Saturday, January 28, 2012

from pent-up aching rivers, from that of myself without which I were nothing

yes that is a line from Whitman, above.  A good line for the sentiments expressed below and the physical place where we are this weekend.


We are visiting good friends in Brooklyn.  And, oh, how good it is to be away from the regular, routine days of our time at home.  Willa is having a blast with her friends V and R as she explores our friends' big, open apartment.  And, oh, how good it is to be away from the same routines of our everyday lives in ypsi.


I have come to such a stale place on some fronts of my life.  I feel worse than dry toast.  Ragged and tired of the chaos of work (and all worn out from 9 years of being a witness to the heinous actions of humankind).  And on top of that hugeness, I am just about over the complications that arise from living in too small of a town.


Don't get me wrong, I love my family and I love all of these new adventures we are experiencing with this growing, beautiful being, willa.  However, there is this place I am coming to, and it is like a stutter in the almost middle of my life.  


K and I are both hankering for change.  And this is coming from me, someone who thought she would die in the quaint, old house we live in at the almost top of a hill in a small town in an area that used to be wetlands and forest and now suffers from the aftermath of industrialization. 


There are those times when my heart gets beyond restless and difference seems like the resolution to that constant urge that itches and tickles the lining of my chest.  I am in one of those phases right now.  But, it is the most intense one I've ever expereinced and maybe really it is my mid-life crisis.  Maybe my earth sign is being shaken to the core and my roots are getting exposed.



 And, maybe just maybe, I 'll build up enough courage to do something differently.  To change the patterns that make my heart heavy.  Maybe a scenery change will come soon.  Maybe, not.  

In these interim places, while time pulses by and my baby's face changes every morning into something new and something more beautiful, I'll hold fast to the pent-up aching river of my longing for change.  Perhaps I'll take real steps to change my circumstances.  Maybe that will involve physically shifting where we spend most of the hours of our days, or maybe it will involve shifting my soul... 

Here's to New York for getting me to think more deeply about doing that which I dwell on.  Here's to holding change close and loving the fact that yearning has my stomach all a flutter with hope in that which is different and new.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

A year gone by

I know I have disappeared under some kind of stone.  
The stone is called no time. 

But, I miss writing.

I miss reflecting on all of the ins and outs of the decision to have a kid, the parenting that comes with aforementioned kid, and the struggles for justice, goodness, and a life of joy that k and I work toward on a daily basis. 

No doubt, it has become increasingly difficult to carve out time to get words down, or art drawn, or books read (though I have been able to really delve into some escapist and not so escapist fiction and non-fiction in the last four months: Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections, Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Geralidine Brook's The Year of Wonders and March, Wes Jackson's Nature as Measure, George R.R. Martin's A Game of Thrones, Dorothy Day's Diaries: The Duty of Delight, and Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow).  But, what I would not give to really be able to have some time to reflect on most of the books I listed back there in writing.  

It really has not been the dawning of parenthood that has kept me from writing and making art.  If anything, parenting willa with k makes me want to reflect and jot down ideas even more.  It has been my personal tendency to live on the edge of working too much, always, that has left my down hours to being solely devoted to my family and nothing more (except devouring books when getting ready for bed or when insomnia strikes or when I am flying on a plane somewhere for work).  Otherwise, I would not be able to really experience my child all that much. 

However, I've made a commitment to myself to not put in hundreds of extra hours in 2012 (hours that I never use the comp up on).  I simply cannot afford to let my life and all of the beauty in it pass me by.  I am, by nature, a recorder of events and stories.  I love to etch in ink, pencil, paint, photographs, and typography the passing of time and the interactions of people, animals, stones, waterways, trees, honeybees, and all living things within that passing of time.  

When I fail to write or make art, a part of me sits hollow. And, depression leaks in.  Not to mention, this winter in MI has been gray, wet and only semi cold--the kind of cold wet that gets under your bones and causes an ache for warmth and sun.  In addition, I need to write in order to better analyze the world and the happenings around me.  Not doing so over the last few months, has let some things seep into my heart in awkward and overwhelming ways.  

With all that being said, let's see if this new blogsy app helps me get some more writing up on this blog.

Will turned 1 on November 30, 2011.  
She is awesome.