very much alive.

a friend phoned
the other day

and i happened to answer.

{isn't that a pleasant surprise?}.

well it was.

within our opening breaths of 

greeting and salutations

she teased,

"i've been wondering about you,

are you alive?

where have you been??"

to which i promptly replied a, 

"why yes indeed i am.

i am very much alive. 
too sorry

for the distance! 
coffee Sunday??"

as the day trickled by,

the question

lingered 

with me.

as well as my immediate

answer.

yes i am 
so very much 
alive.

you see, i've been:

.... ignoring the uncooperative weather
and just camping anyway. 

.... exploring cities 

are that not my own.

{and liking it.

quite a bit.}

.... walking instead of driving,
because sometimes you can 
and it's wonderful.

.... making time to create.

.... and i've been looking up.

so no need to hold my calls.
i'll answer.
because
yes. 
i am very much alive.


xo.
- n.

what time is it?

sometimes it's dreadfully
hard to know.
to be even slightly certain,
because uncertainty clings and circles
just like nats in summer. 

how do you know?
how do you know what time it is?

because when we like something.
we want it.
we want more of it.
we want to be near it.
to find it.
to search it out.
to just look at it.
sip it.
watch it.
absorb it.
be with it.
see it.
have it see you.

and sometimes
it's time.
to notice what's eating at you
and move your entire world 
only to find it.
this something.
because you know you must.
and it's the only answer.

don't ask me what this it
is.
only you can know.

for some, it might a friend.
a parent.
a lover.
a city.
a dream.

for a friend of mine
the it was

the ocean.

she heard the craving inside.
that voice that
wouldn't seem to leave her be.

and so she began listening.
(as the brave ones do).

she picked up.
kissed her family.
waved goodbye to lifelong friends.
and she moved toward that something.

to the ocean.

it was time.
and she knew it.

and so,
for eleven whole months
this one thing she liked so deeply...
she was near it.
she touched it.
watched it.
absorbed it.
saw it.

and that ocean saw her, too.

it was time.
and she knew it.

and then one day 
when she hardly expected it,
with her windows flung wide
to the rolling sounds of the 
wave & tide...

she shut her windows.

why?
because it was time.
and she knew it.

it was time to go back.
to move away from the ocean.
to be near friends and old family.

the choice was full.
full of 
the hard
the easy
the good
the peaceful
the unrestful
the questions
the asking
the wondering
the certainty.
and of course,
the uncertainty.

the choice was all of those things
(as any choice that truly
matters often seems to be).

i share this story,
i say all of this because
i wonder.
i am wondering...

do you know what time it is?
do you know what it
is?

do not ask me what your it
is dear friend.

but listen.
listen well
and then perhaps you will hear.
perhaps you will hear and 
perhaps you will know
what time it is. 


xxo

those kinds of friends.

Shame on me.

No really. I've been meaning to write this post for months now, almost 7 months to be exact. You see, this time I really do deserve a proper "shame on you" finger wagging from myself for this kind of thing. Because when big firsts happen in your life, one should write about them especially if one is already inclined to write about things (which I like to tell myself that I am one of those kinds of people). 

This first that I speak of actually happened to a friend of mine. One of my oldest and truest friends of all time. She's the one I played dress-up with for hours + hours + hours on end as well as all forms and versions of "house". She's one of those kinds of friends. One of those for-lifers. (You know the type.)

You better believe we scootered, imagined and make-believed our way right out of childhood, into teenaged trials and tribulation (actually we did manage to have quite a bit of fun along the way) and straight into adulthood as real-life grown ups.

And that brings me to the reason I'm writing today. Because last fall when my sweet and dear old friend had her very first not-make-believe-at-all baby boy, I was among one of the firsts to welcome this little man, in all his fresh and squeezable newness, into this world. Want a little peek at him?

I remember walking away from the hospital that day and the transition was so real I could taste it. From little girls to big kids. From little-squirt freshman to how-did-I-get-here seniors. From first-real-job to I-do-and-he-does-too. To pregnant bellies to welcoming in new life. Those kinds of transitions. Unspeakable, really.

It's a privilege. Yes, that's what it is. A complete privilege to journey with another through the transitions and curves of life. Wouldn't you agree?

This is my friend. 
Her name is Kathryne (and these are the men in her life). 
She's one of those kinds of friends. 
One of those for-lifers.

You know the type.

xoxo.

the words find us

"i shall make all things well,

and i will make all things well;

and you will see yourself that every

kind of thing will be well."

Julian of Norwich,

a mysterious, female mystic

from a tumultuously mysterious time.

it has been said that when

Mother Julian was writing these words,

she was expressing her

deepest sense of spirituality and 

beliefs about her Creator.

she authored,

Sixteen Revelations of Divine Love,

when she was only 30 years old.

this book is said to be the first

book written by an English woman.

words seem to find us.

and it's remarkable how words,

said more than 600

years ago

still have the power to

jump off the page

and make me

catch my breath.

on a wednesday afternoon

in a random book

off the highest shelf

at one of my favorite city

haunts.

she asked the sun.

And so, she asked the sun,

"Sun, how is it that every day you

are able to shine so bright?"

But the sun did not respond.

And so she asked again,

"Sun, what makes you give off

such heat?"

But again, the sun did not respond.

Discouraged, the girl crosses her arms

across her chess,

turns on her heels,

and begins to march away

down the broken sidewalk.

It is then that the girl sees {and feels} it:

the warmth on her back and

the light on the road ahead.

And the girl thinks,

"My path, ever golden, follows the sun."

- a poem by my friend written to me

quite some time ago.

admiring their greenness.

i have two succulents 

living with me

on 2701 grand avenue south.

one is tall and sure and stretching.

the other is full and ample and branching.

these past few weeks, 

as the temperatures

bite

and mornings mean 

leaving the comfy cave 

of rest that’s kindly held me 

during the blackness of night,

to enter the air of chill 

that hovers and hangs in my room.

and this morning, 

as my head peaks out

to test the gelid temps

i wondered about my resident succulents.

outside icicles cling to

buildings, garages,

rubbish bins, tree branches.

coldness envelops us

as it often does this time of year.

and this morning, 

I worry for my 2 resident succulents.

when the sun comes out

{only ever so rarely}

i rush them to that sun soaked spot.

my resident succulents

speak their appreciation because they

continue to grow.

Green.

despite the cold.

taller & wider they reach.

when the shine comes out

i too rush to rearrange myself accordingly.

i also crave the sun’s warm attention.

when you are meant for warmth

how can you grow in the depths of winter?

i appreciate their Greenness.

maybe, I am even a bit envious of it.

no color is like Green. None.

Green is the perfect color to allow 

absorbing & defining 

of oneself.

it’s gentle yet firm.

it’s inviting yet knowing.

it’s comforting and never overwhelming.

it not afraid to adjust according to seasons

all the while always remaining itself.

this morning i wonder 

for my 2 green resident succulents.

how can you grow, keep growing, keep reaching

when the climate engulfs, inhaling the life

when the air is less than ideal

when the surroundings confuse your core

when what’s home becomes foreign

when you can hardly breathe

how can you?

grow.

today i brought them to the warmest

most comfortable part of 2701 grand avenue south.

to the center of all things.

the kitchen table.

today they will sit

side by side.

in the shine of the sun.

with their green leafs stretching.

touching.

despite the imperfect space,

the confusion, the thin and fragile air,

even if gasping for air is the best

you can do

know this.

there is more in you

than you think.

and despite the enveloping circumstances

your green will still shine.

your roots will still dig.

and that small patch of sun 

will touch something 

deep inside

& you will be reminded that

all will indeed be well.

it will.

growing.

reaching.

stretching.

even in the harshness of circumstances

cold & winter.

Life is here.

- n.

somedays i miss it.

somedays i do.
other days i don't.

but today i do.

- n.

sandy here she comes

today has been full of
early morning hours.

stacks of paper.
computer screens.
coffee mugs.
face-to-face encounters.
words, words & then more
words.

dinner and cauliflower.
designs and dreams.
hopes and goals.
listening and direction.

excitement
anticipation.
typing keys.
roommate energy
and roommate jokes.

today life, it was busy today.

coffers still coffeed at 
their favorite local spots.
traffic existed in only its 
predictably jerky inconsistency 
during the usual times of day. 

yellow buses picked up loads of backpacks 
with kids attached. 

and just like that, 
without hardly noticing...
today, my world went on.

but meanwhile elsewhere 
just due miles East, the world as they know it 
stopped.
No literally.
Stopped.

No subway lines.
No taxis. 
No buses.
No traffic lights.

No Wall Street.
No Stock Exchange.
Nothing.
just people...
being told to stay indoors. 
And wait.

wait for the rain
for the damage
for the unknown.

oh deary what's your name?
did they say Sandy?
oh sandy sandy
so strong and so mighty.
my heart goes out to
those in your
path.

- n.

tonight i went to service

tonight i went to service
for one purpose
and one purpose only.
to hear
to listen
to feel
the drums.

there's something particularly perfect
about music,
about drums.
the beat
the pulse
the rhythm.

it gets in you, through you
reverberating across within without
your entire being.

and if you can, just for a moment
zoom in on it, the drums.
only it.
the beat
the pulse
the rhythm.

in that moment
when you meet the drum
you might notice
that it guides the entire
collection of notes.

can you? do you?

it does. because
it holds
it brings
it defines.

it's particularly extraordinary really.
those drums.

and in that moment
between only you & the drum
if you listen closely
you will
hear
listen
feel

your heart.
in there.
in you.
contentedly beating inside.
reverberating amongst bones & echoing
down veins
in the only home it's ever known.

your heart.
it's content to be alive
and do all it has ever done and ever
hopes to do:

to beat out the rhythm
of your life.

there's something particularly perfect
about the drums.
to remind us
how to
hear
listen
feel

that one thing.
that one thing
that's always been inside.

- n.