Wednesday, September 12, 2012


If you are going out of your way to make me feel ridiculous, you really needn't bother. I feel completely ridiculous most of the time, anyway ...

I had a very Bridget Jones experience yesterday. Only there was no Mark Darcy at the other end of the sentence.

Have you ever received advice so banal you simply want to wad it up and throw it back into the face of the sender?

Was said message well intended? Probably. Valid in content? Most certainly.

In my case, the delivery was so lacking in imagination, I simply was incapable of  receiving it with grace.


Take it back.

Certainly I needed a smack of something. But this smacked of — a platitude I didn't desire to receive.

I wanted to mark it "return to sender," only I could't. So instead, I simply threw it away. In a crisis of conscience, I scoffed at self recognition and decided instead to act the part in which I am cast, or cast myself.

I think it's called being an adult. Or, in my case, being a military wife (and an adult).

No, really. I'm that stubborn. So much so, I refuse to see myself in the mirror of truth reflected by another.

Repetition helps.

My daughter auditioned for her first school play this week. She felt she "rocked it." In essence, she's been preparing for this (or any and every) role since birth. She is cut from thespian cloth; employing life as a tool — lining her experiences up on mental shelves, only to be brought forth as needed; props or parts for her own personal stage. 

At times, she's more comfortable in her imaginary world, then in her every day world.

I guess in that, we are alike.

She once told someone in 2nd grade that her house burned down in a fire. She was so convincing in her story her classmate went home that day and told his mother, who then called me to offer aide. I didn't know whether to punish her or to congratulate her for her creativity; or both.

She may have even believed her fabrication— at least when she delivered her monologue. She falls into her roles with great conviction. She was new, and I think looking for a way to connect. However misguided, we can all relate to this desire.

I often look at her with awe, and wonder how I might apply her imaginary tactics so that I am more comfortable and confident on life's everyday stage. I want to live better in my own character. 

I stumble a lot and forget my lines. Once in a while I lose my place entirely. So I tend to retreat until I remember.

I listened to a homily in church on Sunday about acting the part until it becomes you. If you are not feeling charitable, for example, then participate in acts of charity until you feel the beneficial effects of giving. 

While also simple in script, I was able to receive this particular parcel with greater dignity and grasp onto it without finding fault.

It's in the packaging, or at least in the patterns, which are formed by a conversion of points, delivered on different days, in different ways. Eventually they knit themselves into a cohesive message. Only then can you suspend your disbelief; absorb the content; and wrap them around yourself in acceptance.

Oh. Really.

Monday, September 10, 2012


I dance to music
My life it's making
Swirling onto scenes —
whirling dervish
I beg for humility

I wear masques
of many colors
costumes to cover
the expression on my face
that is for me to know

Rarely do I let others see
what is beneath the veil
years of practice
I wear it well, like a
permanent expression

Lines in my face
Begin to map
the paths I've taken
Leading me here
They are both high and low

A collection
of divergent choices,
mark the rows
of celebration and sorrow
Oh to be wiser now