year in review - oh yeah, another one

2012.

according to those who buy into the hype, this year heralds the end of mankind. honestly, i don't think we will all be so lucky. and if we are, well, good for us and good for the world. i say that with a bit of sarcasm, and maybe, too, a bit of seriousness. i am not sure that humans are or should be the ruling species on this planet. but that's a topic for another day.

i don't believe this year is the last year for human beings to grace the landscape of this fine planet, although i do admit that i hope there is some kind of revolution on the forefront - maybe an evolution of thought, one that throws off the chains of materialism and seeks to live life on a higher plane, a kind of renaissance of thought and a more compassionate and caring worldview in general. crazy talk, i know.

so what was 2011? a lot of introspection on my part. that, and overcoming fear. fear of what, exactly, i can't say. it's the kind of fear you just feel and you really can't name. and then anger. anger at what i see every single day around me. i could sit and stew and hate the world - and i admit there is a certain level of self-satisfaction in that - or i could just do what i want to do and live my life. i chose life. shrinking middle-class hell be damned.

2011 brought a few new family members as well. two ferrets, Titus and Mambo, and an iguana i call O'Ren Ishii. Titus was a baby when we picked him up and he's already larger than any adult male ferret we've ever had. Mambo is a rescue, a true albino, and loves to kiss and snuggle in hoodies. and Ishii is also a rescue - she's missing a small part of her tail and a front toe and has burn marks on her from previous owner neglect, but she's growing now and loves to hang out and be held, which i admit is pretty unusual for an iguana. we're designing her a permanent enclosure this year, one that will house her at full adult size which we estimate will be about 4 feet long and maybe 13-15 pounds.

unfortunately, we lost Mr. Hobbes, our longest living ferret to date. he was 9 years old (most ferrets live 6-8 years) and very attached to Miss Pippa. in fact, for 2 weeks after Hobbes died, Pippa had to be hand fed because she refused to eat or drink and almost died as well. that was hard. shortly after that, we rescued a ferret i named Veruca Salt from the local shelter and she made it 3 days before her heart gave out - she had been left in a carrier without food and water for at least 4 days and broke her teeth trying to chew her way out. her final days were full of warm food, Pedialyte and lots of lap time and pets. we really thought she was going to make it since on the second day she got up and went and found Craig to be held, but i think the damage was already done and her heart just couldn't take the shock she had suffered. ever since then, we have been on the list of ferret foster homes for SpokAnimal and will continue to care for ferrets in need, free of charge. a definite positive in our lives and something we know is necessary since so few people understand the needs of ferrets.

and what else? Craig has had a few jobs, most importantly my Mom and Dad's kitchen. we are still constructing his website and he's been doing a little work with his previous employer. all good news. he has also been playing a little poker off and on and winning a little there, too. he has even mentioned maybe trying to be a gaming dealer part-time until his business takes off, or maybe even going back to school to get a BA. it's up to him, and i want him to do what he wants to do, so whenever and whatever he decides...maybe a full update on all that mid-year or by 2013, assuming, of course, that the Mayans are wrong, heh.

as for me, it's a return to school for an MA in Communications. it has taken me over 2 years to decide and it wasn't without some truly agonizing nights of what ifs and whys. the money involved also terrified me, especially with only one consistent income right now. but, i feel it and i have to jump. i have to. i've been saying it for almost 2 years and it's time. why? because if i keep waiting, there will NEVER be a perfect time to do it. if i keep waiting, i just get older and more jaded. if i keep waiting, nothing changes - change has to start with me and it's time. period. i can choose to work to live and i am. living to work is not my thing and it never will be. i live to create. why fight it? eventually i see myself with a PhD teaching at university and having the time not only to create, but to help others create as well. and maybe then i will also have the time/knowledge/connections to work on starting a rescue and fostering a couple of children as well. goals that make me happy to think about and are good for the world. we'll see.

so that's where we sit now on the first day of 2012. hopefully get my official acceptance to GU in a week or so, start classes on the 18th and then 2012 will be a whirlwind of work and school and i am truly looking forward to it. a good year for change.

~mvh

thrall

strong mind, stronger will
will you play with me?

invincible, unbendable
will you stay with me?

fuck me with the fury
i unleash on you

- make me new -

this ephemeral me
yours to subdue.

~*~

mvh

2011

well, happy new year!

it doesn't feel any different, in case anybody was wondering.

so...what?

resolutions? not me. they just end up being broken promises to myself by February and that's depressing.

but...i have to do something. something...different. it's a new year, 2010 sucked overall and i am ready to move on. move on in life, that is. so, how can i do that and not feel like the bottom fell out?

i already feel like i'm on the edge of the abyss. i already feel unstable and unsure. can't get much worse, right? it's not like i have a lot of money to lose. and i don't really have much more time to waste trying to decide if this is more worth waiting for or that is more worth going for right now...

so, to start with - no unrealistic bullshit and no promising myself (or anybody else) anything i don't really want to do. that's my first thing.

1. see above sentence.
2. repeat above sentence.
3. make sleep a priority.

i can do those things. i will find some measure of success, i know, and i will be compelled to keep going.

and then...

i think i need to make myself believe that i am worth it. whatever it is. that will be something i work on every single day this year. and i will write to myself every day, too. not to my journal, but to ME. i will remind myself of my better attributes and i know i might not have a lot to write about at first, but over time i just might dig up some stuff i had forgotten or i didn't realize and that just might make me smile (or laugh hysterically) and then...well...that's all. there is nothing more to this one.

and my bucket list. it's short:

die happy.

so, i need to figure out what i need to do or have done in order for this to happen whenever it might be.

this is easy. and it's impossible.

yay 2011.

~mvh

the year in review...

as it stands thus far:

i said goodbye to Piper. that was hard. it's still hard looking at her pictures, her bed, her toys. she was with us over 15 years and her crossing over the bridge was something i really thought i was ready for, but in the end, i certainly was not. and not so soon after Bodhi - it was too much. too hard. i still dream about her at least once a week.

we welcomed Dexter into the mix, a shelter rescue. he is all brute and fur. and sweet and mean. and funny. he is a kitten that acts like a puppy and he loves the snow. right now, he is 8 months old and weighs 11 pounds, so i'm thinking he will be quite large in a year or so.

my parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary in October. it was amazing. my Dad turned 70 the next week and my Mom turned 69 last month. it's funny, though, because i don't think of them as being 69 and 70. to me, they are Mom and Dad and they are going to live forever; i can't imagine anything else.

so, the household is me, Craig, Nikko, Stuart, Dewey, Otis Flywheel, Dexter, Mr. Hobbes and Miss Pippa. i am considering adopting 2 more ferrets, but with finances the way they are and no real upturn in the economy appearing to be happening anytime soon, it might have to wait. but soon.

my job is the same. not great, but not all gloom and doom (this week, anyway). it's a paycheck. and right now, that's pretty damned important. Craig has been out of work for the better part of this year and is trying to start his own business. so far, it's been slow going. but everything is slow going right now. nobody has a bunch of disposable income to throw at a contractor to rebuild a kitchen or bath. and those who do have a little to spend are either too paranoid to spend it (and rightfully so) or never had any intention of spending it in the first place. so, here we are...trapped in the amber of the moment...with bills to pay and no real money to pay them with. yet.

so basically, i am stuck in the same spot as last year, only moreso. is there any end to this? i wonder all the time if the middle-class lifestyle Craig and i worked so hard for is really worth anything at all. it seems to me that any misstep can spell disaster - and it wasn't that way when we landed here. it is just that way now. and maybe it won't be that way in a year or two, but right now, the struggle to stay afloat is more effort than i want to expend on something i don't really believe in in the first place. seems to me that this is all smoke and mirrors and for what? so we can have a house that we 'own'? we don't own a damn thing. the bank owns it. and the bank cares nothing for us and only for our money. it's not really all that different than renting, except now we pay taxes and all utilities and maintenance. joy. the American dream. blah...

so...what? what now? hell if i know.

i think i am to the point where i am now just going to go for it. i am tired of making careful decisions and trying to maintain normalcy (whatever that is) all around me. it doesn't fit into what i want my life to be and so it makes no sense. this 'real' job thing isn't me and i don't want to be 90 years old looking back on my life with regret. so far, i don't regret a single thing - but i have a nagging feeling that soon, very soon, if i don't just squeeze my eyes shut and jump, i will get stuck on this ledge forever. the middle-class ledge of hell. i don't want this. i want life.

Spider One

The world is a tunnel of death;
it's hard to concentrate with
low-flying conversation overhead.

She stalks only the twins, the girls,
her faces mirror his moods -
together in isolation, partners in desolation,
condemned by genetic mutation.

Her gift to him is rollercoaster fury
tempered with indifference. He is
the long-forgotten ruby slipper essence
when she was single in a relative sense.

Now he is one among the sleepless,
never alone and always by himself.
He is going to line them up
(in real life there are no quick fixes)
and mow them down in sixes.

The gun is in a golf bag in the garage.

He fires it up and flips, one by one,
through each fine fuzzy frame;
his characters are very much alive
in his own home movie and
tonight the stars revolt!

~*~

~mvh

Scythe

I dream treason to my truest self,
that which is not born of me. I swallow
the bitterness that surges
into the back of my throat;
I choke it down. I pretend not to see
the glimpse of the kestrel harlot
I encounter each morning.
I whet my beak and sharpen my claws.
She folds her wings and lingers
in the shadow of the eaves of my lids
ever vigilant for new and exciting prey.

I cut her free and I am all that a starling is not.

~*~

~mvh

Mr. Nobody

I've lost him, I think.
I don't know.

No, I do know.

I know all too well that look;
the black hole eyes that see only red, red rage.
The lights are on, but nobody's home
- Mr. Nobody to you, fucker -
only there is somebody home
and that somebody only wants
to hurt to stop the pain.

His eyes are lit with power and fury;
it consumes him and I understand.

I want to go with him.
I want to bring him back.

But I am only his sister that knows,
so I hug him and I hope.

Stupid hope.

~*~

~mvh

ebb

i woke up at 2 a.m.
piper was having a seizure.
it was pretty bad,
but she snapped right out of it.
call me later if you want, he said.
love you, he said.
a misfire and the brain is flooded
with backwards current.
two more weeks to fifteen -
or is it one hundred and five?
our togetherness includes her.
it always has. what reason
will i have to call him when
she's gone? what will happen to
us when our noble sky hound
takes her final leap?

~*~

~mvh

2009

No poetry here, no creative twists, no quotable lines. Just me as me and nobody else. A rarity, to be sure...

I am 35. I am the daughter of Frank and Pat Owens, forever and always. I am the first of seven adopted children. I am the younger sister of Frank, Lynne, Mark and Sean, the older sister of Danny, Ryan, Chris, Karen, Katie, Michael and Andrew. I am Craig's wife. I am a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, an aunt, a friend. I am the birthdaughter of Judy. I am the birthsister of Ellen, Shelley, TJ and Terrence. I am me.

I am 5' 3" and I was born bald. I might have had 2-3 blonde hairs by the time I was a year old, though. I have terrible vision, but the auras and the voices make up for that. I am an emotional sponge and other people's feelings/judgments affect me to the core, spoken or not. I cloak my true self with sarcasm and feigned apathy. I choke my true feelings back with nicotine and drown them away with alcohol. I create imaginary lives that I want to claim as my own. I talk to my dogs, cats and ferrets more than I ever talk to any person. I am weak, I am strong. I love too much and, sometimes, I am quite sure I don't love enough.

I am a creative writer, an artist, a poet - I suffer the part well, but not by design. I make drugs to make money. I hate myself for it every single day; I am not corporate material. I am a chameleon for 8-12 hours a day. For now. I tell myself that all artists suffer, it is part of the mystique, it is what makes it so romantic, this double life of horror tempered with expression. You learn to love the pain you feel and from that, true art springs - but what happens when that spring runs dry? Is that all there is?

I want to believe in an afterlife, I want to feel that there's something more than what I live, but I simply don't. I exist. I am all about the human condition, helping other people on this planet and making it a better place to be for those who are here right now and improving it for those who will end up here after I'm long gone. I want to make a mark indelible and then I want to disappear - isn't that what immortality really is? I want there to be a God so I can air my grievances, but I can not and will not depend on that, so, for now, I take responsibility for myself and do what is right because it's the right thing to do. It's really that simple.

This year brought me to life and then killed me. 2009 closed out leaving me in a deep depression and I am just now beginning to climb back out of the hole and see a hint of daylight. Part of it is just me; I am, by nature, an emotional rollercoaster running out of track. Part of it is my job. I can't shake the feeling that it's slowly killing me. Part of it is how I perceive myself and where I am versus where I think I should be in life at 35.

I remember things. Small things. Not so small things.

I remember a yellow room and a red-haired lady with blue eyes that seemed very sad. A lemon tree, a low slate wall just above a freeway, a patio top that made the sunlight fall in sharp, perfect squares on the concrete just outside the garage door. A yellow crib and orange and yellow shag carpet. Cream cheese and jelly sandwiches and Mom watching soaps while I colored at the coffee table. I remember fish pellets in the Kawabata's backyard and tearing Patty's drawing by accident and how she cried.

I remember getting up early to go pick raspberries with Mom. Dad grilling chicken legs and telling me they were frog legs and how I took a headcount of all my pet frogs in the window wells that day. Reading with Frank on the sofa in Ohio and how my goldfish jumped to his death not long after that. Lynne cutting off her fingertip and the blood staining the kitchen ceiling an orangey-red, her first house and going on roadtrips with her when she worked for GMAC. Mark's yellow car with black stripes, his basketball hoop, him leaving for school and how I missed him and still do.

I remember playing army with Sean and how proud I was when he received his appointment to the Naval Academy. The day Danny came home and how he refused to move away from Dad. The night Ryan was born and how I cried when Mom went to the hospital. I remember the morning Ryan died and how, for a while, everybody else did, too. Chris arrived in time to see Nana pass away, all chins, innocence and contentment. Karen and Katie as infants asleep on a blanket, each with a tiny hand extended toward the other. Michael's perfect red hair and genuine smile, his drive to always be first, and he was - still is, in many ways. Andrew slicing his finger open on an art easel when he was 2 or 3 years old and how far the corners of his mouth turned down as they put in stitches. Tears pricked his eyes but he refused to let a single tear fall; I wanted to cry for him.

I remember Nana showing me how to make peaks in frosting. I remember Pop Pop letting me pick out his tobacco and making me promise not to tell Mom and Dad, and especially Danny, that I had figured out they were Santa; I was five, maybe six. Pops laughing and calling everybody 'butterfinger' and Mom Mom picking her numbers over a wine cooler.

I remember Craig behind glass, his long auburn hair tangled down his back. That was sixteen years ago. Craig is my constant and I admire him. Sometimes, no matter how bad things seem, when you have a feeling about somebody, it doesn't matter what you see in front of you, only what the potential is and how you can be a part of something bigger - I knew at that moment it was do or die for both of us, we needed each other, our life paths had crossed for a reason.

Together we have lost three children, our credit, a job or two and many wonderful pets, but together we have also worked our way through college, paid off our bills and recovered our credit, bought a home and share it with many hairy kids, maybe someday a human one or two as well. And I regret not one bit of it.

This year has made me think, take inventory of my life. Family is so deeply important to me, yet, when I am around them, I don't know what to talk about, what to say, how to relate. I am an open book in many ways - what you see is what you get - but I am inaccessible as well. How can you get to know me when I don't even know me?

As an adopted child, I am fortunate. I know my birthmother and I communicate with her regularly; I know she loves me and I know she did what she did out of love. I can never thank her enough for that selfless act. I know my sisters and brothers and I have many things in common with them. I am able to see who I look like, who I take after, where I came from and how those discoveries fit into my worldview - some things, I've learned, really are just a part of who you are when you are born. At times, nature can and does override nurture. And that realization made it possible for me to start to find my authentic self. But I am not there yet. Sometimes I think I never will be. Knowing my birthfamily has given me a path to explore I didn't have before...it's a gift I am truly grateful for.

This year for me, especially at the holidays, was a disconnect. I lost myself and, I think, my family. There was no point of reference for me to hold on to, I was over-worked and exhausted and I really didn't feel a part of anything, including a part of myself. It was like I was there, but I was watching myself from a distance and I couldn't will myself into my body to regain control. It was all I could do to speak and when I went home, it was all I could do not to cry. I witnessed everything and felt a part of nothing. Why? No idea. And right or wrong, that's how I felt and I own it but I don't know what to do with it. I guess that's why it's here - I just need to get it out before I slip back down and lose sight of the little bit of light I glimpsed this morning.

~*~

~mvh

FamiliaR

When did we start competing?
When did we start to care
about life outside ourselves?
Remember when we were young,
we were one, we were us?
We were all we were.
Until there were more, of course.
They carry on much like we did;
I see a lot of us in them,
I see none of us in them.
Being adopted is funny that way.
Why can’t we understand
without judgment? Why does
every event tax the last reserve?
What has happened to us?

~*~

~mvh

The Beast

You struggle through patrol, head drooping
as you climb the stairs, followed by a sad,
longing look back as your legs give out again,
leaving you to sit on the middle tread and
wait for me to help you inside. The treat I
offer does nothing to hide your shame, yet
minutes later you stand a proud protector
by the front door, ears perking at every noise
and then laying flat as the threat is identified
and dismissed. To you, it’s already another day,
another moment – something to enjoy. But I
am still replaying that last cluster in my head,
the vet call, the new prescription added to the
two you already have, the rescue doses of
Valium that almost killed you and wondering
if it would have been better if it had. You lay
your head in my lap as I write, a privilege that
was never permitted in the days before the beast,
and even though your body is tired, your legs
are sore and your tail can only manage a weak
thump on the sofa as I scratch your ears, your
bright eyes meet mine and I know you still want
to be here, even if only for one more day.

~*~

~mvh

Quest

Jackson mocks me as I feed him into the machine.
I remind myself with each tap of the button that
I sold myself for this pleasure and the thrill intensifies.
I get nothing in return and that – that drives
me to give more. I am left alone with lighter pockets;
I am empty and I need to be filled back up.

A quick stop for a shot of sour mash, two more,
and then I am on my way.

I find him at the final table again, coveting
his neighbor’s chips and making small talk.
He is already a winner and his easy smile makes
them squirm in their seats; I have been there,
I want to be there, I will be there soon –
it is a challenge I know I will win, one way or another.

The more they lose, the more they are willing to give;
they don’t know how to play the game.

Our eyes meet for one brief second and the main event begins.

~*~

~mvh

Lillian

He entered the room on silent soles
and left a single yellow rose on her pillow.
Her tired grey eyes filled with azure
and her battle-worn soul tugged away
from her withered body in a single gasp.
Then there was peace.
Then there was nothing.

~*~

~mvh

bodhisattva

you paddle toward Atman
only to lose nirvana –
how's that for divinity?

~*~

~mvh

Kelp

Sweet salt air laden with hot breath tamps me down
on you. Yesterday you told me we were forever;
forever like poppies, forever like rain
- acid rain -
forever like dying to be born again.

~*~

~mvh

Selah Cliffs

Rail until it hurts.

That's what she told me
as she threw it in reverse.

And as we fell from
the grace of God and
into the depths of the
abattoir that afternoon,
all I could do was smile.

~*~

~mvh

Seven

Bobby had more GI Joes. His gear included camouflage
oil paint that we'd smear all over our faces and laugh.

Cobra infantry covered a full square of the concrete drive,
black and blue, ready to stomp behind their commander.

He was fair and his freckles stood out
on the bridge of his nose like milk chocolate chips.
The beetles squirmed over each other in bags
that hung from the sapling maples marking the front.
A hornet buzzed in over our heads, swooping in on us
for the occasional lop-sided recon as we set up for battle.

Bobby pushed his yellow-white bangs
off of his sweaty pink forehead
and raised his index finger to the sky.

Scarlett smothered in my fist before I set her free;
she flew too close to the sun without swivel grip.

Some things never change.

~*~

~mvh

Let it Ride

I watch, suffer
in silence,
and wait.

I don't know what for;
the silence is unsettling.

I won't speak
– don't need to –
words mean nothing
(everything)
to me.

Still, I am still
in unspoken reverence
for all that you are and
all that you will never be.

I imagine
all the possibilities,
scribble them down,
crumple them up
and toss them aside;
I can't throw you away.

My escape is my reality.
It turns me on.
Are you coming along,

or

is that too much to ask?

~*~

~mvh

The Root Cause

I am tired.

I fight my true self each and every time I swipe my badge and pull on a company issued scrub top and pants; it's wearing me down. I wonder at it, and just as fast, I let those thoughts flitter up, up and away as I wrap up my hair and pull the blue head cover down over my ears. I stomp away doubt as I step into the pale blue, often over-sized, shoe covers and trudge the controlled hallway that reeks of sterility.

Procedure does not mix well with passion and innovation is the root cause of deviation. There is no room for individuality and no tolerance for variation. Conformity is the expectation and mediocrity is promoted – literally. Perception makes it true. But don't take my word for it, because I sure wouldn't.

My broccoli remains green. But I can not say, without a doubt, that my green is the green you see – as if there were a standard green we all know to be true and the same no matter whose eyes are looking at it. And just because it's written and approved per standard operating procedure doesn't make it right or true, either, no matter what color paper you choose. But I think that's a secret only the free thinkers that lurk among the work culture are privy to. Shh…

I tell myself that I was not always like this, that I am not like this, but this…this is what I've become. I am a working stiff – vacant and used up – a shell. Even my personal life has been reduced to mere castings of what I used to be; I am living the American nightmare.

~*~

~mvh

vision

true love is silent;
(beyond affectation or token)
noble reserve unspoken
offered unbroken, sacred and still.

~*~

~mvh