A Few Words on These Days

So We Meet Again

Last night I dreamed of being in a house that wasn't mine. Someone with me - a friend, someone I knew - said to me, "There's Kudzu." And I said, "That can't be. He's gone." But when I looked, he was there on a quilted white oval bed. I walked over to him and picked him up. He was still light, like he was when he was sick. But he seemed whole. I draped him over my right shoulder, cradling him against my body like I always did. I rubbed my cheek against his head and stroked his soft, sleek back. I felt his weight - light, but meaningful. Significant. He was warm. And he purred gently, vibrations I could still feel echoing in my chest when I woke up this morning.

Penpathy

Dear Pen:
Today I feel like maybe I'm having some sort of distant HSP sympathy experience for you. Nothing seems right. Everything is in transition. There's this looming uncertainty that could be just in front of something wonderful or complete and total disaster. Like a spinning plate wobbling on the stick, the need for balance is essential but the wobbling seems so unbalanced and out of control and when will it stop spinning? It's so uncomfortable to be so precariously placed.

I have this weekend and next before a long string of out-of-town weekends, so if I'm truly going to get in the house before Nov. 5 (and let's face it - I must), I have to get moving. But how? How to get past this stuck place into the next place I'm supposed to be...I could make a list but then there's the actual doing. And at this point, there's a sort of weird unclarity about what to put in the box and what to take out of the box and what is actually required to consider myself moved.

Oh, Lord. Help.

Please know as you are packing and wrapping and boxing and making those painful piles of keep/give/trash, that in another state (i.e. the State of Panic), I am doing the same thing for a move just miles from where I am but seems like a great distance.

xo,
Ash

Jumble Thought Cloud

Stolen from the lovely Penelope.

Dear M, Regarding My Totally You Moment:

I discovered that the illustrious Joel McHale has finally deigned to bring his stand-up tour past the noxiousness of Las Vegas. Even my love of Joel cannot take me there. He's actually making his way as far as the eastern seaboard including that nearby bastion of The South, Hotlanta. However, instead of taking the easy way, instead of just going an hour up the road to a venue I've been to before near where my brother lives making it easy for me to stay the night with him post-performance, I bought a plane ticket.

On a whim, I bought a plane ticket! To the Lonestar State where I will be taking in the McHale McMagnificence with my Texas Twin. I'm flying in early and staying late and have been promised a photogging excursion somewhere in there. And I just did it. Like a true adventurer.

Not uncoincidentally, I dreamed last night of going to Vienna. And the buildings were amazing, and I remember that we were going through Germany on our way home? So the passport is next, Oh, Wayfaring Soul. But know...you're rubbing off on me.

xo,
Intrepid Traveler

Job Security

As we all know, my life has taken a deep nosedive straight down to the gutter. No matter how optimistic one tries to be about the series of unfortunate events the last six months have wrought, there's really no two ways about it: it's been hell.

And that is why I would like to express my deepest and truest gratitude to the person who wrote to my boss in response to his solicitation for feedback for my annual performance review..."She completes me." I know not who you are, oh anonymous soulmate colleague, but I thank you for saying in three words that, despite it all, I can still do my job well.

And you had me at "raise."

Dear Kudzu:

Today didn't go very well, and I should like to tell you about it. A lot of folks have been asking questions about why I haven't moved into my house yet. After all, it has been six months. And very few of them seem to understand that it's more complicated than just the accumulation of days.

They don't seem to understand what it will be like to live there and know that you will never be looking out the dining room window when I get home. You will never look out the french doors onto the backporch and chitter at the squirrels leaping through the trees. You will never be curled up on the other end of the newly covered couch (yes, Mommy finally got rid of the brown strips) while I watch TV and you stretch and roll and make little sleepy kitty noises. And even though I know all these nevers, there is still the ghost of you haunting my mind and casting a shadowy ephemeral version of you in all those places and making my heart hurt so bad it feels like it will never stop.

So you can imagine how I felt today when some well-meaning people were giving me grief over not relocating yet. And you can imagine that fine line, that sharpest point that pierced me and caused me to start crying -right there! - and make everyone uncomfortable with my tears. You can imagine how mortifying it was to struggle for composure and for it to continually slip through my tear-soddened fingers. And then to have to excuse myself and lock myself in the bathroom for a few moments and not only feel the pain but the embarrassing conjecture of what was being said in my absence. Returning to my place, I valiantly put on the face of normalcy but as soon as I was able, I was the first one to escape. And even when one of the guilty parties tracked me down and apologized, I could feel the tears rising again and sought shelter after a mumbled, "It'sfineI'mjusthavingahardtime."

And you're not here to make it better. There is no silky black fur or soft gray underbelly to comfort me. There are no intense green eyes. No small fuzzy paws. You are gone. And I know it. I know, but some days, the knowing just breaks me.

Today was one of those days. And I know you can't be here to make it better. But I just wanted you to know. I wanted you to know that I miss you and I still love you with all of my heart. And I hope that right now, you're curled up in the shape of a "C", breathing softly and dreaming of me.

Love,
Your Mom

Dear PenMen: Contemplations on Everyonceinawhile and Other Moments in Time

Seeing as how we might, at this point, be the only ones reading each other's blogs, I figured it was okay to directly address the two of you. Plus, I had this feeling of wanting to write, but what? And then I thought I could just write what I would tell Pen and M.

It's raining here right now, and while soothing, I find this greatly disappointing because I need to mow my lawn. I was all geared up for it, too: The First Mowing. But I know if I actually do that after the torrential rain (accompanied by copious thunder and lightning) that I will have wet grass stuck to my ankles and big clumps of grass clippings to dig out of the bag. That seems like not the experience to have for The First Mowing, and so I will think of my ever-growing lawn as a verdant carpet instead of an overgrown grass pouf to ease my conscience.

I finished reading this book last night that was so good - one of my indulgently trashy romance novels. And sometimes, they're just like reading candy - totally empty calories that go in and pass through with no real nutritional value. But everyonceinawhile, I find one that's more like...designer candy. Still no real nutritional value, but something extra luxurious about the indulgent experience. I think it could have to do with the fact that Mom and Dad went to see Anna, and I was blissfully alone and slept on the couch when I got home and then woke up and read and read and read - skipping dinner - until I finished. That's the kind of reading one needs to do everyonceinawhile to really fortify the soul.

Yesterday was a fantastical, magical day at work. Everyonceinawhile, a very great while in fact, the stars align in this way that you get exactly what you work so hard for the other 3oo-some-odd days of the year. To get a story in the ACRONYM Today is something of a Holy Grail of PR. And then, to find out later that the pitch you made to a certain other nationally renowned publication like FOUR-BES, actually got picked up, too? Well, it just doesn't get any better than that. Except that it happened to be my three-year anniversary with the company, and The Linguista and I went to my favorite Mexican restaurant and drank frozen margaritas at lunch.

The Exotic is getting so close to her due date, and it's starting to make me a bit sad. What will I do without her calming presence in the office? She does yoga so I don't have to, and she offers me zen-by-proxy when I need it. I think I will feel spectacularly off when she's on maternity leave.

I am, however, excited about the next couple of months, which are rife with the kind of adventures I never have. On Monday is David Gray/Ray LaMontagne, the dreamiest of dream concerts. I'm taking one of the Big City interns with me, and it will be delight. And then we will enter the string of weeks from September to October when I have something all the time rather than everyonceinawhile to keep me occupied. Like a trip to D.C.! Mountain Day! Dallas to see Joel McHale with my Texas Twin in our Texas office! Valle Crucis! Company retreat! Oh my! Plus there are two volunteer events on my calendar in September and one in October, plus dinners and drinks with friends (yes! friends!). At times like these, I feel like...maybe I'm doing a better job than I think of carpe diem and not letting the fact that I'm not exactly where I want to be on The Great Life Continuum keep me from doing things that make this place on it so much better.

Despite the rain, I think it's time to pack the Rav and take a load over to My House where I will clean the bathrooms and dress them nicely with the bathmats and matching towel sets I purchased last week. And then I will stand back and contemplate that I could actually be moving soon in a way that is good and comfortable. And then I might be able to think about new companions for my sad heart - still so hard to let go of Kudzu, but so clear to me that I need that comfort from the four-legged varietal.

Wishing you both everyonceinawhile days.

xo,
Ash

Happiness

Sorrow & Hope

To be remembered is our greatest hope when we die, whether that remembrance is due to our achievements or just because we are loved. The need to be remembered is never clearer than when strolling among the dead. Weaving in and out of cemetery stones, feet falling softly among the dearly departed, it is impossible not to remember them and wonder who they were. I love the idle peace of tracing script with fingertips and wondering how the dash between two numbers was spent.
I recently found myself among the dead in a number of cemeteries, photographing epitaphs and statuary, details of shells and flowers and leaves curving against monuments. When I looked at the pictures later, two faces emerged.

Sorrow

Head in hands, sorrow holds vigil over the graves of those gone too soon. Those who weren't ready to go, or placed there by those who weren't ready to let them leave. Over time, weather either shadows them, making them more stark and desperate. Or it erodes the tension and leaves a smoother, reluctantly accepting visage in its wake. Who could blame these anguished faces for their permanent mourning of what was lost? I looked into their faces and saw myself, the lines wearily etched into stone, marble - cold and unyielding. I saw their downcast eyes, knowing they had cried from heartbreak, from loneliness, from desperately wanting to change the unchangeable. I wanted to lean against them and give them my mourning, to let my agony over losing Kudzu fall into smooth white arms.

Hope

Serenely, they stand or kneel over the bodies of those gone before us, hands clasped in devoted prayer. Some of them bow reverently; others tip faces upward toward the light. Their faces are bathed in an ethereal glow, their eyes are knowing. These stone creatures have foregone their mourning and looked to the light, relinquished their woe and wreathed themselves in hope. Weather-smoothed faces look ever more placid or seem to be disappearing as though the predetermined time of protection is up and they, too, are melting into a vague half-state. Hope sometimes comes with angel wings, folded quietly behind or poised, ready to fly upward.

Quote of the Day

Tonight, I went to happy hour and dinner with a couple of people from the office. The Violinist recently entered into a contract on a house.

Me: Did you get the paint colors figured out for your house?

The Violinist: Yes, we decided on them. And now I've decided on the exact style mix I'm going to furnish it in.

Me: Oh yeah?

The Violinist: I call it "Bordello Spaceship."

I love her.

Quote of the Day

Me: I feel like I look old.

My friend, Nikki: No, no. When I look at you I see funny. And boobs.

Mendelopacious

mendelopacious (adj.) - indicative of great joy because of or relating to Mendacious and Penelope; to experience mendelopation (n.) or excessive happiness due to the presence of Mendacious and Penelope; of or relating to the act of mendelopating (v.) or spending quality time with Mendacious and Penelope. ex. A mendalopacious week was experienced recently, filled with mendelopation over mendelopating with both Mendacious and Penelope.

Mendelopacious outing with Mendacious
Huntington Beach, California

Mendacious and I met once before when Penelope married, but it was well before blogdom blossomed and we were fully aware of the nature of our soul connection. This time, however, I knew when I spied her through the glass - "This is Mendacious!"

We hugged the lovely sort of hug one shares with one's wayfaring soul upon meeting for the first time - a sort of strong, instant embrace filled with warmth and knowing and connection. And I climbed into her car and agreed to adventure and the promise of margaritas. We talked in this way that felt like we were picking up with a conversation begun many lifetimes ago, as though we both remembered the precise moment we left off, paused and began again.

There were in fact margaritas and a trip to the beach where we plopped down in the sand and made strange shapes from shell bits. We talked of the sand and how it is different from the East Coast. This Pacific sand is worn and natural and raw. It is integral sand. East Coast sand is admired and visited and enjoyed, but West Coast sand is habitual and used and incorporated. Mendacious, in all her tall vivacious glory, belonged here with this earthy, essential sand, and I heard the waves in the way that I hear all water - like a soothing lullaby. I spoke to a seagull and Mendacious understood and we talked of art and love and family and place and my still unattained passport and, of course, Penelope.

And we were mendelopated.

Mendelopacious outing with Penelope
Lake SinclairPenelope Pices met with a soon-to-be-31 Cancer at a lake in middle Georgia. Whereas Mendacious and me were known strangers among unknown strangers, Penelope and I were old friends among older friends. We sat in rocking chairs and watched the water sparkle hotly in the distance while the flush-cheeked Lo. Co. children climbed and gamboled around the porch. Back and forth, the chairs. Back and forth, the words. Back and forth, the stories. Back and forth, the snark.

And we picked up the thread just where we left off, knitting our tales, sewing our lives together; two vastly different patterns that most would never consider complimentary but somehow, upon closer inspection, matched in a lovely sort of mismatched way.

At dusk there were sparklers, and we drew our names in the air with fire - we two water signs - and laughed at the smoke and the crack and hiss and the familiar burning smell until the sticks went dark. And we laughed at the otherworldly fire-blurred pictures of ourselves.

And a mendelopacious time was had by all.

Promises, Promises (31)

- To post soon (about something besides Kudzu)

- To move

- To reflect upon meeting the one and only Mendacious

- To be older

- To get my passport (for Mendacious)

- To write more poems, essays, letters

- To think about tomorrow

- To take a break

- To call

- To wear a dress

- To go to bed

The Truth

Right now, I miss Kudzu so much I can hardly breathe.

Requiescat in pace, Kudzu

My dearest, my most beloved Kudzu, may you rest in peace.

May you rest knowing that you were loved to the greatest depths of the human heart. May you rest knowing that you were and are cherished.

May you rest knowing that your constant companionship warmed even the loneliest, the most sorrowful of hours. May you rest knowing that you were light in a dark and sometimes unkind world.

May you rest knowing that your presence brought joy, comfort, happiness, peace. May you rest knowing that you were all things good (even when you were bad).

May you rest knowing that beyond pet, you were family, as much my lifeblood as anything. That you were my very heart.

May you rest, fully restored to your gray fuzzy bellied glory, with no scars or marks or patches to evidence of your illness.

May you rest knowing that you will never have to endure my picture-taking ever again.

May you rest after your long and hard-fought battle. Having been so brave and true, holding on for so long for me, so that I could accept that it was your time.

May you rest knowing that I never wanted you to die, except that one time you ate my blue merino wool J. Crew sweater (and even then, not really).

May you rest, weary traveler, from all those thousands of miles on the highway between here and North Carolina that would have been so much longer without you.

May you rest, knowing that you will never have to be stuck in the car with me in the McDonald's drive-in in Leland, North Carolina while I have a panic attack over the holiday weekend traffic.

May you rest knowing that you will be remembered in repose on the windowsill, on the kitchen towel, under a blanket nestled against my stomach.

May you rest gently purring or making sleepy kitty noises as you slumber. With your snaggletooth hanging out.

May you rest with my gratitude for having never eaten my eyeball as I feared you would.

May you rest having served me well with the greatest devotion and loyalty - no matter what mistakes I made in life.

May you rest from leaping onto the cabinets, the countertops, the bookshelves, the bed with sprightly grace.

May you rest with an endless supply of spider plants whose leaves you may nip to your heart's content.

May you rest from strewing toilet paper from the downstairs bathroom into the kitchen.

May you rest, never to be forgotten.

May you rest, my darling. May you rest from exhaustion, from pain and from this namelessness that has consumed you.

May you rest in the hands of the Heavenly Father who made you.

My dearest, my most beloved Kudzu, may you rest in peace.

The Word's Goodbye, But I Can't Say It

I've been a (raving) David Gray fan for over 10 years now. It all started for me like it did for most of us on this side of the pond when White Ladder exploded on the American scene with "Babylon." But over the years, I discovered the treasure-trove of pre-Ladder work, from Flesh and A Century Ends to Sell, Sell, Sell and my beloved Lost Songs. Plus, Gray put out three studio albums after Ladder.

Even more than Coldplay, David Gray has been the soundtrack of my life over the last decade. Albums and songs surged to the forefront at varying times with the words and music crafted for highs and lows. For love and lack thereof. For times when in the place "where we can shine" to the place "where the eye don't see no color." Like a cheap therapist, David Gray has soothed my soul on many occasions - long, desolate, never-ending car rides, stricken with grief, heartbroken.

And just like at the Coldplay concert, I heard one of his songs for the first time - from just four rows away from the one and only David Gray. I had thought it would be "This Year's Love" that would bring tears to my eyes or when he sang "As I'm Leaving." But instead, I was surprised when the song "Freedom" went right through my soul. And as I listened to it over and over (and over) again since then, what wasn't surprising was that it was a song for right now. For this state I'm in. For this place I live.

Take your eyes off me
There's nothing here to see
Just trying to keep my head together
And as we make our vow
Let us remember how
There's nothing good that lasts forever

Time out on the running boards
We're running
Through a world that lost its meaning
Trying to find a way to love
This running
Ain't no kind of freedom

Feel the touch of grief
You stand in disbelief
Can steal the earth from right beneath you
And falling in so far
They know just where you are
Yeah, but there ain't no way to reach you

***
It's time to clean these boots
Fold up these parachutes
The word's goodbye, but I can't say it
The end is close at hand
I think we understand
There ain't no use trying to delay it

***
Fasten on my mask
I'm bending to the task
I know this work is never finished
But if I close my eyes
I can still see you dancing
Laughing loud and undiminished

I love the last line of the song, the bittersweet hope of knowing that I will be able to close my eyes and see Kudzu undiminished - dancing across the floor on small, sure feet, eyes alight with love and mischief.

Thank you, David Gray, for the 497th reason that a world without your music would be less bearable.

How Would Carrie Bradshaw Do Yardwork?

When I left to get my hair cut on Saturday, I thought I looked rather fetching in a navy peasant skirt and pale blue top. And I decided to add cute shoes instead of flip-flops, opting for Sam Edelman faux snakeskin t-strap ballet flats.

After my hair cut (and color, where I got re-redded), I went to pick up the giant roll of fabric for recovering my couch. When I arrived at my house to drop it off, I found my parents in the throes of yardwork. Dad's pickup was loaded with bales of pinestraw and bags of mulch for the plant beds scattered around my front yard.

I couldn't let them toil alone. So I found myself spreading mulch in my Sam Edelmans. I imagine that was the most fashionable raking that yard had ever seen. All was well until the threat of mud arrived. And then I just had to go barefoot. Even Carrie would sacrifice a few splinters to save the shoes.

Name Game

Dillon's friend Luke has a new baby brother.

Dillon: What's Luke's brother's name?

Eva: His name is Zane.

Dillon: But why?

Eva: Well, because Luke's mom and dad liked that name.

Dillon: Well, if I have another baby, I'm going to name it Fred the Kong.

House Cat (Reposted)

This post initially appeared on Smartini as a response to a prompt to personify our pets I remembered it when I was paging through entries on kudzu jungle about Kudzu. And, aside from being a spot-on characterization of Kudzu, I thought it terribly ironic that the Zu has become his own diagnostic mystery.

***

He's sardonic. Dismissive. He's going to tell you like it is - even though you might not like it. He's smarter than you, and there's nothing you can do about it, and he's going to be in your face about it every chance he gets. It's not unusual for him to turn tail and walk away while you're in mid-sentence, as though he has neither the time nor the inclination to hear what you have to say. And if he stays, and you say the wrong thing, he just might cut you off in the middle and tell you what he thinks - and he's probably right. There are a thousand reasons why you should categorically really not like this guy, except - except he's irresistible.

Dearest Kudzu, so like Gregory House, MD. Cantankerous and beloved. Soulful eyes with a pinch of cutting intellect. Plus, Hugh Laurie is Australian and does a technically perfect British accent that reflects the aristocratic tone in which I imagine Kudzu might say something like, "That's not your color, but I wager you're going to wear it anyway."

He's always thinking, and he's always one step ahead of you. It's exasperating. But you're so glad he's around because - despite all his sometimes-prickly ways - he's really quite lovable. You must accept that on the outside, he's going to sass you. He will do as he pleases and the consequences be damned (because he knows that in most cases, he can escape the consequences). He's going to be independent and pretend he doesn't need you. But deep down, you know he does.

At the end of the day, no matter how many times he's scrambled out of your arms or away from your cuddles, he's going to come up to bed and settled down at your feet. He's predictable like that. He may pretend he wants to go, may act like he doesn't care. But he does. You just have to accept the facade and look for what's beneath the fur - the beast has less bite than he lets on.