that's mrs. mediocrity to you

It’s Friday night and I am watching The Big Chill, a blast from my past, 1983. Three years before my son was born. Forever ago.

My son who just got his first “real” job, graduated from college in May, and is now on to a new stage in life.

The Big Chill. A movie about the death of a friend amongst friends, friends my age, or slightly younger. A movie from the time when I worked at a movie theater, and all the movies I played during that time, over and over, are imprinted on my brain in indelible ink.

E.T. Eight weeks, four shows a day. Back To The Future. Risky Business Hated that one, every night having to kick beer-drinking teenagers out of the theater, though some really funny stories come from that. Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, the one where Spock dies. I used to go to the door of the theater every night at that exact moment and pull it open, to hear the sound of sobs and sniffles. For some reason, it always made me smile.

Flash Dance. Terms of Endearment. Noticing the fact that Shirley Maclaine’s dress changes as she walks across the airport. Same scene, different dress. Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life. A whole bunch of senior citizens coming out to the desk demanding their money back. They thought it really was about the meaning of life. Boy, were they surprised.

Oh the memories. The lifting of 30 pound reels of film up over my head, the frantic splicing each time the film broke, the smell of popcorn and coke, the perpetual stickiness of the floor.

Tootsie. Sixteen Candles. Purple Rain. The Breakfast Club. Two movies I have watched many times since then. An Officer and A Gentleman. Ghostbusters. Who you gonna call? Indiana Jones. The Karate Kid. Amadeus. Still one of my favorite all-time movies.

Out of Africa. The movie that never ends. And by that I don’t mean it was long and boring, I mean you never forget it. Footloose. Rambo. A movie that I wish I could forget. The Color Purple. Trading Places. Octopussy. Gremlins. Bright light!

The Outsiders. A Christmas Story. A movie I still watch every Christmas Eve. People were so offended back then, when it came out, portraying Santa in such a bad light. I think there were protests. Harrumph. Dad gummit, flob!

A Passage to India. Silkwood. The Natural. Some classics.

Revenge of the Nerds. Porky’s. Fast Times at Ridgemont High. I didn’t need to see any of that, and we won’t even go there.

Never Cry Wolf. Cocoon. Two favorites. Prizzi’s Honor. “Want a cookie, little girl?” I love Anjelica Huston.

Scarface. A movie that scarred me, for life.

Just a little walk down memory lane triggered by an old movie, kept in my back pocket all these years…

{august break no. 13}

just won’t use a coaster…

no matter how many times you ask.

There is something about this day that keeps calling me outside.

I have been in and out all morning, inside working, then, feeling this magnetic pull, back out.

A cup of tea, some photos, playing with the crazy kittens that spend their days outside, hunting. Back in for more work. Accomplishing what must be accomplished. And when that is done, the must-do part of my day, I shall start on the should-do portion. Should pull these weeds, should paint that door, should make more jewelry, should do paperwork, or laundry, or vacuum, or dust. I don’t know where to start, which direction to point my feet in.

Except, there must be something to this, this not knowing where I’m going, this walking along a path with no a compass, because I am not afraid. Not lost.

Just here, navigating my way by feel and instinct and some inner sense of who I am, or want to be.

Just here, witnessing each day as it unfolds before me, not judging or wishing for a better one. Not dreaming or pretending or lamenting a life I do not have. But living this one. Sitting in my garden in the room I have built from flowers and earth and sky.

A giant room in my tiny world. I can see everything from here.

Just here.

It took me such a long time to arrive. I stumbled a lot and ran in circles and backtracked and trudged through rain and desert, wind and forest, sun and swamp. You can’t follow in my footsteps, even I can’t retrace them, couldn’t tell you where I started, or when I turned left rather than right, or even who I was on the day this journey began. I walked at night by the light of the moon, sometimes, and often, I walked all day. I trusted my heart to guide my feet. I carried my fear in a pack on my back, always behind me.

I am just here.

With this feeling that my entire life led me to this exact place and this feeling that it really was all for a reason and this feeling that I am about to be somewhere else.

Just like every other day, I suppose.

Just here.

{august break no. 12}

me, feeling not quite like myself.

::   ::   ::   ::

Today I am over at vision & verb
feeling grateful for rain boots and kindness.

{august break no. 11}

me, today.

I sit here, needing something, but I am speechless.

I have spent another day running around in circles. Some of them were good circles, some of them were too constraining. Some of them weren’t circles at all, they were spirals. I have so much to do that I can’t concentrate on anything, and for some reason,  I am exhausted. I have a show this weekend, I have to work, have to make ready, have to do this, have to do that.

But I sit here. Hoping that if I get the words out, something will change. Hoping it is the words, all jumbled up inside, causing this inability to focus. Hoping.

I am outside, it is almost dusk, the air is still. My mind is not.
My mind is like these mosquitoes that are about to drive me inside. Pesky, buzzing, flittering, fluttering. Annoying.

If I sit here long enough, I wonder if my mind will become as calm as the air. I hear birds. Crickets. Peeping frogs. No grasshoppers just now, perhaps they are already asleep. The fading sunlight filters through the long row of bushes that hides me from my neighbors, my far-away neighbors that I still wish to be hidden from.

At the end of that row is the elderberry bush, bent low to the ground with the weight of its fruit, full and ripe. I feel like that too, just now. Heavy with my own potential.

I should get up and get my camera so I can take a picture of this abstract watercolor sky. But I feel too tired. I don’t have the energy. If I go inside to get my camera, I don’t think I’ll come back out.

Inside, the fans are still going. Outside, the air is perfectly still.

It has been like that since this morning.

I think I just need to sit here for a bit
and enjoy this breeze of silence.

:

p.s. I came back out.

one step at a time is the only way to get anywhere.

good shoes really do make a difference.

don’t sweat the small stuff, just sweat.

you don’t always need a destination
to get where you’re going.

you should say hello to everyone you meet.

there is no winning or losing, there is only doing.

things that are good for you really hurt sometimes.

there will always be someone who can run further
and faster than you, and that is okay.

running in circles can take you to amazing places.

being outdoors is vital, in every season.

whatever path you are on, make it the right one.

watch where you’re going, but don’t forget
to look up every now and then.

you can go farther than you ever thought possible.

you won’t melt if you get rained on.

your toughest competitor will always be you.

climbing hills might be rough, but
the view from the top is always worth it.

some days are better than others.

breathing is the most important thing in life.

blisters eventually become callouses.

when you think you can’t possibly go on,
you can always take one more step.

{august break no. 10}

He had such nice eyes…

but those biceps!

That’s what really did her in.

{august break no. 9}

The 147th time she wore this outfit, he said:

“That’s a pretty look for you.”

She said, “thanks.”

flashing light, blinding flare, this glare that burns. migraine.

pounding, pounding, peck peck pecking away at my sanity.

pain that will not stop, does not cower, will not leave.

pain uninvited, not wanted, not welcome, yet here.

my head in a vice grip. won’t let go.

pain that leaves me wasted, limp, sore,

run over. paralyzed.

i lay on the couch, afraid to move.

i watch from a tiny pinhole of awareness.

i am still, so still, any movement excruciating.

quiet light burns holes in my retina.

tiny sounds detonate bombs in my brain.

i wait and i wait and i think and i think. and i wait.

there is nothing else to do.

it is minutiae, amplified, one million times.

it is crushing fever, knife pain, white hot.

it is brutality, unleashed in my skull.

and then it is gone.

an ugly memory.

.

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