Linnea Ashley on June 20th, 2009

i’m almost afraid to say the word out loud. not in any connection to me. i have friends who have been declarative – insistent that i claim an old moniker…poet. i’m more hesitant. fearful that by saying it it will blow away like ash or dandelion fluff. scattering to the wind with no way to retrieve it.

but i do find myself describing the world through a poet’s voice. and it feels good. like an old friend who understands me and comforts me and helps me understand.

so for the last few weeks i’ve been writing these cluster of words down, passing them on to friends for earnest reactions. i can’t say they are good…only that they reflect feelings that i’m not quite sure what to do with.

i haven’t written consistently in about 8 years. when i think of it in those terms it pains me. i realize that poetry…my tool for reflecting on the world – for holding it at bay…is a part of me that i really liked that has been dormant.

at the same time i wonder if it its recent reappearance speaks to my state of mind. i wrote in college – on and off through peace corps…each were trying times in my life in different ways. i wonder…

wondering aside…i’m happy to have my words. scattered and stuttering as they come. i feel a little wholer (i’m taking poetic license here) and at the very least more in touch – with me. so call it poetry, call it a jumble of words. i call it a sliver of peace in the crazy.

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Linnea Ashley on May 31st, 2009

this morning was overcast and gray. the breeze bordered on wind and i threw an extra layer on as i headed out the door. it is almost june and so the gloom struck me as odd. but even odder than the atypical chill was the scent of magnolias that greeted me as i strolled to my car.

i’m a southern girl and i’m accostmed to the tall dark green spleandor of magnolia trees. i’m used to watching their giant flowers gracefully unfurl themselves as summer progresses. their scent rising in the heat and humidty of a south carolina evening or a lousiana night. the sweetness saturating the air and urging me to close my eyes – if only for a moment – and bask in one of the gifts of a steaming summer.

so it struck me as strange…strange enough to stick in my brain…that the scent i associate with sweaty afternoons on canopied streets instead greeted me while i bundled against the chill in the air. how bizarre to have something so familiar feel so foreign.

i remember last year – when the east bay warmth kicked in, no match to the south’s sultry summer months but warmer than today – noticing how white the flowers stayed. the sun wasn’t hot enought to bake the flowers brown and dry them into petrified versions of themselves. i appreciated their longevity here – where i could stare at them out of my second story window and catch a wiff of them as breezes blew to cool my apartment.

but the cold contradicts my notion of magnolias. it extracts their southern roots and confuses my senses. i wonder how long it will take for the scent of the almost oppulent white flower to mark itself in my memory on a chill wind. how long before i find the sweet musk hanging on humid breeze foreign instead.

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Linnea Ashley on May 31st, 2009

cherry season is rough for me. it is an expensive season because i can easily eat my weight in them in a sitting or two. that is cost prohibitive. so instead, i stretch it out a few pounds at a time. today i erred on the side of caution. to much of an err as i am halfway through the bag and sunday isn’t even over yet.

the thing is, i didn’t like cherries before last year. the idea of them conjured up visions of squishy bitter gelatinous goo in the middle of highly processed pies. but while wandering through my farmers market last year – nibbling on the bites vendors hand out – i was struck by the sweet, firm, and tangy goodness.

and now i find myself gleeful as cherry season sneaks in all quietly, sharing their spotlight with peaches and blueberrries.

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Linnea Ashley on May 28th, 2009

it is the most difficult beauty
the most durably fragile thing to be done
wrapped up in youth and worn like armor despite its delicate skin.
and it is the hardest conviction
believing the impossible against all odds
that impossibles happen
against all evidence
that flaws can be flawless
just this once.

Linnea Ashley
september 11, 2008

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Linnea Ashley on May 19th, 2009

i find pieces of myself at the strangest times.  strolling between farmers’ market stalls where the season’s first batch of cherries are sweet (though not as sweet as they will be in a few weeks), or basking in the 90 degree sun on an unsuspecting sunday.

i think i’m solar powered.

the blazing sun speaks to me…or lets me speak to myself… in a way that tepid temperatures do not.

and so this weekend was much needed. it did nothing to relieve the tension knots in my back and shoulder (the thai massuess was distressed at their prominence and tenacity) but i managed to see parts of myself that have been clouded by…by…i’m not sure what, but obscured none the less.

and now…now i see a little sliver of some thing that looks and feels familiar. it’s a glimpse…

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Linnea Ashley on May 7th, 2009

right now i am operating in space that believes every horrible thing i, or anyone else, has ever thought about me. how do you emerge from that kind of criticism when it is self inflicted? how do you not believe…

Linnea Ashley on May 4th, 2009

36,000.

It isn’t a huge number but it isn’t small.

36,000 people die annually from influenza in America. The common, everday, unsexy flu.

1.

1 is how many people have died in the united states from swine flue this year.

1.

Please don’t think I underestimate the value of life…I don’t. but when I weigh 36,000 to 1 I can’t help but wonder where our priorities are.

We have blown the swine flu out of proportion in the US. I can’t speak to Mexico but here at home, the media and school officials and politicians are all screaming that the sky is falling. And its not. Or at least it isn’t dropping pigs from on high.

So why? Why are we obsessed with this thing that is dwarfed in enormity by so many other mundane occurrences?

My bet is on blame and politics.

Blame because if this were the next big infectious disease…if this was the bird flu or on the scale of the 1918 flu pandemic no one wants to be seen as doing nothing. No one wants to be bush sitting in front of a kindergarten class holding and upside down book for the long moments after the trade center towers were attacked. We have come to a place, in the midst of our 24 hour constant news cycle, where being wrong fast is better than being right. So blame is a culprit.

Politics fits in nicely there…god forbid a politician is seen as doing nothing – even if that is most prudent – we’ll reward her/him with no reelection. But it goes deeper than that. On my way home I listened to a piece on the radio that brought out the political ammunition. Immigration. Apparently people are blaming Mexicans at large for the flu – the flu that I remind you has killed less folks than the regular flu which no one blames on anyone or tries to work into immigration arguments. The idiocy of it scared me almost as much as my knowledge that someone believes it. Someone is using this as leverage for harsher immigration laws at a time when tempers and fear are running hot.

And in Egypt the swine flu has prompted the government to kill all of the 250,000 pigs in Egypt. First there was clamor and righteousness over the H1N1. but when holes were shot into that reasoning it quickly became an issue of cleanliness. Fine of the surface but the Christian minority there – the only people who own pigs – argue that it is destroying their livelihoods (they use the pigs in their trash collection businesses) and targeting the already vulnerable Christian population.

And so people clamor and yell and claim the public’s best interest…and lost in the shuffle are deaths from any number of other things that don’t have an interesting name or aren’t new enough to illicit fear just by showing a person in a face cover. Disease continues to be a way to illicit fear. And, it would seem, even disease is political.

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Linnea Ashley on April 22nd, 2009
Vulnerability is at once the safest and most dangerous of places. A revealing of interiors into the trust of some external presence can be cradling or a perilous fall.

I find myself adept at maneuvering just on the cusp; able to share without necessarily revealing everything. Maybe because so few people are looking for those tender places where there is uncertainty or hurt or fear. Conversations often journey along more traveled roads, the stories we tell so often because they are familiar pieces of ourselves…my car accident in Mozambique, hurricane Katrina, a military brat’s life.

I tell them because they are true. I tell them because they are telling. i tell them because they are safe. Safe not because they aren’t intimate or because they do not speak to who I am…but safe because they are the parts of me I’ve already reconciled. The parts that if not reconciled, I have made peace within the confusion they bring.

But there are other truths. The ones that I am less certain of. The pieces that I am still piecing together and am not quite sure what picture they make. My closest friends know those pieces. They struggle with me to make sense of them, and where there is no sense they love me just the same.

I am vulnerable before them and they cradle me in love. And it is that cradling that I crave. The idea of being bare before someone and trusting that love remains. Family and friends and lovers learn those pieces and keep me bundled against uncertainty.

But last week I found myself in the midst of a conversation that left me feeling revealed to new eyes. Not in my entirety but the falling away of some shielding – some curtain that prevents prying eyes from seeing in. and for a moment, in the most unexpected way, I showed an aspect of myself that is telling of the heart of me.

And I’m not sure he noticed… and that is almost worse.

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Linnea Ashley on April 14th, 2009

it feels strange to be so close to home and still so far. when i’m gone – usually – i’m so far away that visiting isn’t an option or i’m close enough to drive home in a matter of hours. this west coast reality has thrown me a curve. flying home is conceivable but expensive. doable but time consuming.

as such, i try to attach my visits to work travel. when i did a gig in georgia i stopped over. and last time i was in oklahoma i did the same. it was the plan for this visit…only timing (a tuesday/wednesday trip rather than a monday or friday) and wedding thwarted those plans. so instead i find myself feeling oddly out of sorts.

to be so close to home…dallas less than 300 miles away…and i know it sounds crazy, it is almost 5 hours of driving. but i’m in the next state. i’m in the next state so in my world we should be having dinner tonight and my nieces should be deciding if today is a day that they will shower me with kisses or ignore my presence. either way…i’m too close to home to be this far away.

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Linnea Ashley on April 14th, 2009

the differences are pronounced. and where they were once so familiar i took them for granted, now they are more faint – jogged by a random sign or the lilt from a voice on the radio.

i’m south again. that is, i’m in the south. oklahoma for work and it is at once a coming home and a going away.

there are no vegan options here. last year when we came there was bacon on everything…the rice, the vegetables. i laughed to myself – couldn’t contain the grin because in some ways i am held hostage to the healthy lifestyles of the left coast.

this time it snuck up on me a little. the rebel something or other. a corner store complete with rebel flag bright against the blue sky. and despite growing up in texas and seeing that flag – if not often, more than i see it in cali – it caught me off guard. a reminder that i am far from where i used to be.

when we landed the flight attendant warned passengers to “only smoke in the designated areas”. we have fewer and fewer areas in cali…and flipping channels today there was an abundance of christian music and sermons.

the sky was the same blue…though it was warmer here today. the people were as i remember the south – sincerely friendly or noticeably not. and i am back in the cradle of the south. reminded of her flaws and her beauty.

and tomorrow i’ll return to the land of farmer’s markets and liberal guilt. but before i leave i’ll be sure to partake of some bacon sprinkled something or other…