Willow Waiting

I thank God for the little things, especially Willow!

I hit the snooze for the third time--
Like marbles falling on tile, her toenails dance to my side of the bed
Her tail wags her happy body, disconnected at every joint
Reminding me of a promise she assumes I made the night before
When she gets no response, she begins her pinball routine--puts her paws on my bed, rocks it like an earthquake, runs down the hall to the cupboard holding her leash
Back and forth she gallops, thinking I see where she goes
My head burrows into my pillow for one last moment of rest
Just the sound of her toenails guilts me into leaving the warmth of my bed
But it’s her eyes, her trusting eyes, that remind me what love feels like
It feels so good, better than the warmth of my bed or the softness of my pillow
Better than almost anything.

New car and me!

Ashes to Ashes

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the saying goes. I picked up Bill’s ashes today. The receptionist asked if I would like help out to my car because the box was heavy. How heavy could it be? It was a box about the size of three bricks, maybe a little thicker. I evaluated the size of my frame and my ability to hoist a 110-pound dog into the SUV, and decided that, no, I would not be needing assistance. I wondered if they had someone other than the waif behind the counter to help me even if I had needed it. We, meaning my mom-in-law and I, had decided against an urn due to the cost and how ugly they were. They could at least have had something with a bike. Besides, Bill wanted his ashes in Torrey, UT so why spring for an urn that would be useless a year from now? I think he would approve of my thriftiness. Nonetheless, it felt quite mundane to pick up the remains of my beloved in a plastic box. I had prepared myself for an avalanche of emotion. Instead, I walk out the door with a box that weighs about 15 pounds, the same weight as the dumbbell I use for bicep curls, dry-eyed, as if I was picking up dry cleaning. Last time I was there I cried a waterfall. This time it just stayed inside. My greatest fear was that something would happen on the way home and the ashes would disperse all over the new car. I didn't want anything to ruin the new car smell, after all! And can you imagine what would happen if.....I'm sure you can. Anyway, I used extra caution on the road and placed the box on the counter when I got home. As I tried to open the seal of the box, which was sealed quite strongly I might say, I almost dropped it on the floor. In my mind I could see ashes exploding all over and me standing in a cloud of dust, like Lucille Ball in the pastry chef episode. So I had a bit of a chuckle and was relieved to find that the bag was secured by an undestructable twistie tie, like we use for sandwich baggies. I'm sure they charged me at least $50 for the twistie. Next dilemma--where do I store the box? Well, since it isn't a visually pleasing urn that cost over $400, I didn't really want to place the box with the address label of the mortuary on the front somewhere in plain view. Initially, I placed it on the floor of the hall closet because there was room, but then I realized I keep the quilted Northern tissue paper there, and I'm just out for the moment. Now, while Bill was especially fond of quilted toilet paper, and he especially enjoyed his reading time in the adjacent bathroom, I felt a little remiss at leaving his ashes in the same space, so I wandered from room to room trying to decide what was appropriate. Finally, I settled on his closet in the office, where I positioned the box between a bunch of bike event t-shirts. Ashes to ashes--who knew it could be so complicated!

Same time different day

Many days I pause at 9:33 for at least a few minutes because those were the last moments of Bill's life--especially on Mondays. And especially this Monday because today marks one month. Actually, Wed is the date, but Monday will always be my marker. I planned to talk with his ER doc and nurse today, but didn't have the strength. Instead, I met a friend at the dog park. Pt. Isabel is so beautiful. I can see the City, the Golden Gate, and the Marin Headlands where Bill proposed to me. It was a spectacular day! Most importantly, the dogs luuuuuv it. I had so much fun watching Willow dance with other dogs, do the play posture, find every mud puddle, and nuzzle her best friend, Piper. Even though I had to put her into the back end of my brand new car somewhat muddy and wet, I was happy that she had so much fun.

During this time I have found that for every difficult moment I need to create a positive moment. Also, it is important for me to do things and go places that Bill and I never went. I like to go places that remind me of him, too, but it is even more important that I create new associations and memories. It is working for me, anyway. Plus I spent $400 on clothes, so that always helps. Don't worry, I'm not manic and I won't be doing that regularly! Felt good, tho. And I've made some new friends that have no connection to Bill, so they are not grieving, just ready to have fun.

Last week I debated whether or not to decorate for Christmas. I had planned on buying a small fake tree last year, but never did it. We never had a tree because we were always gone for Christmas. I finally decided that to not do the tree was a sign of weakness, and to buy and decorate a tree/put lights,etc, was a sign of strength. So, everytime I look at my decorated tree, I am reminded that I am strong. It is a very good feeling, although braided with sadness and feelings of loss.

Another day down.

Thanksgiving Day

This is a very different Thanksgiving, for all of us. This will be my first Thanksgiving in 15 years without Bill. Our anniversary is only days away, but a wedding in a small Mendocino church feels like a distant memory. In spite of Bill's death, I do have so many things to be thankful for. Some I have listed below.

Today I am thankful for many things. I am thankful for my parents' prayers and concerns. I'm thankful for a brother who calls me every morning to wake me up just like Bill used to do. I'm thankful for a sister who is ready to listen regardless of her schedule. I'm thankful for friends, neighbors, and extended family whose hugs, calls, cards and emails give me energy to make it over the next hurdle. I am thankful for my Kenu, whose dog wisdom knows when I need his presence and warmth. I am thankful for Willow, who provides comic relief as she bucks and bounces with her imaginary friend whenever I am in need of a good laugh. I am grateful that my physical needs are met and that I have a cozy home and beautiful yard. I am thankful for our mind's ability to remember, and forget. I am thankful for cameras and the photos that remind me of special people, moments, experiences and places. I am thankful for hope and comfort, and for all the signs that I have received the last few weeks. These signs remind me that this grief is but one brush stroke on the canvas of life, pieces of a "mosaic in the making."* However, I wish I could avoid the "rain in bottles breaking." So many bottles. So many pieces. So much rain. Yet, still, so many reasons to be thankful. (*see "Coming Undone" post)

Have a great Thanksgiving!

The Red Box

Some of you have asked if this poem was removed from the blog. I've reposted it so that it is easier to find.

The Red Box

If I must run your race
If I must color my face
Within lines drawn by you
If I must cry without tears
And be brave for your fears
I’ll be gray in no time.

So if you’re going to stuff me
Into a box
At least let me paint it red.

If you want me to fit into this box
Much too small if you had looked at me lately
If you want me to crawl in willingly
And endure this pain silently
If you want me to enjoy my view of nothing
Craving light more than life
Living without a fight
I’ll be gray in no time.

So if you’re going to stuff me
Into a box
At least let me paint it red.

This box was built for you
By those who never knew you
Now you want it for me
You think it will keep me free
From bad choices?
Within this box
Inside these locks
My only choice is whether or not to breathe.
I can barely breathe--
I’m sure I’ll be gray in no time.

So if you’re going to stuff me
Into a box
At least let me paint it red.

ADR copyright 2006

My man.

Reality

I never knew that reality could be so elusive. My experience has been that accepting reality is an intellectual function, for the most part. But my reality has morphed into something I do not recognize, something I cannot comprehend, something I cannot touch, or even feel. I am watching my life and I do not know who I am looking at. I am a stranger in my own skin, in my own home. Yet I am at peace. My fear is not about being alone, it is that people will forget this man of character. My man. My love. My friend. My husband. I am at peace because I know that this is part of a bigger picture--one that I cannot see through my limited lense. I know that his life has made others reflect and desire change within their own life. Is this why the young and the good die before what appears to be their time, so we who remain are forced to examine ourselves? I wonder. Rarely do I consider my trajectory when a 90-yr old with Alzheimer's passes away.

So this is my reality. Widow. But at peace for now. Until the anger comes, which it will, because i am not immune to the stages of grief which we all must endure. So be prepared. I will be angry. I hope I remain peaceful inspite of my anger. Still, today, I think I am watching someone else's life, even as I empty his closet and find every card I ever gave to him, and as I fill out forms about death benefits in triplicate--alone.
.

Memorial Day

Tomorrow is my husband's memorial service. He passed away on 11/6 due to a heart attack. I will have much to say about this in the future, but below is the letter a friend of mine will be reading for me to our friends at the service. Just wanted to share it with anyone who cares to read it.

Bill loved nature. He wrote a goal about 10 years ago that says, " I want to live where the influence of nature, the influence of God, is greater than the influence of man.” He loved the desert. He loved mountains too, but especially the desert for its quietness, simplicity and solitude.

Bill loved rain. He was especially happy to hear raindrops on Saturday mornings because it meant he had a legitimate excuse for staying in bed instead of going for a ride. Usually, he went anyway.

Bill loved to ride. It was on a bike that he felt most alive. One of Bill’s favorite Lance Armstrong posters says, "I rode, and I rode, and I rode. I rode like I had never ridden, punishing my body up and down every hill I could find....I rode when no one else would ride." This quote motivated him as he trained for his last 200-mile ride—the Terrible Two. He always wanted to be a good climber, but as he said, he was gravity-challenged, so he trained hard and dropped as much weight as he could. Finally, he is an angel of the mountains, dancing on the pedals. Early in our marriage we determined that it was in both of our best interests for him to bring his bike on every vacation. Even though I am much slower, often we rode together—he always reassured me that he was riding with me to be with me, not to get to the top of the hill first. Regularly he lied to me about how much farther we had to go—the summit was always just around the corner. However, it kept me pedaling even after I realized I had a long way to go.

Bill loved me. He loved me unconditionally, patiently, respectfully, and passionately. I had with Bill what everybody wants. He was my soul mate and my best friend. We played together, rode together, laughed and cried together. Sometimes he surprised me with a cup of tea and my favorite donut on Sunday morning, even though he considered donuts to be a mortal sin. He made me birthday cakes and favorite dinners. He served me a cookie and a glass of milk every night that I wanted one. He gave me more sentimental gifts than practical ones. We talked about our dreams and our fears. We held hands on the couch while watching TV, and every once-in-awhile he’d watch a girl movie with me. No matter what happened during the day, we always kissed each other goodnight. Every morning, usually before 5:30 a.m., Bill kissed me good-bye while I was barely conscious. We always talked a couple of times a day on the phone. Almost every conversation ended with the words, “I love you.” “I love you, too.” His last phone call to me came about ten minutes before the accident. He said that he’d be home in 20 minutes. I was going to go for a ride, but my stomach started to feel queasy, so I decided to lie down instead. Forty minutes later, I got the call from the hospital. I am so thankful that our last words to each other were, “I love you.” “I love you, too.”

I am a better person because of the way he loved me. This is not to say we were happy all the time. Happiness is for teenagers, someone once told me. But we were content, and we enjoyed each other. Don’t get me wrong. We had many disagreements, and sometimes we hurt each others’ feelings. We were very different people, which balanced our relationship in some ways, and caused tensions in others, but we made it work because the alternative was unthinkable. We made it work by not staking our own flag in the sand and requiring the other person to walk the distance. Usually, we met somewhere in the middle, but it meant we both had to give up something. Bill never raised his voice at me in anger. We did get angry, but we worked out the problem with respect for each other.

As I look back at all of the wonderful things about him and all of the things that annoyed me, like having to be 15-30 minutes early to everything, or having to have everything so neat and organized all the time, I realize how those things just don’t matter in the big picture. I’ll probably be early to everything from now on just to feel like he’s with me. I might even keep my closet organized. In this last week, those little things that annoyed me have suddenly become endearing, and I wish I hadn’t wasted so much energy feeling frustrated about those differences.

While we can’t avoid these conflicts completely, we can choose how we respond to each other. No one is entitled to hurting someone else’s feelings just because they’re angry or just because they’re right, and I think that this is one of the main reasons that Bill and I worked so well together. We disagreed, and then somehow found common ground. We understood that it was okay to be different because we balanced each other out. We said “I’m sorry” and “I forgive you,” and we meant it. Well, except for one time when he bought some expensive bike stuff without telling me, but I’m over it now. I now know that all that was little stuff. Bill always reminded me that it’s all little stuff, but how we treat each other in the little stuff is what determines our fate during the more difficult times. Many of you know how Bill has stood by me through chronic illness. He never complained. He just kept loving me--over and over and over again, reassuring me that he was exactly where he wanted to be. I don’t understand why, but I am forever grateful.

I see now more than ever before that each moment we have becomes a memory—some good, some bad. Some we can control, others we cannot, like this one, but Bill would remind us that we always have control over how we treat other people. As you all know, Bill chose to be kind, loving, and positive. If he were here today, he would remind us to love each other. He would remind us to love with our words and our actions in every moment, giving each other room to make mistakes. I have an abundance of both beautiful moments and mundane moments with Bill that are now priceless memories.

Thank you for coming here today to celebrate his life. All his family and I have felt your prayers and support. The love you have expressed for him overwhelms me and comforts me. We are all grateful for your kindness as we go through this very difficult time. Words are not enough.

In closing, I want to share what happened my first night alone because I think it will bring many of you comfort. Of course, I didn’t sleep at all, and I cried a lot. Around 2:00 a.m., as I lay on my side, suddenly I felt a warm sensation on my shoulder. At that moment four phrases came into my mind as if Bill were talking to me. The phrases were, “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m okay. I promise, you’re going to be okay.”

I believe with all my heart that these words are meant for all of us.

the road not taken

What are your thoughts on "the road not taken?" You know, when we make a conscious choice to change directions or stay the course, choosing one path over another. There are positives and negatives to all choices. What are your experiences? No incorrect answers--just a query for those interested in sharing their perspective.

In the Ring aka Fight Song

Cancer seems to be hitting from all sides--family and friends. When I heard about my brother's wife being diagnosed with cancer three weeks after she gave birth to their third child, I cried. I cried because I was afraid of what might happen and afraid of all the implications. Later I talked with my brother. In the context of our conversation, I wrote this after we hung up. My brother is the man with blue eyes.

You wish you could breathe, but the news is too fresh
A kick in the gut, the words just don’t mesh.
How could this happen with a newborn son?
How could this happen? You know you’re not done.
Swirling and whirling your mind knows the path
Crying and trying you give baby a bath,
Feeling the water on his soft skin
Helps you to find your strength within.
But nothing you do makes it all make sense
Your hands feel tied, your body is tense.
The phone rings again, this call you’ll take
Maybe the doctor made a mistake.

You take a drive that very next day
One sharp turn, and you find your way.
In the wrong neighborhood, or so it seems
For feeling hope and finding your dreams,
Past the pawn shop and across the street
You follow the rhythm of a different beat.
Punk outside bouncing a ball
Girl in heels breaking her fall
Kids scoping rims around your car
You know you’ve driven much too far.
But the address is clear with gloves on the sign
And the doctors told you that you’ll do just fine,
So you steady yourself and try to look tough
You push open the door ‘cause enough is enough.

Hoping and groping for something familiar
The scene in the room becomes much clearer.
A beating sound meets your questioning eyes
Making you wish for a better disguise
They see right through your emotionless stare
Your perfect clothes and skin so fair.
A nod from one and then another
As if they knew you like a mother.
How could they know?
How does it show?
Did they feel this way
On their first day?
With fear and some doubt you don’t feel like a fighter,
You take a step forward and hold your gear tighter.

You bought it all, the day you found out
“I’m ready to go,” to your doctors you shout.
Your bag, your gloves, and all of your fear
“I’m ready to go,” you hope they hear.
They all just keep punching, bobbing and weaving,
You decide to step out, but a man sees you leaving.
“You gonna fight or what?” growls a deep voice.
“You fight or you leave, it’s really your choice.
Why come all this way just to look and to run?
No lattes here, missy, you’re not done.
Make no mistake, it’s all about you
You fight this fight, ‘cause watching won’t do.”
By the look on your face he instantly saw
You weren’t gonna hope for the luck of the draw.
You take off your coat, then he wraps your wrists
You lace up your boots, pull gloves on your fists.

You don’t feel like a fighter,
So you hold your gear tighter.
But getting in the ring it’s the only way
Getting in the ring is a price you’ll pay
For love, for hope, for buying time
‘Cause cures and courage they don’t stand in line.

Eyes steel blue and a convincing glance
The man with the voice teaches you to dance.
He says, “I’ll be in your corner to coach every move
I know how to fight, I’ll match every groove
No matter the odds, I know how to win
But you’re a survivor
You’ve got it within.
You’ve won many battles
You needed to fight
But this is the one, girl,
You must win it tonight.”

You don’t feel like a fighter,
So you hold your gear tighter.
But getting in the ring it’s the only way
Getting in the ring is a price you’ll pay
For love, for hope, for buying time
‘Cause cures and courage they don’t stand in line.

The man with blue eyes, he watches you dance
He guides you into a fighting stance.
He says, “I’ll be in your corner to coach every move
I know how to fight, I’ll match every groove
No matter the odds, I know how to win
But you’re a survivor
You’ve got it within.
You’ve won many battles
You needed to fight
But girl, this is the one, this is the one,
You’ve got to win it tonight.


Update: Last week, they found out that the surgery got all the cancer out, but she will have to have CTs and MRIs every four months on her lungs for 3yrs to make sure it doesn't metastize. We are very relieved, with caution.

The Happy Playground

For those who prefer to sit in the sandbox facing the wall with your own toys (specifically, Bryan), here's a quick edit for you of the previous post. :) I can be uplifting, I just choose to face reality now and then--something that happens when you're a teacher for about, well, 2 days. Fortunately, even though most of us lose hope in the system, we never lose hope in the kids.


We watch cheerful children on flourishing playgrounds
Under blue ceilings painting possibilities beyond our hopes
Beyond our dreams
Opportunity and freedom flowing from coast to coast
From suburbia to ghetto
From heartland to barrio
Where children play on junglejims of opportunity to choose their Destiny

The morality of our forefathers guards our playgrounds with the promise of equality and respect for all
A sandbox filled with harmony and innocence reminds us of where we all began
And of where we are headed because of this playground

Just like our playground--
After-school NBA and Julliard are provided for free by politicians keeping promises
They find resources to change graffiti into art and anger into passion
Here ignorance becomes knowledge and generosity warms our hearts like summer sun

What a beautiful playground--
Custodians dole out balls like jelly beans on Easter, with leftovers
And Congress cuts checks for gymnasiums and P.E. teachers because our children’s health is more important than re-election

This is America’s playground
Where diversity and individuality jumprope without argument
Where academics and the arts hold hands
Where discipline is a virtue not a verb

Under these blue ceilings painting possibilities beyond our hopes and dreams
Knowledge is power
Learning is accessible to all
And teachers hold the tools they need to shape a well-rounded child on a safe, well-equipped playground.

The Playground

We watch angry children on forgotten playgrounds
Under blue ceilings painting possibilities over grass greener on paper
In books
In Congress
With morality forgotten on swings
Sand crunching underfoot
A reminder of where we began
And of where we end up depending on our playground.

This used to be our playground--
After-school NBA and Julliard for free
Changed by politics crumpling good ideas into smaller spaces,
Safer places,
Crafting smiling faces between graffiti art that stabs conscience in the gut.
Ignorance pleads innocence and greed finds no need
No need.

Where is our playground?
Custodians dole out balls like precious coins
Cashed before recess
Cashed in Congress
And there is no change
No change.

Where is our playground?
Here polarities jumprope without argument
--Refineries and writing
--Murder and math
--Toxins and teachers
--Risks and reading

Under blue ceilings painting possibilities over grass greener on paper
Ignorance finds rest
Greed finds peace
And reality finds a playground guarded by teachers without ammunition.

Special Place

"Why don't you write something funny?" said my husband, as if humor grows on trees.

"Why don’t you?" I said, and he stared at me with a funny look, like I had just said, “What are you fixing for dinner?” It's the same look he gives me when I can’t find my special place, you know, the one where you put stuff so you don’t forget it? Although mine keeps moving like opinions on election day.

Every special place appears to be the perfect place at the time, a place I’ll never forget, a place logical and obvious, until I look for it. I’m sure I’ll find everything one day, even myself, and it will be in a very special place.

Hat people

Berkeley is full of hat people, you know, the ones walking to a different drummer, even when there's no music playing. I went to a poetry reading in Bezerkley last night. I expect an eclectic mix of people, and I'm never disappointed, but last night I wondered if one woman, probably in her early 60s, had dressed up for Halloween a little early. Since she wasn't dressed up, I won't go into detail, because I don't want to make fun of her as a person, but suffice to say, she wore a large button on her shirt that said, "Weird and proud of it!" Her jester-type hat with a straw tassel was the most normal thing about her. Her poetry, however, was as spectacular as she was weird.

To Paint or Not To Paint

We need to paint the house. Nothing like using equity for home upgrades. Why not clothes or vacations! So the first contractor came by to give an estimate today--probably mid-late 60s, reasonable shape, I thought, until he started lamenting that his house has two stories and it is hard to climb the stairs. I'm thinking, Do you know you need to climb a ladder? How long has it been since you did this anyway? Then he said he didn't like to drive his 67 mustang fastback, with its recent 12k paint job, because it isn't automatic and he has neuropathy in his feet. He just can't feel'em or they hurt like hell. He said some days are so bad he doesn't even want to be alive. I'm still thinking, What about the ladders?

Next estimate pleeease!

Did you know it costs 4-6k for a furnace and duct work? I couldn't breathe for about 5 minutes after I heard that!

Coming Undone

Sometimes we just need to come undone in order to get put back together. After I wrote this to someone else, I realized that I needed to hear it, too.

Coming Undone

Shattered dreams
Cutting at your feet
Broken schemes
Dying on the Street
Always running sideways
Never knowing
It’s okay to come undone.

Don't you know?
You're a mosaic in the making
With rain in bottles breaking
While Destiny keeps on taking
It’s okay to come undone.

Your knees on the ground
So many pieces scattered ‘round
You find familiar faces
Sweeping their own spaces
Fields of loss and pain
No one’s to blame--
Don't worry, you can't drown in this rain
It’s okay to come undone.

Remember--you're a mosaic in the making
With rain in bottles breaking
While Destiny keeps on taking
It’s okay to come undone.

Whistle sounds
Get off the ground
Time to stand
You’ll keep it together, man,
All on board are hiding pain
All masks are on the train
If not now, you’ll catch the next
No penalties, no regrets
It’s okay to come undone because

You're a mosaic in the making
With rain in bottles breaking
While Destiny keeps on taking
It’s okay to come undone.

If you’re gonna keep it together, man
You need to come undone,
Find a time, find a place
A friend, a familiar face,
Surrendering this mask
Is a humble hero’s task, brother,
You’re not the only one,
You’re not the only one,
It’s okay, it's okay to come undone.

ADR copyright 2006

Awesome Day

I approached the bike store with a few butterflies in my stomach. I wasn't sure who I was supposed to report to, but eventually, a stereotypical mtn biker/surfer dude with orange sunglasses and out-of-control curly hair said, "Hi, I'm Michael, you must be Andi?" I said yes and he proceeded to hand me an information sheet of my duties for the day. "Sign one of the pages on the back and date it when you're done. Oh, and we'll need your fingerprints and your checking account number." I'm so nervous I just kind of nod and give a nervous laugh. And then he says that he's just kidding, and I feel really stupid. But he's cool. He gets me helping with the bikes right away. We need to test them (all 20 of them) before we take 20 inner-city kids on a mtn bike ride. About an hour later we're headed off to meet the kids. The entire day was wonderful. No falls. And one 14-year-old boy learned to ride a bike for the first time, ever. It was so much fun to see the smiles on their faces after the downhill, and again after the uphill because they felt so proud of themselves for doing it.

As we ate our lunch at the beach, I realized most of these kids have never even been to the beach even though they live only 15-30 minutes away. For the kids who have bikes at home, they rarely ride in their neighborhood because it is too dangerous. Here they are safe. Here they are just a bunch of middle-school kids having fun. They're being kids. No attitudes, barely. Lots of smiles. They're even encouraging each other. It was amazing. I also thought about all the Saturdays I spend at home just doing chores and sometimes being lazy, when I could be out doing something like this.

I know what I'll be doing next Saturday. I'll be going for a ride. Not my usual solo ride through the hills near my house, but a ride where I step outside of my comfort zone and help someone learn something as simple and wonderful as riding a bike. Most likely, I'll learn something, too.

If you want to comment on Welcome to Disneyland post

For some reason, I can't get the comments option to show up for my first post. If you care to comment, feel free to post a comment on The Red Box here.

What's Your Favorite Ride at Disneyland?

What's your favorite ride at Disneyland? Matterhorn? Teacups? Dumbo? Pirates? Personally, I don't like Disneyland. I don't know if it's all the people or the standing in line, but the ride is never worth the wait. Roller coasters are great, but they just go up and down and around and it's over so fast you're not sure it happened. "Sorry ma'am, no do overs. Get back in line. " Even if no one was standing in line, I think I'd choose the flying dumbos so that I could fly... soaring in midair over all the details below--no seatbelt--not caring what the parents with 3 year olds are thinking about a 40-yr-old woman on a kid's ride. Usually, I end up on the Monorail out of necessity--it gets me where I should go. Afterall, the elephants just go round and round and round. But in a world without shoulds, I'll be riding the flying dumbos everytime. The teacups just make me want to puke and Pirates without Johnny Depp is just creepy!

Welcome to Dandiland and poem

This is my first post. I finished a poem today that somewhat sets the stage for this blogspot. While this one is serious, there are many sides to a box, some with a much lighter bent. We've all built boxes for ourselves and have had others try to fit us into a certain box. It is a lifelong struggle to live outside of the box without stepping into another one that is possibly more confining than the first. Most of all, we all just want to have at least a little say, a little control, about what happens in our life. Feeling powerless can be suffocating.

The Red Box

If I must run your race
If I must color my face
Within lines drawn by you
If I must cry without tears
And be brave for your fears
I’ll be gray in no time.

So if you’re going to stuff me
Into a box
At least let me paint it red.

If you want me to fit into this box
Much too small if you had looked at me lately
If you want me to crawl in willingly
And endure this pain silently
If you want me to enjoy my view of nothing
Craving light more than life
Living without a fight
I’ll be gray in no time.

So if you’re going to stuff me
Into a box
At least let me paint it red.

This box was built for you
By those who never knew you
Now you want it for me
You think it will keep me free
From bad choices?
Within this box
Inside these locks
My only choice is whether or not to breathe.
I can barely breathe--
I’m sure I’ll be gray in no time.

So if you’re going to stuff me
Into a box
At least let me paint it red.

ADR copyright 2006