into the grey

January 31, 2011 Candace Morris 5 Comments

There is a great deal of bated breath around my loved ones these days.  The momentum of news, the fear of the good, the disappointment of the bad, the indecision of the universe.

one gray monday


Journal Entry 
30 January 2011


And in the reception room of existence
Deciding to hope against the annoyance of sitting still
Suffocating under the potential of our name being next.
Rushing to the prognosis.  It will be, as it always is...
YOU.WILL.BE.FINE.




Human's are resilient little fuckers, but who do they think they are...coming and going as they please?

We were made with ambitions, with dreams, with the expectation that life will bring forth new life.  We want so badly.  Why do I so badly want to possess these dreams?  Why can't they be like art...beauty for beauty's sake, unspoiled with human stain?  Is it therefore wise to suspend our desires?  Or is that cynical?  Do we decide not to hope either way because we are emotionally terrified or is it because we are emotionally lazy?  I advise my dearest ones to suspend their feelings, but I think that's because I am petrified of picking up the pieces of their disappointment...that I will feel responsible for their pain.  They need to feel it.  I need to let them.

There is some sort of urgent dread birthing in my being.

I am looking for answers.
Well, one answer, really.

It's no longer IF I want  ___.
But WHY I want ___.

And this is an answer I must come to before proceeding.

While I seek this, life still happens.  Birth, death.  Requests, rejections.  
My family of friends and kin are pursuing their lives with bated breath.
They move to a new home.
They take their first steps.
They begin a family.
They apply to their future.

There is loss in the hope.
The risk is great.
The reward, better.

I promise, Red.
I promise.


a curious way to deal with death
And loss is such a curious way to describe death.
It's not a pair of keys, for fuck's sake.
We cannot throw back the cushions
or tear apart the back seat.
We can do nothing.





For now, I enter a grey cloud.
The pain is this big cozy cowl my mom made me.
And I will feel it.


I am not scared.
But I shake like hell in my boots.






5 comments:

saturday's errands

January 29, 2011 Candace Morris 3 Comments

Saturday's Errands

Walking to the liquor store so I could have a gin and tonic with my tuna salad lunch.
Stopping by the post on the way.
Lovely.

3 comments:

on my mind

January 28, 2011 Candace Morris 8 Comments


i dream of gins
dreaming of a tall, clear martini.
or five.
and a long nap...perhaps assisted by said martini.
les pieds, le vendredi

Looking forward to:
a date with the saint tonight
maybe some more roller skating
and a weekend just enough empty to feel spacious.


Happy Friday, fellow sojourners.

8 comments:

a day in images

January 27, 2011 Candace Morris 9 Comments

photophotophotophotophoto

A day off.

It's purpose:
solitude.

It's goal:
work on an essay and work on a poem.

It's bonus:
new hipstamatic lens

It's result:
restoration of peace of mind
and
(as equally important)
new color and cut.

A few small choices make the biggest of difference.


Here's to personal days,

9 comments:

if the shittiness of the week portends the greatness of the weekend

January 24, 2011 Candace Morris 5 Comments

Then halle-friggen-lujah.  That was one fine weekend.  No seriously, despite a nasty head cold, it was just a great time.

photo

We started it off on Friday afternoon with Clara and Teresa visiting me at Microsoft.

photo

Clara enjoyed my stress toy (she's cutting a few molars) and her lunch in the cafeteria. 
 It was a total mood-booster.

After family dinner out,
(and a new-found appreciation for restaurants who allow children)
T and I headed to the rink.


This was a few hours after I ran into the concrete wall after having been whipped around the bend by my stronger-than-I-thought sister.  I am happy to report that I survived sans concussion, but we did have to sooth ourselves with sluuuuurrrpppeees.
(Of which we both could only finish about 1/3.  They are waaaayyy sweeter than I remember). 
(More here)

It was also this night that I contracted a nasty sore throat and woke the next morning to a Barry White voice.  However, I had a lovely date with my sister-in-law at a local bookstore (minus the parking ticket I incurred)
.

Oh my fellow weekenders, that was a very nice outing.  We sat and talked over our assiago bagels and then quietly read for an hour or so.  

Then I:
took a lesiurely trip to the grocery store
(as opposed to the harried 5pm trip after work)
took a 2-hour nap
went to see "Cymbeline

Sunday was a day to recover from sickness and mop the bathroom.
You know the sort of day I mean...
the kind you make some sort of strange bobby-pin concoction work in your hair and wear old jeans and do all the laundry and organize your Q-tips.

All in all,
A perfect
End.




5 comments:

just sayin'

January 21, 2011 Candace Morris 7 Comments



7 comments:

we went away

January 19, 2011 Candace Morris 14 Comments



it began with the poetry of the earth cascading down upon our parched skin
and diner coffee shifting us into 5th gear



it continued with a gorgeous fairy
tumultuous wind
peace  heavily laid upon us like our wedding quilt
as we read
and wrote
and went away

 

when going meant arriving
to a gorgeous room
a claw foot tub and heated tile floors
a roaring fire and sexy view of the harbor

we knew we had carved out a piece of bliss all for ourselves


we simply had to don our sunday good 
(best was saved for later)
and patronize not one, but TWO
fine restaurant establishments.

sapphire martini
old fashioned
cabernet-franc from the year of 2008

olives and hot cashews
rack of lamb and spaghetti carbonara
prawns and garlic

sea-salt chocolates
kisses and whispers



sleepy satisfaction on a saturday morn
the lazy view, a moment for Neruda and Sagan
quirky small-town diners
with fresh-made donuts and weak coffee
tea for him.  always tea for him.



hours in bookstores
one soulless
one bursting with soul

more coffee and tea
learning about light, lenses, and f-stops
portraits of the other
for the future
to start soon

tasting the fermentation
taking in the precipitation

and an otter.
hiding.


after the necessary disco nap
we found our best and wooed each other downstairs to the fine dining

gin and tonic
manhattan
chardonnay
wedge salad
prime rib and king crab
a few of the players on the stage of our romance

stumbling happily to the bar for some decadence 
and cognac


all leading to spontaneous photo shoots 
and wet bridges
and happily ever after

for at least today
because although we pledge ourselves until death
we are both smart enough to know that all we truly have
is today.
Just Today.


and although we must too often go back the way we came
and repave roads overgrown with rosemary and dandelions
we shake off shame 
jump into muddy waters

and find our ripples continue
and intertwine
and clarify 
the obscure.

Thank You.
My Saint.
My answer.


  







14 comments: