My Dad's Birthday

Dear dad,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ox.

Thirty Days of Stuff

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____________________

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

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

My garden rocks.

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

Kansas II (psych)

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

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

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

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

Kansas - I

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

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

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

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

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

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

Father's Day

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

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

The Game

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

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

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

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

I hear
my father say.




P.F. Flyers

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

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



Rest

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

Proud Parent Moment

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

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

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

The Story of Herman, Plus Broccoli.

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

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

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

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

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

I'm having a good day off.

Slice (of life)

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

Hmmmmm

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

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

Holiday weekend

I had a really great weekend in Phoenix. My niece (who is my age) came in from California with her two girls (who are Jay's age). We were all at my sister's house (her mother) and we never stopped doing stuff. It was that kind of thing that's really fun for up to 48 hours, then, if you continue, you will pass out. We went to the Museum of Natural History (at Jay's request), and that was very cool. There was a special exhibit on Mars, a real jail from the early 1900's, and a ton of dinosaurs. There were all kinds of Southwestern things like 2000 year old bowls, and we also panned for gold. Excellent museum. My favorite thing there was the poop exhibit (of course). Here are a couple fun pictures from it!
My advice is to click on these pictures to enlarge them and them you can read the cool stuff about "one-hole poopers" and "the amazing huge whale poop." Well, that's what I would do.


We also went to a horse painting festival. No, it was not artists painting horses. It was (supposedly) horses painting pictures. I have to give the place credit....they do take in old, feeble, abused horses so they don't head straight to the glue factory. But it was a total money drain; fee to get in, $4 for a small bag of carrots, $2 to paint a horseshoe, etc.... Then, we wait an hour for the big show (in 100+ degree heat) and this was it......the horses painted by having a guy stick a paintbrush with paint on it in their harness. Then, he takes a canvas and SLIDES IT ACROSS THE PAINTBRUSH. I'm sorry, that is not a horse painting a picture. It is a man painting (badly) a picture with a horse attached to his paintbrush. Plus, it must have been a very stimulating act for the horses as I heard more than one person say, "Is that what they mean by hung like...."

It was very funny, and I was far too sarcastic, and the kids had fun for the first 10 minutes out of the 75 we were there. And then, without pause, we headed to a fabulous lunch at The Cheesecake Factory (avocado eggrolls and yummy lettuce wraps), and the movie, Night at the Museum. This movie was pretty funny but not quite as funny as the first one. Ben Stiller is a crack up (sorry Maggie) and Hank Azaria was pretty good too. When we got home to my sister's, there were two little baby birds tweeting by the outside corner of the house. they were so tiny and
cute and we could see the nest they had fallen out of. We did not touch them, but we did get them a pan of water. We watched them for awhile, worried a bit, and then went swimming. When we came back, one was gone, and a bit later the other was gone too. I'm not really sure what the real story is on the do not touch thing, although the kids were great about it. I, on the other hand, wanted to pick one up and walk about with all cuddled up in the palm of my hand but I was once again foiled by the "good role model" theory. I'm convinced that whole "the mother will smell you on them" thing is an old wives tale but I was out of my league as everyone else, including the children, believed it.

Within that 48 hours we (the grown-ups) also took in a happy hour, saw the movie "Management" (worst movie of 2009 so far), and went to The Coach House, a neighborhood bar that has been in the same spot for 50 years (what would compel a grown man to wear a very thick bandanna around his forehead and pretty much completely cover his eyes and think that's a good look?). All of us also went shopping at Trader Joe's, had breakfast at Starbuck's, went to Church (that is a whole other post), and went to a BBQ.

Note: most everything was done with a fair amount of laughing.

Whew. Okay, I'll finish with a few of my favorite quotes.......all of them short, all saying much more than just the culmination of the words.

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

"I imagine that yes is the only living thing."
e.e. cummings

Such is human psychology that if we don't express our joy,
we soon cease to feel it.
-- Lin Yutang


To eat bread without hope is still slowly to starve to death.
--Pearl S. Buck

Say Cheese

Remember how when you were a kid, photographs were such an adventure? First, one could only take 12 pictures. TWELVE. Okay, maybe some rolls of film (rolls of film?) could make 24 prints but my mom always got me the 12 size.Then, once you took all the pictures, you had to take the film to the drug store, put it in a little envelope, and leave it there. At least a a week later, maybe even TWO weeks if it was during the holiday season, you could go pick up your measly dozen pictures, of which, if you were lucky, you would have one good picture. Sometimes, in my case, there would be NO pictures because I had not attached that skinny piece of film to the winding mechanism correctly and the film never even advanced as I was snapping all those brilliant snapshots of my cat or my new bike or the Christmas tree. So, I went out today and took some random shots of things....like a hundred....and ended up with five good ones (some things never change).


I have a lilac bush out front that is blooming like mad. And they smell so good.






Barney's paws, which are usually white, after hanging out under the kiln.







The raised bed garden B built. See the "wall of water's" at this end?







Peace out!







Chicken singing "I'm gonna go lay an egg and Squawk louder than you can imagine when I do."

Growing

I am so tired right now but I must catch you up on the garden. B built me 4 raised beds, each 4x8. I have 8 broccoli and 4 cauliflower plants in one, 4 tomato, a jalapeno, red bell pepper, Santa Fe grande pepper, and banana pepper, cilantro and onions in another. In the third I have watermelon, pumpkin, cantaloupe and 27 corn stalks. In the lat I have turnips, beets, radishes, round carrots (I kid you not) and long carrots, along with zucchini, yellow squash, yellow bell pepper, spaghetti squash, eggplant and one more that I can't remember and am too tired to go out and look. I have wall of water's around some of them because I live in Flagstaff and it could snow the first week of June. Really. Wall of water's are these amazing circular "walls" that have chambers that you fill with water and they surround the plant. They get warm during the day and then the water retains the heat and keeps the plants warm and cozy. I WILL have pictures soon.

I need to do a thirty day blog assignment soon. Stay tuned.

Daily

I think it's time for some news commentary......

The Swine Flu - Of COURSE I believe it's a pandemic. Everyone who knows me knows I've already bought gallons of fresh water, many cans of tuna fish, and a plethora of twenty pound bags of dried beans. I'm prepared and I know it's going to be just like a movie. I still wonder what exactly will cause everyone (except me, some close friends, family, B, Jay and my neighbors) to become flesh eating zombies.

Arlen Specter - You go, sir. I love it when Republican's come to their senses. Hahahaha.

Chrysler bankruptcy - Probably a good idea. I've driven Honda cars for over a decade and I've never had to take my car in for any repairs at all (unless I've misjudged my turning radius and plowed into another car). Maybe they'll restructure and figure out a way to make it work.

Obama's first 100 days - Yes, It's true, he's done a great job. It's very hard right now to not say things to piss off any Republcan friends I have left after the Specter comment. So, I won't say anything. In real words. Nah nah nah nah nah nahhhhh.

That's all the news I want to comment on right now. But there are two things I'm in a quandry about. They're not big things, or maybe they are, but I'm curious as to how to deal with them. There should be a place to send in big adult life questions. Like a type of Santa Clause who brings answers down the chimney instead of presents. Or a parent "lite" with all the answers but none of the guilt. So, I bring my questions here, because those other two options are unavailable, not for answers but for mulling over.

First, there is a girl I work with at one of my jobs who is clearly anorexic. At what point, as a human being, does one say something? Does one ever say anything? Maybe she's in treatment. Maybe she doesn't realize. I have no idea what protocal is here. Maybe, like Tori Spelling, she's just "thin" and I'm the one with the problem. Maybe it would send her over the edge. Maybe it would wake her up. How do we know when it's right to speak up?

The other is my blog. I've toyed with going private. The only thing is that then everyone has to log in to see it. I like having it public, aside from the fact that I believe there are a couple people checking in on me that are CRAZY. Just so you know it's not you (or so you know it IS you), I'll tell you, one's the ex of a friend, and one's the mom of an ex of mine. Hello, when I stopped seeing your son, I also stopped seeing you. And you, the other one, Miss G, why are you interested in ME? Both of you...it's time to move on. It's new territory I suppose, this web/blog/internet realm, and the nasty, lurking aspect of it is just a part of being visible (can you say obsession?). I can't control who buys my book (yes, yes, buy my book). And I think I might have even looked up, secretly, a few folks from years gone by, but then I let it go. I suppose it really doesn't matter. My blog friend Imez stopped blogging because a couple people she knew started reading her blog. It made me kind of sad when she stopped blogging because her blog was so real and honest and touching. But I could understand. Another blog girl went private and now I have to log on each time I want to read. But I refuse to stop! And I love that some of my friends read my blog. I wish EVERYONE read my blog, well, obviously except for a couple people. I suppose that if my words are that interesting, I should be flattered (that statement is SO my mom).

And lastly, B has a new, cool Etsy pottery site. It's kindkilnpottery.etsy.com check it out

12th Annual Northern Arizona Bookfest (Whooo-who!)

It's Bookfest weekend. I've been on the board of this darn Bookfestival for seven years. After the fourth year, I said I was done. But I stayed on. Now, I'm done. Or.....

Well, right now I get to just enjoy the weekend. We have Alberto Rios, Diana Gabaldon and Mark Gibbons tonight. More writers all day tomorrow (check out nazbookfest.com for the list...they're all terrific), and ROBERT BLY tomorrow night (Saturday). If you live around here, come to the Orpheum. If you don't, read even more poetry this weekend than you normally do. I've included a Robert Bly poem here......

Snowbanks North of the House by Robert Bly

Those great sweeps of snow that stop suddenly six
feet from the house ...
Thoughts that go so far.
The boy gets out of high school and reads no more
books;
the son stops calling home.
The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no
more bread.
And the wife looks at her husband one night at a
party, and loves him no more.
The energy leaves the wine, and the minister falls
leaving the church.
It will not come closer
the one inside moves back, and the hands touch
nothing, and are safe.

The father grieves for his son, and will not leave the
room where the coffin stands.
He turns away from his wife, and she sleeps alone.

And the sea lifts and falls all night, the moon goes on
through the unattached heavens alone.

The toe of the shoe pivots
in the dust ...
And the man in the black coat turns, and goes back
down the hill.
No one knows why he came, or why he turned away,
and did not climb the hill.

Random Shmandom

Okay, a few things........

I saw a good movie. It's called "Sunshine Cleaners." Go see it. Kind of in the same vein as Little Miss Sunshine but a bit more believable (no one would ever really get up and dance with that little girl at the end...in fact, that whole final scene was pretty far fetched). There is a scene in Sunshine Cleaners - and this will not spoil it for you - when the main character girl (Amy Adams) goes to a baby shower. She is the feels-like-a-loser/outcast/working-as-a-house-cleaner going to the I-married-a-rich-guy, goodhair/nicemakeup, shiny SUV, diamond ring gal's house. She gets there and realizes who she is. I, and other girls like me, all realize that we're HER, the quirky, heart-of-gold (hahahaha), am-I-ever-going-to-get-it-right, girl. Now, my question is, do the women who see this movie that actually have the fine house with the maid, and the clean floors and the lack of serious paper piles all over the kitchen table (and any other empty space) recognize themselves? Or does everyone, even the perfect hair ladies, think they are the quirky main character? I'm just curious.

Also, there was a weird, depressing, yet horribly late-night-TV-joke-inducing moment at Starbucks yesterday. (Have you noticed I'm using too many - connectors?) So, a woman came through the drive-through. She had a cat in her car. I'm right there at the register, another barista was barring for me. As she starts to get her money out, she rolls her cat's tail up in the back window. The cat, who was up near the headrest of the driver's seat, goes APE SHIT. Starts attacking this poor woman. The cat's screeching. The woman's screaming. The cat's biting and clawing. The tail's caught. We are standing in the window totally unable to help or do ANYTHING. The cat finally gets it's tail out of the window...I swear two inches of tail was left in the drive through lane...and the woman was bleeding and crying and trying (still) to get money out of her purse. We got her a wet clean towel, gave her the drink and said "do not pay for this." We asked her if she could drive and was okay, to which she could hardly reply, and then she drove off. We were both so traumatized neither of us could function for half an hour. And it's one of those things that just replays itself in my head. And my fellow barista did say "there's a reason people crate their cats when they take them in a car." And it wasn't probably a mean cat, I'm sure the woman in the car LOVES that cat. But it freaking attacked her.

B and I went to NCECA, which is a the National Council On Education for the Ceramic Arts. It was in Phoenix this year. It was very cool. There were wonderful pots and bowls and huge clay painted heads two feet tall. There was some amazing art, and some I didn't quite understand and some I thought. "well shoot, I can do that." Here's a picture of a bunch of ceramic slices of birthday cake. The artist said that she had trouble keeping up with friends while concurrently working in her studio, and so she thought that by doing these cakes, she could do both. So, at the gallery where her work was shown, she was wrapping pieces of pottery cake, boxing it up and sending it her friends. She would put, "do not open until _______" and then have their birthday. It was kind of cool. There was a sign that said that you could be her friend for 60 dollars, and she would send you a piece too.

And finally, no one is blogging anymore. There used to be 10 blogs a day that I would read. People were writing at least 3 times a week if not daily. Now, some of these people are writing once every two months. Come on, people! Write those blogs!! I personally think that everyone is addicted to facebook now and the most anyone can write at a time is a line or two about what they're doing AT THAT EXACT MOMENT. "Chris is drinking apple juice" or "Mary is going to sleep" or even "Chuck is tired of this wind blowing." Or, they're too busy taking a quiz to find out what famous fairy tale character they are, or what their hippie name is. If you do not do facebook, this is what goes on there. STAY AWAY. You too will become addicted to having 618 friends and never actually corresponding with them. Okay, done. I have a few quizzes to take, and for your information my hippie name is Gypsy Willow Dusk.

Sunday

I have to write a blog post. Have to. Must. I've just shuffled through all of the other blogs that I read and no one is writing. It's up to me.


I'm back. After writing that sentence I got up and made a cake. A white cake with chocolate frosting. What one will do to get out of writing! But, I can't escape it. And, I have been writing a bit. But I'm not going to talk about it. I always hate when people (me) just talk about what they're *doing* but never really *do* it. So, moving on. My seedlings are growing. They're huge and sprawling. And it's too damn early to plant them outside. BY A WHOLE MONTH. Timing was way off. The other picture on this post is of SNOW on my lawn taken yesterday.

Jay has a fever. 103 yesterday morning. The advice is this; if it's over 105 and Motrine won't bring it down, bring him in. So, he's laying in bed. Do you ever feel like a hundred and three fever would just be worth the opportunity to lie in bed and do nothing? No errands or chores or phone calls. And you could pull the covers up and over your head and everything would look bluish and even, like a winter sky? Yeah, me too.

We have a bagel at Starbucks called a chonga bagel. They look really good, sesame seeds, poppy seeds, cheese, etc. But as a customer I could never order one because saying the words "chonga bagel" seems so wrong. I also feel like I can't really tell funny/embarrassing stories about Starbucks or my customers because, when I wrote about Guinness beer once, I had a comment from Guinness within a DAY. It was a nice comment...they just gave me a few facts I had left out, but it was weird that as soon as I put their name on my blog, they KNEW. And I need to work, so, no crazy ass stories about customers coming through the drive through with three freaking tiny dogs all trying to devour my hand as I give them their triple mocha frappicino with one pump raspberry syrup, three pumps vanilla, extra whip, two shots of espresso and carmal drizzle.

I did a youth poetry festival last weekend. It was fun and I felt like I knew my stuff. I had a reading Friday night and I taught a workshop to 13 - 19 year old kids on Saturday. There were 14 of them. They were aware and talkative and wanted to write. I love doing those things. I'm good at it. People like me. Why do I end up doing that kind of thing maybe twice a year? Hmmm.

A good movie (on video) I saw; Lars and the Real Girl. A good movie (at the theater) I saw; Race to Witch Mountain. A good book; Same Kind of Different As Me. The Race to Witch Mountain thing.... I LOVED that book when I was a kid AND The Rock was cool.

I think I may have made the cake just to smell that "baking cake" smell.

insight?

Well, the whole insight/epiphany thing appears to be a wash. I MAY have another insight or epiphany in my life but they seem to come few and far between. Actually, I think I might have had all the insights possible, and now I just know everything. Hahahah. So, the 30 days of insight is not going to happen. I'll be sure and send out an alert when I have one but don't expect much.

Instead, it's just a random day. Stan, who was featured in the Stan's man post, does have another man, who has already lost quite a bit of stuffing. But Stan's dog love shines through and he himself placed his man cozily close for nap time. I'm now buying those funny little men by the three pack.


Here's a really unappetizing picture of my dinner. BUT, it was really good. The orange colored food is MASHED POTATOES. Yes, mashed Idaho and SWEET potatoes. It's so good. And it's good for you! And, it's ORANGE. I put a little sour cream in them and Jay loves 'em. The other thing on the plate is tuna and noodles. This is one of my favorite foods. My mom used to always make it for me on my birthday. It's a comfort food for me. Just in case you want to make it, it's easy....Take a 2 quart pan, boil some noodles, drain, add one can of healthy choice cream of mushroom soup, a bit of milk, a can of tuna (albacore packed in water?), and some cheese. Heat until warm.

I worked today and was very tired when I got home. I even napped, which I NEVER do. When I got up, around 4ish, I planted seeds in these Jiffy greenhouse cups. I planted broccoli, cauliflower, zucchini, pumpkins and cantaloupe. I'm going to plant lettuce and onions outside tomorrow (cool weather crops).
With the weather getting warmer, I just want to garden. Last year I didn't have a garden at all. I was busy moving back to my most wonderful house, and getting ready to travel to Kansas. This year, I'm going to garden again. That dirt just does my heart good. So, I have moments when I don't want to go to work. I mean, like I NEVER want to go to work again. And this is even a job I like. With benefits. And free coffee. I think about how great my year of opus was, and sometimes I miss it. But I have to work. And, I realized, I HAVE to garden. The dirt, the act of sprouting, the flowers on a pumpkin vine, and the beautiful smell of it all mixed together. Ahhhh. Coming out of winter (yes, I know it's going to snow again). But the season is changing. I'm ready. And speaking of...tomorrow is the first day of spring.

Insight two

No customer will ever order their Starbucks drink correctly. I had two solid weeks of training and have now worked there for four months and I still don't get it right. So how in the world can an UNTRAINED person ever be expected to know what in the heck to say. So, here's how it's done....first, tell me if it's iced. Then, the size, then what it is (latte, mocha, etc), then tell me if you're going to want extra shots of coffee. That would be, I'll have an iced grande latte with an extra shot of espresso. Okay, then let me know if you want any special milks or syrups. Whole milk? Non fat? Vanilla? Hazelnut? Then, the little things...light ice, no foam, extra hot. Half decaffeinated, one-third whole milk/two-thirds 1%, 4 pumps of raspberry and 1 pump vanilla. Yes. It's true. The kicker is that if someone orders their entire drink and says "iced" at the end instead of at the beginning, I have to cancel everything out and start over, trying to remember it's a grandeicedlattewith3pumpscaramel2pumpstoffeenutwholemilknofoam drink. Here's a recent drive-thru window conversation......

Me: Hi, welcome to Starbucks, this is Jill, how are you doing today?
Guest: Great.
Me: Can I start you off with a muffin or some of our tasty oatmeal this morning?
Guest: No. I'll have a grande mocha with a latte on top.
Me: (thinking, HUH?) I'm sorry I didn't get that last part. You want a Grande mocha? Is that correct?
Guest: Yes, with a latte on top.
Me: (Trying not to laugh into the headset): I'm sorry, I'm not hearing you very well. That was a mocha with vanilla?
Guest: NO. A LATTE ON TOP
Me: I'm so sorry. We have mochas and we have lattes but they're two separate drinks. (Thinking...Hahahahaha) Which one of those were you wanting?
Guest: Oh. Okay, I'll have a mocha.

Most people, however, know what they want....

Me: Hi, welcome to Starbucks, this is Jill, how are you doing today?
Guest: Great.
Me: Can I start you off with a muffin or some of our tasty oatmeal this morning?
Guest: No, but I'll have a grande two pump mocha, with one pump vanilla and three pumps of peppermint, no whip cream, whole milk, with an extra shot of espresso in a venti cup. Can I also have that at 180 degrees?
Me: I'm sorry, that was a mocha...with...?
Guest: (They repeat their order)
Me: Okay, that was a grande in a venti cup? And how many shots of peppermint?
Guest: (They repeat their order)
Me: Okay, and that had an extra shot?

Sigh...

Stupid, Happy Animals

Hmmmmm. How about 30 days of epiphanies (a moment of sudden revelation or insight)? I had one tonight, while taking a lovely bath with anti-stress bath bubbles. And a glass of red wine. And a tall glass of water. And a book (Falling Through The Earth by Danielle Trussoni).

When I was a child, my parents and I were really just stupid, happy animals. We lived in a simple house, and we just lived. There was no weirdness or alcoholism or addiction or games, except for dominoes and gin rummy. We ate and slept and went to work and school. My parents, who were married for 65 years, had their share of fights, but there was no violence or tears. They were pretty fucking happy. They golfed and played bridge and bowled. My dad gardened and fished. My mom cooked and did volunteer work. Yes, we were simple animals. They did some things together and some things on their own. They each taught me different skills. We watched Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights.

This is why I have a hard time, occasionally, in the world. I have to deal with people. It just seems so simple to me. We had a home, not a fancy one, we had food on the table, not fancy stuff, and we had folks around to play dominoes with. Eat, work, play, love. As a teenager, of course, I suffered, for several years, from hormone induced hysteria (like all teenagers) which did make me scream "I hate you" at my father, and secretly buy birth control pills (which my mother found in my purse), and so I turned my back on the pack. But, over time, I regressed again to the cult of the simpleminded. That's where I am now.

Thirty days of Epiphany? Shhiiitttt. Does that sound high falutin or what!? It might take me 3 months to come up with 30 days of epiphanies. Fine. I'm going to take my time. I'll just write them down as they strike me. But I'm going to shoot for 30. For a stupid, happy animal there might be some pretty simplistic ideas, but revelation doesn't have to be complicated. I could use a little insight, and like beauty, I don't mind searching for it.

Everything should be made as simple as possible, but no simpler. - Einstein