Thursday, October 20, 2005

It's not easy being...


Hi. Changed the template. Got bored with the old one, and after seeing my wife's new blog, I got bored with mine. Besides, I've been meaning to alter my blog a bit lately. Maybe it'll get me to write more.

I get itchy for change, as my wife can attest. I discard clothes, games, CDs, assorted clutter with frantic energy, usually in random patches to make the cats nervous. I'm not one for having a lot of "stuff," even though I have bookcases that take up a long wall and a game closet that looks like someone stuffed all my inner child desires in a cubby and pulled the door closed before it all spilled out.

Still, I'm fond of the green. Winter's coming to Planet Seattle, and no matter the time of year, Seattle is still green. It's a nurturing crutch when the sky is colored steel for now through March, and when the sun does peek out, it's this drained pale husk of a luminous body. The green means a forest, where the primal things lie, the wild lands where artists drop their veil of civility and touch the archetypes for inspiration.

National Novel Writing Month is coming in a mere 11 days. I'm taking part in spirit, using the 50,000 words/30 days marathon to finish the novel. I'm in a novel immersion class at Seattle's Hugo House now, getting the bearing I need for such an adventure. I'll try to post more information about the progress as I go.

One more thing, my nightstand has been occupied by a very small, but very clever tome called "Art of Fear," which attempts to reassure budding artists about the tremble they feel when they step into the primal dark forest. A lot of wisdom lacing those pages. Check it out.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

76

A few words of celebration for my wife and I. Today, it's 76 months as husband and wife. A couple days ago, I was buzzing around the house, frustrated about some idiocy at my job. My wife, without moving from the couch, where she rested bundled in cats and comforter, broke down what I should, calmed me down, and give me a whole new way to look at the problem. All done without a sweat. All done out of love and kindness.

And then as I stand there in the living room, as she explains the crux of what I'm going through with the swoosh of a Zen master, I see one of the many reasons why I married her. She's incredibly kind and level. She doesn't rescue me, but grants me a wisdom that I flail around to find when I'm upset. She's there for me. In all the world, there's no one I'd rather have in my corner than her. She knows me, from skin to soul. She loves me in a way I never thought I would know, and every day I'm struck in some small way of that. I'm sorry, my dear, I try to be more in awe but my big, dumb guy brain can't compete large portions of such wonder. We're too wired for explosions and big screen TVs and garish-colored cars driving in a circle. Oh, and boobs.

Every month, on the 19th, I try to let her know how much I love her, that I'm grateful we are together. In reality, it should be an daily thing, but I'm afraid I'll run out of words to express how I feel, that I'll run into a rut and the words and sentiment will grow stale, brittle, tepid. Love should never be bland.

Happy 76 months, my love. I hope you understand how I feel even words fail me.

As for why she married me? I exude heat, open sauce jars, and eat her pizza crusts. I'm apparently "teh hawt" and funny, too, but that's not supposed to be made public.