I started this Early, (8) for a Sunday. But now, with coffee made, dreams written and cats cuddled, it is almost ten!
People write about dreams… the who you want to be, who you could be dreams. (And to those of you bloggers, thank you for the inspiration this morning). The dreams that you have whispered in your own ear, the ones you have heard in your head echoing over the years. The old dreams, the new dreams, the ever changing and steadfast desires of what we want our lives to be.
The world here is covered with snow. I love its beauty and what it can inspire me to write, the quiet it gives to the whole world around us, how it is possible it maybe washing us and giving us a blank slate. I also love that it can render me worthless on the couch in front of “Charmed” and in front of the marvelous wood burning stove. The venturing out to shovel and sweat and get the really good work out in. I love the multiple cute layers of clothing I can put on, how wearing black and other dark colors just seems to be right… how wool is perfect for the winter and tights are even better worn.
That being said, I hate the snow. I despise the icy, scary roads that my loved ones drive on. (Yes, we can die on a dry road too, I know this.) And I hate the winter and the cold. I hate that it makes things so very difficult, cancelling fun plans and rendering many stranded, cold, and for the poor, I am saddened by the hardships it can bring.
So, do I dream of living in another city where winter does not exist the way it does here? Strangely, not for the very the reason of winter at all. I dream of living somewhere else for the adventure and newness of living somewhere else, and inside me, I think that Flagstaff will always call me. Tucson calls me, with its bougenvilla and ocatillo. It calls me with its monsoon! (Ah! that is wonderful! A monsoon just called me for the first time in over a year. Thank you R, thank you Jeffrey, and D, and thank you to my Mom — for you are the best when I called you often over this last year, scared into tears over the booming rattling thunder. Tornados be damned! The Tucson monsoon just called my name and all of me responded with pleasure and desire. If that is not progress…. well, then… ).
So, there is that, I have been called by the desert where I once made my home, and I am called to my hometown, which of course, is Flagstaff.
I am not called by New Mexico, not called to the middle of the dust where I lived for ten or so years. I reflect on that for a moment, and I wonder why exactly… I have no desire at all to live there again, and that place, it is not home.
I am called to Camp Verde where my parents have made a new home, but that is not a place for my roots either.
I am called to Jerome, in the fall, it calls me and asks me if I could please write there… but not live out my days.
I am called to New York City, to the camaraderie of my cousins and the total insanity of the Bowery Poetry Club, how I may long to spend weekends with the people. How I can see myself walking a dog in East Village and walk up to the apartment to see my cats in the window… walk inside hand in hand with my soul mate, the first thing he does is put on a record. We make dinner together, settling into our creative projects side by side after a long day of absolutely endless possibilities. A year there? Maybe more?
I am called to San Francisco, hills that stretch to the sky and one thousand culinary creations waiting to be purchased at the markets. Making something amazing for my sister and Jeffrey to try. I am called to all the energy that city seems to wield. To the amazing architecture. To the very water around it and the bridges you use to cross it. I can see San Francisco, I can see brunch at the temple on Sundays and ball games in the summer, and I can see a magazine editing job…
There are more places to go, more places that I dream of. Some places I am called to just because the name fascinates me. Gig Harbor…
I love the sun.
And Flagstaff, even in winter is blessed with enormous amounts of this amazing energy… but… there is something called a Light Box and it is totally portable!
So, my conclusion about this post? My dream may be to get the heck outta dodge…. well, at least intermittently and definitely before I am 36…37?
Thanks for reading my really long ramble,
December 4, 2011 at 11:33 am
Adored all of your words! Blessed be…