I know, I know–I’m not winning the prized ham for updating my website(in a consistent manner) any time soon. That’s
fine. I don’t eat ham anyway.

In summary, real quicklike, these things happened:

My nephew, Cohen, was born 5 weeks early. He had to stay in the hospital for a few weeks so his lungs could grow
stronger. I was a bit of a mess until he was born–a ball of worry and stress 5 hours away from where I felt I should
be. And then the wait for him to finally go home. Now the fun begins for my sister–a new life with two little ones.
I’m going home next weekend to meet little Cohen for the first time, and I fully expect to ball my eyes out. He’s a
miracle. I’m thrilled to meet a brand new relative, to have another young person in my life to show me how to look
at the world again with a less cynical and more imaginative eye. It’s so fascinating to watch them grow and become
who they are, and to have some tiny part on that. Sidenote: I’ve started writing letters for both my niece Maddie and
for Cohen, and I’m going to save them so that down the road they have them. I don’t want to just be the aunt; I feel
compelled to show them a bit about who I am as a person. I also have grand plans for writing some children’s books
for their shelves.

I’ve been wrestling with a serious block with my writing, and the fight is like trying to take a shadow to the ground. The
shadow that happens to be attached to my feet. I need to focus on patience and living. It’s all there beneath the
surface–I haven’t lost a single thing.

My heart quit dipping and started boom-booming again. I’ve got a good thing going, one that I don’t have to bend over
backwards to describe. I’ve laughed more since April than I have in a very very long time. It’s good. It’s better than
good. It’s damn past wonderful.

Went to the dentist and had my cracked tooth fixed. A tiny thing corrected, but it’s funny what a difference the little things
can make. I’m also putting the miles in on the bike, riding until my legs are jellyish, giggly things. It’s the good kind
of tired, the kind of tired I need in order to feel better mentally and physically.

Renee and I finished the press release for our fundraiser show on July 7th. I’ll be posting the details soon. We squared
away a feature in Cleveland, and more are on the way in Chicago, Indianapolis, Dayton, maybe(hopefully) other
cities. It is officially summer. I’m in it, sweating like a champ and staying out for as long as I can. Hiking in the
woods and tiptoeing into lakes. Every experience feels tremendous, even standing in the Strip District staring at the
local grown flowers or trying on viking hats in Feinbergs. If you love your life then make it yours.

More soon.

Driving through my home town at dusk, knowing my way better than I know anything. Stopping in the middle of the street
to stare. Kissing two fingers and holding them out the window when I leave. Of course I’m sentimental for it, of course
I come back and mourn what isn’t there anymore(the fact it’s gone reminds me I left, that there was a departure, that
time has passed, that I’m not the same). All of these things could crush or lift you. That’s the decision you make.

The simultaneous remembering and forgetting–that this is just a body and my limbs are constantly flailed out living on
their own trust–that my hands owe my feet nothing. That if I’m constantly too careful then I miss out.

Addicted and petrified by the pen, still shaking behind microphones. That I’m still carrying around a wrinkled post card
of Janis that Jim gave me years ago. Nine, to be exact. And I’m not the person he handed it to but I am a thousand
times over more than I can claim it.

Explaining to my therapist that it isn’t a means of seeking pleasure for me, it never has been. I get that–I can point it out if
asked, but it isn’t just pleasure. I tell her it’s movement, something like inspiration, something like witnessing and
being there. Things can barely ever be untwisted. I’ll take my moments like seaweed when forward motion means
walking out from the pull of waves.

I have memories backlit by a shadow of a water tower. A group of us on our backs, touching heads beneath it, dreams of
climbing in and swimming away. The rusted one next to the new. Leaning into a neck on the side of the gas station,
losing an artifact in my youth–the parents going back to the grounds to find it, coming back empty-handed. The crest
of hill where you can see the entire town.

I never so badly wanted to live my life, never felt so certain that I’m doing just that.

obligatory snow picture

Snow and snow and snow. That’s been going on. The storm hit the Friday before last,
andevery day since then, something’s been falling from the sky. I tweaked my knee while
navigatingthrough the stomped down white, so I’m stuck wearing a giant brace on my right leg
this week(it’s a wonky sprain). The side effect: an interesting social experiment. Plus
I have to walk a lot more slowly. That’s different.

The doctor appointment? Went well. The mole looks benign and the doctor told me I
don’t have to remove it at this point, unless I want to. I think I’ll keep it for a while. I have to get
blood work done to check my thyroid. Also, anemia may be an issue. I can start the
paperwork for FMLA. I said it once and I’ll say it again: I’m thankful for such a wonderful,
attentive medical team. I’ve been feeling(and doing) a lot better because of their support.

Writing = full of surprises. My poem in [out of nothing] is about to be published(authors
were allowed to see the preview issue to check format and such). Open Thread Review
accepted a poem for publication–it will appear in their second print anthology.
Today I sent in my manuscript of poetry for the RADAR productions contest. A winner
receives 25 print copies of the poetry and the opportunity to read at an event in San Francisco.
I plan to record by the first week of March. Sister Spit is coming to town in April(!!!), and
I’m still working on out-of-town dates for the summertime. It’s been a slow and
steady fall/early winter for me–most of my focus stayed on my classes, so writing progress
dimmed a bit. I did some groundwork, and submitting lots of work for publishing consideration.
Doing so, and being accepted, has really helped me let go of the critical eye. I’m used
to approaching my work with an almost dismissive nature when really? I need to give myself
more credit(I cannot be afraid of that). I love to write more than anything, and I’m thankful
for the ability. So I’m feeling pretty good about it right now. Now to push out the sex
anthology, and piece together my next book.

Last but certainly most important, my sister found out what she’s having. A boy! I will have
a niece AND a nephew, and I’m over the moon. Everything looks good and she’s healthy,
and that’s all I care about. My family is so important to me, and I’m so glad that I have a
sister to look up to. She’s tremendous, and I can’t wait to meet the newest addition(coming in July).

Some may say these days we are too connected. That technology allows us to be anywhere and everywhere,
to find any person we are curious about, to put ourselves out there in playlists and blogs and instant messaging.
Sometimes I’m one of those people. Tonight? I’m not.Technology can beamazing. It can rock you back on your
heels and make you marvel and bring tears to your eyes. At least that’s my situation currently.

Here’s the background to the story: my paternal grandfather was a Pentecostal preacher. He built his own
church, preached there, and had a consistent congregation with him. Up until the age of 7, when my grandmother
passed away, I sat in the front row of that church with relatives–between my father and my sister. My dad would
sneak me Certs from a roll in his blazer pocket, and the testifying would scary me something fierce. I watched
the same aunt who taught me to roller skate shout in tongues and raise her hands. I watched others turn and
kneel to the pews and weep while they prayed loudly. When my grandmother was sick with cancer,
they brought her in a hospital bed, and some people prayed over her and I remember one man fainting.
I watched relatives sing praise, watched my grandfather kick and shout and come down the aisle, face turning red as he summoned the spirit. Yes,
it scared me. And yes, it colored my experience with organized religion forever. I could never sit still in church
after that–if the service was calm and quiet and organized, then I couldn’t respond to it. I felt awkward,
uncomfortable and scared. Though the atmosphere of my grandfather’s church scared me as a small
child, the chaos of that makes sense to me now, feels almost comfortable. It is what I remember.

My grandfather passed away about six years ago. I haven’t heard him preach for much, much longer than that.
Since I was a kid. On my last trip home, my dad gave me a website to an archive of sermons. There, in
the archive, was a link to my grandfather giving a testimony, and a song. 4 minutes and 11 seconds of his
voice, his power–this man who could preach himself into raw shouts. I’ve been listening to it over and over again,
in tears. My heart feels crazy. I miss him, and that time in my life…it’s so long ago and hazy now, but
right there when I listen to him. That feeling of being overwhelmed, of witnessing this indescribable
power. It makes me bring my hands to my face and sob, and I can’t explain why. I will never be able to give
it words because it is beyond my language. It’s the tucked away room in my heart that opens so rarely–a space
I can’t force myself into. It’s only revealed in the unexplained realm of experience, memory, connection, fear, and love.

I think about my family, and about how much I know of them, and how little I know/will ever know. Thinking I
will live my life unaware of some things, and I will live with the features before me–that the line
leading back is something I’m a part of and extend from. I listen to him and think: this is something I witnessed.
I think of the songs the goosebumps would give me, and I think of who I’ve been and who I am. These things
they are connected. I’m tangled in that thread.

I think about his funeral. It was the first time that all the grandkids had been together in years. We sat in a
row together and I leaned against my cousin’s shoulder, tired and devastated and chest shattered. Thinking
of my father and worrying about him. We all stood in the front together and each held a candle, and then my
grandfather’s brother and his wife stepped up and sang together. He played guitar. My cousin and I looked
at each other and he squeezed my hand. “My god the sound of them brings me back.” I nodded, because it did.
We both started crying harder as they sang this beautiful twanged and practiced harmony, a memory breathing
before us. I remember this more than anything else about that day.

I sit here listening to my grandfather shout and sing and my heart feels like it’s fighting to surface, as if
hearing its name called. As if wanting to answer.

One of those unexpected days. The kind you aren’t ready for, or won’t think you’ll have. The kind where you drive a road you used
to drive all the time and knew like handbacks and simple addition and now it seems so different, more open, more things built
along its boundaries. A day with family, familiar faces, and remembering who I am and where I come from–a reminder that I can
go anywhere I want to go from here, that I am loved and hopeful. That I can still handle driving in the snow, and certain paths will always be simple to trace with eyes closed.

I’m moving in 19 days, and counting. There’s a lot to do, but most of it is time sensitive(as in it’s a little too early, time-wise, to start certain balls rolling). Right now my priority is sifting, throwing away, donating, and packing. The other priority: flipping through the Ikea catalog. Combing the thrift store for odds and ends. The catalog is sparking some new storage ideas(my biggest storage challenge: the papers, the files, the writing). Thrift store ventures, so far, have resulted in the purchasing of some very useful and downright hilarious additions to my new abode. Case in point: a miniature(as in perfect for the corner of a countertop) grocery cart, which will be used to hold my fruits and veggies. Other interesting finds from the thrifting: objects/appliances/utensils straight from my childhood. The solid memory kind. Like brightly colored cups, the exact kind I clutched onto in my youth during the summer. Or the picture identical to the one hanging above my grandmother’s kitchen table–a picture I remember looking at often. A typical image, and with religious tones which is totally not my style, but that doesn’t really matter. What matters is that every time I see that image, I think of my grandmother. That’s pretty important to me right now.

Perhaps this is of no interest to you but hey, the whole “gearing-to-move” thing is my current state of being and focus right now so thereyago.

I just returned from a quick trip home to Ohio to visit the family. My heart is still pretty soft about it today, which is usually the case upon my return. I miss them so much. I’ve been living in Pittsburgh for nearly 8 years now and I still miss them a lot. I lack any blood family here, nobody that knows me before that 8 year mark and sometimes it really confuses/bothers me. I have a life here, I’ve built a history, and it is not an option to turn around and leave it all to return to my hometown. But, for the first time since moving here, I really started thinking about “the future,” in regards to where I want to really “settle.” And oh do I hate that word. Maybe that’s why I’ve never really thought about it. Is this city it for me? Will I grow old here? I really don’t know. And if not here, where? And when? Sometimes I get caught up thinking about how much I’m “missing” back home. Especially now, with a two year old niece. Especially now, noting how gray my father’s hair is when I come to visit. Especially now, when I realize how much I miss being near my sister–when we’re texting how much we miss each other back and forth before I’m even out of the Ohio state limits. Oh jeez I’m getting teary-eyed even typing this. I’ll stop with the listing. I wish I could be there more often, but there’s the full time job/school/the life/the day to day stuff/not having a car.

Why is all of this coming to a head now? I’m not sure. Maybe this is a thing that’s been building, but I also know that I turned 28 and bam–I really, really started to stare at things differently. It also seems that the sound dropped out and left behind this obnoxiously loud tick-tock noise and I’m nervous about it. Who knew that 28 would be the age that turned everything on its head? Not me, says I.

My weapon of choice? Be proactive about it. Take care of what needs taken care of, make the changes you need to make. Be the person you appreciate most(which is, gosh knows, something I’ve struggled with since I was a wee kid). It’s all in the works and I’m sanding down the edges, making all the rooms useful.

First of all, today is mother’s day. It is also my grandmother’s birthday. Funny thing: I couldn’t tell you how old she would be, if she were alive today. There was always a question about her birth certificate, the actual date of her birth, etc. So I never really knew, or could never really remember the two disputed dates. Anyway. She passed away nearly six years ago and she’s definitely on my mind today.

Mary Ruth, you are missed.

Happy birthday, mom.

I won’t talk about the permanent vacancy, nor the holes in my heart/the rooms with no walls. I will just say I miss you.

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