dont blame it on the moonlight...

Oh I'm never speaking up again
Starting now...

One more thing
Why is it my fault?
So maybe I try to hard
But it's all because of this desire
I just wanna be liked
I just wanna be funny
Looks like the jokes on me
So call me captain backfire...

j.m.

truth. my favorite thing about you is your ability to sit there and look me in the eye and tell me the truth straight out regardless of the way it might make me feel, or anyone for that matter.

you tell it like it is, no bull. no icing, no pretty decorations to jazz it up.

straightforward. bam. in your face.

thank you for your blatant honesty. although it might not always feel good, in the end it is always the best thing.

and i think we could all use a little more of that sometimes.

because one can never have too much of a good thing.

glowing embers lit their faces, as a wild bird sang along with his soft melodic voice.

bellies full of everyone's favorite food, the s'more, when he's finished all sit in awe and silence, listening to the fire crackle, enjoying its rustic feeling and warmth.


there is something magical about the way a fire makes ones eyes dance.

goodnight my loves, sleep well.

kiss as if you were never again going to see the light of day.


and don't wait to long to tell anyone how you feel. the longer you wait the more it hurts.

unexpected visitors can always make a day.

drop by.

i missed everyone. glad to be home.

love always,

katie

ps. super tired, can you tell?

Sometimes I like to watch her painting. Her hands are rough and old, but what she creates with her brushes or pencils or pastels is often young, and bright, and beautiful, so to me her old cracked hands are beautiful and full of creativity and life. She always becomes so enveloped in her painting. The expression she wears is one of concentration, and often frustration, as the colors in her minds eye are not just right. She is a perfectionist, not with keeping her house clean, or being on time to every event or meeting or organization that she belongs to. But she is a perfectionist in her artwork.

Looking at my mother I do not envision an artist. She has gray hair, and her father’s eyes, and big rough hands. She is not the picture of a chic new young artist. She is a mother. My mother.

But to watch her paint or draw, her hands transform, and her eyes become excited, and sparkle as she examines every aspect of the piece in front of her.

Sometimes when I sit down to draw something for school, or just for fun I see my mothers hands in my own. I am no artist. I do not have her eye for perfection and color. Sometimes I wish that I had my mother’s patience, to sit and paint, or sit and draw and create something beautiful like she so often does.

And then I realize, I do have that patience. I got that from her.

I do have her patience. I might not have her eyes, or her hands, but her patience I have. But we both have the same trying, staying patience for our passions.


She has her paintbrush. And I have my ponies.

Thank you, your patience means more to me than you could ever imagine…

today is a pj day because i am very sleepy.

there is a lot of work to do for this week, and unfortunately i feel no motivation to do it.

i wish that this was not a sunday. i dread mondays, especially this one. i want to have more time to think, more time to do all of the things that i want to do.

Things that I should have done.

And I want to smell again, because my stupid nose is all stuffy, and I cannot smell the beautiful lilacs that are blooming outside my house, or the fresh cut grass from next-door. and that makes me sad.

so today is a pj day, because i am very sleepy, and i really don't feel like doing all that much, so hey, what can you do.

but, if you get a chance, go out and smell some flowers for me. i will appreciate it.

she sits alone in the empty house, wondering how she got herself into this mess, and if there is even a way out. she is in too deep and there is nowhere to go. being lonely is not fun, being sad is even worse, realizing you are coming to hate what used to be your favorite thing in the world is the rock bottom worst.

why does she fight? why does it hurt every time she gets angry? why does she get angry? Why cant she stand up for herself?

she sits alone, and in the silence and stillness of the empty house she cries, she cries because alone no one can see her, and ask her what is wrong, which makes her lonely. but at the same time she is thankful for the emptiness that hurts her, because she doesnt know exactly what is wrong anyways, and if someone was there to try and comfort her, the crying would just be worse.

How do you go about fixing something like this? this mess, it seems is more than she can handle.

sometimes...

driving alongside a slow moving train following a car full of smiling people, people full of love, i realized how damn lucky i was. actually, there really was no realization of my luck, i already knew it, but driving alone beside the slow moving train i could really think about it.

she turns around at a stop light and waves excitedly, like she is looking at a famous rock star or something, and then blows me a kiss and laughs at herself, and then again at me when i blow a kiss back. and then she leans up front and kisses the boy that she calls her own. he is cute, and funny, and i am so incredibly happy for her, because she deserves someone that is cute and funny, and is capable of loving her for everything that she is.

at the next stop light, i see my other dear friend singing her little heart out, sorry not little, huge heart out. i laugh, thinking how out of key it probably sounds (Because we both cant sing), and smile because the boy sitting next to her has an amazing voice, and the fact that she is not shy to sing in front of him makes me happy. the little car is shaking, because now they are all dancing, and it seems that the car is dancing too.

it is late, and i shouldnt be driving, so she drives slow so i wont get pulled over. i can see it is difficult for her because she keeps slowing down and then picking up speed.

i look at the car again, and i see every now and then she looks in her rear view mirror to make sure i am there. and i smile to myself thinking how lucky i am.

we go home and break out the home videos. i decide that my dancing skills were about along the same lines as hers, and unfortunately that is nothing to be proud of.

she falls asleep in his arms and we decide to go upstairs and let them be, because such a peaceful sleep never looked more deserved.

the next morning i wake up early and listen to the sounds that the house makes. the window is open and i can hear the birds outside. the door keeps blowing open and shut in the wind. the cat jumps on the bed, and i realize that i never liked cats really till i met yours. he is shy and quiet, and the fact that he likes me makes me happy. your dad is awake in the other room and is restless because he cant go downstairs for fear he might wake them sleeping on the couch. your mother talks to herself in her sleep, and every now and then i can hear her mutter something. the cat is laying next to my head and is purring loudly, i fall asleep again until she comes in to say goodbye.

later i open my eyes confused, because i had fallen asleep again, it all seemed to be a dream to me. i have to leave because it is mothers day and i promised to cook my mom breakfast in bed.

your mom is gone and that makes me sad, i wanted to say happy mothers day, so i leave a homemade card instead.

as i drive home, the smell of the flowers you bought for my mom (because she is your mom too) fills the cab of my little truck. it is gloomy outside and cold, but i am warm, because i am thinking of last night, and this morning, and just how lucky i am to be alive and have the friends i do. its not even that we did anything all that special either. just good fun, a late night dinner, laughs, and even more at the home videos. but it makes me happy because i loved every moment of it.

the luckiest girl in the world, the one with 2 moms, 2 dads, 2 sisters, and 2 brothers.

and there is no such thing as too much love, so never believe anyone who ever tries to tell you there is such a thing as too much love, because it just isnt possible.

i'm in a hurry to get things done,
oh i, rush and rush until life's no fun,
when all i really gotta do is live in a die,
but im in a hurry and i don't know why.

a damaged tulip still smells beautiful, even after some petals have fallen off, and the stem is crushed. and she carries it around in her book, smelling its sweet tropical fragrance when she feels sad or when she feels empty.

a broken tulip still smells as sweet and fresh as before it was crushed, just as a broken heart continues to beat even after broken. and the continued sweet scent and beating signifies there is no end. life goes on, good-bye is never forever, in fact good-bye is not even good-bye. it is simply another reason to say hello again later.

"this is not goodbye she said, it is just time for me to rest my head."

dressing up, and having my hair done makes me feel special. seeing all of the gowns and tuxedos and top hats and gloves makes me so giddy that i want to smile until my mouth hurts, and giggle until i have to stop for breath. seeing everyone look so sophisticated, and beautiful is an experience unto itself. the soft lights, and the dance floor always top it off.

and then late night walks to the neighbor's (a freaking mile away) under the bright moonlight, movies till 3 am. and a wonderful breakfast at parkers to top it off.

new friends, great times with some old ones, and memories that will last a lifetime.

stand by me.