Bro vs. Bro

Some things really intrigue me. I think it is so cool that Jim and John Harbaugh are coaching against each other in the SuperBowl. On my drive in this morning, I was thinking about their dad, and what he must be feeling. I mean, not only does he have two sons who are head coaches in the NFL, but they are both freaking going to the SuperBowl. I mean, COME ON!

Then I started to think about my brother and my nephews, Cooper and Carter. Wouldn't it be cool if they coached against one another in a big ass game? Okay, so it might not be the SuperBowl, but they might be captains of their respective prison softball teams.

“Let’s Get the Whole World to Dance”

I love this video, and I love this kid.

In the video, he says, “Let’s get the whole world to dance.” And I’m all like, right on!

I think the world would be a much better place if people were more willing to laugh at themselves. I love being silly and goofy, and most times have a great capacity to laugh at myself. I think this is a place where my parents greatly succeeded; they taught my brother and me to laugh at ourselves (we’re also pretty good at laughing at others, but that’s beside the point).

And this reminds me of something that happened over the weekend:
My building is next to one bar and across the street from another (I know, awesome, right?!). The other evening, Ignacio and I were walking home from the movies and one of the bars sometimes pumps its music outdoors. Well, as we were approaching the bar, they were pumping the song “Fame”, and I was all like, I can’t stop my feet, and I did these big old jazz runs, some turns, and ended with these big old kicks right past the bar.

And you know what? It felt awesome.

So yeah, let’s get the whole world to dance. The world will be a better place; no doubt about it.

10 line poetry

Over Easy

I never knew about
red wine, foreign films, the Peace Corps, or over-easy.
Growing up, our eggs were always sunny-side up, the
yellows and whites too wet for my liking.

My house was filled with the aroma of American cheese,
Old Style, the Mid-West, and big love.
I realize now, it was also the scent of fear.
And it's been passed down like a treasured
heirloom. It's time to break tradition - move
to my edges.

I'll take mine over-medium, please.

My Person

I watch Grey's Anatomy on Netflix, a season behind most other people.

I love Christina and Meredith. Meredith always says, "Christina is my person." Christina says the same about Meredith. I'm jealous.

I totally get that, and have totally wanted that my entire life. I've read up on introverts a bit here and there recently, and we introverts tend to crave that "one person". The person they can go to whenever they need to. The person who knows their entire life history. The person who knows their entire life history and still loves them anyway.

When I was younger, I thought if I had a sister, she would have been my person. A lot of my friends seem to be super close with their sisters.

I don't feel like I've ever had my person. What a lonely thought, right?
I don't even know what to do about that. I don't think there is even anything I can do about that.

10-line poetry

Leaving the Nest

Next to our garage, the perfect tree for climbing.
Every year brought new heights and new limbs.
I was an adventurer, a philosopher, a tom-boy.
I'd pack girl scout tins with sustenance of
ruffled potato chips for extended stays.

That tree cradled my mind, body, an soul; never
betraying my secrets, though I am sure I heard
the leaves giggle.

My tree is long gone, as well as my powers to be someone else,
somewhere else.

10-Line Poetry

Freefall

I jumped out of a plane once. It was loud
and fast and cold. Exhilarating. Then I pulled
the ripcord and all was quiet and still
and perfectly peaceful. It was magical.
And I was invincible.
Temporarily.

I need to be invincible again.
There must be an easier way than freefalling.
The answer is easy:  just close your eyes, hold your breath,
and take one single step.

I'm a Poet

I have started my much anticipated poetry class with the amazingly talented and all-around awesome Maya Stein.

I’ve always been the math chick. I’m an accountant; numbers are kind of my thing. In high school, I remember crying in English class when I was given an assignment to write. Words are not my thing. They fail me and they escape me. I would get so frustrated at my inability to write, that the tears would come to eyes, and I’d try to blink them back. It was always so hard for me to create. Now, numbers on the other hand, they were black and white and needed no creativity. Numbers have been a comfortable friend.

So, this is the poem that I worked on last week with Maya.

And…here goes nothin’.

WAITING ROOM

That middle of the night phone call – it came.

Speeding to the hospital, I made wicked deals with a

God I didn’t believe in. The door to the ER eluded me,

playing hide-and-seek like a game around a fat tree trunk.

My father kept me away. I know it. He hid so I would

be unable to call him back.

His most selfish act.

I found it  – in time for nothing except

to sit in a waiting room for the words to destroy me:

he’s died.