dear john snell
March 10, 2009
i got the bad news this morning. i was on the freeway driving to work, and as i reached to check last night’s messages, i could almost hear you scold me. (“are you driving? why are you on the phone while you’re driving? get off the phone!”)
melissa’s voice came on. she said you weren’t feeling well. you caught an infection and checked into the hospital. things were ok at first. but then they weren’t. then it all turned and you were put in ICU in critical condition. i didn’t know whether to hang up mid-way or wait until the end. to delete or save. delete or save. i kept thinking i needed to get off the phone so i wouldn’t annoy you. a thousand ants raced through my chest, my face caught fire and before i knew it, my cheeks were wet, my fresh mascara smeared everywhere.
i felt bad, john snell. if felt bad because i owe you big time. those last six months in portland, when God tested my will and patience, it was you and my mom that kept me hanging on. your rock-solid hope and all those girlie home decor and reality tv shows you’d burn on dvds for me. (sorry i always chose kimora: life in the fab lane over your old kung fu movies.) your e-mail forwards — of puppy dogs and evil clowns and random, obscure shenanigans only you know how to find in cyberspace. pointless stuff most would cast aside as junk. but each time i opened them, i smiled and felt better.
i don’t posses your wit or wisdom, john snell, but i’m praying for you. so is my mom and my grandma. i promise those two alone should get you far. they go to church a lot and pray the entire rosary every night. and tonight, guess who they will dedicate each ave maria to?
self-portrait # 4: shadows
March 9, 2009
* photo: chihuahua, mexico. february 2007.
frosting overdose
March 8, 2009
at dezi baby’s big birthday bash in san marcos. chocolate and vanilla cupcakes, homemade carrot cake, pink cotton candy and a little mermaid piñata stuffed with so much sweet and tarty candy, even liz’s dad dove in belly first toward the floor.
daylight savings
March 7, 2009
and you know what that means. spring time. summer time. and more sunshine. rays of light delivered by the truck loads from now until christmas. perfect afternoons to catch up on napping. i gave into a four-hour siesta today after the long drive home from san diego. curled up under the blanket, sunk my head into the pillow and awoke to total darkness, so satisfied and guilty, it’s a sin.
become big
March 6, 2009
and write with the whole world in your arms.
-- natalie goldberg
up above
March 5, 2009
10,000 feet in the air.
that steve
March 4, 2009
he’s one of those special people with those special people auras. you know. the kind that even from a distance, you stop and think, wow. i’m really glad i know this guy.
he’s a writer’s writer. funny and humble with gentle eyes. he walks around saying thoughtful things to people like, “your writing is like verse that just spills out of you, raw and pure and true — found poetry.”
oh santa barbara
March 2, 2009
the world should write you a song. something that rhymes with happy and breeze and root beer floats and fiery sundowns that last and last. i want to build a big glass house atop your highest dune, nap for a year, then run on the beach until my hair gets knotty and my feet fall off.
her sister
March 1, 2009
she slept so much, she had us racing to her crib three times a day to check if she had died. but watermelon. she was different. she cried and cried from the moment she was born. kicked and screamed and punched, rolled on the floor and yanked on her momma’s pants until she got what she wanted. and she still does. except now, it’s her against the world. all grown up, all fire.
