chaos theory and stream of thought

"Ich sage euch: man muß noch Chaos in sich haben, um einen tanzenden Stern gebären zu können. " trans: "I tell you: one must have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing star. "fwn
***
things to remember on a monday...

life throws his head back when i tell him that i'd like a two week notice on change. he laughs so hard that he actually cries a little bit. if sharon really gave a shit about my reproductive possibilities she never would have suggested using the whitetrashtownie in front of the car as my "sperm donor". stop censoring. stop checking up on things and people. things are the way they are, and no amount of shoring up, checking in, due diligence, etc. is ever going to change a single thing.

people are who they are, and you can't love them into being anything else, and even if you could, that would be a bad choice. causality is everything. everything is eventual. death and life are just opposite ends of the spectrum, and dying isn't too much different than being born. there's a change and a party. someone always cries. things move on. there is integration.

in the grand scheme of things, i think it's dangerous for me to know how powerful i really am, how powerful i really could be. i hate the obvious questions that no one thinks to ask out loud, so i ask them and am always suprised at the answers that come around. i'm even more suprised that anyone with an ounce of sense would deem those questions "insightful". morons make me so angry. shallow people make good morons.

blue is a nice color, but it befits spring. i was glad to wake up today, and glad that it was overcast, because i like gray and red and dark brown in the fall. i wore a green sweater today, even though it's not nearly cold enough. mom gave it to me for christmas. it feels like her hugs.

sometimes, i am afraid of dying. mostly i'm afraid of dying alone, and wondering if the cats would eat my eyeballs. and then i remember that i would be dead, so it wouldn't matter. i was very relieved when the doctor told me i wasn't going to die and that my ekg looked great. i almost cried. i'm glad the medicine is working. i'm glad i'm going to be ok. i'm glad my head isn't exploding anymore. sometimes i think that if i lost 80 pounds i could snap up a boyfriend quicker than anything. that makes me angry. it makes me hopeful, too. that thought makes me feed the cats, and go to the gym, anyway.

there's always a princess. there's always a fairy god-mother. always. always. always. and even when i can't swim out of the dream fast enough to save them all, i know it's a dream. and that i can breathe underwater. and that there is enough time to do what i must do to have things come out right. they will come out right. i just know it. i just have to stop checking. stop checking. stop checking. because things are how they are, and you can't get a two week notice on change. things don't really ever change, anyway. they are how they have always been, you just sometimes learn to open your eyes wider, or squint a new way, or put on fancy new glasses and see things from a new view.

tomorrow is going to be a long day.

mil besos--rmg

episode #241, in which rachiepoo takes pictures in san antonio and learns to drive in chicago...

see, even when i'm not writing thoughtful and witty posts, i'm still always moving, trying to find the next thing to write about or take a picture of. i'll need a nap soon, but since it's national blogging month, i figured i better get with the program, and write some posts already.

i love trees. i'm mesmerized by them, to tell the truth. the "ents" in Lord of the Rings are some of my favorite imaginary creatures, not the least of which is because they are trees. this particular tree is in the couryard of the alamo. it's a live oak that was transplanted there in 1912. it's amazing.

this is a detail taken off a bridge crossing the san antonio river on presa street. it's a great old bridge, and marks the entry into la villita, my favorite part of san antonio. i always park near this bridge so i can walk across it.

our lady of guadalupe is my favorite of all the marys. i took this picture out side of mission san jose, in san antonio. i plan on cleaning the shot up some, flipping it to black and white, and maybe using it for a christmas card. the mission is really beautiful, and i very much enjoyed the afternoon i spent walking around the grounds, looking at the buildings, etc. all the art work in and on the building was done by the indians who lived in the mission. what a beautiful place!

i can unequivically say that i would rather have all my fingernails pulled out than drive in chicago ever again. it's horrible. there's a word to describe it, but seeing as how i send this blog to my grandparents, i can't use it. but the first syllable is cluster...you get the point. this is really the only picture i wanted in chicago. i fought hard to get to wrigley field, and braved a 2 hour traffic jam to snap this. i am very much, on occasion my father's child, not only because i got lost five times while actually using a map, but also because i drove 60 miles roundtrip to take a picture of the front of baseball stadium. here's to ya, pops.

does anyone else see the total irony of proclaiming a restaurant "the wieners circle" while advertising it as the "home of the char-broiled cheddarburger"? i do. and i stopped traffic to get you this picture. you are allowed to show your pleasure in the form of gratuitous praise. cash is also acceptable.

this is the best shot of the sears' tower i could get from the street. i got honked at. a lot. but there was no way i was coming home without some damn pictures of chicago landmarks. not after fighting my way downtown in obscene traffic and having paid money on tolls. geeze louise. that being said, chicago is a great town. maybe one day i will attempt to conquer it, and add it to the list of cities i have pillaged with my awesomeness. i will be hiring a driver to cart me around, for sure.

that's pretty much all i have for you from this side of the funny farm.

mil besos--rmg

stay tuned...

a new blog will be posted soon...promise.

mil besos--rmg

deja vu, all over again...

last weekend, i went on a driving expedition with my mom and grammy, somewhere between lake mcqueeny and new braunfels, i saw a two and a half story house painted a color like oxidized copper, with a double wrap around porch. the house was surrounded by fields, and had a tree break on one side of it. the only other place i have ever seen a house that like was in a dream i had a year and a half ago, almost to the exact date. i have been sort of haunted, in a good way, since last saturday.

here's the journal entry i wrote about it when i woke up:

February 26, 2006 - Sunday

i had the most amazing dream either sometime last night or this morning. it was so vivid. like if i had stayed asleep long enough, it could have become totally real.
i dreamed i bought a house-- a green one with two and a half stories, painted some random green color--like the way copper looks when it's oxidized. i had a little writing room at the top of the house, and i could see the fields all around my house (because it's a farm house...duh), because there were walls of windows on all four sides, and i had all my book deadlines dry erased on the windows, so i could see when my editor needed things. and there was a windmill in the backyard that had brand new silver blades on it, and the wind was blowing to beat the band.
i dreamed i caught a bus to go into town, and i ended up in a bar, and all my favorite people were there, and i was suddenly playing some card game that was a cross between texas hold-em and five card stud, in a smokey room where a nice waitress kept bringing us unlimited sweet tea with lemon slices and fried catfish. we played cards and laughed and talked about life, and i felt alive and beautiful and free. and then i realized i was secretly in love with this idiot man who is so far out of my league that i should even be allowed to talk to him, much less have a crush on him, but i told him that anyway, and he didn't freak out, and then all my friends and idiot hot guy and i all loaded up on the bus and went back to my house for a house warming party.
i woke up knowing that everything is going to be ok. and that my house is waiting for me. my life is now.
--rmg



very strange, don't you think? i have no idea what this means. but it's kind of exciting.

mil besos...

two weeks in review...

i've somehow found myself spending the last couple of weeks feeling rather like this:

but two weeks ago, two of my little cherubs from atex bought me tickets to acl. i saw some great music, hung out with old friends, got a horrific sunburn, and saw bob dylan for the second time in my life. he played my most favorite song, ever. i laughed til my stomach was sore. my nose is still peeling...

i had some trouble going to sleep friday night, after my little b-day dinner party, featuring birthday flan. it's been hard to get my head around the idea of turning 29. i remember my mom's 29th birthday-- my dad and God-mother threw her a wake. it's odd to be an age that i remember my mother being. very, very surreal. i've been kind of pouty about starting the last year of my twenties, to tell the truth. it feels so...i don't know, settled? i mean, i own a house, a car, i have life insurance, i have a pet, i own a vaccum cleaner, and i go through a can of starch every other week. i bought a toilet and opened and ira account. i go on business trips. it's all very surreal, and seems to all have happened very, very fast. and i guess i got sidetracked into feeling like i was starting this static point in my life, instead of choosing to feel like i am beginning some of the best of times, precisely because i am settling down. granted, there are days when i'm not what i imagined i would be at this point in my life. but, my reality is kind of growing on me. and in those small hours saturday morning, i found myself thanking God for what is, and not asking God for what isn't. that's kind of a nice place to be...

mil besos--rmg

between a rock and a hard place

i've been thinking a lot about elijah, lately. elijah the prophet, not elijah the kid who played the hobbit, in case you were confused...

i very much like idioms--they are so helpful in conveying things that you want to say, but might say badly, or clumsily. between a rock and a hard place is one of my favorite sayings. but i've gained a new respect for that phrase over the summer, which lead me right back into the story, and the arms (as it were) of elijah, the prophet.

elijah was a difficult man to be friends with, i imagine. that much intensity and purpose could wear out the most patient of souls. he was a fire-brand, a lightening rod, someone who did not hold with equivocations, or namby-pamby lackluster worship or thought. he did not put up with chicanery, not under any terms. i imagine he had a hard time having fun. fun probably was not easily had in elijah's time and place, anyway. but, even if he'd been born in disney world, i imagine elijah would have had little time to have his picture taken with mickey mouse, or gone spinning in the tea cups til he barfed his mouse-shaped icecream onto his shoes. elijah was a man of principle. a man of discipline. a man with a plan, and a will to follow God, even if it meant that he was a rambler, a wanted man, hunted, and hated.

elijah found himself in a cave, in a wilderness, with death waiting on him if he went home, and his own disappointment if he didn't go home. elijah was stuck between a rock and a hard place. he had no choice but to be silent, to be uncomfortable, to be challenged, and to find a way to stand true and be who God was calling him to be. and in that posture of discomfort, between the physical rock and the spiritual hard place, elijah heard the voice of God. elijah felt the power of the strong wind, the magnitude of the earthquake, felt the heat and the power of the great fire, and was smart enough to know that the most powerful of all the things he witness that night was the whisper that came next. and elijah heard what he already must have known--to go back, and keep doing his job, and to be comforted in that purpose.

i don't like to be uncomfortable. i am uncomfortable a lot of the time, emotionally speaking, in my job. but to not do my job would be to deny who i am as a person, to say that God made a mistake, to call into question every place i have been, everything i have done, and every word that has come out of my mouth.

we live between physical rock and spiritually hard places, but how often do we be still enough, brave enough, quiet enough, and awestruck enough to listen to the whisper and respond with our whole hearts. sometimes you have to have your back against a wall to ever realize that moving forward is the only option. between the rock and the hard place is a holy place. God is there.

mil besos--rmg

summer begins to relent, sort of...

things are ok. really, they are. the ramp up to fall always comes to an apex, and we pick up the pieces left over from the blitz until christmas, and start all over again. funny how my life still mimics an academic one with the wax and wane of fall, winter, spring, and summer.

i'm trying to spend more quality time with myself. i know that probably sounds stupid, but it's very easy for me to forget to do my own thinking, my own praying, my own writing, my own art, my own life some days. there are days when the only thing i do that's self-motivated is try and remember to eat something green at every meal. i'm going back to the gym, and i'm suprised at how good that's been, just from a mental stand point, and the fact that i've decided to suck up the gas money and drive to the nice gym seems worth the trouble. it's nice to slip back into a routine of some sort.

i keep remembering these random phrases from the bible--like mental sound bites. the biggest one i keep hearing is " on this rock, i build my church." i keep thinking about peter, and what that meant. we think (or at least i do) about rocks for buildings being dressed, at least smoothed down, squared off, clean and tidy. i don't think that's what peter was like, at all. i think he was rough, broken, not terribly well-suited to have such trust vested in him. but God saw more, and knew better. and so i have a vocation today. and when my weaknesses are revealed in stark and stunning ways, i remember that i am just like peter--willfull, reluctant, stubborn, etc. and if God saw fit to build a church on such a one as peter, maybe God can do something with me, as well.

i think it's time to go back and re-read "the alchemist". i try to do that every couple of years. it's kind of like taking a vacation for me. i just re-read "til we have faces", over the last couuple of nights, and remembered why i loved that book so much. so often we see things the way we want to see them , forgettingor discounting the back stories, the alternate perceptions, the global/universal ramifications of our passions. it's good to remember that we are not only accountable for the rotten things we do, but also for the joys we forego. life is a spiral. it all comes back around, again, and again, and again. and the joys are sweeter, the pain a little easier to bear. and the closer we get to the middle of things, the more and more frequently things come back around.

things are good. the backyard is coming along. i officially hate brick as a medium of landscaping. i'll try and get some pictures up as things get closer to being finished back there. i'm already plotting my next project...furniture refinishing!!

mil besos--rmg

to write love on her arms...

man, what a day. if i could ask God one question, it would be this, "why do people have children if they aren't going to love and take care of them?". i don't understand why people bring children into the world, and leave them to take care of themselves. neglect is horrible, just as bad as abuse. i mean, what's worse--being ignored, or getting kicked around just for existing? same shit, different dress, if you ask me. i can't imagine ignoring my hypothetical children, or not fighting tooth and nail for them to have a happy childhood, or a healthy mind/body. i don't understand people who seem to have children out of some sick need to conform to society, and then just spend the next 18 years of that child's life ignoring them, farming them out to other grown-ups, abusing and neglecting them either physically or emotionally to the point that they may never be able to get well.

i think about having kids. i think about how much i want them in my life, how much i want to teach them to do things, show them the wonders of the world that i have seen, and watch them make discoveries of their own. i can't imagine with-holding affection from them, raising a hand to them in anger, treating them as less than valuable people, making fun of their ambitions or their limitations, or blaming them for being depressed, or anxious, or even just acting like teenagers. i konw that sounds lofty, because i don't have kids. and i know you can never underestimate the value of a visceral experience. but God help me if i would do any of that on purpose. or ignore someone telling me that my child was in danger, and that i better wake up.

i remember lessons i learned in high school about people who didn't pay attention to their sick child, and wanted to pretend that everything was fine. i never imagined i would see that re-inforced in my adult life, and still feel like my hands were just as tied as they were when i was 17. i don't want to go to a funeral that could be prevented. i understand that depression and self-injury are sometimes terminal diseases, i get that. but things don't have to be that way for the child in question. it's so hard for me to know that i have done everything i can do, and that this situation isn't any better. there's no quick fix. i'm not the police, or the doctor, or the parent, or the therapist. i have pushed as hard and as far as i can. and nothing has changed. not a damn thing. i cannot love this child enough to make her well. i can't tell her how special she is, or that things are going to get better, or that she's not going to be sick forever any more times than i already have and have her believe me. all i can do at the end of the day is to put her at the feet of Jesus, and hope that she can find some rest there. today was a hard day.

if you have some time, google "to write love on her arms". it's a powerful story. and it's beautiful. hope is sometimes a hard thing to find, but i know it's there, it's there and it's abundant, and it belongs to all of us.

mil besos--rmg

good lord, have mercy...

i wish i had something of import to say at this point. i just don't, because i am so tired right now. i'm trying really hard to rest and take care of myself, it's just hard right now. too many different directions, and i feel like i'm being sort of drawn and quartered. and i know that when this happens, parts of my life will suffer. there will be people who don't get enough of my attention. there will be things that don't get done (like cleaning the bathroom...sorry jinx!) or will get done to a point that they keep me up until all hours trying to make them perfect. this is how i know it's fall. that and everyone in my universe is going through some kind of transition that's driving them nuts in some form or fashion. my days have seemed so long this week, i think because i've been eating lunch at my desk. not leaving here for an hour in the middle of the day makes it seem so much longer. thank goodness today is my version of friday. hopefully, if i can keep all my plates in the air for 72 more hours, i can get my house cleaned and my laundry done.


my crazy old people make me laugh. i wish i could tell you some of their stories, but i know it's agains the rules. they are pretty amazing, though. some of them are funny, some of them will break your heart. none of them are boring, though. and that's a good thing.

i caught myself singing along with the radio today. the song on was an old, old, old duran duran track (ordinary world). i hadn't heard it in years, but i still knew every word. i felt sightly uncool about how well i knew the words, and how much i liked the song. i've sort of reconciled that now, though. random, i know. kind of like how i feel like i iron my clothes with more vigour if i watch a western while i do it. raise your hand if you watched lonesome dove AND tombstone this week--i have a plethora of ironed clothes, now. finally.

that's all. i need a nap. or maybe just to sleep for 36 hours. maybe i'll take myself to the zoo on saturday...

mil besos--rmg

simplify, simplify, simplify...

i stayed home from work yesterday. that almost never happens. i took medicine, slept the bulk of the day, slathered vick's vapo-rub all over my chest and throat, and turned my bathroom into a steam-shower four times. i am so glamorous, it's hard to even contemplate it, sometimes. shocking to think that i am still single, isn't it? taking a for real sick day was glorious, and even though i still sound like kathleen turner, i feel a little better. my poor cat didn't know what to think--he's used to me getting up, turning on the tv, getting ready for work, and bolting out the door by 9:30 most mornings, and not getting home until 6 or 7 at night. i think he was secretly irritated to have to share the bed all day.

i spent two days at a leadership conference last week with my staff. my boss told me to work on processing everything we heard/saw/read, to journal or blog about it. so i'm blogging in the middle of a work day, and i don't feel too guilty about that. bossman said to do so, and i like to be a good soldier, so here i am. and truth be told i don't really know what i think about everything i heard last week. i'd like to believe that there are some good nugets to be put to use, some real depth and substance to be explored and put into practice.

my fear is that too many cook spoil the broth. and we have so many, many, many cooks. and i'm not sure that we're all real clear on what the menu is. it reminds me of pot-luck dinner at church, where everyone knows just what they want to bring, but there's a good shot that without some direction, you'll just end up with a table full of pea-salad, or nothing but desserts and deviled eggs. so i'm processing. and i'm afraid. a little afraid.

but this is not my table. it belongs to God, and my job is to bring to God what God has given to me. and to unappologetic about that. and so i will be. even though the thought scares me, and what i have to give seems so different, so small and large and overwhelming and insignificant. but it is God's. and it is mine.

i know in my bones that at some point in the near future, i will go to Africa. i don't know how. i don't know why. and i don't know where. but i am going. i know that like i know my own name. it's not even so much as a desire as it is a compulsion. and i can't ignore it. i have known i would go to Africa since i was in college. and lately, the dreams of dust and noise and movement, of blue sky and red earth haunt me and loom larger than they ever have before. something, and i don't know what, broke open inside of me while i was in mexico, and i can't help but think that the trickle is a flood now, and i have to just relax, and let it take me where i'm going. to fight it seems like something close to a sin. i have many questions. many questions. and i am realizing that the answer to most of them, or at least to the most important of them has to be "yes".

mil besos--rmg

half asleep

that's pretty much how i feel. you know that moment when you realize that you are, in fact, having a dream, and that you must wake up? that's pretty much how i have felt for the past week. i can't figure out why. it's bizarre. i thought i was hormones or allergies or stress. now, i think maybe it's a sign from God and i'm just supposed to wait it out, until i either see a burning bush, or auras, or start getting messages on the traffic boards that give construction information along loop 410. whatever the case, i wish i would either get the message, or be able to get some sleep. this is getting a little ridiculous.


mil besos--rmg

stream of consciousness

we're dancing, dancing, dancing

cumbias and honeysuckle and pozole and small children with faces painted like tiny clowns

and i'm driving driving driving with the windows down and the top back

and the sky is so blue that at the edges it looks white and for the first time in a long time, i can see what tomorrow is going to look like. and i like it fine. and the middle of the bed is the best place to sleep.

and since the rain stopped and summer showed up my steering wheel is like a brand when i begin to drive. and i drive and drive and drive. but this time, i am not driving away. i am driving to someplace, someplace, someplace i think i have never been but see in my dreams. and maybe it's the beach or the desert or the city or a gravel road and maybe i'm singing at the top of my lungs, some kind of rockstar prophet social worker turned politician and honest woman. maybe i remember that the mole i ate was first made by the aztecs who were warlike and peaceful and made great art and music and chocolate and were ruled by shamans.

maybe the shaman was in the mole and he lives in my belly now, full full full of the earth and the sky and the sun and the quetzal and square flat topped pyramids. tiny, tiny, tiny flecks of stars peep down and say hello with the fire of ten thousand summers and smiles and tunes and stories and they smell like chlorine and bug repellant and coconut flavored sun-block. and my nose is peeling, again. freckles for fall.

sleep, perchance to dream and maybe make some sense of all that i've seen this week. stories of people getting sober, getting drunk, dying, falling in love, getting divorced, being happy, crying the whole way home over something as small as symantics. getting ready to help people live, getting ready to help people die. hold the stories like you hold a bird with a broken wing--gently, gently, you never know when you will need to be held. you are worth being held, and held well. you are. strength from the milk of human kindess, whether in a phone call or note or embrace. drink deep. be filled.

damned redeemed black white truth lies crazy sane for whom the bell tolls countless times, but for once it chimes for me. at least once. i know it. it woke me from my dream this morning. when what really woke me was the dream that i was eating oysters with the cast from west wing, and choked on a pearl. and i was in california, on an open road trying to find my way to I-10 so i could watch turtles cross the high way on their way back to the sea. i should really read about rastas during the day time...

i think that's really enough for today. my allergies are getting the best of me.

mil besos--rmg

en mexico

that is where i am, dear ones. and this is the first chance i have had to get a note out to you all. i am fine, and in fact, am dreading leaving this place, just a little bit. we have been having such a good time. and i have to tell you that i do not think i will be the same person when i come home.



home...such a wonderful word. and home means so many different things to so many people. you would not believe the poverty in this place if i told you. or maybe you would. all i can tell you is that it breaks my heart. but it humbles me, too. and i can see the abuse by abundance that we place on ourselves, as well. oh, i am not saying that i am coming home to sell all my possessions and live with the poor. but i will certainly think about it. and i mean that in all honesty. i really, really, really mean that. right to the tips of my toes.



last night, we shared church with the people who worship at el buen pastor, the episcopal church we have been working with. maria elena is one of the priests, and she gave the sermon in english and in spanish. we made eucharist together, speaking different languages at the same time. it felt like pentecost mixed in with the magical mysetry tour. the older ladies at the church have been cooking for us all week, and they made us pasole last night. and we danced until we could not dance anymore. (incedentally, i cannot find the apostrophy on this spanish language keyboard, hence the lack of contractions...ay dios mio...)



anyway, maria elena began her sermon by addressing us as " my brothers and sisters" and i started crying. it was such a precious moment to me. in that moment, i realized the only thing of any worth i brought to my brothers and sisters in mexico is myself--just being with them. that is really the only thing of any value i have to give them. they do not need my standard of hygeine, just because that is what i am comfortable with. they do not need my news, or my ideas, or my ideals for that matter. they just need me to see them, to really see them. to see past the crushing poverty, the struggle for mere subsistance, to see past the nits and the dirt and the smells, and see that they are my brothers and my sisters. they are whole people. they are beautiful and broken and just like me.

i did not have time to go on this trip, for lots of reasons. i honestly do not think when i left san antonio i had room in my heart to be on this trip. too many ideas too many ideals too clean too american too much. and somewhere along the way, the Jesus who lives here and the Jesus who lives inside of me met and made something new inside of me. and thanks be to God for that. it was time.

blessed am i among women.

mil besos.
rmg

by the numbers...

1--number of times my nephew punched me in the leg last weekend, after i removed some dangerous article from his hands.

190--number of miles i put on my car driving for work last week

2--number of loads of laundry i did this week in the giant washer in our communal laundry room, for the bargain price of $4.00. woo hoo.

355--the number of dollars i spent on securing a home warranty policy, so that all my appliances would be covered for the first year i owned my home, only to find out this week that my washer and dryer are not included. i'm still doing some detective work, though...

52--the number of pages i have written in my book, so far.

14--number of times i've been to the hospital in the last ten days. i'm kind of over hospitals right now. i hate them, which i realize is a dumb thing for me to say, seeing as how going to hospitals is a big part of my job. i hate, hate, hate them. and i hate that i know how to get around in them, with some kind of sixth sense, know how to sweet talk nurses and doctors to get what a patient needs, without having a shirley mcclaine moment from "terms of endearment", how i ride in the staff elevators like i belong there, how i scope out parking spaces, how i try not to cry when i leave, because when i leave, i always wonder when i'll have to come back, and how things will be. i always feel like i need to take a bath when i leave the hospital, to wash the smell off me, to prove that i'm home, and i don't have to stay there. and then i feel like a real jerk. see--sometimes, most of the time, i'm really not as nice as people think i am.

12--number of laps i swam the other night. not enough, but better than none, i suppose. the pool, in my defense, was highly over chlorinated, and i'm pretty sure i don't have any nose hair left, at all.

4--number of pillows i absolutely have to have on my bed in order to sleep with any degree of certainty. i've tried it with three, and that's moderately ok. but for real, hard, restful, decent sleep, 4 is the magic number. and i have to have my down comforter. i can't stand having a top sheet on my bed, and unless the fitted sheet is deep pocketed, i can't use one. i also have to sleep with one foot sticking out of the covers, at all times, usually the right foot, because i sleep on my left side. i know, it's complicated, and you don't really even need to know this.

1--number of background checks my bestest friend has done on my new crush. good news--new crush is clean as a whistle. so glad, aren't you?

3--hours i spent ironing clothes after washing and drying things. i hate how completely thourough i have to be when i iron something. and i'm almost out of starch, which i find irritating because i bought the big can last time. that is one of those "adulthood" things that grabbed me, and just won't let go. i'm so picky about that, now. and i was the kid who lived in jeans and t-shirts until well into college. it's a little nuts. and i had to clean my room before i could actually sleep. and i suddenly hate having dirty dishes in the sink, or clean ones in the dishwasher. and it's driving me nuts that i haven't dusted my room in a week. who am i? where did the other me go? holy moly...

1--number of times i have been to starbucks this week. i know, supress your shock. i've been trying to be fiscally more responsible, so i've been drinking crappy church office coffee. it's hard, ya'll. the coffee is so bad here. it makes me sad, but it takes the sting out of the morning headache. and as long as i remember to bring milk from home, it's almost ok. and it's free. which makes it almost sweet, instead of thickish sludge, much like what one would dredge off the bottom of my beloved san antonio river. sick out.

2--number of vacation options i have researched. a lady need to take a trip, people! i'm thinking either another jaunt to the wilds of far west texas with kristen and laura jane, or a trip to vancouver with ryan. i wish i had the time and the moolah to do both, but that house payment wants to be made EVERY MONTH! geeze louise...

0--number of naps i have taken this week, even though these rainy afternoons make for perfect napping weather. however, bossman is out of the office for the week, so rachiepoo is busy keeping the ship afloat with our senior warden.

75,000--number of times a day i remind myself that i love my job, even though people i work with drive me nuts. i know i am here for a reason. and that reason is not so i can go crazy before i turn 30. i know that. i know that. i really think i know that.

mil besos--rmg

bone tired...

i haven't really stopped moving since about may 5th. and i'm not complaining about that, i'm just saying i've been going, going, going for a month and change. and a lot of water has gone under the bridge between then and now. i'm going to my momma's house this weekend, to see the extended fam, mess with my little fat nephew (who is so strong that he can break out of his playpen at will...talk about a hoss...), drink beer with my brother, hear stories i've heard a million times, and some that i've never heard before. it will be a wonderful time, i'm sure. and i might even sleep. maybe. i hate to miss something due to a nap. but that's the story of my life.

i've been so busy this week. between trips to the hospital with little old ladies, communion appointments, and just trying to get my office in some kind of order after moving into a different part of the building, i'm a little frazzled. and i only made it to the gym once this week. boo. very, very bad. but it's ok. i just can't wait until next weekend, when i have absolutely nothing planned at all. and i refuse to do anything. period. i might go to the pool and work on my tan. i might work in my backyard. i might do laundry. or i might just read on my porch, nap in my bed, dust my room, and not turn on the tv for 48 hours. of course, that's assuming that none of my critical cases step on rainbows to go be with Jesus (footnote--kinky friedman), and i'm not planning funerals or dealing with their relatives. it's a crap shoot. we'll keep our fingers crossed, at any rate.

it's almost time for another "by the numbers" post, but i'm waiting on a couple of things from this weekend before i blow your mind with any stats from my mostly-mundane but personally gratifying existance.

for now, i'll leave you guys with the advice to go out and buy the new brandi carlile cd (much gras to caro, who gave it to me)--some of the songs make me want to throw myself under a bus, but in a good way. i think i'm nursing a new crush, and i'm kind of moderately excited about that. sweet. and, if you need a new cd to dance by, go pick up the new mika disc (ryan sent this one to me...oh my friends who send me music because they know i am a)descriminating and b)making mortgage payments, you rock my socks off, quite literally...) it's great for jamming out during traffic and makes you want to smooch on someone fun and dance til the wee hours.

i've been reading ts eliot, william blake, and shelby foote. my mind is a little muddy. and i'm sleeeeeeepy. sorry the last two posts have been so lame. i'll try and do better. i promise.

mil besos--rmg

ghosttown...

so, i totally overthought how bad my high school reunion was going to be. shocker--me over-think anything? what? oh but i did. damn near paniced and turned around about eighty times driving back on the road, that despite my travels and the fact that i don't have family living there anymore, still feels like the road home.

i saw people i hadn't seen in years. i laughed like a little kid. i saw the faces of my class mates on the faces of their children. and i put some old, aching, miserable ghosts to bed, hopefully for the last time. i drove past houses i used to live in. i made the loop around the park. i got a coke at sonic. for the first time, i had a beer at bonnie's house, and wasn't scared to death her parents were going to catch us drinking. it was surreal. and kind of nice.

the best part was knowing that while i don't always have the life i've dreamed of having, i no longer give two hoots and a holler about who thinks i'm cool or worth talking to. i was glad to know that the girl who felt that way didn't come to the reunion wearing my face. we all grow up, in our own time, and in our own way. and thanks be to God for that.

i imagined i would have to do a super-secret blog and tell you all about the things i saw and heard that weren't fit for public consumption. at the end of the day, all i can tell you is that i had a wonderful time. i had some amazing conversations. and i was ready to come home, back to the home i have made for myself, in this place and in this time. and sure, it's not always as pretty or put together, or even as full as i would like for it to be. but this is my life, all the pieces, and i'm proud of that. i have worked so fiercely to become who i am, to carve this out. i don't have time for regret or jealousy. that's a good thing to know. oh, and i know that i should never play the guitar after about 37 vodka drinks. it's the little lessons that count, right?

mil besos--rmg

Reading List for Summer/Fall 2007

slow blog week, i know. Iive pretty much felt half-asleep since, oh say last tuesday. i'm sure after this weekend, i'll have something to say. i mean, it's not every weekend you get to go to your ten year high school reunion. maybe i can even convince the 1989 uil spelling champion to do a "he said/she said" team post with me, just for this one little story. i'll keep you posted.

at any rate, i know you all just must be wondering with great anticipation what's on my reading list for the next six months...so i'll tell you. feel free to read along. i'll be giving some reviews along the way. i totally doubt i will get anywhere near done with this list, unless i give up sleeping and working, but if i can get through ten of these books, i'll feel pretty good about things. i'm already almost done with book five in the Harry Potter series--it makes for great reading on the exerbike at the gym. and i'm into the 1st volume of the shelby foote collection, so that's nice. it just kind of makes me a little narcoleptic...which may mean that it's a good bedtime book.

The Civil War, a Narrative—Shelby Foote
The End of the Affair—Graham Greene
100 Years of Solitude—Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Pride and Prejudice—Jane Austen
The Kite Runner—Khaled Hosseini
The Time Traveler’s Wife—Nifenegger
The Lovely Bones—Alice Sebold
Snow Falling on Cedars—David Guterson
Bless Me, Ultima—Rudolfo Anaya
All the Pretty Horses—Cormac McCarthy
A Good Man is Hard To Find—Flannery O’Connor
Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee—Dee Brown
My Life is My Sundance—Leonard Peltier
A Brief History of Time—Stephen Hawking
Catch a Fire—Timothy White
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas—Hunter S. Thompson
Like Water for Chocolate—Laura Esquivel
A Room of One’s Own—Virginia Woolf
The Kennedys and the Fitzgeralds—Doris Kearns Goodwin
Rise and Fall of the Third Reich—William Shirer
The Satanic Verses—Salman Rushdie
About a Boy—Nick Hornby
Wuthering Heights—Emily Bronte
Thirteen Moons—Charles Frazier
Blue Like Jazz—Donald Miller
Harry Potter Series—JK Rowling


mil besos,

rmg

we are family...

alabama is at her most beautiful in the last throes of spring. memorial day weekend definately qualifies as late spring, i think. (hard to believe that summer is still a bare month away...seems like it was just christmas...) and even though the lovely state is in the middle of a drought, and the wildfires in georgia made going outside smell like a campfire all day, every day, alabama was nonetheless lovely. it's hard not to be happy when you're by the pool, with a high blue sky above you and family around you. granted, it's easy to be nostalgic, and maybe have to sneak off to a little corner to catch you breath and say a little prayer and cry a tiny tear, because family has a way of making your heart hurt, in a good way, because you love them and they love you, and even though you want things to stay the same, you know they change with every single heartbeat. that's beautiful and awful, all at the same time.

for example--my wee little cousins (ella is 4 weeks, austin is 3 years) grow so fast, you can almost hear them growing in their sleep. austin is in the late stages of potty training, and ella is trying to learn how to a)be a real person outside the womb, and b) set up a sleep cycle that makes some kind of sense to everyone. they are both doing very well with their tasks. granted, both of them have lungs that will hold a lot of air, and vocal chords that allow them to reach soaring heights at decibel levels that seem to defy the laws of nature...but they sure get their points across.

it's funny what you notice about the difference between boys and girls when they are small--and i don't mean anatomical differences, either. with austin, who is very much a little boy into little boy things (his mother reports that for the last two weeks, he's been so preoccupied with building his thomas the tank engine tracks that he's totally lost interest in playing with his neighborhood pals), playing is the name of the game. he's on the go. he will be on the go from here on out. he's very goal oriented--stories are for nap-time and potty-time, they are not part of play time. play time needs to be outside or on the floor, surrounded by things with parts he can't swallow. it's good stuff. he's very busy. i've had the same experience with the World's Greatest Nephew. he's very into playing, and his play is deadly serious to him. he's not much into sitting and listening. oh sure, they will hear the highlights of stories, and have stories of their own--about how no man with a drop of graves blood in his veins can get out of this world without a monumental scar on his chin, and how that scar, in some bizarre way, symbolizes your role as a man in the family, whether you can remember how you got it or not...

now i realize good and well that ella is only a month old, but that girl, and whatever girls come along after her, will be the keeper of the stories. girls have the time to sit and hear the story. oh sure, they play, but they play differently. ella will know the stories that grandma jane told anna and mia, and the stories granny told to anna, mia, and me. ella will know stories that nanny told granny, that momee told nanny, that mere told momee. she will hear stories about crazy aunt rosie, about aunt bunch, about new orleans, and belle chase, and how nanny and fred's best friends were the guilliardo's, and how they used to boil 200 pounds of crawfish in an afternoon, just to feed the families. and we will tell her our own stories, as well. and she, and all the other little girls will keep them, until their are new little girls to tell old stories to.

sure, she smells like sleep and promises. and she has the whole world in front of her, tiny chances and giant leaps that wait before her, like the angles of some higher heaven, waiting to catch her and keep her as she begins her own journey. she is part of my story. i am part of hers.

mil besos--rmg

theory of evolution

i have no idea when it happened, but i can tell you the moment i realized it. i was standing in the toilet aisle of home depot, trying really hard to decide whether or not to buy the american standard model, with the 5 year warranty, antibacterial glaze, and the ability to flush a record 154 sheets of toilet paper at one time, or the kohler well-worth model, which while not as flashy as the american standard, brought with it the esteem of the kohler name, and looked like it would match my bathtub and sink fairly well. i'm standing in the aisle, kind of biting my lip, shifting from foot to foot, trying like hell to pick out a toilet, and i was hit with the freight-train of a thought that went something like, "holy crap, THIS is what it feels like to be a grown-up."

keep in mind that the trip to home depot was just the last portion of a string of events over a 36-hour time frame that made my head spin. on friday, i woke up, went to the bank, and rolled over my 401k into an IRA. i went to see momma and grammy for lunch, since i had the day off, got my teeth cleaned, and made a mortgage payment. that night, i went out with my friend jax, and had 1.5 adult drinks. granted, we were at pat o's, by the alamo, but seriously...1.5 drinks. then we went to some townie bar, to see some people jax went to high school with, which we shut down, and where i didn't actually drink anything. i was home and in bed by 2:30. no big deal, right? wrong. wrong. wrong. i woke up saturday morning with A HANGOVER. A HANGOVER--like real bad headache, scratchy eyes, general instability in the gastro-intestinal region, and feeling like my cat forgot to use his box, and used my mouth instead.

hangovers have never really been a problem for me. first off, i'm pretty good (most of the time, exceptions are made for family get-togethters, pasture parties, graduation parties, weddings, ordinations, and funerals) at keeping a tight lid on the drinking, i mean, i'm not 19 anymore (and i did, in fact, drink 9 beers one night and fend off a frat-daddy's advances once, so it's not like i'm all j.v. about being able to hold my own...) in the rare event that i have been overserved, getting things put to rights is as easy as a cold soda (preferrably coca-cola) and a couple of breakfast tacos, with a four-advil chaser. and that's just if things have gotten really, really, fundamentally out of hand, which they very rarely do, most new year's eve celebrations aside...

this hangover was vengeful. there was no cause for it. none at all. and it was during that limnal moment between being hungover and finally feeling moderately ok, while i was standing in the toilet aisle at home depot that i realized that there was no going back. not ever. i have an IRA. i have a house-payment. i have a pet. i have plants that need to be watered and re-potted. i have a body that will punish itself for the most minor over-indulgence or lack of sleep. there has been a change. and even if i sell my house, give away my cat, kill my plants, and run off to some health spa to master cleanse, the real change, the change that's in my head and my heart is just there to stay.

secret is...i kind of like it.

mil besos--rmg

visual effects, and such...

it's been a while since i've updated on you all on the continuing development of the World's Greatest Baby. he's progressing nicely. recently, he was awarded a plaque naming him"American's Number One Producer of Baby Cheese". he's being weaned off his bottle, and can only have it in his bed, so he's really into napping now. apparently, he's also really into screaming as loud as he can in public places, which has forced my brother to become one of the all-time greatest tippers in the history of tipping. World's Greatest Baby can now bark like a dog, mew like a cat, roar like a lion, and give raspberries. he can also find his eyes, his toes, his nose, and his belly. he's also added new phrases, "Mine!" "Um-bum-ba" "Dass Cold!", and "I dopped it" to his growing communications lexicon. I am utterly owned by this child. Good lord...



i took this photo in Harper's Ferry, W. Va. i'm pretty sure that west virginia is the only state where you can still buy candy cigarrettes in a store that's not a cracker barrel. i love harper's ferry. it's one of my favorite places in the world. and the day we went was impossibly beautiful. notice that next to the box of cigarettes is a box of licorice pipes. i had no idea they even made those...

i snapped this picture on the appalacian trail, right outside harper's ferry. i was walking in the opposite direction, and had one of those moments where you just know what's behind you is beautiful, and i turned and got this shot. i think it's pretty special. hiking just a little bit on the trail made me want to come home, sell everything, quit my job, buy a better backpack, and walk 2000 miles from georgia to maine, just to see if i could do it. maybe one day...

i snapped this under the railroad trestle in harper's ferry. funny part is, seven years ago, i was on top of that trestle in an amtrak train bound for washington and the rest of my life. crossing the rivers was like crossing some kind of mystical barrier, between being who i had been up to that point in my life and who i was going to be for the rest of it. rivers are magical places, and i don't mean that in a hokey way. and the potomac/shenandoah convergence is one of the most magical.

i snapped this picture in the lady's room at ben's chili bowl. it's kind of stunning, i think. it's totally going in the book. i just hope i'm up to the task of writing something worthy of sitting next to this question. i keep going back to it, knowing that at some point, i'll know what to say. in the mean time, it's been a good catalyst for late-night thought. and thank God ben's decided to paint their bathrooms with blackboard paint--this was chalked high up on the wall, by the air duct.

this is my favorite dinner, ever. keep the enchiladas and rice, the meatloaf and mac and cheese. keep the lasagna and salad. keep the fancy steaks and lobster. keep the fois gras. keep the cedar planked salmon. give me a little taste of heaven in a red plastic basket, and i will be happy. this meal was eaten on the same little counter stool i used to sit on when i was a lowly office rat in our nation's capital, sweating out the summers, being uncomfortably cold in the winters (texas is hot, ya'll...), and being glad there was a place where people were friendly, al green was always on the jukebox, and the chili could take the rust off a nail. ahh, so good.

i'm so glad i have tomorrow off, even if i do have to go to the dentist. this week has eaten my lunch and thrown the left-overs in my face. i need a nap, and a stiff drink.

mil besos--rmg