I have a text message saved in my phone that reads, "You have no rules." When I first read it, I was a bit offended because I have lived much of my life attempting to follow rules (and my therapists have no doubt been pleased by the amount of money they've made off the resulting messes I made in the attempts). I spend a lot of time debating what I write here. There's a fine line between blogging about life and journaling. I do both, and what ends up here is very much a PG-rated censored version of the purple pleather bound pages in which I scribble my "not good" handwriting. How often, I wonder, do I blur that line? Not much, I know, but I want to do more. The reality is that my life is that of a 33 year old woman trying to balance a job, dreams, dating, and accepting the path that lies ahead. It has meant getting a grip on the damage done in a very bad marriage, going out on some awful dates, mending a few broken hearts, losing sleep to Spanish class homewo

Gather around kiddos, I'm going to teach today. It's time that we discuss appropriate behavior and conversation for a first date. That is, of course, if your plan is to earn a second date. This is fairly simple, and I'm sure that everyone will be able to master this. 1. Please refrain from "trying a new look" on a first date. Showing up with baggy jeans, a large gold cross on a Mr.-T style chain, and ball cap with a hoodie pulled over the top is not acceptable if you are not planning to audition for Jersey Shore or running of to play in the hood after paying the bill. 2. It's not a good idea to accuse your date of releasing a noxious gas from her hind quarters and then telling her that she needs to "pull that opening closed". This is an especially bad idea if the aforementioned date did not, in fact, commit that atrocity. The same is true of accusing her of consuming illegal substances while waiting for you to get arrive. 3. A single beer does not co

No Tengo Nunca Disgusto Con La Noche Anoche, tuve sueno, pero no pude dormir porque las estrellas en el cielo llamaban en la noche. Me levanté lentamente. Tuvo que ver con la cancion de la luna. Nosotros cantamos juntos. Ella tuvo razon, como siempre. Que tendria suerte. ***TRANSLATION*** I Never Disagree With the Night Last night I was tired, but I could not sleep because the stars in the sky called me in the night. I rose slowly. It had to do with the song of the moon. We sang together. She was right, as always. I have been lucky.

I've written so little lately that I fear I can no longer call myself even a pseudo-writer. Life has been busy around these parts, even if my life consists only of myself and my two dogs and the occasional foreigner who crosses my path. So many things have been running around in my head lately, though, and one of them has been the roadblock to writing that seems to linger around me. I had a conversation with my dear Lawrence recently about this and explained to him that what holds me back in my craft is my fear of breaking the rules. Half my friends are killing themselves with laughter and coughing up lungs at that last statement. Let's give them a minute to catch their breath. What I fear is having my name attached to something that goes against the grain of what I've been taught. This is a serious issue to me because much of what I believe and think today very much goes against what I was taught as a child. You've seen the progression here in this blog even though I&#

It's Friday night, and I'm still sitting here in Starbucks after submitting my latest assignment for the graduate course I'm currently taking. The weight of the week is settling in my eyelids, and I have a race in the morning, but I'm not quite ready to go back home and climb into bed. This is one of those moments when I wish the rest of the world operated on my schedule, but it doesn't, so I figured I'd hop on here with a little update because...well...my BFF, the Internet, seems to always be there for me when I need it. I've been really bad about updating the blog, and it's partially because I've been so unbelievably busy trying to tread water at work that I haven't even had the time to run or wash dishes or even write. It's also because I feel the need to pull back a little and share a little less. This applies more to my personal life with my friends, but apparently, the effects are evident here as well. I'm hoping to find a corner of

A few months ago, I asked a friend which three famous people from history he would like to meet--you know, in the event that we discover black holes really are portals for time travel. One of the people he mentioned was the South American poet, Pablo Neruda , because he wanted to ask him how he was able to say "te amo" so easily. The conversation that ensued about the ease of which those words roll off our tongues has been stuck in my head ever since. Like anyone else who has walked through the path of divorce, mine has been a path of self-exploration. I've spent a lot of time in the last year and a half exploring my thoughts and feelings on love and marriage. This path has challenged much of what I used to believe and, at the same, brought me new insights into the exhilaration, comfort, and perils of two people trying to forge a piece of their lives together. What I've discovered is that the words "te amo" tend to roll of my tongue fairly easily, but not al

Here are the photos I contributed to yesterday's merriment in arts. This one represents fire. It is a shot of a theater in Charleston, SC. This is the water at one of my favorite local beaches: Barefoot Beach. This is the trunk of a palm tree at the Naples Botanical Gardens. This is the misty air rolling through the Andes at Machu Picchu in Peru.

If you saw the stacks of week old dirty dishes with fish residue sitting in the sink or the menagerie of student papers to be graded, fast food bags, and clothes I stripped off as I walked in the door last week, you might want to join my grandmother's club and ask me what I was thinking yesterday. Yeah...I'm behind. So what? Yesterday, my dear friend Katelyn hosted her second bi-annual Collaborative Arts Experiment to raise money for our local Arts in Healthcare program. I participated in March and had so much fun that I just HAD TO do it again. Even if it coincided with the start of a new graduate class and interim grades. It also interfered with football, but who's counting? This time I was a little out of my element because I did not write or perform. My creation was finished before the show began. Our theme was interconnectivity and through a lot of discussion, we landed on the idea of creating a web with interconnected items attached to it. Along the way, we added a p

For the last month or so I've been going through a transformation that has resulted in a few changes in my life. For one thing, I've made it a point to go to the beach once a week to just sit alone for an hour. I've also started journaling--old-school style--again and have filled numerous pages with thoughts both random and not so random. The whole point of this is to get in touch with the core of my being so I can make the best possible decisions for my life. I'll be honest with you. Being still is still a challenge. I'm not always comfortable with the thoughts that rumble through my head because they scare me and make me want to judge them. I don't always like that feeling I get when I stumble across a truth for my life that requires a change because I really don't like change. However, I'm getting better at it, and in the process I've discovered some really interesting things. The most obvious is that I NEED that still time more than anything else

I always carry one of my Moleskin writing books with me wherever I go. Since I have several, I tend to just grab whichever is nearest to me. This morning I took the black book I carried with me to Peru. The poems scribbled there made me cry, and I thought I'd share a few of them here. Happy Anniversary Ten years ago today I said, "I do." Two words. A promise that only young fools think they can keep for a lifetime. And it rained... so hard that my hair curled and my mascara slid beneath my eyes-- black tracks. And we laughed in front of your father's camera that we filled with memories in black and white. And we didn't know what waited for us behind the veil of years. The secrets hiding in hotel rooms. The animosity lurking in our hidden losses. And how we've changed. I woke this morning in another world and sat by the other ocean. Alone. Strong. Independent. I found my voice in Spanish. And if I could go back Ten years I'd do it again--the same, because i

Well, now. The school year has been back in full swing for two weeks now, and we've all survived to enjoy our first long weekend. Everyone keeps asking about how it feels to be back at work and wonders about the behavior of my students. I switched to a different department this year, and so far I am happy with it. I'll spare the details because they aren't interesting at all to anyone who doesn't teach (and only minutely interesting to my fellow educators). If you know me, you know that teaching in the public school system was never in my plan for my life. However, there's no doubt in my mind that I was destined to do this for whatever limited time I give to it. I taught seventh grade for four years, and I it was an extremely healing experience for me. Many things that happened and conversations that occurred helped me soothe the wounds that I incurred during my own seventh grade year. Wounds that followed me well into adult hood. I've always said that I needed

I suppose it's finally time to admit that summer is over. After all, I've been back in the trenches of work for a week now. Late leisurely mornings, fridge raiding, and untimed bathroom breaks are well behind me. Before me are lesson plans, essay scoring, and more than a few "This is boring!"s. Madre de Dios, the dawn of a new school year is fabulous! Hence, the prose. I'm feeling a bit guilty, though, that I didn't exactly keep my promise to chronicle my summer through poetry. Oh, if I could show you the pages of my traveling writer's journal, you could see that I did write a lot. Yes, I wrote. A lot. I think this could be called the "Summer of Writing." It's like I finally found my voice again, and along the way I've discovered some very important truths about my craft. True writing is fluid and never ending, and much of what has made it from my head to paper is still in fragment form, like a soul waiting to for a body. You might be sur

Prepared we were not to cross Captain Jack's path late in the summer of ten, with the sun bearing down as we wandered the town where the Koreshans once lived. But he nodded. We smiled and went on our way, rolling it all in our heads. We giggled and talked and suddenly stopped to turn back and run after him. You see love for a pirate and sailing the seas rest deep in a gypsy girl's soul, where she dreams of the day he will take her away to find a new place in the world. So we followed his swagger as he wound through the woods and stopped to take in the sights. You know when chance comes to call you must answer with all because sometimes she doesn't seek twice. There we tracked Captain Jack on the seashell lined path and dreamed of the life that he lived With his swashbuckling ways that man made our day late in the summer of ten. You know love for a pirate and an adventurer's life lie deep in a gypsy girl's soul, where she dreams of the world she has yet to explore an

I am a work of art. Que linda! Hair that curls wildly in misty ocean air. Azure eyes the color of the sky in summer. Hips that cast slithering shadows in the moonlight. I am an impossible cause. Que unica! A restless spirit that longs to roam. A wish on a star falling from the moonless sky. In the magical place where hope and imagination collide.

I want to slip into my skin... stitch it up feel it pressed against my bones and stretched across my ligaments. Where I can explore and examine... what it knows what it holds within memories of me and the stories that it's told. It seems that I've forgotten the wishes and feelings that once stirred beneath my flesh and danced within my dreams. Can I find them again... if I walk around in my skin stretched across my shell of a skeleton and touch with my own feet and touch with my own hands what I cannot touch in the dark?

Now that I'm officially home and feeling the exhaustion of the last two weeks seep out of my veins and into the corners of my eyes, I'm thinking about my trip to Peru. Peru is a phenomenal place, and the people there are wonderful. It's hard to put the experience into just a few words, but I figured I would try with a top ten list. So here goes (in no particular order)... 10. The look on the receptionist's face when I told him I had been eating the menu el dia while in Peru (and not knowing what I ate for lunch one day). 9. Discovering that I can carry on a conversation in Spanish (with a few "no se como decir in espanol...un momento, por favor" requests thrown in) and being told that I speak Spanish like a Spaniard. 8. Writing on the balcony of my hotel room with a view of the Andes and the Urubama River as accompaniment. 7. Sitting on the steps of the Lima Cathedral and watching World Cup games with the Peruvians in the Plaza Mayor in Centro Lima. 6. Walking

Dejé mi diccionario en mi carro en los estados unidos. Y ahora no recuerdo como decir "leave" en espanol. Yo se esta palabra. Te prometo. Yo se la. Pero no la recuerdo ahora cuando necisito la usar. ***translation*** I left my dictionary. in my car in the United States. And now I cannot remember how to say "leave" in Spanish. I know the word. I promise you. I know it. But I cannot remember it now when I need to use it.

Do you see the way the wrinkles crease the corners of my mouth? Did you catch the edges raise into an imperfect, crescent--flesh colored? Can you find the light that sparkles and twinkles as it dances in my eyes? I swallowed a secret. It's mine. I'd like to share it with you, but I can't. I swallowed a secret. It's mine.

I want to be free of mistrust that shackles the heart and judgments that bind the soul. I want to explore and embrace what this life has to give me and follow the path that unfolds. I want to bask in my bliss, in my wonder of life and the beauty that is who I am. I want to be true to the me in the core of my depths that no one seems to understand.

Summer vacation has officially begun, and I was thinking today about how dangerous this unrestricted time can be. It will be a busy summer this year, filled with at least one trip out of the country, a rollercoaster weekend, another artists' retreat, Spanish class, rockstar photos, lots of writing, and a new running regimen. Oh, and my University of Florida graduate class. I've recently fallen for my first love all over again. Poetry. I'm reading it, writing it, listening to it, and talking about it. In English and Spanish. Ah. With that in mind, my plan this summer is to chronicle my days through poetry. We'll see how this turns out.

"This is my dream, and I'll decide where it goes from here." This is one of my favorite lines from the movie, "Alice in Wonderland." I finally saw it this afternoon, and it resonated with me. Actually, much of what's happened to me in the last week has resonated with me like this. It's exciting...and a bit frustrating. It's no secret that I've been ensconced in the Spanish language lately. My Peru trip has necessitated this. For the last six months, I have watched many, many movies in Spanish, listened to a lot of Spanish music, and tried to communicate in the language whenever possible. I know that every other word out of my mouth has been related to Spanish. I get it. I was out on the lawn mower this afternoon listening to "Como Lo Tienes Tu" and thinking about some of the comments I've heard lately about my entertainment habits. Seriously, why does anyone care what I do in my spare time? However, in the middle of my internal rant

Sunday night, after the sun set, I found myself in my front yard with Winnipeg. Something snapped under my feet, and I started running as fast as I could...wearing flip flops. And it felt so good to feel my legs push my body forward as my feet touched and lifted off the ground. My lungs filled with air. Good air that they have been craving. I felt like I was flying. Dogs are the perfect companion for such random moments, and she jumped right into the game. She's a faster runner than I am, and she can be a bit frightening to watch barreling forward because you think she won't stop. But she usually does. I'm still smiling at the thought of me and my dog running like maniacs in the front yard. As fast as we could. And laughing loudly. And not caring who might have seen it. Feet touch ground. Lift off. Pushes me forward. Flying. Lungs fill with air. Exhale. Pushes me forward. Satiated. Legs jump in the night. Dodges. Pushes me forward. Delight. Here there is no finish line. We

The Nature of Love. They were the truest words I ever spoke. I love you, now and for always not because we are one ...together, but because you're you and I am me. This was our moment. It was beautiful. It is beautiful. It will always be. (c) 2010 Waking Up * Lo siento. No entiendo. Las estrellas estan en el cielo, pero quiero ocultar mi cara de ellos . Las olas bailan en el mar, pero quiero correr antes ellos cogerme. Todo acerca de mi es vida. pero siento un poco de muerte. (c) 2010 *Here's the translation... I'm sorry. I don't understand. The stars are in the sky, but I want to hide my face from them. The waves dance in the sea, but I want to run before they catch me. All around me is life, but I feel a little death.

I've been in a bit of a funk lately. Life seems to have caught up with me, and my usual optimism has been completely veiled by morose expressions and quick displays of frustrations. I think all I seem to say to people right now is, "I'm sorry. Ignore me. I have to work through this." For four weeks, now, I've been sick with food poisoning, a cold, and some chest funk that WON'T GO AWAY. I can't run, and I so need to run. I can't sleep at night. Throw into that mix a breakup and a few unfortunate and quirky dates that have me wondering if there really are any decent men left. Let me enjoy the darkness and solitude of the bottom for a bit. I'm restless and irritable here, but I'm here nonetheless. Yesterday, while driving home along US27, I stopped on the side of the road to take some pictures. I've eyed this spot each time I've passed, and I finally stopped because I needed to do something a bit spontaneous. (And let's just say that

During lunch today, my friend and I were discussing the current economic and social issues facing Europe right now. It was a rather in-depth conversation for two Americans, but we're both very interested in different cultures. She even lived in Spain for a year in college and started her teaching career there. (She is also my biggest supporter for the idea of moving abroad for a few years.) I've listened to many of her stories and been completely enthralled by her adventures through Spain and Mexico. I'll be honest, I'm even a bit jealous. She lived the kind of life I wish I had lived (and deliberately gave up for what I thought would be marriage and a family). I certainly didn't choose a path in life that would have allowed for that ten years ago. This rumbled through my head as she told me today that she doesn't regret any of those adventures and that they make her more appreciative of her time now. "Naples has nothing more exciting to offer me than where

I went to the beach yesterday with a friend. He is going home for a visit with his family and friends and, like everyone who spends time in Florida, wants to show off a golden tan. We headed out around 6:00 and enjoyed the Gulf breeze, setting sun, and European pop music. I'm not sure whether I think sunrise or sunset is more magical. They both certainly have their merits, but I am much more familiar with the nuances of the sunset. I know how the light shifts ever so subtly from bright, blinding white to gentle golden followed by soft rose and into darkness. My friend had never seen the sunset over the sea, and I was really excited about the chance to see it with him. Of course, I also had no idea what to expect because he's a guy, and I can count on one hand the number of men I know who actually consider the sunset a form of entertainment. This one is different, though. We sat on our beach towels side by side, mirror images of each other. Legs pulled to chest and wrapped with

If there's one striking characteristic about me, it's the fact that I can be...well...a bit obsessive about things I like. I tend to operate in two modes: all or nothing. My parents and siblings know this all too well. When Amy Grant's "Lead Me On" album came out in 1988, I forced them to listen to the song "Saved by Love" over and over despite the fact that doing so meant I had to rewind the cassette tape each time. I think it was more than a year before I listened to any of the other songs on the album. Some things never change. I still find myself getting stuck on a single song and playing it over and over. (The creators of the iPod had no idea what the repeat feature would one day mean for me!) I mentioned the Spanish group Lori Meyers in my last post, and I cannot over emphasize how much I love their music. From the moment I heard the first chord of one of their songs, I knew I had found my soul's music. All week I've listened to their song,

I spent a few nights this week searching for flights to Europe. Pearl Jam is playing there this summer, and it seemed like a really great idea to fly over for a few days to be part of a music festival. I mean, that's right up there at the top of everyone's priority list, right? I'll actually be in Peru for the bulk of PJ's European tour, and the three dates that would work for me are in Bilboa (Spain), Venice (Italy), and Lison (Portugal). That trip isn't going to happen (even I won't pay the kind of money it will take), but in the process I discovered some new music groups: Lori Meyers and Amaral . Both are from Spain, and both are fantastic. (The Spaniard also introduced me to some great ear candy: Amy MacDonald .) Unfortunately, finding music that is popular in Europe isn't always easy here in the states. I did buy a Lori Meyers CD from an Amazon seller. iTunes doesn't carry anything. In the frustrating process, though, I did discover a gem of site:

Nadia and I were chatting on the phone this afternoon, and I shared with her one of the great realizations I had this week. I will never be able to hear the way English sounds to a non-speaker. Never. Nunca. Jamás. Like usual, Nadia laughed at both the thought of the idea and the fact that I'm a little sad about this. She tried to give me examples from other languages and even offered to have her mom tell me what it's like. Yet, not even that will fix this problem. The point is that I will never be able to hear with my own ears the sounds of English as a foreign language. Sigh. So I wonder how I would react to it. Would I laugh? Would I cringe? Would I tune out the sounds of morphemes and phonemes? Would I fall in love with it just because it was different from what I already know? Thinking about this now makes my brain feel the same as it does when I try to imagine the size of the universe or the infinity of time. I know it's there. I want to understand it. I hate that it&

I'm supposed to be writing now. When I told a friend of mine about my three business ideas, he asked, "What about the writing?" I shared this with someone else who asked what's holding me back from writing. He proceeded to tell me that if writing is my gift, I have an obligation to share it with the world. I mentioned to another friend the fear that holds me back from writing, and his response was, "That's bullshit. Your abilities are not up for debate." Today was a rainy day, and it was perfect for sitting in my pajamas with some coffee or wine and exploring the world of my characters and what I want to say about life. It was interrupted by some rollerskating and quick outlet shopping, but I did manage to get back into the pjs. I'm supposed to be writing now. I tried. I started putting together a short story called "Spanish Tortilla", but the words argued that they should be an essay instead of a short story, and I just couldn't handle

Ah, Peru! The countdown has started. There are 8 weeks left in the school year, and 11 days later, I will step on the ground in the southern hemisphere. My friends and family routinely remind me about how dangerous this trip is. I've heard more horror stories about Peru than I could have imagined. Apparently, everyone knows someone who has lived in Peru and has made it very clear to my friends and family that I am crazy for even considering a solo vacation there. It's like women who love to share with newly pregnant women their labor stories about how they almost died in the delivery room. Or the woman who, in 2006, adamantly insisted that the spider bite on my leg meant that I would surely lose my leg to flesh-eating bacteria. I suppose I should confess that my right is artificial because that's the only possible result of a spider bite, right? No es verdad. My major concern about traveling alone to Peru is language. I studied Spanish in college (and was even begged by my

Sigh. It's Friday night, and I'm freaking out just a bit. Do you remember when I mentioned the ridiculously itchy skin ? I'm afraid it might be an allergic reaction to hair dye. If you know me well, you know just how devastating this news might be. I like to color my hair. My friends often joke that no one knows for sure what my natural hair color is or if I really have gray hair or not. Yeah, I color it that often. This is bad. Before I launch into a completely neurotic frame of mind that will land me in my stylist's chair to strip the color out of my hair and buy a lifetime supply of PPD-free hair color, I will point out that I do tend to get side-tracked very easily by what ifs . What I'm feeling right now could just as easily be a sympathetic reaction to seeing my co-worker break out in hives today. It could also be chalked up to too much time on the Internet reading hair dye allergy stories and not enough time doing laundry tonight. Nonetheless, my mind is raci

Have I ever mentioned the dream I had a few years ago in which one of my dearest friends and I sat on a couch snuggled under a hand-crocheted afghan eating ravioli out of cans and watching cartoons on t.v.? That particular dream scene has been etched into my memory for nearly three years now. I find myself thinking about it from time to time. To me, it represents the ultimate in comfort. The life-long friendship. The hand-made blanket. The comfort food. There's a peace there that warms me, even in my memory. I'm thinking about it this morning. Obviously. I spent yesterday afternoon with a friend of mine who is from Spain. At one point we ended up talking about Saved by the Bell and how we used to watch it after school and tried to mimic the hair and clothing styles from the show. Who would have thought that separated by the Atlantic Ocean, we each shared an experience that would years later create a bond? Shall we all salute Zach Morris now? I pulled out some photographs from h

Yesterday I drove to Orlando so my dad could take care of my tax return for me. I also stopped by to see my friend, Sarah, at her new gym. Sarah has recently started taking pole dancing classes. I have been intrigued, especially after hearing her for weeks rave about these classes and how she feels while taking them. She's thrown out words like, "Alli, I've never felt sexier" and "I climbed a 16-foot pole tonight" (said with the same enthusiasm I will expect to hear after she climbs Mt. Kilimanjaro.) How could I not want to know more about this? I walked through the well-covered door of Vixen Fitness in Orlando and was greeted with deliciously feminine pink walls and a dimly lit room lined with two rows of shiny silver poles. Everything about this place screams, "GIRL!" and for the first time in my life, I think I felt completely comfortable with that. The class itself was enjoyable and challenging in ways I never dreamed imaginable. I wasn't

I had a personal epiphany this week. I'm desperately afraid of having nothing to do. This is why I keep myself ridiculously busy and why I procrastinate. Yep, in the back of my mind, knowing that there's a sink full of dishes to do just in case I can't get in to see a movie is a bit comforting. So I always like to have a sink full of dirty dishes waiting for me. The only reason I'm mentioning this is because I think it's affected my creativity. I was talking with a friend of mine earlier this week about the three historical people we would go back in time to meet. (In case you're wondering, my response was Mozart (to party with him), Jesus, and Thomas Jefferson...in no particular order.) His response (including Adam so he could find out what it was like to be created instead of born) blew me away. I felt completely inadequate. Party with Mozart?!? What was I thinking? There are so many deep, philosophical ideas to explore...and I chose PARTY WITH MOZART? As I th

The first day of spring break is nearing it's end, and I'm exhausted. This is the way I usually feel about this time on a Monday night, but I didn't wake at 4:45 this morning and wrangle with teenagers for 8 hours. I mean, nothing is more exhausting than that, right? Apparently, driving for 4 hours to meet your teen hero is just as tiring. I found out yesterday that Amy Grant was going to be in Brandon today signing autographs. Everyone who knows me knew that even my muddy road and pouring rain wouldn't keep me away from this. There are three people in this world who I would risk the dangers of old people driving on the interstate in Sarasota to meet. She's one of them (followed by Eddie Vedder and Glenn Beck). It was a fun day. In line I talked to a woman about the silly things we did to imitate Amy as teenagers. She tried a perm. I made my own leopard print jacket. We agreed that Lead Me On is still her best album and learned how to operate each other's camera

This is a contemplative morning for me, and there's a lot rumbling around in my head. I'm not at work today because I am finally going in to see the doctor about this itchy skin. I've spent the morning correcting papers and listening to Led Zeppelin. Does it really get any better than that? For the last few days, I've had an idea for a poem floating around in my head. (Monday morning, I scribbled the opening lines on an index card right in the middle of teaching a lesson on the dangers of living in Alaska.) I think it finally came together this morning, and I'll be honest with you. I don't normally have much an emotional reaction to my own writing, but this one brought tears to my eyes. Part of me feels like I haven't done the concept here the justice it deserves, and there's always the chance that I'll elaborate a bit more. For now, though, I need to share this. My kindred, is it enough to know you're part of the world that we'll

Me: Why do you think people choose to live or camp in Alaska? Student: Because they want to have fun there. Me: What do you think people do for fun in Alaska? Student: Play with bears. Tutor: What kind of game do you play with bears, hide and seek? Me: I think it's more like Tag.

I remember the days when poetry used to ooze from my veins. I could think of whatever moment I wanted to capture and turn it into lines of metaphors and alliteration. What happened? I think it has something to do with way too much going on at work and the fact that Spanish seems to be overtaking my brain these days. (Seriously, I'm answering people in Spanish.) My art group met tonight, and I shared what random lines and ideas I had. I felt so vulnerable there, offering my meager contributions to the group. Fortunately, I was in the company of artists who were so accepting and encouraging, and I needed that camaraderie. I think I also needed half a bottle of Australian cab and a few tostones. Although I'm sure this poem is nowhere near finished, and I will tweak it some more between tonight and our meeting at the BEACH tomorrow evening for some sunset filming, I will share here what I have. The first voice is the boat captain (el capitan de barco). The second is a woman. He gav

I just got back from a planning meeting for my Collaborative Arts Experiment group. This is a project put together by my friend (and hair genius), Katelyn. Basically, a group of artists from different media are placed in a group, given a prompt, and must put together some form of multi-media presentation. All this must be done in a week. My group consists of a visual artist, three writers, and two dancers. Our prompt is, "This is the story of two outsiders who find common ground when..." Then we have a list of random concepts/objects that should be embedded in the presentation. We toyed around tonight with some ideas and seem to have landed on a rough idea that involves poetry in different voices, conceptual dance, and sound/light. At the moment, our two outsiders are loosely based on my vignette "El Capitan de Barco" from the "La Isla Encontrada" book. I think I am going to turn the scene into a poem that captures the two people and what connects them, an

I've been setting in motion the wheels for my transition out of public education and into my true call in life: writing. It's not been a particularly easy (or quick) move for me. In fact, the main reason I decided to start teaching was because I thought that the hours would give me time to write. That was seven years ago. During that time I've done my fair share of editing and freelance work. I've even published a short story and almost finished the manuscript for a trade book. I have notebooks here filled with all sorts of ideas and outlines. The problem is that I don't always believe in my own talent and want everything completely perfect before sharing it with the world. Since the divorce, though, I've found myself oddly comfortable in my own skin. I'm standing up for myself more and have embraced the all important question, "What do YOU want?" The answer has been slowly emerging, rising to the surface of the still waters that run so deep in my

Me: I've been listening to music in Spanish lately to train my ear to pick up the language. Alicia: How's that working? Me: Estoy practicando espanol porque voy al Peru en Junio. Alicia: How do you say "dork" in Spanish? Rachel: Allison

As usual, it's been a busy week around these parts, and none of my activities this week involved running. If my grandmother could hear at the moment and complete a sentence without hacking up a lung, she'd ask me what's wrong. I'd have to confess that my eczema has flared up in this oh-so-cold-there's-ice-on-my-car south Florida weather, and my skin is so itchy that I have bruises up and down my limbs from all the scratching I've been doing. There are some days I'm relieved to know men with calloused hands. (Before you take that last comment too seriously, remind yourself that I am writing this at 9:30 on a Friday night.) Anyway... I met up for coffee with someone last night who proved to stoke my creative juices. I'll spare you the details of the conversation, but I did have to stop him mid sentence to point out that that particular conversation will most definitely become part of "La Isla Encontrada." Fortunately, he agreed to it, and I fully

I had an interesting (yet brief) conversation last night about the meaning of life which took an winding path through the concept of existentialism and Christian faith. It ended with the realization that there must be some meaning because without it, everything is pure coincidence. One look at the night sky puts the entire notion of coincidence in this world to rest. In the process, I attempted to explain some of my belief system which is very different, in many ways, from the faith I was introduced to as a child. It has certainly evolved through the heartache and challenges and joys of my life in this world. Most people don't get what I try to explain, and I'll be honest...it's not easy for me to explain. My faith is completely experiential. As such, the words don't always come easily. I'm not even sure I can explain it here, but those who know me best seem to understand what I cannot describe. In the end, that's okay with me because it's all part of that p

Last night I drifted with the stars. I wanted to hear their dark and soulful songs. I wished upon them as morning neared. Their mystery charged my restless spirit. Today I walked along the rails. I want to ride a train to anywhere. I'll follow the tracks where they choose to roam. The trail winds up where it needs to go. Tomorrow I'll wander the desolate shore. I want to see just what unfolds. I'll jump in where I find my peace. The waves will lead to untold possibilities.

My cell phone alarm went off at 4:15 yesterday morning just before my dear friend, Jen, came barreling through the door to her guest room and jumped on the bed. With me in it. It was time to make final preparations for our half-marathon. We dressed in layers, mixed our electrolyte drinks, and slammed down some coffee as we waited for the ice to thaw on the windshield. It was cold...so cold, in fact, that my toes were completely numb and I could not feel my ass. I was so glad I had not shaved my legs for a few days because I needed every last bit of extra layering I could get. I had no idea what to expect. This was not only my first half-marathon; it was also the longest distance I had ever run. My longest run has been 6.2 miles. A half-marathon is 13.1 miles. That's a huge distance in the running world. I had fully intended to complete a 10 mile run like my training schedule listed, but life got in the way, and it just never happened. But I'm a woman of my word, and I said I ru

This is my life...it's not what it was before...all of these feelings I've shared...and these are my dreams...that I'd never lived before... I'm stealing a few minutes here to share my thoughts on what has been a beautiful week. I turned 33 Tuesday, and like the other milestones I've reached in the last 9 months, it was different. Now that we're here...so far away...all the struggle we thought was in vain...all the mistakes...one life contained...they all finally start to go away Countless text and Facebook messages. A birthday song from my students. Hand-made gifts. Birthday songs from my nephews (including one about how I'm the best aunt in the world). A phone call from one of my favorite people who mentioned my "beautiful blue eyes". The most amazing hot shower after almost a week of ice cold sponge baths. Enchilada gravy with tortilla chips. Now that we're here...so far away...and I feel like I can face the day...I can forgive...and I'm

I think I'm going to write tonight. Some new ideas have been swirling around my head, working their way into words. I've been carrying around my delightful red Moleskin notebook from the artist retreat weekend, sure that at some point the words will finally emerge. This might be their time. I think I've mentioned the book I've been working on: "La Isla Encontrada" (The Found Island). The theme is loss and how people deal with it told through a series of vignettes. I explained this to my father last night and he said it sounded a lot like The Canterbury Tales . It most definitely is. These people are all emotional pilgrims, searching for a sense of meaning in their worlds. What I like best about the concept is that each person's story is told through the lens of someone else. I'm intrigued by the idea of seeing loss in a life filtered through a third-party's eye. So far, I have completed half of the boat captain's story and have started the Cuba

The week before Christmas (when I was supposed to be finishing my limited Christmas shopping), my friend, Liz, wanted to go roller skating. Let's face it...when faced with the decision to check off the to-do list or have some spontaneous fun, the only responsible thing to do is toss the to-do list in the nearest gas station trash can. So we went rollerskating. And had a blast. This has turned into somewhat of a regular ritual now, and I think the current plan is to go once a month to the local rink. Rollerskating as an adult is a bit different than when I was a kid. For one thing, I'm one of the only two adults there without a child also rolling around the wood floor. It's also about 20% actually skating and 80% dodging children who range from those doing tricks on the rink and those desperately trying to keep themselves upright. I also have found that the next day my hips ache a little more than they used to. The scary part is that I've turned into my mother out there.

It's been an exciting Saturday here in southwest Florida that started at 7:00 a.m. with me in the kitchen baking hashbrown casserole and baked ziti. Yep, the woman who has been known to bring a can of black olives for lunch because she had nothing left in the house that didn't have to be cooked turned on the oven this morning. I chopped and poured and shredded while wearing my pajamas and sipping my coffee. You don't understand how rare this moment of domestication was for me. I've quickly evolved into a single woman who eats microwaveable food and washes the dishes only when she runs out of coffee cups. (Sadly, I've actually re-used a coffee cup or two just to stretch the dishwashing schedule.) Nonetheless, I had a baby shower brunch to attend and needed a freeze-able casserole to leave behind for the family. If the fact that I actually cooked this morning wasn't odd enough, let me point out that I mentioned a BABY SHOWER on a Saturday before I had any wine to

Can you stand another travel-themed extended metaphor? Not that it matters, really, because I'm going to share one anyway. I was talking with a friend of mine earlier about some frustrations we're both having with our positions in life. We're both caught in the limbo-land of not being where we really want to be, but also accepting that life hands you what it hands you. This is an interesting blend of living moment by moment with a peripheral view of the future...that age-old head vs. heart problem. I have a really great opportunity right now that is not really in line with what I want to do with my life. As I shared this, my friend asked, "I thought you wanted to write full-time." I do. There's no doubt about that. I want to wake each morning completely aware of the wonders of life around me, to feel gratitude for my small part in the grand scheme of the universe, and share these insights with the world. That's my dream. His response to that was, "Wel

I mentioned on my Twitter page that I would post my running routine here, so you can certainly stop reading now if you're not the least bit interested in what I do on the treadmill. (There's not much reason to post about my road runs; they're pretty straight forward...keep pounding the pavement.) Keep in mind that I'm still technically a beginning runner and am looking for what works for me. So here goes... 1/15/10 Treadmill Run .5 miles @ 5.5 - 0 incline .25 miles @ 5.0 - 1 incline .25 miles @ 4.0 - 2 incline .25 miles @ 3.5 - 3 incline .25 miles @ 4.5 - 4 incline .25 miles @ 3.5 - 5 incline .25 miles @ 4.0 - 4 incline .25 miles @ 3.5 - 3 incline .25 miles @ 5.0 - 2 incline .25 miles @ 3.5 - 1 incline .5 miles @ 4.5 - 1 incline .25 miles @ 3.5 - 7 incline .5 miles @ 5.0 - o incline .25 miles @ whatever I felt like - 0 incline So there you have it. It was a good workout, and there is no doubt in my mind that no man will ever try to pick me up when I'm running like

On the final leg of my Christmas trip, I stopped at Jen and Dan's house in Ocala. It was a nice, half-way point where I could get some quick sleep in a real bed and dish a bit with Jen before heading back to pick up the dog from the kennel. My original plan called for an 8 o'clock arrival, which would have given us plenty of time to see each other. However, I really have no concept of time and left South Carolina three hours later than I intended. In the grand scheme of things, I figured that twenty years from now, I would rather have the memories of a few more hours with my 83 year old grandmother than my 31 year old friend. While driving along US301 in south Georgia, watching the clock move closer and closer to midnight and updating Jen with a later and later ETA, my guilt took over. I still stand by my earlier decision, but I also had a difficult time accepting the fact that I would not be in Ocala when I said I would. As a result, I finally agreed to run the Five Points o

Someone recently told me that I have an impulsive streak. ("Just an observation, not a criticism.") My initial reaction was to vehemently deny that statement despite the fact that I had just confessed to walking into Total Wine and buying $200 worth of wine just because it seemed like a good idea at 11:00 on a Thursday morning. Me? Impulsive? Don't answer that, especially if you know the truth. I shared this with my therapist yesterday and his eyes lit up when I said, "I think I have a restless soul." The fact that his eyes lit up is significant since we spend most of my sessions arguing with each other about ideas like whether or not a book he recommended is filled with psychobabble bullsh*t or why I should do a bit more thinking with my heart instead of my head. For once, he agreed with me and quickly pointed out that this is not necessarily a bad trait. In fact, it's what stirs my needs to explore and to write. It's also the reason why I don't, by