The woman taxi driver in the Starbucks drive thru today. For reals.
(I've been wanting to write "for reals" for a couple weeks now. Hahahaha.)
But really. For reals.
Barista - Hi! Welcome to Starbucks! My name is Marcia! What can I get started for you? Would you like to try our Dark Cherry Mocha?
Taxi Lady - Is this Betty? Hi Betty!
Barista - No, this isn't Betty. What can I get for you?
Taxi Lady - It sounds like Betty. What's your name?
Barista - This is Marcia. What can I get for you?
Taxi Lady - That's a pretty name. I'll have a JFK.
Barista - Thank you. And I have no idea what you ordered but if you tell me what it is, I can make it for you.
(Barista is now gritting her teeth. And still smiling)
Taxi Lady - A JFK. You know, three shots.
Barista - Oh.
Barista - Okay.
(Taxi Lady pulls forward and runs into the car ahead of her)
(Like she needs more caffeine)
(Sheesh)
Friday, March 12, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Found Poem
A "found poem" is a poem that you FIND. You can find it in a billboard on a highway or in the text of a magazine article. You can find it on the back of a cereal box or in the subtitles of a foreign film. It must be the complete and actual text. That's my rule anyway. Some people pick and choose more but I believe it must be the exact wording to be a true found poem. The secret is that you make it a poem by line breaking it. Plus, it should be a little bit poetic. Or odd. Or surprising. Or funny. Or just beautiful. I found one today. I found it in the "info" file in my favorites under "Movie ratings for kids." it's a rather cool site that rates the sex/gore/profanity levels of movies. I check it out from time to time when I'm going to rent a movie for Jay. Today I was looking up Napoleon Dynamite. Here is my found poem.....
SEX/NUDITY 3
A woman gets off a bus, looks
at a man waiting for her, she runs to him
and they kiss (we hear smacks).
A woman takes off
a man's glasses, looks at him
suggestively
and they play footsie under the table.
A woman kisses a man
on the cheek a few times. Young men
and young women dance together
at a school dance. A young man asks
another young man
if his girlfriend is "hot." Two young men talk
about "hookin' up with chicks."
A young man touches
a young woman's hand and then pulls away.
A man touches another man's knee
and they both jump
and move away from each other.
Two young men talk about asking young women
to a dance. A young man dances on a stage
thrusting his hips several times.
Five young women wearing short skirts
that reveal bare legs
dance on a stage. A woman wears
a low-cut dress that reveals cleavage,
and young women wear evening gowns
that reveal bare shoulders
and backs. A man tries to sell
an herbal product that claims
to enhance women's breast size. We see
the engorged udders
of a cow.
SEX/NUDITY 3
A woman gets off a bus, looks
at a man waiting for her, she runs to him
and they kiss (we hear smacks).
A woman takes off
a man's glasses, looks at him
suggestively
and they play footsie under the table.
A woman kisses a man
on the cheek a few times. Young men
and young women dance together
at a school dance. A young man asks
another young man
if his girlfriend is "hot." Two young men talk
about "hookin' up with chicks."
A young man touches
a young woman's hand and then pulls away.
A man touches another man's knee
and they both jump
and move away from each other.
Two young men talk about asking young women
to a dance. A young man dances on a stage
thrusting his hips several times.
Five young women wearing short skirts
that reveal bare legs
dance on a stage. A woman wears
a low-cut dress that reveals cleavage,
and young women wear evening gowns
that reveal bare shoulders
and backs. A man tries to sell
an herbal product that claims
to enhance women's breast size. We see
the engorged udders
of a cow.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Simplistic Movie Review
I really loved the movie, Where The Wild Things Are. One reason is quotes like this...
Judith: Happiness isn't always the best way to be happy.
But really I liked it because it's kind of sad. I loved the realism of the family. I loved the darkness of the realism of the family. I loved the way the darkness did not interfere with the love. Maybe the darkness was a big slice of the love. I loved how it all existed at once. I loved how the child was lonely and that loneliness was so palpable. I loved the creatures and how they were filled with metaphor and slime. I loved that Spike Jonze actually took actors to an island and dressed them up in nine foot tall furry suits and made them run around (I also like that he spells his name with a z). I loved the fort made out of twigs and I loved how it looked as if it was made with a Spirograph. I loved that the monsters could be conquered by "staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once," I loved the seesaw of fear and comfort, I even loved that Sendak said, when asked, “What do you say to parents who think the Wild Things film may be too scary?" answered, “I would tell them to go to hell. That’s a question I will not tolerate.”
It just came out on DVD and I'm going to go buy it. I tried to win it on some site but they haven't e-mailed me yet with the good "You're the Winner" news so I suppose I'll just fork over the cash because I like it THAT much.
See it.
Judith: Happiness isn't always the best way to be happy.
But really I liked it because it's kind of sad. I loved the realism of the family. I loved the darkness of the realism of the family. I loved the way the darkness did not interfere with the love. Maybe the darkness was a big slice of the love. I loved how it all existed at once. I loved how the child was lonely and that loneliness was so palpable. I loved the creatures and how they were filled with metaphor and slime. I loved that Spike Jonze actually took actors to an island and dressed them up in nine foot tall furry suits and made them run around (I also like that he spells his name with a z). I loved the fort made out of twigs and I loved how it looked as if it was made with a Spirograph. I loved that the monsters could be conquered by "staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once," I loved the seesaw of fear and comfort, I even loved that Sendak said, when asked, “What do you say to parents who think the Wild Things film may be too scary?" answered, “I would tell them to go to hell. That’s a question I will not tolerate.”
It just came out on DVD and I'm going to go buy it. I tried to win it on some site but they haven't e-mailed me yet with the good "You're the Winner" news so I suppose I'll just fork over the cash because I like it THAT much.
See it.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Let-Downs
Well, the Olympics are over. Four more years until the next Winter Olympics and it's gonna go by like a short track skater. Yes, I love Apollo Ohno. He's fast and he's lucky. I'm kind of glad they're over. I love watching them but they're on so LATE. I sound like an old fuddy duddy. And then, it takes forever to see the people you want to see. Plus, I feel guilty if I don't watch them because it's not on again for FOUR YEARS, so if I like 'em, I should watch 'em. So, even though I might need to grade papers or clean the bathroom, I feel obligated to watch the Olympics. And then, there's this perverse love of the "crash" (come ON, you know you love it too....the wipe-out on the ski slope or the fall after the doubletriplelutz). And immediately after the CRASH is the guilt at having secretly WANTED the crash when you know it DASHED someones hopes and dreams of the MEDAL. All in all, it's a good thing they're only on every four years. Obviously I'd go MAD if they were on more often.
We've gone through 3 seasons of Dexter and now we're ready for season 4 and it doesn't come out until this SUMMER!!!! Waaaaaaa. I got so involved. Okay, I need a series. It's going to be Weeds, or Six Feet Under I think, How's that one with Holly Hunter, Grace something? And no True Blood because B is not into Vampires. I'm starting to enjoy the technological era. I like being able to bust through a whole season of shows in a weekend. It's slightly "instant gratification" overload but it saves time.
Non let-down item...... my friend Jackie and I are taking the boys (Jay and her son, Michael) to see Switchfoot on Thursday. A concert! on a school night! and I don't work Friday! We're going to take lighters for the encore and hide boda bags filled with Boones Farm under our coats....oh wait, that was me in the 80's. Hahahaha. I figure Switchfoot is a step up from The Jonas Brothers and Hillary Duff. Jay's first concert was Jethro Tull when he was three and since then we've seen Widespread Panic and a couple others. I figure he'll only want to actually go with me to concerts for, hmmmm, let's see, maybe another MONTH before he just banishes me altogether from any social events that he attends.
It's really okay that I could only think of two things to blog about on my "Let-downs" post. I even had to use filler "non-let-down" text. Whereas I suppose I could just change the title of this post to "Hmmmmm" or "Dexter, concerts and the Olympics" I think I would prefer to just appreciate that I don't have many let-downs right now.
The ideas that have lighted my way have been kindness,
beauty and truth.
--Albert Einstein
We've gone through 3 seasons of Dexter and now we're ready for season 4 and it doesn't come out until this SUMMER!!!! Waaaaaaa. I got so involved. Okay, I need a series. It's going to be Weeds, or Six Feet Under I think, How's that one with Holly Hunter, Grace something? And no True Blood because B is not into Vampires. I'm starting to enjoy the technological era. I like being able to bust through a whole season of shows in a weekend. It's slightly "instant gratification" overload but it saves time.
Non let-down item...... my friend Jackie and I are taking the boys (Jay and her son, Michael) to see Switchfoot on Thursday. A concert! on a school night! and I don't work Friday! We're going to take lighters for the encore and hide boda bags filled with Boones Farm under our coats....oh wait, that was me in the 80's. Hahahaha. I figure Switchfoot is a step up from The Jonas Brothers and Hillary Duff. Jay's first concert was Jethro Tull when he was three and since then we've seen Widespread Panic and a couple others. I figure he'll only want to actually go with me to concerts for, hmmmm, let's see, maybe another MONTH before he just banishes me altogether from any social events that he attends.
It's really okay that I could only think of two things to blog about on my "Let-downs" post. I even had to use filler "non-let-down" text. Whereas I suppose I could just change the title of this post to "Hmmmmm" or "Dexter, concerts and the Olympics" I think I would prefer to just appreciate that I don't have many let-downs right now.
The ideas that have lighted my way have been kindness,
beauty and truth.
--Albert Einstein
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Funny haha, or funny peculiar......
Something I never thought would happen. In the last week or so I've heard from, or run into, several "good friends" of the guy the court convicted of aggravated assault. They seem to be quite fine with the way things turned out, and it's no surprise to them that he's going to prison. It's a strange thing to find out how people really feel.
Snow = yuck. Oh, it wasn't always this way. I used to love snow. When I was a kid my mom used to make me wear bread bags over my socks, (yes, really) and then put my feet into my boots. She said it made the boots come off easier and kept feet warmer. I never see kids doing that now and if I suggested it to Jay I think he'd laugh right in my face. But back then I would go out in the snow all the time. I loved to sled and build forts and stomp around. Even a decade ago I loved it. I would pack up my cross country gear and go ski in the forest or out at the nordic center. But now, I just want something warm and, well, snow-free. I'm tired of driving in it, walking on it and shivering from it. Ideally, a little snow, seen at night from a living room window, falling under the street light, would be beautiful. But it would need to melt the next day in 65 degree weather. THAT kind of snow I could enjoy.
For those of you that didn't know....coconut milk is CLEAR. I didn't know. I thought it was white. Like MILK. Why not call it coconut JUICE? Jay had a friend spend the night a few weeks ago and we all went to the store.
B was the only one that had ever opened up a coconut before (why didn't that surprise me?) so we got one. Yes. Clear.
I'm not a good joke teller. Never have been. I always forget the joke, or my timing's off, or I pick a joke that's not even funny. I saw this one the other day and liked it, and since I don't have to TELL it.....
There's this man at a bar, just staring at his drink. He stays like that for half of an hour.
This big guy walks up next to him, takes the drink, and just drinks it all down. The poor man starts crying. The guy says, "Come on, I was just joking. Here, I'll buy you another drink. I just can't stand to see a man cry."
"It's not that," the man says. "This day is the worst of my life. First, I did my taxes last night and owe a LOT of money, I didn't get to sleep until 3:00 am, I woke up late, and was late to work. It's the fifth time I've been late this month, and I missed a crucial meeting. Then my boss fired me. When I left the building, I found out my car has been stolen. I got a cab to go home, and when I got out at my house and tried to pay the driver, I couldn't find my wallet and credit cards. "
"When I walked in the house, I found my wife in bed with the gardener. I left and came to this bar. And just when I was about to put an end to my life, you showed up and drank my poison."
Hahaha.
And here's one more that made me laugh.....
Snow = yuck. Oh, it wasn't always this way. I used to love snow. When I was a kid my mom used to make me wear bread bags over my socks, (yes, really) and then put my feet into my boots. She said it made the boots come off easier and kept feet warmer. I never see kids doing that now and if I suggested it to Jay I think he'd laugh right in my face. But back then I would go out in the snow all the time. I loved to sled and build forts and stomp around. Even a decade ago I loved it. I would pack up my cross country gear and go ski in the forest or out at the nordic center. But now, I just want something warm and, well, snow-free. I'm tired of driving in it, walking on it and shivering from it. Ideally, a little snow, seen at night from a living room window, falling under the street light, would be beautiful. But it would need to melt the next day in 65 degree weather. THAT kind of snow I could enjoy.
For those of you that didn't know....coconut milk is CLEAR. I didn't know. I thought it was white. Like MILK. Why not call it coconut JUICE? Jay had a friend spend the night a few weeks ago and we all went to the store.
B was the only one that had ever opened up a coconut before (why didn't that surprise me?) so we got one. Yes. Clear.
I'm not a good joke teller. Never have been. I always forget the joke, or my timing's off, or I pick a joke that's not even funny. I saw this one the other day and liked it, and since I don't have to TELL it.....
There's this man at a bar, just staring at his drink. He stays like that for half of an hour.
This big guy walks up next to him, takes the drink, and just drinks it all down. The poor man starts crying. The guy says, "Come on, I was just joking. Here, I'll buy you another drink. I just can't stand to see a man cry."
"It's not that," the man says. "This day is the worst of my life. First, I did my taxes last night and owe a LOT of money, I didn't get to sleep until 3:00 am, I woke up late, and was late to work. It's the fifth time I've been late this month, and I missed a crucial meeting. Then my boss fired me. When I left the building, I found out my car has been stolen. I got a cab to go home, and when I got out at my house and tried to pay the driver, I couldn't find my wallet and credit cards. "
"When I walked in the house, I found my wife in bed with the gardener. I left and came to this bar. And just when I was about to put an end to my life, you showed up and drank my poison."
Hahaha.
And here's one more that made me laugh.....
Friday, February 19, 2010
I'm back (1/29/10)
I initially wrote this a couple weeks ago when I was in the midst of a trial. I decided not to publish it because of the trial stuff. Then, I realized that it's good to remember what's important. It's good to understand that in the big picture, my hardships are not that hard. And to keep in mind what the real victories are.
Wow. It's been awhile. I think I'll take this moment to just dive in. For the last year and a half I've been the "as opposed to victim I prefer the phrase girl-who-had-a-gun-held-to-her-head" in a criminal case in town. I still can't REALLY blog about it but soon......
Here's what I found......
"We got some good news in Tucson last Thursday. My melanoma is, for the first time, STABLE. There was no progression of the disease since last November."
"The things that will destroy us are politics without principle;
pleasure without conscience;
wealth without work;
knowledge without character;
business without morality;
science without humanity;
and worship without sacrifice." --Mahatma Gandhi
Wow. It's been awhile. I think I'll take this moment to just dive in. For the last year and a half I've been the "as opposed to victim I prefer the phrase girl-who-had-a-gun-held-to-her-head" in a criminal case in town. I still can't REALLY blog about it but soon......
Right now, I can tell you that I've been sitting in a courtroom for the last 4 days, listening to, and playing, a game. Kind of like the Superbowl (okay, I'm not that self-inflated, make it high school football). Two sides, two game plans, crazy rules and at some point, a winner.
I was a little overwhelmed coming home today. I had stellar friend support, a good man, fabulous victim witness folks, and yet still had the knowledge that life is a crap shoot and who KNOWS what will happen. Up, down, up, down. I even asked for positive energy and good thoughts on facebook and a whole bunch of great people answered me. So I felt really hopeful, and yet really vulnerable. My part in the trial was over. On one hand, I was strong, didn't get bullied by lawyers, and kept on track. On the other, a little man in a nice suit tried to twist everything I said, some girl lied about me and I had to look at people I didn't really like. Yuck! Then I got home and stood. Just stood. Slowly came back to this planet. Changed into sweats and slippers, riffled through People magazine. And on this planet I read my e-mail.......(yes, I'm loving the ellipses today)
Here's what I found......
WE MUST NEVER STOP HOPE-ING; PRAY-ING; AND BELIEVING EVERYTHING IS POSSIBLE.
GREAT WAY TO START THIS NEW DECADE!!
SMILE AND ENJOY, BEV
Now, I'm not sure who Bev is. But her email was in response to my dear friend Jerry E, who has been fighting melanoma. I know that he will not mind me relaying this one sentence or two......
GREAT WAY TO START THIS NEW DECADE!!
SMILE AND ENJOY, BEV
Now, I'm not sure who Bev is. But her email was in response to my dear friend Jerry E, who has been fighting melanoma. I know that he will not mind me relaying this one sentence or two......
"We got some good news in Tucson last Thursday. My melanoma is, for the first time, STABLE. There was no progression of the disease since last November."
Now, that, my friends, is the important news of the day. There might be a trial. There might be too much snow. There might even be headaches and fear and Kurt Warner's retirement. But my friend Jerry's melanoma is stable. With news like that, none of the rest of it really matters. And hey, send your prayers, good thoughts, positive energy, and messages of hope through the universe Jerry's way.
"The things that will destroy us are politics without principle;
pleasure without conscience;
wealth without work;
knowledge without character;
business without morality;
science without humanity;
and worship without sacrifice." --Mahatma Gandhi
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
tv
I am so addicted to Dexter. At work, I think, Wow, that woman in line reminds me of Rita. I spend many daydreaming moments wondering, Can someone in law enforcement really do that? I think of the characters as real people. I look forward to watching Dexter like one might look forward to a nice dinner. Ahhhh, I say when I sit down to watch, the reward to my long day.
It's sick. I have a house to clean. I have pictures to organize. I have actual novels on my nightstand to read. I could spend that late night Dexter time sleeping! I am so addicted to that show that I'm looking forward to the last episode. Then I can just be done.
I was at work this morning at 4:15. Yes. FOURFIFTEEN in the AM. I texted B during my break at 6:00. There was no Good Morning or Have a Good Day. My text went like this......"So, my take is this; Lila is going to kill Doakes to get Dexter back. They'll both be gone. Problem solved." Sheeeesh.
I've been thinking about the resolutions. I have decided to add to them, maybe on a daily basis for the entire month of February. I don't think one can have too many resolutions. I figure if I get close to 75% realized I'll be groovy (funny tangent - I just looked up current slang for "great" and found "groovy" - that is so wrong). So, here are a couple more....
*I'm going to keep a decent bottle of champagne in my refrigerator at all times.
*Once a week I'm going to make it a point to call someone I haven't spoken to in a while, just to say hello.
Okay, these last two resolutions (proclamation? goals?) sound like something out of a Redbook Magazine article on "How to have a sunny disposition" which makes me throw up a little. I obviously need to revise....
*I'm going to keep a decent bottle of champagne in my refrigerator at all times so I can drink Mimosa's before going to work in the morning.
*Once a week I'm going to make it a point to call someone I haven't spoken to in a while, just to say hello or to ask where in the hell is the fucking money they owe me.
There, that's better.
It's sick. I have a house to clean. I have pictures to organize. I have actual novels on my nightstand to read. I could spend that late night Dexter time sleeping! I am so addicted to that show that I'm looking forward to the last episode. Then I can just be done.
I was at work this morning at 4:15. Yes. FOURFIFTEEN in the AM. I texted B during my break at 6:00. There was no Good Morning or Have a Good Day. My text went like this......"So, my take is this; Lila is going to kill Doakes to get Dexter back. They'll both be gone. Problem solved." Sheeeesh.
I've been thinking about the resolutions. I have decided to add to them, maybe on a daily basis for the entire month of February. I don't think one can have too many resolutions. I figure if I get close to 75% realized I'll be groovy (funny tangent - I just looked up current slang for "great" and found "groovy" - that is so wrong). So, here are a couple more....
*I'm going to keep a decent bottle of champagne in my refrigerator at all times.
*Once a week I'm going to make it a point to call someone I haven't spoken to in a while, just to say hello.
Okay, these last two resolutions (proclamation? goals?) sound like something out of a Redbook Magazine article on "How to have a sunny disposition" which makes me throw up a little. I obviously need to revise....
*I'm going to keep a decent bottle of champagne in my refrigerator at all times so I can drink Mimosa's before going to work in the morning.
*Once a week I'm going to make it a point to call someone I haven't spoken to in a while, just to say hello or to ask where in the hell is the fucking money they owe me.
There, that's better.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Resolutions
I'm too lazy to look up quotes so I'm going to share some that either I made up or I just can't recall who said them.
"There's always room for improvement"
Okay, that's the only one I can think of.
Every year on my birthday I make my yearly resolutions. Some people do this on New Year's Eve. Some people never do it. SOME people do it on a weekly basis. One year, I did in June. It was panic induced because I was out of money and looking for a job and all I could find was NOTHING. So, I made a proclamation/resolution and had my One Year Of Opus (which you can read about on my July 2007 post). I resolved to spend NO money on clothes or any type of adornement; such as shoes, purses, hair ribbons (hahaha, hair ribbons) and earrings. I did it. Well, there was that one tee shirt. Oops. I had a whole list of things and I accomplished most of them. But that year was unusual and it's usually a birthday thing. My own private year of starting over.
Feeling Good
So, this year, after a few weeks of thought, I've come up with a couple things/ideas/desires I'd like to set down and commit to......
*Being a better writer.
*Staying the weight that I am right now.
*Putting together a reading to benefit something worthwhile.....like hospice or Smiletrain.
*Eating dinner at the dining room table more often.
*Traveling to someplace I've never been before.
*Check out some live music at least once a month.
*Dance more.
I seem to work better with rules and lists. I need deadlines and a kick in the butt! I need regular wake-up calls. I like gaining the knowledge that yeah, maybe I fucked up or got stuck in a rut or just forgot to do things I used to like, yet since it's my birthday I can start over and be BETTER!
I had this miserable experience that motivated me on the writing one. I was looking at the NY Times a few days ago and there was a blurb about a book. It was called "The Happiness Project" and it was written by a woman who took a year and spent that year doing what she wanted/needed to do to be happy. HELLO. That was MY book damnit. I could have written that book. That was my one year of opus. I had the damn rough draft. I could have added, improved and edited. I could have WORKED at it. But, did I write the book? NO. Did I write any book? NO. One thing that impedes me (through my own fault) is that I take what other people say (or what I imagine they think) to heart. I assume I must write the regular, conventional, novel or saga. What I want to write is a book that is unusual in it's form, that is part memoir, part something, and part something else. I'm a conversational person, a person immersed in reality, I can't (don't want to) write a murder mystery or a romance. I need to write about what I know. I don't think I want to write poems...at least I think I want to write MORE than poems. So, by saying I have a resolution to be a better writer, I think it means that I want to be a truthful writer, a more frequent writer and a writer who just DOES it. So, stepping out on a limb here, I think I'll just say that one of my resolutions is to actually write a book that I try and get published. There. Done and done. No, wait, not TRY and get published. GET published. On my terms, as weird and ridiculous as it might be. A sort of memoir, poetry, short story, surprises in envelopes, recipe, general life hints, and picture filled opus.
Yeah birthday resolutions!!!!!
"There's always room for improvement"
Okay, that's the only one I can think of.
Every year on my birthday I make my yearly resolutions. Some people do this on New Year's Eve. Some people never do it. SOME people do it on a weekly basis. One year, I did in June. It was panic induced because I was out of money and looking for a job and all I could find was NOTHING. So, I made a proclamation/resolution and had my One Year Of Opus (which you can read about on my July 2007 post). I resolved to spend NO money on clothes or any type of adornement; such as shoes, purses, hair ribbons (hahaha, hair ribbons) and earrings. I did it. Well, there was that one tee shirt. Oops. I had a whole list of things and I accomplished most of them. But that year was unusual and it's usually a birthday thing. My own private year of starting over.
Feeling Good
So, this year, after a few weeks of thought, I've come up with a couple things/ideas/desires I'd like to set down and commit to......
*Being a better writer.
*Staying the weight that I am right now.
*Putting together a reading to benefit something worthwhile.....like hospice or Smiletrain.
*Eating dinner at the dining room table more often.
*Traveling to someplace I've never been before.
*Check out some live music at least once a month.
*Dance more.
I seem to work better with rules and lists. I need deadlines and a kick in the butt! I need regular wake-up calls. I like gaining the knowledge that yeah, maybe I fucked up or got stuck in a rut or just forgot to do things I used to like, yet since it's my birthday I can start over and be BETTER!
I had this miserable experience that motivated me on the writing one. I was looking at the NY Times a few days ago and there was a blurb about a book. It was called "The Happiness Project" and it was written by a woman who took a year and spent that year doing what she wanted/needed to do to be happy. HELLO. That was MY book damnit. I could have written that book. That was my one year of opus. I had the damn rough draft. I could have added, improved and edited. I could have WORKED at it. But, did I write the book? NO. Did I write any book? NO. One thing that impedes me (through my own fault) is that I take what other people say (or what I imagine they think) to heart. I assume I must write the regular, conventional, novel or saga. What I want to write is a book that is unusual in it's form, that is part memoir, part something, and part something else. I'm a conversational person, a person immersed in reality, I can't (don't want to) write a murder mystery or a romance. I need to write about what I know. I don't think I want to write poems...at least I think I want to write MORE than poems. So, by saying I have a resolution to be a better writer, I think it means that I want to be a truthful writer, a more frequent writer and a writer who just DOES it. So, stepping out on a limb here, I think I'll just say that one of my resolutions is to actually write a book that I try and get published. There. Done and done. No, wait, not TRY and get published. GET published. On my terms, as weird and ridiculous as it might be. A sort of memoir, poetry, short story, surprises in envelopes, recipe, general life hints, and picture filled opus.
Yeah birthday resolutions!!!!!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Several Stories
Fingernails. I think I'll start with fingernails. I'm sitting here wondering where to start and I've realized I mostly need to go clip my nails. In New York, I forgot to pack clippers and several times I caught a nail and tore off a bit and had no way to alleviate the situation aside from biting it off. So, a day back in Flagstaff and I see I need to repair myself. My mom was a filer. Always filing her nails. They were beautiful and simple. I'm a clipper. Polish never stays on, I'm always knocking into something and I just did not get the beautiful nails gene. I have, however, managed to get a job where I'm not ALLOWED to wear polish so I have an excuse. Plus, I like to saw stuff, and paint things, and bang about, so I'm never going to be the girl with the lovely nails.
Okay, done.
Stories. I'm moving on to stories. I have a few. The first one started a year and a half ago. This story I'm going to shorten a bit. In August of 2008, an ex-boyfriend put a gun to my head. It was scary and intentional. I went to his house to get a couple cell phones back that were delivered to his house instead of mine. I made a few mistakes (FYI......in iffy situations when you have the choice of calling the police to help or barreling through on your own, choose the police), but he obviously made bigger ones. The State of Arizona took him to court and he was convicted two weeks ago of aggravated assault. I'm not going to go into all the court stuff but it was grueling. I spent several days on the stand and listened to lies by people I didn't even know. And then the jury came through. And now he's going to prison. But that's not even the story. The story is that I stopped blogging when it happened. I didn't want to write about my life; like when I was going to go to Kansas or even what time I left for work. I had to leave out so much of "regular life stuff" because I was afraid to expose anything about where I was going or what time or with who. It was WEIRD. I felt like I had to censor my whole flipping life when I wrote. When he had me on the floor and had the gun at my jaw, he even said, "You better watch what you write, people read your blog and know where you are and when you're gone." It was an implied threat, but it made me think about the possibilities. So, I worked hard to keep my posts generic, and I wrote less. And I honestly don't know if I'll ever be as open as I was when I started blogging. I get on facebook more, although I don't write on it much. The day before the trial I wrote a little post asking for positive energy and prayers and good vibes and 20 people sent me posts back. That was the day facebook won me over. I have to say this about facebook...you get to pick your friends (the people who can view your page), everyone is so fucking nice, and no one swears (damnit). Hahaha. I also am looking forward to blogging more. I love to write the long posts, the funny stories and the six paragraph "real life stuff" that isn't so much a part of facebook. So, although I'm leaving out a lot of that story, you get my drift. It was big and scary and it has changed the way I think about some things. And now I get to move on.
Today is my birthday. Barry is making me a cake. It's a process. Last night he started (from scratch) and used the cake pans my mom used to use. They're a bit smaller, 8" instead of 9", and after twenty minutes in the oven, smoke started to waft into the kitchen. The batter was overflowing onto the bottom of the oven. They never cooked and we poured the batter down the drain (okay, it made me laugh). This morning he started again, made three layers, not filling the pans up so full, and they fell. The layers are like 8" wide thin chocolate pancakes. He was a little bummed but I think they're going to be nice and tasty. Plus, more frosting fixes anything! And Barry made me a cake! I love it when people make you a cake on your birthday.
Facebook won me over AGAIN today....so many people wished me a happy birthday. I LOVE all you hoo-ha's wishing me a happy day. I am SO lucky and blessed to have you. THANK YOU. I'm in the process of deciding on my birthday resolutions, which will be forthcoming. I am planning on the best year ever.
Here's another story, that I would have been writing so much about over the last few months but I didn't want to give away my whereabouts. I went to NEW YORK CITY! All last week I was in New York. I believe I did already mention it, but my book, Game, was a finalist in the Patterson Poetry Prize. They asked me to read in New Jersey. So my son and my niece Suzy and her two girls who are Jay's age, and my sister and I flew into JFK last Tuesday. Here's the run-down...
Day one....five hour flight.
Awesome hotel in midtown Manhattan. Ate my first $16 hamburger at Smith & Wollensky. Walked around. Went to Rockefeller Center. Watched people ice skate. I tell you, that rink is so much smaller in person. Snowing in NY.
Awesome hotel in midtown Manhattan. Ate my first $16 hamburger at Smith & Wollensky. Walked around. Went to Rockefeller Center. Watched people ice skate. I tell you, that rink is so much smaller in person. Snowing in NY.
Day two....We were on the Today Show (check it out on my facebook). Tour bus. Ground Zero. Lunch at Olivas. Excellent pizza! Mary Poppins on Broadway. Limo Ride through Central Park, by the Met, Guggenheim, Lincoln Center. Ate at Raffles. Food is expensive!! Five dollars for a kids chocolate milk!
Day three....Times Square. M&M world (damn kids). Empire State Building. The Strand Bookstore. Battery Park. Staten Island Ferry. Looked at the Statue of Liberty. Subway to Harlem! Dinner at Sylvias (Excellent dinner!!). Here's a short story about Harlem. I live in a very white bread place. My son goes to a very white bread school. We walked about 5 blocks from the subway to the restaurant. Jay was nervous. He had never been in the minority. Never.
At one point he looked at me and said "I hate this. Can we just go back to our hotel?" and I could see his discomfort and even a little fear. I said, "It's okay. No one is going to hurt us here." We got to Sylvia's and sat down and ate an incredible dinner. Jay LOVED it. He relaxed and had fun. He interacted with black people. I mentioned that I think it's good to get out of ones comfort zone sometimes. It WAS good. I talked about how we're all just the same people, going to jobs, having families, eating dinners, trying to make it and pay bills and coping the best we can. We walked back to the subway after dinner and all three of the kids looked at the lights and the architecture and the people with less fear and more wonder. I LOVE that kind of situation. I wish my life held more cultural diversity. But it was so great to stretch ourselves a little and see other lives and places and people. Even if it was a very small moment, it was still an enlightening one.
Day four......The Natural History Museum, The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Wow. Over four hours in each one. More subway. Mimi's for dinner (Italian). I LOVE The Met!
Day five....UGH! My reading was cancelled. Snow in New Jersey. Big Storm in D.C. Man, was I disappointed. I was going to get to read with Li-Young Lee and Molly Peacock. I was going to get to sell my book. I was going to get to listen to poets that I've read and admired for years. I was going to thank the small presses, especially my publisher, Two Dogs Press, because without small presses, it's hard to get published. I was going to live in the winner's circle of poetry for a couple hours. I was sad, and I had to stop myself from dwelling on the thought that my one big chance to get my book out there was gone. Maybe it was gone. Maybe that would have been it. But, I had to work on letting it go. I still am. Instead, that day, we went to St Patrick's Cathedral (wow), FAO Swartz (damn kids), and the NBA store, and Macy's and Saks and The Magnolia Bakery. It was still good. It was NEW YORK CITY!!!!
Day six....flew back to L.A., got on the Amtrak to Flagstaff. In the L.A. Grand Central Station, Jay and were sitting there waiting for the train. There was a woman who was ranting a bit. Okay, she was freaking crazy. Hollering at folks, dropping her luggage, demanding someone haul her down to the train. "Well Jay, I have to say one thing, there are a lot more crazy people in L.A. than Flagstaff" I say to my son. Fast forward to getting off the train in Flagstaff. I hear a woman's familiar voice. "I am not getting off the train" Rant, rant rant. Etc. Etc. Demanding service, dropping luggage. Yes, it was her. She lives in Flagstaff.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Yes.
I know, I know. It's been forever. But not tonight, okay? I'm watching It Might Get Loud with Jack White, The Edge and Jimmy Page. Happy 2010. It's going to be a good one. My resolutions will be forthcoming....I make mine on my birthday as opposed to New Year's Eve. I see birthdays as our own private New Year's. I'm anxious to blog again. I have some ideas. I have a few stories. In the meantime, here's a picture of my fridge......
Rock on.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Missing Bumble
Here is a picture of my Christmas cookies. I see pictures everyday in the checkout lane at Safeway of beautiful, decorated Christmas cookies. The red of Santa's suit is a perfect fire engine red, and you can make out a perfect Cupid's bow mouth and sparkling black frosting eyes. Well, I will have none of that! I will decorate my Christmas cookies with a strange chartreuse frosting and even though they were cut out with cookie cutters, I dare you to guess what shape they're supposed to be. The single cookie here is, in fact, Santa. There is no mouth or sparkling eyes. There is no discernible suit or smart black boots. My Santa cookie is a big blob of off purple. Is this appetizing? Hell, no. Is it yummy. Yes, quite.
Who makes those perfect cookies? Is it that same woman who haunts me? The one with time on her hands and a dust free house? It would take me half an hour to decorate one flipping cookie that precisely. Who HAS that much time? Not me. I could use the excuse that my cookies look this way because I'm so busy this year but honestly, my cookies always look like this.Bumble. I have to say I've been a bit down from my non-decorating Christmas. Here's the deal....my house is scattered. There is no floor in the living room. The furniture is in a big fat pile in the center of the room. I have 27 piles of paperwork and it's all covered by an inch and a half of dry wall dust. My Christmas boxes are packed in the attic. I have no tree, no ornaments, and no Bumble. Bumble is the abdominal snowman in Rudolph the Red nosed Reindeer. The Christmas cartoon with Burl Ives voice and the elf who really wants to be a dentist. The misfit toys for cripes sake!! So, I always have a little Bumble scene out, along with a Fimo clay Nativity I made two decades ago and some Styrofoam ornaments my mom made. This year - nada. Here is a Bumble shot from a few years ago. How can you not be filled with Christmas joy just gazing at Bumble's foolish crazy grin?!
Oh. and I've got a cold. I have drainage and sinus pain and I make gross noises and I cough. Yuckkkk! And, I haven't even written my Christmas letter yet. For five years I have written a superb Christmas letter. I may have given up Bumble this year but the letter gets written and mailed this weekend. What happened to November?!?!
Okay, I think I've complained enough for one blog. Now I'll tell you some of the things I love. I love breathing. I love roly polies. I love my man and I love my son. I love morning coffee with cream, and reading the paper. I love that I have a bed. I love prime rib and Yorkshire pudding. I love this temporary wreck of a house. I love my town. I love the pumpkin loaf at Starbucks. I love my family. I love Christmas even though the Grinch of circumstance took away everything, even the roast beast. I love Trader Joe's chocolate almond bar. I love clean bathrooms. I love having a day off. I love getting on a train. I love the necklace my dad made me years ago out of weird dried oranges that he drilled holes through and strung on fishing line. I love to get in the car on a cold day and turn the heater up real high. I love my friends. I love Bumble and I will just have to see him next Christmas.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Moving into winter
My house is a mess. I don't mean that it's a little dusty (which would be normal) or that the furniture doesn't match (normal too). No, I mean that the interior doors are mostly all off, sheet rock is visible and very few electrical outlets have covers. We've been having a remodel done, pushing out the back of the house 10 feet, and it's been two months and I wannnnt mmyyyy hooussee bbbaack (simulated whine). It's going to be very cool when it's finished....it just seem like it's never going to be finished.
Starbucks is the same. You know those sleeves? The cardboard holders that go around the cup? We have to put them on the large (venti) drinks but often folks ask for them with the smaller sizes. I call those people "sleeve wienies" because, come ON, those drinks are not that hot. And it wastes paper. Damn tree killers. So, the other day I went in and got a small (tall) drink and walked out and MAN, that thing was hot. I refuse however, to admit that I needed a sleeve. I did not (plus, some people get them for cold drinks and THAT really pisses me off).
Miscellaneous checklist of my life.....Check out my last post if you live in my town - the Coconino Center for the Arts is having it's holiday sale this weekend and Barry's teapot is on the flyer. I give my final in my community college classes on Monday and then I'm done teaching for a month. I just received six bottles of wine in the mail (winewoot.com)! The chickens are NOT laying much as it's cold and dark here. I have a car (Honda Pilot) that seats 8 but there is only room for the driver right now because my car is FILLED with junk (chairs, Christmas gifts, books, etc) that don't fit in the house right now. Thanksgiving was nice.
Actually, I'm feeling a bit flat. You know that feeling? When you don't feel ungrateful but you're not really feeling grateful either? When you aren't being active or dynamic? When there's no great book on your nightstand, and your kitchen is too cluttered to cook a fun dinner? When your creativity bone seems to be broken, or at least sprained? Yeah, that's me right now. Ebb and flow. Ebb. And. Flow.
Starbucks is the same. You know those sleeves? The cardboard holders that go around the cup? We have to put them on the large (venti) drinks but often folks ask for them with the smaller sizes. I call those people "sleeve wienies" because, come ON, those drinks are not that hot. And it wastes paper. Damn tree killers. So, the other day I went in and got a small (tall) drink and walked out and MAN, that thing was hot. I refuse however, to admit that I needed a sleeve. I did not (plus, some people get them for cold drinks and THAT really pisses me off).
Miscellaneous checklist of my life.....Check out my last post if you live in my town - the Coconino Center for the Arts is having it's holiday sale this weekend and Barry's teapot is on the flyer. I give my final in my community college classes on Monday and then I'm done teaching for a month. I just received six bottles of wine in the mail (winewoot.com)! The chickens are NOT laying much as it's cold and dark here. I have a car (Honda Pilot) that seats 8 but there is only room for the driver right now because my car is FILLED with junk (chairs, Christmas gifts, books, etc) that don't fit in the house right now. Thanksgiving was nice.
Actually, I'm feeling a bit flat. You know that feeling? When you don't feel ungrateful but you're not really feeling grateful either? When you aren't being active or dynamic? When there's no great book on your nightstand, and your kitchen is too cluttered to cook a fun dinner? When your creativity bone seems to be broken, or at least sprained? Yeah, that's me right now. Ebb and flow. Ebb. And. Flow.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Yesterdays news
The reason I had no picture of the beautiful vase (see yesterdays post) is that it was NOT a vase but a teapot. My bad. And I do have a picture and it is on the flyer. And a big thank you to the Coconino Center for the Arts for putting it on the flyer. And just to clear up matters in my own household....I LOVE having three kilns in the backyard. Really. Heck no, it doesn't bother or upset me in the least. No, really. I absolutely was NOT complaining. Hahahaha.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Quick and Easy
This is a funny site. Some guy just writes down a sentence or two from his 73 year old dad. It's simple and will make you laugh...
http://twitter.com/Shitmydadsays
Here's Jay on Halloween. I am so wearing this mask next year.
Speaking of my son, he was voted onto the Allstars team for basketball. When he got the phone call, he just grinned for hours. It's been his dream for YEARS and he would always ask me, mom, do you think I'll ever be on the Allstars team? and I would always say, No, you're just not agressive enough on the court, and then this year he starts going for rebounds and BAM he's on the team. We go to Anaheim in April for the big game. Cool.
Barry's wonderful pottery got into a show here called It's Elemental. He entered this very beautiful vase that I do not have a picture of. Check out the Barry ware (He's going to HATE that I wrote that) at kindkilnpottery.etsy.com. We have three, yes, three, kilns in the backyard.
I have all my Christmas shopping done. Sweet.
http://twitter.com/Shitmydadsays
Here's Jay on Halloween. I am so wearing this mask next year.
Speaking of my son, he was voted onto the Allstars team for basketball. When he got the phone call, he just grinned for hours. It's been his dream for YEARS and he would always ask me, mom, do you think I'll ever be on the Allstars team? and I would always say, No, you're just not agressive enough on the court, and then this year he starts going for rebounds and BAM he's on the team. We go to Anaheim in April for the big game. Cool.
Barry's wonderful pottery got into a show here called It's Elemental. He entered this very beautiful vase that I do not have a picture of. Check out the Barry ware (He's going to HATE that I wrote that) at kindkilnpottery.etsy.com. We have three, yes, three, kilns in the backyard.
I have all my Christmas shopping done. Sweet.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
How To Like It
So, here's the big damn deal (Maggie says that phrase sometimes and I think it sounds like poetry). My blog has gotten boring (to me). b.o.r.i.n.g. Boring. Fucking boring. Hahahaha. I forgot how much I like to swear. I'm a happy swearer. I only really cuss when I'm feeling good. Or silly. Or for wild emphasis. And to give myself credit, and to let y'all know how responsible I am, I do not swear in front of children or nuns.
I've read over the first year of this blog and it was MUCH more busy and interesting. Oh, and guess what, I wasn't working. La-de-da, I was being creative every day. Or, taking care of my beautiful mom. Or, in a crummy relationship with a scary man. So, in a nutshell, I was motivated a lot to live, to create, and to go do things to get out of the house. My life has actually improved a LOT since then. There was quite a bit of upheaval and grief. But I also had bunches of time to paint furniture and write. Maybe someday I'll have more free time, but maybe I won't, so I guess I better start being fun and interesting again in a hectic world so I can write better blogs. Maybe I should just start being fun and interesting again whether I write a blog or not. I always said I WAS NOT going to be the blogger that writes about when I'm having breakfast (THAT'S for Facebook. Hahaha) so I need to get to work.
(Boring. Really? Am I overthinking? Is it boring to me because it's MY stuff and so retelling it seems redundant? Is it my own self-doubt that barges in? Is it that no one ever comments so I don't even know if anyone is READING my boring content? Is it from being told as a child donotbragorinflateyourself so as a result I cannot find my own life worthy enough to be written down? Do most people think too much?)
I love when someone has their ipod on with headphones in their ears and they sing out loud by accident. Actually, I like to do that myself too. I have the worst voice EVER and it's fun to sing when I have earphones in because then I CAN"T HEAR MYSELF. Other people around me look panicked and embarrassed, thinking, omg, she doesn't realize she's singing and it sounds so HORRIBLE but folks, I know. Believe me, I know.
i LOVE teaching poetry. I think that could be my calling. I just don't get to do it much. Budget cuts at the community college leave me with one class a year, whereas it used to be one class every semester. And I'm pretty ensconced in Flagstaff (happily) and even if I could get a swell job teaching somewhere else, I don't want to move anywhere right now. So, I teach it when I can. I think I'm pretty okay at it. Here are a few real comments from anonymous students that showed up in my evaluations....Divine makes me smile at the clouds and Jill is an amazing teacher and really great course and I'm going to take this beautiful class again because Jill has great in-class exercises and assignments and I feel like a poet and my very favorite, Jill is nice and pretty and fun and I like her.
I did not have to pay those students very much at all to say those things.
But I don't think it's my calling because of those comments. I just LOVE it. I feel like it's a mix of making people feel safe and letting them express themselves and being creative all at once. When I'm teaching poetry I feel exactly right. Slightly giddy. In control of lightness. Able to guide with intuition. It's very cool. AND I get to introduce people to good poems......
How to Like It
These are the first days of fall. The wind
at evening smells of roads still to be traveled,
while the sound of leaves blowing across the lawns
is like an unsettled feeling in the blood,
the desire to get in a car and just keep driving.
A man and a dog descend their front steps.
The dog says, Let's go downtown and get crazy drunk.
Let's tip over all the trash cans we can find.
This is how dogs deal with the prospect of change.
But in his sense of the season, the man is struck
by the oppressiveness of his past, how his memories
which were shifting and fluid have grown more solid
until it seems he can see remembered faces
caught up among the dark places in the trees.
The dog says, Let's pick up some girls and just
rip off their clothes. Let's dig holes everywhere.
Above his house, the man notices wisps of cloud
crossing the face of the moon. Like in a movie,
he says to himself, a movie about a person
leaving on a journey. He looks down the street
to the hills outside of town and finds the cut
where the road heads north. He thinks of driving
on that road and the dusty smell of the car
heater, which hasn't been used since last winter.
The dog says, Let's go down to the diner and sniff
people's legs. Let's stuff ourselves on burgers.
In the man's mind, the road is empty and dark.
Pine trees press down to the edge of the shoulder,
where the eyes of animals, fixed in his headlights,
shine like small cautions against the night.
Sometimes a passing truck makes his whole car shake.
The dog says, Let's go to sleep. Let's lie down
by the fire and put our tails over our noses.
But the man wants to drive all night, crossing
one state line after another, and never stop
until the sun creeps into his rearview mirror.
Then he'll pull over and rest awhile before
starting again, and at dusk he'll crest a hill
and there, filling a valley, will be the lights
of a city entirely new to him.
But the dog says, Let's just go back inside.
Let's not do anything tonight. So they
walk back up the sidewalk to the front steps.
How is it possible to want so many things
and still want nothing? The man wants to sleep
and wants to hit his head again and again
against a wall. Why is it all so difficult?
But the dog says, Let's go make a sandwich.
Let's make the tallest sandwich anyone's ever seen.
And that's what they do and that's where the man's
wife finds him, staring into the refrigerator
as if into the place where the answers are kept—
the ones telling why you get up in the morning
and how it is possible to sleep at night,
answers to what comes next and how to like it.
This poem is by Stephen Dobyns and although it is set in the fall (and it's close to winter now), I find it so beautiful and honest. In class we can spend a bit of time of this poem, figuring who/what the dog is, why the line breaks are where they are, and what other things the poem is saying to us. Where the poetic language lies. And simply, what we like and don't like. Don't you just love shine like small cautions against the night? Wow.
I've read over the first year of this blog and it was MUCH more busy and interesting. Oh, and guess what, I wasn't working. La-de-da, I was being creative every day. Or, taking care of my beautiful mom. Or, in a crummy relationship with a scary man. So, in a nutshell, I was motivated a lot to live, to create, and to go do things to get out of the house. My life has actually improved a LOT since then. There was quite a bit of upheaval and grief. But I also had bunches of time to paint furniture and write. Maybe someday I'll have more free time, but maybe I won't, so I guess I better start being fun and interesting again in a hectic world so I can write better blogs. Maybe I should just start being fun and interesting again whether I write a blog or not. I always said I WAS NOT going to be the blogger that writes about when I'm having breakfast (THAT'S for Facebook. Hahaha) so I need to get to work.
(Boring. Really? Am I overthinking? Is it boring to me because it's MY stuff and so retelling it seems redundant? Is it my own self-doubt that barges in? Is it that no one ever comments so I don't even know if anyone is READING my boring content? Is it from being told as a child donotbragorinflateyourself so as a result I cannot find my own life worthy enough to be written down? Do most people think too much?)
I love when someone has their ipod on with headphones in their ears and they sing out loud by accident. Actually, I like to do that myself too. I have the worst voice EVER and it's fun to sing when I have earphones in because then I CAN"T HEAR MYSELF. Other people around me look panicked and embarrassed, thinking, omg, she doesn't realize she's singing and it sounds so HORRIBLE but folks, I know. Believe me, I know.
i LOVE teaching poetry. I think that could be my calling. I just don't get to do it much. Budget cuts at the community college leave me with one class a year, whereas it used to be one class every semester. And I'm pretty ensconced in Flagstaff (happily) and even if I could get a swell job teaching somewhere else, I don't want to move anywhere right now. So, I teach it when I can. I think I'm pretty okay at it. Here are a few real comments from anonymous students that showed up in my evaluations....Divine makes me smile at the clouds and Jill is an amazing teacher and really great course and I'm going to take this beautiful class again because Jill has great in-class exercises and assignments and I feel like a poet and my very favorite, Jill is nice and pretty and fun and I like her.
I did not have to pay those students very much at all to say those things.
But I don't think it's my calling because of those comments. I just LOVE it. I feel like it's a mix of making people feel safe and letting them express themselves and being creative all at once. When I'm teaching poetry I feel exactly right. Slightly giddy. In control of lightness. Able to guide with intuition. It's very cool. AND I get to introduce people to good poems......
How to Like It
These are the first days of fall. The wind
at evening smells of roads still to be traveled,
while the sound of leaves blowing across the lawns
is like an unsettled feeling in the blood,
the desire to get in a car and just keep driving.
A man and a dog descend their front steps.
The dog says, Let's go downtown and get crazy drunk.
Let's tip over all the trash cans we can find.
This is how dogs deal with the prospect of change.
But in his sense of the season, the man is struck
by the oppressiveness of his past, how his memories
which were shifting and fluid have grown more solid
until it seems he can see remembered faces
caught up among the dark places in the trees.
The dog says, Let's pick up some girls and just
rip off their clothes. Let's dig holes everywhere.
Above his house, the man notices wisps of cloud
crossing the face of the moon. Like in a movie,
he says to himself, a movie about a person
leaving on a journey. He looks down the street
to the hills outside of town and finds the cut
where the road heads north. He thinks of driving
on that road and the dusty smell of the car
heater, which hasn't been used since last winter.
The dog says, Let's go down to the diner and sniff
people's legs. Let's stuff ourselves on burgers.
In the man's mind, the road is empty and dark.
Pine trees press down to the edge of the shoulder,
where the eyes of animals, fixed in his headlights,
shine like small cautions against the night.
Sometimes a passing truck makes his whole car shake.
The dog says, Let's go to sleep. Let's lie down
by the fire and put our tails over our noses.
But the man wants to drive all night, crossing
one state line after another, and never stop
until the sun creeps into his rearview mirror.
Then he'll pull over and rest awhile before
starting again, and at dusk he'll crest a hill
and there, filling a valley, will be the lights
of a city entirely new to him.
But the dog says, Let's just go back inside.
Let's not do anything tonight. So they
walk back up the sidewalk to the front steps.
How is it possible to want so many things
and still want nothing? The man wants to sleep
and wants to hit his head again and again
against a wall. Why is it all so difficult?
But the dog says, Let's go make a sandwich.
Let's make the tallest sandwich anyone's ever seen.
And that's what they do and that's where the man's
wife finds him, staring into the refrigerator
as if into the place where the answers are kept—
the ones telling why you get up in the morning
and how it is possible to sleep at night,
answers to what comes next and how to like it.
This poem is by Stephen Dobyns and although it is set in the fall (and it's close to winter now), I find it so beautiful and honest. In class we can spend a bit of time of this poem, figuring who/what the dog is, why the line breaks are where they are, and what other things the poem is saying to us. Where the poetic language lies. And simply, what we like and don't like. Don't you just love shine like small cautions against the night? Wow.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Yes, I Mention Rainbows
It's been a pretty mild week or two at Starbucks. Occasional bees, people talking incessantly on their cell phones, just the usual. Although I did have a couple come through yesterday that made me laugh. First, they blew right by the ordering box, while coming through the drive-thru. When they got to the window I said to them, Hey, you forgot to order, and the woman driving looked at me and said. Well, it was so confusing. There was no sign saying "order here." Hello!? Have you never been through a drive-thru? There's a big ole menu board, and then there's a dark box with a microphone under a big piece of screen? Yeah, you can order there! Of course I didn't say that. Hahahaha. So I inquire about where they're from and they tell me they're from Oregon and that they're heading to Sedona to see the Red Rocks Amphitheater. You know the big amphitheater that's built into the side of a mountain where all the really big bands play. Oh yeah, that's in Colorado. (I wanted to write hahahaha here but it sounds so mean....but hahahaha). I had to tell them. 
But I did feel kind of bad about the mix-up and ended up giving them a ton of information about the RED ROCKS of Sedona and where to go and some things to see, like the drive down Schnebley Hill Road. I hope they had a great day and didn't end up in Albuquerque.
I harvested and blanched all my root vegetables this week. I had turnips and beets and carrots and onions. I wouldn't have picked the onions yet except we had to move the garden boxes for the remodel. I'm kicking out the back of the house ten feet and it's exciting! B and I spent the weekend tearing up the back patio ourselves to save some money on it and the garden boxes have to go. My house is tiny so this will make it average.
There's just one thing I'm going to miss about the house as it is now. At certain times of day, the sun comes in through a skylight and makes these great rainbows in the bedroom. Well, the door to the bedroom is going to be sealed up in its current location and moved farther down the wall of the living room and the sun won't come in that way anymore. Damn. Now they'll be on the wall of the dining room so I guess they won't be gone FOREVER. Would it be worth the remodel to lose the rainbows? I don't think so.
During the remodel it is my mission, my goal, to SIMPLIFY. I want to clean out stuff! So my quote at the bottom of the page is going to be my motto. However, I am not making any promises.
Jay was sick with the flu for four days. I'm sure it was the Swine flu. That's what everyone says (would another hahaha be too much here?) I told y'all it was pandemic. I love my son. You know I do. We all LOVE our children. But four days of a "I'm too sick to go to school but not too sick to watch Sponge Bob" child will drive anyone crazy. Especially me.
Have I mentioned that I miss my parents? There was this unbelievable amount of unconditional love there. Not that I was a hard kid, or even a difficult adult (no, I wasn't, so stop saying that). But there was always a great love there. Today a girl at work looked at my ring and asked about it. It says "So, when do we dance?" on it. That was the last thing my dad said to me and I had the ring made to have still another thing to keep me aware of LIVING. I started to tell her about it and at the very last word, got a little catch in my throat. It surprised me a little. Suddenly I just saw him again, so clear and real, and man, I missed him. Now, we dance now.
If you want a golden rule that will fit everybody, this is it. Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful. - William Norris,1834-1896
But I did feel kind of bad about the mix-up and ended up giving them a ton of information about the RED ROCKS of Sedona and where to go and some things to see, like the drive down Schnebley Hill Road. I hope they had a great day and didn't end up in Albuquerque.I harvested and blanched all my root vegetables this week. I had turnips and beets and carrots and onions. I wouldn't have picked the onions yet except we had to move the garden boxes for the remodel. I'm kicking out the back of the house ten feet and it's exciting! B and I spent the weekend tearing up the back patio ourselves to save some money on it and the garden boxes have to go. My house is tiny so this will make it average.
There's just one thing I'm going to miss about the house as it is now. At certain times of day, the sun comes in through a skylight and makes these great rainbows in the bedroom. Well, the door to the bedroom is going to be sealed up in its current location and moved farther down the wall of the living room and the sun won't come in that way anymore. Damn. Now they'll be on the wall of the dining room so I guess they won't be gone FOREVER. Would it be worth the remodel to lose the rainbows? I don't think so.
During the remodel it is my mission, my goal, to SIMPLIFY. I want to clean out stuff! So my quote at the bottom of the page is going to be my motto. However, I am not making any promises.
Jay was sick with the flu for four days. I'm sure it was the Swine flu. That's what everyone says (would another hahaha be too much here?) I told y'all it was pandemic. I love my son. You know I do. We all LOVE our children. But four days of a "I'm too sick to go to school but not too sick to watch Sponge Bob" child will drive anyone crazy. Especially me.
Have I mentioned that I miss my parents? There was this unbelievable amount of unconditional love there. Not that I was a hard kid, or even a difficult adult (no, I wasn't, so stop saying that). But there was always a great love there. Today a girl at work looked at my ring and asked about it. It says "So, when do we dance?" on it. That was the last thing my dad said to me and I had the ring made to have still another thing to keep me aware of LIVING. I started to tell her about it and at the very last word, got a little catch in my throat. It surprised me a little. Suddenly I just saw him again, so clear and real, and man, I missed him. Now, we dance now.
If you want a golden rule that will fit everybody, this is it. Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful. - William Norris,1834-1896
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
BTW
I'm still here!!!!!! But I have some quandaries to ask myself. How can I like my job and yet hate to work? How can I be a writer and yet not write for days at a time? Weeks at a time?!?! How can I love to cook and yet end up throwing a frozen pizza in the oven too many nights a week? Where does the time go, people?! What I would give to have my One Year of Opus back (See July '07 post). Oh well. Damn. I'll figure out these questions (and many more, such as, why would anyone carve a statue out of butter for the Kansas State Fair?) by next week. (Click on the above picture to see the Kansas State Fair Butter Sculpture 2009)
It's fall. My favorite time of year. I took this tree picture a week ago, when I noticed the first turned leaf on the tree. And now it's getting in the low thirties at night. Now all the leaves are red.
My garden is done for the year. Beautiful tomatoes, peppers, squash and zucchini. Corn was buggy, but my dad used to tell me to put mineral oil on the silk just as it was appearing and I didn't do it. My bad. Beets, turnips and carrots still in the ground and I'm going to blanch them this weekend for use in soup this winter. I did have a cool garden anomaly this year...it was this three bulb tomato. Yes, one tomato with three separate fruits. That's what makes having a garden worth it to me.
Now, I'm going to bed. I've had a very long work day, that included a frozen pizza and no writing. It also included my son coming home sick from school and college students who could not differentiate between there, their and they're. I have a long work day tomorrow too, which most likely will not include a frozen pizza but will most likely also not include any writing. I'm going to finish with this cool picture, taken on the front porch of my little house in Newton, Kansas. It's a praying mantis and they're supposed to be good luck. So, I'm sending you all good luck. Actually, I have to confess, I don't know if I can actually send good luck through a blog (although I'm always getting e-mails that claim to be able to do that, if I would only forward them on to 12 people and DO NOT BREAK THIS CHAIN) but if I can, then I'm saying you're going to have am amazing Thursday with wild luck coming out your ears (I think at least one of you WILL buy a lottery ticket and WIN).
By the way, the frozen pizza was just a symbol/metaphor. Barry made vegetarian Hamburger Helper. I guess the gist is simply that I love to cook but can't even find the time to decide on a flipping recipe, since I was at work at 4:30 this morning and didn't get home until 6:00 pm. Holy cow.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Bee good
So, at Starbucks we have bees. Only at the drive thru window. They swarm around the trash that is about 20 feet past the window (where folks dump ALL THE TRASH THEY'VE ACCUMULATED IN THEIR CAR OVER THE PAST SIX MONTHS) and they often get confused and end up inside the drive thru. The area we're in is a little box. It holds two or three people, an espresso machine, cups, lids, flavorings, etc..... so when there are bees in there too, it's pretty crowded. Today I was enjoying the bees. As I would talk to people in their cars, I would watch the bees hang out by the straws and I'd look at their intensely furry yellow and black bodies. They're so cool. Their tiny brown legs are so busy and purposeful. They just want to slurp up a little vanilla flavoring and go put it in their honey (that sounded fun, yet slightly risque).
Well, I have no problem with bees. Bees never sting me. I'm not afraid of bees. There. I'm not afraid of bees. I like them, and apparently, they like me. I herd them out of the window with my hand, gently guiding them on their way back to the exquisite trash can filled with sugar products. So, later I volunteered to empty the outside trash. That can was overflowing with MacDonald wrappers and Burger King cups and BEES. There were at least three dozen little buzzers inside the bag. I tied the top in a loose knot, pulled it out of the metal can and carried it outside the store and around to the dumpster (glamor, my job, hell yes) and just as I about got there I noticed a bee crawling through the knot and WHAM, I got stung. I have to say, it hurt for a second. No welt or swelling. And it wasn't the bee's fault - it just wanted out of that bag. I pulled the stinger out and went back inside for another four hours of coffee immersion. And bee watching. But most everyone else, especially customers, were terrified of these bees. The involuntary movements that come from a fear of flying insects is truly hysterical to watch. Hands flapping randomly in the air, coffee flying into the back seat, Hahahaha. I kept thinking, everyone (who is not allergic and will DIE from bee stings) should just get stung. Once. It's nothing. Just get stung and get over it.
It made me think of when I was in my twenties and, for some odd reason, was deathly afraid of getting beaned in the head with a Frisbee while at a concert. A very specific fear, but a fear nonetheless. I almost never went down on the floor. I saw Foreigner, Berlin, Fleetwood Mac, and Tom Petty all from the safety of the seats. I danced in my chair to Golden Earring, The Rolling Stones and Bob Seger because I was worried about some lone Frisbee arcing through the air and meeting up with my skull. My fear eventually caught up with me. I was in California at Venice Beach and there, while walking on the sand, a Frisbee did indeed come out of nowhere and hit me right square in the back of the head. Yes, it hurt. I was momentarily disorientated and may have fallen to my knees. But I didn't bleed or die. And I was never afraid of it again. I saw The Scorpions and The Cars and several 80's hair bands that I'm too embarrassed to admit to from the floor after that, pushed and crowded and Frisbee fear free.
Well, I have no problem with bees. Bees never sting me. I'm not afraid of bees. There. I'm not afraid of bees. I like them, and apparently, they like me. I herd them out of the window with my hand, gently guiding them on their way back to the exquisite trash can filled with sugar products. So, later I volunteered to empty the outside trash. That can was overflowing with MacDonald wrappers and Burger King cups and BEES. There were at least three dozen little buzzers inside the bag. I tied the top in a loose knot, pulled it out of the metal can and carried it outside the store and around to the dumpster (glamor, my job, hell yes) and just as I about got there I noticed a bee crawling through the knot and WHAM, I got stung. I have to say, it hurt for a second. No welt or swelling. And it wasn't the bee's fault - it just wanted out of that bag. I pulled the stinger out and went back inside for another four hours of coffee immersion. And bee watching. But most everyone else, especially customers, were terrified of these bees. The involuntary movements that come from a fear of flying insects is truly hysterical to watch. Hands flapping randomly in the air, coffee flying into the back seat, Hahahaha. I kept thinking, everyone (who is not allergic and will DIE from bee stings) should just get stung. Once. It's nothing. Just get stung and get over it.
It made me think of when I was in my twenties and, for some odd reason, was deathly afraid of getting beaned in the head with a Frisbee while at a concert. A very specific fear, but a fear nonetheless. I almost never went down on the floor. I saw Foreigner, Berlin, Fleetwood Mac, and Tom Petty all from the safety of the seats. I danced in my chair to Golden Earring, The Rolling Stones and Bob Seger because I was worried about some lone Frisbee arcing through the air and meeting up with my skull. My fear eventually caught up with me. I was in California at Venice Beach and there, while walking on the sand, a Frisbee did indeed come out of nowhere and hit me right square in the back of the head. Yes, it hurt. I was momentarily disorientated and may have fallen to my knees. But I didn't bleed or die. And I was never afraid of it again. I saw The Scorpions and The Cars and several 80's hair bands that I'm too embarrassed to admit to from the floor after that, pushed and crowded and Frisbee fear free.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Mom
I never wrote my mom a note on her birthday. It was August 24th. It's not a required thing but since I wrote a letter to my dad, it would have been nice (and fair) to write one to my mom too. So, since I don't really know if time even matters in the after/life, I'll write one today.
Dear mom,
I forgot to write you on your birthday. I did think about you. I think about you often, but on your birthday I thought about how it would have been to have you around without the Alzheimer's. Right now I'm in Newton, Kansas. Yesterday, Jay and I went to the Historical Society. We talked with some folks who were so kind and friendly. It's one of the things we love about Newton. The Historical Society is in a three story building (plus basement) that was built in 1906. The stairs are old dark burnished wood. The windows are etched in places and have peculiar latches that I can't always figure out. I told the woman upstairs (the one in charge of archives) about the bible I found after you died. The one that was given to you when you were nine years old. When you lived in Newton. We never knew that you lived here. You didn't remember it.
I looked up your parents (my grandparents) in the City Directory. There they were. It was somewhat shocking. You lived HERE. In Newton. I had several dreams right then, in the space of five minutes. I thought maybe the house I'd bought was the one you lived in as a little girl. If that wasn't true, I daydreamed that I would drive by your house and it would be for sale.
That it would be restored (the kitchen at least...who wants an old dingy 1927 kitchen?), but that the original woodwork would be intact. That the lawn would be green and mowed, and that the house would be an exceptional bargain. That in the attic I'd find an old doll or a journal of yours, or that somewhere I'd find something that had been yours. I'd buy the house, and I'd visit and own the house where you had lived.
The first night I slept here on this visit, I dreamed about you. I never dream about you. You were wearing a yellow shirt, and you weren't memory sick. You were just my regular mom, and you knew me. I looked right at you and said, "I KNEW you'd be here." and I hugged you and you hugged me back. Man, it felt so real and good. Anyway, after Jay and I left the Historical Society we drove to the address of where you lived. It was sad. It was an old, run down house that hadn't been taken care of. Jay said, "well, I guess you don't need a picture of that." but I took one anyway. Shoot, I don't care about that house. But the thought of you being here, maybe walking down Main Street on occasion, playing in your front yard, going to the Sunday school that gave you that Bible all those years ago, that I like.
If you and I sat down together, I don't even know if we'd say much. I think we'd just sit on some couch and pull our legs up along side us and chat a little. Your hands were always so beautiful. Nice nails, long fingers, smooth and olive in complexion. You would always play with our hair, just brushing it back from our faces. You would touch our shoulders or drum your fingers along ours. You were just perfectly affectionate with all of us. You loved us all, but you weren't sappy or mushy about it. You were strong and capable. You were a great mom, and I'm not sure if we celebrated you enough. Since dad's birthday was first, he seemed to always get the parties and the hoo-ha. And you were the one that held everything together. Don't think I don't know that. Don't think we didn't all know that. We did. So I'd like to celebrate the little girl who lived in Newton, with the beautiful hands, who grew up to raise a good family, and brush the hair out of all our eyes, and who showed us girls how to love, and care, and be strong and capable. Happy Birthday, a little late.
Dear mom,
I forgot to write you on your birthday. I did think about you. I think about you often, but on your birthday I thought about how it would have been to have you around without the Alzheimer's. Right now I'm in Newton, Kansas. Yesterday, Jay and I went to the Historical Society. We talked with some folks who were so kind and friendly. It's one of the things we love about Newton. The Historical Society is in a three story building (plus basement) that was built in 1906. The stairs are old dark burnished wood. The windows are etched in places and have peculiar latches that I can't always figure out. I told the woman upstairs (the one in charge of archives) about the bible I found after you died. The one that was given to you when you were nine years old. When you lived in Newton. We never knew that you lived here. You didn't remember it.
I looked up your parents (my grandparents) in the City Directory. There they were. It was somewhat shocking. You lived HERE. In Newton. I had several dreams right then, in the space of five minutes. I thought maybe the house I'd bought was the one you lived in as a little girl. If that wasn't true, I daydreamed that I would drive by your house and it would be for sale.
That it would be restored (the kitchen at least...who wants an old dingy 1927 kitchen?), but that the original woodwork would be intact. That the lawn would be green and mowed, and that the house would be an exceptional bargain. That in the attic I'd find an old doll or a journal of yours, or that somewhere I'd find something that had been yours. I'd buy the house, and I'd visit and own the house where you had lived.The first night I slept here on this visit, I dreamed about you. I never dream about you. You were wearing a yellow shirt, and you weren't memory sick. You were just my regular mom, and you knew me. I looked right at you and said, "I KNEW you'd be here." and I hugged you and you hugged me back. Man, it felt so real and good. Anyway, after Jay and I left the Historical Society we drove to the address of where you lived. It was sad. It was an old, run down house that hadn't been taken care of. Jay said, "well, I guess you don't need a picture of that." but I took one anyway. Shoot, I don't care about that house. But the thought of you being here, maybe walking down Main Street on occasion, playing in your front yard, going to the Sunday school that gave you that Bible all those years ago, that I like.
If you and I sat down together, I don't even know if we'd say much. I think we'd just sit on some couch and pull our legs up along side us and chat a little. Your hands were always so beautiful. Nice nails, long fingers, smooth and olive in complexion. You would always play with our hair, just brushing it back from our faces. You would touch our shoulders or drum your fingers along ours. You were just perfectly affectionate with all of us. You loved us all, but you weren't sappy or mushy about it. You were strong and capable. You were a great mom, and I'm not sure if we celebrated you enough. Since dad's birthday was first, he seemed to always get the parties and the hoo-ha. And you were the one that held everything together. Don't think I don't know that. Don't think we didn't all know that. We did. So I'd like to celebrate the little girl who lived in Newton, with the beautiful hands, who grew up to raise a good family, and brush the hair out of all our eyes, and who showed us girls how to love, and care, and be strong and capable. Happy Birthday, a little late.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Welcome Isabella
This is going to sound funny, but I'm sleeping with Suzy tonight. I'm in the spare room at my sister's house. Suzy, my niece is lying about a foot away, asleep already. We've been sporadically sharing the same bed for 35 years now. We are just a few years apart and our birthdays are on the same day. We are in Phoenix today because her sister, and my niece (Hi Annie!) just had a beautiful baby girl, Isabella. And here we are, sleeping in the same bed, talking late and laughing. When we were little, I can remember lying in the dark, finally quiet and near sleep, and out of the blue she would ask me some goofy question, or make a comment that was completely off the wall. It happened so often that after a while, I would just start to giggle anytime I slept next to her because I was waiting on that voice in the dark.
I used to do this horrible thing to her. I had moved from Kansas to Phoenix when I was 21 and I lived with Suzy, her mother (my sister), my niece, Ann, and my nephew Neal. I worked late and would come in around midnight. Suzy and I shared a room and had a bunk bed and I would tap her on the shoulder and say (she was still in high school and on the volleyball team, which had practices at 5:00 am) Hey! Your alarm didn't go off! It's 5:15! Get up! and she would jump out of her bed and run in to the bathroom and get in the shower. She still talks to me. Amazing.
Annie had a baby. Her first. She is the baby and now she had a little girl, Isabella (Izzy) who is the youngest of that generation of kids. Jay loves her. It was really cool to see them all together. Izzy is filled with one day old babyness; strange funny noises, ability to curl up into a tiny ball, and itty bitty fingernails. The kids just want to hold her and stare at her little face and touch her soft head. Everyone is very happy about the new baby. Suzy's kids, my boy, and Annie's new baby. They're good kids. The future is coming fast.
Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the
universe, a moment that will never be again. And what
do we teach our children? We teach them that two and
two make four, and that Paris is the capital of France.
When will we also teach them what they are?
We should say to each of them: Do you know what you are?
You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that
have passed, there has never been another child like you.
Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move.
You may become a Shakespeare, a Michelangelo, a Beethoven.
You have the capacity for anything. Yes, you are a marvel.
And when you grow up, can you then harm another who is,
like you, a marvel?
You must work, we must all work, to make the world worthy
of its children.
--Pablo Casals (1876-1973)
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