a.mann's world

and when you need a place to run, for better or worse i got you. -leona lewis

2011-07-20T23:08:00.000-07:00

i sped home on my bike tonight. frantically escaping the crowded bars. trading in the noise and bustle of people around me for dark and empty streets. cool breezes and star filled skies. i had a conversation today. another version of one i seem to have every so often. when i feel i need to figure out my life. and i beat myself up for not knowing what the hell i am doing. or where i have spent the last thirty-two years of my life. when i run around like a complete spazz, trying to find some concrete evidence that i have not been here in vain. but all i can do is stand, trembling, shaking my head, staring at my empty hands.

in all my inarticulate ramblings today, becca, this is what i meant to say:

“I got to thinking about how much time I spend in my life crashing around like a great gasping fish, either squirming away from some uncomfortable distress or flopping hungrily toward ever more pleasure. And I wondered whether it might serve me (and those who are burdened with the task of loving me) if I could learn to stay still and endure a bit more without always getting dragged along on the potholed road of circumstance.” (Eat Pray Love, p. 173).

time is slipping away. accept it and you'll get it some day. -deer tick

2011-07-20T22:26:00.000-07:00

i went to lunch yesterday with a boy i have had a crush on since i moved to town. he's not my type. if i even have such a thing. polo shirt. buzz cut. northern roots. but the blue eyes are enticing.

we made plans on saturday night. cemented them on monday. and as i was getting ready to walk out the door yesterday he calls me in a confused state. seems he's made plans for a work interview/meeting and got me confused with some nathan kid. i should have just left it alone and wished him good luck with his new hire, but instead I gave in to his apology and oversight and went to lunch with him anyway. his ambivalence cancelled out my excitement. pleasant conversation was lost on me because i couldn't stop thinking of how i had been forgotten. confused with some obligatory work detail. is it too much to ask to meet someone who is genuinely excited about the opportunity to spend time with me?

may your days be rich and full of wealth. and your nights be long when you need rest. -delta spirit

2011-07-20T22:20:00.000-07:00

::this is what today sounds like::

and every summer is a hot token to the cold, cold take of lust. and every autumn singes with the business of sadness.

2011-07-06T23:20:00.000-07:00

::this is what today sounds like::

he said i was heady. and i took that as an insult. but he traced my wrist with his fingertips. kissed me. and held me. all night. so maybe he meant intoxicating. instead of overwhelming and reckless.

If Telluride aint Heaven, then Heaven can wait. -Dizzy Gillespie

2011-05-10T15:04:00.000-07:00

::This is what today sounds like::
"We weren't put on this earth to be perfect, but we were made to pursue happiness. If you don't pursue happiness, then you sold yourself out, you sold your soul." -Jeremy Evans
"It's a sunny [May] day. I can see a bunch of water birds on the small bay out my window. The beach is only a half a block away, and any reasonable person might call where I am paradise. At home right now it's most likely snowing sideways, delaying the start of mud season for another two weeks, and the [May] wind is howling the way it likes to do until neither man nor animal can hear himself think. And none of this information is keeping me from being so homesick that I can tell you without even getting out the calculator that I have [3 weeks or 21 days or 504 hours or 30,240 minutes] until I get to go home to the high San Juans. The people in my valley call it the Creede Curse, that once you live in that country it'll never let go of you. But if Harriet Fish Backus were alive, I think she'd call it a blessing." -Pam Houston

::Blue Lake "bum hike" with Katie, Rae, and Lucy::

"Nothing interests many of us like the mountains which will always draw men from the ends of the earth that they may climb as near to Heaven as may be, by their rocky stairs. It is the wildest and most inaccessible region in Colorado, if not in North America. It is as if the great spinal column of the continent had bent upon itself in some spasm of earth, until the vertebrae overlapped each other, the effect being unparalleled ruggedness and sublimity, more awful than beautiful." -H.H. Bancroft
::Via Ferrata & Bridal Veil Falls::

::Bluegrass Festival with Amanda::

::Soaking up the music and alpine glow with Jane::

::Camping with The Marley Dog::

::Ajax Peak with Jimmy and Dylan::

::God Bless America: Fourth of July parade on Main Street::

"The splendor of azure skies kissing mountain peaks, the vista of winding roads clinging to precipices, far away valleys disappearing into the distance, all mingled in nature's harmony, lulled me into daytime reveries." -Harriet Fish Backus

::Mt. Elbert (highest Peak in Colorado) with Julia and Rae::

::Wilson Peak with Ben and Paul::

::Phish - Birthday festivities with Kelsey, Lucy, and Kendra::

::Brown Dog birthday extravaganza: thirty-one is the new twenty-one (or the time I made out with both my best friend and Jenny Lewis' guitar player in one night)::

::Foraging for mushrooms. Magical::

::Get ready summer 2011...I'm coming for you::

What's amazing is when you feel your life going somewhere. Like your life just figured out how to get good. Like that second. -Angela Chase

2011-05-08T20:16:00.000-07:00

Not only is today Mother's Day, but it also marks two months since my surgery. And in celebration of my birth, my momula, and my healing I decided to take a little walk. Nothing big. Just a lil' stroll (read: hobble) around the garden where my mom has been hard at work repairing the hobbit fence we built a couple years ago when I was visiting one summer.

One of the perks of being crutch free is I find my hands suddenly freed up to do all sorts or handy things like carry plates and glasses and move things from one side of the room to the other. Like sheets of fresh baked cookies to the cooling rack. So it makes cooking a much simpler process. And a lot less exhausting. I was able to sit down and enjoy a yummy meal instead of collapsing, right leg shaking from bearing all the weight. I am still favoring my left, but it's out of habit not pain. My knee is feeling good. The sole of my foot has probably had an equal amount of adjusting. After two and a half months of free floating it feels so strange to be in contact with a flat, hard surface. But I'll manage. And I definitely wont say no to the offer for a foot massage. Thanks mom!

In honor of momula's day I challenged her to a Scrabble game. She kicked my ass, but it wasn't for lack of effort. To bad proper nouns are not permitted. I could have spelled my own name. (And in one turn I had the option to spell "spoon" or "fork". And I went with the latter to gain the extra six points a double letter score allowed me.

yesterday i had a dream that i met you.

2011-05-07T20:35:00.000-07:00

Give me lust, baby. Flash. Give me malice. Flash. Give me detached existentialist ennui. Flash. Give me rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism. Flash. -Chuck Palahniuk

"And the band plays some song about forgetting yourself for awhile. And the piano is this melancholy sound check to her smile." -The Airborne Toxic Event

you don't need magic to disappear. all you need is a destination.

2011-05-07T20:30:00.000-07:00

What makes you interesting isn’t just what you’ve experienced, but also what you haven’t experienced. Embrace your limitations and keep moving.

2011-05-07T20:00:00.000-07:00

"Here’s what artists understand. It’s a three-word sentence that fills me with hope every time I read it: Nothing is original." -Austin Kleon
How to Steal Like an Artist (and 9 Other Things Nobody Told Me)
1. Steal like an artist.
2. Don’t wait until you know who you are to start making things.
3. Write the book you want to read.
4. Use your hands.
5. Side projects and hobbies are important.
6. The secret: do good work and put it where people can see it.
7. Geography is no longer our master.
8. Be nice. The world is a small town.
9. Be boring. It’s the only way to get work done.
10. Creativity is subtraction.

Shortly after I wrote my little diatribe on commitment in my professional life I stumbled upon this ten step process to claiming and mastering your creative flow. (Thanks Rebecca for posting this delightfully insightful/inspiring article).

"If I waited to know “who I was” or “what I was about” before I started “being creative”, well, I’d still be sitting around trying to figure myself out instead of making things. In my experience, it’s in the act of making things that we figure out who we are. You’re ready. Start making stuff. You might be scared. That’s natural. There’s this very real thing that runs rampant in educated people. It’s called imposter syndrome. The clinical definition is a “psychological phenomenon in which people are unable to internalize their accomplishments.” It means that you feel like a phony, like you’re just winging it, that you really don’t have any idea what you’re doing. Guess what? None of us do. I had no idea what I was doing when I started blacking out newspaper columns. All I knew was that it felt good. It didn’t feel like work. It felt like play. Ask any real artist, and they’ll tell you the truth: they don’t know where the good stuff comes from. They just show up to do their thing. Every day." -Austin Kleon

It's nice to know I'm not alone in this confusion. I'm just a small part of a phenomenon. And I love that my natural instinct is to make things. Be it a photograph, a mix tape, a pie, or an installation, my heart is always comforted by my busy hands. I hope that this is the reason my pictures speak to people. And why my cookies taste so dang good. Because there's a piece of me in everything I create. There's love, and time, and attention to detail. I am not sure what "my thing" is quite yet, but I know it involves creating things. And hopefully one of my hobbies will turn out to be something more.

a moment. a love. a dream aloud. a kiss. a cry. our rights. our wrongs.

2011-05-07T19:49:00.000-07:00

"I think everything in life is art. What you do. How you dress. The way you love someone, and how you talk. Your smile and your personality. What you believe in. And all your dreams. The way you decorate your home. Or party. Your grocery list. The food you make. How your writing looks. And the way you feel. Life is art."

find out what you're afraid of and go live there. -chuck palahniuk

2011-05-07T18:56:00.002-07:00

::maine::

::april (snow) showers bring may flowers?::

::the snow gives way to cloudy days and rain::

::marley dog has no difficulty making himself at home::

::the best easter basket ever::

::in addition to her jewelry, my mom's contribution to the silent auction::

::auctioning my photos to help pay my medical bills. fingers crossed::

::i got a job sitting a gallery on the island. this is my favorite piece::

::private collection of Carolyn Hecker::

::the gallery fridge. the "coolest" appliance ever::

::saving my pennies (literally) to get me back to telluride::

It's such a collection of great people doing amazing things -Tom Shadyac

2011-05-07T17:01:00.000-07:00

::Celebrating indomitable spirit::
in·dom·i·ta·ble
adj \in-ˈdä-mə-tə-bəl\
: incapable of being subdued : unconquerable

The snow is melted and sunny days of slacklines in the park and coffee on The Steaming Bean "patio" have finally arrived. While town is anxiously awaiting Bluegrass Festival and frustrated with the ticket situation, I would like to take this time to direct your attention to the real festival season kickoff: MountainFilm. Since 1979, Telluride has held this epic meeting of minds, talent, courage, and athletic ability. Coming to your very own box canyon this Memorial Day weekend, prepared to have your life rocked. I have been involved with MountainFilm for the past two years. Sarah, Jenny and David have all been heavily involved and peaked my interest during film selection process. Last year I had the great privilege of volunteering in exchange for a pass. It's an experience I definitely recommend. People travel from all over the world to participate and volunteer. The number of incredible minds under one azure, Telluride sky is worth the ticket price alone. Instead of trying to scalp a ticket to Bluegrass consider putting your cash towards a weekend guaranteed to make you think a little differently. Split a 6 punch with your better half or roomie. I have never walked away from an event more encouraged, uplifted, and emotionally exhausted. I went thinking, at the very least, I would get to see an interesting documentary. I found myself two days later ready for a nap due to all the stimulating commentary and discussions over free breakfast talks (Get up early and go to these if nothing else!) artwalks, symposiums, picnics, parties, dinners, and conversations with new friends I met waiting in queue for the films to commence. MountainFilm's access and direct interaction with activists and artists alike is unparalleled. You'll find yourself standing patiently in line for a coffee one moment chatting with the gentleman next to you, then next thing you know that same man is answering questions from the audience you find yourself in.

What is Mountainfilm? from Mountainfilm in Telluride on Vimeo.

I have been lucky enough to meet the following gentlemen and their work and contribution to MountainFilm extends far beyond the presentations they have this year. If you have any interest in photography please take the time to check out the works of Drew Ludwig ::Walking 120 Miles in the Gulf of Mexico:: and Aaron Huey ::Broken Treaties::. And if you share any love for the desert of Utah (you know you all just got back from your snow-relief climbing trip to Moab and your camping respite in Arches and Canyonlands) you will not want to miss your chance to learn more about Bidder 70's Tim Decristopher.

It breaks my heart that I will most likely be on the road during this years festival. But while my physical self will not be present for the screenings and discussions, my spirit will be relishing the fact that Telluride embraces such life altering events. And I challenge you all to take advantage of this opportunity. Test your spirit. Celebrate.

Check out some of the festival's previous entries. These are available on Netflix:
Wasteland
I Am
180 degrees South
The Cove
Big River Man
The Yes Men Fix the World
Sergio
The Garden
These are NOT available on Netflix but should definitely be viewed if you can find them.
First Ascent Series
Eastern Rises

"Do they collide?" I ask. And you smile. With my feet on the dash the world doesn't matter.

2011-05-05T16:50:00.000-07:00

Word on the street is that I'll be reunited with the box canyon in three wee lil' weeks. (That seems like a long time when tacked onto the six weeks I've already put in, but I'm giving myself a million little pep talks to make it through.) I saw the doctor today, in the mix of running errands with my mom and her friend. Food Pantry. Grocery store. Post office. Library. Walmart. Getting goodies for the silent auction we are holding on the 15th. I'm hoping to be able to walk a bit better by then. I can't hold a glass of wine in my hand on crutches. Trust me, I've strategized. But the good news is I have a little time between now and then to perfect this ol' balance thing again. My knee is holding up well. The x-rays today showed no sign of my fracture line. And the donor bone has been 95% incorporated into my own. Phil and I are literally becoming one. But while the films say my bones are ready for the big test, my muscle didn't quite get the memo. My "walk" is more of a one crutch hobble across the room at the present time. When I'm feeling really daring I might try the two steps from the toilet to the bathroom sink. It's slow going. But I'm farther along than I was yesterday. So I just need to keep up the pace. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. And I'll be at the finish line in no time.

Sitting here, after a day on my feet and some time standing at the stove, (I made my spicy mushroom soup) I am trying to prepare myself for the next few weeks. I stocked up on Advil today. I have a feeling I am going to need it. This next phase is going to be a bit more painful but I have a huge reward waiting on the other side and I am confident I can push through a little discomfort in order to claim my prize. H.O.M.E. All I have to do is get my leg strong enough to engage my clutch. (Dang straight drive.) And then I'm on the road. I have one final appointment with Dr. White on the 24th to make sure everything is holding up and to wrap up any lose ends and file a final report to send back to Dr. Bynum in Colorado. The two have been keeping tabs on one another's evaluation of my progress. It feels so nice to be cared for from both sides of the country. And I am going to take advantage of the physical therapy I have available to me here. Maine has been the perfect place for me to recover in one major aspect. It has been free. My mom has provided me with a place to stay and food to eat and rides to my many medical appointments. And thanks to the wonderful health care in her town, all of my treatments have been taken care of through a program I applied to through their hospital. Sometimes being poor means you wait in line to get cereal and rice and other times it means you get to have fancy x-rays and not give yourself an ulcer trying to figure out how you'll pay for them. (I am finding the latter to be a rare occurrence and therefore all the more amazing). But sometimes it pays to be (net)worth-less. In my case, roughly $4,300. Or the Bluebook value of my car. According to the government that is my total value. Sounds kinda pathetic in the grand scheme of things but I'll take it since it seems to be working to my advantage at this point. There's plenty of time in the future for me to find my niche and strike it rich. For now I will just revel in the fact that I have found doctors who don't shame me for not having health insurance and who treat me like an actually person. (My sincerest thanks and praise go to the fine staff at Blue Hill Medical Center, Western Slope Orthopedics, and Montrose Memorial Hospital. All of you have been so supportive, informative, and friendly during what has been a very difficult and upsetting event.) Would it be weird if I baked you all cookies? You definitely deserve it!

So, in the mean time I will be practicing my dance steps. Packing up my things. Getting my car in working order. Not to mention all the million little details to arrange before I can get back on the road. Being in my car will feel like the ultimate freedom. I am so excited to be back behind the wheel. It almost makes up for the three-four days I will be spending in my car to get from A to B. But with my trusty sidekick Marley Dog, an ipod full of play lists, coffee in my cup holder, and wind in my hair, nothing can stop me. Not even the $4 gas prices. Ugh.

We've got a date, Telluride. I know it's been a while. Don't worry, I wont stand you up. See you at the end of the month! I'll be the one bent down in the middle of Colorado Avenue kissing the black top.

It's a long way back. -Grey's Anatomy

2011-05-04T19:42:00.000-07:00

"After a trauma your body is at its most vulnerable. Response time is critical. So you're suddenly surrounded by people; doctors, nurses, specialists. Surgery is a team sport. Everyone pushing for the finish line. Putting you back together again. Surgery is a trauma in and of itself. And once it's over the real healing begins. We call it recovery. Recovery is not a team sport. It's a solitary distance run. It's long. It's exhausting. And it's lonely as hell." -Dr. Grey

I have my orthopaedic appointment tomorrow morning. Getting another round of x-rays and and exam. I should know more about my recovery time line by the afternoon. I am nervous. I think I can handle three more weeks. If the doctor says I just need a few more weeks to get strong. The sound of that doesn't suck my insides out. But I need to see the light at the end of this tunnel. My life is on pause. And I'm desperate to push play on this soundtrack.

It's hard to imagine getting up and walking around when my knee throbs all day because of the rainy weather. And it swells when I stand at the sink for too long. Sometimes it feels lose and I am encouraged and other times it is stiff and tender and seems so far from ever carrying me across any expanse. But I am trying to stay positive. Sending love and light. And I have done all that the doctors have asked of me. Please let there be good news on the horizon.

Play should remain your life, your center of life. Work should be just a means towards play. -Osho

2011-04-27T20:37:00.000-07:00

::Katie and Dylan getting down and dirty for our 2011 Calendar "Spills" ::

Work to Live. Live to Play. I think that's the general motto of any good ski bum. I might think differently when I'm sixty-five and staring at my bank account. I most likely will never have a 401K or a penchant plan, but I sure will have a lot of great memories to look back on. And while a collection of friends and photos will not pay the bills their wealth is immeasurable.

I'm on what we'll call, extended holiday. I broke my leg in a ski accident. I wasn't rippin' 360's or huckin' 15 foot cliffs. As best I can tell I lost my balance. Got dehydrated. Got tired. Lost focus. Just for a moment. That's usually all it takes. And so I find myself in Maine, mending my wounds. Slightly lonely for my friends and homesick for my mountains. But if I had it to do all over again I would still spend the day on the slopes with Molly and Baines. I wish I didn't have to sit still all these months. But my lifestyle is worth that risk to me. And next time I'll be more careful.

I know once I go back to work I am going to miss all this free time. So I've been trying to use it wisely. Craftily. I read and write. I've finished four books. Filled a journal. Made 114 origami cranes. Brainstormed photo shoot ideas. Good friends and dress-ups...gotta love it. Planned group projects. (Katie, we need to get on our monthly photo/theme contest). Filed recipes. Baked bread. Baked cookies. Watched documentaries. Caught up on Weeds, Friday Night Lights, Numb3rs, and Pushing Daisies. Designed mock posters. Made bracelets. Made mixes. Played scrabble. Went on "walks". And healed broken bones :)

Money's been pretty tight. And the weather has been less than marvelous. Doing most things on one leg presents a pretty exhausting challenge, so I haven't gotten to bake or sew or knit like I had originally envisioned before I left. The sewing machine is on the fritz, and I am apparently really bad at knitting. And when it comes down to paying for a physical therapy appointment or buying gluten free flour, sucanat, and traffic-free chocolate, I'm going to have to go with the former. For now. But I am keeping lists of all my ideas. And I should have a pretty full summer of art projects, should I find myself needing a break from hiking the wilderness of Colorado. My physical therapist told me I should be all set to hike by the time I get back to Telluride. (Goal: Memorial Day weekend). I'll have to start out easy of course but there's a chance I could check off some 14ers by the end of the season. And who know's...Imogen may even be in my future. It's good to have goals.

I am meeting with my Orthopaedic surgeon a week from tomorrow. If everything looks good with my next round of x-rays, the PT says I will be at weight bearing status. Ohhh...to be able to walk again!!! I had my first walking dream last week. It was incredible. Sometimes I lurch off the couch and catch myself in mid-rise before I realize I can't just sachet across the room. I love my bear-killers, but I'll be so happy to be done with these crutches. Wish me luck.

Hang in there kid. It's not supposed to be easy. -Ben Steenblik

2011-04-27T20:13:00.000-07:00

"Still hanging in there?" she asks.
"I am, thank you," I say.
"All right then," she says, "that's what I like to hear."
She disappears into the locker room.
The truth is that I do not like hanging in there. I was born, I believe, to do more. Or perhaps it's that I survived to do more. -Dave Eggers, "What is the What"

"Be limitless." -Ben Steenblik

::In memory of Brandon Williams (June 1, 1979 - March 14, 2011)::

I suspect that it's all good. -Farmer Dave

2011-04-27T20:07:00.001-07:00

::this is what today sounds like::

Being creative makes you a weird little beast beacause everything seems so bloody interesting for some strange reason.

2011-04-27T17:16:00.000-07:00

Leonardo's Mona Lisa is just a thousand smears of paint. Michelangelo's David is just a million hits with a hammer. We're, all of us, a million bits put together the right way. -Chuck Palahniuk

Choice, as my friend Jen recently highlighted, often causes a crippling response. The more options a person has, the more paralyzed they become. This fear of commitment is present not only in relationships but also in professional decisions. Sometimes I think my life would be easier if I grew up decades ago on rural farmland. I could handle the hard work and early hours. And wouldn't life be less complicated if I knew from a young age that my role was to marry the neighbor's son, Noah, and feed the chickens? Adventure would be taking a carriage ride to the big city and fending off coyotes. I would find satisfaction in raising healthy children, and stocking the shed with canning jars filled with vegetables from my garden. Maybe there's too much variety these days. The "perfect job" and "Mr. Right" might just be internet fantasy. Like porn, designed to distract the masses from the things that actually matter.

"Maybe all of my life, all of my decisions are about avoiding suffering. The scandalous truth is that I don’t want a career. I mean, I want one because I have to have one, but I feel like I am on a constant mission to discover which one sucks the least." -Jen Painter

I had to give my therapist a brief overview of my life upon our first meeting. Just an idea of where I was at presently and where I was coming from. It sounded something like this. Grew up. Had friends. Played sports. Joined clubs. Got decent grades. Went to college. Got decent grades. Got a job. Got a boyfriend. Lost a boyfriend. Got a new job. Got a new job. Got a new job. Got a new job. Etc...

Maybe this is a quest to define myself. You are what you eat. I am what I do. What if I make the wrong decision? Is it that big a deal? My therapist walked me through my career choices thus far and pointed out the absence of any major landmines or epic failures. Perhaps the blinders I've been wearing have not only kept me on the straight and narrow, but they have also limited my perspective on the things that I have achieved. I have had the amazing privilege of graduating from college. (I was actually the very first person in my immediate family to garner such credit). But my degree is from the University of North Carolina at Wilmington not Columbia University. And my degree is a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing not a Masters in Astrophysics. I have never once held a job that I was, as decreed by my resume, qualified for. I have enjoyed every position I have ever held, but I feel that I have some how obtained them all by some form of trickery or slight of hand. I have never used my English degree. I read and journal, but I hesitate to call that writing. My high school neighbor John, is an author. I keep a silly blog. I designed signage and vehicle/boat graphics for six years. But I would not call myself a graphic artist. That's what Katie and Kelly do. I can only aspire to such creative enterprises. I have photographed areas all over the country. Taken head shots and wedding portraits. My work has hung on gallery walls and can be found in home bathrooms in at least six states (seven if you count my mom's). But I'm just a girl with a camera and a fetish for playing dress-up with my friends. Lauren is the one with the company and the website. Although I've cooked breakfast at a luxury boutique hotel, it feels like a lie to say I was a chef. My schooling comes from potlucks and hungry roommates. Asking too many questions on catering jobs. And watching the Food Network. Recreating Tyler Florence's finest doesn't make me half the chef that Blakely is.

And yet i've managed to achieve and maintain each position of my own accord. Leaving or moving on at my own volition. I feel like I have managed to pull off the most miraculous scam. And I am just waiting to get caught. Waiting for the head honcho to realize I have no idea what I'm doing. So I give up before I get busted. I can't seem to make one thing stick. My repeated failure in relationships has not deterred my efforts to find a partner. Yet even the moderate success I have enjoyed in the work world can not steer me towards one clear direction. When it comes to love I'm pro monogamy. But when it comes to career, I am down right phobic.

"If you are not aware of who you are, you can not be love. You will be fear. Fear is just the opposite of love." -Osho

Caitlyn always tells me I have to love myself first, before I can expect anyone else to want to settle down with me. I hate these pep talks. I have gotten so frustrated with her on so many occasions. And not because I think she is wrong. I whole-heartedly agree with her. But maybe my error comes from being too self aware? From picking things apart until they are unrecognizable? If a word can have multiple definitions, why can't I? Who says I have to pick just one thing to define me?

Perhaps I should more seriously consider my interests. Blending the best off all of them together. I'm thinking B&B at some point in my life. I apparently managed to fool the hotel's high-end clientele into thinking I have my act together. (I found these reviews posted by actual guests I served during their vacations -- Winter '09/'10).

"The breakfast each day was fantastic - not only a big convenience but creative, delicious dishes that varied each day...The breakfasts at Lumiere were outstanding - 5stars. We never left feeling hungry! Most of the time they had a buffet set up (starting at 8am). One day they served us. We had fresh fruit and coffee every morning and especially loved the raspberry glace french toast."

Although, i still think being a farmer's wife, keeping chickens and bees, sounds wonderfully romantic.
And for my next trick...

You were never created to be average. Everything you can imagine is real.

2011-04-25T21:26:00.001-07:00

So here we go. Making something out of nothing. My mom and her friends are putting together a little art auction to raise money for my mounting medical expense. I have been unbelievably blessed to qualify for both the CICP (Colorado Indigent Care Program) and Maine Care, which combined have slashed my debt in half. But there are so many private costs that are not covered and I am watching as the tally rises into the tens of thousands of dollars. But I am not going to let that overwhelm me. It will get taken care of in due time. I have a job to return to and there is money to be made this summer for sure. For now I will focus on raising the funds to get me home. Fingers crossed.

You, alright. I learned it by watching you.

2011-04-25T19:27:00.000-07:00

When I was five, my little sister and I went to live with my aunt and uncle and cousin, Brad in Michigan. Yes, there really is a Kalamazoo. My parents were separated, headed for divorce, and the stress of the new family dynamic, compounded with the generational traumas of her own, caused my mom to have a nervous breakdown of sorts. In order to get sober and centered she checked into a rehab. And because my father refused the responsibility of keeping us in his charge while she was gone, we were shipped off to the mid-west. And so defines the next two decades (plus) of my life. The repetitious themes taught from a very young age. You are too much: my mother. You are not enough: my father.

I was also taught to appreciate the little things in life, though. Like sharing a can of coca-cola and a package of TastyKake Butterscotch Krimpets with my mom and sister. Making wax paper aquariums with brightly colored crayon shavings and an iron. Catching salamander and crayfish in the creek and building forts out of the neighbors' trash. My sister and I spent Saturday mornings playing in our bedroom and trying not to kill each other while my mother slept in her make shift bed in the living room. The rule was not to wake her before ten. AND not to scratch each others eyes out while we were waiting for her to rise.

We were poor. And it sucked. My dad's failure to pay child support left my mom with a heavy burden. And while she struggled to provide food and a warm, safe home, the stresses of such difficult endeavors seeped into every crack and crevice. I can joke now, about eating $0.88 Prince Macaroni and Cheese every night for dinner. And heating the apartment with a fan on the open oven door. Wearing the boss' daughter's hand-me-down cloths, even though I was sometimes teased in school by the preppy girls who were friends with the articles' original owner.

But my mom has a way of stretching nothing into something. And she tried to make it fun. I learned to settle for what we had. To make do. To even enjoy it. But because of the stress and strife that surrounded the situation I also learned that it was wrong to ask for more than that. Any greater expectations for myself were too exhausting and troublesome. So, while I often wanted certain things, I knew they were not for me. They were meant for other people. Better people. More worthy people. And I settled into settling. I still remember sitting at lunch, sixth grade, crowded cafeteria, and I longed to be at the preppy girls' table. But I wore clothes from Burlington Coat Factory and my mom drove a Datsun you could hear coming from a block away. And while I was allowed to play on their sports teams and pair with them on class projects, I would never be truly welcome at their pool parties and sleepovers.

We moved a lot while I was growing up. Seven times in fourteen years. And although part of me always craved the attention the cool kids' table would afford me, I never felt deprived of good friendships. This was my one true survival skill. That sink or swim mechanism that kicks in subconsciously. (Side Note: my mom dropped me in the pool when I was a baby -KNOWN FACT = INFANTS FLOAT- but I sank like a rock and she had to jump in after me. A metaphor for all the burden I was to become). I learned to make friends quickly. To adapt to my surroundings. I learned to be funny. To share. To listen. To be reliable. Those lessons seemed to make people want to stick around. At least the girls. At least for a while.

Boys on the other hand have always been a much shiftier situation. I grew up playing with my cousin's Matchbox Cars and He-Man action figures. I loved Legos and my father seemed to enjoy bequeathing me with more masculine versions of my original requests. I asked for roller skates, he gave me a skateboard. I asked for My Little Ponies and he gave me Transformers. I learned there was something wrong with my requests. And I grew up playing touch football in the street, and filling containers with bugs and frogs and lizards. Boys were my teammates and my opposition. And I don't think I have ever managed to understand how to engage them in any healthy, acceptable male-female interaction. Other than friends, that is. I am really, really good at being the buddy and the sister and the mother hen. But I am almost entirely inept at romantic relations with the opposite sex. Abandonment breeds begging. And I settle for scraps. I find myself infatuated instead of in love. Standing on a slack-line attempting to cross. It's shaky and unstable. You fall off and hop back on, but the efforts only prove exhausting.

My last relationship was like this. (as were many of those prior).

"The problem with infatuation, of course, is that it's a mirage, a trick of the eye-indeed, a trick of the endocrine system. Infatuation is not quite the same thing as love; its more like love's shady second cousin who's always borrowing money and can't hold down a job. When you become infatuated with somebody, you're not really looking at that person; you're just captivated by your own reflection, intoxicated by a dream of completion that you have projected on a virtual stranger. We tend, in such a state, to decide all sorts of spectacular things about our lovers that may not be true. We perceive something almost divine in our beloved, even if our friends and family might not get it...An infatuation-based affair is a sanity free zone, where misconception has no limits and where perspective finds no foot hold." -Elizabeth Gilbert (Committed)

I found myself, late at night, standing in the middle of the street, bawling my eyes out. Literally begging this person I had been spending so much energy to be with, not to leave me. For as intense and passionate as our time together was, it was equally reckless and thus brief. All I remember through my tears is his repeated refrain, "I'm not going anywhere. I promise. I'm not going anywhere." And he walked me home. And he held me close. And he sent me to bed. And he left. For good. And even now, writing this, I find myself still slightly shaken. I'm exhausted by this pattern. I have once again fallen off the slack line, but I feel no closer to solid ground. I have spent the last few months tearing myself apart. Unable to move past this. Unable to move forward. If only I was stronger. If only I had been more patient. If only...The prayer of self-flagellation. I beg for love and I vomit affection. Too much and not enough.

I remember Easter at my aunt and uncle's house. My cousin and I snuck out of our rooms to watch for the Easter Bunny. We fell asleep by the fireplace and when we awoke baskets were left with stuffed bunnies and loads of chocolate. And we spent the morning taking turns re-hiding the dyed eggs so that the hunt could go on all day long. We went about pretending that everything was great. And everything was normal. But it was a holiday. And what six year old doesn't miss their parents during a celebration? But my mom arrived some time after. Once school was out for the summer. She arrived after we had gone to bed. And she stole into my room and woke my sister and me and I remember thinking it was my aunt. That it was all a dream. But she and my grandmother loaded up the Volkswagon Rabbit, piling my sister and I in the back. Seats folded down, padded with blankets and pillows, we drove East to Pennsylvania. The hot sun melting our new box of Crayola Crayons into a colorful swirl of wax and paper.

It's impossible to say exactly what events have affected and defined me as an individual. We are all a sum of all the parts we have encountered. And I can only speak of the things I remember. Memory can be an illusive and unreliable resource. And I am left questioning how exactly I got to where I am right now. It is no ones fault. For finding fault would mean that someone has intentionally caused me harm. And even on my darkest days I do not believe that to be true. But I find myself dependent again. That six year old little girl all over again. Scared and vulnerable. And once again whisked across the county, packed up in the back of my car, padded with pillows and blankets. And I'm frightened because we have no money. And I'm worried about taking up too much time. And I watch my mom stress about bills and an extra mouth to feed, while my bank account dwindles down to zero. And I feel like a burden again. And I feel burdened by the difficult task of being patient with my body while it heals and forgiving it for not not performing at its fullest potential. And I struggle with the seemingly impending doom that crushes my shoulders and steals my breath when I even begin to think about how I am going to get home once I am healed. The costs of gas and travel and rent and food. I need a little refresher course in making something out of nothing. So I read and I write. And I listen to Heidi's advice. And I smooth my fingers over the ink embedded in my wrist. And I close my eyes and wait for the echoing refrain to fade into the darkness.

People always ask me what my tattoo means. And I feel shy and embarrassed translating its reminder You Are Loved. I think it is sad that I have to wear it like a talisman. But I think it is better to crawl across solid ground than to walk a tightrope. Better to be reminded of the love you have, than to find yourself begging for the love you think you need.

god is a dj. life is a dance floor. love is the rhythm. and you are the music. - framette

2011-04-25T14:53:00.001-07:00

::this is what today sounds like::

everything is funnier in retrospect. funnier, prettier, and cooler. you can laugh at anything from far enough away. - chuck palahniuk

2011-04-25T13:24:00.000-07:00

once upon a time...i fell down a mountain and broke my leg. i spent the next few weeks healing and reading and doing battle with the medical dragons. one day, two kind gentlemen drove me to mont rose in their chariot. There i was magically healed by the very talented wizard named bynum. once i was strong enough to travel, the good witch of the east came to collect me and my trusty sidekick marley. we set off on a cross country adventure, our wagons packed to the gills. we traveled far and wide stopping only once in chi-town to give our regards to a fallen knight. we finally crossed the towering bridge onto the mystical island and arrived safely back to the witch's den. "there is much work to be done," the witch told me. "and once you have completed your tasks you will be returned to your box to live happily ever after...

::marley dog makes a bad co-pilot. he kept falling asleep on the job::

::my comfy lil' nest in the back seat grew more and more crowded with every mile::

::got a little autograph love from Ed Helms. Now that's funny::

::my new hardware::

::my roomie ben, showing off my new hardware post-op::

she turned her cants into cans. and her dreams into plans.

2011-04-22T21:25:00.000-07:00

::this is what today sounds like::

"Point me at lost islands. Point me at the sea. I'd love to know the sound of nothing else but you." - Tired Pony

patrick wolf - the city
the naked and famous - young blood
the arcade fire - sprawl II (mountains upon mountains)
the head and the heart - lost in my mind
fleet foxes - grown ocean
muse - starlight
tired pony - point me at lost islands

everything has its beauty but not everyone sees it. - andy warhol

2011-04-22T21:08:00.000-07:00

I think I have a broad and intelligible appreciation for the arts. I like foreign films and classical music. Post Impressionism and poetry. But sometimes I just like to indulge myself in the guilty pleasures of cute boys and cheesy tunes. (that's right folks - Cory Monteith has a band) cliche films and interpretive/synchronized dance. The internet in a variable cesspool of options.

one is not IN love. one IS love. - osho

2011-04-22T15:28:00.000-07:00

In the midst of witnessing couples dissolve, divorce, and wither all around me, i find so much pleasure in seeing others yet, venture into new and stronger phases. Stepping from friends to lovers. Lovers to partners. It is my greatest joy to announce two of my favorite people will be married in the fall. Congratulations Rebecca & Sean!

You have come to one another with your wheelbarrows heavy with loads, but manageable with strength and balance. And together, the two of you have crafted this shared foundation. Watching you navigate one another so gracefully, though not without your own share of tensions, trials, and struggles. I applaud the care and patience with which you approach one another. It is a blessing and privilege to know you both. Love & Grace. See you in September!

The vocal is regret spun hollow and strung on a wire. - Michael Perry

2011-04-20T16:38:00.000-07:00

I like a certain kind of music. The good kind. My iTunes reflects a variety of genres and artists but my iPod playlists pose a penchant for the melancholy and morose. Strings and aching vocals. I love a song that can get your body moving. Makes your hips swing and your feet tap. But sometimes I feel most connected when I'm on my back, eyes closed, headphones on. It's the type of music that captures a feeling that can not be articulately expressed in any other format. And even if I am at my happiest moment I can still appreciate the power of the story. The strength of the song.

Bon Iver is releasing their new LP June 21st. I am looking forward to this follow up to For Emma. If you can't find me on the volleyball courts look for me laying by the river. Blanket spread. Sunblock on. Soaking it all in.

"In the absence of solid ground, the whirlwind becomes a whirlpool, and Bon Iver, Bon Iver is Justin Vernon returning to former haunts with a new spirit. The reprises are there – solitude, quietude, hope and desperation compressed – but always a rhythm arises, a pulse vivified by gratitude and grace notes, some as bright as a bicycle bell. The winter, the legend, has faded to just that, and this is the new momentary present. The icicles have dropped, rising up again as grass." - Michael Perry

If you doubt that I’ll be there don’t despair. Don’t you dare. - Sean Carey

2011-04-20T15:22:00.002-07:00

::This is what today sounds like::

You grow up to become living proof of your parents' limitations. Their less-than masterpiece. - Chuck Palahniuk

2011-04-17T20:28:00.000-07:00

::This is what today sounds like::
"We write to expose the unexposed. Most human beings are dedicated to keeping that one door shut. But the writer's job is to see what's behind it, to see the bleak unspeakable stuff, and to turn the unspeakable into words - not just into any words but if we can, into rhythm and blues. You can't do this without discovering your own true voice, and you can't find your true voice and peer behind the door and report honestly and clearly to us if your parents are reading over your shoulder."
— Anne Lamott

Perfectionism means that you try desperately not to leave so much mess to clean up. But clutter and mess show us that life is being lived. - A. Lamott

2011-04-16T17:38:00.000-07:00

"Write as if your parents are dead." — Anne Lamott

But that's hard to do when you are "being held captive" on your mother's futon.

My mom has two really annoying habits. (1) It appears that her neck is directly connected to her right foot. Every time she turns her head to look out the window her foot presses down on the accelerator and I choke back the lump in my throat as I claw at the seat vinyl, close my eyes, and brace for impending impact with the vehicle in front of us. It's not fun. People drive to fast and take turns to sharply to be day dreaming and staring off at rock formations and birds flying. YOU ARE DRIVING! Get it together woman. I once made her pull over (even though I was sick) so I could take over the wheel because she admittedly was too distracted by her surroundings and kept veering off the road. (2) She is endlessly messy. She knows this about herself. And it's almost like she's proud of the wake she leaves behind her. She can't make a meal without dirtying every dish in the kitchen. And then she leaves them. Overnight. And the coffee table and kitchen table are covered with random piles of things. Nameless masses of random things. Having to clean for a half an hour before I can use a space is one of my biggest pet peeves. I don't understand why she doesn't clean as she goes or put things away when she's done using them. Aren't these common things parents say to their children all the time? How is it that a mother who allows the burial of all horizontal work surfaces has a daughter who makes her bed daily, color codes her closet and alphabetizes her spices/cd's/dvd's? If that is my rebellion I think she got off easy.

My mom is however, one of the most creative people I know. And as it goes in history creative genius and slovenliness seem to go hand in hand. Perhaps it's true. My creative potential may be bounded by my OCD box, but I am pleased to say that box has crisp corners and a dust free lid. And when I want to do art projects or bake cookies I can find my supplies and I am met with a clutter free counter top -- unless I'm living with Ben :)

This is such a growing experience. And i am very much finding myself in that "awkward stage". Wednesday marked two months since my accident. Two months that I have been on crutches. That I have not been able to take care of my dog. That I haven't been able to carry my dinner to the table. That I have slept always conscious of my movements and my knee. I slept on my side for the fist time a week or so ago. Propped my knee up on a folded blanket. It felt nice to lay cuddled up (even if it was to nothing/no one) blanket up around my head, hands folded like a prayer under my cheek. But my arm went numb shortly after. And I had to roll onto my back. Again. I guess my leg muscles aren't the only ones that have atrophied. It's hard to get exercise here. The weather has been rainy and cold and despite the fact that my mom is always around she is busy doing other things and working (when we aren't going to doctors and dentists). I am grateful I have a place to stay while I heal but I would not have left Telluride if there was any other option at the time. This Tuesday will mark one month since I left town. It's hard to believe it's been that long already. The first three days I was here in Maine I thought I was going to wither up and die from deprivation. I am so homesick. I miss the freedom I had to come and go as I pleased. I miss posting up at The Bean and reading in the sunshine knowing I would be met by friends all day long. Homework breaks with Raegan. Comedy hour(s) with Heidi, Kris and Garret. Coffee with Rae. Bench time with Steve. It was a destination for me. A way to get out of the house. Get some exercise. And stay in touch with my community. I feel so out of the loop here. I know it's off season and everyone is in Thailand and Moab and Maryland. But I can't help but feel left out like I am all alone here while you all are partying down without me. I feel like my life has literally stopped and I am watching all the fun from my repose.

I don't know that I can describe how enormously painful this is for me. I have to ask for help. I have to be patient. I have to give up most of the aspects of my daily life (all of the ones that I truly enjoy) and I am incapable of any physical exertion that would otherwise be my stress relief in similar situations. ie. running, hiking, biking. I miss my friends immensely and friction that is caused by never being truly alone but never being with them either, is grating pretty seriously on my nerves. I need space. I need to be entertained. I'm stuck somewhere between novels and Netflix. What I wouldn't give for a 229 Family Dinner. Or a ladies brunch. Or yoga at the library. I was so overwhelmed for so long. And now I feel like i'm dangling. I feel trapped. And I want to go home (to my two new roomies Maggie and Huntley) and revive my life. Whoever said Maine is "the way life should be" has never been to colorado. I'm flat-lining here people. Somebody get the paddles. Clear.

The only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open. -Chuck Palahniuk

2011-04-12T20:59:00.000-07:00

Driving to the dentist on a rainy New England day. Slit your wrists now. I had a tooth extracted yesterday. Cracked it on some gravel in an old mine, last spring. Now painfully cavity ridden, I am driving (Read: riding with my mom because I still can't do anything for myself. ugh.) to Bangor, Maine to have it pulled out. I'm so white trash. The "Big City" reminds me of Montrose. Post zombie invasion. All strip-mall-ed and empty parking lots. Piles of construction debris and dilapidated houses. The actual down town scene is quaint, but hardly redeeming.

The dental assistant has me sign a form agreeing to having tooth #2 pulled from my head. I have no idea if that is the actual tooth that is broken. But I sign and hope that the dentist is smart enough to differentiate the cracked one with the big cavity from all its other innocent bystanders. Two shots of novocaine and the dentist leaves me alone with my after care instructions while he lets the numbing agent do its thing. I lay in the plastic padded seat staring at obtrusive objects in the room. Mildly distressed by the page long list of possible risks associated with extraction (including but not limited to: facial deformation, numbness or complete loss of sensation, & paralysis -all listed as temporary to potentially permanent). And also concerned by the dental assistant's worrisome look when she took my blood pressure. Twice. Apparently 81/52 isn't quite the norm up here in Maine. Though that's low even for me (usually 90's over 60's) I try to put it out of my head and chalk it up to the high altitude living and the fact that although I feel like I have been hibernating the last two months, my BMI is actually much lower than a lot of these whoopie pie loving Mainers.

So I try to put the negative thoughts aside. And focus on sending the dentist positive energy. And reminding my self to breath and remain calm. Take in the surroundings. But there's not much to look at when you're having a tooth extracted. One minute it's chin back - open wide - rubber & latex - the glint of medal. Then wrists - elbows - dirty drop ceilings and four minutes later (six minutes if the dentist pauses to answer a phone call. true story) the dentist's face starring down at you announcing it's all over - bite down on this gauze - good luck with your leg.

Hands down the most intensely violent experience of my life. Everyone always tells horror stories about the gynecologist. On your back. Legs spread. Insertion. Isn't that what the vagina was designed for? That's a Saturday night for some of you. But seriously, while we're all worried about our privates being violated we don't pay as much mind to scenarios where we find ourselves pined down, mouth agape, practically choking on the metal objects probing our universal orifice. At least I didn't until I found myself walking (Read: crutching carefully & slowly) to meet my mom in the waiting room, feeling vulnerable and violated. Nothing could have prepared me for that experience. There was just pressure and pulling and wriggling and yanking and then blood. I tried really hard to stay calm. But the best I could do was clench my eyes shut and repeat to myself "Veneta. Veneta. Veneta." Desperately trying to channel one of the calmest most soothing souls I know. Weird. Agreed. But it made me laugh. And then I pictured telling her this story and it made me laugh even more. And then it was all over. And we went to buy brownie mix (Ghirardelli double chocolate. Is there any other kind?!?) at the Hannaford's in the strip mall down the street. Across the pot holed paring lot "Dream Dress Bridal" stood between "Maine Smoke Shop" and "Laundry & Cleaners". I thought of zombie brides and i day dreamed about the near future, when I'll be able to say "I walked into Target". Walked being the operative word. It's almost over.

The best journeys answer questions, that in the beginning, you didn't even think to ask. -180 South

2011-04-10T19:11:00.000-07:00

I am lucky to call this place home. And while I am anxious to return to its magic I am trying to make the best of my time away. Sometimes the lines become blurred and the things you never thought possible to take for granted become mundane. Sometimes you need a new perspective. Even if that means starring though tear filled eyes, out the back windshield of your car.

I could not have known then that everybody, every person, has to leave, has to change like seasons; they have to or they expire. Everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons. And you will not be alone. You have never been alone. Don't worry. Everything will still be here when you get back. It is you who will have changed. -Donald Miller

I am healing up well. My bones are getting stronger. I am attempting to strengthen my heart and clear my head. And in the midst of all this hard work I am making sure to heed the advice of a wise friend.

"Bake bread, listen to music, sit in the sunshine, read books that take you places. Heal your soul and your body will follow." -Elizabeth Gessinger

When God closes a door He opens an oven. -Pushing Daisies

2011-04-10T16:17:00.000-07:00

Pushing Daisies is my new guilty pleasure. Lee Pace ("Ned" from ABC's short lived quirky comedy) is a life resuscitating, crime solving, vest wearing, pie baking, sweetheart. Think cross between Jake Gyllenhaal and John Cusack circa Say Anything. (Who doesn't love Lloyd Dobbler). Anna Friel's bee tending, honey making, 50's dress and suspender-ed pant wearing female lead "Charlotte 'Chuck' Charles", is too adorable for words. I want her gorgeous hair. (Reminds me of Molly's). And her wardrobe. Kristin Chenoweth rounds out the trifecta as "Olive", bursting into Broadway worthy song at whim. This show was practically custom made, just for me. Too bad I didn't know about it until two years after its cancellation. But you can enjoy it's twenty-two episode romantic romp on Netflix. And as a bonus, "Shane Botwin" shows up at the end of the second season with a jar of coins to hire the gumshoes to solve his mother's murder.

"Love doesn't need all the right ingredients. It's heart-ier than that." -Chuck

we can write with ink and pen, but we will sow with seeds instead. starting with words we've said. and we will all be changed. -seryn

2011-04-10T15:34:00.000-07:00

::this is what today sounds like::

"People always say how you should be yourself, like yourself is this definite thing like a toaster or something. Like you can know what that is even. But every so often I'll have like, a moment, when just being myself, in my life, right where I am, is like, enough." -Angela Chase

Dentist. Check. Orthopaedic Surgeon(s). Check. Check. Physical Therapist. Check. Psychologist. Check. It's a complete Audrey overhaul. Oh my.

My therapist asked me the question "where do I see the past and the future?" That's obvious, right? Everyone knows the future lays ahead of you and the past is behind. And after a few moments pause to consider the trick I might be missing in such an easy inquiry I conceded to the position of the future. But when I looked around for the past I was surprised to find it directly to my left. Hanging off my hip like a messenger bag filled with awkward memories that I can (in)conveniently access at will.

I've been lugging this weight around with me for as long as I can remember. And I have never been able to put a name to this emptiness and loneliness that creeps into my life at my weakest moments. But I learned today that it's because it has been with me since even before I had words. I learned this sadness as a small child. And I have been chauffeuring it around all these years.

"It's not so much that I don't know who I am, but rather, that I feel the constant need to apologize for that person" (journal entry 2.22.11)

I'm tired. I'm frayed. And the contents of this bag might not even belong to me. At least, not entirely.

Know your own happiness. Want for nothing but patience -- or give it a more fascinating name: Call it hope. — Jane Austen

2011-04-07T14:53:00.000-07:00

I took a bath today. Not my first one since the accident, mind you. I've been keeping regular hygiene habits though all this. I might be laid up for two months, but i don't have to look like it. Or smell like it, for that matter. I've managed to get in the tub all on my own from the very beginning. Filling up our claw-foot and pouring in the epsom salts. Washing my hair and submerging to rinse. I'd just pretend I was in a Jane Austen novel or Little House on the Prairie. Where the entire family shares one tub of hot water. This was luxury in comparison. And the few showers I have taken, perched atop a milk crate, padded with a folded towel, because I couldn't yet submerge my incision site, felt oddly extravagant. Steaming water streaming over my entire body. Close my eyes. Soak up the sensation. Makes me grateful. This is how I picture a shower to feel after a summer of camping in the woods. I'm great at bathing in a bucket, but there's something soulfully calming about a hot shower. I have definitely taken that for granted.

This bath marks a special occasion, though. I saw my new orthopaedic surgeon for the first time today. Dr. White. I've never been one for going to doctors and now I find myself with two professional orthopaedic surgeons in as many states. Ball-ahh. Dr. White had x-rays taken and we compared them to my last films. (P.S. Phil -the donor bone- is doing fine and his "touretts" has been under control, minus the first evening I spent in Chicago, when my legs muscles seized so violently I silently considered an exorcism). I realized, as the nurse moved me and positioned me, that this horizontal modeling had been performed on me before, right after my surgery. While I was still under anesthesia. I have amazing copies of x-rays as proof, but no recollection to correspond with the event. And that makes me feel weird for a minute. Like I'd been time traveling again. Only instead of waking up cold and confused, and still inside the Sheridan Bar, I came to in a cotton gown (read: half naked) newly armed with titanium pins and plates. Bionic Audrey. But she still can't hold her liquor.

The fist x-rays I had taken were on the day of the accident. These were awkward in a different way. My knee was eight times its original size and the odd angles the technician attempted to photograph me from sent shooting pain through my body. I remember laying on the cold, hard table holding my breath, wincing in pain. Dollar signs flashed across my anxious mind. As I lay motionless, it became suddenly clear I had two tasks ahead of me: (1) Cancel my reservation for Valentine's Day at 221 and hope my hot date would take a rain check. And (2) Email AhHaa for a refund and let Sasha know how disappointed I was that I wouldn't be able to take her burlesque class after all. (I am still proud to say I was the very first student to sign up). Hey, everyone has priorities, people. Mine just happened to be a bit off kilter that day. I blame the endorphins and the exhaust from the snow mobile ride.

While my return to the dance floor may still be a ways off, Dr. White informed me that he was very pleased with my progress and on the time line for my recovery I was definitely advanced. I didn't jump off the exam table and break it down in his office, but my heart and my head did a little tango at the thought of bluegrass tunes and the Jud Wiebe trail. I couldn't bring myself to ask him where I stand in terms of hiking potential this summer. Trying not to get ahead of myself. I have my first physical therapy appointment tomorrow morning (first one since the surgery) and I am anxious to regain the mobility I have lost. But the doctor is confident I will be back to normal in no time. And despite the atrophied muscle and joint stiffness I am doing great. I would love to hike another 14er this season, but right now, walking across the room would serve as an equally rewarding accomplishment. Weird how that happens. Perspective. Everything looks different depending on where you're standing.

So, bandage free-staples out-tape removed-compression sock retired-I sink down into the warm bath water, and do what I have been dying to do for weeks: shave those pesky little hairs growing along my incision line. Sexy. I might even celebrate this good news by painting my toenails. Hey, it's sunny and 49 degrees (that counts as warm in these here parts)and if this weather keeps up I might be able to wear a dress and my flip-flops...some time in June.

And word of advice - packing for a two month "vacation" in Maine should be added to the warning labels for all major narcotics. (Read: May cause drowsiness and/or dizziness. Use caution when operating a car or dangerous machinery. Do not attempt to make any practical or purposeful clothing decisions) Ladies and gentlemen, the new Spring fashion...Percocet Eclectic.

Here's to healing and hoping...that my mom will let me raid her closet.

::this is what today sounds like::

2011-04-06T07:19:00.001-07:00

[original mountain design by the lovely jane roberts]

point me at lost islands tired pony
northern lights bowerbirds
civilian wye oak
sprawl II (mountains upon mountains) the arcade fire
lost in my mind the head and the heart
this orient foals
love out of lust lykke li
marathon tennis
nothing like you frightened rabbit
looking for shelter good old war
i'll build you a fire seabear
blood the middle east
fake empire the national
empire jukebox the ghost
this is why we fight the decemberists
ghost woman blues the low anthem
young blood the naked and famous
art house director broken social scene
just for now cloud control

i love colorado. it kicked my ass and then saved my butt.

2011-04-05T19:22:00.000-07:00

Greetings ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to a. mann's world. For those of you new comers, unaccustomed to the rants and raves and wild meanderings of this forum, let me take this opportunity to introduce myself: my name is Audrey, and I am broken. (in more ways than one, presently). And for all those returning guests (brave souls, indeed) let me use this time to get you up to speed. It has been far too long.

It is off-season where I live. Telluride, Colorado. A tiny resort town in southwestern Colorado. Or mud-season, as some aptly call it. So named for its abundant remains. The dirty laundry left from a season of hard play. And while my original intent was to high tail it to the desert at the close of the lifts, my travel plans were forced to change. As were many other plans and arrangements I had previously penciled in.

Part of me wishes that I was regaling this tale from the road. Headed northwest to Oregon and Washington. Stopping off first in San Fransisco to explore the hilly streets, organic restaurants, shops and markets. Where salt air melds with chocolate delight. A dream. A city I could consider calling home. Settling down with a local farmer. Opening a bakery or B&B. Spending my life covered in soil and flour.

Or perhaps my words would flow more freely if I were posted up in an Alaskan cabin. Where the northern lights dance across the sky like a flame on alcohol. Where the wilderness over takes you and you can't help but be reminded that you're alive. But that is a journey I pictured taking as one half of a pair. And it seems like far too long a drive to make without a co-pilot/personal DJ. Sometimes people bail. At least I knew this before I committed to a bear skin rug, a hunting rifle, and a stack of books. At least my destiny was determined for me. In a round about way.

Instead I find myself in Maine, in the final rounds of a Scrabble game versus my mom. I believe it no small coincidence that my last remaining letters spell out F-U-B-A-R. Maybe not a recognized word, according to my mother's handy Scrabble specific dictionary, but a perfect description for my current physical and mental health.

I broke my leg on February 13th. Fractured tibia, depressed tibial plateau, and sprained MCL. My first broken bone in thirty-ones years of activity. I think that's a pretty good percentage rate. While I was at it I figured I might as well go big, right? If I thought there was anything resembling "cool" associated with breaking a bone I was wrong. It hurts. In more than just the way a prescription for Vicodin will appease. It's painful not to be able to care for onesself properly. To be at the mercy of those around me. To fear stairs and snow covered side walks and anything that requires more than five minutes of standing at a time. Having a broken leg is truly a humbling experience. This isn't what I signed up for! My vote was for hiking Moab and Havasu Falls
Somebody please press rewind!!!!

The ski season had not been a particularly accommodating one. Snow falls were few and in disappointing accumulations. The town was getting restless and ready to be done with it. These emotions entirely echoed my own. I was struggling. Again. Cycled back around. And as I grew more exhausted daily, of fighting with myself, I planned my next big adventure, (read: running away) my would-be exit route. But summer's heartbreaks couldn't withstand the cold weather and the shortened supply of community. (Never underestimate the power of town park. There's healing in those late summer evenings on the volleyball court and soccer field.) And with a new rhythm to the season I quickly fell off beat. And back into my rut. My solution: get the hell out of dodge. Wendy lady has grown tired of all the Peter Pans, and my guilt at living such a fairy tail life has me overwhelmed. San Fransisco here I come!

Or so I thought.

God has this annoying way of shaking me out of myself. He would probably say that I have an exasperating way of ignoring Him until the last possible moment, but I'm telling "my" version of this story.

So there I was. Skis on. Headphones in. Hiking my mountain. Day after day after day. It's a good way to clear the head. Gets the juices flowing. Gets the mind going. Helps me sort things out. Get perspective. Gain some knowledge. I knew I wasn't okay. I passed fine years ago. And while I don't feel justified in claiming that I am unhappy, I would say I feel unfulfilled, and guilty for feeling so. My instinct was to run but a voice in my head kept calmly repeating "hold still". For weeks this continued. And for an equal number of weeks I quietly researched driving routes through the Pacific Northwest. Surprise. I'm endlessly stubborn. But when God is talking to you it doesn't do you much good to pretend you have a bad connection or your call has been dropped. There's no such thing as a dead zone in this scenario. I imagine God to be like the Verizon guy..."Can you hear me now?" You might chose to ignore His call, but he'll always leave a voice mail and it's never too late to call Him back.

"Be still. Let go. You are loved. Deal with it!" That was my message. And while it looped through my brain like the guitar line from Wye Oak's "Civilian" I could not shake this bottomless fear of being a burden to others. Somehow this was at the heart of all my escape acts and avoidance tactics. That heavy burden of knowing that I am not enough. That I am too much. That despite my efforts, in a seemingly previous life, I failed miserably at keeping someone's love. And now I am left alone to figure out my Plan B. "I'm afraid of my solitary experience with the world. Even with many amazing people in my life, will I ever feel like someone Knows me again? Can I even trust another person with the darkest, weakest parts of my heart?" -Sarah Painter

I saw it happen before it happened. A flash in my mind. A moment of clarity. I pictured the tumble...and then...I was tumbling. So surreal. Falling end over end. Then rolling. Then sliding. Yelling when I couldn't stop myself. Screaming when my body made unnatural twists and torques. Snap, crackle, pop, was no longer reserved for Kellogg's breakfast cereal. And after the ski patrol sled ride down the mountain, and the reluctant trip to the emergency room, my x-rays revealed my greatest fear had come to fruition. The films read my fate. Broken bones. Crutches and a brace. And non weight baring for ten to twelve weeks post surgery. (my adventures with finding an orthopaedic surgeon are another tale entirely). I found myself completely dependent on those around me. To cook and clean, run errands and walk the dog. You could stubbornly find me climbing into the tub or attempting to bake cookies. Miraculously I managed to vacuum my room on crutches. And for a while I strategized how to get bowls of food and mugs of tea from the kitchen to the livingroom. Giving in only when forcibly rescued by my roommates and friends, who repeatedly, yet patiently, witnessed my egotistical pride as it damn near drown me in my inability (read: refusal) to ask for help.

Not being able to do for myself is equally as crippling as the fracture itself. It's a mental game. And I am fighting to stay on top of it. Trying not to fight to hard with myself. To practice a healthy vulnerability. Asking for help doesn't equivocate laying yourself out like a doormat. Let yourself be loved. And cared for. And be grateful for those who are lavishing such sincere gestures. Magazines and cookies. Home-cooked meals. Late night consolation at the drop of a hat. Dog walkers galore! These are gifts I can only hope to be able to pay back in kind.

And at the top of the list, a mother who put everything aside to come rescue me from my stubborn self. Who offered, without me ever having to ask, to come get me and bring me back to her home until I am healed. I don't even know where to begin with that one. I feel so unworthy at every turn. And find myself frustrated at not being able to pull my own weight. We argued tonight. A combination of mounting anxieties and far too much inactivity. I lashed out at an inquiry she made. But I find myself endlessly defensive when put in a position which reminds me off all the ways I have failed to measure up. I have made quite a mess of things for myself. I am working on getting things back on track. Getting my ducks in a row so I can focus all that wasted energy on moving forward. I want a straight line. I've grown far too dizzy from walking all these years in circles. But I still have old habits. And like a trapped animal my basest instinct is to attack when threatened. I know it's not healthy and it is far from productive. But I keep that guard up. It doesn't make any sense. But neither does the fact that I fell down a mountain and survived, while my cousin (only two months my elder) had a heart attack in his condo and passed away.

Can a person be anymore broken? The answer is "yes". As long as you have breath enough to inquire, the answer is always yes. And I think probably long after that, too. Be careful with your questions. Answers don't usually extend the same kindness. But then, sometimes you need to be shaken out of yourself. Sometimes you need to be reminded to answer the call. Wake up! This is your life. This ain't no practice round.

no matter how gingerly she put the puzzle of her past together, she was always cut by the sharp edges.

2010-09-22T17:52:00.000-07:00

why is it that the broken girls in movies are always the most desirable. their flaws make them interesting and attractive. and the leading man comes to their rescue and holds them close. in real life, broken is too much work. the leading men want to have fun. they want the benefits without the effort.

i got an email from my father last week. and it left me reeling. vulnerable and insecure. and my leading man laid the last straw when he casually announced things were moving really quickly. not necessarily "too" quickly. "really" quickly. i spiraled off the handle. all i could hear was that he was bailing. and while he promised he wasn't going anywhere. was only requesting that i be patient with him, i couldn't calm myself enough to hear him. to believe him. and so now i have damaged something good. and i am not quite clear of the exact fallout. we have yet to hang out again. and i am left feeling rejected and scared. and angry that i am thirty-one and my father still has the power to swoop in out of no where and rock my entire being. i hate that he has that power. and i want to take it back. i want to feel safe and secure.

i want to not feel. not this. not again.

i want to take a lot of drugs and fuck my co-worker. and forget.

i wont.

but i want to.

i want it to stop hurting. i want to be okay.

in these bodies we will live. in these bodies we will die. where you invest your love, you invest your life.

2010-07-12T21:59:00.000-07:00

my downstairs neighbor had a psychotic break. the police came to take her to the hospital yesterday. i wasn't home to witness it. i just heard the words left on my voice mail. and felt some sense of relief. and an overwhelming guilt. i should have done more. i should have recognized it. i should have known, walking with her through town on the way home, that she wasn't drunk. she was broken.

saturday night was supposed to be girl's night. me. rae. baines. drinks and dancing. putting the past week's poor decisions behind me. forgiving myself for letting my guard down. same story. different boy. i'll never learn. but when they tell you that you are beautiful and ask you where you've been all these months, you want to trust that what they say is true. that when they kiss you, they feel it. and when they tell you they want to be around you as much as possible, you close your eyes and take a deep breath and enjoy it. don't run. this is what you wanted. he's the nicest boy in town. all your friends say so. and he holds you close and whispers that he wants to be with you. with hands full of your brown hair, he draws you to his chest. he whispers that he wants you. just breathe. this feels nice. don't run.

he'll do that soon enough.

it was supposed to be girl's night, but we spent the evening looking for kat. trying to get in touch with her mom. and listening to her strange tangents. strings of disconnected thoughts. but there was nothing we could do. not unless she was a threat to herself or someone else. fuck the system. that pathetic helpless feeling it leaves you with. suffocating you. heavy heart. tears in your eyes. i sat in the sheridan listening to kat, but seeing my sister. all the pain i tried to escape has found it's way to my doorstep. literally. and now i'm involved. invested. and devastated. and all i can do is wait.

kat fires off an hour of attacks. she doesn't know god cause he's not from our generation. but i pray that he'll save me from this scene. lift me out. make it go away. i don't want it to be true. i don't want to be experiencing this. and the guilt cuts deep. i dash for the lady's room. and all i can see is my sister strapped to the hospital gurney. and my mother holding her hair while she vomits charcoal. and tylenol. and entire bottle of tylenol. and i am no where to be found. and i can feel that helplessness. the overwhelming pain in my mother's eyes. and i want to crumble to the floor. but i am standing in some drunk girl's way in the sheridan and kat is in the parlor leaving clues for her love to find. a scavenger hunt to her heart. it all makes perfect sense in her head. and i can see the pieces. it all sounds so familiar.

but we get her to calm down. she apologizes for verbally attacking me. says that i am a safe place and i have to look out cause they will hurt me. don't let the fathers hold me down. don't let them hurt the babies. and she goes to her hotel room. and i wander down main street. and meet a friend at the bubble. turns out the boy behind the bar isn't the nicest guy in town. i got schmoozed. so i wave hello because sometimes i am pathetic. and i walk home under star laden skies. and i climb into bed. defeated. dooped. guilty and broken. and i cry for my sister. and for my mom. but i don't dare call her. she has too much to worry about as is.

sunday morning finds me walking through town. coffee. and marley dog. on my way to church. but kat is wandering the streets also. on her own mission. she is freeing her possessions. donating all her things to the freebox. i watch her lurch down the street with an armload of skis. clothes. picture frames. and i try to convince her to stop. so she takes my hand and leads me down the stairs to her apartment. she wants me to choose something special. something to cherish and give to someone i care for. to give it a new life. a better life. and she pulls out her book. a duct taped binder full of poems and songs. a stack of her work compiled in a beat up three ring notebook. and she offers to read me a page. and she holds my hand. and i stroke her hair. and i cry as she loses her voice at the difficult lines. the lines that pierce her heart. and she tells me she is angry. and she wants to kill people. and she wants to kill herself. and i tell her she is safe. and i rub her back. and make her slow her breathing. deep breaths. and she tells me she knew we were supposed to meet. and thanks me for being her strength today. she didn't have anymore of her own at the moment. and i go upstairs to call for help. and collapse into jane's arms. and she comforts me. and talks me off my ledge. and kat makes another trip to the freebox. this time with her guitar. and it's gone. and the police are called. and i go to brunch and drink mimosas in the sunshine. and pretend i wasn't just kneeling on the floor in the basement, crying because i was helpless. and scared. and angry. and guilty. and i lay on the floor of my friends' apartment and cheer for spain. and talk about antartica and it's global warming/hose potential. absurdities that help me pretend that this isn't my life. i snuggle in between ben and paul and talk about hiking wilson so i don't have to think about kat. and the police. and my sister. and handcuffs and restraints. and lithium. and how i am the worst daughter for leaving my mom alone to deal with everything all these years.

and i return home to find kat's mom on our porch. i ask her how kat is. and she fakes a smile and says she isn't doing too great. and i say i know. that my sister has mental illness too. and she says, "then you do know." and my eyes well up. and i nod because the knot in my throat has strangled my words. and she nods back. and i offer any help. and she hugs me. and for a moment we are comforted by our shared pain. it has meaning. it has value. and she leaves quietly. and i feel so much love for my own mom in that moment. and then i change for work and pretend that i am a bartender in a ski town and i'm living the dream.

"But memory fades, tricks, becomes convenient, reshapes itself. It’s been [nine] years..." just breathe. sometimes that's all you can do. and sometimes, even that feels nearly impossible.

there are no mistakes. there's what we do. and what we don't do.

2010-05-17T18:34:00.000-07:00

never in my life have i been in a situation to decide between two jobs. "do what's best for you," offered my good friend when i questioned what to chose. i don't know what that means, entirely. what if i make the wrong decision? does that even exist? i am torn between a position at the hotel which will provide status and experience and a dependable income. but at the expense of early and long hours and an inflexible schedule. i can already feel myself dripping with jealousy and resentment as all my friends gather for dinners and concerts and ultimate frisbee...and i am tucked away in mountain village. or i could find myself behind the bar at brown dog. the restaurant that i left this winter. i am forcing them to make a decision as to whether or not they will offer me more than the lowly server's position. a better wage and a four day week makes me want to settle back in at BDP. the flexible schedule and free access to festivals makes this summer sound promising and exciting. but will i feel like a failure. for stepping down the ladder? is that even a valid concern? i came here for community. i came here for adventure. fulfilling demands for omlettes and cappucinos doesn't seem very adventurous.

i need money. but i feel the richest when my heart is satisfied.

all my life i've been searching for something. something i can put my finger on.

2010-05-17T18:01:00.000-07:00

i have been trying to capture the proper words to describe my adventures east. the city tour twenty-ten. but nothing seems to properly encompass the feelings i felt while sitting across the table from some of my favorite people. sharing meals and conversations. walks through parks and rooftop sunsets. i am so grateful for these moments. and i carry them with me even at this present moment.

brianna and i are never in the same city. but i love her to little bity pieces. hey friend, i hope you are stalking me! because i love that we share our lives so intimately and openly. i love your heart and your spirit. and i hope someday we can make dinner parties a weekly event!

cuddling with erin. or not. since the pillow barrier made the point quite clear :) dinners at the nut. hanging with the family. planning adventures. sharing our hearts. i miss my sis.

wedding fun. lunch at the biscuit. helping my sister, lauren, move into her new life. it's amazing to be this comfortable with someone. to pick them out as "mine" and have them pick me too. I knew we would be friends. i love that we are family.

bonding at the dog parks. filing each other in on the past year. and the comfortable feeling like i just saw katie last week. colorado adventures. big risks. love this girl.

sitting next to alex, i am reminded of what a wonderful man he is. being drawn into those endless conversations. reminds me of what i should be looking for. grateful for what we had. a year gone by and it seems like yesterday. telluridian magic.

the sound of sarah's voice echoing "audie" as the elevator doors opened to reveal my long lost friend. a wound healed. my heart is happy.

finding sameness in johanna's life. laughing at the thirteen years of distance and the remarkable similarities in our stories. and her cleaning pep talk: gotta make it clean like audrey's bedroom. all these years and that has stuck with her. too funny.

blackened soles. charcoal aromas. grilled tofu made especially for me. jam's curls and adorable style. and the way she always asks questions about you. i miss my roommate. our beach days on the front lawn. what a warm spirit.

i knew i was going to know kyle for a long time. but sitting in a living room in denver, drinking beers, and watching him and mike play rock band with friends is a welcomed surprise. things always end up better than i ever could have planned.

i already miss you all. and hope to see you very soon, indeed.

Every day counts. One night matters.

2010-05-12T20:55:00.000-07:00

i have had some down time lately. no one is in town. i am currently unemployed. and it has snowed the past three days. yes, in may. so i have been catching up on hulu. glee. house. and to my most delightful of surprises...Friday Night Lights. This phenomenal show has returned to NBC from the depths of Direct TV just in time to entertain my chilled and lonely little body. I am super excited to get back in the swing of things in Telluride and ready for all my friends to return from their respective hajj. but in the mean time i will curl up in my awesome new bedroom with a hot cup of tea and matt saracen. Yeehaw!

Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose.

somewhere in middle america.

2010-05-09T22:08:00.000-07:00

nebraska at dusk makes me homesick. long stretch of road between me and colorado. sixteen hours inside my head. i'm lonely. i want a hug. i miss nick. i am pathetic. damn state. you and your stupid corn.

it was this thing that happened today. other things will happen other days. things will happen tomorrow.

2010-05-09T21:29:00.000-07:00

So, I got my mom hooked on drugs...technically just a show ABOUT drugs. marijuana, to be precise. Which is funny, if you know my mom. I managed to convince her to try one episode of "Weeds." Four episodes later she was a "junky." i hope she knows that Weeds is the gateway show to a much more serious Showtime addiction. Bring on Californication and The Tudors.

pick a day. enjoy it - to the hilt.

2010-05-05T08:29:00.000-07:00

oh, all that i know, there's nothing here to run from. and there, everybody here's got somebody to lean on.

2010-04-28T17:21:00.000-07:00

every evening at eight-thirty, my sister's alarm clock goes off. "good morning hillary. it's time to get up and take your medication," my dad's voice cheers from the four inch plastic cube. the first time i heard it i almost hit the ceiling. cartoon cat style. clinging to the tiles by his bare little claws.

some ladies that i love.

2010-04-27T15:06:00.000-07:00

i heart wawa.

2010-04-27T15:03:00.000-07:00

morning walks with the marley dog. a little alone time and a yummy breakfast. wawa coffee (with soy milk) and a muffin from sweet potato cafe.

i wanna talk about it. all the crazy things that we can not tell. i wanna turn back the time. i wanna live in the story i tell.

2010-04-26T16:03:00.000-07:00

this is what today sounds like.
sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, sipping malbec, and snacking on ceviche and tortilla chips. chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. music low. lightening bugs flash outside the screen door. the wind blows the curtains back, holds them suspended, momentarily. falling softly back in place. catching up after a long day of arts and crafts and gardening.

this is what i sometimes dream my visits home would be like.

instead i find myself standing in front of the sink, washing the dishes my sister has let pile up, while she sits indian style on the couch across the 300 square foot space, channel surfing with my mom. the television blaring at high volumes to accommodate my mother's hard of hearing and my sister's proclivity to heavy breathing. hillary shouts commands and spills coffee in her lap. caffeinated. she'll be up all night. and she comments on my silhouette. i'm too skinny except for my thighs. and my butt. and my chubby cheeks. but i have good hair. so it's okay.

sometimes it's really hard to come home. i have to mentally prepare. relax. breathe. let things roll. when i get anxious my insecurities fly to the surface. food issues rally and i become self conscious and irritable. and it's hard to ignore my sister's pokes and prods and needling comments. but i do. or i try my best. and i bite my tongue when she taunts my mom with accusations of special treatment. always comparing herself to me. complaining that i am the favorite. that i am loved. more. and i roll my eyes when she isn't looking and choke down that lump. the one that rises when my little voice whispers in the back of my mind. "dad likes you best. so i guess we're even." sometimes i just want to shut her up. tell her to shut the fuck up. but it's no use. we aren't playing with the same rules. we aren't even playing the same game. and i feel ashamed and embarrassed that i would even try to compete.

the weather has finally cleared. and we were able to walk in the state park. five miles through the trees and along the creek. hillary complained the entire way. but i walked ahead. and tried to make light. it must be hard to be her. and be uncomfortable in her body. and be wary of other people. and have such a short attention span. so we retire to her living room. piled onto her futon watching movies that don't suck and snaking on humus and tortilla chips. and watching the sun cast shadows across the carpet. and feeling the breeze blow over our bare feet. planning the dinner we will prepare together. and getting excited about this evening's episode of glee.

well, i am getting excited. hillary and mom are skeptical. how can you question a show about random burst of music and synchronized dance? real life needs a little more music. when i was little hillary and i used to choreograph dances to michael jackson's thriller album and our favorite, madonna's like a prayer. this video brought back so many memories of fifth grade. hillary and my version wasn't quite the production but it one of my fondest memories of our time growing up together. family is good. even when they are hard.

headed down south to the land of the pine. thumbin' my way into north caroline...

2010-04-14T09:28:00.000-07:00

for the second time, in as many ski seasons, i have had the pleasure of venturing a little further west to soak up some sun and sand in the desert of utah with a few of my favorite telluride folks. this year's adventure found us in moab for one glorious evening by the campfire, and then two fun filled days in goblin valley. climbing mounds of hardened dirt and hiking slot canyons. feasting by the fire and sleeping under the stars. it's a good time to slow down from the slowed-down life. telluride is simple living but things tend to get hectic the last weeks of the season. there are moves to be made (just lugged all my belongings three blocks down the valley to a new awesome home for the summer. wait til you see my view!), jobs and unemployment options to be sorted out. parties to attend and friends to say farewell to. i have gotten quite good at most of the aforementioned. i can pack and move in an afternoon, work keeps slipping into place miraculously, late nights at the bars are a welcome interruption to my previous 4:45am wake-up calls, but the goodbyes still get me. it still hurts to know my favorites will be a little farther away than i would like. and sometimes there's the possibility i may not see them again. but paths tend to twist and turn and i wait and hope for the next time they cross or merge for another adventure.
so i've moved all my things into a new house. piled high in the corner they will wait for my return. i've got a little traveling to do in the mean time. utah was just the start. thrown on the front leg last minute, but much needed and very delightful. watched sunsets with the boys. made some new friends around the campfire. was reminded how small the world really is. as if the arching dome of nightly stars didn't impress that point enough, i come to find my new friend jay is cousin's with my ol' charlotte friend tim. i love random connections. after exploring the rocks and sand i headed east with my trusty sidekick marley dog and dave byers, our newest partner in crime. he is headed for the appalachian trailhead in georgia, and i said i would be much obliged to take him, if he would let me document his first steps. so the journey goes. now off to charlotte, north carolina to see my "family" and photograph my friend's wedding. looking forward to some southern hospitality and catching up times. bring on the hushpuppies!

my ears are always open to your laments. and my will is always weak for your advances. and i'll play the maid and clean up the mess.

2010-03-14T21:57:00.000-07:00

eharmony is not for me. i don't know why i thought it was a good idea. i live in a town of two thousand people. so basically i'm paying to be set up with long distance relationships. been there. done that. the long distance part. not the paying...meh.

soon comes rain. dry your eyes. fall asleep. spin the sky. skeleton me. love don’t cry.

2010-03-14T21:26:00.000-07:00

This is what today sounds like.

I played beer pong last night for the first time ever. Civil War actually. Which is apparently a much more intense version, with two teams of three players tossing ping-pong balls into the opponents nine cups. When your friends are twenty something frat boys, a game of beer pong is a common occurrence. But until now I have remained oblivious to the rules, only knowing the concept sounded completely unsanitary. Especially when played in the kind of dirty dive bars that host tables.

We played in my friends’ apartment. Using a broken closet door and two chairs as our makeshift table. I was picked last for my team since I was the weak link. The boys thought it was unbelievable that I had never played before and were teasing and taunting me. Steve said he couldn’t believe my sheltered existence. I wonder what he would say if he knew that while other college kids where hosting keggers and playing flip cup, I was helping my mom care for my mentally ill sister and attempting to keep my head above water between work and class. A brief stint with drugs and sex, ended by a friend’s death. An overdose on oxycontin. There are definitely a few normal college kid things I missed out on, but I would never claim to be sheltered.

The evening wound its way to Ob’s, where all good evenings find themselves. And we chatted and played music on the jukebox and reminisced with visiting friends about last season. Somewhere in the drunken haze I found myself in a serious conversation. Standing in front of one of my favorite people, I explained myself the best I could, and he hugged me and held me tight. And told me I was beautiful. Amazing. Talented. And that he couldn’t be in a relationship with me. He pulled his sleeve and whipped my tears. And encouraged confidence. But it's hard to hear these things. They hit my ears and fall silently to the ground. How do I learn to believe these things? How do I learn to own these traits? This is my story. The turn the tale always takes. And it left me frustrated and feeling even more alone.

I have been having trouble sleeping lately. I hate sleeping alone. It's sad and pathetic. But true. And I realized one night, as I crawled into bed, that the limp covers next to me, and the cold pillows, remind me that I am a failure. Every night. Every single night, I am plagued by the idea that I have failed to become the wife and mother that I thought my thirty years would bring me. I imagine the day when I will have warm arms wrapped around me. When someone will stand before me and tell me I am beautiful and amazing AND actually pick me.

I watch as all my friends get married off. And while I would someday like to be married myself, I realize I am enjoying my freedom to travel and try new things. If I was to settle down it would have to be with someone who isn’t interested in in actually settling any time soon. I like this gypsy life, but it would be even more exciting if I had a companion to share my adventures with. I have seen so many amazing things in the last couple years, but when your adventures are alone or armed with your trusty canine sidekick it’s kinda like they never happened. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone you can turn to and say, “Hey, you remember the time when we…”

But for now I am trying to stay focused on what’s in front of me. The things I can actually do something about. I had my first art show in town. My work is currently hanging in the Ah Haa School of Arts. And I had an opening reception that was well attended. Part of the first Thursday gallery crawl. My roommates came to support me. And the fellas. And a lot of people I have never met. They seemed to enjoy my work and the manner in which it was displayed. Gotta love ghetto rigging on a budget. I sold two photographs. Which might not sound like a lot, but it’s always flattering when someone likes my work enough to hang it in their home.

So I’m trying to stay crafty. I decorated my bedroom with branches and birds. Trees and birds seem to be ever present in my life. They make me happy. So I’ll keep them around. I am learning to knit. I have been cooking up a storm and am getting ready for spring time activities like running, hiking ,and bouldering. I’m setting goals. Imogen Pass run and summiting some fourteeners. Selling yummy vegan goodies at the farmers market. Like I said, you’ve gotta make your own adventures. And the opportunities abound out here in Colorado. I’m hoping to wrangle some friends into camping trips and fly fishing tours. And I still want to learn to shoot bow and arrow. I hope to occupy myself with so many wonderful experiences I don’t have time to concern my self with the ticking biological clock. And I hope to be so worn out from my exhilarating adventures that the empty side of the bed goes unnoticed as I drift into dreams of bluegrass and sunbathing on the front lawn. And maybe heading down under for the next winter season.

somedays i feel affected and then it all disappears. rain and clouds above my head, and then it all disappears.

2010-03-02T19:16:00.000-08:00

dakota skye.
i recently stumbled across this film while searching through netfix, trying to figure out when the next episodes of weeds were going to be mailed out. i got sucked in. and i have watched it twice. i'm a sucker for cute, nerdy boys. especially ones that like bowling and hiking mountains.

i realized i've never had a man tell me they were "in love" with me. mikal told me he loved me. and when he performed with his band he would hold his closed hand in the air in front of his chest. he heard once that the human heart was the size of your fist, and as cheesy as it sounds now, this was his way of telling me he loved me with all his heart. our little secret, laid before the crowded rooms.

but then he would cheat on me, and his actions never matched his words. so i love you became a string of painful syllables. too easily tossed around.

i read this passage in jon krakauer's book "into thin air. it made me really happy. and really sad, too.
"i was forty-one now, well past my climbing prime, with a graying beard, bad gums, and fifteen extra pounds around my midriff. i was married to a woman i loved fiercely-and who loved me back. having stumbled upon a tolerable career, for the first time in my life i was actually living above the poverty line. my hunger to climb had been blunted, in short, by a bunch of small satisfactions that added up to something like happiness. "

someday.

but you've run away from me, and you've left me shimmering like diamond wedding rings, spinning dizzily down on the ground.

2010-03-01T15:25:00.000-08:00

this is what today sounds like [moth's wings - passion pit]

two of my friends stopped by the other night to pick up my new roommate. (who is adorable and sweet and so incredibly interesting. AND she makes the most amazing bread i have ever tasted). i was attempting to take a nap but it's difficult to sleep in a house with the comings and goings of four other people and marley dog barking when guests come to the door. so i came down to make tea and found the crew standing in my kitchen. two of my favorite people in town. and we chatted briefly and then they left. and it occurred to me through the conversation i had with sophia, that they were going to my other friend's house for the evening.

and i wasn't invited.

i smiled and waved as they walked out the door. but when the handle latched closed, my heart sank. i have never felt so left out. and i have no idea why. i consider these fellas to be some of my best friends in town and it kills me to know that they didn't even think to invite me along. meh.

so i spent the weekend hanging out with my roommates and a new friend and his sister. and i saw concerts and skied and ate yummy food. and it was fun. and i realized i can't rely on other people. i have to entertain myself even though i would rather spend my time in the company of others. sometimes it just doesn't work out the way you would like.

so i am enjoying some simple things.
-bouldering at the rock gym on tuesdays and thursdays
-netfix (i am addicted to the showtime series "weeds"
-dakota skye
-homemade hummus and target brand tortilla chips (blue corn with flaxseed. yummy)
-living in the purple scarf sarah gave me.
-new music (check out Prepschool) i love techno/disco dance music
-free yoga on mondays
-cranial sacral massage
-hot tea and warm socks

i have to learn to be less sensitive. just go about my business, enjoying the little things in life and when someone actually "shows up" be pleasantly surprised and enjoy the moment. more smiles. less tears.

always, always she waits for you.

2010-03-01T15:09:00.000-08:00

i think one of my biggest fears in life is that my mom will somehow find this blog and read about all the horrible and awful things i have done. that she will finally realize that i am not as special as she once thought and that i am so terribly flawed and fucked in the head that she will cry herself to sleep and ask her god for a daughter that doesn't break her heart.

luckily she seems to be some decades behind the times when it comes to electronics and the workings of the internet. but there is always the chance my aunt could participate in the foiling of my carefully crafted existence. all she would have to do is google me. that is some scary shit. but i knew my words were out there for the world to read. i just haven't given much thought to how they may affect those that i write about. or those that are not privy to my deepest darkest secrets on the regular.

my mom came to visit me in telluride over valentine's weekend. i was sick the whole time but she cooked me yummy foods and we got to spend an evening at the hotel before she left. her idea of a hotel is the super 8 so lumiere was quite the treat. and it was such a pleasure to be able to give that to her. she means the world to me. and it breaks my heart to think that if she really knew me in all my messiness, she might be disappointed.

i will follow a set of deep tracks. other people stay hidden as the cars rest under snow drifts.

2010-02-21T22:08:00.000-08:00

i love snow. it's magical. and it has been coming down for the past two days. we must have gotten at least a foot just this afternoon. and the best part is today was my day off. i spent yesterday frustrated that i have no social life because of my early hours at work, but today i spent the afternoon on the mountain with good friends and new friends. and i get to do it all again tomorrow.

i wish my smile was your favourite kind of smile.

2010-02-19T20:20:00.000-08:00

"i wish the way i dressed was your favorite kind of style. i wish you couldn't figure me out, but you always wanna know what i was about." -kate nash nicest thing

i think i am really good at having really intense, really brief encounters. good in the sense that i seem to find myself in these situations of getting to know someone quite often. but just as quickly as they utter the phrase "you blow my mind," they are gone. and i am bad at this type of encounter in the fact that i am invested and it hurts. i wish i could just cut people out. sometimes i wish that i didn't feel so much. getting left behind burns. and i am afraid i will be alone forever. meh.

heartbreak & head injuries.

2010-01-29T13:11:00.000-08:00

if..ehem..i mean when. when i get married (gotta stay optimistic about these things) i would like to register for two items. they are expensive so feel free to all pull your money together and chip in as group gift. i think it could be a reasonable $20 a head if split up properly. firstly, i would like to be the proud owner of a dyson vacuum cleaner. the pet hair model. cause let's face it people, the marley dog is cute, but he leaves a mark. fur everywhere. and also, this is me we are talking about. i will clean all day long with that magic machine. no other household will put it to quite such good use. the second item i will shoot my little gun at, will be a kitchenaid electric mixer. this is my most coveted appliance. my most coveted anything, really. i have thought long and hard about breaking down and buying one for myself, but i have a little superstition wrapped up in this situation. for me this perd'y number would be the absolute perfect wedding present. the artisan model. in tangerine. and although i could probably rustle up the $263.99 that it would cost to purchase this modern marvel, i feel i would be dooming myself to a life a singleness. by purchasing this mixer for myself i feel i am basically giving in. giving up. admitting that i will never get married. that i will never find my teammate. that i will always have a cold and empty side of the bed. and i am just not ready to do that. not just yet.

i broke up with my boyfriend recently. or he broke up with me. i'm not really sure exactly how to describe this one. all i know is i went to bed wednesday night, exhausted after a long day of work and was woken up four hours later by his drunken and belligerent shouting and he continued to me out of character and distant. so i asked him to leave. and two days later he went back to new york. he came by my house before his departure with a weak apology for his behavior. self sabotage. acting out at my expense. he was sorry. but that's where the line was drawn. no efforts of reparation. i sat there holding the telluride truffle treaty offering he placed in my hesitant hands. for once chocolate was unappealing. he sat near me on the couch avoiding my teary eye contact. and then he left. and i may never see him again. he didn't fight to get me back. he didn't do everything in his power to heal the hurt. he silently slipped away. and i find myself alone again. and farther than ever from the wedding isle.

so it seems almost comical that the following day i should be the victim of a most unfortunate accident. i dragged myself to work. eyes slightly puffy from crying myself to sleep the night before. that burning in my chest. each breath fighting back more tears. i went to work and threw myself into the service. helping the sushi chef grate daikon, i pulled down the food processor from the overhead shelf. in one quick movement i managed to snag the plug part of the cord under the kitchenaid electric mixer that makes it's home directly to it's left. and moments later the crashing noise brought both my bosses rushing through the swinging doors. "Are you okay?" he asked first. I stood laughing. Stunned. Frightened. I felt for my skull. A delicate touch sent pain shooting through my head. I winced and the facts of the story came to light. I had somehow managed to conk myself on the head with the entirety of my beloved appliance, and yet still remain standing. my boss reached for a cloth napkin and filled it with ice. he led me towards the dinning room to sit down but my legs felt weak and uneasy beneath me. i sunk slowly to the ground and leaned against the island. was this a sign? what was the universe trying to tell me? the doctors in the emergency room seemed amused. and also relieved that i didn't seem to be suffering from any severe malady or trauma. lots of rest and ibuprophen. see me back in the office in four days. seems i am lucky i have such a hard head. maybe i shouldn't be so stubborn about the kitchenaid afterall? if i owned my own, maybe the vendetta wielding one at work wouldn't be out to get me. it's the exact one i would have purchased. even it's orange gloss mocks me. i am glad i didn't die, but it would have been an interesting story.

you were restless. i was somewhere less secure.

2010-01-29T11:31:00.000-08:00

it's been a while since i have written. months actually. and like the good and loving friends you are, you have gotten on my case about it. sort of all at once and out of the blue. in a week's time you have all politely pleaded for a much over due update. which makes me happy to know that anyone cares about the contrived little thoughts that make their way from my head to the page. and it makes me sad to know that i haven't made the time to organize the mess that becomes these writings. a lot has happened in the past few months. i embraced a relationship. and subsequently ended said relationship. i started a new job. found my way to the emergency room. again. and have cooked and baked so many delicious and nutritious food items. it's been a good time. and a hard time. but when is it every really anything else?

i would love to catch you all up on the comings and goings of my mountain town living. but first, a little story...

the odds are good. but the goods are odd.

2010-01-26T22:29:00.000-08:00

in a town that fosters such delightful phrases for male/female relationships as "you don't lose your chance, just your turn in line," a girl can be forced to take some pretty drastic measures to find a mate. especially when, left to her own devices, she repeatedly choses different versions of the same man: the alcoholic, abusive, selfish prick. think musician or politician. what is it about me and men who schmooze and entertain for a living?!

i've recently ended a relationship. one that i mistakenly saw great potential in. and although part of me feels that it is very fresh and i should give it time to settle in and mourn the loss, another part of me insists that i trudge forward. i am at such a jaded juncture, i feel that if i don't press on, i may never put myself out there again.

so, i did it folks. i joined the dark side. even though the old saying goes "can't buy me love," my credit card deposit has my fingers crossed that e-Harmony will match me with mr. wonderful. i am officially one of those people. meh.

[pricks need not apply.]

i don't need a telescope to see that there's hope.

2009-11-16T21:38:00.000-08:00

sunlight breaks through gently veiled windows. icicles form a glistening curtain that pleasantly obstructs the view--the street below. the town across the block. the mountains cradling it all. blanketed in white. snow fall embraces the browns and greens. winter has officially arrived. colorado blue skies are above us. i am serene and warm indoors. top floor of the history museum. free yoga on monday afternoons. sun salutations have a special meaning today. hello magic. i have missed you. namaste.

load the car and write the note. grab your bag and grab your coat. tell the ones that need to know, we are headed north.

2009-10-21T00:42:00.000-07:00

after months of waiting, i am headed north. and east. i'm going to visit my boyfriend and my mom next monday. a little family time sounds perfect right now. curled in front of the fireplace drinking tea and catching up. i am grateful for my decision: forego a three day trip to austin city limits in exchange for two weeks in new england with two of my favorite people. exploring albany with jonathon and getting to show him around deer isle. playing in boston with my momula. riding trains and exploring museums. big city living. coastal cuisine. one last adventure before the winter season is upon us. i welcome it with open arms. this summer was good but hard. and while i feel like i have nothing to show for it, i have tried my best to make the most of the autumn. it is my favorite. and while some favor spring, this is my nesting time. cozy clothes. good food. football and beer. last night i sat on the ski slope watching the sun set over the mountain range and laughing as marley tossed snow in the air, to himself, i sighed a deep breath. this may not have been the season i was hoping for, or expecting, but it wasn't boring.

in the past few weeks i have been fortunate enough to assist a professional photography workshop, along side a published artist, climbed two mountains, found a new position at the hotel (if all goes well i will be cooking two days a week) and created many yummy and delicious meals for myself and my roomies. here are two of my new favorites:

::Carrot and Cilantro Soup::
1lb carrots
1 tbs olive oil
3 tbs Earth Balance
1 onion, chopped
1 celery rib, plus 2-3 leafy celery tops
2 small potatoes, peeled
4 cups vegetable stock
2-3 tsp ground corriander
1 tbs chopped cilantro
1 cup plain soy milk
salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

-Heat the oil and 2 tbs Earth Balance in large skillet and saute the onion for 3 to 4 minutes, until slightly softened.
-Add chopped celery and potatoes to the onion and cook for a few minutes. Add the chopped carrots and continue to cook for 3 to 4 minutes stirring, and then cover.
-Reduce heat even further and sweat for ten minutes.
-Add the vegetable stock and bring to a boil. Half cover the pan and simmer for 8 to 10 minutes, until potatoes and carrots are tender.
-Melt remaining Earth Balance in a sauce pan and saute ground coriander for one minute, stirring constantly.
-Reduce heat, add copped celery tops and cilantro and saute for one minute. Set aside until required.
-Blend soup in blender or food processor. Stir in milk and cilantro mixture. Season to taste, heat gently. Serve garnished with reserved celery leaves.

::Ginger Pear Cake with Carmel Butter Cream Frosting::
[The recipe as shown below is made with vegan substitutions. no animals were harmed in the baking of this delicious cake]

we stood on the porch and watched the snow make magic of the sky.

2009-10-20T23:51:00.000-07:00

snow covered the ground and continued to fall around me as i stood on the front lawn last tuesday morning. i had made plans to go to moab with a good friend from work. two ladies camping in the desert for three days. it was going to be spiritual. but when your driver is from louisiana, and her first attempt at driving in the winter weather is at five thirty in the morning, on three hours of sleep, with you as a passenger (note: you quite recently rolled her roommates vehicle down a snowy embankment) you politely decline, and make plans to reschedule with more cooperative precipitation.

and then you spend the snowy afternoon drinking hot cider and carving pumpkins. listening to records on your roommate's turntable, sipping good beer, and snacking on toasted pumpkin seeds. salty and hot from the oven.

sometimes when you want to be bear grylls, the martha stewart comes out instead. embrace the crafty nature.

funny which words stick around twenty years down when you're driving alone...

2009-10-20T22:59:00.000-07:00

[this is what today sounds like]
telluride is a strange place to move if you are a girl with abandonment issues. the transient nature of the town breeds deep connections on a shortened time line. there's a lot compressed into a little bitty village. and the feelings are real and the relationships are good if not brief. and then you are left morning this wonderful thing that vanished, perhaps never to be seen or heard from again. but this person has touched your spirit. and perhaps on this occasion you have created a lifelong bond. or maybe this is someone to always hold dear in your memory. gratitude. no expectations. i'm still learning this one.

but this place is magical. a vortex of healing and escape. i hope i am in the former category. i waited a long time before i made my move. i wanted to be moving on instead of running away. and yet, some how, so many of the difficult questions have followed me through the winding western roads, into my cradle. my safe place. and i find myself fumbling again. short of breath and anxious. insomnia plagues me. and nightmares haunt my restless sleep. i drag myself from bed in the mornings. and i often cry myself to sleep. this sadness wont leave. i have begged it. pleaded with it. and although i would never be so selfish as to take my own life, at these moments i can see where it might seem appealing. an end to all the pain and suffering. but that is the great lie. and i push past it in hopes that the sadness, doubt, and fear will be met equally with joy and fulfillment. someday. when i stop doubting myself. when i can feel my worth.

thirty hit me over the head. all these years and i am still no farther along. how emotionally defeating. i simple phone message from my father can send me spiraling. and all my fears come rushing back. will i ever be good enough? how do i keep from being too much? too much, but not enough.

i woke from a fretful dream the other night. i found myself confronted with my ex-boyfriend, curled on the carpet with another woman. it broke my heart all over again. and i turned and ran down the hallway. but this time, in this sleepy reality, instead of allowing his lies to defeat me and condemn me, i fought back. i yelled. i swung. i beat the shit out of him. and i woke even more exhausted than when i lay my head on the pillow. and when my tears subsided and i drifted off once again, i found myself alongside a good friend. and he did me favors and made me laugh and when i thanked him he kissed me on the mouth. i watched myself stand there in awkward silence. and this dream "me" mustered up the courage to ask him what he meant by that kiss. and the question was greeted with a laugh. and dismissed as if i was absurd for thinking it would ever possibly mean anything of importance.

i lay in my bed, watching through open blinds, searching the black for signs of snow. emotionally wrought. exhausted but unable to sleep. the phrase "dating is not an option" loops through my head. the idea that i'm not datable. unlovable. i never questioned this reply, but how do you recover from such a vague dismissal? how do you not blame yourself for the wrongness of your character? how do you accept this girl that everyone else leaves behind? how can you love her enough to make it all alright?

this summer i met a boy who didn't walk away. but he moved two thousand miles from my embrace. and i find myself wondering if this is the only reason he hasn't left me. and i find myself waiting. always waiting. for him to leave. and as much as i prepare myself for this possibility, it will hurt. his absence will leave a hole. and i find myself wondering how many holes before i disappear completely.

i just hope i have something interesting to say.

2009-09-22T22:14:00.000-07:00

autumn found its way to the box canyon today. sun shone brightly on lemon-lime foliage. aspen ablaze on steep mountain grades. brisk air tossed locks of hair and scarf tassels. beckoning winter closer. it's in the air. i can smell it. the thermometer reads twenty-nine degrees. that's Fahrenheit folks. it's cold. but the crispness in the air reminds me i'm alive. it's the autumn color change, the drop in temperatures, the bareness to it all that brings me closer to that place. for me, this is the beginning. a fresh start. a clean slate. and i welcome it with open arms. the skies shroud us in starlit canopy. too big and expansive to cloak or drape. the big dipper and Orion's belt are lost in the depth of the celestial show. a veil of glittering light. i can not make out one single constellation. too dazzled to focus on one individual.

i spent my day off running errands and reading. eating homemade carrot & cilantro soup, curled in a blanket at the dinning room table. and in the evening, i found my way to the movie theater. four girls. two bottles of wine. and the time traveler's wife. (i love rachel mcadams. if i could physically resemble any woman on the planet...) that's a recipe for tears. and an answered prayer. strong women who get me. who understand where i have been. who can direct me on my journey. open and understanding. compassion and grace at a time when i have felt lost and alone. it is amazing what you get when you just ask. pause for a moment and address the empty aching places in your heart. i asked for pages to read and ears to listen. delivered.

my friend rae keeps lists on her computer. memories.
times that i felt sad:
times that i felt depressed: abandoned: angry: abused:
times that i felt loved: understood:
these are her stones. cairns. markers on her journey. and it reminds me of our individual stories. and their great tendency to intertwine and intersect. and i am so grateful for these roadmaps of memories and experiences. the compass rose points to true north. truth and understanding. you are not alone. embrace this feeling. the burden is easier to bare when your arms are not the only ones to carry the load. when you can feel the arms around you. embracing you. remember: you are not alone. you are loved. just breathe.

i prayed for pages. books to read. something to fill in the empty space on cold evenings. and once again donald miller fell into my lap. searching for t-shirts on TWLOHA i stumbled on his latest publication. a million miles in a thousand years. a few clicks, and moments later the confirmation email announced delivery in two to four business days. amazon to the rescue. marley and i made the trek to the post office this morning. our early walk turned towards the end of the canyon instead of the mouth. headed for the snowy peaks that towered overhead. pulling my fists into the sleeves of my hooded sweatshirt and smoothing stray hairs that blow from under my toboggan. my package arrived today. and i am already one third of the way through it. for all his arrogant remarks and self deprecating tendencies, i must confess, donald miller is a man who pays attention to details. and i admire that. and his bold and brave approach to his work. his sleeves bare the bloody marks. the bumps and bruises of his open heart. tell tale signs of his chosen life. his story. perhaps without the once upon a time or the happily ever after, but thick with twists and turns. a character who wants something and overcomes conflict to get it.

"there's something about a good story that helps me escape. i used to go to the movies all the time just to clear my head. if it was a good movie, the experience felt like somebody was resetting a compass in my brain so i could feel what was important in my life and what wasn't ...you get a feeling when you look back on life that that's all god really wants from us, to live inside a body he made and enjoy the story and bond with us through the experience...i wonder if that's what we'll do with god when we are through with all this, if he'll show us around heaven, all the light coming in windows a thousand miles away, all the fields sweeping down to a couple of chairs under a tree, in a field outside the city. and we'll sit and tell him our stories, and he'll smile and tell us what they mean. i just hope i have something interesting to say."
-d. miller

and don't apologize for all the tears you've cried. you've been way too strong now, for all your life.

2009-09-11T13:47:00.000-07:00

i guess we're all one phone call from our knees.

snow dusts ajax peak. white caps reaching for blue bird skies. proof that the crisp coolness of the recent night air, is a sign of things to come. winter is on its way. this is the real deal.

driving home last night, from the farm, in the darkest dark of a clouded sky. i arrived to civilization and a voicemail from my sister. and an email from sean. chris has passed away. it was an accident. thought you should know. knew you would understand. i hate that i do.

"you can't have any expectations for your time together," sean said as we walked through familiar philly streets. "it is what it is. you make the best with what you have and you love them the best you can because you don't have any idea how much time you have together."

you know this. you live this reality on a daily basis. it's a reality with everyone that passes into your life. but it is intensified when mental illness is involved. you have no idea if this conversation will be your last. there are no guarantees. no certainties other than everything is temporary. so embrace what is before you. but for most of us, we go about our lives with the false luxury of believing we have all the time in the world. taking all those little details for granted. and we waste our time worrying about wardrobes and cars and endless hours at jobs we hate. what would we do differently if we knew these were our last moments together? what would we do differently if we we not fearful of looking foolish in the eyes of social constructs?

in the past few years it has been cemented into my brain how amazingly short life is, in the grand scheme of things. a single eyelash held in a very large palm. and i don't have time to waste pretending anymore. what you see is what you get. and if at times i seem messy and frazzled it is probably no more so than the next person. it's just that my stuff is right there on the surface waiting to be dealt with. waiting to be sorted out. i wear my heart on my sleeve. i'm sorry if that scares you. imagine how i feel. be grateful i don't keep secrets.

every morning i wake to the smallest thought weighing on the back of my mind. on good days i can push past it. acknowledge its existence, but also my powerlessness to change the situation. deep breath. on with the day. -- but other times it grips and pulls and drags me deep into dark places. the powerlessness becomes malignant and suffocating. a shackle instead of a release. every phone call could be "the one." the one that informs me of my sisters death. her passing. would she have ended her life? or would it have been an accident? a mistake with her meds? the voices? i think about my life with her and what a horrible sister i have been. how difficult her life must be and how often i take mine for granted. the tiny freedoms i enjoy that she will never know. it breaks my heart. and its too hard. and i am exhausted.

hillary called me the other day. she apologized. she said she was sorry she couldn't be the kind of sister i needed. that i deserved. and she apologized for monopolizing all of my father's affections. "you see audge, he spends all his time worrying about me and taking care of me and spending his money on all the things i need, he just doesn't have anything left for you. and i'm so sorry there isn't time to worry about you. but you don't need it. you're perfect. and i love you."

how do you respond to that? how do you speak when your heart has leapt out of your chest? out of you throat. and despite your best efforts to break its fall, has smashed to bits at your feet below. how do you have anything but love for someone who holds you in such high regard? who looks at you with such compassion and admiration? how can you possibly explain those evil thoughts that creep into your brain? wishing your life were different. begging, pleading for some sense of normalcy. for some lightening of the weight. to feel less burdened. less burdensome.

today could very well be the day i receive that dreaded phone call. but it could also be the day i fall in love, or get my dream job, or find twenty dollars in my jeans pocket. it is what it is. make the best of it.

p.s. so far, today has been the day i woke early and ran the valley floor. drank coffee in the sunshine, dipping pumpkin biscotti. and received a text from my sister exclaiming how proud she is of me.
today is a good day.

…rest, nature, books, music…such is my idea of happiness…

2009-09-09T14:26:00.000-07:00

and food.
cooking. and baking, more precisely. i am still on a quest to realize my dream of one day owning my very own b&b. but for now i will relish the simply pleasures i find in mixing ingredients and hosting my friends and family at the dinner table. my latest culinary adventures include sweet potato & black bean burritos and peach cobbler. mmmmmm...tasty.

note to self: cobbler is an indoor activity. i took this cobbler to an outdoor film screening and ended up covered in it's sticky yummy goodness. hilarious & delicious. and apparently our colorado peaches differ from the standard fuzzy georgian variety. the warm days and cool nights give our juicy summer fruits a unique taste that make them ideal for both savory dishes and decadent desserts. i'll be sure to stash some away for the winter months...as i'll be spending the next three consecutive tuesday evenings learning how to can/preserve. so excited.

--colorado peach cobbler--
Filling:
10 ripe peaches
3 tablespoons vanilla extract
1 teaspoon nutmeg
2 cups brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
3 tablespoons corn starch

Biscuit Dough:
2 cups flour
1/4 cup granulated sugar, plus 1 1/2 tablespoons for the top
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 cup earth balance (vegan butter substitute)
3/4 cup soy milk

Directions
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.

In a large bowl, combine the peaches, vanilla, nutmeg, brown sugar, granulated sugar and corn starch. Mix together. Pour mixture into a 13-inch-by-9-inch casserole dish

Combine the flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder in a large bowl and mix. Cut in the vegan butter with a fork until the dough resembles sand. Slowly add the soymilk until the dough comes together. You may not need all of the soymilk.

Place the dough on a floured surface and knead it into a 13-inch-by-9-inch rectangle about 1/2-inch thick and place over the peach filling. Use remaining soymilk as a wash, brushing on top of dough. Sprinkle the 1 1/2-tablespoons of sugar on top. Cook the cobbler until the top is golden brown, about 40 minutes.

enjoy!

your breath was courage laced with alcohol. you leaned in, you said, "make music with the chatter in here, and whisper all the notes in my ears."

2009-09-03T14:07:00.001-07:00

trying to salvage inspiration from the pit of sadness that has gripped me as of late. i can see the light.

1] blind pilot - 3 rounds and a sound
2] The Stationary Studio - create your own custom note cards
3] outdoor film screenings in elk park
4] redesign projects for brown dog
5] 500 days of summer. good sound track. and i want a chalkboard wall. plus i'm always down for a random syncronized dance sequence.
6] care packages
7] everwood
8] fall weather
9] football season
10] hikes

i’m just an idea that happened upon love. i am that i am. and that i am, is enough.

2009-09-03T13:24:00.000-07:00

I overheard a woman's conversation in the restaurant, yesterday. "You should never let another individual control your sense of self and well-being." I glanced over my shoulder to witness the recipient's reaction to the advice. The eight year old little girl starred back at her mother in recognition. Then took a sip of her root beer.
Kids these days.

nothing says happy thirtieth like outerwear.

2009-08-24T21:23:00.000-07:00

so for my b-day i purchased, for myself, three items of dire need and necessity. (one for each remarkably endured decade).
my first self gift is a new ski jacket. i knew i wanted green and pink. and it had to match the black north face pants i procured from the free box last season. i waited patiently for months. i finally found what i'd been waiting for. you can spot me on the slopes in this stylish little number...
the second item of interest is in preparation of the rainy fall season here in telluride. my very first rain coat. my marmot precip. i love it. mine is pink with orange writing but i couldn't find any photos. perhaps it is one of a kind :)
finally, the third item is designed for the walking lifestyle of this town. and to keep my feet warm and dry in the coming months. plus i really liked their moto:

For those who'd rather stay home than see the world from the seat of a bus, the berth of a train, the railings of a boat, or the portal of a plane OTBT shoes are not for you. To all you roamers, rovers and rolling stones who know the destination is the journey, ramble on.

in the same train of thought, my momula sent me a wonderful treasure she traded for at at craft show in maine. she is called a "traveler" and is created to represent the geography of your imagination. she hangs above my bed. she is beautiful.

also, my dear friend kelstar sent me a cut out from charlotte's skirt magazine publication. apparently i qualify for the desired position. i have already faxed my resume.

sweet action.

life is like the surf, so give yourself away like the sea.

2009-08-01T18:37:00.000-07:00

my friend's father passed away the other day. and all i could do was bake her a chicken and hug her and walk the valley floor. and curl up in the living room with blankets and a movie. and take her to buy jerky on the way to the airport. and wonder if i have any idea what she is going through. it breaks my heart. and i sit here in her room. so empty without her warm presence. and i admire her bravery. and pray for her heart. and hope that she can find peace in the knowledge that she put her heart out there and it was received. she said her peace and her father passed, perhaps without the knowledge of the intimate details of her life, but with a much better understanding of her character. knowing that she is loving and open and amazing. and with a genuine desire to reconcile the space between. that counts for something. that really matters.

and in the crooks of her story i can see the broken pieces of my failed relationship as a daughter. what would i feel if that phone call was mine to receive. if my sister's voice wailed on the other end of the line. dad is dead. would my heart wrench? would i be numb and guarded? would life continue on unaffected by the loss of this already absent figure? only present in name and concept as a means to my existence. half of me. the half that could care less about the person i have become.

the birthday song poured out onto my voicemail. i love you audie. my throat tightened. i straighted my posture. adjusting my weight to both feet. i am angry and annoyed. and i feel selfish for vowing not to call him back. i can't put myself out there again. so many years of disappointment. failed promises and broken truths. i'm too weak. i'm too tired. but i pray that my friend can understand why i must choose to keep this distance between my own father. i pray that i can understand and accept the reality of the situation. i don't think i can handle another rejection. it seems necessary to walk away. save my heart for something better. for someone who will actually care for it and appreciate its delicate fullness.

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monday evening. the sun set in brilliant red and orange and pink. fading to a deep purple above the mountain ridge. the wildfire haze hanging in the air, increasing the intensity of the final rays. the day's finale. a glorious show. standing at 10,000 feet, i crouched to the ground, high heels digging in the dusty, gravel road. my dress gently brushing across the path. hugging my knees tightly to my chest. the tears welled in my eyes. trying to hold them back. to somehow absorb them back into my body. they plump and roll down my cheeks, leaving wet tracks that chill in the evening breeze.

overwhelmed. it's too much. my little sister called me from the hospital. my father sang to my voicemail as if months of emptiness and distance have not passed. my amazing friend stands crouched behind me, holding me and stroking my hair, pretending for a moment that there will be more nights like this. that he isn't leaving on sunday. that we have more time.

no girl wants to spend her thirtieth birthday feeling fat and bloated. physically and emotionally exhausted. strung out on her period and on the far end of the family drama. close enough to be in the know, but unable to solve any of the problems. angry and upset. completely overwhelmed. so i stand and turn towards those strong arms that pull me close. and hold me tight. and he dries my tears and kisses me gently. it seems like such a strange time to celebrate. recent events weighing on my mind. burdening my heart. but he manages to make me laugh and he takes me to dinner. and somewhere between the sake and the curry i relax into the evening. it is what it is. be here now. this time is a gift. happy birthday to me.

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everyone says thirty is just the beginning. the start of a new decade. a new phase. a new season. and i embrace this opportunity for change. for growth. for understanding. for love. there is distance from the insecure little girl in me. the years have given me that distance. and a new perspective. learning to get out of my own way. that i am the dictator of my own limits and boundaries. placing restrictions on my life out of fear. and i choose to end this way of living. embrace what the day has in store. live in the moment. live boldly. love wildly. this is just the beginning.

"nothing" says liberation like a naked bike ride.

2009-07-25T22:37:00.000-07:00

sunday morning brought sunshine and good conversation in mountain village. whiling away the hours bouldering with a new friend. ultimately spending more time talking and smoothing our hands over the gravel covered pit. relaxing in the shade of the rock and pondering the origins of the designated problems sans interference of what we can only guess to be the curious hands of children. peeling colored tape off the lower holds. the circumference of the climbs balded up to toddler eye level. dang kids.

today also marked the conclusion of telluride's infamous "nothing festival." a weekend mockingly marking the over abundance of tourist catered events throughout the summer months. this is a weekend for locals. no traffic. no long lines. no outsiders. a real community builder. unfortunately, due to early season dust storms, conditions were less than favorable for the annual lunar cup an eclectic mix of individuals racing down the snowy slopes of savage basin. camping, costumes, free box finds, and plenty of cocktails make this summertime downhill ski/snowboard race a favorite for our local lunatics.

unable to participate in the telluride tradition of shooshing down the july snow pack, i found it only necessary to participate in what one may consider, the closing ceremonies. at dusk i found myself in the company of forty fellow telluride townies, pedaling down the length of main street on our bicycles. the traffic circle to town park and back. in the buff. that is to say, in full "nothing" spirit. (disclaimer: i wore nude panties. there is just something seemingly unsanitary about being bottomless on a bicycle. oh my o.c.d tendencies.)

breasts exposed and genitalia dangling, the herd of exposed riders made there way through the crowded streets. restaurants emptied as their patrons lined the sidewalks with cameras and video. tourists and locals alike. children. elderly. everyone in between. cheering and whooping. we made our pass and looped back for our celebratory bash on the front lawn of one participant's house. it was oddly comfortable. such a large group almost entirely nude, created a new standard for normal. but the overall spirit was playful and lacked uncomfortable sexual overtones. we were like children running naked on the beach. wonderfully naive and innocent. liberated and free. "nothing" brings people together.

so, with pen in hand, i say to you, life: i am ready! throw at me what you will!

2009-07-06T21:05:00.000-07:00

cottonwood floats against clear blue sky. july snow flurries. minus the crisp stillness in the air and that smell. the scent of silence and moon on crystal covered ground. but the downy shower calls my attention up. cotton candy clouds hover over golden crests of mountains. the warm sun slips behind the peaks releasing the cool shadows from the earth. my legs propel me forward on the trail. the valley floor echos with the rushing creek and bedding birds. the fresh pine fills my labored lungs. il est neuf heure moins le quart. bon nuit.

that solo's awful long but it's a good refrain.

2009-06-29T16:31:00.000-07:00

This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't

You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath

No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took

And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood

And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again.

-regina spektor

sleeping to dream about you. and i'm so tired of having to live without you.

2009-06-29T13:10:00.000-07:00

[no animals were harmed in the typing of this blog]
for the past four out of five weeks, i have been sick. and not just your annoying sniffling, sneezing, stuffy head, common cold. round one: walking pneumonia. round two: strep throat. i spent the entirety of yesterday in a fever induced sleep-state. delirious and dreaming. fun times, let me tell you. one of my coworkers commented that i might want to "tone down all the late night partying" in an effort to stay healthy. this is funny if you know me. in the past two months i have been out late three times. 1. ozomatli 2. david byrne 3. a random wednesday with sarah.

granted, i have been under the weather and unable to partake in a lot of the late night festivities. but when given the chance i usually lean towards something more laid back. i'm a dork. dinner parties rule over partying at the bars. long hikes over hangovers. don't get me wrong. i like to go out. but if there isn't a good band or plenty of dancing then i may feel just as contented in my pj's with a movie and the marley dog. cooking yummy food has become our greatest pastime here on oak street. and conquering the trails around town. last week i completed the wasatch trail all by my lonesome. with my trusty canine, of course! twelve miles. 2,700 vertical miles. bass ass. kicked my ass. on the most glorious of days, weather wise. and on a week long stretch of good health. ahhhh. good times.

my roomies are concerned my sudden stint of maladies may be due to my recent elimination of all animal related food-type-products. that is to say a vegan diet. except for honey. i haven't been able to give that up. but the dairy was a no brainer. milk = anaphylactic shock. and i didn't really eat that much meat or eggs in the first place. lots of green leafy veggies and tofu. whole grains and nuts. learned how to bake with out butter and eggs too! i made delicious oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. you'd never know if i hadn't told you. i promise. mmmmmmm. although i highly doubt this is a contributing factor (especially since i got sick only two days in). it's more likely my body's failed attempt at acclimating from charlotte's hot and humid summer to the damp cold that persists. and a physical manifestation of emotional stresses. it's all good. i'm looking into supplements. omega3's, zinc, iron, and B12. the aussie's swear by their vegemite!
-here's to making a full recovery.

[potato rosti and tofu with fresh tomato and ginger sauce]

[vegan oatmeal chocolate chip cookies]
substitute 2tbs soy milk, 1tbs oil, 1tsp cornstarch for every egg. earth balance spread for butter. and i found delicious chips that are dairy and gluten free. just cocoa, cane sugar, and vanilla!

[butternut squash and apple soup recipe]
note: pairs well with rosemary foccia
Ingredients:
2 tablespoons unsalted butter (or substitute earth balance)
1 1/2 cups sliced leeks, white parts only
1 tablespoon minced garlic
6 cups peeled and roughly diced butternut squash
3 cups peeled and roughly diced apples
2 teaspoons Toasted Spice Rub, recipe follows
6 1/2 cups chicken stock or 2 (14 1/2-ounce) cans low-sodium chicken broth mixed with 3 cups water
Sea salt, preferably gray salt

Directions:
-Melt the butter in a large pot over medium heat, and cook until it turns nut brown. Add the leeks and cook until slightly softened, about 2 minutes. Add the garlic and saute briefly to release its fragrance.
-Add the squash and apples, raise the heat to high, and cook, stirring, until the vegetables begin to caramelize, about 5 minutes. Stir in the Toasted Spice Rub and cook briefly to toast it, about 1 minute.
-Add the stock or broth-water mixture, bring to a simmer, and partially cover. Adjust the heat to maintain a gentle simmer and cook until the squash and apples are tender, about 40 minutes.
-Transfer in batches to a blender or food processor and blend until smooth. Return to the pot, reheat to serving temperature, and season with salt.
-Divide the soup among warmed bowls and garnish each portion with some of the walnuts, if using. Serve immediately.

Toasted Spice Rub:
1/4 cup fennel seeds
1 tablespoon coriander seeds
1 tablespoon black peppercorns
1 1/2 teaspoons crushed red pepper flakes
1/4 cup pure California chili powder (about 1-ounce)
2 tablespoons kosher salt
2 tablespoons ground cinnamon
In a small heavy pan over medium heat, combine the fennel seeds, coriander seeds, and peppercorns. When the fennel turns light brown, work quickly. Turn on the exhaust fan, add the red pepper flakes, and toss, toss, toss, always under the fan. [or else you'll burn your lungs off...no joke] Immediately turn the spice mixture out onto a plate to cool. Put in a blender with the chili powder, salt, and cinnamon and blend until the spices are evenly ground. If you have a small spice mill or a coffee grinder dedicated to grinding spices, grind only the fennel, coriander, pepper, and chili flakes. Pour into a bowl and toss with the remaining ingredients.

and as we rode the bus home i thought surely i'd wake up tomorrow just to find that i had dreamt up everything.

2009-06-29T12:28:00.000-07:00

to fulfill my love of photography and contrasting textures i organized a lil' photo shoot last week. there are not many things better than playing dress up in the sunshine and goofing off with a camera. part of me will always be a little girl. and since my usual photo-extravaganza sidekicks (kelly & erin) are off in charlotte, i had to enlist the aid of another fun loving friend. thank you megan, for your willing participation, cooperation, and bright spirit. construction workers. wiffle ball. hippie camp...this day totally rocked. [special thanks to the freebox for the totally amazing wardrobe.]

[photos by: audrey mann]

[photos by: megan browning]

ed helms loves bluegrass.

2009-06-26T20:41:00.000-07:00

i haven't felt much like writing in the past few weeks. the damp sickness in my lungs has sucked all the creativity out of me. leaving me tired and drained. and anxious to get outdoors again. the past weekend was phenomenal though. good music. perfect weather. full strength. i enjoyed my first bluegrass festival. telluride hosts a good party. hippie camp was alive with late night music. after grass shows and late night dance parties at the bars and theater. laying on the lawn soaking up some much needed sunshine. eyes closed. ears open.

david byrne was an unexpected highlight for me. all white clad dancers. perfect voice. tutus. definitely in my top three shows of all time. hands down. emmylou harris, patty griffin, and shawn colvin warmed up the crowd. starting the evening off right. punch brothers on saturday. even as the clouds rolled in and rains poured down in town park the crowd stood firm in their tarp-claimed territory. playing and singing all the classic tunes, the fellas riled the crowd and made promises of a good radiohead cover show on sunday night.

work was mingled in with lounging and dancing. an extra 10,000 people in town adds to the hustle and bustle of main street. the town has transformed and i enjoy the liveliness while it lasts. but look forward to the return of the quiet stream of bicycle traffic instead of the parked cars lining the streets and weaving my way through hoards of people on the sidewalks. does that make me a snob?

random conversation at bluegrass:
friend: did you see the hangover?
me: do i have a hangover?
friend: no. the movie. the hangover. with that guy. the one from the office.
me: no i haven't seen it but everyone says it's hilarious.
friend: so you know that guy? andy? from the office?
me: yeah, why?
friend: that guy over there looks just like him. (pointing to the tarp behind us)
me: (leaning very obviously to get a better look) that's because it is him. andy loves bluegrass!

instead of rambling on about what i've been up to, i'll just show you. [no photos where taken with ed helms because we were too chicken to ask him.]

there's so much more than empty conversations filled with empty words.

2009-06-11T23:23:00.000-07:00

[this is what today sounds like.]
into the flood - as tall as lions
the boy who blocked his own shot - brand new
one more with feeling - get cape. wear cape. fly.
pulling on a line - great lake swimmers
curs in weeds - horse feathers
gravity rides everything - modest mouse

impressive. beyond impressive. you'll see.

2009-06-11T20:50:00.000-07:00

mountainfilm. in telluride. celebrating indomitable spirit.

strings of prayer flags billow in the cool morning breeze. "om tare tu tare ture soha." snow shrouds the mountain tops. white tips lose their way in the settling fog. the canyon air is cool and damp. a perfect weekend for movies...

in a town of 2,200 you start to feel like you know everyone. and if that town is telluride, colorado, everyone is someone. i am continuously blown away by the creative and adventurous minds and bodies that inhabit these canyon walls. the individual stories could keep me entertained for hours on end. these people know how to live. they love life. it's inspiring. and inviting. undaunted by this form of celebrity. these people move through the crowds unnoticed. their passion and work are the reason they are here. artists. adventurers. filmmakers. the passion and work that is our great privilege to enjoy.

during this three day festival filmmakers and artists from across the globe, gather in our tiny town to "[educate and inspire] audiences about issues that matter, cultures worth exploring, environments worth preserving, and conversations worth sustaining." screenings, question and answer sessions, breakfast talks, symposium, music and picnics. it is seventy two hours of adrenaline and heart wrenching. asking the hard questions. offering revolutionary answers. creating a powerful sense of community. urging you to ask yourself what you can do to make a difference. and then challenging you to proceed. action = answers. after a weekend of interacting with artists (aaron huey - cole rise), entrepreneurs (skip yowell), cultural activists (andy bichlbaum) and adventures (jim whittaker) i am left with one question: now what? that sense of urgency. the need to make a difference. make a contribution. make your small existence mean something in the bigger picture. it's possible.
mountainfilm. in telluride. i went expecting adventure and adrenaline. i left with purpose and inspiration. see for yourself.

was it me i need to be.

2009-06-11T19:41:00.000-07:00

the rain is coming down outside. one day after another. blue skies break clouds momentarily. until another frosty breeze causes you to clutch at the collar of your coat. drawing it closed. holding it close. snow in june. who knew? i love it though. because of the layered clothes. the lack of humidity. a strange new summer sensation. as soon as i conquer this damp encouraged cold i will conquer that problem in illium valley. sit start. launch. hips close. pull my self up. sarah got me hooked. and i'm about to go mad cooped up in this house. sick for two and a half weeks. that is torture in telluride. adventure waits right outside my door and i am quarantined in my room. coughing fits and hearing loss. hurry antibiotics. rescue me from these confining walls. i want mountains and rivers and wildflowers. not another episode of house on hulu or haunting videos from a life i almost lived. quit torturing myself and get outside. get well. get it together.

do something with my life.

there's a place i'd like to go, somewhere out west.

2009-05-30T14:37:00.002-07:00

[this is what today sounds like.]

we own the sky - m83
richdoors - new villager
scenic world - beirut
winter - the dodos
love always remains - mgmt
llyod, i'm ready to be heart broken - camera obscura
blue ocean blue - lake

we just had a near-life experience, fellas.

2009-05-30T10:19:00.000-07:00

"go confidently in the direction of your dreams! live the life you've imagined."
-thoreau

the early morning sun warmed my back and battled the shadows cast by towering aspens. coat on. coat off. settling for unzipped, sleeves pushed up, revealing pale forearms. i walked marley down oak street. the sheridan opera house sign marking my right turn onto main street. marley has become accustomed to morning walks. our new yard is foreign territory. and although it is fenced in he refuses to venture out into it's rocky terrain. preferring the luxury and variety of smells he most certainly encounters around town. this is doggie central. and our trek to clark's market provides ample opportunity to mark new territory and sniff out new friends.

i pause on the return trip. sun filling in the features of my face. a cast. a welcomed warmth. bridal veil falls cascades from the far end of the canyon. the switch backs now visible after snow melt. coffee in hand, groceries on my back i catch my self in the moment. this is my life. this is my morning. there may be many more as peaceful and contented. and i feel guilty for this simple luxury. for claiming this for myself. and i spend the next block slogging off those negative thoughts. grace. it's a choice. a conscious decision. it is what it is. and this day is grand.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

for those of you who have managed to avoid the snares of facebook and myspace, i applaud you. for most of you, myself included, this system of networking has become a part of daily life. a necessity. a vice. but it's voyeuristic tendencies have provided insight and left me saddened at the resolve.

i settled back into telluride on a rainy sunday evening. pulling into the cradle of the box canyon, i peered out over the brown hillsides and bare trees. grey skies hung heavy over dark mountains. ominous clouds raining plump droplets on everything they veiled. this is home. and if i can love it now in it's most inclimate of weathers, i know i have chosen wisely. i was nervous for my return trip. afraid the town would be unrecognizable without its blanket of snow. without the familiar faces and embraces of the winter season. and this gloomy weather was perfect for my re-entry. matched my sullen mood. renewed refreshed. ready for another new beginning.

i woke early the next day. altitude change effects my sleeping patterns. walked the dog. fetched my coffee. perched in our perfect kitchen, reading the local paper and perusing my inbox. the facebook home page littered with monday morning complaints. rants about pressing workdays, anxiety for the far off weekend. working for five o' clocks and fridays. discontented. miserable, even. fifty-two days out of the year. seven plus weeks of droning and moaning. what a waste. what squandered living. what happened to joy? and hope? living life to the fullest?

"this is the day which the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it."
-psalm 118:24

i read a quote recently, that resonated with my spirit. encouraged my heart. and made me smile. "life is not measured by length, but intensity." (author unknown) it made me smile for all the reasons i find myself so comforted in this new environment. held between walls of rock and dirt. small in comparison to almost everything. inspired by the company i keep; adventurers to the core. happy to be alive. experiencing life. stepping out from behind that desk. bold. strong. trading the hamster wheel for unknown answers and questionable futures. but isn't everything one endless eroteme [?] control existing only as a tidy illusion. trapping us in our own fear and lack of trust?

"if you died right now, how would you feel about your life"
-tyler durden.

i sat in the emergency room dusted with glass and debris. tears broke the lines of dirt smeared across my cheeks. i was afraid. scared at the financial mess that lay before me. but looking back on the accident. on the moment the vehicle paused at the precipice. the moment my eyes met amanda's, across the center console. i was not fearful of my life. for the first time i was exactly where i wanted to be. content in the moment. {maybe not this particular situation} but the general aspects of my daily life. and i was glad know i had made bold decisions. that in that moment my death would not have left me with the emptiness and longing it would most likely have this time last year.

it has been almost one year since i made the big leap. trading in my eight to fives for an endless stretch of road, my camera and my dog. the gypsy life has had it's pot holes and pitfalls, but the rewards have been tenfold and spur me on towards bigger goals. intense. indeed.

even if your hands are shakin’ and your faith is broken. even as the eyes are closin’ do it with a heart wide open. say what you need to say.

2009-05-16T12:00:00.000-07:00

i've gone and fucked it all up...

I embody character traits of a cutter. Sex is my razorblade. Needing to be wanted. Craving that fleeting validation. Inevitably disappointed. I have managed to maintain a most genuine remission of this disease. Stronger against the pull of those demons. Able to speak truth through my inner, self-destructive monologue. But there are times when the build is too intense. When the weight of it all comes crashing down…When my sister got sick...When my grandmother died...When I almost killed my friends. and I cycle into my old behaviors. I punish myself. Unable to see any semblance of good. “This” is what I deserve. Remind myself that I am too much. Not enough. Crave it. Kill it. Take you down with me.

I promised myself, when I moved to telluride, that I wouldn’t do anything I would not tell my girls about. They know me. They love me. And despite my seemingly irrational decision to head out west, they have supported me. It’s good to have friends like that. I cannot imagine my life without them. It baffles me that it seems so rare to some. To others it is only an idea, a bond they have only read about. Have yet to experience. So it is with their love and support that I am able to step through others’ judgment and disappointment and share this unsightly tidbit about myself. I would feel like a hypocrite if I kept it inside. My frustrations with the secrecy of certain communities. Bright and shinny on the outside. Broken at the core. I don’t want to pretend that things didn’t happen. Gloss myself up for the world to see. Keep all the crap buried down deep. I’m not learning anything from that except how to feel guilty and fearful. How to look down on others and pass judgment that was never meant to be in my possession. Keeping things a secret doesn’t make them disappear. Those things have a way of festering and erupting. And I’m not doing anyone else a service by pretending. I’m an open book. I am broken. I am a mess.

I met a boy. He didn’t want me. So I slept with him.

I know. You’re disappointed. I told you so. it's ringing in my ears. I have been incapable of hearing anything else. always so concerned with what others think of me. The recent car accident has brought some things into perspective. Provided me with another point of view. We walked away unscathed. And my new family poured out to care for us. We could have died. But we didn’t. why? The big question. What does it mean? why am i here? purpose? meaning? The clincher that led me astray. I should have let it be. But i picked at the scab. The mending old wound. The feeling that I wasn’t good enough. Undeserving. I drowned in it. Sunk to the bottom when things settled down. Guests cleared out and life resumed. And I flailed for dry land but the current was too strong.

-------------------------------------------------

I met a guy a few months ago. Sweet and funny. The girls approved. I saw him out most weekends. We chatted and hugged. Greeted each other in the plaza during work. He would yell silly things to me across the flagstone, echoing off the stone buildings. It made me laugh. He was adorable and nice. Definitely not for me. I don’t do nice. It doesn’t make sense to me. Ignore me. Hurt me. That I can work with. That I know. Sincere interest and upheld promises start me running for the hills. It’s sick and it’s sad. And it is what I want to break free from. But I don’t know how to be okay with myself. Haven’t quite gotten the notion to stick. I get fleeting moments when everything aligns and I have a peace. A genuine comfort in myself. Knowing who I am and really enjoying that girl. The woman I am growing into. But it is too brief. Too unstable. And my goal is to know it. To be able to recite it like my social security number. Burned into my brain.

Sex wasn’t an issue. He made that clear from the beginning. I never had to bring it up. Never had to put my foot down. He said he couldn’t take advantage of me like that. It was too important and we’d known each other for too short a time. I was relieved. And hurt at the same time. Sick. I know. But somehow his consideration translated negatively. Something must be wrong with me if he doesn’t want me. But his interest in me continued even without the physical complications. Instead of dragging me to bed, we had long conversations. about everything. Relationships. Parents. Work. God. He asked me a million questions. Wanting to know more. Never tired of my answers. He made me feel sexy and smart. Interesting and understood. He picked out all the details. Recited them back to me. He noticed me. Paid close attention. And after years of feeling invisible I settled into this new light. Comfortable and excited. For two weeks we were disgustingly adorable. All my friends agreed. And then…he moved to Maryland. Offered a teaching job. An amazing opportunity. He is wonderful with kids. So we parted ways. Grateful to have met. To have learned from one another. Our conversations provided a lot of answers for me. Filled in some gaps along the way. And I said goodbye with the intention of writing, but never really knowing exactly what to say. Perhaps that was the end of our time. Purpose served. It is what it is. I can accept that.

The whirlwind had come to a sudden halt. The adventures with my charlotte visitor came to a close. My cute companion headed east to mold young minds. And as the season was winding down, I was left to tie up lose ends. Housing for next month. Insurance coverage for the car accident. Medical bills. Mounting tensions with my newest roommate. I didn’t feel safe in my house. Not sleeping well. I was exhausted. Trying to keep up with everything on my plate, but inevitably overwhelmed.

Know your triggers. That sounds like something every addict should know. Be able to identify what makes you reach for a bottle or blade or refrigerator door. I have spent the past week trying to figure out my kryptonite. What it is that gets me going or combination of events that seems to send me over the edge. I’m proud of myself for this one. I was able to settle in for a while. Breathe. Go with the flow. Everything would work itself out. But by the end of the week I was worn down. I had reached my quota of rejection for the month. My dad had failed to respond to my birthday email. and in a desperate plea for help I had requested his assistance with my mounting medical expenses. i needed to borrow money to cover insurance and xrays and ambulance rides. I hate asking him for anything. The idea itself was nauseating. And the resulting blow was equally sickening. He didn’t respond. not even to make sure I was all right. Didn’t care. enough.

That’s my trigger: rejection. Sends me reeling every time.

I held it together for the day. Made my way onto the mountain and skied with some of my favorite people. Headed to the corner house for six-dollar burgers. A Friday night ritual. Met up with friends. Pool and dancing with the girls. I spilt my attention between two boys. One is sweet and helpful. Sincerely interested in getting to know me. Has gone out of his way to do nice things for me. It scares the shit out of me. The other is sarcastic and adorable. Makes me laugh, but is hard to read. One minute he finds me interesting and intriguing, the next he could care less if I was in the room. Of course he is my favorite. He becomes my mission. Fight the rejection. If I can make him want me, I win.

------------------------------------

I wonder if our little game was as entertaining to outsiders. Or if it was just as sad and pathetic looking as it sounds to me now, as I type this. Convincing him to take me home took little more than a mention. This was easier than I had anticipated. My worth and value was on the up and up. And while our friends settled in to watch a movie he offered up his room. But I seduced him. I admit it. None of this would have started had I not been so persistent. But I wanted what I wanted, with little or no regard to how he felt. I picked him specifically. Not sure of the exact criteria. We were friends. I knew he liked me. thought i was fun and pretty. he told me so. on multiple occasions. But his wavering affections for me had fed my not good enough mentality and I was determined. Punish myself for not being enough. This is what I deserved. Forget everything I had just learned about myself. The insights I had been given in the recent weeks. I don’t deserve amazing things. I’m high maintenance and apparently tremendously easy to leave behind. So go back to being invisible. A burden. Ordinary. This is what I am used to. Use me up and throw me away. That I can navigate.

So I gave myself to him. It had been over two and a half years. He was polite and gentle and in the morning we chatted nonchalantly as he dressed for work. And when he left I lay in his bed, staring at the beach photos, waiting for the reality of the situation to wash over me. I waited for the disappointment. A little cut to numb the source. The release of it all. “Fuck the pain away.” I knew what I was doing. Knew from the beginning. It wasn’t healthy or intelligent. It was desperate and selfish. but I am grateful to be standing on this side of it with a little better understanding. Some clarity on the situation. I hate that I let myself slip. That I gave into the horrible lies I tell myself. That I drug someone else through the mire with me. But I have to stop and give thanks that I am able to recognize this all so quickly. What would have taken months for me to process in the past, has filled itself in with ease. Perhaps I am more in tune with my behaviors. Or perhaps my self destructive nature has become so apparent I don’t need the flashing neon lights. I know myself better these days. And while it is comforting at times, it is also sad and difficult to be my source of disappointment. To look in the mirror and be dissatisfied. I still don’t know how to just be.

The season ended and my friend moved away. A large part of the reason I think I picked him. I knew he wouldn’t be around. There was no possibility for a future. It was done before it began. No worries of screwing things up. no worries of being left. That was the plan from the get go. No surprises.

And so now I find myself back in town. Spending time with the one who was nice to me from the moment I met him. Who kept in touch while I was on the road. Who helped me sort out errands when I was too frightened to drive around town. He likes me. And he wants to stick around. But every time I see him I want to bolt. Something inside of me wants to run away. I am defensive and self-conscious. Overly sensitive. I’m waiting for him to hurt me. Waiting for him to be an ass. And he doesn’t deserve any of it. And I don’t know how to make it stop. And I’m tired of running away. But alone is easier. If not easier, at least more familiar. I’m strapping on my shoes. Tying up the laces. I’m seconds from the door. I’m so scared.
“I’m the mess that you don’t want to clean up.”

when i feel alive, i try to imagine a careless life. a scenic world where the sunsets are all breathtaking.

2009-05-05T17:31:00.000-07:00

three straight days of driving has definitely paid off. i left charlotte with a car load of stuff. piled to the ceiling. literally. god made room. miraculous.

it rained almost the entire drive. except for monarch. there, it snowed. not gonna lie, i was more than a little nervous about driving in the inclimate weather. i took it nice and slow. and as i turned onto the last thirty mile stretch of road the sky cleared briefly and a rainbow formed. end to end. ground. sky. ground. i could see the entire arc. (although, apparently i couldn't photograph it very well). my roommate sarah and my friend megan were waiting with cupcakes and homemade butternut squash soup. home sweet home. my other three roommates will arrive over the next couple weeks. so for now sarah and i are making ourselves at home. nesting. creating an environment that says something personal. i have missed having a safe lil' place. i love my new house. and my new roommates. and until the whole happy family arrives, sarah and i will entertain each other and hike the trails behind our house. [YES. those are snuggies. too hilarious.]
the beauty of being a couch potato. i can see mountains from my sofa. and i am so excited to have dinner parties and game nights.

i unpacked all my things and got settled into my room. the girls found me a mattress and box spring for fifteen dollars. it's the most comfortable bed i have ever owned. and when i get used to the elevation and can actually sleep more than four hours, i am going to be in heaven!
come visit. we have lots of room for guests now. although eleven people in my tiny condo was quite the experience.

and if you need any further encouragement to get your little butts out here...just pop in an old an old american classic. "the hills are alive with the sound of music." that's right ladies and gentlemen...julie andrews was singing and dancing in drapery dresses in none other than the this little mining town. i've never been to austria so i can not intelligently say whether the san juans pass the test, but i will shout from the roof tops...i love telluride!

flow sweetly. hang heavy.

2009-04-25T06:53:00.000-07:00

she's playing guitar again. my sister, that is. i remember south avenue. banging on her bedroom door. yelling at her to turn her music down. annoyed by every cord that seeped through our shared wall. her voice belting lyrics through open windows into summer streets. she is playing again, after years of silence. her hands too shaky to hold notes. too self-conscious to sing. indian-style on the couch, she plays me a song. picking out the melody. her long fingers move over taught metal. her voice arcs up and dips. melancholy but beautiful.

i try to focus on these moments. excited when i can look at her and see my little sister and not the manifestation of the disease. i am too short with her. easily annoyed. but i am trying really hard to curb my frustrations. enjoy this time for what it is. it is hard. i have to put everything else aside. i don't feel like i can have stuff when i am here. there is no room for anything else. her disease is too big. i would be too much of a burden. so i stuff it down. or write on my own. but moments of silence and peace are rare when i am with her. i am grateful she is sleeping in. worn down from defending myself. explaining that i didn't move her things. she blames me when they disappear. should i lie and agree? if it wasn't me...then it must have been the "people" who break into her house and spy on her. she has covered up the camera on her computer. and the remote sensor on the television. little bits of post it notes doting the appliances and fixtures.

how do i tell her that the sleeping arrangements are less than acceptable? without insulting her. is there a diplomatic way to explain that it isn't really a choice when the options are either sharing a bed that smells like cigarettes or taking the couch that reeks of cat piss?

i get to go home soon. to a place i love. this is her life. and it breaks my heart. but i can't help wanting to run away. so i go for a walk. cool breeze. good tunes. breathe.

and i know she loves me...

2009-04-21T11:23:00.000-07:00

i heart chester french.

and if i could thank god that i am here, and that i am alive, everyday i wake i tell myself a little harmless lie; the whole wide world is mine.

2009-04-20T12:59:00.000-07:00

I loosen my grip on the steering wheel. Hands stiff. Muscles tense. The road makes me nervous now. I could have died. People keep reminding me of that. You could have died. I could have killed my friends. We are lucky. No. we are blessed.

Black ink peeks out from the underside of my wrist. Caught just outside the corner of my eye. I twist my left hand to reveal its secret. The gauze and wrap around my index finger and palm distracting me for a moment. “You are loved.” How dare I doubt this fact. How dare I question the love that has been lavished on me. Friends pour out of the woodwork. Providing soup and magazines and comforting arms. I am loved. But I have difficulty receiving it. These friends use words to describe me, like sweet and wholesome. But I define myself with labels like guilty and undeserving. Self inflicted. Self proclaimed. My shackles. the weight of it all.

I could have died. I rolled my roommates car three times down an embankment. Dusted in glass shards. Head banging against the walls. The ceiling. The windshield. Hand bloody from debris. Curled in the corner of the SUV. Laying on the driver’s side in the snow covered brush and earth. Huddled. Eyes closed. Crying. Amanda attempts to pull me up and out her window. I push her off. Tears pour out. I keep picturing her face. A pause before the roll. The moment before it was too late. Slow motion. Tumbling in silence, at least in my head. A silent filmstrip playing in front of me. Surreal. Nothing like the movies. She tries to pull me from my resting place, afraid we may have hit the gas line. I push her off and shake my head. “I can’t afford this. I can’t afford to pay for any of this.”

It’s sad when that is your first response. When money wins out over safety and health. I almost refused medical assistance because I knew the ambulance would break the bank. The EMT's pleaded with me. Concerned for my safety. I finally gave in. reaching for my head. Feeling the enormous lump, stiff neck, glass everywhere. I cried all the way to the hospital. Interrupted by moments of silence. Answering questions. Starring out the back window at the snow coming down. All I could think about was the objects inside the ambulance. All the equipment. Everything that would come crashing down on my body, strapped to a gurney, what would happen if we rolled again. In real life there is no Dr. Carter. And in telluride the emergency room is one small space separated by curtains. Nurses bumping into each other through the gauzy divides. You are bound to know someone working there. Margaret paused over my body. “I didn’t recognize you at first.” She said. Dirt ringed my eyes. Smoothed away in half moons by the tears arcing their way down my cheeks and the absent minded brush of my sweater sleeve. the brief moments when I forgot my body was speckled with fragments of glass.

“No insurance. We understand. But we need to check you out. No CT. but we will have to x-ray your hand. and hold on to you until we are certain there is no concussion..” my mind glazed over. What ever they said. The damage was done. The car was wrecked and the ambulance had already been ridden in. it is what it is. No sense in fighting it now. Give in to it. Go with the flow. Worry about something you can actually control. Gotta get a hold of Lauren. I wont be there to meet her plane. She wont know where I am and my cell phone is lost in the debris and wreckage of adam’s ranch road.

The text message read Audrey was in a car accident. She’s in the hospital. Certainly not the news you want to hear when you arrive for a vacation. No voice there to answer all the questions. No comforting arms to point you in the right direction. Just an LCD screen and a sweep of emotions. Paged to the main office, my efforts to get the message to Lauren, she sat crying, bewildered, feeling responsible. Just get to telluride. That was the mission now, rescued by a kind limo driver, she was privy to a custom tour of scenic Montrose. Mount Wilson. The Ralph Lauren ranch. Thousand dollar cattle. Hundreds of them. His attempt to distract her from what lay ahead. Word had reached her that I was okay. But she was already shaken. Met by one of my roommates she made an uneasy trek through town and in to mountain village. Lugging her suitcase and bags through the snowy streets. Riding the gondola for the first time. I hopped the magnificence of this town was not lost on her. The powder coated trees. The tiny overhead view of telluride. A Mr. Roger’s model in real life. Minus the trolley car and creepy mail man.

After the emergency room Amanda and I walked to the chiropractor. Her turn for treatment. The snow had stopped. The sun was out. Water poured off the rooftops. I was angry. The accident was in vain. You couldn’t even tell it had snowed. The puddles that muddied the streets were the only sign there had been weather. And my discheveled reflection in the store front windows. Shuffling down main street I would have sworn it was all a dream. A story I had read the day before. Save for the hot pink bandage adorning my left hand. and the subtle throbbing at the back of my head. “The real pain will come tomorrow,” the doctor said. “After your endorphins wear off. And the stiffness kicks in. You feel awful now, but it will be worse tomorrow. “

The doctors released me. Hesitant. I had passed all of their examinations. Head and neck were cleared immediately. Removal of my neck brace gave me some relief. I was asked to step into a gown for the remainder of the visit. Concerned about the glass I was carrying in my hair and clothes, like thousands of tiny, glistening hitchhiker burrs, the nurses offered to cut me out of my clothes. No ma’am. Definitely not. Do not touch this t-shirt. I clutched at the soft pink fabric that stretched below my thrift store sweater, covering my hips. I pulled on the gift. Rosa loves. I love kelstar. No ma’am. I’ll be careful. Amanda helped pull me from my things. Gently, delicately. I felt like a little girl undressing for her bath. The soft gown felt foreign. And the absence of all my layers sent a chill across my exposed skin. Stepping out of the glass we had left behind on the cold, linolium floor, I slid under the blanket the nurses had provided. It was warm. Like bread, fresh from the oven. I cuddled up to it and waited. Amanda sat on the bed next to me. Holding my hand. tears came in waves. Mine encouraged hers. She made me cry harder.

Pressing and prodding at my torso. My hips. Pulling and pushing on my arms and legs. Ears. Eyes. Nose. Throat. Results of my x-ray. The doctors couldn’t understand how I wasn’t injured more severely. Superficial cuts. Minor abrasions. Not even a concussion. The EMT's were baffled that we were able to climb out of the wreckage of our own accord. That jess was the one to call for the police. The tow truck driver was amazed. Said he has never seen a vehicle look like [that] and not had to pull a body from it. Not exactly a comforting thought when you were one of the bodies that had just crawled through the busted out window. But it was meant to be encouraging. We had become part of the unexplainable. The chiropractor x-rayed Amanda and adjusted and aligned her beat up body. But she found little evidence of trauma. Understanding that her history of adjustments had provided her with a good and healthy base, but still shocked at how well her body had managed to preserve and protect itself. They say that is why accidents seem to happen in slow motion. Gives the body time to react. The brain responds. It is all too amazing to wrap my own around.

Stumbling back out into the road, sunshine was in full effect and it was even more difficult to maintain that this was part of the same day. That the morning had led into this afternoon. That all the events of the early hours had, indeed, occurred. Amanda and I walked slowly towards BIT. Waiting on Nicole. She left work early to meet us. make sure we were okay. Care for us. we have become a close knit group of girls. Amanda, jess, Nicole, sarah. We are a little family. Dinner parties and karaoke. Good times on the mountain. Now, hands to hold and shoulders to cry on. The surealness of the situation only intensified by the absence of jess. She was on a mission to get to Miami. She was headed to the airport on her way to ultra music festival. Meeting friends. Invested a lot of money in the weekend. While Amanda and I were being loaded into an ambulance, jess piled into a shuttle and disappeared down the snowy road, after a quick once over by the EMT and a speedy cleanse and wrap of her hand, she was enroute to Montrose Regional.

All I wanted was a cupcake. Something to bring to Lauren to cheer her up. I was waiting on her phone call. She had amanda’s phone number. Would call us when she arrived. She cried when I talked to her. Blamed herself. I couldn’t bare that thought. We were already headed for a rough weekend. This is not the way we needed to start things off. This was supposed to be good times. A respite from all the noise and commotion of the daily grind. i had caused a new scene. BIT was completely out of frosted goodness. I settled for an apple fritter for the road, and a brownie for Lauren. With Amanda and Nicole in tow we headed to the grocery store to get food for dinner. Veggie chili and pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. Salavage myself in the kitchen. Calm my nerves with teaspoons and measuring cups. Is domesticity a drug? I climbed the stairs to my apartment. Walked through the door to find Lauren seated on the couch. She was exhausted from her early flight. Worn down from the unexpected news. And haggered from the trip cross town. But despite all of this she mustered a gorgeous smile and a huge hug. My promised greeting upon arrival. Number one on the telluride itinerary. Better late than never.

We settled in on couches. Covered up in blankets. Cozy and warm. I cooked dinner. Moving in slow motion. Everything hurt. Every motion felt exaggerated. But grateful to be moving all the same. The girls watched movies and caught up. Trading stories. Telling tales. My favorite thing about telluride: everyone has a story and is genuinely interested in hearing yours. Life’s too short for small talk. And it is refreshing to be in an environment that encourages real conversations. What happens in telluride doesn’t stay in telluride. It’s carried off to the next place. it’s carried with you. perhaps indefinitely. This place is magic. And despite its reputation as a ritzy ski town, I have met some of the most down to earth people, and engaged in the most unexpected conversations. Hour long discussions stemmed from greetings on a street corner. Late night deliberations. Religion. Politics. God. The state of the economy. Baking techniques. Music. There’s a soundtrack for it all.

A car accident is the last way I would have wanted to start this visit with Lauren. Would not have even been listed as an option had I had to create a poll. But I can honestly say it may have been the key factor to what turned a potentially rough weekend into one of the best I have ever had. My injuries were few and insignificant in comparison to the damages I wrought on my roommates SUV. But my boss felt they deserved enough attention that I was given Thursday and Friday off. I would now be able to spend those evenings with Lauren. And while Nicole and Amanda had volunteered to entertain her for me while I was held up at the hotel, we were now all free to enjoy the town together. We spent the next four days attached at the hip. Showing Lauren around and taking it easy. Rest and play. Eating good food and having long talks with everyone we met. Lauren became the mayor of telluride over night. And they welcomed her with open arms. Skiing was sort of off limits. The idea of speeding down a hill was a little intimidating to both Lauren and me. And as the winds kicked up on our last day we ruled it out and opted for a hike in the woods instead. I wanted to get her on the mountain in some capacity. To show her another side of the place I have staked as home. Deep in the aspen groves, tromping though a fresh layer of snow, Lauren post-holed. Burried up to her knees, she burst out laughing. “You love this. Don’t you? You love being here. All of this…I wasn’t kidding about what I said earlier…I can hear you smiling when we talk on the phone.” My mom has made the same claim. It’s true. I do love this place. I feel alive in a way I have not been able to grasp for the past decade. The entire weekend, I kept finding myself looking around at all the people in whatever room we happened to be in. watching the relations. People caring for my friend Lauren. She was their friend now too. and I could feel it. The immense love. Pure and sober. It was there.

“You could have died,” they said. “You guys are so lucky. Everything happens for a reason.”

I finally get it. I am loved.
But why?

it's all success if it's what you need, do what you like and do it honestly.

2009-04-14T21:32:00.000-07:00

there isn't much on television that can hold my attention these days. i feel guilty for holding still. not being in the outdoors. hiking. skiing. soaking up the sunshine and fresh air. but i have my guilty pleasures. er and friday night lights on hulu. what i want when i want it. but dr. carter has officially retired from prime time. so my attention rests on saracen and riggins. probably my favorite show on tv. by far the best production value. amazing cinematography. and the opening credits break my heart. i could listen to that music all day long. simple and sweet.

i recommend a long hike with good friends, but if you're gonna curl up on the couch, at least turn on something quality.
"two years ago i was afraid of wanting anything. i figured wanting would lead to trying and trying would lead to failure. but now i find i can't stop wanting. i want to fly somewhere in first class. i want to travel to europe on a business trip. i want to get invited to the white house. i want to learn about the world. i want to surprise myself. i want to be important. i want to be the best person i can be. i want to define myself instead of having others define me. i want to win and have people be happy for me. i want to lose and get over it. i want to not be afraid of the unknown. i want to grow up and be generous and big hearted the way that people have been with me. i want an interesting and surprising life."
-tyra

i've been waiting for this moment, all my life, oh lord.

2009-04-06T15:39:00.000-07:00

in honor of the commercial spin on the easter holiday i would like to give a shout out to cadbury.
here's to a few of my favorite things:
-chocolate.
-phil collins.
-drum playing gorillas.

ENJOY. [thanks jess, for sharing this with me. viva australia!]

You were created to love and be loved. You were meant to live life in relationship with other people, to know and be known.

2009-04-01T09:24:00.000-07:00

i did not write this.
nor do i know [personally] the man who did.
but i admire his voice.
and i relate to its message. to the heart of the young girl. to her story. and it encourages me to continue to share mine.

[to write love on her arms]
by: jamie tworkowski

"You need to know that your story is important and that you're part of a bigger story. You need to know that your life matters."

Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles. "Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars."

I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her.

Renee is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn't slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and to let us pray. We ask Renee to come with us, to leave this broken night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave without her.

She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling trapped, two groups of "friends" offering opposite ideas. Everyone is asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor, takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom. She cuts herself, using the blade to write "FUCK UP" large across her left forearm.

The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her church, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms.

She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone I've known, like a Johnny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns attitude and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her story, she is humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a hundred lifetimes. I sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her life has been so dark yet there is some soft hope in her words, and on consecutive evenings, I watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her that she's beautiful. I think it's God reminding her.

I've never walked this road, but I decide that if we're going to run a five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes

Thursday night she is in the balcony for Band Marino, Orlando's finest. They are indie-folk-fabulous, a movement disguised as a circus. She loves them and she smiles when I point out the A&R man from Atlantic Europe, in town from London just to catch this show.

She is in good seats when the Magic beat the Sonics the next night, screaming like a lifelong fan with every Dwight Howard dunk. On the way home, we stop for more coffee and books, Blue Like Jazz and (Anne Lamott's) Travelling Mercies.

On Saturday, the Taste of Chaos tour is in town and I'm not even sure we can get in, but doors do open and minutes after parking, we are on stage for Thrice, one of her favorite bands. She stands ten feet from the drummer, smiling constantly. It is a bright moment there in the music, as light and rain collide above the stage. It feels like healing. It is certainly hope.

Sunday night is church and many gather after the service to pray for Renee, this her last night before entering rehab. Some are strangers but all are friends tonight. The prayers move from broken to bold, all encouraging. We're talking to God but I think as much, we're talking to her, telling her she's loved, saying she does not go alone. One among us knows her best. Ryan sits in the corner strumming an acoustic guitar, singing songs she's inspired.

After church our house fills with friends, there for a few more moments before goodbye. Everyone has some gift for her, some note or hug or piece of encouragement. She pulls me aside and tells me she would like to give me something. I smile surprised, wondering what it could be. We walk through the crowded living room, to the garage and her stuff.

She hands me her last razor blade, tells me it is the one she used to cut her arm and her last lines of cocaine five nights before. She's had it with her ever since, shares that tonight will be the hardest night and she shouldn't have it. I hold it carefully, thank her and know instantly that this moment, this gift, will stay with me. It hits me to wonder if this great feeling is what Christ knows when we surrender our broken hearts, when we trade death for life.

As we arrive at the treatment center, she finishes: "The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope. We have hope."

I have watched life come back to her, and it has been a privilege. When our time with her began, someone suggested shifts but that is the language of business. Love is something better. I have been challenged and changed, reminded that love is that simple answer to so many of our hardest questions. Don Miller says we're called to hold our hands against the wounds of a broken world, to stop the bleeding. I agree so greatly.

We often ask God to show up. We pray prayers of rescue. Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter. He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. I have seen that this week and honestly, it has been simple: Take a broken girl, treat her like a famous princess, give her the best seats in the house. Buy her coffee and cigarettes for the coming down, books and bathroom things for the days ahead. Tell her something true when all she's known are lies. Tell her God loves her. Tell her about forgiveness, the possibility of freedom, tell her she was made to dance in white dresses. All these things are true.

We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don't get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home.

I have learned so much in one week with one brave girl. She is alive now, in the patience and safety of rehab, covered in marks of madness but choosing to believe that God makes things new, that He meant hope and healing in the stars. She would ask you to remember.

it's funny that way you can get used to the tears and the pain. what a child will believe.

2009-03-25T22:57:00.000-07:00

it was difficult to press send. but i wanted to be the bigger person. a simple birthday wish. a one line greeting and a recycled photo attachment. the span of seven days and an entirely different feel.

i hiked palmyra peak last week. my goal of the season literaly looming overhead. accomplished with the aid of a deadline. intent on snagging a photo from the top to send to my silly friend who chose ohio over the rockies. if he can't be in the mountains the least i can do is send the mountains to him. so i paced myself with the gentlemen ahead of me. pausing for photos and to catch my breath. 13,000 feet does a number on the lungs.

the view from the top reached out in all directions. i captured the moment and skied to the bottom. i couldn't wait to share the blue skies and snow coveed peaks. i hoped he would enjoy the gesture.

now, one week later i am stalled in front of my computer screen. hesitant to acknowledge the date on the calendar. march 24th. my father's birthday. and while he has failed to recognize mine for the past few years, my sister's voice echoed in my head. make the effort. so i did. a little work in photoshop to erase the k-y-l-e from the felicitations, and the photo was set to go. afraid to put myself out there. was this more than he deserved? will he even acknowledge my effort? what will he think as he stares at the photo of his grown daughter perched atop the rockies? will he pause and take note of all that he has missed out on? will he be proud of me? will he even care?

i made it dad. i survived this life. i'm on top of the world.

today is whatever i want it to mean.

2009-03-25T22:42:00.000-07:00

i've done it again. i settled. chased after something that wasn't mine to be had. someone who could care less about me. distracted by their lack of interest. determined to change their mind. he told me i was one of the happiest people he had ever met. the mountain air must agree with me. he told me i was cute. asked me if i knew that. how do you respond to such a question? yes, i am adorable. and i seem like an arrogant snob. no, and i come across self-depricating. i'm neither, really. i'm gaining acceptance of my features. learning to enjoy the curves instead of berating myself for the missing angles. convex instead of concave. i can shake my hips on the dance floor. i can hike palmyra peak. i can eat cookies and mashed potatoes and not dash for the restroom to purge.

so i am cute. and happy. and still not enough. overlooked by this momentay admirer. funny and clever, yes. but i'm over it. no more effort to hang out with him. his weak attempt at spending time with me should have been enough to send me on my way. why make plans only to blow me off in the end? sadly it only caused my heart to lurch in directions it was not wanted. ignore it and it craves you all the more. a resonating effect of childhood abandonment. the resulting damage of an abusive relationship. lack of trust. sinuous self-respect. but i had a little conversation with myself. a heart-to-heart if you will. and i set myself straight on a few things.

life is too short to waste my time chasing. i will probably have to remind myself of this again. but for now i focus on what i want. i asked myself the questions i have circled about for months. affirmed myself of the things i have learned. i am worth more than i ask of people. i am worth time and attention. and i do not have to twist and contort my beliefs and emotions in order to be noticed.

my heart settled into a comfortable place. my focus shifted. dinner party with the girls. karaoke and dancing. completely myself. complacent. contented. and it showed. a friend pulled me on the dance floor. he held me close to him. latin rhythms poured through the room. it has been too long. still perfectly at home there. lights low. crowded with people. i can forget them. ignore them. just dance. the freedom in it. not a bit self conscious. home.

i kissed him. thanked him for the dance. he said he was glad he finally asked me. that i was intimidating. that i made him nervous. he asked me out for later in the week and turned to go only to walk back to my side a moment later. requested that i accompany him to a party. "forget about later. i want to see you now." there was excitement in the urgency. he kissed me when i agreed. a playful, welcomed kiss. easy conversation. a barrage of qustions. contrary to the onesided query of my former interest. he prodded me for details. amassed his own ideas about my character. he had done his homework. and all this time i thought i had been overlooked. all these months he had been paying attention. noting details. and as we talked he rattled off his findings. i blushed at how transparent i seemed to him. how easily he had read me. but he countered that it was my confussing nature that caused him to investigate. "you are not like other girls. you are very, very interesting. definitely different. and sexy. and interesting. and you intimidate the shit out of me."

he continued with his questions. requesting all the details. holding me close. kissing me gently on the neck and shoulders as i explained. i paused in between stories to pull his mouth to mine. passionate. playful. innocent and sweet. until light broke over the mountains and he urged me to go to sleep. tomorrow was going to be a long day at work. but this night was worth it. entangled in each others arms, drapped in the comforter he pulled across me, i tucked my nose below his ear. settled in for a moments rest. shifting his weight, he propped himself on one elbow and pulled me into him with the other arm. "all these guys. i don't understand how it's possible. i don't understand how you don't belong to someone." i stared blankly at him. and he read me. called me out about my past. and i was baffled. laying speachless, i let him kiss me, slowly. then resting his head on my chest he wrapped his arms around my torso. "you are amazing," he said.

i don't mean to seem like i care about material things, like a social status.

2009-03-12T10:23:00.000-07:00

this week marks the beginning of what i will call [phase three] of my stay in telluride. it marks a lot of newness. beginnings. ends. future plans. greg left in february. the dynamic in the house quickly changed. and in the past month dennis and i have spent little to no time hanging out together. this saddened me at first, as he was the only person i originally knew here. but it has worked out to my benefit. forcing me out of my comfort zone. dennis left for california on tuesday. i was nervous about him leaving, but i am actually quite at home here, despite his absence. in the past couple weeks i have branched out. made my own friends. created my own adventures. cut the umbilical cord. i have a life here in telluride. people to call on for support and fun and...cheap ski equipment. i love it. i have a new job at a boutique hotel that is in stark contrast to the lifestyle i have been living for the past year. guests spend tens of thousands of dollars on a few night's stay. it baffles me. and while i am more comfortable with my current lack of possessions and freedom to be nomadic, i am pleased to be working for this company. small and close knit. new to the area also, so i have my hand in the establishment. a good look into the hospitality industry. a chance to see if a bed & breakfast may actually be in my future plans. i am amazed how things keep presenting themselves to me. projection. put it out there. present your request[s] to god. he will deliver. big and small. i am in awe.

i read jason mraz's blog on the regular. i love him. not in an obsessed fan kind of way, but on a human level where i can't quite understand how someone in his position could be documenting these shared thoughts and feelings. we are on the same plain. and my constructed ideals of how life should be come crashing down when his words get me. when he reaches out. and i realize maybe we are all looking for the same things. love and gratitude. it's no coincidence. ride that wave. love your neighbor. breathe in the day. sing your songs. climb your mountains. "One impossible day I was avoiding the easy task of letting go while arguing with the demons in my head in an effort to feel love, worth, to have my intuitions confirmed that what I was working on was of value." i keep having moments of light. where i realize out of the haze of the average day that a prayer has been answered. sometimes simple. like my desire for a base layer with thumb holes. low and behold...that's my lumiere uniform. free of charge. and my desire for concrete floors and radiant heating. mine without the mortgage. cozy and warm by the fire a few nights a week. then free to travel for the off season. i have girls who get me. and boys who make me laugh until my sides hurt. adventures. a good soundtrack. a love for life that is contagious. this town is glorious. a freedom i never expected. big skies...and lot's of light.

and in the daylight we can hitchhike to maine.

2009-03-10T22:59:00.000-07:00

i'm meeting lot's of interesting people here in telluride. i used to think i was well traveled. i may have been mistaken. but my new amigos have inspired some fun things. here's a list of my to do's in the up coming months. telluride style. and in no particular order...

1] imogen pass run
2] coachella music festival
3] sunrise easter service at the grand canyon (followed by a hike to the bottom)
4] fly fishing
5] summit wilson peak
6] snowshoe
7] hike mountain quail & palmyra peak
8] attempt snowboarding
9] bluegrass festival
10] film festival

there isn't much that I feel I need. a solid soul and the blood i bleed.

2009-03-07T00:37:00.000-08:00

i hung out with five incredible boys the other night. had dinner. went for a moonlit hike. and listened to good music into the wee hours. sometimes being a girl is an amazing thing.

this is what today sounds like:
my girls-animal collective
daylight-matt and kim
lights and music-cut copy
kids-mgmt
maps-yeah yeah yeahs

you met me at a very strange time in my life.

2009-02-23T16:22:00.000-08:00

i left work early today. my manager sent me home for what i will refer to as "unsportsman-like conduct." breaking down in the locker room is not fair play in the workforce. and having it happen twice in the span of one week is definitely hitting below the belt. i couldn't help it. i tried to hold it in. steel myself. but those of you who know me can attest, i am an open book. my emotions do the backstroke just under the surface. the vulnerable underbelly exposed. i have felt torn open for the better part of the month. or at least since valentine's day. my bleeding heart. a weight resting upon my chest. a struggle to catch my breath. i thought my anxiety rested in my poor salesmanship or the ever changing venue of telluride, but after examining the situation a little closer, today, i have come to some new conclusions.

valentine's day is not an issue for me in the romantic, superficial, hallmark sense of the word. new year's eve has always been my holiday weakness. valentine's day is just another random tuesday or, in this case, saturday, for me. and this year "saturday" was actually quite spectacular. i spent the day skiing, running errands, and cleaning. and in the evening i attended a photography opening at a gallery in mountain village and then rode the gondola over the mountain into telluride to make dinner with two friends. steak and mashed potatoes. asparagus and steamed artichoke. carrot cake for dessert. delicious. over expensive glasses of wine we regaled each other with stories from our past. our friends. our families. both girls shared stories of their mentally ill siblings. bipolar and schizophrenic. i gasped. astonished. my friend continued to detail my deepest fears. expressed them as her own. the late nights she sat awake, waiting to get sick. waiting for the disease to overtake her life too. it is hereditary, after all. i listened as she described her experience. the similarities held me stiff in my chair. unable to move. afraid to ask too many questions. how is it possible to be amongst such company. exciting and equally upsetting. my heart lurched for my throat. i swallowed it down with another sip of red wine.

over the next few days my thoughts returned to my friend's description. starring at walls, convinced she saw bricks move. voices. you get so worried you might be crazy, that you begin to drive yourself over the edge. i thought i had backed away a good many feet in the last few years, but i repeatedly find myself teetering on sanity's hire wire act. sometimes i can put on a good show. convince everyone i have it all together. other times i am a hot mess and i find solitude in long runs and books and movies. but solitude has been scarce in my time in telluride. i am constantly surrounded by people. living. working. sleeping. it's put a back order on my processing. how i manage through my daily life. the inevitable build up. the slip. the screeching halt. and i find myself in this saddened state. only just now tracing the path to where i'm standing.

my mood has shifted dramatically. at first, i blamed it on my period. an excuse for my irrational swings and shifts. needy. clingy. craving. wanting. but the moods persisted. my attempts to write were futile. no privacy. no down time. one excuse after another. i fed the sadness with books and films. relating to their characters. having difficulty leaving their lives behind at the close. my empathy is a weakness, at times. i feel too much. to intense. too soon. it can be a bit overwhelming. but the reading inspired the writing. and the films drew things out of me. i find it difficult to be creative when i am happy. when my heart is content. and it has been for the past six weeks. and i am still happy. i love it here. i have never felt so myself. and at the same time that is an inconvenience. the things that come pouring out of me when i let my guard down may prove to be crippling. i want so desperately to write this book. to organize the pages in my head. sebold's memoir only encouraged my pen. but i don't know if i am strong enough to follow through. to relive the past and maintain my present. i don't function well when i dive into the thick of it. i panic and flail. toss and turn. and cry. and i get sent home early from work.

i take things personally. i try to have thick skin. to let it roll off my back. but ultimately i find fault in myself. i failed to measure up. i have spent an exorbitant amount of my life apologizing for things that were not my fault. could not have been my fault. and when i stand on the mountain all day long in the cold and snow, soliciting happy vacationers for photographs, only to be refused or laughed at, there is only so much my little heart can bare before i turn inside out. i get rattled. and it's all down hill from there. the past week has been exceptionally hard. the mountain has been empty. perfect for a personal day of skiing, but lousy for my dwindling bank account. i have managed to stay on the safe side of panic when it comes to money. everything has fallen into place one way or another. i am being patient and responsible, but the fear creeps in every now and then. the looming unknowns. how will i make my ends meet in the off season? where will i live? how weird will it be here when my best friend moves away in a matter of weeks? i don't know the answers to any of those questions. and i can't do much more than be patient and persistent. have hope. and have fun. ride it out. let it flow. but these lessons are hard and i find myself in a an already weakened state. i am going to bat on the mountain without my equipment. i let a series of "no's" get to me. it must be something i did. if only i had [done] [said]...it killed me that i spent the better part of the day making conversation on lift five only to walk away empty handed. defeated. deflated. and to find my roommate was very successful as my replacement in under an hour. he is a good salesman. he can talk to anyone. i admire that. but in those moments between the shop and the locker room i couldn't muster up enough admiration to cancel out the feeling of not being good enough. will that ever go away? will i ever be free?

i got a voicemail from my sister last night. she called me at eleven o' clock. that is one o'clock eastern standard time. she thought i was asleep. but i was at karaoke. her monotone voice droned on for a solid eight minutes. amazed my phone carrier would allow time for such ramblings. her voice was flat. tired. almost intoxicated. pausing between puffs on her cigarette.
"you are great. i am a psychopath. " she apologized for being so difficult. i love her. even when she is hard to love. but i have found it so difficult to be involved in her illness and maintain my own sanity. i escape into my own life. selfish and afraid. and in some ways it is easy to do. two time zones away from her. but in the moments when i have eluded her endless phone calls, the ceaseless questioning, the ridicule, the matchmaking, i am engulfed by the guilt of my escape. survivors remorse. how do you grieve the loss of someone who still "exists"? who physically remains present but has in other ways forever departed your life? i feel guilty for wanting the things that i do. the things my sister will never have an opportunity for. i feel guilty for moving so far away, for needing the chance to find myself. for wanting to escape her disease. wanting to carve out a little place for myself. and at the end of the day, for feeling like a failure in all my attempts.

alone in the locker room, i knelt over my backpack, stuffing long johns and gloves into the unzipped pouches. my eyelashes held thick tears. i couldn't stop them. things have been building up. i need a good release. the ground is too snow covered for a run. so i write. and i try to get some grip on my reality. i escaped out the back door. too embarrassed to show my face in front of my co-workers. headed to the market for chocolate chips. immerse myself in baking. my therapy.

in the kitchen i crack eggs and measure spices. it is the tediousness of baking that calms me. the little things, folks. it's the little things. music plays in the back ground. ryan adams. copeland. lori mckenna. snow falls heavy outside. i stand in awe of the blanket it has already spread. beautiful. magical. i feel guilty for being here.
no.
i feel grateful.

Well I wish you all of happiness
And I know someday you'll find success
But find yourself and nothing less
And know that you are loved.
-lori mckenna

congratulations that God makes you look up.

2009-02-20T07:11:00.001-08:00

my eyes were raw. tears pouring uncontrollably down my cheeks. i admittedly used my sleeve as a handkerchief. wiping snot on my jeans. i went to see Rachel Getting Married. i was not at all prepared for what played out before me. i cry at weddings. but i really cried at this wedding film. the family dynamics twisted my heart into a knot that sat perched in my throat for the duration. intense. moving. brilliantly dysfunctional. my favorite movie of this year. anne hathaway's character is gloriously broken. the truest film i have seen in years.

warning:bring tissues.

And I struggle with God so much, because I can't forgive myself. And I don't really want to right now. I can live with it, but I can't forgive myself. And sometimes I don't want to believe in a God that could forgive me. But I do want to be sober. I'm alive and I'm present and there's nothing controlling me. If I hurt someone, I hurt someone. I can apologize, and they can forgive me... or not. But I can change. And I just wanted to share that and say congratulations that God makes you look up, I'm so happy for you, but if he doesn't, come here. That's all. Thank you.

and I am a writer, writer of fictions. i am the heart that you call home. and i've written pages upon pages trying to rid you from my bones.

2009-02-19T17:50:00.000-08:00

i am in the middle of a good book. lucky, by alice sebold. a memoir. a story of rape. of being handled. and hating. and surviving. and making it out the other side. it's hard. and painful and i get lost in its darkness, but it reminds me how important it is to have a voice. that my story matters. that each of our stories matter. they are different and the same and hurtful and glorious. and i pray for the courage to get mine down. to sort it all out. to ride through those tough memories. to keep my head afloat. not get lost in the past. those memories are a burden. a heaviness i have carried for so long. but "maybe this weight is a gift." something to carry me into the future. to gain back some piece of the me that i have lost. "No one can pull anyone back from anywhere. you save yourself or you remain unsaved."

i want to stand a top this all some day. to look down. to see the path. exhale. satisfied .

t.g.i.f.

2009-02-12T20:10:00.000-08:00

i love fridays. and not because it is the end of the "week." my schedule doesn't work like that anymore. i cease to live for five o' clocks and fridays. everyday is new and exciting. mondays just as good as saturdays. but i happen to really enjoy fridays because my roommate, dennis and i both have off and we get to spend the day skiing for fun (instead of for work). i know life is rough. he is a much better skier than i am, which is great for me because i get to go places i might not have ventured on my own, and i am progressing nicely in skill and form. it has also become a friday ritual to end the day at cornerhouse for six dollar (veggie) burgers and fries. yummy. good fun. good food. good atmosphere. i love fridays. and i am continuously amazed at the friendships i have made here. total strangers turned bff. good times.