I have decided to start a project called Poetic Polaroids.  Much like those classic photos, these poems are instant snap- shots of moments in time.  Raw.  Unposed.  Entirely candid.  Unedited.

I want to bleed for you
Tear my clothes and grieve for you
Pull my hair and scream for you

I am the listener of your nightmares
I am the keeper of your pain
I am the gatherer of broken pieces

You who have no voice
You who are locked inside your body
You who are forgotten

I hear you
I have the key
I call you by name

I guess I was out sick that day in kindergarten when they taught the whole, “actions speak louder than words,” lesson because throughout my whole life I have grappled with–and have been burned by–the difference that exists between peoples’ words and their actions.

Maybe it is because I am a writer and a poet that I take words so seriously.  I mean, I looooOOOOOooove words!  I love to play with them and bend their meanings; I love to string several together in a deliriously delightful delivery of alliteration; I love the feel of them as they roll off my tongue; I love the taste of them as I savor their meaning; I love the sound of them as they echo through my ears.  I put a lot of stock into words.  I honor their ability to ignite passion, to elicit emotion, to quicken a pulse, to beckon tears, to foster hope, to stop time.    My friends, words.are.power.

And then there is the reality that not everyone holds my same belief about words.  And the reality that even those who do, or claim to do, still toss words around carelessly and thoughtlessly.

The most frequent occurrence of this phenomenon is evidenced in the interactions between men and womyn.  I myself have been a sucker time and time again because I have placed a higher value on a man’s word than I have on his actions; this mistake has cost me my heart several times and caused me great confoundation and frustration many other times.

Maybe it is that I am a single woman and I’m super stoked about non-singleness someday.  Maybe it is that I’m too hopeful.   Maybe it is because I’ve finally come to realize and embrace the fullness of my awesomeness as a  woman and I get really excited when someone else seems to get it too.  In the end, I don’t really know what it is that keeps me making the same mistakes, but I’m pretty disappointed that I have to re-train myself not to necessarily take a man at his word.

The thing is that I’ve been told incredibly wonderful things by straight, single men, who apparently are just not that into me.  Now, I’m not saying that a guy can’t offer an honest word of affirmation without having to ask a girl out.   But I am asking that men…and womyn chose our words wisely.  If we want to be affirming and offer a kind word or a compliment, pause and consider how it may be interpreted and decide if a change in wording would more clearly make your point.  Communication between men and womyn can be difficult to translate anyway so do yourself, and the person with whom you’re speaking a favor and think about how what you say may be interpreted.

If you tell a woman she is an angel, the most incredible person you’ve ever met, and that you still believe this even taking into consideration all of her flaws and faults, I guarantee you she will believe that you are just that into her.  So if you are not saying that to preface asking her out, then simply close your mouth and think of another way to verbalize your appreciation for her.  Because while it is quite a lovely compliment and an amazing thing to be told, no one really wants to hear, “you’re an angel…you know, in a you’re-totally-like-my-sister kind of way.”  BOOOOOOOO!

Furthermore, if you think she is an angel and the most incredible person you’ve ever met and you are not asking her out on a date, then you should most likely get your head checked because you are LETTING HER GO and her amazingness is not gonna sit around waiting for you to finally get it about her.  But that’s a blog for another day I suppose.

The older I get, the stronger I become, the more excited I am about who I’m becoming and what I am doing in the world, the less patience I have for men whose words and actions do not align.  I also have less tolerance for the games of dating.  If a guy tells me amazing things and I think he’s interesting, I’m gonna hold him accountable for his words.  And I’m learning how to get clarification and move along BEFORE I get my heart all involved an attached–yay for healthy heart habits!!

So here’s to meaning what we say, and saying what we mean.  I promise, a moment of heart-pounding honesty is totally worth a lifetime of authentic, genuine communication!

One of my goals for this year is to become proficient in using/riding the train and bus system where I live.  I think the bulk of my trepidation regarding this venture comes from a rather miserable mishap I had years ago in college.

One of my dear friends and I worked for an afterschool daycare program about 7miles from our college.  Neither of us had a car but we relished the exhilarating bike rides to and from work.  There is certain freedom felt in getting on a bike and breezing through the fresh spring-flower scented streets and neighborhoods surrounding our school.  The not so dreamy reality was that, while spring was a delicious and captivating time, we did live in Michigan which meant that for 6 or so months out of the year, there would be no jubilant jaunts on our bikes in the snow, sleet, and muck that is a northern winter.

As a result, we decided to try using public transportation.  We decided that this would be a fun and inexpensive alternative to trying to rent a flex car and seemed much easier and dependable than trying to arrange to borrow a friend’s car every afternoon.  We poured over bus schedules and routes and, convinced we had a brilliant plan, we set off to work riding the bus.

We got to work without a hitch and enjoyed a short brisk walk from the stop to the daycare.  We worked all afternoon and when the last child was picked up we headed home feeling pleased with our new public transit savvy selves.  We schlepped through some freshly fallen snow to our bus stop and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

We some how managed to find out that our particular bus stopped running already but that we could catch another bus if we just walked to that stop a few blocks away.  So once again we slogged through the slush and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Ultimately we realized that for whatever reason things had gone horribly wrong and we would now need to get ourselves home before hypothermia began to set in as it was well past dark on a cold winter night.  And mind you, this was before the universe had cell phones!

We walked and walked trying to keep up conversation so as to distract ourselves from the misery of the cold and the damp seeping into our very marrow.  Just when we thought we might not be able to take another step–probably about two miles from campus–we spotted one of our peers at a gas station across the street.  We ran over to him and begged him to take us home.  He was on his way out for the evening but obliged considering our wretched state.

We finally made it home thawing out over some hot drinks and cozed down under warm blankets.  Needless to say, we never attempted bus-riding again.  We made do with borrowing friends’ and roommates’ cars and rejoiced when winter melted into spring and we could ride our bikes once more.

Now that I live in Southern California the possibility of getting stranded and having to schlep home in the snow is no longer a threat.  But I do still have thoughts of getting lost, getting on the wrong bus, getting stuck some random place where the bus no longer runs.  So my goal this year is getting over my fears and learning to love the freedom of catching a bus or a train and adventuring out into the world; I am to accomplish this by taking at least one bus/rail field trip a month.  I figure this outting will also afford me the chance to return to one of my loves, photography.

I’m pleased to say that I met my goal for January by taking the train and the bus to Venice with some friends last weekend.  We started out at the train station in my town; we missed the train and had to wait an hour for the next one.  The station felt like some movie set ghost town train station.  There was a security guard but he apparently had no concern whatsoever about us playing on the tracks, climbing on old train-cars, and generally running amuck for an hour.  I think we had more fun and took more photos at this empty train station than we did the whole rest of the day!

I did enjoy seeing a bit of Venice–after all, its Venice!  In the end, I loved the freedom to savor the journey as an adventure just as much as the destination was.  Here are some of my favorite photos from that day:

I cannot quite convey how *thrilled* I am to announce the birth of a new blog: In the Words of Womyn.  You can read all about the vision of this new blog and what inspired me to start it here.  This blog serves as a kind of virtual open mic for womyn to give sound to her story and volume to her voice.  So I invite any of you who are womyn and who are writers to submit your work to: inthewordsofwomyn [at] gmail [dot] com, and I will publish it therein for you.  I hope you will stop by and check it out!

Write on, womyn!

Did you ever have a penpal?  I remember having several at various points throughout my elementary school career.  We were paired up with kids from around the world and we exchanged letters.

Boy was it exciting to get those tell-tale red and blue boardered international mail envelopes with such exotic stamps.  There was such thrill and intrigue in opening up this piece of mail that had traveled around the globe right to my very doorstep from some kid who was in winter when I was in summer and who lived a whole day ahead of me (that kind of realization could leave a girl’s head spinning with the wonder of the time/space continuum and the possible wrinkles therein…but that’s a daydream for another post). 

I remember seeing the handwriting of that other child, thinking about where he or she sat while writing the letter, thinking about what he or she would see if they looked out the window, thinking about making plans to visit said penpal someday for some international adventure.

Today I got a random text from a random, unsaved number.  I asked the sender who they were in case it was one of my people that I had erroneously forgotten to save.  Turns out it was not one of my people but a stranger who had simply misdialed.  We exchanged a few pleasantries and ultimately ended the “conversations.”

I thought about this day and age where we can just shoot off emails and text messages instantly to people all over the world.  I thought about how two people can randomly connect not by purpose but by dialing one digit off.  Sometimes we send an intimate message to the person above or below the intended recipient’s name on our contact list; sometimes we recieve random and nonsensical sounding texts from strangers; sometimes our phone calls and leaves messages for people without our knowledge–we’ve all been there.

I thought about the idea of striking up a Text Pal relationship with some random phone number.  Then I remembered, sadly, that things have gotten far to creepy and unsafe these days to have such a carefree and benign correspondence.   And I sigh wistfully about the fading art of hand-written letters; about the anticipation of what “mail call” will bring; about the keeping of certain letters tied up in ribbon tucked away in special boxes kept under the bed to be taken out and re-read and re-cherished over and over again.  *Sigh…

So while I won’t be starting correspondence with a Text Pal any time soon, I think I should like to try to write more hand written letters this year.  What about you?  Have you ever had a penpal?  How long did you keep in touch?  Did you ever visit each other?  What was your favorite memory of your correspondence?

…in 2010.

2010 always seems like one of those fake movie years, like some random future date at which we will never arrive.  Welp, here we are.

I could go on with some story about why I abandoned my dear Front Porch visitors, but I’ll save you the tales and I’ll hope that you forgive my absence and stick around a while anyway.  I’ve got some exciting things planned for this year, some of which I hope to share with you very soon.

For now, I’ll just tell you a little about coming up with a theme for this year.  I got the idea from my very clever and beautiful friend, R.Z. who picks a theme for each year and strives toward that theme in various areas of her life.  I really liked the idea and felt like it might help me accomplish the various goals and REsolutions with which I continue to struggle.

So my theme for this year is “Maintaining.”  Frankly, I stink at it.  Oh I’m good for a few days, a week or too, but most of the time I am a hopelessly chronic procrastinator.

I spent the better portion of the first three days of this year getting my home life under control: cleaning (I mean serious cleaning including unpacking boxes I still had piled around from my move…three months ago!), sorting, and putting away.  The joy is now I have a lovely clean apartment AND a wonderful craft/project workspace for various projects I have already and ones I intend to undertake.

I don’t really know what my problem is.  I love when things are neat, clean and in order.  I love when my environment is all ready to go for whatever I want to do whether its curl up and read or tackle a sewing project.  I love when paperwork is in order, bills are paid on time, and junk mail has been cathartically taken from the mail drop and placed directly into the shredder

But somehow despite my love of order and cleanliness I let things spin wildly out of control to such a hugely disordered state the task of then reordering my life is far too overwhelming so it gets put off even longer.  Its quite a vicious cycle.

So this year I’m gonna work on maintaining all the areas of my life.  Its so elementary (my dear Watson), and yet so challenging when you mix in the other rigors and demands of life.  But I know that it is much nicer to wash 3-4 dishes a day than have to conquer my entire kitchen inventory at the end of the week!

Tell me about you; what’s your theme for the year?  What are some soul-projects you’d like to tackle in the coming months?

…White Christmas…

Hahaha!  Pretty awesome right?  Yeah, I still do crack myself up.  Hey, at least I know I’ll always have one person who thinks I’m funny–well actually two.  My sister thinks I’m hilarious.  Her husband even knows when she’s talking to me on the phone because she has a special, “talking to my hilarious sister laugh.” 

Yes.  I am quite pleased with myself.

I always liked the idea of a window right over the kitchen sink.  There is something whimsical about being able to feel the breeze on a balmy spring day as you’re filling a pitcher of quenching water; something calming about watching the trees bend and sway in the wind as you clip stems to fill a vase with fresh blooms; something magical about watching silent white flakes blanket the world in pristine white as you scour that pot to shining perfection.  Yes indeed, I like windows over the kitchen sink.

Sadly, I do not have a window over my kitchen sink.  [This does not, surprisingly, keep me from having a special fondness for this particular sink which is my favorite sink of all the sinks I have ever called home.  My friends, this sink is 1) stainless steel; 2) a single rectangle therein fitting an entire roasting pan on level surface; 3) the faucet is tall and extends far out into the sink.  Look, the sink and faucet marriage is a vital one and getting the perfect combination--while seemingly elementary--is surprisingly nigh unto impossible.  *Wistful sigh...Oh how I love my sink.  OOOOOO!  I just had an epiphany!  Maybe, just maybe, if I can find a sink/faucet that is so close to perfection for this little kitchen maven's heart, then maybe I will one day find a man that will just so match my heart's desire.  It is a hopeful thought, even if fleeting...]

Oh hello!  Yes, it seems that I had quite forgotten I had company.  Now, where were we.  Oh right, I was washing dishes and being all forlorn about having little more than a white wall and empty shelf to look at.  You can see how I initially solved that problem here with some of my favorite thrift store finds.  Well, I happened upon a brilliantly festive discovery as I was Christmasifying my little apartment.  This is what happened:

Ta-Daaaaaa!

Now I can be amused by beautiful things day and night.  Beauty = Joyful Mav

This is the season of re-.

We REjoice about all things spiritual and seasonal.
We REcycle gift bags from last year.
We REceive trinkets and tokens from friends and family.
We REgift last year’s randomest gifts.
We REturn wrong sizes, colors, and styles.
We REmember people and moments we cherish.
We REtell our favorite stories.
We REsolve to do things a bit differently in the New Year.

I’m a procrastinator to the core, right down to my marrow. It is not one of my finer qualities mind you, this is a confession not a profession.  But this year I decided to get a little jump start on one of my resolutions. Its a repeat from the past several years…hence, REsolution; I’m trying to REsolve an old problem!

Here’s another confession: I am completely and hopelessly horrible at dealing with mail. I know, how hard can it be, right? I’ve got a filing cabinet. I’ve got a shredder. I’ve got hanging files. I’ve got multicolored tabbed files. I’ve got file labels to color code with my hanging files and tabbed files. I’ve got in boxes and out boxes. I’ve got almost every home organizational system a girl who loves office supply stores could hope for. And yet. I have this problem.

My excuse is that I’m so overwhelmed by the tsunami-like piles of junk mail that flood my box daily that I am utterly incapacitated by it all. One would think that simply throwing it all away would do the trick. But noooOOOOooo. Junk mail is no longer an occasional occurrence but rather a daily diabolical dilemma! Junk mail is no longer a benign bargain mailer here or there but rather a highly-classified-personal-information-identity-theft time-bomb that sits there smirking at the fact that it can’t simply be tossed in the trash but must go through a 15-point destruction process in order to assure you that you won’t in fact be robbed of your identity by trash picking thieving varmints. *Gasp for breath

Ahem, so right, about the mail.

I just spent the better part of three days last week sorting through old paperwork that I failed to deal with. THREE DAYS. I know. I disgust myself. Approximately 70 gallons worth [according to the volume advertised on my trash bags] of shredded and trashed paperwork later I think I’ve caught up. *Twitch The exciting news is that I know where all my documents and paperwork from the last few years is…heh heh…just in time for tax season!

All this ridiculous effort has irked me enough to kick myself in my own bum in the dealing-with-mail-the-minute-you-get-it department. For the past four days I have successfully received the mail, opened it, and shredded or filed it. Yes I am quite pleased with myself.

Yes, I started a bit early on one of my REsolutions but it helps me feel better about the complete fail of previous personal life administrative chore resolutions.

So there you have it.  Mav’s dirty little secret…well about the mail anyway.

What are some of your top REpeat REsolutions?  What are some of your handy tips for dealing with unREsolved REsolutions?

I was sick outta work
on my hands I had time
in between all my naps
I came up with this rhyme

it started with a tickle
then my throat got sore
so I bought all the Airborne
I could find in the store

I was sneezin’ and wheezin’
all laid up in my bed
had a pain in my dome
like a vice around my head

I was coughin’ and hackin’
I couldn’t catch a breath
an’ one eye was waterin’
the one on the left

now it wasn’t that long
‘til lost all my voice
talking now was over
I just didn’t have a choice

I tried to clear my nose
that was full of all this snot
while my feet were freezin’ cold
and my forehead’s blazin’ hot

I used up all my Kleenex
and I drank clear fluids
now I know you be relatin’
‘cause we’ve all been through it

I thought I would get better
but I kept gettin’ worse…
just as long as I’m not ridin’
outta here in a hearse!