Slumdog Millionaire. Go see it.
Beautiful conversation about Slumdog Millionaire......kind of....
Son - So, what did you and B do today?
Me (after picking my son up from his father's house) - We saw a movie, Slumdog Millionaire. I think you could even see it. It was wonderful. This year I want to see all the movies that are up for the Academy Awards"
Son - Is Mall Cop up for an award?
Me - Ummm. No.
Son - Man, that's a great movie. I can't believe it's not up for an award. It was the #1 rated movie for at least three weeks in a row.
Me - Oh. Maybe Slumdog wouldn't work for you.
Son - Yeah, the guy who played the mall cop was awesome. Man, I loved that movie. I can't believe it's not up for movie of the year.
Me - That good huh?
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Beauty beauty beauty
After only two days of searching out beauty, I cannot stand the actual word "beauty." It's a word that, after you say it a hundred times (okay two times) it starts to sound stupid. So, I'm getting rid of the word but not the concept. It may be the exquisiteness of the day, or the superbitude, or just the loveliness. Forget superbitude, it sounds like Jeff Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Although, it's not always a bad thing to sound like Jeff Spicoli. There are definitely days I wish I was Jeff Spicoli. I won't go into that now.
So, the beauty of the day (hahahaha) is that my taxes are done. Sweet.
Oh, and then there was also this poem by Mary Oliver that I read. Yes. Beautiful.
Flare
1.
Welcome to the silly, comforting poem.
It is not the sunrise,
which is a red rinse,
which is flaring all over the eastern sky;
it is not the rain falling out of the purse of God;
it is not the blue helmet of the sky afterward,
or the trees, or the beetle burrowing into the earth;
it is not the mockingbird who, in his own cadence,
will go on sizzling and clapping
from the branches of the catalpa that are thick with blossoms,
that are billowing and shining,
that are shaking in the wind.
2.
You still recall, sometimes, the old barn on your
great-grandfather's farm, a place you visited once,
and went into, all alone, while the grownups sat and
talked in the house.
It was empty, or almost. Wisps of hay covered the floor,
and some wasps sang at the windows, and maybe there was
a strange fluttering bird high above, disturbed, hoo-ing
a little and staring down from a messy ledge with wild,
binocular eyes.
Mostly, though, it smelled of milk, and the patience of
animals; the give-offs of the body were still in the air,
a vague ammonia, not unpleasant.
Mostly, though, it was restful and secret, the roof high
up and arched, the boards unpainted and plain.
You could have stayed there forever, a small child in a corner,
on the last raft of hay, dazzled by so much space that seemed
empty, but wasn't.
Then--you still remember--you felt the rap of hunger--it was
noon--and you turned from that twilight dream and hurried back
to the house, where the table was set, where an uncle patted you
on the shoulder for welcome, and there was your place at the table.
3.
Nothing lasts.
There is a graveyard where everything I am talking about is,
now.
I stood there once, on the green grass, scattering flowers.
4.
Nothing is so delicate or so finely hinged as the wings
of the green moth
against the lantern
against its heat
against the beak of the crow
in the early morning.
Yet the moth has trim, and feistiness, and not a drop
of self-pity.
Not in this world.
5.
My mother
was the blue wisteria,
my mother
was the mossy stream out behind the house,
my mother, alas, alas,
did not always love her life,
heavier than iron it was
as she carried it in her arms, from room to room,
oh, unforgettable!
I bury her
in a box
in the earth
and turn away.
My father
was a demon of frustrated dreams,
was a breaker of trust,
was a poor, thin boy with bad luck.
He followed God, there being no one else
he could talk to;
he swaggered before God, there being no one else
who would listen.
Listen,
this was his life.
I bury it in the earth.
I sweep the closets.
I leave the house.
6.
I mention them now,
I will not mention them again.
It is not lack of love
nor lack of sorrow.
But the iron thing they carried, I will not carry.
I give them--one, two, three, four--the kiss of courtesy,
of sweet thanks,
of anger, of good luck in the deep earth.
May they sleep well. May they soften.
But I will not give them the kiss of complicity.
I will not give them the responsibility for my life.
7.
Did you know that the ant has a tongue
with which to gather in all that it can
of sweetness?
Did you know that?
8.
The poem is not the world.
It isn't even the first page of the world.
But the poem wants to flower, like a flower.
It knows that much.
It wants to open itself,
like the door of a little temple,
so that you might step inside and be cooled and refreshed,
and less yourself than part of everything.
9.
The voice of the child crying out of the mouth of the
grown woman
is a misery and a disappointment.
The voice of the child howling out of the tall, bearded,
muscular man
is a misery, and a terror.
10.
Therefore, tell me:
what will engage you?
What will open the dark fields of your mind,
like a lover
at first touching?
11.
Anyway,
there was no barn.
No child in the barn.
No uncle no table no kitchen.
Only a long lovely field full of bobolinks.
12.
When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
the orderliness of the world. Notice
something you have never noticed before,
like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.
Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
shaking the water-sparks from its wings.
Let grief be your sister, she will whether or no.
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
like the diligent leaves.
A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.
Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.
In the glare of your mind, be modest.
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.
Live with the beetle, and the wind.
This is the dark bread of the poem.
This is the dark and nourishing bread of the poem.
So, the beauty of the day (hahahaha) is that my taxes are done. Sweet.
Oh, and then there was also this poem by Mary Oliver that I read. Yes. Beautiful.
Flare
1.
Welcome to the silly, comforting poem.
It is not the sunrise,
which is a red rinse,
which is flaring all over the eastern sky;
it is not the rain falling out of the purse of God;
it is not the blue helmet of the sky afterward,
or the trees, or the beetle burrowing into the earth;
it is not the mockingbird who, in his own cadence,
will go on sizzling and clapping
from the branches of the catalpa that are thick with blossoms,
that are billowing and shining,
that are shaking in the wind.
2.
You still recall, sometimes, the old barn on your
great-grandfather's farm, a place you visited once,
and went into, all alone, while the grownups sat and
talked in the house.
It was empty, or almost. Wisps of hay covered the floor,
and some wasps sang at the windows, and maybe there was
a strange fluttering bird high above, disturbed, hoo-ing
a little and staring down from a messy ledge with wild,
binocular eyes.
Mostly, though, it smelled of milk, and the patience of
animals; the give-offs of the body were still in the air,
a vague ammonia, not unpleasant.
Mostly, though, it was restful and secret, the roof high
up and arched, the boards unpainted and plain.
You could have stayed there forever, a small child in a corner,
on the last raft of hay, dazzled by so much space that seemed
empty, but wasn't.
Then--you still remember--you felt the rap of hunger--it was
noon--and you turned from that twilight dream and hurried back
to the house, where the table was set, where an uncle patted you
on the shoulder for welcome, and there was your place at the table.
3.
Nothing lasts.
There is a graveyard where everything I am talking about is,
now.
I stood there once, on the green grass, scattering flowers.
4.
Nothing is so delicate or so finely hinged as the wings
of the green moth
against the lantern
against its heat
against the beak of the crow
in the early morning.
Yet the moth has trim, and feistiness, and not a drop
of self-pity.
Not in this world.
5.
My mother
was the blue wisteria,
my mother
was the mossy stream out behind the house,
my mother, alas, alas,
did not always love her life,
heavier than iron it was
as she carried it in her arms, from room to room,
oh, unforgettable!
I bury her
in a box
in the earth
and turn away.
My father
was a demon of frustrated dreams,
was a breaker of trust,
was a poor, thin boy with bad luck.
He followed God, there being no one else
he could talk to;
he swaggered before God, there being no one else
who would listen.
Listen,
this was his life.
I bury it in the earth.
I sweep the closets.
I leave the house.
6.
I mention them now,
I will not mention them again.
It is not lack of love
nor lack of sorrow.
But the iron thing they carried, I will not carry.
I give them--one, two, three, four--the kiss of courtesy,
of sweet thanks,
of anger, of good luck in the deep earth.
May they sleep well. May they soften.
But I will not give them the kiss of complicity.
I will not give them the responsibility for my life.
7.
Did you know that the ant has a tongue
with which to gather in all that it can
of sweetness?
Did you know that?
8.
The poem is not the world.
It isn't even the first page of the world.
But the poem wants to flower, like a flower.
It knows that much.
It wants to open itself,
like the door of a little temple,
so that you might step inside and be cooled and refreshed,
and less yourself than part of everything.
9.
The voice of the child crying out of the mouth of the
grown woman
is a misery and a disappointment.
The voice of the child howling out of the tall, bearded,
muscular man
is a misery, and a terror.
10.
Therefore, tell me:
what will engage you?
What will open the dark fields of your mind,
like a lover
at first touching?
11.
Anyway,
there was no barn.
No child in the barn.
No uncle no table no kitchen.
Only a long lovely field full of bobolinks.
12.
When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
the orderliness of the world. Notice
something you have never noticed before,
like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.
Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
shaking the water-sparks from its wings.
Let grief be your sister, she will whether or no.
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
like the diligent leaves.
A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.
Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.
In the glare of your mind, be modest.
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.
Live with the beetle, and the wind.
This is the dark bread of the poem.
This is the dark and nourishing bread of the poem.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
The beauty of the first hug
and I don't mean the first hug in an adult relationship, which also has a shiverallthroughyourcosmos beauty. I'm talking the first hug from someone not related to you when you're in fifth grade and you've never been hugged by someone like that in your whole life kind of hug. And my boy told me about it today, smiling, fiddling with his fedora (yeah, really, a fedora), kind of shy but wanting to tell me. A girl likes him. And he likes her too. "Well, you know, mom, like a friend."
That smile was NOT a like-a-friend kind of smile. It was sweet and slightly embarrassed. When he told me, he was about an hour past that hug but I could see he was still held by it. Enveloped in that innocent, heart filling beauty.
Don't worry, the "beauty" posts won't all be sappy. I find all kinds of weird, bizarre things to be perfectly beautiful too and I'm sure I'll share them with you.
That smile was NOT a like-a-friend kind of smile. It was sweet and slightly embarrassed. When he told me, he was about an hour past that hug but I could see he was still held by it. Enveloped in that innocent, heart filling beauty.
Don't worry, the "beauty" posts won't all be sappy. I find all kinds of weird, bizarre things to be perfectly beautiful too and I'm sure I'll share them with you.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
P.S.
Just in case I don't know what to look for (see post below).
Beauty....... adorableness, advantage, allure, artistry, attraction, bloom, blessing, charm, class, comeliness, delicacy, divine, elegance, exquisiteness, fairness, fascination, glamor, good looks, good thing, grace, handsomeness, loveliness, polish, pulchritude, refinement, shapeliness, strength, style, symmetry, virtue, winsomeness
Beauty....... adorableness, advantage, allure, artistry, attraction, bloom, blessing, charm, class, comeliness, delicacy, divine, elegance, exquisiteness, fairness, fascination, glamor, good looks, good thing, grace, handsomeness, loveliness, polish, pulchritude, refinement, shapeliness, strength, style, symmetry, virtue, winsomeness
Thirty days of something
I do not really notice beauty anymore. This is, thankfully, a temporary condition. I realized it tonight, after a Northern Arizona Bookfest meeting, as I walked to my car. I was in a parking lot, wet pavement from melting snow, scattered pedestrians walking about, noise from cars and people. I looked up, and there, above me, was a beautiful sky. Very light teal on the horizon, seeping up into a darker, cerulean, and then getting all rich and cobalt at the top of the sky. The moon, just a sliver (as a child I always called it a fingernail moon) lay cupped like a rocking horse rocker and above it was a planet (which I decided was Venus because I think any planet I see in the sky is Venus). Man, it was just absolutely beautiful. And that's when I thought, I never see this beauty. I'm beauty immune at the moment. I will not, at this time, bemoan how busy I am. I will not fill you in on my days, which consist largely of work, work, computer, class prep, and my child's homework, with some laundry and dishwashing thrown in. Back when I started this blog, I was beginning my one year of opus and I found beauty EVERYWHERE. I searched it out, I found it under rocks and pieces of wood, I created it damnit. I, at least, thought about it. Now, it seemed like some odd shock to my system to even glimpse a great sky.
Also, I've been really remiss about the frequency of my blog writing. I liked the 30 day goal I set myself up for a couple months ago. Here's what I think. I think I'm someone who needs to have goals and purpose. I write more and better with a deadline. If I set parameters and make rules, I usually do a much better job. Not only that, I enjoy it. So, here I go again....thirty days of something beautiful. Each day. My opinion. One beautiful thing. And I'm going to blog it. The old, twobirdswithonestone idea. Consistent blogs/search for beauty.
1/28 - 2/28
Tonight, the sky. Immense, blue, silent on it's own and holding tight to all the noise in the parking lot. Cold, breathable, mysterious. Beautiful.
Also, I've been really remiss about the frequency of my blog writing. I liked the 30 day goal I set myself up for a couple months ago. Here's what I think. I think I'm someone who needs to have goals and purpose. I write more and better with a deadline. If I set parameters and make rules, I usually do a much better job. Not only that, I enjoy it. So, here I go again....thirty days of something beautiful. Each day. My opinion. One beautiful thing. And I'm going to blog it. The old, twobirdswithonestone idea. Consistent blogs/search for beauty.
1/28 - 2/28
Tonight, the sky. Immense, blue, silent on it's own and holding tight to all the noise in the parking lot. Cold, breathable, mysterious. Beautiful.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
2008 Summation (not)
I'll sum up 2008 next year. It definitely had its highs and lows. Right now I have more important things to write....
My wonderful friend Kate sent this to me today.
Watch this
Sometimes life gets so hectic or overwhelming that we forget the importance of friends. This video made me remember. And it's not just a girl thing. B talked to several of his friends today and I could feel how good it was for him to do that. Feeling connected is such a relief. It's a comfort. It's a hoot. Sometimes it's a good cry.
Also, I started teaching school again and I always hand out a student information survey. I had my favorite response to question #2 yesterday. The question is "What are your educational and employment goals?" and I had a girl in my poetry class write, "I don't really want to get a job. I want to live in a flying house"
She is so getting an A.
My wonderful friend Kate sent this to me today.
Watch this
Sometimes life gets so hectic or overwhelming that we forget the importance of friends. This video made me remember. And it's not just a girl thing. B talked to several of his friends today and I could feel how good it was for him to do that. Feeling connected is such a relief. It's a comfort. It's a hoot. Sometimes it's a good cry.
Also, I started teaching school again and I always hand out a student information survey. I had my favorite response to question #2 yesterday. The question is "What are your educational and employment goals?" and I had a girl in my poetry class write, "I don't really want to get a job. I want to live in a flying house"
She is so getting an A.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Hollywood
I'm watching the Golden Globes. I'm having a glass of champagne and I'm folding laundry while I watch. There was a time when I was going to be up there. I was going to accept an award, and thank people. I would thank my parents, and everyone associated with the film/sitcom/drama and I would probably get teary and be slightly funny and I would most likely trip on the steps up to the podium. I went to acting school for a year, even borrowed the money to pay for it, when I was 22. I headed out to L.A. with my homegirl (niece) Suzy when I was 24 and we got an apartment off Lankershim Blvd. and started learning the business. We worked as waitresses and had headshots taken and went shopping on Melrose Avenue. We danced at Whiskey-a-go-go and drove all over L.A. and stayed up until 4:00 am. Man, did I become a great waitress. We also saw a million concerts and went to the beach and had parties at our tiny apartment. I recommend this for everyone. It was fun. But I did not become a star. I was in a golf video with Jan Stephenson, Suzy and I were in a rock video with The Stray Cats, and we were each on a game show (me - concentration with Alex Trebeck, and Suzy - 10,000 Pyramid) where we each failed miserably. We did a little extra work here and there, but we never made it big. I never got to give my acceptance speech (damn) and we never got to party with the cast of Friends (damn). But it was a great time. I'm glad I tried. I have funny stories about auditions and casting directors and standing next to Farrah Fawcett at The Gap on Santa Monica. I'd rather fail at something than, years later, have wild remorse because I didn't give it a try.
I moved to Northern California after four years of L.A.. The brown sky worried me, and I was tired of waitressing. And honestly, I wasn't a very good actress. Not then. I was shy and unsure and had no voice of my own. I think I'd be kind of okay at it now, but now I have a small but wondrous home, a beautiful child who goes to a school I love, and sweet friends and a great family and a good man and a job at Starbucks. And I love to watch these award shows. I like to see what they wear and who they're with and what those girls are doing with their hair. I have my favorites. And I love to sit in a dark movie theater and watch the stars that do not wait tables anymore. I LOVE movies. I've seen a few good ones lately; The Wrestler, The Mysterious Case of Benjamin Button, Gran Torino, and two more that I can't think of right now because I've had two glasses of champagne. But I know I liked them when I saw them. I just love how movies can make you feel so much, and give you a real glimpse into other lives. Oh, and I just remembered that one of those other movies was Into The Wild. Dang, what was that other one... (okay, okay, I'll wrap it up). Anyway, thank you so much. Goodnight.
I moved to Northern California after four years of L.A.. The brown sky worried me, and I was tired of waitressing. And honestly, I wasn't a very good actress. Not then. I was shy and unsure and had no voice of my own. I think I'd be kind of okay at it now, but now I have a small but wondrous home, a beautiful child who goes to a school I love, and sweet friends and a great family and a good man and a job at Starbucks. And I love to watch these award shows. I like to see what they wear and who they're with and what those girls are doing with their hair. I have my favorites. And I love to sit in a dark movie theater and watch the stars that do not wait tables anymore. I LOVE movies. I've seen a few good ones lately; The Wrestler, The Mysterious Case of Benjamin Button, Gran Torino, and two more that I can't think of right now because I've had two glasses of champagne. But I know I liked them when I saw them. I just love how movies can make you feel so much, and give you a real glimpse into other lives. Oh, and I just remembered that one of those other movies was Into The Wild. Dang, what was that other one... (okay, okay, I'll wrap it up). Anyway, thank you so much. Goodnight.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Recap. Partial.
I was going to do a recap of 2008, after being inspired by my friend Tyge's blog, but decided I should wait until 2009, So, instead I'm going to recap this day. I woke up at 8:11 am. I'll tell you, 8:00 am used to be EARLY for me, but now it's sleeping in. That's what happens when you grow up. I can remember the days of staying up until 5am and sleeping until 3 in the flipping afternoon. Okay, that was 20 years ago. But I do vaguely remember it. So, up by 8:15, check e-mails, read the paper, have coffee (Starbucks of course). I've been sick with a miserable cold the last 5 weeks (when I get a cold it just lingers FOREVER) and I've been taking Muscinex D and using my beloved netti pot. Basically, you fill this little mini ceramic watering can with warm salt water and lean over the sink and put the spout up your nose and tilt your head and the water RUNS THROUGH YOUR SINUSES AND OUT THE OTHER NOSTRIL. Yes, it's true. I like to do it when my son has friends over. Is that too much information? Anyhoo. it works. The first time I used it I thought I was going to drown. Moving on. Then, I got dressed in my UNIFORM and went to work at Starbucks. The ski resort is open here (btw, we got 3 feet of snow over the last two weeks) and people were flocking in to get a grande triple half caf 2 pump hazelnut 3 pump vanilla non fat soy latte. Really. I love my job but I get very confused. Then, after work, home. Changed clothes, got Jay, went to the post office, the bank, the shoe store (I got the most awesome boots for Christmas, and I'm not really a shoe girl so I needed someone to tell me what to do to keep them nice). Came home, got mail (still getting Christmas cards, still getting bills), unloaded dishwasher. Jay, B and I met some friends of mine for Mexican food. I really like being with a man I feel good about introducing to my friends. Sounds simple. Hasn't always worked. Came home, played Apples to Apples (I LOVE this game. Thanks Suzy), got Jay in bed, checked blogs (that's where I am now). My yearly recap will be 365 times this long. KIDDING.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Popcorn?
Watched "it's a Wonderful Life" last night. Great movie. Jay watched it for the first time. Went like this.....
Movie starts - Jay sitting at computer in kitchen, Come on! I say. It's starting. Strange ten year old boy noise coming from kitchen. Big sigh. Okay he says. Drags feet into living room Plops on couch. Pissed.
First fifteen minutes of movie - Fidgeting, Irritation. Visible longing glances at computer. More strange sighs and low grunting.
Thirty minutes in - Clarence appears. Zuzu. Jay's eyes stay on television. No more longing computer looks. Laughter. Interest.
Rest of movie - Focused. More laughter. Intent during the serious parts. Yay!
End of movie - That was good he says.
Today he said it again...That movie last night was really good. I want him to GET some things. Certain movies, some people, the concepts of compassion and honesty. Yeah, I know he's only ten. But he watched the whole movie and he liked it. Made my heart feel good. Great movie.
Movie starts - Jay sitting at computer in kitchen, Come on! I say. It's starting. Strange ten year old boy noise coming from kitchen. Big sigh. Okay he says. Drags feet into living room Plops on couch. Pissed.
First fifteen minutes of movie - Fidgeting, Irritation. Visible longing glances at computer. More strange sighs and low grunting.
Thirty minutes in - Clarence appears. Zuzu. Jay's eyes stay on television. No more longing computer looks. Laughter. Interest.
Rest of movie - Focused. More laughter. Intent during the serious parts. Yay!
End of movie - That was good he says.
Today he said it again...That movie last night was really good. I want him to GET some things. Certain movies, some people, the concepts of compassion and honesty. Yeah, I know he's only ten. But he watched the whole movie and he liked it. Made my heart feel good. Great movie.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Catching up
Where does the time go?! I have a few things....
We're having a Holiday Art Sale and Open House!
Lots of wonderful pottery, made by B (would you look at that gravy boat!?), and a few pieces of painted furniture, made by me. Plus, signed copies of my book and mulled wine and hot cider. See, I have been working! Aside from Starbucks I mean. I think I'm working harder now that I have since I owned the wine store. I work at Starbucks during the day, come home or teach my class, help Jay with homework, make dinner, and then paint furniture or write poems. E-mail me for directions if you're local and want the time, day and address. 
And another thing....
I used to have a mini van. I was really proud of my mini van. It was roomy and fun and got good gas mileage. But, people made fun of the mini van. In a very general way, people make fun of mini vans. It's not "cool" to drive a mini van. It's like a frumpy car, the mini van. Well, I loved my mini van and I was still cool when I drove it. So there. Now, I'm running into the same type of stigma associated with the "Christmas letter." Yes, I write a Christmas letter. I do not expound on how wonderful my life is or how my son is a straight A student. I just catch people up. I send out 75 Christmas cards because I like to. Some are to friends of my parents who I've taken on the role of letter writer to (Yeah, an English teacher just wrote that sentence). I also have a dozen folks I only correspond with at Christmas...people I've known for a few decades and enjoy hearing from. If I had to write each person a letter saying the SAME FLIPPING THING, I'd be a wreck. So, I type up a good letter, make copies, and send them off, with a sentence or two of personal stuff. Am I being overly sensitive here? Anyway, I LOVE the Christmas letter. Here's an excerpt. And I include it because of Jay...
"Jay is ten now. He is playing lacrosse, learning the cello, and reading The Hardy Boys mystery books. Jay was elected class rep in his fifth grade class and is getting his first real taste of politics, and he’s still playing basketball on a regular basis. We have our share of arguments over homework, and exchanges about how many snacks are permissible in a single day, but he is a good boy and we have so much fun together. We spent several weeks in Kansas this summer, taking the train once, and driving while hauling a U-haul the other time. Blah blah blah"
It doesn't really say blah blah blah, I was just done with the excerpt. Now, this year, Jay read a copy of the letter before I sent it out. He REALLY got upset. I couldn't figure it out. Finally, he said, through tears, "take out that part about the arguing." Well, I didn't. It's MY letter. But I thought it was interesting how he wanted that part out of there. Boy, is he going to be mortified someday when he gets old enough to find my blog :)
And a final thing....
December 8th was the one year anniversary of my mom's death. It was an okay day really. I went back and read what was happening a year ago and I realized how relieved I felt when she finally went. How sad and alone I felt, but how much I wanted her to not be suffering anymore. I still think about her every day. I wish I dreamed about her more. Her death made me want to believe in that Sunday School kind of Heaven. The one where you meet all the people you loved again, looking the same as ever, all healed and complete. What a beautiful thought. I also have watched a few videos of her...from ten years ago when she was well and still vital. The mom I would see in that Sunday School Heaven. So, do this; take video. TAKE VIDEO. Or DVD I guess. But get the people you love on film. I still have her laugh and her voice. I have her holding Jay when he was one, and I have the day she filled the dishwasher with liquid dish soap instead of electric dish soap and it overflowed EVERYWHERE. That was when she was starting to get sick but we just didn't know. I have her in Kansas and Vegas and Phoenix, at Christmas and Easter. Because I took video, Jay, whose memory is more filled with the grandma with Alzheimer's, gets to remember her whole and complete. So if you can't decide what to get yourself for Christmas (because we ALL get ourselves something too), get a cheap video camera. It's so cool to hear her laugh, and it's so good to see her again.
We're having a Holiday Art Sale and Open House!
Lots of wonderful pottery, made by B (would you look at that gravy boat!?), and a few pieces of painted furniture, made by me. Plus, signed copies of my book and mulled wine and hot cider. See, I have been working! Aside from Starbucks I mean. I think I'm working harder now that I have since I owned the wine store. I work at Starbucks during the day, come home or teach my class, help Jay with homework, make dinner, and then paint furniture or write poems. E-mail me for directions if you're local and want the time, day and address. 
And another thing....
I used to have a mini van. I was really proud of my mini van. It was roomy and fun and got good gas mileage. But, people made fun of the mini van. In a very general way, people make fun of mini vans. It's not "cool" to drive a mini van. It's like a frumpy car, the mini van. Well, I loved my mini van and I was still cool when I drove it. So there. Now, I'm running into the same type of stigma associated with the "Christmas letter." Yes, I write a Christmas letter. I do not expound on how wonderful my life is or how my son is a straight A student. I just catch people up. I send out 75 Christmas cards because I like to. Some are to friends of my parents who I've taken on the role of letter writer to (Yeah, an English teacher just wrote that sentence). I also have a dozen folks I only correspond with at Christmas...people I've known for a few decades and enjoy hearing from. If I had to write each person a letter saying the SAME FLIPPING THING, I'd be a wreck. So, I type up a good letter, make copies, and send them off, with a sentence or two of personal stuff. Am I being overly sensitive here? Anyway, I LOVE the Christmas letter. Here's an excerpt. And I include it because of Jay...
"Jay is ten now. He is playing lacrosse, learning the cello, and reading The Hardy Boys mystery books. Jay was elected class rep in his fifth grade class and is getting his first real taste of politics, and he’s still playing basketball on a regular basis. We have our share of arguments over homework, and exchanges about how many snacks are permissible in a single day, but he is a good boy and we have so much fun together. We spent several weeks in Kansas this summer, taking the train once, and driving while hauling a U-haul the other time. Blah blah blah"
It doesn't really say blah blah blah, I was just done with the excerpt. Now, this year, Jay read a copy of the letter before I sent it out. He REALLY got upset. I couldn't figure it out. Finally, he said, through tears, "take out that part about the arguing." Well, I didn't. It's MY letter. But I thought it was interesting how he wanted that part out of there. Boy, is he going to be mortified someday when he gets old enough to find my blog :)
And a final thing....
December 8th was the one year anniversary of my mom's death. It was an okay day really. I went back and read what was happening a year ago and I realized how relieved I felt when she finally went. How sad and alone I felt, but how much I wanted her to not be suffering anymore. I still think about her every day. I wish I dreamed about her more. Her death made me want to believe in that Sunday School kind of Heaven. The one where you meet all the people you loved again, looking the same as ever, all healed and complete. What a beautiful thought. I also have watched a few videos of her...from ten years ago when she was well and still vital. The mom I would see in that Sunday School Heaven. So, do this; take video. TAKE VIDEO. Or DVD I guess. But get the people you love on film. I still have her laugh and her voice. I have her holding Jay when he was one, and I have the day she filled the dishwasher with liquid dish soap instead of electric dish soap and it overflowed EVERYWHERE. That was when she was starting to get sick but we just didn't know. I have her in Kansas and Vegas and Phoenix, at Christmas and Easter. Because I took video, Jay, whose memory is more filled with the grandma with Alzheimer's, gets to remember her whole and complete. So if you can't decide what to get yourself for Christmas (because we ALL get ourselves something too), get a cheap video camera. It's so cool to hear her laugh, and it's so good to see her again.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
I Was Not Tired of Blogging, Only Busy
For some reason I keep thinking about this one thing.
Several years ago when my parents were alive and I was down visiting them for the weekend, I wanted to find this one yellow dress. It was in their closet; good lord, they had three closets filled with clothes. Their room, the spare room, and the other spare room, all filled with clothes. See, I had made this hideous yellow dress when I was about twelve. I was not a great seamstress. The most interesting and successful thing I ever did in Home Ec was to sew my hand to Lisa Frantz's hand in the ninth grade. We took a needle and thread and sewed through little bits of skin and sewed our hands together. It didn't hurt. There was no blood. It wasn't as weird as it sounds. Anyway, when we showed Mrs. Sheets what we'd done, she sent us to the councilor. It really was not that weird.
So, anyway, back to the dress. Picture this...polyester lemon yellow tank dress, knee length, lined. The pockets were the best though. They kind of curved up and made a belt loop. Two pockets, two belt loops (look, it was the 70's). Even had a zipper! I made precise stitches and had to redo the zipper about a hundred times. But the finished product was perfect. It was the only thing I ever made In Home Ec that was REAL. The only thing that was slightly acceptable. I might have worn it once. But, I loved that dress. It said something to me about being able to do something regular.
So, I looked in every closet. Good lord, it had been in that second spare room closet two weeks before. I had even thought about taking it home then. But I hadn't. I looked in the other two closets too. No dress. I asked my mom where it was. Just looking for it, I said. I wanted to see it. I thought I'd take it home. No flipping dress. Hmmmm, where could that dress be? My mom, standing in the kitchen, said, oh, I think I took a bag of stuff to Goodwill last week, I'm sorry it must have been in there.
Oh My God. It was the one thing I ever sewed to completion in my whole life. I MADE that damn dress and my mom gave it to Goodwill?????? What the fuck? I became incensed. I got in my car and drove around PHOENIX to all the Goodwills looking for that dress. I spent an entire Saturday driving from mini-mall to mini-mall. Yes, 30 Goodwill stores, me running through them riffling through the racks. Where's my dress, I wanted to scream to everyone. No dress.
I was livid the entire weekend. How could my mother give ONE bag to Goodwill and include my handmade polyester, hideous dress? I needed that dress. I don't know why. I could not let it go that entire weekend. I alternated between bitter anger and the silent treatment. It made me sick to my stomach that she had given it away. I said mean things like, "There are a lot of clothes you could have given away and you chose MY DRESS. THAT I MADE BY HAND? I"LL NEVER SEW ANOTHER DRESS IN MY LIFE AND YOU GAVE IT AWAY??!!" I had to go home early. I even cried about that stupid dress.
Why have I held on to that? Why are there things we have such a hard time letting go of? It's not like it was a catastrophe. It was just a dress.
A few months later she sent me a card for my birthday and it said, "Happy Birthday! We love you. Dad played nine holes of golf today and I went out to lunch with Barbara and Carol....(two more paragraphs). Sorry about the dress. Love, mom." I kept that card. I needed to know she was sorry. I needed to know that she acknowledged that she was wrong. My mom had never said the words "I'm sorry" to me, not because she wouldn't, but because she never really did anything to me to be sorry about. I also keep that card because it gives me a little perspective, thinking about how, if that's the worst thing my mom ever did to me, I should feel pretty damn good.
I am still a baby about it though, and it still gives me a tweak when I think about it. I know it might have ended up as the rag some guy uses to wipe the oil off the dipstick of his car, thrown onto an old shelf in some garage. But I try to make myself just let it go by envisioning some 12 year old girl wearing my handmade dress and loving it. I try to think about how she might put folded notes from her best friend Cynthia in the pockets. How she might wear a silly macrame belt and smile as she threads it through the belt loops, amazed at how they are ACTUALLY PART OF THE POCKETS. I know she has no idea it's handmade or that it was the only thing I ever sewed. That's the thing that makes me feel better, imagining her just wearing it, all carefree and twelve.
Several years ago when my parents were alive and I was down visiting them for the weekend, I wanted to find this one yellow dress. It was in their closet; good lord, they had three closets filled with clothes. Their room, the spare room, and the other spare room, all filled with clothes. See, I had made this hideous yellow dress when I was about twelve. I was not a great seamstress. The most interesting and successful thing I ever did in Home Ec was to sew my hand to Lisa Frantz's hand in the ninth grade. We took a needle and thread and sewed through little bits of skin and sewed our hands together. It didn't hurt. There was no blood. It wasn't as weird as it sounds. Anyway, when we showed Mrs. Sheets what we'd done, she sent us to the councilor. It really was not that weird.
So, anyway, back to the dress. Picture this...polyester lemon yellow tank dress, knee length, lined. The pockets were the best though. They kind of curved up and made a belt loop. Two pockets, two belt loops (look, it was the 70's). Even had a zipper! I made precise stitches and had to redo the zipper about a hundred times. But the finished product was perfect. It was the only thing I ever made In Home Ec that was REAL. The only thing that was slightly acceptable. I might have worn it once. But, I loved that dress. It said something to me about being able to do something regular.
So, I looked in every closet. Good lord, it had been in that second spare room closet two weeks before. I had even thought about taking it home then. But I hadn't. I looked in the other two closets too. No dress. I asked my mom where it was. Just looking for it, I said. I wanted to see it. I thought I'd take it home. No flipping dress. Hmmmm, where could that dress be? My mom, standing in the kitchen, said, oh, I think I took a bag of stuff to Goodwill last week, I'm sorry it must have been in there.
Oh My God. It was the one thing I ever sewed to completion in my whole life. I MADE that damn dress and my mom gave it to Goodwill?????? What the fuck? I became incensed. I got in my car and drove around PHOENIX to all the Goodwills looking for that dress. I spent an entire Saturday driving from mini-mall to mini-mall. Yes, 30 Goodwill stores, me running through them riffling through the racks. Where's my dress, I wanted to scream to everyone. No dress.
I was livid the entire weekend. How could my mother give ONE bag to Goodwill and include my handmade polyester, hideous dress? I needed that dress. I don't know why. I could not let it go that entire weekend. I alternated between bitter anger and the silent treatment. It made me sick to my stomach that she had given it away. I said mean things like, "There are a lot of clothes you could have given away and you chose MY DRESS. THAT I MADE BY HAND? I"LL NEVER SEW ANOTHER DRESS IN MY LIFE AND YOU GAVE IT AWAY??!!" I had to go home early. I even cried about that stupid dress.
Why have I held on to that? Why are there things we have such a hard time letting go of? It's not like it was a catastrophe. It was just a dress.
A few months later she sent me a card for my birthday and it said, "Happy Birthday! We love you. Dad played nine holes of golf today and I went out to lunch with Barbara and Carol....(two more paragraphs). Sorry about the dress. Love, mom." I kept that card. I needed to know she was sorry. I needed to know that she acknowledged that she was wrong. My mom had never said the words "I'm sorry" to me, not because she wouldn't, but because she never really did anything to me to be sorry about. I also keep that card because it gives me a little perspective, thinking about how, if that's the worst thing my mom ever did to me, I should feel pretty damn good.
I am still a baby about it though, and it still gives me a tweak when I think about it. I know it might have ended up as the rag some guy uses to wipe the oil off the dipstick of his car, thrown onto an old shelf in some garage. But I try to make myself just let it go by envisioning some 12 year old girl wearing my handmade dress and loving it. I try to think about how she might put folded notes from her best friend Cynthia in the pockets. How she might wear a silly macrame belt and smile as she threads it through the belt loops, amazed at how they are ACTUALLY PART OF THE POCKETS. I know she has no idea it's handmade or that it was the only thing I ever sewed. That's the thing that makes me feel better, imagining her just wearing it, all carefree and twelve.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
#30 (file, again, under drivel)
Well, this is the 30th day in a row of blogging. It's been fun (not really) and tiring (really). It's been good in that I needed to write and I have. I've continued writing, often, after I've finished the blog for the day. It makes me think more. It makes me take the whole blog process less seriously. Okay, it really has been fun. Will I write more from now on? I don't know. I do find it helpful to give myself assignments and goals. So, we'll see. 
You may think this picture is of the beautiful trees silhouetted against the equally beautiful night sky. Wrong. It is of my neighbors having their Christmas lights up already. See, there, in the lower left corner. Christmas lights. WTF? Although, truthfully, that is exactly something I would do if it wasn't so far down on my "to do" list. I'd probably put them up the day after Halloween and take them down in February. I'll be lucky to get them up by December 15th. Of course, I'll have help so they might make it up by the 1st. I am not a commercial Christmas person, although I do love the getting and giving of the presents. Are there really people who don't like getting presents?!?! What is wrong with those people? I would like to recieve a present for many more holidays than just Christmas and birthdays! But that's not why I love Christmas. I love the tv shows, like The Grinch and A Charlie Brown Christmas. I love the food and the baking and the decorating. I love the thought and the kindness and the happiness that permeates the whole season. Bring it on, baby! And really, presents are never wrong.
Some other drivel.....
Extreme Home Make-Over. I love that show. Love Ty. They do such a nice thing (I sound like I'm seventy). Jay and I get teary over it every Sunday (yes, we watched it tonight).
Going to work at 7:00 am. It's really okay. It's nice being up early and being done by noon. Thought it would be harder. Okay, I've only done it one day. I'll get back to you.
Good neighbors are underrated. I love my neighbors. Walking Stan just for fun. Coming over to borrow an egg. Stopping by with a beer, or checking to see if I have a good bottle of wine open. Watering plants when I'm gone. They are the best.
Checks. Does anyone use checks anymore besides me? Remember when it was so great to get cool checks? Now, pay on the Internet. So many things are obsolete. Checks. Camera film (I have four rolls and don't know what to do with it). That's all I can think of right now but I know that tons of other things are going the way of checks and camera film.
I'm not blogging tomorrow. I'm painting a table instead. But I'll be back in a few days with pictures or stories or poetry assignments. I have no idea how many people read this, as my blog doesn't really beg for comments, but I know quite a few of you and I do appreciate it. There is something about writing for an audience that makes writing more fun for me. Thanks.
Thank you, God, for this good life and forgive us if we do
not love it enough.
--Garrison Keillor
You may think this picture is of the beautiful trees silhouetted against the equally beautiful night sky. Wrong. It is of my neighbors having their Christmas lights up already. See, there, in the lower left corner. Christmas lights. WTF? Although, truthfully, that is exactly something I would do if it wasn't so far down on my "to do" list. I'd probably put them up the day after Halloween and take them down in February. I'll be lucky to get them up by December 15th. Of course, I'll have help so they might make it up by the 1st. I am not a commercial Christmas person, although I do love the getting and giving of the presents. Are there really people who don't like getting presents?!?! What is wrong with those people? I would like to recieve a present for many more holidays than just Christmas and birthdays! But that's not why I love Christmas. I love the tv shows, like The Grinch and A Charlie Brown Christmas. I love the food and the baking and the decorating. I love the thought and the kindness and the happiness that permeates the whole season. Bring it on, baby! And really, presents are never wrong.
Some other drivel.....
Extreme Home Make-Over. I love that show. Love Ty. They do such a nice thing (I sound like I'm seventy). Jay and I get teary over it every Sunday (yes, we watched it tonight).
Going to work at 7:00 am. It's really okay. It's nice being up early and being done by noon. Thought it would be harder. Okay, I've only done it one day. I'll get back to you.
Good neighbors are underrated. I love my neighbors. Walking Stan just for fun. Coming over to borrow an egg. Stopping by with a beer, or checking to see if I have a good bottle of wine open. Watering plants when I'm gone. They are the best.
Checks. Does anyone use checks anymore besides me? Remember when it was so great to get cool checks? Now, pay on the Internet. So many things are obsolete. Checks. Camera film (I have four rolls and don't know what to do with it). That's all I can think of right now but I know that tons of other things are going the way of checks and camera film.
I'm not blogging tomorrow. I'm painting a table instead. But I'll be back in a few days with pictures or stories or poetry assignments. I have no idea how many people read this, as my blog doesn't really beg for comments, but I know quite a few of you and I do appreciate it. There is something about writing for an audience that makes writing more fun for me. Thanks.
Thank you, God, for this good life and forgive us if we do
not love it enough.
--Garrison Keillor
Saturday, November 15, 2008
#29 (file under catching up)
The reason why my blogs are so flipping superficial lately is because it's hard to write every day especially when you're REALLY busy. I would say that out of the last 26 days of blogging, maybe three posts are ones I would want to read if I was the reader not the writer. But, it's been all about the writing commitment, not the content so much. And, other things, some still superficial, some not, are going on. So, here is a quick catch-up.
I have a JOB and it's going well. I am a Starbucks barista and it's very fun. I like the people I work with and the benefits are outrageous! I had several moments of inferior caste related panic attacks but I got over them. It's a part-time, full benefits, flexible, fun experience, during which I make a little money. Yay!
I started painting furniture again. Well, I think tomorrow I paint, the last couple days I've been dremeling and contemplating. But I am making things. I've started working on hats again and very soon I'm going to learn how to throw pots.
And speaking of pots, I have B in my life now. The good man in my life that throws pots, is amazingly nice to my son, and makes me laugh. This is the best. It is fun and it is great. It is effortless.
I'm teaching school and it's almost Christmas break. I have a poetry class next semester. I think it's been good to have a semester off from poetry. I've redone my syllabus and spent time NOT thinking about poetry which is good. And if, I mean WHEN, you write a sonnet, per yesterdays post, you may submit it in my comments and you could win a prize.
Even though my life is better, it's still got enough weirdness to make it mine. I have chickens that lay blue eggs and my garage is now an art studio and my car never stays clean even when I clean it every day.
I looked at my post from one year ago and my life was really hard. My mom was dying, I was in a horrible relationship, and my creativity was about nil. I looked at that post, called Bridges, and I could remember that internal feeling so well. But it's not the feeling I have anymore. I still think about my mom every day. She was the best mom. I had this very ideal childhood, mostly because of the love of my parents, and then in my adulthood, went through some years of shit (yeah, some of it my own making). Now, I'm in a place I wasn't sure I'd get to. If you go to that post, from a year ago today, there's a picture of me wearing this coat and smiling so big you can almost hear me laugh. That's where I am. Now. Whew.
I have a JOB and it's going well. I am a Starbucks barista and it's very fun. I like the people I work with and the benefits are outrageous! I had several moments of inferior caste related panic attacks but I got over them. It's a part-time, full benefits, flexible, fun experience, during which I make a little money. Yay!
I started painting furniture again. Well, I think tomorrow I paint, the last couple days I've been dremeling and contemplating. But I am making things. I've started working on hats again and very soon I'm going to learn how to throw pots.
And speaking of pots, I have B in my life now. The good man in my life that throws pots, is amazingly nice to my son, and makes me laugh. This is the best. It is fun and it is great. It is effortless.
I'm teaching school and it's almost Christmas break. I have a poetry class next semester. I think it's been good to have a semester off from poetry. I've redone my syllabus and spent time NOT thinking about poetry which is good. And if, I mean WHEN, you write a sonnet, per yesterdays post, you may submit it in my comments and you could win a prize.
Even though my life is better, it's still got enough weirdness to make it mine. I have chickens that lay blue eggs and my garage is now an art studio and my car never stays clean even when I clean it every day.
I looked at my post from one year ago and my life was really hard. My mom was dying, I was in a horrible relationship, and my creativity was about nil. I looked at that post, called Bridges, and I could remember that internal feeling so well. But it's not the feeling I have anymore. I still think about my mom every day. She was the best mom. I had this very ideal childhood, mostly because of the love of my parents, and then in my adulthood, went through some years of shit (yeah, some of it my own making). Now, I'm in a place I wasn't sure I'd get to. If you go to that post, from a year ago today, there's a picture of me wearing this coat and smiling so big you can almost hear me laugh. That's where I am. Now. Whew.
Friday, November 14, 2008
# 28...file under writing assignment
I think all y'all need to write a sonnet.
Here's the info and rules. When the letters, such as (A, or (E, at the end of a line are the same, that means the last word in those lines rhyme. You're just going to have to wing it a bit. Come on. Do it. I've even provided a few examples I wrote...
Bird Sonnet
You hold the still warm body of the quail (A
in one hand, its feathers rustle in the wind, (B
(now, in death, a speckled bag of bone and tail) (A
and with a knife in your other hand, tend (B
to the legs, snapping them off at the joint (C
then do the same with each soft wing, breaking (D
off that delicate flat plate of flight at the point (C
of attachment. Then with the knife, making (D
one long slit from end to end, you tug and pull (E
the tight costume of skin and plume away (F
from what it held inside. Scoop the gullet, full (E
of seeds, remove the bile and liver, rinse, then lay (F
the knife aside and feel the rising heat (G
as it roasts over flame, then eat the tender meat (G
Tucson Sonnet
I bought two pair of shoes on the way back (A
from your place. I felt seasoned and raw, tight (B
like a piece of meat all tough and sinew white. (B
I blew by the outlet mall on that racetrack (A
of a highway and thought about the awful lack (A
of shoes in my closet and lost sight (B
of you, of time and money, lost even the right (B
reasoning of my mother’s voice saying, “crack (A
those lousy credit cards in half.” Later, then, (C
the shoes tucked in the trunk, blasting through the heat (D
of the desert, I watched tire after tire shed (E
its rubber onto the road like sunburnt skin. (C
Blowout after blowout as two hot things meet, (D
exploding at the touch, and you, back in my head. (E
Job Interview Sonnet
Okay, here’s me a couple years ago. (A
“I’d like a job doing something for (B
a worthwhile cause, the health department or (B
maybe at the library. I don’t know (A
if I have the skills for anything (C
actually. Could I get the job where (D
I enter hand made blankets at the fair? (D
I would sit at home and sew and sing (C
and take time out on Tuesdays to make (E
peanut butter cookies. I would also call (F
the job of gathering eggs from a small (F
hen house in the country one I would take (E
in a second. Or anything where I (G
end up wading in tide pools.....” Oh, they sigh. (G
Things to remember...
14 lines
rhyme scheme
Go with that for now.
Just do it.
Here's the info and rules. When the letters, such as (A, or (E, at the end of a line are the same, that means the last word in those lines rhyme. You're just going to have to wing it a bit. Come on. Do it. I've even provided a few examples I wrote...
Bird Sonnet
You hold the still warm body of the quail (A
in one hand, its feathers rustle in the wind, (B
(now, in death, a speckled bag of bone and tail) (A
and with a knife in your other hand, tend (B
to the legs, snapping them off at the joint (C
then do the same with each soft wing, breaking (D
off that delicate flat plate of flight at the point (C
of attachment. Then with the knife, making (D
one long slit from end to end, you tug and pull (E
the tight costume of skin and plume away (F
from what it held inside. Scoop the gullet, full (E
of seeds, remove the bile and liver, rinse, then lay (F
the knife aside and feel the rising heat (G
as it roasts over flame, then eat the tender meat (G
Tucson Sonnet
I bought two pair of shoes on the way back (A
from your place. I felt seasoned and raw, tight (B
like a piece of meat all tough and sinew white. (B
I blew by the outlet mall on that racetrack (A
of a highway and thought about the awful lack (A
of shoes in my closet and lost sight (B
of you, of time and money, lost even the right (B
reasoning of my mother’s voice saying, “crack (A
those lousy credit cards in half.” Later, then, (C
the shoes tucked in the trunk, blasting through the heat (D
of the desert, I watched tire after tire shed (E
its rubber onto the road like sunburnt skin. (C
Blowout after blowout as two hot things meet, (D
exploding at the touch, and you, back in my head. (E
Job Interview Sonnet
Okay, here’s me a couple years ago. (A
“I’d like a job doing something for (B
a worthwhile cause, the health department or (B
maybe at the library. I don’t know (A
if I have the skills for anything (C
actually. Could I get the job where (D
I enter hand made blankets at the fair? (D
I would sit at home and sew and sing (C
and take time out on Tuesdays to make (E
peanut butter cookies. I would also call (F
the job of gathering eggs from a small (F
hen house in the country one I would take (E
in a second. Or anything where I (G
end up wading in tide pools.....” Oh, they sigh. (G
Things to remember...
14 lines
rhyme scheme
Go with that for now.
Just do it.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Day 26
No pictures yet, just a story.
My son and his friend M are in the same class at school. Their teacher asked the class on Friday if anyone had big plans for the holiday. Some kids were going to see relatives over the long weekend. Some kids were going on family vacations. Jay and M excitedly told the class about the Vegas trip. "are you going with your families?" their teacher asked. "no, just our moms" the boys said. "What in the world are you two going to do in Vegas? she asked.
Well, Monday night the four of us were walking down the strip. A woman in a bluish long jacket and high heels was standing out in the parking lot of one of the "free shows here" and "four tee-shirts for $10" strip malls. Jackie, M's mom, was taking pictures and wandered over to the woman. She had a pink feathery plume sticking about four feet high as a hat. Very "show girlie." She was quite pretty under all the make-up, and was just chatting away with anyone who would walk over. She told Jackie that she accepts tips, and, she would love to take a picture with the boys. The boys stood next to her, and she took their hands and placed them behind her. Then, she smiled, pulled the boys in close, and her nice long jacket flew open and she was pretty much barely dressed. There was a lot of bare skin there! And Jackie got the picture and there's our boys, smiling those 10 year old boy smiles, next to the woman with very little clothing on.
I'm sure that when their teacher asks what they did in Las Vegas, they'll be more than happy to share their experience.
My son and his friend M are in the same class at school. Their teacher asked the class on Friday if anyone had big plans for the holiday. Some kids were going to see relatives over the long weekend. Some kids were going on family vacations. Jay and M excitedly told the class about the Vegas trip. "are you going with your families?" their teacher asked. "no, just our moms" the boys said. "What in the world are you two going to do in Vegas? she asked.
Well, Monday night the four of us were walking down the strip. A woman in a bluish long jacket and high heels was standing out in the parking lot of one of the "free shows here" and "four tee-shirts for $10" strip malls. Jackie, M's mom, was taking pictures and wandered over to the woman. She had a pink feathery plume sticking about four feet high as a hat. Very "show girlie." She was quite pretty under all the make-up, and was just chatting away with anyone who would walk over. She told Jackie that she accepts tips, and, she would love to take a picture with the boys. The boys stood next to her, and she took their hands and placed them behind her. Then, she smiled, pulled the boys in close, and her nice long jacket flew open and she was pretty much barely dressed. There was a lot of bare skin there! And Jackie got the picture and there's our boys, smiling those 10 year old boy smiles, next to the woman with very little clothing on.
I'm sure that when their teacher asks what they did in Las Vegas, they'll be more than happy to share their experience.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
day 25 (file under procrastination)
Just got back from Vegas. I have stories and fun pictures that will have to wait another day. I'm tired (is this a recurring theme?) and I'm going to bed. Teaching and Starbucks are both calling tomorrow. A boy needs to get up for school in the morning. And there's no roulette wheel in my house.
#24 (file under drug of choice)
I'm sitting here in a swanky hotel room, pajamas on, ready to crawl into that cozy bed with the 1200 thread count sheets. My purse is a little lighter, but not empty. I did not buy a time-share. I call it a success. The highlight of the time share was when the salesman, a very nice man named Patrick, was telling me about the benefits of deed ownership, and how I can put that time share in my will. He said something to the affect of, "You can insure that your son will be able to have vacations in five star hotels after you're gone" and I think I belly laughed so loudly I startled several other possible time-share victims. Honey, I thought, you do not know me if you think I'm going to do anything that affords my son future nice vacations. He can foot the bill for his own luxury stays.
I know several people who do not ever need to come to Vegas. I understand. I like hiking too! I like watching the Daily Show with John Stewart and drinking hot tea! I do not NEED to throw money at strangers while a little white ball rolls around a circle of numbers! But once every 12 months, I want to do that! I want to feel that rush as the ball slips suddenly, effortlessly into 17 black. I want to watch as a woman in a red and black get-up, that looks surprisingly like what the flying monkeys wore in the Wizard of Oz, pushes a huge pile of poker chips my way. I don't even mind losing. I'll PAY just to play the game. I love a nice glass of wine, but gambling is my drug of choice during my once a year Vegas jaunt.
I have pictures I'll post soon. A couple good stories. And officially it's the 11th (yes, I was out gambling too late) so I did sort of miss my 10 of November post (although, I vaguely remember a rule from my youth that said that it wasn't the next day until you had slept, so I'm going to invoke that here).
Goodnight.
I know several people who do not ever need to come to Vegas. I understand. I like hiking too! I like watching the Daily Show with John Stewart and drinking hot tea! I do not NEED to throw money at strangers while a little white ball rolls around a circle of numbers! But once every 12 months, I want to do that! I want to feel that rush as the ball slips suddenly, effortlessly into 17 black. I want to watch as a woman in a red and black get-up, that looks surprisingly like what the flying monkeys wore in the Wizard of Oz, pushes a huge pile of poker chips my way. I don't even mind losing. I'll PAY just to play the game. I love a nice glass of wine, but gambling is my drug of choice during my once a year Vegas jaunt.
I have pictures I'll post soon. A couple good stories. And officially it's the 11th (yes, I was out gambling too late) so I did sort of miss my 10 of November post (although, I vaguely remember a rule from my youth that said that it wasn't the next day until you had slept, so I'm going to invoke that here).
Goodnight.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Day 23 (on the road)
We're heading out to Vegas. I'm blogging now so that tonight, when I win FIFTY BILLION DOLLARS and I'm busy choosing which color Prius I'll drive off the lot (one of each, please), I won't feel obsessed with getting to my computer.
I'm going to do a time share presentation. That gives me really cheap rooms. I LOVE doing time share presentations. I really like looking at the model rooms, I like hearing the amazing deals. By the way, a time share presentation goes like this; you go to some resort and in exchange for "something" like a $100 Home Depot card or two nights in Vegas, you listen as someone tries to sell you a time share (which is a vacation, but you kind of "own" the room. Google it!). They are so good at it! You have to stay for at least 90 minutes to get your prize. I'm always very complimentary as I get up, at 89 minutes and 58 seconds, and tell them what a GREAT job they did, and YES it IS a wonderful deal, but I just can't today....can I have my prize now?
So, we're off. Tomorrow, I write from Vegas.
I'm going to do a time share presentation. That gives me really cheap rooms. I LOVE doing time share presentations. I really like looking at the model rooms, I like hearing the amazing deals. By the way, a time share presentation goes like this; you go to some resort and in exchange for "something" like a $100 Home Depot card or two nights in Vegas, you listen as someone tries to sell you a time share (which is a vacation, but you kind of "own" the room. Google it!). They are so good at it! You have to stay for at least 90 minutes to get your prize. I'm always very complimentary as I get up, at 89 minutes and 58 seconds, and tell them what a GREAT job they did, and YES it IS a wonderful deal, but I just can't today....can I have my prize now?
So, we're off. Tomorrow, I write from Vegas.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
#22 ? (file under salty dog)
I'm taking a night off. That's all, no excuses (however, I am really looking forward to Christmas, and I'm not going to write about it, but soon, very soon, it will be time to unwrap Bumble and Rudolph and Clarice, and the misfit toys and put them out on a table or shelf, and then, THEN, it will be almost Christmas).
And, well, I think grapefruit juice, even with a teeny bit of vodka in it, must be quite good for you.
And, well, I think grapefruit juice, even with a teeny bit of vodka in it, must be quite good for you.
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