So this gecko walks into a bar...

McBeth.

Been on vacation and through a whole batch of the United States in the past 15 days.

We had a wonderful time. Went to the Calliope music festival in South Florida, took an absolute touristy boat ride (Never thought I'd know what Rosie O'D.'s backyard looks like) - tried my first sushi and lobster, swam in the ocean, drove and drove and drove, laughed and talked and wondered and slept and ate and learned about one another and the unfamiliar world around us.

Road trips are good for the soul.

Cristin holds her boys Theo and big brother Charlie (2), while cousin Audrey (4) hams from the side. Charlie doesn't seem to quite understand what this new "bay-bee" business is about just yet. Audrey does but she doesn't much care, so long as she has a captive audience to direct.

My new nephew (Theodore Christian - Theo, for short), snuggled in with his Momma

The infinite variety of mothering

Mother's Day is a curious holiday that one can't fully appreciate until one is a mother. At least this was the case for me.

I mean, as a child I did consider it a bit of an Agatha Christie clue collection process to trying to impress my mom with something that would make her love me more: homemade craft projects or playing an excerpt of a piece the school orchestra had been eee-awwwing through on my cello, and sometimes my sibs and I would shovel together a messy breakfast for her on Her Special Day. But without a clear understanding of the rules it seemed more like the continual mystery than the solving.

My mother's Ultimate Gift Request, no matter when or how often she was asked what she'd like, no matter whether it was a birthday or Christmas or any other gift-giving occasion, was simply "I only want well-behaved children". Oh, sure, easy. I'll just steal some other kids and wash 'em up for you. Apparently she never birthed the well-mannered children she so wanted - which made me wonder how much more she needed from me to hit that invisible good enough mark. When I began raising my own child I realized what a ridiculous and slightly mean request she had made of my siblings and me. It's one thing to say 'hey you know what? I love you and I think you're perfect and I don't need anything else. Just spend some time with me today and it'll be the best gift ever' and quite another to say something that leaves a kid with the impression that they're not good enough, never good enough no matter how valiant her herculean childlike efforts.

We kids celebrated Mom anyhow. Every year we'd manage to scoop together babysitting money to buy her a cheesy present or we'd collect and vase some flowers we'd picked from her garden. She always seemed pleased; cried frequently at our efforts. I'm still confused by her tears and cannot shake off the feeling that they were present because we weren't good enough kids; that she didn't get the thing she really really wanted.

It was when I became a mother that I finally felt free enough in the relaxed atmosphere I'd created in my own home that I luxuriated in the pleasure of making it a no-fuss holiday. Yeah, so I'm the momma, woo hoo, whatever. Let's make something yummy together and call it a day. I realize now that my son may have a skewed view (and in the opposite direction of what I learned as a kid) of what such holidays are supposed to look like, according to the way I purposely, loosely, halfway celebrate them in our home. If anything, he'll need to step it up some day if/when he has a significant other and I hope for her that she's clear about her expectations and patient while he learns to live up to them.

On the far back right side of our refrigerator still hangs the crayon drawing that J. drew many years back, when my first long-term -and living together- relationship, with L., was at its peak of homeyness. Two women, raising a small boy ... He drew some flowers and wrote 'I love you both! Happy Mothers Day.'

Whatever my mother did or did not do, she did raise five respectful caring and deeply loving children. Yesterday J., KD and I took my mother out for brunch at a favorite diner. J. also burned a CD for me of music he likes to listen to that he thought I would like. I'd asked if he would make me the CD a couple of weeks ago and had not expected to see results for at least a couple more months, and the gift was a lovely surprise.

J. is already well-behaved; I don't expect I'll ever consider asking that from him. What I hope to have is a kid who loves his life, who loves me including most of my wrinkles and faults and who can blamelessly point out when I'm being a dodo, who is gentle with animals and small children, and who knows when to step up without being asked to do it. He's well on his way.

It's fun! It's easy! It's THE SOCK GAME

Here's how the Charlie Sock Game (tm) goes:

1. (very important) Have your aunt underdress you the very chilly day you wait 2.5 hours for Gramma and your cousin Audrey to show up at the zoo.

2. When you're very tired and your aunt has relegated you to sitting in the stroller for a few minutes of "let's sit down for a bit" time, kick off your shoes.

3. Yank off a sock.
3b. Fling the sock.

4. Yank off the other sock, but hold onto this one.

5. Flap the sock around while your aunt scrambles around to find your shoes. Get a good giggle going at this point.

6. Put the sock you are still holding onto next to your mouth. Make a funny noise into it.

7. Laugh as though this is the most hilarious thing ever done. This will, in turn, get the grownups laughing and they may join in with you on the game.

8. Repeat steps 5-7 for 20 minutes or until nobody can breathe.

I do not make this up.

I'd volunteered to supply the food goodies for this past weekend's neighborhood clean-up. Knowing we'd be having at least 10 UW-Madison football players helping us I thought it best to buy discount and buy the discount food in bulk. After all, happy tummies make happy workers.

My final decision on the soda pop matter: discount groceries choose peculiar names for their beverages.

They submerge so quickly

J. is an amazing person. He is fifteen now, a sophomore in high school. He's usually fairly quiet, which puts people at ease and makes them think he's shy (ha!) -- and then, and then -- he delivers a most delicious whammy when he pops off a ridiculously funny joke or makes a riotiously observant comment. I love that moment. It always comes; I wait for it.

J's current interests rest primarily in music, the internet and cars. Especially the cars. MmmmMMMMmm, cars. He's thinking he'd like to go to a tech institute after high school to learn the fine art of car repair. Lord knows the vehicles need repair and that we need people who can aptly repair them. He's hit a few bumps along the road though. This year the thought occurred to him that he could possibly break something in the process of fixing something else. The idea rattled him to the point that he rethought auto repair as a career choice. But he slowly found his way back to tinkering and seems happiest when hanging out upside down under the hood or beneath the body of a car.

Since the earliest days of his life I've believed that Jordan was (and is) his own person, even (especially) during those times when I'm not sure how to find the connection between his self-ness and mine. In part as a result as the parenting that was done to me, I've made a point of telling myself - aloud, when necessary - that what J does is entirely up to him and I'll be content as long as I know he is happy. I mean, there are limits. Had he shown proclivites for ax murdering, I would have had some issues with his hobbies. But what he decides to train for as a livelihood and the music he chooses to listen to and the clothing he's most comfortable wearing? Small potatoes, baby; such small potatoes.

I figure my job as his mom is to train him to do the stuff he'll need to know how to do when he's away from me, living by himself or setting up a home with someone(s) else: Turning the stove off after he's done cooking to prevent kitchen fires. Keeping baking soda on hand in the event he forgets to turn the stove off. Reading the tags on his clothing to understand the difference between 'gentle wash' and 'don't mix with darks'. Figuring out who to talk to and how to do it when the bill that arrives in the mail is incorrect. Making beds, making jokes, making a home.

My approach has been one of constant awareness and constant thought but I'm generally hands-off. I ask him to help with a few household chores but I don't book his afternoons and evenings with activities. He's a kid, for chrissake. He'll have too many years packed with responsibilities; I don't mind leaving these last few years of his flickering childhood open to the possibilities of what he might want to do with them. Anyway.


Earlier this week I met with J's high school guidance counselor. Because J. is quiet and polite, because he isn't a trouble-maker, because he's not a powerhouse and because he does just fine -- he slips under all the radars. I wanted to meet with Charles, in part, to meet with a real live person; in part, to introduce one of the grown-ups who affects my child's education to MY CHILD. Charles flipped and blipped through several computer screens to review J's previous and current classes. He commented, "Well, the good news is that J. is doing pretty well. His grades aren't bad".

No doy-uh. I knew that.

"Well, yes. That's not a question, he IS doing well. But J. doesn't draw attention to himself - either positive or negative - and I'm concerned that an overworked school system might accidentally let his fall through the cracks. I don't want that to happen."

Charles tried his best to reassure me that J. is in a big transitional time, that J. is feeling his way through his interests and that they may stick or they may change, that J. is doing fine. I tried my best to explain to Charles that even IF J's mechanical interests do not waver, I want both J. and I to fully understand all the classes and opportunities he has available for the 'JUST IN CASE' scenario. For that small iota of a chance that he changes his mind about a career in auto mechanic work, I want him to have the option of attending a four-year college or university without being absolutely overloaded his senior year of high school because c'mon, how suckful would that be to play catch-up?!

Charles, a kind and patient-seeming man, admitted that with his current case load of 350 students he hadn't yet met J.

Three hundred. and fifty.

Charles offered to meet with J. this week, to talk about J's interests, his classes, to give him some face time. It was one of the few things I took away from our meeting that I felt grateful for.

Because in a big system where the finances are being strapped down tighter and tigher, where the nasties seem to take up more time that used to be spread more evenly across their disheveled heads, our children can vanish right before our eyes while we're busy making what we assume will be the rest of their lives materialize.

Whatcha readin'?

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don't search around and look for the coolest book you can find. Do what's actually next to you.

============
Then my computer tells me it is performing a virus scan, though it has never, to my knowledge, actually found a virus, so this message is pretty much like the 120 on the speedometer dial of a Ford Escort.


from p.124 of The Hypochondriac's Guide to Life. And Death. by Gene Weingarten. Page 123 did not contain five full sentences.
============
(Thanks to Allison for the idea)

Primal response

McBeth.

Some days it didn't quite feel worth the effort to her to do much but stare back at the shapeless masses on the other side of the glass.

Today's advice:

McBeth.

Always begin with dessert.

If you still have room after the good stuff is in, then try the veggies.

My reject crayon

You are

What Rejected Crayon Are You?

I had the horrifying realization this morning that I have no photographs of my son with his great-grandmother from her 90th birthday party this past weekend.

Grandma has been a life-long reader. She used to read daily devotions every day (EVERY day) at the breakfast table with Grandpa. As a child I was mystified how she must have trained my grumbly Irish grandfather to listen to religious dictates according to the Lutheran church; eventually I settled on the idea that breakfast was probably a good time to get him to set still and he'd probably listen to anything so long as he had a strong cup of coffee, toast, and some thick stick-to-his-ribs oatmeal; if it didn't hold his attention it would at least hold him to his chair. When we would visit them in their yellow house next to the woods we would also sit through the daily devotions, followed by hand holding and a prayer at the end. The process made me want to giggle when I was little; it touches me now.

Sunday I flagged J. down in the dayroom to come kneel next to me, next to Grandma. I (re)introduced Grandma to her first great-grandchild, reminding her of his name and age. I told her about how he's such a good fella and how well he's doing in school. His cheeks pinked up and he laughed nervously as she looked him up and down and back up again wordlessly.

Her eyes settled back down on the shirt he was wearing. "Slacker", she said.

I glanced over at J. and laughed. He was wearing one of my favorite t-shirts which reads "How to be a slacker:" with three squares of stick images across the chest.

1. Don't get a job.
2. Borrow $ from your parents.
3. Join a garage band.

"Yep, that's what it says ... slacker", I chuckled, "do you know what a slacker is?"

"Well", she said and then paused. "I think I do, but I might be wrong about that".

I explained that a slacker is another term for a lazy person, then reassured her that the t-shirt is especially funny to me because J. really isn't one.

"Slacker", she repeated, "It says slacker".

Later that day I was driving J. to his friend's house. We were talking about his great-grandmother and he made noises about having been dressed inappropriately for her party. I couldn't imagine a 15-year old kid thinking a t-shirt and khakis being 'inappropriate' so asked for clarification. He didn't understand her dementia and her in/outness and he'd misunderstood her focus on his t-shirt as though she really did think HE was a slacker. He felt bad about it in that way that he couldn't say it exactly, but I totally understood as soon as I recognized his noises.

I touched his leg, reassuring him that he looked great and that his great-grandma has the same very curious sense of humor that most of the folks in our family have. I promised him that she wasn't the least bit offended and that she loved seeing him - seeing all of us - even if she doesn't remember it for more than a few minutes.

I think I will squirrel his t-shirt away once he's outgrown it so it doesn't accidentally get freecycled or tossed. I love that shirt. And the kid. And I could just kick myself for not having the presence of mind to have snapped a shot of J. and his great-grandmother this weekend.

A bottle of red

McBeth.

I never understood a single word he said but I helped him drink his wine... and he always had some mighty fine wine.

-3 Dog Night

Tiny fall

McBeth.

Digital bleariness suggests pre-dawn
In another room the cat scratches her neck,
distant jingling of tags

No sirens out the window,
no street talk at this hour,
Only her breathing now,
suspended in a sighing loop

from where my left hand snakes
from her soft breast
to the goosebumped flesh of her thigh

How did I get this permission?
Where are my qualifications?
Am I authorized?

She allows me in easily
Unencumbered.
Breathless, delicious, wet,
like a deep green forest
She welcomes me home.

She holds tightly to me,
trusting me with her tenderest pieces
while I guide us to the edge
for early morning freefall.

Grandma's fingers

McBeth.

One of Grandma's things now is to tuck food and small items into neatly-folded tissues, tuck the folded tissues inside her waistband, and surprise the staff later with all sorts of goodies when it's time to put pjs on. Currently an earpiece is missing for one of her hearing aids which likely went the way of the waistband or is tucked away somewhere for safekeeping, hidden so well no one will see it again.

There was a certain amount of controlled yelling one had to do to communicate well to be heard, but on a very intimate level I reminded Grandma today at her 90th birthday party celebration that I always loved the shape of her fingernails and how, as a child, I always hoped I'd have pretty fingernails like hers. And that I hated my next-younger sister for some time because SHE got those lovely fingernail genes and I was, instead, given stumpy sausage fingers with tiny nailbeds.

Grandma laughed.

It helped wash away a small portion of the guilt I've been carrying for a long time, when it became too hard to visit her regularly. When she didn't just confuse my dad's name for my deceased grandfather's name, but when she really just didn't recognize anyone anymore.

The staff at The Carrington will have to hustle to keep up with her tonight: with visitors brings confusion, and that means the door alarms will be shocking them all awake, looking for which way Dorothy went this time. There's a part of her mind that I believe is absolutely clear; a smooth undemented piece of tranquility within her that knows she was married for 60 years, she did own a home with Les and raised four children together. She did drive a car, dammit, and she does deserve to take a long walk out in the fresh air whenever she pleases.

Sufi Wisdom

McBeth.

Tie two birds together.

They will not be able to fly, even though they now have four wings.

this is your brain on sunlight.

You've been warned.

Locus of change (or: Da crane, da crane)

McBeth.

This morning I sat outside on the front steps of my house, trying to carefully yank the crusted muck from the inside corners of my eyes while navigating some complicated early-morning emotions which followed an earlier-morning phone call from one of my sisters.

After my 227th game of PDA Solitaire I slowly contemplated moving indoors... maybe to the bathtub, maybe to a dusty window with a towel and a bottle of Windex, maybe back to the coffee pot for a refill, maybe to a long slow stare down with the broom and dustpan (no, two against one. They'd most definitely win). Maybe I should grab a pen and a notebook to extrapolate the wordless frustration, or find something to physically break -ruin- to help shake loose my tension.

It was while trying to unravel this 'which way do I go?' conundrum when I heard a soft chuffling sound indirectly above me. Not cooing exactly; not squawking, but more of a high baritone or perhaps a very low tenor's throat clearing.

Grus canadensis

Sand Hill Cranes

Likely immature, given the brown color of their bodies (though I have read that even the mature birds, which are blue-gray can also be a brownish-red color due to the waters which they hang out in). The two distinct 'V' formations flew over my head, one containing four birds and the other, six. Marvelous huge creatures these birds are, putting the local geese and ducks to weight (at roughly ten pounds) and height (at five foot stature) shame.

They were too far away (and the two flocks located too close together) to designate who was calling out which way, but I could clearly make out both their 'unison call'', which they vocalize as male/female pairs to reinforce their bond and to threaten other cranes or predators (and which, incidentally, sounds very much to me like nature's own little wind chimes) and their 'guard call', which they vocalize to either warn cranes of danger or to warn away other cranes. Such beautiful noise, those guttural ku-rluuuu-uuing.

This time of year reveals the return of life to the seemingly lifeless rolling hills of end-of-winter Wisconsin. I am no closer to understanding how to settle my heart around a satisfactory solution WRT family issues that aren't mine to solve, but the ka-ro-o-oooing of the migrating cranes placed me slightly closer to center. That helps. It opens me to gratitude. It reminds me that I am in control of very little, that I could consider making more of a concerted effort in letting the world flow over and past me, because the world does that anyway, regardless.

Tantrum

McBeth.

They watched her storm out, trailing her swirling vortex behind her.

seedy, and slightly hollow in the middle

McBeth.

I used to think I had ambition ... but now I'm not so sure. It may have been only discontent. They're easily confused.

-Rachel Field

Tenderly Fierce

McBeth.

Roller derby girls are quite something to watch (and jeer, and cheer, and and and).

There are five season tickets that exist. When the season began KD and I stopped in to buy the just-available season tickets from the roller rink. After some confusion with the owner who said there were no season tickets to buy, KD spoke with Crackerjack (a sexy and sassy MadRollinDoll), who got us the five season tickets we were seeking.

We're still not sure why no other season tickets were sold after ours but we cling to ours like the manna from heaven they are. And we do so love the Dolls.

Chocolicious

I am Chocolate Flavoured. I am sweet and a little bit naughty. I am one of the few clinically proven aphrodisiacs. Sometimes I can seem a little hard, but show warmth and I soon melt. What Flavour Are You?

(thanks to Snowball for the quizlink)

God must've spent a little extra time on you

McBeth.

Photo Friday Challenge: Obsession

McBeth.

BURP.

Which are you?

made by Jen



Thanks, Snowball. I've been feeling quizzically quizless ~ refreshed now, and back to your regular programming.

Okay. One more question. Is this some kind of Rorschach test image or am I really looking at a pair of cross-country skis? That's not really a picture of sushi (is it?). They're snowshoes awaiting a long cold trek somewhere too brightly lit and so cold the piss will free mid-flow. Yeah... thought so. Alrighty then.

Overheard

McBeth.

Surrounding water droplets found her oilier than thou attitude slightly off-putting.

I AM: a meme in 22 parts

McBeth.

I AM: easily distracted, easily distractible
I WANT: the most expensive thing, even if I don't see the price tag first
I HAVE: such a lovely life, despite gripes and groans
I WISH: my mother would say 'I'm sorry', and that I'd have an open forgiving heart to hear it
I HATE: extremism
I MISS: the magic of early childhood, when I really could be a doctor, or a princess, or both
I FEAR: people's expectations of me
I HEAR: my kid's chuckling rising up from somewhere downstairs
I SEARCH: for meaning in snippets. And for the meeting minutes I lost a month ago.
I WONDER: if the day will come when I no longer concern myself over matching socks with outfits
I REGRET: not making peace with Mark before he killed himself
I LOVE: catching the perfect snapshot
I ACHE: to be loved the way I most need it and to give love the way she most needs it, and to clearly understand/respect the differences
I AM NOT: patient with people who tell me what to do
I DANCE: when the spirit moves me
I SING: Christmas songs and commercial jingles in elevators, then leave, knowing others will be humming them shortly
I CRY: at commercials and nearly anything else when I'm *ahem* hormonal
I AM NOT ALWAYS: on time
I WRITE: to keep my synapses firing and my fingers busy
I CONFUSE: people's names. It's likely I confuse people as well
I TASTE: delicious
I NEED: a lot more sleep than I ever imagined. And ungodly amounts of time to myself

Thanks to 'ShutupDude' for the meme idea.

About Marbles

McBeth.

If you ever feel as though you've lost your marbles, check your bedside table before you choose to get overexcited.

You might have forgotten that you put them in a jar last night to soak.

elephant ear

McBeth.

sometimes the beauty of a leaf shows up without the color distractions.

Photo Friday Challenge: Ghost

McBeth.

I haven't participated in a Photo Friday Challenge in a long while ... it's about time to jump in again.

http://www.photofriday.com

Protected Witness

McBeth.

Jane's daddy hurt her terribly
He was a nervous sneaky man,
drunken and smelling of sweaty Old Spice.
So she sometimes has to relieve the pressure of
her childhood sins
by slipping away from us
sneaking off to smash her head against hard things
like bloodied brick walls
or by sticking 64 safety pins underneath the skin of her pale forearms.
See, Daddy? I am worthy. I am.
Jesus still loves me.

Estella speaks little English,
her roommate knows only 'mi casa es su casa'.
But the silent language of tears
translates easily to me over our cans of Sprite and packets of crackers
when Estella's purse tips,
and Bethany's cray pas art therapy project is discovered,
the unexplained stardusting of delicate shreds
within,
Nesting materials for the rotting reeking remains of
dozens of snitched breakfast items.

David is unable to open up during group
His old girlfriend has just been admitted, he whispers.
And though he's been informed she is on the locked ward
He knows she will eventually be free to roam
on this side of the steel door.
He worries he might harm her
Again,
when he is absent.

Slightly-stooped Michael has established
his supremacy over the night.
Overrated unnecessary sleep, ha!
He paces the halls in great loops
remarking as he passes the very beautiful girl
sitting in the smoking room
that Joe DiMaggio did well to marry her.
Every other lap he winks twice, alternating eyes
one lid bowing cavalierly to Joe's gal, the other to me,
as he turns the corner,
resuming his judicious unraveling of string theory
shoelace by shoelace.

Esther's hands shake absurdly
Jell-O tumbles from the cheap white plastic spoon
cruel green globs dribble down her shirt
'This is no way to live', she keens to no one in particular.
From the nurse's station, I see dark eyes raise.
Reminders that her food tray will be reviewed
Rated
Assessed
Checked
Counted
Analyzed
Tabulated
Discussed,
along with her vocalizations,
and sleep patterns, and her appearance,
and her cooperation,
and the latest in expressed suicidal ideations,
Compiled into what she will eventually choose to label
'The test I could not pass',
Her final grade.

In the day room
Jesus just broke the D string
of his beloved battered vintage Gibson,
strumming with all his gusto.
I'd hoped to play a quiet hand of Solitaire
but could not find a full deck anywhere,
so I gave up the game,
Instead, settling in to watch the presentation.
His forehead furrows into uncharacteristic grooves -
'I ain't gonna study war no more', he wails.
His swaying groupies know about faith,
With their eyes closed,
They believe.

Early Thaw

McBeth.

The ripple of lake sounds, like intimacies breathed
twinkle by sparkling twinkle
in my ear this morning,
ebb twisting itself over flow .

You above me,
In front of me,
behind me rocking
looking at all of me, your early morning repast.
Hungry shore birds, flapping our fluttering anticipation.

You, veritable ice floe,
dripping dripping
drop
melting, streaming off
warm, flesh melts
awakens and eddies,
condenses to rejoin with me,
warm flesh, waiting all those frost-suspended months
downstream.

sweating, revealing
robustly starting,
sharing
claiming, continuing,
given to wanting
giving in to being wanted.


Lazily paddling your finger oar
in circles
through reedy lowlands
to the clearing,
deep and wide,
on the other side
of oh yes,

Lap longingly
bid me dive
unclothed and carefree
into the first fervid waters
of the new season.

any bad hair day can easily be covered with a hat. If you cannot find a hat, you might try a purple scarf.

guess who's working on natural lighting portraits not only in her digital photography but also the 35mm B&W courses?

bite it

McBeth.

some days it feels like the most i'll be capable of is baring my teeth and warning others away.

Thai pavillion

McBeth.

...a flicker of brightness and hope in the midst of Wisconsin dreary winter days

bridge

McBeth.

"There is a time for departure even when there's no certain place to go."

-Tennessee Williams

Scent Haiku Quintet

McBeth.

Patchouli

Lor's personal choice
Now, oh Sapphic calling card,
Karen wears you well.


China Musk

Your vial, wrapped simply
I wore, plus gave as as a gift
But hurled in labor.


Freshly Cut Grass

My independence
Military precision
Cranky push mower


Chanel No.5

Snuck some at Grandma's
My first credit card buy, mmm!
I am a soft girl.


Sweet-sour Sweaty Baby

I kiss the soft nape
Cheerios, powder and sweat
His naptime, my joy.

The grave affair of two old friends

McBeth.

A grave affair, this very unladylike leave-taking

Two long-unpolished vamps,
So far beyond their prime
Immodestly incontinent and offensively
malodorous, as if The Plague has descended upon them
now beg for benevolence,
clamor for compassion

Their tongues lolling, parched and shriveled
Throats withered to thin brittle leather strips

Several recent biopsies have proven
And second opinions have indeed confirmed
the gummy tumors
imbedded deeply in their souls remain
firmly inoperable,
malignant testaments to a lifetime of reckless
and ungoverned living

Still -- They stand resolutely now
And, wearily conceding defeat, they offer their resignation

Each consoles the other,
First, denying the necrosis (clearly visible near their collars)
Then - quietly, gently...
Looking into the leaking well of tears in one another's despairing eyes,
Admits the grim inevitability of their immediate futures

Huddled together, one toes the ground, whispering her
dreams to the other. Of how in their afterlives,
should they have them, they may return
as front yard planters for purple hybrid daisies which will,
come springtime, push up new life through their nutritive soil.

Interweaving laces, they lay down heel-to-heel
Weary
worn thin
offering up their lives in two final squeaks
releasing joy into the universe

Officials have not yet determined whether this will be considered
multiple homicide or a suicide pact.

Movie meme

I'm memeing again. Such a liar. Have I ever memed before? I believe this may be my maiden memeing voyage. C'mon, bat at me with a bottle of champagne ... Wild Turkey? Anything.
(edit: I lied. AGAIN! After some consideration I realized that this wasn't my maiden memeing voyage. Will you still love me in the morning?)

This time I found the goodie on Viv's blog. She said she found this task amusing; me? Not so much. I don't think I CAN come up with twelve movie quotes so I'm taking up her challenge here and now. Bring it on, sister.

1. Pick one dozen movies that are ones that you have special feelings about.
2. Pick a few lines of dialogue that mean something to you.
3. As people guess the film, strike out that entry.
4. If possible, after the film is guessed, explain why that movie made the list.

Now Viv may have the absoloveliest name I've ever wanted to squeeze (next to Nerolie, but that's another story for another time) and Viv may well get a gaggle of visitors necessitating the unveiling of her movie titles. Me & my blog? ummm... not so much about the visitors. Or visiting folk who leave comments (yet. yet?). So I'll plan to post the answers up in approximately one week just to give anyone who feels like meandering into this a fair deal. Bonne chance!

(*additional edit added 25 Jan '05: I don't know the HTML for drawing a line through text so instead I will BOLD the quotations that have been accurately guessed.)

1. "Oh, you should never, never doubt what nobody is sure about."
KIDS! Nobody guessed this?! It's only from the best, most freaky groovy fantabulous pre-Nemo extravaganza, filmed back in the day when movies were made to be fun and frightening because everyone knew kids were smart enough to hold both fear and humor together in their bulbous little heads at the same time movie ever! 'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory'!
ooompa looooma doompa-dee-dooo...

2. "One cannot be betrayed if one has no people."
Kaiser Sosa. Does that clue help anyone figure this out?
This quote was from the very smart 'Usual Suspects'. I remember the bleary stupefied sense I had, that "what just happened here?" feeling that hung like a fog the first time I watched this movie. I daren't say too much, in case you haven't seen this movie yet (because you will. trust me, it'll gnaw at you like a prairie mouse at the door of the silo in winter until you do) but what impressed me was this movie's ability to catapult my 'oh, I know what's going to happen to him/her/it next' assumptions far far away. I didn't know I could be so dense. Fabulous.

3. "A lot of alliteration from anxious anchors placed in powerful posts!"
This may be the only movie quote that I have repeated nearly weekly - for years. If you consider that the movie was made in 1987 that's a reasonably respectable rousting run of repetition. See below #4 for the answer.

4. "And if things had gone differently for me tonight then I probably wouldn't be saying any of this. I grant you everything, but give me this - he personifies everything that you've been fighting against. And I'm in love with you. How do you like that? - I buried the lead." (hint: came from same movie as quote #3)
Oh lordy, RUN to pick up a copy of this, all ye cynical lovers of both hearthbreak and humor. 'Broadcast News' made me a fullblooded Holly Hunter fan (I attempted to emulate her making time to cry bit. It didn't work so well for me but that only increased my admiration for her acting skills). The movie also taught me to keep a critical eye toward the surface levels of whatever on first glance seems simple.

5. "Yeah, we saw you and we were like 'whoa', and then you were like 'whoa' and we went, like, 'whoa'."
(*Yes, this came from 'Finding Nemo' and any adult who has not seen this movie yet MUST view it, whether accompanied by children or not. Very sweet. Ellen DeGeneres rocks as Dorie.)

6. "You cannot find peace by avoiding life, Leonard."
(*A certain east coasterererer has a fantastic sense of name placement. This quote came from 'The Hours'.)

7. "I know what it's like to want to die. How it hurts to smile. How you ty to fit in but you can't. How you hurt yourself on the outside to try to kill the thing on the inside."
This quote comes from 'Girl, Interrupted'. Angelina Jolie. Oh yeah whatever, there were some other actors in the film too, but don't pretend you didn't notice there was Angelina Jolie! Oh. Wait. There was something about a story and a plot in there too. And the curious psych experience (ooh, gotta love hospitals with tunnels)... I was diggin' on those too. But there was Angelina Jolie.

8. "I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries."
(good humorists can be neither felled nor fibbed to. Several of you knew this one immediately; what can I say? I like farts and imagining hamster mommies.) eye heart MONTY PYTHON

9. "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."
It is my opinion that Baz Luhrmann is a creative genius. If you can lay your hands on a copy of the DVD version of 'Moulin Rouge!', do it. Many impressive production details are included on the DVD version, conceptual stuff on up. I respect that Nicole Kidman and Ewan McGregor both - actually, really truly sang (and there was much singing!). Neither are particular vocal dynamos, but there's something so much truer in their unprofessional voices; something that gives the rest of the movie's inauthenticity *authenticity*. Also interesting to note, as listed in this IMDB reference: The plot of the movie essentially derives from three operas/operettas. The plot line of a young writer with Bohemian friends who falls in love with a sick girl that eventually dies is from "La Bohème". (Baz Luhrmann directed a stage production of Bohème in Sydney as well as a Broadway production in New York.) The plot line of a courtesan who learns that love can also be true and idealistic comes from "La Traviata". Finally, the plot line of the writer who travels to the 'under world' of the Moulin Rouge to find his love and tries to take her back to the 'upper world' comes from "Orpheus in the Underworld" which is an adaption of the ancient Greek 'Orpheus and Eurydike' myth.

10. "What is this Ethel - Halloween? You tryin' to scare me? Well you're wasting your time! I'm scarier than you any day of the week. So beat it, Ethel! Boo! Better dead than red! Somebody tryin' to shake me up? HAH HAH! From the throne of God in heaven to the belly of hell, you can all fuck yourselves and then go jump in the lake because I'm not afraid of you or death or hell or anything!"
'Angels in America', directed by Mike Nichols, was first released as a play, then a mini-series on HBO. This particular quote, by Roy Cohn (played by Al Pacino), caused the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck to stand at attention and was rasped during his dying days, in a hospital bed, alone, being visited by the ghost of Ethel Rosenberg who Cohn has put to death, along with Rosenberg's husband Julius, years earlier convicted for communist acts & espionage during the the Cold War (the height of McCarthyism). I pitied this sad little dying horrible lump of man and I hated him - SO much. I delighted in his suffering. I loathed myself for delighting in his suffering. And when Roy wasn't being an ass, there were other big things happening with other characters, including angelic unions. 'Angels in America' is the great stick playwright Tony Kushner shakes at HIV/Aids, and should be on your list of "to sees" soon.

11. "You can lose ALL your points for any one of three things: One- If you cry. Two- If you ask to see your mother. Three- If you're hungry and ask for a snack. Forget it!" (hint: foreign flick)
You're not going to rent 'Willy Wonka'? Fine. I don't like your choice but I'll accept it. But THIS one is a different story altogether. 'Life is Beautiful' (La Vita e Bella) is the joyful story of a Jewish man's love, his imagination, and his family. It is the story of grace and glory, of what a parent should be expected to do for a child, a husband for a wife. Lovely, lovely, lovely.
This quote was spoken by the father (Guido) to his son when they reached the concentration camp. I don't want to say more about it for fear of giving anything away. See this film, then we'll talk.

12. "Get the butter."
(*Multiple good guessers here - sweet little deviants, all of you. This was Marlon Brando's quote from 'Last Tango in Paris'. Wow-wee. Pardonez-moi while I fan myself.)

on second thought...

In the year 2005 I resolve to: Read the manual. Get your resolution here.

hallway waiting

McBeth.

hoofbeats
pattering
walking on my grave
tip tap tip tap swish
swash ding

Have you ever felt too awake to lie down
but too tired to stand up?

His department ran out of money.
The story is ... the election...
this is a young go-getter, this guy.

let us go by the bookstore.
Do you suppose we'll find what you're looking for?

Excuse me. Ding.
Swish
Swash.

Yah, I'm going to close one of them this year,
I don't need both accounts.

And I said --
Yah!
Then they were all Oh My God! Jah!

What's your name again? I'll give you my number.
Oh please, I'm too old for that.

Ding!
What foreign languages did you take?
When I was in the army I learned Spanish.
Ding!
Ding.

thud.
thud. swarsh.
ding-ding. DING.

Hujh-a-bujh-a get down rujh-a

Don't you just hate when you can't find the right
Words?

e.u.w. gross

McBeth.

Once there was a rabbit.
It got its head blown off in an unfortunate hunting accident.

Most bunnies would give up but not this rabbit.
No, it magically healed and continued to leap about, headless and fluffy as ever.

Headless bunnies can make do in rabbit society
if they are willing to recognize their headlessness.
Yes, they can get along just fine.

And that's the end of this story.

poetic introduction

McBeth.

His name was Michael, but the Oxford locals called him Hattie Kismet.
He spoke knowledgably; secure that his previous occupations (both as a Bang & Olufsen theater designer and that fun congressional speechwriting volunteer work) would make for interesting stories around the counter at the diner and,
One day, a larger better Him.

He was lean,
A streamlined efficiency home furnishings expert by trade,
An outdoorsman by bliss
Who found his greatest relaxation and joy
either looking out over a pole off the side of a boat
or on top of five please-God, let-them-be-solid inches of ice.

His soul was as clear and wide as a Montana trout stream,
Swiftly fluidly winding from Upper to Lower
Easy working for the sure-footed
A delighted glimpse of rainbows darting just below his surface

Like varities of winged creatures,
His love knew the migratory pathways, flying intercessory miles
between the cold Midwest and the California coast,
touching hearts with the woman he adored,

That beautiful school teacher, his beloved
The dear one who understood the articulate nature of his song,
recognized it immediately, even if he wasn't a Top-40 tune.

He reckoned that not every song was meant to suit each person
He smiled with the mischievousness of a catchy tune
And was excited about the possibilities -
Like turning his 'fuck-they-can-reach-me-everywhere-EVERYwhere!' phone
OFF
for an hour
twice weekly
And, despite possible concern that he wouldn't have time to complete writing worth presenting, he anticipated improving his writerly confidence.

He was a strong young white spruce
riding blind on the back of a flatbed
still growing, still protected by the burlap,
unconcerned about where he may be headed or planted
Confident that the life he was being led toward would be
A playground
without age or height restrictions.

pre-dawn skies, 4:45am, Hornby

McBeth.

melted blueberry crisp bubbling
at the edge of the treeline
waking on the flat
sandstone shoreline

beneath tall carmelized-trunked Arbutus,
wherein the tufts of the highest
freshest, greenest-smelling leaves
sit two raucous eagles hawr-hawring
at the hilarity of their mutual baldness.

examining me over the bleary red edge of my sleeping sack stares a saucer-eyed seal,
bobble-headed curiosity,
standing in dark amusing contrast to the raspberry sorbet layer of
fluffy energy-gathering clouds now hovering above the trees

I recall lying awake in the darkness last night,
me and the dying batteries of my flashlight
Hoping to outlast that hopeless feeling that accompanied my temporary blindness.

now, with the savory course of
eggy over-easiness
served full-up and bright with a short order cook's slapping bell DING
I'd welcome quiet
stillness
sleep.

no resolve

McBeth.

I'd like to think that I'm the singularly original nobody-does-it-better girl but the truth is Orionoir came up with a far better, far quicker response to the new year than anything I'd attempted. Yeah, okay so it might be the chundering effects of his chemotherapy which led him to pre-plan his blogging (and really, you gots to give the kudos to the boy if he's that full of foresight that he'd plan his blogging in advance for the time he'd be offline during his chemical flogging, but I digress...) Hang on -- he's a guy! *ding* So maybe I'll continue carrying this ridiculous belief that I'm the pseudo "IT" girl for a while longer. Just a little while. Not long at all, really. Mostly I'm hoping his barf-o-matic ride will be a short one.

Alrighty, here is my meme:

* I resolve not to hesitate when I'm unsure. This should cover menu choices, buying books based solely on the titles, and all matters of dressing myself.

Last year's thinking: "Gosh, should I wear the underwear today?" The new and constantly improving 2005 thought process: "Underwear? HA! And for that matter what's the deal with pants? Who needs 'em?"

* I resolve not to paint my cats in 2005. Simply because I CAN mess with them does not mean I SHOULD mess with them.

* I resolve not to be a square mother in aught-five. I'll get tight with my baby's shizzle, be da bomb maw, best love in the 'hood. The only trouble I may encounter with this one is that - well - my baby's shizzle may not wantza du get tight, y'all. I may have to conceal my supa-mothah status under a veil of boring white middle-aged woman.

* I resolve not to replace all the light bulbs with the super-compact energy efficient numbers. This is a two-parter, really. The energy efficient compacts give off shit light (hey, y'all ever heard of non-yellow, non-oranged light you freaktastic bulb designers? So what if you concocted the cutesy swirl design - don't bother knocking until you have a swirly energy efficient bulb by which I can read... then we'll talk).

What direction have I to travel toward if not for the blessing of my energy inefficient heel dragging? It's a slippery slope, you see... first she goes all energy efficient bulbs, next thing ya know she's moved her house right straight off the grid, eating self-raised ostrich and making quilts using dryer lint from the solar-powered dryer out back. I'm not prepared to be such a progressive citizen. Not before 2010, at any rate, and that's why it really is just best that I put the kai-bosh on the total replacement of my old Reveal blue light light bulbs.

* I resolve not to eat less than heavenly food. I will delight in soft bries, mousse torte, homemade mushroom soup and the occasional bag of Cheetos (if a nibble on a cheese toe will put me one stop closer to the celestial joy of a saturated salivating taste bud).

* I resolve not to travel far without my new thesaurus. I mean, uh, my fresh modern original au courant lexiconography, a veritable glossarist collection of words.

* I resolve not to receive a gift until I am fully prepared to write a thank you note in return. While her methodology may have left something to be desired, my mother's force-feedings on good manners gruel DID teach me how to properly behave; responding appropriately seems like one of those things I can pay my time and attention to.

* I resolve not to be quite the usual passive-aggressive tool I want to be when I get mad (frustrated, tired, bored...).

* I resolve not to leave all those Teleflora vases empty this year. Vase usage stats are not available (read: I have no bloody idea how many of them are currently stored in the hard-to-reach high cabinets, nor how they manage to reproduce adorable bud vases at those astonishing rates). Okay, so for the sake of choosing a number: one. I can surely keep ONE vase filled with a fabulous floriculture fixing.

* I resolve not to purchase any books authored by Dr. Phil McGraw, even though I generally espouse his theories on child-rearing and family cohesiveness. How's that workin' for me? Gr-rrr-rrreat.

* I resolve not to forget how much I get out of the following magazines (the winners names will be announced in no particular order. If your name is called please come forward to the podium to receive your award): Rolling Stone, Wired, PC World, Reason, Bon Appetit, National Geographic (your moon spread was dee-lish). You each bring me joy and I want you to know how much I appreciate you

* I resolve not to panic.
(I'm such a liar. Of course I'll panic, it's what I do. But maybe during my panic moments 'oh yeah, I resolved not to do this' will make the moments shorter, or fewer and further between.)

* I resolve not to pass on presented opportunities to be loved. Furthermore, I resolve not to neglect making opportunities to give love out. The particular commodity is self-replenishing and is always always always available both to give away and to get back. It just makes sense.

baubles

McBeth.

She was occasionally driven to distraction by materials both soft and shiny.

she's dear but my, what a mixed bag

McBeth.

The insomniac, fretting over the airline trip her unaccompanied child will be taking to far-flung frightening places in less than two hours' time, decides the night is not meant for restfulness but in stead takes comfort in the queasy feeling slung low in her gut.

She's remembering the particular sense of dis-ease, rediscovering her Holiday Moment.

morning thought

McBeth.

I have ocean sounds in my ear this morning
ebb twisting itself over flow...
with the image of you above me
in front of me
behind me rocking,
looking at all of me, quaking

sweating, discovering,
robustly starting,
sharing,
claiming, continuing,
given to wanting
giving in to being wanted.

I could watch the reflection
being uncovered
flesh thrusting into flesh
in the mirror again
and again

and I hear the ocean in you

end of the line

McBeth.

There was a time, and it wasn't so long ago, that I could be very quiet. I kept most of my thoughts to myself, I stepped outside of critical conversation, I ducked. Afraid, I suppose. I'm not certain what my fear was about though. I remember my very young years in school, lining up to walk sing-file to the gymnasium or the lunchroom or on the occasional field trip.

Most of my teachers kept order in the classroom by using the "You're Special!" laminated name tags on a weekly chart, giving multiple children opportunities to shine by getting to be the leader of tasks. I have a feeling Pat Purcell (the nose-picker and otherwise most twitchy kid in the class) was a special special person so he frequently showed up as leader of one category or another, but otherwise my teachers used some arbitrary system to pick line-leader, milk passer-outer, office go-fer, chair pusher-iner.

What seems odd to me - now - is that I felt most comfortable at the end of the single-file line. It seems curious to me that even in my earliest years I was certain that I would be an incapable chair pusher-iner, resolutely accepting that Renee Bailey (the know-it-all) or Christine (the pretty girl, even when she was minus a tooth or two) or for chrissake even Danny and David Shirley (the dressed-alike twins who mugged like identical apes for class pictures) would be deserving of laminated placard tasks.

Given the benefit of hindsight I think it makes perfect sense - both in terms of plot and character development. What I can't understand is how a teacher - how a string of teachers - didn't recognize that kid at the back of the line as much by what she wasn't saying than by what she WAS saying. There's a part of me who like to talk with those teachers know what I do now. I attended Mrs. Carlson's funeral when I was in first grade - if the kindergarten teacher left that early. chances are slim that many more of them are still living and, aside from everything else, I'm not so sure HOW I'd begin finding that trail of educators now. But I do fantasize what a meeting might be like...

The fantasy begins with them each being individually delighted that I've looked them up because they've been thinking about me over all these years. I then show them a picture of my child, proudly cluck about what a fantastic kid he is, what an affable bright sweet man he is becoming. Then I tell them that he's a quiet one, my son ... in fact, so NOT troublesome, so kind and gentle he is that I've had discussions with HIS teachers, pleading with them to please encourage him, please pay attention to him - please SEE him. And I would segue from what I have done as a parent for my no-fuss son into asking what my parents asked them to do for me during those semi-annual parent/teacher conferences.

Part of their response would come as truth and fact -
"Oh, well we agreed that your skill were more advanced than those of your ape-faced, nose-picking peers. And that you definitely had a streak of Something Special so we accelerated your learning to keep up with your advanced skills by sending you to older children's' classes."

Part of their response is left for my own flight of finding- and making-peace-with-myself fancy -
"Your parents stopped in regularly, you know. Yes! They both wanted to know about your grades, of course, and the asked me to clarify what I meant by 'Is a joy to have in class'. But the truly telling reflection of your parents' affection for you was the unusual questions they asked me, such as 'Is she happy? Does she talk to you about her interests? Can you tell when she's not? How do you help her through those times? Does she have friends? How can WE help her to feel loved and Most Important? Should we encourage her to invite schoolmates over to our home?'".

Usually by this time in the fantasy conversation I begin to feel beleaguered by the amount of shit I'm slinging and call it quits somewhere in the list of 'help us help her' questions. I have a quiet moment within the still-running fantasy though - truly a magical moment where, if it was a made-for-TV movie, a blue glowing light would appear just above my head, where the music would turn tender, maybe a lone acoustical guitar perched out on a veranda at sunset in the Blue Ridge Mountains ... I have a tired but thankful posture. I say to my former instructor "I never knew they cared so much about me. And what's more, I never realized that you all saw me so clearly, even in my youngest years. I was so silly to have doubted any of you, even for a moment. I'm flabbergast at the ridiculous amount of time I've whittled away simply fussing over my doubts. Thank you. Thank you SO much for paying attention to the little quiet nice girl at the end of the single-file line."

In the fantasy I embrace my childhood teachers warmly as though we are the dearest of friends, inviting them to spend a week at my country cabin as soon as they can make time in their schedules for quiet and good wine and cheeses.

I then ask them each to bring their favorite hat along on our together-vacation so I can photograph them wearing it.