make me an angel

black and white, originally uploaded by McBeth.

There's flies in the kitchen I can hear 'em there buzzing
And I ain't done nothing since I woke up today.
How the hell can a person go to work in the morning
And come home in the evening and have nothing to say?

Just give me one thing that I can hold on to
To believe in this living is just a hard way to go

'Angel from Montgomery' (John Prine)

eureka!

Yesterday afternoon I put up two tents I own in my friends' yard. Not only had I looked forward to airing the tents out after several years' disuse, but my friend who uses an electric wheelchair and who wants to go camping expressed interest in trying one or both of them out, testing for their accessibility factor.

The smaller tent has room for 2-3 people to stretch out comfortably. The larger one, oh, I guess more like 5-6 people. My friends had been teasing me, suggesting that I was so eager to get them erected that I'd probably forget to do something important - like put the tarp down or pound stakes in or the like. So I purposefully took plenty of time to make sure I assembled everything properly. I staked both tents firmly into the ground and went so far as to arrange the tents so the larger one would take the brunt of any strong cross-plains winds that might blow through.

While KD and I were at our friends' home playing cards last night the weather reared up. It stoooormed. It rained and rained and poured, then stopped and started up again, several times. Just as it was approaching too-dark-to-see dark I took a peek out the back window to see how the tents were holding up.

There was only one tent standing in the yard.

No, I thought, I must be seeing things. Or maybe I'm at a bad angle so I can only see the larger one? I popped up and clenched a teeny borrowed pocket-sized umbrella and set out to investigate. KD made the frowny face that signified her disapproval of me going outside during a thundery rainstorm. She seemed sure that the single bolt of stray lightning would find me, that I'd be fried to a 10,000 volt crisp. I kissed her on her head on my way out the door to reassure her. I said she didn't have to approve of my choice, but her disapproval wouldn't sway my need to understand why I couldn't see both tents.

Outside, I squee-squawed through the soggy grass of the large side yard. Once I got out to where I'd staked the tents I determined that no, in fact, I was not seeing things. One tent had vanished. I squinted through raindrops, scanning the fence line on the far side of their roughly 2 acre property for some sign of the missing tent - nothing. I looked beyond, to the soybean field past their fence - nothing. It had EVAPORATED!

I borrowed our friends' mightiest MagLite and when we departed we did a slow drive-by crawl down their country road on the off chance the tent blew away. Nothing turned up during our late night Maglite inspection, so I decided I'd try again today after daylight returned. Having the rough plans for a continued search was good but I couldn't seem to let go of my confusion about what had happened. C'mon, where does a whole freaking tent GO?!

I couldn't figure it out. I'd hammered the stakes in at the proper angles to keep the tents tethered, I'd shaken them, I'd tried to move the tents around once they were assembled and I'd felt confident that both were secure. I didn't get it, I couldn't for the life of me figure out where my tent went. As I was back in my own bed last night, relaxing into sleep, my brain busily wandered through a vast field of possibilities, sifting for plausible explanations.

Scenario One: The wind carried the tent away.
I had securely staked the tent and I'd positioned it in such a way that strong winds should have hit the larger of the two tents before they reached the smaller one, but it is possible that a stormy gust could have worked around the larger tent, pulling the stakes of the smaller out of the earth in a mighty display of strength.

Scenario Two: Someone is playing a practical joke.
Given my friends' slight aversion to storms this would be unlikely but most certainly possible. If it was a practical joke I'll commend my friends for their implementation. It was a good one that I'll surely laugh later with them over. Furthermore, I reflected, I am lucky to have friends who enjoy playing, who value good-hearted fun, who know me well enough to trust my response to a harmless entertaining prank. In the drowsiness of pre-sleep I imagined myself playing the make-believe practical joke. I made a mental note that if I do ever pull a prank on a friend who owns two tents I could try tucking the smaller tent inside the larger one. I made a note to give that a try someday.

Scenario Three: A stranger took it.
Seems unlikely that someone drove through the rural Wisconsin countryside during severe weather, unlikely that the person saw two tents standing in a family's yard and unlikelier yet that he'd have thought to himself, boy oh boy, I'd sure like me one'a them. It's nearly unimaginable to me that the person would then have taken the time and energy to sneak up into the yard, disassemble the smaller of the two structures and sneak away into the stormy night with it.

Scenario Three: A stranger took it, part II.
There could have been some poor, wet, lost and confused shelterless moggy traveling through on his journey toward personal enlightenment who was caught completely by surprise by the storm.

It wasn't until I really began considering the karmic implications of Scenaro Three, part II when I uncovered my attachment to that tent. It wasn't the tent itself - at any given time I could walk into a small handful of local businesses and walk out with 273 new, and likely more watertight, tents. No, what I realized was my deep emotional attachment to that laughably plain little thing.

I thought about how, years ago, I'd had to save a little money for a long time from my insufficient single mother head of household paychecks to afford its purchase. When I had purchased that tent I felt successful -- triumphant, even. The handful of times I'd schlepped my child out to nowhere to experience nature we took shelter in that tent: our parent-child relationship deepened, in part because of that tent.

A shift occurred when I recognized my own strong emotional bond. Not only did I feel an instant release of some anger I wasn't even aware of carrying over a possible theft; not only did I feel compassion for a person who might honestly have needed that shelter more than I but more importantly to me, it opened my understanding of why I keep so much - too much - of the unnecessary: things that cause me a variety of headaches (i.e. the schlep factor: arrangement, display, moving, storage).

This connecting of the dots in the past 24 hours feels radical. I'm now excitedly anticipating the ways in which I will have the opportunity to transfer this updated understanding of my emotionally ponderous connections to other parts of my life.

As for the prodigal tent, I plan to offer it to my son. If he's uninterested in keeping it I'll give it away. That I don't require two tents is clear. One will be fine. One is sufficient. One is good. One tent is all my current need requires. As for the enlightenment, I think I'll begin testing it out in our too-packed basement.

Love Note

My shoulders and laughter
are sexy to you
Your eyes and your sprawled abandon
turn me on

Though imprecise with recipe card directions,
I measure my words
Skim superfluous off the top
Using the flat side of my blade.

I choose, arrange,
smith honesty with mouth feel

You don't even know
you are as natural to me as breath.

I ask how was your day dear,
you say okay.

I know from the way you lean into
Oh
and I know from the way you resist
Kay

That this expression wasn't what you had hoped for yourself
as the alarm chewed through the dense violet blue dawn.
I know this, and you, without the burden of awareness.

I am neither this nor that.
I am and.
You are however.
And yet you are as natural to me as breath.

You cannot see the profound lunacy
in the contrast of white upon black,
of linear straining against
this fluid dance we perform
with its precise footsteps falling
exactly, imprecisely, as they do.

My tongue threads remaining liquid through bitter grounds
as I languidly examine the particles
of the unspoken
of us
of breath.

I wish to ask,
Why do we clench?
Why the catch,
the grip,
the pause?


You aren't aware
you count on me.
Less for timeliness
less for keeping track of the important bill -
wholly for recognizing the subtle shift
within your choked happy throat
when you reply
Okay.

chaos

I have no idea. Pretty though, isn't it?, originally uploaded by McBeth.

Our real discoveries come from chaos, from going to the place that looks wrong and stupid and foolish.

-- Chuck Palahniuk

Teaching

scarlett: 1.5 years, 24 lbs., originally uploaded by McBeth.

While we try to teach our children all about life,
Our children teach us what life is all about.

-- Angela Schwindt

fear and action

thank you, thank you., originally uploaded by McBeth.

Thinking will not overcome fear but action will.

-- W. Clement Stone

earlybird

teacups

teacups, originally uploaded by McBeth.

If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?

-from Alice in Wonderland

flamingo feathers

flamingo feathers, originally uploaded by McBeth.

You cannot fly like an eagle with wings of a wren.

-- William James

'bye, sweet boy

'bye, sweet boy, originally uploaded by McBeth.

I just got home from the vet.

I am covered in stress-induced shedded hair from Artie.
He is not here with me.

He didn't come home.

He passed away being cuddled and whispered lovingly to which, I suppose, is something I gave (and will continue giving) absolutely and without reservation, perhaps with some small hope that the gesture will come back to me one day.

I know I did a responsible hard thing but I guess I'm surprised again at the ferocity of grief.

exploring mulch with hands

exploring mulch with hands, originally uploaded by McBeth.

I prefer to explore the most intimate moments, the smaller, crystallized details we all hinge our lives on.

-- Rita Dove

integrity

potatoes and apples, originally uploaded by McBeth.

He who closes his ears to the views of others shows little confidence in the integrity of his own views.

-- William Congreve

camping with diane

For those of you troubled about the lack of personal time for news anchors, I may be able to begin putting your concerns to rest.

This just in:

Diane Sawyer will, in fact, accompany me on an upcoming camping trip. She said she always regretted not having been outside her own back yard when she was much younger and the only place her parents would pop a tent was over a culvert and c'mon, what kind of adventure is that?

The fiesta weekend location has not yet been determined, but I have reassured her that I won't ask her to cook, nor will I demonstrate fire-starting techniques - unless she wants to learn. She's excited and she's planing to pack yellow shirts.
It's true! We talked while I slept last night.

freud is dead

mmmmeaty, originally uploaded by McBeth.

It's not been a swell week at the McMansion.

Allergies maintain weighty status as, officially, The Plague. With recent cold wet spring weather I have have several days' worth of the throb of what I can only guess is every single vein between my scalp and my skull. ka-BLAM. ka-BLAM.

I noticed a listing on a local real estate site early this week - beautiful old property that had been partially rehabbed in a commercially-zoned location in an idyllic little berb 40 or so minutes outside of Big City Proper. The obsessive thinking began as soon as I saw it: 3500 sq. ft., two story, 150 year old building, not built to be a house. Right up my alley.

I decided that I had to eyeball for myself, so I drove out on a whim, poked around, peeked into windows and felt excited about telling KD about this treasure I'd found. We returned mid-week to see it together. The owner met us there and took us on a walk-through and we talked about the long sordid history of the building and its previous occupants. Small towns are great places to go if you're serious about getting the real dirt on a subject.

After we thanked the owner for his time and for opening up the building for us, we drove to a neighboring village for dinner and a beer at The Grumpy Troll. In the end we've agreed that while the building is beautiful, we wouldn't possibly be able to afford both the mortgage payment (which, honestly, is really quite reasonable) AND the rehab costs (which would be prohibitively expensive because there is nothing noth-ing NOTH-ing but beams, 100 year old insulation and mouse turds in there and we'd have to put stuff like walls, floors and a toilet in it. We'd need appliances too. A stove would be nice.

I'm as disappointed saying no to this place as I've been with the others we've looked at together. They're like children to me, these vacant houses ... they need me. I can take one or two quick glances over a place and I can identify each one's needs and wants as instantaneously as I once was able to do with my son.

The despair I experience over each of these 'give the baby back to it's rightful parents' open house tours is big, consuming, and real. The reality of the situation, however, is that I've been here before. I know the territory. If you were to turn off the light I could still feel my way through, it's that familiar. And I'll surely get past it, just like I have each of those other times. If history is any indicator I'll be feeling less hopeless in about, oh, 48 more hours.

It would have been amazing to have potential studio space, or a darkroom, or a chiropractic office for the missus, yes. But I subscribe to the belief that it'll be alright in the end, so if it isn't alright it isn't the end and I have to believe that I will find that particular house with the trees in the front yard growing tall and strong as they wait for me.

As roller coaster-ey as my emotions have been over disappointing house hunting, I may have overexerted something in one or both hemispheres due to that + the sinus/headache/allergy thing. I feel like I'm melting. I'm starting to feel the sensation of slipping below the radar again. nudge nudge wink wink. When she says that it means 'she's symptomatic'.

KD is (wisely) giving me wide berth; I think I scare her a little when I'm experiencing 'Not Quite Right' days; I'm pretty sure I scare her -nearly to death, is my best guess- when there are several in a row. So tonight I stayed home, alone, to watch a video rental while I'm having my snivelfest. I popped 'Running With Scissors' in and felt an instant wave of peacefulness rush through me once the Seriously Crazy shit began. Yessssss. These are my people.

It didn't occur to me at the time to mark the time stamp of the DVD player when my telephone rang; now I kinda wish I had. Well, whatever time it was, it was the scene when the Natalie and Augusten knock out the kitchen ceiling for a skylight because they hated the kitchen and needed high ceilings.
Which all sorta makes sense.

A woman's voice: Hello, Beth?

Yes?

Is this Beth M?

Yes, this is Beth. Who's calling?

Do you recognize me?

Excuse me?

Can you tell who it is? Guess who it is!

Uhmm, no. No, I can't. Where do I know you from?

I'm a blast from the past, hunh? she laughs.

I am silent. Hampsters leap onto wheels in my head trying to scramble through 20 years' worth of incidentals, trying to put a face to the voice.

...

It's JAAAAANNNNEEE!

Jane?

Yeah! Remember me?

Well Jane, now that you mention it ... no. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I've no idea who you are.

It's JANE. JANE! From St. Louis!

I absolutely believe you, Jane, but I don't know who you are. I've never lived in St. Louis.

Remember when you lived on (unintelligible) Street? And I lived down the street with Louis?

She's having what sounds like a lovely walk down memory lane but I for real and for true wasn't there. I don't know what to say.

This is Beth M, right? I've reached Beth M?

Yes, I am Beth M but I thi---
And you're married to Bill?

I had to laugh. No, I am not married to Bill.

You and Bill aren't married?

No, I mean -- I never have been married and I really haven't been married to anyone named Bill.

she pauses.
You're Beth M and you live in Madison? Is that right?

Yes. Yes both parts of that are true but I think you'r--
Well I wonder if there could be two Beth M's?

If only the woman would've stopped shrieking into the telephone for three seconds I would have told her about how yes, there are two of us and why do I know this? I know this because 10 years ago or so I picked up my meds at Walgreens and as I was leaving the store I happened to glance into the bag only to find something that looked nothing at all like the meds I was taking at the time. I returned them to the pharmacist, who apologized to the moon and back for the mix-up. Apparently none of us figured there'd be more than one person with my name. With her name. Er, with our name.

In fact, periodically for years after I would chuckle to myself, imagining the zany fun we all could have had if she'd received my meds.

Oh, well. Say, we're on State Street right now.

Ah, you are? Well. Well, good. I hope you enjoy your visit.

We're hungry and we're looking for a good restaurant for dinner. What can you recommend?

what?! This stranger still has not found her person but she's willing to get dining recommendations from the total stranger that I am to her?

Uh. Hmmm. Well, do you like vegetarian? There are a couple of pretty great Himalayan restaurants on State Street.

Ohhhh, well, no. We really want steak. Are there any good steak places?

Steak places.

Yes, steak places! I really was trying to reach the Beth M. who is married to Bill because she's the only person we know in this area. But we'd like to have steak for dinner.

Uhhh. Okay, well it'll be a bit of a walk up to the capital square but Johnny DelMonico's is up there and is supposed to serve a great steak.

Donny?

No, J-o-h-n-n-y. Delmonico.

Oh, okay. Well that will be fine because we're just over at the Doubletree. It's not too far.

I am momentarily struck both dumb and blind.
I cannot picture where a hotel called Doubletree is, not anywhere within the entire city limits. I'm not really sure why she's telling me any of this. To be honest, I'm still stuck on how she'd trust a stranger she'd essentially crank-called to give her dining recommendations. And I'm puzzled why she doesn't seem the least bit concerned that she hasn't reached her 'good old times' friend from St. Louis?

Any other suggestions?

No, I guess that's it for now. I mean, it's not every day that someone calls me to reach someone else who shares my name, then asks me for recommendations for restaurants that I'm not accustomed to dining at for their steak recommendations which I don't generally order. Yeah, try DelMonico's.

Okay, we'll give that one a try. Thanks!



One of my favorite quotes of the movie came shortly after I pushed the 'play' button to continue it from where I'd paused the show when the phone first rang. This would have been just after Jane and I said goodbye to one anther.

"According to Hope, Freud died of kitty leukemia. According to me, Freud died of being trapped in a laundry basket for four days without food or water."

This is my life.
True story.

hard to choose one

hard to choose one, originally uploaded by McBeth.

Did you ever have to make up your mind
Pick up on one and leave the other behind
It's not often easy and not often kind
Did you ever have to make up your mind

-- Lovin' Spoonful

unamerican

why that's just plain unamerican, son, originally uploaded by McBeth.

Let's just get comfortable while we're here, shall we?
Here, I'll start.

I'll prudently lay this one card on the metaphorical table while we're stopped at this particular red light.

You?

renaissance man

renaissance man, originally uploaded by McBeth.

It takes a certain tenor of toddler to wear whatever the hell he'd like to wear, even if it means it's a skirt and all the grownups around him either swoon or freak OUT because oh gosh, could he be gay? Is he demonstrating effeminate tendencies what with those fag-toy barbies and the swishing swirling skirts?

Here's the deal right from the auntie's mouth, folks: For the record, I BOUGHT him that skirt and he likes it and I like that he likes it. SHUT. THE FARK. UP.

Seriously, right now, just stop.

What does it matter? He's a beautiful imaginative sweet well-mannered kid who calls me 'auntie' in a way that melts me on even my meanest days. People of certain religious convictions and people who have nothing better to worry about can go climb a tree. This boy is the fellow who isn't afraid to have emotions, play with "girl" toys, and play with me as though I was the neatest coolest most magnificent person ever in the history of the universe.

That matters. So leave it alone and let's just love him and all the other little boy children who prefer to dress and redress their barbie dolls to bang up smash ups.

before i call the vet

dwindling supply, originally uploaded by McBeth.

Before I call the vet... I will brush his coat. He's either disinterested or having difficulty cleaning himself and he could use a de-matting.

Before I call the vet... I will sort out where he'll be buried.

Before I call the vet... I will continue giving him IV fluids so he's not too weak to make what I can only imagine will be a long journey.

Before I call the vet... rather than listening to him yowling on the other side of my closed bedroom door I will bring him inside to sleep with me.

Before I call the vet... I will whisper a few more secrets to him, because I know he will keep them safe, as he has with hundreds of others over all these years.

scarlett's hands

I have two weeks' worth of nephew and niece visits to catch up on but it's been a little chaotic at the McMansion and I can only do what I can do. That means I have a backlog. That means I feel some guilt for having let more than is balanced and comfortable for me go. That means it might slightly resemble a constipated digestion tract around these here parts for a bit, but I can promise that it will be neither horribly painful nor will it last long.

So please enjoy my youngest niece's hands while she learns the secrets of untying the knots on her momma's drum. She and I hung out together for a little while when her momma had an appointment (and a not-exactly-small need to get the heck outta dodge for some grownup time). Daddy had to work today too, so Scarlett and I flopped on pillows, played with stuffed animals, made noises like real animals, read books, and played music until The Momma(tm) returned.

Scarlett's parents encourage her to try nearly everything that won't outrightly hurt her. In that 'don't break the baby' category there are only a few no-nos and the few are mostly diet-related. She is life-threateningly and intensely allergic to tree and ground nuts, eggs and dairy so she eats nearly entirely from a whole food diet to avoid the hidden bombs that might be waiting for her in prepared foods.

She's got a somewhat frightening amount of language for an 18 month old. I don't remember my son speaking in sentences at that same age but Scarlett can string together 4-5 words that make grownup sense. She appropriately uses pronouns. She can ask questions. She can save and recall complicated multisyllabic words. Wow. As the parent of a boychild I never bothered getting my knickers in a knot over where he was on that imaginary bell curve; you know, the one that indicates the precise, the accurate and the earlybirds along with the dingbats, the slowpokes, and the late bloomers ... frankly, I had enough to contend with raising him on my own, so I was glad to have him however he developed. And he's done perfectly.

As for my sister, I tease her by telling her she's gotten exactly the child she was meant to have. And that her baby is a freak.

goodness me, what terrible google manners

dam yellow dot, originally uploaded by McBeth.

Confidental to Rhode Island:

You may well be trying to find disparaging compatriots in your googlesearch but I think you'll have to move along 'cuz there's nothing to see here.

Fine, you think Tret Fure sucks. Got it. But consider for a moment that you, yourself, might not be Tret's cuppa tea either.

At least Tret has the decency to keep that information to herself.