I’ve been really put out with the unevenness of life lately.  I want things to be perfect for a bit. Life to be perfect. Settled and sweet and mundane and brilliant and extraordinary. 

I want the disruptions to be replaced with good surprises, chaos with a steady pace and the liminal unknown to be restored with brilliance. 

I’m weary of things to be sad about and wounds to be tended. I would like to have  someone I trust sitting on my couch at any given moment of the day who may not have every answer but exudes  I’ve got you - here’s a hug and a Diet Pepsi. 

In the South we ask “ What kind of coke do you want?” meaning; Coke, Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, Tab, etc. It makes perfect sense.

Anyway, approximately every 3-4 months I indulge in an iced cold Diet Pepsi - or Coke, depending on where I am when it feels like time, so if someone offers me one off season so to speak, it’s  much more than a can of carbonated sugar and carcinogens, it’s a silent message that says I know this about you… this will make you happy.

Welcome to my corner of Substack. I wish I could say I have a well curated plan for what will happen here but life is unruly and I tend to follow her lead.

I thought I would share a list of things about me in case you’re deciding if you would like to come back…

• I’m currently writing a collection of essays that are lovely and disorganized and surprise me with each edit - much like life.

• I’m not an influencer unless you need to know how to zhuzh the frosting that comes with the Trader Joe’s organic cinnamon rolls – then I’m your person.

• Set me down at a table with the people I cherish, good food, chaos and everyone talking sans phones. Cue fabulous music, babies throwing food, children being exactly who they are, and you can color me content. Even better if it ends with Sobremesa; settling in under twinkle lights and to a continued conversation over coffee and possibly a 5-8 layer cake.

• I tend to write in lowercase. It stems from ninth grade English in Pine Bluff, Arkansas where I was strongly encouraged by way of all caps in red ink on the top margin of a returned test to please stop writing in all caps. Always the new girl, I needed to express my fourteen year old, socially-awkward self in some benign and unseen way.  I was also a well behaved preacher’s daughter so I complied by writing in all lowercase.  

• The ellipsis are my most favored of the punctuation family. They hold a place for the rest of the story… or just the good parts…or maybe they just give us permission to pause and cry.

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Here’s a little offering…

Maybe I’m not alone in my yearning for life to be perfect for a minute. Maybe you are weary of tending to wounds, yours or others. Maybe you can’t decide if you should sit or stand or sleep or run or eat those leftovers while loitering inside the open door of the refrigerator, or binge Newsroom (Yes. Yes you should ).  

It could be that courage is illusive and apathy is abundant. I am one of a collective of humans who are standing by. We simply must steady each other - don’t you think? When the only thing that should make sense doesn’t, we are the ones who hold out tiny life lines of cold beverages or deep dish pie or empty mornings.

We are the place holders.

Recently during a walk on what felt like a misplaced fall morning. I listened to a podcast about our brains and trauma and how we need to talk about it…whatever it is ad nauseam while we’re healing. Hello vindication.

I said Hi and Hey and Good Morning to people with laptops sitting at small outdoor tables drinking coffee and probably looking at emails about something something end of quarter something. I felt the sun and the breeze and lingered a bit in the aching pangs of sadness and melancholy smushed together with the sweet and mundane.

A day in the life.

I made a stop at the ice cream shop in my neighborhood and bought two scoops of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream…and a Diet Coke, as one does. It felt illegal and of course made no sense - and yet it did.

What kind of Coke would you buy?

Thank you for being here, please consider this space a steady place holder.

I’m so happy you’re here-Ru