tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77512979012653906902024-03-28T23:29:56.622-04:00Laura UnfoldedLauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.comBlogger93125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-80357517196048412182014-07-11T16:35:00.000-04:002014-07-11T16:35:39.797-04:00I Have a New BlogPlease visit: lauraunfolded.com to follow my newest posts.LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-63108586411797086602014-06-25T14:41:00.000-04:002014-06-25T19:25:32.779-04:00The Beauty of Cyber Messiness
A link to Robert Sorokanich's website surfaced every time I logged into Facebook today. It contained a mugshot of a man with cords dangling from his ears, a serene landscape muted in the distance.
"This is why you shouldn't take people's Facebook lives seriously," the headline read, playing on the ever-so-human tendency to see only what others show us, not what rests beneath the LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-42567436442141345322014-06-25T08:54:00.000-04:002014-06-25T09:21:09.710-04:00In the Absence of My Reflection
It didn't happen right away.
Inspiration didn't swoon down from the gods. The tiny opening in the trees didn't issue an invitation to enter its domain. My fingers didn't feel an irresistible urge to pull out a pen and scribble on the notepad I tucked into the cup holder tray on my stroller.
Of course, those were the things I was hoping would happen when I packed up my baby and ambled down LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-32569049828848669292014-06-18T18:18:00.000-04:002014-06-22T13:50:23.248-04:00Dreaming is Crap
It's easy to say it out loud: to look into someone's eyes and own what I daydream about every single day of my life. It's easy to think what if and when and someday I will when my dreams hover like white puffs swarming in mid-December air, visible as long as I keep talking, fleeting the moment my lips close.
It's easy to say because in the deepest bowels of LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-17757965965033786292012-09-13T22:44:00.000-04:002012-09-14T06:43:27.291-04:00I Want...<!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
0
false
18 pt
18 pt
0
0
false
false
false
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-35210150939866371482012-09-10T22:49:00.003-04:002012-09-10T22:51:28.951-04:00Beneath the Scum<!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
0
false
18 pt
18 pt
0
0
false
false
false
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-52572289532686019332012-04-25T22:01:00.003-04:002012-04-26T08:20:55.401-04:00Sitting on my HandsI spent my entire first grade year plopped on top of my hands.
I'm not sure if that's because the teacher wanted to halt my clear propensity for excessive gesticulation, or if she believed squashing my fingers might get me to stop talking.
Either way, I suppose it worked.
"Please stop talking, Laura," she always said with a stern nod. Then she'd look me square in the eyes and point to LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-10133626340900077412012-04-24T21:27:00.000-04:002012-04-24T21:30:26.455-04:00Tangled
I rediscovered this poem today as I scanned my files from this summer. I wrote it as an exercise in a poetry class and after thinking about why I loved Holden Caulfield from Catcher in the Rye, I couldn't help but linger on this language and the moment that produced it. I know it isn't typical blogging me, but it's the me I am tonight:
Tumble
D
O
W
N
TaNgLed
StReEtS
And
LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-44150783883552670002012-04-17T21:07:00.005-04:002012-04-17T23:09:52.721-04:00Dumpster DivingI started my day in the dumpster.Well, I wasn't exactly in the dumpster, submerged knee deep in garbage. It was more like a bent at the waist, tottering in mid-air, employing my go-go gadget arm, as I reached for my fallen keys in the corner of a very large and stinky receptacle type of "in the dumpster."Of course my keys ended up in the dumpster because I didn't listen to the years of advice LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-29092351857264321622012-04-16T20:37:00.011-04:002012-04-16T23:28:34.259-04:00Sometimes We Just Need to WriteThank you cards are underrated.It's funny, my thoughts have turned to potential first lines for the last seven days. I took such a long break from my blog, it seemed almost futile to jump back into the page and wrap my ideas inside letters. My husband even asked when I planned to start writing again."I don't know. Maybe tomorrow," I kept telling him. I wasn't sure where to begin.But then, I LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-46118627407237020322012-03-15T16:28:00.003-04:002012-03-15T16:32:30.545-04:00BuzzingI salivate at the thought of positive energy. I want it, I crave it, I relish it. Like bumble bees prodding at partially dried syrup, jolts of optimism inspire me to hover, and make me want to buzz.Right about now, the buzzing is on overload. In a little over 24 hours, I will be holding my first niece and nephew in my arms. I will get to see their magical personalities and hear their tiny, LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-6580734618774746372012-03-14T21:40:00.006-04:002012-03-14T22:07:40.979-04:00J vs. English, Episode I"I hated it more than anything," J explained at dinner, as if I were wholly responsible for every English assignment ever created in the history of mankind."I worked so hard on it," he continued. "In fact, I spent hours on it. I could have told my teacher every single thing that ever happened in Call of the Wild. I could have analyzed the themes or the characters or the plot. Instead, I LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-18543863509475416092012-03-13T20:25:00.005-04:002012-03-13T22:05:42.831-04:00Living in the LayersThe Layers Stanley KunitzI have walked through many lives,some of them my own,and I am not who I was,Though some principle of beingabides, from which I strugglenot to stray.When I look behind,as I am compelled to lookbefore I can gather strength to proceed on my journey,I see the milestones dwindlingtoward the horizonand the slow fires trailing from the abandoned camp-sites,over which scavenger LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-44680191374694763962012-03-12T22:14:00.006-04:002012-03-12T23:31:13.121-04:00Punch LineSometimes you just have to laugh. It all started this morning when I decided to dry my hair. I listened to the weather report the night before, I checked my phone prior to slouching out of bed, and even if none of that were true, I could not have possibly missed the prodding echoes of persistent water streams tapping against the window. Nevertheless, I decided that dry hair was a priority. It LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-82939085972426177892012-03-08T20:11:00.016-05:002012-03-08T22:46:59.286-05:00Gratitude"You need a gratitude journal," I said, and then I pulled a cup of warm coffee to my lips, paused long enough to inhale its thick, deep fumes, and tilted the edge of the cup toward my mouth.My friend simpered as she sipped her latte, gazing up at me with two scrunched eyes that very clearly uttered huh?"It's this journal that you keep by your bed. Before you fall asleep, you write in it. No LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-10107486834190136672012-03-07T22:15:00.004-05:002012-03-07T23:06:39.256-05:00Getting on with it..."Pick yourself up."Those three words rang through my ears over and over as a child. Each time I wobbled off my bike, tripped over my footwork, or pitched the ball down the gut of the plate, one of my parents would invariably pat my back, guide me into position, and direct me to pick up my head and get on with it.And I always did.I survived each scrape, each heartbreak, each injury, each hauntingLauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-90255571560134474392012-03-06T19:26:00.014-05:002012-03-07T08:36:20.926-05:00Rediscovering RespectMy computer sat, perched on top of my counter, alone, for an entire week. I looked at her occasionally, wondering if pressing her buttons would resolve the ache in my gut. I decided to let her hover alone.I didn't feel like writing. I didn't feel like letting go of my short story rejection letter, or our two failed condo contract prospects, or the house we lost and can't seem to replace. And LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-59103840743395142692012-02-22T20:10:00.003-05:002012-02-22T20:14:31.547-05:00The Boy Who Walked Backwards...Yesterday, barely visible through the wet fog, I caught him out of the corner of my eye. A brownish-gray coat hung to his small waist, while worn blue jeans striped his legs. All around him, other kids skirted to the bus, stiffened legs moving at triple time, miniature backpacks bouncing behind them.He paid them no attention, moving backwards as if in slow motion. Tilting his head one way, and LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-27135929387637392352012-02-21T18:37:00.032-05:002012-02-22T17:47:17.360-05:00As Soon As We Get Past This..."Life is just a series of just as soon as I get past this or thats," my friend's mom said in casual conversation. Seemingly simple.But it got me thinking.A quick scan of the last twenty some years produced a montage of moments--Moving in 4th gradeThe death of both grandfathersA year-long mystery illness in 6th gradeFrog dissections in 7th grade--heck, middle school as a whole9 years of LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-28910237392158779612012-02-12T14:44:00.033-05:002012-02-12T21:55:53.660-05:00I Will Always Love YouHer name occupied the space at the top of a Taboo card last night; this morning, Alexandra sent me a text message informing me that she was gone.I've seen a few posts here and there on Facebook--mostly from women my age. The smattering has been surprisingly minimal. Considering everything else garnering attention on social media, her virtual absence makes me sad. Of course she fell from grace-LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-72371857383823328862012-02-09T18:53:00.004-05:002012-02-09T19:22:53.722-05:00Quite Nicehttp://www.its.caltech.edu/~atomic/snowcrystals/photos/photos.htmI have to admit something. Yesterday morning when I crept to my car, I actually enjoyed seeing snow--white tipped trees, fluff on the sidewalk grass, crystalized formations on my windshield.As much as I've traditionally despised winter--as much as I usually complain about it and curse it--I'm conditioned to expect it, to tolerate LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-91920128172717213152012-02-06T21:15:00.004-05:002012-03-07T08:45:20.637-05:00War on WomenI really try to keep my blog fairly apolitical. Try as I might to avoid politics, I realize it's inevitable that some of my beliefs will seep into my writing. It's inevitable because sometimes--like on nights like tonight--those beliefs literally set my fingers on fire.When I sat to write today's entry, I made a valiant effort to hopscotch down a few paths. All of those attempts either LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-23550623592292165832012-02-01T18:28:00.020-05:002012-02-04T10:58:29.134-05:00Out of Nowhere..."My wife told me April was going to be horrible," he yelled as I shuffled down the sidewalk. I had thirty seconds until boot camp, and I didn't realize anyone was outside. Jarred, I turned to identify the voice, and I found a man in his late 60s, walking briskly, 50 paces behind me."I'm sorry?" I asked, pausing for a minute as I readjusted my yoga mat and water bottle.His salt and pepper hair LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-44766109544244386842012-01-31T18:06:00.011-05:002012-02-01T07:08:19.766-05:00Bad DayThe air stinks of defensive dialogue.The stench isn't new; for some time now, tension and criticism--both constructive and destructive--have been acquiring their armies, building with each passing day. I've felt it in pockets, here and there, but lately, it feels like its getting heavier. It feels thick and pungent like smoke.Fear feasts on our toes, impeding our steps with each nagging nibble.LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7751297901265390690.post-59567579053482607782012-01-30T21:44:00.012-05:002012-01-30T22:56:22.876-05:00Ragging on Radio"Fireside Chat"http://www.trekearth.com/galleryI'm in Italy right about now.Two classes of students are smack dab in the middle of a memoir unit, and I'm nose deep in love. Monday morning ushered in a Stephen King interview, and I thought my students would love it--the gruesome details of his accident, how the person driving the van seemed eerily similar to a character from one of his novels, LauraUnfoldedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359095129959686761noreply@blogger.com0