Dear Old Fart That I Love,

Yes, you forget things *cough* occasionally.  Your knees are bad (snap, crackle, pop!).  You tell Braden it’s time for his bath when it’s time for his nap.  You tell him it’s time for his nap when it’s time for his bath. (By the way, he doesn’t even notice – I’m the only one who does.  And I’m required to make fun of you for it, so just get used to it.)

Don’t even think about sharing that pudding with him – you know it will go right to your old gut.

Your hair might be thinning… don’t worry, you’re going to get more and more of it in your nose and ears to make up for this.  Your back hurts, but I’m here to distract you from that by demanding that you rub mine (and don’t forget my feet)!  I am just that loving.

And yes, I might feel the need to make endless jokes about you being old just because you turn 40 today.

It’s because I love you.  And I’m glad you’ve been around for this long, and I’m hoping to make fun of how freaking old you are for so very much longer.

You are a wonderful (old ass) daddy and fabulous (decrepit, aging) husband.  Hey – look at it this way:  When men age, society kindly chooses to say that they are developing a bald head and a fat gut character and charm.  Women?  Get slow, fat and grow a beard.  Maybe don’t worry so much about your aging – it’s mine you might want to start being concerned about.  *wink*

Be careful on the road and hobble home as soon as you can.  I will miss your old ass from afar for now, you wonderful, old fart.

Happy 40th Birthday!

Love,
Your hot, young wife.

Waste away, young lads and lasses. Enjoy your time.

I miss my youth.

Now, before you go brow-beating me about how I’m still young, how I have so much longer to go before I lose my youth, or how much older than me you are and yadda yadda yadda (oh, yeah, I totally just ‘yadda yadda’d’ you), hear me out.

I mean not only youth in body, but youth in spirit, feeling, knowledge.

I miss the bliss of ignorance, the forever stretched out before me. The feeling that anything is possible.

With the passage of time comes experience; with experience comes knowledge, understanding (of sorts).

They say youth is wasted on the young. However, you realize, that is what makes it worth it. If the young knew the value of youth – the desire they would feel to have it back when it was gone… they would never really be able to enjoy it, would they?

With knowledge comes the shift.

The more you learn about the true nature of humans and the things of the world, the more you have to let go of the naive idealism that kept your young cheeks rosy and new.

No, there is no need to let go of hope, determination, and wonder. I am wide-eyed at the world still, believe me.

You could not freely wander the earth with your eyes, heart and mind open and not find a new and amazing thing every day if you tried. This is why I take photographs. Because over and over… again and again, even within my tiny sphere of movement, this happens to me.

So lecture me not on being able to capture the wonder of youth even with age.

But sit beside me for a spell and mourn with me this thing that must happen to us all. Some of us more than others, or maybe just a little bit sooner. But to all of us, it happens, to some degree or another.

The truth is that we must open our hands and let the fancy daydreams of childhood slide from our palms sometimes. Some things which happen steal them from us like wicked trolls, whisk them away to dark places; hiding them from the light. Only a child can pluck them out anew and let them grow for a time again.

My hands are too old to hold onto things which must escape them, already. The effort of trying has worn my fingers tired and weary.

We move through life, rolling along, and suddenly things assault us from this direction or that. The human tendency to ignore these possibilities on a conscious level from day to day allows us to function; it allows us to keep those wheels rolling, greasy and smooth. But no amount of greasing stops a rock from throwing you off your axel. You’ll have to reconsider concepts like need, desire, and love when your cart overturns.

It can take a long time to grease that wheel again. I’m workin’ on it.

I’m workin’ on it.

I speak in riddles because the words are too painful and tiresome to lay out in detail and push around into the proper order. It has been yet another day of remembering so many things that I would sometimes like to forget.

Sometimes.

So many things, some of which I’ve shared before, others which I may never tell you. Time will tell.

For now I close my eyes, take a deep breath in, push a long, tired breath out, and put one hand inside of the other. And hold on.

Tomorrow, I’ll open my eyes, and move those wheels along again.

On a somewhat related note: man, I farckin’ hate PMS.

When did THIS happen?

And just who in the hell is responsible?
Cause, I’ll kick a man’s ass over it.

August, 2007

December, 2008

*sniff*

I like banana wheat, with syrup.

Fat floats.

We all know this, right? Fat, a lipid, is less dense than water… so it floats.

I know this. I really do.

But I was still excited at the astonishing sight I beheld in the bathtub Sunday night.

I filled the tub higher than usual, and sunk myself all the way in, hoping that the water would wash away all the deadlines I’ve been facing lately…

Or maybe just drown me so I didn’t have to meet them?

I had my eyes closed… and when I opened them, I saw that part of my body was not submersed entirely.

Two parts, to be exact.

AND THE HEAVENS PARTED AND A GLORIOUS LIGHT SHONE UPON THE EARTH, AS THE ANGELS SANG!

What a vision to behold! It was like seeing my perky, 2005 BEWBS! I wanted to say to them… “Oh, 2005 bewbs, how I have missed you! The way you didn’t drag on the floor and bump against my ankles, it was like magic. You knew how to make a girl feel young… with your distinct ability to not have gross stretch marks and your complete lack of loud, slapping noises when I ran or jumped without a bra on.

Oh, pre-pregnant, pre-nursing 2005 BEWBS! Where have you been all this time!?”

But it was just a façade.

Please, make sure you try this yourself. But don’t be the fool that I was.

DO NOT LOOK IN THE MIRROR AND CATCH A GLIMPSE OF THE FREE-HANGING-MEAT AS YOU’RE GETTING OUT OF THE TUB.

Just hold onto the vision, the memory… the floaty, fake-perky boobies. It’s okay to pretend.

Ah. Think I’ll make pancakes for breakfast… for some reason I can’t get the thought of flapjacks out of my head.

If I iron them out, can I smooth back over time?

Today’s Photohunt theme is “Wrinkled.”

And that’s how time feels to me, suddenly. Like it’s been wrinkled. Or folded like an accordion.

Like it is filled with the skips in an old, worn record. The vinyl spins over and over and the details of the songs are faded; sometimes, even large sections of lyric are missing. I’m left with sudden, blurted words and jolting rhythms that hop from one point to the next…

Photo by Athena Carey, lifeprintsphotography.com

Will the folds between the wrinkles be deeper the older I get?

Will the skips in the record become so broad that the melody is lost almost entirely?

Have to find a way to hold on to the details… I like this song too much.

I shall have her back again.

Emotionally, I’m flighty, prone to daydream. Victim to whim, impulsive.  Gripped by a
logical mind but owned by a heart that believes in magic,
fiercely. Taken to believing in miracles. Wanting to see
past the black and white edges of things, searching for
the blur. I am between the lines, but not inside of the
box.  If you look deep enough, you will see me peeking
back at you. When the wind blows, my body is fixed, but
my dreaming soul is caught easily, and stirred in that
direction. Moved by the ethereal, I often close my eyes
and imagine I can feel things that don’t touch me, hear
things that make no sound, and taste things depending
on their color.

This is the part of me that is squelched more and more nowadays. This is the nimble of spirit little nymph caught in the net of the goblin called Everyday Life As A Mother. I find myself thinking nothing but rational thoughts all day long, being practical over and over again until the day has gone and I had no time to even appreciate its beauty. I find myself lingering on the fantastic less and less until it’s hard to remember the person who used to do so with such ease it was as second nature as breathing.

Once upon a time, I regularly dreamed of flying because I fantasized about it daily. What would it be like, with the wind in your hair and no traffic to slow you or physical law to bind your body to the earth? It would have to be the ultimate liberation to lift off from the terra by will, to fly for real, instead of being trapped against the hard surface of the earth, unable to soar without mechanization.  What the soul knows the body yearns to hold; longs to savor.

I bathed in the moonlight. I sat, wrapped in the glow, lost in my thoughts. I shared company with it – just me and Mr. Moon, white fire in the sky. Have you ever been alone under the moon, in a place where it is otherwise quiet and dark? I challenge you to isolate yourself thusly, and stare up into that great, white orb, inviting it to open itself to you. I dare you not to feel the beauty of its presence, not to sense the magic of it.

Thunder and lightening are thrilling… like musical theatre, they beg a rapt audience. How is it that any of us carry on with dull and dreary chores and errands while this is to be seen and heard? I used to celebrate such a show, no matter the time of day or night. When did sleep become more important? To be shamed.

And a rainstorm with no lightning… well that is clearly meant to be played in. Not hurried past or hidden from, not feared or hated or cause for curse. There was a time when I went outside on purpose when it was raining. My wet, dripping locks would sway and slap at my neck as I twirled, dancing in the rain. My muddy toes skipped under and past wet leaves as each saturated blade of grass tickled my soles for a second before I brushed past and onward. The smile never left my face.

I’m reflecting quite often, lately, on this person that I miss. Life happened, it crept up on her over time, and drew her away, so slowly that I didn’t even realize she was gone before she had been absent for too long.

I shall have her back.

Care to watch me age about 4 months?

 

 

 (Yes, it’s another of my narcissistic endeavors.)

End of January through beginning of June…

[feed readers: video enclosed in post]

 

Butt In The Air

31 years ago today, at 2:47am, I was born in breech position.

I came into the world showing everyone my bootay.

Not much has changed since that first day.

Thanks to all of you who have been reading and replying.

You make every day my birthday when you’re willing to look at the ‘butt’ I’m always shoving in your face, and smile about it.