this really says it all….
I don’t talk about love much, you know love-y kinda love. But I did make a cake out of roses and covered it with petals and sent it on it’s merry way. I did take myself for a much needed walk today up to the rose gardens to clear out my brain in an upward climb. 7-months ago I did move to the city of roses. So it seems fitting I say a few words on; Love and all I don’t know about it.
Don’t worry this won’t get sappy.
You see I don’t have much to say and in my new-old age. I’m discovering that all I thought I knew turns out to be wrong. So I’m learning again slowly what it could mean to love and be loved. That’s as sappy as I’ll get I promise.
I found IT a few times already! I thought so at least.. I encountered moments so serendipitous and profound that I was convinced it had to be my absolute destiny. (Turns out it was a little less grandiose) it was more a lesson in relating to people. Yeah, not nearly as romantic a story.
There was the encounter on the curbs of the Santa Monica pier. There was the boy who sold homemade soups. There was the voice and the guitar in a supermarket. And of course the one presently on my mind– with dreadlocks whose lyrics have become my bible.
I find the unreal (and yet still a feeling) feeling of loneliness to be the most crippling of emotions. I despise it when it rises because I know it is false and yet the feeling still comes like cold wind in my face. You see this feeling isn’t real and no matter what no person is going to fill it. I watch myself searching to unite with something other than me and after circling myself a few hundred times I come back to find this union happens to be with me!
It’s like coming home again and again.
It can happen when I take myself for a walk. When I practice yoga. When I curl up into a ball on my floor and l feel the things I try so hard to not feel. When I cook a big dinner. When I sit myself down and out loud ask; what I need to feel full? This union is quiet and it comes in questions and in recipes and takes careful listening for the answers. From there I am able again to lift my chin up towards the sky and see what exists when I open my eyes just a tiny bit wider. If I can feel the knot of the many corners of my being tied and secured up tightly I see again that; I am never alone.
So falling in love is great and….
I look forward to falling more gracefully and for the first time again petals and all..but in the meantime I’ll be buying myself lots of roses and of course here’s your cake. xo.
photo props at; http://rachaelrice.com
Buckets of rain…. buckets of moon beams in my hands.
The rain is so loud that it wakes me up every couple of hours, it’s incredible. I haven’t lived here long enough to not like it. I’m still awed by it. How there can be so much in one sky. It makes me quiet & want to curl up inside and eat brownie sundaes for dinner –so I do.
The rain also makes me miss things I once had so close to me. I’ve been cupping these memories up in my palms and taking them with me wherever I go. It helps to have this magic to hold to even if only I know I have it.
My father just started contra dancing. I am 3,500 miles away from my family and I miss them. I have spent the last 26-years taking for granted that I could meet my dad for chicken tikka masala within a 30-minute drive. You really can’t know what you got til it’s gone.
Today I do not have that option. Over the phone he tells me he started contra dancing; Picturing this dancing my heart begins to fill. No sum of money, job or vacation in the world could fill me like this image.
I sit there on the phone with him and picture him dancing. I picture him smiling the way he does in his old age still looking like a kid and skipping around as if dancing was something he did. I get to take that image with me through my days here. That image makes my life make sense.
As I stand in some lobby waiting to have another interview. As I make these phone calls and re-send emails. As I wonder what’s next. As I am tugged to type this for some reason down. I also smile at how lucky I am to be a part of this.
When it gets hard we have these snap-shots to carry with us as we move and try and change and try again. As I pick myself up again.
I can carry you all with me.
I’m tight on cash.
Meaning I don’t have any.
I’m acting frugal while eating lots of lentils.
I decided to treat myself to a movie today a matinee for $4.75 and I brought my own popcorn. I arrive at the theater debit card in hand to hear the hipster behind the counter sweetly say ‘We don’t take debit, but there’s an ATM behind you.” I felt an ouch a big one. Ya see I came out early to make it to the $4.75 movie so that I could justify taking myself to the movies and now if I am to use the ATM that is behind me with its added fee I can no longer justify this expense. I take a deep breath. Wow a choke-y sort of breath and start to exit the theater with my head drooped.
I hear this voice behind me – Miss. Miss.
It’s the gentleman that had been standing in line behind me. He asks me what the problem is and I say it’s not a problem Sir they just don’t take cards. How much is it? He asks. $4.75 I say-but Sir you CAN”T buy my movie ticket. Sure I can-he smiles hands over a five and walks away. I can hardly breath so instead I begin to cry in the middle of the theatre lobby, hard I am crying hard. I return to the register and hand the girl this five. Tears are coming down my face and I think I know why but I’m still not quite sure.
First off and most obviously I am in awe of the kindness of this stranger that so graciously handed me a five as if I was one of his daughters. But even more moved I am that I was able to take it. It’s hard for me to accept gifts and really believe I deserve them. I felt I deserved it enough that I took it plus I did drive all the way across town. I don’t always trust that things are going to be okay, I don’t always think I can handle everything on my own. A lot of the time I don’t know how I’m going to get by and then I receive a gift in some shape, size or form. I used to avoid these gifts they hurt my pride and inside I felt undeserving. Today I saw that this was my gift it had my name on it and I was allowed to take it. So thank- you sweet gentleman–you have probably long forgot me but I have not forgotten you.
I made some mini-cupcakes as a gift for you yes you for being alive and filling the world with your gifts. You know how I feel about cupcakes, but these are sparkly and so tiny that they can hardly take the pressure of what it means to actually be a cupcake they are child-like and there’s nothing pretentious about them, they are just happy to be here.
I was let go at the bakery.
I knew in my gut it was not the place for me.
You know when you try to make clothes fit that don’t? That’s what I was doing. I was trying to squeeze myself into this dress with a top that hung over my chest and a skirt that clung to my hips making it hard to walk straight. Truth be told, I hardly wear dresses. It was so uncomfortable and it made me question myself and think for a few moments that I needed to be someone else. Silly me, I did try but it didn’t work it only made me sad.
Lesson was that if the dress don’t fit, it don’t fit and the good part is; you don’t have to wear it. Another truth is I want to design my own dress (or jumpsuit in my case.) I want to build it from the ground up and birth it out of me using every ounce of myself and not having to apologize for any of it.
I was able to see that all of this is in fact not about baking! I love baking and mixing, and making messes and especially eating. But I do not bake to be a baker. I do not want to go out to become a pastry chef. I do not want to be on Cupcake Wars. I do not even think I want to work in a bakery. Baking is a tool for healing me.
I like it and what it does.
I like the way it wraps me up and quiets my restless spirit. I like the way it speaks to me as a mother would tell her child how sweet and perfect she is just as she is. I like the way it lets me be dressed and in my pjs with my hair all over the place. I like the way it softens my belly and allows me breath and not have to be some barbie doll I still sometimes think I should be. I like how it’s fueled by nostalgia bringing me back to the present tense so that I can live what I think I have outgrown. I like its smell and how it lures people into a room gathering butter and sugar together and suddenly I find myself no longer alone.
Why do we struggle to make these things fit that just don’t?
I walked past this t-shirt today and my first thought was I want to wear this. My second thought was you couldn’t possibly wear that. So I bought it. I bought it because that first thought is the true me, that second thought is some voice that says I can’t be me. Let’s listen to the first voice. I’m wearing it out tonight and I’m taking this self dancing.