part I

Jill is on vacation and has left a list of her favorite quotes to publish in her stead. Please enjoy. She will return day after tomorrow.
--- The Editors

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

I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by
risking, by giving, by losing.
--Anais Nin, Writer (1903-1977)

I could not believe in a God that could not dance.
--Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900) German philosopher

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs - ask yourself what makes you
come alive, and then
go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."
---Harold Whitman


If the only prayer you said in your whole life was,
'thank you,' that would suffice.
- Meister Eckhart

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

Your work is to discover your world
and then with all your heart give yourself to it.
--The Buddha

When you plant lettuce, if it does not grow well, you don't
blame the lettuce. You look for reasons it is not doing
well. It may need fertilizer, or more water, or less sun.
You never blame the lettuce. Yet if we have problems with
our friends or family, we blame the other person. But if we
know how to take care of them, they will grow well, like
the lettuce. Blaming has no positive effect at all, nor
does trying to persuade using reason and argument. That is
my experience. No blame, no reasoning, no argument, just
understanding. If you understand, and you show that you
understand, you can love, and the situation will change.
--Thich Nhat Hanh, Vietnamese Zen Master

I wonder why it is that we are not all kinder to each
other than we are. How much the world needs it! How
easily it is done!
--Henry Drummond (1851-1897)

The relationship between commitment and doubt is by no means
an antagonistic one. Commitment is healthiest when it is not
without doubt but in spite of doubt.
--Rollo May

You can't do anything about the length of your life, but
you can do something about its width and depth.
--H.L. Mencken, writer, editor, and critic (1880-1956)

How far you go in life depends on your being tender with
the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with
the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because
someday in life you will have been all of these.
--George Washington Carver

If we are facing in the right direction, all we have to
do is keep on walking.
--Buddhist Saying

Go Cardinals (#11 in a series of 30)

I'm sitting in bed eating zucchini bread. I think there's some rule about eating after 7:00 pm but I'm just going to have to ignore that rule. Nom nom nom. (I read that eating sound thing on facebook and it cracked me up.)

Jay and I went to watch the Cardinals practice today. We have a strategy; we get there when practice (2 hours) is halfway over, then I go hang out against the fence where all the players pass by after practice. Jay watches the practice and then joins me when practice is close to being over. It's very important to get a space right next to the fence. I am very protective of my spot and I feel it belongs to me. After all, I got there early and waited in the hot sun. Don't expect to get close to the players and get the good autographs if you aren't willing to stand in the miserable sun sweating with nothing to do. So, anyway, we were there, standing next to a kind of big kid around thirteen and a couple with their five year old. By the time practice was over there were scads of folks behind us but I was standing quite solid with my hands on the fence and my body A PIECE OF STEEL. They could not get by me. Hahahaha.

Jay was right in front of me. The couple on one side of me was nice. The boy on the other side of us seemed like a good boy, but his mother was a shrew. She was sitting in a lawn chair a ways away and kept walking over to yell at this boy. "Here's you brother's ball. Get it signed too. He got a ticket from the coach to go meet one of the players and he's getting a HAT."

"Mom" the kid said, "I can't get his ball signed too, they only sign one thing and then they move on"

"You'll get that ball signed or you can walk home, and Phoenix will take you awhile. Now do what I say. Your brother has Kurt Warner's autograph on his and you don't"

The woman next to me gives me a look. I looked at the shrew woman. The kid seemed a little embarrassed.

"Okay, I'll try" he says.

She's still yelling at this poor boy. "Don't drop your brother's ball. I don't know who you think you are mister but I better see a signed ball when this is over."

The players start to come off the field. We're getting autographs. The shrew woman trys to push in. We all hold our ground. She starts yelling at her son again. "Get it SIGNED. Get it SIGNED." Picture a younger, meaner Phyllis Diller. At the same time the woman next to me says "Stop yelling at your kid two inches from my ear" and I say "It's just an autograph." She hears us both, turns away and sits in her lawn chair. The kid smiles. Matt Leinart signs everything we ask him to. A point for our side.

Movie Review Day

Just watched a documentary called Young at Heart. It was a Sundance 2008 winner. Read about it. You'll want to watch it.

Young@Heart
Directed by Stephen Walker
Starring the Young@Heart Chorus, Bob Climan

It's been a long time since Fox Seachlight has released a documentary, but knowing their proclivity for music and popular crowd-pleasing fare, this one is right up their alley, looking at the Young@Heart Chorus, a group of elderly 70 and 80 somethings from Northhampton, Mass. who get together to create their own versions of alternative rock and punk songs. As it opens with their rendition of The Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" you might assume this is going to be a novelty film or one that derives its laughs from watching old people singing unlikely music. In fact, this is a satisfying and touching film about the trials and tribulations faced by the group and its excitable taskmaster Bob Climan, as we watch him try to prepare the group to learn new material for their upcoming season. A fan of hip rock bands like the Talking Heads, Climan tries to find songs that the group can put their own unique spin on, and hopefully, that they can relate to, but the group's reaction to his introduction of Sonic Youth's "Schizophrenia" is absolutely priceless. Watching them try to learn standards like James Brown's "I Feel Good" is equally amusing.

Rather than just filming rehearsals and showing how the songs progress (or in some cases, digress), Stephen Walker talks to individual members and spends time with them away from rehearsals to allow the viewer to get a true feeling for the infectious spirit and personalities of these amazing people. It doesn't shy away from the sad fact that when people are that old, they might suffer from health problems, which becomes clearer when two of the group's beloved members suddenly pass away, making the group's version of Coldplay's "Fix You" even more emotional as the ballad is given new meaning in the hands of the elderly singers. If watching them perform this doesn't have you close to tears, then you are indeed a cool customer, but seeing a group of prison inmates watching the group's poignant performance of "Forever Young" and seeing not a dry eye in the house makes you realize that it's okay to let the emotion of this film wash over you.

Not just a movie for older people but one for those who have elderly parents or grandparents, this entertaining and often moving documentary captures a moment in time in the lives of these amazing older people, something that should help even the youngest of viewer get in touch with their own mortality and make it clear that life doesn't have to end at 60."


We also WENT to a movie called Funny People and it was hysterical. It was most definitely R rated. Adam Sandler can be good when he does more than just the slapstick funnyguy thing and he had some serious moments that were really excellent. And still, it was a bit raunchy and VERY funny. I LOVE movies. When I had my glorious One Year of Opus (see my third post, July 2007), I had "make a documentary" on my list and I never did it. I'm a failure. JUST KIDDING. I am not a failure, I just have not done it yet. When I watch documentaries I get so inspired, then I go work at Starbucks. AUUGGGGHHHHH. I have a desire to be more than I am. Does everyone have that desire? I get a little crazy and want to quit my job and go to film school. And the deficit/asset about me is that I might do it.

When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would
hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left
and could say, "I used everything you gave me."
--Erma Bombeck

Hmmmmm

So I thought about writing one sentence per day. What if we could only say one thing in 24 hours? Would we make it important? Would it be simple? Would "can I have a glass of milk" suffice? What would one sentence a day do? Could we survive with " please hold me" or "I feel sad and need reassurance" or would it all be little things like "are we having pancakes for breakfast?"? What if your only sentence was "fuck you" or "bitch.?" What if it was "you're so cool" or "don't worry." Aren't the words we use amazing? Aren't they?

8/6/09

I fell asleep last night with my computer in my lap, open to this page. I was starting a blog and I just couldn't keep my eyes open. That's what happens when you have to be at work at 4:15 in the morning. You get flipping TIRED.

I was going to write about my lovely garden. I'm getting lots of zucchini, yellow squash, tomatoes, peppers of all kinds and beets and turnips. We had mashed turnips with butter the other night and Jay just about lost it. So, here's the recipe I use for zucchini bread. If you don't grow zucchini, go buy some and make this bread! Oh, I up the cinnamon to 2 tablespoons. Yum1


Easy Zucchini Bread


Ingredients for one loaf:
3 eggs
1 cup oil
2 cups sugar
2 cups peeled and grated zucchini
3 tsp. vanilla
2 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 cup nuts
3 cups flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. baking powder

Directions:
Stir together eggs, oil, sugar, zucchini. Sift together flour, soda, salt, cinnamon, and baking powder. Add to zucchini mixture. Stir in vanilla and nuts. Bake at 325 degrees for 1 hour. You may need 15 minutes more. Cool completely before freezing. Makes 2 loaves.

This recipe from ezinearticles.com

Picks of the Week

I read a great book. It's called The Book Thief and you should read it. Here's a brief synopsis....

"The Book Thief is a 2005 best-selling novel by Markus Zusak, and a 2007 Michael L. Printz Award Honor Book. As of April 2009 it has been on the New York Times Children's Best Seller list. Although American publisher Knopf has marketed the nearly 600-page book set in Nazi Germany as a young-adult novel, it was originally intended and published in Zusak's native Australia specifically for adults. The Book Thief is set in Nazi Germany. Beginning in 1939, it focuses on a German girl, Liesel, who is sent by her mother to live with foster parents in a small town near Munich. As Liesel learns to cope with her new environment, all the pains she has endured, and the extreme unhappiness of pre-war and wartime Germany, she yearns to escape via reading. Her foster father Hans helps her learn to read, and Liesel finds books here and there — in a snowy graveyard, in a Nazi book-burning, and inside the local mayor's house. She has a few friends; first her neighbor and classmate, Rudy, and later the son of a soldier her foster father knew in WWI, Max, a Jew whom her new family must hide in their basement. While the toll of WWII, Allied bombing, and Nazi brutality increases, Liesel's world starts to crumble, but words and reading sustain her."

The thing I loved the most is the poetics of the writing. Zusak adds little one or two sentence bolded lines that give hints or specific details. His descriptions are amazing. Yet it's an easy book to read. It was in the young adult section and yet is very much an adult book.

I also saw a great movie called Up. Here is a brief plot summary......

"A young Carl Fredrickson meets a young adventure spirited girl named Ellie. They both dream of going to a Lost Land in South America. 70 years later, Ellie has died. Carl remembers the promise he made to her. Then, when he inadvertently hits a construction worker, he is forced to go to a retirement home. But before they can take him, he and his house fly away. However he has a stowaway aboard. An 8 year old boy named Russell, whose trying to get an assisting the elderly badge. Together, they embark in an adventure, where they encounter talking dogs, an evil villain and a rare bird named Kevin."

This movie may be rated G but it's really for adults. You will love it and the first seven minutes will make you cry. Not sob, just sniff a few times and brush away a single tear from your eye that is watering because you are allergic to something in the theater.

I have no music recommendations. I can only say that my son is playing 3 Doors Down and Nickelback non-stop and today I finally had to turn on the news in the car and say "Do NOT TOUCH MY RADIO" when we drove to Target. I need to expand my music horizons as I've really let things slip. I guess I could advise listening to Counting Crows, August and Everything After again. I still think that's worthy. And Jethro Tull's Aqualung is never a wrong choice.

There. Picks of the week. Read the book.

The Rest of the Story

So, last night's post was a bit sparse. I wanted to honor my 30 days of Stuff even if I wrote (doodled) nonsense. So, consider it my introduction.....


I'm building a small addition onto the house. But first, the backyard, which we fondly call Beirut, needed a little fixing. There was a trampoline back there that Jay was done with, and as much as I liked it, it was time to make it go away. I called a few friends and found a taker. Carolyn came over with her two kids in tow in the early evening and we sat and drank a little wine and ate cheese and bread sticks. Chris, her husband, and his friend, Gabe, showed up a couple hours later and we sat around the outdoor table for another hour. It got dark! We had a trampoline to move! So, we just decided to carry it out of the backyard, set it on the roof of their car, and be done with it. Five of us moved it in fifteen minutes. I laughed so hard the entire time. Here are a few pictures.

We didn't even tie it down! We called it the floating potato chip and the huge alien space ship and then they got in their van and drove that thing home. Had we actually thought about what we were doing we probably would not have done it. We did not take out the satellite dish, although it was close. We did not put a hole in the neighbor's siding. We did not spend hours with screw drivers and springs. I like having friends that just get'er done. They got it home and it was being jumped on again by 10:00 am. Now that's a party.

Seven sentence post

Sold the trampoline tonight. Five of us carried it over the fence and stuck it on top of an older VW Vanagon and it sailed off down the street. Yes, there may have been wine involved. Pictures tomorrow. Work way too early in the morning. I have an empty back yard. Yeah!

When I grow up.....

Nothing profound.
Nothing witty.
Just a darn good example of macro photography.
Hahahaha.

I love stickbugs. One reason I bought my house
was that there were stickbugs about and I thought
that might be a lucky thing, I suppose
I tend to assign "luck" to things I like, which may still
result in lucky/blessed/stellar outcomes. It all works
for me! Also, I am growing round carrots,
which I did no even know existed. But they do.



Here is a list of some other things I would have liked to have been. I used to really like that quote, "It's never too late to be what you might have been" but I can see that it isn't always possible. Once you own a home and have kids and work a job and establish a life, it takes either a great amount or courage or a tremendous amount of stupidity to change it, especially when you LOVE the life you have. So, I fondly look at the things I would liked to have concentrated on earlier in life but didn't, either because I had no idea they were possibilities or because of lack of talent or because I just made other choices.....
Photographer
Architect
Singer
Psychologist
Archaeologist
Anthropologist
Hat check girl
Loan shark
Welder

When I was little, say ten or so, I wanted to be a witch.

Okay, I may still be a famous photographer. Or a loan shark. Give me a few years. The -gist's are probably out....I have no desire to go back to school and take math or science. I would still like to weld, but I would like to use it as an art, not work at some factory. The singer idea is a bust. My singing is so very wrong. Hmmmmm. Stay tuned.

The successful always has a number of projects planned,
to which he looks forward. Anyone of them could change
the course of his life overnight.
--Mark Caine

"TEN BUCKS" she hollered. (part III of a 30 day series)

Guess where Jay and I were today. Guess. Come on, do it.

Antiques Roadshow! Hahahaha. We were. Antiques Roadshow was filming in Phoenix today. We like to watch it on PBS. I always shout out the price I think am item will come in at.

"SIX TO SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS" I shout into the living room.
Underneath the item scrolls the words, Folk art chest 1870, $6,500.00.
I'm not always spot on but I tend to be fairly close.

Several months ago I heard they were coming to Phoenix. I got on-line and entered my name in the ticket lottery. Several weeks ago I got the e-mail that I had been picked to receive tickets. COOL. So Jay and I drove down to Phoenix. We took four items; an old sword, a vase, a bell and a cameo pendant. On the ticket there was an entrance time. DO NOT ARRIVE EARLY, the ticket warned in a menacing tone. We were at the door to the convention center at 10:50. Stood in the first line for about an hour. They gave us tickets for each classification (we had four different ones; Asian Arts, jewelry, military and glass). Stood in line another 20 - 40 minutes each for the vase, the sword and the bell. Did NOT make it to the jewelry table because we were starving and tired of lines.

The sword was made in 1890 in Klingenthal, France. It had been used, as in probably did sever a few limbs (how would they know that?). Worth $200 - $300. The vase had us going. The woman looking at it, got up and went to a few other appraisers to discuss it. We thought we were millionaires. Or at least might be able to afford a nice lunch. She came back clueless though. Could be real, could be a reproduction. She said to have it appraised by Southebys in New York. Yeah, right. Anyhow, I love that vase. The bell was from WWII Japan but worth about ten bucks. The best part was the people-watching. There was, sadly, an abundance of dashed hopes as folks were told that the hand carved walking stick they inherited from their great uncle Ted was NOT worth thirty thousand dollars. One woman had a clock all wrapped up in a blanket and bungee corded to a wagon. She was sure it was a major collectible. Thought it might be in the HUNDREDS of thousands. When the guy appraising that classification told her it was a reproduction and that there were a million made and hers might be worth about fifty bucks, I thought she was going to heave it at him. The guy in line in front of us had so much make-up on Jay and I could not take our eyes off him. He must have been 60, jet black hair that glistened with hair spray, eye liner, and a strangely orange tan that stopped at his neck and ears.

A good one was the carousel horse that was old and chipped and beautiful that was appraised for twenty thousand. That couple was very happy and as they walked out someone asked them what is appraised for. "The price of a new car" they said.

It was fun, and one of those things that I only have to do once. Done. Checked off the list. I'm very content to watch it on PBS. I think I'm going to sell the sword, keep the vase, wear the Cameo, and ring the bell while I sit on the couch watching Antiqes Roadshow to have one of the servants bring me another glass of wine. Perfect.

My Dad's Birthday

Dear dad,

Happy Birthday!!! I wanted to write to you but I didn't know where to send the card. I don't know what happens after the last breath leaves the body but I hope there is something else. Some people believe in the Golden Streets of Heaven theory, and I kind of wish I did (the idea of seeing you in your Knightsbridge trousers and one of those knit shirts you always liked is a wonderful thought), but I don't. So, I'm going to go with the crazy ass idea that maybe you read my blog. No, I don't use language like crazy ass all the time.

I'm okay. After you left, there were times I didn't know if I was going to be okay. I missed you calling me in the morning to help you with the jumble, and calling at night to see if the house was locked up. I wanted to just KNOW where you were. It was a hard time. Mom (Hi mom!) came up to live by us, and Jay and I would go get her several times a week and take her to the pet shop and the Galaxy Diner and the museum (I'm sure she's filled you in on all this). Her memory was shot, and she hated the place where she lived. It got better as her memory got worse. She liked it okay after awhile. Do you remember how she used to stand on the porch in Topeka and watch the storms come in? You and I would be in the basement and she would be in the wind and the rain looking for the tornado to reach down from those black clouds. And you could not get her down those stairs until she was ready. That's how it was. She was adamant that she wanted to GO HOME and she was NOT going to stay in that place. She had a nice, studio apartment in the Alzheimer unit but every time Jay and I showed up, she would have every single item in the room packed up and stacked by the door. "I'm ready to go now" she would say and Jay would look at me like SOMEONE must be crazy but he couldn't figure out who. She was there four years. At the very very end, when she forgot how to eat and it was really tough, she still smiled at me. I'm glad she's with you now.

There are some things I do because of you. I garden. Man, the garden is awesome. You would love it. I have all kinds of vegetables, although I did not grow okra. I could never stand it when mom made it. it's slimy, dad. Really. I make you zucchini bread every year with zucchini from the garden and send it up to you on November 1st, The Day of the Dead AND the day you died. I hope you can at least smell it. Barry made pasta last night with a sauce filled with yellow squash. I call it "squarsh" the same way you used to and Jay gets irritated at my butchering of the English language. When I say, "that's the way your grandpa said it" he smiles.

I also try to be a good person. I think I'm at about 80/20. You were always honest. You were always good to people and down to earth and dependable. Also, you were always curious about the world. You said once that you wished you had been able to go up in a spaceship and see the world from that high. You liked people and people liked you back. I'm working on all that. Except the spaceship thing.

Jay is a good boy. You would be proud of him. He is a basketball player and he does well in school. I still want to get him out golfing more. Remember when we used to all go golfing, you and mom and me? You guys would let me drive the golf cart even though I was too young and we'd go flying over those rolling fairways. Remember when we were staying in that hotel on our way to California to see Aunt Etha (Hi Aunt Etha!) and you and I crept out into that onion field early in morning while mom finished packing and we filled a paper sack with onions? And how six hours later after being the the sweltering trunk, they stunk so bad we had to throw them out? And wash EVERYTHING when we got to Etha's. Hahaha. That was funny.

Barry is my boyfriend. You would like him. He is good to animals and he taught Jay to play backgammon. He makes pottery on a wheel and you would love to watch him make something. It starts out as this lump of clay and then spins around and turns into bowls and cups. The clay seems like it has a life of it's own as it thins out and moves like liquid into a taller, finer shape. He is good to me. I know that's the thing that would matter the most to you. But he's also fun, and funny, and smart.

I work at Starbucks. I know that would be a-ok with you. You never had big aspirations for me, but work ethic was important to you. Sometimes I have to be at work at 4:15 am. Yes, I get up that early. Yes, I know you would not believe it. I also teach poetry at the college. Dad, my first book was published a year and a half ago. You would have given a copy to all your friends. You would have been very proud. Jay's on the cover.

When you died my friend Kate gave me this poem written by a little girl. I liked it and I've kept it and it's on my fridge. I thought you might like it. Somehow it made it easier for me. It's strange what makes things easier for people. It's all so different for everyone. This was one of mine......

When someone dies, a cloud turns into
an angel, and flies up to tell God
to put another flower on a pillow.
A bird gives the message back to
the world, and sings a silent prayer
that makes the rain cry. People disappear,
but they never really go away.
The spirits up there put the sun to
bed, wake up the grass, and spin the earth
in dizzy circles. Sometimes you
can see them dancing in a cloud during
the day-time, when they're supposed to be
sleeping. They paint the rainbows
and also the sunsets and make waves
splash and tug at the tide. They
toss shooting stars and listen to wishes.
And when they sing windsongs,
they whisper to us,
don't miss me too much. The view is nice
and I'm doing just fine.

Well, that's about all. I know there's so much more I'd like to say but I think I covered the basics. I have some great friends, I really like the town I live in, and I think about you guys a lot. I feel very grateful for this life. I miss you. Today is your birthday. I don't ever forget.

ox.

Thirty Days of Stuff

I have realized I have word constipation. I need to write, I want to write, but when I sit down and try to let the words plunk out, they get stuck. There I am, hunched over (this is NOT a pretty picture) groaning, and they just stay inside. Fuck. So, while I've been agonizing over what my writing THEME should be for the next 30 days, I have just not written a damn thing. So, starting today, I'm taking the writing laxative (a teeny pill with the even teenier words, I don't give a crap what people think, written on it) (Hell, I don't even know if anyone reads my damn blog) (Is there a rule regarding parenthesis-in-a-row?) (It appears also that I'm on a swearing jag), and I'm going to just WRITE every day for 30 days. No theme, no category to worry about, no guidance. Just write. I'm going to start with just a couple things.....

Can you all just have your money ready when you're waiting in a drive through line? Folks always look so surprised when I request a couple bucks for the latte they ordered. They've been waiting five minutes (talking on the PHONE of course, that's a WHOLE other post) and when they get to the window, they suddenly have to dig through change in the ashtray, riffle through their purse, or frantically search for quarters on the floor. Just saying.....

There was something about writing about constipation that made me swear more than usual. That's interesting. To me.

I'm not going to give myself any hard and fast parameters about this writing thing but I'm going to TRY to stretch and write about things other than ME. My friend Tyge wrote about 30 things and he wrote about bands and cock roaches and the like. I'm going to try and incorporate that It'snotallaboutme thing at least a few times.

There is a snake living in the backyard. Here's a picture of it. I like this. I feel like he's (she's?) just another part of the zoo. Doesn't bother the chickens. Stan seems oblivious. Barney could care less. The turtles stay inside. I picked him up the other day. He was really beautiful and felt dry and warm. He's about two feet long. He has a home under the porch and he has one particular small opening in the pavers that he has to crawl through to get in. He suns in the same place everyday. I find it to be a little gift, this snake living in the backyard.

And finally, because those of you that have been reading my blog probably miss the quotes, here's a couple......

My company mascot is the bumblebee. Because of its tiny wings and heavy body, aerodynamically the bumblebee
shouldn't be able to fly. But the bumblebee doesn't know that, so it flies anyways.
--Mary Kay Ash

"Oh, you hate your job? Why didn't you say so? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar."
--Drew Carey

DISCLAIMER: I, in fact, do not hate my job. I rather like it. But this quote ALWAYS makes me laugh.

____________________

There are too many things going on around here to write. I meant to say, there's nothing going on here to write about. Seriously, I'm still debating what to do my "30 days of _________" about. In the meantime, a few things......

My book, Game, was a finalist in the Patterson Poetry Prize. Li-Young Lee was the winner and he is amazing so I'm okay with it. I got the letter of congratulations - the one where they ask me to come and read my poems in NEW JERSEY. In FEBRUARY. For 300.00. And I put that letter in yet another one of my paper piles and thought...I can never do THAT. After a few days, during which time I realized I've never been to New York City, and I also realized (again) that life just fucking slips away if you let it, I have now decided that I am GOING to NEW YORK CITY. To read poems. And see museums. And Time Square.

My garden rocks.

I just started an etsy store. And, it's not about hand made stuff. It's a vintage store. It's only been up for a few days and I still have a lot more to add to it, but it's going. It's wonderbumble.etsy.com. I am too lazy to go through the cut and paste process right now, but if you look up wonder and then you look up bumble, that's got to be a good word if you smash 'em together.

Kansas II (psych)

I've been agonizing over writing my Kansas II post - not because something huge and emotional happened (or, more likely, something huge and embarrassing), but because I think I said it all in my Kansas I post. I had so much fun, but hey, I was only gone for 5 days. I even wrote a bit last night but it was so borrring. It pretty much went...

Oh I've been remiss. I've been meaning to write "Kansas II" and just haven't had time. So, here was Kansas in a nutshell... in the morning there was waking up, then coffee on the front porch. In the evening there were margaritas on the front porch. Blahblahblah. Neighborhood folks mowing lawns, riding bikes down the street, walking kids or dogs. Mostly, life was sitting on the front porch drinking something. Watching people. Waving to the neighbors. Blahblahblah. I like that life. Never want to live in that life on a regular basis though, just visit it from time to time.

I think there were another couple paragraphs but they are so very not important. So instead I thought I'd show you these nice reading glasses I stole. Yes. I stole them. Went in to my eye doctors to pick up my contacts and started trying on glasses. Nice, expensive reading glasses. Wasted a crapload of time trying on GLASSES that I was never going to BUY. Then, I get home and I have a pair on my head. Hahahahaha. I felt like an idiot. It reminded me of when my dad used to say, you'd forget your head if it wasn't screwed on. So anyway, they have been returned, I said my apologies, and the receptionist stifled a laugh.

I think I'm ready to do another "30 days of ___________." I was inspired by my blog friend, Tyge, who is doing "Thirty days of the simple things that make me smile" on his blog, The Neon Lounge. (which sounds a little goofy, but yesterday it was about dead cock roaches and it made me laugh really hard....check it out). I've done a couple of those blogs already....the "thirty days of beauty" and the "thirty days of blogging" so now I'm going to do (drumroll) "thirty days of recipes" Hahahaha. Not food recipes silly, although maybe I'll throw one of those in, but thirty days of how-to blogs, kind of like recipe poems. Let me explain. A recipe poem is where you poetically tell how to make something, or teach, or tell how something is done. So, I start tomorrow.

Kansas - I

After a while I start to forget the dead. My life becomes a routine. Eating. Drinking. Caring. Working. I don't even know what order to put them in.

Then, I read a great book. Or have a good conversation. I look at my child when he stands alone, staring into space in the front yard and I see him becoming a new person. A tomato or a squash becomes ripe. But still, I forget the dead. Then, I come back to Kansas. I see them everywhere. They make me smile. I see my mom at Pegues, shopping for a pair of gloves, or my dad, laughing with his buddy Nick about something funny from 30 years past. I see my grandma mashing potatoes or picking peas.

Today we did this; we went to see Nick. Nick is 90. He was one of my dad's best friends. He lives on a farm in the country. He has 20 cattle, a house he's lived in for 30 years, and a kind and humorous heart. He recognized my voice on the phone. He hugs me at the door. He tells us stories about driving out to see the new calves a week ago and getting his truck stuck. Then the tractor. Then his other truck. Then his other tractor. Then Woolsey came out and got his truck stuck. Finally, Woolsey's son came out with a friend, a winch, and a lift and got them all out. He treats my friends like they're good people. He treats my son like he's his own blood. He says, Some people want me to move into an easier place. This is where I want to die. Here. Have 'em dig a hole out there and put me in it. I got 140 acres. I hope he waits a while, but when he goes, I hope he goes sitting in the chair he sat in today when he was telling us the stories. When we leave, he gives hugs, shakes the boy's hands. He tells Jay to take care of his mother. He gives me directions to my parents graves because I can't remember.

Then, we went to see my Aunt Patty. She's my dad's sis. My cousin Jodi is there crocheting. I've been in Aunt Patty's kitchen a million times. My first cat, when I was nine, was a runt from her cat's litter. My grandma lived next door to her. She is our blood. She has made blankets for my sister and niece for us to take. We go out back and catch toads in the yard, like I did as a child. Jay is afraid of the toads at first, hesitates, then catches one. Soon, the boys are running through the yard carrying toads back to the garden. Last night it was fireflies in Newton. When we leave Aunt Patty gives us all a kiss and a hug. She is stuffed full of love and spills it out on everybody.

In between those two things, we eat Kansas BBQ. My dad loved BBQ. The dead are back. They sit with us while we eat.

Then, we drive past the penitentiary, past Main Street, and down Ave G until we get to the cemetery. My parents have a new headstone. It's beautiful. They would like it. We put flowers on the grave. Jay runs to the car to get his camera. We talk about them. How much we miss them. How much they've taken care of us. We walk to the car with our friends. We go get ice cream at Bogies. The sounds of lawn mowers and locusts are everywhere.

Father's Day

Jay and I are heading back to Kansas pretty soon with a couple friends and we're getting excited. I was thinking about it today because, being Father's Day, I was of course thinking about my dad. So many of the folks in Newton remind me of my dad; they're all so friendly and kind and polite. I knew that would be one reason why we'd go back there on a regular basis. We'll see my Aunt Patty and I'll get to see my parents headstone for the first time. When we went back last fall for the memorial, it wasn't done yet. I don't have any good dad stories right now but there a lot of things he gave me that were things I think dads should give their kids. Like patience and optimism and a good work ethic (look, I really do have a good work ethic and I'm not afraid of hard work....I'm just picky). Specific things like how to bait a hook, and to rub mineral oil into the first corn silk when growing corn to keep the bugs away. Things like when to toss in your hand while playing poker in Vegas. And how to be kind and honest and available to the people you love. My boy's dad isn't a very available guy, so I end up trying to give my son the things I got from my dad and I hope some of it transfers. So far, it's working.

I guess I do have a few stories about my dad, come to think of it, they just happen to live in poems. Here are three.

The Game

Finally he is telling the stories.
He is my father sitting in a big chair
and it is half-time.

He is being casual, and he laughs
as he talks, because he can.

My father is saying this:
Well, I was just a little boy,
maybe six, not older.
I was checking the traps Claude set out
and one had a skunk by the leg.
Hell, I didn’t know.
I picked up a stick and poked at it
a couple times.
Sprayed me up real good.
Got home and walked in the house,
drunk old man knocked me
from right here to that wall
over there.
Didn’t get up for a day.
Anyway, the game’s about to start.

Forth quarter,
six minutes left in the game.
Nothing is happening
on the field.
Goddamn Bastard

I hear
my father say.




P.F. Flyers

At four I was immortal with brand new shoes.
I watched Wiley and the road runner
and knew that death lasted two seconds,
made the body wrinkle up like an accordion.
I saw Daffy Duck succumb to the fat wheel
of a steam roller, become a flat collage
of color, and with a quack and a leap,
spring up and continue down the road
in hot pursuit of Elmer Fudd.
So I wasn’t worried as I stood there
in my P.F. Flyers. Stood there in the hot sun
waiting to cross, my dad right there
unaware that I had something to prove
and a lesson to learn. The car was close enough
for me to see the moths smashed in the grille
and I smiled at the old woman driving.
Then there was magic.
My father’s hand reaching out in slow motion,
my legs pumping and my own breath in my ears.
I could feel other people, frozen,
watching me, and hear the sound
of a horn, the sweet smell
of burning brakes.

I stood on the other side
beaming at my father, waving
at the old woman in the car,
white as a sheet. My fathers hand
came out of nowhere
solid against my behind.



Rest

There is a chair in my living room. A recliner
moved from their house to mine. It is
deep russet, big, comfy. It held my father for years.
It held him complete; his whitegray hair,
sometimes not washed for several days, his compact
tired body, wearing the same blue checked shirt
and his 100% polyester Knightsbridge trousers. He carried
a slightly used handkerchief in one of his back pockets
that he would offer out, if one of us needed.
In the other, his worn wallet, holding black and white
baby pictures of his three grown children.
In his front pockets; an ancient red
switchblade for opening boxes or envelopes,
and one of those oval plastic change purses
that you have to squeeze the ends to open.
Inside the change purse was an Irish Erie,
a peculiar buffalo nickel that he thought might
be worth more than five cents, and several
quarters, or wheat back pennies.
He wore a belt most days, and dark support socks.
There is a place there, on the chair,
where he used to rest his head. A slight
indentation. He would fall asleep
every afternoon around one o’clock. He would dream.
His head would touch the back of that chair, lie
against the cloth, and he would rest. My mother,
memory sick by then, would sit on the couch,
or fold clothes in the bedroom, over and over, running
her palm across the comforter
smoothing out the creases. There would be golf
or the Diamondbacks on the television
and he would snore at irregular intervals. It was
his time to nap. The natural oil from the body, the residue
from the Silver Fox shampoo, and the tiny cells of skin
from his scalp would slough off and work their way
into the fabric. And my father got up from that chair
one day in October and drove himself to the hospital
and never came back. There is a place there,
on that chair where my father’s head rested
that I can lean my own head into, turn so my nose
brushes against the rust colored cushion,
and I can smell him, as sharp and clear and present
as every hug he used to give me. There is a chair
in my living room. It is just a chair. He was just my father.

Proud Parent Moment

Jay and I were leaving the grocery store and Pink Floyd's Learning to Fly was on the radio. I turned it up and said, name that band. Jay sat there, hesitated for a SECOND and said Pink Floyd. Oh my gosh. I screamed, YES! Pink Floyd. I am so proud of you! It was as if he had gotten a scholarship. Those moments are priceless.

Here's a funny story. The scout masters at Boy Scouts had a bit of a mishap last night. They had made a fire and were fusing the ends of ropes. They thought the fire was out, and poured oil on it (??). The oil ignited and one of the scout masters hair caught on fire SLIGHTLY. Jay got a little singe on his hair too. His friend's shirt sleeve toasted up a bit. So, when Jay got in the car with his friend, they couldn't wait to tell me about it. Hmmmmm. It was okay really. Boys love that stuff. As Jay's friend said, no one got SERIOUSLY hurt. Hahahaha. So, when we got home I could smell that smell of burned hair. And I showed him in the mirror how it crinkles your hair up funny. I said, yeah I did that once to my bangs. Jay said, really, how? and it dawned on me that it was once when I was using a lighter a bit too close to my bangs. I don't remember how, I said. I just remember it smelled this same way and crinkled my hair up. I left the room quickly.

Thinking back, It probably happened while I was listening to Pink Floyd.

The Story of Herman, Plus Broccoli.

I have today off. Yes. Off. I don't have to work todayyyyyy. It may just look like letters written on a page, but I'm dancing around the room and singing it. Heck (although I just wrote the word heck, I am not wearing overalls, nor do I watch Hee Haw reruns. not that there's anything wrong with that.), I had a whole couple years off. But when you work, a day off means so much more than when you don't work and it's just a regular thing. You forget the value of "the day off." So, on my day off, one thing I'm doing is cleaning out Herman's aquarium with Jay. 

We have three turtles. Two aquatic and one tortoise. One aquatic lives in a 75 gallon aquarium and the other, Sally, lives in a ten gallon one. The big one, Frank, is about 9 inches across. Sal is more like an inch and a half.  They just swim mostly, and bask in artificial light. They're cool. And they're social. And I'm not even going to discuss the "but wouldn't they be happier in a REAL pond out in the WILD?" issue. For that debate, you'll need to bring over a bottle of wine on a summer night and plan on sitting on the porch for a couple hours. 

Back to the turtles. After Sally and Frank, I was not planning to get another turtle. It's a small house and already filled. NO MORE ANIMALS I would say. Well, one day Jay and I were in New Frontiers, this local health food store, and we needed to make a bathroom stop. Coming out of the restroom, in the back of the store, I saw a note on the employee bulletin board (I like to read bulletin boards, although not as much as fronts of refrigerators because they can be really interesting and what people put on their fridges is like reading a short story about the refridgerator owner). There was a handwritten ad for a turtle. In big letters, I"M MOVING AND I NEED A GOOD HOME FOR MY TURTLE." Of course I was in. I took down the number and called when we got home. Some NAU guy had graduated and was moving to Alaska. He had had his turtle for 10 years! On the ad on the bulletin board he had said it would 20 bucks to own this turtle but when I said, solemnly, yes, we will give this turtle a good home, he said to just keep the 20 dollars. He said it was just to weed out people who didn't want his turtle enough to pay for it. So, Jay and I loaded the aquarium, the bark tunnel, the food and the turtle itself into the car and headed home. 

There is a small happiness about driving home with a turtle in the backseat. I like the responsibility that comes along with little things. It's not like a child or a companion or paying the mortgage, it's just a part of dailty life. We feed Herman regularly, although I'm sure a day goes by here and there when we forget. He lives in Jay's room and he makes odd noises (Herman, not Jay) when he eats and drinks. Jay told me how sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and can hear Herman eating (crunchcrunchcrunch) and wonders for several seconds what IS that? then remembers and goes back to sleep. But we know it's up to us to keep Herman alive. We must feed him, make sure there's water, and occaisionally clean up his digs. And we get the experience of strange noises and examining the beautiful scales on his legs and wondering if we should trim his toenails yet.

And that brings me to broccoli. Strangly. But broccoli is one of those things too. A small happiness. A little responsibility. I did not always know what broccoli looked like as it grew. Now, I grow it. It's cool. It's a broccoli head growing straight up on a stem. Like a broccoli pop. Once you pick the head, it still grows shoots out the side. I have 8 broccoli plants and 4 cauliflower (which grow the same way). I water them most days. I look at them often. Growing them is so much different than buying them at the store. I don't know that they'll taste better. They'll probably look asymetrical and not as "pretty" as store brocc. But it's that small happiness in growing them that I love. When the head starts out it's as tiny as a pea. But it still looks like broccoli. Cool. But then there's the beauty of the leaves and the growing itself and the taste of eating food that grew RIGHT IN THE BACKYARD. Nice.

I'm having a good day off.

Slice (of life)

It's been raining quite a bit. Well, not today or yesterday or this last week. But before that. Several days in a row, maybe even a whole week. Pounding lovely thunderous rain. Damn the hail, however. I have a few pepper plants that were quite injured. But the rain was nice. One day Jay and I were going to the store. As we were driving, there was this tiny old (yes, she was old. It's not a derogatory statement. She must have been 75) lady walking along the sidewalk. The rain had come up suddenly and I could tell she had been caught unaware. Hard rain. No umbrella. Head down. She was walking against us. I drove about another 20 feet and pulled over. "I'm gonna go get her" I said to Jay. He looked at me a bit warily. "She's tiny and old and has no umbrella." I must have been trying to justify my actions to my child (weird). I made a u-turn and we pulled up near her, although now we were across the street. I rolled down the window and hollered "Hey, can we give you a ride?" and she said "Do you see anyone coming" pointing up the street as it was curvy and hard to see in the rain. There were no cars and she crossed the street and got in my car. We introduced ourselves. She said "Well, I guess I recognize you" although I couldn't think where from and we took her to her apartment complex. We chatted a bit more. She thought Jay was a girl at first because he had on a stocking cap and I was so happy that he didn't even get annoyed, he just smiled at her like he used to smile at his grandma. She laughed when I said "No, that's my boy there" and she said, "It's hard sometimes to tell when they all wear hats" and Jay just kept grinning. We decided we would give her a ride again if we saw her. I like it when things like that happen.

Hmmmmm

Look at the silly chickens. Wait! What's that in the background?! A furry chicken? No, it's Stan. Stan has gotten into the chicken coop.

Stan likes to hang out with the chickens. He thinks he may be a chicken. Oh Stan.