Monday, June 13, 2011


Sometimes it is as important to remember the reasons for leaving a place

As it is to recall why you came in the first place.

(five and a half years ago, I inscribed this on the inside of my closet wall where only an unnaturally small person, or the occasional negligible spider might find it. Like a secret.)

It's been five and a half years.
And I haven't changed my mind.

It is very possible that falling head over heels in love with life is easy for me. But I am not prone to the gradual leak of happiness that some applaud as recognizing the "simple joys" of a present situation. I am in fact, more prone to the utter gushing, the wave roaring, exhaustive torrent of happiness that has, can, and will cause me to be swept up in a gale forced hurricane of squeeze-your-eyes-closed-tightly-remember-to-breathe AWASH with the sap of one hundred golden pre-dawn silences as the music builds into one great rush of a storm in my midst kind of happiness. You would think this kind of joy would be rare as the brink in all the wonder of a lunar eclipse.


I came here for wind chimes and lamplight on pages of poetry in my memory. I came for Amy Grant, because she gave the sweetest hugs and talked about bush-hogging fields and thistles. I came for the horses, and the winding roadways, and the women who called me baby in convenience stores. I came for the fence-lined drives, and the peach stands and the promises I made myself. Promises to be not what I had always been.

But mostly I came for the hills.

Now my list of facts rings with such a discordance of past and present that I am like the wind chimes I hung on my porch yesterday...only in a storm, partially shrill and joyous, yet ringing with the pell-mell sound of beautiful uncertainty. Home and Here are clanging together now. They are resonating, building not on the discord of a thousand aches and pains, but on the harmony of highs and lows that are, in fact, what makes music grip us in the first place.

1. I love dancing

2. Sometimes I get lost in daydreams that last entire days

3. From the time I was 8 until I was 13, I was afraid of flushing the toilet. I would flush and then RUN.

4. I drink peppermint tea every night before bed.

5. Sometimes I write down what I'm going to say before I make an important phone call. I write, "Hi, this is Brittany" in case I forget my name.

6. I am obsessed with trees.

7. The North Shore of Lake Superior is engraved on my heart. It is also part of my existance.

8. I take my coffee very strong and very black, about 4 times per day.

9. My spine is shaped like an S.

10. Way too much of my time is spent thinking on, writing about, and drawing fences.

11. I could go pro in jump roping. Seriously.

12. The song Clocks by Coldplay brings me to tears. Every time.

13. I drive with my knees. A LOT.

14. I never, ever turn down a dare.

15. Fake nails make me nauseaous.

16. I worked in sales once, selling slabs of marble engraved with pictures at the mall. That was the last time.

17. I once built a nine-foot tall arch out of vines and branches. It was incredible.

18. I took swimming lessons and almost promptly forgot how to swim.

19. When it storms, I'm in heaven.

20. My appendix nearly ruptured when I was 20. I drove myself to the hospital in a 92' Astro van that wasn't mine.

21. I've been hiking since before I could walk.

22. I was raised to wear socks at all times. I now hate socks.

23. I caught Giardia in Gordyville, Illinois when I was 14.

24. I was homeschooled for 10th grade and finished high school alternatively.

25. I love light. Filtered light. Hazy light. Morning light. Evening light. Moon light. And Christmas lights.

26. I am addicted to wind chimes.

I remember now.

Thursday, June 2, 2011


There's a catch. There always seems to be a catch, especially when something is too good to be true. The catch is about half an inch longer than all the others, and it links me to the undeniable fact that, with his blood, I will always hide this brewing storm that I never chose in the first place. It is a disastrous hurricane of stubborn blame, and, coupled with slight selfishness, it brews quietly in the clenched jaw of silent mealtimes and uncontrolled outbursts of rage.

There you have it! The proof is in the puddin... that is, in my father's very long second toe.

A linkage, a likeness, the spillage, the clone, the identity

The Inheritance.

Except maybe there has been a cosmic alteration to my entire existence. Things keep flashing all through me. Bright moments in a downward spiral of a hundred cluttered memories rolling down the stairs. There are voices, but they are far away, and they are only sirens from an accident I chanced to live. Unless I am strong enough for this, maybe just so, maybe a little more. In which case, THIS WAS DESTINY.

(I'm Different. I'm Different. I'm Different.)

And I am swimming. Keeping my head above the water, looking for the shore. I have got to keep moving. And It's completely amazing how I have trained my soul to live in parts for so long- little chasms of halfway existence. Like the tylenol I took before I knew the shards of glass were yet to move slowly through the atmosphere and permeate the bubble I have expertly woven around myself- like the arch I built to stand under, look through, and believe there was another place on the other side. A closet with no back. And behind the clothes, and the hanging coats pushed aside, there would be a world in which I lived in the safety of a thousand surrounding oceans, an island of peace and sleep. With stars.

There must be a string, from his belly to mine, or some kind of calling chord wound around my beating heart, and our blood runs all through us. For I get lost in feeling what he feels, until I am the same machine of numb robotics, dying to be born.

We've got chromosomes
and genes
and DNA
and silences
and ancestors
and history
and words
and the moment I burst
into the world destined
to be another link in the
chain of moments I never

sinned enough to deserve.

I think I am can be know I must have the will to be what I should can are AM.