tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105634802010-03-06T09:47:59.679-05:00Experiment: does a small degree of anonymity lend itself to an intensely personal public memoir?Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.comBlogger647125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-57602725542497602262010-01-23T14:17:00.004-05:002010-02-13T10:16:24.216-05:002010-02-13T10:16:24.216-05:00

A SeriesThe difference in temperature was felt the moment I stepped from the plane to the ramp; my sweater and scarf were incompatible with the humidity. Baggage claim, rental car - air conditioning. So strange considering four short hours before, I was standing in Washington DC unable to stay warm.The drive from Miami to Islamorada clocked in at about two hours, mostly because of the

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-19446658507527164452010-01-01T08:29:00.001-05:002010-01-01T08:32:19.751-05:002010-01-01T08:32:19.751-05:00

I'm no fan of resolutions. However, I woke up this morning with five things in mind, things that I intend to do in the new year.After all, it's 2010, the year of possibility, so why not set intentions? I have incredibly good feelings about this year, because now foundations exist that were previously unavailable to us - foundations that permit the creation of things that were otherwise elusive to

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-83221068255441461842009-11-26T06:22:00.004-05:002009-11-26T06:36:32.988-05:002009-11-26T06:36:32.988-05:00

My cat woke me a couple of hours ago. His paw, my cheek. The alarm clock I prefer, only not so early. We finally settled into rest; neither of us sleeping. His tail on my pillow, and when I spoke to him, he flicked it as an acknowledgement, batting my forehead with its fluffy, fox-softness.My father's birthday. A son born at Thanksgiving. No one then could predict the short trajectory of his life

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-43312672769892622012009-11-17T14:15:00.000-05:002009-11-17T14:25:15.648-05:002009-11-17T14:25:15.648-05:00

You fit into melike a hook into an eyea fish hookan open eye ~ Margaret Atwood

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-47970631106442837112009-11-16T10:33:00.005-05:002009-11-16T13:14:10.895-05:002009-11-16T13:14:10.895-05:00

November pulls at me. A month of births that remind me only of death - loss, change, grief, and longing. Reflecting on all the milestones of life, I remember the moments of new beginnings with the most clarity. That strong, driving sensation deep within my being of knowing with a kind of surreal lucidity that something amazing was taking shape. And the twin feeling of something being torn apart,

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-22284852325482757102009-11-14T09:57:00.011-05:002009-11-14T10:39:30.686-05:002009-11-14T10:39:30.686-05:00

As I sit here with my fingers poised over the keys, wondering how my feelings will translate into words, I realize there's a song playing in my head. I listen.The time between recognition and acceptance is shorter now.At least I know.At least I see.But what does that mean? The path before me - regardless of its beauty and its allure - is sadly the same, and one I have walked too often in the past

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-78734392686359977192009-10-18T15:34:00.012-04:002009-10-18T16:42:55.763-04:002009-10-18T16:42:55.763-04:00

I love a good scary movie. I will read scary shit and then sleep with the lights on for about a week. I can't pass up a good scare. The only types of scares that really have their way with me (and not in the fun kind of way) are those shot in night-vision and involving real people (supposedly) experiencing real shit. That stuff scares the crap out of me (and not in the fun kind of way). However,

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-66554302210097642702009-10-17T23:03:00.002-04:002009-10-20T20:45:09.765-04:002009-10-20T20:45:09.765-04:00

It begins again. Little details: the undusted tables and floors, the summer shoes lying on their sides by the door, the hammer sitting on the kitchen counter month after month after month.It feels close, this time. This time, the tightrope stretches out so much further. So much more to lose. So far to fall. Balance precarious; one wrong step, and infinity.Fatigue is deeply felt.Many things

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-79847029461442546072009-10-16T18:40:00.005-04:002009-10-16T18:44:17.273-04:002009-10-16T18:44:17.273-04:00

The card's inscription reads:"Lots of lovely little things each day make me think of you."He has written:"OK. I finally could compose myself to write this card. After 20 plus years, it still makes sense because of you. Thanks for showing up in flowers, coffee, the sunrise, lyrics, mania, depression, New Orleans, sobriety, drunkenness, confusion, laughter, tears, PVTA buses, snake eggs and

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-23549753344706280232009-10-12T12:07:00.009-04:002009-10-12T12:39:37.831-04:002009-10-12T12:39:37.831-04:00

I have a terrible memory.It's not something Sudoku will improve, or fish oil capsules, or crossword puzzles, although I have tried all three. It's biological. It's part of who I am. It won't improve, and I only expect it to worsen over time. I can count on two hands all my memories of childhood, and very often, when my sister and I are together, she will blurt out something from when we were

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-35911642676070318322009-10-10T12:57:00.007-04:002009-10-11T14:07:13.970-04:002009-10-11T14:07:13.970-04:00

A long time ago, someone gave me a book. Funny what we remember, what we cherish; he gave me a book to read, pressing it into my palm and telling me in barely audible tones that it was important. It was important to him. This book by J.M. Coetzee. It was something I should read because he thought this importance could be shared. I took it as if it was something precious, something lovely,

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-13305301232230889062009-10-08T01:03:00.003-04:002009-10-12T13:11:50.503-04:002009-10-12T13:11:50.503-04:00

Stuck in a Moment You Can't Get Out Of~U2I'm not afraidOf anything in this worldThere's nothing you can throw at meThat I haven't already heardI'm just trying to findA decent melodyA song that I can singIn my own companyI never thought you were a foolBut darling look at youYou gotta stand up straightCarry your own weightThese tears are going nowhere babyYou've got to get yourself togetherYou've

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-67791864644759124072009-10-06T23:15:00.000-04:002009-10-06T23:16:13.767-04:002009-10-06T23:16:13.767-04:00

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-66284530975929136922009-10-04T01:05:00.003-04:002009-10-04T01:18:10.655-04:002009-10-04T01:18:10.655-04:00

I've been thinking about marriage a lot lately. This is interesting for me, because I wasn't one of those girls who planned their wedding from a young age. Like many prepubescent girls, I spent countless hours "playing Barbies," but what that meant for me was pretty different than the other scripted scenarios the other neighborhood girls conceived. My Barbies married, had lots of sex, had babies,

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-18179544994677095502009-09-25T14:49:00.001-04:002009-09-25T16:52:06.021-04:002009-09-25T16:52:06.021-04:00

Invitation to the Voyage~ Charles BaudelaireMy daughter, my sister,Consider the vistaOf living out there, you and I,To love at our leisure,Then, ending our pleasure,In climes you resemble to die.There the suns, rainy-wet,Through clouds rise and setWith the selfsame enchantment to charm meThat my senses receiveFrom your eyes, that deceive,When they shine through your tears to disarm me.There'll be

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-2933234041711346282009-09-23T01:18:00.000-04:002009-09-25T14:53:59.588-04:002009-09-25T14:53:59.588-04:00

Just because I don't say it doesn't mean I don't feel it.I may be madI may be blindI may be viciously unkindBut I can still read what you're thinkingAnd I've heard it said too many timesThat you'd be better offBesides . . .Why can't you see this boat is sinking(this boat is sinking this boat is sinking)Let's go down to the water's edgewe can cast away those doubtsSome things are better left

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-38148729470006179412009-09-16T20:17:00.003-04:002009-09-16T20:26:10.216-04:002009-09-16T20:26:10.216-04:00

In 2005, I did a wedding along the water in Baltimore. The couple were artists, and they were so interesting - there wasn't really a plan for their wedding. We were just invited to speak and then they shared their vows. She had been married before. She was older than he was, and he adored her in a way that one doesn't see very often. They were an amazing, dazzling couple - the air between them

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-81872887810501753002009-09-12T13:51:00.006-04:002009-09-13T01:28:11.105-04:002009-09-13T01:28:11.105-04:00

I remember you. Tousled, ill kempt. Lost. Hilarious and brilliant, your light filling every room you entered. Loud. Mostly lost.You lived in a house with holes in the floor. They were supposed to be there, although in drunken stumbles, you could easily put a leg through and end up quite hurt. It was an old cigar factory, and the square holes existed to allow the workers to hoist tobacco and

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-71010702642943451962009-09-11T22:32:00.004-04:002009-09-11T22:56:09.971-04:002009-09-11T22:56:09.971-04:00

So contemplative.This is the post where I cut myself some slack. This is the post where I pause for a moment in all my judgment, in all my impatience, and all my frustration and I realize - for a brief and brilliant moment - that everything is just as it should be. Whatever it is, in whatever form it is, it is all just as it should be.Even my refrigerator, which makes odd moaning noises and

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-57012476955862213382009-09-10T20:17:00.005-04:002009-09-10T20:31:27.717-04:002009-09-10T20:31:27.717-04:00

It's getting darker earlier. The change of seasons is once again upon us. I love this time of the year. I love the shortening of days, the gradual chilling of the air, and the slow dying of everything around me. I love the moment I realize the trees have burst into flames under my nose, and somehow, I failed to notice precisely when someone touched their verdant green tips with a match, setting

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-1588783988632270362009-09-07T19:17:00.005-04:002009-09-12T14:05:08.595-04:002009-09-12T14:05:08.595-04:00

Once, a long time ago, I was a belletrist. And my writing, my furious outpouring of ink across the page, conjured forth a great love. I bemused and charmed, I beguiled, and I entranced. My Words were something to behold, then. Then, they were heady and had their own fragrance, intoxicating. The very sight of them on the page in my unique script could evoke anything from dizziness to confusion to

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-17929906290101823772009-09-04T23:43:00.003-04:002009-09-04T23:52:44.955-04:002009-09-04T23:52:44.955-04:00

You ask me to come with you. You offer your hand. You want me to walk with you."Come," you say.I don't understand why you want to leave this place, why you want me to climb out of this bed, this bed we share, and wander out into the cold afternoon with you. What could be so compelling, to make you want to go? Isn't everything you want here, right here, with me?Your eyes are soft. You are kind.

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-53536617133845014182009-09-03T09:32:00.003-04:002009-09-03T09:35:45.394-04:002009-09-03T09:35:45.394-04:00

Are we excited?

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-69935027448348487632009-08-09T19:42:00.001-04:002009-08-09T19:44:10.275-04:002009-08-09T19:44:10.275-04:00

I need to lay off the Twitter. Find a twelve-step program to kick the bad shit, because I will tell you that 140-character micro-blogging has ruined my creative life. I don't have time for much, given the utter mania of my vocation and avocation combined, but seriously. If I can't say it in 140 characters, I'm annoyed that I have to spend more time formulating the thought.And that is the kiss of

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10563480.post-11083784793010737562009-07-06T18:24:00.004-04:002009-07-06T18:31:26.863-04:002009-07-06T18:31:26.863-04:00

I wake with a gasp. The streetlight cuts through my shade, casting blue stripes on the dresser. The dog stirs and lifts his head. I whisper for him to go back to sleep and roll over onto my back to stare at the ceiling and wonder why I woke up.Wait, I was dreaming.I dreamt that my father and I were fishing. We were in a little rowboat in the middle of a vast lake. It was quiet save the whirring

Rev. Brandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00917669076145107027RevBrandy@aol.com0