On Life in Ink

A "Not Mine and Noteworthy" from my latest Antiques District expedition

The only thing weightier than the scent of fat meat and humidity were the hearts of a family in despair. As I typed these words, I knew I had entered dangerous territory; I had broken a Black family cardinal rule: silence.

Growing up, the only thing I ever got in trouble for was talking. I even talked about getting in trouble for talking about not talking. "Cheryl asked me what you and I talked about and I told her I couldn't tell. But, don't tell her I told you she asked, okay?" This was a recurring discussion between myself and childhood therapists. It is also what I believe to be the catalyst to my obsession with speaking about life and the subsequent creation of outlets for such speech: imaginary friends, writing, and art. I discovered a loophole; a way to speak without talking.

This brings me to where I am today, ambivalent and perhaps even afraid; as I put the finishing touches on the intro to a series of tell all tales. My inner child, Fear, has me by the throat firmly yet tentatively as she asks, "Are you sure about this, are we going to get in trouble"? As a child, I couldn't wait to become an adult so that I could do whatever I wanted. As an adult, I can- in no uncertain terms, be stopped by the same child. So with resolve, I swallow and continue to type.

Think or discuss: What is your inner child keeping you from?

Peace and courage

On 36 and Thinking

My first day as a thirty six year old was eerily similar to my last days as a 35 year old, only spent in new pajamas. It would seem the past few years have been rich in deep- and sometimes not, thought. Some days I become so overstimulated by my internal voice, it seems as though I've been amidst company.

I sometimes catch myself asking inwardly-and sometimes outwardly, if I'd previously covered a thought as it enters; only to discover, I have not. Feeling too far invested in the topic to bring the now rightfully confused party (usually the Favorite Guy) up to speed, I return to my internal voice. I enjoy the company for the most part, and we get on nicely-however, between us friends, sometimes I wish she'd just shut the hell up. Do you ever feel that way?

Peace and quiet

July 12, 2009

"The old believe everything; the middle aged suspect everything: the young know everything.” -Oscar Wilde

I knew that!

Peace, beer, and ice cream cake!

Random Thought Thursday: What's Going On?

Dead Tree: T.Allen-Mercado 2009

[Edited from what I've actually been saying the past couple weeks.] I haven't had any packaged, processed or SOLID foods in nearly 10 days, I'm feeling a bit more alert and oriented than my bag o' chips and a brews posts. So I ask, "Really, what the hell is going on in the world"?

Before Michael Jackson's untimely death, we were a nation banded together by all of this hope for "change". We were sending out positive energies, mojo and prayers for the troops, our neighbors in foreclosure, our friends and relatives who are unemployed, unmarried, and just plain unmotivated. And it got me to thinking...

If Michael Jackson wasn't a mega star would we offer his spirit, his legacy and his family the same basic respect and human decency we reserve for those who can't moonwalk? If your neighbor mourned the loss of someone she felt connected to (for whatever reason) for a week, would you ask her to get over it? Would you remind him/her that there are bigger, greater, grander things of which to be concerned, or would you respect her need to bleed? Even, if your only reason was a show of respect and acknowledgment that feelings aren't right or wrong, they just are. Even if in doing so, you stood only to gain self respect. Then, would it be too much to ask?

As we buried our guinea pig yesterday and the phone calls came in, the e-mails, comments and convos, I reflected, for a moment on humanity. More specifically, humanity as it relates to mortality. We're quick to assign value to lives that aren't ours to qualify. We're quick to exalt, laud and condemn, at will; it's as if we're somehow absolved from the come around of what goes around. Why, because we can't moonwalk?

Peace

Farewell, Beau

Sighs. The single most difficult part of fur family relationships is saying good bye, or not. We lost one of our fur family members early this morning without warning, and needless to say we're all shocked and terribly saddened. From what I've read the average life span is 4-5 years but he seemed so virile just yesterday, whistling and waddling about in his cage. This is all so very sudden which compounds the grief, although I guess, you're never fully ready to lose a pet.

Original artwork by Suzanne LeGood on Etsy.com

Beau, our Peruvian Cavy was with us only a short time in our lives, but his entire lifetime. He has left us with rich memories and an unrivaled standard in cavy coiffure. Beau was an undeniably striking fellow, with his flowing tortoise locks and come hither stare. Okay, the stare was more, Where's the alfalfa? than come hither, but these are my memoirs; I'm allowed such liberties. Smiles

For now, I must bid you fine blog friends adieu as we make arrangements to send Monsieur Beau over the rainbow bridge in style, just the way he would've wanted, the best we can offer still holds no candle to all he deserved. Farewell, furry dude.

Peace