I Was Not Tired of Blogging, Only Busy

For some reason I keep thinking about this one thing.

Several years ago when my parents were alive and I was down visiting them for the weekend, I wanted to find this one yellow dress. It was in their closet; good lord, they had three closets filled with clothes. Their room, the spare room, and the other spare room, all filled with clothes. See, I had made this hideous yellow dress when I was about twelve. I was not a great seamstress. The most interesting and successful thing I ever did in Home Ec was to sew my hand to Lisa Frantz's hand in the ninth grade. We took a needle and thread and sewed through little bits of skin and sewed our hands together. It didn't hurt. There was no blood. It wasn't as weird as it sounds. Anyway, when we showed Mrs. Sheets what we'd done, she sent us to the councilor. It really was not that weird.

So, anyway, back to the dress. Picture this...polyester lemon yellow tank dress, knee length, lined. The pockets were the best though. They kind of curved up and made a belt loop. Two pockets, two belt loops (look, it was the 70's). Even had a zipper! I made precise stitches and had to redo the zipper about a hundred times. But the finished product was perfect. It was the only thing I ever made In Home Ec that was REAL. The only thing that was slightly acceptable. I might have worn it once. But, I loved that dress. It said something to me about being able to do something regular.

So, I looked in every closet. Good lord, it had been in that second spare room closet two weeks before. I had even thought about taking it home then. But I hadn't. I looked in the other two closets too. No dress. I asked my mom where it was. Just looking for it, I said. I wanted to see it. I thought I'd take it home. No flipping dress. Hmmmm, where could that dress be? My mom, standing in the kitchen, said, oh, I think I took a bag of stuff to Goodwill last week, I'm sorry it must have been in there.

Oh My God. It was the one thing I ever sewed to completion in my whole life. I MADE that damn dress and my mom gave it to Goodwill?????? What the fuck? I became incensed. I got in my car and drove around PHOENIX to all the Goodwills looking for that dress. I spent an entire Saturday driving from mini-mall to mini-mall. Yes, 30 Goodwill stores, me running through them riffling through the racks. Where's my dress, I wanted to scream to everyone. No dress.

I was livid the entire weekend. How could my mother give ONE bag to Goodwill and include my handmade polyester, hideous dress? I needed that dress. I don't know why. I could not let it go that entire weekend. I alternated between bitter anger and the silent treatment. It made me sick to my stomach that she had given it away. I said mean things like, "There are a lot of clothes you could have given away and you chose MY DRESS. THAT I MADE BY HAND? I"LL NEVER SEW ANOTHER DRESS IN MY LIFE AND YOU GAVE IT AWAY??!!" I had to go home early. I even cried about that stupid dress.

Why have I held on to that? Why are there things we have such a hard time letting go of? It's not like it was a catastrophe. It was just a dress.

A few months later she sent me a card for my birthday and it said, "Happy Birthday! We love you. Dad played nine holes of golf today and I went out to lunch with Barbara and Carol....(two more paragraphs). Sorry about the dress. Love, mom." I kept that card. I needed to know she was sorry. I needed to know that she acknowledged that she was wrong. My mom had never said the words "I'm sorry" to me, not because she wouldn't, but because she never really did anything to me to be sorry about. I also keep that card because it gives me a little perspective, thinking about how, if that's the worst thing my mom ever did to me, I should feel pretty damn good.

I am still a baby about it though, and it still gives me a tweak when I think about it. I know it might have ended up as the rag some guy uses to wipe the oil off the dipstick of his car, thrown onto an old shelf in some garage. But I try to make myself just let it go by envisioning some 12 year old girl wearing my handmade dress and loving it. I try to think about how she might put folded notes from her best friend Cynthia in the pockets. How she might wear a silly macrame belt and smile as she threads it through the belt loops, amazed at how they are ACTUALLY PART OF THE POCKETS. I know she has no idea it's handmade or that it was the only thing I ever sewed. That's the thing that makes me feel better, imagining her just wearing it, all carefree and twelve.

#30 (file, again, under drivel)

Well, this is the 30th day in a row of blogging. It's been fun (not really) and tiring (really). It's been good in that I needed to write and I have. I've continued writing, often, after I've finished the blog for the day. It makes me think more. It makes me take the whole blog process less seriously. Okay, it really has been fun. Will I write more from now on? I don't know. I do find it helpful to give myself assignments and goals. So, we'll see.

You may think this picture is of the beautiful trees silhouetted against the equally beautiful night sky. Wrong. It is of my neighbors having their Christmas lights up already. See, there, in the lower left corner. Christmas lights. WTF? Although, truthfully, that is exactly something I would do if it wasn't so far down on my "to do" list. I'd probably put them up the day after Halloween and take them down in February. I'll be lucky to get them up by December 15th. Of course, I'll have help so they might make it up by the 1st. I am not a commercial Christmas person, although I do love the getting and giving of the presents. Are there really people who don't like getting presents?!?! What is wrong with those people? I would like to recieve a present for many more holidays than just Christmas and birthdays! But that's not why I love Christmas. I love the tv shows, like The Grinch and A Charlie Brown Christmas. I love the food and the baking and the decorating. I love the thought and the kindness and the happiness that permeates the whole season. Bring it on, baby! And really, presents are never wrong.

Some other drivel.....

Extreme Home Make-Over. I love that show. Love Ty. They do such a nice thing (I sound like I'm seventy). Jay and I get teary over it every Sunday (yes, we watched it tonight).

Going to work at 7:00 am. It's really okay. It's nice being up early and being done by noon. Thought it would be harder. Okay, I've only done it one day. I'll get back to you.

Good neighbors are underrated. I love my neighbors. Walking Stan just for fun. Coming over to borrow an egg. Stopping by with a beer, or checking to see if I have a good bottle of wine open. Watering plants when I'm gone. They are the best.

Checks. Does anyone use checks anymore besides me? Remember when it was so great to get cool checks? Now, pay on the Internet. So many things are obsolete. Checks. Camera film (I have four rolls and don't know what to do with it). That's all I can think of right now but I know that tons of other things are going the way of checks and camera film.

I'm not blogging tomorrow. I'm painting a table instead. But I'll be back in a few days with pictures or stories or poetry assignments. I have no idea how many people read this, as my blog doesn't really beg for comments, but I know quite a few of you and I do appreciate it. There is something about writing for an audience that makes writing more fun for me. Thanks.

Thank you, God, for this good life and forgive us if we do
not love it enough.
--Garrison Keillor

#29 (file under catching up)

The reason why my blogs are so flipping superficial lately is because it's hard to write every day especially when you're REALLY busy. I would say that out of the last 26 days of blogging, maybe three posts are ones I would want to read if I was the reader not the writer. But, it's been all about the writing commitment, not the content so much. And, other things, some still superficial, some not, are going on. So, here is a quick catch-up.

I have a JOB and it's going well. I am a Starbucks barista and it's very fun. I like the people I work with and the benefits are outrageous! I had several moments of inferior caste related panic attacks but I got over them. It's a part-time, full benefits, flexible, fun experience, during which I make a little money. Yay!

I started painting furniture again. Well, I think tomorrow I paint, the last couple days I've been dremeling and contemplating. But I am making things. I've started working on hats again and very soon I'm going to learn how to throw pots.

And speaking of pots, I have B in my life now. The good man in my life that throws pots, is amazingly nice to my son, and makes me laugh. This is the best. It is fun and it is great. It is effortless.

I'm teaching school and it's almost Christmas break. I have a poetry class next semester. I think it's been good to have a semester off from poetry. I've redone my syllabus and spent time NOT thinking about poetry which is good. And if, I mean WHEN, you write a sonnet, per yesterdays post, you may submit it in my comments and you could win a prize.

Even though my life is better, it's still got enough weirdness to make it mine. I have chickens that lay blue eggs and my garage is now an art studio and my car never stays clean even when I clean it every day.

I looked at my post from one year ago and my life was really hard. My mom was dying, I was in a horrible relationship, and my creativity was about nil. I looked at that post, called Bridges, and I could remember that internal feeling so well. But it's not the feeling I have anymore. I still think about my mom every day. She was the best mom. I had this very ideal childhood, mostly because of the love of my parents, and then in my adulthood, went through some years of shit (yeah, some of it my own making). Now, I'm in a place I wasn't sure I'd get to. If you go to that post, from a year ago today, there's a picture of me wearing this coat and smiling so big you can almost hear me laugh. That's where I am. Now. Whew.

# 28...file under writing assignment

I think all y'all need to write a sonnet.

Here's the info and rules. When the letters, such as (A, or (E, at the end of a line are the same, that means the last word in those lines rhyme. You're just going to have to wing it a bit. Come on. Do it. I've even provided a few examples I wrote...

Bird Sonnet


You hold the still warm body of the quail (A
in one hand, its feathers rustle in the wind, (B
(now, in death, a speckled bag of bone and tail) (A
and with a knife in your other hand, tend (B
to the legs, snapping them off at the joint (C
then do the same with each soft wing, breaking (D
off that delicate flat plate of flight at the point (C
of attachment. Then with the knife, making (D
one long slit from end to end, you tug and pull (E
the tight costume of skin and plume away (F
from what it held inside. Scoop the gullet, full (E
of seeds, remove the bile and liver, rinse, then lay (F
the knife aside and feel the rising heat (G
as it roasts over flame, then eat the tender meat (G

Tucson Sonnet

I bought two pair of shoes on the way back (A
from your place. I felt seasoned and raw, tight (B
like a piece of meat all tough and sinew white. (B
I blew by the outlet mall on that racetrack (A
of a highway and thought about the awful lack (A
of shoes in my closet and lost sight (B
of you, of time and money, lost even the right (B
reasoning of my mother’s voice saying, “crack (A

those lousy credit cards in half.” Later, then, (C
the shoes tucked in the trunk, blasting through the heat (D
of the desert, I watched tire after tire shed (E
its rubber onto the road like sunburnt skin. (C
Blowout after blowout as two hot things meet, (D
exploding at the touch, and you, back in my head. (E

Job Interview Sonnet

Okay, here’s me a couple years ago. (A
“I’d like a job doing something for (B
a worthwhile cause, the health department or (B
maybe at the library. I don’t know (A
if I have the skills for anything (C
actually. Could I get the job where (D
I enter hand made blankets at the fair? (D
I would sit at home and sew and sing (C
and take time out on Tuesdays to make (E
peanut butter cookies. I would also call (F
the job of gathering eggs from a small (F
hen house in the country one I would take (E

in a second. Or anything where I (G
end up wading in tide pools.....” Oh, they sigh. (G


Things to remember...
14 lines
rhyme scheme
Go with that for now.

Just do it.

#27 (file under Vegas memories)

Just a picture, the story is from yesterday.....

Day 26

No pictures yet, just a story.

My son and his friend M are in the same class at school. Their teacher asked the class on Friday if anyone had big plans for the holiday. Some kids were going to see relatives over the long weekend. Some kids were going on family vacations. Jay and M excitedly told the class about the Vegas trip. "are you going with your families?" their teacher asked. "no, just our moms" the boys said. "What in the world are you two going to do in Vegas? she asked.

Well, Monday night the four of us were walking down the strip. A woman in a bluish long jacket and high heels was standing out in the parking lot of one of the "free shows here" and "four tee-shirts for $10" strip malls. Jackie, M's mom, was taking pictures and wandered over to the woman. She had a pink feathery plume sticking about four feet high as a hat. Very "show girlie." She was quite pretty under all the make-up, and was just chatting away with anyone who would walk over. She told Jackie that she accepts tips, and, she would love to take a picture with the boys. The boys stood next to her, and she took their hands and placed them behind her. Then, she smiled, pulled the boys in close, and her nice long jacket flew open and she was pretty much barely dressed. There was a lot of bare skin there! And Jackie got the picture and there's our boys, smiling those 10 year old boy smiles, next to the woman with very little clothing on.

I'm sure that when their teacher asks what they did in Las Vegas, they'll be more than happy to share their experience.

day 25 (file under procrastination)

Just got back from Vegas. I have stories and fun pictures that will have to wait another day. I'm tired (is this a recurring theme?) and I'm going to bed. Teaching and Starbucks are both calling tomorrow. A boy needs to get up for school in the morning. And there's no roulette wheel in my house.

#24 (file under drug of choice)

I'm sitting here in a swanky hotel room, pajamas on, ready to crawl into that cozy bed with the 1200 thread count sheets. My purse is a little lighter, but not empty. I did not buy a time-share. I call it a success. The highlight of the time share was when the salesman, a very nice man named Patrick, was telling me about the benefits of deed ownership, and how I can put that time share in my will. He said something to the affect of, "You can insure that your son will be able to have vacations in five star hotels after you're gone" and I think I belly laughed so loudly I startled several other possible time-share victims. Honey, I thought, you do not know me if you think I'm going to do anything that affords my son future nice vacations. He can foot the bill for his own luxury stays.

I know several people who do not ever need to come to Vegas. I understand. I like hiking too! I like watching the Daily Show with John Stewart and drinking hot tea! I do not NEED to throw money at strangers while a little white ball rolls around a circle of numbers! But once every 12 months, I want to do that! I want to feel that rush as the ball slips suddenly, effortlessly into 17 black. I want to watch as a woman in a red and black get-up, that looks surprisingly like what the flying monkeys wore in the Wizard of Oz, pushes a huge pile of poker chips my way. I don't even mind losing. I'll PAY just to play the game. I love a nice glass of wine, but gambling is my drug of choice during my once a year Vegas jaunt.

I have pictures I'll post soon. A couple good stories. And officially it's the 11th (yes, I was out gambling too late) so I did sort of miss my 10 of November post (although, I vaguely remember a rule from my youth that said that it wasn't the next day until you had slept, so I'm going to invoke that here).
Goodnight.

Day 23 (on the road)

We're heading out to Vegas. I'm blogging now so that tonight, when I win FIFTY BILLION DOLLARS and I'm busy choosing which color Prius I'll drive off the lot (one of each, please), I won't feel obsessed with getting to my computer.

I'm going to do a time share presentation. That gives me really cheap rooms. I LOVE doing time share presentations. I really like looking at the model rooms, I like hearing the amazing deals. By the way, a time share presentation goes like this; you go to some resort and in exchange for "something" like a $100 Home Depot card or two nights in Vegas, you listen as someone tries to sell you a time share (which is a vacation, but you kind of "own" the room. Google it!). They are so good at it! You have to stay for at least 90 minutes to get your prize. I'm always very complimentary as I get up, at 89 minutes and 58 seconds, and tell them what a GREAT job they did, and YES it IS a wonderful deal, but I just can't today....can I have my prize now?

So, we're off. Tomorrow, I write from Vegas.

#22 ? (file under salty dog)

I'm taking a night off. That's all, no excuses (however, I am really looking forward to Christmas, and I'm not going to write about it, but soon, very soon, it will be time to unwrap Bumble and Rudolph and Clarice, and the misfit toys and put them out on a table or shelf, and then, THEN, it will be almost Christmas).

And, well, I think grapefruit juice, even with a teeny bit of vodka in it, must be quite good for you.

Entry #21 (File under Wiener Mobile) Hahaha

Jay and B and I went to the First Friday Art Walk tonight (although the name is pretty self explanatory, I'll just say; first Friday of the month, downtown, art everywhere). Highlights....(1)Jay used chopsticks with his Chinese food, (2)saw Maggie, (3)had a homemade peanut butter cup that was yummy, and (4)saw a couple really cool little studios. Oh, wait, the biggest highlight was THE OSCAR MEYER WIENER MOBILE! Yes, in our town, the wiener mobile in the bank parking lot. There was a table in front where you could sign the guest book. There were two helpers in wiener suits and Santa hats(?). We got to go inside and sit in the comfy wiener chairs AND we got to sing the "I Wish I Were an Oscar Meyer Wiener" song and win a, yes, wiener mobile shaped whistle. It was the best part of my whole night. Jay was slightly mortified throughout the experience, but B and I sang that song like we were auditioning for American Idol. It was awesome. The two "hosts" were driving that wiener mobile all over the Southwest. Every day that is their job. They stay in hotels and drive the wiener mobile and listen to folks sing that song. Man, I could just see that thing flying down Highway 40 at about 80 mph. Now THAT'S a job!

Day 20 (file under sleepy)

Conan O'Brian is on the television. That means it's after 11:30 pm. I'm really tired. I used to love to stay up really late. Conan was the start of my tv watching for the evening. There was this show on VH1 called Insomniac Theater that started around 1:30 am that I would catch all the time. I've never had insomnia, I just did my house cleaning at night. Now, I prefer sleep. When I was little, I had this great canopy bed. I believed I was a princess and my parents didn't really discourage that thought. Here's my two nephews, Jerry and Jim, and I, enthroned in the canopy bed, reading Nurse Nancy (I loved that book because there were real band-aids in the back). We loved reading in bed even then. I remember when I lived in L.A., and Suzy and I would START getting ready to go out at 10:00 pm. We would leave the house by 11:00 and stay out until 4:00. That is so crazy to me now. Yes, it was fun. Yes, I'm glad we were there. But man, give me a 8:30 bedtime (for me, not my son) and I am happy. Now, with laptop computers, I can type, check out e-mails, and download music while cozy with tea. (Sarah Silverman is on Conan...if you haven't seen her Matt Damon clip, google her and watch it. You will howl) Plus, there is a stack of books right next to me. I'm reading the last book of that teenage vampire series (Yes, I know), and a book called, How Starbucks Saved my Life, which is really good. So, I suppose.......zzzzzzz

Day 19 (Merely Observations)

The fight scene in Rocky II has far too much visible mouth drool.

The words prosaic and ennui are pretty words that basically mean boring.

Cold as a witch's _ _ _ is one of the most disgusting phrases know to man (IMHO).

Oh, but it is that cold here.

The cell phones/driving combination will someday be recognized as the true start of the decline of western civilization

Chickens do not lay eggs when they're cold.

A fresh coat of paint makes anything look clean....for a week.

Everyone secretly wants to be in an organization that has a cool handshake.

No matter what ipod or cell phone or computer I get, a better/cheaper/cooler model will be released the next day.

Celebrity mug shots are ALWAYS funny.

Day 18 (file under election)

It's not the election you think. My ten year old was elected to fifth grade class representative today. He was so excited. He wanted to win so bad. This picture is the one that he used for his campagne posters. His slogan....All the way with Jay!Now he gets to meet with the principal, along with each grade's rep, once a month for lunch. He will need to bring the concerns and questions of his class to that meeting. I don't know if he even knows what that means. I'll do whatever I can to help him understand it. It's not a popularity contest (although Jay doesn't really fee like a popular kid), it's a responsibility. And I want him, over time, to really get that. Go Jay!

Oh, and about the Obama thing.....

Yeah baby!

Day 17 (file under my short story)

I wrote a short story. I was getting tired of writing about myself so I thought I'd write about imaginary people. It's from the male perspective, although you might have noticed that a few hundred words in. Or not. I never write stories. Just poems. But this was fun. I cannot comprehend writing a novel though, there are so many words!

The Absence of Light


Picture this first. Two men sitting in the cab of a green pick-up. Plymouth, 1957, chrome on the hood and along the bumper. The hood ornament is a woman with her face stuck out to the sky, like she’s proving something to someone. There is almost a smile on her lips but it’s really more of an “I’ll show you” look. The truck is parked on a little dirt road, tall grass waving around the sides and making scratchy sounds against the steel of the car. The paint on the pick-up is a soft, watered-down color. Like the insides of those bag-worms that hang off the maple trees and get squished by shoes when they fall, or burned in big piles along with the leaves.
The passenger in the truck is my father, Arlie. The man in the drivers seat is his brother, Bus. They both have on white tee-shirts and old jeans. They’re both smoking, my dad; Marlboros, my uncle Bus; Pall Malls. My dad rests his arm on the rolled down window, his thumb hooked into the top groove of the door frame, cigarette between his first and second fingers. Bus keeps his cigarette in his mouth, talking around it.
“ I picked these up at Talleys. I knew you wanted them. I got me a pair too.”
Bus reaches under his seat and pulls out a sack.
“ You didn’t have to get me anything. I didn’t get you anything when you graduated.”
Bus takes the cigarette out of his mouth long enough to spit on the ground. “You were only eleven when I graduated, asshole. Anyway, you still got a month to go. Open the sack.”
Arlie pulls out a pair of waders. The rubber squeaks as it comes stiffly out of the Talley’s sack.
“Waders. Shit, I been wanting these for a year. Thanks Bus. This is sharp.” Arlie opens the door of the cab and steps out, crushing his cigarette on the ground. The air is still and the weeds that had been blowing are suddenly silent, the only noise is the scritch of the waders going up over Arlie’s jeans. The sky is turning plum and the sun hits the chrome as it sets, making Arlie squint as he pulls the suspenders over his shoulders. He doesn’t know he has started a son.

I am the size of a fingernail. The trimmed off part, not the part still stuck to the finger. I am floating in a sea of salt and fluid. Emily Faltz is my mother and she has been throwing up for four days straight. This is an old-fashioned pregnancy test. She is in the kitchen of her parents house. It is the house she goes to bed in every night. The floors in the hallway are made of wood from her grandpa’s farm, when there were trees where the corn is growing now. It is dark wood; walnut, and in a few places the knots have poked out and come loose. Emily’s father fills the holes with little square pieces of wood, sometimes maple or sycamore, and visitors are always surprised by the bright, odd chunks in the middle of the dark floor. The light over the sink separates into rays, shines off Emily’s hair and also reflects off the bottom of the pan she’s scrubbing. The water from the well spatters and breaks, air bubbles forcing through the faucet. She hates doing dishes. Her fingernails are weak and peel apart, and her hands get so dry they crack in the winter. She’s glad winter is done. The radishes and turnips are opening the ground out back, and today she walked home from school with her sweater held in the crook of her arm. After the dishes are done she is going to put on her pale blue dress with the three pearl buttons and meet Arlie at the band shell in the park. Emily puts the pan down on the dishtowel and vomits, as quiet as she can, into the sink.

I’m driving my own car now. My cousin, Larry is in the passenger seat writing dirty words on the side window and Ben is in the back , scooted up between us so he can hear over the engine.
“White, go quail hunting with me next weekend. My dad just gave me his old 22 and I want to go shoot something” Ben is the youngest and looks just like Bus. Larry looks like his dad too only he has two different colored eyes. One blue, with a tinge of yellow, and one brown. His mom, my aunt Pauline, says it’s a mark of good luck but I think it makes him look like a freak.
“I can’t next weekend. I have to help my dad put up his new shed.” I didn’t really. I just didn’t want to go hunting with Ben. He shot our new pointer pup three years ago when he was thirteen, and when I see him with a gun I still want to wrestle him down and thump his head a few times. Everybody calls me White. I was born with the name Mitch, but from the first day of my life I’ve had the blondest, white hair anyone ever saw.
Larry rubs his fist on the window, erasing his words. We’re out for a Friday night with no where to go and a fifth of Jim Beam in the trunk. The sky is going from pale purple to cobalt, and the trees in the west darken into silhouettes. I pull the car over. We’re a couple miles outside of town and the cars are scarce so I just park there, a few feet on the shoulder but at least a door and a tail-light still on the road. The evening air feels like football weather but the season is over. The moon is coming up bright, and pretty soon the trees will be trees again, instead of silhouettes.
“What do you want to do?” I ask, figuring I’ll probably make the decisions anyway. I pick at the loose skin around my knuckle, and wait for Larry or Ben to talk.
“Well, we could go over to the bowling alley.” Larry says. “They’ll serve us a beer and their hamburgers are good.”
“You just want to go see that girl.” Ben pokes Larry in the arm. “The one with the little tiny ears who always wears a ponytail.” Ben turns to me. “She’s bowlegged.”
Larry ignores him, “Let’s drink some of that whiskey and decide”.
There are no headlights shining in either direction as we get out. The trunk light comes on and illuminates our faces peering in at the bottle of Jim Beam. I look over at Ben and his face is a red lantern inside his skin. It’s like I can see the bones pushing out, making his features seem unfamiliar.
“Hey, what’s this action?” Ben holds up my 12 gauge. “Hell, Let’s do some shooting now.” Larry gives me a look and puts his hand on the gun. Everyone in our family wants to high-tail it when Ben picks up a gun.
“Ben, leave it.” Larry picks up the bottle with one hand and pushes the gun back into the trunk with the other. “What say we have a drink and kick up some dust in town”. He grins at Ben and I as he shuts the trunk, the absence of light returning us to ourselves.
Ben takes the bottle and cracks the lid, laughing.

At the Piggly Wiggly, Larry is combing his hair with his fingers. The rear view mirror is turned slightly toward him and when I look over at it out of habit, I see the brown vinyl of the door.
“Hey White, that girl over at the bowling alley, She’s real nice. She let me bowl two games last week for nothing. But don’t talk about it in front of Ben. When I liked that girl in my fourth period English class, he spread it all over and she never looked at me again”. Larry turns my mirror back into position. I reach over and adjust it so I can see the door of the grocery store.
“Well then drop it now, cause here comes Ben.” Ben walks out toward the car with a box of vanilla wafers. We’ve been sitting in the parking lot watching the night pass, swigging a little Jim Beam and deciding what we’re going to do. There are at least four other cars doing the same. Every once in a while we sing to the radio, but only if it’s The Stones or Tom Petty. We’re waiting to begin the Friday night we’ve been waiting all week for.
“Here,” Ben shoves the box of cookies up into the front . “I bought these for all of us. I might try and get me a job in there. I saw James from school. Man, it’s a breeze. He works three nights a week and made enough since last August to put down money on a car.” Ben’s dad gave their beat-up Ford to Larry and now Ben has to save up for his own car.
“What, so you can drive into town and sit in a parking lot”. Larry wants to go see the girl at the bowling alley. “Let’s get out of here.” He opens the window on his side and leans his head out, working on his hair in the outside mirror now. I start up the car, we each take another drink, and I put a vanilla wafer in my mouth.

“Well, do you want to go in or not?” I shout this over the noise coming out of the bowling alley. We’re standing at the entrance, looking in through the glass doors that swing either in or out, both with effort. Ben has a mouthful of vanilla wafers and every time he talks, crumbs fly out at Larry and I. We’re just drunk enough to find this funny.
“Yeh, let’s play one. There’s nothing else to do.” Larry is still trying to hide why we’re here. Ben opens the door and we are blasted by the sound of pins falling against pins and the heavy sound of the balls crashing into the floor. The carpet is greenish yellow with a pattern of thick, reddish circles and random cigarette burns that mesh together and spiral down the whole length of the building. The smell of wax and sweat and smoke hits us as loud as the noise.
We leave Ben looking for an open lane and make our way to the shoe rental booth. I look over at Larry. He’s sporting one well-combed head of hair and his funny, two-toned eyes are moving quickly over the cashiers. I don’t see any girl in a pony-tail but Larry continues up to one of the other girls. “Excuse me, I, uh, think I left my wallet here last week. Caroline was working. Is she here? She might have noticed it”. Larry asks in a voice that is his, but different.
“No, she’s not working tonight”. The girl hollers down to a man in a red shirt with a name badge on. “Hey, Steve, anyone turn in a wallet?”
Steve shakes his head and continues writing down sizes of shoes. We turn and find Ben standing behind us. “Okay, I know, we’re leaving”. He smiles like he knows everything about everything, and we follow him out the door.

The lights at the Piggly Wiggly are still on even though they’re closed. As we pull through the parking lot we can see Ben’s friend James stacking paper sacks at the end of each check-out. Larry is stretched out in the back seat, asleep, his head smacking against the window whenever we go over a bump.
“How come Larry doesn’t want me to know he’s goofy for that girl at the bowling alley?” Ben breaks the silence that had settled over us for the ride back out to their house.
“Because of that time before when you told the whole school he liked Robin. You know, she never talked to him after that. It’s not a big deal. That girl at the bowling alley, she’s just a girl. Larry can go see her next week.” I didn’t figure it would hurt to be straight with Ben. He knew when we were standing by the shoe booth anyway.
“That was last year. I’m not gonna be a geek about it. I might give Larry a hard time but I’m not gonna go blab about it like I did before. It’s like the damn guns. You’re all afraid I’m gonna kill somebody. That was three years ago.” Ben shakes his head and turns his face to the window. The moon is on it’s downward slope, and the trees we passed earlier are silhouettes again. Larry’s head bounces around on the side arm-rest of the back seat, grunting out a snore every once in a while. I can’t say anything to Ben. It’s funny how with some people, you can’t seem to forget the stupid things. Ben knows it, too.
“Shit White, You guys got to see all my mistakes. You two made yours while I was too young to even know how dumb you could be”. Ben laughs it off but he’s right.

The porch light is on for me when I get home. I let myself in, turn off the light and walk down the hall with the funny, pale blocks of wood. There is a soft blue glow coming from my parents room.
“Goodnight Mitch,” my mother says. I can see my father watching TV.
“Goodnight.” I walk past them and start up the stairs.
“Mitch, let’s do a little fishing this weekend.” My dad calls after me.
“I can’t, I’m going hunting with Ben. The next weekend, okay?” I hear my dad say something to my mom and then, “The next weekend sounds fine.”
The stairs are old, and groan as I walk them. The moon has set and before I get to my room, my parents have turned off their television. I have to feel for the door, and when I find it, I just stand in the doorway. The whole house is pitch black. No noises, no shadows. I can almost see in the dark.

day 16 (file under do it)

Time is passing. This thought occurs to me on a regular basis. It's the thought that made me start this blog. And that thought seems to be a permanent neon light in my foggier-by-the-day brain. Jay and a couple of his buddies went trick or treating Friday night. By themselves. It was the first year I didn't go. They headed out into the dark night, dressed in black with frightful masks and weapons of torture. Time is passing. Pretty soon, they'll be going to parties on Halloween, having a beer, taking a girl to a scary movie. I saw all those cute little fairies and princesses out there, all those Elmos and tiny Ironmen and wanted, for just a minute, Jay to be THERE again.


Time. Is. Passing. For instance, here's me and my dad, BBQing some years back. Check out that BBQ. Check out my dad's socks. I can still remember that driveway. We moved from that house when I was three, but I still can see the living room, where I used to watch Loony Tunes while my mom ironed clothes, and the back yard where I got in trouble once for peeling a hard boiled egg on the back steps. It's goofy what we remember. So much time has passed, and really, it's the blink of an eye.

So, let me just be a little reminder, Time is passing, do some of the things you've always wanted to do. Because it will pass no matter what you do, so do what you can to make your dreams real. Take life a little less seriously. Have babies so you can dress them up silly when they're three and take them trick or treating. Open your own business because you've always wanted to make candles shaped like sporting equipment. Take the Amtrak to Chicago because you read about a great art exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago.

Or maybe just one time, get the frappicino instead of the plain coffee. With an extra shot of espresso.

Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have
and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful
lest you let other people spend it for you.
--Carl Sandburg

Day 15, file under Four of my Favorites

You may not be responsible for being down, but you must be
responsible for getting up.
--Jesse Jackson

Perhaps no person can be a poet, or can even enjoy poetry,
without a certain unsoundness of mind.
--Thomas Babington Macauley (1800-1859) English politician

Somehow we must learn not only to meet sorrow with courage,
which is comparatively easy, but with serenity, which is
more difficult, being not a single act but a way of living.
--Daisy Newman (1904-1990) Quaker writer

If you can't be a good example -- then you'll just have to be a
horrible warning.
-Catherine-