Thursday, May 25, 2017

The One Where Blake Makes a Mistake



From the desk of the editor of Blakegotfat:

To Whom It May Concern,

Sorry to have done the vague posting to y'all this week. I went to St. Louis and had a friend have a very scary life threatening situation happen and I had to coordinate care until the family could arrive. My blog post were the reflection of that and I should have been more clear. Please accept my apology and thank you for your concern.

Let's pretend this never happened? 

XOXO, 

Blake 

PS. My personal media assistant wants me to tell you that she will vet my post from now on to make sure this doesn't happen again. 

P.P.S To whoever left me cookies you are the best. 

P.P.P.S I hope they were for me. Otherwise I owe my neighbors an apology. 

P.P.P.P.s Dear neighbors, I owe you an apology for eating your visiting teaching cookies. In my defense it said We love you and hope you are okay! 


Heavenly Day


Ogden May 24th. 

Sitting at my desk. 

The phone buzzes.

a text appears. 

         I'm okay. 

Heavenly day indeed. 


Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Before It Breaks

(St. Louis. Taken from the roof of St. Mary's. Photo credit goes to well they know who they are.)


Ogden Monday May 22nd. 

"I'm alright don't I always seem to be aren't I swinging from the stars don't I wear them on my sleeve..."-Brandi Carlie Before it Breaks. 

It's morning. 

I'm wearing my work armor. Badge blue checkered shirt. Grey cords. Brown Doc. Martins. 

"How are you?"
    
"What's going on?" 
     
"You look tired."

"How was St. Louis?"

"Please tell us the story." 

       I can't tell you the story. I can't share it because I'm drowning in all the details. I can't tell you because I need to protect the story. I can't open my mouth and tell you the story because when I start I don't know if I can stop. 

Sitting.Waiting in the dark halls of St. Mary's Hospital. The Arch in the rain. Wondering if I will ever get home. 

"Why are you at work? You look exhausted." 

Because I have to return to routine.In routine there is safety. In routine you don't have to answer the same questions over and over combing through the details. Wondering was it truly gnocchi you ate? Or was it the baked spaghetti? Did I have the chocolate cake or the red velvet?" What you ate for breakfast. Sabrina. You saying they needed find a way to have Aubrey Hepburn and Harrison Ford to create the best movie. Or the last minute thought I need to eat something before the ambulance came. Where my best intentions good enough? 

In routine there is safety. In routine there is peace. In routine my brain doesn't go over the last seventy two hours. If I hadn't remembered to ask. You would have been dead by now. 

Drowning in all the details. Drowning in all the what ifs. 

"How are you?" 

Great! And you? 








Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Where Do I Go From Here?





Salt Lake City to Ogden May 23rd 12 am. 

The plane lands. 
I deplane. Check for my belongings. 
Stand in line for my bag. 

People cheer over the basketball game. No CNN for once on the TV's. 

When I was flying time stood still.No phone. No internet. No contact. No updates. 

Then the questions come in rapid succession now that I'm standing here at my car. 

What's going to happen? 

I don't know.

Will there be changes?

I hope so. 

Will there be trouble? 

I don't know. 

What going to happen once I'm here? 

I don't know. 

Where do I go from here now that we are 1,309 miles apart? 

I don't know. 

Will there be time for dreaming when this nightmare is over? 

I don't know. 

What happens when I can't hold on?

What happens when tomorrow comes and there is nothing I can do? 

Just pull chair out and adjust the pen. Just write. 

What's going to happen?

I don't know. 

But whatever happens here I go. 

What's going to happen? 

Where do I go from here? 






Monday, May 22, 2017

Keep Breathing


St. Louis Missouri Saturday May 20th and Sunday May 21st. 


Mormons don't believe in rosaries and repeated prayers. Yet in this moment I have two bamboo needles and move the stitches back from needle to the other. Knit. Purl. Knit. Purl. Knit. each stitch becomes a prayer. 


Knit: Stay alive. 
Purl: Stay here. 

Whoosh. Whomp. Goes the breathing machine. 

Purl: Keep breathing. 
Knit: Stay alive.  


A nurse comes in to check the blood sugar every hour. 132 from 937 the nurse comments much more manageable. 


Knit: I cannot cry. Must be strong. 
Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 


The hours go by so fast and slow. Waiting for the grown up to to show up and tell me it's going to be okay. We are alone in a state where we know no one. 


Knit: How will I get you home? 
Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 

Sitting out staring at the St. Louis Arch. The gateway to the west. 

Knit: If I could get you to the Arch I can get you home. 
Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive.  


Another nurse asks if I need anything. I need you to wake up and tell me you are okay. 


Knit: All I know is that I'm breathing. 
Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 

I find myself breathing in time with the breathing machine. As if each breath we breathe in tandem will somehow help you heal. 

Knit: The priest stops by to offer a blessing. I have no oil to give you one. I figure the lord will understand. 
Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 

Your body twitches. Your face grimaces in pain. Just rest.
Another row. As if I keep knitting I can keep your story alive. 

Knit: The light fades. The Arch lights up showing the way home. 
Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 

I find myself pulling the stitches apart in me to keep you whole. 

Knit: All I can do is keep breathing. 
Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 


The door behind me opens. 


The grown up appears. The row is paused between two needles. At any moment the whole piece could unravel. 


Knit: I thought calling the grown ups and telling them you are here was the worst thing I had to do. Seeing the grown up face absorb all the details. All the tubing all the cables crossing and tangled to keep you alive. 


Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 


The grown up whispers I'm here. 

The needles stop moving the stitches they are all on one needle. Time to pack them away. Prayers will have to be said on the inside. The conversation is short. 

The doctor appears. The doctors explains. The grown up takes in all the details. 


I stay for forty-five minutes longer sitting in the silence. The occasional whoomp. whosh. 

My phone buzzes. It's time to go. I have to go. The grown up understands. I say the words I'm sorry. Keep me posted. 

I walk down the hall to the elevator. 



Knit. 



Purl.



Knit. 



Purl. 



Waiting. 






Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Joyful all Ye Nations.



(Anyone else feeling like this lately? No? Just me then? 2016 has blown goats.)

On Christmas night we all gathered together for a post-Christmas-yay-it’s over let’s eat party at Mama Joye’s. After stuffing our faces with all the holiday sweets my mom in an effort to keep every one’s phones in their pants asked us to gather around campfire style and talk about their strongest Christmas memory.

My first thought was shit. My second thought was if I hide out in the bathroom would anyone notice?


Listening to everyone’s strongest memory it was my turn. This is what I said/wrote:

“The Christmas in which I remember most was Christmas 2013. It was the last Christmas that Emily was able to come home she was pregnant with Thea, everyone was home and it was the last Christmas we had Grandma before we lost her a month later.”

As I sat up late Christmas night I realized would I have done anything different if I had known that was my last* Christmas? (*When I say last I mean the last Christmas of my childhood.)
Which makes me wonder am I prepared for things to be my last? I’m in good health and I’m relatively young but life changes in the ordinary instant. Which means I’m building up the memories of my last.
First off. My last meal. Realistically my last meal will be one that I’m too sick to eat/and/or be one that I will throw up. So I have decided that my last meal so to speak will be all the family dinners, the wonderful meals eaten in cities which none of friends live, and tasting things for the first time.
After having that morbid thought I thought to myself what are the things I most enjoy in life? What are sixteen things I can look forward to next year?

Here’s my list:

11.My family.
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22. Spontaneous trips to cities I’ve never been.

33. Driving over the bridge to the house in Sun Valley in Fall and seeing the trees lit up in the various hues of red, gold and amber.

44. Spring. Mainly that magical moment when it is finally warm enough to open your windows and air out all the despair and stale air of winter. Also after finishing your spring cleaning and reading a new book and smelling spring come.

55. A bottle of regular coke and floating in the pool in Summer reading People magazine.

66. Eating dinner with friends in cities we don’t live and probably will never be in again.

77. Fresh clean sheets. Oh is there nothing more delicious than when you finally are able to get all comfortable in your bed after a long day of cleaning and enjoying a freshly made bed that’s your own?

88. Taking a bath with a really good story.

89. Sitting on the beach in the late afternoon in Maui under an umbrella and watching the sun play on the ocean.

110.         My grandpa’s stories.**blogpost coming soon on where I learned the art of story**.

111.         Flying in a double or single prop plane and looking out over the mountains, people, and that sense of being in the middle between sky and earth. It’s a rare feeling and it’s hard to describe.

112.         Thanksgiving dinner.
1
113.         Ice cream.

114.         Rain.

115.         The quiet hush of the first real snow fall. Walking out late at night when no one is around, traffic is quiet and listening to that peaceful quiet. The rare quiet of nature. No phones, no dings, no loud music, just absolute and peaceful quiet.

116.         Laughter.

What are your sixteen things you look forward to? Or sixteen things that have been positive in this last year? 

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Winter 1

“How much can a heart and a troubled mind take?
       Where is that fine line before it all breaks?”
              -Dolly Parton 

I hate winter.

I’ve tried making peace with it. Yet as I’m writing this I can’t feel my toes, which for a fat person causes a great amount of panic because you start worrying that the diabetus has finally appeared.
Winter is my least favorite season because everything dies. All color gets sucked out and for us Utahans the inversion hits and it becomes nothing but grey.

I’ve been feeling a little disconnected and frustrated so I went out for a walk in the mountains to reconnect. I had my I-pod on shuffle as one does and Max Richter’s Recomposed Vivaldi’s Four Season Spring 0 and One came on. I relate to this album because on how it came about. From an interview with Classic FM

How did the idea for the piece come about?
When I was a young child I fell in love with Vivaldi's original, but over the years, hearing it principally in shopping centres, advertising jingles, on telephone hold systems and similar places, I stopped being able to hear it as music; it had become an irritant - much to my dismay! So I set out to try to find a new way to engage with this wonderful material, by writing through it anew - similarly to how scribes once illuminated manuscripts - and thus rediscovering it for myself. I deliberately didn't want to give it a modernist imprint but to remain in sympathy and in keeping with Vivaldi's own musical language.

How does this relate to winter? Because I’m choosing to look at it a new perspective. 2016 was the year that I started laying the ground work for change. If I had known that I would be spending so much money on self-help books in my thirties I would have joined Amazon prime years ago.

I am tired of spinning the story of how damaged I am and what I want, what I’m not getting, why certain situations are impossible, what I wish would happen, why it’s too late etc..and I usually end with I JUST DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!
Which why this winter as I was starting my usual story of damage this voice yelled at me from deep within me.START KNOWING.


Start knowing? Start knowing what? So I wrote it down in my journal. I gave the sentence a voice. What it said to me was: Look stop pretending you don’t know what to do. You’ve read so many self-help books, attended classes and exhausted your friends with the same boring sob story. Either you really want to change or you want to martyr to your story of I can’t but you know what to do. Start knowing! 

As Max said when he had stopped hearing the music and found it as irritation so have I become with wanting to change my life. What I wanted and what I was doing were two different things. With all the self help books I've read this last year I've noticed a trend that most people have the solution within themselves but are too afraid or have become attached to the feeling of they can't to move forward. I want to move forward.Cause I'm tired of martyring.  It's boring and people tend to give me odd looks at parties. 

So 2017's theme is to Start Knowing. This winter is going to give way to a beautiful spring. Both outside and physically.