musings of a melancholic

Reader's Choice List, Book Contest Winners, and a Ninny

2012-01-27T13:46:00.000-08:00

Well don't I just feel like a ninny. I must apologize! You see, gracious reader, I forgot to post the winner of my book giveaway from January 9. So many strange things are happening to my brain with this pregnancy - for instance, I LOST my workbadge. You shrug, but I tell you, I very rarely lose important things like keys and badges (lens caps are another story). I have this strange visual memory that burns into my brain the items as they lay around the house. Please accept my apology if you were biting your nails in anticipation of winning a free book of your choice, although I doubt you were.

Without further ado, I would like to announce that:
EMMY D is the winner of this contest. Emmy, shoot me an email!

In addition, I've compiled a list of recommended books from my readers.

Shoot me an email if you would like to receive this list via excel or pdf.

Happy Friday, whatever the state of your precious heart,

Thoughts on a First Trimester

2012-01-26T06:00:00.000-08:00

Dearest Baby Star:

I wear a reminder of you around my neck. A necklace given me by your Aunt Teresa, who has shared every intimate path of this journey with your mother so far. We have nicknamed you thusly because we had a bit of a scare around 5 weeks when I decided dancing at a holiday party was a good idea. If I danced as a normal person, things would have been fine, but I rigorously bounced you around until you decided to let me know you didn't like it. After a weekend of bed-rest to restabilize you, I began to muse about how you were not unlike the gas balls in the night sky I pondered, atoms forming in their ostentatious "something from nothing" way. Auntie me some Bowie lyrics, "Look out your window, I can see his light. If we can sparkle, he may land tonight," and as I pondered you as a star looking down upon me and safely waiting to descend, it comforted me endlessly. We've called you this ever since. I think of your essence, your spirit and soul forming in that safe, vast, expanse inside me.

We've spent 3 months together already, and I can hardly fathom it. I hoped the weeks would pass quickly, as each meant you were statistically safer and safer. These first weeks of pregnancy have been very hard, much of what I hung my identity upon was stripped from me in the name of nausea, fatigue, and paralyzing introversion. Much of how I imagined finding out I was pregnant and telling people was so entirely different from what transpired, and within this truism I stumbled upon the first lesson of motherhood. You will find that your mother loves to prepare herself as much as possible, but life is anything but predictable and we must allow ourselves the reality of now, its true pleasures and pains, instead of insisting on shoulds and would-haves. I believe you will continue to be the teacher in this regard, and I humbly accept and anticipate any lessons the universe bequeaths me through you.

However, much like you are apparently swimming somersaults inside of me, I am also beginning to awaken and uncover excitement at the prospect of meeting you! Instead of praying for the time to pass, instead of hoping to survive each day without nausea or a migraine, instead of the relational anxiety and attention involved in being pregnant, instead of the dread of birth and parental fears, I have brain power to now consider the important things - such as the soundtrack of your development. Your father will be instrumental in that. I am able to apply more thought to healthy eating instead of just what will stay with me, and trying to establish a way for me to move more so that labor is easier for us both. I've begun to think about my birth expectations and plan, already realizing that many people have opinions about such things. I've been learning to self-assert, to assure myself and others that the only thing good for you is what Joel and I decide upon.

I've taken to examining my body for any signs of growth, but still - despite small changes, you remain hidden. However, it is becoming increasingly difficult to suck in my stomach and I am rapidly outgrowing my shamefully large denim collection. I now steal your father's big sweaters and wander around the house ensconced in his smell, his comfort, and his goodness - which you will marvel at for all of your years. We are so lucky, you and I.

I've refused to give up my nightly ritual of baths (as Western doctors suggest), but am careful to take my temperature before and after; I hope you are enjoying them also. I am forever snacking during these bathings. Last week it was a bean and cheese burrito. In the beginning, it was either saltines or sourdough toast with butter and my homemade raspberry jam. Sometimes I swear my belly pokes the water's surface, but I feel I must be imagining things. I still get a bit fatigued standing in the shower and must sit for several minutes as the drops pour down my back. I meditate on the nature of water and wonder if you will inherit my soul's longing for the ocean or your father's love affair with forested mountain peaks. Where on this beautiful planet will you feel your eternal nature speak to you? For precious borrowed time, I will whisper it in your ear until you can discover it yourself, in solitude, in your father's science and music, and in the words of your mother's poets, and in David Bowie.

Be at peace, Baby Star.

Your Mum

Musings of a Mum: 12 weeks

2012-01-23T00:00:00.000-08:00

Baby Star,
This week your father and I watched the Star Wars trilogy for the bazillionth time. He exclaimed that no child of his would be without a taunton sleeping bag, which we promptly put on your wishlist. Do you want anything else?
We been watching my belly like hawks, and I have recently been unable to retract it with strong inhalations of breath.
It was such a quiet week. It snowed and snowed, but we had one afternoon of sunlight. You and I wandered around the house in shivers, nursing hot cups of decaf chai tea. You may have been concerned at the tears I shed one lonely evening, but dearest - that was just "Jane Eyre." Can you cry yet? You will love it. Nothing in the world feels better. This week, a few friends have been cast down, much put upon by the universe. You and I have spent many moments loving them with our thoughts. Have you noticed? I imagine compassion coursing through your DNA, developing your love of humankind.
Your pop and I waver between moments of the full reality of you and the sameness of our everyday lives going on just as before. Apparently, you are flipping all about inside of me and have your gender, but I can't feel a thing and have no hunch as to if you are a lovely little lady or a debonair little man. Most of what I feel is cravings for donuts and bean burritos - you've got great taste, kid.
Today, I wandered around a used bookstore looking for books for your cousin Clara and wondered what you might like to read about. Will you be curious about ladybugs or more fascinated by dinosaurs?
I am ever so curious about you. Is there a book I can read all about you, my firstborn? I hope you're a handful, because our hands are expanding in readiness daily. You will never reach the end of our adoration of you.
~The Voice

Musings of a Scientist:
Dear thing, you were made with love and science. You have a great battle ahead of you for your freedom, waging war upon my wife's cervix. Keep calm and carry on.
~The Genetic Donor

I have borrowed this concept from the lovely Emily, who has graciously permitted me to steal her idea. Her small notes to her child moved me throughout her entire pregnancy and I wanted to share my intimate moments aloud as well, for in doing so, they become real.

Sick of snow photos yet?

2012-01-21T12:46:00.000-08:00

It's finally melting and we can all get back to our boring old lives.

Happy Saturday to you, weather permitting.

Snowpocolypse 2012

2012-01-19T12:32:00.000-08:00

Look at these two opposite-sized pooches! It must be chaos in that house.

Such a magnificent tree and sad pooch waiting for its coffee-saturated master.

Here I am with my 11.5 week old fetus. Note the last button of my coat is in protest. Sigh. So it begins.

When conditions become this extreme, I always seem to think of times in history when electricity, grocery stores, insulated houses, and the internet were not a part of life. I wonder what manner of women I would be faced with those hardships? I'm sure, as with most evolutionary processes, I would adapt and thrive in the environment afforded me, but man - I should would miss perusing thinkgeek for nerdy kid's stuff to put on the baby registry. Instead, I would have to go churn butter or chop wood. Now I know several ladies who seem to still have that pioneer woman spirit in them, but I think that was bred out of me in my easy-living, automobile-centric, fast-food loving, Southern California childhood. But hey, not all is lost. I certainly know my way around a computer, can manage my time like a professional planner, and have a god-given penchant for eye-makeup. It's the 21st century Pioneer-ess. That's me.

One more thing. I had my 80mm lens on the camera for a while (easier to take pictures of family for holidays), and it completely uninspired me to pick up my camera. I recently changed it to the 50mm, and now I am itching to use it more and more. Now all is well.

Come again soon,

A snowy weekend in January

2012-01-17T11:03:00.000-08:00

After feeling ever-so triumphant on Saturday morning (I was able to purchase two tickets to Radiohead just before they were entirely sold out!), I decided to make Morning Glory muffins. We sat to our light breakfast, which is 3rd breakfast for me since I have to eat so very frequently to ward off nausea), lighted a candle and watched the snow make its gentle way into our good graces.

A few days ago, I found myself smelling the air for snow, hoping we would get a chance to feel the power of winter in these sea-temperate lands. When it began to fall, I noticed how much it changed my mood. I began to feel the aching restlessness leave my bones to be replaced by a silence and calm.

We then set off to find my long-legged lubbok a few pair of jeans, after which we ended up in a pub for some food. I discovered non-alcoholic beer, which is no great discovery at all. However, it really made me feel more festive and less left out. I've been so completely bored as a pregnant person, and since I am also so tired, my social energy is tapped. Plus, I cannot drink which means everyone totally annoys me. Have you ever been the sober one at a party full of nonsobers? I advise you to avoid it at all costs. People really are such a nuisance and I become ever-so cross and impatient with them. Therefore, social mingling hasn't been my cup of tea.

In order to break the pattern of watching television because both Joel and I have been so exhausted of late (he with work, me with gestating), we decided to play a game by the fire on Saturday night.

He taught me to play Risk and them promptly lost. Poor fellow.

Sunday morning we hastily clothed ourselves in order to take a long walk in the snow that had fallen overnight. We went to breakfast and then popped into the most quaint little children's bookstore.

We came home and nourished ourselves with coffee and pastries and sat down to a quiet house to begin my Sunday morning letter-writing. The rest of the day was spent in a wonderful household business. I've not been able to keep up house for weeks now, and I feel myself waking up from a deep sleep. I am able to carry laundry from one end of the house to the other! I can stand for 15 minutes to cook! It's all very glorious, and I took advantage of it on that cozy Sunday afternoon.

More snow is expected to dump tonight and tomorrow. I am not sad.

Thank you to those of you who entered my book contest. I've decided to extend it by a week because I want MORE of what you read this year - even if it's cookbooks or books on knitting. Go here to enter!

New Year's Resolutions 2012

2012-01-14T06:00:00.000-08:00

I am happy to say that I completed 11/17 resolutions for 2011. I may have been a bit ambitious with "visit every used bookstore in Seattle" (I made it to one), and it's a little hard to gauge goals such as "Be kinder to self." But in the "go dancing" and "write a book of poems" category, CHECK!

I would also like to take a moment to thank my fetus and 6 weeks of nausea for helping enforce the "drink less" goal.

So 2012 will naturally be enough of a challenge on its own as I carry and birth my first child, but I am still a lover of specific lists with much thought poured into them, so I've narrowed down a few items I would love to see come to fruition this year:

I am especially looking forward to the second goal of using my Sunday mornings to read and write letters. I have become terribly lazy in the last few months, writing maybe 1 letter in that time. I really miss it and owe my dear friends several letters back! I know myself better when I write, be it journaling or letters, and I feel a bit out of touch with my best friends: words.

Regarding the goal "Live with Less," I'd like to explain what I mean. I recently heard an NPR segment on a book entitled, "My American Unhappiness." The author spoke poignantly about how American's live in a culture of excess and yet are some of the most unhappy humans on the planet. When we want to fix something in our lives, we tend to think of adding things (i.e. exercise more, invest more, buy a new car, have a baby) and rarely do we consider that what we really need to do is redefine our standard of happiness. He said the phrase, "Americans need to learn to live with less." This idea has stayed with me ever since, and I've questioned how I myself could live with less. I am still not sure, but I am thinking that it will come to play when buying the necessary baby things (I think people really tend to go overboard in that arena), but also when it comes to clothes, entitlement about produce (I've been know to be frustrated that I can't find a ripe strawberry in the dead of winter), portion sizes while eating. I am still really playing with the idea, and am still not entirely sure what it means practically. What do you think of?

When I asked Joel what his resolutions were, he said, "Make sausage."

I do hope your year is off to a good start.

on the evolution of self

2012-01-12T14:06:00.000-08:00

Last week during one of many recent migraines, I sat to meditate. Using a mental picture I borrowed and morphed from Kelly, I place myself in an octagonal shaped room with 8 doors. The room is filled with my thoughts, concerns, and other mental chatter. One by one, I pick a thought, address it, and place it behind one of the doors and lock it. Eventually, I am left with only an empty room and my deep breathing.

This particular session I noticed that each and every thought I seemed to address had something to do with pregnancy. This combined with the hibernation and isolation that comes with the first trimester of pregnancy had me suddenly feeling suspicious of myself. "Oh no! You are going to become a one-note mother that has no life or identity outside of her children!" I have spent so many years working on knowing myself, doing the psychological and spiritual work that my soul deemed necessary before procreation was possible. I was NOT (hear me say this!) working on extracting vice from myself pre-parenting so that I wouldn't fuck up my kids. That was never my goal, and by the way, I think it's nigh impossible NOT to fuck up your children in some regard. I am not aiming for personal perfection. Instead, I wanted to understand myself better and better. So I've done all this work to make sure I have a strong sense of self and now, at the prospect of pregnancy, child-birth, and child-rearing, I have no other thoughts?

Joel and I waited 9 years to have children, and it will be closer to 10 by the time this little sucker pops out. My fears have all been addressed, and I doubt you will find a couple who has done more tenacious emotional work before becoming parents. Sure, we have very minimal amount in savings, owe on credit, and don't own a house...but these things were never important to me. Financial security comes and goes, it is emotional security that a child really needs and what we have spent our time investing in.

What scared me about this particular mediation's revelation was that I had seemingly ALREADY lost myself. I didn't care to write or journal or nest or so much of anything else I loved. Note: this was LARGELY due to the fact that I could barely move with fatigue and nausea. But now that I am coming out of those symptoms (I hope!), I wonder what of my old hobbies and purposes will be recovered or if they will pale in comparison to the crazy thing happening inside of me, and here's the real question:

Should I let it?

Why do we want to hold on to previous versions of ourselves? Is it because it's what we know? Is it fear that keeps us from accepting personal evolution? I had determined to never lose myself when I became mother, but in the end, how many of us actually get to decide who we become? Becoming a mother means a new evolution of Candace, and while she will certainly retain the core of herself, new things will birth. Will I let myself be? Or will I censure myself for becoming something I used to despise?

I've said on this blog several times that we are 10 different humans in any one lifetime. While I have plenty of aspirations as to the mother I want to be, what I am beginning to realize is that it's never helpful to the soul to be suspicious of oneself, and that the best kind of mother I can be is one that can let go of ideals and learn to accept what the universe hands her...even if it's a terry-cloth jogging suit worn in public. God help us.

2011 in Books and a Contest!

2012-01-09T11:51:00.000-08:00

I like to take a few minutes to look back over the books that ushered me through the year. In addition, I am curious what books captured your attention and why. Last year, I put together a list of your recommended reading and shared it here on the blog, and I'd love to do the same this year. I'll start:

The Marriage Plot by Jeffery Eugendies. Read December 2010.
To Have and Have Not by Ernest Hemingway. Read October 2010.
Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson. Read October 2010.
The Paris Wife by Paula McLain. Read September 2010.
A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway. Read September 2010.
Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot. Read August 2010.
The Wasteland and other Poems by T.S. Eliot. Began January 2010 - still reading.
The Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold by Matthew Arnold. Read July 2010.
Birthday Letters by Ted Hughes. Began January 2010 - still reading.
Villette by Charlotte Bronte. August 2010.
The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway. March 2010.
The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. January 2010.

You can read my reviews and recommendations by clicking on any of the titles. However, if you are looking for the quick fix of what I would recommend:

For a cerebral but satisfying read: The Marriage Plot and The Sun Also Rises
For that easy summer page-turner: The Paris Wife and The Poisonwood Bible (PB is also important literature, so you don't have to hide it behind your beach bag like you would (SHOULD) with The Paris Wife.
I've found that those with only small tidbits of time to read can benefit from poetry. Any of the ones listed above would do the trick!
For the fascinating, beautiful, and off-beat read: Autobiography of Red

Please do leave a comment sharing your reads/recommendations, and I will send one random winner a copy of any book of their choosing under $20. Contest ends Sunday, January 15 at Midnight.

I will then compose a list of these recommendations and post it on the blog for all to see.

"So many books, so little time"

Frank Zappa

2011 Year in Pictures

2012-01-01T09:30:00.000-08:00

Year in Pictures 2011 from candace morris on Vimeo.

Did you watch the whole thing?! ;)

Happy New Year, darlings.

The 2011 Soundtrack

2011-12-31T12:02:00.000-08:00

The albums that carried my soul through this year, in order of appearance:

It's been a very electronic year for us. I wore myself out on indie/folk last year, and have been comforted by the solitary sounds of synth and motherboard. However, if you've not gravitated towards this type of music, do know that it's not all dance/techno (most of which I despise). All of this music is very Depeche Mode inspired, albeit a bit less serious.

Empire of the Sun

Walking on a Dream

This album is just good, clean fun. It will make you feel so very good. Yet another Australian band!

Macintosh Braun

The Sound

Joel brought this one home and started playing it. While I didn't appreciate his immature lyrics, I began to resonate deeply with his themes: a willing loss of control, such determined hope, and damn good mixing! This album held me close through a very rough summer and fall wherein my soul insisted on challenging my marriage and encouraged me to release my rigid notions of romantic love, as well as coaxing me into the transition of realizing we wanted to start trying for a baby. Such a deeply spiritual and beautiful album.

Chad Valley

Equatorial Ultravox

I am quite proud of this one, because I heard it on KEXP and texted Joel to listen. We fell in love with it, especially the first song, Now That I'm Real. It's EPIC. My one criticism is that the entire album isn't remarkable, only two, maybe three songs.

Craft Spells

Idle Labor

Another KEXP find, this album was on INTENSE repeat for an embarrassingly long amount of time. THE.ENTIRE.THING. It is swooingling romantic, intensely sad in its glorious pop-style, and boasts such a filling sound. It's definitely a summer fling. If you ever loved the Pet Shop Boys or ABC, you'd love this album.

Beach House
(super hard to see the album art, but it's there)

Teen Dream

There is nothing like the sound this sister/brother duo puts out. So calming, distant, and moving. It is an album to paint to, to drive to, to make-out to, to drink to. Equally sad and hopeful, it's the perfect soundtrack to a 30-something life.

Bjork

Vespertine

I revisited my love for Bjork right around July/September. The themes of releasing control (notice a pattern anyone?!) and abandon to the realities of life continue to speak to me, 10 years later. There is no one like Bjork, nor will there ever be.

Active Child

You Are All I See

I rarely love an album immediately. From the instant we played it, we both became immediate fans, obsessed and infatuated. Joel was able to see him play (a total surprise to him) when he opened for M83 in Atlanta. With his professional harpist skills, this is one of the most hauntingly melancholy albums I've ever loved. It's musical perfection.

The New Division

Shadows

I think I saved the last for my favorite!

This album is only available for pre-order, but thanks to Spotify, we've been enjoying it non-stop since October. An homage to The Joy Division and New Order, this band sounds perfectly 80s with newly existential twists in lyric and theme. It gives me chills. As Joel says, it's one of those bands that's going to BLOW UP and you'll end up hating yourself for loving.

You can listen to any of these tracks on Spotify, which I highly encourage you to download if you haven't already.

And you? What has your 2011 Soundtrack done for you?

StarStuff

2011-12-29T22:26:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite gifts from Joel this year is this star projector lamp. It is hanging out with a vinyl copy of "The Music of Cosmos" that I bought him.

We are crushing on the universe this year.

“The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.” Carl Sagan, Cosmos

a small service announcement

2011-12-22T18:54:00.000-08:00

Greetings,
For those of you who purchased my book of poetry the last few weeks, I wanted to apologize for the delay. The proofs came and I was simply unhappy with the product. I have resubmitted the order with my fixes and expect to receive the books by January 15, at which time I will send them right off to you!

For those of you didn't snatch one up, I have 12 books left for purchasing. See button on sidebar to the right.

Thank you for your patience and support of this lady.

on quiet and joy

2011-12-21T13:48:00.000-08:00

For one of the first times in my writing life, I have very little to say. It doesn't feel like a dry spell or block. Instead, I feel a heavy blanket of peace and quiet. Joel and I have spent our December evenings cuddling up with Christmas movies and video games, with gumption to do little else, to see no one. We have no real travel plans, I finished my shopping over a week ago, and aside from some baking and a few presents to wrap, there isn't any pressing matters. This holiday has almost zero stress. How did I accomplish this? I would love to put the prescription in a bottle and sell it to this harried country, but in the end, we are responsible for our own schedules. Let's face it - every one of us is exactly as busy as we want to be.

I've enjoyed a few conversations with far-away friends, but mainly feel like listening. My end remains quiet and contemplative, but nothing too deep or melancholy. The only real ache I have is for my sister and Clara, who kept this house bustling last Christmas.

In my home, it's dark aside from a vast array of holiday lights and very quiet save the cracks on the floor as the cat wanders by. I've not picked up my real camera in ages, and since publishing the book of poems (upon which I am still waiting due to a glitch in the first edition I simply had to send back), I've not lifted a pen and paper. I feel distracted and painfully private and for this Christmas, I am giving myself the gift of just letting it be so.

If you see little of me here, know I am well. Know that I am grinning like a child at Christmas lights and glorying in naps and puzzles.

Happiest of Holiday Seasons, revelers and religious alike.
There is much sharing to come, I need my rest.

Pre-Order Option Available

2011-12-08T22:29:00.001-08:00

A few of you have requested to pre-order this book.

Click on book or here to purchase.

There are 25 copies available, and you can expect to receive them no later than January 1. I will order more copies if necessary.

Thank you for your overwhelming support!

a thoroughly enjoyable experiment of the bookish kind

2011-12-06T23:12:00.001-08:00

For those of you who have had the pleasure (commence eye-roll) of conversing with me regarding modern fiction, you know I make no bones about reading classical literature versus the bestseller. For the most part, I've not felt any sense of loss to disassociate myself from certain adolescent bestsellers, as entertaining as they may be.

My decision was justified in 2007 when I decided to read The Road. Although I enjoyed the plot and theme (despite it being unoriginal - I can tell you 5 novels off the top of my head written pre-1980 that deal with the decaying nature of humanity vs the enduring nobility of same during apocalyptic/traumatic times), I was mortified by McCarthy's use of language and the strange occult following the novel produced. The trend irritated me to no end, and although now I can see McCarthy's mode, I still cannot say that my first experiment with reading anything published in the last 10 years was a rewarding one. I engaged in so many subsequent defensives on my hatred of the book that it became an entirely exhausting experiment.

I've endured many interpersonal changes in that same time span, and quite proudly say that I've learned to be less rigid, and have allowed myself to be less narrowly defined by standards I imposed upon myself during my sadly-lacking (in modern literature) Christian education. I still stand by my voice that modern fiction is sub-par in word choice and cadences as classical literature, but I've found a way for the modern voice to be just as important, inspiring, and informative to culture.

All of this to say that last month, I did something I've absolutely never done before. I went to a NEW bookstore in pursuit of a novel published weeks prior. I then proceeded to purchase this book for $30! (I've not spent more than $10 on a book in 10 years).

I have this dream about wandering into a bookstore and picking a novel based entirely on my mood, how much I want to shop, and the cover, applying the nonchalance I use to pick out a red wine (even if I limit myself to the Italian section these days).

I am not quite there yet. This recent trip to the store was still premeditated and I picked this book based on a "Fresh Air" interview with the author. But still, I am growing!

From the moment I started The Marriage Plot by Jeffery Eugenides (some of you may know him for his Pulitzer Prize winning, Middlesex), I not only absorbed each word like a precious Belgian truffle, but I was rather challenged with his vocabulary, and not just a little bit impressed with his skill as a writer. It helped that his heroine is a disillusioned English major and his two beaus are 1) a manic depressive and 2) a religious studies major. How could I resist three areas of my own personal interests?!

It feels so good to be a part of a self-experiment gone terribly right. I completely recommend the book.

it is finished

2011-11-28T22:42:00.001-08:00

For sale December 17, 2011.

Now that feels good,

the silence

2011-11-26T19:26:00.001-08:00

No, I am not speaking of the ominous villain in Doctor Who (I love you if you get that reference), but I am speaking of the strange periods of silence I've recently endured. Times in life where one desires no company other than a spouse, no conversation other than with beautiful films, and more sleep than most people dream of.

Perhaps this silence is due to my being sick for almost 9 days now. I've left the house only 3 times in that stint, and just when I thought I was getting better, I woke up this morning with what I can only guess is a different cold. How festive.

Despite feeling strange, solitary, and rather disabled, I've been enjoying the energy, the Feng Shui, of being in a house that has been lived in so well. I've cooked several amazing meals, had countless cups of tea, snuggled with Joel any old time I wanted, stewed cider, and baked an apple pie. I suppose I am saying that I am thankful for being ill in that it has demanded sleep and nourishing food and soul-giving solitude. I am thankful for a body.

Let me explain.

The Universe and I have been at odds lately. We've been in discussion about endings. I am fighting this impossible battle between the biological need to survive and the inevitable truth that we all die, and must. The human race will most likely be entirely wiped out in the next million years, with nothing to offer the cosmos or other lifeforms elsewhere (except The Voyager, Joel comforts me). Moreover, I suppose the real struggle is that I cannot control either. I wish I could be obsessed with beginnings, but instead I've been struggling so much with the fact that life ends. Just when bliss introduces herself to me with a jarring handshake, she slips through my fingers because I think of when it will end. I am trying to accept that this issue has been brought to me to examine and chew on, trying to see its essence instead of its shadow, but I have a distrust of the temporary.

Simply stated, I am trying to reconcile death with life, and it seems everyone has some sort of lovely answer for how they have arrived at their own particular version of peace. I suspect that most deal with it by ignoring it, or praying a lot, or distracting themselves with the busyness of life. I bring up this comparison to others because I believe our notions of personal happiness are based largely on how we see others living and what they chose to pour their precious lives into. I am clinically depressed, so it makes sense to me that I would wonder why everyone is so darn happy all the time, expressing how they find certain weather patterns, particular bowls of fruit, or long vacations nothing but entirely rewarding, afraid to express anything negative because of what that might mean, or what others might think. In the end, when we do not take the time to express all parts of life - the good and the bad, and express both with tact and love - I feel we are performing a great disservice to those in our care, who listen to us and glean inspiration from us. If we are only expressing good, those who feel badly about life will feel ashamed that they can't just feel good like so and so does all the time. This is a complete rabbit-trail, I might add. All of this to say that it often feels as though I am the only one thinking about the inevitable end of the Universe, and balancing the desperate desire to stay alive with the intellectual acceptance of death. Of course I'm not.

Back to feeling thankful for the human body I have.

Therefore, in the midst of this very confusing mental dialogue, I find it especially rewarding when I am made newly aware of the awe of the human body, decaying and fleeting though it be.

It costs me much, and I have more caveats than acceptance of the notion, but I again say to the cosmos and to you, I am thankful for this body.

Hope your Thanksgiving was meaningful, at the very least.

9 years

2011-11-23T08:30:00.000-08:00

At 6:00pm tonight, Joel and I will have been married for 9 years. When this union took place, the technology available to us wasn't able to produce a slide show that included both music and photos. As it happened, we pressed play simultaneously on both the pictures and the songs - how antiquated! Because I've wanted to redo the slideshow in modern format for record keeping, I've now made a movie of our wedding slide show. This was played at our reception, and I used all the same music and photos as I did then. It is a bit long, but if you chose to sit through all 11 minutes of it, please enjoy.

Also, feel free to count how many different colors my hair was. At age 18 - I dyed it dark brown. 19, 20 - blonde. 21-22, black. 23-24, some varying form of red with a blonde streak in front. The slideshow stops there, but have subsequently varied between blonde and dark brown ever since.

More importantly, I am looking forward to a decadent dinner out with Joel. We usually go away in January when things are less chaotic, but it is still important for us to commemorate the day. I am especially moved this year, after the tumult we've endured for the last while. This may be sacrilegious to some, but I do not consider the institution of marriage to be a good enough reason to stay together anymore. In the end, if you have to fall back on the haunches of a commitment made several version of yourself ago, I feel you aren't doing the psychological or soulful work necessary to keep intimacy, to keep alive. This may be the incredible naive of someone married for less than a decade, but the only reason I see to continue in this marriage is because I want to be with Joel, institution or not. We got married because of our desire to live life alongside each other, not because we needed some external and arbitrary rule to keep us bound if we no longer wanted to be. I don't know, perhaps I will be grateful for commitment in the years to come.

All I know is now. I think that's what I've learned these last 9 years.

I had to laugh when I realized that if we ever broke up, the first person I would walk to talk about it with would be none other than my Joel. I'm going to take that as a sign.

Candace and Joel Wedding Slide Show from candace morris on Vimeo.

Happy Anniversary, Joelio.

the healing properties of tea

2011-11-16T16:00:00.000-08:00

I love it when Jennifer and Olive come to visit. Since they moved back to California in April, much to the family's sadness, Jennifer and Olive have been able to get back up about once a month to ease our pain.

Not only do I love that Jennifer does the dishes when she's home (and a myriad of other chores we all hate but now have to do in her absence), but I love that after dinner, no matter the evening, almost all in attendance enjoy a cup of tea. I like to wander to Jean's china cabinet and chose a tea-cup from her lovely and eclectic collection. I daresay it's one of those small, profound pleasures that I live for.

Add one (or five) of Jean's pumpkin cookies, and you have one blissed out madame.

Last night, Miss Olive joined in the festivites.

What joy was mine,

Saturday's Allowances

2011-11-12T19:14:00.001-08:00

I have spent my day in the pleasant, beguiling company of my truest comrades - words. Speaking them, hearing them, researching them, scribbling them in and out of existence. Their demanding precision is killing me; which is the best possible death for a literati.

I have walked my day among the bloody, brazen graveyard of fall's foliage. I observe the decay and pull my cowl closer in smug confidence, resisting the ubiquitous temptation to capture the beauty with a camera. This time, I know there will be more colored leaves, more photographs, more pretties than I can imagine.

I know this isn't my last chance.

The flippant faith that there will be more seasons is the very definition of hope.
I am entitled to a little less intention, a small pour of taking it for granted.

These are the permissions afforded to me today.

on the up and up

2011-11-08T11:38:00.000-08:00

Wherever it is that Joel finds this unending source of love, to which he bestows upon me in such attentiveness, I must find. I must locate this resource in myself.

You've no doubt noticed me writing a lot about marital stretching, musing on the pains and pleasures of a maturing wife. I've made some sense of it, with the help of mental pictures and a patient therapist. Allow me to share.

For the last four years, I've been in a deconstruction phase. First, I found courage to take apart family and not be afraid of separating myself from what I found toxic. Then my soul directed itself to question all things religion, church, god and the Christianity in which I was raised. After god, it was taking apart myself in the form of my external beauties and internal artist. As if that weren't confusing enough, I then had to start honestly examining my marriage.

I began this process standing on solid high-rise, a weapon of destruction handed to me by the very things I doubted. Despite my best efforts to ignore the need to deconstruct everything I loved, I still I distrusted the stability; I needed to destroy it in order to test its substance. The fear of hurting others in this process with my flying debris, or that I wouldn't be able to put any of this chaos back together, paralyzed me for much of the process. I pushed through, but as usual, my soul didn't give me a choice. Its message has always been very clear: Engage or die.

There I am, standing on this structure, swinging a sledge-hammer, reluctantly. Finally, it's all torn down, all in crumbles. My face is streaked with dirt and tears, and I'm petrified, "What the hell have I done?" Boulders of what used to be my beliefs, my identity, and my relationships lie cast about in wild and painful destruction. I'm sitting on a boulder, observing all of this. I am so tempted to gear up and hastily put it all back together. But what if I didn't have to? What if they weren't mine to put together in the first place? What if I don't have anything to do with it, oh goodness. That thought sends thrilling relief through the spine of my soul.

Instead of the impulse to reconstruct something recognizable as Candace, I finger through the pebbles and dirt. What I am finding is gold nuggets of self and gems of goodness upon which this new me will no doubt be built. Some are remnants from my previous self, some are forged as a result of destruction.

I was drawing this visual of me sitting on a boulder in my journal last night. Joel returned from the store, and asked me to explain (it was hardly recognizable as my drawing abilities are laughable at best). In an effort to glean from his abilities, I asked him to please draw me sitting atop a boulder in a field of rocks and pebbles. He did so, but then the most beautiful thing accidentally happened. He continued with the drawing, sketching a tree, himself in it, overlooking the deconstruction of my soul, communicating with the cosmos in his cerebral way. He's so patient with the stars, the vastness of the universe. Of course he could be patient with the vastness of me. It's nothing to him. The addition of himself to this picture made me shed a few unnoticeable tears.

I had no guarantee that I would find him here, and I am tremendously relieved that we've been given more time to be together.

I admire him so,

Half an hour per day to keep the angst away

2011-11-03T18:46:00.000-07:00

There is so much to say, so much I don't want to see in writing, so much I want to birth. I'm beginning with 30-min a day until this poetry books gets finished. I love breaking down big projects into tiny little chew-able pieces, but it's not the scheduling that's the difficult part. It's all the questions I ask myself about the project that distract me from the purity of art I'm aiming for. Why am I doing this? Maybe it is as simple as needing an external deadline to truly push myself into the practice, which will push myself into the poet I know I am inside somewhere. Maybe it's because I want to have a sense of accomplishment, maybe I want to self-destruct, maybe I want to live for your approval.

These questions and much more
Soon to come.
The timer is set.

Welcome to 30-minutes a day.

trial separation

2011-11-02T14:23:00.000-07:00

Well thank the gods that little experiment is OVER! Joel arrived safely back into Seattle's brisk arms ever-so-early this morning. After 3 hours of sleep, he sauntered off to work this morning like the hard worker I fell in love with 10 years ago.

A few months ago, in an effort to rebalance our marriage a bit, we decided that Joel needs to start travelling more. I always go away, using our air miles and monies to visit friends and family. Last year, I lived with my sister in San Diego for 12 weeks. When people encountered me vacationing sans husband, they started in befuddlement "We are just really independent and enjoy missing each other," I would reassure them.

I was full of ignorance. Turns out, it's the one leaving that gets all the independence and freedom. When the tables turned and I was the one at home pining for Joel for the 15 days of his absence, shit got ugly. My brain messed with my being and it wasn't fun. Suddenly I found myself trying to be as social as possible, not wanting to journal or write for fear that delving into my brain without someone around to pull me out would result in something dark.

I've spent a lot of time thinking, hoping, and I daresay praying (more like a desperate pleading with the heavens) about my marriage. It was a time to write love-letters again. We are birthing into new people and though my questions about us do scare me, I am reminded that everyone has a story. We are past our introduction and heading uphill to the rising action. I'm totally fatigued, sweating, and barely recognize the path, but I am not alone and I know the denouement is ahead of us, for better or worse.

Dating: August 2001

Married: June 2011

"I don't know what the future holds but I am willing to walk into the darkness (or flames) holding your hand. I believe in you... and I believe in us. Our faith is the greatest church and our love is the most beautiful cathedral I have ever stood in." Joel Morris, October 30, 2011

Here's to knowing that we can never possibly know - and to my brute (his new nickname),

It was a graveyard smash...

2011-11-01T12:19:00.000-07:00

Hope yours was delightfully spoooky. Mine was a little get-together on Saturday night wherein I was not drunk enough to endure friend's singing Karaoke.

Oh, and I have to share these of my toddler nieces!

Smart Clara as a dalmation puppy, Teresa as Cruella DeVille.

Sweet Olive as a strawberry