Saturday, December 17, 2011

Harvest Me?

I am a can of pumpkin puree and I reside in a cupboard next to my opaque and dehydrated friend, milk. As a young squash, time spent in the pumpkin patch was soft and unhurried. My days were composed of sounds overlapping in harmony. I felt the sleepy grass resting beneath me. The farmer’s dog, Buddy, once buried his wet nose into the cool, receptive earth and a ladybug latched on and laughed. My undisturbed heart was light and the honeycomb sun took my mind on many whistling adventures. My spirit became full of fairytales and I dreamt of the day when I would be harvested and turned into a golden carriage or carved by a young child into something silly or beautiful. My innocent flesh was very tender and passing rabbits often warned that I might become too soft and rot.
I remember the day that I was stripped of my natural nakedness and processed. Reason invaded like a legion of swarming ants and shrewdness displaced the sympathetic. It was time to grow up. My whimsical imagination and outlandish dreams were stifled.  It seemed strange that I had been created one way only to be forced to transform into another. I did not want to bid my baby pumpkin seeds farewell and I battled the reality that I would soon be baked and practically liquefied. Food mills were frightening, but I was nevertheless on my way to becoming an inert space filler, another ingredient, transmuted into a labeled resource that would benefit the entire baking community. Soon after my metamorphosis, I was shipped off to a grocery store in hopes that I might be sold. A sticker which read “Libby’s 100% Pure Pumpkin” was branded upon my new tin home. However, I did not feel "100% pure".  I felt mutilated and hideous... and who on earth was Libby? I encountered a flood of commercialization and was soon introduced to the collective media.  I was paraded around in front of cameras and soon was exposed to everyone on television and my picture was placed in magazines.

I missed my skin and how it felt and reacted to the wind. I once heard droplets of melodious water falling from the sky. I think those droplets were created to fall and replenish the earth. Mama orangutans aren't made a commodity without their consent, except in zoos. I felt as though I was meant to dwell in a pumpkin patch to bring children joy when leaves change their colors. I have been processed and this cannot be undone, but I would prefer to be emptied and baked into a pumpkin pie rather than to sit on this shelf idly. Maybe then I could then hear the giggle of a child as he places a whipped cream hat on my head and lets me skydive from his fork on to his shirt. I am a pumpkin, no matter my present form, however, I long to be one that is relational rather than merely marketed.


My dad is a tree. His bark is enduring for he is clothed with strength. He is a giving tree. Firmly planted, his leaves do not wither or fade and he prospers in all that he does.
He passes out barrels and delights in those who come to gather his golden apples and sit in his shade. At times, my dad can be a man a few words but his actions speak volumes. He is anchored and I can confidently say that I have never encountered a more stable man. Over twenty years ago, my father was faced with the reality that his beloved wife had been killed in a car accident. No doubt a painful floodgate was opened and brokenness settled in. My father though, never allowed bitterness to bind upon his heart and cripple his spirit. Never once did he ask for sympathy although it was deserved, he never voiced his grief but he instead gave. My daddy gives little children dollar bills simply to see their faces light up, he goes to restaurants and blesses strangers on his birthday and he serves without expecting anything in return.
Without ever even opening his mouth, he reminds me incessantly of his unconditional love. Dr. Seuss once said, “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.” My dad, he cares a whole awful lot. He cares enough to give up everything he has ever wanted in order that he might be able to provide more and invest tremendously into my education. He cares enough to make us pancakes, take us hiking and iron the never-ending pile of clothes. He is in no way overbearing and although he has unearthed much truth for himself, he refuses to force his beautiful discoveries upon me. Yet as I look upon his life my gaze is directed towards that which is much greater than myself and I desire for his truths to become my own.

My dad possesses humble confidence and produces peace wherever his spirit stands. He has truly shown me how to operate through love and how to be a positive thinker. The contraction can’t is absent from his vocabulary; his mental strength is admirable for he dwells in a place of rest despite external circumstance. His heart teaches me that people matter more than anything this world has to offer; they take precedence over money, status and social judgment. My dad reminds me of my outlandish dreams and then shares how I might simply position myself in places where they can be birthed and then flourish. I have realized that rather than exploiting and conquering the world, I am to leave it with a gift. And rather than manipulating and asserting supremacy over people, I have a contribution, no matter the size, that I can gently place in their lives. My father’s life has splashed paint all over the walls of my soul. His vivacity stirs me to be a tree and this paint takes that shape, because of him I long to remain rooted and produce scrumptious fruit. I desire for strangers to rest in my braches and play in my shade, always. 

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Perch, Settle & Drift

Sit. from the feel of grass, the kiss of the brick, the pinch and tickle of wood.  melting amber sticks to my teeth and the roof of this motionless mouth. listen and you might hear droplets of water in the wind. color peaks out behind tall emeralds. Sounds are fading...flowing and the white is intertwined. everything hear seems to react. And I? I suppose I respond. If I could share this. only. Humming strokes the windswept sky. soft, subtle, soothing. you lie and I lean unusually. the colors depend and consider one another. they are far from hurried. my eyes are not heavy…however. settled. my heart is at peace when I stop it’s racing. when I pretend I am not. Why do I mind that it grows dimmer? It is displaced, indeed. I am safe. wrapped in wool, faintly frightened. but take note! chirp chirp. the chirping crickets carry the birdies song. the setting sun waves hello. now the moon steps up and peaks through taller leaves. I was mistaken. the transition is like the amber. it is not bitter but instead kind. not an abrupt shift, rather a tender sweet sigh. settling. sorrow is elsewhere. keep my mind. you linger when you leave, without even trying. I cannot seem to slip away. a pit flies, stems they fall. they land. crimson sugar swallows my mouth and clings to my lips. I wish there were no sirens. I am taken to wolves. they ought to return to their babies. the sky is blue and it is bright. a bigger blanker. Come and sit.

Thursday, March 31, 2011


orange tree. park. fox and the pigeon. pesto pasta. act of purchasing pink shoes. sparkle among the trash. hope. little voices. warmth. sweet soft dessert. singing and steps. mirth. mindful. roaming. risotto. rain. aged windows. soup. crevice in the splintered wall of wood. staircase. adventure. whistle.  crepes. lace. listen. bubble baths. converse. eyelashes. safety.  mango tree. enfold. flower in her hair. lipstick. dungeons. chandelier. melon. amber. tiramisu. sever. leggings. aussie. nutella. enclosure. answer. handwriting. ice cream globules. rainbow cobblestone. strawberries and lead. honey. combs. pancakes. light. bees.  batter. bumble. flying saucers. kaleidoscope. flashing. bus. holster. swing set. icy eyes. crystals. rubber ball. hibernation. ballerina. magnifying glass. planets. fossils. satisfied. sunbeams. rain cloud. spring. health. blue jay.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Pieces of Poetry & Pancakes

Spend some time with Hungry Mungry, Shel Silverstein and a plate of piping hot pancakes. After that, go ahead and smile a little bit. It’s seriously healthy.  Paint your nails, read a book and relax. It’s Saturday.

Pancake Poem

Who wants a pancake,
Sweet and piping hot?
Good little Grace looks up and says,
"I'll take the one on top."
Who else wants a pancake,
Fresh off the griddle?
Terrible Teresa smiles and says,
"I'll take the one in the middle."

Now, Draw a crazy picture or write a nutty poem. Sing a mumble-gumble song, whistle through your comb. Do a loony-goony dance 'cross the kitchen floor, put something silly in the world that ain't been there before. 
-Shel Silverstein 

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Say Cheese!

                                                                      Senior Portraits.



Thursday, August 19, 2010

Sunflowers, Skies, Canyons and Colorado

 August 13, 2010- Day 1:

At five o’clock in the morning, my uncle, cousin Erika, and I left the scorching heat of Texas hoping to cool off a bit. With pajamas still on and tired eyes we climbed into the car ready to embark on a 1,067-mile journey. We were less than an hour down the road and already we had stopped at Starbucks for some breakfast and caffeine. From the moment we left, the route we chose to take proved to be picturesque the entire way. 

We saw rolling hills and lovely fields and marveled for hours on end. Possessing merry states of mind we purposed within ourselves to enjoy every minute of the voyage, even if this meant stopping every other hour in order to capture special memories.

After a lot more driving, we made it into the breathtaking state of Colorado just in time for a late dinner. We ate at the most fabulous Italian restaurant called Rino’s. 

The homemade pasta and tiramisu were appetizing but the neatest part of it all was the fact that every waiter or waitress sang to the customers as they ate. 

After leaving the restaurant we stumbled upon an inviting Bed and Breakfast in Trinidad, which we then stayed at for the night. The house was so incredibly dainty, the rooms were warm, each of the three floors had a balcony, and I discovered a little rustic library.

 August 14, 2010- Day 2:

We awoke to a delicious breakfast of blueberry cornmeal pancakes, sausage, fruit and orange juice. 

I loved every minute we spent at the Bed and Breakfast and it totally reminded me of a big dollhouse. We drove up through the mountains of Colorado for the remainder of the day with only a quick stop at Danny’s Corner Bistro for lunch in Woodland Park.

                                That night we got settled into our delightful cabin...

            ...and the temperature dropped down into the forties so we enjoyed gazing at the stars from the hot tub on the back porch. Up high in the mountains the sky is not tainted or blurred by lights from a neighborhood or city. The moon shines down seamlessly and the stars glisten like tiny gems.  Peace remains ever present.

August 15, 2010- Day 3:

It was cold in the cabin. Bitter cold. I rolled out of bed, slipped on socks and to my surprise found that it was much warmer outdoors. After breakfast we drove down the mountain towards Canyon City. As noon approached, the weather was a pleasant seventy degrees, my Uncle Rick, Erika and I had a total jam session in the car... 
                                     ...and we had to occasionally stop for cow crossings. 

Our tummies began to rumble and we made a stop at Pizza Madness for a quick but tasty lunch. 

Afterwards we hopped on ATV’s (four-wheelers) and raced up and down the mountains. I felt nervous as we began to ride because the trails are rocky, steep and narrow.
But I quickly conquered my fear and soon found myself flying down the mountains like a maniac. Dust flew in our faces, it was so exhilarating and we all had an incredible time. Erika and I went on a little walk/climb afterwards and stumbled upon a dazzling river with an astounding view.

August 16, 2010- Day 4:

Both Erika and I had tickets for a gourmet lunch on the Royal Gorge Train but unfortunately we woke up very late. 

We quickly scurried out the door and Uncle Rick raced down the highway and we arrived just in the knick of time. Erika and I had an exemplary three-course meal. First, we both were served warm bread, and salads with bleu cheese, candied pecans, and cranberries. It was topped with some type of red wine dressing.
For our entrées, Erika had pork, asparagus and orzo while I had pesto salmon with sun-dried tomatoes, asparagus and orzo.

 Dessert was a delightful chocolate mousse with raspberry sauce. Yum! 

After eating we walked out onto the viewing deck at the front off the train and enjoy the scenery and chilly, crisp air blowing through our hair.

 We finished the day by picking up some groceries from Whole Foods. On the way home though we drove through a cute little town and then decided to explore the mountain further. The higher we ascended up the mountain the colder it got and nighttime began to close in. And then out of nowhere we saw snow on the ground!

August 17, 2010- Day 5:

I can easily say, without hesitation, that today was unrivaled and certainly my favorite so far.  The sun gleamed through the curtains of the cabin window, prompting and encouraging me to begin the day. 

 I arose and stumbled out onto the chilly back porch and hopped into the hot tub with my uncle. Erika prepared a picnic lunch of cucumber sandwiches, pineapple cream cheese sandwiches and hummus with Naan bread. We then hiked through Eleven Mile Canyon and I quickly discovered how out of shape I truly am.


It was great fun though and we ate on top of the canyon. The view was unbelievably overwhelming.  

We then stumbled upon a secluded spring with a little waterfall. 

I cannot even begin to express how overjoyed I was. The gorgeous cliffs and freezing water were so tranquil and I was left feeling lucky and love-struck with the splendor of it all.

 The place wasn’t too extravagant, it encompassed simplicity and seemed to inspire joy, which couldn’t be purchased or bargained for. We returned home after swimming, feeling refreshed but starved. 

Erika and I cooked a delicious dinner. Usually I am not the biggest fan of red meat but I usually enjoy it when it is prepared with Asian spices. So we made spicy Thai Beef Kabobs with corn, green beans, chives, cherry tomatoes, and zucchini.

 Everything was scrumptious and we had coffee, fudge, peanut butter ice cream for dessert while winding down and watching a movie. What a day!

August 18, 2010- Day 6:

This morning Erika and I made Egg on Toast with yogurt and orange juice for breakfast. We then cleaned up and said goodbye to our cute, little cabin and started back home towards Texas. Later we stopped at Starbucks and ate some delectable scones and drank Iced Chai Tea Lattes as Uncle Rick ran some final errands. 

We drove until eight o’clock at night, stopping to eat chicken fried steak at a disgusting diner, and we were just about to pull into a hotel and call it a day when all of a sudden I had a brilliant idea. I suggested that we drive all night and the GPS estimated that if we did so, we would arrive at 7 AM. Uncle Rick bought energy drinks and at eleven we determined that without the help of ice cream we would be incapable of remaining awake until morning. Erika and I needed to stay wide-awake as long as possible in order to talk to Uncle Rick and help him stay alert and aware as he drove. But the only place with ice cream that we could find was a McDonalds. Although we all prefer real Bluebell ice cream, we were forced to settle for McFlurry’s. They tasted good at the time but made Erika and I feel a bit sick. But nevertheless we moved forward, and as we did we realized that we were progressing too quickly. Uncle Rick, while chugging and twitching from a five-hour energy drink, was convinced he was seeing things, as a kaleidoscope of colors flashed in the rear view mirror. 

But sure enough attached to the flashlight, which was shining throughout the car, was an arm of a police officer ever ready to reward us with a speeding ticket. Uncle Rick’s excuse, which reeked with silliness, was the energy from the drink was causing him to press the gas down harder. 
 The officer got a good laugh out of it but showed us no mercy. And when it seemed that things couldn’t get any worse we realized that we were zigging and zagging through every two-bit town in Texas. I begged Uncle Rick to pull over and let Erika and I wash over faces and put on pajamas. At two in the morning, we stopped at the grossest gas station known to man and when I emerged from the restroom I found Uncle Rick conversing with two drunken local farmers who were pleading with him to stop using the GPS. Uncle Rick followed their advice and decided to use the map and two hours later he decided to give the GPS one last shot. After going for some time we saw a sign that read “pavement ending.” We found ourselves on a little dirt road, utterly lost. The road then disappeared into a pit of mud, which we flew through at 60 miles per hour. Erika screamed at the top of her lungs and the car began to wobble. Uncle Rick was petrified that we had two tires that were going flat. We eventually made our way back to pavement and backtracked thirty miles an hour to that little Podunk town in Texas. Miracle of miracles, at an abandoned gas station, we found a hose which could be used to wash the tires. We were overjoyed when Uncle Rick discovered that the wheels were simply out of balance due to the massive amounts of mud. We aren’t sure how we made it home, no one seems to remember anything after that, but we awoke Uncle Rick as soon as we arose from our slumber. We happily pulled into the driveway at nine o’clock in the morning.  What an adventure this has been. Lewis and Clark got nothin on us!