So kids,here's how I met your mother....

I am hopelessly obsessed with the TV show How I Met Your Mother. It comes on about four times a night, and I make sure to watch every episode. It's so funny! The first time I saw it I thought it was kind of dumb, but it's really not. After I saw a few more episodes, I was completely hooked.

The basic premise for the show is this guy, Ted Mosby, is telling his kids all about his life leading up to the time he met their mother. He has some awesome, hilarious friends, and in each episode funny things are bound to happen while Ted's romantic endeavors are peppered in between. So far Ted hasn't found the one yet. They are probably saving that event for the very, very last episode of all the four or five seasons (not sure which), so that means I'll probably be watching it forever (or maybe not at the rate I've been going).

Has anyone else out there seen or heard of this show? It's nominated for People's Choice Award, and I don't usually vote for stuff like that, but I can't not vote for this show.

The Forgotten

Count the bumps
One – two – three
Braille across the arm

Silver Salamander,
hunger left alone,
you cry the unknown.

Probe the swamp,
brown, murky sludge
untapped memories
lay forgotten

heavy rocks deep in gritty sand
Trail tired fingers across the surface
Empty bubbles percolate,
answer your call.

Four – five – six

It would take strong chains
to haul forgotten fears
from churning depths,
raise the tide,

overflow everything but the source.
So it may seem—the waters are at fault.
They wash away to nothing.

Winter Crush

Winter is approaching, and with it comes the question that I have begun to ask myself at this time each year: Who will it be this time? Every year, as I move on to different circumstances in life, I have come to see a pattern surfacing when it comes to guys, crushes, and attempts at relationships. Something of the sort always happens in the winter. My hormones seem to prefer those cold, dreary unending months to make a go at someone or to find a new obsession.

I’d like to say winter was the reason I finally gave in to “Steve”, the computer geek. I was in my junior year of high school, and he was a senior.

Steve was the classic computer nerd with a dark twist. He was scrawny with acne and stringy dark hair that always hung in his eyes, touching the rectangular glasses he wore. He wore dark clothes, usually a black t-shirt two sizes too big, and baggy black pants, also two sizes too big, that he was always pulling up. And he always walked slightly bent over, in this shuffling sort of trudge.

Steve was pretty popular in his class. He was a year ahead of me, and most of his class thought he was pretty cool. Or maybe his class was just friendlier than mine. I had very few friends with my own class, and usually hung mostly with people younger or older than me.

Everyday at lunch, I sat at a table with a group of seniors, mostly because my friend Ashley sat there. Steve almost always sat directly in front of me, and was always making jokes, laughing about stuff, talking about computers or the girlfriend he bought a $200 ring for. I couldn’t believe it. Just sitting across from him and having to look at his acne-marked face and dirty hair was unpleasant. A girlfriend? $200? Fixing computers must pay royally.

Steve had been having girlfriend trouble. They were doing that on and off thing, and for now it seemed that it would be officially off. That’s when Steve started flirting with me.

My first thought: Ewwww. I thought it was disgusting. And when he asked for my phone number I ungraciously rejected him. Ashley thought it was funny or awesome or maybe she was just bored. Anyway, she tried to persuade me to give him my number. I still wouldn’t. Which is when she decided to intervene. She scribbled my number on a scrap of paper and pushed over to Steve who was looking quite triumphant. Ashley just grinned at me and shrugged. I couldn’t believe it.

Steve called me the next day. He kept persisting, and even though I was reluctant to go out with him, I finally agreed. Funny how people grow on you. After a while, I realized that I was beginning to like him. He was funny. He could be unexpectedly charming. And most of the things that turned me off before suddenly became things that I liked about him. Even the way he walked. (I can’t explain why I was somehow turned on by his mad typing skills. Crazy, I know).

We were never anything serious. We went to eat at fast food restaurants. I went to his house once and met his mom and his dog. I watched his band play in the upstairs of this old house. Steve was the singer. They were a “rock” band, the type of which required screaming the lyrics so that the words are incomprehensible. Steve was the screamer, and I listened much to the over-fulfillment of my curiosity.

I think we both grew bored after a while. We were too different from each other. I still liked him though, which at the same time was an annoying complication. I was sad, and it was his fault for starting the whole thing! I think my mom was happy that nothing came of it though.

Anyway, perhaps it’s a coincidence. Maybe the seasons don’t have anything to do with anything. But sometimes it sure seems like it.

Who We Really Are

I’ve been reading Marianne Williamson’s book, A Return to Love. It is fabulous, and with the turning of each page, I feel my understanding cracking open just a little more. It is hard not to quote every single paragraph because everything she writes is insightful and encouraging, whether she is writing about relationships, God’s love, miracles, or our careers and aspirations. Throughout, she urges us to put away our judgments and guilt, to always forgive, and to look into our own hearts and minds to see what needs to be changed.

Here are several especially enlightening quotes:

A spiritual teacher from India once pointed out that there is no such thing as a gray sky. The sky is always blue. Sometimes, however, gray clouds come and cover the blue sky. We then think the sky is gray. It is the same with our minds. We’re always perfect. We can’t not be. Our fearful patterns, our dysfunctional habits, take hold within our minds and cover our perfection. Temporarily. That is all. We are still perfect sons of God. There has never been a storm that hasn’t passed. Gray clouds never last forever. the blue sky does. pg. 118


This next quote speaks to me in a special way as I am always second-guessing myself, thinking I’m not good enough, I don’t have real talent, why should I even try.

We all have the potential for greatness, but it gets plowed out of us early. Fear entered when someone told us there’s a first prize, second prize, and third prize, that some efforts deserve an A, and some get a C. After a while, part us becomes afraid to even try. The only thing we have to give to the world is our own grasp on it. The ego argues that this is not enough. It leads us to cover up our simple truth, to try to invent a better one. But the ego isn’t protecting us here, although as always, it pretends to. It isn’t guarding us against making fools of ourselves; it is guarding us against experience of who we really are, the brilliance of expressing it, and the joy that the expression brings to ourselves and others.

I love the story of the little girl who showed her teacher a picture she painted of a tree. The tree was purple. The teacher said, “Sweetheart, I’ve never seen a purple tree, now have I?”

“Oh?” said the little girl. “That’s too bad.” (140-141)


And my Dad is doing fine. After striking the top of his head on a sharp metal pole…again I’m not sure of the particulars, such as where was this deathly pole?...the wound is now healing after having staples put in his head. It was scary though. At first I thought he might have chopped his hand off with the wood-cutter or something.

A Perfect End to a Rainy Monday

Shout out to Liz at Laws of Gravity for giving me this award! Liz always has interesting stories to tell about subbing. And we share a love for Harry Potter. :) Thanks again, Liz!


And now to pass it on. It was a hard choice because there are so many great blogs out there, but here are my picks:

To Valerie from Virginia for her blog, bits and pieces. For sharing bits and pieces of her lovely life, and also on this day where she explains why T-giving makes her sad.

To Jackee at Winded Words. She's friendly and always shares insightful musings on the ups and downs and in betweens of the writing life. Definitely worth the read!

To Roland at Writing in the Crosshairs. An excellent writer and thinker with many brilliant and relevant insights.

The rules, as told to me: Acknowledge the giver and pass it on to your favorite blogs.

Have a great week everyone!

Here's a picture of a laughing dragon to complement the monday crazies

Here is how my day is going:

This morning, I rolled out of my bed more bleary-eyed than usual. Promptly, I sneezed and strained my back.

This afternoon, I decided to be smart and take advantage of the nice walking weather. I walked a mile to the library, which was really dumb. Apparently my back was worse than I had previously gauged...when will I ever listen to that small voice in my gut warning me not to do something??

Once I got to the library, I learned there was a tornado watch out. It also started pouring torrents of rain which cascaded down the streets in floods and waves.

But I did succeed in checking out Harry Potter: The Chamber of Secrets, which my sister keeps making fun of me for reading. Hey, Don't judge unless you've read it yourself!

My dad hit his head on something, apparently was bleeding, and is now at the hospital. What's going on?!!

I'm hoping my back will heal quickly, and I'm looking forward to making Mexican style tacos tonight: corn tortillas, strips of steak, cilantro, onions, and lime juice. I never thought lime would go well on a taco, but it is quite possibly one of the best combinations I've come across.

Hummingbird

I want to fill my mind with music: angry loud passionate
while I speed over country roads, accelerating hills,

every window sending wind to whip my face.

I want to face the thunderstorm, arms raised to churning clouds,
pulling lightning from the sky, lips tasting the rain mixed with my tears.

Screaming, crying, moaning, that music in my head;
I want to dance to it, feet lashing grass and dirt,

kicking up dust and flowers, stirring the wind, the air,
the heart of God with the movements of my body, its ceaseless energy.

I want to run.

I bury my hands in moist earth kissed by rain, by me, soaking into my fingernails,
the crevices of my skin, my toes, staining my knees dark as midnight shadows.

I pull weeds, baby trees, uprooting the vines that choke my treasures.

I want to fly, like the forgotten eagle, the hated crow, suspend myself in air,
a hummingbird—still, despite the rapid beat of my wings.

I want to move like a river, plunge like a waterfall, pulse like the ocean
dancing with the turbulent sky.

I consume the sun’s rays until my skin glows
from the ball of fire raging in my soul.

I will stand like a magnolia, powerful, majestic,
even after my flowers have fallen.