Notes from the Red Bird House

Realistically, I should be spending my time learning Spanish. I'd get a chance to use it and practice daily - on and off for eight hours every work day. After all, I live in a part of the country that is unofficially bilingual ( Unofficially because Americans can be xenophobic assholes - "You live in 'Merica. Speak the language!" ) and there are times that I feel woefully under-equipped linguistically. So, yes. Spanish would be the much better choice. And given that practice makes perfect, my fluency would increase very quickly. I did same thing in high school. I eschewed all common sense and chose French as my foreign language. Yep. I grew up spitting distance from Mexico and lived in a community that was, much like Austin, unofficially bilingual, and I decided to spend four years studying a language I have yet to hear spoken live and in person. I had no particular affinity for France, no desire to travel, and my sister took French. That last one alone should hav

If you haven't read my last blog post called, "I Am Home, Part 1", you should really read it now before you go any further with this one. Done? Ok, read on. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "I should be suspicious of what I want."   ~ Rumi "I don't know anyone who could go through the day without two or three juicy rationalizations."  ~ Michael, Jeff Goldblum's character, "The Big Chill" I don't want to burst anyone's bubble. As I sit here working on this post, I can see reactions to my last post rolling in. Readers seem to love it. I suppose I can't fault them that. Couched in the terms of positive self-discovery, what's not to love? Stacee's making progress, daring to live her dreams. Wow! So cool!  I'd whole-heartedly agree, if I didn't know what I know about me. Y'all think I'm a pretty good runner, writer, and tennis player, but you may not realize that I'm even better at self-a

I spent the majority of my adulthood struggling with 'home'. I moved and moved again, looked just about everywhere, tried in places - and in people - I never should have tried. Funny, it took leaving 'home' to show me the way. You see, through my recent travels, I have come to realize that I can create home anywhere. What used to be my weakness has become my strength. And what I want most. I lived in the same house from age three until my parents' divorced and sold the house when I was twenty-four. I'd gone away to college and even moved to another state for graduate school, but 13125 Wanesta Drive was always home. It's where my family was, where my "things" were. It was the place where our traditions and my memories lived. It was also my mom's cooking and an old lab named Sheba who shed little black hairs everywhere. Above all, it was my safe space, the only truly safe space I knew. And then it was gone. My parents' impending divorce

"Goal: Be Happy."  from a sign I saw on a front porch in an Austin neighborhood last week I had a conversation with a customer a couple days ago while I mixed her paint at The Worlds Largest Home Improvement Retailer. She looked at the 15 year service badge I (have to) wear on my apron and asked - more or less - how in the Hell I've been able to do it. I mean retail sucks, doesn't it? She didn't say that in so many words, but the look on her face clearly reflected it. She was about my age with a teenage daughter in tow (they were painting the teen's bedroom) and I'm sure she silently breathed a sigh of relief that her career choices had never included a long stint in retail. And let's be honest, when I started working for my current company I intended to stay six months, maybe. Retail was never my career choice. It was a career that happened. At the six month mark I got promoted, then six months after that I got promoted again. Before I kne

There is always doubt. I don't know if all runners or even some runners have them to. And it's not all runs. Just most. Yes, most. Doubt . Can I? Will I? Followed closely by why am I? And why do I do this? Do I have to? I suppose I can head out for a few miles, four-ish, and I'm fine. I mean it's a half hour of my life - give or take - and I can pretty much do anything for a half hour (not planking or a wall-sit...). It's the longer runs - six, eight, ten miles, or more - that really get the doubts cranking. I suppose if I ran more often, covered more miles on a daily basis - Hell, even a weekly basis - I'd be more confident. As it stands, I am plagued by doubt. It's odd, really, because I mean seriously, what's the worst that happens? I blow up? Can't finish? Been there, done that. Not often, but it does happen. I always recover mentally and physically. The next week I get back out on the road and more often than not I have a great run. I should

Today is her birthday. We are from the same part of Michigan, but we met in a small town in Texas. Which makes me wonder about destiny, fate, intention. I have to believe that she is meant to be in my life. Even though "in my life" simply means that she and I exist in the same world, on the same planet. We don't speak much, text only slightly more, comment on social media occasionally. There are extenuating circumstances - things she doesn't want me to know or hear or worry about on a daily, weekly, or even monthly basis. Regardless, I do worry. I do wonder. I do think of her, about her. Mostly I think should do more, live closer, be present, know the day-to-day and hour-to-hour. She says I have a life to live, that I can't stop just because of her, but... As the years go on and she gets no better and our dreams (because we did have dreams that were ours)  remain figments of better time, a healthier time, I have to wonder. I have to think. I know there are peo

"I sat for a long time, uncomfortable with the person I had been  and the person I was finally becoming..."  A friend told me recently that it would happen when I was ready for it to happen. My quick, knee-jerk response was a defiant, "I am ready. It's just blah-blah-blah-excuse-excuse-excuse..." It was only later that I realized she was right. Absolutely, unequivocally right. Dammit. I'm not ready. Obviously. If I was, well... I would have found my way out of this limbo I'm mired in. One foot in the past, one in the present, and facing the future. Unwilling to go backwards, discontented enough of the status quo to crave a change, but wholly unable to move forward into a future that so clearly awaits me. I could ask which one. Which future? Where? With whom? And how? I stand at the proverbial crossroads where path and vision meet, and the signpost has far too many arrows. This way for that. That way for this. Or here. Or there. Or... Yes, I

I wrote this about a year ago. I was on my way home to Austin from San Diego on the 4th of July. My dad wasn't doing well and I knew we were facing down some major changes. Fast-forward one year... My dad is doing much, much better. At 90, he seems more vibrant and alive than he has in a long time. He's still here and I am exceptionally thankful.  ~~ In this life I’ve lived, there has been baseball and my dad. I suppose the sound is appropriate enough. Baseball blaring a little too loudly from the TV. I’m too worn out to get up, grab the remote, and lower the volume. Everything seems like too much today. Driving, thinking, writing this even. But these words – they are important. Because I may want to remember. I may need to remember. One day. Right now, though, I don’t want to think about that day. My dad falls in the middle of the night. I’m not strong enough to help him up. We call 9-1-1. Cute paramedics, who are male and far too young for me, show up. They check him