brown dress with white dots
"It's hard convincing yourself that where you are at the moment is your home, and it's not always where your heart is. Sometimes I win and sometimes not."
-- Jonathan Carroll
It’s pretty hard to improve on the wonderfulness of a ripping summer thunderstorm, but I recently witnessed an example. The storm came in pretty quickly although you knew about fifteen minutes before it hit that those galloping dark clouds would have something loud to say when they arrived. I was working at my desk when the storm broke and the only reason I looked up was because open windows started flapping in the wind. Then came the screams. Before standing up I listened carefully a few seconds because although they were high and many, they didn’t sound scared or distressed; just a lot of jubilant screaming. When I went to close windows, the storm really got rocking— horizontal rain, furious wind, raindrops the size of golf balls verging on hale. As I walked around the apartment shutting windows, I finally saw where all this noise came from: a school class of eight or nine year old’s was down on the sidewalk with their teacher waiting for the stoplight to change. All of them were absolutely positively furiously and utterly *drenched.* Their school is nearby and what had obviously happened was while out on a class trip, they got caught in this storm just as they were walking back. The wonderful part was that all of these children were dancing, every single one of them. I mean really- going- nuts- boogey’ing. And if not dancing, jumping jumping jumping in absolute ecstasy as they got soaked. All the kids had given up trying to stay dry which was impossible anyway in that downpour. They were just getting wet as hell while standing at the light, loving it and showing their love as purely as only kids can do— dancing wildly and shouting with top- of- their- lungs joy. I couldn’t even distinguish which ones were their teachers because the rain was coming down so hard. It’s been years since I saw that much happiness exploding all at the same time.
Jonathan Carroll
Nikole Ramsay
The two women at lunch— mother and daughter, obviously. The girl is beautiful, tall, eighteen or so. She can’t sit still in her seat. She bounces around, tosses her hair, eats too fast, talks a mile a minute while looking all around just in case there is something interesting she hasn’t seen yet. The mother is also beautiful, perhaps fifty, her eyes alone are a 500 page novel. Serene and smiling, she is a total contrast to the young woman sitting across the table. How happy she is to be here with her daughter, how proud. Not many years ago this is the same child who frequently exhausted every bit of patience she had. The difficult student, the one with dyslexia or ADHD, or just wildly impatient about anything that didn’t interest her. But now look at her— this wonder, this young woman who is moving way too quickly out of my life and into her own. She has already set sail and I can only watch. But today she’s generous enough to have lunch with Mom and talk about things that matter with her first, her greatest pal. She doesn’t even know it is a gift. But Mom does.
— Jonathan Carroll


Parker Fitzgerald
The lovers are a different thing altogether. You see them on the street smooching, groping, laughing, hugging, trying to eat one another in a few big bites. Seeing this makes you smile, but there’s also a jab of something else in your heart towards them that’s like discovering a bone in the middle of a bite of a delicious piece of fish. You must stop eating immediately to locate the thing with your fingers and get it out of your mouth before it chokes you. So too the lovers; you see them and smile, but you also can’t help disliking them a little. Disliking them for their obvious joy, completeness, their this-moment-is-all-that-matters-ness. You have a thousand things on your mind, none of them of any importance. The lovers have exactly one thing on their minds and it is more important than anything. The person they are embracing, their all and everything, completely fills the view through their windshield. You want that; seeing their passion makes you miss it like air when you are deep under water. Chances are, it’s been a while since you felt that crazy about someone, about *anything*. Seeing them is concrete proof of a glory that is possible but not frequent. You want to linger and watch their happiness. At the same time you want to pass quickly by before it reminds you again with a kick in the soul how wonderful life can be sometimes—just not right now for you.
Jonathan Carroll
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