Magic of Cleaning

 I had a dream last night that I was cleaning out the warehouse of a motorcycle club. It was a mess, everything on the floor and covered in dust and dog hair and I took it upon myself to clean it up. "They'll appreciate it," I thought. The motorcycle club eventually turned into my parents' old bedroom. In the dream, there were two washing machines in their room, something that was not there when I lived with them, not are they there now. I began furiously throwing away what was garbage, sliding dirty, or smell clothes off of chests and dressers onto the floor, eventually picking them up and putting them into the washing machines, and sweeping. "So much dog hair," I kept telling myself. I was so happy in the dream and eventually, my mom gave me a few things from her closet to wash. They were fine silk camisoles, or shirts still on the hangers from the dry cleaners, some with her monogram on the bottom "GM" for Genevieve Marie. 

 The silk tops reminded me of when I was a child and I would walk into her closet. It wasn't a walk-in closet but I was small and it seemed so large, her silk dress shirts brushing the top of my head; something to hide behind. Peek-a-boo. There were shoes lining the floor and cross-body purses hanging on the back of the door. I would be surrounded by her smell and the feel of her things and in absolute comfort in my little nook. I remember thinking, "mom never wears these silk camisoles or heeled shoes," because I always saw her in bed or after work. I didn't see her lounging around in lingerie, and there were very few (I can't remember any) occasions where she wore heels. She constantly worked and was always tired when she got home, which was usually past my bedtime. On the weekends she would stay in her cozy, checkered nightgown and bathrobe, or change into comfy clothes. 

I remember my father's clothes as well. Dozens of khaki pants all over the floor. Button-down shirts to match. His uniform. I think every day of my life I saw my father in some variation of this outfit. In the summer, rugby shorts and a t-shirt. That was it. Unless he had some fancy dinner to wear a tuxedo for, he wore the same thing for the 32 years that I can remember.

I miss that room and roaming around and rummaging through their dresser drawers, looking for empty "snap boxes" to play with, or photographs hidden away, or shoulder pads I used to think were used for stuffing your bra. I'd find secrets hidden away in those drawers, but even the things that weren't secrets, I loved discovering them. My dad's socks with holes and a watch here or there, my mom's jewelry, some of which I have since stolen, and potpourri satchels. Finding the neverending drawer of nylon stockings. 

I know I wasn't supposed to go through those things but, oh, how I loved discovering intimate pieces of my parents. 

Eventually, there were no more fancy silk camisoles, and the dressers started to collect dust as my parents grew apart it seems like their magical bedroom also slowly disintegrated. More dust and dog hair. They'll probably be so happy if I cleaned it. 

I developed a desire for cleaning at a young age, not only for the orderly personality I have but because it was something that was such an issue at home. With six people in a house, four of whom are children, and two adults working full-time it's not shocking that things started to get messy. We also had animals and they brought hair and more mess. 

The mess was sometimes comforting, like a unique token of your home, but my parents were not proud of it so I thought, I'll clean it all right up. They'll come home and be so happy. They'll thank me and hug me and the bottomless drawers and the neverending closet will become magical again.

Friday night noise

Friday night, it's 12 o'clock

and I'm in bed trying to sleep

I've been trying hard to be an adult for a little over a week

The neighbors are all laughing with their friends

I can hear them echo through the vents

I can hear their happiness 

creep through my window

I think to myself, 

they don't know what I know...

It's not so bad to be alone

I keep myself plenty company

I use all the pillows that I want to use

and I use my overthinking to ease me

and eventually my dreams seize me

and the laughter and neighbors release me.

Two snaps

I just finished the second season of Pose, on Netflix, and it came to mind that after watching some of the transexual transgender actors on the show were no longer transgender/ transexuals but just shes. I forgot, after episodes, that I wasn't watching a female actress on screen. Which makes me wonder, what everyone's big issues with the LGBT community is. I watched Paris Is Burning years ago at college in an anthropology class and it struck me how difficult the struggle of everyone is, but especially those who are marginalized by society. And those that are a combination of things/people marginalized by society. There is a scene where a kinky sex worker (mistress) is with a client who likes to be blindfolded and locked up for days on end and he says something like, "I love being left alone, I love wondering if anyone will come and find me." The mistress then comments back, "you live a luxurious life. You have the luxury of choosing to be alone. Most people don't get that opportunity."

It makes me sad to think about how many people have been criticized, beat up, killed, tormented their entire lives for being different. I really get sad sometimes looking around in the world I live in and wondering when real change will actually come? When people will be allowed to be who they are, who they want to be, love who they want to love... take a minute and think about what someone struggles may actually be, or what someone could actually be dealing with. No one's life is easy.

Lightning

Lightning comes
and lightning goes
and it's just nature, I suppose
but will I ever find my purpose?
At least the lightning hits the surface.
But I have so much underneath
and it's not wealth that I reap
and it's not redemption that I seek
I just want a place to be.
It's only pain that I feel.
And what is false?
And what is real?
And what is true?
And what is a lie?
I can't escape forever inside.
And lightning hits and lightning breaks
And I grow tired of the happiness I fake.
I feel so bad I feel so guilty
I'm never clean
I'm always filthy.
I wish I was who I'm supposed to be
not me of now but the real me.
And this conscience won't let me be
and my own life isn't free
I just want some harmony
and not to feel guilty
about everything
and my family, who miss me.
But who else?
Who more?
In the end is it me I'm living for?
And was it worth it all I did,
and to still have a life to live?
The stars were shining tonight.
It is who I think it is, am I right?
Is it my family here to see me
in this condition, oh so sloppy?

Flight of the Starlings: Watch This Eerie but Beautiful Phenomenon

"Why and how the starling flies in such beautiful formations – hypnotically dancing in the air and making coordinated split-second turns – is something ornithologists have researched and continue trying to fathom."

Flight of the Starlings

Clean sheets

I was doing laundry today and hanging the various washed items on the line to dry. Tank tops, shorts, socks, and then I went to hang up the clean white summer sheets to dry. I was filled with a feeling of nostalgia. There is something about the smell of laundry, and memory of being so small, running in between the billowing sails to your imaginary pirate ship, something about playing hide and seek with your mother as she used to hang them up.

Something about them blowing in the wind like memories fading away.

I stood and wondered, "imagine if I had never had these memories? If I didn't get to caress the cool sheets with my small curious fingers, and inhale deep breaths of that lovely smell?"

I remember feeling so small behind and between those sheets. I cared about absolutely nothing in the world and the days ran on forever and ended when the fireflies came out and we would stay out to try to catch them as they danced through the air doing their magical summer evening routine. The sheets brought back memories of childhood. Of times when I felt weightless and light as those sails flowing through the air. Always knowing that my mother, or father, or sister or brother, or any other of my protectors and care takers were never far off behind that "stage curtain" of white cotton that I could instantly swipe to the side to see someone there, watching, making sure everything was ok.

There is something so strong and nostalgic about a warm summer breeze. You think of all the sheets you've drawn invisible drawings on with your fingers. And many secrets all of these sheets knew about you. Your deepest desires, and best forts. Your bad dreams and wrapping themselves around you like a hug when your were sad or lonesome or needed a friend, or when you lost a grandparent at a very young age and could not express your emotion in anyway other than tears and the deep sleep that came from deep cries about something you understood nothing about, and pillow talk to yourself. The sheets your parents tucked you into before they read you a bedtime story, or in my case the sheets you may have urinated on a time or seven in a most embarrassing and innocent childlike way at so young an age. The sheets you hid wedding cake in and under the pillow so you would dream about the man you would marry. Where you stayed up late telling secrets to your sister and the sheets that at one point--that no one remembers--you never saw again.

The sheets have been lost or thrown away a long time ago, but what a wonderful feeling to have a freshly made bed to get tucked into and to tell your secrets to and to dream your life away on. The most wonderful dreams of castles and princesses and secret curious houses that you could wander about all day. The sheets where every night someone said I love you and kissed you good night.

I woke up from my deep thoughts and found myself caressing the wrinkles in the damp sheet. I'd been taken back to a time of magic that--in secret--I still believe exists. A sort of Neverland you can never return to. But if you close your eyes and run your palm against a freshly laundered sheet, you may revisit in a daydream.

On his 122nd birthday...

Soneto de la dulce queja, de Sonetos del amor oscuro

Tengo miedo a perder la maravilla
de tus ojos de estatua, y el acento
que de noche me pone en la mejilla
la solitaria rosa de tu aliento.

Tengo pena de ser en esta orilla
tronco sin ramas; y lo que más siento
es no tener la flor, pulpa o arcilla,
para el gusano de mi sufrimiento.

Si tú eres el tesoro oculto mío,
si eres mi cruz y mi dolor mojado,
si soy el perro de tu señorío,

no me dejes perder lo que he ganado
y decora las aguas de tu río
con hojas de mi otoño enajenado.

Sonnet of Sweet Complaint, of Sonnets of Dark Love

I am afraid of losing the wonder

from your statue eyes, and the accent

that you put on my cheek at night

the lonely rose of your breath.

I'm sorry to be on this shore

trunk without branches; and what I feel the most

is not having the flower, pulp or clay,

for the worm of my suffering.

If you are my hidden treasure,

If you are my cross and my wet pain,

If I am the dog of your lordship,

don't let me lose what I've earned

and decorate the waters of your river

with leaves of my alienated autumn.

Self Affirmation and Grattitude

I woke up. Step one. Many people don't get that opportunity.

I'm having a delicious coffee whipped with coconut oil because I am taking this Keto diet seriously and I will shred pounds. (I've already lost a few!)

There are birds chirping out my window and I am living in the middle of a beautiful, and inspiring place.

I have my health. Well, to be fair I have the mumps- or so they say- I'm skeptical, but I'm not dead.

My family loves my and vice versa.

I am going to begin a new job and a whole new chapter of my life on June 22 working in an elementary school.

I will be able to eat 3 meals today, something many people cannot afford.

I am strong and courageous and have crossed and have yet to cross many mountains and seas and overcome obstacles.

I am a kind loving person with a huge heart. I always feel the need to help others.

Today I will be the best me and it will be a good day, and if it's not then there's always tomorrow.

I miss

I miss being outside and smelling the new spring flowers, and going to the beach and feeling the sand tickle my toes, and smelling the salty air, and watching the sunset from a blanket somewhere. It's Spring in Mallorca and I'm unbearably enclosed and yearn for the outdoors. 

Chats with Dad

Another email I sent my Dad about a dream I had:

Hi Dad,
I woke up from another whacko dream last night, most surely inspired by watching Platoon before bed. This time I was in a foreign country (that looked strangely similar to the layout of the farm) and in the middle of combat. It seemed like the Vietnam war, there were Asians all around me with yellow berets shrieking nonsense. At one point I was in the field to the side of the barn and they were tossing grenades but they took a while to explode so they’d fall and I’d see it and run to a different area. Hey, I create my own rules in my dreams, and successfully avoided all of the explosions. But it was pretty loud and lots of screaming and clinking of metal and shots being fired. Then I ran to the back field where I saw some of the enemies getting up a huge machine which basically looked like something that would be attached to the back of a tank or something. Imagine a motor about the size of two refrigerators. It was basically a rotating machine gun the fired in all directions. I had to crawl low enough so that the bullets wouldn’t hit me and get to where the old clothes line was. At some point, around the dead chestnut tree I used to climb and before the burn pile I found a little kid in the middle of the action that I had to save, so I crawled him back to where the lot ends (where the tree almost fell on me)and we hid hunched over. Eventually while crouching and avoiding bullets some guy, from my side, came over to me and the kid. He had this tool that looked like it was for gardening, kind of like a rake but hand-sized, and it had huge hooks or claws at the end of it. (I think I made this up, it was a tool the soldiers used to hook and quickly moved dead bodies kind of the way they used meat hooks) and he dug it into my arm. Maybe he thought I was dead, I had a leather jacket on so it only hurt a little. He dragged me to safety and I said I had to save the kid and he said, “Leave him!,” But I didn’t. Then at some point there was a neutral zone that we walked through and made it to a car that a woman was in, waiting for us to drive us to safety. My fellow soldier realised at soon as he shut the door that he had triggered a car bomb release and that we couldn’t open the doors or else it would explode. We got to the end of the driveway and made a plan to escape by opening the doors and hauling ass. Of course, this also was not an instant explosion because, I never die in my dreams. We run out of the car, and like every stupid girl in any movie she’s like, “wait, I forgot something,” and goes back to the car so we had to go after her and drag her to the ground before explosion. A lot of the rest is blurry but I distinctly remember one scene of the dream where we were hiding inside what seemed like maybe a locker room, somewhere with high ceilings, walls like stalls, to hide behind and showers on the ceilings. Then, suddenly, a voice over a loud speaker (with an asian accent) says “are you ready to get hhoottttt?” And all of a sudden a bright yellow powdery liquid starts shooting from the shower heads and a weird asian gongy music starts to play like they would have at a spa or sauna or something and this chemical was raining down on us. 


I must say I certainly entertain myself and seem to have invented some cool weapons in the meantime too. Sheesh.

Love,
Ham

I feel
like you and I are drifting
through water without waves
and the nights turn into days
and the days turn into ways
to avoid each other.
But I look for your attention
and I can't find it.
I seek your conversation
and it's reserved for others
and I beg you to notice
before I get tired of begging.
But I am getting tired
of waiting
to feel
like I am important to you.
Do you hear me screaming under water?
Do you feel me pulling you towards me?
Do you know how much I am suffering in silence?
Just begging for you to turn to me?

John Prine died

I woke up this morning to a message from my mother about how she was devastated to hear of the passing of the late, always great, John Prine. I'm sure I had heard Prine's music while growing up--- a record while Mom was cooking, or while Dad was working on the model trains in the living room. He has such a familiar voice that you all probably think you've heard him before, when you hear him. But until you find the first song that punches you with its lyrics you haven't heard John Prine.

I was watching late night TV a few years ago, and the Colbert Report came on. The guest singer was John Prine. To me he just looked like an old man, but he began to belt out "How Lucky" and I immediately fell in love and fell in nostalgia. Wow. What a way with lyrics. It's no wonder that my parents, who lived through so many different changes and movements and wars related to him so much. He was your next door neighbour asking for a cigarette. Singing on his porch about a floppy dancer at a bar.

My mother's message made me so sad. She is seeing the best of her generation go one by one, this time because of COVID-19, but either way there is always a reason. They aren't young anymore. This sentiment pegs my heart because it makes losing them become oh so real. My mother lost a piece of her childhood. My dad drank with the guy in a bar after a concert in Bryn Mawr, Pa, on night. To see them with a constant worry of what's next to go on their face makes me worry as well. How long until I wake up to a sad message. But this time not from Mom or Dad.

One of my biggest fears is that time is passing by so quickly. I, in fact, do not have never ending time left with them. And today they lost a piece of themselves and I lost someone who always made me think of them. I lost a piece of them.

A true legend turned angel.

Postively Positive

I am sitting on my balcony, day 9 of quarantine in Spain, and realizing that I have a lot to be optimistic about.

1. I am forced to sit at home and re-think my life. Re-form my outlook. Re-focus.
2. I have started working out more than I had been doing for a long time.
3. I am actually becoming much closer with my boyfriend. We laugh together everyday, in our pjs, eat junk food, watch TV. We are spending real quality time together.
4. I am probably breathing in some of the cleanest air I have breathed in for a long time.
5. My skin looks great because I haven't been wearing makeup for almost two weeks.
6. I have started talking more with my family and friends than ever before.
7. We have all been forced to stop, look around, and take a deep breath.

ENJOY IT WHILE IT LASTS.

QUARANTINE

I am now on my 7th day of enforced quarantine, in Mallorca, Spain. It has been a weird week. It's amazing how no matter what food you buy and keep in the house you become tired of everything after a few days. I wake up yearning to go outside and move my body. I can do exercises at home, but without much equipment it turns into stretching and jumping around. I wonder what things must have been like in times of war. Men were out of the house and off fighting, women home with all their children, probably not going out too much, food and goods were rationed, people became hysterical. But times were also simpler. Women kept busy knitting, the family listened to the radio programs together, there was no television. People wrote letters. I feel bad complaining about a completely first world problem. I have internet, TV, ichat, facetime, instagram, and facebook. I have a full fridge and water and warm showers. This is not difficult but it makes me wonder if I am revolving my life too much around unnecessary social media outlets and focusing less on what's important. I should be reading books, and writing more, so here I am. Today is a start. It's raining today and is supposed to be quite dreary for the next couple of days, making it much easier to be content on the sofa since the sun isn't shining down on your balcony.

I wonder how everyone will have changed after this pandemic. Will we all start to appreciate hugs and kisses and actual "face time" more? I, for one, can't wait to go out and socialize and talk to people, and have a reason to put on makeup, and wash my hair.

The Spanish government just announced 15 more days of quarantine. Let's hope we all keep sane. xo

It Was Just a Dream

To give some background information I grew up in a house built in 1770 something full of mystery and ghost stories. Most of the ghosts should be family members and ancestors because they were the only ones that have lived there. Here below I describe a dream I had, and my father's response-- which only reinforces my belief that ghosts are real and my ghosts, or guardian angels, or grumpy elders, are following me around through out life making sure I'm safe from harm and fears.

THE DREAM, SUNDAY MARCH 22, 2020. (Also day 7 of enforced quarantine in Spain due to COVID-19)

I might be going crazy from all this lockdown stuff but I had a pretty cool dream about the farm last night. It’s a dream I’ve had before but extended a bit. I was out in the back field for some reason, of course there were horses… who know why they weren’t locked up or anything just roaming freely. There was also a small house in the little patch of trees opposite the Morris’ house, which I had dreamed about before so I didn’t bother exploring it. I went to the house and decided to snoop around in the attic. There were four entire floors hidden from view, some how, which I discovered while wandering around. The first one had bedrooms and like a landing which you entered into. The bedrooms and landing were all still decorated like they had been in the 20’s or maybe 40s some parts even older with a more victorian style. 

The bedrooms had been children’s rooms, with rocking horses and different cool toys that were collecting dust and they all had old iron bed frames. There was a man in a wheel chair that appeared. He was a ghost. He looked a little like Winston Churchill. There was also an old woman, thin, dressed up to the neck like the 1800s. They were a little grumpy but happy to see me, they said they had been waiting for me. The old man showed me his office. It had a huge wooden regal desk and books every where. The old lady seemed like a house keeper or just someone in charge of bossing the house around. Looked like the mean lady from the Shirley Temple movie Heidi, but less of a witch. Eventually, while wandering through the kids rooms I met some younger ghosts. One girl, who was really interested in showing me all of her things and wanted to be friends. Then some boys, who I quickly found out were not nice, but bullies and picked on the other girl a lot. Eventually they thought I was touching their stuff and started chasing me. I realized, if I left the attic they couldn’t follow me. 

I decided to go back later and continue looking around. I went beyond the first hidden floor to the next one, there was another landing or entrance area with marble floors that lead to an enormous library, with floor to ceiling stacks of huge old books and the rest was empty and could’ve been a dining room or a ballroom. I found a lady lying on a chaise lounge smoking a cigarette and left her alone. She didn’t seem very nice.  The next floor seemed like an abandoned apartment from the 50/60s. The rooms were a lovely pastel yellow shade, like banana, and empty but there was a dressing room with closets and mirrors thats was pretty cool. There were also empty bedrooms with built in closets and tiled floors. There was another floor that was I think the attic to the extended floors which was dark and scary and had like old weird tools covered in cobwebs and what could have been a laboratory or medical study or something. 

In the end I remember you being in your room when I cam back down and asking about the ghosts, kind of like you had explored the same area as a kid or when you were younger and knew all about the secret. 

I visited the girl a few more times in the dream trying to figure out a way she could come down and visit my family and see what the world was currently like. She was really nice and had cool things to show me that she’d collected from around the house over the years.

I just woke up and it’s fresh in my mind and now I’m wondering which parts of the house I have yet to explore and if, in fact, there is some hidden laboratory upstairs. It may just be a creation of my mind but boy was it cool. A ballroom! Books everywhere! Ghosts of old grumpy wheelchair bound men who indeed were not as scary as they seemed and a new friend. 

Not a bad dream. 

Now back from Narnia and in the same confinement of my apartment where I’ve been for the last 7 days. Oh well.

THE RESPONSE, from my father (who has lived in the house a good percentage of his life and knew some of the current ghosts, and has thoroughly investigated the history of the property)

My Dear Hammy,
I think you have been visited by your ancestral family in your dream. The young girl who was friendly sounds like Meimei when she was a young girl. The ballroom comes from the summer house in Anglesey. The old codger in the wheel chair is my grandfather who had Alva as his “house keeper”for 30 years together on the farm. The unapproachable woman smoking a cigarette sounds like Ganga. 
The family always had lots of bookshelves and Uncle Harold had a huge library which was about 40x60. Every book on the shelf had his name written on the back page along with the date he finished reading it. 
I’m sorry you never met most of them but again, perhaps you just did. 
Love Dad

It's January 23rd, and I'm sitting here in awe of all the shit going on around me. It has rained for the last five days. The smell of mildew fresh in the air and humidity that you can see and feel. I went walking for an hour to feel my old friend -- the sun, again. It was really nice. I literally stopped, at one point during my walk, because I smelled flowers in the air. Spring is coming, I thought. Then, I quickly realized I was walking passed the cemetery and that this, in fact, was probably where the fragrant scent was coming from. Damn thing caught me off guard. But oh well, a flower is a flower, if something smells good-- enjoy it. Enjoy the sun, enjoy waking up early or sleeping in late. Take things as they come, everything happens for some small purpose even if it's to give you a spike in ultra violet rays or endorphins.
This winter has not been brutally cold but like all winters I am tired of the tired. I want energy and warmth. I want to see baby animals and not be hungry 24 hours a day. I want to open my balcony and let the bees fly in and listen to them bother me for hours until they finally escape out into the world again.