This is lovely...

Because of you,
in gardens of blossoming flowers
I ache for the perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face,
I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you,
I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice;
I have forgotten your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume,
I am bound to my vague memory of you.
I live with pain that is like a wound;
if you touch me, you will do me irreparable harm.

Your caresses enfold me,
like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love,
yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me;
because of you, I again seek out the sights that precipitate desires:
shooting stars, falling objects.

~Pablo Neruda

Friends Heal the Soul

OK... can I have some chicken soup now?

no really, they do. A friend reached out to me today with a heartache, and in the process of being her shoulder for a few minutes, my own heart was given peace. I have felt restless, and disoriented lately, which may or may not have to do with a crush I may or may not be experiencing. I have been feeling the need for action, but without the ability or acceptable circumstances to act. I have been frightened of repeating a vicious cycle of crush, followed by my realization that I have yet again chosen an unavailable (or unattainable) focus for my attentions, which is then almost immediately followed closely by "serves me right, I'm not good enough" feelings, and then wallowing, lots and lots of wallowing, because even though I know there is little hope of it coming to fruition, I can't turn off a crush. If anyone knows how to do that, please, share your secret!

Anyway, because I was able to give her support and encouragement, I felt the afterglow of a good friend, someone I know cares for me for who I am. And I am feeling better. And I think she is feeling better. See, friends really are good for the soul. :)

Big Sister, Little Sister

I am a big sister. Biologically, I have a younger sister. Her name is Corrie, and she is beautiful, and charming and I love her more than she could possibly know. But I am also a Big Sister through Big Brothers Big Sisters of Warren County (from here on out referred to as BB/BS). I am the "Big" for a "Little" named Jesyka, a ten year old bursting with energy who has more to deal with than many adults.

We first began our match about a month ago when I sat down with Jesyka, her mom Becky, and our case manager Leanne to determine if we would get along together. I wasn't too worried about it for the long run, but I must confess, I still got a few butterflies in my stomach. I wanted her to like me, and I met her with images of every "cool" babysitter I ever had floating around in my mind. It was only moderately uncomfortable for the duration of our somewhat stunted conversation about Jesyka's likes and dislikes, her allergies and the obligatory reading aloud of the BB/BS match agreement. At the end of our first hour together, a time and date had been arranged for the next meeting we would share, just she and I.

Though I had been a Big in high school, experiencing this as an adult has given me a whole new perspective on what it means to be a Big. Though I didn't view my high school match as a resume builder as many of my peers did, I did from time to time find it a burden I would rather not have had to worry about. I barely had time to hang out with my friends with Club Volleyball taking me out of the state every other weekend, my demanding school calendar filled with AP classes and extracurricular clubs, not to mention college applications, scholarship applications, dances, and all the other things high school seniors have to worry about. Kara was a sweet little girl and I always felt a little guilty about not be able to give her the attention she deserved.

Though I am still a busy person with a lot on my plate, I can more fully appreciate the role I play in Jesyka's life. She is in this program because she needs attention, and good role models, particularly female role models, someone to spend time with her because they want to be a part of her life. For me, I love being able to give back some of what I experienced growing up, having had more good influences than I knew what to do with. So far we have: wandered around the mall (which may not sound particularly exciting, but to a ten year old, let me tell you, she was thrilled) taken a cruise on one of the steamboats on Lake George, and on Sunday, set up a fish tank complete with glow in the dark plants.

I am sure there will be days when I am feeling too tired to hang out, and there will be times when I would rather be with my friends, but on those days, I'll just remind myself of why I am doing this. She needs people who don't let her down, people who show her there are a lot of good things worth working for. And for my part, I can learn what it means to grow up in her world. A world I have never had to live in, a world with poverty and drug abuse, with deadbeat dads and handicapped siblings. My life isn't perfect, and there are things I do without, but it would be a lie to say I don't live a relatively carefree life. I can make rent every month, I have a cell phone and fancy cheese and crackers once in a while. My car is reliable, I have a college education, and both my parents know and love me. If I can put even a few of those blessings back into this world, I will.

Lost and Found

I happened upon this poem, hidden in the depths of my Flash Drive and thought I would put it up here for a little bit of a critique. Any thoughts?

"The Taste of Salt"

Blue snow left water inching its way
up the back of my leg, soaking faded denim.
Slivers of frost, drifting and swirling, slipped
between the curls of my hair as you
ran eager fingers through it. I lost myself.

Whirling, I danced with you in a winter wind,
until the lines of my body
curved like the snow
bent against the side of this house.
My guileless dreams materialized at your touch.

I didn't know to suffer the crisp bite of your lips,
or the ice-splintered words of your tongue.
The warmth of your eyes steamed in my own.
Your melting rays blurred rose-colored vision
and confused a young and searching heart.

But this morning, I woke chilled,
covered in blankets
unable to replace the heat you stole.
I saw a dry line of salt at the heel of my jeans,
and understood. The salt was you, a stinging substitute
[hidden all the time in dark snowy waters]
for the seducing thought of "could be".

Unshakeable Distraction

Boys. Almost all cliches apply. And sometimes, when one gets stuck in your head, it is hard to concentrate on anything other than him, even if you don't know him. Sometimes, it is even easier to get caught in the snare of imagined possibilities without actual knowledge of his behavior. You just fill in the blanks with the scenarios you like best, and lucky for him, they cast the "almost male perfection" light of a new crush.

Such has been my state of late. And it is a pain in the ass. I have things to do man, I can't be thinking about you all the time. I don't even know you. Sure you're hot as hell, but for real, give my mind a break. I am not used to this kind of hostile thought take over. And as is my tendency, there is little hope of this ever actually amounting to anything. You have a "girlfriend". Jerk. I have met her. And of course, I liked her. She is long of limb and quick to laugh, and we would probably be friends in another life, so I can't hate her.

So, I need to find a distraction with a shot in hell. Any takers? C'mon, I might even dance for you :)

Arty Farty

This evening, a piece of mine is up for sale. I donated "Separating" made of woven plastic wrap (see image below because I know pretty much all of you are wondering why anyone would weave plastic wrap, let alone call it art) to the Homeless Youth Coalition annual art auction. Sadly, it is not one of the pieces selected for the live auction, but I am in the brochure, and it will be prominently displayed in the venue where the auction is held, the Charles R. Wood Theater on Glen Street in Glens Falls. These moments are a little like Christmas for me, with lots of excitement and racing thoughts about the possibilities of the evening.

Thoughts of art have been at the forefront of my mind lately. I have started working again in earnest, and now that the flood gates are open, the path before my feet is becoming clearer with each passing day. I am meant to make art, and I think, to teach it. To give back all the inspiration and support I received as a student. My MFA is becoming an achievable goal, something I will succeed at if I am willing to put my all into it.

I am not sure if all graduate programs are the same, but the thought of pursuing one in sculpture is a daunting task, wracked with the fear that I don't have what it takes to get in. And getting in is the hardest part of all. Once in a program with the opportunity to prove my worthiness as a degree candidate, I think I will be fine. I am an extremely hard worker, I take criticism well (at least of my art work, I can't always say the same for personal criticism) and I can charm the pants of people with my go getter attitude and desire to please pretty much everyone. But getting in based on a bunch of pictures and paragraphs and letters of recommendation... not quite so sure. But all I can do is try. I will keep myself hip deep in ideas and creativity, seek out places to show my work, and not feel defeated if I don't get in on my first try. In the coming months I am all art. So be prepared to deal with me curling q-tips, weaving more plastic wrap, and aluminum foil, and masking tape, be prepared for my overly-caffeinated late night art making sessions, but most of all, be prepared for me loving every minute of it.

Wine Wednesdays

OK. I can be a grandma sometimes. I enjoy quiet nights at home, on winter evenings I can often be found crocheting, and if I have to work in the morning I very rarely go out the night before. I have always had a powerful sense of responsibility that has kept me on the straight and narrow. But I am coming to realize, many of the things I feared would corrupt me, (because lets face it, I would rather be naive than permanently damaged) are not really all that corrupting.

A for instance... three glasses of wine on a Wednesday evening. And just so everyone is clear, three glasses of wine in my light-weight bloodstream are probably the equivalent of 5-6 for everyone else. It wasn't a party, just my roommate, her boyfriend and I hanging out.

And wouldn't you know it, I made it to work this morning. Without even a little bit of a hangover. My world did not fall to pieces, I did not lose the respect of my employers (at least not yet), and I was actually pretty productive over the course of the evening, despite being mildly intoxicated. I washed my car and then worked on my sculpture while watching The Big Chill. Maybe, just maybe, I am learning to lighten up a little and take myself less seriously. After all these years of responsible living, I think I can afford it.

It's been a little crazy in these parts

So, I have finally managed to respond to Lara's meme. It only took me a month. But things have been a little crazy around here lately. Not only has work been a whirlwind, but the evenings and weekends seem to come and go faster than I can manage them. Luckily for me, they have been filled with friends, family, and fun out-of-state activities. But still, this summer has seemed to slip between my fingers. There is so much more I want to do, people I want to see, and Fall is already knocking on my door. That almost indescribable feeling of crisp air, new school year excitement, the balloon festival, apple pie, the Washington County Fair, changing leaves, the subtle scent of earth preparing for winter, and all the other things imprinted on my heart as the meaning of fall are quietly creeping in. I keep my windows closed now on the way to work in the morning, the chill in the air just a little too brisk for my morning skin still used to the warmth of my bed. The ending of summer comes all too soon, and it is a bitter sweet goodbye. As honeyed as the never-ending days of summer are, with warm, sun-soaked beaches, and outdoor entertainment in the slowly occurring dusk of evening, Fall is my season. I feel connected to the earth, to its sweet smells and rich colors, the way it nurtures life, and responds gradually to change, its constancy and adaptability. When the leaves change, I rejoice in their colors. They are my colors, browns and glowing reds, orange in all shades, deep greens, the azure blue of Fall's night time skies. They are the colors I feel at home in, colors that compliment my pale skin and red hair. In Fall, the tan skin of summer beauties no longer wins lingering stares, instead it is the fair complexions with pink kissed cheeks. Yes, it is bitter sweet. But before I lose myself in thoughts of changing leaves, summer will have a few more glorious days and I will recap a few such days I spent last weekend.

As we do every year, my family visited our camp in Massachusetts for a weekend of relaxation and reflection on times past. For me as a fourth generation camp-goer, I am overwhelmed by the family history our camp contains. Originally a hunting camp owned by my great grandfather in the late 1800's, it has seen the birth of his children, Albert and Clark, their trips overseas to the War, their marriages and the subsequent birth of children, including my father, and then my father's generation of marriage and children. And even now, the oldest of my generation, my cousin Kelly is married and having children of her own, continuing the history. It is a campy place that has seen limited changes over the years. Some basic stuff, like running water and hot showers, electricity, and recently, a tv have been added, but for the most part, the camp has looked the same as it did when my father was learning to swim between the docks and catching fish in the shallows by Toomies.

A game of family trivia was made years ago posing questions about members of the family that died before my father was even born. Each generation has added their own questions along the way, I recently found a question I wrote at some point in middle school about one of our adventures. There are questions about my father and his comical delinquent moments as a child, about my grandfather and his brother making friends with people down the shore, about Annie Gretchen, who one summer as a child had moldy hair because she was in the lake so often it never fully dried. She died in the 50's I think.

It is an incredible place, our camp. I sleep on the big wrap around porch in a bed that used to be my dad's, and before that, his Uncle Clark's. I water ski, or I should say, I try to water ski. You can hang out in the boat, on the dock, up on the porch, take naps, go for walks, take out the canoe or the row boat. There is no pressure, do whatever you please. And in the evening we will all have a few beers, roast some corn for dinner and marshmallows for dessert, and then turn in for fresh air sleeping, watching boat light cross the lake before falling into dreams. Here are some pictures. Though I am sorry to say, they can give you the smells, the laughter and the relaxation, they are at least a good image of what "Camp" is all about.

8 tidbits

I have been tagged for a meme by the lovely Lara and will proceed to disclose 8 facts about myself. Whether they are interesting, entertaining, normal, or of a kind to place me on someone's freak-list is entirely up to you :) Enjoy!

Rules:

A. Each player lists 8 facts/habits about themselves.

B. The rules of the game are posted at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed.

C. At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

1. I sometimes play games with myself to get through obnoxious tasks; how quickly can I fold this laundry, how many rooms can I dust well in 15 minutes? That sort of thing. It makes chores a little more bearable.

2. I have a tattoo on my lower back, but refuse to include myself in the stereotype of girls with lower back tattoos. It is more of a reminder than anything, and I designed it myself so it has significance for me.

3. I believe in God at my deepest core, and that John Lennon got it right with "All you need is love."

4. I don't like talking on the phone, at all.

5. I feel alive when I am making artwork, and like a piece of me is missing when I am not.

6. I am hyper aware of the amount of noise I make when I walk. I have always been a big person, the tallest in my grade, one of the strongest girl in gym class, the biggest boobs, you get the picture. Luckily, I am well proportioned so as not to render me giant-esque. However, at a young age, I overheard someone talking about my older sister and I, discussing how we walked,"There's a pair, Haley the Indian and Trina the Elephant" I don't know why it impacted me like it did, but ever since then, I have tried my darndest to walk more lightly of foot and cast off my elephant-trodding childhood tendency.

7. I make my bed every morning and I clean apartment/room before I go on trips. I can't stand coming back to a mess, it is so defeating.

8. I have been to Germany, Wales, England, France, Italy, every state on the east coast at least twice, and Los Angeles, and I think my favorite place to be is still our family camp in Massachusetts. I am overcome by how steeped in family history it is, and that despite how so much has changed over the years, camp has remained the same, sort of locked in time.

9. I still wish I was one of the "cool" kids, despite the fact that I know I am a mostly fun person to be around.

10. I make a mean frittata :)

And now I am supposed to tag 8 people, but I am not sure I know eight bloggers, so I will tag people I love instead. My mom Cate, My dad Garry, my sisters Haley and Corrie, and in no particular order, my college friends, Laura, Molly, Molly, Anna, Kate, Julia, and Elise. I know that is more than eight, but when you love so many people you can't just choose a few. :) I mean really, I could go on forever here.