Blog Manifesto

Blog Manifesto


This blog is dedicated, as the title would suggest, to the qualities of being young. We are young writers. We are playful and sensitive, fluid and changing. We are unashamed with our art. We wonder at the world, puzzle over the meanings of things and twirl in delight at images and ideas that float by, grabbing at them as they pass. We are curious and constantly inquiring and prying concepts open and taking assumptions apart. We are on the ground, close to the earth. We have bare feet and wiggle our toes into nature. We carry our blankies still and wrap up cozy and comfy with each other and tell ghost stories and shiver at creepy things. We laugh and we cry and we take a lot of naps, drained from our outings and exertions.

We write as gifts to each other, tying them up in ribbon and leaving them around for each other to find, hiding and waiting for the person to wake up and read. Surprise! We weave our stories together to create a bond. One writes, then the other. then another again. We have a shared reality that we have crafted, bit by piece by patch, by string. We write simple, honest authentic things, with our unique voices. You can tell each one of us from the other, without knowing who wrote what. Our voices are clear and gentle and original. We whisper and our personalities roar! Like children, our feelings are strong, our passion for what we write shakes us. We are moved and sometimes left breathless, by our own words or the words of each other. We cannonball into each others spaces. We fall backward into each others writing, like into a pile of leaves or a soft bed. We gobble and grin and ask for more. (footnote kudos to JC)

Then we go to bed, wake up to a new day and do it all over again!

Friday, February 10, 2012

strength

there were tears that sunny day
outside the back entrance to Seabrook Hall

ma and i spent the morning setting up my side of the dorm.
dad and i had spent the latter part of the summer fashioning a loft bed out of metal.  we had fun playing with the welder.  that bed was heavy as hell and a puzzle to put together, but it was sturdy and it was perfect for the new digs. 

with everything set.. the time had come. 
and so, the three of us stood quietly outside.  i gave my ma a tight hug.  i took a step back and looked down at her.  her eyes were bright and loving and yet hard to read.  always so hard to read.. 

sniffles...

we both turned.
dad was in a puddle of tears.  weeping and smiling.  and, well.. then i fell apart.  i think that was probably the longest hug we ever shared. 

'will you two stop that?'  ma gently reprimanded.

*****************************************************************************
years later i asked dad why she said that.  (actually, she said it a lot to us when we would tear up over stuff..)  he said.. 'i didnt know your mother nearly so well as she knew me.  your ma was strong.  but she cried like a baby the whole way home.' 

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