Two days from now I shall be jetting my way across the Pacific for just the second time in my life. I am going to Hawaii. I hope very much that when I step off the plane, the ocean air will hum with a smile of recognition and say welcome..."eia kā ʻoe hoʻi mai...so you have come back again." (Or at least that's what the online translator said.)

I am meeting my family in Kauai for a week. Mountains have had to be moved (8 pets + 1 week = lots of petsitting) and movidas masterminded (I shall be working remotely M -F next week with my day starting at about 4 am local time) so that I could go on this trip, but it's going to happen.

I hedged for a long time on whether to go or not. I was concerned about being away from the office for that time--uncertain for a short time about my job security. I was concerned about spending that much time alone with family. (Hey I love them, but close quarters can be stressful on anyone.) And, I was concerned about going back there, a second time, alone.

Luckily these things all passed and I got off the fence in time to get a ticket (thanks, Dad--gotta love those frequent flier miles) in early June. I am back in the good graces of most all at work and am a golden girl with my team. Recent events have given me some perspective on family and I'll be glad to be with them as their newly minted adult daughter. And, oh yes, I am pleased to be going back alone. I rather prefer it.

The first visit, you see, was to Waikiki and then to Maui for a honeymoon back in 2002. It was a great trip--and remains so, the memories no less diminished by the end of the marriage. In a funny way, I'm more free to enjoy those memories now than before. My ex used to talk about that trip like it was heaven...he'd bring it up in good times and bad, sometimes daydreaming about the adventures we had, sometimes cursing me/us because the life we had was so different from that week--a week of vacation when we had no responsibilities and wedding money meant that finances weren't a concern. It always seemed a bit unreasonable to me.

So, I'm heading to Kauai and not Maui this trip, but to the islands nonetheless and am looking forward to it immensely. It's actually supposed to rain most of while we're there and I can't wait to see it, smell it, taste it. I love the rain, just about anywhere as long as it's not deadly, and I would love a week of rain and clouds, even heat, to write and walk and dream in.

Hopefully many pics and posts will be forthcoming. Posting from Hawaii just a has a romantic feel to it. 

If you had told me this time last year that this would be my existence, I would have thanked you for your kind wishes, but not really have believed you. I would likely have muttered "bullshit" under my breath, and then chastised myself for being so negative, chanting "hopeful, faithful, joyful" ever more intently for the next several days.

That was my mantra. Hopeful. Faithful. Joyful. It sounds a little silly perhaps. I guess in many ways it was a grand experiment in fake it till you make it. I didn't want to end up bitter, angry, negative, pessimistic (more so than usual) or in any way a generally fucked-up divorcee like so many I've seen. I didn't want to keep cursing my financial situation. I didn't want to immerse myself in the cold comfort of depression and guilt, not looking for happiness, not feeling I deserved it. Not believing that things could change.

And so I walked the dog at dawn and dusk and times in between, and I watched the light change and the clouds roll in and over the rooftops. I ran down miles of road, forcing myself to keep my head up, eyes forward, shoulders back. And I reminded myself with each step...each passing minute...of what I wanted to be.

Today, money is less of a problem than it was last year--it's not fluid, but it's manageable--and credit card debt is gone. I've a new job and, really, a new career that I enjoy and that lets me work with people who don't make me want to punch them in the throat...too often. I have learned to push my body beyond old limits and am seeking out new ones. I enjoy that push. 'I love to hate that burn.' I've dabbled in previously back-burner creative activities like painting and gardening and cooking and am pleased with my experiences with them all, and think I'm a badass in at least a couple of them. And determining that the time for lock-down was over, I've a thread of romance running through my days now.

I've learned a lot. Not just in the last year, of course. And as I reflect on what my astrologically-inclined friends call the time of my Saturn rising, I can't help but see the forest stretching its arms around the the trees.

Growing up hasn't been what I thought it would be. Somehow despite my love of books and appreciation for the romance and lessons of drama and tragedy, I didn't realize that my own stories were going to be filled with so many false starts and ambiguous endings, painful mistakes and injuries. And on top of that, I didn't understand that those unexpected turns didn't automatically translate to failure. I thought I was supposed to be golden. I thought anything less than perfect was...not unacceptable...but unforgiveable.

Hard to be happy when you decide to carry that mark from age 16...hard to be truly generous with others when you only punish yourself with their successes. To everyone whose eyes have ever met mine to see disdain, disappointment, or a cold venomous envy, I'd like to apologize and ask your forgiveness for my behavior. You see, I wasn't really looking at you. I was looking at me.

But today, I don't see that in my eyes anymore.

And so thirty years and as many friendships and dreams realized and destroyed later, I've come to understand the importance of the 'heart of the matter.' It's not everything. It's not the secret to life. But for me, it's the difference between the last years and this year. It's the difference between holding back and letting go. It's the difference between a half-hearted ending and a good start.

It's about forgiveness. And with that...welcome to the rest of my life. 

Here's how the show went.

Second Encore

Nasher Sculpture Center

Sure Raymond and Patsy Nasher could have done other things with their money, and they did, but all in all I would say that the Nasher Sculpture Center--formerly their privately held collection--is the something beautiful that has carved a soft spot in my heart for Dallas' othewise angular, industrial, tourist-glossy self.

Nasher Sculpture Center

Walking through the brightly lit rooms, it was a thrill to recognize an artist's sculpture by the chord of memory it struck in my mind. The artwork of Picasso, Max Ernst, Joao Milo that I saw back in Venice last year at the Peggy Guggenheim just burst forth into 3D with the sculpture exhibited here. I'm fairly new to an interest in art--I'm self-taught and my passions come and go, being self-cultivated as well. So every new museum visit is still an enchanting experience for me. And for some reason it's the stringing together of artists and styles that sends chills up my spine and, at times, makes me catch my breath and brings tears to my eyes.

Nasher Sculpture Center

I remember how I felt the first time I saw the balloon like faces of Picasso's Bathers with a Toy Boat and I'm transported back to the colors and smells and senses of traveling abroad, of daring to indulge in such luxuries as art and travel, and then I let the wave of recognition wash over me and I take in the new piece, letting it attach to the string of memories. The next time I see a Picasso, my brain will flip through all the pieces I've seen before and I'll understand a little more of his journey, feel a little more of what he wanted me to feel.

Nasher Sculpture Center

Sigh. It really was lovely visit and I strongly encourage anyone traveling to Dallas to consider it a must-see. The galleries only show a number of works at a time, rotating the collection so that it's quite possible my first visit will differ widely from my next.

I can't wait to go back. For all the photos from my Nasher visit, see the slideshow on my flickr account.

Here are a few more images just for the love of them.

My birthday is technically a week away, however, I have decided to adopt July 13 as my new birthday since the weekend in general and yesterday in particular was sooooooooo wonderful. I mean...stars aligning, mystical, magical, FUN wonderful.

First off, despite the rocky start on Friday evening and the near dashing of hopes, Saturday was a great day. I went running at River Legacy Park in Arlington which has some very well maintained, mostly paved (from what I saw) trails running through lots of greenspace. I then trekked through crappy traffic to downtown Dallas to meet up with my friend Carlos at the Nasher Sculpture Center. I've wanted to go since I saw a class presentation on the space a couple of years ago and I'm pleased to say it didn't disappoint. I have a hundred plus pictures I'm going to post to Flickr and then a separate post to Vox when I have a chance. I walked the Arts District for a while too and took some photos of the Dallas Bar Association's headquarters/mansion. Anyhow, the BIG event of the evening was still looming uncertainly at that point, so I went back to decompress for a bit at the hotel, took a nap, and then started getting ready.

With heart pounding in my ears, and still uncertain whether the previous night's fiasco had ruined everything, I forced myself into the car and back out to Arlington. What had taken an hour plus earlier in the day took only 25 minutes on the way back and so I'd little time to worry. Details of the meeting will be posted elsewhere in my world, but I will summarize by saying that I was unnervingly timid at first. Really. Thanks to kitties and such, however, I was able to look around and chitchat for a few minutes until, realizing how ridiculous I was being, I just stated the obvious.

"Sorry...I'm...a little, um, shy right now."

"I can tell. It's ok."

And then...he walked over and turned me into his arms...and we just held eachother for a while. It was...very nice, and I think, kind of electric. *Sigh.* And that, dear friends and neighbors, is all the kissing and telling you shall see from me. This could well be nine very long posts on just the boy, but there are some things a lady doesn't discuss. (Except perhaps with her gay best friend.) Just know that I am very, very glad that I made my announcement a while back.

And I am also extremely glad that I had the excuse of the George Michael concert to bring me up to Dallas in the first place. The concert was last night at the American Airlines Center (which is a beautiful venue--I'm surprised to say I think it really does transcend its status as a sports arena). Let me just say...ahem...George...George...George...sigh...oh, George!

George Michael is one hell of a performer, singer, and dancer (with all his own moves) and he put on an amazing show. The sound was incredible! The staging was slick and innovative and made excellent use of old video footage and club like pulsating animation. He had a great band backing him and he featured them well throughout the performance. And, oh yeah, he played without an opening act from about 8:50 to 11:40 with just a 20 minute intermission, and he played EVERYTHING. Some old Wham! tunes, songs from the Faith album and so many more from his later solo work where he really shines...sharing his life experience and love of music. I would have to say, hands down, that it is the best concert I've been to so far.

Seriously, I haven't had such a great concert experience in a long time, if ever. The crowd was clearly made of hopeless romantic fools like me who have loved and followed George for years, and who damn near passed out when they heard he was touring the States. Everyone seemed to know every song, even those that George himself thought would be a bit obscure for his American audience.  The whole arena swayed, danced, and squealed appropriately and the energy was high throughout, even during the ballads and covers. (George said a number of times that he "never thought [he]'d hear that sound in America" and that the Dallas audience had been the best of the tour so far--of course, he could be saying that in every city, but the energy was definitely running high in there last night.) I'll post a set list later, but oh, my it just won't translate. I went from chills up and down my spine to holding hands clasped rapt under my chin, teary eyed and sighing, and then dancing and singing out at the top of my lungs. And when he came out for encores...shivers I tell you....still getting them now as a matter of fact...coinciding with other recent memories...well, let's just say I've been glowing brighter and brighter all weekend. 

And then, to end on an even higher note, I drove home after the concert as fast as I could to spend one last night snuggling with the boy.

Yup, it's been a great birthday weekend.

Tack another 24 hours onto the wait and hope it rebuilds to a nice crescendo. You see all the anticipation of the last several weeks just died tonight, dissipating awkwardly into the air, in a colossal misunderstanding between the generations.

In other words, feeling confident about my position and my trip, I told my mother--who asked me point blank--about my plans to stay the weekend with the boy, and it was all over. This "I met him online" is anathema to her, period. So yes, at times she threw some extremely low blows about 'what kind of girl stays with a man she doesn't know' and about how I was 'setting this up to be another failed relationship' (that one is the one that stung...and still stings). But I didn't react. In fact, in both of those instances I told her that those 'arguments' were uncalled for and I wasn't going to address them. That shut her down for a while.

But then the next call came and my sister went on for an hour about how she was afraid for me. Really what she was afraid of was her inability to control the situation and predict the outcome. Her head was filled with horror stories and the more patient I tried to be, the further she slipped into the red zone of panic.

In the end, I hung up on her--I was exhausted and finally exasperated that she, too, had resorted to low blows. A younger me would have simply not called and let them feed on their paranoia until Monday morning. A younger me would have told them to fuck off and let me be. Rebellion has long been my default reaction to news in my family. In most case, I think it's warranted. I've long since stopped giving a shit about making people angry, especially family who burns so hot at the slightest provocation.

But tonight's attempt at control was different...in just one way. My sister was really afraid--like in a nightmare that you can't wake up from afraid. She wasn't faking it, and she was literally begging me to stay in a hotel.

I thought back on all the plans we'd made...I wanted to see the boy, meet his cats I'd heard so many times, see his place and fit together the pieces of conversation we've had all over the apartment, from the first all-night call to our good mornings. My log of daydreams--G, PG, and otherwise rated--spun through my head and I almost told sis to "screw off" when something she said got me. She asked at the end of the call just before I hung up that, even if I didn't agree, to please just do this for them because they really were scared and they didn't know what to do about it.

I felt bad. I gave in and called to tell them so, but also said that I didn't want to hear from them the rest of the weekend. I called the boy just after that. 

He was understanding, though dissapointed...at first. And then something else crept in...another kind of disappointment, a forward looking one perhaps. I think he may have read tonight's fiasco as a regular occurrence of my family getting in the way of my doing things, making my decisions for me, etc. via guilt. [Which is NOT the case, and they'd be the first to tell you.] When I asked what his parents thought about my coming up to visit, he remarked 'they didn't say anything...they know me...they know I make my own decisions.' Thinly veiled with perfect non-commital delivery of my own in italics, and extremely effective, wouldn't you say? [Editor's note: I've not actually asked him about this, so I could be wrong] I commented on our oddly stilted conversation, the strained connection, and hoped it would be back to normal between us tomorrow.

"I'm sure it will," said the boy.

I know I hope so.

So instead of spooning in new pjs with a couple of cats scattered about, I'm by myself in a room at a Holiday Inn, in a dreadfully touristy area of town, trying to avoid eye contact with the hideous energy-efficient light bulbs that are in every fixture.

I'm tired and bummed and wanting to close my eyes to the sound of the boy's voice. Sigh. It's just maddening to be this close and still feel like I might as well be back at home. You know, I even wore a good outfit tonight too...my hot jeans, smart heels, a grey, scoop neck tee and I did my hair just so... Oh well, another time. For now, I'm off to bed where dreams will restore my mood and all will look better in the morning.

I hope, I hope, I hope...

P.S. I'm tempted to go plant myself on his doorstep before his morning workout but that might be a bit much. Any ideas?

A new series beginning today. I'll be posting a digest of hometown news when it catches my eye. Yes, El Paso's not the biggest city in the States (it's #21 as a matter of fact) and it has a reputation for news media little better than gossip columns and political rags, but it's also a town in the middle of the American Urban Revival (read gentrification as an excuse to punch the havenots in the belly for a little fun and money) and oh-yeah, a little cross river drug-war courtesy of its Mexican sister city, Cd. Juarez, Chihuahua. If you don't care about what happens in EP, you're probably missing a great big part of the picture when you expound so knowledgably on NAFTA, immigration, drug enforcement, and the shrinking of the middle class.

Today's piece is a look at the inner circle that lives, appropriately, up on the mountain looking down on the little people. Fiction or otherwise, this captures the taste of the city. We know where the money is; we know how and with whom we'd need to play if we want to make things happen; some of us just can't stomach the selling of souls for a line of coke, a hobknob job, an appointment to city council advisory boards, etc...some of us like it just fine.

Coronado Hills 79912

by David Karlsruher, published by Newspaper Tree, El Paso, TX

"They positioned bodies in such a manner as to give me the nonverbal signal that the conversation was completely over. This did not matter. Our local billionaire would be looking at my project on Monday." -- A tale about the high life. Part 1 of a series.

I'm heading out of town this weekend and I realized late this evening that because I'm training the rest of the week, tonight was my only shot at running errands, shopping for snazzy duds, and trying to nail down a surprise I had planned. I just got home and I'm totally beat, but I still have at least 2 hours of work--for actual work--to do. Sigh. I think, though, that I may just try to go to bed right this second--or in a few minutes--and get up very early and head to the office. Yes, I think that may be a plan.

So what is my tired self choosing to do with her last precious seconds of lucidity? Post. Duh.

I took a slightly later lunch than most of the usual crowd today and in doing so was able to find an outside table. I sat for a while just looking out at the landscape around campus and onto the distant greenbelt. It was hot out, but because I was in the shade the warmth was wonderful--just right--and I thawed out while waiting for just the right words to come to mind.

And then I took my pen and paper and started to write.

I do this often now. I scribble and brainstorm and jot down epiphanies on the steering wheel while driving with my knees. If I don't write them down, the words either itch at the back of my brain or worse just disappear and I never have the chance to read them over and decide if they're keepers or just crap.

Don't get me wrong; a lot of it is crap. But it's the act that's important, the feel of pen in hand and the transfer of wispy thoughts into conceptual rambles that I can look back and laugh at when I come down from my little intellectual high.

Of course, I'm also doing more formal writing too. I'm working on two pieces now--not just the one on the romance novels, though I do have something to say about that in a minute, but also something that incorporates an essay I wrote about my ex's best friend, an Iraq vet who is a great guy, but scarred now like so many others. Since I haven't been in contact with him for over a year, I feel more comfortable in taking creative license and turning my non-fiction essay into short story fiction.

So I'm generally jazzed with writing now. And though content is all over the place--poetry, fiction, non-fiction, oh my--I'm enjoying stretching my literary legs.

And with that terrible analogy, I'll leave you with my lunchtime doodle.

strange, this sensation
this tickle at the back of my mind
this steady electric pulsing
honey on the tongue leaving me
breathless.
heat rising to a blush while
eyelashes flutter of their own accord.
feminine wiles appearing out of nowhere
straining to loose themselves

these are the opening days.
no high stakes, no drama
just teasings of things to come.
for now we are all lighthearted fascination
strumming the occasional chord of memory
building on the intrigue.
"you're a mystery."
"so are you."

i wonder what you will feel like
look like
taste like.

i wonder if you will fit against my side
and in the space between...

heavy silence for a moment
then the glow of spark catching flame.
the lightning dances across my skin
and down my spine again
leaving my senses humming
and my eyes alight.

[Yes, that's right. I said alight. Perhaps that was just the hunger talking? Methinks not. That romance novel post will have to wait. I'm practically falling off my chair...sleep wins over posting.]

Pleasing things:

Getting slowly to a point where I can sing along to Deli more fluently

Finding another website with Mor Ve Otesi lyrics in Turkish and English and discovering not all of them are lame

Pleasing and Luscious things:

Never before had I thought eyebrows could be sexy(Jack Nicholson has always been too old to count)

Sad things:

The fact that a band has reverted me to a teenager, hunched before my computer all evening playing rock music and memorising all the lyrics.

Oops! I have misspelt their name at least twice in this blog so far.

The unlikelihood of Mor Ve Otesi touring Australia, despite our excellent bilateral relations with Turkey since the whole WWI business was forgiven and forgotten.(Oops, lest we forget.)

Hopeful things:

That when I finally get my ass over to Europe they will be touring and I will get to see them live and judge whether they are worthy of this teenage-like affection.

Scary things:

The fact that it is past my bedtime. Good night \(^o^)/ zzZ

Spent much of the day in Wimberley with the sis and her boyfriend.

I bought a couple of frivolous things.

Beads + embroidery thread

Monkey face taunts me

And tried on a couple of beautiful little dresses I was hoping to buy for next weekend. No luck though; still looking for the right stuff.

We window shopped and browsed here and there, poking our heads in to a couple of galleries. The rustic, but intricate metalwork we saw was brilliant, and I found a new artist I absolutely loved...what caught my eye were giant, angular pieces of glass hung as outdoor sculpture. They just took my breath away for some reason. I was so startled, I neglected to take out my camera.

Metalwork near the gallery

We left around five and I headed home for a bit. After some research and advice from a friend, I bailed on tentative plans to go see a show in Austin tonight, but then spent half the night kicking myself for not going. [Tell me, Austinites--does the Austin Music Hall suck as bad as they say it does?]

And now it's a quarter till two and the carpool leaves in just over five hours. Should be in bed, but I'm up...jazzed and inspired, posting in 2 places at once. Listening to a song off another someone's blog...repeat, repeat, repeat.

It's the kind of song that feels like me...I'd forgotten about it until he sent it last week and it struck deep down in memory. Strange what music can do...

It feels like driving in El Paso at sunset, through the bustling wasteland of Central and around the potholed streets of downtown, on Paisano past the bridge, heading west on the Border Highway to Santa Teresa, blood-orange golden light blinding me through the windshield, Mt. Cristo Rey in the distance, and the pastel painted colonia homes across the river, then between the Franklins on Transmountain Road, emerging near Ft. Bliss, past the graves of old soldiers where my grandfather stays, and still on to the east side...a thousand memories of childhood haunts and hauntings, kisses and tells, shattered dreams and shots of adrenaline and luck racing in the dark...and this song and its kin blaring on KLAQ to drown out the wind of the open windows. I'd be screaming or crying or singing at the top of my lungs and generally marveling at how fucking alive I feel.

I feel like that a lot lately. I roll down the windows and let the wind tear at my hair and it feels like my heart will burst inside I'm so much on fire with thoughts and plans and passions streaming out in all directions. I'm my own supernova right now...I can hardly be expected to go to bed.