Today is my Birthday

I woke up at 9:30. I laid there a while, looking around at the ceiling and walls, noticing the shadows of the things that hang around in my life; an ornament in the shape of a swirling letter "K" my friend Ivy graced a gift she gave me a couple of years ago. It hangs from the switch of a lamp. Two little, gilded angels affixed to each end of the two dangling chains of my ceiling fan. One bears a star reading "HOPE", the other "JOY". My mother sent me those a few years back. The reflections and little rainbows cast from the ornate, gold antique mirror. Well, it wants to be an antique. I got myself up and turned on NPR. We are daily companions, rain or shine. I went to the kitchen to get a drink. I just stood there a while, admiring the sun through a leaf, so intricate, complex and sophisticated. So gorgeous with the sun all through it, all those veiny secrets exposed with light.
I am 32 today. There's no denying it. All my veiny secrets are just what they are. The sun will find me, whether I prefer it or not. But I felt something distinctly different this morning. I have been feeling rather old lately. But for some reason, 32 sounds awfully young. Why does it sound younger than 30? 31? I wish I understood myself. Anyway, I began getting ready. I realized my delicates were all in the hamper. I had to do laundry! I would be dreadfully late to church now. I decided I'd have to attend a different session. My usual 10:30 would have to be forgone. 2:30? I can make that; no problem. So phone calls started coming in from friends and family. I love the feeling of being loved. I put a load in the wash. I ate left over Reese's Cheesecake from last night's surprise. What a day! Bliss in many ways. Brunch with the dearest man alive, watching chickens and roosters, baby sitting a tiny 12 week old angel, my apartment with so many of my favorite people in it; Heather, Jason, Molly, Megan, and then a HUGE surprise! My favorite girl in all the world; my own Christy, Toolie Woolie! Came in from Corpus and she didn't even tell me! And there she was with her baby! Claire! And Ivy, too! We were all laughing and talking. Heather and Jason just had their engagement photos taken. Gorgeous them! That's why I was watching the tiny baby, so her mommy could take the pictures. We eventually got to dinner, around 9:15. I had Steak Diane. I made a joke about wanting to be like Princess Diane so I'd eat a steak bearing her name. It didn't work. I'm no more royal and no less charming. (ha!) So, now my unmentionables are clean and dry. I will go to church soon, sing, pray, listen, learn, think. Then I will go to Ivy's. There will be Moroccan pot pie, savory salads, and herbal iced tea. Then there will be cake and ice cream.
It hit me today, we are all famous to someone. We are being watched. There are eyes upon us all. Others need us to fulfill certain expectations. No, we can't be perfect. But we ought to be good. We ought to be so good that we can feel it radiating in our lives and into the lives of those who happen to love us. Maybe even into the lives of people who don't. The notion of being famous; allow me to explain. The public at large may never know that I love dark chocolate, that I detest pop music, or that my favorite movie is Kiki's Delivery Service and I watch at least part of it every single day, but my friends do. Most people will never know that my idea of a perfect evening is eating half price sushi with one or two people I love, watching amateur opera, and laughing for hours about our ill-spent youth. Some people know that the only magazines I read are National Geographic and The Ensign. Not everyone knows that these are THE most important things to me: the worth of souls, the sanctity of women, the power of the written word, the beauty and promise of each child, the miracle of music, the influence of art, the presence of God, the eternal nature of the family, and the reality of love. Some people will never know and never care that my worst fears include issues relating to every kind of poverty, certain types of bewitched dolls, and all kinds of infidelity. Some people know that I have certain dreams and ambitions; I want to feed my hungry brain and get a PhD in Children's Literacy or Literature---have yet to decide, I want to be a professor, and I want to find myself on a mountain in Mexico during the butterfly migration someday. Some people know these things. I want to say thank you for knowing. Thank you for caring. Thank you for talking. Thank you for sharing your likes, dislikes, fears, dreams, and ambitions with me. Thank you for advising. Thank you for forgiving. Thank you for not judging because you were too busy loving. Thank you for your voices. Thank you for the times you were silent and the times you were loud. Thank you for your gestures. It is all precious and noted, remembered and cherished. To my friends and family, I love you almost more than I can stand. I love you with so much joy it seems to split me open! I love you in ways that make me feel elation and guilt; elation because you are so impossibly miraculous and guilt because I don't know what I did to deserve you. It's bliss. It's radiant. And most of all, it is real. Thank you for being so illustrious, so gorgeous, so famous, famous, famous to me. Your autograph is all over my life, all over my heart. Happy Birthday to Me. I love all of you so much. Thank you for making my life such a life. It's yours. It's mine. It's ours. Thank you.

Anadromous....

.....it's a word I've been dying to use ever since I learned it a couple weeks ago. It refers to the process some fish naturally take when they migrate upstream to spawn. Salmon do this. They fight the river's coursing current, fight the natural flow, watch their other fishy friends go with the flow and swim with the greatest of ease as they fight nature on the outside and risk all to embrace it on the inside. It's hard and many salmon never make it back. Some have heart attacks and die, such is the strain on these little anadromous wonders. But those who make it spawn in glory. What a natural wonder!
Do you feel it? Yes, here comes the metaphor. I'd like to consider myself anadromous in a certain way. There is the natural flow of things; cultural, societal, biological. It's all very tough to swim against but I simply cannot ignore what's going on inside me, no matter how the currents rage around me on the outside. This inner truth always trumps the outside influences, whether they come from a book, a magazine, a billboard, a song, a voice, a joke, an institution, or a whole relationship. Even when the influence comes from my own mind or my own body there is a deeper truth still, far more quiet but somehow more poignant and piercing. I see some of my peers, going with the flow. Some of them think I'm just crazy. I get all sorts of warnings. "You're going the wrong way! What are you thinking?! You're gonna kill yourself!" What they don't know is I am not headed toward death but toward the only life worth living.

Rex is a Good Man

Rex is my nephew. He is a 105lb Chocolate Doberman. His mother is Betsy Peticolas, chronicled earlier in this blog as one of my best friends of all time and quite literally my sister, if not by blood then by love, time, intention, and involvement. I used to be so scared of Rex. He was like an enormous gargoyle that came to life and suddenly wanted to eat my face off. He always barked ferociously when he saw me. He looked like the devil, I swear. His swarthy coat looked somehow reddish in certain lights. His pointy ears looked like little horns. His fangs were dying to take a bite out of me. I just knew it. He wanted to hurt me and he would, given the chance, he would. I just knew he wanted to, too.
Betsy and I live in the same apartment complex. It's great having her so close. We share everything: groceries, music, internet, TV, books, soap....but Rex was making everything difficult. I couldn't go over without him having to be locked up in his room. I never would knock because Rex hates knocking so I would just call whenever I was on my way over and Betsy would put him in his room. Many times Betsy would answer the door and find me around the corner with my back against the panels, shaking. "Kristin! What's wrong with you? He's not going to hurt you! And he's in his room. Silly!" On and on it went. Day after day. Shaking, barking, hiding.
Occasionally other friends would want to interact with Rex. If I was there Betsy would warn the room, "Rex and Kristin don't really get along. He will probably bark at her. Don't be alarmed. He never does that with anyone else. Just her. It's because she's so tense and fearful. He's simply reacting to her fear." And sure enough, as soon as he saw me, he would bark. I was literally afraid for my life. I envisioned myself being mauled by this ferocious beast, losing an eye brow, knee cap, a considerable amount of hair, perhaps an eye. I'd end up wearing a patch and children would scream at the sight of me. This is what I saw in my mind's eye.
Somehow or another we started taking walks. At first I walked at quite a distance. Slowly I got closer. Then I began to think about petting him. Then I did pet him. As weeks passed I took to using a cutesy voice with him. I don't know how it happened! It just did! Before I knew it we were pals! We cuddle now! He's dying to kiss me but I never ever let him! Ha! We are family! Finally! In every sense. Our close friends are awed, inspired, and touched by the evolution of it all. It's quite a thing.
Betsy said something really brilliant tonight. "Kristin, I think your relationship with Rex can be likened to your relationships with men." She had my attention in an instant. "What I mean is, remember how terrified you were? You were positive he would hurt you. You had no doubt. But did he ever hurt you?" "No. Never even once." "Is he a bad dog?" "No." In fact, whenever I see Rex I always tell him he is such a good man, and I really mean it. "Kristin, Rex didn't change. You did. Rex didn't take any behavior classes or have some sort of doggy epiphany. You started to trust him. You started to love him. And now he loves you, too." We went on to discuss how I've been with men; scared to death, shaking, hiding around the corner. I don't trust them. I just know they want to hurt me and will, given the chance. Hmmmmm....maybe not? Maybe they will if I expect it. It's one of those annoying self fulfilling prophesy things. We often create in reality what we are afraid of. Perhaps we are trying to prove ourselves right. At what expense? Our hearts' demise? No thank you. I don't want to be right anymore. I want to be loved. I used to think trouble loved me. Turns out Rex does, perhaps even more than trouble.

$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?