Quicksand

When I was a little girl, I was terrified by the idea of quicksand (too many hours spent playing Pitfall, I suppose).  The very idea that one minute the ground would be solid beneath your feet and the next it could give way, crumbling beneath you, sucking you in, and then collapsing over your head, consuming you until the ground sealed back up and there was no evidence that you had ever been there at all...

Scared the shit out of me.

It would seem my fear was warranted.

Only now, as an adult, it's not just the notion of the ground giving way.  It's the very foundation of my life.

Marriage.  House.  Love.  Career. 

These things crumble beneath my feet with a speed so dizzying that I'm left breathless, jerked below the surface and crushed under the weight before there is even time to look for something to grab on to.  There is the whooshing sound of a vacuum I myself turned on, and the sudden disappearance of everything I once held certain.  It happens fast, this crumbling.

And I'm left in the dark, with the weight heavy on my chest, desperate for a breath of air, just a quick reprieve for a moment before trying to dig my way out. 

Perhaps I should take a moment and apologize to any reader who follows this blog for the funny posts.  I promise they will return at some point. 

But I began this blog with an interest in putting something genuine out into the world, a real experience in a world where very little feels real, very little feels authentic or like a true connection despite the supposed increased connectivity among us. 

Sometimes those experiences are funny.

And sometimes, they have very sharp, pointy edges that you cannot hide from. 

So bear with me while I look around for something to dig with.  Right now, I've got nothing.  But I'm fumbling around the dark for a shovel or a spoon. 

And there are always my own bare hands.




(okay, I feel like there should be some sort of grand ending to this.  I've got nothing, so I'll steal someone else's grand ending...)

With liberty and justice for all.

or...

A merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

or...

Play ball!

Yeah, any one of those will do.

Reading of the Names

Names are important. 

We spend months choosing just the right ones for our children.  We long to hear our own names whispered from those who love us.  We look the ones we ourselves love in the eye and speak their names so that they may hear it.  These names feel so at home in our mouths, on our tongues, our lips.  This is more than saying, "I love you."  It is saying, I love YOU.  Specifically, you. 

Today, more than 3,000 names will be spoken. 

Each name will spill forth from a living soul, sent out into the world on a breath of life borrowed from another.

Each name, so much more than a name. 

Each name representing a man, a woman, a child, the loved ones left behind, the holes left in hearts and lives.

Each name representing a life. 

We say, "Never forget."  We say, "I remember where I was..."

Speak the names. 

Speak the names of those lost.  Speak the names of those you love. 

Yell them, spill them out with a laugh, whisper them, call them, cry them.

But don't stop saying their names.