harold_maude's journal

I look in the mirror and see my eyes. Green. The color of pine trees.
The ravages of time are also there, but it's ok. I can live with it. I have to.
I have no abundance to do what other women do when time says this is what it is,
and go to some plastic surgon and plead for the return of youth.

I've been told that I'm many things. Alot of thoes things I can't see.
Alot of thoes things I'm told I get suspicious of.
I tend tord the belief that someone who is saying them isn't really being honest.
They are just being nice.

I don't hate the outside as much as I used to.
I used to burn every picture of me that I got my hands on. All I could see was this hideous
beast, something befitting the monster in a horror flick.
I've had people take pictures of me and hide them from me. Seriously and for real.

The truth is I'm kind of avarage in features on my face. But I like the color of my eyes.
And that's not a bad thing, seeing as how I didn't pick them out, but the color of my skin
and the color of my hair compliment the color of my eyes.
And since I like the color of my eyes, I tend to like the color of my hair.
Even though there are strands of silver that exist there now.

I've been told I have a pretty smile. I tend to ignor that. I'm terribly uncomfortable
with compliments.
They make me squirm. Leave me fumbling around for something to say.
When the only thing to say is thank you.
Saying thank you gives the person saying what they do acknowledgement that they
can see me anyway they want to, and not in the same twisted way I've seen myself
for a long time.
I've come to realize that I see me through a twisted and very broken mirror.
And seeing yourself in that mirror will distort your view.

I've been told that I'm beautiful. And I tend to think the person is nuts, and have said
so.
But as they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
I would prefer to have them get glasses so they could see me the way I do.
All of this stems from a type of self loathing that came from the house I grew up in.
Not a real safe place to spend childhood in.

I can easily see every problem, every flaw that exists externally. And because of that it
took alot of people seeing what I do and telling me how good it was,
for me to look at what I do, namly art and begin to see the value of it.
I used to see it as glorified refrigerator art. Nothing more. I am my own worst critic
in all areas of life.
I tend to think of it as being honest about me.
Others might think differently. What I do know, is that when someone sees me
or sees what I do and there is no reason for them to just be nice so as to not hurt my feelings,
and they like what they see or are drawn to what art they are looking at,
that it's ok to say thank you.
There are no strings attached to that.
Just a simple acknowledgement that someone has found something pleasing about me
and I don't have to do anything to make excuses or explaintions for it.
Doing that, I've come to the conclusion, is like trying to pay for something that someone
is handing you just because.
There is no need.
I can't earn my looks, how ever anyone sees thoes. I didn't go to the looks store and pick out
what I wanted for christmas.
I didn't go to the talent and gift store either and make my choices.
I'm a package deal. And I just have to live with the fact that somepeople find that they like
what they see and what I do.
And I can't talk them out of it. All I can do is say thank you when they say so.
That's all. And that's ok.

It's early monday morning. Almost the end of Novemember. I barely realized that Thanksgiving is almost here.
I had forgotten entirely until just a couple of days ago...

I seem to do that with alot of things. Forget completely.
In my world, much of what is considered normal for the rest of the world is often forgotten by me because of the simple truth that much of it is just there.

It's been that way for a long time.
Especially things that require alot of people being involved.
If most of it actually ment something other than a reason to spend money, maybe it would be easier to remember.

Thanksgiving. Long ago, so history tells us, The very first one was a significant mile stone of celebration because a group of people had survived.
They were greatful, and wanted to celebrate and so they invited their new friends who had helped them to join in the celebration.

And they wanted to remember their survival, so they set aside a day after the harvest and remembered it, year after year.
Kids in school learn all about it.
But as kids grow up, something changes.
They forget why it's there, and it becomes this insane rush of going grocery shopping, getting family together and feeding like crazy, until everyone looks like the bird that is normally eaten only two times a year.

If t.v. is part of the ritual, then it's parades, and football and maybe a movie as dessert.

A far cry from where it started. I think the only real thing that remains from the orginal celebration is the bird.

I think it would be more appropate to call it over eating with bird day or something more in line with what it is now.
At least that would be closer to what it really is now.

To be greatful in a world where survial is something on going for many, and so daily for many that a turkey or a bird to eat on the day is either impossible or a huge chunk out of the food budget.
To be greatful, now that is something that doesn't require a turkey, only the realization of something you could loose at any given moment.
And given that, making it through another day should be reason to celebrate, by remembering and not forgetting.
If you want to throw a party in there somewhere, that's a personal choice.

Why not do something different to help you remember what the day means as a whole.
Something that will remind you why the celebration still is in existance today.
It must have been pretty important to thoes people to want to remember it year after year.

So I guess in the end what I'll be doing this year, is thinking about what I've survived and remember that it was very possible that I might not have.
I have no idea what the food will be.
And that doesn't matter much to me.
Turkey is something I like as a regular part of my meat consumption, that is when I can afford to buy it.
So it goes...

But I do have alot to be thankful for, and in doing that alone, I'm right there with those first people celebrating their survival at a time when doing that for thoes people was pretty amazing.
Worth a big celebration.

This was inspired by a movie about an older man who fell in love with a younger woman who had no idea how he really felt about her

Past all the discomfort of unfamiliarness
we walk through the doors
The first smile breaks in your eyes
drifts down across the plains of your cheeks
a wash of sunshine
settles into warm drifts on your tender lips.

First kisses
brief places
exchanges of expectations
barely given voice.

Hands touching
exploration of new fields
delicate folds and creases
not yet touched or hardened by life's sorrows
that somehow manage to seep into the unprotected places
of the heart and soul.

Fragile fragrance
barely noticeable when your eyes are open
too much floods the view
Only when all else is shut out
pushed away
can the erotic innocence of such newness be tasted
inhaled
savored.

You over load my eyes
overwhelm them
Brilliant beauty shines radiant
shattering the clothed surface
the place my soul's eyes long to see
hunger for
That place in you not touched or regestered by time
That place not held by the shadows of seconds
minuets
hours
That ageless place
a deep pool within
where the songs composed
within the prisimatic halls of your soul drift
and caress your heart to inspiration
They dance within you
floating on strands of air like silvered bits of rain.

Waiting for the invation to drink
to taste the sweet necter that flows from your heart and soul
with a thirst so deep
so desperate
so consumming
that waiting is painful.

Another poem, differnt time, different place...but still..

I close my eyes
only to find you filling my entire field of view
Shouldn't have fallen in love with you
It was the last thing I wanted to do
I only wanted to be your friend
to be there when everyone else left
to be the one who would always listen
not judge anything you said
but inspite of all my determination
I woke up this morning in love with you
now my delema is so clear
do I tell you?
Do I take the risk of losing you as a friend
so I can have you as my love?
With you, I don't know if both is possible.
Don't quite know what to do
I'd love to talk to you about it
If only I wasn't in love with you
I know you'll see it in my eyes
you know me so well
our friendship runs so deep
we've shared so much more than most lovers do
how am I gonna hide that I'm in love with you
wish I could tell you, I really do
I wish I was in love with someone other than you.
l

I wrote this poem a few years ago. I was thinking about my childhood.
My mother wasn't an achololic, but she was angry, all the time.
Mostly at my father.

I'm standing on my head
just for you
singing the blues
just for you
making tomato soup
just for you
blowing bubbles
just for you
coloring pretty and staying in the lines
just for you
Mommy don't you see
why do you ignore me
tell me you love me
then act like I'm not here
making pretty snowflakes
just for you
making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
just for you
getting good grades in school
just for you
when they ask me about the bruises
I tell them I just fell down
making you valentine's cards
with lots of pretty hearts
just for you
hiding the cuts and brusises
just for you
making sure my socks match
just for you
making tea
just for you
doing the dishes
just for you
It's ok mommy I know your sick again
I'll be real quiet, I'll be good
just for you

On a tree lined path I found myself, one ordinary day.
With dreams and wishes that hadn't found their way
past the rooms where blue and red are fighting over who gets the cornflakes first
or the hall where the dust dancing in the air
resembles glitter in the morning sun.
The last clinging bits of autumns laughter hung lightly in the air
waiting for winter to yawn and come fully awake.
The grass now stopped still locked in summer conversation
with the memories of laugher
that flows from lovers skin.
My feet well hidden in thick warm socks
behind the prisions of shoes
built for adventure and wandering
spoke up and asked
"Can we see this wonderland of change and dying things?"
I felt the question rise up
and escape through the holes in my laces.
I thought why not?
What could the cold upon my feet do
that people haven't done to my heart?
So right there in that deserted place
where the trees were falling asleep too
I sat on that grass where lovers had laid
and freed my feet and gave them air
right then and there.
"Oh my, but it's cold"
They said in their lingering warmth.
"But the view is spectacular
so different from summer"
I wiggled my toes and spread them as wide as they would go.
They yawned and smiled at me
simply because they could.
The biggest one on each foot took a long look around
and said with wisdom befitting the strongest
"We would go wandering, except the grass seems not so inviting now"
The baby toes in unison said as they tried to get as close to their sibling
"We can't stay out here too long, or our heads will freeze"
I smiled down and brushed them softly
over the blades of grass
they giggled and squirmed and smiled as only feet can.
I gently put my socks back on
and then my shoes at last.
I heard them and felt them as they snuggled in so tight
and laughter among the group
as they talked ever so softly.
"We've seen the time of change, and all that it could mean.
It's something wonderous and magical about that place
and if it wasn't so cold, we would have loved to go exploring"
Nodding all, in gathered agreement
they settled down to the rythem of my walking.
Down the path
through the trees
to dreaming will I go.
And when sleep upon my pillow comes
the memory will linger still
of how free my feet and toes were
even for just a moment
to taste the air of autumns last breath
on a path less traveled.
Where trees are waiting
and grass with it's summer dreaming.
Where forever lays just ahead.