$0.68

I went to Target today. I spent two gift cards. I owed exactly 68 cents after both cards were scanned. I had exactly 68 cents in the coin section of my wallet. No more, no less. Maybe I'm going to have exactly what I need when I need it. Maybe everything does make sense....cents? God loves me. He wants me safe and sound. There is order in the universe. Everything is going to be okay. Breathe.

Childhood, Plan A

It was an interesting time. I have distinct memories of ground beef and onions sizzling in the kitchen while me and my brothers watched Mr. Rogers Neighborhood as the sky got darker outside. My sister was always busily working on one project or another. Sometimes she was mixing chemicals in a lab coat and goggles. Other times she was making movies using one bunny slipper and a duckie slipper as characters; on her feet mind you. My mom would be making tacos or chile rellenos or a casserole or steak or stew. She'd let us eat little pieces of this or that while we waited. My little brothers played with Heman action figures, Hotwheels, or chess or checkers. My brother Danny and I used to play checkers all the time. In fact, we used to be in the habit of making secret appointments to play a game in the middle of the night. We'd set our alarm clocks for a ghastly hour like 3am and meet up in the living room to play. Crazy little kids we were. I was in another habit; I sang involuntarily all the time unless I was eating or watching something engaging on TV. Even then I was often humming. If I wasn't doing any of those things I was "drawing stories". I would take a stack, about a half a centimeter thick, of regular notebook paper and draw out the most amazing, soap opera-ish stories while doing all the voices, including narration, aloud. There were lots of ladies in gorgeous, huge, and impressive dresses. Sometimes everyone was English in the story so I had to tell the whole thing in an accent. Everyone just had to deal with it. I couldn't do it silently. It had to be out loud. I didn't know this until much later but my mother had been filing those drawings away for years and years in binders. I've been telling stories all my life I guess. That's always been plan A. I like plan A.

My friends, chapter 10: Nicole

Nicole Roberts Winmill. Metaphors: If she were a metal? Gold. If she were a stone? A rare and brilliant diamond. These aren't necessarily indicative of her color scheme. Rather, they say more about quality. Nicole is, in a word, a quality person. She is indelibly scrupulous, which is getting rarer all the time. In fact, when we met, I thought her level of sweetness impossible, as in, too good to be true. But I found out, in fairly short order, that it was authentic and undeniable.
We met in the fall of 2006. I had been divorced a couple months. In the LDS church every woman is assigned two Visiting Teachers that come over once a month to check in on you, give a short message of encouragement, and bring a little treat or so. Nicole went way above and beyond as my VT. She wrote me inspiring letters. She laughed with me, cried with me, talked me out of a number of ill-advised pursuits involving the opposite sex, and gave me great fashion advice. She made me go to parties and I actually had fun, in spite of myself. In fact, I was there when she met her husband at one of these parties. She and I went to San Antonio for the day. We went shopping, went out to dinner, and then went to this party. I was pretty beat and not too eager to converse with anyone there but Nicole and this tall, rock-a-billy guy really hit it off and I knew I was going to have to put on my game face for a fair few hours. I'm certainly glad my pains were well worth it; nuptials considered.
The reception was held at their home. I was honored to sing two lovely songs: When You Say Nothing at All and The Way I Am with my dear friends Ivy and Doug accompanying. It was so wonderful.
A memory/metaphor I often reflect upon is the time we went to the Comal River to float on tubes. Going down the way-too-fast shoot I lost my sun glasses, my balance, and a fair amount of my dignity...not to mention my tube. She recovered all but the sun glasses as she hoisted me, my tube, and my dignity out of the forceful waters. She held my tube as I remounted, made sure I was secure, both mind and body, before alighting her own tube and continuing the journey. And that's how things have always been with us. I flail and toss and cry and she makes everything all better! That is the Nicole metaphor. Nicolina, thank you for doing that for me, in countless ways, over and over. All my heart, I love you.

Secrets, a poem by Kristin M. Ferrell

This work was inspired by the book, The History of Love.


Have you ever spent time with someone who made you feel as if the world held secrets you would finally be privy to? Perhaps he made you feel like the wind was whispering things. He seemed to be able to decipher everything. Suddenly everything held sacred meaning. Suddenly a metallic hope dripped from rainy branches and swirled in the silvery clouds. Everything waxed itself into art. Every wish wore pink silk.

Have you ever fallen in love in the autumn when leaves begged your blood to match their stain? That someone traced your hand with his finger and told you who you've always been and he was right. He got it right. And that was a first. Maybe a last.

Did you ever forget to care about anyone else's expectations but his? Did all your cares begin to dissolve under the something you can't describe when it comes to who you are when he is looking at you? Did fashion lose its luster while your eyes found theirs? Did money suddenly become more a means and less an end? Did it last?

Was there ever a time when someone gave you the feeling that everything that ever puzzled you was about to be explained in great detail? All your questions would soon be answered. Many heavy drapes would soon be drawn. All would be lit. You'll see it all clearly, very, very soon.

Did anyone ever look at you as though you were more than human? Maybe they felt rather silly about talking about it but just the look in the eyes was enough. Was he counting your freckles? Was he seeing flecks of jade in your iris? It spoke volumes. Something hung in the air between you, something that existed without your permission.

Have you ever caught yourself not listening? And why not? Because you were day dreaming again. You used to see cactuses, lilies, the sea, volcanoes, and ivy covered walls in there, in the day dreamy place, but now it was all him and where you would go and who you would be alongside him. Where would you go? What would the photographs look like once both of you were long since dead and gone? Who would look at them then? Would they cry?

Have you ever felt like the person you would tell your grandchildren about was right in front of you? Did the person seem a little famous, almost like you'd known him or read about him forever and ever and now here he is, finally, in the flesh and real? Something familiar and déjà vuish seemed to surround you wherever the two of you went.

Did you ever ask yourself whether you were making it all up? Was this really happening or were you so unruly and romantic that the whole experience was just your overactive brain again? Something says no. Something says wait. Is it you? Are you real?

Have you ever spent time with someone who made you feel as if the world held secrets you would finally be privy to?

Artifacts

An artifact is something made by a human. Some artifacts carry special significance because of what they indicate historically. Books, carvings, weapons, instruments, tools: all artifacts. I wonder if I'll leave any artifacts behind that will yield any special feeling of significance for anyone. I've made things: songs, paintings, stories, poems, lots of journals, mosaics. I wonder if any of them will ever be cherished.

The Higher Drama

This is a poem I wrote a little over a year ago. Enjoy! To living it, THE HIGHER DRAMA!!!

The Higher Drama
Copyright 2009, Kristin M. Ferrell

At times it feels like we’ve given something up. All the idle chatter, it was fun….once. Then there was all the flame and fire that unrequited love provided. That was interesting, too. Even on the short side. There were hurt feelings by the barrel and misgivings, misinterpretations, misrepresentations, mistakes, mistakes, mistakes…. by the silo. And then there was contrition, suffering, refinement, and finally, finally, finally,,,,conversion, transcendence, the Higher Drama…the curtains opened. Where once conversation would do, we now need communion. Where once glimpses excited, we now need discovery. Where once red was the color of power, now it is the color of courage.
The Higher Drama is in the curl of my mother’s hair when my head rests on her shoulder. The Higher Drama is in the coin containing the wish that I threw in the well nine years ago….the wish that is coming true only now, here, with you. The Higher Drama is in your voice when you tell me what it is you see when you look at me, because you see me, like no else, you see me. The Higher Drama is in the eyes of the hopeful child who has never heard of anything dubious. It’s in the song written on a winter day and sung in the spring. It’s in the hands of my sister’s baby when he touches my cheek and smiles. It’s in my father’s tears as he tells me he is sorry. It’s in the whisper, not in the shout. It’s in the poem, not in the tabloid. It’s in the garden, not in the office. It’s in the womb, not in the hands, in the earth, not the powder room, in the soul, not the skin.

And there it is. And there it’s true. It has nothing to inflict, nothing to convince, nothing to persuade or control.

We have arrived, at last, at last, and casting all aside to play on such a stage we pay the price: endurance.

The Higher Drama makes anything else, anything less seem….dull.

Kristin Ferrell
April 30, 2009