And the sun's always rising in the sky somewhere

[image via weheartit]

I have never been a morning person, but
lately the mornings are my favorite time of day.
I drive up 101 N and see: bumper-to-bumper traffic;
shiny pre-owned minivans weaving

lane in and lane out; harried parent drivers
reaching back to quiet their quarreling children
as their vehicles drift; a man using his electric shaver
while he drives by Braille along the center

divide.

I have never been a morning person, but
the chilly gray clouds that shadow me down the highway
remind me of the me of four years ago,
whose only summer job

was playing horseback riding camp instructor
to spoiled eight- and nine-year-olds who wanted
to pet the horses more than they wanted to ride them.
They chanted, I don’t want to, I don’t want to, because

they were afraid. And while I drive to work
sometimes I think about the men
who shave while they drive; about the women
who leave their toddlers in locked cars; about the coeds

who brave a flagging job market for tuition money;
and about those frightened children, because
in these moments, more than all other moments,
I would rather not be

me.

Just like the dimes that I gave her, I'm scattered

It's a Steel Train kind of morning.

we've got miles and miles of world to run around;
what we've got is old gold, and that's all right

[image via weheartit]

They'll remember only our smiles, 'cause that's all they've seen

[found via weheartit]
Hi from Escazu:

Miss you all so much! I am very well and having a wonderful time. It is such a treat to spend time with the family here who are as kind and generous and wonderful as ever. Tomorrow is the big party and it looks like its going to be a lot of fun.

The time is speeding by very quickly but I am enjoying every minute. Love you all so much.

See you soon.

To the other E

found via weheartit

'i love,' my friend said, 'to see ships sailing out toward the horizon on the bay.' from the ferry building she could probably see the boats growing smaller and smaller as they were pushed out to sea. she said: 'it makes me sad to see them sailing back in. i want to say, you have a boat! go see the world!'

i, being an inlander, didn't share the sentiment.
i remembered the time i went snorkeling
with my family off of Sugar Beach,
and remembered also that when i stepped into the boat
i was immediately seasick. the floor was solid under my bare feet,
but it rolled and dipped and tugged me in opposite directions,
and when the boat hit the shore i threw up over the side.
man overboard.
an airplane would be a better way to see the world, i decided.
at least the cabin would be pressurized.

to her, i said, 'well they can't sail forever.'

to which she said nothing. to which i said nothing.

to which she said, 'i'm wearing my purple boots, you know, the ones i wore the last time we got indian food.' in the city, before a concert. it was a book club outing. it may have been the last time i wore my purple sneakers. which reminded me that we were living in the moment. we are trying to live in the moment, anyway.

so what we did was this:
last weekend we took a trip south.
it was warmer there, and muggier there,
and the music was just as good as it was up north.
we 'tripped down the 405 with the sunroof cracked open,
and we let our hair down
and composed a rock musical
and ate fast food
and felt good about most things
and felt just all right about others.

coming home was a good feeling. it was not the greatest feeling. afterward we made plans to live in another moment in the near future. maybe one day we will see the world for ourselves on a boat (not likely) or an airplane (more likely) or in a car (please). but for now we're playing

the
waiting
game.

i got your card today, i said. it made me smile.

It doesn't mean you're loaded.

found on flickr via weheartit
My life right now is just working working working, trying to earn enough money to keep me in lattes and Vans sneakers for the whole school year.

I'm not really a morning person, but lately mornings are my favorite time of day. Driving up 101 N is just bumper-to-bumper traffic with a few random sections of clear freeway. There are always clouds hanging over 101 in the mornings and it's usually chilly, which usually reminds me of my life four years ago, when my only summer job was playing horseback riding camp instructor to eight and nine year olds for a few weeks every summer. I'm terrible with kids, less so with horses, and I can handle adults as long as they aren't screaming in my face (it happens more than you'd think with kids and summer camps). When I'm driving to work sometimes I think about how I'd rather be riding, or graining school horses before the sun comes up, or slogging through mud in the pasture at the bottom of the hill, or even wrangling small children and leading them around a big, empty arena for an hour like that's some kind of quality lesson time.

I'd rather be riding. I'd rather be somewhere else. I'd rather have something to look forward to. I'd rather run away from everything the real world represents, including but not limited to: responsibility, availability, flexibility, dependability, ability. The ability to live. Living. I'd rather not be.

That's what the license plate frame should say, anyway.