Tag Archives: march is for travelers

make my heart go bloom, bloom

21 Apr

drivers view on center st.

if march is for travelers then april is for all the rest.

the rest of us, and resting us.

as snappy twigs stretch into full flourishing branches, it’s not just the trees feeling bloomy today.

i was lapped several times this morning by a goggled man, gray hairs peaking out of his cap. without a word or evident effort he sliced through the water, easy strokes and confident turns. instead of inadequate, i felt stronger by association. silly, yes – in my junior size swim cap and water-logged ears – but strong and sprouty and solid.

the next weeks are full-bloomed bouquets of excitement. parties. birthdays. travels of the vacationing breed. the hunt for more air conditioning units in preparation for summer’s heat harvest.

hopefully some story will be blooming as well.
feeling a little stuffed up on the creative front, but happy to be resting with the rest of us this spring.

documentarian de donde?

30 Mar

i was several versions not-myself this week en route from here to there.

i was dory among the jellyfish when our neighbor-plane dove with us into the cloud bank. we emerged alone and the sky seemed greyer.

i was a stranger on another plane, sliding gum like a cigarette from its carton when offered across the aisle by the tracksuit in 4C.

i was an expert and a salesman, a business traveler and a long-distance wife.

i was not unhappy. i was not unloved. i was not alone.

indeed, i laughed hard and often – at this place, at these people, at myself sleeping in my zebra-print retainer. i had to stretch for the constant crunch of it on my stomach and soul.

but i was not mywholeself.

only now can i question, as i stretch back to thatself in the sweet valley of mere hours at home:

what pieces of these travels will i carry on from here . . . these trips not for pure escape but for the push of work and team? what souvenir stamps will they mark on my passport?

tomorrow will tell. march is for travelers.


march is for travelers, part two.

19 Mar
Woman drinking a coke underwater during performance as mermaid at Weeki Wachee Springs

click for photo credit

dramamine and gingerale accompany me to altitude. the non-drowsy version sends me head-bobbing by take-off, while the bubbly stuff rouses me mid-drool for a chat with a hazy flight attendant.

i only drink gingerale when i fly.

well, then, and in holiday-themed ice-cream floats. but i rarely order those in the air.

it’s not just the bubbles i crave when i rub elbows with the beverage cart, my head falling hard from dream to this straddled space. traveling requires such a stepping out. it skews the readings of all normalcy, pulling hesitant routine from its rut, and forcing sleepy skin to face its fear of an uncertain shower head.

like my favorite wizards between portkey and land, i’m less than solid en route.

i hold hands with strangers like terry my-friends-call-me-teaspoon on the back row of her turbulent first steps to freedom. she smells of gin, joints and open-endedness; i float between comforting and wondering. my airport filters of purposed distance disintegrate in her honest questions.

“is this normal?”

dream clouds part just long enough to think, for teaspoon and myself, the answer may be hidden in the wheel wells between take-off and landing.