Dear Muskrat,
The favorites bar at the top of my browser has been filled by websites of programs of study from major universities in the area, rather than punk venues and politico podcast websites. I am thinking that school is a good place to hide out and cultivate the synaptic pathways that have remained dormant. It amazes me that in a city with so many universities and educational opportunities that the general populous chooses malt liquor beverage, in unnatural colors and flavors (blue raspberry) in oil can size containers and chemically altered tobacco that resembles some sort of spearmint flavor, and non gender specific hot pants, over centers of academia that sit across the street or down the block. You can not spit off of my fire escape without hitting some sort of academic institution.

I am faced with one of those nights where the "been there, done that" mentality has pushed the notion of hopping on the free bus to downtown and wandering around by the harbor and listening for good musi,c right out of my brain. Rather I sit on the aforementioned fire escape, sipping on a dark and stormy with top shelf rum and small batch ginger ale, laptop in hand, and thoughts needing to get out on to "paper." It seems that more of these nights have crept into my repertoire as of late. Is this what being in your 30's does to a person. Does it reduce us to sitting in our pajamas, hair in french braids, with eyeglasses on, getting drunk & blogging about how we don't feel like going out? What about hopping trains, and getting tattooed and racing cars and that trip to India I keep thinking of. Oh, god, just shoot me now...

But I am excited about starting to take my competencies and expanding them, as a leader, as head of the pack, as the alpha female, though I doubt I will ever be one of the great minds in my field, I know I will make my mark somehow. And yet I am still faced with the haunting thought of going feral. I am after all a mink, a polecat as it were, on my finer days. Wild and elusive, decorated in shiny and expensive things with one hell of a collection of high heeled shoes and cowboy boots. I crave adventure! I crave depth and authenticity, I crave freedom.

I have never been so free in my life as I am now. No name on a lease or mortgage, no car payments to be made, no children, and no deep tie to anyone or anything. Not to discredit my lovely partner in crime, but he knows that if the universe, God, life circumstances or whatever powers that be, push me much closer to the edge, I will go feral. Rather than jumping off the cliff I am being pushed towards, and rather than turning to face and combat the force that is doing the pushing I would most likely turn left and just start wandering in that direction. I will wander left. I think that you, dear Muskrat, are the only other soul who knows what that feels like, and what that means. I think that you, dear Muskrat hear the same soft call from faraway lands that I do. It is almost as if we want the past even though we know the future will be brighter and better, yet somehow we always end up turning to the left and walking in that direction praying that it holds something yet to be discovered. Praying that it hold the answer to our question. Praying that it holds the person we are meant for and the thing we are meant to do and the future that unfolds slowly and sweetly. So I propose, dear Muskrat that turning left when the more obvious choices are to jump or to turn and face the music, is the way to go.

I hope that I get to taste your coffee soon and that it warms my soul with its velvety smoothness. I only imagine that muskrats would make an amazing cup of coffee.
From the depths of my soul, I wish you success in your newest endeavor. Let us someday figure out how to life in the present, as it is a gift.
Most Sincerely Yours,
Mink, who could claim she was a marbled polecat if she had only shaved her legs and shampooed her hair today, but she did not, because she is lazy

Dear Muskrat,
Big mistake of the day today was starting it by listening to a bunch of  Twang. I should know better!!! God lord almighty!! Especially after a rough couple of days, I can't manage to make myself eat, sleep is sort of a concept rather than something that has been happening. It has been a moment where I keep telling myself "grin, bear, growl, GO!" or "at least I have a hot rod!" or "everything happens for a reason." Which is all total crap, and frankly indulging in twang every once in a while makes me happy. Wait, that is wrong, twang is mostly quite sad, in fact a lot of it reminds me of the good old days when I was married and we would two step in the kitchen every night while dinner was on the stove. Of course it also brings back memories of a voice trailing from the front door and the roar of a 455 in the drive way "boys night, bye love bug! We won't get too drunk!" and me cranking up some Dwight Yokham, slipping my wedding ring in my pocket, digging through my clothes for a tight white t-shirt and a clean pair of jeans, making sure there were no oil smudges on my face or neck from working on cars all day, and stealing away to the honky tonk down the road. I'd like to congratulate myself on shooting myself right in the emotional foot with this one today. But I can't get the image of a neon moon out of my minds eye.

Twang instantly delivers the feeling of tight Levis stretched just so across my hips and the breeze from a fan moves to and fro across the sweet spot of my lower back where my white tshirt has slipped up a bit as I lean over a bar, on the tip of my toes, dollar bills folded in hand trying to get a long neck bottle of what ever is coldest. My feet seem to be strapped into the perfect pair of post apocalyptic cowboy boots, but that is my little secret as you would have to see me "sans pants" to know the oil stained rounded tow that flows to stacked heels scrubbed clean of horse shit and asphalt, are all held together by rivets and cast buckles. I know what that cold bottle feels like when it first touches my lips, it moves slightly to the left as the lipstick meets the condensation it acts like oil and vinegar. But I've gotten pretty good at drinking from the bottle while retaining all layers of lipstick, intact, and in their origional location. Twang means that soon enough there will be a hand wrapped over mine, and another hand on my back. If we know each other, his fingers rest into my waist and if we don't, they sit into the middle of my back until he asks me a second time to dance. Twang means my breast will be ever so politely pressed into a chest, which means, no push up bra cheater kind of crap, unless you want him to know you are insecure.... Mmmmm and that chest always smells of freshly ironed cotton, if we dance real close my hair will absorb a hint aftershave, oiled leather and cologne. And it lingers, sometimes the next morning my pillowcase has a hint of it too. Twang means looking past his shoulder as your right foot is delicately placed in his stance and your belt buckle almost catches his belt loop, but if you know how to dance, it never does. It means only catching each others eye as he spins you back around and pulls you in his arms, his chest, his lead again. A truly good lead has that natural rhythm and can control your every move with his fingertips, sigh. If they knew that at that very moment, they also controlled you with those fingertips....... Twang means that no matter how old you get, at some point in the evening you will be sitting on a flipped down tailgate, swinging your feet and you will feel like a kid under the big sky.

Ever been kissed while sitting on a tail gate Muskrat? I recommend it, but only if there is twang playing somewhere in the background.

Oh Muskrat, I'm not one to live in my fantasy, but today, I don't think there is any other way. So cheers to the shoe box in the top of my closet that has my favorite pair of Levis, my lucky white t-shirt, and pair of tiny diamond earrings. I keep them there so I don't have to waist time hunting through my laundry, and I can spend more time dancing to twang.

Most Sincerely Yours,
The Cleaver Mink who has disguised herself as A Marbled Polecat

Confession of Sin

Bless me Muskrat for I have sinned. It has been 56 days since my last blog.

Dear Muskrat,
I have moved into a new environment, new life, new home, new everything. I am afraid. Moving is hard and it is my least favorite thing to do. The only times I have moved was because I had to, it was not a choice & I am left with that sour taste in my mouth of trauma that happened long long ago. But none the less, it had to happen. I sit this morning after a long constitutional, the purposeless walk kind, not the washroom kind, on the 3rd story of an old Victorian home surrounded by all manor of memory, visual, olfactory & auditory delights. The dog's tail is gently swishing against the wall and the wood floor as the sound of his rhythmic panting due to our walk starts to fade, booze fueled snores and labored sleep come from the bedroom and I am reminded of tidbits from last night that either made steam shoot out of my ears or made feel whole & loved. Cars, bicyclists, junkies and church goers all pass beneath me sitting on the fire escape. They do not know I am here but I watch as the priest sneaks out the back door of St. Michael's Episcopal Church at 9:45am to smoke a Newport, I can see the green and gold pack stand out against his black robes and dark skin, before he calls his parishioners to make a joyful noise promptly at 10. I watch as the young Caribbean man with dreadlocks ducks into a hole {an alley with no exit} only to have a hopper {young drug dealer} come running down the sidewalk to meet him and make the hand off. I hear motorcycles roll by on their way to the Hell's Angles Clubhouse down the next alley way where any neighborhood drug dealer can re-up his or her supply. I say hi to the kids on skateboards & bicycles as they ride down to foofy cafes and stores with philosophies on the next block over. I see the Sunday bonnets on plump old ladies and can hear church bells ring at 9, 9:30, 10 & 10:30 from all over the neighborhood. The baptists have the loudest bell, but their church is the oldest and biggest. I am so inspired by all of the god, the jesus, the stained glass I am surrounded by. Yet I am not a believer, I don't have plans to become one. But rather than ramble on and on and on I want to show you what I see every Sunday morning, on my purposeless walk, and absolve myself of my sins. How many 'Our Fathers' and 'Hail Mary' prayers will get me off the hook?
Most sincerely yours,

The Marbled Polecat know as Mink {who now lives in the beautiful red building, but still considers home a concept, not a place}

Reality Check in the form of a Lost Dog

Dear Muskrat,

I have tried to write you, life has dissolved my time the past few weeks.

I lay in bed in mourning, wrapped in a microcosm, aware of my want out. Memories of the last decade come and go, come and go. They organize, form an annotated timeline. I sit in front of it, and decide not to review significant events that have defined me.

Eyes absorbing the texture of the ceiling, feet warm & tucked tight under the quilt, I see that I define the timeline, and decide to shift some things, add some things and flick some things away. As I reach out, fingers primed, my third finger flinches under the pressure. It is unwilling to flick, to send things I don't like about myself flying towards the bedroom wall.

Nothing gets shattered.  I say to my finger "Afraid?" I take a deep breath and listen, song birds outside the window, the creaking hinge of the door on the church across the street, a man on the street who is being followed by a lost dog trying to reason with it to go back to its home.

And I giggle, as I sit up and stretch over the windowsill to catch the last bit of the very one sided conversation, between the man and the dog. He hears me push the window open and looks up to the third floor, pauses and waves his hand once. My cheeks heat up as awareness of my lack of clothing pushes it way to my brain. He turns one last time to the dog and admits defeat shrugging his shoulders. I watch as they saunter down the street, leader and follower. The man catches the bus and the dog is left standing alone, looking rather confused. I would do the same if I was in the dog's situation. It sits down in the sun and looks up at me and I want to save it, but I know I can't. It is not my dog.

I am snapped back to reality, the laundry won't wash itself, my dog can't fix his own breakfast, there is a hug, a kiss, a bowl of oatmeal and unending cups of coffee, a 6 mile jog, a concert, a new friend to meet and walk in the sun all ahead of me today. I better get to it, and continue creating my timeline.

Good luck with your timeline today Muskrat. I hope it is full of things that make you smile.

Most sincerely yours,
Mink

The Marbled Polecat

Dear Muskrat,

I could not decide between coffee or tea this morning. Eventually I realized I could make both. Before that miraculous thought unleashed itself in my mind, I had a bit of a fuss. You see dear Muskrat, I am saturated with loneliness. Academia has not resolved it, marriage did not resolve it, divorce reinforced it, loss of friends and family woke it up just after it had begun to slumber. Moving clear across the country on some money fueled ill advised freedom ride gave it strength. The good people at Life Change Therapy tried to extinguish it. Sometimes shopping keeps it quite for a while, at first because it has to help me carry the bags of knit and cloth, sparkly lipstick & beautiful shoes. And after because its voice is muffled by a giant pile of tissue papers, shiny bags that have nice ribbon handles, tags & prices, the plastic fasteners that always make holes in delicate fabric and that the vacuum never seems to suck up, and those extra buttons that I am never sure what to do with.

All I know is that this morning as I was beginning to rise from slumber the loneliness was floating around me like a fruit fly, not really forceful enough to bother me, but noticeable. And wouldn't you know dear Muskrat, within an hour I was in tears, because I couldn't decide between coffee or tea. My dog was very confused as I talked him through the whole scenario of one or the other, but not both. He just looked at me with one ear perked up and blinked one eye as if to say, "humans are crazy, all of them." And I realized that I was not speaking of coffee or tea.

I was speaking of home. I have two homes that I can not be in at the same time. It is a very lonely place to be. I miss each one when I am away from it. I need to let my heart break. I need to let it fall to pieces and to feel the lonely. I need to embrace and except the lonely. I need to listen to what it is telling me instead of ignoring it of covering it in a pile of shopping trip. I think it is saying that it is ok to be lonely. I think it is saying that having two homes is not a bad thing. I think it is telling me that friendships are what make a home. I think it is saying that relationships can be more important than friendships, but friendships are what carry you through life no matter what state your relationships are in. Some of my deepest friendships are with people I see only every few years, but they are the ones that matter the most. They are the ones I would drop any thing for, re arrange my life to accommodate, spend every last penny I have to get there, and never ask any questions about a 2am phone call that both requires immediate action and does not make much sense.

So with the thought of friends near and far and the beginning of resolution on lonely, I resolve to feed my soul by doing the following things today:

I will indulge in what is known as "foofing" (soak in water laced with sea salt, red dye 40 and fake rose scent, paint my nails & dye my hair) so that I feel fancy like a marbled polecat instead of a plain coffee colored mink. Marbled polecats are no different than I, they are just more exciting to look at.

I may or may not start adding whiskey, condensed milk and two sugar cubes to my afternoon coffee. But either way, I resolve not to spill the beans on myself.

I will scratch my dog's belly while I lay in the middle of the floor and ponder the little things in life I am in awe of.

I will clean my apartment & do my laundry while listening to bad top 40 pop music (feel free to judge me but if you have not tried it Muskrat, dancing around in your undies while singing LMFAO's party rock anthem and folding socks is quite freeing).

I will do one adult thing today, like pay my bills or get my tax documents together.

I will throw one snow ball (Muskrat, we finally got real snow!!).

I will do one of 2 things tonight, either make sweet love to a soulful man or go see some live music ( I think Cass McCombs is playing). If I get any smarter today, I may realize that I can do both.

Oh Muskrat! I think that the phrase "change you attitude & change your latitude" is applicable to the notion of lonely. I hope you find warmth & nourishment to dissolve your lonely today too.

Most Sincerely Yours,
Mink

Why I HATE Facebook, my inner David Sedaris unleashed.

Dear Muskrat,
I wrote you yesterday but it magically disappeared. But I'll recap the gist of it all. I HATE facebook because it takes away the relation in relationship. We need to see each other's eyes, we need to feel each others energy, we need to hear each other breathe in between sentences and we need to be sure that we are understood, laughed with, not laughed at, and that when someone gazes at us, it is with sincerity, not pity.
And with that thought, I make myself an ass by checking my facebook after I publish this post, but only to see what the people I love unconditionally have are sharing with me & the rest of the world. I can count my facebook friends on my fingers and my toes and I miss them all every day.
Most Sincerely Yours,
Mink

New Year? I think not!

Dear Muskrat,


What about each passing year makes us think it is new? I am not sure if I buy the notion of rebirth. I have gown & gotten older and wiser, I make more money and different choices than 10 years ago, each day I care a little less about the stuff in life and care more about life itself. I even listen to classical music on the radio sometimes. Shhhh, don't tell anyone.


Wise people for centuries have said that this is the path to self actualization. But where is the rebirth that is attached to the new year? I know it was used as a way of lifting spirits up in the dead of winter when things are cold, gray and bleak. But I am not a deciduous tree that regrows its leaves each year. Nor I am someone who can answer the great questions of the universe by becoming a "born again" Christian. I don't have faith in rituals that shed us of the experiences in life in the hopes that we become a blank slate or pure again. Those experiences have crafted us!


We carry who we are everywhere we go. I am not sure why I thought my experience would be any different. I am perhaps more of my true self now that I am away from those I love so dearly and miss so much. There is not that safety net to explore in life, rather I am forced to explore. Why did I trade in my life that was full of love, goodness, health, comfort, home, activity and creativity for the complete unknown. It surely was not to have a rebirth.


I left to look into myself. I left to cultivate my soul by reflecting on the world around me, by reading and writing, by playing my instruments & catching up on sleep & taking bubble baths & sewing & creating & learning. But at the core of it, I left to learn love. Not to learn to love. Not to learn about love. Not to fall in love. I left to learn love.


In this season of rebirth, I realize that I, just like the famous bumper sticker says, was "born ok the first time." I can not change my past, and shedding it would mean losing part of my soul, a turbulent part, full of hurt and triumph.


So I argue this, we are not destine for rebirth, rather we are like the Phoenix. We burn away and rise from the ashes that are our smoldering past and eventually those ashes go cold. Hopefully by that time, we have risen far enough above the soot as not to singe our beautiful tail feathers. No rebirth! Just get burned and then rise and rise and rise. And decide quickly when you feel you rectrix feather start to heat up, if you need to burn or if you just need to rise more quickly.


Most Sincerely Yours,
Mink