The Optimist

I look up

from my cross-legged position on the floor. I'm under a spotlight so I can see the work layed out before me, a mix of colors, beautiful not because I'm an extraordinary painter, but beautiful because the colors exist. He watches the evening news while I tip-toe green paint along the shore of a palm-sized lake, and I'm satisfied that the remaining trail at least remotely resembles plant life.

A newscaster blares, "California Burning: It was Arson."

I outline the shapes of a man and a woman sitting in a rowboat in the swirling blue, green, white, brown and gray waters. They are leaning towards each other and I imagine they are engrossed in playfully happy conversation. I add to their shapes in parts and pieces and pull my shoulders back to take in the big picture. Incomplete, the forms remind me of a negative photograph.

"2 dead after gun battle in police chase."

I mix a collection of off-white and tan to create a color resembling human skin. As delicately as possible, I add the color to the man's profile. It becomes clear that his gaze rests on his rowboat companion as he guides the boat with the oars in his hands.

"Woman killed after answering Craigslist nanny ad."

The young woman in the boat is wearing sunglasses. I add dark brown to my complexion palette and sweep the paint brush onto the canvas to form the strands of her hair. With my brush, her hair grows long, all the way down her back, wisps falling across and over her right shoulder.

"Offical quits over child sex charge."

"Lawyer accused of theft found dead."

"Schools consider grading parents."

"Dad dies after teens throw tent pole."

"Woman admits to QVC scam of $400K."

"Masks banned after robbery spree."

"Disabled man shoots intruder."

"Bowling ball crashes into car."

"Man gets jail for throwing pickles."

"Ashes of dozens found in storage unit."

"Bear slashes face of woman."

The paint dries like crystallized honey resting at the bottom of a plastic bear, the twosome, serene and quiet. Their clothing, hair, skin and eyes have come into soft focus.

I hear the television click off, and he is standing above me. "Your painting is beautiful. Wouldn't it be nice if we were there, if those two people were us?"

I notice the sky in my painting. I had used too much black with the blue in the left corner and I began to see it as a dark cloud in the distance. It was there, but it was still, unfocused and far away over the colorful horizon, never approaching, never to intrude upon their peacefulness. I saw the smudges where my hand failed in its steadiness. This world was imperfect and darkness stood close to them, yet they were at peace, their eyes on each other to keep the imperfection out of focus.

I nod and look up to meet his eyes. Yes, I would like to live like that.

A Sea of Faces in a Sea of Places

I was walking the crowded streets that reminded me of the nightlife near Georgetown in D.C., where I had been once, bar after bar pouring out young party goers onto the pavement.

I entered the first bar I came upon. It was filled with young twenty-somethings, a group of them sitting at a long, heavy wooden table set across the edge of the main room. The table was littered with glasses, some empty, some filled with beer or an undefinable mixed drink. Music was playing. A song with a heavy beat and a strong melody that was injecting a fervor into the room. Suddenly the power blinked off, and the music was gone. I recognized a number of familiar faces, but they rapidly faded and vanished as people filtered out of the building. I stared passively as a young blonde girl attempted to hook up her Ipod and restore the sound. She confessed she had no music on it.

I stepped outside and traveled down the street to another bar. I was looking for him. I was looking for somebody I knew. The next bar was filled with nameless faces and shortly after I entered, I was alone. I left the empty room and headed back into the ocean of strangers milling about the streets. I returned to the previous bar. Now there was a line at the door. The main room was filled with people, but silent. I found my way upstairs and whatever familiar faces I could catch sight of melted into the crowd and without warning, again, I was alone.

I walked outside and wandered a little further up the hill. I turned into a crowded alley with a long balcony set above me, the length of the buildings I was standing between. There were people pushing past me and I saw him leaning over the ledge gazing down into the crowd. I reached up and called his name. After briefly catching my eye, he moved back from the edge and faded out of view. My arm fell to my side and I stood still with my head to the sky, squinting, while the crowd rushed past me like a riptide. I paused, and then allowed the current of bodies to carry me back into the street, as crowded as I was empty.

Paint By Numbers

tonight I put on my Painting pants.

my Eyes need arithmetic to show them

where the Colors go to create

Beauty. someday

I aim to find my own Beauty

and Paint a new Song, maybe only,

with Words

Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

A coworker told me there were donuts in the downstairs kitchen. I tore out of my office and made a beeline for the stairwell. I could taste the vanilla creme with sprinkles. My steps quickened over the concrete in my professional attire, a white button-down shirt, gray slacks and black pumps... At 3 p.m. on a Friday at the office, a sugar high could not come soon enough. I frowned...there was something about the pants I was wearing that I couldn't quite recall.... Ahhh yes, how hazardous the billowing pant leg and prominent cuff could be on a clutzy fool like me, especially when paired with heels, stairs, and speed....

...A few months back on my way down my apartment building's stairs, those very slacks seriously tripped me up. I remembered having to violently fling my purse away from my body as I folded over the railing. I was able to regain my balance, but only after teetering in a poor attempt of poise-under-pressure while I observed the sound my bag made when it thudded onto the vestibule floor. These were a dangerous pair of pants I was wearing.

Maybe it was this fleeting memory that triggered today's tumble. This time, I took a few steps before my left heel tucked itself into in the cuff of my right pant leg. I lurched forward with no available feet to land on. I grabbed the railing and my feet slipped out. My body twisted into a knot from my toes to my knuckles and my fingers tied themselves into a pretty little bow around the steel handrail. It's quite possible I pulled a ligament in my right shoulder. At least I got my donut.

Dream the Shame Away

I was taking a bath in this rustic hotel in the middle of the woods and however hard I tried, the door would not remain locked. Strangers kept walking in and I became self-conscious and ashamed - that "naked in front of a crowd" kind of feeling - Two overtly sleezy men were the next of my unwelcomed guests, and one hissed his sexual appetite at my exposed form... I felt even more ashamed and tried to cover my unprotected flesh from his slithering requests....Suddenly the room began to flood and I was washed away into the heavily wooded area outside my unlockable room. I ran, and I realized my bare feet could no longer feel the prickly earth beneath them and I was left with only empty air to push off of. Still I tried to move, struggling to run from something unknown and yet simultaneously and desperately searching for something or someone I felt I had lost... over large patches of moss and branches, away from the now obvious peril of a large snake swishing rapidly under my airborn stride, upon the ground with which I'd lost touch...

There is something amazing that I know I have taken from my less than ideal choices and experiences, my ability to empathize and my firm, indignant refusal to ever judge a soul, because who am I to do so? Who is anybody to do so?

The world is full of judgment and criticism...I pray never to be what I've always feared.

Come and Go Blues

...for Eric...

There is always a breeze now
a core hint of cool
that reminds us of what's coming,
for now, it's refreshing out running
and pretending we're children again.
She spins around to catch my eye
grinning, as if to say, "I've still got it, don't I?"

I say, "I know what you mean, sweetheart,
I know what you mean" -
I hum a few bars of Yesterday
and whisper in her ear,
"After an endless week of rain,
It's so good to be here."

Three weeks on the road last month
to be back home with her
chocolate cake
and cookies take the sting out
we eat our way through town
painting the air thick with bright colors
to spend our form of fortune - is it worth it?-
to hear her say out loud,
"This is everything I need."

I say, "I know what you mean, sweetheart,
I know what you mean" -
I hum a few bars of Yesterday
and whisper in her ear,
"After an endless week of rain,
It's so good to be here. "

The trees release tiny brown and yellow leaves
that clutch our clothing and the strands of our hair
we shake them free and see
the trees' path of expression to our door,
She says, "You've been singing the blues
but the blues gave you soul.
This is the only way for us to know how far we've come,

and how far we have to go..."

I say, "I know what you mean, sweetheart,
I know what you mean" -
I hum a few bars of Yesterday
and sit down with a beer.
After that endless week of rain,
I say,

"It is so good to be

here."

New Beginnings

Is there anybody out there?

My blogspot is a work-in-progress.

My life is a work-in-progress.

But at least I'm getting somewhere.