers of smothering wet woolen blankets of negative energy.  He can be loving, he is good to animals, and he has a terrific sense of humour.  But he expects perfection, in the world, in others, and does not ever want to see his own imperfections.  I love him regardless, for he is family, and I never give up on anyone with potential.  But it can become a drag on my good spirits, and when I feel like my happiness is being stolen, when I can no longer absorb any more blows to my central core of peace, we have it out, and go to our respective corners and take some time to let the dust settle.

So, why do some people cultivate peace and sow seeds of joy in their own souls and share the bounty with the world, and others contaminate the soil so nothing good can grow, then take their disappointment out on others?  Why can't everyone see a perfect Autumn day in all its splendor and think, "This is magic, this is why I am here, to see the beauty, to share the power of this pure energy with everyone I know, so that they, too, can join in the fun."?  I would think that living under the weight of such a crushing level of darkness would be so tiresome, so cumbersome.  Wouldn't the logical answer be to shed one's being of such a heavy burden?  Why wouldn't people want to seek out happiness and peace in their lives?  It just doesn't make a whole lot of sense from the perspective of someone on the other side.

A hazy, cloud-filtered sun casts its light on the gold-laden trees of the park as Brou and I leave the trail and head towards the main road.  The "r"s have ended, and I now get to cut loose in a private public moment and dance my way out of the park to Men Without Hats "Safety Dance" (the extended dance remix, which is the only really good version of the song).  I twirl around and kick up my heels, I sing loudly "'cause your friends don't dance, and if they don't dance, they're no friends of mine."  I shuffle in leaf piles, throw my arms skyward and close my eyes and let a shower of falling leaves join me in the harvest dance I'm creating.  I breathe in the wind and take in the sun and feel all the individual components of my being come alive and synchronize and celebrate en masse.  I embrace this day and give it the gift of song from my own throat.  I don't care who sees me.  I would invite them to join me if I would encounter a fellow road walker.  I snap pictures and trudge in time with the music- Fleetwood Mac's "Sara", Flogging Molly's "Selfish Man", Third Eye Blind's "Semi-Charmed Life", Echo and the Bunnymen's "Senseless", Cinderella's "Shake Me", Most Precious Blood's "Shark Ethic", The Cult's "She Sell Sanctuary".  Now I'm getting a little weary, my legs are getting harder to give orders to, my feet getting heavier to lift.  I've still a long way to go, but at least the stretch is flat and straight.  Deep breaths, feel the music-Days Of The New's "Shelf in the Room", Warrior Soul's "Shine Like It", Pink Floyd's "Shine On You Crazy Diamond", Smashing Pumpkin's "Siva".  Almost there, on my own block now, just a few more houses...

I look at my humble, time-worn home.  I feel all the love I've put into it spilling out of the door to greet me.  I recognize sanctuary, and am endlessly grateful for its presence.  Brou cleans out his water bowl and collapses on his end of the couch, content, exhausted.  I make tea, refill the water bowl, and settle back in to the comforting familiar routine I have also cultivated.  I'll deal with all those pictures another day.  For now, I can still see everything clearly in my mind, all I've done, all I've learned, all I've seen on my chosen path.  I'm content with who I've started to become.  I'm amazed at how easily wisdom comes at this age, and how much harder it is for anger to come.  I feel more balanced than before I left this morning.  It's one thing I deeply wish to share with all I love, all of you, all the world.  And so, I write, and I give of myself freely to provide some pleasure to a world full of people in a state of upheaval.  For what good would all this wisdom be if I selfishly hoarded it in the recesses of my ever-churning mind?  Smile, all ye who read these words, I wrote them specifically for you.  Smile and share the light with all those you love and care for.
Blessings to us all,
Tanya

Caught Up In the Madness

Hectic seems to be the best way to describe my life as of late, though that is never an excuse to not be productive.  I'm afraid I've plum run out of excuses, and thus befittingly abashed, I will create something for your and my amusement.  The time is right, the tide is rolling, and I am having just a ball riding it into shore.  I intended to give you next my family's grand Southern adventure, which I have been diligently penning by hand, I'll have you know, but I've been sidetracked by an incredible event that began in a small park near Wall Street.  The Occupy Wall Street Movement is sweeping wildly across the nation, and the frenzy seems to be swelling along with the crowds.  And I've been following it, thanks to the magic of Facebook (you bastards.) and the great folks I've had the honor of getting to know over the last few years, from its very beginning.  Social media, for all its faults and frustrations, has a distinct benefit protesters of the past did not have-they can link people of like minds far more rapid.  It's a blessing to be an activist today.  I would love to participate in their big Wall Street gathering, but for the time being, I'm relegated to being local grassroots.  There is going to be an Occupy Pittsburgh protest, and I will be there, finally among real people who share in the suffering we've all had to face.
I don't know the cultural status of all who may read these words.  Let me tell you what it's like on the front lines today, down here in the working class.  Every day we face a new terror, a new disaster in the making.  There is no safety net, no easing of anxiety.  For some of us, it's outstanding medical bills we can never pay, so we've given up and avoid our phones when collection agency numbers start showing up on the caller ID by the dozens daily.  For some of us, it's watching our meager jobs dry up more and more, should be be fortunate enough to even have a job, or, to be more precise, two very poor paying jobs with ungodly long hours and filthy conditions.  It's living in fear that one day we will come to work, only to be told the business was shutting down and relocating to some other country, and sent home with nothing but a fraction of our wages doled out to us by the unemployment office.  For some of us, it's going to interview after interview, day after day, for six months, a year, eighteen months, two years...longer...and having to be told over and over we are overqualified, over-educated, or out of work too long to be considered for hiring.  Meanwhile, we have such crushing financial debt from college, we have literally no hope of ever paying it off, even if we could get a job that paid more than McDonald's.  For some of us, it's trying to keep together our families, watching every day grind us down, every catastrophe take years off our lives.  It's watching our children struggle, with such a sense of hopelessness because there is nothing we can do to help.  For some, it's waiting for the day the sheriff shows up to evict us from our homes because we fell behind on a mortgage we barely understood in a system designed to make us fail from day one just to steal our homes out from under us.
We weren't meant to live this way, under constant threat of attack, of losing everything no matter how hard we work.  Not when you get a glimpse of the champagne wishes and caviar dreams set.  They just don't seem to understand what we peasants are so riled up about.  They already bought the government, and they already own the world, but it isn't enough for them.  They want to watch us suffer and die for their pleasure.  We have become a spectator sport for the obscenely wealthy.  They observe from afar as the throngs and dirty hordes fight like starving dogs for the scraps they left behind.  It's really just that simple.
Revolution is born of this kind of stuff, as history should have taught everyone.  It is a very bad idea to oppress the masses with the crushing weight of poverty and despair.  We are running out of things to lose, and we want to push back and we want justice and we want power restored to the common man, which is what government is for, I think.
It's hard to tell for sure what government has evolved into, given the way the world is headed today.  The Arab Spring and the European economic collapse, and the bankrupting of Iceland, Greece, Spain, Ireland, and Italy, all this was precipitated by bad government, corrupt leaders in cahoots with the moneyed peoples of the world.  If the governments of the world had to operate the way the poorest have to in order to survive, if we could take all the corrupted money out of the governments, what would that look like?  If all monies collected by, say, the U.S. government had to go back to the people to provide for the people, to benefit the nation as a whole instead of divvied up and given to bankers and investors and black holes and private contractors and speculators, what would our nation be?  Healthier, happier, more peaceful, more productive, self-sufficient, wealthier in general, or at least I tend to believe it would be.  I am not against governing at all.  There has to be some sort of body politic, so to say.  I am against governing by ownership class.  The bloated belly of the beast, the gluttonous piggy bank full of the world's wealth controls where the money goes, and that is the problem.  They self-regulate with our money.  And government can or will not do anything to stop it or change it, because of the money funnel directly to the politicians.  We've been left out of the loop, and it's starting to dawn on some of us, and really starting to piss some of us off.
We have a right to be treated as humanely as possible by who we work for.  We have a right to be heard, even if we haven't the dollars to buy air time.  We have a right to live free from the fear-driven economic policies of the richest one percent.  We have a right to have time with our loved ones who work so hard to provide the necessities and comforts for a good home.  We have a right to be as healthy as we can be, with access to proper medicines, tests, equipment, and procedures, in a system that does not create profit from the sick.  We have a right to seek higher education should we show the aptitude and desire to learn and become productive members of our society, without creating overwhelming debt and no hope for employment.  We have rights, because WE are people, and corporations are not, and corporations do not get to have the same entitlements or rights the people have, because corporations are not living beings; they are made up of living beings who have to struggle and sweat and fight it out in the trenches for next to nothing while the elite class sip and sup and drain the life out of the ninety-nine percent who made them so rich.
The tide of anger, of revolution, of hope and fear and desperation has begun its march across the sea of change, and once it hits the shore, we will see how well built the sand castles of the mighty are, or just how much money it will take to sop up the flood.
I'm ready to be part of this.  I speak for those who need a voice, for those too busy working, or too sick or weakened by illness, to be in the crowd.  I will be there for you, and I will represent us all, and I will do so with head held high.
Peace to us all,
Tanya

The body is still vacationing

But I promise, I've not been idle.  The brain is functioning nicely, I'm just feeling no drive to write.  Well, not true.  I've been hand writing our big Southern Tour, like an old-fashioned diary.  I've not mustered the energy to transcribe it to this confounded machine yet.  Perhaps when school begins anew.

My birthday passed with great fanfare, and I received a lovely journal that reads "find the magic in everything", so I have been.  And so should you.  I always long to share with everyone the bits of magic I find every day, but recently, I have been focusing on the observance rather than the need to expound on it.  This has been a lazy summer, mostly out of necessity, for it's been beyond the levels of hot I am used to.  So, the goal has been immobility, and I've succeeded grandly in that.  I apologize.  Today was a rare day, full of western breezes and gently sunshine, and dry air.  I went to the farmer's market, and gleefully picked out eggplants and peaches, tomatoes and baby cucumbers, wax beans and red potatoes.  This is a great time of year to be a Pennsylvanian. Between harsh winters and baking summers, we have these days, and I live for them.

Find the Magic in everything.  I like that.  The person who chose this journal for me knows exactly who I am. What a great friend to have.  Magic in everything.  Yes, indeed.

Very soon, I shall get back into the swing of things.  Until then, enjoy the remnants of the summer season, my friends and followers, and shine like the sun.  You shouldn't be trapped inside piffing about on this stupid contraption anyway.  Go outside and find some magic.  Happy hunting!
Love and light,
Tanya

The Maple Trees

(and we bought our home....)

I could never leave my quiet street,

Its maple trees all afire

In the fall,

The vibrant character

Of its people,

Of its houses.

I could make tracks on a million streets,

Leave my print

In fallen leaves,

Leave my scuff marks

In new Spring mud,

In wet cement.

But I know where to find home,

On a gentle, unremarkable street,

Full of the little comforts I need,

Familiar voices, well-known faces,

Receptive hearts, clear minds,

And the wrap-around glow

Of a place I recognize as Sanctuary.

Breaking Rocks In The Sun

(And then I met Joe....)


I survived the ravages of poverty,
Did my time in the Hell of the Projects,
I learned to work the welfare system
Just enough to keep my little family alive.
I crawled up from the very bottom,
Left behind many who chose
To love life in the septic tank.
I even walked away
From my own marriage
Because I knew he was content
With that way of death.

Poverty is a prison,
There is no time off
For good behaviour,
No parole, no pardon.

But there is always Hope-
And I held onto it with a vise-like grip,
Counting the days, the weeks, the months...
The years...

Then I met a fellow inmate,
And we made an escape plan,
We kept it secret,
Knowing those who were institutionalized
Would do all they could to help us fail.
Slowly, painfully, we dug.
Every inch a struggle,
Every breath choked with dirt,
Every muscle strained to its limit,
We dug.  We fought, We hoped.

And then, glorious Light!
We broke free, into the bright sun,
And we ran, and vowed to never go back.

The howls and shrieks from our former associates
Raised an alarm, sirens blaring, guns drawn,
We were hunted by guards
Who were no less twisted and rotted inside
Than the people they lorded over.

But we were under strong protection,
And little did anyone know,
We had friends on the outside
Who helped us along
The Underground Road to Stability, to Comfort.

And now, we stand,
Free, unchained
From the shackles of misery,
Still with hope, full of life,
And we know there is no force on Earth
That can steal this unbridled power
Of two who have served their time.

Run The Gauntlet

This is on a brighter note.  I don't know exactly what it is about this one, but I've always been rather fond of it.  It's simple, it's light, it captured something I was feeling at that moment.


Run The Gauntlet

In my car, driving, smoking,
Smiling, laughing,
eating grit, spitting,
tapping on the steering wheel
to a song I love called "Driver's Seat"

Can't ignore the beauty
of this day, early Summer,
this back country road
flanked on each side by trees
in full, leafy bloom.

Running the gauntlet of Green,
for the love all that is still green,
drive faster just to see more,
What a day, what a perfect day
To be alive, to be right here.

Lift me, carry me, upwards, onwards,
wings of Summer warmth,
Sun viewed through closed eyes,
face uptilted, receiving light,
energy, hope, happiness.

In my car, driving,
Smiling,
Moving,
Living,
Running the Gauntlet of Green.

Monumentality

Loyal Turmoil,
I feel that my insides are coils,
Water too close to boiling,
Pulled too taut, straining,
I will try refraining
From explosive obscenities.
Fear is the enemy
And wrath my ally,
Where all the power lies,
I will try, though, to keep the beast at bay
To spare anyone who may
Have never been exposed to my brutality.

Caged Rage,
It has torn a hole through the pages,
And now a war is waging
Between that evil fiend Reality
And the carefully constructed Beauty
Of the creation in my head,
And me, without tears to shed,
Only seething anger while
All I love is defiled,
Tainted beyond repair,
Until I have nowhere
To disengage myself from
Everything and everyone.

Riding on the upswing,
Ah, the tumultuous joy it brings!
A punishing wave of confusion,
Delusion and seclusion,
Self-inflicted mayhem
Will bring me absolution.

My Blood Turns To Ice

After a while, a numbness settles in
Absorbs in the skin as you begin
To realize all that you've been through,
All that you've seen has been
Filtered and washed and lost in translation,
So you take a stab at turning it off
Just to have time to process what you're learning
But your view is askew because what you
Know deep in your gut is it's all lies.

It's all lies, and it's all pain and it's all rain,
Blood black-red rain pouring into your eyes,
Gods, it makes your heart ache inside,
Pierced by the lances and bludgeoned with maces,
Pissed upon, ridiculed, spit in your face,
It's beyond sin, or blasphemy,
The most sacrilegious act one could commit.

And I cannot fathom why anyone anywhere
Would believe that being deceived is better
Than knowing the truth.
How depraved.
How indecent,
How sad.
What a testament
To modern, enlightened
And well-bred new man.

If you found me angry, I will not be sorry,
Nor will I be made to feel guilty or wrong,
I fully intend to make you understand
I'm not buying this shit anymore.
It's time to move forward,
To start changing the future
Because no one deserves what's in store.

Archive Digging

I'm going back now, back to my recent past, exploring my older poetic works and journal entries, (in actual journals, mind you!) so the next several posts will be stuff I rediscovered.  During the Bush years, I was angry.  My poetry reflects that.  Before Joe, I had a tough time, too, and that shows up as well.  So all was not always light and sunshine and happy and peace in my world.  Anyway, please enjoy these slices of my history, and I will try to include the better times in there, too.  Here's the first Bush era work, but sometimes, even today, I find it relevant.  I give you...

Exit Strategy

Why the struggle?
Why the fight?
Why the spike
driven into the skull
again and again?
No reprieve, no relief,
no signs of decency, humanity,
just angry voices,
gritted teeth and clenched fists,
seething and straining,
but never gaining
control over a hopeless situation.

Spitting blood and fire,
wrath, ire, deep desire
to see some change, any change
in direction, a flicker
while I just get sicker
every day watching
the horror show unfold around me.

And where is your god,
or my fellow man?
A hand, please.
We're all trapped,
drowning in quicksand.
Solid ground is a myth,
and I'm not convinced
Any part of this nightmare is real.
How could it be?
How can there be
bottomless apathy,
unfathomable misery,
brutal inequality,
complete incivility?

I don't want to wander
lost in the darkness any longer,
I cannot stand on the shore
and watch us all sinking,
gasping, choking, thinking
that help is coming.
It doesn't feel right
observing the plight-
Everyone I know
losing the struggle,
losing the fight,
losing the strength,
the will to stand
and face an enemy
who refuses to be seen,
refuses to come clean
and reveal its treachery.

An answer, a sign,
is all I need,,
a reason to believe
that the struggle, the fight,
has some point,
some conclusion,
an end that does not involve
Total annihilation.

At The Boat Docks

A pocket full of rocks,
and whatnots, beach glass,
fresh water clam shell,
Oh, look!  A yellow finch!
and baby goslings!
The winds whipping the river
into white caps and waves lapping,
Giant puff clouds casting shadow
then sun, then shadow, and sun again.

Past crocus and daffodil, forsythia and hyacinth,
Now tulip and lilac and azalea and lily of the valley,
My world dances today,
full of green and growing things,
A wet mutt, with self-satisfied grin,
eying the geese as they drift closer,
He will give chase should they wander too near,
And grin happily when he swims back.

Daydream weather, dry and bright,
Sweet breeze filled with crabapple blossom,
Gentility in the air, reprieve from the harshness,
Time to breathe, to truly see.
Sit and watch the sun through closed eyes,
letting warmth recharge my brain.

In the rarity of moments like this,
a glimpse of what heaven must be,
An eternity of musing
on the shores of a sun-sparkled river,
Home, yes, home.  As it should be.

Soggy Feet

And the rains came,
They came and stayed
And washed away
The traces of sad faces,
The remnants of apathy,
Rains of epic notoriety,
Gone down now in infamy,
Falling, dropping hard and soft,
Pelting, driving, misting, gathering
In deep, muddied pools
On streets and stoops and
Grassy fields, unyielding rains.

That first Spring exploded into green,
But by early Summer, towns were drowning,
Overtaken by torrents, weeping,
Gnashing of teeth, people of
The wet, besodden, downtrodden,
No longer awed by the power,
But beaten down, by the steady
Drumbeats of the rains.

Skies cracked open hopelessly,
Eyes cast heavenward helplessly,
All became pale, muted,
Dulled, lulled, a quiet hush
Of collective despair.  Where
Once stood houses and roads,
Now rivers and lakes and
Deepening seas with great swells.

And still they came, Gods wept,
The rains, they stayed forever and a day,
Cleansing land of human handiwork,
Sweeping off the planet man's
Futile attempts at permanence.
Summer to Fall to Winter to Spring again,
Never relenting, the rains.

And still it rains, those who remain
Stay to say they saw the day
The Sun came back to us.
Every new morning of grey,
And still they say...
...one day...

A Mind Is A Terrible Thing, Except When It’s Wasted

Another long week of overtime hours, of me being left to my own designs for extended lengths of time.  The latest trash barrel art project is finished, the early garden is in, the housework is caught up,  I’m done shooting colored balls at each other on the computer, and I’m more content to sit and groove on the dawning warmth of Spring rather than go our for another walk, and munch on kettle corn with Holly.  So I’m drifting a bit between pondering and musing over many a thing, a sort of lonely craft at sea, lulled by the rocking waves of time passing and endless blue skies.  Questions keep forming, rolling around in the ol’ brain, lots of digging and delving, and few answers, but some days, I’m not really looking for those, I’m more focused on the long pauses in between the questions.

I’ve been wondering why I follow the news and current events, especially politics, so intently.  Sure, I appreciate the information-it satisfies both my thirst for knowledge and my morbid curiosity.  I tend to view news with a dash of bleeding heart liberal and a splash of George Carlin, so there’s some balance in my approach to it.  Sometimes, though, the news simply enrages me, and if there is a tragedy in there, too, I get a massive overload to my humanity circuit, and I trip a breaker, and have to shut down for a while.  I’m not sure if news following provides me with happiness or just gives me something else to do to waste time.  Surely, there are more prolific things I could be doing.  And too much of current events are downright frightening or plainly negative.  They leave me on a search for sunshine in the gloom wherever I can find it.

That leads, randomly, to be sure, to another musing of mine.  Do other people find themselves surrounded by negativity and sometimes grow weary of trying to counteract it?  Even if I pry myself from the daily onslaught of bad news, I find it can be a challenge to escape the effects of the bad juju and discontent.  It hangs in the air, an atmospheric negative ion, and I spend a considerable amount of energy repelling, reversing my magnetic field.  I haven’t quite descended into brooding yet, no.  I think I’m looking more for a touch of escapism.  I feel the ever-present hot breath of seething anger amongst the masses, I feel painful throes from the aching hearts of the suffering.  I long for a place that isn’t being crushed by desperation. 

On that note, I’ve been wondering why I stay in America.  The easy answer is the same as why I stay in my hometown-because of my bond with it.  Regardless of what outsiders (and more than a few locals) say about Ambridge, there are fantastic people here.  Many care deeply about this town, its sense of heritage, of tradition, of history.  It comes with the territory.  It’s familiar, it’s sanctuary, my favorite port in any storm.  I have weathered out countless catastrophes, personal and global, in this town.  I could broaden that to include America, to some extent.  My roots are deeply sank.  Perhaps too deep.  The truth is I know I could find the same elements in other parts of the world, plus many more, surely.  I could probably find a place where I could see Joe more, where he only has to toil away at one job, a place I where I could walk quiet country lanes for hours, a place I could have a simple, comfortable home adorned with all my curiosities.  Sometimes, I daydream about what it would be like to breathe different air.  Perhaps America itself is starting to lose some of its allure, its magic.

This country is being mismanaged badly.  When a baseball player tells a fib about lying in court about whether or not he did this or that, there are endless hearings over it, and he faces prison time.  When a financial giant steals billions from the people, then blackmails the Treasury into coughing up hundreds of billions more, they get the money, and no one ever even faces a trial on it.  Something seems a bit askew.  Everyone involved in politics screams at each other, like a schoolyard full of naughty children, saying wretched things and demanding everyone play the game their way.  Each side pouts and stomps its feet and holds its breath.  No one who makes any sense can get through.  And on top of that, we have a bad parent on playground duty.  He should learn to discipline with a firmer hand, to be stern instead of trying to be each child’s very best friend.  Both sides need to be punished severely, sent to their rooms with sore bottoms and snotty noses from the crying.  Really, as a 20 year veteran of parenting, I’m appalled at the state of our government.  I do love America, and I love my home, and I love the beauty of it all, but how it’s being run scares me more than it should.  I should be able to watch the news, to follow politics, without cringing inside all the time.  It should be a sideshow, an occasional distraction.  But, if someone doesn’t pay attention to the action behind the scenes, the government gets away with far too much, and has for far too long.  I think we should stop voting for all politicians, and just nominate and vote for random good people we all know in our lives.  I guess I don’t have an answer for why I stay here.  I will ponder it more, and likely do nothing more, because as an artsy type, I excel at procrastination, and often react only when panic is called for.

I’ve been wondering whether I could realistically write my own Bible, purely for entertainment’s sake.  I spit out a quick bit of one for a great friend, and, I must say, I enjoyed doing it immensely.  Though longer tales have never been my strong point, a Bible is more a collection of really short stories interspersed with moral codes of conduct.  I’m pretty sure I could do that.  I see I work far better under the pressure of deadlines, even if they are not altogether serious.  Said friend issued a “commandment” to pen a creation myth by sundown of one day, and I took it upon myself to be thus commanded.  I produced.  It was refreshing to be motivated, to be given a true direction, besides my meandering rambles.  Maybe this friend could collaborate with me, give me a framework and a deadline for each chapter, and perhaps write it with me.  I think after a few thousand years a new Bible may be just what the world needs.

Sometimes, secretly, I think I look forward to senility, not quite the full-blown devastation of Alzheimer’s, or the severity of advanced dementia, but a mild touch of senility, when I forget what era it is and regress to the 1980s, or when no one expects me to take care of everything, remember anything, or change my clothes every day.  Until then, I suppose I must continue my valiant quest for answers to vague questions of little import and other mysteries of the universe.  I’m sure my reward will be long stretches of time in the Spring sunshine, and the smell of hyacinth on the wind, and all the happy I can feast on.  So much to contemplate these days…

Be at peace, my friends,
Tanya

Joey

As we all get on together in this span of time, an inevitable common bond will occur, and we all must face it in our own way.  Individual details are unique, but the stories are all connected.  We all lose someone incredibly dear to us.  It’s been almost 10 years, and I finally think I’m ready to give to you my personal story of loss.  This one is for Joey, a truly magical creation who holds still a piece of my very essence.

He was one of those persons you just cannot label as friend, or mate, or brother, or any other category heading.  Joey transcended all that.  Somewhere between an identical twin and the best friend you’ve ever had, I would guess is the closest description I can give you.  From the very moment we met, our smiles bonded us, fused with such a perfect cosmic symmetry, and we shared from that point on the most profound happy I’ve ever had the honour of feeling.  We walked wooded trails together, examining bugs and leaves and birds-Joey had a deep spiritual connection with birds-and talked of all the things that made us what we were.  We spent days on end picking through landscaping rocks looking for treasures.  Our laughter rang through the streets like church bells on a beautiful spring morning.

Joey was a drummer, and I can say without reservation, the finest drummer I’ve heard.  He didn’t just play the drums, much like I don’t just play the guitar.  These instruments were our outer projections of what our souls were saying.  The music was heartspeak, pure and honest and sweet and entrancing.  Joey was the rhythm of my universe, of the universe as a whole. I called him the cosmic drummer-his rhythms were in perfect tune with the workings of the planet, and the movements of the stars and comets and the dust of ancestors.  You could feel yourself being lifted right out of your bodily form and dancing in harmony with all of creation.  This is no exaggeration for literary purposes.  I give you the truth, and that can be verified by many other humans.  Joey traveled extensively, walked many a beaten mile, and drummed where he went.  His music touched a very wide swath of people.

When I played along with him, I completely lost track of even the basic fact that I was the one playing.  It felt like he was there, too, in my hands, not taking the place of my own, not controlling, but sharing the space simultaneously.  We played as one.  And we smiled.  And every time we finished a session, we smiled, and then laughed together, sharing a world that no two others could quite find.  We kissed like children do, innocently, with no further motive other than to be sweet.  It always left me feeling pure and simple.  Joey had a way of calming, of bringing out parts of me just staring to blossom.  He gave me peace.

Joey did much gallivanting around the country, so as time went on, our contact was limited to a few times a year as he made his way back home to West Virginia.  I went about my daily life and wiled away the hours, as I do.  Every now and then, I would get a strong urge to think about Joey and what he was up to.  Without fail, and I mean that, he always called within a day’s time.

Here’s where I must pause and break from the story format.  As I’m trying to write this, I have to tell you, after all this time has passed, what I remember most clearly is Joey’s voice.  The timbre, the tone, the pitch, and the way it made me feel when I heard it on the other end of a phone.  It’s the one thing I have struggled with all these years-that when the phone rings now, it will never be him, and that still gets me once in a while.  But I have that with me, forever, that voice, and one day, after he departed, when I needed him most, I cried out to him that I just wanted to hear his voice, to know he was still there, and that he was ok, and as he always did in life, he came through for me.  I don’t care if it was my own mind creating it, I don’t want to debate the existence of ghosts with anyone.  Joey was not an ordinary person, and when he left this world, his energy in some form or other left a permanent imprint here, and that is just a plain fact.  He soothed me, and somehow, I’ve managed to make it through these long years since that moment.

Our last road trip together was to Wisconsin to see the White Buffalo, a rather big deal for us spiritual, native types.  We drove my Dodge station wagon out there with his Husky and my daughter.  It was a beautiful trip, full of the usual magic and smiles and happy.  Joey was going to be headed to points west from there, but I had to get back home.  For the first time, when we were saying our goodbyes, I cried.  I remember telling him when he asked me why I was crying that I didn’t know, but I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be seeing him for a long time.  He gave me a big bear of a hug and told me everything was going to be ok.  I chalked it up to motherly concern, and shook it off.  As I drove away from the farm, and watched him diminish in the rear view mirror, I just had a passing thought that one day Joey was going to go on a grand adventure…One day…

Some years did go by, and every now and then, I would think of him and he would call.  Then one day in October, Joey called me and my dad and invited us to a ceremony in which he was being brought into the folds of a very special group of medicine men, and would be learning from them.  It was such a beautiful ceremony.  I was pregnant with Holly at the time, and he drummed on my belly and sang to her.  It was very cold and I was not feeling well, and we had to call it an early night.  There were the smiles-our eyes locked together, our hearts holding each other-the last smiles, as it would turn out.

It had been more than a year since I had heard from him, and even after several thoughts about him, he never called.  At the time, my dad still lived in West Virginia, and knew where Joey’s parents lived.  One day, we were talking about Joey and how none of us had heard from him.  Dad said he would call the house.  When Dad rang me back, he told me to sit down and asked me if Joe was nearby.  I felt the air escape my lungs, and I knew.  Joey was gone, drowned caught in a rip tide off the coast of North Carolina.  Just like that.  I think I can remember my heart stopping for a few beats.  The cosmic drummer was silent, and my heart got wind of it, and missed a step.

I miss the silliest little things.  I miss sharing new bands I discover, or new movies I’ve seen.  I miss sharing new knowledge I’ve gathered, and new photos of the family.  Joey never got to meet Holly, or Joe, and I wish he could have.  But mostly, I miss the smiles.  I share many smiles with many people, and they all mean something incredibly dear to me.  Joey stands in a category all his own, though, in a secret bond like no other.  I miss the music we made with the universe, and I missed it so much at first, I did not even play my guitar for a good 3 years solid.  It was too painful, and there was no magic to it for me.

But like I said, Joey soothed me, he calmed me and gave me back peace, and then I began playing again.  And it was different.  Something had been transferred to me that last encounter, and after the intense pain subsided, I could tap into that source.  My music has been forever altered, transformed into a new level of spirituality that I did not even know could be found.  Whether it comes from the suffering of loss of someone like Joey, whether it comes from the cosmic signature he left behind, or whether it comes directly from the cosmos itself, I know not.  It is not my place to know such things, I can only be the vessel to deliver what I am learning from them.  In some way or other, Joey gave me the ultimate gift-to express to those who listen the music my heart makes.

This September will mark 10 years.  I’m hoping the adventure Joey is on now is full of wonders and excitement.  My own adventure holds those things.  I hope we find each other out there in the vastness of space, and our remaining energies get to tell fine tales to one another of the glorious things we’ve seen.  Sometimes, it’s very important to believe in the concept of eternity, and this is that time for me.  Good Journey to you, my spirit brother, my friend, my dear Joey.  Thank you for being, and for giving to me happy.

Love and light, all.
Tanya

What Do I Know?

Fast approaching an age
When the glory of the day
Collides with the shadows of tomorrow,
Inside, outside, all through,
All around-
Permeating, penetrating,
Overwhelming this fragile,
And yet so persistent
Desire to rest in the enveloping arms
Of this velvet universe,
Just to catch a moment
Of rest, to restore, revive,
Come alive, awake
And take the first step
On an untrodden path.

But lurking in dark places,
Waiting for the chance to steal
A tainted victory-
This manic-driven need
To know, to defeat the unknown,
To replace the peace of mind
With unrest, uncertainty,
Taking doubt to the head of the pack,
Causing instinct to be derailed
And misdirected,
Tricked into believing
That frantic is the only pace,
And the race to know all
Must be won
Before the game is done,
Before I figure out
That I know better than to play.

So I live, then, to be fed?
Shoved, crammed into my head,
Junk food for the soul,
Pork rinds on the way to my heart,
Blocking the arteries
And stopping truth from flowing
Through my veins,
The truth being that
I don’t need to know.

Let go, look inside and find
Where the madness all began-
Was it as children?  As young rebels?
The onset of maturity?
Somewhere in there lies the seed
That began to root,
That grew into the twisting
Thorny vines, with tempting blooms,
Emitting a potent, intoxicating scent
Strong enough to cloud, to kill the common sense
Some humans still managed to keep
Despite evolution-
And so we often miss
The beginning of fatality,
The stench of rotting futility,
The moment we begin to believe
That we must be driven,
Forever and always driven-
A prison, a quicksand trap,
A lie disguised-
“Eat this and become wise!”

Do you not recognize this deceit?
The warning?  Surely you see
There is no truth to this,
No happiness in knowing,
Accepting that you must be fed,
Believing
That you must know more than you can process
Before the proper stages,
The ages that bring tempered wisdom.

There is no benefit, no comfort to be had,
Nothing can compare to learning
Slowly, absorbing, taking time
To love the slow,
Ponder away, late at night,
Break the deadlines
Of sleeping, waking, eating, working, dying.
Disrupt the schedule,
Sip on a good cup of coffee,
Ignore the urge to gulp down life
In grotesque proportions,
Which leave you prone at any given moment
To choke to death
On that first bite of apple,
Was it worth all that,
Chew on this, worth the risk
To fulfill your quest
For all the knowledge,
Which does nothing
But bring you to the knees of ruin?
Make you weak and tired and sad?

I want to be boundless,
Free from the constant hounding,
Free to explore
What gifts I’ve already been given,
Unburdened of the pressure
To run off the cliff with the rest.
I want to walk calmly to the edge,
Stop and look down,
Gaze in watery-eyed wonder
At the stunning beauty below me,
Around me, inside me,
The pounding ocean waves,
The yawning chasm,
The deep, green valley.

All those who run,
They close their eyes as they fall,
And will never get to see
What I will see that same day,
And in the end,
All they think they know
Will never compare
To what I learned along the way.

Retrospeculative

I’ve expressed it best
When I’ve let go of the mess
In my head,
Then I’ve been lead
To that place inside
Where it’s all opened wide.

I’ve spread my mental wings
To encompass everything
I’ve ever learned, been told,
And, at 37 years old,
I can say with great conviction
That I need no benediction,

No prayers or supplications,
No loyalty to any nations,
I am a world child,
Both tempestuous and mild,
In touch with my inner universe,
Filled with love, about to burst.

And I’ve often, with my pen,
Reached inside and found my Zen,
Yes, I have studied a flower,
Whimsically whiled away the hours,
Gone full circle many times
To learn that life is sublime.

I’ve drawn pictures and conclusions,
Been caught up in crowds and in seclusion,
Followed my dreams
And mountain streams,
Been a borrower and a lender,
A receiver and a sender.

I’ve been reinvented and changed,
I’ve been eclectic and strange,
I’ve lost my way,
I’ve lost whole days,
I’ve found myself, found release,
I’ve learned how to steal moments of peace.


Much can be said about what I’ve gained
Standing in the driving rain,
Tooling down back country roads,
Examining bugs and communing with toads,
Bathing nude in quiet pools,
Talking with sages and also with fools.

I’ve said what I had to,
Done what I could do
To become all I am,
Gone from Miss to Ma’am,
So much I have grown
And come into my own.

I’m all I want to be,
And, put plain and simply,
I’ve become wholly and utterly
Me.

Excerpts From An Early Morning Acid Trip

This is an old one, more than 10, maybe 15, years ago, back in the day when I could do such things and not have to worry about the terrible after effects.  It amazes me still that I was capable of producing this while peaking on acid, not so much the words, but that I could physically perform the act of writing.  This was the last time I ever did the drug, and I'm glad it was so profound, but I don't miss doing it.  I'm kind of in that state naturally now most days! I sense elements of Walt Whitman in here, and I must admit, I'm a huge fan.  Anyway, enjoy!

How dare my ugly, brutish, clomp-clomp
     Footsteps disturb the routine morning birdsong,
I, sad intruder, awestruck observer,
Watching the world awaken to its own rhythm,
Slow, in its own time,
Whether I pass by to witness it or not.
     I clumsily trod upon delicate Queen Anne's Lace,
     Humble it beneath my feet
When it is I who should be humbled today.
I concentrate on each step, so as not to harm more living things.
And every time I look up, I see the world is a whole different colour.
I hear the day,
Feel on my bare skin the cool, calming
     Touch of early morning peace
And I bathe in the essence of the moment.

Today I came to the woods to find God,
     And I found green,
A more potent sign there never has been.
The darkness of this green, forest green,
Primeval, a full canopy of summer growth,
I was naive to believe the blast of day sun
Could penetrate this realm.
    So a moment, then, to give over my thoughts to green:

    Green is a sound,
     It drapes over me,
    Wraps around me,
     Fills me, moves me,
     A sweet, velvety song
     Sung in low notes, hushed tones,
     That is the sound of green.
     
     Green is a feeling,
     Fine scotch setting the tongue afire,
     Then numbing it,
     It can be felt stirring in the heart,
     And though it can be ignored, abused, or embraced,
     It stays there, waiting.
     It is the feeling serenity leaves in your soul
     When it rests inside you for a spell.

I am feeling so very green today,
I see the spirit in green,
See the cosmic signature it leaves,
The imprint, the aura around all life,
All that lives.
I see the green around me, in me,
Through me, all a part of me,
Part of the whole of all.

I came to the woods today looking
     For inspiration,
And I found the miracles of living,
Have seen all the faces on what lives,
Trees, ground, sky, leaves, flowers, me,
Connected, bound, put together for a purpose,
A single-minded purpose-

To discover our individual gods, to become aware
     Of ourselves, of the green,
    Of the joy of being, of living,
Of taking every moment to heart,
Of life, all life, every life.
I have just relearned to love green,
     To love life,
    And myself,
And it is all one and the same.

As I leave behind the peace in the green woods,
As I step from the gloom of deep forest,
I discover there are so many colours to wonder, to marvel at,
I watch as a butterfly bounces along in its chaotic, maddening way.
Stumbling, I try to follow, to be one with its journey,
Only to learn I am no butterfly.
So I study for a long time and I conclude that
Nothing on Earth flies more beautifully
    Than yellow.

I’ll Take A Cup Of Happy And That Happy Muffin, Please

We, as a nation, as a species, are hurting.  I can see that plainly.  There is such a deep crying out coming from so many souls.  Countless people are immune to the sound, for they care little for others or their pain.  Some hear it, but cannot bring themselves to react, for fear of feeling.  Some, though, hear the wailings and have to react, have to feel, have to try to heal.  We cannot be any other way.  I don’t know where any of you fall, but I know I am a feeler.

And I feel this suffering, and I know how it is to live in a constant state of sacrifice, when every moment is a struggle.  And I know sometimes you have to ask the questions like, “when can I just get around to the living, the peace, for just a little while?”  It’s tough going when all the going is geared towards survival only, towards hanging onto what you have in this world, what little anyone has in their worlds.  For some, that’s a home, for some it’s a job, for some it’s happiness, and for others, it’s their health.  Looking for rays of sunshine in the gloom gets to be a tiresome affair day after day, as circumstances keep beating you over the head like mallets in a whack-a-mole game.  So people hunker down and do what they can to avoid the pain of the whacking, and maybe they even throw dirt over their hidey-holes to soften the blows.  Sure, it stops the mallets, but it also blocks the light, and a life of darkness becomes all there is.  Struggle is not always inspiring or beautiful-it can be bleak and painful.

I try hard to give the world words of encouragement, sparks to start a fire in the darkness.  A friend asked once, “Are you always as happy as your writings make you out to be?”  Of course I’m not.  I have gloomy, doomy thoughts, morose moments, times when the daily struggle gets to me, too.  And yes, I write about that as well.  But I tend not to share that and I keep it in private journals where it belongs, and I will tell you why.  The world expresses enough negativity.  People are far too readily sharing the worst of their lives.  It’s too easy to give the gifts of sorrow, anger, and pain.  I relish in being the contrary one, the outcast always.  And I need the challenge of finding the joy, the light., for that is where I find my happy.  And I hope it helps to heal someone, helps them put aside what’s eating at them for just a bit, so they can see the beauty of this world that I go out and seek, hunt down and capture in words for them.  It’s not that I don’t feel the hurt or acknowledge the suffering, I do.  It’s that I am here to try counteracting it, to find ways through it, or around it.  I’ve learned how to change my way of viewing life and its peaks and valleys, and I try to share what I’ve learned, for my own benefit, sure, but for the benefit of all humanity, too.

In the darkest of times for a person, it is very difficult to find a happy.  But, much of happy finding comes from within, comes from how one chooses to see things.  That sounds absurdly simple, but sometimes, it’s not that easy to do.  When dark thoughts occupy the majority of one’s days, and dark deeds confront a person at every turn, it’s a real dilemma.  How does one find hope when the bills are overdue, the job is gone, the house is in foreclosure, or the illness takes over the body?  Happiness does have to take a back seat sometimes.  And I do believe that total immersion into the blackness is part of the human condition.  We all have to dive into it fully once in a while, for that is how we sort it out in the long run-we get to know it, become familiar with its nature and source.  It’s how we learn and how we learn to cope.

There are a few constants that help pull me through even the bleakest of times, and I will gladly share them with all of you, if it will in some way help.  Here is some of what I’ve learned in my time upon the Earth.

There are good people all around us, and many will give all they are capable of giving to help you through almost any situation.  There are positive, energetic folks who know how to help or how to find you help, and often, all you need to do is start talking.  That draws these good people to you when you need them.

Most situations are temporary, and if you can find a way to hang on long enough, it will pass and you can think your way through it.

Tragedy and hardships are universal-no one has a monopoly or exclusive rights to such things.  If all hits bottom for you, know that you are in good company.

If you cannot find a way to have a good day, shoot for a good moment.  The littlest thing can often provide mountains of comfort.  As silly as it may sound, count your blessings literally, especially the smaller ones.  If you have a home, your health, someone or something to love and who loves you, or any combination thereof, you already have the best blessings of all.  But there are less obvious ones-a patch of sunny yellow dandelions, a television commercial that makes you laugh, a cat or dog or any animal who shows you affection, a singing bird in the cold rain, a pair of great looking shoes that are comfortable, too, a window to gaze out of and daydream, a shiny penny on the sidewalk in front of you.  The littlest blessings can add up to a whole bunch of smiles, and it matters only to you, and that’s important as well.

Keep some moments exclusively to yourself, and guard them against attackers.  There will always be someone waiting to steal your happy. Believe it or not, they cannot.  Only you can allow it to be stolen.  Don’t be a victim, if that’s at all within your power.  People can do things to you, bad, terrible things, but how you get through it, and over it, is all up to you, it’s all inside of you.  In a world where so little is within your capacity to control, your reaction is the one thing that is solely up to you.

If you are happy, spread it far and wide.  Give it to others who really need it, and the happy will feed off the happy until it becomes true joy.  Joy is a light that is very difficult to extinguish.

Cry when you need to, and don’t be ashamed of it, and don’t make apologies for it.  Tears are a blessing, too. Don’t expect anyone else to understand your tears, but be grateful and thank them profusely if they do.

Whatever your means are, live within them and don’t over reach too far.  It’s great to progress and to want to progress further, but it should never become a source of unease or anguish.  All goals worth reaching take time, so take the time to get into the process of the whole affair.

It’s wonderful, and important, to love yourself, but it’s just as important to discipline yourself.  Overindulgence of any sort brings nothing but guilt, poor habits, and often, ill health.  Yell at yourself sometimes, parent yourself, tell yourself no, all the while knowing it’s for the betterment of yourself.

Will any of this solve your troubles?  Probably not.  Problem solving is a highly personal matter, and for the most part, I or anyone else cannot do that for you.  But these little tips can help you see your problems in a more manageable way, and can help your attitude lighten in the face of your troubles.  The world can be a very frightening, uninviting place, and life can kick anyone in the teeth repeatedly.  But you are not alone, and you are not as helpless as you may feel.

I’m still learning, oh, am I learning!  My biggest challenges are likely still to come.  And when they come, I must face them and learn more.  One thing I still have much to learn about it walking away, for I tend to think everything can be fixed, but seldom recognize that sometimes, the best fix is to walk away.  The years have been ticking by me, and I’ve tried to hang onto as much as I can, to remember the important bits. Somehow, I fell like if I give them over to the world, they will be useful.  And even if these bits of wisdom, of knowledge, end up being utterly useless, I’m ok with that, because I’ll have fulfilled my own internal drive to share these things;  I’ll still have met my personal obligations, I’ll still have lived my life with purpose.  And that, too, is a blessing to be counted.

Love and light and great happys to you all,
Tanya

Apart To A Part Of-My Journey Out Of Isolation

I spent many a year of my earlier life easily shattered, a big sheet of crackle-glass waiting for the hammers to come flying.  It did not occur to me to duck, dodge, or otherwise perform evasive maneuvers; it did not occur to me to not be made of such fragility, either.  No, my time was mostly wasted in the pursuit of wall-building and shrinking into the corners of the world.  I wore my cloak of shyness with heavy shoulders, burdened, silent, trapped by insecurities that wound like greenbriars up my throat, into my mouth, and around my tongue.  To avoid ridicule as much as I could, I plastered a scared smile on and shook a fistful of crazy at the world and its inhabitants, and hoped to skate through life unnoticed.  But deep in my true heart, I wanted nothing more than to be noticed, recognized for what I could do.  I wanted so badly to shine, to be seen.  My inner conflicts all revolved around this split in my personality.  So I wrote.  I wrote prolifically, tried many different styles and forms.  And I let the harshness of the world get to me, and I let rough times defeat me, and I cringed when they looped together and tripped me up.  I went into tailspins of sorrow and self-loathing, slapped myself silly to get out of it.  And I wrote.  And I thought.  And I fought myself into bloody wars over it.  I never did ascertain the reasons for this targetism behavior.  I left important pieces of me on countless floors, broken bits of Tanya heart scattered to the winds.  I would wistfully gaze at groups of people at concerts, in parks, at street fairs, at malls-wishing I could be as free to laugh so loudly, to chatter on endlessly to different kinds of people, to sit with total strangers and strike up a conversation.  It was an uncomfortable, sad, and lonely state of being, disconnected from, apart from humanity, apart from my own nature.

Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what triggered an abrupt, utter change in me, but I can tell you exactly when it happened.  Joe and I were attending a concert, and we met some very kind, very gentle young folks, early college years I would say.  We were resting between bands under a small clump of trees, out of the blistering August sun, talking and sharing the usual summer concert goodies, a ritual many of you know or know of, I’m sure.  Just as the party favor was passed to my husband, I spotted a squat, ugly, toad of a man in a uniform striding purposefully up behind Joe, with a nasty glint in his eyes and a smirk on his broad, burnt face.  I nudged Joe with my foot and caught his eye, and nodded.  Joe got it, and immediately did the sensible thing and knocked the ember off, and swallowed down the remnants in one gulp.  The expression on the toad-man’s face turned to a glower of pure hatred.  He had wanted so badly to catch Joe in the act of inhaling, but he was thwarted.  He snatched Joe by the arm and dragged him up, and growled, “You just had to swallow it, didn’t you, asshole?” 
I rose up from the ground in a graceful move I had not been capable of executing for at least a couple of decades.  Rent-a-cop supreme primo turned his hate-filled glare to the band of kids we were with and snarled, “Were you taking part in this shit, too?” 
I saw a look in the eyes of these wonderful, innocent young people, and saw the goodness in them and the evil in the uniformed rat, and I felt the strangest sensation course into me, an utter calmness, a fearlessness, a voice of my very own.

Something akin to magma rising up the gullet of a volcano spilled up into my mouth from some dormant core inside, and then erupted upon toad man. I stood taller than my actual size (which towered over the troll) and pointed my finger at his chest, and said very plainly, “You will leave these kids alone.  They didn’t do anything wrong.  It was me and my husband, and they had nothing to do with what we did.”
His eyes hit mine, and he looked away quickly.  This thing had no power over me.  At that moment, I knew the truth.  No one had any power over me but me.  I could control my reaction, and I didn’t have to fear the results.  I would accept the consequences of my actions from that point on, and I knew it.  I watched this pitiful, unloved, reduced to being a pot Nazi cop at concerts creature as he pulled Joe towards the security trailer.  I set my jaw, bid farewell to our friends, and stalked off behind toad cop.  I felt no tears, no fears, not one bit of guilt or shame.  None of that nonsense even came into my mind.  I paid no attention to the procedure (writing a citation, some stern words, the taking of Joe’s ticket), but got into a discussion with an older woman over the implied acceptance of marijuana at concerts.  She didn’t agree, but I made my point and she quieted down.  I even launched into a soap box oration of the very nature of concerts and gatherings and the history of humankind and rituals and the importance of sharing.  There were many other people awaiting their pot citations in the trailer.  They cheered and agreed loudly with me.  The security force stopped lecturing, and glared helplessly at me, for I had not been caught doing anything wrong.  One female officer smiled at me, though.  Joe was told he would have to turn in his ticket and leave the venue, but I could stay.  I look incredulously at them and said, “do you honestly expect me to stay here without my husband?” and handed them my ticket.  The woman cop took me and Joe outside, led us to the gate and told us to walk around the tour buses to get to the parking lot, tilting her head to a row of particular buses.  We went over there, and it happened to be a hidden way to get next to the temporary barricade that many a person was traveling through.  I told Joe, “let’s go over and mingle in the crowd.”
We did, and just walked right back into the venue.  We hadn’t missed much of the show, and Flogging Molly was about to come onstage.  It was my very first time seeing them.  We ended up surrounded by happy, bouncing, moshing fans, and had the best time.  It was the most memorable concert of my adult life.

That moment, that one, nearly insignificant moment in time, changed my whole outlook on people, society, my own self.  The world no longer looked or felt so harsh, so intimidating.  I stopped waiting for hammers, learned how to snag them out of mid-air, and drop them harmlessly to the ground.  The splintered fragments of me started to come home, to mend, to become whole.  I was not made of glass after all.  I found my voice at last, and it was full of song and story and courage and joy.  In the months after the concert, I started walking in the daylight instead of after midnight, and did not mind being seen.  I talked to people, said hi to strangers, and found a genuine smile to wear.  One day in that following March, I decided to go to a local bar known for its excellent Friday fish and partake with other patrons, all by myself.  I even had me a beer with my fish.  Time passed, and that summer’s concert was a relaxing, anxiety-free affair. We even ran into those same kids, and they remembered us, and hugged us and thanked me for standing up for them.  We laughed about it and enjoyed the whole show.  The next year, in April, I saw a sign about a big cleanup in Ambridge.  I went to it, and met the Committee to Clean And Beautify Ambridge, and I joined.  I became a part of something, something big and important.  I had Holly join the junior Tamburitzans and became a part of that group of dedicated, proud parents.  I have been around thousands of people in unfamiliar places and have not been scared.  I became a part of a planning group to create Ambridge’s first go at a community garden, and I get to watch a dream of mine become reality, I hope.  I’ve painted trash barrels and a bus stop bench and put my name on them for all to see.  I’m not afraid of the attention, as long as I’ve earned the right to be noticed.  It feels nice. Because I decided to be a part of something, I’ve met the most wonderful, uplifting, inspiring people.  I’m surrounded by positivity and encouragement, drive and creativity, and happiness-such happiness!  I cannot help but to be filled with it when I’m with these people.  They are balanced, well-adjusted, confident folk, and so am I.  And I still write.  I write and share it now, because I’ve earned the right to be noticed for it, and I like the way it feels to give this part of me, whole parts, and still remain whole myself.

I still carry a reserved part of me, yes I do.  I still don’t really relish getting on the phone with people I don’t know, or meeting someone of importance for the first time. But it’s no longer an overwhelming world to me.  I can go outside my comfort zone sometimes if that’s what it takes to get stuff done.  If I don’t feel right about something, I even say so now without fear.  I don’t back myself into corners anymore, either.  I can stand my ground, state my opinion, and offer up suggestions.  I can share ideas with others, strike up a conversation with anyone willing to connect.  And I will never know why this all happened, and it doesn’t matter, because I am just grateful for this new me.  I like being whole, and I love having my own voice.  I wear the calm flowing through me now, and I have come to learn to handle my internal raging, too, giving it up to the right people at the right time, where it can do no damage.  I know when it’s ok to pull back and stop being a part of everything, too, so I can recharge and refresh and uncoil my wrappings, and be a part of only myself for a bit.  Watching me come together over the last several years has been a touching experience.  I very much like being a part of instead of apart from.  I like being in touch with me, with you, with everyone and everything. 

So I will smile, because I’ve heard when you do that, the world smiles with you, and I rather like the thought of a world full of smiles.
Love and Light on your journeys, too, my friends-
Tanya

Today I Found A Nickel

Having recently purged myself of some creativity-killing negativity, I feel focused and ready to get back to doing what I do-giving you, o gentle reader, visions of subtle beauty, glimpses of the things that go by mostly unnoticed by the rest of the world, because I feel it, and it’s important, and if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t bother.  It’s the appreciation of these small wonders that make dealing with the big, scary stuff easier.  Imagine if life was nothing more than a long series of the big, scary stuff-you know, the world the media and the politicians want you to believe is the only world there is.  On bad days, I’m irritated by this stance, but on good days, I can see the humour of it, and I can turn my back to it, and I can get down to the serious business of enjoying my brief time upon this rock.  Lately, those good days have been dominated by the urge to paint our town park onto a trash barrel, so I had to redirect some of that into the random observances that have been staggering around my brain, waiting for my attention. 

But for a few brave standouts trying to defy the will of nature, most of the trees have shed their adornments, leaving smatterings of deep chestnut and dull umber.  We are past the copper, brass, and rust hues, past the endless rain of leaves drifting down into calico piles, past the sun beaming uncomfortable heat waves upon my back while walking in the afternoons.  Unlike some, I don’t get the melancholy this time of year.  Somehow, I’ve managed to develop a deep respect and kinship with starkness, and can see the beautiful, intricate lacework of the skeletal branches of the barren trees without a sense of sorrow for the passing of one season to another.  Winter doesn’t alarm or depress me.  I had to keep to myself about that this past winter, but I vow not to deny my true nature any longer.  As miserable as everyone was during the endless frigid blizzards of last year, I secretly danced many a jig in the privacy of my home, whilst maintaining my mumbly-face to the rest of my fellow villagers.  I have never had a happier winter, and I will feel the same about this one as well, regardless of the severity or gentility of it.  It’s not the weather conditions that dictate my emotions; it’s the changing, the passing of time, the watching of all around me moving in its magically woven pattern. 

If details escape your notice, every single day is exactly the same.  You don’t see the changing, and it soon becomes difficult for you to change.  We weren’t designed to live that way.  We were built for evolution, growth, progression.  Our senses were made to take in the world around us with utter clarity, our brain meant to process, to churn, to twist and turn and spin and ponder and wonder and be busy.  We are beings in need of stimulation to keep us going, keep us reaching and rising to new levels of awareness.  Everyday life is not going to hand these things over readily.  You have to seek them out with great passion, no matter how tired you are, how weary you feel, how burned out you’ve become, no matter who or what tries to stand in your way.  It only takes seconds to notice something miraculous, seconds to process what you’ve seen and to file it away for future musing.  Sometimes, the greyest, ugliest November sky will open up in one small area, and the sun will stream down upon a hillside bathed in a coppery glow from late fall trees, and you could be driving by it, distracted by the monotony and misery of the day, and you’ll miss it because you lost sight of what you were put here to do.  Beauty is not necessary for survival; it’s a gift.  It doesn’t matter where the gift came from, an anonymous donor, or the natural course of events.  Beauty is important because it slows the pace of life down just long enough to force you to remember that you are alive.  As a wordsmith, I know the worn-out triteness of the phrase “stop and smell the roses”, but honestly, have you ever?  I have, many times, over many months.  I’ve smelled them first budding in spring, wide open in summer, and fading fast in autumn.  Do you have any idea how utterly uplifting that smell is?  Just a few seconds of a nose buried deep into a rose bloom is enough to carry my spirit all day.  You must try it, promise me you will.  It’s everything I say it is and more.  That sweet, spicy scent will cling to the back of your throat and linger on your tongue and you will understand at last why that trite phrase has been used so long.

Take a few moments during the next snowfall and freeze time, take away the worry of getting to work, or the store, or the bus stop.  Block out the urge to groan, to think about shoveling and salting and ice scraping.  Just stop thinking ahead long enough to watch the flakes drift in the wind, to watch the world become blanketed in purity for a while.  Stand out in it long enough to hear it muffling the nonsense and the noise, and appreciate it, love it, be grateful for it.  Step back into the warmth of your dwelling and feel your face and hands and feet begin to thaw, to glow inside, just under the skin.  Sit by a window, just a few minutes, and stare into the murky distance beyond the moving curtain of white. 

We live in a society that places too much emphasis doing, accepts too many excuses.  No one lives in a constant state of panic motion.  Everyone on Earth has moments to spare, to dedicate to the appreciation of beauty.  We’ve been conditioned to believe that we don’t have the time, for anything.  I’m here to tell you that we do.  They lie.  There is always time, and it doesn’t always have to be spent doing.  You are not wasting time by putting the pause on the over exaggerated pace of life.  It’s alright to breathe, to observe, to listen.  I give you leave to do this, a hall pass to roam and wander.  It’s time to take back our right to notice beauty.

Today I found a nickel, a battered, abused, dirt encrusted nickel.  And it is a wonderful nickel indeed.  Go watch sunbeams and have a happy.

Love and light,
Tanya

Welcome, Little One (for my grandson)

In the grey fleece of winter you came to our world,
Rode in on a sunbeam, slipped into the Time Stream,
So naturally, you have my attention, little one.
Your eyes are forever and real,
They will see futures I dream of today,
You will have claim to the family crest,
And will carry out our star’s mission,
The dust in your bloodlines,
Ancient and distant, well-traveled,
Persistent,
In the midst of the grandest of journeys-
It will call to you, guide you,
Like so many before you,
One day, you will stand in my stead,
Speak for us who will leave this world,
Represent your own history,
And, I hope, will do so proudly.

I will give you my wisdom, my witticisms,
And fill you with lore, with fine tales
Of your colorful ancestors,
I will teach you to open yourself fully
To what life has to offer
So you will always feel whole, and loved,
And fulfilled.

But for now, I shall coddle,
Pamper and coo, tickle and giggle,
And kiss your forehead.
Little one.
With so much promise,
So much newness,
A vessel alive, waiting to be filled
With all of my heart’s contents.

McConnell's Mill

I drifted further away
Than I intended to today
And I cannot deny
I so enjoyed the ride
Down old, familiar, childhood mind
Fixated on creation,
Focused on pure fantasy,
Oblivious to impending reality.
Blue herons, waterfalls,
Gentle wispy hemlocks,
Glacier-torn jumbles
Of primeval Earthly Bones,
Ferns and fairies,
Quicksand pits to poke with sticks,
Leaping ibex-style along the edges
Of white and rain-dimmed waters.

A girlchild, purple-clad, wild-haired,
Hunched over a patch of silt,
Intensely studying what no one else sees,
But for me, I know, I connect
Completely to this part of my being,
I disconnect with everything
Of great unimportance
To remember how grand the world can be.
To breathe in awe and exhale glory,
To just let the story write its own course
Down the mountain gorge.
The hushed and muffled rush
From beneath the covered bridge,
The bubble-bloop around mossy rocks
Dabbled and splashed in midstream.
Amazed by green and big
And air and clarity,
In tune with inside,
A part of outside,
Now and here and awake and alive.

So sweet, so soft, so comforting,
Warm and peace, inviting,
Shared by three generations
In the place it all began for me.
Now, home feels easier,
Lighter, more like sanctuary,
A building-up of good days
In a girlchild's future memories.

Of Joe And Golden Ages

A significant milestone is fast approaching, one that requires pause and acknowledgement.  Soon, Joe and I will have been together for ten years.  We came into being as an entwined entity on January 7th of 2000.  Our relationship itself is a miracle, a perfect culmination of timing and circumstance and karma.  The simple fact of cohabitation with someone for that long is quite an accomplishment, as anyone involved with someone for the long haul knows.  I can say with a generous dose of candidness that I am not an easy creature to share space with.  I know I expect much from a mate, and it takes someone of almost super-human inner strength to walk beside me on this path.  I just happened to get lucky this go-round and I found Joe.  So I feel that now is the time to honor that and pay tribute to an incredible man who strives every single day to not only meet my expectations but to exceed them.

Not enough people in this age understand how valuable hard work is, and hard work is grossly undervalued in society.  Joe’s unique experiences in his lifetime gave him a work ethic like no other, a true hunky nature, the quintessential laborer of old.  But something about him is wired differently than the standard grunt in the proverbial trenches.  Joe has a fire in his spirit that genuinely burns from the physicality of brutal, fast-paced labor, a fire that sparks great intelligence and profound memory skills.  His knowledge of sports, movies, actors and roles, music and musicians, figures and statistics is utterly amazing.  His grasp of world events and politics is deep.  The complexities and levels in Joe are still a mystery to me, yet he is the simplest person, never wanting more out of life than comfort, love, and encouragement.  He doesn’t ask for more than he is willing to work for, but he does expect to be compensated for his efforts, and too many times, the system shorts him out of that gratitude.  It causes him restless nights and worrisome days, not because hard times may cause him to want or need, because hard times may cause his small family to want or need.  He fights hard every day, knowing there will probably not be a time when he will be recognized, and still he is undeterred.

There are days Joe is the only person I want to talk with.  From the early budding stages of our relationship, he has been able to match wits with me, has been the first to get my one-liners and laugh, the best listener, the most interesting responder.  Two-way communication on equal footing is paramount to me.  Thou shalt be able to carry on a real conversation with me.  We watch football together on Sundays, and between the two of us, we are more funny and far quicker than any announce team out there.  It is a true joy, a bonding I never had until we met.  We share opinions, and he can express himself easily, naturally, just like me.  We have grand and glorious arguments, and though heated, they are often insightful, for both of us.  I know when the grind of the day has gotten to him, for he cannot chatter on or give me full attention, and I know better than to be upset by this.

Most people who know him can see how much he has changed since we found each other.  He’s solid, stable, strong and proud, but decent, humble, and kind.  These were all components of him before, but now they are whole, working together to complete the picture.  But some of you may not know how much I have changed since we met.  I’ve been tempered, tamed, calmed.  I’ve learned to be generous and open, but not foolish and vulnerable.  I’ve found my voice, and I am no longer terrified to use it.  I’ve learned to be penny-wise and frugal, and still enjoy life by finding peace in the everyday process of living.  Joe has given me backing so I could learn to shine; he has given me stability so I could search the turmoil of my own soul and finally put myself together.  And most important, Joe has given me time, the most valuable treasure of all.  Because of all his efforts, I am free to pursue any avenue I fancy.  I can write, I can bake and cook, I can paint, I can make music, I can dance and sing, I can walk, and I can take care of everything he has given me-another daughter, a home to putter about in, animals, and him.  I care for him, for I care about him, and he matters.  And maybe I should tell him that more, but sometimes I don’t have all the words.  So I happily tend to the wash and the dishes (well, not so happily the dishes, but at least with grudging respect) and the housework.  And I gleefully cook meals I know he will eat, for he is open to anything I prepare and he praises my abilities and never complains, whether I make beef stroganoff from scratch or hot dogs and boxed mac and cheese.  He gives me everything he can to make sure I always have what I need to make the foods I want to serve.  And I do all I can do to give him the comfort, love, and encouragement he needs.  That is what has changed in me since knowing Joe-a shift away from self-centrism.  I can give, of myself and my time, and I can balance it all because of all this man does out of love for his family.

So ten years have passed, and here we are, Joe and I.  We’ve traveled down dark roads into hairy situations together, side by side.  We’ve defended one another, protected one another, bolstered up one another.  We’ve laughed to tears and shed them in sorrow together.  We’ve been through blizzards and hurricane remnant floods and blistering summers together.  We’ve outlasted and outgrown friendships with some folks, and formed new ones with new folks.  We’ve been to new places and shared new ideas and brought new life into this world together.  We’ve grown and learned and changed and matured, yet both of us have managed to stay true to our natures, to be the essence of who we are as individuals.  It’s been a golden age, these past ten years, and already I know it will keep getting better.  In a rare, prescient moment, I saw our future clearly, and, though I won’t spoil the ending for you all too much, I can tell you it’s a happy…(never)ending.

Love and light,
Tanya

Just Musing And Breathing And Being

There is beauty in familiarity, wonder in routine, awe in the ordinary.  I take many a life lesson from the dog.  Today we moved along familiar streets, on our routine walk, doing ordinary daily things.  Yet, there is always something different to be found, and Brou will invariably find it, like the new grey kitty who crossed our path, and the mouth-watering aroma of pizza dough baking and sauce cooking from Police Station Pizza because we just happened to be lucky enough to be walking by just then, and the crispy croush crish sound from the carpet of fallen, drying leaves as we bounded and shuffled through them, and the muted and quickly fading warmth of the Indian Summer sun.  Little miracles, these moments I so treasure. 
How do I go about sharing these sensations of joy and contentment with my fellow harried, Earth-bound travelers?  Who will take time from their tumultouous, hectic day to wrench themselves from their reality and plunge themselves into mine?
All these seemingly insignificant events are monumental in my eyes, because of the setting they are in, because of the familiarity of the surroundings.  I see my world in a whole new light every day because every day the light is different.  I take in as much as my senses can process and hope to capture enough of it to jot down some descriptive words in the off chance I can find eyes as wide open as my own to read the words.  I hope for someone else to care as deeply as I do about the scritcha-clatta-squeaka-reeak of the train passing by below me.  I want someone else to share this childish giggle of delight when the swing is pushed for them.  I wish for someone to notice the deepening slant of late October sunrays through the stand of oaks and maples in the park on a Thursday afternoon at 5.
These things are important-they hold meaning and not just for me.  Life passes by without much time for reflection and observation, until far too many memories are eaten away by time.  I don't want to just remember the milestones-I want to remember the individual mile markers, and the reflectors, and the guardrails, and the road, and the grass, and the trees, and the passing cars as well.  It all matters.  There would be absolutely no point in putting all this before me if I wasn't meant to hold onto as much of it as possible in my memory.  I would not be so inspired to write it all down if no one was ever meant to read it and to understand why it was written.
So here it is-a link to the world around me and around all of you.  This is why we live, why we are.  We are meant to experience, to observe, to learn, to stand in thunderstruck awe and let our mouths hang agape and drink in all the details. 
And if you really want to understand this completely, get a dog.  Make sure he loves to walk a great deal (most do).  Take him to a place he can roam freely a bit, and watch what he does.  Go back to this place many, many times, and just watch for a while.  It will be a whole new journey for the dog, and for you, every time.  Watch the pure light of joy the dog exudes, and you will feel the same.  You'll find you'll want to hang on to every detail of every day, because every day the details are different.  And you will find that life will slow a bit, just a bit, and give you some time to just...be.
Then write about it and post it, and I promise you, I will read it, because I get it, and I know how important these moments of your life are.

Beauty in familiarity.
Wonder in routine.
Awe in the ordinary.

Your faithful correspondent,
Tanya

Clearing The Air

At last, two full days of glorious blue skies and dry, warmer winds from the North and West.  This is greatly appreciated by me, and my hope is it will ease the prickletiness hanging above everything.  I can smell the crispness of linens snapping in a stiff breeze on a March afternoon.  I can feel the building warmth absorbing in the earth, awakening life and renewing the cycle.  I can taste spring greens soup and lavender cookies. I can hear the chaotic melodies and harmonies of multitudes of returning birds, all singing in praise and gratitude for the wonders of spring.  It’s coming, gods bless, it is coming.  Though we may yet have howling, wicked winds, driving snow storms, and sheets of ice, the inevitable is there, in the air, riding in the carefree winds of this day.  I see life about to arise, to take back the Northern Hemisphere.  Joy!

With a bit of sunshine and loud Basque music and several whirling trips across my living room, I’m starting to return to my more comfortable form, the gentler mama bear, and not the snarling, defensive, sleepy bear who wishes not to be disturbed.  I’m even coming to terms with other people’s ill-tempered behaviour.  I can avoid, or I can walk away, or I can face it head-on, or I can laugh, or I can cry.  In fact, there are boundless choices to cope with this, and I prefer not to judge one as more appropriate than the others.  In each case, any course of action may be the best option, or no course of action.  I think I am done analyzing it and will opt to go wherever the current of the day sweeps me.  Today I feel like smiling a bit, and shedding a few tears of relief and joy and nostalgia.  Perhaps I may even leave the constraints of my abode and venture to the shoppes for craft supplies and new shoes and groceries.  Or continue being engrossed in learning the art of curling on the Olympics channel, whatever.  The point is the sun is warm, the snow is melting, and so, hopefully, is the ice encrusting people’s hearts.

If ever I needed some tangible proof of a spiritual plane and a godish, or goddessish being, here it is-a day like this, timed like this.  After being pushed to the brink of despair, I can step back and just enjoy the view.

Love and light to everyone,
Tanya

Of Flashbacks and Foolishness

So I’m sitting with Dad in his new attic bedroom yesterday, preparing to install some lovely bamboo window treatments, and partaking, and listening to David Crosby’s If Only I Could Remember My Name album, on vinyl nonetheless, (a fine piece of music, you must check it out) and suddenly I was transported back to the early and mid 1980s, to my dad’s former attic bedroom in the house I grew up in, with its record albums and sloped and slanted ceiling, and such a flood of memories came pouring through.

I had the rare advantage of being raised in an environment steeped in music and individuality, where my quirks and oddness were encouraged and appreciated. I did not always appreciate my luck, though, and in hindsight, I could travel back to my early teen years and firmly plant a large foot into my own arse. But we seldom realize how good we have it at the time we have it, eh? Anyway, I had access to Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, in every conceivable form from Buffalo Springfield to solo works. I had Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here, Native American songs, Middle East albums full of instruments I couldn’t even recognize, and a healthy dose of groups most people have never heard of. I spent much time toking and spacing out to records, and I didn’t even mind flipping them over to hear the other side. I even had some 8 tracks, so there! I also had access to a 12-string Martin guitar and enough sense to pick it up and learn how to wield such a mighty tool. (I still have it, my dad determined years ago it was meant for me as only I can make her sing that way, so he gave it to me.) All of this in my dad’s attic bedroom, a sanctuary, a space to truly isolate myself from the harshness and cruelty of nasty school mates and miserable teachers and hateful neighbors.

Honestly, I wish I had an attic now, but I’m happy with having my own room. I am one of those people who just need a space all mine, a place to come to for escape and unwindy time. Not everyone needs this, and most couples are content to share a room with their spouses. But I am wired differently, I suppose, not that I need to tell any of you that.

So, where was I going with this? Ah, yes, the follies of youth. Nostalgia is your mind’s way of hanging on to the beauty of events and happenings you were too young and full of yourself to appreciate at the time. I had a close-knit family, albeit small, and I gladly incorporated my few but dear friends into those high ranks of kin. It never occurred to me then that we would go our separate ways and never again after leaving home would I ever get to sit in that attic and listen to albums with the people I felt were worthy enough to know that side of me. Even now, I sort of yearn for that-a chance to get together with special folk and laugh and play music and enjoy the company of others who embrace my differences. It’s lonely being an adult, I think, and sometimes, daily life interferes too much with my need to socialize. Maybe that’s foolish of me, to cling to the idea of wasting time and living carefree for a few hours, but I’m ok with being foolish.

Many of you I miss, or think of throughout the day. I always hope your lives are happy, peaceful, and interesting. I love keeping tabs on you via this handy Facebook-thingy; it allows me to fulfill that curious side of me, the neb-nose busy-body side. But some days, I really wish we could be sitting in my room listening to record albums and 8 tracks and talking of the trivial matters of our youths.
Meanwhile, let the sun shine in the darkest places of your lives, let the music fill your hearts, let love warm you to the bones, and may peace be upon ye always.

As you were, my friends.
Love,
Tanya