Yes, I Am, In Fact, a Closet Wino

It is hard to believe that, once, I had considered myself to be an ice queen. Perhaps I was young and melodramatic, and endeavored to be something more than just myself. Perhaps. However, I have always been extremely self aware, and the likelihood of that is small. I think it was because, not long ago, I had shut the world out, in order to purge my world of the people and things that no longer seemed to benefit my life. I think I found that in order to do so, I had to be cold to the pleas of others who wished to remain friends. It has been a long time since I had a functioning social circle.

Now, it seems I am replenishing that number. The crown of snow I once wore has now diminished, and I feel freer to let people in. Why that is, I'm not sure. But I have been very lonely for a long time, and as a human, loneliness is something that can only be tolerated for so long. I have finished dwelling in the dark. (Side note: did you know that there are only three words in the dictionary that start with the letters, "dw"? I have named one; can you name the other two?)

I spent an evening with a woman a few years my senior, and already I can feel the cords of friendship binding us together. I had not realized what I'd been missing until we sat down on her couch and talked for what must have been three hours at least. We laughed hysterically. We sat there, somberly recounting our misgivings and mistakes. We even ranted a bit, about the travesties of the world around us, and how such a poor state of affairs could befall it. Most of all, we bonded, strongly and surely, with no secrets, no judgments, and no fear of each other. I have missed that feeling: I cannot name the amount of time that has passed since I knew such compassion.

In time, I hope that this friendship grows strong and bountiful, and I will do my best to uphold any kind of loyalties I can to her. In the meanwhile, this is for my new friend.


Vino's Delight

A large cellar, I once catered to, full of port and merlot and cabernet,
and all of them I believed would serve me well, when supper rang for me.
Yet, the chardonnay and the pinot were both done for,
no bouquet to speak of, and hardly any nose save for a terrible odor
that would not suit even the most abominable repast.
After all that gathering and waiting for good fortune and happy result,
I was bidden to cast them out, to pour the vinegars,
to wash them away with soap and salt
and once it was done, I wept, for no great gifts such as these should ever be wasted.
Yet, as I drudged my way back down to dump the rest, a gleaming glass bottle
caught my eye as only the brightest of jewels will do.
Muscato was its name, sweet and shining, tart and twinkling,
and with one sip, I was honor-bound to savor it.
You, my dear friend, such a meager donation you were in my dark hour.
And now you are the candle of hope in my window.
I may yet have opportunity, with you in hand,
to finally savor the feast.

I Wish I Had Julianne Hough's Dancing Skills

I most certainly adore the new version of the movie, Footloose. It is incredibly sappy of me, and I normally can't stand chick flicks. Come on. We're following the story lines of one guy and one girl, who happen to either hate each other, who adore each other but can't get over some obstacle (whether physical or emotional), or they think they love someone else, despite some freakish magnetism to each other. We get it. It's well played and extremely cliche. Let's find some Whedon work and move on.

But, for some reason, Footloose hits me as something better than just a boy-meets-girl scenario. Every time I watch it, I get this insatiable urge to dance my toes off. (It didn't help that one of my friends went line dancing the day I watched this movie.) The scene where they go to the city and go line dancing drives me crazy. I want to be there moving and twisting with the characters, letting loose. Being the type of person I am, I almost never seem to let loose, and I am well aware that I am holding myself back.

The movie is about celebrating the gift of life. It is about grasping the moment and living large while we still can, while we're still kicking and screaming. And I think it calls to me because I was always the one who had to be the responsible one. I always had to stay within the lines of propriety. That has shaped me for as long as I can remember, and, until lately, I had no idea how much it was killing me. I'm the first to volunteer for designated driving. I'm the person people ask to take shifts for them so they can go out and have fun. And I do it gladly. I'm the eldest of four. Someone has to take the brunt of life.

I'm not at all saying I sympathize with the stuffy, rigid adults who can't be bothered to use their ears for more than head ornaments. But I find myself asking why I, young and full of ambition, have stuck to being the prudent mother figure of her friends.

If I were to ask my best friend, a free soul living with her goofball of a husband in the tropical paradise of Hawai'i, she'd take me back to one of my first posts on this blog: I am a Virgo and relish my delicious rank as the organizer, the diligent know-it-all, and the school marm. Of course, she's the one who believes that Cancers are perfect mates for me, when the Aries moon in me cannot tolerate the sappy, sensitive softies that come with being Cancerian (it would explain my penchant for Aries men, who are as hardheaded as all get-out). So then I come full circle, back to square one and wondering why I can't be more free-spirited and brash.

Suffice it to say, it's been a crazy few weeks. So I'll leave you with one of the madder of my beloved poets, Emily Dickinson. She should sum up how I'm feeling.

Much Madness is divinest Sense -

Much Madness is divinest sense -
To a discerning Eye -
Much Sense - the starkest Madness-
'Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail -
Assent - and you are sane -
Demur - you're straightaway dangerous -
And handled with a Chain -

P.S. I definitely credit my love of this poem to one of my two favorite English teachers ever, Dr. Richard Wakefield, poet extraordinaire and lover of good prose.