Les Secrets du Dimanche

i read post secrets in french and am determined to know what they're all saying one of these days.


i need to call my best friend. it's been forever since we've gone to the same school, and it was at that point that i began trying to play catch-up with her.









my favorite storybook says "catch up. ketchup." and that's exactly how it's been. it never occurred to me until a few months ago that she might be playing catch up, too. i need to call her.

part deux

the scent settles below my skin, nothing short of a whisper to remind me that everything will probably turn out all right sooner or later. the reality is that things go better, not when i will them into existence, but make sure they happen. we stand in the entryway to the restroom and keep light with discussing daily activities. we both avoid the bags under my eyes and my slower response, since it still holds true that i am doing more and better that most times before now.
last night was a sure hit. i prayed to god and jesus and christ almighty that it will never happen again. there was not deep conversation. there was no common understanding. i have never spoken so little of myself. but as good mothers often do (and best friends do better) she stood me up from my wondering (wandering) state half alive against the bathroom wall and reminded me what i was doing; it's so easy to forget... and it's even easier to give up.
i don't have time to give up though- i've already made it this far. and the stink of cleaner carries across the room, nothing short of what i reduced myself to. she moves towards the door, and all i can feel is the linger of comfort barely left in my hair. she smells of olive oil and dryer sheets, soap, rosemary... things that are more often than not.

une craie

this city feels like lakewood.

i wonder how the town sleeps tonight...

maybe the two don't feel the same at all, maybe i feel the same in both cities... and maybe it's the feeling of belonging, a sort of sense of being home away from home.  

i'd hardly admit it a year ago, but edgewood feels like home completely.  there's something about pulling into the driveway at home... pulling off my socks and shoes and trampling through the green and faded grass in my big backyard... it will always be home.  the sirens don't sing as frequently there, and it's only a block away before you get to a farm or two... or ten.  edgewood.  it's exactly how it sounds, too: you drive to the very end of federal way, through all the trees and the forgotten land that started to turn into amusement parks and junk-yards... something like saying "here's you last shot before you drive into the country," (it's hardly the big wide-open and graceful-empty like the alma, georgia harvey talks about... but it's home).  i have my garden at home- the one my mom and dad and i worked on this year- the pumpkin patch we re-located several times, and the herb garden that's taken over any chance of success for the plants around it.  it's great.  i don't have that here.  i don't have that in seattle.  my heart is starting to ache for it a little bit, and i don't know if it's going to be there forever.  maybe this is homesick.

but seattle feels like home, too...

the same way that lakewood felt like a makeshift home.

i can belong in both these places, but my roots are clearly planted in a town at the edge of a city where the woods end and the farmland begins.  county fairs begin at the other end of the city limits... and then...

and then i start to wonder where i will be when i finally grow up.

what is inherently good

old buildings.

sooner or later i'm going to post a picture of the baptist church across the street from my house.  i've sat on the steps and watched it times throughout the day, several days in a row.  it's not so much the religious aspect that could make it inherently good... since religion seems to be the underlying theme for dispute and argument and wars... no... not that... something about the building.  there are a few windows shattered where rocks and baseballs went through, i've watched a few drug deals take place below the stairwells as the midnight hours approach, there are blank spaces where steeples obviously sat in the building's prime, and the shrubbery is more than overgrown.  i never hear the church bells ring and i wonder if i just assumed there are any bells at all.

i can honestly say i don't know a thing about the baptist religion, other than it's been poorly portrayed in the novels it's been featured in throughout my high-school career.  this, among many other things including the fact that i don't know much about other religious practices, has lead me to my studies in theology.

but back to the building- i still can't tell you why i have a certain feeling that this building is inherently good.  it is good- it never had a choice.  it's shabby on the outside and poorly upkept.  maybe it does have something to do with its religious affiliation?  i've always thought that the bad easily outweighs the good in life, but maybe i'm horribly mistaken?  maybe all the good that's taken place around the building.. all the happiness... all the community.... all the wondering and appreciation of mildly curious college students before me have melted into the bricks and have since held fast in the mold.

maybe i've been wrong all along.

but how, then, can i still know things by instinct?  things that are inherently good?

the airborne toxic event

if you haven't listened to the airborne toxic event, i'd ask you to go out and give them a go now. i don't think they'll be getting huge anytime soon.. the local radio station has been giving their acoustic version of "sometimes around midnight" a lot of airtime, but as far as anything else... who knows. they have a pretty gritty, raw.... grab-your-gin-and-head-out-to-the-streets sound. something a little bit more grounded, and a little more epic. something we left behind with the early 90's and the breakfast club and a poorly lit room. something about them almost reminds me of... i don't know. it's not the sound... there's something in the way they feel. anyway... who knows. give them a listen.

let's talk about shows again. let's talk about being fourteen and sneaking to shows because you can't drive. i've come full circle-- i don't drive anymore, i don't have a job, i'm just a girl with a room in seattle going to shows and staying up late to finish homework. school's coming back into it's big swing, but there's something to be said for studying something you actually give a damn about. i forgot what it felt like to care about learning... or maybe i just found it in other places (read: the summer i learned how to work an espresso machine). but still, i squeeze concerts and live jams and fools playing guitars and ukuleles into my spare time. the cold winter's coming on again, but you still find gritty musicians on the street.
aren't we all just trying to make it by these days?