Last Words

Its funny
the routines you slip
into,
like a fat ass
coming home
to the very special
groove, indent or
large impression
on the couch

I know

My neck
is tired of turning
to see if you've
written
My lips are weary
from smiling for
you
My eyes are tearing
from trying to hold
your gaze
My fingers ache
in this empty space
next to me

It'll be jarring
for you
as I take another way
Flick this habit
the same way I enjoy
catapulting summer bugs
off of a screen door


I feel

My fingers warm
and laced
cradle my neck
My gaze
shifts ahead and
my feet fall forward
as these lips dance
along in song.

The White Bandit

One inconsequential day I was twirling my hair between my fingers. That day I had decided to put the ever growing (at a most determined garden weed rate) hair into two braids, yes Pippy Longstocking style. (Why is it anytime we girls put our hair like that some dude HAS to make that comment?) So absentmindedly twirling I start checking out the ends of my hair and see it - my first white hair. Apparently my hair thinks "gray" is a waste of time or state of being not worth our time and went straight to white. I can't help but think of my father, largely of Irish and Polish descent, who began "going gray" in his 20s and now has a (thinning) head of snow white hair. I know from my high school biology days this has more to do with genetics than having daughters, but alas, Danny Boy feels the need to blame having a house full of women for his alabaster locks.

Upon discovering this solo strand, whom I've started referring to as The White Bandit, I had one of those "Jesus! I'm not getting any younger!" moments and quickly started to closely examine the rest of my locks for additional culprits (so far no additional white bastards). I've never been one to dye or color my hair as it is very curly and this lady does not need her hair to get anything done to it that will INCREASE dryness, thereby increasing frizz. Grant it, I am not approaching my own personal Twilight here, I mean lordy, I'm still in my 20s, but that single strand of white made me realize how important it is to not coast through life in a complacent, cozy bubble.

I recently had someone ask me what my dreams and goals were and I was embarrassed because I couldn't answer them. I know people who have dreams and goals and they are actively working towards achieving those things. I was left questioning myself, saying, "Meg what the deuce happened to you? Where did your passion go? How did I end up here with no direction or place to call home...wait that's a Bob Dylan song..." But seriously, if one doesn't have a dream to aspire to what's left but the grind and struggle of a pointless existence. I'm definitely not trying to belittle the little pleasures in life because I value those deeply, but if I'm just coasting and a part of the bigger machine with nothing to aspire to, nothing to look towards, what the f am I doing? How can I truly value the present?

So The White Bandit continues to ride on my head, (thankfully underneath many pieces of hair that still are full of color) and while this Bandit has stripped a singular strand of its color, softness and shine, it has prompted the grey matter underneath it all to dream again.

Thanks White Bandit. Ride on.

'Tis the Season

Yes so life has gotten in the way of me writing or perhaps I should blame it specifically on work and the long hours and lack of sleep or perhaps that I've been neglecting my dogs and walking them so if I were to accomplish something after work it would be a walk with Han and Chewie or that it is now officially smack in the middle of the holidays and I'm so busy buying and wrapping presents and visiting friends and family; alas it doesn't matter what I put they are all excuses.

The holidays for most of my life, have encompassed my birthday (two weeks before Christmas) and Christmas. Now that I have a husband and said husband celebrates Hanukkah I've added the Festival of Lights to my definition, along with a wedding anniversary a week after New Year's Day. This time of year always seems to be like a hyped-up four year old cracked-out on red and green M&Ms compared to the rest of the year. Plans and presents and parties and going and coming and wrapping and decorating and cooking and baking and so on, non-stop until the drunken culmination of New Year's Eve.

For me, this time of year has been a yin and yang or competing opposites of joy and excitement with disappointment and checked expectations. The holidays represent or are reminders of loss for many of us; loved ones that have passed or even a shitty situation that happen to occur near a holiday seems to serve as an annual reminder of that pain. This year has been tough and as I sit alone in an empty room it's hard to feel jolly and remember why this time of year can also be great. (I said hard, not impossible!)

As I look ahead to the coming days, I know I'll be surrounded by people who love and accept me, even when I am a complete pain in the ass and for that I am grateful. I know I'll continue family traditions and maybe even create some new ones. I know my father will cook his freaking awesome potatoes Christmas morning and I'll eat too many like I always do. I'm pretty sure my sisters will fight about something at some point on Christmas Day. I know my mom's turkey will rock and I'll sit inebriated and full with a stupid grin on my face after dinner.

I think of the approaching "new year" and recognize all the cliches, but am grateful for something fresh and new. It's a an opportunity to change and use something as trivial as the year changing from '08 to '09 as cause and reason to shed your skin, to emerge anew. Maybe this year you'll tackle that project or face a fear or finally allow yourself or someone else to be happy, whatever it is, it's there ready and different and waiting.

If there is anything I hope for myself this coming year it is that I don't live by excuses, that I am true to my wants and dreams; that happiness outweighs sadness; laughter overcomes tears; that I am fulfilled, engaged and challenged; that my ability to understand, empathize and listen grows; my relationships are enriched and I can live up to my own expectations.

Happy happy, merry merry to all and to all a good night!

An Offering

To my beautiful and wondrous friend Laurey, I bask in your glory and awesomeness and will gladly take down anyone, just ask. This is for and dedicated to you my friend.

An Offering

To be you
scattered and dull
with no home or origin
You are a toothpick, flaccid and weak
unable to withstand this force
you like to
discard people
like a piece of gum that's lost it taste

To be her
soaring and golden
reaching back through generations
She is a pillar, strong
and immovable. Her embrace
is soft, all encompassing
fiercely calm and beautiful
like the culmination of
every sunset.

Your mouth is
a house of lies.
Your lips are laced with acid.
I see you
for what
you are. A boy
pretending
to be a man.

Her lips will never
sing
your praises.
My mouth releases
this truth, across sisterhoods
boundless through time.
If you're wondering
what that is you're feeling
it's just my
vermilion stare
carving out pieces, an offering
to this goddess.

Here In My Head

So my brain is quite literally a flutter this afternoon; work issues, family issues, relationship stuff, things I need to get done over the weekend, upcoming time off requests, worries, stress, conversations had, unspoken needs and wants, dance parties, fantasy football match ups, books, words, lyrics, poems, blogs; my synapses must looked like a California highway at rush hour!

Now I do not enjoying preaching, speaking or even having any of my words imply anything political, but I must say this: regardless of your party affiliation, if you even have one, please, PLEASE be an informed voter and research each candidate's stance on issues that are important to you! Enough of this, he said, she said smearing! I mean honestly are we all such lemmings that we can't make a decision (read: vote) for someone based purely on their party affiliation, their gender or the color of their skin?? This is an important election year folks, yes there is war, yes the global political climate is searing, yes everyday hardworking Americans are struggling. What scares me the most is the fact that TWO Supreme Court judges will most likely be retiring during the next President's term, so pick a candidate aligned with issues that are important to you! Research! Read! Ask Questions! But for the love of all things good and worth living for in this life, for personal freedom, for our children and our children's children, be informed and VOTE in November!

Moving on...

My mind has been heavy with the thoughts of relationships recently; mother, father, sister, husband, friend, all kinds of relationships and bonds. As children we live in a and have a very small worldview and frame of reference. The family we have and how we interact is all that we know. It's through experience, through meeting and speaking with other people that our perspective and frame of reference can morph and broaden. I recently had an amazing "conversation" with my younger sister. I say "conversation" because most of it consisted of yelling, screaming, partial choking, a whole lotta crying, but the amazing and wonderful thing is it ended in a better understanding of one another and a stronger relationship as sisters and friends.

I pride myself on being a good listener, I mean it is part of my job to listen well, to pick up on any red flags a candidate may be telling me indirectly, to leverage a person's uncertainty or indecision into a willingness to switch jobs or even move across the country. I've mentioned my seeming super-power to elicit confessions from practical strangers or for friends and loved ones to give me their dark secrets as a place of sanctuary and safe-keeping. But someone I've known longer than most people in this world and I thought I understood and listened to effectively, kindly, and emphathetically, made it quite clear and I've come to understand, that was not the case. It is so easy to get into behavioral routine with those in our lives; as they say we are creatures of habit. It's easy to react the same way in similar situations, especially around those we are comfortable with being ourselves. Not to say that everyone is walking around with a bleeding heart and hoarding deep issues resulting is self-hatred or doubt, but this routine and coasting along is risky. We owe it to ourselves and the enrichment of relationships of those we care about to never assume, to break the cycle of redundancy and habit.

There is a lot of shit out there in the world, so much negativity and cynicism and if we can't foster and cultivate the relationships we have and probably take for granted, what is the point? I refuse to get stuck in a cycle, to slowly build resentment or widen a gap of seeming understanding with presumption and assumptions. People are complicated creatures, we have the ability to go about our days with a smile on our face and sadness in our hearts. We have the ability to offer solace and comfort to others even on our worst days. You simply never know what is truly going on in a person's life, what they are feeling and experiencing, which is why it is essential to move beyond the status quo and embrace our brothers, sisters, friends and lovers with an offering of flexibility, a never ending supply of empathy and willingness to understand.

Alexandra the Great

For my friend Alex who couldn't hurt a fly, but I would totally bet on her in a knife fight with David!



The Ring Toss

by Me!



It started with a sign, as many things in this world do. The sounds of the Monroe County fair reverberate in the dark recesses of David's memory. Flashes of times past seemed to echo back to him on the darkest of nights, on nights when the moon closes its giant eye and the world seems engulfed in shadow, when even the best of intentions twist into foul play. The remembered smell of a white hots linger across his nose, the sounds of children laughing to the haphazard beat of carnival music, mounds of cotton candy float by leaving circular sugar imprints on smiling faces, ping pong balls bounce happily as goldfish dart back and forth in their tiny abodes, waiting for some kid to swing it around in a plastic bag, most likely introducing it to an untimely death before leaving the fair grounds.

"If you are not allowed by law to be in possession of a weapon, please don't play this game." David stares at this sign and wonders what kind of person in Monroe County, anywhere, could not lawfully play the ring toss at a fair. With the last few dollars clutched in his hand, he contemplates getting a garbage plate and Jolt cola or trying his luck. He notices the colored blades immediately, and he feels strangely drawn, compelled to play.



David looks down realizing he was unconsciously stroking Arlo's handle. He won Arlo in a snickersnee tournament in Mexico City off of a very angry Indian. The handle, carved out of buffalo bone, showed measured and exceptional craftsmanship, a small totem with ancient symbols with an eagle topping it off. Arlo's sharpness had spilled many men's blood, won him food and money and was the reason he was still alive today and would hopefully carry his life through the night. "Thank you again Big Red," he mutters crossing the street.

Alexandra silently watches him approach the Rusty Nail from the alley, she sees his hand reach and gently slide across his blade's handle, like a subconscious tic. She notes the eyes first, always the eyes. You can read into the deepest caverns of a person's being through their eyes if you are trained right and know how to look. "There is a heaviness of spirit around this one," she thinks, they are often surprising in a duel, but their heaviness slows them down and none have escaped the swiftness of her blades. She thinks of her beloved Akecheta and her pact for vengeance ripples through her body; she feels this is the one who claimed her Love's life and took his blade, every cell in her body radiates and she knows this man with the heavy spirit stole her fighter's life and weapon and she will take it back and steal his life as payment.



The Rusty Nail is nothing special. It's floors are grimy, regulars sprinkle the bar,their backs hunched over cupping their pints like the holy grail, a fine haze of smoke shifts in the air with each new patron and the sounds of the young and carefree fill the room, the cracking of billiard balls serving as some sort of rhythmic staccato for this place's theme song. David stares deeply into his glass of whiskey almost wanting it to give him some sort of answer or reason, to spit out a why. He's sensed someone watching him since his approach and knows the time is soon.



Leaning back in his chair, he takes the room in recognizing two men with concealed weapons and a bartender that has an itchy trigger finger, most likely a shot gun underneath. He continues scanning the room and meets her gaze; he can feel the hatred and the fire and realizes he's not sure if he can duel a woman. The only sacred beings in his life were women and even though he can feel this one has enough anger to fill ten men, his ambivalence towards life, towards mankind is suddenly compromised. If he leaves, he is done, no forfeiting a match no matter who the opponent. David weighs the long journey, the blood spilt, the heaviness and loneliness for this quest, for this reason for finding one's self and respect again.



Before a decision can be made as to which path he'll continue down, she is standing before him silence thundering and pulsating with rings of hate in her eyes. The room seems to fade into nothing and they begin to circle one another. He can see her blade reflecting in the gold specks in her eyes, she strikes quickly and rips his shirt for sport. He moves defensively not committing, throwing it all away. "Akecheta!" She yells spins and thrusts her blade. He concentrates on the gold in her eyes and smiles.

The sun warms his face, leaves are glowing with light, he squints with determination and tosses. Eight knives total. He grins at himself and gingerly holds the colored handles, offering a pink blade to the sky, he thrusts it into the earth, a signpost of his winnings.

You are an Indentity Creator!

So regardless of the job I have, I try to stay abreast of news or improvements in my industry to feed my need to continuously learn something. Currently that means reading anywhere from 2-5 articles a week on average about the pharmaceutical industry, human resources or recruiting. I was reading an article the other day about identifying top talent that already exists in your organization and how to do that. The article mentioned The Dewey Color System and provided a link to take a test and get a free profile. The test takes no more than 5 minutes and it is simply a series of colors; you choose which you prefer looking at the most and then the least, finally choosing from about 16 colors in order of preference until they are gone. Based on your color choices they can supposedly tell you things about yourself to I guess help you make decisions in your life regarding careers and relationships.

My initial reaction was, what a bunch of malarkey, OK I'll try it! The point is to be instinctual about it and choose what your first thoughts are. After picking and choosing colors, this was my free sample and insight into my person from the fine folks at Dewey Color System:

You're an Identity Creator!

BLUE: initiator, visionary
GREEN: supportive, concerned
BLACK: emotional, focused

You're in touch with your emotions and clearly express what you want. When you listen to others' hopes, fears and concerns, they discover on their own what’s best for them, as well. You give to others the gift of knowing “who they are.”

Now I'm pretty sure I have one consistent reader of this blog (thanks dear!) and mostly because I ask my husband, so did you read my blog today? I'm grateful he amuses me by answering yes most of the time, but for all of my readers [crickets chirping] who know me, that um assessment up there, is pretty accurate. I'm not sure I'm so intrigued or astonished, I will be paying Mr.or Mrs. Dewey to obtain the rest of my results, but I was shocked and immediately pensive upon reading my test results.

Pretty much all of my friends and sometimes even those I don't know that well, have shared something with me followed by the statement, "I've never told anyone that, not even [enter whomever the most trusted and important person of their life's name here]." In the dark and far reaches of my brain (what a scary place THAT must be) I have individuals' deepest, sometimes darkest, secrets swirling around like wee postcards from those Postsecret books by Frank Warren (if you haven't seen these, they make a great house warming gift as a coffee table book). I feel flattered that my friends (and sometimes strangers, although with strangers it's a little unnerving) feel as though they can entrust me with those thoughts and that I represent an ever-present source of calm and giant sounding board. I sometimes think I should have been a cop or something, I don't even have to say anything to receive confessions!

Perhaps it is because I was a shy and introverted child, perhaps because I am a middle child between two very opinionated and...passionate sisters automatically making me the constant mediator and peace-keeper between us, but I've always been a good listener and a great observer. I look people in the eye, I notice body language, but will always examine and observe before opening my mouth. In my quiet looks I often discover things about people that maybe they are not aware of themselves and like my test results say I help people discover "who they are" and even sometimes who they want to be. This entry is really feeling a little too self-serving for my tastes, but my point is if people would just stop and listen for a change and not simply wait for their turn to speak, perchance we could all provide a sense of peace to a friend or even a stranger and then ultimately ourselves.

If you need to confess any sins, divulge a secret or simply get something off your chest, you know where to find me!

I leave today with a quote:

"It is the province of knowledge to speak and it is the privilege of wisdom to listen." -Oliver Wendell Holmes