Posted by: tlnemethy | December 22, 2012

Return to Sitka

CIMG3305I miss West Palm Beach. Florida never held that much appeal to me, I felt it was an over-hyped  land of old people baking themselves under the sun before they got to “the eternal hibernation. ” I still mostly feel that way, but it is a nice place to get away to. Let’s hope I’m not leathery and droopy when I kick the bucket though. The wonderful part about leaving all these places harboring even more friends is that someday they have to come visit me in New Hampshire. The odds increase of a visitor with each invite sent out.

So, lets just say that when my first home-visiter came I was pretty stoked to show off the New England atmosphere I take for granted on a regular basis. I was sure there would be something we could do. Beth flew in on the tail-end of my The-Proposal-Rockport-Massachusetts-Sitkafirst day of part-time work at a department store. I was tired, but even so, the excitement fueled me just enough to drive cautiously and with white knuckles to the Boston airport. I hate traffic. Traffic on unfamiliar routes is almost unbearable.

But since it was so late by the time we made it home we had to save our adventuring for the next day. Beth and I met in Sitka, Alaska (the namesake for this blog) when we were working for a fishing lodge and we’ve been making grand plans to travel ever since. So, because I’m a horrible trip – planner, I decided to surprise her with a trip back to Sitka. CIMG3302Not really, but the only parts of Sitka I knew before flying in were from the movie The Proposal, with Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock.  Coincidentally, this film was actually shot in New England and I happened to know the featured town pretty well. Rockport, Massachusetts is the site of a few days playing hooky from school with my mother.

Sure, we broke down in the middle of a rotary/roundabout/circular death trap of driving, but that is for another time and another blog. darkness was rolling in and we only had enough time to check out the iconic red barn of the movie before moving onto the shops. And let me tell you, when in Rockport you’ll never leave without some sort of salt-water taffy. We each bought a bag and wandered around the harbor and the rough cut CIMG3304streets until we’d seen everything that could be seen in the off-season.

Old school lumber made up the docks, cracked and splintered, but still sturdy after years of soaking in the salt. Usually, I’m hesitant to walk on something so old, but no matter the give under my feet I knew that the only thing below me to fear was the chill of the ocean. I can swim, not gracefully, but enough to splash my way to one of those old rusted buoys or a barnacle crusted ladder.

I’d like to live in a small town on the coast, to be able to look out my window at the sea as it rocks the boats moored there. The people who live near the sea are sturdy and proud, they drift with the current and crash against the rocks on occasion, but they soak the sea into their veins and remain surefooted on even the most mercurial of grounds.

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Posted by: tlnemethy | December 17, 2012

Where Were You

Where were you when the clock held its hand or when the static was hushed? Where were you? A moment. A fraction of a percentage of our lives and I just don’t remember you being there. I was there. I’m still there really as I’m sure many others are. But keep and hold and grip because I remember me and I remember them, but I don’t even know them. A fading laugh caught on the sound of a crushed pebble, a grating happiness and sadness and connectivity struck us all in the whine of a vibrating string. Touch the sound.

Fingertips and slick love embrace us all in a day that we never expected, but one that thrusts us together in our fury and outrage. Light the wick, hug the crowd, forgive or become encumbered in blame. Singularity. It seems the puddles have leaked upwards and I’m more upset than I was, that dissonance grows more intrusive when the voices dim. Feed me your hope. Squint into the sun. Fail to express.

But when you see that crooked tree don’t push it upright. The struggle is in the strength, the sacrifice in the loose shale of bark. Huddle and crouch together, bowed from the wind but always protecting one another. Take comfort in your company.

~Honoring Sandy Hook. ~

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Posted by: tlnemethy | December 10, 2012

Ridiculous Fears, Vol. 1 (I’m sure)

  1. Foods shaped like other foods: Gummy Burgers, dolphins, fish, bloody fingers, etc. No thank you. I prefer my foods to either look like what they once were (fish fillets) or extremely processed (burgers). None of this eating a tofu turkey for me. If it looks like a turkey it damn well should be a turkey. Don’t confuse me. Besides, eating some of these “funny” shaped foods is just plain disturbing. Using a bendy straw to make jello worms is just nasty. You want a worm? Find it outside.
  2. Children: I go into some sort of weird overprotective mode when I’m alone with a child. Like don’t go anywhere near those stairs or the kitchen or anywhere besides the couch. Sit still. Your parents most likely want you to remain alive while you are under my watch. And even when the parents are there, but OBVIOUSLY not watching their child, I get a horrible cramp every time I see that kid wander towards the scissors or start running around the end tables. Seriously. I know Darwinism is pretty well instituted, but you shouldn’t be trying to kill off your own offspring.
  3. Drains: I blame this fear on Goosebumps books and the TV show Are You Afraid of the Dark?There was some sort of episode where a drain monster came out of the deep end of the school’s swimming pool and kept dragging kids down to the bottom. EVER SINCE THAT EPISODE I FEAR SWIMMING POOLS. It doesn’t help that you always hear of kids drowning because their hair gets stuck in the filter/drain/sucky vent thing. You know how in movie theater previews the mystical voice always says to locate your nearest emergency exit? Well, I locate every pool drain before I dip a single toe in. Then I float at the opposite end of the pool.
  4. Feet: This is a biggie. My feet may be attractive enough (for feet) but I definitely don’t want you looking at them. Sure, show off your own feet, I can even touch your feet, but don’t you dare come near mine. Seriously. I will get extremely embarrassed and upset. Our friendship will most likely end. No pedicures for me, and very rarely do I wear flip  flops. Also, I have a sub fear that the bottom of my feet will get sun burned. Legitimate enough of a fear to over cook my front half or put my flip flops back on and risk flop tan lines. Another sub fear feet-wise is watching sex scenes in which the man leaves his socks on. Please. If you are gonna have sex remove your socks. How rude. And guys always have those awkwardly shaped, over-used, slouchy long socks that are never the same height for each leg. Even them out or remove them. It can’t be that much of a hardship to bend over and take them off.
  5. An Embarrassing Death: If I’m going to kick the bucket I really have no problem with that. If its my time, its my time. But if I so happen to die on the toilet or half-dressed slumped in the tub I WILL come back as a ghost. Mostly to haunt myself I suppose, to just have an eternity to rethink going to the bathroom at the precise moment. I guess I’d just rather my corpse be mildly attractive. Not that I’m condoning necrophilia or anything, but I’d rather not have my body discovered in an undesirable situation or space. Scratching my ass perhaps, or with awkward tan lines or even with barbecue sauce on my chin. No thank you. Just sheer stubborn will keeps me from dying awkwardly.

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