My Grandpa

My grandpa.

A man of infinite zoological knowledge, a professor.

A man of baseball-like muscles and skinny legs, a hard worker.

A man of laugh-lines and “sweethearts”, a loving spirit.

My grandfather’s memory is quickly fading away. His mind comes and goes, like an unpredictable tide. Waves, lapping at his brain, tickling his conscious. 

I took care of him today: a ride to the dentist, a hug, a microwaved meal, a watchful eye. 

“Don’t make me a liar,” I said, eyebrows raised. “I don’t want to have to pretend that you took a good nap when you didn’t.”

He laughed, hands in front of him, raised in surrender. 

“You’re a good girl. I wouldn’t make you do that,” he chuckled. I turned back to the sink, rinsing our dishes for grandma. 

“I remember when you graduated from school,” I smiled at the water running over the porcelain, sure he couldn’t.

His voice was serious now, desperate to convey his sincerity. “I can’t remember the other kids, but I remember yours. You’re the one that matters.”

I looked up at him, his back curled inwards, one hand on his chest, one steadying his shaky body. His eyes were filling with tears.

I dashed over to him and wrapped my arms around his thin shoulders. His glasses clawed me from within his chest pocket, as they alway had. That little bite I had braced myself for a thousand times.

I thought of the first memory I possess of my grandfather, his speech at my baptism. I don’t remember the day, I don’t remember anything but his voice and the tears that poured from his eyes. He had shared the story of my birth, how he had fought a cancer I’d never known about, battled it just to see me come into the world. He’d won, he was there. He blessed me and taught me as I grew. I was the little one he’d fought for, I was the one he held onto now, when others ebbed from him mind. 

I smiled at him, and told him I wouldn’t tell that I was his favorite, if he wouldn’t tell that  he was mine.

I will mean it long after he forgets, because he fought for me, and he won. 

xxx.

Your Ghost

Last week I drove up to Logan to meet up with my friend, Russ. We explored an incredible abandoned factory full of creepy rooms, old machinery, graffiti, and swallows. Russ makes beautiful short films, and I was fortunate enough to be his subject in this one. 

xxx. 

Villain/Victim

(an excerpt from a memoir intro)

We believe that we are the heroes of our own story. The plot revolves around us, the protagonist, and we choose a cast of friends and family to fill smaller, supporting roles. We may cast a friend as the sidekick, our mother as a guide, or our significant other as the romantic lead. We may even cast those who hurt us as villains, and ourselves as their victim. We judge their performances, their decisions and their actions in relation to ourselves. We often forget that each person that we bring into our story is casting us as well. Sometimes they cast us more accurately than we cast ourselves,

And sometimes we’re not the heroes. 

xxx.

TM&TF

This is a very special piece that I wrote for my creative non-fiction class this semester about an incredible local show I went to in November. I would highly suggest listening to “Makers” and “How We Woke Up” while you read this. Of course, I would also suggest that you then order the album, because its great. Photos from the evening can be found on my photography blog.

Jumping In

The first post of a new blog always feels a little bit like jumping into a pool. I'm not quite sure what to expect, but I'm in my suit and the water looks good. xxx.

Skin

I like to look at my legs splayed out over my white comforter in the faint light of my closet. 

Skin is a miraculous thing.

Skin is not shiny, not completely matte. It glows in soft light, radiating life. It molds to our bodies, our expressions, allowing our emotions to translate into something tangible.

Skin is warm, it allows the life that it holds to radiate from within it, adding that living heat to everything it comes in contact with. It transfers energy with each embrace.

Skin is soft. Whether it is the fragile, fuzzy head of a baby or the soft wrinkles of the ancient, skin feels like nothing else on earth. When our skin greets another’s it is incomparable.

Skin is a barrier. It protects us from the harmful things of the world. It heals itself. It clings to us with determined dedication. It guards every inch of us, resisting the constant abuse of the elements.

Our skin is an incredible thing. 

xxx.

Time

I know someday I’ll regret the time I’m wasting now, as much as I now regret the time I wasted then. 

xxx.

Past

You trail me like a smoke ballon. Unless I am dashing forward you move in to crown me in unpleasant memories, blocking my sight and my way forward. 

I wonder if I will ever clear you away. I wave my arms wildly around my head, my hands pass through you. I wonder if escaping the past is always this much work. 

xxx. 

Two Rides//

A laugh of surprise escapes me as I begin to pedal up the hill. I am somewhere between a grimace and a grin, forcing my legs to push me towards the top. I have forgotten how difficult riding a bike can be. My knees moan and my thighs screech, but it is worth the ache to enjoy the thrill of an uncommonly bright spring day. I have reached the crest of the hill and my gritted teeth relax into a cry of triumph. I stand on my pedals and glide effortlessly down the side of the hill, wicker basket rattling on my handlebars. Freedom! Warm air fills my lungs and pulls my hair from my face. 

//

I stifle a sob and blink back the tears blurring my vision. The street lamps lining the road seem to be melting, shooting stars leaving earth, heaven bound. An appropriately melancholy song crackles from the radio, crooning through the darkness. I reach my street and turn into my driveway, relieved. I immediately pull to a stop and silence my engine, granting the stereo a few extra moments of life. I slouch forward my head resting on the steering wheel, hands hanging between my knees. I close my eyes and realize that my momentary frustration is unnecessary and unwarranted. Come on, it’s fine. I sit back against the seat and sigh loudly, twisting the key. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and heave the groceries off of the passenger’s seat.

xxx.

The Pass

I threw the door open, allowing the snow swirling past our car to plunge into it, slapping my face and sticking to the car seat. I steadied myself against the dashboard and climbed slowly out into the darkness. My feet darted away from me, sliding on the icy asphalt. My legs wobbled under me like a newborn foal, awkward and unstable. I braced myself against the top of the car and began to make my way slowly toward the trunk. I laughed wildly at the absurdity of the situation as the wind rushed past me, blowing enormous drifts against the pine trees that surrounded me. Snow-covered cars trailed behind us through the black forest in a seemingly endless chain of light. I could see their windshield wipers swiping fruitlessly at the oncoming snow, their headlights glaring resolutely through the storm, ready to move forward towards the valley. The mountain was screaming at us to turn back, bellowing that our chain-wrapped tires were no match for it’s storm.  My hair twisted wildly around my head, obscuring my vision. I pushed it away and went to work clearing snow from our rear window with an old shoe. My right foot slipped suddenly forward and I fell against the car, clinging to the trunk with one arm to avoid slipping beneath the car. I pulled myself up, heart pounding. Finishing my work I turned to peer through the misty darkness at our modern-day wagon train. Through the swirling blustery darkness I could see a few men roaming between cars, clearing away windows or checking tires, heads tucked into hoods. I turned away from our followers and looked forward at the floating red tail lights ahead of me. I pushed off of the car and slid forward, down the incline of the mountain to catch the passenger side door and fling myself inside. 

xxx.

Home//

Home is my dog on the end of my bed, snoring. 

Home is the familiar way light is cast against my picture frames.

Home is the sound of my parents’ bathroom drawer opening, through the wall.

Home is the ability to drink from the tap.

xxx.

Diablo

Spindly black trees, covered in moss, pierced the fog as our car climbed. We had entered the thick layer of clouds that blanketed Mount Diablo’s summit. The road, the valley, the beautifully haunting trees- all were swallowed by the misty gray. 

xxx.