Kelly's First Hoop Video

In the time I've been here are Wollam Gardens I've met some pretty cool folks. I've become particularly close to my fellow interns and housemates, Karineh and Nicole who have introduced me to this fun activity called hooping. While I'm very shy with it, as I've never thought myself particularly good at dancing (even though I love to dance), their praise made me wonder what I truly look like. So I taped myself and I'm actually diggin' it. I'm not fully into it, as I'm too aware of the camera, but I was certainly surprised.

So, I guess... without further adieu, my first hooping video:

Titles are often useless.

"if you yourself are not a safe place for you... then you will never feel comfortable and you will never move forward."

–Life lessons that pop into my head that I swear I'll live by but disagree with a month later

Once, I found out a fellow peer of my generation thought me to be vapid. It stung, a lot, even though in my soul of souls I knew it was not true. They had a special disgust for the way I was living my life, especially when my mother was sick and dying–vapid, distasteful, disrespectful, uncaring, unfeeling and 

DAMN I can tell you, as a certainty, there was no moment of unfeeling in that section of my life, not one millisecond. 

However, 

it burrows deeper into my consciousness, feeding the insurmountable regret I already contend with–the special kind reserved only for those who've lost their loves. . . 

"I should have, I cannot! It shall never be; there are no more chances."

Standing up, I throw the truth at it: The regret is something only you carry

                                                       None of that is true, none of it is you

                                                       Their opinions on YOU are made of horse-shit. 

But these words are so strong. I feebly sit down again. The foul opinions and harsh judgements wash over me. Again, I am slumped. 

Foolish human, did you ever think yourself so cruel?

I pledge henceforth (and have been practicing months prior) to judge not another soul in a hurtful manner. 

'Tis a constant struggle. A daily fail. But I vow to be conscious. I vow not to sling more unneeded pain into another's life. 

"Don't let the opinions of others get you down!"

I know I should not listen.

I know we should be stronger. 

But... we're all not strong sometimes. 

give a little wiggle room

P.S.

My hypnotherapist told me I should add "PS. I'm not going to kill myself" to the end of my blog posts so that I don't feel a need to create a false positive twist for certain readers. While it may not apply with this particular post, I feel I must get in the habit. 

P.P.S

I'm not going to kill myself. 

A most likely unexpected subject

In these early mo(u)rning hours of October 27th, I would like to talk about my cat.

I have argued for years now that she is indeed the best cat to have ever existed and I will continue to stand by that claim for the years to come. 

Jewels is a spritely little thing, feisty to the core –enough to have her vet chart marked so as to alert everyone that if her blood is to be drawn, she is to go under–and as affectionate as can be. She is a perfectly well-balanced bundle of love and ferociousness... and cute. 

The hearts of all my friends have been won, in one way or another, by her personality and purrs. The heart of my dog, Pepper, has also been won by this wondrous little cat who walks with us to the end of the driveway on walks and then sits and yowls until we come back. She is definitely an independent part of the pack. 

She is also my baby, my 10-year old baby. I love her so deeply it has worried me, as I've always known I would lose her before I was ready. 

Sure enough, she has kidney failure, and will not be here this time next year to insistently lay on me while I wrestle with the confusion of having lived without the presence of my mother for another whole year. She will be gone far too soon, far too young, similar to my mom.

I know pet grief is harder to understand, because, really, it's just a cat. But fuck that, because it is truly losing another dear dear member of my close family. 

"I can't lose you. I need you to help me get through this. If you died soon, I don't know what I would do."

–A short conversation with my cat upon first returning to Bowling Green after my mother's passing

Yes, I now grapple with the guilt of feeling so torn up about the forthcoming loss of my cat during this particularly poignant time that should be focused on my mother and what it  means for her to have been gone for an entire year. 

But I know my mother would understand. 

She would cry with me. She would know that grief can both mingle and layer and added feelings do not remove others. 

I still remember and currently have particularly strong feeling-memories of what took place last year. I could never forget–the pain, the relief, the "perfect chaos" as I said that night. Now it is just, everything.  One can always feel deeper and wider. Our emotional beings are quite expansive, as you know... or as you'll see. My cat, my mother... I love them both so much, I wish these loved ones would stay put for awhile. 

I just thank Godallahbuddahshiva everything everything and the universe that my cat can die peacefully instead of going through a long, drawn out, and painful death, a dignity my mother did not quite get. 

Fall

Green to red, yellow, orange to brown; to dead from alive.

We watch, baring witness to the inevitable waning of life, the beauty of the trees.

A turning of the seasons... to turn a new leaf–and yet:

clutching, clinging... hanging by the weakening thread to that which once did sprout us.

 F

A

L

L

i

n

.

.

.

g

Shrivel up to nothing, but your time had already come.

When was the end? 

The snap? The reddening? The fall? The impact?

I really enjoyed "Welcome to the Monkey House"

I wrote this last May, pieces of it simply do not apply anymore, but I don't have the heart to edit my old self out, my younger self should still have a voice--her voice was just as true. 

I am no good at this, trust me. 

I will not cuddle with you when I have the chance, so few chances as we are all moving so quickly now. 

I will not hug you goodbye; I can't stand what it means.

I will not tell you I love you even if it is true every second of every day and even if I feel in my fingertips that soon (everything seems soon, now) the days will stop for you or I and therefore all will stop for you and me. 

I cannot bear the weight of my own emotions, I am embarrassed by them even though I preach the consequences of invulnerability. I know if I showed you how I felt it would only make you feel good, or, well, at least connected, which is good. 

Alas, that is not me, not yet. Hypocrisy, hah! Be vulnerable! I scream, at everyone, but then you touch me comfortingly and I recoil for no lack of trust.

I begin by establishing the vast space between myself and those I love most. I finish by griping of being lonely. 

Scatter the flowers now – – – 

I will not let myself live–I think, anyway. I cannot tell if I am preventing myself from living or grieving and am perplexed as to how I've let myself fall victim to such a dichotomy. 

Lately, (a grand lately, spanning months) I have mourned many pasts. One such past being the moment and the moments (encompassing days) right after my mother died. 

Anticipation, over; and suffering with it. I said "that's good" when I walked into the room and I meant it, that is what she had wanted. It was so good for all of it was pure and raw and unhindered, unquestioned. 

You cry and you cry and you cry and nobody asks you what is wrong, not even yourself. Pure, raw, unhindered, unquestioned.

You sit and sit and sit with books or friends or movies or thoughts and nobody asks you when you will start moving again, not even yourself. Pure, raw, unhindered, unquestioned. 

You take five steps outside, you go out to eat, you manage to sleep and everybody congratulates you, especially yourself. Pure, raw, unhindered, unquestioned. 

You do not feel guilty for any of it, especially not the sad, sluggish, angry parts. Pure, raw, unhindered, unquestioned. 

Perhaps I became addicted to it. I miss it. Her, more than then, but of the postmortem, I miss it. 

I find solace when people tell me they miss her, when they cry, when they tell me they are having a hard time... I feel guilty for that. 

It is all complicated now. I don't talk about it much anymore, or cry near folks, or feel okay sitting around because it has been seven months and dear lord, I used to think seven months was a long time.

Enter a cave now? – – –

The whole thing is polluted with time. 

I just observe while everyone moves along with the time, I know they are!

You are moving to Africa, you are conducting research, you are creating a feature-length screen-play, you are writing new songs, you are planting and harvesting, you are going to China, Germany, you are fostering new relationships, you are practically immobile but still working on projects to better the community, you are moving... fucking moving all the time...

creating a life while I cling to one that will never revive. I envy it all, that forward thrust, it reminds me that I should get up. I peer proudly yet jealously at those who move forward and still if I feel time tugging at me I resist with all my might. Truly, I only feel capable of approaching life maybe 2, 3 days a week, a step up from D-day, but damn, so slow. 

"You just have to keep moving" my mom always said when my heart was sick. 

I know how very right she is, I see how well it works for others. Others with worse ails than I, creating creating creating such great things because of it. 

Fuck, I must be weak. 

I am wary of myself. I don't trust that any of this is normal; really I'm just lazy. 

Ex. I gave myself one main task to do in the 2.5 weeks I was in the stable town I sometimes call home and did not even begin it. 

I wish I were someone else. No one in particular, but not me. 

My life is grand, comparatively. It is my desire to whine about it still that makes me wish for a different conscious soul. Maybe that one wouldn't squander the gifts. 

Backwards and forwards I am my own worst enemy. 

Also, I can't sleep much anymore, wtf is that?! 

9/26/2014

What if I had stayed? What if I had not persisted in the pursuit of my new frontier?

There was a ping of disappointment when I realized I could still take those first steps away from everything I knew and was, from you, whom I loved so much; and the cozy system of understanding… but just a ping.

Somewhere deep inside I trusted the instinct to throw myself out. Now, three years later, I am endlessly grateful for that leap of faith, for that persistence, for that twist from fear to adventure. Now, I am here. I am not all that I ever want to be, but I am here–in a life I could not have dreamt existed. Now, I am so thankful, for my life. This is something that oft receives no praise from me, but it’s easy to get caught up in the sorrows of not only myself, but those I love. My life, though, solely mine, the one created by luck and miracle, etched out and fought for by myself and my loved ones; this one I am thankful for.

This will not last all moments, but this moment is as true as any other.

I know, I need pictures.

There are joys one cannot imagine until they have experienced them. I suppose that has been my mission, to constantly seek the joys I could’ve never known existed until I fell into these new unique worlds and my brain is streeeeetched beyond belief.

Wollam Gardens is that new world (you can google and find out all about us) for now.

Sunset from the balcony.

I’ve been here for about 34 hours and the highs and lows have been frequent, but the sheer amount of learning I’ve been doing already astounds me. I feel like a child again, constantly watching others movements, exploring everything timidly but passionately, and simply learning the ways of the world. Here’s a rough breakdown of the past few hours:

First arrival: nervous, anticipatory… The Dahlia Festival was in full swing and I walked up to the welcome tent, ready to state my purpose and attempt to explain why I didn’t need to pay the entry fee when Kim, one of the managers noticed me and whisked me away, rushing through the farmhouse (dating back to the early 1700s with original hardwood flooring) to show me my room (upstairs shared with the other two managers, Josh and Jen, a couple sharing one bed, and their dog, Zoe, who gets the third bed in the room) and then hand me over to Josh. No one really knew what to do with me that first day, so I helped shovel out some pumpkins but spent most of my time awkwardly standing around petting the farm cat, Maxwell, and Zoe. I finally asked if there was anything I should be doing and Josh told me to just hang out as no one expected me to work that day so I took a walk around the grounds… the 10 acres: row after row of different types of plants, most of which were foreign to me (celosia? Tuberosa? Gomphrena? I really don’t know flowers). There are 5 hoop houses, one large green house, a treehouse, a pond, bridges, golf carts to easily transport from one spot to another, a giant walk-in cooler, outdoor showers, a tree swing, a large flower processing area, and I’m sure plenty more undiscovered such things.

I went up to my room afterwards and sat in fear for awhile. The loneliness and unfamiliarity had me in a NEW PLACE stupor, but after wallowing in ‘holy shit, what am I doing’ for a little while, add in a nap, and finally going back outside to be greeted by all the other interns with smiles on their faces, I was all set.

“All we do is go out and cut flowers together all day. It’s amazing!”

“Bob (the owner) has the most interesting stories, and he takes car of you.”

“Going out in the morning is amazing, you just ride out with the sun shining on the dew and the birds all flapping around in morning glory and you’re in the middle of a bunch of flower fields!”

I quickly began to feel more comfortable with all my fellow housemates, including the baby chickens living at the bottom of the stairs. I was also assigned Farmers Market the next day, as no one else wanted to miss the festival. 5:30am wake up call!

I finally met all the interns, the owner, his partner, and even an old intern who came to visit with her boyfriend. The farm is full and bountiful, with characters a plenty. The food is tasty and all free and we scored a bunch of free stuff from the vendors at the festival.

Day 2: I met Kim’s husband, Andrew, who is a fantastic character that I thoroughly enjoyed chatting with throughout the day. He made the day pretty stress-free, educational, and fun. We loaded up the van at 6:15 and headed to the Duponte circle farmers market in DC. We set up the whole shebang, 4 tents, tables, arranged the flowers as best we could, and set off, which loads of people coming through with particular tastes and knowledge of these flowers of ours—most knew more about them than I when we began. I learned how to wrap the flowers, the names and prices of many of em, (CELOSIA, brain celosia is my favorite so far), how to best dry the limelight hydrangeas and the celosia, and how to barter with the surrounding booths. What a good intro to work! We stopped at Potbellies one our way home and he paid for my stuff, which included a large meat sandwich and milkshake, all delicious. I also go a free iced coffee as we gave the coffee vendor a bunch of flowers.

I’m really enjoying it here. I know this was long and jumbly, but I wanted to get something out there. Oh! And I went for a walk this evening and it began to rain so I sought shelter in a hoop house. Felt so nice to be back out here, on this land-a-plenty, working and living with like-minded, interesting folks!