Random Memories....

Random memories...

When I was 3, I had to use a little step stool to reach the toilet. It was a big, blue ceramic toilet that was cold in Missouri winters. One day, I leaned too far back and fell in like a collapsed beach chair. My little, chubby legs were sticking in the air, and my armpits were wedged against the sides. I tried to wriggle free, but it was no use. I thought of the children's book about the tugboat in the bathtub that got sucked down the drain and ended up floating to the ocean. Panic rising, I called out, "Mommy....?" The door to the bathroom opened, and my six-year-older brother came in and looked at me with a smile. Then he reached forward and pressed the flush lever. I started screaming, because I knew I was going to get sucked down the toilet hole like that little tugboat got sucked down the bathtub drain. The water rose and rose, over my belly, higher, higher. Then mom came in and plucked me from the toilet. I still use the toilet, so I've conquered many fears in my life. ;-)
Oh, and siblings. Haha, they prepare you for life.

More memories....

I was a very quiet and content child (just ask my mom; I only cried if I had dirty diapers or if I fell in the toilet). As a young girl, I spent most of my time outside, reading my Nancy Drew mysteries while snuggled against my favorite steer while he chewed his cud. The first time I went to summer camp in Missouri all by myself, I was 8...and terrified. I'd never really fit in with kids my own age. But there was a magical piano that was in the chapel. One afternoon, I went into the chapel and started playing the theme song to Charlie Brown. Suddenly, the piano was surrounded by kids. They asked me to play the song again and again! After that, camp was easier and suddenly the skinny, little quiet girl with glasses was included in games. It was a transformative moment for me, realizing that somehow it was easier for me to connect through art/music than through any other means. I'm not as quiet now as an adult, but I still have those same feelings of not fitting in and that who I am is best expressed through poetry, music, art, or even now...in this little snippet of memory.

Last memory for now....
Once again, a camp memory. I was 8. It was my first year at camp (this was before I played the magical piano). Our cabin won some type of piggy wiggly/scrubbly bubbly cabin cleanliness award, so we got to go on an inner tube float down the nearby river. While on our float trip, it started to storm. Warm, summer storms in Missouri are something! The clouds pile up, like mashed potatoes, lightning streaks high above, and you can feel the thunder in your feet. The leader of the float trip group called out that we needed to get to the river banks. With our bare feet, we stumbled up the muddy banks, through stinging nettles, tall grass, and other squishy things. I thought it was pretty exciting. As a child who grew up spending every summer inner tubing down the rapids of the Upper Sacramento River, this was just another adventure. However, we had to walk 2 miles back to camp through muddy fields...muddy fields with soft, slurpy mud that squelched and sucked my little feet down with each step. Halfway back, it started the rain. Cold rain. We shivered in our bathing suits. 2 miles seemed like a long way. The older girls in the group started to scream when they found a snapping turtle "blocking" their way in the muddy field. I remember feeling very tired; the mud squelched up my legs, and I started to cry because I was now cold and tired, and the feeling of adventure had worn off; worst of all, I couldn't keep up with the 12 year olds. I stopped walking and they kept walking; I was going to be left there, all alone. All alone. Then, a tall boy camp counselor showed up, like a hero, out of the rain. He walked right towards me, picked me up out of the squelching mud, and carried me in his arms like a princess in a fairy tale. I remember feeling so safe and so overwhelmed with being held like this, like I was seen, valued, and protected. Little, 8 year old me. Little, quiet Melissa, with her skinny self and glasses. Then, when we got within sight of camp, my hero unceremoniously planted me back on my feet and said, "you can make it the rest of the way on your own." It jolted me back to reality, and also gave me a gift that I've never forgotten. I can make it on my own...and on my own is what I've been for so long. Although, I really do long for that right man to come sweep me off my feet, except maybe we could carry each other, in turns. This crazy life.

The bunny toy

A New Year and Goodbye to an Old Year

"As these days close, I stand on the cusp of one year and another.

Chapters end;

The cover closes upon the pages full of stories written. 

The light has fallen into the abyss of the past.

The hollow of our voices and memories echo, a song our hands cannot hold. 

A new year before us,

Rising mightily, joyously

For new words, new stories, new memories, and new songs."

-Melissa Ulrich

Christmas and Hope

The sweet expanse of darkness

makes the sinking even seem

so effortless; a weighted pull, a solomn dream. 

We search for meaning in this blank;

heavens prick, as darkness tugs

against ourselves, as we drown into nothing. 

What meaning, have we, in this expanse?

As light in heavens pulls back, retracts,

As light above water, fades, as we sink?

I'm not sure, 

But as I sink,

I pray and I believe. 

Recent sketches....story in progress!

fabric painting

Otters painted on fabric

Life is One Long Goodbye

Life is one long goodbye.
Won't you walk with me, a little way
While the sun is warm?
I see two shadows, side by side
Sharing in the light.
The time will come when we must part -
I know not when.
Then there will be a hollow in me,
Where the light will go.
I will be alone, and less of me remains.
Inside a light grows,
Until all of me is gone.
And all there is is light and sun, and stars and tears.

My life

Today, I had a strange feeling all day, just thinking about life and how it is but a vapor. This poem is a pouring out of that reflection about place, purpose, and the brevity of life:

My life is but a planting
in a garden I must leave.
What of me will stay behind
I cannot perceive.
I sit in heather hollows
and in the dark womb
of the Earth.

A nagging question haunts me-

What of me has worth?

What of me will bloom someday?

In my garden, I can't stay...

I scatter in the wind's
lonely howl and longing;
The strange yearning cry
echoes with belonging.
I rattle in the leaves above-
a music of sweet sorrow;
Someday the leaves will drop
It may be tomorrow.
tangled in the berry brambles
and shy mountain flowers,
the sun slowly sinks;
I've few blooming hours.
I stand alone - one tree -
in the space of sun and moon.
my roots sink deep and cling,
Night comes much too soon.
though pin-holes of hope
pierce the inky sky...

I stand alone,
Alone,
waiting to fly.

I am a fragmented soul
fragmented by dreams
I am unknown shape
Always becoming, it seems.
Yet I am this much of me, and no more.
I confess-
Sometimes my garden feels like a mess.
I peel away from myself,
down to my core.
Like petals uncurling,
There is the promise of more.
My life is but a planting
of my dreams, and me.
What grows is something-
This is what I see.
-Melissa Ulrich

Letting Go

I found you in the sand,

so perfect, smooth, and pink.

You tumbled in the salty sea - 
I'm so glad you came to me...

But you must soothe another soul,

So from my palm, I let you go. 

I found you in the green,

An amber, glowing thing. 

With veins of life and roots so deep,

Your strength alone is yours to keep.

In this world your color shines - 

You were never to be mine.

I found you by my door

Your softness white and shy

Grateful for this tenderness,

I felt someone else should be blessed.

I kissed you once and let you fly

high into the wild of life,

free to sing your whole song.

We slowly find where, and to whom, we belong.

Anew

These three poems came out during my break at work. I love it when that magic happens...the words just show up and teach me something.

1.

I bottled myself and buried myself
beneath a dark, oak tree.
The roots sunk through
and cracked the glass
and now I grow anew.
High I climb, in sap and green.
A girl in a tree
is a Sight Unseen.

2.

Down, down, down
my heart drops
my hearts stops
I cry.
Unbound by the rhythm of you
It must learn to beat anew.

3.

From the waves to shore-
Forevermore-
My heart is lost at sea.
Somewhere in there,
the covered depths
Have swept my soul from me.

The curling tide
Beckons and cries
to help me breathe anew.
No map ashore,
No, nevermore.
I am scattered in the blue.

I see the light
The sparkle above.
A trail of pearly tears.
The treasured map
of all myself
And salty, savored years.


So, after these poems came out, I was struck by the word "anew" and how it kept showing up. I know our lives are constantly in the process of transformation, as our hearts and minds are ever growing more into who we are supposed to be. When I was young, I spent most of my time hidden in my favorite tree. The middle out of five kids, I was the most shy and I loved that quiet time where I could think my own thoughts and be my own person in my own realm. I found nourishment in the green, even though I had "bottled" myself away. My years spent being adventurous traveling the world and living abroad was how I broke my own bottle, wanting to share myself and who I was, though I still feel much like a lone wolf in not feeling like I belong anywhere...even to this day. I wonder if that is the fate of most writers and artists - we see the world so deeply that there is almost a lens that separates us from truly being part of it.

The second poem is mostly the feeling of acceptance that I might never find my person to share life with. For a long time, I wondered if there was something wrong with me, like maybe I was never enough for someone to want to be with or to love. But that type of energy or thinking does not do my heart good, and until I can believe and accept I am worth loving, even with my eccentricities, then it is never going to happen. The first love must come from myself to myself. The music of myself I long to share with another person, but first my own rhythm must be strong enough.

The last poem is a very personal one. I've found my freedom and belonging out on the ocean, but I haven't felt the same out on the ocean in a long time. It is strange to feel like I've lost something of myself, or that part of me is lost in the depths. It is hard to describe, but I know that life is always flowing, like water. My heart has been through a lot in the past two years, and it longs to feel the way it used to feel. I will think about this some more, and maybe it will become a painting.

Letting Go

There was a blank piece of paper. I started writing and this poem showed up. I've been trying to express the feeling of life, what it is, our dreams, hopes, and the tangle of reality, and making the most of each day:

"Letting go of heartbreak
is truly letting go
of what I hoped life would be
and loving what is so.
Life and expectation
is a funny, painful thing.
The more you try to shape it,
the more it starts to sing...
its own melody, with words you do not know.
You only learn the words to life as
you let your heart let go.
Let life teach you your song
And revel in the learning."

Emotions and drawings

I have a whole sketchbook filled with drawings for children's books....most of the stories revolve around the idea of "sharing" with others or caring for others. This year, I want to see what I can do with this work....I'm really open to whatever happens. :-)

Each Day

When on songs of heart, I lift and rise
With cries in space, I try to fly
Above the void where shadows wait
To pull my spirit down. 

The day beyond today is new
I know that hope alone will do
The heart may drop some days in sorrow
But it will fly again tomorrow.

How paddling changed my life

Looking back on my life, I was very quiet and introspective. Although I wasn't outwardly expressive, it was all deeply internal and came out in my art and writing. I never felt that brave or that strong, and I never felt like I belonged anywhere. I grew up on a farm in Missouri, and I spent my childhood exploring the woods and the pastures and the little creeks around our house, writing stories, drawing, daydreaming, sitting in trees reading books, and snuggling the animals on the farm. I had two favorite places, and both allowed me to be in the midst of life, but not visible: the hayloft in the barn and the treehouse on the wide, rolling lawn facing the pond. Nestled in the arms of the branches, all around me millions of shades of green, my place in the tree was perfect peace.

When we sold the farm and moved to California right after I graduated from high school, I knew I had to keep moving forward. I opened myself to new adventures and did everything that was just scary enough to grow my courage muscles: I joined a swim team my first year in college and later won the California Female Pepsi Scholar Athlete of the Year Award (which only one female junior college athlete can win in California). I then finished my last two years of college at UCLA. I loved the literature courses of my major and graduated with highest honors. The world seemed to open up wider and wider: I studied abroad in Ireland, explored Scotland, England, and Wales, moved to Taiwan and taught English to children for one year, and later moved to Australia for graduate school for two years. Throughout all of this change, I was still searching for where I belonged. Deep down, I longed for a place that was home.

After all of that traveling and school, I ended up in Monterey in 2013. I had my dream job writing and editing educational materials for National Geographic Learning. I spent each Saturday walking along the Rec Trail by the ocean to the library to get my books for the week. One day, I saw it - a beautiful, white canoe gliding out to sea. I immediately felt drawn to it. It was calling to my soul. I went to the next recreational paddle, and I knew that I finally found the sport that thrilled me and woke up parts of me I never knew I had. I joined the Ke Kai O'Uhane Outrigger Canoeing Club and went to every practice and race. Uncle Les taught me how to paddle as one, and how to trust myself and how to trust others; this vulnerability was a good lesson to learn. Coach Dale taught me how to paddle OC1 and encouraged me to keep being brave. Because of that support and training, I won the 2015 OC1 NorCal Sprint Championship. Those first two years as a novice paddler was a magical time of growth for me and it has shaped how I have approached other challenges in my life. 

Canoeing helped me bloom in ways I never imagined. I found my voice, my courage, my passion, and my strength out on the water. The same feeling I had as a kid, sitting in the tree while watching storm clouds pile up, running as fast as I could down pasture hills in the warm, spring rain, and watching life from the warmth of the barn -- that same peace of belonging and peace of my true nature -- I finally found again when I would paddle out on the ocean, sit on my SUP or watercraft, and just be. There is a strange wildness in my heart that paddling on the ocean has brought out, or maybe that wildness and savage courage was always there, and was just too shy to come forth. I feel my Viking ancestors in my blood when I paddle down steep waves, chase the horizon, and feel the push and pull of the wind, tangling my hair into knots even as it untangles the knots in my soul.

The anchor that has kept me in Monterey the past five years, throughout various jobs and living situations, has been the ocean and the Ohana I found because of the ocean. Being able to go out on the ocean has been such a blessing. This Ohana is true family and true belonging. Being out on the water is my home. This is how canoeing has changed my life. 

The one thing that is always there is the ocean, and this sport draws in people of depth, generosity, and passion. It takes a strong heart to paddle on the ocean.

Turning 34

The child in my arms I longed for...

The man in my arms I hoped for...

The things I thought would be part of my life are not reality.

Turning 34...

Moving forward, into this future of haze, I wonder...

Who I am, where I belong, what can I offer the world?

It is always the same answer....kindness, love, compassion.

The dreams I have...are dreams.

The purpose I have is to love in any way I can -
The rest is just to live.

Faith is the victory that overcomes the world,

Despite any heartbreak or broken dream. 

Life Changes

It has been an interesting three days, but I know things will work out. On Tuesday, I got a 60 day notice to vacate my apartment because the owner is selling the home, and yesterday, I lost my job at the insurance company because they said I wasn't cut out for insurance. They said it was in no way a reflection on me or my work ethic and they said they all loved me as a person, but my boss said that I was too creative to work there and that I should be working with kids. They said they would give me a great reference though and that they would keep their ears open for other jobs. I really did my best in insurance, but I guess some things aren't good fits, and it can be a blessing in disguise. 

For the GOOD NEWS, I did get a part-time job at the bookstore in Pacific Grove which I start tomorrow, and I might get that other part-time Pacific Grove Library job, too (I will hear on Monday about that one, but the lady said the paperwork was going smoothly). Then when I was at the gas station, I had this urge to buy a scratchers ticket (which I never do) and I won $100! I told the gas station attendant that it was a blessing, because I lost my job; we started talking and I told him that I have my M.A. in Editing and Publishing and then he said, "this is perfect! I need an editor! Will you be my book manager? I have 75,000 handwritten words need to be typed up and edited." So, it is just interesting how I'm being shuffled into the book realm again. I just have to be flexible and open for whatever happens, and to keep my chin up.