i woke up to rain

August 28, 2013 Candace Morris 0 Comments

The moment is over.
We are dressed now
Ready with lists and todos,
baby signs for more food
reminders to stop biting

But this morning
before the wee productivitybug
there was something different
in the morning je ne sais quoi

A particular gorgeousness
The light both bright and dark

We are creatures
of routine.
But there was no coffee.
So I made chai. It felt weird.
Sourdough toast, a promise
to start taking it easy on the butter.

I feel the busyness of people bustling off to a new school year and I want to scream that I too am busy, productive, worth more than the dishes I do and the meals I plan and the pesto-stained babycheeks I clean. But no one cares. This is up to me, entirely my job to ascribe meaning and find avenues within this new life of motherhood to walk down and still be me at the end of it.

And to find some friggen coffee.

A nod to fall on this August Morning when the clouds brought a shower to the parched West.


Sunday, This Summer

August 18, 2013 Candace Morris 0 Comments

After a particularly grueling week wherein Joel recovered from a 7-day run-in with food poisoning, and Bowie's bad cough morphed into RSV, and I endured and failed a 5-hour job interview, I find the growth and beauty on Mom and Dad's property more endearing and healing than usual this Sunday evening.

I wish I could write more, but Mom is serving up homemade blackberry pie from berries picked this perfect afternoon.

I am telling you, this Seattle summer could break your heart.
Should your heart be ripe for the breaking.
Like mine.


the skinny

August 08, 2013 Candace Morris 0 Comments

Sometimes life's changes are so significant and jarring that that very air smells new.  You cannot possibly mistake the new thing for the old one, they are so dissimilar.  You may experience vertigo, a disorienting confusing while trying to make the connection between this now and yesterday.

Other times, changes are more subtle.  They are the initial shuddering of a tectonic plate, a shift felt in great capacity not until much later.  That's how I'm feeling it these days.  The days of the gorgeous-est summer I've seen in many years.  The days of 1yr olds scaring the living life out of me with their will and potential.  The days of countless bottles of rosé and caprese salad for lunches and dinners. The days where I need to find a job and the days where vacations feel like my enemy.

 The Skinny Around Here:

I am roughly 5 issues of The New Yorker behind.  I've always wanted to say that.

The offspring is going COO-COO for blueberries. 

Joel has been sick with a stomach bug for almost six days now.  He's broken.

I feel like I have forgotten how to use my camera.

The evenings are divine, with Cherry Garcia FroYo and the latest, lingering light.

I have a slight tan for the first time in 10 years. 

Camping exists to expose all of my character weaknesses. 

I have actually been swimming this summer.  This is tragically uncharacteristic. I will return to a lake yearly from now on.  (I spent weeks of my childhood summers camping on Lake Mead then on The Colorado River). Joel and I went baby-free camping for 3 whole days at Sun Lakes. It was really hot, and I daresay I was only miserable 60% of the time.  See prior comment.

Joel spent his summers travelling from Maple Valley, Washington, to Alliance, Nebraska.  I am determined to make the same trek one of these summers.

I am newly discouraged after many weeks of happiness.  Sadness mixing with self-pity mixing with restlessness. It's time for me to go back to work. I have a second interview this week for a Technical Writing position and I am fingers crossed all the way.  I'm really rather uncomfortable relying on my husband's income for such a long period of time.  An interesting article on that here.  Listen, I am married and I love being married.  Part of that means that we lean on each other, but financial times are different.  Even if nothing happens to our emotional relationship, if Joel were to suddenly die or lose his job, we would be royally effed.  I genuinely believe no capable adult should be 100% financially dependent on anyone else for an extended period of time, male or female.  Times, they are a'changin.

We have a new car.  Did I tell you?  We have been struggling to get Bowie in and out of our two-door VW Golf for over a year now.  I persisted in the search for a new car (what an overwhelming and defeating process) within our budget and finally found one on Craigslist.  It's a same year VW Passat with fewer miles, four doors, V6, leather seats, manual (a must!), sunroof, and in really great condition.  Although I feel like an over-privileged whitey driving it (and miss my zippy little Golf).

Phoenix d'Sangaré Gomes was born July 23rd at 5:17am.  By a random turn of events, I was able to be there for the birth and take photos.  Have you ever attended a live birth?  The moment the child emerges from all the toiling and planning and expectation, it's nearly the biggest relief and greatest joy I've ever experienced. I didn't even have those feelings at my own birth, as I was a bit tired and shocked.

I'm reading a lot of memoir, as I have been almost solely focused on writing creative nonfiction myself for the last six months.  Currently it is Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?(which is actually a bit slow and I'm forcing myself to finish) and a Cheryl Strayed recommended fiction The News from Spain which is lovely so far. Next is a local author, Brenda Miller's Blessing of the Animals.  I am proud to say that I've read almost exclusively women authors for over a year now.  I was severely out of balance in my male/female reading ratio.  It is much easier to find males to read, but one has to really know the business and search out females, which I am happy to do.  Now let's discuss this.  I hear you saying, "I read what is good! No matter the gender of the author." Well, congrats on that.  But have you examined how you know what is good? What are your influences?  What is your male/female ratio?  Why is this?  I tell you it is because men have been given more chance and privilege and opportunity to succeed for millions of years now.  I love males.  I love their pen.  But it's our turn, ladies. 


and for water play
and baby skin
and sun hats
and bowls of blueberries
and letters from wild fillies
and letters from pensive pretties.