I want to be the kind of woman who

...wears this kind of boots

on a long lean body.

I want to have tattoos on my arms,

sharp glasses on a boyish face.

I want to be someone who turns heads,

twists the belly of the belly.

Dark skinned confidence.

I want to be the kind of woman

who rides an orange scooter,

with a worn backpack slung over her back

down a street lined with weeping oaks.

Home to another who is waiting,

twitching in a rolled armed chair,

listening for the whine of the bike.

And as soon as the front light sweeps

a dull white dot through the living room curtains,

jumps up and opens the door,

saying hello, hello, hello with her lips,

while never speaking a word.

hey cupcake

I know that I am supposed to be in Austin learning how to include more inquiry experiences in my classroom for IB, but my favorite part of the three days has been visiting new and old favorite places around town. Nothing beats Hey Cupcake, one of the trailers on South Congress. You can buy 5 or 6 different kinds of cupcakes (last night we got a red velvet with cream cheese frosting) and milk (which, it turns out, is pretty important after having a Hey Cupcake cupcake). This trailer is one of six. You can get a full trailer meal wandering from one place to another. Brisket, hamburger sliders, plantain chips, ice cream cones, peach cobbler, or shaved ice. Trailer row leans a bit heavy in the dessert area -- but I kind of think that that's the way Austin is. The whole city tilts toward pleasure. Drinking beer, eating good food, listening to music, wearing comfortable clothes, riding scooters, having your hair hang on your head any which way you want. The longer I live, the more that seems important. Being happy, making happy, recognizing happy. Especially if it includes sitting down right off the edge of the street licking the frosting off your fingers.

making a chair

I decided today, after helping my father make parts of a windsor chair, that I like sitting in chairs more than I like making them. Actually, that's a lie. I liked making certain parts of the chair very much. We used a tool like this one to pull strips of soft wood off rectangular blocks of red oak so that they slowly became rounded spindles. Pull, pull, pull. Check the guidelines, pull and pull some more then finally trim the last slivers-- not fighting the wood, but culling it to you curl by curl.

I've had some changes in my life, and the easiest ones to take were the ones where a drawing knife was used. Thin shaves of reality taken from me. Never too deep, just as far as the green wood in me could survive. The craftsman pulling the changes out of me by pulling the changes towards her. Not fighting my grain, but working with it. Then the last final trimmed slivers removed only after I had gotten used to the process.

This is the gentle work of relationships. This is the way to love someone, leave someone, or help someone move into her next self. Not the loud grinding of a band saw, or the high-pitched whine of the drill. Effective, yes, but the wood barely understands what is happening to it. So don't grab the shiny Ryobi router from Home Depot. Instead, take your drawing knife, lean your hip into the table, set the angle straight then pull. Pull the blade toward your heart. Then watch the tendril changes skim off the person you love and float tenderly to the ground.

flipping the omelette

It's been more than a year since I tried to make an omelette.

It's not really the kind of meal you make for one.

It's more of a meal made for another.

Sunday morning, with a side of bacon,

and some fresh squeezed orange juice.

It's a loving meal, food tendered up as a gift.

But today I wanted one. Mushrooms and cheese.

And, as I whipped the eggs with a bit of milk,

and put the butter into the warm pan,

I wondered if I should just make a scramble,

a fancy scramble. That would be good enough.

Then, a sure resolute "no" came over me.

I would make myself an omelette,

I could offer myself a good and loving meal.

The mushrooms sauteed, the eggs poured in,

the bubbling and pulling from edge to center,

edge to center. Creating the hard cooked bottom.

Then I was faced with the problem of flipping.

Not something I have done with much success,

and certainly without any practice

in a long, long time.

Again, a sure and resolute "yes" came over me.

I rocked the pan, felt the ease, the slippery tide of the eggs.

With an unwavering certainty,

I pushed the pan out and caught the omelette

on the other side.

It takes a certain amount of confidence

to flip an omelette. Just as it takes

a certain amount of confidence to flip your life.

To finally say, sure some parts of me

are still a bit loose, but I am solid underneath,

I am ready for what will happen.

See the way I can slide back and forth

against my life, see how I am about to teeter over,

see how I can take the push.

Push me, I dare you, push me.

See how I'll turn one end over the other,

see how I'll fly, then land, just right.

cairn

Onto this pile, I stack:

the things I need to give away

the things I need to give up

the things that have taught me well 

and are now not enough

the need to know

the need to be sure

the need to have answers

the knowledge that is no longer true 

the knowledge that may have never been true

the knowledge that escapes me still

the truth that is fixed

the truth that they claim

the truth that was once solid 

and now is silty liquid slipping away

the fixed parts of me 

the fixed parts of the past

the fixing of things that will never be fixed

the parts that may never heal

the parts that may never even scab over

the parts of me that they did not wait long enough to see

Onto this cairn, I lay down my boulder fears and aches.

See how beautifully the sun dances upon them --

the light stronger than the weight upon which it shines.