Another First Snow

It snowed today, the first time this fall. Turning onto my road, on my drive home from class, the urge to pull over was strong. My black bag was tugging at my mind like a canker sore that does not want to fade. Pull over! Open me! You know you want to! Why do I resist so adamantly? I never know. If I do not imediatley answer that call, delight in this whim, I know it will most likely not be satisfied. Spontaneity is the key. Do not think. Just act. I kept driving. Down our road, closer to the warmth of my husband's arms, smiling children, I continue. The brakes lock. The tires squeal. I put the protesting car in reverse. I go back. I am satisfied.

Happy birthday...

to me. Last year to enjoy the twenty's. Next year thirty will be my new number. Hopefully I will have something to show for all those years! What ambitions might I have for this next year? How about writing more, photographing on a regular basis, and registering the goats. That last one should have been done a long time ago. A self-imposed photography project should be in the works. I feel I work best when I have a purpose and deadline. As for writing, breathing is easier when putting words on paper. So, a big old happy b-day to me and do something with yourself this year!

broken

i have reached a point where i have so much at war inside me, that none of it will come out. The people that need to hear it will not listen. So, i sit and devour the life of someone else for a brief brush with escape. i am flying, the horse beneath me is now pegasus, racing steadily away from my biography. And then someone is at the door. i am home again.

Serenity

For me, serenity is something that does not exist. My nights are filled with intense dreams, most are forgotten, yet the emotional toll they extract is till evident. My days are hectic, scurrying to make up time from the moment my head leaves the pillow. i know there is a thing called peace, though, for my cat reminds me daily. Taunting me, teasing me, lying there with that smug grin affixed to her angelic face. Surely she does not mean to torment me so just by napping in plain sight. Or, maybe that is the way of the feline. Remind me of what i can not do, can not obtain in my slumber. i am happy for her, though, this peaceful cat. If she had not joined our household on that Christmas eve years ago, she would have instead been forced to sleep forever.

Sometimes...

Years ago, after getting married, the realization dawned on me that although someone now looked to me for dinner, i did not know how to cook. Boiling water for pasta, microwaving frozen dinners, and ordering pizza do not count. For a wedding gift, we recieved a Betty Crocker cookbook that became my salvation. Slowly, after following instructions with each new recipe, i learned to cook. i learned to love to cook. Failures were few, but each one was personally felt. Perfection was a self-imposed requirement. Slowly, miniscule tidbits of wisdom have infiltrated my brain, informing me it is ok to not be perfect, some tastes are acquired, and not every recipe results in good food. One not to try again- mahogany chicken wings. A cookiesheet now must be replaced, and the smoky stench still lingers whenever the oven is heated.

Foggy

sometimes i daydream that i am someone else, somewhere else. days like today with the mists swirling between the trees, i am back in the mountains of new hampshire. a piece of my heart lies hidden, tucked away safely, deep within the confines of the forest. there, i run free, dodging through the trees and around the tall emerald-green ferns. no longer am i pursued by the relentless drag of my "every-day" life. i no longer need physical shelter and sustinance. my eyes absorb everything around me, filling me until i could burst. here, now, i feel whole.