revisiting...

as we're on the subject of revisiting the past...

i'm back at the beginning. back where i was. retracing footsteps. following my own shadow. chasing my fading laughter among the golden leaves of fall... i'm back in cambridge.

much like the season. my visit is fleeting. a week of traipsing through old haunts. of retasting the crisp air. of tenderly retouching the rough tree trunks and bricks of new england.

i meandered along old walks. i smiled at the familiarity of my last fall and this current fall. 3 years gone. and the sky is the same shade of steel grey. the trees are still stark black against the firey red leaves.

i fell in love with this place six years ago.

revisiting has reminded me why.

i miss it.

i miss home.

hello again...

rereading myself. revisiting who i was. where i was. in a place that was good. in a place that was better than before. but not as good as now. never as good as the now. even with the insecurity of my future. the unknown. the known. the unforgivable distance.

letting my previous self re-emerge is a strange task. admitting age. inspecting the sameness against the difference. finding the once flaws which are now friends. reminders of years. of smiles. of laughs. of tears.

saddened eyes which brightened. heavy shoulders which lightened. a grey cloud which lifted.

i've never enjoyed looking back. though the risk of having to look forward is equally challenging.

yet somehow there is sweet but bitter joy in delving backwards. the anger and sadness are easier to taste again. to swirl gently in the mouth. the cool weight of many shed tears. the heat from layers of fears. a spicy note of regret. a crisp clean tinge of youthful confidence. to breathe in the air and inflame the flavor. rolling the years upon my tongue. it is easy to taste.

and to release it once again. to place it back in the bottle in the cellar.

to let it age and mellow.

to let myself age. and mellow.

hello again you.

i've missed your brown eyes.

i've missed the arch of your brow.

and i see that though you are just as jaded. there is finally a lightness to your heart.

it fits you.

vino veritas...

in wine there is truth...

in alcohol there is a relaxation of inhibition...

in the sweet tropical fruit. words of wisdom come tumbling off the tongue. to spill the golden nectar upon the pinkness of flesh. the fuzzy peach flesh of youth. the tender skin of naivete. to trickle sumptuously among the round firm globe of ripe fruit.

the dance of fire lit tropics. the grainy sweetness of sand. the rich tang of the salt and musk. sweat and sea air.

an underlying heady scent of overripe fruit. of overheavy women. of the crush of culture and change.

excitement and despair. mix and mingle. a bittersweet happiness melds with an overzealous reality.

and all that is left. is the golden current in an empty glass.

the last legs running slowly.

until all is tasted.

all is taken in.

solitude...

i find solitude a strange thing. like a cool heat. or a silent scream.

i enjoy the quiet of being alone. of being so focused upon one action or thought. of not feeling the sun slip across my skin. of only stirring from a dream when the cool kiss of moonlight disrupts the hair upon my neck.

but this quiet. this alone that i feel so comfortable with in one instance. can raise the hair upon my neck in gooseflesh. the inward focused gaze becomes vague. misty. filled with illusions and whispers. i can track the path of the sun by the jagged shadows flitting across my vision. harsh lighting. deep darkness.

perhaps i have grown accustomed to my solitude spilling into companionship. two single worlds. orbiting each other. me in mine. he in his. alone and together.

so now our paths are thrown off kilter.

and i find myself more and more in the discomfort of solitude.

alone among friends.

it's a strange place to be.

i'm ready to not be alone.

any time now.

decisions decisions

it's funny how life is.

i was so unhappy as a single. so tired and quiet inside. laughing and bright on the outside. hoping against hope that the act would come true. shedding light with a smile. letting the world and troubles roll off my back. tumbling away from the depths of my black curls.

and yet.

here i am.

not a single.

a half in fact. part of a pair.

and i am happy. before anyone thinks otherwise. let me clarify that one statement.

i. am. happy.

the happiest. not really wanting for anything. my love is full. he is at my side. and i at his. we have carved out our own place. nestled in. fed our roots deep into the world. we aren't shifting from this embrace anytime soon.

and yet.

it is that one pair of words. the "not really" of the statement above. i don't "really" want for anything. oh we all want don't we. want more. more money. more time. more summer. more laughter. more food. more space. more luck. more love.

i don't "really" want for much. but i do find my mind wandering. to the sad single days. when i did have more time. more time for me. though, admittedly that time was ill spent. sulking. or pining. or wishing for what was or could have been.

and here i am. time wasting. sulking. pining. wishing for what was or could have been.

again... i should clarify.

i have ideas. ideals. idols. but i don't fit the molds. i don't fit much these days. these child bearing hips though not in use do find a way to stretch my patience. my coffee skin and chocolate hair seem to call to their kin. until i am more than i was. and still less than i am.

i am a dreamer at heart. i think and think. and i do less and less.

but decisions must be made.

i have all the time in the world.

and so many ideas to release into it.

building blocks..

i wouldn't say i'm desperate for a child.

but my clock is ticking.

and like every other woman i worry that my alarm will go but i'll have hit snooze. i'll miss the bus and my body will decide without me whether i can or can not conceive.

there's a misconception. how apt a phrase. there's a misconception that as soon as you decide upon this course. this baby path. this road to familyness. that you'll be set upon by the stork within hours. that is is not a choice of when you bear the fruit. but how often.

we're bombarded with images of young mothers. too young. too many. throwing away their progeny. of women whose fertility is so strong it defies modern medicines. of women who can as much contain the virility of their bodies as mortals can capture and contain the beams of the moon.

and there are those of us who need to work a little harder. bear the insult of pokes and prods under bright lights with no hint of softness or romance. where our femininity is called up front for judgment. the female mystery laid bare and found wanting.

we go through the motions of normal life. smiling at those fortunate to have a bundle of joy. secretly wishing it was us. we fear our inner monologue is overheard. and our eyes betray our guilt.

we envy a woman in the shop. her child a beacon of our imagined failure. we wander the aisle as though shopping. stalking the lanes for our own image in miniature. we entertain the idea of lifting the squirming smiling creature from her trolley and wandering away with our purchase.

but we'd be caught of course. locked away for 20 years for child napping. no hope for parole because we are guilty. not just for stealing. but of being barren.

our husband comes to visit. the conjugal visits wither and diminish. after all he was only along for the ride. he wasn't ready for the pitter patter of little feet anyway. besides, his new girl is younger and fertile in the event he change his mind in regard to the status of his family minded ways.

"it's okay" we think, as we sign on the dotted line. that nice butch lady in the corner knows someone who can get us a baby once we get out and start a new life together.

before we know it, we've glazed over in the shop. spent 20 years in 20 seconds. and the young mother is nervously watching. seeking the sick desperation in our eyes as we gaze at her child.

so she pushes off from her perch next to the canned goods. in an act of recovery we continue with our line of sight recently vacated by the wide eyed babe. we reach forward and claim a tin of peaches. the young mother looks back. guilt filling her face. as she realizes she has blocked the store with her fertility.

and there it is.

the choking of aisles by both the barren and the burdened.

a standoff between wombs.

but i'm not desperate.

just waiting.

tick.

tock.

tick.

tracks

they say it's not the destination that counts. but the journey.

often we get so caught up in the mode of transport on our journey. we are sidetracked by the vehicle we're traveling in. so enchanted are we, we fail to notice where we're going. or where we've been.

we're distracted by the mod cons of our little floating bubbles. we're too concerned with having enough gadgets to fidget with. to pass the time in a waking coma. we're so obsessed with comfort and ease. we pull the window shade down. we close ourselves off from the glare outside. from the imagined unsavory and unwanted. and all the while the pretty scenery is forgotten.

after a age we think to check our progress. we find our destination is somehow lost. farther than last we thought. our path has circled and converged. wound in tighter circles. and diverted in lazy waves.

so we make up our minds to clear our path. remove the shiny baubles that glint and glimmer. extract ourselves from our comfortable armor. throw back the window shades and set back down the road on foot.

so all the journey step by step.
is felt.
is smelled.
heard.
and seen.

i wouldn't say i've gone off my track.

so much as to say.

i forgot i was traveling.

the silence of marriage

there is a silence that follows a marriage. a quietness that descends upon a couple like a fog kisses the dewy earth. clinging gently. a tangible sigh which caresses the cheek and alights upon the brow.

it is not a heavy silence. it is not ominous or foreboding. it does not sneak in to your waking world with stealth. it does not disrupt your thoughts. it does not wind it's way into your smile. it simply is.

this silence that covers your home like a blanket is soft. a quilted warmth stitched from whispered words of love. filled with the lightness of laughter. and scented like a thousand shared sunsets.

autumnal wandering...

my shoes are greeted by the raspy whispers of wind and fallen leaves. speaking quietly to each other. from the grey and cold. from the pavement. from the tarmac. from the frozen earth which slumbers.

the wake from my stride brings a flurry of conversation. the leaves admonishing my path over and through them. the wind shushing the complaints and soothing the golden blanket back down onto the concrete bed.

i smile as the brisk air caresses my cheeks as my mother used to. brushing my hair gently out of my face. rubbing my forehead. and placing a single kiss upon my hairline.

my eyes are heavy with the season. the almond shapes are full of trees turning red. of dark berries hanging pregnantly from barren trees. of crimson and burgundy ornaments dotting the hedgerows. they are bitter and sour parcels awaiting harvest and sugar to unlock their rich flavor. forgotten now by a generation of children fed by industrial meals and conformity.

i do not have enough space in my arms to save all these riches. i am no budha with the universe in my mouth. but i can keep a photo of them. the knowledge of them. their presence fills my soul and brightens my smile.

i let this truth slip into the air. my lungs force it out. urging the world to know. to wonder. to sleep. to wake.

i walk on.

lists and lists...

from insider...well technically from VGT...

ooh only 22 things i haven't ever eaten... and only about two that i would never eat...

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment here at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

the VGT Omnivore's Hundred:
1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu (kinda, I've had Soju, the Korean version)
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant. (kind of... it was a one-Michelin-star)
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake