All the Best Laid Plans...

Have you ever imagined a project turning out beautifully and then being a little disappointed about the final result? This has been my experience for so many projects. But not this time.

When my husband and I bought our beautiful Italian tiles six years ago, we hauled them home and priced out professional installation. Ouch. Doing it ourselves? Scary. We are musicians, not skilled laborers. There they sat. Well, not exactly. They got moved upstairs and down several times and we finally relegated them to a corner of the garage, where they sulked at our cowardice, and petulantly allowed us to stub our toes on them.We considered selling them about a year ago. It seemed the project would never get done.

I'm not sure what pushed me over the edge, but this summer I got my DYI savvy daughter to help me tear out the old linoleum (yuck) and carpet (yuckier).  There it sat, the bare sub floor, and the toilet that was now in the shower, awaiting it's new Italian base.

I had a friend (now worth his weight in tile, er-gold) who delivered his wet saw to my garage and provided valuable information on how to cut, and lay tile. He back-buttered this tutorial  (tile laying shop talk) with profuse amounts of encouragement.

I finally felt ready, and with a substantial amount of fear and trembling fired up the saw. (I did do my measurement homework) Just so you know, the new revised motto for novices is measure 6 times and cut once. I dry laid the tiles, and it looked like it would all work!

My husband kicked in his muscle for the mortar laying and grouting. I couldn't have finished without him. At one point I think we were fighting over the trowel.

The result was so many times more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. I almost think that little elves (maybe big ones) came in overnight and did a professional job for me. My goal was to have it finished before Thanksgiving, and now I have one more thing to be thankful for. A beautiful new Italian tiled bathroom! Finally.

Standing (pulled from my old myspace archive)

Standing in the room

I feel the pieces fall

beside me and shatter

on the floor

like shards of glass             I dare not move ahead or behind



I make myself breathe

but slowly

otherwise

 the air will smell of  some other day

and it will be too

warm

too strong

too full

of dreams

for me to take it in

Two Wee Poems

The Dream


 Multi-layered reasons cloak my furtive attempts at conversation.

Single need drives me to probe, to wonder, to whisper all around the truth.


Keep it back.


No folly like the hidden one.  No time like the present.


I steal away backwards, the azure blue of the twilight sky sillouettes palms, tall and graceful.


Their slight movement in the wind mirrored on the breeze, touches my face.


The smell? -jasmine, dust, and you.



All fetters broken. I am free at last.


The monstrous dream has landed in my backyard.


The thing I hoped for, here and now.


I pinch myself, flying over ground, my feet inches above real, hard, solid earth.


Giddy elation. A wash of peace.


All my trust. Pinpointed to this soul-embracing moment.


It is finished.



My teeth chatter in the cold.


I hold myself tightly, but it is not enough.

Pieces of me are flying away.

What remains will have to do.

And there is plenty to do.


Be good, my muse, and stay awhile.

Carve your leaden features on my mind.

Stay your angel fingers on the memory of tomorrow.

Stamp an image, clear and strong.

My pouring out depends on it.

My filling up comes with your words.

Be good, my muse and stay awhile.


The clouds gather...."Filled with Failure" the words lie heavy.

They burn and cleanse like farmer's fires.

The deadwood past is kindling.

The present fluff blows past my door.

My house is crowded, rooms are full.

Clear away the refuse and empty every corner, till all is gone and peace is left.

I sit in silence on the floor.

The echos tell no truth but mocking lies.

I will not stop to fear them now.

The truth has burned away all farce.


 The Ride of Life

Hairpin curves, breathtaking vistas.

I hug my yearnings to myself and daftly try to shape them into what I believe.

Do we all do this?

No other living soul can share this space with me; I inhabit it alone.

Stand or fall.

Rich or poor.

Loved or left.

Faith's a lonely room.