Monday, November 16, 2009


Today I am crying so many times.

First, out of guilt.
Once from a talk I watched by Elizabeth Gilbert.
Twice from this book I am reading.
And once because I realized a very big question I have.

What you're imagining is not right, I don't cry that way.
Each time lasts about 4 seconds, my eyes get sad and watery,
but nothing falls down my face.
I am almost overcome, but then, it's over.

Why so often?
And why so short?
How am I so immediately back into normal?

I am getting a little sick today. Steph let me take some of her herbs. This was strange. Little plastic medical capsules-- full of something that once grew straight from the earth. Is this what it means to be "organic"?
Is this the best I can do?

My Dad used to pick blackberries in the woods. He'd bring them back on his horse, and his grandma would make pie. Sometimes he would find arrowheads from the indians-- the land was that untouched.
One time him and his cousins made such a mess in the creek that the added dirt acted as a damn and re-routed the whole thing. Someone down the line who depended on the water had to follow its outline upwards, trying to find the reason why his creek had flowed elsewhere.

I know what a blackberry looks like, but have never picked one myself.
I remember how to find poison ivy, from when I used to play in the woods.
But I never play in the woods anymore. I don't know the way.
I wish I could find the herbs and crush them myself.
I wish I did not depend on someone else to package them for me
into eerily labeled bottles: All Natural!
The plastic fixation of the new-age hippie.
All I need now is a hip new shirt with the word GREEN on it,
maybe one of those reusable grocery bags that feel like airplane pillowcases.

I wrote a story about my Dad and a horse.
I read it in front of my class with his picture on the overhead projector.
I want to tell you I'll post it. No promises.
I have written many stories about growing up with my Dad.
Though I now find I am more interested in when he grew up, without me.


brooke said...

my favorite line: "the plastic fixation of the new age hippie."

gosh, you're great. if you get tired of me telling you that you can let me know and i'll try to cool it.
but seriously.

David's Holla Atchya! Blog said...

I am on the Green bandwagon. However, I have grown skeptical, just this week. I bought some 'all natural fiber' cleaning spunges and they were terrible. I bought a notebook made of recycled paper, then had to buy another plastic one because the recycled one fell apart. Then I partially read an article in the NYT about how 'green' companies spend more time on their advertisements than on their green aspirations. I don't think being green was the focus of this post; sorry for detracting.

Que Buen Chica! said...

There have to be woods in order for you to play in them .... are there woods where you are?

You are so insightful. I am forever amazed that parts of ME made you. God certainly heavily intervened Lyndsi Shae.