The D Spot

1. I can still quote the entire script of the

Rocky Horror Picture Show

, including all the ‘lines”
2. My favorite color is blue.
3. I don’t think its better to have loved and lost.
4. I had pet gerbils when I was 3 and I named them Chopper and Lemon. They lived til I was in 1st grade.
5. Sometimes I am scared of mirrors.
6. I recently learned how to astral project myself in my dreams.
7. When I was little I thought Winnie the Pooh lived in the woods near my house.
8. I hate any type of medical procedure involving eyes.
9. I dreamed once that Jesus and I were walking in a parking garage, talking together.
10. My sister is one of my best friends. My husband is another.

The last time I received a love letter, it was 1984 and I was 15 years old. The actual letter was an angry, tear-stained declaration of teenage love. Ferocious in it’s intensity and angst, it remains to this day the only written declaration of love I’ve received in the last 25 years.
Which is sad because I have been married for the last 15 of those years.
I have received cards, of course, with cute poetry mass-written by starving wanna-be writers. I have received jewelry (of the Sears and Roebuck line) and I have been told that I am loved.
But the sweeping “I love you so much I have to tell you in words” love letter is an art that is lost on my DH and therefore, forever lost to me as well.
How truly sad.
How romantic it would be to open my mailbox or email and find a love letter.
How thrilling to have something to read and read again, to treasure, and to have tangible proof that there is someone, somewhere, who cared enough to take ten minutes and actually share some feelings.
In the old days, entire courtships would be thru the written word. During wartimes of past and present, lovers separated by miles would have only the written word with which to express their love and in times of danger, I imagine those letters to be pretty damn intense.
Must I go to war? Must I move far enough away to be missed, in order to receive a love letter?
Perhaps I have held onto my 25 years old love letter because I knew even back then that the written word holds power. Maybe I realized on some level that those feelings, once written, were forever saved; sealed in the merging of ink and paper. I can read that letter even today and remember the feelings, the intensity of that moment in time, that awkward, fumbling, and heart-shredding teenage love affair.
::sigh::
Maybe its simply because of that power of the written word that I will never receive another love letter. Deep professions of love are not in my DH’s repertoire and I knew that when I married him. So I have no one but myself to blame.
But still….it would be nice to open my mailbox or inbox and find something sweet.
So since that is not in the works for me any time soon, I will wish instead that you, Dear Reader, will find many love letters in your own life, and that your inboxes will always be full of passion and romance.

watching the stars fall silently around me,
I lay on the grass in awe.
Dewdrops in my hair and I do not care.
The crickets serenade me with sweet summer songs.
I see a rabbit out of the corner of my eye,
he looks at me quizzically and moves on.
Stars sparkling–greens, yellows, whites and if I blink
I will miss them as they fly by….
Streaks of light erupt across the sky
and I gasp in wide eyed wonder.
This magic of late summer…

You came to me in a dream last night
Again, your face hidden
shrouded in secrets and
the promise of mystery.
I saw you in the pale moonlight,
as it lay pooled across the sheets.
Your hands held out beckoning
or were you maybe reaching for help?
I tried to lift my arms but languishing,
I could not move a muscle.
What look upon your shadowed face?
Was it sadness, resignation, fear?
I could not tell in the silver streaks of moonbeams
and then I blinked and you were gone,
as if you’d never been here.
Nothing remained, you left no trace….
A tear fell on my pillow and I wondered again
if I’d dreamed you in the summer heat
Or did you really come to me?

Yesterday at work we were discussing vampires. Specifically, the ‘hot sexy’ ones in modern literature. My daughter has fallen under the spell of the “Twilight” series of books, and before her, I was awash in the lushness of Anne Rice’s “Interview with the Vampire” series
What is it about the modern vampire that makes we women and girls swoon?
Is it the mystery…he comes unbidden and focuses solely on us. He uses seduction as a technique to get us under his spell. And his spell promises love and secrets.
I can hear you all sighing right now!
If you look back, the original idea of a vampire looked way less than Tom Cruise even on his worst day.
Nosferatau surely didn’t have the ladies swooning when he invaded their bedrooms late at night. Yet even he had the power, charm…charisma?…to encapture them into willing submission.
Is it the idea of giving up control? Women are responsible for so much during the course of a day..is it fun to imagine relinquishing the duties of modern womanhood? It is tempting for sure to be in a place where we need do nothing but be. Perhaps that is the draw of the modern vampire.
My daughter is obsessed with the Twilight series, as I already mentioned. She has the books, the book covers are hung up with great reverance on her walls. She listens to podcasts and swoons over the images of the young male lead in the upcoming movie.
What happened to the evil vampire? The one that I was scared of as a kid….the one who snuck out of his dry moldy coffin and lurched into the bedrooms of unsuspecting females? You remember, he had red glowing eyes, pasty white skin, and threatened to take you right into his cold grave with him?
These days it’s emo-looking kids or even a well-manicured Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt…
I think that for the younger girls like my teenager, its a chance to explore their sexuality. Girls everywhere are going to bed at night, wondering “What if…” Edward from the Twilight series ends up iat my window, promising adventure, romance, and dark secrets?”
Is it much different than Peter Pan, when you get down to it?
The consummate boy who never grew up, who always wants Wendy (aka YOU) to tell him stories, mother him, and love him….compared to the consummate man who stays the same age, loves you in a tortured way because to love you is to leave you….the only way you can be together is if he kills you to make you like him….
With Peter you have to risk leaving everything and going to Neverland…With Edward and the other modern vampires you leave your life and family behind..
Both have magical powers.
Both never change… while you know in your heart that someday you will grow up…and out grow them….
Oh the melodrama of the pre-doomed relationship and the fun in trying to be the one to change it…break the mold….
Yeah, I can see why the young girls are all gaga over this year’s crop of new vampires, and I can kind of see why I and people of my age went nuts over the Anne Rice versions.
After all, we all want a little Peter Pan (or Edward Cullen, or Lestat, or Louie) in our lives once in a while…

Hello all friends and readers.
This blog has been quiet mostly because I have been working my butt off on my new blog. I invite everyone to come see my latest and greatest blog “Daughter of the Moon”
Please stop by and read awhile!
~D

If you settle for what you’ve got—
You deserve what you get.

I walked with you down the garden path
deep in dreams last night.
Arbors of leaves shaded us from
the early summer light.
Flowers bloomed in the
wake of our laughter.
under dappled rays of sun
We sat together on the old carved bench
and dreamed of times to come.
The sun it bathed our shoulders and
I leaned into you once or twice
Beneath our feet a carpet of pine
Fragrant balsam spice.
We walked again in the garden, amongst the flowers green
we spoke of all and nothing
of truth and love and dreams.
You held me in your arms then, and swore to not let go
in our secret space of wonder
In the garden of our souls.

Sometimes the time spent just speeds up on me and I turn around
and I see how fast its all going.
The sand in the hourglass just never stops its’ ceaseless fall.
And I am watching fascinated as each grain speeds by.
So much to do and little time when you get right down to it.
There are things I will never do and I have some sense of regret.
There are things I want to do that I won’t be able to do and
the regret for those things cuts twice as deep.
Of the many things I’ve done, I
am glad of most.
I repent of some
and I wish others back again for a do-over.
Some of which I did, I did for myself
Most for others
and all for love.
Watching the grains of sand with one eye on my watch.
Wondering just how far I’ll get before time runs out.

I awoke this morning from
yet another dream;
sheets tangled, heart racing–
how can it not be real?
Your voice whispers in my ear and
my blood thrums to your breath.
And yet
when I try to feel your skin
I am rewarded with just
a kiss of air
beneath my open palm.