Thank you

To everyone who offered their thoughts and prayers over the last few days, thank you. Unfortunately, we needed a miracle and we didn't get one. But thank you all, again,

A favor

To anyone who happens to read this blog in the next few days: If you believe in any sort of god, send me a prayer. My family and I would appreciate it.

I'm not dead.

I'm just really busy. To everyone who keeps checking back here for something new, I know I'm disappointing you but it won't last much longer, I promise. In the meantime, you can play with this.

What I need more of right now....

Poetry Thursday

Continuing with the theme of fall...

September Midnights
by Sara Teasdale


Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.

The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, broken,
Tired with summer.

Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.

Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,
While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
Lest they forget them.

In the air

Summer is over. It won't be official for another week or so but the signs are there; it's undeniable. This morning, I got out of bed, shivering against the chill that crept in overnight. I pulled on jeans over legs that have lived in the sunlight for the past six months, not caring that my tan has already begun to fade. I walked outside and a strange wind was blowing, lifting my hair up off my neck. The light was different too, the shadows in different places. The air felt charged, electric; notice that the change had already begun.

When I was little, the trees told us when summer was over. We watched them go from green to red, orange, yellow; brilliant starbursts of color. Eventually, they faded to brown and fell, one by one, until the trees were bare. My cousins and I would rake them into piles and then run towards them, waiting until the last second to jump. In that brief moment before we landed, there was sheer joy.

We spent hours this way, building piles and then destroying them, the leaves working their way into our hair, down our shirts. I loved the sound they made, a sharp crackle, and their crisp, faintly sweet scent. Eventually, my granny would drag us out and then set fire to our handiwork. We would stand watching, listening to the leaves hiss and pop until there was nothing left but smoke and ash. We never thought of the trees, who shed their beauty so quickly, never wondered if they mourned the loss.

The trees here are different. There are no seasons here, only degrees of heat. The trees don't register the change and so they remain stupidly, faithfully green. Autumn, to them, is a brief moment, a pause between the heat of summer and the gray skies of winter. Only the pine trees know something is different, their thin needles fading, stiff and brown. This is the time of year when I miss the mountains most, when they look as if they're on fire, burning with color.

What fall used to mean: plaid skirts and wool tights; Halloween and hay rides; picking apples with my mother; walnuts dropping like rocks against the tin roof of our house; the sound of shotguns announcing the beginning of hunting season; chopping wood and canning vegetables; sealing up the windows in advance of the long winter ahead.

Now it means sleeping with the windows open. It means windblown cheeks and chapped lips. It means the state fair, corn dogs and cotton candy. It means hot apple cider and new boots and finding the perfect pair of jeans. It means learning to be alone, learning to enjoy the pleasure of my company.

I'm not sorry to see the summer go. There is only the future for me now; there is no looking back. A change is coming; it's in the air. And I am running towards it, eyes open, ready to jump.

I remember waking up that morning, turning on the TV, and seeing the same thing on every channel. There was black smoke against a perfect blue sky, bits of white floating down to the street. The scream of sirens in the background, cutting through the quiet at 9:30 on a beautiful Tuesday morning.

I remember Tom Brokaw saying that two planes had hit the World Trade Center. That there were more planes, one in Washington, one in Pennsylvania. My boyfriend called me from work to ask if I was watching. What's going on? I said, but I knew. This could not have been an accident.

I watched as the smoke grew thicker, heavier. I saw the faces of people trapped in the towers, framed in the windows, desperate for help. I saw the ones who wouldn't wait, the ones who must have known that help wasn't coming. I wanted to reach out my hands and catch them, to bring them back to the safety of solid ground.

I remember the sound as the south tower began to collapse, a cloud of steel and concrete and glass. It was as if someone had taken hold of the building and was tearing it in two. That was when I started to cry, when I knew that I was witnessing death and there was no way to stop it. I remember screaming why why why at the television and wondering where God was at that moment.

On the street people huddled together, watching, horrified and helpless. I remember the woman who screamed "They're jumping!", the young man who shouted into the camera that we were getting what we deserved. The way they held each other, sobbing on the shoulders of strangers, united in confusion, fear, grief. I remember their faces as they ran from the cloud of debris, the way it settled over the city, blocking out the light. How afterwards, they wandered the streets like ghosts, covered in smoke and dust and ash. And then the firemen raising the flag, a show of faith and strength in the midst of chaos.

This is what I remember. This is what I can't, won't forget. Think of them today, the ones who were lost. Say a prayer for those who were left behind. Remember.

Remember.

To tell the truth

Well, after reading your responses to this post, I'm not sure whether to be disturbed or amused. Jason and Firstcitybook were the only two who got the right answers. Please report to the DJ booth to claim your prize.


1. This is a lie. I never played varsity softball, jv softball, dodgeball, kickball, or any of the above in high school or pretty much ever. I'm much more of an indoor sort of girl.

2. This is, unfortunately, true. I don't know what it is about those books, maybe it's all the heaving bosoms and men wearing codpieces but they are my secret shame.

3. This is also true. I remember that the purse was purple but I'm not sure what ever happened to it. In high school, I stole anything that wasn't nailed down, from makeup to street signs. (Once I stole a car, but that doesn't really count.) And yes, sometimes when I'm in Target or Wal-Mart, I'm tempted to do it again, just to see if I could get away with it.

4. This is a lie. There was an incident in a bar but I've never been in a fight in my life. I'm terribly afraid of pain and when I get hurt, I cry like a baby. Not very tough at all.

5. This is true, and I know that there are skeptics out there who will say I'm lying. But the truth is, I've never even smoked a cigarette. I once got a contact high at a concert when some twelve-year-olds were passing a joint in the row in front of me. Mostly, it made me sleepy. I am so not a badass.

Okay, now what should we play next? Anyone up for Truth or Dare?

Secrets and lies

Although I'm enjoying this break from blogging, (so much so that I'm considering making it permanent) I thought I'd come out of hibernation just for today and play a little game with you since Flood is MIA this week. The way it works is, I'll give you five statements about myself and you try to guess which three are true and which two are false. I'm actually borrowing this idea from Fringes, who borrowed it from Chad, who has a new story up at juked, by the way.


Here goes:

1) I played varsity softball in high school.

2) I secretly love those historical romance novels, where the women are constantly having their bodices torn to shreds in the pursuit of um...romance.

3) In seventh grade, I stole a purse from one of the most popular girls in school. In high school, I graduated to shoplifting. Even now, I still have the urge to steal things sometimes.

4) I once got into a fistfight with a girl who I thought was flirting with my boyfriend. I sprained my wrist and had to wear a cast for a week.

5) I've never experimented with any kind of drugs.

I consider myself to be a fairly accomplished liar so we'll see what good detectives you are. Leave your guesses in comments and feel free to tell a few secrets and lies of your own.

A brief pause

Just a brief note for the five of you who read this: I'm completely getting my ass kicked at work and will most likely be off the blog for this week. If you don't see me in comments at your place, it doesn't mean I don't love you or think your every word is simply brilliant. It's just that I'm on a strict schedule of working, drinking, and sleeping right now and I'm not sure when it's going to let up. But at least I might have some good stories to tell when I get back.

Wow.

Well this was a nice surprise to come home to. Wow. I don't even know what to say except thanks to Jason and Anne for having this contest in the first place. I can't even comprehend the amount of effort and hard work they put into this. And thanks to everyone who voted for me in the Reader's Choice awards too, I didn't expect such a positive response. Congratulations to everyone who won and specifically to Ella and Jaye for their Honorable Mentions and also to Flood, for the Reader's Choice award. I'm happy to be in the company of such fantastic writers. I'm going to stop rambling now before the orchestra starts queuing up the music.