Dr. Ravioli used to hid canned snakes in the drawers of his doctor table. He managed that fine balance between entertaining a child and making her feel safe. He could reassure a parent that things would be ok while pulling a quarter out of their daughter’s ear.

Of course, his name wasn’t really Dr. Ravioli. When I was a little girl I couldn’t pronounce my pediatrician’s name – Dr. Laviola. So, he suggested I call him Dr. Ravioli. I was hooked. He was fun, he made me feel better AND he had a funny name (with a funny mustache to boot!).

When my mom told me that he died this morning I felt like a tiny piece of me was lost too.

Today, I found myself in a kitsch store fingering pale pink baby blankets and velveteen unicorns. Why? Because, in some other life, I would have been an aunt this weekend…

My ex husband and I haven’t spoken (not so much as an email) in about two years. I still hear about him through the grapevine, as I’m sure he does me. I have no desire for this to change. He is an EX part of my life and I like it that way. Our past together was destructive and abusive. It’s not something I’d like to revisit, on any level.

And then yesterday I heard that his sister had a baby. Wow. What to do with that news? I always liked his sister. She was sweet and innocent and bubbly and vulnerable. I enjoyed having her as a sister-in-law. My first impulse let me to an adorable boutique store near my office with the thought that I could buy her baby something special, get her address from a third party, and send it with a note expressing my congratulations.

And then (there always seems to be an “and then” where exes are concerned, doesn’t there?) I realized that it was a bad idea. Not only would it risk reopening that welded shut (by me) line of communication, but it is also not my place. We are no longer connected. If, in those early days of the split, either of us had tried to establish independent communication or an independent relationship, then I would be able to communicate my happiness for the new way in which her life has expanded. We didn’t. In the awkward as ass aftermath of a divorce time slipped away and now it is too late.

i’m really going to try to be more responsible with my blogging — ie. i’m going to actually try to post things regularly on both of my blogs (here and my <a href=”http://subconciousstalking.wordpress.com/”>dream blog</a>).  so, tomorrow, expect the blogging to begin in earnest.

My friend Marcus tagged me in his blog.  I’m game.

4 Random Things I Like About My Significant Other

1. His dimples
2. How good he is to me
3. How often he makes me laugh
4. How compatible we are (take it any way you want)

4 Jobs I’ve Had

1. Target in High School
2. PR at a Museum in College
3. Interesting job at a shitty internet company Post Grad
4. Working for President Carter now

4 Movies I’ve Watched More Than Once

1. Out of Africa
2. The Godfather
3. Labyrinth
4. Dangerous Beauty

4 TV Shows I Watch

1. Dexter
2. House
3. Bones
4. L Word

4 Favorite Foods

1. Dessert
2. Thai
3. Italian
4. Champagne. I know it’s not a food, but I LOVE it.

4 Places I’d Like to Visit

1. New Zealand
2. Italy
3. Greece
4. Paris, again

4 Things I’m Looking Forward to in the Coming Year

1. Seeing where things go with the subject of question number one
2. Testing my patience
3. Traveling, I hope
4. Any surprises life wants to throw my way (good ones, please!)

“But if you’d try this: to be hand in my hand as in the wineglass the wine is wine. If you’d try this.”

- Rilke

When I read this brief poem a knot forms in my throat and my eyes brim with tears. Rilke does this to me.  I read his words and so often feel as if he has looked within me and and is writing of my desires, my fears. With this one line he both tells me to let go and eloquently begs, on my behalf, for the one thing I want.  Stop thinking. Don’t be afraid. Just be.

Originally published August 4, 2008

“Yes! Yes! Yes! The Atlanta Braves have given you a championship! Listen to this crowd!”

I’m sitting in my office, trying desperately not to cry, as snippets of the Braves’ games I’ve watched and listened to since childhood play on the radio in my head.  Watching games with my granddad in the summer when I was a little girl; countless nights sitting up alone in bed as an adolescent, truly believing that the tomahawk chop that I was doing would incite the Braves to a win; the 1995 world series win watched from Center East up at YHC; listening to games on the radio during long drives home from Virginia; wandering around Turner Field during a game in search of funnel cake or some other such piece of delicious goodness — so many of my memories are tied up in the sound of Skip Caray’s voice.  To me, the most recognizable voice in the world.

Today is a sad day for Major League Baseball — a sad day for Braves’ fans all over the world — a sad day for me.  This, then, is the sound of silence.

You will be missed.

Originally published June 6, 2008

let me start by saying that i’m fairly certain all snakes have it in their dna to find and kill me.  this is a belief i’ve held since childhood.  i’m pretty sure my daddy told me.  and my daddy’s never wrong.

now, to the point: i have never camped. this will come as a surprise to all of you yhcers, but will make perfect sense to anyone who’s ever heard me say, “I’m afraid of snakes and I don’t like to get dirty.” it’s just not something i’ve ever done.

well, times, as they say, they are a changin’ – i am going to learn to camp.  as is my want, i have been discussing this upcoming venture, ad nauseam, with friends.  their reaction, almost universally, has been…laughter.

so, last night i sit down with a friend and say, “do you really think i’m going to hate camping?”  that started a very informative discussion of what it means “to camp.”  about mid-way through the conversation he asks what i am most worried about.  my response, naturally, is “peeing in the woods in the dark and having a snake jump up and bite my vagina.”

once he stopped laughing he looked at me and said, “the worst part is when you wake up and the snakes have shit all over your face.”

i haven’t stopped cracking up and i’m not afraid of running into snakes while camping any more.

Originally published June 5, 2008

I was watching My So Called Life last night (thank you Netflix for that trek down memory lane) and came across Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130.  In this day of mass-marketed, homogenized, plasticized cultural ideas of what a person should be, a sonnet that celebrates the imperfect, flawed, but ever-so-much more real version of what is lovable was quite refreshing.

So often I see the amazingly wonderful people in my life, both men and women, compare themselves to society’s “ideal image,” find themselves lacking and begin to doubt their own worth. Why, when we look in the mirror, do we see only our flaws instead of the beautiful creatures we actually are?

So, today, I give you Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130 and hope that you can try and see the beautifully flawed, amazingly real person that you are…

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips’ red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damask’d, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak,–yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go, My mistress when she walks, treads on the ground; And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.

Originally posted January 24, 2008

today, like every day, i could not be more grateful for the wonderfully supportive women in my life.  they show their love in a wide variety of ways — a listening ear, a sympathetic heart, an amusing distraction and sometimes, when i really need it, when i think i can’t take (insert problem here) a single moment longer, one of them delivers a swift kick in the ass.  knowing when i need what is no mean trick.  so, to those wonderfully clever, amazingly beautiful, mind-bogglingly resourceful, unbelievably strong women — thank you.

Originally published December 25, 2007

Where does faith come from – faith in people, faith in god, faith in ourselves? But more importantly, once lost, can it be found?

These are the questions I struggle with on a daily basis. I was once so full of faith in all of the facets mentioned above. As I traveled down the winding path that has been my life, my faith slowly eroded and then, somewhere along the way, I lost it all together – first in others, then in god and finally in myself. My spirit withered in my body and went into hiding.

And then something happened. I shed the skin of my old life and slowly, tentatively began a new chapter. That essential part of me crawled out from her hiding place.

The last two years have been a beautiful exercise in rediscovery – figuring out who I am, what I want and who I want to be. To some degree I have, through trial by fire in a myriad of circumstances, begun to believe in myself again. God and I are slowly coming to an understanding – although it is neither by the same name nor within the same framework under which we previously interacted. Finding the strength within myself to have faith in others is proving the trickiest of the three.

It again begs the question:

Once lost, can faith be found?

The answer:

I hope so, but I can’t say for certain.