The foreseeable future

This is something I wrote early last April - I remember it clearly, humming this sunny sort of thing while sitting outside the UM Music Building on a Saturday morning, waiting to meet a friend while noshing on a croissant and coffee from Le Petit. I was thinking about moving, and change, and kind of appreciating life in general.

It's a silly thing (I titled this post "it's only cutesy" when I first wrote it), but I haven't been able to stop humming it since we moved into our new studio apartment. It was a pretty accurate estimate of what we ended up with in New York, and it's dug out a special little place in my heart.

Someday we'll have a patio that all those foreign villas will be jealous of
Lighthearted brunches and romantic dinners will grace its lovely deck
The furniture will reminisce of times long gone which we still hold a fragment of
And nothing will compare with all the ambience it has when table's set


But for now, we're in a itsy bitsy place
With a stove that almost works
And a sink that has its quirks
But for now, we'll be content with lack of space
'Cause we know that we're together
And when someday comes we'll both still have each other


Someday our living room will have a view that no one could've ever dreamed up
The windows, bay, of course, will frame the picture-perfect scene with grace and style
The mountains and the streams that we will see most every day will keep our spirits up
And I believe that we will be contented with it for a little while


But for now, we'll have to do with alley views
And the neighbors' ugly cars
And the lack of nighttime stars
But for now, we're quite content with what we do
'Cause we know that we're together
And when someday comes we'll both still have each other

play that piano

It's all just notes

All little noises

Like little letters

That make up words

Just words

But you can be so articulate. 

Alive, these words

These letters

These sounds, these notes

That make phrases

Phrases

Describing the way emotions exist

With just words. 

You can be so articulate. 

lunch

now I'm just waiting
to fly quickly out of here
for a brief escape,
a breath of fresh experience

now I'm just waiting
on the tips of my toes;
my ear is bent
towards the sound of the sirens
singing me to my freedom
in the deep blue sea

(sometimes)

Let's all run away to Montana
There are plenty of places to hide
In the valleys and mountains
And geysers, their fountains
Of steam

Let's all run away to Montana
I know that there's plenty of space
A quick relocation
To apply isolation
To one's self, one's thoughts, one's dreams

They call this a jungle
Of concrete and brick
The reasons are many
That some just don't stick
To the cement that it's made of
Like so many pieces of gum

They tease us with movies
With music and art
And try to convince
The whole world that it's not
Just a mummer's sweet farce
With an ending that leaves us undone

So, let's all run away to Montana
To wildlife that lingers nearby
Please keep up your guard
The living is hard
'mongst these beasts

Let's all run away to Montana
Where seasons will pass like they should
Where winter is snowy
And summers are showy
With birds in the bushes and trees

My heart's run away to Montana
It's lonesome for natural things
Like forests and water
Like smiles and laughter
And the genuine need for flannel.

Opinions

Opinions, opinions, opinions
Become a meaningless sea of confusion
The roar of the waves as they break on the shore
They never stop pounding; they're coming full-bore
There will always be more; there will always be more.

And this one is right
And this one is wrong
And that one has never stopped fighting for long
The gasps between arguments
Are filling the firmament
With opinions, opinions, opinions

I swore them all off in my innocent youth
Declaring my findings, like some sort of sleuth
(And firmly believing my version of truth)
That we're simply destined to never agree
I'll flee from your lies, then, and count myself free
From opinions, opinions, opinions

Cacophony seems like the best sort of word
Describing the dialogue that seems so absurd
A fact and a check and a call for sweet reason;
They don't seem to reach us through all the confusion
Of opinions, opinions, opinions.

someday I'll be a real artist (kind of like a cow)

Why do words seem, off and on, like vapor
Significant and substantial
but suddenly dismantled
Dispelled in a breath of wind.

Your breath is dispelling my substance
Insisting that it become sustenance
When all I was hoping
Was not to start choking
On the bile of this history lesson

Everything old is new again
Digested some and regurgitated
Our stomachs are singular
So in the vernacular
Our ruminations spill over the floor.

Central Park

For about the last week or so, I've been forgoing my normal cross-town bus commute (almost two miles) and have instead been walking across Central Park. Traveling via foot does take a bit more time, but it's certainly more predictable than rush-hour bus service.

And then I also get views like this:

And this:

Which really aren't too bad.
Dogs romping around (lots of dogs romping around, actually), the wetness of a new morning still lingering in the air... and it has been so very warm the last few days that I didn't even wear my jacket or my cardigan this morning on my walk. (Which I often refer to, in my own mind, as a "morning constitutional," which always makes me giggle. Or titter. "Titter" is much a better word to use when discussing morning constitutionals, I think.)

I've been gleefully ignoring some of the concrete paths and have instead opted to take "straighter" courses through some sections of the park, which often allows me to clamber over the shallow boulders I find in my way. (Parkour!) It's quite satisfying, though I am starting to wonder how very starved I must be for nature (or recess?) that I get a thrill out of jumping off of small rocks.

It's been interesting to see the park fill up as the days have gotten more temperate. Lawns that have been empty since... well, since I started work in November, really, have suddenly started crawling with lawn-loungers, families, and dogs/dog-owners. It's almost like this park is in the middle of New York city or something.
I expect to see the hordes taper off again as the weather gets cooler over the next couple days. At the moment, though, I'm quite enjoying seeing the park all filled with life.
...okay, with one exception: I must say that I don't appreciate the moms/nannies and their strollers that take up 3/5 of the very wide sidewalk, with the inevitable toddler tagging along who wanders around haphazardly in the rest of the 2/5 of space so that you can never ever EVER get around their large familial group.
I mean, it takes at least 30 seconds to finally break through the stroller-barrier. Who has that kind of patience?

daring to smile (sometimes)

I'm here and you're here
Let's have a fling, dear
Well start a new thing, dear,
And giggle for years

My hand and your hand
Are waving like mad, dear
so let's take a stand, dear
and let go of our fears

Perhaps some sad tears, dear, will follow
they do, don't you know, in our sorrow

But smiles like cracks
like rays, to relax
the harsh sadness of life
let's throw off the strife
and giggle our sternness away

I'm here and you're here
Let's try and sing, dear
We'll start a new thing, dear,
and patch these cracked notes

My hand and your hand
Are now here to stay, dear
Let's start a new day, dear
and cover our eyes

Will wish just as hard, dear, as ever we could
And dare to believe what we probably should

The smiles, through cracks
Become rays to relax
The harsh sadness of life
Let's throw off these stripes
and giggle our worries away

wistful christmas wishes

I want the smell of pine trees and musty old barns
Pretty ribbons to tempt my fingers to tie them
A wreath, incomplete, held in place by the hands
Of a forested friend

I want snow in the grass
That is still green, but stunted by the cold
Reminding that the winter's not forever
That someday we'll have different sorts of weather

I want winds frozen by Hell's Gates
I want mountains, Gandalf, mountains
And a snowy, ill-timed hike
With an itchy hat

My snowboots are in hiding
My long underwear's residing
In a cold garage, alone.
They're staying chilled this winter
but they're clamoring for home.

a short listing

Things to do with my life:

-Drink coffee
-Give/get smooches
-Give/get hugs
-Read books
-Listen to music
-Make music
-Pay t3h billz
-Go on walks
-Enjoy the seasons
-Love people
-Pet kitties and puppies

...to be continued.

Falling

You sneaky leaves, I'm catching on
To your attempt to flatter me

The colors, all so vibrant, that you flaunt
Are soothing sights to see

And don't pretend your innocence;
I've caught all those autumnal scents
Of rot and wet and loveliness
That follow in your footsteps


You sneaky trees, I'm catching on
To your attempt to captivate

Your branches slowly paring down
Towards nudity, they herald late
(The end of summer sun)

And don't pretend you didn't know
Your limbs are starting all to show
I saw you lately, letting go
Of all the leaves that hid you so
Effectively

Assembly

These scissors are indelicate things
Ignoring the fine lines I suggest that it follows
Interpreting sideways and frontwards, I swallow
It's decisions
As only a helpless man can

A divot;
It's only
A trivial thing
But only perfection
Not constant correction
Produces
The product
That I want to see

missing

Missoula and Seattle and Tacoma and the mountains,
You places that I'd fit in my pocket, if I could.
The Sound and the Clark Fork and and the rivers that come off it,
The waters that I'd love to linger near
Are sadly far, and far away from here.

 The people that live in and near around you
Are dearer than the features of this coast:
The rolling hills and fluffy trees,
Mosquitos, spiders, fruit flies, bees,
Are much more prevalent than I expected;
The bugs, they bug enough to misdirect a tired rhyme.

 You, and you, and you, and you, I miss.

Wandering

Let's follow these tracks wherever they may lead
Go, my roaming Romeo
Don't return to what you know
You told me once of how you loved adventure and misdeeds
Run and live where they can't find
We'll find ways to pass the time
Eventually

Feeling something

Well, the inevitable has come to pass: though I spent nearly three years resisting it, I must finally throw up my hands and say, "alright, Missoula. You got me." I have become attached to this town. Its rivers, its mountains, its flora, its people. The talk of fires and forests and hiking. The floating and beer drinking and enjoying life. The music. The music I make in it. And the sun (it does amazing things here). I realize now, I think, what happens to people in this place.

I'm realizing that I'll be leaving things that I really and truly love. Playing with Vanguard. Singing songs with people I know. Doing it in the environment that Missoula provides.

And this, of course, would happen right as I'm about to leave. I'm not ready to be torn up by the roots. Because they've been extending deeper down without my noticing. I've been distracted by the good times that cultivate those things, I guess.

Maybe this is good. Maybe this is okay. What did my friend Lindsey say? "I want to feel like I've lived in a place. I want to feel like I'm leaving part of myself behind when I go." Something like that. It scares me to death, that idea. But I suppose at this point I won't be able to help it.

I was going to title this post "feeling sorrowful," and then "feeling alive," and then "feeling wary..." But it's all of those, and more. It's a huge flood of emotions: happiness, sadness, gratefulness, silliness, loneliness, vibrancy, confusion, terror, contentedness... and so many other things. I'm scared to move. Not only because I'm going to New York City (which is terrifying in itself), but because I will be leaving Missoula. Missoula feels safe now. Which I suppose is reason enough to make my way into the rest of the world.

Pandora just threw Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" at me. How fitting. "Can I handle the seasons of my life?" it asks. I know I can. And I will succeed. I'm confident in what I'm doing. I'm excited and thrilled by the possibilities the City holds. I just need to break out beyond this beautiful, endearing, last best place. I'm pretty sure it will be here waiting for me when I need it.

Futile

Rhyming and not quite rhyming. I call it stylistic. Or something.

It creeps ever closer

And so. We are moving towards New York... in that jobs are being sought, visits are being made, plans are just (just) starting to become mapped out in our minds. And it's so loose and looming that everything seems intimidating. Even thinking about it is intimidating. But the summer is approaching. Soon, I won't have the excuse of school to hide behind. Soon, I'll have to apply to every job I can, treating each application as if it could be the diamond in the dunghill of resumes these people have to sift through. It's exhausting to work up that much fake-excitement about being an administrative assistant. Even if I am applying for a job at Carnegie Hall.

Conveniently, I have some wonderful references. Thankfully, I have a supportive family and husband. Sadly, I'm starting to realize that leaving Missoula means leaving Missoula. And all the people I know and love. I actually made friends here at some point along the way...

I've been trying to remind myself (when I forget) that I should enjoy every moment for what it is. The rain. The time with friends. Times I get to be by myself. Times I get to walk outside. Taking in those moments is a big part of being content, I think. But it is hard to avoid the feelings of impending sadness. They say, "you're leaving soon! Look at how much you'll miss!" and then I wallow. (Isn't that a great word? wallow. Like slopping through big puddles of mud. In rain boots. Kind of fun, if you think about it.)

But why, oh why, wouldn't I instead spend my time enjoying the next few weeks, months, whatever we have, in the space I'm in right now? Why can't those thoughts be a motivating factor, reminding me to really enjoy the moment? Let's mark a turning point here. Time for enjoyment, not wallowing. Even if it is a fun word.

but it's still pretty

This April snow is dampening my mood
I don't appreciate the way it moves around the skies like it belongs

And now it's blanketing its wet self on the ground (which willingly accepts its fate)
It's Easter eve tomorrow, but the dogwood's blooming late
It can't accommodate
This April snow.

Impatience

Y'know what I want to be able to say?

"New York-based."

Doesn't it sound lovely?

It's a tantalizing thought, taunting me towards the trophy my thinkings are tightly twirling around. (sucky alliteration! woo!)

Also, holy crap Briana Cowlishaw. I'm infatuated. I want all of her music. And her song writing abilities. Maybe I could steal them.

feels like high school

Around 'bout the sun my mind wanders
Tendrilling thoughts
drilling 'mongst the forgotten light's fingers

Haven't you heard of the way that light peers around corners
It's really quite awful,
it fills quite a lot of
the space that it doesn't intend to

(I see you.)