Merry Christmas :D

i took this picture last Christmas, aboard the back of the Calabaza sailboat, on a trip to a shipwreck off the Bridgetown Bay, Barbados. The boat was making me a wee bit sick, so our little family migrated to the front and laid down near the speakers. Hot and windy, the boat swayed up and down. Bob Marley & Jack Johnson. All the free Rum punch you could drink. (I went Water- something about the swaying of the boat and Rum punch- they must know nobodies gonna drink it. Also, they put pepper in the punch, which seemed odd to me.) We were aboard with another family, and a couple who referred to each other as My Darling with every sentence. They looked in their late forties/early fifties, and it was, My darling, can you get me my lighter, and Yes, my darling, let me get that for you, which seemed funny and odd but then got sorta nice and endearing. It was the sort of thing that Saturday Night Live skits are made of, but it just doesn't sound very funny when I write it down. Over the course of the next several hours, I heard My Darling & variables of it (My Sweet, My Love, My Dearest, etc.) probably over a thousand times. None of them directed at me (though afterward I'm sure we jokingly referred to each other that way).
The other family was on a cruise, and had only a half day in Barbados with their two sons. We found it odd that on the half day stop in Barbados, they got right on a sailboat, then got off just in time to get back to the ship. Barbados has Monkeys, for Christs sake! Real, cat sized tree monkeys with long tails and cute lil monkey faces. And much more. And in conversations, these folks will tell people they've been to Barbados, when they actually never set foot on the actual land space for more than twenty minutes. Our seven days weren't even enough. But apparently they were snorkel hounds, you know how those snorkel folk are. :P
This Christmas I woke up with a dried green mustache from a nasty sinus infection, remnants of what had bubbled out my nose while I slept. Not pleasant. Food has been a bit of an after thought, and everything tastes funny. On a positive note, I lost three pounds. I am only nine pounds from my goal weight. woo hoo. I was typing and let my coffee get cold again.
I think we may be going to an Asian buffet later, i heard something about sushi and all you can eat crab legs, and it really makes no difference to me where we end up. I wonder what those My darling people will be doing, and if they're still going on. If they are, bravo for them. Bravo for love. And bravo for the differences in all people and how what makes us laugh about some people can be smirked at in a good way. You can only laugh so hard at kindness. Then it just tends to rub off on those whose ears are in reach.
I was thinking about how I secretly like when people wear patchouli deodorant, and often I hear people make fun of it. I've been lighting incense this week, trying to regain a sense of smell, but it hasn't really worked.
It's supposed to snow this weekend. Everyone run and buy your milk and bread? When it snows where I live, no one leaves their house. This is because of the rural area and the lack of road equipment. The roads freeze, then people are stuck all along the sides if they attempt to drive. So the stores sell out of milk and bread with any word of snow. Everyone on their own little Christmas Island.
I hope it does snow. And next week is New Years- we usually go to an Imax for New Years. I think the Imax movie this month is on Tahiti. I've been to Tahiti, did i ever tell you about that? Spent a couple weeks riding on mopeds in the south pacific, ages ago. Steven got giardia, lol- we had to phone in antibiotics from the airport.. But it was awesome. I hope one day we'll get back there.
I'm thinking how stove top stuffing would make a great Christmas dinner. Just a giant bowl of Stove Top. And maybe a slice of pumpkin pie. With more Reddiwhip atop it than the actual slice of pie itself. Chemically laden or processed goodness. Mmmm. (I'm serious. It really sounds good).

Merry Christmas, My Darlings. Wherever you are. :)

Crabby

I'm typing this with one hand on my phone, and with the other I'm stirring rice pudding.

No. Not really. Really I'm having a Crabby day. I'm very crabby, so crabby I fear I'd best not leave the house today. I have the flu. :(
On the bright side, Dr. Mary Margaret will have to wait while I recoup.
On the not so bright side, I can't think straight, nor eat, and have spent days watching movies under a quilt shivering- not comfortably, either...and my TiVo is not working. If we pause a movie, when we unpause, it scrambles. Which means yesterday the girls and I had to watch Serendipity twice, because we paused it an hour in, and then had to catch it again and just let it play til we saw the end with the second one.
And the idea of food has left my mind for the most part, but last night, I decided to try to make rice pudding, because the bland warm goodness might go down. Not even homemade rice pudding, but the stir in milk Jello brand rice pudding. And it didn't go well.
My pudding was filthy with brown slimey ghosts, and I attempted to pick them out one by one, but it was useless. My too hot stove eye tainted my pudding and I was just left with a dirty pan.
And the flu.
But while attempting to clean it up, I did have this moment where I imagined someone having to bring a dish to a holiday work dinner, not liking the coworkers very much, and perhaps sliding in with a straight face and a brown ghost laden rice pudding. I'm bad that way. But it would free you of any further holiday cooking obligation. They'll tell you, "Oh,you just bring the 7up."
I've been wearing the same fleece pants for three days but it may be five. I haven't begun my Christmas shopping. I did have to drag my sick self out to run errands, one of which was taking Naomi to her guitar class. The Music store has a new line of child sized drumsets for the holidays.
"I will be very disappointed if I don't get a drumset for Christmas," the tiny one says. She stares hard and I can't think. There's no money for a mini drumset, so I just shrug. Maybe one of those Sing-a-ma-Jigs.
I'm tired & crabby beyond measure. I'm easing into the idea of a hot shower and how it could steam the sinuses a bit. Clean underwear. Though my other fleece pants are in the dirty clothes, and that reminds me that laundry is piling up, and to take these off I'll have to put on jeans. Ack. It's funny, when I bought a new pair of fleece pants last, I was at Old Navy with my mother. "Those aren't good!" she tells me," You can't sleep in them, too much static!" But they're snuggly and the only time I notice the static is when I have to get up in the night and I see little flashes of light on my legs getting out of bed in the dark. Freaky but so cosy. Practical if you get them without snowmen or reindeer.
I'm off. I hope you're week is Merry and Bright. And definitely not Crabby. >:(

Retrospect- 12/8/2005

So I haven't done Retrospect in a few months, or maybe a year, I don't remember.
I don't feel normal today. This inexplicable thing? I'm a tortoise in winter.
I wish I were more. For everyone.
So I plan to tackle some reading & maybe clean up the Tivo a bit. :P

& It's suppose to be ten degree's tonite so let's say a little prayer for Marechal Niel, who is not exactly cold hardy; I have her all the same...if I can grow this one, maybe lemons are in my future.

Today I give you Five years ago this week- 12/8/05.

(I have always said if I could meet anyone living or dead, It would be John Lennon, so it seems I ought to talk about him on the anniversary of his death, but the person who actually dragged me to you this morning was someone else...)
Sometimes I wish I could just drive, unencumbered by where I had to be
or what I had to do. This morning is cold, but not too cold, probably low forties. It isn't a bad cold, it's the kind of cold where you don't have to scrape your windshield, but when you breathe the air in, it fills your lungs well; it's the 'steak dinner' cold. I was digging through the console for cds, trying to get away from the Christmas music for a minute, and found a taped copy of my old Lyle Lovett cd. It had been a couple years since I'd played it so I stuck it in. Driving music.
I remember when my love affair with Lyle Lovett started, back when the Joshua Judges Ruth cd came out, the very one I was playing this morning. I remember getting ready to go see him and Bonnie Raitt in concert, putting my suede shoes on. I remember the shoes, because it poured the entire time, and the concert was at an outdoor arena. Walking through the parking lot on the way back, the water was over my ankles. I never wore those shoes again.
I remember Jessie coming by my house. Not my brother Jesse, but the wild boy who once stole a horse and rode it down the Highway 41 to the parking lot of our income based apartment, because I said I loved horses. "What are you doing here so late?" I said.
"I wanted to show you something." And there it was. I never went out with Jessie, he was too wild for me. I'd had a crush on him in ninth grade and back then he made fun of my gigantic glasses. He dropped out that year and had a few run ins with the law- you can imagine why. But he had beautiful dimples, and we stayed friends for years. Anyway..
He showed up at my mom's apartment when I was running late for the concert. Steven pulled up and I put my suede shoes on and ran out the door, leaving him sitting with my mother. He had just gotten married, he said. I hadn't seen Jessie for years before that and I haven't seen him since. I hope he's happy and not in jail somewhere. I can really get off course, huh?
I was sucked in by Lyle Lovett. I adored him. Baltimore made me cry. She's Already Made Up Her Mind made me want to be her. Who was she? As an aspiring writer, sure, I'd love to sell books one day, but moreso, make someone feel something. A something that carries over, not just candied words that you can put down and never think about again. More. This is what Lyle Lovett did for me. I remember Steven and I going on a camping trip (again- rain!) and the day we got back, seeing Don Henley in concert. In between songs, Henley made an announcement. "I'd like to congratulate Lyle Lovett and Julia Roberts on their recent nuptials..."
While I'd been out in the middle of nowhere, in the rain, having to pee in the woods, pretending to enjoy exile from all forms of human civilisation, my 'other man' had married a Hollywood princess. I remember everyone saying Julia had to be crazy- Why would she marry Lyle Lovett? I knew why. And then, today, playing that cd, I remembered again. The funeral song came on at the same time I looked down and passed that flattened squirrel on our road. Yesterday it still looked something like a squirrel. Today, more of a spot.
Enough already. What else is new? I wrote eight query letters yesterday and one 'Thank you for your kind rejection' letter. I'm not so well versed in the art of the query letter, but I was really on a roll with the latter. You all would have loved it.
I lost my keys a couple weeks ago, and have come to the realization that they are gone for good. No more frantic searching, I'm letting go. It's weird, I bought this red leather monkey keychain a few months ago, and looked at my keys. What could I remove to make room for the monkey? There was the pewter Tahiti tiki that I got on my honeymoon ten years ago...and the graceland one from that great roadtrip we had. Various other ones, many keys, grocery store discount cards, and my sainted clicker. I came to the conclusion that nothing could go, and I would hang the monkey on my rearview mirror. That monkey came down and looked at me. "I want to be with you!" the monkey said.
"I want my clicker," I said.
"But I want to be with you more! And the power of monkey juju is stronger than the power of the clicker! OOO OOOO Ah Ahh! Screech!"
"Stronger than the power of Elvis?" I thought to myself. Apparently so. Damn that monkey juju. So I am unlocking my jeep doors the old fashioned way. There are some people who don't even have doors, who have never seen keys, I tell myself. But it doesn't help much.
And I haven't even covered the live raccoon I bought for ten dollars on Thanksgiving, or Hannukah at church, and the fact that I am the Latke Master. (That's the good thing about being Unitarian, we celebrate ALL the holidays). But I don't have time this morning. I hope everyone is happy, healthy & well. My love to you all :)

Jerry Lawson & Talk of the Town-I'm So Glad (I've Got Skin)

I love this little Noggin video. It's simple & happy. "I'm so glad I got a nose, even though it looks like one of my toes!"

It's cool to be thankful for small things. Like peanut butter.
I am thankful for peanut butter. I eat peanut butter & jelly everyday for lunch, and it's pretty cool.
It might be cooler on those rare days when my husband comes home and whisks me away to the Thai or Indian place for lunch, but even on those days, often I'll eat peanut butter & jelly for dinner.

I'm also thankful for Jimmy Carter, because he grew peanuts...& any occasion that Georgia can turn out a Democrat, AND get him in the White House is a miracle. (Though I believe Ted Kennedy would've made a better President at that time in terms of the status of health reform-it is all about stategy/water under the bridge, etc.) Sometimes, the wrong strategy can make or break a situation; McCain's choosing of Sarah Palin rather than a more moderate candidate like Leiberman gave us the White House this time around, IMO. & I'm thankful for that dumb move. :)

Now, I also believe it was a dumb move for the Kennedys to not jump in and run for office in Mass. when Teddy died, as we could have kept that state blue had they chose that option. Argh.

My head's a wee dopey lately.

I'm seeing another new doctor Friday; for sure I'll be shaving my legs, regardless of it being an Ear Nose & Throat appointment. Any occasion they have to put me in a gown, they may. I guess I'm just too sexy for my own good. Regardless of the doctor's name being Mary Margaret; I'm just too sexy.


Last night we went to an indoor blacklight mini-golf place. We brought a carload of kids, so we didn't keep score, but I do like keeping score in mini-golf. I have an ambitious dream of taking work meetings at the mini-golf, keeping score, all that. Serious mini-golf business meetings.
I may even buy myself a stunning pair of plaid knickers. If someone ever hires me, it'll manifest.

Steven's rented a water cooler, and it's pretty awesome. Instant cold water? Cool! Instant Hot Water? :D! ...We can't drink our tap water-even boiled/filtered, there's some sort of white floaty haze. I don't know.

This week I discovered the difference between chrome & polished nickel. I bought a chrome towel bar but our bathroom lights are polished nickel, so it was a mismatch. I had always previously thought that there was only the one- what I'd called 'the Shiny Silver' I guess. Turns out chrome reflects blue & p.n. reflects amber. Interesting. Or not.

& a big welcome to whoever you are- the Kat Lee Reader has a follower!
That rocks that you'd bookmark my blog, and I did notice. thanks so much :)

I made an egg sandwich for lunch today. A big egg sandwich, and then decided to peel the crust off the edges as though I was again a child. If it truly did make my hair curl, I'd have eaten it,
but it sure don't.
I couldn't finish the thing...I'd gotten too ambitious with the spicy mustard and had to talk myself into eating the first 3/4ers. It needed to be moreso a half mayo/mustard combo. I'll have to make some sort of concoction soon. It'll definitely be called Maytardo. I'll print out a sweet label to make it look 'real.'

The rain is smacking the roof. Dark damp day, today. Dank?
Is dank a word? my mind doesn't remember. I wish I had a cup of coffee.
Not a homebrewed cup but a frothy Starbucks thing. SF Cinnamon Dolce Latte maybe.

Sometimes I wonder if as a generation we are getting more or less crazy.
It's cyclical, the craziness. The things one generation decides to vilify.
So my daughter wanted to take 6 friends to the new Harry Potter movie for her birthday...
Only four of the kids (none related) are not allowed to watch Harry Potter (or anything involving witchery-including Kiki's Delivery Service, a cartoon dvd we have- Naomi wanted to watch with a friend, but she told her it was against her religion).
I can't help but wonder if these same religious parents were banned from watching Bewitched when they were small, and something tells me they weren't. They've climbed the wall crossing from harmless magical entertainment to the point of making everything bound to utter seriousness. Be serious. All the time. About anything that isn't Biblical.
She's thinking we'll see Narnia instead. She's kind and meek, and she wants to make her friends happy, but one day she'll emerge from her cocoon. They don't know the Naomi that said the only thing she wanted for her birthday was rainbow hair- not a strand, but her entire head. They don't know the Naomi that is odd and edgy, and pretty fabulous.
I think one day she'll be a teacher for them.

Happy Decembers Eve!

Carlos Nakai - World of Rain (Flute)

wishing you quiet & breathing space after the Thanksgiving & Black Friday Chaos...
have a happy day :)

Fill the Well, Kat Lee

Old woman a water balloon
in human shape
stepped on broken glass
Slow leak out her foot.
She rubs a shiny spot
on a pewter angel plaque.
Archangel Raphael, she says,
Fill the well.
Raphael, fill the well,
Fill the Well.

Maybe when the body die,
it ain't what it seem
Half woman spirit already
poured out
At 83 its reconnection

Forty near and I swallow hard
Lump in my throat
the water line
I think I lost my head.
I hang the pewter plaque
I found.
Archangel Raphael, I say,
Fill the Well.
Raphael, fill the well.
Fill the Well.

(fill the well, kat lee)

because I can...

An excerpt from a short story I wrote a few years ago (Heart Shape Rock, Kat Lee)

There were times I would sit with it, stare at it, talk to it. Times I thought people driving by thought I was crazy. There’s that old woman, they probably say, talking to herself again. Perhaps it was better they thought that than know the truth…that I was talking to a rock, a nine inch across heavy gray heart shaped rock. The rock lined my roadside bed for quite some time. Something so precious to me, I’d stand frozen, not wanting to leave it, yet never with the thought to move it either.
Not that there’s anything wrong with talking to oneself. Sometimes you start at a place, ask yourself a question, til you go round and answer it so many different ways that you learn there may not be any one answer. A mental beating round the bush, I guess. Another reason conversing alone is a good idea could be that you may be the only one who can ask the right questions of yourself; or the only one who you trust with the response.
I’m not so stingy with my responses anymore. Not the ones where I’d bite my tongue days long gone. Not so stingy with the important ones, neither. But those I save for my special friends, them that twitter, crawl, fly. And who says them don’t have spirit that can’t talk as you and I do? Maybe the voice I give to them in my mind is just another way of talking to myself. I don’t dwell on it.
I did take the fly-strips down, it just got too complicated. With so many flies, how was I to determine which ones were the ones I’d befriended? It got to me walking through the kitchen, passing the buzzing strips, thinking I heard something light, quiet calling to me. I stepped up on a chair and pried one little fly off the paper, cause it might have been Flossie, but I really couldn’t tell. Two legs gone but safe and alive, I started to try another, fell off the chair and broke my ankle.
The doctor asked me what I was doing on that chair at my age. I lied. I’m not so stupid as to let him know the truth. The flies knew the answers. I’m not saying I like them all, the ones that ain’t in can stay out. But once they come in, it would really be rude to turn em out, now, wouldn’t it? And if I swatter em, then I just might make the smart ones turn, and I don’t want that. One of these days I’ll get one of those window air conditioners, then some of this crazy business will settle down. It’s not a priority today.
They’re working on a new subdivision across the road, some sort of fancy community gone up where the Johnson place was. I remember when the Johnsons’ barn went up, how proud they were of it. I remember Mrs. Johnson and how young she looked, even on into her late years. Older than me, but younger in many ways, too.
My spirit aged with trials I couldn’t shrug off, my hair gray before my forty year mark.
That birthday, I remember, the phlox was blooming near my rock, it hadn’t done so before. After that, the neighbors dog come chewed my connecting hose, and it took me a few years to get a new one. That wasn’t a priority either. The phlox dried up and never grew again. I remember staring at the purple petals leaning over the rock, covering part of the heart, turning it into something that looked more like a tear shape that day. I remember the Johnsons passing by, pulling into their gravel drive, not waving anymore.
God made it so, because I asked him. Let me be invisible. And it was so. And no one waved for quite some time til lately. Now the new residents, little children in tow, wave as they walk over to their tennis court, where the Johnson barn once stood. And it had plenty of life left in it, too, before they tore it down. I wonder if the Johnsons see what became of it. I don’t want to think to much, cause them I wonder what became of them; and lastly, that it is probably better than what’s become of me.
“I’ve found something!” she runs to me, stepping over and on the apples, some smelling fermented, those ones you step on carefully if at all; they flatten easy- worse, if you hit them at too quick a pace, they’ve been known to send you sliding. The little pixies aren’t so careful as me. “You have to see this one! The grand pappy of them all! You won’t believe!” I stop my picking, she pulls my apron then my hand, wanting to drag me somewhere. She smiles without a front tooth, and I laugh at how happy her funny smile makes me. She laughs too, we laugh together, and I let her drag me across the yard, away from the orchard, and not too sad to be leaving it neither. Where they’d been digging for the storm shelter, a pile of red clay chirt, nothing of value, there, but then a few scattered rocks unearthed. Winnie’s little hand pointed down to one very large very unmistakable one. I wasn’t surprised.
See, Winnie had a special knack for finding heart shaped rocks. Little ones lined her top drawer, a drawer she was barely tall enough to reach. Sometimes I had to pick out clumps of dirt from her little knee socks. “Heart shapes rocks is one thing, Winnie, but heart shaped dirt is a whole ‘nother. You can shape as many dirt hearts as you please, just don’t bring them inside.” We agreed, and it was down to rocks after that.
“I can’t lift it, mama, it’s too big. This one might just be two three four of my hands.”
“Where you wanting to take it?”
“You know wheres,” she said.
“I think this one might be too big to go in there. Why don’t we find a nice place outside for it?”
“Her. It’s a her.”
“Okay, let’s find a good spot for her somewhere out here, we got to be quick, Antonia‘s due to wake up.” I lifted the mound, and her little hands went up. She could take it from there, she said. Barely, she could, but she did. We walked in the yard near the old red rose bush, and Winnie kissed the clean side, then set it down dirty side up. She glowed triumphant, my sweet.
Her honey hair was short from her daddy sheep shearing the child cause of a bout of head lice that summer. He weren’t a sentimental man, no man was back then. No use to argue, soon the day would be over and we’d move on. Piles of hair in the floor, falling, my shoe kicking a little under the sink to keep for later. She’d cried to lose it, and Antonia, she was too small to know better. I wasn’t, and I had to hold back my own tears watching first curls hit the floor. I think I was sadder when it was her turn than when it was mine.
I think now that God or maybe angels chiseled those rocks in the night just for her, my Valentine’s baby, my oldest. I can’t say that my eyes are too good, but sometimes I’ll spy one along the gravel road. I think now she’s chiseling them for me.
　
　
“Mrs. Johnson, I thought you might like some company,” Mrs. Johnson sat in an inclined bed, staring at some sort of television talk show. She didn’t turn her head.
“Mrs. Johnson, I brought you some pickled okra. I remember you used to like it. Do you still?” I sat in a chair near her bed, her eyes now fixed at my face.
“Edna?”
“No, Mrs. Johnson. I’m not your daughter. I’m your neighbor. Do you remember me?”
“Jane?”
“June.”
“You’re crazy.” My take on crazy had changed much over the years.
“Yes, Mrs. Johnson. You are too now.”
“I am?”
“Yes. Do you want some okra?”
“Alright.” I’d become lonely young, but Mrs Johnson wasn’t lonely til she got pretty old. Lonliness is a place where beggars can‘t be choosers. Lonely is a place, and before she’d got there, she’d probably spit at the sight of me. On this day she just chewed her little green okra, stem and all, staring at the television. I never went back after that. Frankly, I couldn’t tell if she noticed much I was there.
I was sitting at the table with all the memories and voices from the flies and Mrs Johnson in my head that I’d forgotten I made coffee and poured it in a cup. The coffee in my cup had took cold so I stuck it in the microwave, set the time to one zero zero then slipped my ragged feet into the house shoes. Time to make the rounds.
My usual walk consisted of around the house, to the mailbox, check the flower beds, and back to the porch. By the mailbox I spied my garden beds, by the garden bed, I spied her, the hard but soft friend that was my consistent, my connection with before.
A new sidewalk a bit further replaced the ditch, paving replaced the gravel road.
“Ma’am!” she yelled out, and little feet ran across the road to me, the sound of shoes smacking clack clack on the new road, followed by a car’s hurried brakes. My neck grew hot and the hairs rose up.
“God damned hell, child! You were near being road kill!”
“I saw the wind blow this out of your yard, I’m bringing it back to you.” The child hand passes over an old Guidepost magazine. 1988. I’d read it and left it on the porch for the past few years in a stack of junk. My old hands wrung the thing but it wasn’t any use. I’m not responsible for this. Even if it’s my magazine, it ain’t on me. Damn that old magazine. I make note to throw out all the magazine’s when I get back to the porch.
“Oh my Gosh! Look at that rock!” She points, but I know already. It’s time to tell her to go home, so I try to think of a way to do this nicely. I don’t feel too nicely about the situation, though…ants are crawling on my skin, or maybe my pores have turned into ants, I’m not quite sure. A little light headed. A woman yells from the other side, then runs up to us standing there.
“Morgan! I told you to never cross this road!”
“I’m not responsible for your child, miss.”
“I know your not, I’m so sorry. Come on Morgan, we’ve got tumbling class,” she takes the little hand, and the other one waves at me. Bye, lady, she says. Bye, child. I look down at my rock. Bye.
Nothing in the mailbox except some sort of envelope that said it was important document for me only. I shook it a little, then opened it as I walked up the porch steps. A little key and some sort of paper that says if I take my key to the car lot, I’ve probably won a car. I wonder how much they paid to make all them keys. I wonder if any of them fit in one of them cars. It’s doubtful. I didn’t get this old by clickin my heels. A little out of breath, I lean on the porch post. My eyes close and for a moment, I could be anyone doin anything. I could be one of them Buddhist meditators, so still without thinking. Since I’m standing, I can’t be sleeping, so I figure I’m close to what them folk do. A sapsucker come tap tapping on the house and the vibrations wake my mind. I close my eyes again but no use. I can only hear running across the porch in my mind. I tear at the little magazine the girl handed me and remember about cleaning the porch.
That is my priority.
I’ve gotten all the paper off the porch, it don’t look too bad. If only I could get rid off the stray cats. He’d moved the dresser out on the porch, the dresser and the bed too. The bed sold and the old dresser was a cats nest now. I don’t like cats; I’ve never liked them. I guess I might have had one once as a child, crazy sounding thing all full of claws. I got lazy and I left my dinner plate on the picnic table, Daddy come home an seen the cat on the table licking my plate, both paws on the white. The plate was made clean, but the cat met it’s end in a burn barrel. My daddy stood there hitting it in the head with a hammer, trying to get it to stay in the can. I wasn’t overly attached to the cat, but enough so I was hoping at the time that maybe the little monster could get herself free. Use those claws and claws daddy’s face into little lines of red running down. Claw him up, then jump right over and get free. It didn’t happen that way. I wish sometimes the memories we make in our mind could grow real and replace the ones that aren’t pretty, like the smell of burning cat hair. I wish that love could make them real. If I say something out loud to a stranger, a lie, it could just fill in for an ugly. Like rather than tell the cat in the barrel story maybe I had a cat that sat in my lap and loved me. It outlived daddy and lived to be 33 in human years, who knows what in cat years. All the while, I let that cat eat tuna off daddy’s plates. How nice it would be if that’s the way it worked.
While I’m at it, I’d probably make daddy be senile like Mrs. Johnson was, and take the cat in a purse for visits. I can see in my imagination his eyes afire at the sound of the can opener turning. I believe if it ever did happen that way, that would be the end of it.
Anyhow, I don’t like cats. I don’t like the smell of them. Probably I never did.
-Kat Lee

I was driving this morning & I saw a big black goat trying to squeeze his head through a fence, surrounded by various white goats. It reminded me of the devil.
This is especially funny since I don't believe in a devil. Goats must have a pretty good sense of humour to put up with such an eschewed reputation. Maybe they reincarnate as dolphins. I ate goat ribs once at a block party, but they were tough. It was a very old goat.
I am sorry that I've not been 'round; I still think of random dorky things, I just fail to remember to stop in & mention them.
My Steven & I were having a conversation about my driving and stop signs. He doesn't seem to think my 'stops' are good enough. My take on it was, if it is a four way Stop in a rural straight way area, and there's no one at the other three stop signs, that stop is more so a Yield.
Then yesterday, going through the Stop in the dark, I imagined how funny it would be if there was a cop standing in the darkness watching the Stop, and if you treated it as the Yield, they would turn a specially made helmet they wore into a flashing blue light helmet, and then I suppose chase you on foot. Maybe radio it in, I don't know. It really didn't get much further than the blue light helmet. Ha.
Now that I look at it, it's strange how aestetically pleasing the word Stop looks in this font.
But I'm going through that stop sign in the daylight now that we have Daylight Savings. Blinding Daylight, just enough to be too far down for my visor while I'm driving. Sucks. I would prefer to drive in the dark in the mornings & let my kids & husband have the extra hour of light to play in the evenings. To make myself feel less ungrateful I imagine places that are dark but happy yet, like Sweden. I imagine Bjorn Wiinblad faces & Moomins & it makes the dark seem like a perfect place to inspire the opposite- color & whimsy. Then I go to Gap to find some sweaters and everything is brown and navy. Blah. I don't know who determines the new fall colors.

I'm suggesting Yellow.

I love Yellow in the winter. There should be some nice Yellow winter boots out there somewhere. A yellow sweater dress with a capped sleeve to go. Then this just reminds me that I should've done something grand with my life, like being the one to put out the yellow boots and sweater dresses, so I get it out my mind.
I don't like the idea of beatings oneself up over unimportant things. Not that I don't do it; I do it on a regular basis, but then you gotta just jump up and shake it off, which I'm also okay at.
A couple months ago, I was talking to one of my daughters on a Sunday afternoon, and I noticed her teeth. They were stuffed white in between like little cannelloni. When was the last time you brushed? I asked her. I don't know, she said. Was it Friday? It was.
I discovered that while I enforced teeth brushing on school mornings, I wasn't reminding the girls to brush on the weekends, and this entire time they were taking full advantage of the fact. I felt horrible for not remembering to remind them. & It's okay & unimportant now, but then I felt insecure.
I had a doctor appointment with a specialist that I'd been waiting awhile to see. I was nervous & frazzled and didn't really expect much more than a quick consult. I've seen a few doctors here and there (understatement), and was just not to aware of the details of my appointment, I guess. I got in the room, and the nurse brings a gown in.
What's this for? I ask her. Change into the gown & the doctor will be right in.
I started sweating. I hadn't had to change into a gown in I don't know how long. & I hadn't shaved my legs. Do I have to, I asked. Yes. My legs were stubbly and I had to put the gown on. Shit. So I'm nervous and the doctor is holding my legs up bending my embarrassed ankles. My phone goes off with the most annoying ringtone ever. I apologized for not turning it off. He laughed.
So then he moved in close with the light thingy and tells me to open my mouth. I'm sitting on the chair-table in my gown, and realize I have gum in my mouth. The trashcan is across the room. I confess my Gum-Sin. It's okay, he tells me. Just push it back in your cheek & raise your tongue.
I'm the worst patient ever, I tell him. He smiles and says, "Believe me, your not."
But I don't believe, and was convinced that I should've know better & I was for sure, the very worst patient.

See how easy it is to beat yourself up over nothing?

We do it all the time. The trick is to remember that the next day is a new one, I guess.
I'm glad we had this chance to chat. Have a great day :)

The cold winds are blowing in. Also the sick season.
Stuffy sinuses and no more shorts.
I wanted to post a REALLY easy hot beverage recipe.

Pour boiling water (12 -14oz) in giant mug or bowl.
Add
1 chicken boullion cube
1 Knorr Cilantro boullion cube
1 nice round slice o' lime.

Voila!

Stuff

Morning :)

What's it like where you are? I'm in an upstairs room, listening to the happy sounds of a little munchkin popping bubble wrap somewhere below. The desk is covered in random jiblets of paper, scrawlie ragged paper. A camera. An Albert Einstein mug one third full of this morning's old coffee. A Star Wars episode I mousepad.
Sometimes when I think of Albert Einstein
I think about this book I read as a child about him walking into another body,
alive again and jet-skiing. It was supposed to be true.
We took the Buick back for roach evacuation. & random little broken vents, light covers, knobs, etc. But mainly roach evacuation. It came back with roaches. Hmmm.
God, if this is the first time you ever read my blog...Not a good place to start. (I'd go back to maybe 2008 if I were you. Good times!)
But I think I may have to start painting again. I'm seeing a painting of a roach driving a beige Buick. Waving & Smiling. Maybe a roach baby strapped in a carseat in the back. Sucks.
But it will make for good memories years down the road when the Buick is a memory. & the roaches.
Incidentally, I still really like my new car, I'm just afraid of it. Sorta like inheriting a giant old antebellum home, "Woo Hoo!" then the chandelier starts shaking, you see bloody faces in a mirror, and they all say, "GET OUT!"
Ah. What else is new.
New Products?
Oh! If you own a cell phone (maybe some of you own a cell phone) you must have Pandora, which is this awesome free radio thing where you enter the name of an artist & it plays music that's similar and awesome and you end up discovered all this other music, then adding more stations, etc etc..
Anyway, So if you have a cell phone, and you have Pandora, there's this other thing you need to get. My husband just bought me a gadget that plugs into my phone, you set your car radio on the same station as the thing, and your Pandora plays through your car speakers. Twelve bucks at Walmart.
There is probably a name for this thing & some sort of technical stuff but who knows what it is. Let's run with the Einstein theme & have a 'redeeming quote' break-

Imagination is more important than knowledge. :)

But you should get the thing. Just don't try to skip songs while driving, that would be dangerous.

Ha, another thing I saw recently? Today I was watching T.V. and this commercial comes on for Vagisil Individually wrapped 'Freshday' Wipes. (Daytime television is notorious for feminine ads, but this one was interesting). Like the little wipes they give you at the wing place but with the word VAGISIL in large print across the top. Will they be successful? Probably not. But if the company had any sort of vision or sense of humor, they could have been. My suggestion to you, folks at Vagisil? (I am telling you, I'd be great in Marketing!) Take your big tacky name off the packets. I know, you are proud of it, but you can still put the name on the box. On the wipe packet? 'ASS-Wipes.' I believe 'ASS-Wipes' would sell. & it could be marketed to men as well.
It's a name that would bring joy, and they'd even be sharable at that point.
"Gosh Judy, I've been sitting on these bleachers for five hours in this heat, I feel like I've wet my pants from all this ass sweat!"
"Well, here, Gloria, have an ASS-Wipe!" (You gonna give Gloria a Vagisil packet? No. But ASS-wipes would come in handy in a variety of situations. Grandmothers would put them in Christmas stockings).
I guess I should be done with that subject.

I'm sorry if I'm occasionally gross. I wish I were more graceful. :)

much love, yt

i don't feel too well today. :(

thought for the day...

You never plough a field by turning it over in your mind.

--Irish Proverb

'Mean to' don't pick no cotton.

--Anonymous

Where've Ya Been? ;)

So, um, I haven't heard from you in awhile.
Isn't that like someone to place blame on someone else for their own misconduct;
I've been out & left you with nothing to come back to.
In my defense, I was physically ill & just not able to maintain a coherent thought..
But I had a moment of clarity,
& something funny happened this morning,
So I thought I'd drop in.

& if you've just dropped in,
Thanks for showing up. :)

So yesterday I had a good feeling about the day.
I felt somewhat light and glad, and that's the normal me,
light & glad, but sometimes it's hard to find her under the odds & ends.
So I'm sitting, and my husband calls me.
Do you want to go test drive a car? he says.
We hadn't really discussed cars in a while, probably because our budget is too tight,
and I just don't randomly think of things like that too much.
But the new school year started, and I'd found myself driving Steven's big truck
because the jeep had no air conditioning, and everything,
groceries and children included, would melt in the Georgia heat.
I'm not complaining about the truck,
I just couldn't park the thing;
Though everybody has said that parking further away from where you're aiming to be
is a healthy habit, so that's okay. But then there was the thing about not having a spot to stick the borrowed European double French horn, & the daily toting of it.
I'd be swapping for my jeep and the truck would go back to Steven,
as soon as Fall brought the weather down.

So I put my cleanest shirt on & some eyeshadow, and Steven came & emptied
the truck. We rode out to a used car lot and decided to test drive a Buick.
The air was cold, and it looked new & clean. All of the sudden, my husband had a spontaneous thought, and we traded the truck in. We just did it. Because why not? We gave our old truck and two thousand dollars, and rode home happy.

Though it did have a couple minor transgressions.
1. The cd player doesn't work. but the car lot guy said he'd fix it on Monday, and we figured that was okay.
2. We're sitting in the back back seat (or what you call the third row) and a roach crawls out from the seat belt hole. Now, my husband has never lived with roaches. Ever. But growing up, I'd lived in many an apartment where the roaches would scatter and scamper across the counters and walls, where they'd leave their crunchy egg sacs and dead kin in the silverware drawer, and where never ever would I invite a schoolmate to my home.
So while he's laughing, I'm recalling days of old, and it's a scary thing. Ah, it's just one bug, he says. But then another crawls out...and when we're looking in the little compartments in the side, yet another. I'm feeling apprehensive, but he tells me it's just a bug & they'll be all dead soon enough if there are any others.
Hmmm. So I picked up my children, first not knowing who I was, then flooding their little faces with joy at our new car. Our New Car (How cool is that? Okay, so it's a 2003 Buick with about 99,500 miles, but to us, we feel cool & lucky).
This morning, the girls were waving at friends in the car rider line. Roll your window down! My oldest says. So they are hanging out, waving, excited and so proud to be in a new car; a drastic difference from the jeep days, where it would die while in the car line, and they'd slink down in their seat.
We're giddy and the car (the New car!) is full of laughter, and then it happened. A giant roach crawled out of the cd player, and we went from saying our hellos to squealing little girl cries,

"GET IT! AHHH! GET IT OUT!"

And my daughter realizes we're screaming 'Roach' & suggests we roll up the windows again.

Which is probably smart.

So with no prior thought, no planning, I ended up with a new car & some Mexican lunch,

which makes for a pretty cool day. Aside from the roaches. & I'm staying away from any labeling of our beauty being referred to as 'Roach-mobile'...Perhaps there's some sort of hidden benefit in it that we're not aware of. Theft deterent? Hmmm.

thanks again for hanging round my blog. i'm grateful.

Experience Your Good Now! Louise Hay & Puerto Rico

"I want beef jerky," I leaned in to tell my husband, one row in front of me.
"They didn't say anything about beef jerky," he tells me. Here we are, mid-air on the way home, and I'm staring at Sky Magazine, pg. 154. "It shows a picture here..."

"Don't get your hopes up," he tells me. But that's been my problem all along.

Reading Louise Hay's new book, Experience Your Good Now, Learning to Use Affirmations,
has probably been the hardest to read yet. I'd been ill- physically ill. How I felt was not in line with uttering things like, "I am grateful for my perfect health. " Nor could I imagine feeling any other way, or being any other way. My recent mantra's ran more along the lines of, "Well, Hey, at least I'm alive!"

And it's not that I don't understand the concept of affirmations, or even that I doubt their effectiveness. It's that without the Belief to back them up, I could only cynically utter one. My mentality was one of deprivation disguised as practicality. 'I couldn't do this because I couldn't afford it.' or 'There are too many more qualified writers with actual educations.' I'd allowed not going to college to become my fall-back excuse for anything that I wanted to do but didn't. That excuse turned easily in my mind to 'I'm not smart enough.' Like Anthony Bourdain taking his maiden trip to the Greek Isles, I held the small shiny book in my hands with one thought- I'll try.

On page 30, Louise Hay writes,

As I've said many times, I belive that should is one of the most damaging words in our language. Every time we use it, we are, in effect, saying that we are wrong, or we were wrong, or we're going to be wrong. I would like to take the word should out of our vocabulary forever, and replace it with the word could. This word gives us a choice, and then we're never wrong.

Think of five things that you "should" do. Then replace should with could.

Louise's book also coincided with something odd that happened.
I got an email that quoted an outrageous price on Roundtrip airfare to Puerto Rico ($191!). I joked to Steven, and he quipped back, "Book it!" Ha ha, very funny. We had just gone to Barbados four months prior, our first vacation in 14 years. Though we'd always talked about seeing the world, it was always tacked on before or after 'One Day.' I'd been maids at hotels, and comfortable with that.
I was the one that cleaned to rooms, never the one who stayed in them.
What made me think any differently?

& then,

but Why not me?

& then,

we randomly reached into the magicians hat, and pulled out exactly what we wanted.

A little more of the World.

Puerto Rico? We jumped into a spontanaeous moment of being the little engine that could.

Oddly, there had never been any Puerto Rico discussion. Not in passing, not ever. We didn't even really know where it was.
In our little three day trip, kids in tow, We found that wherever you go, you can find a little piece of brilliance. We slept at The Gallery Inn, surrounded by Vintage charm, and heads...Concrete heads. Lots of them. We hiked a rainforest, got plopped down into a Bioluminescent Bay, Flew kites in front of El Morro, got stuck in an out of gas bus on a San Juan highway. We drank cold coconut water out of beheaded green nuts, and we filled our happy bladders full. Pigeons alit on our shoulders gracing us with their happy birdie vibrations- (birdie everything- as well as a need to shower).

We discovered that Puerto Rican coffee is without a doubt, the very best coffee on the planet- the closest adjective to even try to describe this stuff? It's alien coffee. It's just not from this Earth.

During the course of our little trip,

my little book tagged along,

the yellow letters glaring at me. Experience Your Good Now!

I was- and oddly, the 'Shift' (Yep, a W. Dyer reference) may well have occured without me even noticing.

My thoughts on others and my station (ha!) in life were sinking me. Only those other folks flew around on random vacations...I was the maid. I never minded that position- but it was where I stood. I took jobs that were somehow beneath others in my mind. But I liked those jobs. Perhaps the people I imagined that were better than me hated their jobs. (& why was it even necessary to imagine that they did?) Sometimes I'd swing in fast, my cart wheels spinning gravel, to bring a cooler of ice somewhere, and I liked it. I liked wind in my hair, the sight of golfers playing and waving as they went past, sitting in the restaurant kitchen with other housekeepers, after mopping the bathrooms, eating $10 slices of pie for free (because if they cut it they could not serve it the next day...) Maybe I applied at those jobs because I felt like I was less, but I can see now it was all pretty rediculous. You can mentally allow yourself to be less, but you can also just accept yourself as you are.

You can believe what you like & the world will morph around you accordingly.

Louise Hay- pg 103- Cursing is an affirmation, worrying is an affirmation, and hatred is an affirmation. All of these are attracting to you that which you're affirming. Love, appreciation, gratitude, and compliments are also affirmations and will similarly attract that which you are affirming.

Nelson Mandela said, "In order to build our Nation, we must first exceed our own expectations." (This one popped in front of my eyes during the in flight movie, Invictus. Oddly appropriate).

Not allowing yourself to be good enough is an affirmation.

Not getting your hopes up is an affirmation.

I unknowingly had already been using affirmations, but because I wasn't saying aloud something that was in a written statement form, I just wasn't aware. And I can see that repeating a positive statement could affect your energy and alter your belief in time. Am I ready for that? I don't know. At this time, let me just use this one .. "Why Not?"

I laughed with my oldest daughter, seated by the window.

"We need to make this a group effort," I tell her. "We need to collectively see the jerky." "Yes, I see it." We sat laughing at the idea of manifesting elusive jerky on a plane, let alone being on the plane.

I can tell you that we did indeed have jerky. & We will always have Puerto Rico.

Wee Brain Bits

I had to shop for a swimsuit today,
and crammed into a tiny fitting room with two kids but only one chair.
Talk about chaos.
& Crying (Not me, but surely, it could've been).
Eight swimsuits, white 'Go to the Light' bright lighting, and me,
Squeezing into random swimsuits
Which is pretty dreadful.
I mean, well, first of all
I can't even try on a swimsuit without thinking
that someone at sometime
probably farted in it.
They were trying it on as well, squeezing their fleshy parts in

& let one go.

I guess it's my inner Woody Allen.

But it's probably true,
& it was probably not a loud one but one of those
Airy ones that only the ears of the blower can hear.
Which may make it worse.
Though now, reading this back,
it makes it sound as though I myself
farted in a swimsuit that I did not buy.
I did not. (Really!)
Ah, but someone probably did.

I have my book review coming up & some other exciting happenings.

Today I wonder why people didn't evolve with insect eyes
where there are many eyes all over the place.
Deep intriguing abalone disco ball eyes
laden with shifting prisms,
None of which any one person would know which to look into
Unless you told em.
Even just an extra one behind each ear.
It would definitely help with changing lanes while driving.


Also, today I'm thankful for celery with peanut butter
& sometimes with cream cheese,
but not real cream cheese- that lesser fat stuff- Neufchatel?

Have a sweet sweet day :)

May

I haven't blogged too much lately; honestly I don't feel too well.


I only want the oblivious youthful sense that nothing can ever go wrong.
I want to be fearless
Fearless with the ability to skip and laugh and play
without this feverishness.
My head is a ragged willow &
I have too much of an awareness of my own mortality.
I'm taking a break to get all this crying out of the way.
Then, when I'm ready to laugh again,

I'll come back to you.

Thought Train

I was driving this morning & thinking about stuff. Stupid stuff and some non-stupid.
Like, before I was driving I was pulling hair out of my mouth, and it's because I fix the girls hair with my cup of coffee between my knees, and I guess when I brush, the hairs come off and then I halfway eat them later.
And while I was driving I could see the border collie that lives at that corner from half a mile ahead just waiting to chase a car, and I was the next car, but when I slowed and looked at that border collie, I noticed it was not the usual one, but one with freckles, and it reminded me of a dog I had a million years ago, and clearly I'm unafraid of a run on sentence. The dog grew irritable with age and I gave that dog to my father after my other dog had stitches. My brother took a stray to my fathers house and the dog with freckles took his eye out. He just didn't care too much for dogs.
But it made me think of a million years ago, and how long ago that really feels and how part of me had changed. I used to say that the girl inside you never changes, you only get older and wiser. I guess sometimes you just feel tired, not just physically, but mentally too. My inner girl is tired. There's good and bad in that. The good is that I'm tired of wanting things. I've gotten over ideals or too lofty dreams, and now I'm left only wanting things I know I can attain. Wording it that way may make it seem dismal, but it's actually a relief. Let me reword it.

I know that I can have everything I want and I have simplified the list to make it so.

The bad in tired is that I too often pass up things like Uno marathons or eating inside the Capt'n D's (which the girlies love & believe to be a 'real' restaurant) because delegating what I have to do or remember can become a chore that takes up too much of my mental space. (Do you get that?)
Moving on. We drove to Kentucky, and passed through hundreds of interstate miles, laden with McD's and Arby's with other random crap thrown in. Hotels and crap on every exit. I stared at the Ramada signs and I felt confused. Would it be too much to ask for Ramada to add a franchise Indian restaurant to the side of all their hotels? If they want it to seem more American, they could call it Ramada Grill or something. I marveled at what a great idea I had, wishing that I could just phone it in. Mulligatawny Soup every third exit.
Then I thought about how my mother calls the interstate the freeway, and I like it that she does that. And then, that Toni Price song, Freeway, and how much I loved it.
Maybe I should dig that out & listen to it again. And I thought about how much effort it is to capitalise every single I, but once you capitalise two, you're pretty commited to following through with all of them. And I don't know if capitalise has a S or a Z, but I think you know what I mean.
I thought about how my latest Hayhouse book review is due here but I haven't started the book yet. Today probably.
My phone just made the Facebook buzz, and now i'm thinking about how I wish I could remember to turn off things like Facebook and Poynt on my phone because it sucks the life out of it.
I'm thinking about Google Analytics and how in the past two weeks one third of my blog readers dropped off the radar. Homeschoolers, probably :). (Just kidding!) Most of the people who arrive here through a search are still looking for Toilet Seat Alarms. I love it. I thought about how strange Google analytics is, and how it tells me cities and even countries of readers who stop in. The sheer boredom of blog readers but also the kind gestures of people who will read about hair in your coffee and still come back. Somebody in New York stops in- who are you?
I imagine the person eating a sandwich. Maybe it's a bald guy selling stuff in a cubicle. Maybe it's a mom who also eats hair in her coffee.
I bet you think todays blog is about you, don't you. Don't you? (I'm terrible). Ah, don't fret.
But I have to throw in that a wise guru once said, "Those of you who do not sing, must be playing with your own ding-a-ling." Yikes.
And then I thought about how the songs on the side may be leaving, but it's hard for me to part with them. At the same time, I have to hear the beginning of the first song over and over, and just like you, I have to hit the pause button to reread the blog when I edit it, and maybe that's not a good thing. Poor Chuck Berry.
I thought about how our latest family thing is watching AdventureTime With Finn & Jake (Cartoon Network, Mon 8pm) My husband & kids have adopted this as their new favorite show, and we sit, piled on one couch watching. On an old paisley couch. Even if you don't have kids, the show is pretty brilliant. For a cartoon. I mean, just so simple and dumb, that it's brilliant.

& now I'm just thinking about how that hairy coffee is starting to make me jittery and I need to hit the granola before I start sweating.
Later :)

Light tomorrow with today!

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Don't Fret, You.

Theme Park Field Trip :)

After trying over and over to photo my group of kids on this thing, I gave up trying and just started snapping random photos in the chance I'd get it right. Ha- I didn't.

Yesterday was field trip day, and my daughter begged me to come. We need chaperones! You must come. She reminded me of the previous year when I did not. So I spent 11 hours with a gaggle of wee ones at a theme park. Fun :D...really!

There was a bit of a rough start, as buses always make me have to pee, and not going before I left, my coffee tortured me much of the ride there. Worse, the girl behind me was crying from the same ailment. Can you tell the teacher I have to go? she asks me, I can't hold it!

I felt her pain. Literally, I did. Eventually the bus had to stop at a gas station midway and the girl was escorted by the teacher. Another student popped up and said she need to go, but the teacher declined. I decided I would just hang in there too. Getting off would have just been the 'I'm a parent, so I can pee at the gas station even if you can't' thing. (Later, waiting in a long line, I discovered standing on only my left foot lessoned the pee pain, and did my own grown up version of the potty dance. Bend right leg like a flamingo, straighten leg. Bend, repeat).

But I wasn't completely sure I was going to make it. Even in the midst of my pain, I was not oblivious to this time warp of the bus ride. Fifty 11 year olds, one big yellow bus. Singing classic bus songs. Take me out to the ballgame. If you're happy and you know it. I was just waiting for 99 bottles of beer, but you can't win em all. Kids making the signal at passing trucks to honk their horns, laughing when they did. Rich kids & poor ones. Beige kids & brown kids.

The shy ones and the ones that could barely contain their excitement. I'd been here before.

Kids were showing off Silly Bands, or Zany bands, little rubber band bracelets in various colors and shapes. Which ones do you got? they'd say. I traded for this one...

My own daughter was feeling pretty good, two of her silly bands glowed in the dark.

Ha. Off the bus, We had a gaggle of girls, four in our group, then five. Two quiet, two loud, one somewhere in the middle who announced at every ride that 'she was not going to ride that' & at every ride was coerced by the others, then discovered it was no big deal. The kid rode rides they couldn't pay me to- she was a great sport. My own girl, painfully shy and quiet, yet incredibly happy. She feeds off the craziness. I stood outside photo booths packed in like clowns in a mini car. We'd pass other groups in matching tees & they'd start buzzing.

Giant cola icees in souvenir cups, cruddy pizzas and in one instance, a Bucket O' Fries. (It was disgusting, but the kids wolfed it down, bragging about it's salty goodness). Kids emptied their pockets of ketchup packets, and couldn't wait to ride again. & you pair nasty park food and spinny rides, and you get a little puke here and there, but everyone survived. Back on the bus, my daughter crashed, her head on my shoulder the whole way home. This is the life.

I know that public schools are criticized heavily for their inadequacies and testing standards, and too many things to mention. You thow your kid in a random underfunded place full of germy kids, occasionally licey kids for 6 hours a day, 180 days each year. Some parents expect too much. On the other hand, some parents expect too little, opting for homeschool.

Yikes. The homeschooling parents have already heard what I'm about to say, their witty replies on bumper stickers of their minivans, Proud Parent of an Unsocialized Homeschool Kid. But I'm going to go there. (Just for a second)

I'm neither for or against Homeschooling. & in the same instance that one might wish to homeschool their kid, there is a parent doing it in the exact opposite direction. One home may be very Bible or religion based, not wanting their kids taught in a non-Christian environment. Others may just feel they can teach their child better themselves or that public school puts too much pressure on kids. (I don't actually have any friends with kids, any, & I'm just not a social person, so homeschooling would be like cell time for my own wee ones in our case).

But there is a beauty in the fact that your kids are thrust in the midst of other kids that are the opposite of what you are.

As a UU, i'm led to concoct in many ways my own path to God, and my personal path believes that God created all the people dramatically different in outward ways and thoughts in order for us to find the core.

Because maybe it's the same.

God threw us all in a giant public school and said, Learn to Love ALL OF IT.

Kids are still trading bananas for twinkies. & if your kid gets a ball to the head during kickball in the gym? It's still going to be attached, and the maple gym floors still echo the sounds of those kids, oddly thrown together. Gym kickball. God, I love it. & speaking of echoes, I can still hear the random songs of yesterdays bus.

I think that we all have paths we're supposed to travel & certain people we're predestined to connect with. You'll find who you're supposed to. This is where the Social defense of public schools for me loses it's strength. Each life lived holds purpose. There is no wrong way.

Blowing my 'God is Pro Public' school out of the water :).

Who knows if you're actually even choosing your childs path,

or if the path you choose is the one that they already decided on.

I'm going off the deep end, huh? :D

One more moving target pic for the road :) almost!

Last night Steven walks up to the loft and looks at me.
You must get another chair, he says. You look like one of those little old ladies driving a big truck, the ones that can't see over the steering wheel. Ha. I had a metal folding chair, but it migrated, and now there's the blue meshie lawn chair. A chair is a chair, I'm okay. It serves it's purpose.

Unlike the book ledge on the treadmill.

Today I went to a garden & saw the biggest Allister Stella Gray I've ever seen in my life. Lucky, because I have that one sitting in a pot on the drive, and now I know it needs 10-12 feet. Giddy to see it. Also, I decided against waiting another year for David A.'s Claire Austin. Seriously, three years and still no luck? I have the hole dug already & I give up. I bought Ducher instead. I bet she'll be better. I should be out in the excruciating heat digging holes as we speak. I'm working myself up to it. Wedge of watermelon, then out the door...Soon.
In high school, they gave everyone this test to see what you should go to college for, it was a scan-tron thing and you filled out pages of random questions. When mine came back, it said
Farmer. I had a good laugh, reading about the agricultural college it suggested I apply for.
Now I think maybe the test may have been in the ballpark.
But maybe not. Either way, I just have an affinity with the plants, each as individuals; they have an energy and I think oddly sometimes they are happy to see me; they are like silent friends.
Like you.
but better. ;).

Rose of the Day

Our rose of the day is Acropolis. Meilland (France, 2002)
Not a vintage, but a great find all the same.
Popular in Europe, I ended up with a grafted import from Canada.
If you can find own root, don't settle for anything other.
If not, you can find this one at Hortico Inc.

Argh.
I'm not so sure it's a good day to blog.
because there's this part of me that just wants to let out all
my frustrations, my mental static, and I don't want to be that person.
I want to be the effervescent spirit that rises above
my issues. & I try.
but sometimes there are days when it's just hard to put on my trooper face
(we all have them)
I want to not say aloud what ails me.
There's a perception that if something isn't verbalized,
it may not actually exist.

I guess I'll vent today.

Normally I walk the rose line at the front fence, but the construction workers start early and end late, and I subconsciously feel that they think I stand and pretend to search the rose leaves, while I'm actually watching them. But really I'm looking for worms eating on my new growth, and annoyed at their hammering as it invades my most prized moments of meditative thought.
I'm starting small but I think I'm on a roll now.

So our health insurance sent us a letter saying they are leaving our state and ending our health insurance, and the idea of shopping for health insurance eight months after brain surgery is daunting. Of course, some of you may say that there's always the new Health Reform with that high risk pool, but my state has opted out of that. Personally, I feel fine and don't view myself as high risk, but it's sitting heavily with me.
(My state is actually trying to change it's state constitution in order to opt out of all health reform. "We're the state that wanted slavery," my husband says, "It's the intelligence of that same gene pool- Slavery is Good, Health Reform is Bad. I'm just a few hairs away from moving us to Europe myself," he says. but our doorshop isn't a mobile one.)

This week was my 14th wedding anniversary.
But my Steven had to work a 16 hour day,
that day and every day
so we said we'd just postpone it for awhile.
I know it just is what it is for now.

14 years ago :)

& I just heard the grinch was sent home from the hospital
with hospice.
& i don't exactly know how to process the information.
though I never lived with him a day of my life
I do feel sad for him & confused for me;
and it's one of those moments where you have to forget things
like the time I mailed out Christmas cards the first year I lived on my own,
and he called asking where his was,
but I knew he was a Jehovah's Witness,
& he said, "No, I never was, I just told you that
so I wouldn't have to send you birthday cards or gifts"
& all the other conversations where I ended up crying.
You have to forget that stuff and try to look at what else there is.
I don't know what else there is.

I don't know how to fill in that blank line.
I don't think he did either. That's why he wouldn't sign it.
he left it blank and all these years perhaps I've been trying to
fill in that line.
& no one is perfect.
I have a head full of static from the whole thing.
but I guess we'll be making a drive.

I think I'm done now.
I don't know if it's all better out than in.
I used to think that from whatever place someone is in life
things could only get better.
Today is one of those days I'm hopeful but unsure.

thanks for bearing with my wee blog. :)

Rose of the Day

Cramoisi Superieur :)

A nice china dating back to the early 1800's.
I think she's pretty stunning. dainty little branches dripping with flowers.
She's a great repeater, too. (Note, mine, in photo, is less than 2 year old, starting in a 3" band).

Symbols

Let It Be came on the radio this morning on the way home. I was steering with one hand and picking a scab with the other. Ha. My first reaction was, "I love that song!" then, "I wonder if it's talking to me?" I continued to pick for a few more seconds.
but then I Let It Be. :)
but while I was thinking about it, I remembered this weird thing I observed while on a walk with the baby yesterday. We'd passed this giant ant mound, an irresistable sandy treasure for any child, and my wee tot quickly found a stick with which to pounce and poke the thing.
And mentally, while I watched the rapid red furies, I said to myself, 'At least now they have something to do.'
because if some child doesn't destroy their mounded homes or reveal their eggy nest, they're probably bored...right?
Then, the train of thought took me to people I know that consistantly find some sort of drama in their lives. You probably know somebody like that. At least one? dig deep.
At least one standing squirm of ants never content to Let It Be, always destroying their own ant mounds in order to keep the cycle of constant movement going. They require it.
Why? Because they don't want to be left alone with their own thoughts, I guess.
Tarot.com sends me my horoscope via email, but only the first line; I'd have to click on the link to get the rest, and I'm too lazy to do that. It may mean trying to remember a password or something, and I don't write most of them down, so that would be a guessing game for me.
but the horoscope header today said,

"Messages are coming to you today in symbolic form and..."

funny.

& ultimately, I leave you with them. Scabs. Ant mounds. Let It Be.

yours truly

Birthday Girl

the baby is counting down to her birthday; she's been counting down since March. How many days are in April? She's made a piece of paper writing all the numbers from about 45 back, then scratching on off per day, until she's gotten here, 3 days left.

What do you want? I ask.

Oh, I don't know, she says. 'Make it random.' (this is her new word, and it finds its way into everything. You want to grab a snack? Yeah. What? Oh, random, she says.)

Hmmm. Maybe a skateboard or a bike. Maybe I'll give her $100 and let her run wild in a toy store.

Ha, unfortunately, She won't be getting one of these:

(although I think it's pretty hilarious in general, they freak me out a wee bit. The new color softens it up. Nice touch, huh? )

Happy Day to you too. hope it's full of sunshine and fluffy clouds and puppies and cupcakes.

with glitter.

Old GypsyLand Stuff

I wrote a hundred or so pages of this thing years ago, and pulled it up wanting to look over it.
This is roughly pg 24-30. ha ha. enjoy.

Dirt Eater

The park in Seattle was pretty; wettish, but pretty. On again, off again rain gave way to doubts about whether camp would set up. Our girl played solitaire repeatedly, marking in a notepad her wins with a line, losses with a zero. Pages and pages of lines and zeros filled the space, seeming to mean something. Perhaps it did to her. A shadow crossed over the cards, moving leaves; where there was the lack of shadow brightening the cards from the overcast darkness to white in the middle, dirty fingerprints and gray around the edges. Everything gets put out and seen in the light. Sun?

Lisette hopped up, looking out the window. Shea was piling wood on a fire, a good sign. Jack had wandered a bit into the woods. He sat away, and was often distanced slightly from the group, sometimes talking to himself, or maybe God, but she wasn’t sure which or who. How could someone be so preoccupied with a God that doesn’t do anything? There was never an answer to any question she asked that sounded Godly…It was always her, she found upon reasoning. Yet, her friend spent hours talking to this invisible being and had an answer for everything. Was he hearing something she wasn’t? She found her shoes and then found her friend, lying stomach down on the ground, scratching, digging a bare spot of earth.

“Hello,”

“Oh! Hello,” Jack smiled, a ring of dirt around his mouth.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m grazing,” he said, nonchalantly. She looked over, seeing piles of weeds and grass, their roots tangled in grand clumps of dirt. Jack raked one gigantic section into his mouth, still scratching, his fingernails a black accessory to the makeup on his face.

“Grazing?”

“Yes. You know, herbivores do it all the time.”

“Yes, I know. Would you like me to wash that grass for you? Or maybe I could just shake it off,” Lisette reached for a clump, shaking it slightly.

“No. No, I eat the dirt too,”

“You do?”

“Sure. You know, people are so afraid of germs nowadays, that they are over-washing. People were actually healthier before all this hand washing business, you know?”

“I don’t wash my hands all that much…”

“Good, that’s good. You know, more and more people are getting bowel diseases from lack of dirt, a large percentage of folks are having to drink microscopic parasites…literally maggots, just to fix the situation.”

“Is that true?”

“It’s absolutely true.”

“I hope I never have to do that,” the world was a confusing place. “I spend a lot of time around dirt, though,”

“Yeah, I think you’ll be just fine,” Jack sat up with his hands full of green, a clown-faced ring around his smile. She couldn’t help but smile back at his dirty face and teeth.

“I think you will be too, Jack.”

Walking back, she thought about what they would be having for lunch themselves. Her father was tying a hammock. He swung around at her footsteps. “Here, child!” Lifting her on the hammock, he sent it swinging.

“Papa, I’m a little worried about Jack.” The Gypsy King lit his cigar and stopped the hammock.

“How so, girl?”

“He’s grazing.”

“Oh. Well, that’s strange but it won’t kill him. Nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe he’s hungry?”

“Oh. Are you hungry?”

“A bit so…Do we still have peanut butter?”

“We are having better than peanut butter today, child. And I think I know exactly what might help your friend, too. He just needs a mission!”

“A mission?” The Gypsy King laughed, and was already walking off, going to remedy all her morning woes.

Dirt Eater on a Mission

Eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich, she watched the morning routine of her fellow campers. Tammy talked to Sam and Martha, frying bacon on a little cook stove. The Gypsy King was setting up a rig to cook on. Shea bagged his laundry, and as she watched him, she made a mental note to ask if she could through a few things in.

Grandmere sat with her knitting, and Zeph with her smokes. She didn’t see Hugo, but he was probably somewhere with that nasty rabbit. Bassam approached, rubbing lotion in his hands. He was always so meticulously clean, this man. Clean and beautiful.

“May I?” He held the bottle of lotion in her direction, and she nodded. His fingers ran over her hands, in between her own fingers, squeezing and rubbing. She could imagine his lips on hers, but he’d never dared or even implied.

“Feet?” Entranced, Lisette thought he could do her hands, her feet, the whole shebang, but she said nothing, only raising her foot within his reach. The lotion, warmed in his hands, was slick across her arches, and he tugged and squeezed the foot with both hands. Those same hands ran up her ankle and leg, stopping at the knee. On to the next, and as a wave of warmth rose up her neck, she wondered if Papa Michel was watching. He was…but we’ll get to that later.

“Ca va bien?“ and just like that it was over. He walked away and picking up a guitar, started to tune it. Zepherine lit another smoke and stuck it into Bassam’s mouth, sitting beside him. Clearly, it was time for a walk.

“Where’s Jack?”

“Ah, he’s on his mission!”

“What kind of mission?”

“The secret kind. No, he’s in the woods, I think. Tell him to hurry if you must go after him.” The Gypsy King liked everyone and everything on time. Bassam watched as she took to the woods.

Sitting in a clearing, Jack squatted silently. For a moment, she assumes he was taking care of business, and turned away, “I’m sorry,” she said.

“No, it’s okay, come over, just be real quiet.” Tiptoeing, then squatting beside him, the two of them sat in silence. How long does someone have to be patient in order to actually have the quality ‘Patience?’ Who determines that? Sitting, sitting.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m on a mission,”

“A secret mission, probably?”

“Oh, no, your dad wants me to find a chicken or something for the grill.”

“Out here?”

“Yes, and I found it,”

“A chicken?”

“Better, a turkey.”

“Oh! Wow, where?”

“There look,” he pointed out towards a mostly bare field. All she saw was a tree stump.

“Where again?”

“Look, right there,” pointing again.

“I think that’s a tree stump,”

“No, I saw it move earlier,”

“Oh,” looking again, she was sure…it was a tree stump. “How long have you been watching this turkey?”

“About a half hour,”

“Well, maybe it died,”

“No, I believe it’s sleeping now. I’m just trying to figure a way to sneak up on it without it running away.”

“I’m pretty quiet, you know. Why don’t you let me sneak up and grab it, then when I have it, you run over and carry it back?”

“I think that sounds like a good plan.” So Jack let Lisette get up from her watchful squat, and she took a few careful steps. After those, she didn’t really feel the need to be that careful, or quiet, for that matter. There would be no chase, and she suspected the tree stump wouldn’t put up much of a fight. She turned to look over at Jack as she approached the thing, and saw he was mouthing the word ‘slowly.’

“Slowly, alright,” a few feet away, she jumped over to the tree stump, grabbing it with both arms. It this what they meant when people called the hippies ‘Tree Huggers?’ Jack quickly ran over, perplexed by what he saw.

“What happened?” Laughing, Lisette didn’t hesitate with her ‘I told you so’s.’

“It’s a tree stump! I told you it was a tree stump!”

“But it wasn’t a tree stump. I saw it move.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never seen a turkey turn into a tree stump before, Jack.”

“God must’ve done it. God is the only one who could turn a turkey into a tree stump.” Of course. “What are we going to do now? I spent all afternoon trying to catch that turkey, your dad is going to kill me.”

“He’s not going to kill you! Maybe we can head over into town and get one of those giant fish!”

“That’s insane.”

“Not so insane, I like fish.”

“Well, yeah, but he’s setting up to roast it. Bassam always gets a goat or chicken or something.”

“Bassam doesn’t always get a goat,” then, there was silence.

“I’ll find something. You go on back and tell them I’m coming. Hey, let’s keep the turkey between you and me, huh?”

“Sure thing,” her feet walked back with the light effortless ways of a child, perhaps for the last time.

It's sorta funny rereading something you've written, and finding all the little nuances of your life over and over. Names and faces of friends that you'd stick in places they'd never go.

I once thought I saw a turkey outside the window while running on the treadmill, but it turned out to be a tree stump. The childlike but highly metaphysical qualities of my cousin Jack, who used to live with us. We'd play rummy hours on end, keeping pages and pages of score cards. He died in his twenties of a gunshot wound, perhaps self inflicted, and I went on to keep score of my solo card playing, only with lines and O's. Lines were good; pages with mostly lines were days that would surely be filled with luck. My writing continues to evolve & I don't know what of this old me stuff. but the memories are cool.

much love, kat