postcard: what spring brings

Spring is the light from a star pouring in my window, causing me to stop mid-stride, turn my face...eyes closed, see the pink of my eyelids and feel warmth soak into flesh and bone. My huddled, clenched body softens, loosens, recalls movement and flow.
Neither cold nor heat holds sway. It's the bridge between; the balance before the scale tips. It's remembering and marking the transition. No longing. No denunciation. Just appreciation of the contrast.

http://nbwhoop.tumblr.com/post/44428755878/forget-new-years-spring-is-for-rejuvenation

postcard: who loves you, baby?

Lots of people out there love me…and sincerely, I’m sure. But with most I’ve—we’ve—had years to muddy the waters. So much in suspension that makes love difficult to feel and see. So, though this is terribly cliché, the only exceptions I have to offer are my two children. Why do they love me? Well, because they’re hardwired to. Because I radiate imperfection. Because I acknowledge when I fail and say I’m sorry. Because no mistake they make is bigger than my love for them, and I think…I hope they know this.

http://nbwhoop.tumblr.com/post/42166797016/who-loves-you-baby

postcard: always look on the bright side of life

You can't have a Happy Life. There are happy moments and crap moments and meh moments...and a million other moments. I try to embrace them for what they are, not give extended influence to any one, and then move along. I try.
I also try to tip the happiness balance in my favor by
...spending time in the company of funny, smart, and kind people whenever possible.
...expending as little energy as possible on walking, talking black holes.
...carving out something for myself that keeps my brain active and forces me to create.
...knowing that every rough patch is just a string of crap moments, as fleeting as any other. Nothing crap can stay either, Ponyboy.
There's my bright side for you.

http://nbwhoop.tumblr.com/post/39442162766/always-look-on-the-bright-side-of-life

postcard: i still don't believe it

A slight majority voted for optimism and compassion.
But 47.8%, almost half, voted for fear. That's what I can't believe.
“Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” - Yoda

Designed by Fumiaki Kawahata

Folded and photographed by Phillip West

http://nbwhoop.tumblr.com/post/36935054949/i-still-dont-believe-it

postcard: out of place

I have eczema on my hands, and in recent months it was bad enough that I took to wearing cotton gloves--glaring white, no less...they don't come in any other color--to protect my skin from germs, from my own scratching and picking (sorry: truth), and because, well, nobody likes to flaunt hamburger hands.
So, these gloves are eye-catching, and I get no shortage of questions and comments when I wear them at the library.  One individual seeking out some automotive-related books asked about the gloves and, tempering my response based on a sixth sense (a weirdar?) developed out of necessity in my line of work, I replied simply, "I wear them to protect my hands."
The back and forth continued as we sussed out exactly what sort of automotive information he needed and I walked him to a shelf in the 629s to see if something might fit the bill.  Out of habit, I reached up to straighten some books on the shelf [WITH MY WHITE GLOVED HANDS]. It was clear to me early on (weirdar) that he was distracted--unable to get past the white gloves and some burning need to know more AND stricken by knowing there is no smooth, socially acceptable way to broach the subject again. The fruit of his mental labor?
"I've always wondered what it's like to handle books with gloves on."

http://nbwhoop.tumblr.com/post/34616849407/out-of-place

postcard: favorite line

I'll be the one to break my heart / I'll be the one to hold the gun

celebratory.

"I Feel It All" by Feist

http://nbwhoop.tumblr.com/post/33124902143/favorite-line

I remember in the beginning
A dream:
I was at an airport restaurant with my love and couldn't keep my hands off him. No ravenous make out attack. Just hands on...a need to feel physical warmth and connection.  I feel it in my chest as I write. I've always, always felt the closest and most connected through touch.  My heart on my skin.
And now,
he sleeps on top of the blankets
a strike without contact.

postcard: 1234...5

you doggedly, patiently strive
and in the meantime, in this
strip mall shoe box, make community
remember names, swap stories
enable pursuits of happiness

http://nbwhoop.tumblr.com/post/33135907264/12345