Your expressions are strange to me today.
I can't read your faces.
Normally one glance in your face and I know what you are feeling.
Usually I look to you and your green eyes shine back to me in clear sentences.
We can share profound thoughts in silence.
But today your eyes don't connect with mine.
Your smile is like fresh water I draw readily from the well.
Today I search deeply for that smile and you leave me thirsty.
Suddenly your countenance is foreign to me.
Your mind must be somewhere distant.
Where are you, my love?
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Chocolate Souffles
I was inexplicably mad at my husband yesterday. I know the level of anger I displayed was illogical- given the crime. He was just being helpful (and a little clumsy). Given my own klutzy indiscretions, I shouldn't have been so mad. You see, my husband committed a grocery crime.
As he was carrying bags in from the car, he murdered 6 eggs. I usually don't get mad about silly things like that. However after blowing $148 at the grocery store, seeing half of the dozen beautiful organic eggs I had purchased carelessly smashed just really set me off. Of course as usual, my frustration about egg smashing was short lived. As I came to my senses, I sighed and said, "Leave it please, I'll take carry of it."
As I carefully extracted the intact eggs, I tried to figure out what to do with the egg disaster and suddenly thought of chocolate souffle. So I carefully separated the massacred eggs. I melted butter and dark chocolate, whipped the egg whites to perfection and baked them until they turned into delicious puffy chocolate clouds of decadence. It seemed almost magical.
Looking over my childhood, my parents had always found ways to turn bad situations into magic. I never worried about our financial situation as a girl, although looking back, I know things were probably tight. Somehow they shielded me from those cares, through their little magic acts. We used to eat meals like corn pone with milk which my Dad said was what people used to eat in the Great Depression. It never occurred to me that we were saving money. I just thought it was fun to pretend. One time, the power went out because of a storm. So our family had a "camping trip" in the living room. We lit candles pretending it was a camp fire and Dad read usEdger Allen Poe stories.
I hope I can make "magic" like that for my children. Life cracked my beautiful eggs and I made chocolate souffle, so maybe I am heading on the right path.
As he was carrying bags in from the car, he murdered 6 eggs. I usually don't get mad about silly things like that. However after blowing $148 at the grocery store, seeing half of the dozen beautiful organic eggs I had purchased carelessly smashed just really set me off. Of course as usual, my frustration about egg smashing was short lived. As I came to my senses, I sighed and said, "Leave it please, I'll take carry of it."
As I carefully extracted the intact eggs, I tried to figure out what to do with the egg disaster and suddenly thought of chocolate souffle. So I carefully separated the massacred eggs. I melted butter and dark chocolate, whipped the egg whites to perfection and baked them until they turned into delicious puffy chocolate clouds of decadence. It seemed almost magical.
Looking over my childhood, my parents had always found ways to turn bad situations into magic. I never worried about our financial situation as a girl, although looking back, I know things were probably tight. Somehow they shielded me from those cares, through their little magic acts. We used to eat meals like corn pone with milk which my Dad said was what people used to eat in the Great Depression. It never occurred to me that we were saving money. I just thought it was fun to pretend. One time, the power went out because of a storm. So our family had a "camping trip" in the living room. We lit candles pretending it was a camp fire and Dad read usEdger Allen Poe stories.
I hope I can make "magic" like that for my children. Life cracked my beautiful eggs and I made chocolate souffle, so maybe I am heading on the right path.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Under Construction
A while ago, I wrote about things falling apart.
Time brings decay.
Your personal foundations can crumble.
Life changes course rapidly,
But is is not always for the worse.
I work in construction.
Everyday I am surrounded by positive changes.
Hospitals become safer.
Schools become inviting.
Homes become more energy efficient.
I once walked through an old fabric factory.
It was dark and abandoned.
Its floors were made of wooden bricks.
Its small pane windows were dusty and shattered.
In less than a year,
That same abandoned factory became an engineering school.
It's beautiful wood ceiling was cleaned and varnished.
The small pained windows were replaced.
It is a beautiful and useful building again.
My hands were part of that transformation.
Sometimes I feel like that fabric factory.
Worn, dirty, in much need of improvement.
Can I hang an apologetic "Under Construction" sign over my soul?
That is what I love about my job.
Everyday I am reminded how quickly things can be changed for the better.
Time brings decay.
Your personal foundations can crumble.
Life changes course rapidly,
But is is not always for the worse.
I work in construction.
Everyday I am surrounded by positive changes.
Hospitals become safer.
Schools become inviting.
Homes become more energy efficient.
I once walked through an old fabric factory.
It was dark and abandoned.
Its floors were made of wooden bricks.
Its small pane windows were dusty and shattered.
In less than a year,
That same abandoned factory became an engineering school.
It's beautiful wood ceiling was cleaned and varnished.
The small pained windows were replaced.
It is a beautiful and useful building again.
My hands were part of that transformation.
Sometimes I feel like that fabric factory.
Worn, dirty, in much need of improvement.
Can I hang an apologetic "Under Construction" sign over my soul?
That is what I love about my job.
Everyday I am reminded how quickly things can be changed for the better.
Friday, February 4, 2011
I love sleeping with you
Have I told you how much I love sleeping with you?
At night in the darkness,
We share our deepest secrets.
You keep me up later than you should.
It reminds me of when we were dating,
We'd talk on the phone for hours.
But now you are in my arms.
Your hair is mine to tousle.
Your body is close enough to tease.
We talk until my eyelids give up and shut.
When I wake,
Your morning eyes are lovely.
We laugh about the dream I had.
You capture me in your arms as I try to escape,
And keep me locked against you.
Your warm breathe against my neck,
Convinces me to stay in bed a little longer.
"No, I don't need to blow dry my hair today."
"Yes, I need to shower"
... or maybe not.
At night in the darkness,
We share our deepest secrets.
You keep me up later than you should.
It reminds me of when we were dating,
We'd talk on the phone for hours.
But now you are in my arms.
Your hair is mine to tousle.
Your body is close enough to tease.
We talk until my eyelids give up and shut.
When I wake,
Your morning eyes are lovely.
We laugh about the dream I had.
You capture me in your arms as I try to escape,
And keep me locked against you.
Your warm breathe against my neck,
Convinces me to stay in bed a little longer.
"No, I don't need to blow dry my hair today."
"Yes, I need to shower"
... or maybe not.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Unfinished
My heart is tired.
My body is cold.
My head spins in it's own dizzy mess.
Unexplained tears appear suddenly,
Like an unwanted guest, no one wants to acknowledge.
In my office,
An unfinished painting waits for me.
Colors and lines that are supposed to build the background for my masterpiece.
My hands will never execute,
The beauty my mind created.
I am like that unfinished painting,
It will never be completed,
Because I, the artist, lack the skill to perfect it.
My body is cold.
My head spins in it's own dizzy mess.
Unexplained tears appear suddenly,
Like an unwanted guest, no one wants to acknowledge.
In my office,
An unfinished painting waits for me.
Colors and lines that are supposed to build the background for my masterpiece.
My hands will never execute,
The beauty my mind created.
I am like that unfinished painting,
It will never be completed,
Because I, the artist, lack the skill to perfect it.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Sister
I always picture you running.
Not in fear, or to get away,
But the way I used to watch you run the track when we were young:
Powerful,
Head held high,
Chest thrust forward almost comically.
All your movements are precise and efficient.
Your blond hair trails behind you wildly trying to keep up.
You carry a soft slight smile,
That your lips perfected years ago.
You are one of the strongest women I know.
Even through the obstacles, you run with power.
I don't always know how to help you...
You move so fast.
Even your thoughts move faster than mine.
But in the low points,
Know that your running will take you to great places.
Pace yourself, beautiful sister.
You will get there.
And I will be behind you, trying to keep up.
Not in fear, or to get away,
But the way I used to watch you run the track when we were young:
Powerful,
Head held high,
Chest thrust forward almost comically.
All your movements are precise and efficient.
Your blond hair trails behind you wildly trying to keep up.
You carry a soft slight smile,
That your lips perfected years ago.
You are one of the strongest women I know.
Even through the obstacles, you run with power.
I don't always know how to help you...
You move so fast.
Even your thoughts move faster than mine.
But in the low points,
Know that your running will take you to great places.
Pace yourself, beautiful sister.
You will get there.
And I will be behind you, trying to keep up.
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