on holidays.

"As a child, Christmas seems less like a holiday and more like some invincible force of happy.  Of warmth and of light.  Of stockings hanging from mantles and picturesque fog on windows.  Of course, there are still some grown-ups who feel this way, and I can never decide if I think they're lucky or naive or both.

But the truth about Christmas is that it's just as capable of being spoiled as any other day of the year.  There is no great fortress around it. It has no superpowers.


The day I became privy to this was the day I found Josephina underneath the tree.  My American Girl doll.  Brushable hair and the kind of eyes and that closed and shut.  Flawless.  I remember holding her, standing alone in a quiet living room feeling unsure about what to do with myself.

White lights were still meticulously stranded on the tree, the imitation evergreen branches still aglow.  There was wrapping paper on the floor and garland around the banister and all of the Christmas paraphernalia you could need to feel merry and bright as ever.  I felt dim.

I remember an argument starting earlier that morning, in the corner where my parents sat.  A dark, fussy cloud settled over each of their heads.  Just like mistletoe, only garnering the opposite effect.  My brother and I, both masters of distraction, doing our best to talk over them and keep each other preoccupied with new presents.  Even though I doubt we were even paying attention to silly presents at that point.  We could sense a storm coming, and when a storm is coming, it's generally difficult to focus on anything else.  You know, the same way food doesn't taste good anymore when you're nervous.

At some point, the tempest reached a sort of pinnacle followed by my dad parading out the front door in a fit of Christmas rage.  This is similar to Christmas cheer, only not at all.  In any way. 

Somehow, all three of us, that being me, my mom and brother, ended up on my parent's bed - the mainstay of the family.  Kind of like Santa's sleigh, only for sleeping on instead of delivering presents.  I didn't fully understand the situation at the time.  I think I was mostly thinking of myself and wondering how this day of all days could have ended like this, in tears on a bed.  Now I realize that crying is just what you do when you're at a complete loss to console any of the people you love.  I also remember that my feet were freezing, even bundled underneath the white down comforter.  I remember wondering why did we go to all of this trouble every year anyway, if it was just going to make everyone upset?

The next year in school, I was supposed to write a letter to Santa Clause.  Apparently he needed another annual notification of my material desires.  You know the drill.  I wrote that I simply and sincerely wanted nothing more than for December 25th not to result in an argument.  I wasn't trying to be dramatic or anything.  Just, honestly, what good are presents if families couldn't all be in the same room together to open them?

My outrageously nosy teacher decided it would be a good idea to call my mom and inform her of what I had written.  Because, for reasons that escape me, she found it concerning and thought it was any of her business.  And I remember my mom crying, again.  Which was really the opposite of what I had wanted.   Thanks, Mrs. Lee.  (And if you're reading this, that was sarcasm.)

You see, Christmas puts pressure on people until they storm out of front doors.  Christmas plants a certain sense of helplessness inside of me causes it to grow and spread throughout my entire body.

And I'm not saying that liking this holiday is stupid or that anyone who does is inferior or even that any of this is rational or justified.  It's just that Christmas has always had a way of blowing up in my face.

So falalalala yourself."

         -From a while ago.  And for the record, this is a poor representation of the top notch job my parents did of raising me in a happy, loving home.  Because it was.  We've just always struggled with the big holidays, buckled under the pressure or something like that.

peaches and personal revelation

I first learned that God listened to my prayers through a hamster.  His name was Peaches.  My family named him this because he had orange fur, and his little bum looked just like a peach.  It was unanimous.

Peaches died a tragic death by marshmallow peep.  He found his way into my brother's Easter basket and thought he'd try eating one which expanded in his body and asphyxiated him until dead.  Like I said, tragic.  I've never really understood Peeps.  White, fluffy sugar covered in more sugar, just colorful this time, shaped like bunnies and baby birds.  Anyway, I digress. 

Before his passing, Peaches and I were thick as thieves.  The only trouble was, hamsters are small.  At the tender age of 7, I wasn't very skilled at keeping track of the day of the week, let alone small items such as hamsters.  I used to place him in random spots, like my sock drawer, and forget about him.  A few hours later I would realize -- the hamster was lost. 

This was typically followed by complete chaos, caused by my entire family's efforts to find our lost Peaches.  When I had exhausted every place I could think of, and resorted to shameless tears, I had a thought.  If anybody knew where my hamster was, it was God.  I mean, he knew lots of things, right?

I said a prayer, Please help us find Peaches.  Every time, without fail, Peaches turned up in a matter of minutes.  And that's how I knew.  God knew me.  He wanted to help.  He was generally easy to get a hold of.  He listened, he answered, he cared.

Last night, I felt a bit nostalgic.  The cat made a mad dash out the front door as we opened it for some visitors. She ran and ran, father than we had ever seen her run, through a neighbor's yard and into the dark of the night.  We knew we wouldn't be able to sleep until she was home safe, especially with a thunderstorm rolling in.  We had to find her, and quick.  And might I add how happy I was at this point that she was a cat and not a hamster.

After about an hour of walking around with flashlights, jingling bells, shaking bags of food, calling out, "Kitty kiiittyyy!" and a bunch of other things that I'm sure were sincerely concerning to our neighbors, we were at a loss.  Drew stood on the back porch, slumped his shoulders, said, "What do we do?"

"I don't know..."

Wait, yes I do.  "How about we say a prayer."

He nodded.  We walked to our room, knelt down by our bed, and I said a simple prayer.  Please help us to find our cute little kitty.  We like her.  

After that, we decided to go sit out on the porch, wait for her to come to us.  I went to grab my book, and heard Drew say, "Hey, there she is!"  He was holding her when he walked inside and locked the front door, said, "Well that was fast."

Mom.

Drew went on a business trip and left me for a whole day and night.  My mom saved me from having to sleep alone and we had a slumber party.  One thing you should know about my mother is that she plays "Draw Something" incessantly.  Ever since she got an iPhone, the game hardly leaves her face!

At one point in our sleep over, she was looking for something new to draw.  She asked me, "Megan, what is 'zaycefron?' 'Zackeefroon?'"

I looked at her screen.

"Mom, Zac Efron."  

She didn't know who I was talking about, and I didn't think that was such a terrible thing.  But I did laugh.

Needless to say, she drew something else.  Happy Birthday (yesterday), Momma.

history.

He brought me See's and Diet Dew.  And I feel much better about this whole Monday thing.

I have no idea how to transition this, so I'm just gonna move on.  Did you know my parents have been divorced and re-married twice?  Which means they've been married to each other three times?  That's a true story.  One that is probably too complicated and personal to get my blog on about. But aren't they cute?

When I was younger, and they were living separately, I was always worrying about them.  Those of you who have experienced divorce probably understand what I mean here.  Are they bored?  Are they lonely?  Is Dad hungry?  Does Mom have anyone to gab and watch movies with?  It was a conflicting experience, because I, being young, wanted to go out with my friends and do silly things.  Like "hot tubbing" and/or "going 80's." (Which meant we dressed up in neon colors and danced to 80's music until 1am in a sleezy club in Salt Lake City.  I can't say I know why.  My brain wasn't fully developed.)

My parents encouraged me to go and do these things, insisting that I needed to have fun and not worry about them and they were fine and they'd see me for dinner in a few days or whatever.  I knew it wasn't my fault that any of this had happened, and that I also couldn't do anything to fix it.

But in the moments where I felt especially helpless, I always turned to one specific song.  The song of all sad, therapeutic songs.  Yes, we're talking Fix You, by Coldplay. 

"Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you"

It's pretty ironic because, as I have previously stated, I knew I couldn't fix it or them or anything about the situation.  But this song seemed to appeal to my irrational feelings and voiced the thoughts that I didn't have energy to put into words at the time.  Which is the best kind of song.  I'm not even a very big Coldplay fan.  But that song, it hit the spot.

That song was on the episode of The O.C. that Drew and I watched on Saturday night.  And what did I do?  Bawled like a baby.  Even though things are much different now, and my parents mostly keep each other company and, rest assured, my mom sees to it that my dad never goes hungry, those emotions came flooding back.

And I was glad.  Drew and I talked about difficult things.  How they shape and mold us into stronger, more capable people.  I'm glad that song still brings tears, that I still remember.  Because I learned things from those experiences that have become a vital part of who I am and how I live my life.

My dad.  Somewhere in the 70's,

I don't mean that we should hold on to the bad memories and let them control our lives.  We should do our best to rise above negative or difficult situations.
 
But I'm not sure how to learn other than by reviewing history, and if I forgot my history, I would likely forget what I learned.

it's still winter.

The first picture was an accident.  Well, okay, I meant to take a picture, but was too lazy and cold to stop walking in order to focus it.  I remember seeing how blurry it was and thinking that it was worthless and I'd delete it later.  In a warmer, drier place.  But , as it turns out, it's probably one of my favorites as of late.  Blurry warmth.  Even though it's snowing. 

Did you know that the storm going on in Utah and the surrounding states right now is named Gandolf?  I hope that they didn't mean to name it after Gandalf, because misspelling the name of such a prominent figure in Middle Earth's history is just plain embarrassing. 

Or maybe it's more embarrassing that I even know that.  You're probably right.

Tomorrow's high is only going to get to 14 degrees.  Definitely will not be leaving the house.

this is temporary.

It is a rare occasion that I'm shiny, bright or bubbly.   My default face is far from a smile; on the contrary, it is often mistaken for anger or depression.  I get caught up in obscure ideas, and am often mentally absent, my thoughts having taken me somewhere else.  But, truly and honestly, I'm mostly always happy.  That is, happy in my own sense of the word.  In that deep-down-in-my-heart-and-bones kind of way.  

Those who know me, know this.  Those who don't, I assume, most likely perceive me as rather melancholy and opaque.  But whoever has the time to worry about others' perceptions is most likely procrastinating many more important tasks.

I struggle to determine
whether the days are coming and going by
any faster or slower.
So I imagine it's really just the same.
Nothing remains.  But nothing's changed.
You said that nothing came out of your mouth.
You just averted your eyes.
While I counted the days coming and going by.
Any attempt to deceive,
It's still a lie.

I spend my time wishing
with my swollen heart
that there was even one thing I could do
just to keep you
from laying down alone
for the rest of your life.
To keep your heart from getting so cold.

It feels wrong for mine to be burning for so much.

It isn't as if we're all looking above,
spending our days with the hope that
one day we'll all be brought back together in love,
In that better, higher place.

We have the option whenever we choose.
It's just that we shredded the contract
having anything to do
with evers or afters.

My mind refuses to stray from a picture of you
moving so quietly through that old house.
But I'm still your daughter.
And I hope I'm making you proud.
I'm still your daughter.
So I want to make you proud.
I'll miss you then, just how I miss you now.

I would never give you any sort of blame.  You're the one who gave me life.  You deserve to attain all of your precious dreams, not spiral downward as more of his caretaker than wife.  It was never your fault, what he chose to be.  Though your choices weren't always wise, clearly.  Regardless, my heart still can't bear it, to see you both so alone - as I struggle to find the time to make it to that side of town, to simply pick up the phone.  

Now the sun is burning in my eyes, what is typically such welcome light.  But I found myself awake all night discussing the whole world around, it was just me and you.  The most lovely form of life, pleasing to my eyes just as well as my heart and mind.  You understood so fully that a girl like me takes time - like a work of art.  In your eyes, I always thought that that's what set me apart.  And I knew it was true when you said it, that we're never really as isolated as we think.  You went on to mention the times that you really were, and how it was always your own doing.  I tried to take you in completely then, putting forth such an effort not to blink.  

 But it seems that it took the smallest amount of time, just enough for my eyes to shut and open again, for you to be gone from me completely.  Now I find this reality I see so unwelcoming.  Now I'm finding my body at times apparently unwilling to breathe.      

Most days my head feels so heavy, it's as if it wants to fall off my shoulders and roll away.  But now I'm experiencing a certain feeling that I just can't figure out.  It's my heart that carries the weight, and my head is as light as this early-summer breeze.   I try to suppress the fear that it just might float into the air; it seems so unreasonable, but I can't seem to be put at ease.  

So I consider turning a light on, but I've decided there is still enough to read by.  All I can really focus on are the various, however impossible ways that you might end up at my door.  Perhaps you could have vaporized.  I would overlap the past back onto where I currently reside.  We could talk a little more in-depth about these gray areas, and how they don't really exist.  Even the ones we spent all of our time together in.  And maybe you could help me understand how it felt to see all of your worst fears being realized.  I could specify, I mean that day you walked away from those fundamental truths.  In my mind, I imagined you with all of that conviction, begging to be spared.  

Except I saw you become the traitor from my balcony seating, and you never once looked scared.           

Rejection is rejection.  Regardless of what "they" say.  That's the thing about "they".  They need to shut their mouths.  

cp.

"I was guessing at numbers and figures, pulling the puzzles apart.
Questions of science, science and progress don't speak as loud as my heart."

"oh, take me back to the start."

symmetrical elegance/never have to be alone again.

In a dream, we were all right back
where we were meant to be.
Since that day when hands were clasped
in symmetrical elegance.
Promises spoken.
You'll never have to be alone again.
Only that's exactly where you find yourself
in this graveyard of accomplishments.
After all of the applause and credit given
in your honor,
you've finally found that none of it really matters
without her sweet smile to welcome you home.
Her warm eyes to take you in and tell you,
that you'll never have to be alone again.
Except that's exactly where you find yourself now.
Her face haunts you in old slide shows,
you're wondering what you did wrong.
Wishing you could take back what you can recall.
All those moments you spent
clenching fists and yelling,
you wish you would have spent telling her
how much it all meant,
and that she'd never have to be alone again.
And maybe that's where she finds herself now,
but it makes no difference to you.
That day she went away,
she was so sure of her choices.
And now and again in this hollow home,
we hear voices,
the haunting memories of sweet days long gone.
When the sun stayed out longer,
her very presence made you stronger.
It all comes flooding back like an old favorite song.
But it makes no difference today,
you let your pride and arrogance
get in the way
of the promises made.
You forgot your hands clasped
in symmetrical elegance;
you never had to be alone again.
And now you just can't find a place to relax.
As if this loneliness is a never-ending tax
on the happiness that might have been known.
This is where we find you,
none of us quite sure what to do,
all broken and indifferent and alone.

seemingly inevitable.

Driving past your side of town,
we pretend to forget things are any different now
than they were when you were with us.
Before this silence had swallowed us up,
before this clutter, chaos, and confusion
had replaced anything stable.
Now we find ourselves dedicating any and all effort we have
to just keeping our feet on the ground.


Life's not too much different though,
just a little less sun.
With two Christmas dinners instead of one.