…most experiences are unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered.
- Rainer Maria Rilke …most experiences are unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered.
- Rainer Maria Rilke …most experiences are unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered.
- Rainer Maria Rilke

…most experiences are unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered.


- Rainer Maria Rilke

I’ve been working on some secret art projects. Here’s a peek at some of them. More to come (soon-ish).
-be well I’ve been working on some secret art projects. Here’s a peek at some of them. More to come (soon-ish).
-be well

I’ve been working on some secret art projects. Here’s a peek at some of them. More to come (soon-ish).

-be well

Of Dating

So, a just over a year and a half ago, after being convinced by friends, I signed up for online dating. Yeah, I know. Me and online dating? These things don’t sound like they go together. Chatting up strangers and coming up with small talk is definitely outside the realm of my natural habitat. Needless to say, I did not have a successful online dating career and I quickly retired my account. I answered zero messages (too scared). I went on zero dates (too scared). I found the entire experience to be extremely overwhelming and intimidating. I got a bunch of messages from men who definitely did not read my profile, and a few from men who sounded genuinely interesting (but there was that whole being too scared thing. Ya know?). These men were likely lovely people and I hope that they found success in the jungle that is the online dating world.

I guess one could say that my heart wasn’t really in it and that I didn’t give the online dating experience a real chance. That would definitely be a fair assessment. Looking back now, I can honestly say that I was/am still very much in love with someone else, an ‘in real life’ someone else, and that I didn’t want to admit to myself that I never had any true intentions of dating (online, or elsewhere).

I did learn something from the whole experience that was quite positive. I’m not a dater. I’m not a dater and I’m okay with that (I would like to take this opportunity to congratulate people who are daters. You are courageous in ways that I’ve yet to know. I commend your ability to put yourself out there and I wish you all the best). I also learned that, for me personally, it’s much easier to just tell the person in your life who you want to be with, that you want to be with them. It took me two years to realize/acknowledge this. I guess we all find our courage at different times and for different purposes.


I’d like to share with you what I wrote on my online dating profile. I didn’t have a photo with my profile (for reasons that you can read about below), only the following information:

(Please insert a clever and equally charming greeting of sorts in this general area)

I never expected to be talking with people on the Internet. My younger self envisioned my grown-up self living out her days in the greatest tree fort ever built, as a ballerina who was happily married to Mikey from the 1985 film The Goonies (shockingly, that is not how things have come to pass). If she could see me now, I’m sure she’d ask “What is the Internet?” and “What do you mean by fictional character?”

I’ve noticed a running trend of listing absolutely random facts about one’s self and because of this I feel somewhat compelled (or rather textually peer pressured) to do the same. Please see the following descriptive point form overview that I’ve compiled for your reading pleasure:

- I wasn’t chosen as a soloist for my third grade Christmas recital and instead had to sing a duet with scene-stealing ‘Amanda’. I was heartbroken. However, I was vindicated the following year when ‘Amanda’ threw a tantrum, calling our choir director an idiot, and was not permitted to participate in the recital. Small victories, folks, small victories.

- My dance moves are as silky smooth as expired yogurt mixed with sand.

- Unfortunately, I took up the horrible habit of mocking pretentious people by using a fake muppetish voice (imagine the voices of the Swedish Chef and Julia Child combined. Now, say something pretentious in that voice. Give it a try, I can wait). I was smited by the heavens and that same voice now slips out from time to time in regular conversation. Lesson learned: Don’t be a jerk. Not even when making fun of other jerks.

- Hearing people say the word ‘moist’ makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit.

- I like to share my time with motivated and compassionate people who appreciate the value of being a good person over being one who is considered cool or hip. Sincere generosity and intelligence are characteristics that I treasure the most in friends and/or a partner.

- I truly thought that lozenges were called ‘lozengers’ for the first 20 years of my life. Now, when I hear people say lozenges, I can’t help but think that they are saying ‘lozengers’ with a Boston accent. I have yet to come to terms with the singular pronunciation of the word. I’m working on it.

- A marching band once followed me home while on a midday stroll.

- End of list


Perhaps we could exchange a word… so long as the word exchanged is not moist. I’m not trolling the Internet for any sort of casual encounter; I’m simply in search of someone to perchance spend time with in fully clothed situations.


End/side/anecdotal Note: I strategically don’t have any profile photos. After a gentleman (well, maybe not a gentleman)… after a ‘man-dude’ sent me a message with a rhyming list of things that he would like to do to my face and an accompanying awkward image of genitalia, that I can only assume/hope was his own, I decided against putting up images of my face on this little corner of the Internet. Although it was thoughtful of this ‘man-dude’ to take the time to create such a unique list (in iambic pentameter, nonetheless), it terrified the heck out of me! So, if you were wondering, I have not been attacked by sea monsters. I do indeed have a face where my face should be and said face is quite normal looking. I simply didn’t want to take my chances encouraging poetic lists from strangers (or the images that apparently accompany them) by giving out photographic material to work with.

Have a lovely day.

….

And that, folks, was my, now extinct, online dating profile.

I wish you all wealth in love (romantic and otherwise) and in whatever it is that brings you joy, both great and small.


Thanks for stopping by,

-the merry pedestrian

Spring greens

Thursday Afternoon Thursday Afternoon

Yes, please and thank you

pack a lunch and double knot your boots

it’s the last of the winter walking weather

And so I bid you a sweet farewell, March
You’ve been good to me and don’t think for even a moment that it went unnoticed. We’ve had our differences in the past and I’ve often taken you for granted. At times your indecisive ways have left me disenchanted and I’ve abandoned wandering your blueish-grey landscapes for the indoor company of a good book and some freshly brewed coffee. On the surface you appear so hesitant, so unwilling to break, let alone bend, in the face of the changing seasons. Yet, somehow, your steadfast will to hold some form of authenticity, against the furious squalls of winters past and the gentle breezes of the coming spring, casts you in some of the least likely shades of loveliness. You have a quiet disposition that coyly masks your vigor, your elasticity, and your capacity to house all things new. And those blues. Those beautiful, beautiful strokes of blue, how could I ever forget them? All those touches of blue that dance across your midday skies and in the folds of your early evening shadows. You are the luminous blues of Chagall, the heartbroken blues of Picasso and all of the subtle variations in between. In a way, March, we’re not so different, you and I. Not so much at all. I’ll try my best to go easy on you next time around, if you would so very kindly remember to return the favour. And so I bid you a sweet farewell, March
You’ve been good to me and don’t think for even a moment that it went unnoticed. We’ve had our differences in the past and I’ve often taken you for granted. At times your indecisive ways have left me disenchanted and I’ve abandoned wandering your blueish-grey landscapes for the indoor company of a good book and some freshly brewed coffee. On the surface you appear so hesitant, so unwilling to break, let alone bend, in the face of the changing seasons. Yet, somehow, your steadfast will to hold some form of authenticity, against the furious squalls of winters past and the gentle breezes of the coming spring, casts you in some of the least likely shades of loveliness. You have a quiet disposition that coyly masks your vigor, your elasticity, and your capacity to house all things new. And those blues. Those beautiful, beautiful strokes of blue, how could I ever forget them? All those touches of blue that dance across your midday skies and in the folds of your early evening shadows. You are the luminous blues of Chagall, the heartbroken blues of Picasso and all of the subtle variations in between. In a way, March, we’re not so different, you and I. Not so much at all. I’ll try my best to go easy on you next time around, if you would so very kindly remember to return the favour. And so I bid you a sweet farewell, March
You’ve been good to me and don’t think for even a moment that it went unnoticed. We’ve had our differences in the past and I’ve often taken you for granted. At times your indecisive ways have left me disenchanted and I’ve abandoned wandering your blueish-grey landscapes for the indoor company of a good book and some freshly brewed coffee. On the surface you appear so hesitant, so unwilling to break, let alone bend, in the face of the changing seasons. Yet, somehow, your steadfast will to hold some form of authenticity, against the furious squalls of winters past and the gentle breezes of the coming spring, casts you in some of the least likely shades of loveliness. You have a quiet disposition that coyly masks your vigor, your elasticity, and your capacity to house all things new. And those blues. Those beautiful, beautiful strokes of blue, how could I ever forget them? All those touches of blue that dance across your midday skies and in the folds of your early evening shadows. You are the luminous blues of Chagall, the heartbroken blues of Picasso and all of the subtle variations in between. In a way, March, we’re not so different, you and I. Not so much at all. I’ll try my best to go easy on you next time around, if you would so very kindly remember to return the favour.

And so I bid you a sweet farewell, March

You’ve been good to me and don’t think for even a moment that it went unnoticed. We’ve had our differences in the past and I’ve often taken you for granted. At times your indecisive ways have left me disenchanted and I’ve abandoned wandering your blueish-grey landscapes for the indoor company of a good book and some freshly brewed coffee. On the surface you appear so hesitant, so unwilling to break, let alone bend, in the face of the changing seasons. Yet, somehow, your steadfast will to hold some form of authenticity, against the furious squalls of winters past and the gentle breezes of the coming spring, casts you in some of the least likely shades of loveliness. You have a quiet disposition that coyly masks your vigor, your elasticity, and your capacity to house all things new. And those blues. Those beautiful, beautiful strokes of blue, how could I ever forget them? All those touches of blue that dance across your midday skies and in the folds of your early evening shadows. You are the luminous blues of Chagall, the heartbroken blues of Picasso and all of the subtle variations in between. In a way, March, we’re not so different, you and I. Not so much at all. I’ll try my best to go easy on you next time around, if you would so very kindly remember to return the favour.

Places, revisited

Spring brings many a new things (new hair being one of them).