The Box, 2005, Part 2 July-Dec

2005-12-30 - 1:19 p.m.

July changed life from the confused baby bird on my windshield to the late-night crash of illegal fireworks. I turned domestic and painted and plastered, ripping up what was torn and making the old look at least fresh if not new. Hospitals continued to plague the year. I pretended that holding my grandfather�s hand and making sure the sparkle was still in his eyes wasn�t the only reason I spent the day on the road, but of course it was. I read Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs while experiencing none of same. It was that sort of a time.

Then double sevens and bombs shook London. �I�m okay, no need to worry baby,� waited in my inbox to quell my fears for you. There wasn�t enough oxygen to draw that deep a sigh of relief. Chinatown, baseball, drinking with the boys. Dinners of fresh corn on the cob with Old Bay and butter. Margaritas and electric repairs with my stepdad. Books sent into the wild and fireflies blinking across the darkened yard. Sunglasses sacrificed to Poseidon in the smashing of a wave in Avalon. Confessing the taste of sins long past for someone else to recreate. Music on the lawn and children racing together with no common language except smiles. The shuttle back into space and that old, dreaming prideswell returns.

Paddling down the Brandywine, capsizing in friendship. Pubs and baseball, the algebra plague and art museum porn scenes. Bobbing on the water, stretched along the deck watching meteors streak across the sky. Movie theaters and pubs and long, hot nights under the ceiling fan. Summa-funkin-cum-laude, baby. Samosas, mango juice and words in the shade of the trees. Stretching my body across a hospital couch, spending the night listening to beeps and breathing and nurses� shuffling feet.

Finding strength and synchronization on the waters of the Schuylkill. Nights in the recording studio in the hush of the booth. Lighting the campfire alone. Hiking in the Endless Mountains. Vonnegut and the roll of the valley below. Helping those whose homes were washed away and remembering the fire taking mine. My body in revolt. Triumph with the team. Italian markets and more Chinatown. Rhett Miller, David Gray and a 3-D walk on the moon. Swing dancing and Caribbean food and walking through the pouring rain. Free theater, new technology, and fifteen thousand words pulled from my head. Daytrips and evenings in Manhattan. My first Broadway shows, the MOMA, watching stories, watching out the windows of the train as towns flew by. Much-needed time elbow to elbow with friends and a brief blur of skin, lips, hands.

Sinter Klaas in the Hague, Marillion, and friends about to part. Watching lost love more bittersweet than the chocolate. Baking and planning leading up to the swirl of holidays. Warm days with the family, dance dance revolution with my nephews, and a beautiful moment I�d started to think would never happen. Knowing that were I writing the scene, I�d have reached over and taken it from your hand, but life is no movie. Scripts and the soft fur of a kitten and words, mine and others, ruling my life as always. Happy New Year.

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