The Box, 2005. January through June.

2005-12-30 - 9:56 a.m.

It�s been a few years since I�ve pulled out the box, but it seems to be the right time. The right time for a look back, an assessment and tally of the present and certainly a clearing out to make room for what�s to come, whatever that may be.

Rang in 2005 on a warm, sunny day in Philadelphia with my cousin. Over coffee in the park, we looked forward to future days, which really seems the way to spend New Year�s Day. I spent some time licking my wounds, letting myself go through the hard parts so I could shed them more cleanly once they were over. Tried to remember that if I go through life as if things are better, they're more likely to end up being so.

A searing pain sliced its way into my world and bent me sideways. Electricity and caring hands gently put my back in line and, like the inner wounds, lots of time and lots of work.

A snowy night of neon followed, pulled onto the dance floor by a stranger. I realized how long it had been since there was a time to experience the music with someone else instead of from someone else. I ducked through a secret passageway behind a bookshelf and moved forward.

Links fell from the paper chain that tracked the end of my journey.

Fat Tuesday rang from my throat as I sang with the piano and lost myself in memories of the New Orleans that was. Guitar strings rang through my home, filling it with wine and friendship, those lovely old friends. I told you stories in my head to fall asleep. I drew on the tub walls with my nephew and practiced my blowgun skills with marshmallows.

I finished classes and celebrated with music, as has always been my way. Took off spur of the moment for Manhattan for a night of music and capturing images and long midnight turnpike driving from the bitter end. A roomful of many of the best people in my life came together, oddly enough to celebrate me, to celebrate completion, to celebrate honors and nearly-closed doors. Bruce Campbell and Silk City and conversation that could have lasted all night.

Spring came with wonderful time with friends, playing in the city, eating Chinese food in the park, listening to great panels, photographing a beautiful woman in a tree bursting with blossoms, breaking my tongue through the perfection of a chocolate souffle, sharing hoppy beer and squid, ripping the plastic off the windows in triumph over the winter winds, and letting the warm spring winds that took their place toss my hair with the windows and sunroof open to a gleaming sky.

California called and once again I fell for San Francisco. I walked along the water�s edge in the winds of Sausalito. I smiled down at the pacific from Balboa street during the intermission for a six-hour masterpiece of cinema of life.

Teatime and finger sandwiches and silver clinking on china. Little black dress and dancing and cocktails. A voice singing Sweet Caroline in my ear, making my heart skip a beat.
Jamaican sun, Jamaican rain, rum, love, Kasima lounge, Jeff�s red stripe, the sunset wedding and the shouting tourists. Days under the leaves of the almond tree. Learning to love life in my sarong. Achee and salt fish. Caparanas and rum punch, plantain chips and toasted coconut. Rich blue mountain coffee breathing life back into me. Toes in the sand and snorkeling with only the sound of water in my ears. Hot stones, hands and oil on my skin with the waves crashing on the rocks beside me. Stretching on the couch reading on the balcony as the storms pounded around me. Heaven.

Dali, jazz on the marble staircase, Rose Tattoo and nighttime streets, Cafe Habana and funky fusion pouring through me. Back to West Virginia, the past pressing in around me with sharp, warm memories. White tent and dancing, pictures and family, lynchburg lemonade and all of my girls around the cake with forks in hand. We are together.

Chemistry over books and coffee, sitting on the edge of the fountain in the rain, not wanting to leave yet. Fresh pitchers of lemonade in the fridge, ice cubes clinking in the glass. Cuban food in Baltimore, sweet mojitos, beer and tattoos, a brief flicker of passion. Sunset on the Kennedy Center Terrace staring out over the city I miss. Fasika�s with old friends and old memories in Adams Morgan. Dupont Circle and one of my long-favorite bookstores. Fresh blueberries in the blender. Time.

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