Heidi Beth

I thought of setting for myself the task of writing another 30 blog posts in 30 days. Then I realized I don’t want to, or rather, I want to focus on clearing our house of every extra instead.
Mercilessness is needed here.
Mind tricks hold me back, ask me to consider the emotional recourse of letting go, fail to properly inform me of how liberated, lighter, I always feel when another item finds a home away from mine.
So I now assign myself a new 30 in 30. Everyday for the next 30 days, including today, I will clear at least one unneeded item from our home.
Yesterday it was a pop-up camper, carried away by three guys and a big pickup truck (that got this ball rolling). Tomorrow a freezer. I’ll have to make a concerted effort to find today’s cast away item (items? she asks hopefully).
Blogging boring sorts my thoughts. Beware, I may blog about this purging 30 in 30.

I’m sitting in a cafe, owned by the bakery that produces our gluten free recipes.
Fringy suede boots on for fun, fresh decaf latte and six beautiful almond chocolate chip cookies (I can eat) are inches from my right hand. I’m closer to forty now than I was Friday at 1:55am. I was that close to being an April Fool’s baby.
I’ve heard that the new year used to turn over on April 1st. Then one day, centuries ago, the new year date was moved to January 1st, in the dead of winter. Anyone who held onto the old April date was considered a fool, hence, April Fool’s day. I gained this was hearsay at Hometown Buffet over mashed potatoes and corn.
Sounds like a good explanation to me, believable too, as it involves creating a group to make fun of. Oh Lord, may we evolve!
No poetry fairies tickling my peripheral vision, no deep thoughts to untangle. We’ve recently returned from a two week trip to Texas. I’m still on a vacation high. Kindred spirits can be reached and communicated with through prayer and facebook, but I prefer real arms for warm embraces.
We made friends with four dogs on our travels. Now we’re tempted to adopt a canine companion of our own. No sooner do I allow serious contemplation of such an acquisition than visions of large, expensive bags of dog food play before my inner eye, then clear plastic baggies full of warm presents. I’m not sold on the idea… yet.
That was close! For a second, I thought I’d lost all these ramblings. Phew, still there and ready to go out into the big www.
I’m done mentally meandering in print, for a while anyway.

slow writing beside a shaggy canine bundle
she jumped in my arms for love
asleep now, lola sighs
quiet in between, overcast
seventeen minutes past noon
cookies cool
i have ached for calm
drowsy hours
like this
boys earn gentle hushes
i could sleep
lola adjusts her small furry body
boredom, not mine
curls its whiny fingers
into silence
I have no remedy
for my son
a breath of patience, enough
child tiptoes beyond our creaky back door
an urgent search rewarded
treasure found
he sits cross legged and silent
skillfully maneuvering shadows
to tinny adventure melodies
serenity restored… ish

single syllable sentiments
love, blessed, life
solid matters, my opinion
details of a single moment
all disappear
in a walking meditation
one mile at a time
no beat holds me steady
the sun, a promise
carries my frame
accompanied by a fragile silence
a link to grace
i am neither free
nor branded
i am
a smiling whisper
holding to the cord
of faith

faith breathes flesh
onto a skeleton of dreams
a rope i cling to
moving near
nearer still
a vision held so long, longing
the moment i would
cross my legs before you
have time to see you… see you
O God! i am a child
frail, circled by fear
sensing magic
bold by design
pressing forward
as I must, for love
please God, guide me
gently she carves a path to hope
inhales deep
eyelids stretched over hazel moons
her arms reach
through endless blue

I was gonna feel sorry for myself, sorry as in pining for wants I must accept uncertainty about while I wait hopefully for the desired scenario to transpire. I decided to make deviled eggs instead. Water’s boiling now.
I was gonna slump on the couch and pout, then I rotated laundry. I found myself skipping down the hallway, wicker basket on my hip, lively as new possibilities/puzzle pieces formed in my mind.
I was gonna stick out my bottom lip, stare at blue curtains and wish for God to hurry up and show us answers to recent questions I obsess over, but just for tonight, I ain’t.
I added green olives to last night’s left over salad. I marvel at their strangely wonderful flavor and little pimento ribbons hiding inside.
I brewed a fresh cup of hot decaf, poured in organic half & half, an odd combination with olives, but warm on a cold March night.
I hear the swish-swish-whir of technology cleaning my boys’ clothes. I sip warm richness, organic, fair trade, shade grown, everything hip and humane. I await the first bite of a novice attempt at a country potluck favorite, those egg delights oddly named after a terrible figure with a pitch fork.
Tonight, what remains before I head off to bed, I’m gonna be alright… and well nourished.

I could turn my heart to every matter undefined, laced with sadness, uncertainty, less than what I wished for. I could.
I ache enough holding love, hugs from small arms, cherished hopes like late winter buds; a promise of spring. Still, I sing here.
Pregnant with tears, matters I nestle in silent tenderness, a sacred sip of reality. My boys grow beautiful. I hold my breath, sigh as time slips.
Determined to live toward sanity, I offer laughter, listen to silence between words, make safe a path for fragile friends. Aren’t we all? Turning my heart inside out, I pray.

They stand on longer-than-she-can-believe legs, possess defined jaw lines, cheek bones, composure. She studies each feature, especially those beautiful eyes.
Her older son flashes a crinkle-nose grin.
“Mooom, what?!” her younger son giggles, squirming.
“I’m grateful I get to be your mother,” she offers, smiling.
Content, they turn back to an unconventional chess game. Little brother plays to act out scenes from Knight’s of the South Bronx. Older brother aims to win. He will, they all know this from the start. No one cares. Least of all little brother. He enjoys his adored sibling’s attention.
Laptop across her knees, she wonders, “Are there any words left?”
Winter, a strange blessing, calls, “Slow down.”
She pulls a blanket around her shoulders and begins to write.

hello blank page
can you offer
miracles of clarity and depth
a classic ballet of syllables
sans effort (from me)
no need to pine
for a well-spun phrase
beginnings surround
ideas without form, first lines
silence beyond
an impatient gardener am i
checking roots
upending tender shoots
wishing not to wait
let an idea develop
as a good writer ought
inspired poems have come
and gone
bestowing charity
first stanzas nearly written
their relatives are sure to visit
some glorious future hour
demanding i take up
pen and parchment
dictate, translate
paint their reality
breathe life, texture
onto their bones
but not today

wrapped in quiet
a blanket, soothing
too slow for words
a moment in between
each content in our own doing
together
bowed over matter
we read, search, create
i am with two children
who bounce
as a rule
but not in this
unplanned sanctuary
how long do we have
nestled
in the emotional safety
of our muteness