Tuesday, 7 August 2007
Bellchere Music Festival, Ashville North Carolina
I look at things differently now; my life is different now….. no life is the same but the way I view life is different and people have taught me this...
People watching, I have always been a fan of the sport, but was never so attentive until my trip to Europe. I had a mere mission to understand things differently, change my paradigm of life, and create more options. A quest to find what story could be told, what puzzle would be put together by immersing myself in the music, language, food, and art of a culture.. the people. As I stepped off the plane onto Tennessee concrete, that afternoon after traveling 20 straight hours, I made a promise that my new found passion would not disappear but evolve as I emerge into a new life in the south east. I knew I did not have to travel half way across the world to learn from foreign people, I had a wealth of unique culture at my finger tips.
I find myself this weekend in good company …. Two southern born and raised, home grown fellas, Mark and Jeff, have invited me to join them for weekend days full of mountain bike riding and evenings filled with a music festival that is taking place in Ashville, North Carolina http://www.exploreasheville.com/index.aspx in the heart of the Appalachian mountains.
I ask my friends to define the Appalachian culture as they see it, growing up on the outskirts of this way of life Mark answered instantly…”It means starting everything with …” momma says”……I can see it. I sense this in the southern culture, and maybe especially the Appalachian culture as it seems to be deep rooted in family. So I guess what mamma says is best. That is.... what my momma says is always best.....
I have more to learn from Bellchere, the festival located downtown Ashville that has given reason to close the streets of this small city that is nestled in the Appalachian Mountains. Temporary stages, beer stands, food vendors, and artist selling their creations take over the streets that would normally give passage to the “city” life.
Ashville, or what I remember from a previous visit, is defined by the artist community, blue grass music, and vegetarian food. A unique culture defined by mountain life, a movement of people searching for the natural life; their ancestry is spanning back to Scottish immigrants that were pushed to the mountains. Poor people that adapted to their environment; these people have a very unique culture
Music is an obvious defining component of any culture, and is especially evident at a music festival. Belchere, has a venue of all music from folk and bluegrass to techno, southern rock and blues. What I find interesting is the prominent feel of blue grass; this music is rooted in the young. I am almost taken back by two young ladies, with an outward appearance of what could be unfairly defined as “Hippies”, embracing the traditional bluegrass instrument that for me is normally associated with older mountain men finessing the stands. However, their petite hands gracefully manipulate the instrument to accompany their perfect harmony.
I assume the traditional Scottish dance was taken, manipulated, and adapted to fit the needs of the people hundreds of years ago. I see hints of the traditional dance as I watch a child and her mother “clog” dance in perfect accord to a bluegrass band that is performing on a small stage.
You can tell a lot about people by the food they eat and prepare. It is evident in grocery stores as you scan the carts of what people plan to purchase and can also be discovered at local festivals. Apple pie pilled high smothered in what appears to be camel sauce. I do not think you can get any more southern then this. My mouth begins to water as I stop and hesitate ..hmmm…. it would surely spoil my dinner.
One other thing distinctly southern is Church. Yes there are such things as snake handling churches around these parts. With any festival, a group of people, a gathering of the saved or unsaved; here in the south, the Bible belt, we have those extreme Christian groups that believe the forceful hand of God is the most effective. Crowds gather, protest against what this extreme Christian is saying. Condemning these people, not knowing their hearts, judging, slandering what Jesus was all about. I am instantly sadden, because being a Christian myself I know that this mere person with his forceful antics is turning all that is good about Christianity into a circus.
People amuses me, I could stay here all day a learn, absorb life, learn about myself, and reflect of the world as I see it through my new eyes.
People watching, I have always been a fan of the sport, but was never so attentive until my trip to Europe. I had a mere mission to understand things differently, change my paradigm of life, and create more options. A quest to find what story could be told, what puzzle would be put together by immersing myself in the music, language, food, and art of a culture.. the people. As I stepped off the plane onto Tennessee concrete, that afternoon after traveling 20 straight hours, I made a promise that my new found passion would not disappear but evolve as I emerge into a new life in the south east. I knew I did not have to travel half way across the world to learn from foreign people, I had a wealth of unique culture at my finger tips.
I find myself this weekend in good company …. Two southern born and raised, home grown fellas, Mark and Jeff, have invited me to join them for weekend days full of mountain bike riding and evenings filled with a music festival that is taking place in Ashville, North Carolina http://www.exploreasheville.com/index.aspx in the heart of the Appalachian mountains.
I ask my friends to define the Appalachian culture as they see it, growing up on the outskirts of this way of life Mark answered instantly…”It means starting everything with …” momma says”……I can see it. I sense this in the southern culture, and maybe especially the Appalachian culture as it seems to be deep rooted in family. So I guess what mamma says is best. That is.... what my momma says is always best.....I have more to learn from Bellchere, the festival located downtown Ashville that has given reason to close the streets of this small city that is nestled in the Appalachian Mountains. Temporary stages, beer stands, food vendors, and artist selling their creations take over the streets that would normally give passage to the “city” life.
Ashville, or what I remember from a previous visit, is defined by the artist community, blue grass music, and vegetarian food. A unique culture defined by mountain life, a movement of people searching for the natural life; their ancestry is spanning back to Scottish immigrants that were pushed to the mountains. Poor people that adapted to their environment; these people have a very unique culture
Music is an obvious defining component of any culture, and is especially evident at a music festival. Belchere, has a venue of all music from folk and bluegrass to techno, southern rock and blues. What I find interesting is the prominent feel of blue grass; this music is rooted in the young. I am almost taken back by two young ladies, with an outward appearance of what could be unfairly defined as “Hippies”, embracing the traditional bluegrass instrument that for me is normally associated with older mountain men finessing the stands. However, their petite hands gracefully manipulate the instrument to accompany their perfect harmony.
I assume the traditional Scottish dance was taken, manipulated, and adapted to fit the needs of the people hundreds of years ago. I see hints of the traditional dance as I watch a child and her mother “clog” dance in perfect accord to a bluegrass band that is performing on a small stage.
You can tell a lot about people by the food they eat and prepare. It is evident in grocery stores as you scan the carts of what people plan to purchase and can also be discovered at local festivals. Apple pie pilled high smothered in what appears to be camel sauce. I do not think you can get any more southern then this. My mouth begins to water as I stop and hesitate ..hmmm…. it would surely spoil my dinner.
One other thing distinctly southern is Church. Yes there are such things as snake handling churches around these parts. With any festival, a group of people, a gathering of the saved or unsaved; here in the south, the Bible belt, we have those extreme Christian groups that believe the forceful hand of God is the most effective. Crowds gather, protest against what this extreme Christian is saying. Condemning these people, not knowing their hearts, judging, slandering what Jesus was all about. I am instantly sadden, because being a Christian myself I know that this mere person with his forceful antics is turning all that is good about Christianity into a circus.
People amuses me, I could stay here all day a learn, absorb life, learn about myself, and reflect of the world as I see it through my new eyes.
Friday, 27 July 2007
Girls Best Friend,Hamilton Creek, 11 miles 1hr 20 min
Today I am taking an adventure at a place that has been considered “home” since I started to ride mountain bikes. I started riding the trails at Hamilton Creek when I was in junior high school. My basket ball coach thought I need to lose weight so “the bull ,as I was called back then, would be a little quicker on her toes…. So he talked me into riding for exercise thus-this is when the monster was created. Just for information sake, I did not end up losing any weight..I just ate more. Anyway, now 14 years later I have returned to live very close to the trail where it all began…….
As I ride my mountain bike, I am by myself; no other person around. However I am not alone. I actually feel like I have all that I will ever need in life. I have my bike, a smile, and cleo running in front of me. She is been there with me, riding, cross county skiing, rock climbing, running, swimming, kayaking, riding in the car, playing ball in the yard, and giving me kisses when I did not want them. I think back when snickers, her mother would have been with us. Going for a ride, always slower and behind…but there with us. Today I left snickers to sit in the Air Conditioning, because a 14-year-old dog would not make the 11-mile mountain bike ride, in the summer, in the south. I begin to think about my girls and how they have always been with me.
Snickers was originally my little brother’s dog. We got her when I was 15. A little short for an “American” Jack Russel, I assure you she is the master mouse catcher that has ever claimed the name of the breed. I went from being snicker’s sister to her momma when I was 21. She came to live with me in my apartment in Bowling Green Kentucky. It seemed that she tried to beat up my brother’s 1 year old pit bull…and the pit bull won. So this is how the many years of friendship and vet bills came to pass. I think we are a lot alike, me and snickers. She is a funny little dog that likes to play and make you happy. She is an emotional creature, with a heart of gold, very intune with people’s feelings. We both make funny little faces and interesting sound effects… and we both love chocolate. Like me, she takes up too much space in the bed, due to her pattern of sleeping horizontal with her little paws stretched out. Sometime we both get too excited and yet can both relax to the point where we can sleep pretty much anywhere. I have a backpack that is actually a front pack that I can carry her in. This has come in handy during our roller blading and cross-country ski trips. After 3 miles or so she gets a little tired and asks to be picked up for maybe a 15 minute break . I slam her in and off we go until she gets squirmy…put her down again and she is good to go for a few more miles until the next rest break. As you can imagine we get lots of triple takes.
Cleo, a eight year old Jack Russel, has been on many adventures. The dog with 9 lives has jumped out the car window while driving ( because she had to go pee) she has been hit my a car, she electrocuted herself by chewing on a lamp cord, her foot has been slammed in the trunk door and, she has fallen down a 15 foot ravine while we were hiking and well… you can say she has had many other incidents that have resulted in many more vet bills. She is “ball crazy”, loves to swim, likes to sleep under the blankets, needs attention, is jealous of her mother, like to have her belly scratched, loves to drink the bath tub water, thinks she is a big dog, and is an absolute beauty with those droppy brown puppy-dog eyes.
Both can sense when I am sad.. they come and comfort me and kiss me on the hand. Snickers will scratch at my leg so I would but her in my lap. They have been there when I was all alone. When I was 1200 miles from my family and when my ex-husband left- left to go live somewhere else, I was alone in our big house. I would be scared and put the girls in the bed with me. With them I did not feel alone. I had family with me. It broke my heart to but them on the airplane last October to go live with me family in Tennessee. I was afraid that my ex-husband would insist on taking one of them, a right he had, but I knew I could never separate a mother and daughter. So now I have my girls back, we are on a new adventure. Me and the girls will have a good time and I will have them with me everywhere possible.
A beautiful Woman, Robin Munis
Writers block… never had a problem is my life knowing what to say. If anything, I have too much to say never taking he time to listen. For weeks I had something I wanted to say, to share, to write, but could not make myself sit down and actually do it. Something in my life was causing me to keep so absolutely busy or distracted that I was not taking the time to do the one thing in my life that has reunited me with a long lost gift of creativity. But today I have the familiar overwhelming need to write you- to share what I have to say. Not about my bicycle- but share about a woman- a woman that is now gone.
I went numb. I felt as I was floating on the ceiling and looking down at my self sitting on a couch- at a rafting outpost- located in the Cherokee National Forest. My mind was stripped from my body searching for a sense of reality. Am I imagining this? Am I high? Am I dreaming? Did I read this right? I read again, a email that was sent from a friend in Wyoming. Yes, I read this right. Instantly every orifice on my body that could release moisture was stimulated. Tears from my eyes-sweat from my brow-my mouth watered- and my nose began to run. I read the first line of the email that read… Katelyn I hate to give you this news.. but Robin Munis was shot be her husband, she is gone.
She had a smile that lit up the room. Gorgeous brown yes, dark brown flowing hair that was always full of body, maybe from a curling iron or rollers..but only a southern girl would go through this much trouble- no mistake. I was instantly drawn to this southern beauty. She had a familiar Tennessee ascent that reminded me of home. A voice of an angle, a grin of a gal that liked to have fun, and a heart of gold that you could see in her eyes. She took the time to ask how you were doing, to truly want to know how things were. We became close very fast. We had a lot in common. One being we were both Tennessee girls. We both had a spirit of adventure. We both loved our husbands but could not figure out why things were not better. Her husband, was a lot like my husband. They treated us the same, said the same things, did the same things, liked the same things…. good and well not so good. We were there to support each other, to provide encouragement that things would get better, that if we tried harder, did things different, lost the weight that they complained about, we would make them happy…things would be different. Many nights at the bar, time shared at work, days hanging out; we were there for each other.
The last time I say her, was a time in my life where I was selfish. Trying to get the guts to get out of bed, go to work, make it through the day. As we spoke in the parking lot, I asked her how she and her husband was doing. She paused and said…OK were doing OK. She looked at me, cracked a smile, shook her head as she gazed at me, and in her own way let me know she was not telling the truth. She asked if I wanted to go to lunch. I told her ya sure..give me a call. As I said this I knew that this was not going to happen. I was moving home next week, because I finally left my husband. I did not have the “time” to take one hour of my day to see a old friend that was there for me when I needed her.
Guilt, has overcome me. Why did I not go to lunch! Could something I would of said resulted in something different? Is it silly to think this? I question how could a man-lose it? Completely go insane to end the life of his child’s mother. How was this man, that seemed so similar to my ex-husband, have gotten to this breaking point. She said she needed to stay, this was her 3rd marriage, she had 4 kids, she could not give up, and I agreed with her. I gave up. I ended mine. I got out. Out of something un known, but only known was the direction it was headed. A direction that was not good. Hers ended her life. Did she get out too early, too late, not the right way?
So ya…. Today as I read the email from my ex-husband asking if I would ever take him back if he gave 100%. I thought to myself what Robin would of said, what advise would she of given? She would of said, “NO girrrrrl, you deserve better!”. She would of said this with the most intense passion, from knowing what I felt like, from being through what I have been through, from crying the same tears, fearing the same fears, and having her heart break in a million pieces…just like mine
So that sweet southern voice is still heard in my ears, I can see her smile, imagine her dancing, imagine her laughing as she would throw her head back and make those silly little kissy faces. I will miss my friend, but she will always be with me
I went numb. I felt as I was floating on the ceiling and looking down at my self sitting on a couch- at a rafting outpost- located in the Cherokee National Forest. My mind was stripped from my body searching for a sense of reality. Am I imagining this? Am I high? Am I dreaming? Did I read this right? I read again, a email that was sent from a friend in Wyoming. Yes, I read this right. Instantly every orifice on my body that could release moisture was stimulated. Tears from my eyes-sweat from my brow-my mouth watered- and my nose began to run. I read the first line of the email that read… Katelyn I hate to give you this news.. but Robin Munis was shot be her husband, she is gone.
She had a smile that lit up the room. Gorgeous brown yes, dark brown flowing hair that was always full of body, maybe from a curling iron or rollers..but only a southern girl would go through this much trouble- no mistake. I was instantly drawn to this southern beauty. She had a familiar Tennessee ascent that reminded me of home. A voice of an angle, a grin of a gal that liked to have fun, and a heart of gold that you could see in her eyes. She took the time to ask how you were doing, to truly want to know how things were. We became close very fast. We had a lot in common. One being we were both Tennessee girls. We both had a spirit of adventure. We both loved our husbands but could not figure out why things were not better. Her husband, was a lot like my husband. They treated us the same, said the same things, did the same things, liked the same things…. good and well not so good. We were there to support each other, to provide encouragement that things would get better, that if we tried harder, did things different, lost the weight that they complained about, we would make them happy…things would be different. Many nights at the bar, time shared at work, days hanging out; we were there for each other.
The last time I say her, was a time in my life where I was selfish. Trying to get the guts to get out of bed, go to work, make it through the day. As we spoke in the parking lot, I asked her how she and her husband was doing. She paused and said…OK were doing OK. She looked at me, cracked a smile, shook her head as she gazed at me, and in her own way let me know she was not telling the truth. She asked if I wanted to go to lunch. I told her ya sure..give me a call. As I said this I knew that this was not going to happen. I was moving home next week, because I finally left my husband. I did not have the “time” to take one hour of my day to see a old friend that was there for me when I needed her.
Guilt, has overcome me. Why did I not go to lunch! Could something I would of said resulted in something different? Is it silly to think this? I question how could a man-lose it? Completely go insane to end the life of his child’s mother. How was this man, that seemed so similar to my ex-husband, have gotten to this breaking point. She said she needed to stay, this was her 3rd marriage, she had 4 kids, she could not give up, and I agreed with her. I gave up. I ended mine. I got out. Out of something un known, but only known was the direction it was headed. A direction that was not good. Hers ended her life. Did she get out too early, too late, not the right way?
So ya…. Today as I read the email from my ex-husband asking if I would ever take him back if he gave 100%. I thought to myself what Robin would of said, what advise would she of given? She would of said, “NO girrrrrl, you deserve better!”. She would of said this with the most intense passion, from knowing what I felt like, from being through what I have been through, from crying the same tears, fearing the same fears, and having her heart break in a million pieces…just like mine
So that sweet southern voice is still heard in my ears, I can see her smile, imagine her dancing, imagine her laughing as she would throw her head back and make those silly little kissy faces. I will miss my friend, but she will always be with me
Friday, 6 July 2007
Ironic Bike Ride, Cold water lake Michigan to Shipshewana Indiana 55 miles
Ironic, Latin for ironia, is the use of a word to express something other than and especially the opposite of the literal meaning. Today is filled with this…..
This is the word that popped in my head as I approach the cross roads of a small town in Michigan. Saddle between my legs, and delighted as I looked down main street to see quaint little shops adorned with American flags.
Pizza joints, art studios, and café’s now replace what was once a hundred years ago hardware stores, butchers, and pharmacies. Today, the Walmart down the street has taken any need for these services from the old heart of this once metropolis.
Incongruity between what is expected and what occurs; Ironic. Again this comes to mind as I read the town history marker that reads “This township was first establish centuries ago….only first- after the local Indian tribe was removed”. This is the first line stated before anything was mentioned about the first mayor, the train, and how many people lived here “that were obviously not Indians”.
I pass black covered buggies that are pulled by horses. “American’s”, Amish Americans choosing not to change, evolve, with society, the American society. Not wanting to do so anything to place them above God. Their faith brings the community together, but ironically will divide a family apart if one chooses not to follow “the way”. A decision each is given on their 16th birthday. A decision that will determine if they will ever speak to their family again, drive a car, go to college, eat at Mc Donalds, watch MTV, or see the world. A decision that will be made at a time where most 16 year olds most difficult decision is wither they are going to the movies or the mall.
Women in bonnets, simple hand made clothes adorned with nothing; no patterns, not buttons, no zippers. Men with straw hats, white shirts, black pants, always a beard. Children with no sponge bob tennis shoes, they are not screaming for ice cream, and not running off.
I see this as I go to the Amish market and buy Amish baked goods from teenage girls with no makeup-high lights- finger nail polish. Raw- Simple- beautiful in a way. No very beautiful, but Ironic. They try so hard to not be different, to stick out, or bring attention away from God; but they do this very thing as people come from all over to see this unique culture, get a ride on their buggy, take their picture, and buy their baked goods and produce.
They live here in this community to live a independent life from society, a life they choose, a life that is free, but not free… Ironic.
Again, I think to my self…would I have seen this, thought this, if I was not on my bicycle… probable not. Maybe a little simpler is better.
Amore, Katelyn
This is the word that popped in my head as I approach the cross roads of a small town in Michigan. Saddle between my legs, and delighted as I looked down main street to see quaint little shops adorned with American flags.
Pizza joints, art studios, and café’s now replace what was once a hundred years ago hardware stores, butchers, and pharmacies. Today, the Walmart down the street has taken any need for these services from the old heart of this once metropolis.Incongruity between what is expected and what occurs; Ironic. Again this comes to mind as I read the town history marker that reads “This township was first establish centuries ago….only first- after the local Indian tribe was removed”. This is the first line stated before anything was mentioned about the first mayor, the train, and how many people lived here “that were obviously not Indians”.
I pass black covered buggies that are pulled by horses. “American’s”, Amish Americans choosing not to change, evolve, with society, the American society. Not wanting to do so anything to place them above God. Their faith brings the community together, but ironically will divide a family apart if one chooses not to follow “the way”. A decision each is given on their 16th birthday. A decision that will determine if they will ever speak to their family again, drive a car, go to college, eat at Mc Donalds, watch MTV, or see the world. A decision that will be made at a time where most 16 year olds most difficult decision is wither they are going to the movies or the mall.
Women in bonnets, simple hand made clothes adorned with nothing; no patterns, not buttons, no zippers. Men with straw hats, white shirts, black pants, always a beard. Children with no sponge bob tennis shoes, they are not screaming for ice cream, and not running off.
I see this as I go to the Amish market and buy Amish baked goods from teenage girls with no makeup-high lights- finger nail polish. Raw- Simple- beautiful in a way. No very beautiful, but Ironic. They try so hard to not be different, to stick out, or bring attention away from God; but they do this very thing as people come from all over to see this unique culture, get a ride on their buggy, take their picture, and buy their baked goods and produce.They live here in this community to live a independent life from society, a life they choose, a life that is free, but not free… Ironic.
Again, I think to my self…would I have seen this, thought this, if I was not on my bicycle… probable not. Maybe a little simpler is better.
Amore, Katelyn
Wednesday, 27 June 2007
Life and Death in a Day, Michigan
6/20/2007
Overwhelmed really. I cannot explain it, but of course in my own way I will try. A great sense of life and death has overcome me.
I see her and touch her brittle skin. I hold her hand, it is soft, but stiff at the same time as the bones pertrude. Any fat padding that was there in her younger years has been taken away with time. She then reaches out and wraps her arms around my neck; I reach out and embrace what is left of my Great Grandmother at 103 years old.
I laid last night in Bed. I can sense that my mother is beginning to sleep as we are sharing our sleeping arrangements in the guest bedroom of my Grandfather's home. A beautiful Swedish log cabin with large portions cut and removed for the placement of large angled windows so you can see the lake where were my granfather will catch our supper.
I have that feeling in my chest where you feel like someone is sitting right on your sternum. As you take a breath in; it is slow, drawn in, deep, but seems not to satisfy the need for oxygen. At the same time my throat feels like it is about to cave in. If I had tonsils they would be joining together to inhibit any relief of what one complete breath will bring. As I exhale, quietly, I feel like screaming, as loud as I can. Instead one small tear releases and makes it way down to my pillow. I am careful to be quiet, as much as I can, as the many more tears seem to follow, my nose instantly become filled with snot, thus worsening my ability to breath at all. I am quiet, because I do not want to worry my mother any more than what she has had to in the past year for me. I would call each night, crying every day for months as I sat in the bath for hours a night, naked, stripped, laterally and emotionally. Knowing her, I am sure she has cried enough tears for all the sadness and happiness in the world; but being strong for me, she never let me see one tear, because of me. I am staying strong for her now.
Overwhelmed really. I cannot explain it, but of course in my own way I will try. A great sense of life and death has overcome me.
I see her and touch her brittle skin. I hold her hand, it is soft, but stiff at the same time as the bones pertrude. Any fat padding that was there in her younger years has been taken away with time. She then reaches out and wraps her arms around my neck; I reach out and embrace what is left of my Great Grandmother at 103 years old.
She says quietly in her Scottish accent, “I love you Katie”. She then remembers, with all clarity to ask me how my Doctorate degree is coming along; she use to ask me about my ex-husband but they told her, and she can remember he is no longer part of the family anymore. Amazing really, I think to myself what strong will she must have to keep her mind, her memory, but her body is not as stubborn as her wit. I take off her floppy hat to expose her face so I can see my grandmother maybe for the last time. I have had this moment for years and years, a sense that I must absorb as much as I can because you never know if she will be there for her next birthday, a 104th birthday. I can tell the strokes have left their mark on the left side of her face, I know in my heart that this will be the last time I will see her. I have a feeling of deep loss, but then a comfort that this is part of life, natural, normal, and beautiful.
I felt this again this day, but different and just or even more confusing. I had a feeling of great loss, but then a small feeling of happiness, a hint of something beautiful; a baby did all this. Not my baby, I have no children, but the son that was born to my ex-husband, a child that was conceived while he was still my husband, and at the same time he was telling me he loved me. A child that was conceived with another woman the same time he would look me in the eyes and tell me he could see the face of our children with my green eyes and smile. I do not know what color eyes this child has, or if he has red hair like his father. He has the child that he always wanted, a son, that he even swares to this day that he wishes I was the mother. A son that I would not give him until I was done with school, or things felt right, when things were different. This day never came for us. Now I am grateful, because I know a child would have not stopped him from doing what he did with another. The breaking of a promise.
He let me know of his son, this night, through a simple email. Telling me he was confused. All I said, all I felt is that I wanted him to move on, he had a family now. Let him know that I had forgiven him and that he must forgive himself. Something I do not think he will ever be able to do. A man that is never content, always wanting more, the next best thing, never happy. I hope this child changes him… because it has changed me, and I think made me a little better.
So the sense of life and death can be a little overwhelming in one day. I fall asleep eventually to only awake with the same feeling. Maybe this will fade.
Amore, Katelyn
I felt this again this day, but different and just or even more confusing. I had a feeling of great loss, but then a small feeling of happiness, a hint of something beautiful; a baby did all this. Not my baby, I have no children, but the son that was born to my ex-husband, a child that was conceived while he was still my husband, and at the same time he was telling me he loved me. A child that was conceived with another woman the same time he would look me in the eyes and tell me he could see the face of our children with my green eyes and smile. I do not know what color eyes this child has, or if he has red hair like his father. He has the child that he always wanted, a son, that he even swares to this day that he wishes I was the mother. A son that I would not give him until I was done with school, or things felt right, when things were different. This day never came for us. Now I am grateful, because I know a child would have not stopped him from doing what he did with another. The breaking of a promise.
He let me know of his son, this night, through a simple email. Telling me he was confused. All I said, all I felt is that I wanted him to move on, he had a family now. Let him know that I had forgiven him and that he must forgive himself. Something I do not think he will ever be able to do. A man that is never content, always wanting more, the next best thing, never happy. I hope this child changes him… because it has changed me, and I think made me a little better.
So the sense of life and death can be a little overwhelming in one day. I fall asleep eventually to only awake with the same feeling. Maybe this will fade.
Amore, Katelyn
Sunday, 24 June 2007
A family I never Knew, Cold Water Lake Michigan 2 days, 60 miles
6/18/2007
I can hear the cracking of the fire and the slight tickle of water brushing against the lake side sandy beach. Poontoon boats are returning from their evening crews of the spring fed lake that is lined with summer vacation homes and boat docks that ground every water craft imaginable.
Fireworks decorate the sky and the waters surface reflect a rainbow palate that fades along with the pops of our dusk time entertainment.
I am vacationing at a summer cabin in Michigan with my mother and her 4 cousins; which are technically my second cousins, and seemingly perfect strangers to me up until four days ago. I am a guest at the annual cousin’s retreat, where these childhood friends that happend to be cousins come together and talk about old times, eat every bake good imaginable, drink a few “adult beverages” and go on mini day adventures. I also took an oath that what is ever done or said at the cabin stays at the cabin. I am sworn to secrecy
.......I am surprised with other things, besides the beautifl country side, that I have come to find on my trip to the cousin’ s retreat weekend. Unlike many cultures, the American culture seems to be disconnected with extended family. We do not stay in one place anymore. You grow up and move away, sometime never returning for more than a holiday. The American house hold seems to be shrinking, and extended family becomes a once a year potluck or a 5 year reunion at a camp ground in the middle of nowhere. The week I have come to know a part of my family, my grandfathers side of the family. I have always known I was alot like my mother. Now I see these other women with similar traits, and I find a sence of belonging in all of this.
At first I really kept my distance. Not that I did not feel welcome, but I did not want to intrude on something special these women look forward to each year. So I did my own thing that usually consisted of working on the computer, doing Yoga on the dock, and taking bike rides through the countryside, different than the Spanish countryside…..
Corn as far as the eye can see,
sections of flat farmland splashed with beautiful barns 
Fireworks decorate the sky and the waters surface reflect a rainbow palate that fades along with the pops of our dusk time entertainment.I am vacationing at a summer cabin in Michigan with my mother and her 4 cousins; which are technically my second cousins, and seemingly perfect strangers to me up until four days ago. I am a guest at the annual cousin’s retreat, where these childhood friends that happend to be cousins come together and talk about old times, eat every bake good imaginable, drink a few “adult beverages” and go on mini day adventures. I also took an oath that what is ever done or said at the cabin stays at the cabin. I am sworn to secrecy
.......I am surprised with other things, besides the beautifl country side, that I have come to find on my trip to the cousin’ s retreat weekend. Unlike many cultures, the American culture seems to be disconnected with extended family. We do not stay in one place anymore. You grow up and move away, sometime never returning for more than a holiday. The American house hold seems to be shrinking, and extended family becomes a once a year potluck or a 5 year reunion at a camp ground in the middle of nowhere. The week I have come to know a part of my family, my grandfathers side of the family. I have always known I was alot like my mother. Now I see these other women with similar traits, and I find a sence of belonging in all of this.At first I really kept my distance. Not that I did not feel welcome, but I did not want to intrude on something special these women look forward to each year. So I did my own thing that usually consisted of working on the computer, doing Yoga on the dock, and taking bike rides through the countryside, different than the Spanish countryside…..
Corn as far as the eye can see,
sections of flat farmland splashed with beautiful barns and broken down farm equipment, single enormous oak trees stand along the roadway or bunched together to create a bridge in which I ride my bike through. 
Horses and colts graze in the wildflower laden fields.
But this distance faded as I began to warm up to these women that were my blood. I participated in story telling, listened as they shared what lessons they learned from life, I shared my photos of europe, lounged in the sun and chatted, made smores by the fire, began to belch out loud to only "try" to out do them, I started to laugh so hard that I snortted and well we ate.....we ate alot at the cabin. I now can see maybe where my sweet tooth came from.
After four days I have to leave, I was sad that I had to leave such a relaxing place with the best company. However, I have other family that I must see and appreciate. Something that you can forget to do if you are not careful, but this week of learning about a family that I never knew reminded me of what I had and how much yet I have to learn.
Amore Katelyn
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