A few nights ago I found myself in a small Mexican village. I had been traveling in an RV and it had broken down nearby, so I wandered into town to find some help.
The townspeople were milling around and going about their daily lives, going to the market, chatting with friends — the storybook picture of a small Latin community.
There was a town square, and next to the square there was a very large and very old structure. It was made out of brick and was about three stories tall. It had a wooden, shake style roof. It resembled a church or government building. It was by far the biggest structure in town, and, although not ornate in anyway, it stood out against the rest of the town’s small shops and homes.
As I was passing by I found myself glancing up at the roof, pondering the use and age of the structure. A large silver and gray owl seemingly appeared from literally out of the blue, swooped down and landed on the roof. She was not a normal sized owl, she was large in a way that would make you believe she’s come from the “Jack and Beanstalk” giant world.
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Thursday, September 17, 2015
Library of souls
I have a really cool writing app on my laptop called Poe. I really should use it.
Last night I dreamed that I went on a cemetery tour. Well, it did not really start out that way, I was walking along a dark path in a kind of wooded area next to a canal in a city. Kind of like where the homeless people would walk along to find a place to sleep in the bushes, it was one of those sketchy kind of trails.
After I walked for awhile it seemed I had a small group with me. There was a woman, she was really skinny with stringy, dark hair. She was sad, she wanted to tell someone her story, she wanted people to hear her.
The path eventually led into a cemetery. So many of my dreams are in cemeteries. Weird, I know, maybe it is the Goth in me. All of the graves were fairly new, it was the most recent part of the cemetery, and there were people of all ages buried there. There were people visiting, some were walking and others were driving slowly by on the gravel lanes with the two tire paths and grass in the middle.
We sort of hung back and did not interact much with the mourners, we were not there for that purpose. After awhile it felt like the coast was clear, and we all loaded up into a van and drove to the older part of the cemetery. We drove down a road and through a tunnel . . . the older part of the cemetery was completely isolated from the newer, modern part. The graves there were the same ones we had seen before in the new part, they'd been moved there to make room for the new graves. It seems like the plots in the new part were constantly being recycled. Only the newly deceased were buried there, and after a few weeks or months the caskets were moved to the old part of the cemetery. It was almost like a retail store that is constantly switching out its season merchandise on the front racks.
Last night I dreamed that I went on a cemetery tour. Well, it did not really start out that way, I was walking along a dark path in a kind of wooded area next to a canal in a city. Kind of like where the homeless people would walk along to find a place to sleep in the bushes, it was one of those sketchy kind of trails.
After I walked for awhile it seemed I had a small group with me. There was a woman, she was really skinny with stringy, dark hair. She was sad, she wanted to tell someone her story, she wanted people to hear her.
The path eventually led into a cemetery. So many of my dreams are in cemeteries. Weird, I know, maybe it is the Goth in me. All of the graves were fairly new, it was the most recent part of the cemetery, and there were people of all ages buried there. There were people visiting, some were walking and others were driving slowly by on the gravel lanes with the two tire paths and grass in the middle.
We sort of hung back and did not interact much with the mourners, we were not there for that purpose. After awhile it felt like the coast was clear, and we all loaded up into a van and drove to the older part of the cemetery. We drove down a road and through a tunnel . . . the older part of the cemetery was completely isolated from the newer, modern part. The graves there were the same ones we had seen before in the new part, they'd been moved there to make room for the new graves. It seems like the plots in the new part were constantly being recycled. Only the newly deceased were buried there, and after a few weeks or months the caskets were moved to the old part of the cemetery. It was almost like a retail store that is constantly switching out its season merchandise on the front racks.
Monday, September 14, 2015
Who I am
I have been asking myself the same question that I think a lot of people ask themselves -- who am I? You think you know until you have to think about it, or until you confront something that makes you do some self research, that makes you wonder what's going on inside you mentally.
So I decided to sort of document my thoughts, both good and bad, about myself. Not really for anyone in particular, but for myself, to figure it out, to be able to actually look at it, if that makes sense.
I'm a bit of a tom boy, I grew up fishing, camping, hiking, hunting, riding motorcycles, snowmobiling, building forts, playing in the mud. I remember catching frogs in the river bottoms behind my parents' house in Blackfoot. We went to Island Park once with some family friends, and myself and another kid caught a frog and put it in a box and then put it in my dad's truck. . . it got out, so we tried to find it to no avail . . . I honestly don't know what happened to that frog.
My dad gave me a pellet gun when I was a kid, and I used to set up soda cans on a table in the backyard and target practice. I never shot at any animals, I'd like to note.
Also when I was a kid my dad taught me how to bait a fishing hook and cast, and I always baited my own hook, fish guts and all, and I always caught the first fish. . . it was an ongoing joke with my family for awhile . . . "Jenny will catch the first fish!" And I did, every time.
So I decided to sort of document my thoughts, both good and bad, about myself. Not really for anyone in particular, but for myself, to figure it out, to be able to actually look at it, if that makes sense.
I'm a bit of a tom boy, I grew up fishing, camping, hiking, hunting, riding motorcycles, snowmobiling, building forts, playing in the mud. I remember catching frogs in the river bottoms behind my parents' house in Blackfoot. We went to Island Park once with some family friends, and myself and another kid caught a frog and put it in a box and then put it in my dad's truck. . . it got out, so we tried to find it to no avail . . . I honestly don't know what happened to that frog.
My dad gave me a pellet gun when I was a kid, and I used to set up soda cans on a table in the backyard and target practice. I never shot at any animals, I'd like to note.
Also when I was a kid my dad taught me how to bait a fishing hook and cast, and I always baited my own hook, fish guts and all, and I always caught the first fish. . . it was an ongoing joke with my family for awhile . . . "Jenny will catch the first fish!" And I did, every time.
Learn to take a compliment
I have had some pretty amazing experiences in the last couple weeks, things that have made me wonder if everything falls into place, that nothing that could be attributed to coincidence actually is. Some things, some people, some experiences just fit. Stop second guessing it and let it flow.
My biggest issue, by far, is the way I feel about myself, particularly on the outside. Honestly I am not sure how to change that.
But a few weeks ago I was walking across the gym parking lot and I look up to see a guy holding the door open for me. I was still quite a ways away, so I started kind of jogging toward the door, and he hollers "You don't have to hurry!" I get to the door and it is this sweet Hispanic guy, probably in his 50s, and I tell him "Thank you." And before I walk in he asks, "Do you know what they call your hair color in Mexico?" To which I reply, thinking I'm smart and I know exactly what he's going to say, "rojo?" (red).
"Canela," he says, and paused a moment for effect while I tried to figure it out, "cinnamon." And then I am sure I said something super corny, I can't recall right now, but he just smiled, and as he started to walk away he smiled and said, "it's beautiful."
Now, if you know me well, you can imagine what that meant to me. Going to the gym is rough for me, I can't really wear a hat there, and there are so many beautiful people there. I damn near have a panic attack just thinking about going there. (But I am determined to conquer that fear, so I continue to go, but that is another entry for another day.)
It was sweet, and it was sincere. Of course I have had friends and family tell me I am beautiful, but c'mon, your friends and family are not going to tell you you're ugly, by association they kind of have to spare my feelings, no offense to those who have told me that, I know you mean well, and I try to believe, I really do! I promise! But this guy had no obligation, no reason to stop me and say that other than sincerity. It was just such a nice gesture.
I wish more people were like that, kind, honest . . . can you imagine how much better this world would be if we all gave a complete stranger a compliment once a day? Or just randomly did something nice for someone else with no strings attached?
And ladies, learn how to take a compliment. If a guy tells you you're beautiful, don't immediately think he is a creeper or that he is hitting on you. Chivalry is not dead, women just need to learn how to not think all guys are assholes or want to get into their pants.
My biggest issue, by far, is the way I feel about myself, particularly on the outside. Honestly I am not sure how to change that.
But a few weeks ago I was walking across the gym parking lot and I look up to see a guy holding the door open for me. I was still quite a ways away, so I started kind of jogging toward the door, and he hollers "You don't have to hurry!" I get to the door and it is this sweet Hispanic guy, probably in his 50s, and I tell him "Thank you." And before I walk in he asks, "Do you know what they call your hair color in Mexico?" To which I reply, thinking I'm smart and I know exactly what he's going to say, "rojo?" (red).
"Canela," he says, and paused a moment for effect while I tried to figure it out, "cinnamon." And then I am sure I said something super corny, I can't recall right now, but he just smiled, and as he started to walk away he smiled and said, "it's beautiful."
Now, if you know me well, you can imagine what that meant to me. Going to the gym is rough for me, I can't really wear a hat there, and there are so many beautiful people there. I damn near have a panic attack just thinking about going there. (But I am determined to conquer that fear, so I continue to go, but that is another entry for another day.)
It was sweet, and it was sincere. Of course I have had friends and family tell me I am beautiful, but c'mon, your friends and family are not going to tell you you're ugly, by association they kind of have to spare my feelings, no offense to those who have told me that, I know you mean well, and I try to believe, I really do! I promise! But this guy had no obligation, no reason to stop me and say that other than sincerity. It was just such a nice gesture.
I wish more people were like that, kind, honest . . . can you imagine how much better this world would be if we all gave a complete stranger a compliment once a day? Or just randomly did something nice for someone else with no strings attached?
And ladies, learn how to take a compliment. If a guy tells you you're beautiful, don't immediately think he is a creeper or that he is hitting on you. Chivalry is not dead, women just need to learn how to not think all guys are assholes or want to get into their pants.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)