Notes from the Red Bird House

I think it helps that I define miracles broadly. This means that I see a lot more than most people. I can wake up almost every day and thank God for the miracle He's going to send me that day and seldom, if ever, be disappointed (Remember it is so much better to affirm God's love and be thankful for what you want ahead of time. It puts out the right energy. And thoughts do become things. Shhh .... It's a secret). No matter how shitty the day may start or how shitty it may become it rolls on, I know that sooner or later, if I keep looking, I will see a miracle. Every day. Positive breeds positive. If you want a miracle, you will see one. OK, I've never seen water become wine or a sea part. I'm not talking about miracles of that sort. Like I said, my definition of 'miracle' is quite broad. My miracles are often simple, quiet, and peaceful. They are seldom brightly lit or grandiose. And if I wasn't paying attention, I would probably miss them entirely. Ho

I can think of fifteen things worse than a broken heart. And I haven't even gotten out of the communicable diseases yet. Cholera. Dysentery. Typhoid. AIDS. Pregnancy. Malaria. Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease. Scabies. Syphilis. West Nile Virus. Pelvic Inflammatory Disease. Meningitis. Tuberculosis. Small Pox. And Chiggers. A broken heart heals. Some of those diseases don't. Truly there have to be hundreds or maybe even thousands of things worse than a broken heart. I guess it's this perspective (perhaps otherwise known as a rationalization) that makes me somewhat fearless when it comes to heart break. I've survived, lived to tell, and I'd do it all over again if given the chance. That includes courtship, love, ugly break up, and subsequent devastation. It all passes quickly enough. All of it. It's not that I embrace it, the idea of heartbreak. I don't. I just accept it as a fact of life, an eventuality, an inevitability. All good (and bad) things come to a

I think she called me tonight because she missed me. She said she just wanted to hear my voice. It had been more than awhile. Three months, if I do the quick math in my head. That's a little too long even for me with her. I hadn't thought about it, but I guess I wanted to hear her voice, too. Truthfully, I probably wanted to do more than hear her voice. The last time I saw her we made out shamelessly in the parking lot of a major home improvement retailer. It was one of those kisses that leave you wanting more, right then and right now all these months later. Tonight, I was headed to a friend's house for drinks. In Austin, Texas. She was sitting in a church parking lot drinking beer. In Foreman, Arkansas. More than six impossible hours apart and definitely for the best. If we ever close that distance and find the right time, it will be incendiary. Quick, hot, and efficient. Finally this 'thing' that has been within us for years will burn. And burn out. We may co

This morning I almost posted a Facebook status update about God and Grace, etc, but I stopped myself. I could just see all 218 of my friends cringing after being forced to read yet another 'religious' posting. In many ways I'm no better than my 'Jesus-Freak' friends (I say that with the utmost love and affection, assuredly). I spout off about God quite often, too often I'm beginning to think. Without even trying, I've turned into some alternative Holy Roller. Yipes. I'm not sure if I need to fix that or not. I'll deal with that another day, because what lies ahead is yet another 'Faith' blog. They've always been quite popular. At least up til now. I've taken a pretty good look at God, salvation, and Grace recently and come up with a few conclusions and opinions. Shocking I know. When it comes to salvation and forgiveness, the Catholics seem to have a few good ideas, but they don't seem to embrace them to their fullest potential

Because I haven't. Because she loves them. And because I promised long ago. Here is my latest Top Ten List. Just ten random factoids or musing floating through my brain right now half drunk and writing on a Friday night. 1. When a friend texts you to say that he may have a job opportunity for you at Hooters, you'll be thankful that you're a realist. That way you won't be disappointed when he tells you it's in corporate human resources. 2. Often one word is enough. Of course it really depends on the word and if you can figure out what it means. 3. Robbing Peter to pay Paul will give you the illusion financial relief and remind you that you should probably read the Bible if you're going to use biblical references. 4. No matter how much you like Panda Express, you'll wish you'd gotten in the car when you threatened to do so and met your best friend for a late lunch at your favorite Chinese restaurant in Texarkana. 5. When you decide that you'r

Once upon a time I listened to Sarah McLachlan's 'Mirrorball' CD two and a half times back-to-back. It was nearly three hours of music and nearly lost on us. We were new, she and I. We started the CD then found ourselves in each other. The one song, the one lyric, I remember hearing...   'And I would be the one To hold you down Kiss you so hard I’ll take your breath away' I remember kissing her at that moment. Twice. Whether I planned it or not, I'm not sure. I was within her totally and completely and I think she was within me totally and completely. Then. That night. While Sarah played in the background. We wouldn't last, she and I. But that moment. With Sarah. Will be with me forever. And if I have my guess, it will be with her as well. ~ That song, 'Possession', is my favorite of all of Sarah McLachlan's songs. I can't say I think of her every time I hear it. I have to admit that now after all these years it's only o

It was just one word. One. In my defense, it's kind of a long one. More than twelve letters across four syllables. Still I feel like I should know. Yet I was at such a loss that I asked three friends for help. What does it mean? Yes, I own a dictionary and yes, I have access to Dictionary.com. It's simply not that easy. I know the definition. I got that. I need the meaning . As in 'What does it mean?'. Or more specifically, 'What did she mean?'. I know. I know. It always involves a girl. I can't apologize for the truth. I've been contemplating it on and off all day. Analyzed it from this angle and that angle. Frontwards, backwards, from the top and from the bottom. Sadly, for all the time I spend analyzing, I'm simply no good at it. Especially in this case. I got nothing. My friends? They, too, have nothing. You see I want it to mean one thing. I really want it to mean one thing. Of course, that requires a whole lot of wishful thinking and I'

I can assure you that I'm going to piss a few people off in the next couple minutes. Another good few will be so incredulous they may not keep reading. Truthfully? I don't give a good G-damn. These are my thoughts, my ideas, and my blog. I can say what I want without fear of reprisal or repercussion. That said, I shall proceed. One year ago, at age forty, I was in the best shape of my life. I worked a very physical job that required cardiovascular and muscular strength. I skated, played tennis, and went to the gym at least five days a week. Not only was I thin, I was supremely fit. And proud of it. Before turning forty, I vowed to re-define the decade. I wasn't going to fear getting older; I was going to make age submit to me. I was the boss and I would determine just how fit a forty-year-old could be. As I roared through the first six months of forty, I found that my fitness had no bounds. I truly believed that I could do anything physically I wanted to do. Then I move

'I carried a watermelon.' ~ Baby, "Dirty Dancing" I have an above average I.Q. At least I did at age six when my mother had me tested. I wasn't Mensa material, but I landed somewhere a few standard deviations north of dumb. I'm sure my mother was relieved after the bead-stringing incident that nearly kept me out of kindergarten (I refused to string beads; the teachers thought I was backwards and couldn't do it. And recommended that I be held out of school another year. Bull shit. I could do it. I just hated stringing beads. Still do). I can just see my mother raising her finger (pointer, not middle) in the air and saying a very loud, "Ha!" when she got the results, "I told you my kid was not dumb!" Ah, vindication. Of course there was the moment when I was about two that she herself thought I was either color blind or just plain dumb. She'd ask me to pick up a blue block and I'd pick up a red one. Then she'd ask me for a

I threw myself on the alter of the Rum gods last night. Five hours and four rums later I was in love with a certain Bahamanian vanilla rum and drunk off my ass. Those Rum gods are clever, they are. "Hey, I have a rum you might like. Wanna come over for a quick drink?" That was referring to Kraken rum, a 'black rum' with a picture of a squid-like creature on the bottle (a quick Google search determined that 'Kraken' is another name for squid. Who knew? Apparently the Rum gods). And yes, I did like it very much. Thankfully we drained the bottle early or I might have missed out on three more rums. From there the gods led me to my old stand-by, Bacardi. Then came the Nectar of the Gods, the wonderfully sweet Bahamanian vanilla. If not for a quick trip out for some Mexican food (where the gods treated me to a fourth rum - a basic Cruzan silver), I might have sipped on sweet vanilla all night. Ah, Rum gods... Thank you for the rum tasting and the very satisfying d

There's a point when you will your mind to stop thinking. And that's right about when she says, 'show me'. I'll show you alright, just give me a quick sec to shut off my brain and all the things I could be thinking  as I 'show you'. I stopped. I showed. OK, done. Whew. It wasn't what it could have been and it's probably for the better. Because what could have been was me enjoying myself a little too much. Which could have led down the same old road - me liking something I can't have. And we can't have that. Not any more in any case. I'm over all that. Or so I say. When I shut my mind off and think only 'correct' thoughts. In truth, I wanted to experience it, me 'showing' her. I wanted to feel what she felt like next to me, near me, against me. And I wanted imagine the possibilities, all the possibilities. I wanted to know so I could replay it back. Over and over again. In the cool darkness and in the bright light of day.

I am probably the friendliest anti-social person anyone will ever meet. I'm friendly because I'm nice and because it's just easier. And because I honestly like people. Not all people, but most people. I'm tolerant, patient, and easy-going which gets me pretty far. Until I'm ready to be done. And then I'm done. With people, I mean. That's when the anti-social part of me kicks in. I don't stop being friendly. I just stop. And retreat. First, into myself. Then away from others. In truth, I am my favorite person and the only person I can tolerate on an extended basis. I guess that may sound bitchy to some. I don't see it that way. I know me. Too much time un-alone and I'm going to start getting hinky. I'm not sure if I get over-stimulated or bored. Maybe it's a combination of both, as odd as that seems. There's just this thing in me that bubbles up and tells me it's time to go. It feels a little like anxiety, only different. It'

I've had far too much to drink for a Sunday afternoon. I got drunk at a six year old's birthday party, which as I think about it, really sounds like an opening line from an AA Meeting. It wasn't like that. There were more lesbians than children and more alcohol was consumed than birthday cake. Somehow I ended up drinking when I didn't completely intend to. I took drinks. I planned to drink maybe two. I didn't plan on the two hitting me as hard as they did (eat only breakfast and two will hit you harder than you planned also). OK, so I could have totally skipped the third. But... Trust me. TRUST ME. You wouldn't have. Seriously. I promise. Take my word for it and move onto the next topic. The next topic? Grown up lesbians. I never thought I'd live to see the day when a group of lesbians (and we're talking twenty-plus) with HUGE differences of opinion on a variety of topics (mostly involving women being with women other women don't think they should

The dragonfly tells me that things are not always as they seem. And there were a zillion of them yesterday. Butterflies, too. The butterfly tells me that change is coming. Transformation, really. I'm still not sure if those are the same - change and transformation. When one is transformed, one is changed. However, when one is changed, is he or she transformed? I'm skeptical on that last part. Transformation seems big, huge even. Bigger than change anyway. Change means a new job, a new friend, a new place to live, a new way of thinking, or new running shoes. Transformation means that the new job, the new friend, the new place to live, new thoughts, or new running shoes change you somehow. I guess what I'm trying to say is that change has the ability to transform and that transformation always results from some change. Everything may not be as it seems, however, I feel like I'm on the precipice of something. Change is coming. I can feel it (or maybe it's just wishfu

I felt the wind blow through my hair today. While this may be a very ordinary occurrence for most people, it certainly wasn't for me. I have worn my hair ridiculously short for the majority of my life. The last time the wind would have been able to blow through my hair? December 1990. So, yeah... It's been a minute. Last night I caught sight of something in my peripheral vision and it scared the crap out of me. Until I realized it was my hair. Again it's been the better part of two decades since I've had visible hair. Sure, I've let my bangs get a little long and they'd fall in my face, but long enough on the sides? No way. Never. I started shaving my head two years ago. It was on my Bucket List so a couple friends and I took care of it. Then I liked it so well that I just kept shaving it. It's also a lot cheaper than paying for a haircut, given that I own clippers and can do it up myself. As surprising as it may seem, I always got compliments on my shav

YOU make me dizzy in my head - running too far... running too fast... too much sugar... too much rum... too much champaign... too much caffeine... too little sleep... getting up too early... hard math problems... politics... shrink wrapping pallets... holding my breath... talking to smart people... skipping breakfast... doing handstands... paying bills... dehydration... unexpected text messages... laughing too hard... bumping my head... cleaning the shower with bleach... amazing first kisses... amazing second kisses... writing poetry... bright sunshine... 3D movies... rollercoasters... and a certain few pretty girls.

I believe that there comes a point in everyone's life when they want to scream loudly and incredulously, "YOU CHOSE HER?!?!?!" Well, if not 'in everyone's life', there sure came a point in mine. And I guess, if I'm being honest (and why the Hell not be?), there came several points. It's pretty much a statement or a rhetorical question. Partly because I am certain they know they have no satisfactory answer and fear a future 'I told you so', but mostly because I've never actually shouted it within hearing distance of the choosing party. I've waited and I've watched more times than I care to count. The ones they choose are either complete morons, insane, or just plain bitchy. Pardon my conceit, but none (and I repeat NONE) could hold a candle to me if someone else held it for them. And at the time of the choosing, it was just me and them standing there. It's kind of like picking teams for kick ball in elementary school. Someone i

I'm here to discuss salvation. Yours, mine, ours. Along the way, I am going to peruse a certain misinterpretation of a certain word. Or maybe it's a certain phrase? Hmm... We'll see once I get going. Not too long ago, I changed my religious/spiritual affiliation to "Seeker". I used to proudly and vociferously call myself "Non-Christian". It's not that I didn't believe in Jesus per se. I did, just not enough or traditionally enough to consider myself a Christian. Plus, I met so many dumb asses, fuck nuts, and assorted assholes who claimed to be Christian that it put a bad taste in my mouth. I most certainly did NOT want to be lumped in with all of them; guilt by association being what it is. I was left with a spirituality that was Godly (in my opinion) yet pretty much resided somewhere beyond left field. While I never sacrificed goats, nor virgins, many often looked at me as if I did. You see, people in the places I have lived - both the Southern

They said God would smile today. And I'm fairly certain that they were right. It was a wedding, but unlike any I had ever attended in the past. There were no flowers, dresses, tuxedos, limos, caterers, attendants, ushers, flower girls, or panicking mothers of the brides. There was simply sunshine, a beach, God, and a spiritual guide. In truth, I wasn't even invited. Not to the ceremony anyway. None of us were. We were invited to the 'reception', 'after party'. The fifteen of us trickled in slowly as the sun sank lower and lower on the horizon and were relegated to a balcony overlooking the beach. There was plenty to eat and drink while we waited and music already playing in the background. I'm not sure if we were supposed to watch. Some of us did; some of us didn't. They were private, so very private, when it came to this wedding that we weren't sure which seemed more rude - to watch or to wait. I watched. I wanted to see. I couldn't take my eyes

Lately I've had this craving for a (diet, of course) Cherry Limeade. I guess it's that time of year when quenching thirst and being refreshed are kind of a big deal. Then last night I saw a commercial for a new kind of Captain Morgan spiced rum. This particular one is infused with lime. So, let me get this straight - My rum comes already with lime in it? Cool beans. Now, I'm usually a Bacardi Silver girl, unless I happen to be feeling rich or party with the right friends (nothing like a Pampero and diet Dr. Pepper or diet root beer), however this lime-flavored thing has me going tonight. What if I combined the diet Cherry Limeade with this new rum? Hell, what if I combined the diet Cherry Limeade with any kind of rum (ooh, like Bacardi Coconut) for that matter? Liquid Nirvana, absolutely positively liquid Nirvana. Why am I not on my way to Sonic for a large (or maybe Route 44) diet Cherry Limeade? Several reasons. The overarching concern is money. I am broke. Yes, so brok