Walk With Travis

Yesterday was the first day in three months that Travis was fine. No crying, no fears, no worries, no slip ups. He was absolutely fine. By the time 10pm rolled around I wanted him to go to bed just so nothing bad would happen. His eyes just closed now and it's 12am. The day was fine.

Him and I went for a two mile walk late this evening. It was dark and brisk, and the fall air was inviting. Travis ran in front of me up the street and said, "Let's be alive, ok?" I watched his puppet run.. his awkward hands.. and listened to his deliberate voice. I was overwhelmed by God's mercy and the depth in Travis' honest, simple words. He had no idea what he was saying. He probably never will.

Yes, let's be alive. Whatever that looks like, let's do it.

A Letter To Depression

Dear Depression,

Exactly a year ago you came to my door. You knocked, and I ignored. Then you rang the door bell obnoxiously. Ring ring ring. I turned the TV and radio up louder, but nothing could drown you out. I was finally pushed to open the door. You stayed a long time. You were an irritating, dis-respectful visitor. You put your feet up on my coffee tables, you didn't ask when you wanted something to eat, and you spoke of issues I had no interest in. Your company was annoying, and your presence was darkening.

I could not convince you to leave. You became the ever present shadow in my living room-the dark figure in the corner of the room. I tried to ignore you-I thought of you as a piece of furniture. But unlike a coat hanger, you had soul. You had personality. You had spirit. You had possession. 

I would sleep on the sofa in those days, too scared of my own bedroom. I would live and breathe art-paint was under my fingernails and poetry was scribbled on the corners of newspapers and napkins. I was pure expression and honest thought. I was so alive, yet so fucking dead. 

Those days passed by slowly. Eventually though, I started drawing smiles on my foggy, rainy windows. I began taking walks. I began answering my phone. You didn't leave yet, but your presence was quieter. You spoke fewer words and you asked for less things. We interacted very rarely during those days.

Then one morning in March, five months after diagnoses, pills, and emotions-I woke up. I went to go butter my toast, and I turned around, and realized you were not there. I searched the house, calling for your name-"Depression! Depression! Where are you?" You were gone. You left no note (you never were that considerate), and you took your coat and belongings. All that was left was the screen door you didn't close properly. 

I went throughout my day without you. Then, day by day I continued. I went months without you. I wondered about you sometimes. And now, a whole year later, my house is filled with light and your presence is not missed. I swear to God, I barely give you a single thought.

Depression, I raise my glass to myself, for surviving the visit you made to me. But with all my heart I say, I sure as hell don't miss you at all.

[Written exactly one year from the day I was diagnosed with a clinical depression. I am grateful for what time has healed.] 

Who Is Woman?

Who Is Woman?

Is she ruler of the world?

With hips created to birth,

And a womb fashioned to carry.

Arms skilled to rock,

A tongue made to scold.

A heart born to love.

(Maybe she is.)

Is she the one on television?

Letters dance behind her name,

Power following her like a parade,

Getting ahead has no shame.

A signature for success,

A model of new times.

(Maybe she is)

Is she the one in the kitchen?

Feeding the hungry,

Caring for the ill.

Sweeping the floor,

Wiping the teary eyes,

Baking the apple pie.

(Maybe she is.)

Is she black? Is she white?

Is quiet? Does she put up a fight?

Is she a teacher? Is she a preacher?

Is she married? Or alone?

Is she beautiful? Is she smart?

Does she follow science? Does she love art?

(To all or any: Maybe she is.)

Who is woman?

Let her be what she is,

And let her be what she is not.

Let her thrive,

And let her fail.

Let her be great,

And let her be greater still.

Who is woman?

A body of no other creature;

A purpose of no other soul.

(Holy words read)
And man shall not live alone.

Let her be strong,

And let her be weak.

Let her be traditional.

And let her be unique.

Watch the Woman!

As she waltz's through pages of history.

She is swift and steady.

She is able and ready.

And the pages long to read,

Here, you may see-

Woman being who she was meant to be;

Wild! Beautiful! Completely free.

Beautiful People

Beautiful people, forgive and forget.
Their eyes look like children.

The Race

You must prove that you're enough.

You must prove, `Yeah. I know my stuff.`

Get the A, win the race, make the date.

Lines like, `Your confidence determines your fate.`

Keep the room clean, stay the right weight.

Don't laugh if its not right, never be late.

Sharpen the pencils, always maintain the smile.

Be smooth, be smart, have style.

The day is a mad rush,

And maybe your just a lush:

For simplicity, for stillness.

But for now, its not here.

Don't show tears, don't show fears.

Run the race right,

Or you'll be a sorry sight.

(Is that me?

What am I destined to be?)

Look good, play the game,

Get the recognition, achieve the fame.

And at night go to bed-

With no peace in your head,

And a regret on your lips,

For all the friendships,

you don't feel like you have.

Or all the trips,

you should be taking.

For all the time,

you feel like you can't find.

For all the serenity,

you want so badly.

And you'll sleep-

These thoughts will creep,

Till morning; when,

It's time to do it all over again.

The Victor Family (Part 2)

(Taken at Conrad Weiser Homestead. All pictures by me.)

The Victor Family

(Taken at Conrad Weiser Homestead. All pictures taken by me.)

The Victor family is Kaola, Harold, Alana and Malachi. They are very special to me. This week Harold goes away for the military, so they asked me to take some pictures for them.