The wheel goes around and it makes me dizzy
Okay, so. You know how there was always that kid in your fourth grade class? The one that everyone called spaz or mental? They were so excited on the first day of school what with the paste and the pencils and oh-my-god the talking, talking talking. About what they did over the Summer and how their little sister was so laaaaaaaame. She did not want to go on the rides at the carnival. But they did because they are not afraid of the ferris wheel. Even though it goes up wayyyyyyyy high. And their older sister she told them that if they rocked the car even just a little bit they would fall all the way down to the ground. So they looked over the edge of the car as carefully as they could and they tried not to rock but the car just kind of kept rocking and then their little sister got scared because she is a baby, B-A-B-Y, a big fat, baby and she cried so when the car came back down to the bottom she wanted to get off and so they had to get off too even though they were not scared. So they did not get to go on the ferris wheel and they did not get to see the whole big carnival from wayyyyyyy up high. Instead they just went on the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Merry-Go-Round and those are just baby rides. But they did get cotton candy. A really big cotton candy all for themselves. And they did not have to share with their big baby little sister. And, oh-my-god they got new socks. All different colors of socks. Green, blue, red, yellow, white, black even purple. Because, you know, their favorite color is purple. Kathy says it is her favorite color but she is just a copycat. They said they liked purple at least a month before Kathy said she liked purple and it is no fair because it is their favorite color and Kathy is dumb. They went to the beach and went swimming in the ocean but they got an awful sunburn. Really bad. Like, go-to-the-doctor bad. And their Mom made them wear a t-shirt for the rest of the Summer whenever they went swimming because the doctor said that it was one of the worst burns he had ever seen and he was worried that if they got burnt again something really bad would happen. But it was okay because the neighbour boys had a swimming pool and they let them come over all Summer long and swim in the pool. And they were triplets. For real triplets. They all were kind of cute but they were not boyfriends but just boy friends. Really. They were not gross like most boys.
Yeah, that was me.
Today was the first day of school. I went to my classes and they seem like they will be really fun. Really challenging and a lot of work but very cool and full of new stuff and new ideas. I am very excited.
I think that the idea of taking the Summer off from school was very good in theory. I think that the idea of having time to myself and getting things done was a lovely concept. It was supposed to be restful. It was. But somewhere along the way I got a little blue. Just a little. And today I have been giddy, hyper-annoyingly upbeat and practically perky. Who knew that all I needed was to get back to school?
It is official, I am mental. Where's the paste?
Someone else's words
this is the garden:colours come and go,
frail azures fluttering from night's outer wing
strong silent greens serenely lingering,
absolute lights like baths of golden snow.
This is the garden:pursed lips do blow
upon cool flutes within wide glooms,and sing
(of harps celestial to the quivering string)
invisible faces hauntingly and slow.
This is the garden. Time shall surely reap
and on Death's blade lie many a flower curled,
in other lands where other songs be sung;
yet stand They here enraptured,as among
The slow deep trees perpetual of sleep
some silver-fingered fountain steals the world.
e cummings – this is the garden – colours come and go
No one ever is to blame
This has been done to death but here I am doing it again. I am just easily amused I suppose.
The top referral to my site is “string”. This is boring as hell. But then again who is looking up the word string? Or is it the concept of string? Either way it seems like a pretty simple word that the average 6-yr old would know. How do these people manage to turn on and operate a computer?
I guess the referrals that always puzzle me are the very specific sexual inquiries such as:
“masturbating with brother, dad or friends during puberty”, “cute little girl loose control”, “my stepsister wants i bathed her”, “string young boys”, “eraser nips pics”, “skinny dipping in back yard”, the ever popular “loose twat” and “our home basement swinger party”
I suppose I asked for that last one, but the rest of them? I guess some fantasies are more narrow than others. I am stumped on the question of what people find so sexy about some of these things. I am all about the fantasy but it’s generally a bit more, well, general. Maybe I am the freak.
Then there are the specific questions:
“What to do with my agapanthus flowers after they have faded?” – Please consult a gardening website because I am not so much with the answers on gardening.
“Why did John Doe & Exene Cervenka divorce?” - I wish I could tell you but then again if they wanted to make their reasons public they probably would have.
“How tall is the Bounty Hunter?” - This is not a fan site dedicated to Dog the Bounty Hunter. Just because I have enough residual redneck in me to appreciate this show does not mean that I have all the answers.
“Explain to me basement waterproofing” – This one I can speak about. I know that it is loud and involves jackhammers at 7:00 am. It costs a butt load of money.
“Where can I buy Vicki mints?” – Commonly referred to as “cooter mints” in my family, these mints were available through Victoria’s Secret. They make hilarious stocking stuffers.
“What is the meaning of “No One Is To Blame” by Howard Jones?” - It’s just another meaningless 80’s pop song. Try to get it out of your head after you have heard it though. Not so easy. Maybe there is some subliminal message.
My top five favorite referrals of the last week were:
“Side effects of hickeys” – People will know you are a slutty girl and your friends will laugh at you.
“Faith Hill + terrible singer” – Yes.
“Real fart sounds to hear online” – I am not going to include this in with the sexual fetishes because I just can’t bear to think of that. But really, why?
“My boss has Aspberger’s and is an asshole.” – Wow. Sorry. Sucks for you. I don’t think that the two things are necessarily related. You might want to consult your local Help Wanted ads. I find that they can be most useful in solving work-related difficulties.
And
“barefeet + marketing scheme” – I am sad to report that shoes have already been “marketed”.
The thing that got me looking through these stats was a referral to have my site translated into French. I must say that it made the whole thing much more interesting and a bit exotic. Whining sounds very sexy in French. Who knew? I am thinking about publishing this in a different language but I only speak halting Spanish and who would read it in Latin?
Absolutely incoherent
This will undoubtedly be a bit scattered as I am a bit scattered right now. I came home from work and just started feeling like crap so I got into my pyjamas and laid down on the couch and fell asleep. So now I am very drowsy and fuzzy headed.
This afternoon, on the drive home, I noticed that the car behind me had a pair of neatly folded jeans on the passenger side hood. I did not accelerate at the light but instead tried to gesture out the window to the lady to look at her hood. For my effort, I was rewarded with a cacaphony of honking horns and a rude hand gesture. I shrugged and accelerated and smiled a little as the jeans flipped off of the hood and onto the roadside.
Sharon Osbourne pulled the plug on the Iron Maiden set at Ozzfest because she was pissed at Bruce Dickinson for talking crap about Ozzy. I am not a fan of Iron Maiden and you could only say I like Ozzy Osbourne but this is hysterical. I cannot imagine why you would agree to take part in a thing called Ozzfest and then be all pissy about the man the tour is named after. I can only think that it must be sour grapes. I understand Iron Maiden is quite popular in Europe and there remains a certain be-mulleted fan base here in the States but when do you ever hear anything about them? I always thought that Bruce Dickinson seemed like a pompous ass and standing out in that category would have been an achievement in the 80's.
My head seems to be full of soft fluffy cotton balls right now. I cannot seem to put together coherent thoughts or sentences. It has taken me 30 minutes to write the above so I am leaving it as is. Enjoy.
The Freaks are my people
Today was long and full of fun and exhausting.
I started the day by getting up at an hour I consider early and picking my son up so we could spend the day together. We went out to breakfast at a restaurant that we used to go to all of the time and spent an hour talking about school and plans and all of the goofy news he has missed out on in the last week. Then we hopped into the car and headed up to Wisconsin. Destination: The Renaissance Faire.
The ride up was uneventful with the exception of having to get off of the highway for gas only to discover that there was no way to get back on going North so it was necessary to go South again until I could turn back around. Wish I had known all of this before I had to pay the $1.50 toll three times. But we did get a lovely little tour of the farmlands outside of Zion, Illinois. The gas station was about five miles off of the highway and it stank to high heaven. I think the station attendant had some bad curry last night. The ladies room had a framed poster of a unicorn. I think this was the sole effort to make the bathroom less scary. Then again, I have public washroom issues.
When I pulled through the Toll Booth to pay the attendant said, "I would show you my tattoo but I would get arrested." My son interpreted this as an attempt to pick me up. I interpreted it as vaguely creepy and I did not have any response except a nervous laugh as I stammered, "Uh, okay, thank you." I am always a little thrown by the things people will say to people they do not know. Maybe sitting in that little booth inhaling carbon monoxide and gasoline fumes stunts the portion of the brain wherein people skills are located.
We reached our destination without further problems.
I am not a big SCA person, nor do I dress up and playact for the day but The Renaissance Faire is just a huge gathering of freaks and a good place to people watch. I took lots of pictures. I really took a lot of pictures but a number of them were taken with one of my new lenses and I am still getting the hang of it so I screwed up a lot of pictures.
There was a glass blowing demo.
Juggling
Acrobatics
Fire-eating.
Juggling with fire.
Music.
Singing of ribald songs.
An impromptu marriage.
Freaks.
More freaks.
Freak couples.
Freak gangs.
Yet more freaks.
Father & child freaks.
And a smiling boy.
We wandered around and took in the shows. We went for a tarot card reading. We ate corn on the cob. We watched all of the strange people and looked at all of the trinkets for sale. All in all, it was a lovely afternoon.
I did note that the goth kids have really embraced the Ren Faire as a freak-friendly zone. They are out in full force. There are plenty of the plain old goths and then strange mixtures of goth and Ren costumes. There were a lot more Lord of the Rings type characters and then some strange goth-cowboy types. It is truly a strange mix of people from the full-costume Ren purists, to the goth kids and goth/Ren mixes, to the partial costume tourists and the just plain folks. Of course there are always gaggles of kids running around with swords and shields or face paint and princess hats or flowers headbands. The first time we ever took my son he was not yet a year old. We bought him a jesters hat that he really loved and spent the rest of the day with people stopping us to get his picture. He was so chubby and sweet and he loved wearing that hat. I think all of the attention might have had something to do with the appeal.
I had no intention of staying until the end of the day. It is usually a huge mess of a traffic nightmare so I try to leave early. But the day just sort of slipped away and then it was almost 7:00. We made our way to the exit and came up to the big end of the day celebration. This is essentially a big drum circle with lots of dancing people. My son asked what was going on and I told him it was "the hippie moshpit". He looked at me as though I was insane until he saw the group up close. Then he had to agree that "hippie moshpit" was the best description. It's a big, sweaty group of dancing people all packed together quite tightly and yet still managing to do that flailing, hopping hippie dance. Given my aversion to the drum circle in general, we moved quickly past the crowd and made it to the car before the big rush.
The most popular puppies in town
Today was a leisurely day. I woke up at noon. Took a long bath. Took some pictures. Went to the Art Fair here in town. Bought a cool new crock for my kitchen utensils. Talked to people who told us how cute the puppies are. Came home. Cooked dinner which we ate on the patio. Watched some TV. Not a single moment of stress in the whole day.
The Monarch Butterfly came back and, although I had the wrong lens on the camera, I managed to get a photo.
Ernie decided to pose in the flower bed.
Which led to a photo shoot.
And Maggie could not be left out.
R-O-A-D-T-R-I-P
Today was the longest day. Ever. It just dragged and dragged. And then I heard the angels sing and a beam of light came down as my boss spoke those most precious of all words, "You can go home at 3:00 today, if you want."
If I want? If I want? You bet your boots and your sweet ass I want. So I drove home and we had an impromptu meeting of the neighbourhood gang in the front yard. We gathered as the puppies frolicked and spoke of sweet things like the weekend and Summer afternoons. It was heavenly.
My neighbour fixes up and sells cars and he mentioned that he had a new one available for sale if I knew anyone who was interested. I said maybe we would look at it for my son. But then again he does not really need a car because all of the girls were always willing to drive him everywhere. To which the single guy from next door replied, "Yeah, I was watching the parade of pretty young things all Summer. I kept thinking about going over and offering to buy them beer so he would let me hang out." I scowled but I understood. My son is like catnip to girls. He could teach classes. I think part of it is the whole musician thing but mostly he is just funny as hell and sweet.
So, I wandered around and shot some pictures with one of my new lenses. It is pretty cool. I think this weekend is calling for a field trip. I need to drive somewhere and take pictures and enjoy the last little bit of Summer before school starts. This weekend was supposed to be the great neighbourhood garage sale but it got postponed for two weeks. I think someone is trying to tell me something.
Anyway, new pictures:
Red Peppers
Only slightly beetle-ravaged Roses.
My happy little Buddha.
These gorgeous Zinnias.
And these gorgeous Zinnias - these ones I grew from seed.
Snapdragon.
Petunias.
The Coleus that sings "Feed Me Seymour" as I leave for work each day.
And the Sneezeweed.
I realized that I have not mentioned the organic fertilizer that I have been using this year. It was recommended by my sister - the garden goddess - and I have to say that it is really good stuff. I especially liked it on the peppers and tomatoes and my herbs but any of the container plants definitely benefitted from it. It is called Plantea and you can read about it and order it at www.plantea.com. The box is $10 but that makes a concentrate. I have been using it all Summer long and I have not gone through all of the box that I bought in April. If I had to credit one thing that made a difference in the garden this year this would be it.
Jesus don't want me for a sunbeam
This evening I announced to T that we are officially on day five of "Beth Is Cranky and Unreasonable". There is no immediate end in sight to this latest bout of crabbitude and crankiness. I am impossible. I informed T that I was hungry but I was too crabby to think about what I wanted to eat and so he needed to get food and not talk to me about it. Also, there would be hell to pay if he should fail to get something that suited my taste. I was only half joking. At least three out of the last five days have found me announcing that I did not want anyone to talk to me and I did not want to talk to anyone.
Good Lord, the man is working on sainthood.
I am not sure but I think it has something to do with the weather. It has begun to wind down into the cooler days that signal the beginning of Fall and the end of Summer. I like Fall well enough. I like the beginning of Fall when the leaves turn color. I like the smell of wood smoke. I like Halloween and carving pumpkins. The whole things begins to lose it's appeal for me when we get to the point in the season when it becomes necessary to scrape my car windows. When the morning is so cold that I can see my breath on the air. I do not like Winter so much. I like the first snow. I like icicles hanging from the eaves. I think I would like Winter better if it were not quite so long. If it only lasted for the month of December or maybe even January. It's just too damned long.
I love Summer. I love sun and humidity and my garden in bloom. I love the festivals and the carefree feelings of Summer. I love to eat dinner on the patio. I love the butterflies and the birds. I love the fireworks and the ballgames. I love everything about Summer.
I am trying to focus on the beginning of classes. I am taking a more advanced Photography class that I am really excited about. I am beginning a Graphic Arts Printing class that I am completely jazzed about. I have my academic plan set and I am on track to achieve all of the goals I have set for myself in that area. I got notified that I am on the Academic Honors List and so some of my classes will be free. I just got two new lenses that are really good quality lenses. I am all ready for and actually quite excited about the new school year.
I am sure that I will get over myself soon.
I think this mopey gloomy mood calls for another installment of bad, teenaged poetry.
Together Separately
Tonight I heard an old song
And began to wonder where my bird had gone
Somewhere lost in pain
So far I could not talk to her
My fingers clasp the empty space
That tangible void she's left behind
Eyes search the clouds where I last saw her
Wondering how she could so quickly disappear
Images play on the ground before me
But these are the pale shadows of pigeons
They do not match her plumage
Pale in contrast and somehow lacking
It's clear I must release her to see her
Soaring above my head
Carrying my spirits with her
The heights we saw together separately
November 4, 1984
Oh my, where to begin? This is just chock full of mixed images and ideas that go nowhere. I am almost positive that this may be one of the worst things I have read so far. Maybe if I smoked something and cranked up the Pink Floyd this would take on a deeper meaning. Words fail. As always, feel free to mock or comment or critique.
Wherein I learn about sadistic assholes
In 1974 I was nine years old. We had moved back to the States from Alaska where my father had been stationed at a Naval Base and we were moving to the Naval Base at Nantucket, MA that was to be his new station. Because housing was not immediately available, we were living in Manomet, MA awaiting our housing assignment.
It had been a difficult adjustment for me for several reasons. We had moved before – moving was an expected part of life for a military family – but the previous moves had all taken place when I was too young to really understand what leaving was. I had never been old enough to comprehend that it meant that we would never go back. That we would never see the friends we had made or the places that were familiar again. By this time I had made a few friends, I had grown comfortable with the little island base. I knew the hiding spots, I knew the layout, and I knew the people of the base like the residents of a small town. In effect that is what it was: a small town where everyone worked for the same company. It was safe. It was the first place that I consciously thought of as home.
I was in the middle of third grade when we moved. I went from the school I knew and where I was known, to a brand new school where I was the new kid. I was an awkward kid. Bright and goofy and a little bit odd. In the old school I had never felt left out or not accepted. I think it might have been part of the nature of military base schools. Everyone had moved at some point, everyone had been the new kid, so no one felt the need to bully. It was a natural part of life to accept and be accepted. At my new school I made some friends but I did not fit in well with this group of kids who had known each other all of their lives. I immersed myself in reading. I think I must have read every biography in the school library. The curriculum was slightly different at the new school. I found myself in the unusual position of not knowing everything about every subject. This has resulted in a crippling life long confusion about fractions. Damned fractions.
We rented a house out in the woods in what could best be described as “the country”. The house was on a dirt road with houses that were spread out on large lots. It was a nice area with lots of families and other children our ages. There was a lot of area to go exploring and lots of trees and plants. This was all kind of new territory for me because the island in Alaska had been fairly treeless. I liked looking at all of the leaves and picking ferns and pretending they were large fans like the Egyptians would have used. We wandered around and explored and pretended to make potions from the berries and roots and flowers we found.
None of the neighbours were really close by. The nearest was the man from whom we were renting the house. He was kind of a strange, semi-hippie, Vietnam-vet kind of guy with a long blonde ponytail. He lived with his young wife and a couple of kids who were younger than my sister and me. They had sort of a commune feel to their place. They had a big garden and they had pigs and chickens. They also had two very large Doberman Pinschers that were kept in a fenced in kennel.
I was raised around animals. We never had less than three cats and a dog at any point during my childhood. But we had small dogs like Boston Terriers or Miniature Poodles. Manageable sized dogs. Not monsters with fangs and mean faces. I was frightened of the Dobermans. They seemed dangerous and I kept my distance. Every now and again they would get loose and run around the neighbourhood until they were captured. I was always mindful of where those dogs were.
In the afternoon the school bus dropped us off at the end of the road that led to our house. It was a fairly short walk from there to home and usually my sisters were making the walk with me. But one afternoon I was walking alone. Maybe my sisters were at friend’s houses or something. I am not sure why I was alone. I was making my way down the road and I passed along in front of the neighbour’s house. I looked up as I usually did to make sure that the dogs were not around and saw the man on the porch. I remember thinking that it was good that he was there because that meant the dogs were controlled.
The next thing I knew the dogs came running down over the wooded front yard toward me. I froze in place and I remember seeing the man standing still and watching the whole thing unfold. Like it was a show on the television. I thought that he would stop the dogs because adults were like that, they were in control and they made sure kids did not get hurt. But the seconds passed and he was not calling the dogs back. I realized that I had to try to get away but I was too far from my house. I was panicking. I started to run and cry and scramble up the bank into the woods on the other side of the road. I could hear the dogs behind me. They were getting closer. My bladder let loose. I started crying so hard that I could not see and my nose was running. I fell down and scratched my hands and knees.
Then, just as I could feel the breath of the dogs on my calves, the neighbour called them. They immediately stopped and turned to go back to the house. They had forgotten all about me. I sat up and looked back to where the neighbour stood in his yard. He was right where he had been before the dogs started after me. He seemed calm and collected as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I was sweaty and bleeding and the shame of having wet my pants was just beginning to settle in and I was confused. Why had he let the dogs get so close? Why did he let this happen?
I watched as he walked back into his house and then I gathered myself up and walked the rest of the way home. My Mom cleaned me up and listened to my story but I am not sure she believed that he had sent the dogs after me. I am not sure what she believed but I knew that this man had tried to frighten me and I did not know why.
Beer and peanuts and hotdogs
Last night we went to see the Cubs play the Braves at Wrigley Field. It was a beautiful night and the weather was really nice and we won. My beloved Nomar Garciaparra did not play but I managed to suck it up and enjoy the game.
The experience of a game at Wrigley Field is quite different from a game at US Cellular Field. The fans are like night and day. Generally you do not see obnoxiously rude heckling fans at Wrigley. They are in great abundance on the Southside. Usually you do not have bad naked guys running around and the number of mullets is minimal. The mullet is the style of choice for the Southside fans. Usually you have friendly happy fans at Wrigley. Of course, last night we had the misfortune of being seated in front of jerky, loud drunk guys. But that is not common.
These are some of the left field rooftop seats.
These are the right field rooftop seats. You can see part of the Chicago skyline in the background.
These are the infamous bleacher seats under the scoreboard.
This is the only run that the Braves scored all night.
This is Derrek Lee at bat. He is having a pretty good year.
This is one of the new pitchers, Williams. He pitched a good game.
This part of the double play that ended the game. You can see Derrek Lee at first and some poor Braves player.
And, of course, the final score.
Then we got into the car and drove back home to the quiet suburbs. Ahhhh.
Just can't find the time to write my mind the way I want it to read
I am a chronic insomniac. It does not really affect my life because it has been the case for so long that I have grown used to compensating for my lack of sleep. It’s just one of those things that I have come to accept. I have adapted. I work around it.
Sometimes I think I envy people who go to bed and drop immediately off to sleep. Deep, uninterrupted sleep that looks truly restful. Mouth gaping, drooling, snoring slumber. T is one of these people.
No matter how tired I am. No matter how little sleep I have had the previous night. No matter how late I have been up. No matter how important it is that I get to sleep. I never just drop right off. Head on the pillow, lights off and transported to blissful sleep. Never.
I am never tired or rather never too tired for just one more television show. Or a game of Solitaire on the computer. Or to read blogs or news. Or to putter around with something. Or to sit and poke the tangle of thoughts inside my head. That big mess that I shove to the back and try to forget about during the day.
Part of it is that I am just more of a night time person. I have always been more productive after midnight. I used to clean at night when I lived alone. I would scrub the bath tub or vacuum or dust or do dishes. I also paint at night. I have painted whole rooms in the hours before sunrise.
Part of it is a love of the solitude and quiet of late night. The hours when I am alone and no one asks me questions or expects anything of me. The hours when I can do as I please and be introspective or bored or sad or whatever it is I am feeling and there is no need to fake cheer or interest. The sound of quiet keys tapping on the keyboard or the crickets chirping or the trains that roll through town – no whistles – just low rumbling.
Even when I am finally ready to call it a night and head off to bed, I am unable to fall asleep without first reading. Usually for at least an hour. Often times longer than that. That is just the way my body works. The shut down takes a little longer and my body resists.
I do not often have dreams that I remember upon waking. I do not have happy, technicolor dreams about flying and ponies and movie stars. I do not recall details or dialogue. Sometimes I have vague impressions that stick with me for awhile, mostly I just wake up and start the new day.
Lately, however, I have been having dreams about caring for my father in his last days. The dreams never end with his death or any sort of resolution, they just sort of end. They are filled with the details of his illness. They are filled with the pain and suffering and my small efforts to comfort him. They are on endless loop with no clear beginning, middle or end. There is no plot. There is no story or moral or uplifting conclusion.
If they were movies I would not recommend them.
Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot
The summer after I turned seventeen was the Summer I decided that everything had to change. I don’t think I made the decision so much as I was given the opportunity to run very far from all of the uncomfortable and confusing things that were going on in my life and I jumped at the chance. Most of the discomfort and confusion was a natural part of being seventeen. But when I looked around me I did not see anyone else struggling the way I was. They all seemed to be doing just fine. So I thought that if I could have a change, if I could start over somewhere where no one knew me, I could be different. I could be okay. I could change my whole life.
My father and my stepmother had made the decision to move across country. It was sort of an adventure because they had no firm plan for where they would finally land. It would be figured out along the way. It seemed like a romantic idea to pack up everything and hit the road. Choose the stopping place that felt right. Start all over. It seemed like the right thing, it seemed like the easiest thing. Running away was always the simplest option.
So, we loaded up the van and began our journey across the United States. We began in New Hampshire and we would end in California. We would make some stops along the way to visit family and we would see the country. I said goodbye to my mother and sister. Not so much a tearful goodbye as an angry resentful goodbye with a lot of hurt feelings all the way around. I said goodbye to my friends. I said goodbye to my life as I knew it and I took the chance that everything would be better anywhere but where I was.
We drove and camped. We stopped to see my Grandmother. We visited National Parks and amusement parks. We saw the Mississippi River and the arch in St.Louis. We drove through the night out of Oklahoma because it was too humid and hot to sleep. We woke up in Texas where it was wide open and the oil derricks stood for miles alongside the road. We stopped in New Mexico and saw my stepmother’s family. We decided that we would stay there, this would be our new home, but we would finish our trip. We saw the Painted Desert and the Grand Canyon and they took our breath away. We reached San Diego and we swam in the ocean and visited the zoo.
Along the way I began to discard myself. My identity was cast off in bits and pieces and whole layers. Everything had to go because none of it was acceptable. None of it worked. Not one bit of it was right. I did not like one bit of it. By the time we returned to New Mexico for the start of the school year I did not have one bit of myself left. I was a blank page that I could fill in with whatever I chose. I could write a whole different script. One where I fit in and I was cool and I was popular and people did not think I was odd or out of place. Unfortunately, this plan was not particularly well though out because I got rid of everything, all of the good and the bad. I did not know where to start to rebuild myself. I was just about the most perfect candidate to be taken in by a cult.
I never saw growing up as a process of actual growing and learning and experience. I never thought that growing up was something that just happened. Something that came naturally with the passing of years. I never thought that it was the acquisition of skills like coping and being strong. I kind of thought that it was something you learned to imitate. A choreographed set of moves that you learned so well that they seemed natural. I knew if I cast off all of the childish years that I had spent up until this point I would be grown up. Or at least people would perceive me to be grown up. That was what was really important: people’s perception of me.
This came to me today. Pretty much whole. The way I wrote it out here. It was a very different way of looking at this time in my life, one I had not previously considered. One of the blessings/curses of my job is that I have a lot of time to wander around inside my head. I tend to think about things that I have not thought about in years. Or I think about things in new ways. I think it is akin to the reason that I like to re-read books: I always take a little something different away with each reading. I notice different things. I pick up on nuances and subtleties that I missed the first or second or third time around. I understand just a little bit more.
Squawking like a pink monkey bird
This weekend was a good one. Not too quiet not too busy. I probably wouldn't change a thing except maybe more ice cream. But there can't just be all sitting around eating ice cream all the time or the universe would become off balance. Not to mention how large my ass would become.
On Saturday night we went to an overnight flea market. They have these from time to time around here and I have been meaning to go to one and the time was right. The flea markets in this area are pretty serious. They have the usual selection of tube socks and crap and t-shirts with "Proud to Be an All-American Bitch" on them and more crap and knock off purses and sunglasses. But they also have some really good antique and furniture vendors. This had the added bonus of being held from 5pm until 4am. It was a bit surreal to be wandering around in the dark and shopping but it was fun. I am sad to note that most of the toys from my childhood have become collectibles. I had to talk myself out of buying a mint condition Fisher Price Little People Airport. It had the airplane and all of the Stewardess and Pilot people and the fuel truck. But then I could not think of any reason I needed a Little People Airport. Although it would be really cool to play with instead of doing homework or housework or going to work. I could stay home and eat Cap'n Crunch and stay in my pyjamas and play with my Little People Airport all day long. I think that would be quite soothing.
On a more adult note we made some great finds. We got a vintage Fiesta serving platter and a really cool Fiesta stove top tea kettle. I also found a really pretty Hall China water pitcher in cobalt blue. I also found the perfect chairs for my back yard. They were vintage wooden folding chairs with a sort of Adirondack feel to them. They were really nice and weathered with paint that was faded and really soft and gorgeous looking. But of course I waited until I had walked all the way through the market before I went back to try to buy them and they were gone. I am so dumb sometimes but I just kept thinking that I would be able to go back but then they were not there. Did I mention that they were perfect? But not there? So, now I will obsess about them for the next couple of weeks until the next thing comes along to obsess about.
I went and got a pedicure and a manicure and had my eyebrows waxed during the day on Saturday. It felt very decadent and slothful to be sitting in a massaging chair being pampered while there was much work to be done but I put that thought out of my head. I read a frivolous fashion magazine that I would never read anywhere else and got fashion tips that I will never use and just relaxed. They just got fabulous new massage chairs and I was very relaxed by the time I was all done. And my feet and hands and eyebrows were made perfect. Perfect! The last time I went I brought my son and made him have a pedicure. He actually liked it. This time all of the ladies were asking where he was. I guess he has a new gaggle of women to add to his fan club.
Today I was invited to a kitchen gadget home party. I mostly only went because it was given by the neighbour I really like and there were kitchen gadgets. I like me some gadgets. It turned out to be very relaxed and fun. The other ladies were all quite nice and we just sat around talking about dating and marriage and birthin' babies and the like. But not in the boring housewifey "I have no other thought in my head" sort of way. Just laughing and funny and no nasty boring people. Plus there was cake. Two kinds of cake: chocolate and carrot. Scrumptious cake.
We finished up the day with burgers and potato salad on the patio. It was a nice, not too warm kind of early evening and the light was soft and gold and lovely. Then we watched "The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou". I had heard mixed reviews and gotten some glowing recommendations for this movie. I liked it. The best thing about it - besides the Bill Murray - was the music. I love David Bowie and Ziggy Stardust especially. I loved all of the quirky little electronic bits. I liked the Stooges. I really liked all of the David Bowie songs being sung in Portugese. It was a nice fun movie for the end of the weekend.
Now I am good and tired and I am toddling off to bed.
God bless you, Jon Stewart
On Monday I wrote a post about Cindy Sheehan. There had only just begun to be talk on the news about her protest. Shortly thereafter all you heard about on the news was Cindy Sheehan. I am glad that people are paying attention.
One of the people I don't always expect to be paying attention is my son. Sure, he has listened to me rant about politics for years. I never expected him to follow in my beliefs 100% but I was hopeful that when politics started to interest him that he would have some leaning toward a liberal viewpoint. I was, of course, convinced that he would become a Republican hate-monger just out of a perverse need to rebel. Happily that has not been the case.
The other day I was taking him to get a haircut. We pulled into a parking spot right behind one of the many huge SUV's that populate our town. As we were getting out, he read the bumper sticker out loud, "George W. Bush.." and then he snorted in contempt. My heart swelled with pride. I said, "I know, I always have to resist the urge to ram cars with those stickers on them."
I mentioned that I was particularly unhappy with Mr. Bush right now because there was something going on in the news that was pissing me off. I began to explain, "There is this woman who's son was killed in the war and she is protesting.." He jumped in with, "Yeah, that Sheehan woman." I must have had a perplexed look on my face because he then explained, "Jon Stewart had this whole rant about it on the show the other night. It was really hysterical."
At that moment my love for Jon Stewart grew. I watch the Daily Show. Not religiously but I do watch it at least a once a week. T is an avid viewer. He will call me into the room if Lewis Black is on because I love Lewis Black. I believe I may have to watch more frequently. Clearly the man is providing a public service if he can get seventeen year old boys to pay attention to what is happening in the world.
fate had made thee for the pleasure of the wind
Today the Monarch Butterfly that I have been stalking came back to taunt me. I did manage to get one shot of it but it is not the best shot.
I know this is not the same exact one but I choose to pretend that it has a mission to thwart my efforts to get a photograph. Anyway, I am still on the prowl and hope to get a better picture. I am thinking I need to have a whole safari get up and some sort of camouflage.
There was another butterfly in the yard. This one was a real attention hound. I think it was actually trying to pose so that I shot it's best side. I think this is some sort of Swallowtail but I don't know what kind.
While I was at it there was a bee looking for some head shots for his portfolio.
This is the spot in which I stalk the Hummingbirds. I have a new lens coming that should aid in my ability to get a good shot of one.
This is what I did this afternoon after work. It beats the hell out of weeding.
No Shoes No Shirt No Problem
About two years ago T and I were dating and living in separate apartments. He lived in Chicago on the Northside and I lived in a Western suburb. I had lived off and on in the city over the years and never thought I would end up back in the suburbs but somehow this little town had won me over. It is a scenic little town along the commuter train lines. It is a little bit older and so has less of the strip mall suburban waste land feel to it. It has large trees and big old homes that were built in the 1800's. Probably it's biggest claim to fame in recent years was that the movie "Lucas" was filmed here.
In spite of the influx of people tearing down perfectly good houses to build monstrous new houses on the lots. In spite of the fact that I regularly end up behind some jerk in a huge ass SUV with a W'04 sticker still attached to the bumper. In spite of the fact that there a 2,453 churches per square mile. In spite of the fact that I haved served drinks to and therefore seen 95% of the people in town on their baddest behaviour. In spite of all of these facts, I like this town.
For quite awhile after we started dating T and I commuted back and forth between each other's apartments. I did not mind. I like going to Chicago. It is a great town. I will admit cursing the traffic on 290 because there is never not a traffic jam at Hillside. T did not mind. He came to appreciate the quiet morning's as much as I did. It just started to put a crimp in the spontanaiety. It required plans to coordinate our visits. And the longer we dated the more often we wanted to visit. So, T began to make some noise about looking for a place closer to me.
Then he proposed that we get a place together. Then, as long as we were looking at cohabitation, we might as well look at buying a house. We set a date for almost a year after the decision was made as our target for moving. We figured that it would take at least that long to find a house in our price range and that we both liked. We were quite wrong. In some bizarre twist of fate we both loved the first house we looked at and it was almost exactly the price we wanted to pay. That speeded things up a bit. But we made it work.
We found a lovely two bedroom, brick house on a quiet street. A lot of the big renovation had been done. There was room to finish off a full basement. It had a good sized yard with lots of room for me to plant to my heart's content. It was small but not too small. It was just right. We loved our home at first sight.
We live in a fairly quiet neighborhood that is full of modest little homes much like ours. The neighbors are nice enough. The ones we have met, we actually quite like. Of course, T knows them a bit better than I do because he is out walking the dogs and mowing the lawn and that sort of thing. There is a young couple on one side that has just had their first child. The other side is the neighborhood fix-it guy. The guy who owns every tool imaginable and is happy to lend them out. He and his girlfriend regularly host orphaned cats prior to adoption. The other side of them is a little bit older couple with grown daughters. The woman is in the habit of stopping by for a chat when I am out in the yard. She is quite funny and I enjoy her company. Her husband is a sweetheart of a guy who takes their beagle/basset hound for long, slow walks around the block. The next house is an elderly couple. Occasionally the woman is out with their Golden Retriever and she stops to talk. Across the street is a couple with two young boys. I don't know them very well but they seem quite nice. Pretty nice neighbours all the way around.
But there are the exceptions.
Like the old man across the street who is purported to be the nicest guy in the world but who completely ignores our presence any time he sees us. He will actually walk over to talk to the guy next door while we are talking to him and walk right by us as though we are not there. It is a mystery. I cannot think of anything we could have done that would cause him to dislike us. But we think it might be related to the fact that he had a yard full of Bush signs and we were the first house on the block with a Kerry sign. We were not the only house but maybe we appeared to have led the invasion. I know we spent many a night trying to figure out how to convert the neighbors to the Cult of Liberal Immorality but I thought we were covert about our intentions. Or it has been rumored that he was unhappy when we cut down the humongous dying pine trees in our back yard. They were DEAD! They posed a potential hazard of falling through our roof should a good storm strike. They were also butt ugly. I would not just raze perfectly good trees unless I had a reason. This guy is whacked whatever his reason is. But, this is that kind of suburban crazy that you can live with because you don't actually ever have to talk to the guy.
Recently a new family moved into the neighborhood. They had not been living there too long when I received a postcard in the mail addressed to: Our Neighbours at *** *********". Hmm, I thought. How nice of them to introduce themselves. Maybe they are having a get together. Maybe they want to organize a neighbourhood watch. (In which case we can inform them that nothing ever happens on this block worth watching out for) Okay, maybe they sell Amway and I am going to have to dodge their incessant sales pitches as I run to my car. Maybe they are just nice folks. And, I am not saying they are not nice folks but the card was an invitation to join the woman of the house in a prayer group every Thursday at 9:00 am to,"Pray for our husbands while they go off to work." Oh, and, "No children, please." Jesus freaking Christ! I was speechless and then I laughed and then I was pissed. I mean, I can't go to your prayer meeting because I am off at work making money to pay my bills at 9:00 am on Thursdays. If I wasn't off at work and I happened to be a stay at home Mom who wanted to pray I would be excluded if I did not have a sitter. And then there is the thought of how much more backward a concept could I be confronted with in 2005? Maybe if we were living in 1905 this would have made sense. I don't know. I know that I live in the heart of the most conservative area in Illinois but I never thought I would hear this sort of thing. I know I would be the highlight of the prayer group with my tattoos and living in sin and two divorces and ability to make a decision without consulting a man. I had a momentary urge to respond with a card of my own.
"Dear Neighbour, I would be most happy to join you in prayer but the time coincides with my weekly blood sacrifice. I could make it by 10:30 if I skipped rolling around naked in the entrails of the chicken. My boyfriend will be back at work just as soon as he is released from prison. I am sure he could use all of the prayers you could send his way. He would have been home by now but he was caught sodomizing a fellow inmate. Despite his and Leroy's protests that theirs is a wholesome relationship founded upon a basis of pure love the warden would not show leniency in their punishment. My son is usually in school during the day but he does have an appointment at the methadone clinic on Thursday. I might mention that he is available should you ever need a sitter. He is quite fond of children. Young boys in particular. His counselor says that he has overcome the compulsions that have led to any nasty rumors you may have heard from the neighbours. I would like to extend an invitation to our monthly swinger's party. We meet every third Wednesday at our home. We have a full-service dungeon and all of the porn you could hope to ever see. We are always looking for new blood to spice things up. P.S. Your children are always welcome."
The good angel won that battle.
But last, and perhaps my favorite neighbor is the neighborhood drunk. He mostly just stays in his house passed out. The only interaction that we ever had with him was when a big dog showed up on our doorstep looking to get into the house. He seemed friendly enough but he was really interested in our dogs. They would have been an appetizer-sized snack for him. My son and I were concerned about him enough to go out and check him out. We petted him until we could get a good look at his tag. It indicated that he lived a couple of houses down and there was a number. It was about 9:00pm so we decided to try calling the number before wandering down to the house. The phone kept going to message but when I looked down there I could see a light on. So we decided to tromp on down to the house and see if someone was there. Sure enough I could see someone through the window of the door. Whoever it was was sitting in a darkened room. They finally came to the door and it was kind of creepy. I explained through the door what we were there for. I even pointed down to the dog. The guy was just twitchy and suspicious and he gave me the feeling he had a gun near at hand in case we tried to rush him. He opened the door and grabbed the dog and started asking questions about where we had "found" him. Sort of implying that we had kidnaped his dog and were trying to scam him for a reward for returning him. Now, we look like criminals. I am sure that most dognapping, con artists go out for an evening's work dressed in their pyjamas and without their shoes. The guy finally just dragged the dog inside and shut the door without a thank you or a good night. It was a beautiful moment. I did not think much more about it until one of the other neighbours mentioned that she had had a similiar run-in with the guy. Then I decided he was just a nut. Whatever. I can live with nuts.
Then when I was in New Hampshire I called T to check in and see how everything was going. He didn't have much news to report. The house is a dull place in my absence. But he did have a little story to relate. He thought I might get a kick out of it. He had gone out to get the paper in the morning. Just as he does every morning. He happened to glance down the street and noticed the drunk neighbor had come out to get his paper as well. Dressed only in a pair of tight whities.
Yes, we live in a classy neighbourhood.
The flower fared forth, though it's fragrance still stays
This afternoon when I pulled into the driveway and got out of the car I was dive bombed by what I thought was a bird or a small aircraft. Turns out it was a very large and very beautiful Monarch butterfly. I don't think it was the one that was in the yard the other day that would not settle anywhere I could photograph it. I ran inside and grabbed the camera and loaded it with film and went out on another mission. Unfortunately, the damned thing was eluding me like I was a crazed paparazzi. I will get a picture of it yet. Mark my words.
In the meantime, here are some new pictures from the garden.
Delphinium. There was some article in the paper about a local woman who had written a book about gardening in this area. She claimed that delphiniums were not easy to grow here. She was writing her book to "save other gardeners from the heartache she had gone through with plants that were not suitable". I want to invite her to my yard because they did very well for me and I am a mediocre gardener at best. Maybe I should write a book outlining my method of mediocre gardening. Hmmmm.
Japanese Anemone. This is a new bloomer and I really like it. The flowers are so delicate and pretty. I want this plant to get huge so that I have a lot of these flowers next year.
Agapanthus. This is what this looks like with no blooms. I like it. Spiky and green.
Butterfly Bush. This is a happy plant that was really tiny last year and almost as tall as me this year. I love the way this bends and sways in the breeze and it just looks so delicate and graceful.
Milkweed. Gone to seed. This is another one that almost looks cooler after the bloom.
Lantana. I just love the color of this one. It really jumps out at you and it is so cheerful.
Sweet Potato Vine and one of the many pansies that are still flourishing in spite of the heat.
Curly Kale. This is one of the cool new things I tried this year. I really like the color and the shape. It should last until well into the fall or at least that is the plan.
Kale. Another variety. This really pairs well with the Pansies. Good for Fall.
Sneezeweed. This may be one of my favorite garden photos of this Summer. I love the shape of these flowers. This is just beginning to bloom and should last through September.
Down where sound comes blunt and wan like the bronze tone of a sunken gong
It has been far too long since we have visited the poetry vault. You see this is fine and historic literary work. I have these gems encased in a hermetically sealed chamber for preservation. Upon my demise they will become part of the permanent collection of my work at the National Archives. Until that time you will be among the few, the chosen few graced with the viewing of these masterpieces.
Lucky, lucky you.
(Recently unearthed documents found in the excavation of my basement contained a good deal of poetry that I wrote between the ages of sixteen and nineteen. It is melodramatic and overwrought as all good high school poetry should be. I am sure that a good deal of it was written under the influence of various smoky substances. It makes me laugh and I invite mockery.)
Before the Fog Came Down
Once there was a time when my mind was clear
That was long before the haze settled in
Also long before the world did not hear
And everything became lost in the din
Many mouths moved but none uttered a word
My mind closed itself to the craziness
Built a barrier against the absurd
I found the oblivion limitless
Now I sit serenely lost in the fog
Face reveals the rapture I've come to feel
Silently I review the catalogue
Taking delight as the show is revealed
One day, certainly, the fog will disperse
Final peace found in the rear of a hearse
April 30, 1984
Again with the Suicide. I was very interested in this as the ultimate dramatic ending to a tortured poetic life. I believe I was counting on cashing out at a young age and having my literary oeuvre discovered after my passing. Upon further examination by the elite scholars of several reknowned universities, I would be hailed as a genius. My work would be studied and dissected. Students would be required to read my masterpieces as examples of great artistic mastery. A prestigious award would be named in my honor and awarded to young poets of great promise. All those who had failed to recognize my genius during my lifetime would spend the remainder of their lives regretting what they might have learned.
You know just the normal teenaged angst-filled daydreams.
Roll another number for the road
Over the weekend we rented movies. I do not get to go out to the movies as often as I would like and to be honest there have not been that many movies that have come out in the last several months that compelled me to go see them. Usually I am content to wait until they show up on HBO or Showtime. If we are looking for a lazy way to spend a weekend night we will rent a video. That's right. I am a rock star.
So, this last weekend we were looking for something and to be honest there are a lot of video releases but not really that many I would like to spend money to see. I am kind of a movie snob about the movies I go to the theater to see. I usually have to really like one of the actors or have some good feeling about the content of the movie before I go out and spend two hours sitting in a cold warehouse. I do not have such high standards for the movies I rent. There are many movies I would take a chance on viewing in the comfort of my own home with the option to pause for bathroom breaks. All bets are off on the type of movie I will watch when it is no more effort than changing the channel and I do not even have to get out of my pyjamas or leave my house.
But, I began by speaking of the movies I watched this weekend. These were two that were on my maybe list. Maybe I would go to a theater and see them. But they had some downsides, some factors weighing against them and ultimately they did not make the cut.
The first was "A Love Song for Bobby Long". On the plus side it was based on a novel that has been on my list of books to read: "Off Magazine Street" by Ronald Everett Capps. It had Scarlett Johansson in it and I loved the last several movies I saw with her in them. I like John Travolta. I usually like the movies he makes. I am waging a personal boycott of all of the Scientologist nutjobs but he is a hard one to dislike. His skinny, crazy bitch of a wife, however, is another story. Okay,so on the balance this was not a theater pick but I thought it might be okay.
It was just okay. There were some things that I liked about it but on the whole it was just mediocre. There was a predictable ending. I hate that. I hate having the ending figured out and the whole movie just being a march through the predictable plot twists on the way to the big moment. I hate Hollywood endings with the finality and the cut and dried wrapping up of all loose ends. I like ambiguity. I like trying to think about how the characters will proceed from where the movie leaves off. I like when the ending is not hammered home and spelled out in simple little words. I am not a moron. I like something to think about.
I think they were trying to draw parallels between this story and "The Heart is a Lonely Hunter" by Carson McCullers. I don't think that as much as I know that because they kept referring to the book and the tagline for the movie was "the heart is a lonely hunter". I don't think they achieved quite the same depth that McCullers did. It is hard to compare a book and a movie. They tried to fill all of the spots and hit all of the notes of the novel. I don't think they quite pulled it off.
There was some nice interplay between the Travolta character and the writer. They quoted authors back and forth to each other in a game that they had been playing for years. It was a bit odd at first but it became more natural as the movie progressed. It was the device by which they communicated. It was maybe a bit overplayed but I liked it. The inevitable sexual tension between Scarlett Johansson and the writer was handled nicely. It was not overdone or overanalyzed. It was very true to life. The scenes between those two characters were some of the best.
There were some moments that were good. And this is a different type of role for John Travolta. I always like when you see someone take a chance. When they step outside of the typical and really play a character that is potentially unlikeable and obviously far removed from their own experience. I like acting.
It had a very good soundtrack. I think that can make up for some flaws. The music was appropriate and it fit into the movie really well.
Overall, I liked the movie as a video rental. It would probably have been a better choice to catch on HBO.
The second movie was "The Upside of Anger". This one had a lot of positives going for it. The main cast of Joan Allen and Evan Rachel Wood seemed to be a good sign. The Sundance buzz was good. The reviews were good. I just could not make the leap over my Kevin Costner aversion. It is almost akin to my Tom Cruise aversion. I was having a really hard time believing that he could be involved in anything worth watching. So, I waited.
I wish I had seen this in the theater. There is something very enveloping about seeing a movie in a theater. Something that draws you in and involves you. Probably the lack of distraction or the huge size of the screen and the people on it. Whatever. I just like the experience of certain movies at the theater.
The story is odd. It does not have a logical and well-polished feel to it. It seems very true to life. The characters are flawed and raw. They do not behave in the rational typical ways that movie characters tend to. The story is messy and uneven and feels very much like real life. Of course, the whole thing is tied together and coherent but it does not have that Hollywood formulaic story feeling to it. There is an uncomfortableness and unpredictability to the interactions between the mother and her daughters that seems very normal in the abnormal way mothers and daughters interact. I like that. I like having characters that have dimension and depth.
I am going to say something that I never thought I was going to: Kevin Costner did not totally suck. Given my feelings about him, that could be considered high praise.
In some respects, the ending wrapped things up. But it did not answer all of the questions. It did not imply that they all lived happily ever after. It left a little to the imagination.
There are two great quotes from this movie:
People don't know how to love. They bite rather than kiss. They slap rather than stroke. Maybe it's because they recognize how easy it is for love to go bad, to become suddenly impossible... unworkable, an exercise of futility. So they avoid it and seek solace in angst, and fear, and aggression, which are always there and readily available. Or maybe sometimes... they just don't have all the facts.
and
Anger and resentment can stop you in your tracks. That's what I know now. It needs nothing to burn but the air and the life that it swallows and smothers. It's real, though - the fury, even when it isn't. It can change you... turn you... mold you and shape you into something you're not. The only upside to anger, then... is the person you become. Hopefully someone that wakes up one day and realizes they're not afraid to take the journey, someone that knows that the truth is, at best, a partially told story. That anger, like growth, comes in spurts a
