Category Archives: Notebook

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Liz Gilbert: Maybe my life hasn’t been so chaotic. It’s just the world that is and the only real trap is getting attached to any of it. Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.

today i woke up and there was rain everywhere.  i remember that day you said you would be there.  i remember how you never showed.  a decade and a half of my existence went out the window as i said goodbye.  these days are new.  these days are good. the rain washed the final remnants away of a past i put to bed years ago.  i have loved you, and i have let you go.  i have lost myself, and rediscovered all that is me in the years that followed. i am better for wear.  i am no longer sixteen, or twenty-five, or thirty.  today i look in the mirror and there are a few strands of gray. my heart understands. my eyes see.  i love – without regret.

when i thought of the book of you yesterday, i held that chapter to my heart, and would never trade it for the world.

i am so grateful for what you brought to my life.  because of you, because of this life, i am more of who i am today than i could have ever been without.

ready (i am).

Liz Gilbert: I did love you, Stephen. 
Stephen: I know. But I still love you. 
Liz Gilbert: So, love me. 
Stephen: But I miss you. 
Liz Gilbert: So, miss me. Send me love and light every time you think of me… Then drop it.
(eat, pray, love)

I’m here. Across town. Spotted by sunlight. There are a million ways you can read into my smile.

You’re there. Near darkened waters. In black wool and putting on a fire to warm your hands.  I see the ways your voice has left its imprint on me.

We’re somewhere new. It’s cloudy and the trees will be changing when you arrive. There is reassurance and we exhale, my hand in yours.

http://magpietales.blogspot.com

they came to see my home, they asked me if i was leaving.  no no no no, and a firm no.  i’ve been here six years, you see.  i’ve pulled that grass in hunks of the ground and built that garden and painted those walls.  i’ve come in to find my possessions strewn everywhere and a bedroom window pried open.  i’ve had hope and i’ve had desperation and i’ve had love and i’ve fallen to my knees wailing when my father died.  i’ve slipped down the stairs and i’ve preserved fifty cans of apples and pears and peaches.  i’ve built things in this home.  i’ve sewn a quilt together and i’ve made a thousand truffles.  i’ve seen my dog go from lively and hyperactive to a soft moan she does now in the frustration that she cannot stand up without my assistance.  i have seen the cycles and i have watched my garden grow, and die back, and grow again.  i’ve had a drunken ex crying on my front porch and i’ve sat on that same porch with my dog in the sunshine, leaning against me and watching the world go by.

how do i sit on a sunday morning and feel the morning breeze on my skin and see sunlight making shapes on these oak floors and not feel i am home.

i can’t wait til you are home.  you’ll see what i mean.

http://magpietales.blogspot.com

you didn’t see her at first, did you.
the way she gave to you, sang to you, anticipated you.
she was just that girl turning everything upside down.
you didn’t see her fierce protectiveness of all that was yours,
or the way she lit up when she spoke of it all,
or how much her little words, so different from yours, brought so much in you never could have thought of on your own.
you didn’t see her
then you did
and you realized
she wasn’t the kind of woman
- yes i said woman -
who would be called a girl
who would forever be ignored
who would pretend to not see your fascist tendencies.
there was a beauty and a certainty and a slight smile you didn’t like about her.
she saw your indiscretions
you had her mirror to see them yourself
and all the while, she still offered up flowers, dropping them along the way to bring the forgiveness you could never understand
you wouldn’t see her

because she reminded you of all that you weren’t.

I wonder of the exact way your skin might smell if I pressed my face into your neck.

I wonder how the grass might feel as I lay on it next to you on late summer evenings.

I wonder how freedom might feel should I take on this path you’ve shown me.

I wonder if I can see the sky.
(Hold tightly my hand)