Shh... be quiet

The waiting

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Sat, 11 Feb 2012 16:04:00 +0000

The waiting is the hardest part. Waiting for my temperature to rise. Waiting for another cycle. Waiting for the test results. Waiting for the Dr. to call. Waiting for the vitamins and drugs to work. Waiting to see if they help... Waiting. This is my life now. Every move I make now is in an effort to move myself out of this holding pattern. What I put in my body, what time I go to bed and wake in the morning, what effort I exert at the gym, what emotions I'm feeling (must keep stress at bay); every movement, every action is undertaken with the hope that it will lead me to conceive.

Maybe I'm a little too focused. I know I should let life happen as it will. I know I should stop thinking of it as "waiting." But it's difficult not to get caught up in the process and to become impatient. So I try remind myself to relax, to think life as it is happening now. But really, this is how my life is happening now. So I go to bed early. I wake up and take my temperature. I try to relax.

you take it on faith... you take it to the heart.

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 15:34:00 +0000

I often find myself searching for solutions, answers and even resolutions on the internet. If I want to know why the thermostat isn't working after replacing the batteries or what the number one song was the week I was born, I simply type my question into the search box and almost instantly I have a list of results to explore.

Trying to conceive is often like being on a roller coaster. There are highs and lows. The low points occur after another failed attempt and usually corresponds with fluctuations in hormones. The high points are filled with hope that maybe it will happen this time. The highs and lows can be frustrating and exhausting, so while I allow myself to feel the "lower" emotions I also try to remain positive. This is easier said than done, especially after faced with yet another happy "we're having a baby" announcement. This is wonderful news to hear and while I am always happy for the expecting party, I also find the news bittersweet and my emotions are always mixed with jealousy and guilt for not sharing in their complete joy... When this happened to me the other day. I decided that I must not be the first person in my situation who has felt this way. So I did a search on the internet, and sure enough it's a common feeling. So common that there is even a list of things to say and not to say for someone who is experiencing infertility. After a little more exploring I came across a blog called infertility awakening... This blog is so well written and every emotion is so exquisitely expressed, that after reading a few sentences I felt comforted and less alone. Finding these words was exactly the answer I was looking for.

Chinese herbs

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 15:01:00 +0000

"Clarity & nutmeg essential oils to help stiumulate the pituitary gland"

Yesterday I had my consultation for Chinese herbs. The practitioner gave me a lot of information concerning my diet and how it affects my health, as well as information regarding hormones. She poked around my stomach, shoulders and ribs and I smelled about twenty different oils until I found a combination that relaxed my shoulders and neck muscles the most. I left her office with a large bottle of prenatal vitamins, progesterone aiding supplements, a small bottle of customized oils, worksheets for basal body temperature tracking, instructions to vary my diet and the usual overwhelming sense of frustration and self pity for my broken body. I realize "broken body" may be taking it too far. I have an intolerance to gluten, a need to vary my diet and a sluggish immune system but overall I am healthy. Still, there is a gland the size of a pea buried at the base of my brain that isn't serving it's full purpose. The pituitary gland is responsible for regulating my bodies hormones. There is a hormone called the luteinizing hormone, that controls estrogen and is responsible for signaling to the ovaries that it's time to ovulate. At a certain point in my cycle my estrogen builds and I start to feel the symptoms of ovulation. What should happen next is called an "LH surge" where the pituitary gland signals a rush of luteinizing hormone, which then signals ovulation. For whatever reason there is a disconnect between my pituitary gland and my ovaries. In other words month after month my LH isn't surging, and like the fizzling out of the péripétie, I fail to ovulate. This new treatment plan is set up to do a few things. The vitamins will give me the folic acid I need, in addition to help my body process food and nutrients. The essential oils will help stimulate the pituitary gland... When I think about my body and its inner workings, I think of it as a vast ocean and below the surface are things happening that I can try to understand but never fully will. I can only touch the surface and trust those who have explored the depths. I want to know everything that is happening on the inside and I want to be able to fix whatever isn't working properly, but that isn't my area of expertise. I can only pay attention to the ebb and flow of my body, tend to subtle shifts and changes, rub oils on my neck, swallow the vitamins and supplements they give me and hope that the tides will turn and eventually they will turn into a new life.

Building blocks

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 15:40:00 +0000

Hello Shh... be quiet world. Life has been fairly quiet since my last post well over a year ago, with the exception of a few cymbal crashes, a trip home to visit my family (which is a story for later) and then the most notable of which was getting married. Though this event was less of a smashsmash life changing reverberating cymbal crash and more of a natural response to the movement of things. So here I am moving into the New Year surrounded by ways that nurture my well being and hopefully will assist my desire to further my being (in other words I would like to start a family). If I am being truthful here (and really it's never a matter of being truthful or not but more of a concern of how much of my inner workings I wish to divulge), I will confess that I've faced some challenges in my attempts at starting a family. I've seen Dr.'s and specialists that prescribed pills and expensive x-rays, but I've currently chosen a more holistic route. I've started acupuncture and while I can't say I've seen the results I'm hoping for as of yet, I still find the practice to be extremely relaxing and therapeutic. I think my next move will be to try Chinese herbs. I have a consultation with a practitioner/distributor and will go from there. So this is where I am right now. I'm hoping these building blocks will help me build something beautiful. More on the trip home later.

space

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 22:28:00 +0000

Soon I will say goodbye to my little "Emily Dickinson" apartment on the near east-side. This apartment, (which is actually the top floor of a two story house built in the 1930's with most of its orignal fixtures including pedestal sink, tub, brick red plastic tile lining the bathroom walls and silver radiators embellished with beautiful scroll designs) has served me well over the year I've been renting. Having moved here after my divorce, this was my first solo apartment in five years. I brought new books, boys and friends to my white walled cocoon, and now I'm getting ready to re-imagine my life in another space.

waking up at night

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 03:17:00 +0000

I walk up to the house. You stay behind on the sidewalk and watch as I approach the unshuttered window by the front door. It's dark and luckily there are no sensor lights to spotlight the stranger creeping across the lawn. The visible fish tank anchored in the hallway glows blue and gold. Shadows of tiny waves play on the adjacent wall. The fish glide and pause, jet and dive, performing for the window watcher. My back is turned to you. You shift the weight of your stance and yawn, silently observing the light from the window flaring faintly around my shoulders to the crown of my head.

...tbc

still

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 19:56:00 +0000

haze

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 19:45:00 +0000

That whole "journey" thing & painting

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Wed, 26 May 2010 21:22:00 +0000

The oppressive summer heat has returned; Which means I'm painting. Which is to say I'm delving deep into the dark crevices of my psyche. I'm no painter. I just like playing with colors. I'm not being humble here, just honest. I like to layer, but only because when I sit down to paint I have no idea what I'm going to come up with, I'm wandering through splotches of color. My greatest fear in painting is to paint something that looks like it should be hung in an office, hotel or sold at a second hand store (and I'm not talking about the bad stuff that's so awesome you have to have it). When I feel myself veering into this cringe worthy territory I do something drastic (like take my hand and swipe it over the wet paint, blurring it out with more color until I have a "new canvas.") I get more frustrated as I go along, and deeper I go into those dark places of fear and loathing. A friend recently told me something I've heard before. "It's not the destination, it's the journey." Most everyone is familiar with those small words of encouragement. It's a fitting reminder for any kind of discouraging situation, and I suppose it's true enough. But it made me think about my own journey, that big great and sometimes terrible life journey, which has been more of a state of senseless wandering and sporadic episodes of fitful progress or digression (the latter seems to be more of a common state for me). What I'm trying to say is that I have no idea what I'm doing most of the time, and when I reach this realization I panic and try to do something, anything to find peace of mind. Usually I'm able to convince myself that I'm "okay" and making the "right" decisions for my life...that my wandering is more of a stream of consciousness kind of approach to life rather than taking aimless strokes on a canvas with an increasingly thick layer of paint. These words of consolation have become less reassuring with age. Which reminds me, I'm running out of paint. Paint isn't cheap, at least not the kind I prefer to work (play) with. I am learning though, that if I let the layers dry between dabs and swipes I use less paint, the colors are more true and it's a little easier to navigate what I'm wandering through.

Spring fever: DKTM

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Tue, 27 Apr 2010 21:14:00 +0000

What I've been up to the past few months... Good turnout and everyone seemed to have a great time! Three things to note: No fowl was harmed in this race, the Yaris and its occupants did not get sent to jail for driving down to picnic point and back, and the lost canoe was found! Is everyone ready for the next race?

dontkillthemess.com

-dktm photos by JonAnne Hobbs(click photo for flickr set)

Alley Cat on the isthmus from ben reiser on Vimeo.

Bikers stray far in Madison alley cat
-By Victoria Statz
The Daily Cardinal
Published: Tuesday, April 27, 2010

"When crossing State Street, it’s generally a good idea to look both ways before stepping off the curb. This precaution holds true not only for buses, taxis and delivery trucks rumbling from Lake Street to the Capitol, but also for all of the bicyclists weaving between vehicles. Including the speed-hungry bike messengers and delivery riders who expertly maneuver around all obstacles.
Reverently hailed by those in need of a nimble delivery and oftentimes slightly despised by pedestrians and drivers alike, these bike jockeys throw caution to the wind in the name of speed. What most don’t know about these bikers are the jocular rivalries that exist between them, with the question of who can deliver the most the fastest at their root.

An “alley cat” is an opportunity for the speed- and shortcut-inclined to unite in a relatively friendly, yet rather competitive challenge of speed and strength. Akin to a race-paced scavenger hunt, these events draw many aggressive bikers, though others prefer to leisurely imbibe along the way, picking and choosing which checkpoints to stop at. These races are a way to bring the biking community together in a mock-up of a typical workday.

Madison hosted its largest alley cat yet Saturday, dubbed “Don’t Kill the Messenger,” with participants not only from the city itself, but also from other cities such as Chicago. In fact, the winner, Nico Deportago-Cabrera, is a member of the Chicago Cuttin’ Crew and the winner of the North American Cycle Courier Championship men’s race. For his pains he won a golden Aerospoke wheel. As for local contestants, Madisonian Manny Wagnitz of Scram Couriers earned himself a pair of Velocity Deep-V rims for his third place finish.

The event started at 7:45 p.m. in a misty Burrows Park with the distribution of manifests, checklists of tasks to be completed for points. The lists included various checkpoints, which participants biked to in order to gain points, as well as items that could be collected or completed for more points. About 60 riders braved the chilly, wet weather conditions and their myriad blinking bike lights could be seen racing throughout Madison’s streetscape.

The checkpoints sprawled around the city, from Picnic Point to Warner Park
At the infamous Bascom Hill, riders arrived at the Abe Lincoln statue and were given two options: bike downhill, over the pedestrian bridge, around the third level of Humanities and back up, or walk the same route minus the Humanities loop. For an extra point, participants could carry a gallon of water with them on their trip. Due to the slippery weather, many riders chose to walk, though some persevered to conquer Bascom by bike.

At Tenney Park, tennis court lights emanated like beacons for riders who came to try to score on a seasoned bike polo goaltender, in hopes of crossing off not only a stop on their manifests but also gaining a five-minute bonus.

Among other stops, participants could venture out to a windy Picnic Point bonfire, write four lines of love poetry at Espresso Royale’s lower location and “tip” cow-costumed humans. On the way, riders could carry cardboard boxes, pick up flags in a desolate cemetery, search for irreversibly ruined bike parts and tear envelopes off popular establishments for extra points toward their total. Once found, these items had to be carried on their person to the finish line, the Come Back In on Wilson Street. Upon arrival, riders handed in their wilted and water-stained manifests to be tallied.

The mood was jovial as they waited for announcement of the top scorers with beers in hand, exchanging stories and complaints of cramping muscles. As winners were announced, prizes distributed and proper congratulations made, the general disposition of the group didn’t waver much, as another gathering of Madison’s bike community and a few transplants ended."

Fullness

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 21:24:00 +0000

There is a fullness of all things,
even of sleep and love.
-Homer, The Iliad

Turtle power!

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 21:18:00 +0000

spotted... one red belly turtle. This little turtle caught my eye on the bike path. I moved him a little closer to the shore.

Bicycle

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 20:42:00 +0000

I've been neglecting my blog for a while. After surviving winter in the snow cave that is Madison, I've been sneaking quietly through spring. ...Maybe not that quietly. I purchased another bike when the winter slush still covered the ground. Meet my yellow fixed gear (Miyata 710). I've been taking it out for short jaunts around town now that the stage has been set for warmer weather, sprouts and blooms, and clear sidewalks occassionaly made slick by the rain. Speaking of rain... I am keeping my fingers crossed for fair weather on April 24th. But rain or shine the show will go on. You're probably wondering "what show?" Well friends, that would be the Alley Cat race Ra and I are hosting. Don't Kill the Messenger is going to be an event the Midwest will not soon forget.

plant life

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Fri, 09 Apr 2010 20:26:00 +0000

i brought home some plants today. plants to put in various pots on my balcony. i enjoy watching everyone flitting around colorful buds and blooms like hummingbirds deciding which flora to gather.

Old things

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Wed, 07 Apr 2010 21:20:00 +0000

The oldest living tree — which is also one of the oldest living beings — is thought to be a bristlecone pine, Pinus longaeva. It is certainly more than 4,600 years old, and by some reckonings, it celebrates its 4,842nd birthday this year. But however you count, when it was a sapling, the great pyramids of Giza had not yet been built. -nytimes.com

Pretty things

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Wed, 07 Apr 2010 15:22:00 +0000

opulent
*crystal collage necklace by lulu frost

simple & blue
*round blue stud earrings by lulu frost

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 19:42:00 +0000

Blood runs wild without need for the heart. Free at sunset, dead at dawn. Men on horses chase me in the meadow. Two of them send me stampeding off the cliff. See me raining, dampening the red earth below. See their pleased expressions now that they've killed the untamed intruder passing through their land. Now I am sinking below them, seeping red on their hands.

When I am reborn, shape me in stone. Slickrock footpaths will trace my neck to the small of my back, tiny vertebrates will burrow in my rib cage, hollowing my bones. Sand will swirl on my surface and glitter in my wake. I will lay still as the surest stepping stone, collecting water in small potholes, gathering life in the cracks and folds. Changing and unchanged. Made new by erosion, made whole.

*written 2008, photo taken in moab, utah 2000

Almost but not quite

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 16:49:00 +0000

It would feel warm if it weren't for the wind. Last night I set out on my bike, wearing not enough layers to protect me from the punchy breeze. After a few blocks of spinning wheels my body temperature started to rise, making me believe it was already Spring. It is almost Spring, but not quite. Still, I can feel it try when the sun peaks out behind the shade of clouds, and when the man on the corner winks at me or not me but the woman behind me. I keep riding by the same homes, the same families. The kids are growing up. The cars get big. The cars get small. I see my summer cat investigating the freshly thawed ground with two swipes of his left paw. He sees me and flies. I am flashing light, a twinkle in the moon's eye, until after a few more hours when it too decides to hide.

Clover

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 22:45:00 +0000

I miss the streaming ribbons of highway weaving looping tangles of grey pavement skirting clover fields under the sun swinging low in the fading light blue light, like those twilights spent driving in upstate new york, after having walked out on another arguement, tired of the fight.

95

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 18:28:00 +0000

Marj came into the library where I work on Monday. She couldn't wait to tell me the latest news on her sister. Before she could shimmy out of her full length thrifted turquoise coat she started filling me in on her sister's 95th birthday which took place the previous weekend in Florida. At the age of 95 her sister still enjoys an active outdoors lifestyle. Marj tells me that her sister isn't able to walk very well on account of arthritis, but she can still hold an oar and paddle. For her birthday, she went on a 25 mile kayak trip. The trip was interrupted when her kayak tipped, spilling her into freezing water. It was 40 degrees when she stood shivering on the shore. She told Marj, "It was the perfect birthday." Marj smiled, shook her small fists in the air and said "My sister's a fighter, even at 95. There are young people who can't even do what she did." She was proud.

Some shapes

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 21:49:00 +0000

Some shapes wade in through my mouth. They linger in the narrows, lapping against the ballast of my tongue, gently rocking the roots of my teeth. Some shapes sneak in through the corner of my eye. They slip through soft footed covering their tracks, traveling untraceable as they glide through the pass. Other shapes climb in through my right ear. Settling in a washed out cleft, braced and secure against the eminent tides. Some shapes are breathed in, absorbed through fingertips, carried on the skin before sinking heavy and released again.

Thank you

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 22:15:00 +0000

marj is a regular at the library where i work. she lives in an apartment complex across the street. her husband used to come in on a regular basis before his passing last march. he would read the papers and talk about the stock market and the price of gas, how to save money and the environment. he was a runner and loved to race. marj would come in front time to time to read the paper or newsweek. we never spoke much, marj and i. she started coming in almost every day, monday-friday last summer. she started using the computer. her kids helped her set up an email account and showed her a few computer basics. when she comes across something new or unknown she asks me for help. she tells me about her bingo winnings and how she gives the proceeds to the food pantry. "50cents...$2..." she says "it adds up." today she walked into the library, stood in front of my desk and reached into her pocket. "I have something for you!" she said. pulling out an envelope and opening it it to show me what was inside, she said "it's just a little treat, they were giving them away at bingo and i thought 'i know just who to give this to.'" she gave me the little cup with red and white m&m's and a dove milk chocolate heart and i said "thank you" about a dozen times... but it doesn't feel like i could ever say thank you enough to express my gratitude towards marj, her thoughtful gesture and how it made me smile.

new day

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 18:04:00 +0000

The buzz of my phone woke me up this morning a few minutes to six. My mom sent a text with a photo of my cousin (Adam) holding his brand new baby boy, followed by another text saying that this baby was born on my late papa's (her father's) birthday. Adam is the first of 14 cousin's on my mom's side to have a baby. He is the 4th oldest (I am the 3rd). I'm beyond happy for my family. Waking up to good news is a great way to start any day! Also... blue skies!

Happy birthday papa and new baby!

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 17:57:00 +0000

Here comes the sun
by the Beatles
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right
It's all right

prince charming

noreply@blogger.com (snapshotradio) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 19:45:00 +0000

Incurable
by Dorothy Parker

And if my heart be scarred and burned,
The safer, I, for all I learned;
The calmer, I, to see it true
That ways of love are never new-
The love that sets you daft and dazed
Is every love that ever blazed;
The happier, I, to fathom this:
A kiss is every other kiss.
The reckless vow, the lovely name,
When Helen walked, were spoke the same;
The weighted breast, the grinding woe,
When Phaon fled, were ever so.
Oh, it is sure as it is sad
That any lad is every lad,
And what's a girl, to dare implore
Her dear be hers forevermore?
Though he be tried and he be bold,
And swearing death should he be cold,
He'll run the path the others went....
But you, my sweet, are different.