A Letter to My Niece

Little Harlow,

Welcome to life! I am so excited that you are finally here. When you were less than an hour old, your mom and dad called me and I got saw your tiny, real face for the first time. I felt tears of joy form then, and they lingered in my eyes for days afterward. I knew in that moment that I had to see you as soon as possible, that I had to return home sooner than planned. So I did, and when I first held you, I was overwhelmed with awe at your every perfection. I was also so grateful that you actually let me hold you – unlike your brother when he was a new baby!

~*~

Three years ago, I wrote a letter to your brother and cousin right after they were born. In it I shared my wishes and dreams for them, my hopes for their life, and, though meager, wisdom. Everything in that letter I want for you as well. I want you to know by heart all the words and songs of your favorite movies. I want you to be excited for bed on Friday nights, because you know that when you wake on Saturday an entire table of syrupy pancakes and blueberry muffins will be waiting for you. I want you to witness the fathomless peace that comes over you when you wake to find a kitten curled up in your arms, it's whispery purr rumbling from your head to your toes. To swim in the limitless spirit that floods you when surrounded by a desert's song.

I hope that the brightness of your spirit will outshine the greatest dark this world tries to throw at you. That you know oceans of love and joy and peace. That in those waters only the faintest and most minor droplets of pain and sadness land upon you. And speaking of oceans; it is my fervent wish that you will get to travel through all of them, and with gleeful anticipation step foot in every country and continent you desire to explore. I dream that, amidst the chaos and uncertainty of our troubled, beautiful world, you are able to find a true home. A place that makes you feel complete, whole - the way I do when I breathe in the air of Alaska.

Something else I shared with Tanner and David were the words “Follow Your Bliss", a missive first spoken by your Grandpa Berg. In the volume and routine of daily life, it is a mission so easily lost, and yet I believe it is so important to each person that they do seek out their own vision of bliss. There is another reason why so many people do not follow their soul's poem - it is not an easy path. It is hard, and scary and full of treacherous, vicious thoughts. So many people hold back from their dreams because of those thoughts, because they allow the initial flickerings of doubt to erupt so high that they drop their plans like forgotten pennies on the pavement. 

Create the courage to be different. To learn to let yourself grow used to, and live with, fear. It is OK to be afraid, that’s part of what makes you human, but it is vital that you talk back to your fear whenever it dares dissuade you. Ask it questions, uncover it’s loopholes and weak spots. Find them and you'll be able to climb through every obstacle thrown at you, with a rare freedom waiting for you on the other side. It will be so hard to do this at first, crushing to a point that it will feel impossible. It isn't though, and the more you fight back, the easier it will become to keep fighting.

I also pray that you grow up to define yourself by your soul, and not your body. While you are physically beautiful, that is not all you are. Not even close. We live in a world that, regrettably, tries to judge women by how they look and dress, what color their hair and eyes are, whether they’re too much or too little of something, honing in on a number on a scale. These cruel judgments of the world are not important and I want you fling them away from you as far as possible. 

So when you watch the movies of Disney princesses don't just notice their beauty, but their inner power as well. Belle’s bravery, Merida’s fierceness, Cinderella’s kindness to animals. Then go learn about the real life princesses  - the warrior ones – Zenobia and Boudicca. Read the stories of women who did not smother their truths at the request of others, nor let talk of 'a men’s world' keep them from diving into science and politics and adventure - Marie Curie and Queen Elizabeth I, Sally Ride and Nellie Bly. Place importance on the tales of women who aided others, knowing that those actions jeopardized their very lives - Sojurner Truth and Harriet Tubman and Malala Yousafza. Soak up the stories of these women - and countless others - and let them inspire you to find the story of your life that you need to be told.  

I look forward so much to seeing you grow. To watch as you navigate the complexities of siblinghood, and parent's rules. To being part of the support system that helps you discover which pathways and rivers you want to travel down. I am eager to know the sound of your laughter, to witness the way your eyes light up at the sight of the tree on Christmas morning, and to share in your joy as you discover the pure magic that is Harry Potter. I can't wait to watch you discover the miracle of worlds that exist between the covers of books, and to whisk you away on coffee dates and trips to the movies. And when you are playing sports or dancing or singing or taking part in spelling bees or math competitions, I will always be cheering you on, perhaps not always in person, but absolutely in spirit.

Finally, let your own, unique powers glow and give yourself free reign to be wild or calm, silly or serious, loud or quiet, to be all of these and everything in between if that is what you desire. Dictate to the world who you will be, not the other way around.

*~*

Dear Harlow, when I first learned of your coming, it was as I walked through a forest of tall, ancient trees. I celebrated your new existence within a sea of old ones. I loved you entirely then. I love you infinitely more now. I always will.

          - Aunt Kelly (Kiki)

~*~*~

Faelina's Reads - 2018 Top 10(ish)

This year, more than any other in my adult life, I made reading a priority. Perhaps THE priority would be the more accurate way to phrase it. In the mornings before work, during work breaks, while eating dinner, and in the precious last minutes before falling asleep, I have been reading. I've done little else. I have also - thanks to some nudging from a favorite podcast - begun listening to audiobooks once more. For years, I'd been unable to focus on stories spoken unless I'd already read the books themselves before. Thankfully that problem has passed.

All told, adding up every novel, novella, audiobook and middle grade chapter story I have read 212 books this year. Mostly it's been fiction, and usually the story is seeped in either sci-fi or fantasy though there have been a decent number of memoirs and random other non-fictions sprinkled in. I tend to read books dipped - if not drenched - in darkness, but every once in awhile I sought out something light. The longest book I've read was 746 pages, the shortest about 130. Michelle Obama's 'Becoming' was the audiobook that logged in the most hours at just over 19, and the shortest audio story didn't even reach three. I have loved many, enjoyed dozens more, and disliked others so much that I really should have just stopped reading them. I even managed to sneak in a few re-reads: 'Tithe' by Holly Black, 'Furiously Happy' by the wonderful Jenny Lawson, the impossibly beautiful 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn' by Betty Smith, and a childhood favorite 'The Boggart' by Susan Cooper.

One of the few regrets I do have for 2018 is that I didn't write about more of them here on this blog. Sure I did with a couple, but there were so, so many others that I would have loved to let people know about. I feel almost like I've let those stories down by not spreading word of their greatness! So I've started a new Faelina's Reads Instagram account which will hopefully spur me into more writing next year. As for 2018, I've narrowed it down to my Top 10(ish) favorites of the year (re-reads not considered):

1. Some Kind of Fairy Tale - Graham Joyce

It’s Christmas night and a daughter appears on her parent’s doorstep after having been missing for 20 years.  She was with the faeries, she says, and for her only 6 months had. An impossible truth, yet her family cannot deny that she does not look a day older than 16. I read this book at the beginning of of the year and I still think of it almost every day. It’s filled with sadness, heartache, the deep relentless longing that exists in the hearts of us who so desperately search for magic around each and every corner. I spend every day hoping I will find this tale's forest of bluebells.

2. The Power - Naomi Alderman

This held the place of my favorite book of 2018 for most of the year, and it definitely is my favorite audio book out of the 100 I’ve listened too. Set in a near-ish future; women and girls everywhere suddenly develop the ability to cause physical pain to men, the result of a new muscle that is wrapped around every female’s collar bone. It is a vast and shocking story about what happens when the rules are abruptly changed and women rule the world. How quickly cruel women can be toward their old oppressors, have angry and hateful men become against their usurpers. A very rich and dark tale, the narrator does a phenomenal job of giving a voice to each character – whether they be from America, England, Africa or Russia. I love, love, loved this book and think everyone should read it.  

3. Hunger - Roxanne Gay
Hunger is one of those books that I think every person on the planet should read, but most especially every woman. It’s a memoir, the story of Gay’s lifelong battle with food and obesity; of how her war began after she was gang raped at the age of 12. Most of her life has been different from mine in every possible way. I haven’t experienced her trauma, I’ve never been obese, and she has a relationship with food that gives my anorexic mind nightmares. But even so, there were so many lines of the book I would swear had been ripped straight from my mind. We as a culture need more books like these, so that hopefully, one day, we will can truly start seeing souls instead of bodies. Definite trigger warnings for rape and eating disorders.  

4. Into the Drowning Deep/Feed - Mira Grant
Try as I might I just cannot figure out which of these two books I love more. Into the Drowning Deep has a rich luscious horror that lurks around the edges of each page, and drags you swimming down into the ocean depths where carnivorous mermaids sing. It’s beautiful and terrifying and I want so badly for it all to be true. Feed (the first of the NewsFlesh trilogy) is a story I shouldn’t like because it’s about zombies, and I hate the whole zombie genre. But it is SO GOOD; absorbing, fast paced, and full of surprises that will make you sit back stunned. I became a bit of a zombie myself with this trilogy, constantly wanting more, more, more of the story and characters within the pages. I am so grateful I discovered Mira Grant's works this year, and for any fans of the horror/fantasy genre I cannot recommend these books enough!

5. Every Heart a Doorway - Seanan McGuire

Sometimes in our world, there are doors that appear in the most inexplicable ways and impossible places. They appear to the children who know deep in their souls that they don’t belong on this earth. By daring to step through the door in front of them, that child then enters the world that speaks to the deepest dreams and desires of their heart. A world that is logic or nonsense, virtue or wicked. If the child is lucky they stay there forever, but sometimes, sometimes the child is forced to return to our world. This book – and subsequent series – is about those children. The ones who bereft and lost, spend every single second of their existence searching and hoping for their door to once more appear. For some it does. For others it never will. I loved this story with my entire heart.  

6. Welcome to Borderland - Multiple Authors

This book is the latest in a series of publications dating back to 1986, thanks to the wondrous minds of Mark Alan Arnold and Terri Windling, In this crazy magical reality, the border to Elfland has returned and lives in clear view with the world as we know it. Only the presence of that much magic has created a rift in the scientific rules and laws that govern planet earth. A certain part of the land can't handle technology; it can't always manage magic either. Bordertown comes out of it. A precarious magical city surrounded by the even more unpredictable Borderlands. Elfs and humans live and interact with either. Music creates dancing colors in the sky. Curses will turn men into wolves. Coffee is treasured more than gold. I am addicted to reading these stories. Captivated while lost inside them, I become shaky and desperate for more the second the last sentence ends. There are 8 books in the series. I've been lucky enough to lay my hands on 5. Unfortunately, the first three books are no longer in print. I've found one, but if anyone out there happens to run across a copy of Bordertown and/or Life on the Border please buy it for me. I will pay you back!

7. The Library at Mount Char -- Scott Hawkins

This is one of the darkest books I've read this year, but out from it's midnight home shines a brilliantly crafted tale. Carolyn is our telescope into the world, and right from the start we learn that things are not all sunshine and roses. There's blood on her dress, one of her brother's is the embodiment of war, another sister is dead - though not for long, and the man they call Father is missing. In all there are 12; children they were when Father rescued them from a disaster in which all their parents and family were killed. To each young child he assigned a Library catalog, one in which they were to study and become and never, ever share with anyone. War, Language, Mathematics, Animal, Possible Futures, Healing, the Land Beyond Death. To ensure their strict adherence to his tutelage he inflicts some of the cruelest lessons and punishments imaginable. But then one day he's gone missing and the 12 now adults are anxious to learn why. So they embark on a quest. One that brings the quiet normal  outside world their Library doors. One that almost destroys a universe. There are trigger warnings for just about every possible imaginable thing in this book, but if you think you can handle that then I highly recommend it. I did not want to leave this story behind.

8. The Art of Asking - Amanda Palmer

I wrote about this memoir shortly upon arriving in Washington. Since this post is already too long, I won't go into much detail about it again. Suffice it to say, that I loved listening to Amanda's story. I now listen to her music regularly, follow her on Instagram, and became a supporting member of her patreon (something I've never done for anyone/thing else before). She's amazing, wild, free, and fierce in her desire to create a better world through her art. Go listen to it now!

9. Beartown/Us Against You - Fredrik Backman

This was a last minute list maker. Originally this spot had been allotted to A Man Called Ove, Backman's incredibly sweet, heartening story of an old man whose inability to tolerate fools is about to face his biggest fool invasion yet. But then I decided to close out the year with Us Against You, the sequel to Backman's Beartown, and I realized that Beartown is truly the book that holds my heart. The tale of a frozen town whose heart and dreams are focused entirely on it's hockey club, Beartown and it's inhabitants wrecked me; gutted me so completely, I felt destroyed. Emotionally devastated. But I loved them so deeply. In the past when a book has made me cry, it has always only been when the book was directly in front of me; not when I was driving down the highway, nor too walking through the rain soaked woods. I did just that with theses ones though. Twenty years from now I know I will still be thinking of the characters; wondering what happened to them, what else they've been through, hoping against hope that they found happiness. I will always be rooting for Beartown.        

10. Lilith's Brood - Octavia Butler

Without a shadow of a doubt my number one favorite book of 2018. Before January I'd never even heard of Octavia Bulter. Now in December, I've devoured 6 of her books and she is one of my most beloved authors. Technically Lilith's Brood is made of of three novels Butler published back in the 1980's - Dawn, Adulthood Rights, and Imago. I don't even really know how to describe it. There are aliens, other planets, living spaceships, the knowledge that the earth as we know it today no longer exists (though we never get the complete story as to why). Weird is an understatement. Magnificent is too. Her world building is phenomenal and the creation of characters inspiring. When I reached the final page I looked up and knew something in me had forever changed. This book will change you too.

*~*

So that's it. There truly are so many others. Colson Whitehead and the shockingly real way he depicts the world. Victor Lavalle whose writing is so crisp and sharp you'd think it would contrast horribly with the impossible magic of his stories - only it doesn't. Franny Billingsly and her tinkling delightful way with words. Margaret Atwood - the writer I think I'd most aspire to be - with her stories that are ageless pearls, clear cut diamonds. Gillian Flynn's cutthroat depictions of the darker side of our souls. And the voice of Toni Morrison narrate her story 'Home' in a voice that sounds like hot maple syrup being poured over fresh pancakes on a Sunday morning.

If anyone wants to know more about the other books I've read this year, and what I thought about them, you can check out my Goodreads page here. If anyone has read the books I've listed, I would love to get your thoughts/opinions. If there is one thing I love as much as reading books, it's talking about them with fellow readers! Also, let me know if there are certain books you think I should read. Ok, that's all for now; thank you to anyone who lasted all the way through this post. I'm off to go read, and hopefully you are too!

*~*~*

Sunset Healing

Sunsets. Bellingham - like all places - has them, and since my arrival I have been graced with many that bordered on re-defining beautiful. There is one though, perhaps a month back, that gave me greater notice than all others. It was as though the sky and the bay waters aligned, grasping the day's wane as close to their chests as possible in the hopes of postponing the inevitable twilight; the way a person approaching the end of the best day of their life struggles to avoid midnight.The result was the changing of bay waters to shimmering purples, pinks and blues so rich I saw dragon scales. And if the waters were dragons, the red ranging sky was their fire. Shadows of darkest blue rippled through the waters, swimming and swirling themselves into such magnificent patterns, my breath almost forgot itself.

That night, long after the sunset had fallen to night's forceful power and I myself had fallen into dreams, I woke. It was pre-dawn. The sky and water were a dark black ink. Had the weather or hour been different, this particular waking might have fled permanent memory. But the it was almost as though the universe had  itself whispered for me to wake, because the air was clear and the full moon the only thing reigning. I saw it, right before me, bright and shimmering like a pearl that had just been dipped in gold. It's magnificent light poured out into the water, turning the soft waves into stories of deepest mystery. My breath forgot itself again, and when it returned that was when I realized - I am healing.

~*~

I shut down in Utah. I didn't realize it at the time of course. I knew I wasn't super happy, but I got to work everyday, laughed with my coworkers, had fun with Steph when our schedules allowed for it, and read a lot of incredible books. I knew from therapy that I had some minor depression, and greater than minor but not massive anxiety, but I'd had that in Maine as well (a place I achingly love) so I didn't connect those emotions with my geographical location. Now I know better.

I may have functioned like a semi-responsible adult, but I had no thirst for adventure and spontaneity was a stranger to my world. Any attempt I made to pull myself out of melancholy evaporated quicker than a desert's morning dew. When I left Maine, I wanted a place out west with mountains, and there is no denying that Utah met both those requirements. But I learned the hard way that they were not enough; I also need a place that doesn't confine thoughts to a boxed set of rules; I need a place that is wild.

~*~

I've said it before and will again - I don't regret moving to Utah. Nor am I saying that now I've moved my life is perfect. Far, far from it. I still have anxiety. I'm still living with an eating disordered voice in my head. I didn't land my dream job, nor is my current living situation ideal (though the view is hard to beat). The city I'm in isn't flawless, nor do I envision myself ever finding it so. I could go on but I think I've made my point.

What I am saying, is I'm back in a place which provides me freedom to think in magic, and that, combined with what I've learned about myself by moving here has shifted the balance of my spirit. It is no longer shrinking, but blooming, dissolving the deep wounds it's suffered these past years.  I'm better able to breath in joy and jump at possibility of adventure. I've still a long way to go to get back to myself, but I'm headed in the right direction and it is a wondrous path to be on!

~*~*~

Rain Writings

Perhaps I wrote this, inspired by the water drenched, gray windows I woke up to this morning. Or perhaps this was told to me, word for word, by someone I met in a doorway where no doorway should have been. I'll let you decided.

~*~

The fae be angry today.

Raindrops scatter against my window, racing each other t'wards a finish line only they can see. Together they paint over the outside world, leavin' me only witness whispers of the white capped waves just past the pane. It be better that way.

Safe inside, I wonder what 'tis that's riled the old ones so; throwing down dark clouds to smash against our world the way they do. We, too busy hiding inside 'neath our dry, warm blankets or scurryin' about 'neath muddy umbrella caps, aren't looking up. Let me tell you, it ain't no coincidence those plastic caps be shaped like mushrooms. No. We not meant to see the white wings flutterin' crazy like a hurricane's scream. An' our ears be formed so as not to know the gusts of wind for what they truly be, bellows of rage. So foolish we are, an' always have been.

What has happened, I wonder. Be it a rift in their court or a cut in the earth? Either one will set them stormin'; anger so hot in their blood the world must turn to icen mist less we all taste flames. They will settle, I be sure like the thousands wars afore this one. Without even a pinprick of awareness on our mortal skins o'course. Yet my heart can't help but lie with the cold, wrapped 'round the knowledge that, dagger like, our fates are held in their hands an' all lives could cease should they choose to continue this destruction.

Perhaps it be best we don't. Know the reason for the drops I mean. Human souls lack strength enough to bear the weight of such wild magic. We like our worlds to be packaged, bundled 'round safe beliefs an' ideals. We cling an' clasp to the concept of truth an' cannot grasp that what truth be lacking is existence. Our world is a spirit of a different sort. Chaos; unbridled an' entire. Truth be a false word.

The fae know this. The fae are this. Gallant are they for taken up their swords an' armor an' power to clash against each other, sos we do not 'ave to. They 'ave chosen to allow our shelter of lies to remain an' per'aps this be the greatest mystery of them all.

So I sit an' watch the raindrops glisten like flattened diamonds upon the glass. I be grateful for the wind gusts that sing to me only of air. Happy that the waves seem to bow by their will alone and not the sirens I know be lurking 'neath the blue. I turn from the shadows, for it be inside them that mine eyes will see other dark eyes of stone staring back. I don't want that an' you shouldn't neither. There be some myths that are meant to stay swirling in smoke.

~*~*~

Two Weeks In - Bellingham Update

Two weeks I've been in Bellingham. I've stayed busy, seen as much as possible. I've begun to feel a little more comfortable. Do I love it yet? No. However...

I do love the trees here. Tall, silent watchers, guardians of the land. Each one covered in an intricate pattern of green moss and spiderwebs, the two battling for their spots like dancers on a palace floor.

I do love the Saturday market. The bustle of vendors and visitors combine to create an invigorating aroma of joy and community.

I do love the bookstores. There's the well known Barnes & Noble, the local staple Village Books and the delightful used bookshops Eclipse and Hendersons.

I do love all the parks, lakes, ponds and footpaths I've happened upon to date. All have a beauty of their own, that blends into the overall splendor of this area of Washington.

I do love the wild blackberries. The way the sunlight flickers like memories along the ground. How the sunrise gives way to a sky that looks like soft, gray pillows of cashmere.

And I do love that, without warning, I'm hit with a sound, sight or smell that makes me feel - for a second - like I'm in Alaska or Maine or Norway. That's amazing.

I may not yet love Bellingham butI love enough of it's parts to stay awhile.

Last week I accepted an employment offer and I Monday is my first day. Finding a place to live that is simultaneously affordable and pet friendly has proven tricky, so I've made an arrangement with my AirBnB host to stay through December. The monthly cost is more than I can afford long term but I have enough to manage until the end of the year, and I prefer to do this versus jumping into a situation that I don't feel comfortable with. I feel safe here, Faelina is safe here, the house is quiet and I have a stunning view. Plus, I can actually walk to work (a first for me), thereby saving me some money on gas.

It is my hope that things will only fly upward from there. That I'll enjoy my new job and coworkers, that December will bring me into an new home, that friendships will form and new hikes will continue to awe. They might not and I'm still experiencing fears and nerves about that, deep enough to rattle my core. On top of that anxiety though is excitement, and a path that is leading me back to the person I want to be. I feel more like myself than I have in a very long time. It's a good way to be.

*~*~*

Trains

Trains.

Bellingham has them. Tracks snake throughout town. You can be just about anywhere and hear them call. They run right by my AirBnB, passing at any hour of the day and nigh, rattling the house and sending a thunderous roar through it's rooms. Some might find that tiresome and disruptive. I don't. I like the trains.

Years ago, before I was even born, my dad was an engine driver. He didn't speak about that time often, but when he did it was always with happy nostalgia. For years, Christmas decorations were not complete without dad setting up our mini-train village. My sisters and I would often find new tiny trains under the Christmas tree to add to our collection. At the time, I wasn't able to muster quite the same level of enthusiasm as my dad did, but they were fun. Now it is I who smile with sweet recollections any time I see toy trains chugging through a Christmas village. The same goes for the sight of real trains cutting their way through the country. Trains remind me of my dad.

There is another reason I love trains. I am not quite sure I'll be able to adequately transform the emotions I feel into words but I'll try.

Trains have a mystery. They are full of secrets they'll never share. Their tracks lay a path in which it's possible to step into another time; where once they were only means to 'quickly' get from New York to California, or filled with luxury they pushed their way through the snow laden mountains of Europe. Circuses were possible because of trains. Their miles of cars - making up the tightrope walkers nest, the clowns reprise, the homes (albeit horrid ones) of the show's lions, tigers and bears - the only way they were able to jump from town to town.

Trains saw the world. They still do; roaming steadily amidst cities, cutting through mountain tunnels, crossing roaring rivers and trickling streams. For decades they've tasted some of our most exciting stories and felt the sorrow of some of our deepest tears. They were hope to all the runaways who risked their lives by jumping aboard, counting on the train to carry them into a better life.

The trains running past my window aren't bringing people closer to adventure, but there is still in their depths something that calls to my wandering soul. I can't help but listen for them and, one day, I just might answer their call.

~*~*~

The Art of Asking

I am 40 minutes away from finishing the audio version of The Art of Asking by Amanda Palmer, and I have to write about it.

~*~

Until March of this year, the entirety of my knowledge regarding Amanda Palmer was that she a) was married to Neil Gaiman and b) did something with music. Then in March, she interviewed on one of
my favorite podcasts (Reading Glasses) and I was intrigued, extremely, by everything she said. I decided I needed to read her book, but couldn't get access to it until now.

As the title suggests, it's about learning to let yourself ask for and receive help; whether that is in the form of a couch to crash on for the night, funding for a new album, or a tampon in a public bathroom (all examples in the book). She talks about the need to disband the stigma that asking for help is shameful and/or a sign of weakness, and instead frame it with the view that it's a way to collaborate with the rests of the world. There is a gift, she says, in the act of one asking and another helping.

She shares examples of how this philosophy has worked for her time and time and time again. The years she spent busking as a Bride Statue in New York. The countless fans who offered up their couches and spare beds for her band The Dresden Dolls so they could afford to go touring. She's a big fan of Twitter and often tweets out pleas for help - for herself or others - and they are almost always answered. Many people - reporters, artists, musicians - ask her all the time how she's acquired such generous fans. Her response; - it is because in return for their help she has given herself to them completely, and not just with her songs. She's held dozens of free, impromptu concerts all around the world, sending out a tweet announcing the time and place and that all are welcome. She's sat in closets, bedrooms and out in fields listening to the secrets and heartaches of any person who wants to tell her. She's bared her whole body and offered up paintbrushes or markers, allowing her fans to draw whatever they want on her skin.

~*~

I encourage everyone to read this book and by read I mean listen because the audiobook is incredible. Amanda Palmer narrates it herself and I feel like the listener can more deeply understand the emotions and delivery of all the conversations she relays versus reading silent words on a page. Plus, interspersed through the words are songs sung by Amanda. I don't love them all but others are magnificent, I almost cried by the end of one of them. And I sensed the love she carries for each of her fans, her friends and her family. In away she sees them all as one in the same. Listening to her speak doesn't make me feel as though I'm merely taking in a book, but rather deep in conversation with a friend.

I've mostly listened while walking the footpaths in Bellingham, pausing at times to pick a few delicious, wild blackberries. About halfway through the book it occurred to me that perhaps it came into my life at the exact right moment. I am not good at asking for help. In fact I suck at it. I have stuck deep in my psyche the strong conviction that to ask for assistance of any kind, particularly on a large level, is to admit that I am weak, lazy, and not enough. It's one of of the reasons my eating disorder was so able to flourish so vibrantly. I came to Bellingham largely to prove to myself that I was strong enough to figure life out completely alone.

Perhaps I need to rethink that philosophy.

Not to the degree that I throw myself to the mercy of the world and expect people to provide for me. I fully understand that I am ultimately always responsible for landing on my feet. Maybe though, it wouldn't be such a bad thing to sometimes ask if anyone knows/has the best spot for my feet to touch the ground.

~*~

I don't see me completely changing. Learning to ask for help will likely be a lifelong process but here's a small beginning: If anyone has, or knows someone who does, a tiny place they'd be willing to rent fairly inexpensively to a quiet person and inquisitive (but well-behaved) cat in the Whatcom County area, I'd love to speak with them. If not no worries; I'll figure it out (or I won't and go home), and as I'm doing that I'll keep reading, writing and - now - listening to the music of Amanda Palmer.