I just ended a call with a funny flight attendant friend and was thankful to see that I had only 17 passengers on my 30 minute, no-service, last flight of the night.
The gate agent was unusually jovial and we joked with a man inquiring if he had enough time for one last beer before boarding.
“What a great way to end the day!” I thought to myself, looking forward to the ease of a quiet flight, as I went down the jet-bridge.
A man boarded, he discreetly, kindly mentioned that the woman who preceded him might need some assistance. I asked him to elaborate. He only added that, before boarding, she had accidentally followed him into the bathroom. She was clearly a bit frazzled and distracted.
Before we took off I asked how she was feeling and if she needed anything. She said, “No, I’m just distraught.”
Her eyes filling with tears.
It seemed obvious enough, and I thought "Ut-oh" to myself.
“Have you lost someone, ma’am?” I gently asked.
She covered her mouth with a contorted paper towel. Nodding, she silently sobbed, barely taking in air.
Touching her shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”. I darted to the back of the plane, grabbed the extra Kleenex box. Unable to speak, she nodded in appreciation.
Just after takeoff, and almost completely dark, I began another conversation with her. I asked her about who had passed.
It was her son.
She had been with a family, in Maine, and was to stay with their child while they went on vacation and found out only an hour before they were to depart. She had been flying all day to get back.
I asked her about her son, his age, if he’d gone to college, if he had siblings. Tears flooded, accompanying each answer. I plucked a few tissues and they tore in to halves, all of them.
“Do you want a hug?” I asked gently. She nodded and I hugged her as tightly as I could from over the isle-side armrest, she sobbed. She thanked me and said she was going to sit and close her eyes for a few minutes.
Standing in the dark, CRJ200 galley, my face in my hands, I cried. I cried for her and her daughters.
My announcements now had a noticeably somber tinge to them. The plane emptied and I noticed she’d left the Kleenex box.
Grabbing it, I ran down the jet-bridge and the waiting passengers knowingly pointed me in her direction.
She was standing, crying and waiting for the gentleman who’d offered to assist her with her valet bag. I said, “Ma’am, take the box with you.”, as I put it directly into her open bag propped up on the chair.
She was shaking and struggling. I zipped her coat for her. “Deep breaths, in through your nose, even though I know it’s stuffed, and out through your mouth.”, I told her.
I told her we had plenty of time and we stood there and hugged. “Even though I don’t know you I can still love you.”, I said. She said, “I’m not sure I could’ve made it through that flight without you. Thank you. I’ve been traveling alone, all day.”
I ran back to get my bags and when I came back down the gentleman, a complete stranger, was consoling her as he walked her to the exit. Stopping to cry, incapable of moving, she’d mentioned these were the first moments she’d felt emotions.
I spoke to the gentleman, as he waited for her outside the ladies room. I told him that I was blown away by his genuine kindness. That I was moved to tears not only by sorrow but also to witness another person wholeheartedly participate.
As I exited the concourse, a group of women were waiting. “Are you …..?” I barely got half the question out and they all nodded, looking intensely at me, anticipating what I might say. I told them she was on her way, a gentleman was escorting her and that I could see him from where I was standing. Then, I could see them hugging.
I met her sisters, one daughter and I'm assuming a niece. They were all concerned and caring. They are family.
The last I saw, she was standing in the concourse, hugging the gentleman escorting her.
Yesterday Mitchell turned 24. He’d attended college. He was one of three children, a triplet with two sisters.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Doubting Shore
(("Doubting Shore" is to be read at a slow, seductive pace. Though it's nature is not human-to-human romantic, it is about the Conscious Mind being seduced by the Subconscious. Inner-Self, Inner-Life, that Uncharted Territory being the Subconscious yearns for it's abilities and knowledge to be integrated. It strives to be represented and impressed onto the external, the visual, measurable and tangible masterpiece of the physical manifestation of life.))
Closer
Come closer to me
Hear the music of two souls
Bodies minding
Dancing tolls
Closer
Into my Mystic Realm
Letting Go
No Steering Helm
Closer
closer still
Crevices
Currents fill
Closer
Just a little
Little more
Farther
Farther from the Doubting Shore
Closer
Come closer to me
Hear the music of two souls
Bodies minding
Dancing tolls
Closer
Into my Mystic Realm
Letting Go
No Steering Helm
Closer
closer still
Crevices
Currents fill
Closer
Just a little
Little more
Farther
Farther from the Doubting Shore
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Spoons
"How many spoons?" Her accent asked.
"Spoons?" I thought... Spoons, spoons, spoons.... She's asking me if I want more than one. The other time she just stuffed the bag with a few, no questions. Just sign your receipt and be on your way. ___ Here. ___ Go.
"One is fine." I respond.
As I walk out on to 5th, the sun catches my eyes and they start to water a bit.
I cross early, just before the traffic light change, people seem to be minding their own business more than usual. The world is on a downturn, a downward spiral, DOWn.
Yet, we still want things. As we acheive we learn how limited our sights originally were. But I want things I haven't seen and this downturn is certainly, though unfortunately, a thing I am seeing for the first time. Things we want, experiences we crave, they're all just outside our comfort zone. Everything we want is ___ just ___ outside our comfort zone. All we need to do is venture out, one step is all it takes. All it takes to open our eyes is ___ one ___ little ___ step. Step off the porch of home, away from our known family and friends. Into a world of the unfamiliar and you will find yourself. For all of us, any of us, this is the threshold, point of no return. From here on we learn what it is to be alone, choose for ourself what to be, how to be, what to think and how to act. We choose.
Nostalgia, it's so delicate, but potent. Far more powerful than memory alone. Takes us to a place we ache to go again, it's a carousel that takes around and back home again.
A place we will return to one day. But for now....
How many Spoons would you like?
"Spoons?" I thought... Spoons, spoons, spoons.... She's asking me if I want more than one. The other time she just stuffed the bag with a few, no questions. Just sign your receipt and be on your way. ___ Here. ___ Go.
"One is fine." I respond.
As I walk out on to 5th, the sun catches my eyes and they start to water a bit.
I cross early, just before the traffic light change, people seem to be minding their own business more than usual. The world is on a downturn, a downward spiral, DOWn.
Yet, we still want things. As we acheive we learn how limited our sights originally were. But I want things I haven't seen and this downturn is certainly, though unfortunately, a thing I am seeing for the first time. Things we want, experiences we crave, they're all just outside our comfort zone. Everything we want is ___ just ___ outside our comfort zone. All we need to do is venture out, one step is all it takes. All it takes to open our eyes is ___ one ___ little ___ step. Step off the porch of home, away from our known family and friends. Into a world of the unfamiliar and you will find yourself. For all of us, any of us, this is the threshold, point of no return. From here on we learn what it is to be alone, choose for ourself what to be, how to be, what to think and how to act. We choose.
Nostalgia, it's so delicate, but potent. Far more powerful than memory alone. Takes us to a place we ache to go again, it's a carousel that takes around and back home again.
A place we will return to one day. But for now....
How many Spoons would you like?
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Distant Smoke
"Bad day; mind if I smoke while I drive Miss?" he asked.
"No." she answered from a distant, cool place farther away than the backseat she where she sat.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Tnemyolpmenu
Hot day to be pacing Canal St., upward eyes searching for the number, that magical number; 70. Fate would have it that, in numerology the number 7 signifies someone who evaluates situations very quickly, and with amazing accuracy. This bldg marked 70, is home to the New York State Unemployment Office. One who evaluates my status every Sunday. Feeds me, if I'm worthy. I see 110 and that's it, no 70. I enter and ask the front desk attendant. He indicates I'm in the correct bldg and for me to go to elevator number 2. Capt Ironic strikes again; number 2; the fixer.
A guard checks me in, he writes sideways, I mean, with the paper sideways. Passing that check I come upon another guardian. A fragile, short, elderly man, dressed from the cover of a record older than myself. Blondish-white thinning hair, or fuzz rather. A clipboard with a fun form is shown to my hand and a grouping of folding shares is given my attention.
The area is divided into two sections and I'm on the right. To the left of the aisle, or border so-to say, are several Spanish speaking folk. Odd...we're in America still, right Toto? Or Totito is it? Ha, ahhh...yeah.
Flopping into the front row, to witness what seems like the most depressing experience of my life, I almost fold with the chair. Startled, I flounder, catch myself quickly and straighten up. Promptly finishing the form, I'm told I can leave and come back "without losing my spot in line". "Greaaat, thanks!" Upon exiting, I almost burst into tears. Is this what my life has come to? And, forms? I loathe forms! Checking in, strangers judge if I eat that week or not? I'm certainly worthy but having to go through it sucks porcupine quills.
Anyway, anyway, I end up in the cafe next door, IM'ing a friend and eating a salad. Once back into the "depression chamber" a room with several long stables and a couple dozen parked chairs is where I'm told to go. We're ushered in like students going in for quarterly headcount. Gotta make sure the school district gets it's fair share of taxes. Right?
So anyway, I feel like I'm back in high school. How I feel about the color of the walls, setup, people, teacher, preacher, that odd little creature. She is at the front of the room wearing a full-on hat and a scarf on top of two shirts, a blazer, ankle length skirt, socks and sneakers, handing us papers, more forms, I cringe and pull a pen from my bag. I'm one of few wearing dress pants and a blouse. Others are wearing jeans, khakis, etc. Preferring an aisle seat I've chosen to sit next to a man
wearing a wrinkled, short-sleeve button up and khakis. He says he's a musician, looks like one. Toussled, soft and sandy brown hair, thin-framed glasses. Nice looking, in the softy, creatively lazy way. We also have the slacker, the smoker, the drunkard, teachers pet, etc... I'm fidgety, feel the need to leave. Teacher says there'll be a video in a minute, figuring I can miss it, I ask for directions as she passes and make my exit. Returning I'm told to complete the homework on my desk and turn it in. Finishing I leave and feel relief as they call my name to meet with one of the recruiters. She asks me a few questions about my qualifications and availability.
Through the brief conversation I learn that she doesn't actually help me find a job. She only posts my resume and the info I gave her. It's up to employers to find me on their website.
To date, nothing's come of it, which is kinda depressing, and not just for me but for all the others that go through this exact process.
Reentering the sunny day, feeling the warmth, I'm reminded that I have to go back to work at some point in time. Which I fear and anticipate for the same reasons. What if I get a job, it doesn't work out and I have to go through all of this, all over again? Not sure I could handle that again, repeatedly.
A guard checks me in, he writes sideways, I mean, with the paper sideways. Passing that check I come upon another guardian. A fragile, short, elderly man, dressed from the cover of a record older than myself. Blondish-white thinning hair, or fuzz rather. A clipboard with a fun form is shown to my hand and a grouping of folding shares is given my attention.
The area is divided into two sections and I'm on the right. To the left of the aisle, or border so-to say, are several Spanish speaking folk. Odd...we're in America still, right Toto? Or Totito is it? Ha, ahhh...yeah.
Flopping into the front row, to witness what seems like the most depressing experience of my life, I almost fold with the chair. Startled, I flounder, catch myself quickly and straighten up. Promptly finishing the form, I'm told I can leave and come back "without losing my spot in line". "Greaaat, thanks!" Upon exiting, I almost burst into tears. Is this what my life has come to? And, forms? I loathe forms! Checking in, strangers judge if I eat that week or not? I'm certainly worthy but having to go through it sucks porcupine quills.
Anyway, anyway, I end up in the cafe next door, IM'ing a friend and eating a salad. Once back into the "depression chamber" a room with several long stables and a couple dozen parked chairs is where I'm told to go. We're ushered in like students going in for quarterly headcount. Gotta make sure the school district gets it's fair share of taxes. Right?
So anyway, I feel like I'm back in high school. How I feel about the color of the walls, setup, people, teacher, preacher, that odd little creature. She is at the front of the room wearing a full-on hat and a scarf on top of two shirts, a blazer, ankle length skirt, socks and sneakers, handing us papers, more forms, I cringe and pull a pen from my bag. I'm one of few wearing dress pants and a blouse. Others are wearing jeans, khakis, etc. Preferring an aisle seat I've chosen to sit next to a man
wearing a wrinkled, short-sleeve button up and khakis. He says he's a musician, looks like one. Toussled, soft and sandy brown hair, thin-framed glasses. Nice looking, in the softy, creatively lazy way. We also have the slacker, the smoker, the drunkard, teachers pet, etc... I'm fidgety, feel the need to leave. Teacher says there'll be a video in a minute, figuring I can miss it, I ask for directions as she passes and make my exit. Returning I'm told to complete the homework on my desk and turn it in. Finishing I leave and feel relief as they call my name to meet with one of the recruiters. She asks me a few questions about my qualifications and availability.
Through the brief conversation I learn that she doesn't actually help me find a job. She only posts my resume and the info I gave her. It's up to employers to find me on their website.
To date, nothing's come of it, which is kinda depressing, and not just for me but for all the others that go through this exact process.
Reentering the sunny day, feeling the warmth, I'm reminded that I have to go back to work at some point in time. Which I fear and anticipate for the same reasons. What if I get a job, it doesn't work out and I have to go through all of this, all over again? Not sure I could handle that again, repeatedly.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Bathroom Passes
Kids held captive, so restricted that their bathroom passes are rationed out yearly. You only get
so many, kids trade them for other services and products. They are so rarely used
that Teachers automatically assume the pupil is doing something other than what the name
suggests. Students are well aware of this properly calculated concept. So they pinkingly as possible step into the use of a Bathroom Pass. All the while,
looking over one's shoulder all the way there, and even back. Maybe even walk sideways or in
a spinning motion to just keep an ever-eye. Correctly assuming were the Teachers who
thought, and theoretically provoked, students to use the Pass for the opposite of its intended
purpose. Children, gather and mock each other. If you're not there you might be viciously
trashed about. Question stands each day "To use the Pass, or to not use the Pass?" That
is the question. Does he use it and forego potential future possibilities with more certainty
to the quan of entertainment. Entertainment is often provided by the grapevines, the chains of
gossip that is. More gossip, more escapades, or upheavals the better the conversations
were in the halls and bathrooms. Girls and boys sashay to and fro, prancing for each other,
trying to be someone who knows the most, they are the most trusted and usually part of the top
echelons. Careful though, trade a pass and let someone in that shouldn't, say hear a certain
conversation, someone finds out you let someone in on a certain specific day, you could be in
some kinda trouble for that. Best to keep to trading with only those you've seen more than a
few times. If they are there when you are, chances are higher that the majority of your friends
are friends with the same people and that only those are present when your friends are. Sure,
there are cliques, whichever group has the most Passes is considered the "popular group".
You get the picture, same game, different qualities to be ranked by.
so many, kids trade them for other services and products. They are so rarely used
that Teachers automatically assume the pupil is doing something other than what the name
suggests. Students are well aware of this properly calculated concept. So they pinkingly as possible step into the use of a Bathroom Pass. All the while,
looking over one's shoulder all the way there, and even back. Maybe even walk sideways or in
a spinning motion to just keep an ever-eye. Correctly assuming were the Teachers who
thought, and theoretically provoked, students to use the Pass for the opposite of its intended
purpose. Children, gather and mock each other. If you're not there you might be viciously
trashed about. Question stands each day "To use the Pass, or to not use the Pass?" That
is the question. Does he use it and forego potential future possibilities with more certainty
to the quan of entertainment. Entertainment is often provided by the grapevines, the chains of
gossip that is. More gossip, more escapades, or upheavals the better the conversations
were in the halls and bathrooms. Girls and boys sashay to and fro, prancing for each other,
trying to be someone who knows the most, they are the most trusted and usually part of the top
echelons. Careful though, trade a pass and let someone in that shouldn't, say hear a certain
conversation, someone finds out you let someone in on a certain specific day, you could be in
some kinda trouble for that. Best to keep to trading with only those you've seen more than a
few times. If they are there when you are, chances are higher that the majority of your friends
are friends with the same people and that only those are present when your friends are. Sure,
there are cliques, whichever group has the most Passes is considered the "popular group".
You get the picture, same game, different qualities to be ranked by.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Staples Tomorrow
"I never expected tomorrow to happen." He said to the attendant, as I walked up to the counter.
Pushing my sunglasses atop my head, looking over, I interject, "Isn't that exactly it? I mean, you never expect what's going to happen tomorrow. Right?" Smiling, I look back down at my purse pulling out my necklace, then continuing to search for my debit card, my life line.
He responds "Yeah, I mean, I had no idea I'd get this invitation. It's one of those designer bag events, tomorrow night. I have business cards on order but they don't come in until Friday."
My prints were ready and he catches a glance. "Are you an actress?" I respond, no, but that I'd like to be and I'd had an audition. "They asked me to drop off headshots, so here I am." I further indicate that, I'm to drop them off today, obviousifying that I'm doing this last minute just as he is with his business cards.
He passes me one of his new business cards, "I sell real estate. So when you make it big and need a million dollar apt give me a call." I pass him one of mine, like a true salesperson he glances at it and as he leaves; "Nice meeting you, Eve." I respond, quickly realizing that in the shuffle of my own papers I hadn't a chance to look at his card to catch his name, "Nice meeting you as well." I say smiling.
Upon exiting the girl behind the counter and I exchange a glance, smirk and roll our eyes at the ironic humor of the situation. Handing over my receipt she says, "'And it all started at Staples.'" "Bound to happen, I'm here often enough." We laugh.
###
Pushing my sunglasses atop my head, looking over, I interject, "Isn't that exactly it? I mean, you never expect what's going to happen tomorrow. Right?" Smiling, I look back down at my purse pulling out my necklace, then continuing to search for my debit card, my life line.
He responds "Yeah, I mean, I had no idea I'd get this invitation. It's one of those designer bag events, tomorrow night. I have business cards on order but they don't come in until Friday."
My prints were ready and he catches a glance. "Are you an actress?" I respond, no, but that I'd like to be and I'd had an audition. "They asked me to drop off headshots, so here I am." I further indicate that, I'm to drop them off today, obviousifying that I'm doing this last minute just as he is with his business cards.
He passes me one of his new business cards, "I sell real estate. So when you make it big and need a million dollar apt give me a call." I pass him one of mine, like a true salesperson he glances at it and as he leaves; "Nice meeting you, Eve." I respond, quickly realizing that in the shuffle of my own papers I hadn't a chance to look at his card to catch his name, "Nice meeting you as well." I say smiling.
Upon exiting the girl behind the counter and I exchange a glance, smirk and roll our eyes at the ironic humor of the situation. Handing over my receipt she says, "'And it all started at Staples.'" "Bound to happen, I'm here often enough." We laugh.
###
Saturday, July 5, 2008
I Only Drink Champagne.
I only drink Champagne.
That's who I am.
Dance in the rain
Sing through any pain.
All the while, drinking only Champagne.
Sleep at six, a.m. or p.m..
Because I only drink Champagne.
It's fine if you're a square, I don't really care.
As long as you buy me Champagne.
Order your imported beers, finest wines and whiskies.
Water's for the fishes, Vodka for the misses.
Always from me you'll get Champagne kisses.
Hoped on stars and tossed pennies in a fountain
Oh, I'd say quite often.
Champagne was in all my wishes.
Pitt, Gylenhall, Efron or Bale.
To my Champagne they all pale.
Some girls think of Chocolate or Shoes.
Champagne is what I'd choose.
Of life's peaks and valleys, after all these things and those four.
I still love Champagne more.
That's who I am.
Dance in the rain
Sing through any pain.
All the while, drinking only Champagne.
Sleep at six, a.m. or p.m..
Because I only drink Champagne.
It's fine if you're a square, I don't really care.
As long as you buy me Champagne.
Order your imported beers, finest wines and whiskies.
Water's for the fishes, Vodka for the misses.
Always from me you'll get Champagne kisses.
Hoped on stars and tossed pennies in a fountain
Oh, I'd say quite often.
Champagne was in all my wishes.
Pitt, Gylenhall, Efron or Bale.
To my Champagne they all pale.
Some girls think of Chocolate or Shoes.
Champagne is what I'd choose.
Of life's peaks and valleys, after all these things and those four.
I still love Champagne more.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Revealing Eyes
I understand you've lost your eyes.
.....
Yours to the world were taken from you and now you ask "WHY?!!?!? Why did someone take my eyes?!!? I don't understand, they were mine!! Who would do that?!?!!? They were my friends! You don't understand!!! You just, just don't..., can't.... ...Mine!!!" Your hands are to your face and tears are screeching down your cheeks and you continue to scorn the night sky "My eyes! My ...eyes!!!!"
Well, there is alot to say when trying to answer these questions. They are not short of "What is the meaning of life?" So I will start by saying, first, that no one can know exactly how you feel at the moment when you've realized that you've lost your eyes. But, I do understand fully what loss feels like, and on many different levels, but no, no I do not claim to KNOW what is going on in your stomach or in your heart.
So I answer your questions with an even louder agreement "WHYY!??!?!?!!?" Shaking you hard; "Yes, WHY!?!??! That is the question!!!" Put harshly; "all good things...."
Your eyes which saw your friends and family, not just their physical space but what they were also feeling. Your eyes saw souls, karma and umbras of lives. To feel color and capture the winds.
Raise your hands and scream! Scream to the birds passing by! Let the rats feel your anger! Let the world know of your suffering and loss. Then reside and curl up on the city street.
Why do any of us lose? ...Why? Why are such the precious things always the ones to be taken?
My friend I understand loss at this level. Even though I may not have experienced the same ratios of anger, resentment, utter pain, and shear sadness I do, I do know those emotions well enough to comprehend your pain.
Alas, these eyes, thankfully are not made of cells or tissue, no, though you feel just as connected if not more, they were not a part of you to begin with. And on some levels they are replaceable, I know they may never be fully, but mostly, mostly.
So I will shake you, and yell at you, and I will console you and cry with you over your loss. Partially, b/c there are many losses that I've never cried over. And some I've cried over for too long. But Mostly b/c you need the contact, physical contact. But I will not allow you to talk as though your world has ended. There is far too much out there yet to be seen. This, what is coming, is big....very, very big indeed.
"Arista,... you've been....revealing." This coming from the queen of TMI. ha! ....stepping out of the emotional bubble.... Wow, what a rush.... to engage someone when they are in hysterics to meet them when they are half way to China, -the long way.
If something tradgic had not happened you may have not fully experienced leaving, not the loss, just LEAVING. You needed the tragedy to give you the push to make the leap and let goooo... Letting out emotion is what you need, even if it's not directly related to what is truly going on, let it all out.
Things we've lost in the fires of life...
Kisses
Hugs
Hair
Gloves
Phones
Pictures
Words
Dreams
Family
Friends
Other Significant Others
Unknown
Socks
Flashlight
Favorite Sweaters
Shoes
Songs
Pieces of Your Heart
Toes
Eyelashes
Apples
Ways
Paths
Light
Stars
Sand
Money
Ring
Sunglasses
Chances
.....
Yours to the world were taken from you and now you ask "WHY?!!?!? Why did someone take my eyes?!!? I don't understand, they were mine!! Who would do that?!?!!? They were my friends! You don't understand!!! You just, just don't..., can't.... ...Mine!!!" Your hands are to your face and tears are screeching down your cheeks and you continue to scorn the night sky "My eyes! My ...eyes!!!!"
Well, there is alot to say when trying to answer these questions. They are not short of "What is the meaning of life?" So I will start by saying, first, that no one can know exactly how you feel at the moment when you've realized that you've lost your eyes. But, I do understand fully what loss feels like, and on many different levels, but no, no I do not claim to KNOW what is going on in your stomach or in your heart.
So I answer your questions with an even louder agreement "WHYY!??!?!?!!?" Shaking you hard; "Yes, WHY!?!??! That is the question!!!" Put harshly; "all good things...."
Your eyes which saw your friends and family, not just their physical space but what they were also feeling. Your eyes saw souls, karma and umbras of lives. To feel color and capture the winds.
Raise your hands and scream! Scream to the birds passing by! Let the rats feel your anger! Let the world know of your suffering and loss. Then reside and curl up on the city street.
Why do any of us lose? ...Why? Why are such the precious things always the ones to be taken?
My friend I understand loss at this level. Even though I may not have experienced the same ratios of anger, resentment, utter pain, and shear sadness I do, I do know those emotions well enough to comprehend your pain.
Alas, these eyes, thankfully are not made of cells or tissue, no, though you feel just as connected if not more, they were not a part of you to begin with. And on some levels they are replaceable, I know they may never be fully, but mostly, mostly.
So I will shake you, and yell at you, and I will console you and cry with you over your loss. Partially, b/c there are many losses that I've never cried over. And some I've cried over for too long. But Mostly b/c you need the contact, physical contact. But I will not allow you to talk as though your world has ended. There is far too much out there yet to be seen. This, what is coming, is big....very, very big indeed.
"Arista,... you've been....revealing." This coming from the queen of TMI. ha! ....stepping out of the emotional bubble.... Wow, what a rush.... to engage someone when they are in hysterics to meet them when they are half way to China, -the long way.
If something tradgic had not happened you may have not fully experienced leaving, not the loss, just LEAVING. You needed the tragedy to give you the push to make the leap and let goooo... Letting out emotion is what you need, even if it's not directly related to what is truly going on, let it all out.
Things we've lost in the fires of life...
Kisses
Hugs
Hair
Gloves
Phones
Pictures
Words
Dreams
Family
Friends
Other Significant Others
Unknown
Socks
Flashlight
Favorite Sweaters
Shoes
Songs
Pieces of Your Heart
Toes
Eyelashes
Apples
Ways
Paths
Light
Stars
Sand
Money
Ring
Sunglasses
Chances
Sunday, November 4, 2007
There's No Regular Mustard Here For You....
According to an in depth scientific investigation we have concluded that restaurants in NYC do not maintain any stock of regular yellow mustard. And that would be fine, just simply fine, if I didn't LOVE regular yellow mustard....
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