room to grow

Elastic waistbands on outer garments have no place in a woman’s wardrobe.   Ask Tim Gunn.

But what about elasticity as it applies to relationships?

Couldn’t it actually be a functional necessity?

And if you’re in agreement —

Then like me —

Maybe you’re already asking the next set of questions —

“Yeah, but — what’s the right amount of give and take?

“I mean, how can I possibly know how much stretchiness I’ve got or need to get right this minute, let alone —

“How much I’ll need — tomorrow — or god only knows — 10 or 20 years from now —”

Because you know there are times when you want someone to hold you tight — but not cut off your circulation.

And you also know there are times when you need to feel like you’re wearin’ nothin’ — even when it seems to the whole world you oughta be bound in double wide.

So thinkin’ this is an off the rack kinda deal is probably not gonna keep your pants up long term — especially for us hard-to-fit types.

But, hey don’t despair.   We can figure this out.

And until then —

There’s always the belt.

tri-x

Truly.  Madly.  Deeply.

I need a darkroom. 

I know this because I woke up asking myself —

“What is the name of that fast film you never let yourself run out of?

“You know — the stuff you loved because you hate flash?

“And are partial to playing with depth of field?”

So I hit the internet and googled my way back in time to find tri-x — and it all came back.

Stepping into the dark, plunging the rich coated paper into the pool of developer.

Watching while thinking of nothing else.

Waiting and loving every minute of it.

Learning when to stop it.  Dodging the obvious and burning the deeper — more subtle aspects.

Letting it develop — and yet —

Causing it to develop.

Taking chances and hanging them up to dry.

Never wanting to repeat myself.  Never needing to —

And I know there are certainly good reasons to keep time in darkrooms.  But honestly —

Why?

It’s the perfect place to feel your way around.

shades of grey

So there are extremes — yes?

And visiting them from time to time can definitely be fun — yes?

But whipsawing between them as a way of life is — well — erratica.

Bound to leave body and mind —

Exhausted.  Confused.  Displaced.

While movement is necessary to create interest, promote growth, and kindle discovery — the range of motion has always been the defining element in —

My sweet spot.

Like a cool cloth on your forehead.  A worn blanket at the end of your bed.  Or the one that can always make you laugh —

I don’t seek north or south — east or west —

But a home filled with favorite rooms to roam between — shades of grey I love to live in.

This is true belonging.

True peace of mind.

freedom and restraint

Tension between polar opposites is a very good thing.

It tends to keep things right where they —

Belong. 

Take hot and cold, for example. 

Cold gets the edge and you throw on another layer — move closer to the fire.

Ahhh — now that’s “just right.”

But — not for long.

Hot gets the upper hand, your temperature rises — and before you know it —

You’re naked.

For a cup of coffee — or longer —

Perhaps.

But not forever.

Cause “just right” is a movin’ target.  And life is about havin’ fun chasin’ it.

Put it on.  Take it off.

Turn it up.  Turn it down.

Tighten.  Loosen.  Open.  Shut.

Fast.  Slow.  In.  Out.  Yes.  No. 

Gotta admit —

we’re nothin’ without the back and forth.

it’s me

I had a heated argument with an over-sized chunk of romaine that refused to comply with me today. 

Stubbornly insisting it should fit in my mouth, I continued to force it over threshold of lips and teeth — and it continued to flop around outside my mouth. 

Exhausted and a wee bit self-conscious, I relented and set it free. 

Then I sulked — and stewed in my own sour juices.

Oh god, it is me. 

It’s definitely me, and though everything I’ve learned tells me this is the good news —

Because if it’s you — well then that is something you can control — you can change —

But god help me —

I’ve still got romaine rage.

morning buns

Wet soggy Monday traffic jam.  8 a.m. meeting with a packed agenda and not enough time.  Zip through some proofs that look like hell.   Where is my original drawing?  What happened to the white space?  For the love of god, am I the only one that pays attention to scale?  This type is screaming so loud I can’t hear myself come unglued. 

Open a drawer and slam it shut.  Do it again to make sure someone heard me.  

Throw my head back to scream.  Decide to tear my hair out instead.  What is that on my head?  My god it feels like it belongs to a wild animal.  Don’t dare look in the mirror — I might slit my throat.

I — need — an — intervention.

Wait.  Just hold on.  I can do this —  I’ve got affirmations!

“I let go easily and with grace.” 

Again —

Ok — Again.

Oh no.  Not the bucket of water.  

Game over for this green witch today.

But tomorrow —

Tomorrow, will be different.  Tomorrow —

I will have morning buns. 

Yep.

Early risers need morning buns —

And I’m gonna get me some.

gold carpet moment

There is a point in time when the color peaks and the leaves take to the wind.

Airborne, they catch my eyes and make them dance. 

I stand still and my mind twirls.  Ahhhh, this is where the word ‘flutter’ came from. 

I flit like a butterfly — gray sky dripping gold in every direction — yards of lawns lavished gold. 

The scene glows with possibilities. 

Yes, this is a slice of time — a gold carpet moment. 

Before the colors fade and crunch beneath my feet, mine for the takin.

to summit

Everyone’s got a K2. 

That point on the horizon, pie in the sky, over the moon ideal you’re willing to risk life and limb for — metaphorically speaking —

Of course.

And yet.

I’ve been thinkin. 

Maybe the way to approach your K2 isn’t a matter of how high or how far — but rather —

How much it means to you.

Cause if you really want something and you’ve made a decision to summit — well, you know it’s gonna take commitment, effort and training. 

And by virtue of the fact that it’s something you don’t already have, but want to have, and aren’t sure you can have —

It’s also gonna take the courage to trek into the unknown. 

To leave behind what you know well enough to know it’s not enough in order to discover what you don’t know — about yourself — and another —

Perhaps.

And you’re bound to lose your footing.  Bound to get a few scrapes.  Maybe even survive a landslide — or two.

But you try.

You try.

Because it means — just that much.

well, it’s not

Let me start by saying that my teeth have never given me cause for worry.

Nor have they ever been what you might call an area of — uh, well —vulnerability.

But all that changed about a week or so ago when a chunk of my upper right molar broke loose and — oh god, it’s so awful to relive this — I crunched it up in the wad of gum I was chewing —

and with a poke of my tongue — I realized —

I will — never — be — the same!

Thing is, since I didn’t really look any different on the outside, I tried my best to play down the implications of this bone shattering change. 

I mean, I’m sure you’ll agree it’s not hard to believe your tongue might be capable of exaggerating a bit.  And it’s not a stretch to think it might report “grand canyon” when it’s actually experiencing “microscopic nick”— 

Yeah, right.

So anyway I’m in the dentist’s chair just because it makes sense to check it out — that’s all. 

And, oh, isn’t this rare — there are 8 pictures of the dentist’s little girl on the wall next to me — and she’s smiling pretty with her mouth closed — not a single pearly white in sight! 

He he.  Am I on candid camera?

Now the hygienist wants to have a peek — hell, go right ahead. 

“Blah, blah, blah-blah — blah-blah — caa-rowwnnn.”

Say what??

And so begins a new chapter of vulnerability in my life with a cast of characters I’m struggling to embrace:

The laser drill that I’m told operates at a gazillion miles an hour.

The dentist’s hand that holds the wicked fast drill while he makes clever jokes.

The spray of water I’m told will keep the drill sparks from burning my head off.

The gurgling sound I make to keep from being drowned by my own spit. 

The geeky safety glasses I wear to keep from being blinded by shrapnels of my own tooth.

And finally —

The feeling of impending collateral damage I have which causes me to say with more than a slight tone of alarm —

“It feels like my front tooth is going to fall out!!”

And then, of course, there’s the dentist’s assurance —

“Well, it’s not.”

Oh, that makes me feel soooooo much better.