Wednesday, January 22nd, 2014

On this day thirty-five years ago, I was born. Thirty-five, it seems of little consequence… a chapter in a book, but there’s something there to add depth to the idea: experience. I’ve experienced many things in my life to bring me to this point. I suppose I should be delighted to know that only a few bad moments I would change had I had the chance. I don’t think I would know what to do with a Utopian existence. Ups and downs seem essential.

If I’m not mistaken, this was the something like the start of Sex in the City. Sarah Jessica Parker’s character writing in her journal “I’m 35, and I am single.” What’s strange is that I can’t remember how I know that. Did someone force me to watch the beginning of the first episode? Maybe it was when I was in Charlotte and the mid-morning DJ duo Candy & Potter were talking so heavily about it. That seems about right, if a little foggy. I must have been curious to watch a bit of it on YouTube.

At this point I figure my life can be as open or closed as I want it to be. Maybe the future will bring me fortune, but I can rest assured I’ll have to pound away at it like a hammer swinger on the rail lines. There hasn’t been much I can recall that fell in my lap without me strangling the life out of my energy or leaning upon my drive. Luck is not my companion.

This will be my 150th post here on WordPress, and believe it’s fitting to commemorate my birthday as such. I’m sure there will be plenty of stories to tell in the upcoming year, but for right now, I shall eat cake. German Chocolate cake with coffee ice cream to be exact.

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A Letter

To Whom I Miss Most Dearly,

I don’t believe we’ve met, but I am your love. Whether by fate or chance, we do not recognize each other in this sea of people. We may have said “hello” in passing, but our minds were cloudy. We may be leagues apart, but carry nagging feelings our presence. We may be chronologically out of place, but know that death will help us in the end.

I wonder if you’re happy. Had you given up on me? By the time you read this, it may very well be so. I could never hold resentment against you. After all, love is disarming, and harming you would be the furthest from my mind. However, know this: I haven’t stopped believing in you. To cease in dreaming would be a tragic loss to both of us.

I imagine you on a beach. Your hair is left to the breeze’s mercy and you’re feeling the change in the sand between waves. The birds strike fondness in your mind and awe dwells in your very being. Your eyes brighten as I approach. You want to tell me of your discoveries of life and location. You know I will always cherish what you say to me, because I know it’s always important.

How would you imagine me? Would I be what you thought? Do you think I’m even real? It does pain me to think of our predicament. If I could bribe an official, take up a goose chase, or gamble with gods, I would do so in a heartbeat just to find you.

For now, take care, be well, and most of all be happy. Do not worry, as someday we will find each other in one form or another. I won’t stop thinking of you and the possibilities that may come.

Most of all, I love you… now and forever.

Yours Always,

Beloved

© 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

Remembering Isn’t Always Painful

A storage unit is like a time capsule. If left alone long enough, the mind can pack away whole sections of your life. These can be unlocked with the right key, and maybe should be from time to time. Memories can range from good to bad, like any life will provide, and serve for reflection. Tonight is a night in which I’m feeling particularly sentimental.

While going through some old material of the past 10 years, I found this:

R. She was crazy, and that’s what made her great.
© 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

In my mind, it was an hour’s worth of sketch and fun. It wouldn’t stand under the scrutiny of professionals and masters, no. It’s a joke of the drawing world. What it was intended to do, though, was masterfully executed. In the last fifteen minutes, I was able to remember three years worth of my life I had tucked away in the plastic bins of my mind.

I first met R. in a coffee shop. Aside from the knitting, she stuck out like a sore thumb. I knew she wasn’t from around here, and sure enough, I was right. She was, however, one of the most spirited, adventurous, and exciting people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Fortunately, I’m not completely stupid in the ways of life.

Being the wet blanket on all things living, I knew she wouldn’t flourish here. The fields of Ohio are not for the vibrant, artistic, free-thinking, liberal, progressive, odd, weird, and freakish. I say all of that with the purest of love, as I would rather be uncomfortable on any given day with the aforementioned than having the tightness in my chest (true story) with traditionalists. Sure, average people are generally good. They’re not out to destroy the world, but a squeamish discussion about sex with Stalking Cat (RIP) would be a better use of my time.

During the handful of years I knew her, I learned of her adventures through America and abroad. We’d smoke Parliaments and talk, as there’s not much action in the fields. She was from the East coast, and had been a part of the NYC scene for a while. There is a cliche of rural folk wanting to see the big city, and I’m here to tell you there’s a reason. If you were born in a location where you’ve felt comfortable all your life, then I commend you. There are plenty that aren’t, and I’ll be damned if the want of human connectivity isn’t high when you don’t fit in. Large cities provide a buffet of personalities too irresistible to pass up. I should know. I miss NYC, too… OK, select portions of NYC.

To divert from the topic a tad, I also understand the children of the urban jungle. They’ve gotten lost, too, but in a different way. Odd rural children are singled out; normal urban children are lost in the sauce. Different situation, similar isolation. I think that’s why the adage “familiarity breeds contempt” gains a foothold. What is missing from that statement, though, is that the familiarity of what you don’t want in life breeds your contempt.

Regardless, she was all about embracing life with arms open and eyes shut. It’s that kind of recklessness that both intrigues and scares me half to death. I’m too cautious. I know I am. I’m boring to most people. I can feel their disappointment in my lack of outward appearance. I know it’s that charisma most people want, and it pains me to know I have little to give.

Like most friendships, we lost touch. It wasn’t out of bad blood, or at least not to my knowledge. From what I had heard from others, she had married back on the East coast and started a family. I couldn’t verify any of it though. So, who knows? While that does surprise me to some extent, it also occurs to me that she has wants and needs of her own. If I ever met someone (by now, the zombie apocalypse is more plausible), I’d like her to have similar qualities. I’m half tempted to buy a pack of pfunks for old time’s sake. Here’s to you, R., you wonderfully brilliant madwoman.