it's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away

For unknown reasons my body awoke at 10 after 6, and I have to confess that I was really excited by the prospect of sitting on my side porch, newly cleaned and organized, while sipping my coffee in the quiet of a Sunday not yet writhing. The big, debuting sunrise had passed and given way to wild tangerine rivers of stringy clouds that burned off quickly as the sun took its position in the daytime sky, but really, I'm so estranged to such a thing that I'll take the leftovers and be happy with them.

Somewhere far enough off that I had to focus my ears and wait for a second listen, a rooster crowing set my heart to longing. My chicken dreams have been put on hold for stronger desires to travel, and waiting to see what Uncle Sam has up his sleeve for the end of the year. There are reasons aplenty to explain why now just isn't time for chickens, yet that rooster crowing from who-knows-where thumps at the bruise. Everything works out and my life right now needs to maintain freedom - to bend, to move, to be my part of the Army plan.

Traveling is currently more critical anyway. As I contemplated the ramifications of literally pulling out my hair and those of quitting grad school, I also grabbed frantically at anything that would make my academic life worth living. Last semester me and my big dreams had proposed a month long road trip paired with an independent study in travel writing, which sounded great but ran into some logistical issues that made it less appealing in the end. I had dropped the idea and had conceded to the normal class schedule and my first free summer in quite a while. That was before the academic crisis occurred, which ultimately brought me back to it for modification. Dad and I have been planning a smaller scale road trip to Savannah, GA and Charleston, SC, and so the familiar thought halted me one day like a child suddenly consoled for no reason. He and I will be back before June starts up, leaving the rest of summer wide open. I stopped by my non-fiction professor's office to get the angst off my chest and to ask her about the independent study again, under different circumstances. Talking to her was helpful and she agreed to throw together this elixir of a summer course. I'm still mostly at the drawing board weighing possibilities but a drive up coastal California, from Los Angeles to the Sonoma Valley is in the lead. And not to be outdone, Mom suggested a short cruise to Mexico just yesterday. It won't be like a summer backpacking Europe or India or Vietnam or Africa (all dreams), but it will be a wealth of opportunity and a reason to write, as well as a reason not to lose my hair at the hands of stress and frustration.

The container garden takes up the same cause as the chickens would - abandonment - although I'm pretty sure there is an easy solution, some kind of garden variety life support that I just haven't yet found. I've looked at a number of "irrigation systems" and yesterday I found some Plant Nanny's at a local shop downtown. The only problem there is the requirement of wine bottles. I have eleven large pots and each of the Nanny's terra-cotta stakes requires a wine bottle filled with water. Between now and mid-May I would be hard pressed or consistently annihilated to come up with eleven empty bottles.

Save the absence-induced possibility of sun scorch, the garden still aims for success. Now that it is written pests will probably descend upon my tender sprouts like plagues of locusts. But until then, they are growing in leaps and bounds, and while I feel like The Ignorant Gardener, last night talking to Dad about my thriving promises of fruit, he commended the knowledge I have somehow found room for and managed to cram into my already over-taxed headspace. I, however, will likely continue to describe my forays into veggie cultivation as "gardening by the seat of my pants," at least until next year when I hope to be the reigning queen of tomatoes, squash and peppers.

With that and the sun securely positioned, I need to go heat up my coffee and do something relating to school today. As much as I keep hoping it will, that final paper is not going to write itself.

Dear Birthday Fairy:

To mark my 25th year I would like a bottle of this - 

For this to come early - 

A little more of this -

A LOT of this -

And maybe one of these?

(that last one was for the kittens whose lives I save by loving this ring.  Don't sweat, Sweetheart, it has nothing to do with you!  It's all for the kittens...)

If one might measure the night before by the hangover that follows it, last night was a true success!

Thank God for ibuprophen...

new shoes, old friends, and all the middle parts, too.

I don't have anything really eloquent to log tonight, just some catching up, I guess. I've been sick...with some delightful bug I was awarded for demanding kisses even when The Staff Sergeant was feeling under the weather. "I never get colds," I assured him, "only sinus infections!" Famous last words, my friends, famous last words.

It really hit me about 2 days ago and was swiftly accompanied by an indisguisable hacking cough that wore my throat raw and kept everyone awake. The peak of distress arrived last night when my boss told me to go home and the thermometer declared a low-grade fever. I don't do sick so well so I regressed, like all pitiful princesses do when germs plague their bodies, to a mental age of about 5 - the please-hold-me stage of life. Thankfully, today was my day off so I didn't need to report to anyone, anywhere and I rested and slowly moved through morning glory muffins with Republic of Tea, and tried to watch the Today show [but was thwarted by Bush's speech]. I ran some errands and started cleaning house, did some much needed laundry, and eventually met The Staff Sergeant for some quality shoe shopping [an interactive Christmas gift]. My new kicks are Asics, pink and gray ones at that. They're to hopefully make working out less painful on my feet, and less dreaded of an activity...and they are pink!

Also today, I bought my first pair of skinny jeans. I feel that they constrict my ankles, but I'm told I'll get used to it...

On a more meaningful note, I saw an old high school friend as she is in town to take care of an aunt who isn't well. We had coffee and time to catch up, and tomorrow another of my long-lost comrades from days gone by will be passing through on her way to see family. She's an army wife and we haven't seen each other since the wedding [2 years ago]. It mystifies and fascinates me to think back almost 10 years when both of these girls crossed my path, and to observe how wholly different we are from that freshman year in high school. It's good to know they're there, those bonds that survive.

With that, as my roommate urges the consumption of wine and the dryer's buzzer notes the end of another cycle, I'm finished.

Good night all.

a three-day recap.

Today I bid a joyful farewell to The Cooler, I mean the office. Around 3:30pm, I will be a former employee of [corporate co.], and the newest staffing addition to [upscale retail establishment]. I couldn't be happier! To celebrate, I went shoe shopping before showing up for the afternoon of key-punching in my little cave. The new job will keep me on my feet, so I predict that my 3 inch stilettos probably won't make the appropriate-work-attire cut. I acknowledge my masochistic tendencies and still, I'd rather not curse my aching feet at the end of each day. I bought two pairs of flats and plan to dedicate a few hours next week to the alteration of dress pants. They are all, as of now, long enough to accommodate heels [i.e., too long]. The new gig begins Wednesday. Not only will the hours be reasonable, but the compensation will rival my current wage earnings [hooray!]. I'm really excited for the change.

Word on the new job came Friday afternoon.

Friday evening I struggled for the first time with Uncle Sam. I continue to read that relationships with soldiers are additionally relationships with the Army. It seems to be a self-evident truth, so I helped The Roommate paint her room a gorgeous turquoise shade of robins-egg-blue. My bond with a paint brush is unlike any other, once I connect with the first stroke, be it on a wall or on a canvas, my mind drifts off to a place without concept of time or worry. I offered aid in order to lose my thoughts while awaiting word of return from The Staff Sergeant. At 10:30pm [after one full coat of paint including the cut-in of ceiling and baseboards] he was back from the sticks. I packed my tote, peeled as much paint from my skin as possible, and headed for his place.

Saturday I flexed my culinary muscles with a homemade production of French toast and mixed berries before heading back to Nashville. A commitment to volunteer beckoned my return. V, Future Californian, and I were delightfully recruited to work Wine on the River...and who doesn't love to play with wine-all the wine you could imagine? We hurried, signed in, and began a brief education before the event began. I drank and served and drank some more. It was fabulous! And following a wine-laced afternoon, The Staff Sergeant picked me up for a delicious dinner at Trace.

Sunday was as Sunday should be...calm and lazy. If everyday could be a Sunday spent with The Staff Sergeant, Heaven would quite nearly exist in earthly form.

...that brings us back to Monday. I dutifully sit, fingers and toes numb from the overworked A/C, ambiance set by fluorescent lights overhead and the echo of murmured phone calls and clicking keyboards [and a distant tune of what I can only imagine to be a kind of cubical karaoke?].

I'm counting down the minutes until this ends.

One, two, three, counting out the signs we see.

Today I read something that got my heart to thinking. Is there anything sweeter than being past the intros, but still in the mystery?

We've all been there:

...the please don't let me run out of things to say, first date. The one where you realize his eyes are the color of the black coffee he almost ordered. The one where you learn his profession, his origins, his favorite band, the books he's read, that his smile is perfect. Where you wish that you had invested a bit more time in the application of your make-up, that you had checked your teeth before he arrived, that you could tame butterflies. Before you make the surreal drive home through imagined clouds, he hugs you, and for a moment you forget to breathe.

...the can this frock possibly transcend the dress code of anywhere in this city and/or state that might be contained beneath the umbrella of "dinner, at eight," second date. The one where he comes to your front door like a gentleman. Where he's even more dapper in dress pants and a button-up than he was in jeans. Where he opens your truck door and you think Xanax thoughts to calm yourself as he walks around to the other side. The one where you try not to spill the wine, or spatter your entree as you move it in small fragments from plate to mouth in unnatural deliberation. Where you are ever more drawn to his sense of humor, his effortless display of intelligence, his class, his allure. You finally calm your nerves to the point of easy conversation, and you wonder if, rather you hope, he moves in for a kiss before the evening ends.

...the please don't let my cooking skills fail me now, third date. When you drum your fingers nervously on the kitchen counter in percussional prayer. Where you hope that of everything in your closet that might count for "casual," the GAP jeans and tee are the most perfect. Where you buy back-up, pre-packaged pasta an hour before he shows just in case. Where you cross your fingers under the table as he takes the first bite and seems successfully impressed. Where the details begin to act as mortar to the facts. The ones that you scrawl into mental notes. Where your heart jumps when he wraps his arm around you in the dark, and the unexpected burst of fireworks have somehow just made the night more epic than memorable. Where he tells you that this date tops all of his others and all of the others about which he has ever heard. And as you gaze out over the city lights, your fingers momentarily entwine and you try to hide the telltale smile that is strung from ear to ear.

This is my favorite part. When you move slowly and slightly past "strangers" and brave a step toward something more.

Reading & Wine - A Fabulous Combination!

I have to admit that my favorite place in Nashville might very well be the Grand Reading Room in the main public library downtown. I have come here today to get some much procrastinated work done for class and to pick up a copy of Jack Kerouac's On The Road in anticipation of the next three weeks of academic freedom! Perhaps this doesn't sound like much to look forward to, but until you've given his imagery a chance and the unique style in which he narrates, you can't judge. I'm quite excited to road trip the country with Dean as Kerouac paints vivid illustrations with his prose. Yes, I'm a nerd, but it explains the desire for an MA in writing, right? My last Composition professor said, "You become a good writer by reading good writing." Kerouac is good writing.

There is something very tranquil about The Grand Reading Room...it's lofty ceilings and rows of reading tables are nestled between shelves and shelves of books and pages and words. More words that I could ever know, and more ideas than I could ever conger. It's inspiring and peaceful here, with large towering windows that invite soft natural light and frame the state capital building. I can hear the city moving below my third floor location, but inside this room only the quiet "whirrr" of an overhead air vent can be heard, and the occasional turn of a page, and maybe a murmur as someone speaks deliberately low.

On another note, I had the pleasure of going wine shopping this morning...not to drink this morning. It's for next weekend's trip to Asheville. I got my usual bottle of Kris Pinot Grigio and opted to try a new bottle that I had never before seen: FairValley. I was really excited to see that it is made on a vineyard in South Africa that is run by black Africans and that they are the individuals who reap the benefits of the wine. Naturally, I'm going to show up next weekend with African wine that is benefiting people otherwise living in poverty. It's almost too predictable :) Several people working at the store said really good things about it, though, especially that it's great this time of the year because it's fresh and light and good when it's so hot outside. I'll post when I know more about it's taste, and if it's fabulous, I will definitely encourage it to all.

With that, I'm going to wish all a Happy Saturday! For now, I must get back to my priorities.