sense and senselessability

It's not that I usually hang out on State Street in the middle of the night.

I mean, I've come to realize that my calm, relatively quiet life isn't such a terrible thing and I think I'm better for it. Fewer stories to tell, but in the long run I'd rather have a titch of stability than ... well, the alternatives, fill in the blank.

Last night I was working in my official unofficial capacity as still photographer for a film crew shooting locally. While moving from one location to another a number of us happened by an after-hours brawl taking place on the 200 block of State Street.

No idea what started it, but, from the outside looking in, it appeared that one group of men clashed with another group of men and women. The first group began physically attacking the women of the second group. The men in the second group then began fighting with the men of the first group in defense of the women. There's no way of an outsider knowing what happened. Maybe a couple of the women got mouthy or taunted the men in the first group or claimed that alien spaceships were landing soon. I don't think it matters much really.

I don't condone violence of any kind - not emotional, not verbal and certainly not physical damage - but I also have the sense to not insert myself in the middle of 10+ probably-drunk and angry people. The one thing I could do in hopes of getting them to chill their asses out was to quickly pull out my camera and start shooting. It's a ridiculous time to be technical, but because I yanked my camera right from my bag I didn't have the flash attachment on so the pictures turned out grainy, dark, and green. At the time I didn't much care, I only hoped that from far across the street where I was standing I'd get someone's attention.

The people deepest into the feud wouldn't (couldn't?) pull themselves out, but their cohorts did notice us, did notice me snapping away, and did begin trying to yank people off one another.

A few minutes later two of the instigators from group one had slunk off into the shadows, but two police squad cars arrived to sort things out and, moments after that, an ambulance was dispatched from the fire house behind the Overture Center (handy location, that) to treat the injured.

here come the brides!

Who says it's unnatural? by McBeth.

Liz's inaugural Running of the Brides began with a bang last year, and it looks like this year's fundraiser, scheduled for June 3, should be all that and a pack of tissues.

Whether you are a running aficionado or whether you'd prefer to sit back to watch the chaos ensue before your porta-lounger, have some fun helping a good cause. Strap on your favorite wedding attire, lace up your tennies and come out to run or come out to cheer on the brave, the silly and the downright goofballish.

divining rod

Not unlike a water witch, he senses the sugar rush about to spring loose. by McBeth.

Water witches claim that by using tools - generally a divining rod, gems, or a pendulum - they can locate local underground water. Now the way I look at it, simply because tests have not supported their claims does not necessarily mean that their abilities do not exist; it simply means that the tests have not supported their claims.

In such a tradition children also have gifts, including their uncanny ability to dowse a sugar source sight unseen. Sure, go ahead and blindfold them if you don't believe me. Blindfold a kid then spin him around just to try to disorient him.

Try as you might to set the test against the kid, you're bound to observe the same results again and again once you've put a solid stick into the child's hands and placed him near a pinata...

Sniff sniff. Shuffle shuffle. Sniff.
WHACK.

In some magical way that grownups cannot understand, they just know.

truth is a silver strand

I imagine that parents the world over have been keeping one eye on their children, even while asleep, watching for anything untoward happening either to or because of their offspring. Probably since humanity began there were hunched-over cave dwellers peeking out from the sides of hillsides to see if little Unk would really level Yar with the mini boulder she is threatening him with while gleefully tickle torturing her younger brother.

While there have been times in my own parenting of J. that I wondered when will this part be past us?, I can’t honestly say that any of the stages demarcated within the wise guides gathered in text by (surely?) learned professionals have been much of an issue for us. It was during his second year of living that he was working out how to put his Power Rangers underwear onto his lean little body without my assistance, and with the mini trap door facing front. He meant nothing personal when he’d flail against me, shrieking “do mah-sehhhhhhhf!” it was just something he wanted the opportunity to try on his own, and how can a person possibly be faulted for that? If I was the one who had just figured out that I had some self-possession I most certainly would want to be able to put on my own Power Ranger undies too. It just makes sense.

Maybe the reason J. and I have rarely butted heads is that in raising him up I’ve tried to keep in mind that I don’t want to behave toward him in any way that I myself wouldn’t want to be treated ~ granted, with an invisible ‘give’ space where my decisions as the grownup have to have just a little flexibility and, sometimes, a little more weight, but I try to treat him with the same kindnesses and the same patience as I’d hope to be given. So yeah, I’m not horrible, I’m not terribly demanding and that fact, coupled with his easy-going temperament, makes for a fairly idyllic parenting situation in which one could easily become complacent.

And then there was Sunday.

I walked in the front door. My heavy winter comforter – the one that one of the cats recently peed on which has been sitting in a pile in the hall for weeks because I can’t seem to get it to the cleaners so rather than feeling bad about not getting to the cleaners I simply picked it up and folded it over the railing next to the hall to make it seem as though I had done something but J. didn’t know about that – was laying on the living room couch. Hunh. Well … I guess J. got tired and decided to just sleep on the sofa. Yeah. He probably stayed up way too late and couldn’t bring himself to walk the 18 steps to his bedroom, so he walked 14 steps to the comforter and called it quits in the living room.

I walked downstairs into the kitchen. Sitting around on countertops there lay a number of empty food containers and what looked like take-out remains, including a plastic Chinese soup spoon. J. doesn’t eat anything Chinese but subgum fried rice and does that even count? I considered for a moment that he might be branching out in his culinary tastes. Hmm. Then I found a jug of fruit punch in the refrigerator. We never drink fruit punch from a jug. Maybe he had buddies over for video game playing and they were thirsty so they made a grocery store run? Sure, that would explain it.

The previous night I’d stayed at KD’s place. We had all planned for it and, like any night I spend away from home, KD had checked her calendar, I checked mine and, because I’m also responsible to J’s schedule, I also knew he would not be working and that he’d made no solid plans with his friends. He was home Saturday night. I mean, he was home alone on Saturday night. Right. Alone.

I deliberated whether it would be better to keep my hmmms to myself or to raise them with him but in the end I elected to at least temporarily consider them privately, and after finding J. in the Den of Iniquity (the hang-out room w/computer, TV, video game, stereo) and catching up with him for a few minutes, I took my bag to my bedroom to unpack.

I dropped my bags and studied the extra row of ‘for show, not for sleeping’ pillows on my bed. Well boy howdy, lookie there. My bed is not the way I made it yesterday. It’s probably such a trivial thing, but I know how I make a bed, and this is not the arrangement for pillows that I would use. Someone has been sleeping in my bed.

It was one of those moments when it wouldn’t have surprised me if Goldilocks would have popped out from a closet yelling “Surprise”.

Not that leaping to conclusions isn’t my personally favorite hobby, but in keeping with the (hopefully, constructive) way I’ve tried to parent J. these past 16 years I did think that making conclusions about something for which I hadn’t even asked the first question didn’t seem particularly smart, so I let myself have 30 minutes to obsessively count each and every heinous activity that I was ABSOLUTELY SURE took place while I was not at home. And when time was up I told myself that I had to be done, really done, with pre-judging the situation. Good. Calm mommy good.

Finally feeling more relaxed and still pondering the strange things I had noticed, Sunday night I pulled back the sheets to crawl into bed. Just before stepping up off the floor to be carried away on dreamland travel I noticed a sparkle next to my foot. I crouched down to see which of my necklaces the cats had yanked off the dresser this time.

It was not one of my necklaces. No, it was much smaller – ankle sized.
I don’t wear, nor have I ever worn, ankle bracelets.

I really did my best to rationalize the blanket on the couch. I thought did a fine job explaining the soup spoon and the jug of punch. And though I didn’t find a precise explanation for the bed pillows, I did calm myself for which should at least get me partial points. But a delicate silver ankle bracelet next to my newly-made bed?! That scene snakes itself around a story I am not prepared to answer for, an answer I somehow believed was not one I would find personally applicable for at least a few more years, a story of weaning and nest-flying and saying goodbyes.

Carefully I gathered the ankle bracelet and placed it on the dresser with my unruly collection of jewelry, receipts and single buttons, and eventually I drifted to sleep feeling troubled and slightly dizzy.

I held onto the information until Tuesday, when two of my three sisters and I got together to plant some herbs and annuals at one of their homes. While picnicking under a lovely shade tree in their yard, we were discussing our families’ latest goings-on. Normally I wouldn’t share this kind of information until after the fact, but out the details blurted themselves, bubbling and blabbing all over my mouth. My sister’s visiting mother-in-law was horrified, suggesting that I should immediately be having a Serious Talk with my son. I saw the trouble reflected in my siblings’ faces, a push-me-pull-you of confused What the Hell forehead muscles counter tensed against don’t jump to conclusions mandibular pressure.

I told them I’d decided to talk with J. about it, but I was still undecided about how to do that. We bandied a few amusing ideas back and forth. Not surprisingly, the suggestions that met with the greatest approval were those that revealed that no matter how old we get, we’re still naughty children at heart. Let him dangle. Make him sweat. Tell him that someone called our home asking about, oh I dunno, some jewelry or something? Despite the entertainment value of those kinds of ideas, we did manage to scrap together a few slightly better ones and I narrowed it down to either (a) show J. the ankle bracelet immediately and ask him to explain it or (b) ask him if he had anyone over on Saturday night. I chose B, reasoning that it was the option that would give him the first chance to come clean on his own. He could save a little face and not have to feel as though I’m shoving distrust in his face. Good! That was decided. And now, on to obsessing about how to bring it up, and where, and do I talk to him in the car where he’s trapped or at home where he might be distracted or or or …

That night I picked J. up from his part-time job at a local grocery store. When he works weeknights he doesn’t generally eat well during break time, so after I’d shifted from behind the steering wheel to the passenger seat he drove us to a muy festivo fast food establishment.

We waited next to the drive-thru window for our order. Try as I might to focus on what he was saying which, by what I did hear (a little) was his opinion (high) of his friend’s new (used) VW Scirocco (classic, not too much rust), and find something appropriate to say in response, instead I felt the persistent ping of ask him, ask him, ask him, ask him ricocheting off the lining of my skull.

Did you have friends over on Saturday?
Oh dear god, I just blurted it out, right then, right there at him. This is getting so easy, this blurting thing. I could become a full-fledged blurter without having to finish the classes. I won’t even have to defend my thesis, they’ll just say no, go on y’know since we voted unanimously that you know more about blurting than all of us in our collective 5822 years of blurting academia. I’ll graduate early and with honors, and I’ll be celebrated the world over: The Most Honorable, Her Excellency the Queen of Blurtdom. What can I say, I’m gifted.

Um, yeah.
Hey, look at that, the ball actually started rolling!

Who was at our house?
Uh, B. and his girlfriend K., and her two friends.

Oh. So um, were you going to eventually let me know that they were over?
(throwing hands to air) What’s to let you know really? I just had some friends over.

(suddenly channeling my parents)
What’s to know is that I’m your parent, I’m the adult in our house, and I’m responsible for what happens there.
Previous history has proved one infallible truth: once I have channeled The Parents while speaking with my own child, things are not going to go as well as I had previously hoped. A younger idealistic chunk of who I am falls away from me in slow motion, replaced by an old fissured spike of granite. Before my own ears I age into a shriveled old woman squawking out the window at kids to stay out of her flower beds. However frightening, however instant this transformation has occurred, I appreciate that it has not always proved to be permanent. When I have caught myself uttering the moldy phrases my parents used that meant absolutely nothing to me as a child and I replace it with something entirely different – a new way of looking at the same issue, but with a twist of ‘so what?’– I can undo the lock that some of my own parent’s senseless rulemaking had, and still can have, over me; I think I can also help J. (and J., me) as he learns to make bigger and more far-reaching decisions for himself while I learn to trust both myself (to let him), and him (to make them).

Was someone in my bedroom?

Yeah.

Oh. pause Who was in my bedroom?

C.

C? (I’ve never heard him mention this girl’s name before)

Yeah. B.’s girlfriend K.? C. is one of her friends.

Uh-hunh. And, uh, she was in my room why?

I guess she was really tired because she’d worked all day and she kept almost falling asleep on the couch where we all were so I just told her she could go upstairs and lay down, so she went up there to sleep.
(Damn! He’s either telling the truth –which does explain everything, really, or he’s a really great liar. He might be such a great liar that he could become a full-fledged liar without having to finish the classes. He might not even have to defend his thesis, they’ll just say no, you go on since we voted unanimously that you know more about lying your head off than all of us in our collective 5822 years of blurting academia. Maybe he’s so great a liar that he’ll graduate early and with honors, and he’ll be celebrated the world over: The Most Bold, His Excellency the King of Liarobia. What can I say, my son may be gifted.)

See, here’s the deal … not that anything DID happen, but if something WERE TO happen and not be a good thing and I’m not there? I mean, like, if I don’t even KNOW about it? Man, that’d really turn out badly. It’d suck a whole lot for you and it would really suck for me too. And aside from that … you know … I’m your mom and it’s kind of my job to know what’s going on. I’m not doing my job if I don’t know what’s going on, right?

Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal but yeah, I get it.

There is a long silent pause during which I retreat into my own thoughts. I imagine he is doing the same thing.

And by the way, C.’s probably missing an ankle bracelet.
I feel some of my tension and worry wash down my arms from my shoulders when he begins to chuckle.

During our conversation, (specifically, between chipping away at my stony past to get to my own history and future in order and J.’s apology) our beverages had been passed through the heptuply-layered bulletproof drawer-slash-window. At my response to J.’s laughter, the orange and brown uniformed guy mistily appeared with the rest of our order on the other side of the window’s scratched glass.

He drove our taco-smelling car home and, once inside, we divvied up my order of nachos and his value meal. He immediately retreated with his food to the dark mystery that remains the Den of Iniquity, leaving me to ponder the questions regarding the moment he hit this stage.

april showers bring ... may showers

blue storm by McBeth.

We've been having an awful lot of rain lately.

I'm not keeping track of the measurements by inches, but I do keep a rough measurement by my own scales - having to water newly planted seedlings and time spent either entirely indoors for safety's sake or time spent waiting out a meteorological outburst until I can get out to do whatever I'm hoping to do.

I surely haven't had to water plants in many days and I've spent much time watching out the window, waiting for storms to pass.

The thing is, I don't really mind it. Not really. I can't begin to understand the complicated process by which the earth refreshes and replenishes itself, but I'm happy enough to wait my turn.

to the mother of us all, my thanks

lightward leaning by McBeth.

I'd like to wish Nature a happy day.

Locally, she's been dosing out what may be meteorological equivalent of castor oil, but I have to trust that she knows a lot more than I do - than WE do - and that she's taking care of us the best she knows how to given her resources and how naughty we can be sometimes.

If I was to make a handmade card for her today, I'd draw rainbows and flowers and birds and a ridiculously large (and probably revolting) rendering of the circle of life around the border of the paper. I would draw a big heart right smack dab in the center. I'd sign it 'With love, from creature # 426,174,265,441,692,038,185,228,391,339,381,668,372 and one of your greatest admirerers, McB.'

Happy Mothers Day to you.

she took a leek in the garden

leek babies by McBeth.

Ah, we've arrived.

The gardening days are here and, for once, I have the assurance that I'm more prepared than I have been in previous years. What turned out to be a long depressed winter spawned just enough creativity and gardening enthusiasm that all I needed was the slighted nudge from a friend about her garden ideas to get my own rear in gear. It got moving, that's for certain. The friend, who uses a wheelchair, had someone else helping her with All Things Garden last year was bummed about that helperfriend having moved to Arkansas over the winter and wondered if I might be interested in lending a hand.

Interested?! 'Hallelujah', I said!

This country mouse friend and her partner live, oh, 20 minutes outside of my fine city have a large yard, raised garden beds and oh-so-much room for vegetable garden planting, annual flowers, perennial flowers, rasberries, blueberries, cherries, fruit trees, and whatever else might tickle her fancy. I believe their home and surrounding land is called NIRVANA.

Jo and I have been busy these past few weeks out playing in the dirt but before we ventured out, she had mapped out the raised beds and read up on companion gardening. We want to make the best use of the space and to (hopefully) get the best results at harvest. We both have learned plenty of little interesting factoids about veggies; stuff I never thought I'd know or even have the slightest interest in. Did YOU know that kohlrabi are snobby? It's true. They only prefer to grow with 'like' veggies. Bee-leeve it or not.

Earliest on, we planted seeds that needed the extra growing time and that could probably survive a surprise frost if one arrived unexpectedly: IN went the radishes, two different varieties of peas and sugar snap peas, and two carrot hybrids.

Since then we've added quite a bit, both seeds and starter plants: three varities of dry beans (red kidneys and green bush), leeks, green onions, lettuce, broccoli, kohlrabi, collards, two different hybrid green peppers, plus six plants that will bear yellow/red/green peppers, strawberries and garlic to the 8th power.

Still to plant? Well, let's see... the red and yellow onions, tomatoes, the herb garden (hoping for both a kitchen variety and a healing variety), the zucchini, muskmelon, honeydew, pumpkin and whatever other mystery treats we *ahem* accidentally purchase from that crack dealer others politely refer to as the nursery supply store.

When not elbow deep in Jo's beds I've been working in my own home on bringing up the annual flower seedlings. Using the 2" starter peat pots I've planted enough seed (both in # and in variety) that if all goes according to plan I'll have some for my own flower beds and still have plenty to share with my sisters and friends.

The list of already-growing-in-pots includes five different Cosmo varieties (yellow, pinks, seashell, peach), two Sweet Peas varieties (lt. purple, dk blue/purple), two varieties of Morning Glory (a climbing blue & a mounding purple), Moonflowers, three varities of Nasturtium (maroon, cherry jubilee and scarlet), and two others whose names escape me at the moment.

Additionally, I started the seeds for the honeydew, the muskmelon and Jo's pumpkins yesterday and I hope to be able to plant the two melon in both our gardens. I haven't grown melons before but Jo tells me they require contant watering and she wasn't sure she'd be able to get to that daily @ her house, but if I manage to get a few planted in the bed behind my home I could probably handle the task and incorporate it into my own daily routine fairly easily.

I HAVE the seeds and supplies for a heap more but, um, I ran out of window room so plans for those will have to wait until my first starter batch can be moved out into the earth.

I'm so grateful for the warmer temperatures, for the spring rain showers, for the friends I've made through KD. I'm grateful for the inner peace I find while being quiet, just pulling weeds or hoeing rows. I'm grateful for being in an emotional space where I have been able to rediscover my gratefulness.

children

red boy by McBeth.

Where are you going my little one, little one
Where are you going my baby my own
Turn around and you’re two, turn around and you’re four
Turn around and you’re a young girl going out of the door

Where are you going my little one, little one
Dirndls and petticoats, where have you gone
Turn around and you’re tiny, turn around and you’re grown
Turn around and you’re a young wife with babes of your own

Turn around (turn around)
Turn around and you’re a young wife with babes of your own

Where are you going my little one, little one
Where are you going my baby my own
Turn around and you’re two, turn around and you’re four
Turn around and you’re a young girl going out of my door

Turn around (turn around)
Turn around and you’re a young girl going out of my door

Where are you going my little one, little one
Dirndls and petticoats, where have you gone
Turn around and you’re tiny, turn around and you’re grown
Turn around and you’re a young wife with babes of your own

{Words & Music by Harry Belafonte, Alan Greene and Malvina Reynolds}

on canines having the upper paw

this human is not yet doggytrained by McBeth.

it is said that a well-adjusted dog will understand that you, the human, are the Alpha in the pack.

Sure this happens, so long as one doesn't use a soft 'here kitty kitty' voice when trying to be the Alpha.

Say, for instance, when a dog is lying on a sofa behind a person seated on the floor. Lets say for illustrative sake that the dog really really would like to have her belly rubbed and that she knows that if she can just reach one long leg around from behind, she can essentially 'tap' on the human's face, thereby garnering the attention the dog seeks.

Then let's pretend that the human uses a soft friendly voice to say "NO, OFF". Yeah, here's the lesson part: it doesn't work very well.

I am, however, considering asking to borrow my friends' dog to do the taptaptap repeatedly and, if I can train her to use fine detail paw/claw work, she could possibly create a semi-permanent eye liner, thereby saving me a good deal of time applying eye makeup. How cool would THAT be?!~

playing along

handwriting mcmeme by McBeth.

Here are the general guidelines for this handwriting meme:

Pick and then write a pangram on a piece of paper, sign your first name (or, as I did, your nick), take a photo of it and load it onto your blog. Or you can upload into the flickr pool.

the kiss

*this image was taken by my brother, after his friend's wedding last weekend. I've taken great creative photoshop license with the original image using PS actions to give the appearance of age and a timelessness to his original.

keep going

hen and chicks by McBeth.

“A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.”

- Christopher Reeve

sunny side up

putting on our happy faces by McBeth.

There's a dark & a troubled side of life
There's a bright, there's a sunny side, too
Tho' we meet with the darkness and strife
The sunny side we also may view

Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side,
Keep on the sunny side of life
It will help us ev'ry day, it will brighten all the way
If we'll keep on the sunny side of life

The storm and its fury broke today,
Crushing hopes that we cherish so dear;
Clouds and storms will, in time, pass away
The sun again will shine bright and clear.
Let us greet with the song of hope each day
Tho' the moment be cloudy or fair
Let us trust in our Saviour away
Who keepeth everyone in His care

(edit: credit correction- written by Mother Maybelle Carter, performed on the 'Oh Brother, Where Art Thou' soundtrack by The Whites)

roots

uprooted by McBeth.

"I see America spreading disaster. I see America as a black curse upon the world. I see a long night settling in and that mushroom which has poisoned the world withering at the roots."

- Henry Miller

brain splat

tie-dyed jeans by McBeth.

Her brain matter comes hurtling out
violently, sometimes
in words she may not mean,
words she saves for hurting times.

She doesn't always know how to be
clear neat concise
she isn't usually able to pick
favorite
from a top-down list

but just watch her
eliminate negatives
to see her
resulting
accentuated positives

If you want to know
be prepared to stop, drop and roll
she isn't easily given
to exposing tender
soft places

Truth?
She can tell what she knows of it
if you are skilled
patient enough
waiting, until she is ready
to be naked.

fly fly away

two kites by McBeth.

I began to feel that I lived on a higher plane than the skeptics of the ground; one that was richer because of its very association with the element of danger they dreaded, because it was freer of the earth to which they were bound. In flying, I tasted a wine of the gods of which they could know nothing. Who valued life more highly, the aviators who spent it on the art they loved, or these misers who doled it out like pennies through their antlike days? I decided that if I could fly for ten years before I was killed in a crash, it would be a worthwhile trade for an ordinary life time.

— Charles A. Lindbergh, 'The Spirit of St. Louis'

you'll never walk alone

wild turkey in the woods by McBeth.

I thought I was alone this weekend as I walked through the UW Arboretum.

I was wrong.

Two wild turkey meandered along with me, or I with them, and eventually our paths led different ways. Theirs, into the deeper non-pathed woods; mine, back to the vehicle (since -having wandered far deeper INTO the woods than I had ever intended in delight with my walking companions- I was already late in picking up KD from the Monona Terrace gig she was at and had to retrace my steps and pick up the path from there to the parking area).

Just like dear old gram

our grandparents were immigrants by McBeth.

There was a fantastic rally in support of changes in the nations immigration laws here in my little town today.

I didn't get close enough to those top capital steps to hear the speakers until Kathleen Falk and Mayor Dave spoke, but I was terribly proud of both the legal and not-yet-legal citizens of my city for standing up and for speaking out.

goodbye to you

two empty caps by McBeth.

So long, winter.
I carried two caps with me yet I never wore either of them.

I will not miss you.

my deepest parts, revealed

I know, I know ... it's a little forward of me, stripping my eyeballs naked like this for you and gosh, we've only know one another for how long? But there's something about you that makes me want to remove everything between us; something that compels me to show you my inner workings.

Welcome to my right retina.

That pinpoint of light there in the middle? That's my optical nerve. You didn't know the half of it when you thought to yourself 'well, she sure does have a lot of nerve doesn't she?', now did you. That there is one slap-dip-dappy hippity-hop-happy optical nerve, yessireebob.

The little red lines? Those are blood vessels. The green glow? My eyes always glow neon green when I'm mad ~ y'know, like The Hulk.

Fine. Quit looking at me like you don't believe me. That green glow, I believe is the reflection from the Optoscan machine.


And please let me introduce you to my favorite left retina. You might say 'Oh come now, you only HAVE one left retina' and my friend, you would be correct. That is part of the reason, in fact, why it is my favorite. Hello there, little left optical nerve!

See the fissure-looking things on the image? They're mostly vertical, only a few, and mostly to the right side of the photo ... those are my own very special congenital anomalies of the eye called myelination*.

Oooh, it just makes me feel all special and tingly inside!

If your optometrist offers the Optomap Ultra-widefield Retinal Imaging, try it out. I understand that many U.S. insurance companies do not pay for the cost of the scans (US $32 for both eyes) but I can see *get it? see? Bwahaha* a great deal of sense in just ponying up for the scan. If the scan does reveal an optical issue then insurance should probably pay for the scan thereafter ("hey, s/he has a real and verifiable condition, now we gotta pay to monitor this thing") and if it doesn't reveal any weirdness then all the better for you! If you have a family history of some disease that can affect the eyes (hello, diabetes anyone?) this seems like a swell way to keep a closer and more complete check on what's going on way deep in there, even if YOU don't have the disease/diagnosis. Preliminary self-help and health care seems far more sensible an idea than band-aiding a bullet wound if you know what I mean.

And judging from the new and improved prescription in the new fairly ugly glasses I picked up yesterday, it makes sense to me that my left eye with her sweet little congenital anomaly would require this new uber-strong lens if there are those nerve fibers hanging out in bulbous bulging formations inside the back of my eye where they're not exactly supposed to be. The left lens is much stronger now, to correct my crappy vision in that eye.

C'est ca. No really, it's all cool. I'm glad to have my glasses! I'm so relieved to be seeing the up-close materials better again. I can see my favorite fiction up close and personal: just the way I like it. No more peering and squinting in the spirit of group encouragment to get the letters to form themselves, noma'am. Me n' my congenital anomalies will be just fine.


*Myelination of the optic nerve develops embryologically from a posterior to anterior direction. The fibres are grossly Myelinated in the intracranial and intracanal portions of the optic nerve by the seventh month but myelin does not usually reach the lamina cribosa until full term. I{n} some instances the myelin does not stop short at the lamina cribosa but continues into the eye, appearing on ophthalmoscopic examination as bright white flame-shaped streaks, usually contiguous with the margin of the optic disc. These streaks follow the normal course of the retinal nerve fibres and are situated superficially on the disc and retina and hence may cover some of the retinal blood vessels. They give rise to field defects corresponding to their area of projection into the visual field.

fast car

dreamy by McBeth.

You got a fast car
I want a ticket to anywhere
Maybe we make a deal
Maybe together we can get somewhere

Any place is better
Starting from zero got nothing to lose
Maybe we'll make something
But me myself I got nothing to prove

-Tracy Chapman

blasted bunnies

wakie up-ie! by McBeth.

The child in me finds the little furry critters adorable in all the fuzziest warmest loveable ways but there is a gun totin' gal inside me ready to sit in my front window all night long, if necessary, to catch the rabbits who have newly discovered the crocus and tulips in my garden bed and who have nibbled them to the earth once already.

I breathed deeply, I counted to ten, I walked inside and played very loud music (okay fine, hippie music doesn't really get all that frenetic regardless of volume, but I did it anyway, just to let those varmints know I meant business).

I have not put fencing up around the garden because - well, because I really don't LIKE fencing. I think it looks possessive and territorial. But if the heads disappear from these crocus again, I may consider creative problem solving solutions such that the bunnies can live peaceably within the same kingdom as me and the bulbs I'm trying to grow.

Happy spring.
(quick, enjoy it before the rabbits eat it all!)

and when you've exhaled forever

out of the blue by McBeth.

waiting for air to return
waiting for the alveoli to quiver
waiting to be done waiting

you find another note,
a card tucked between the walls of the abbey
which directs you to continue walking the paces
until you can thoroughly explain
to any stranger who might come by

why there may be a good reason to inhale
once more.

SD abortion law: an affront to all independent women

"When Governor Mike Rounds signed HB 1215 into law it effectively banned all abortions in the state with the exception that it did allow saving the mother’s life. There were, however, no exceptions for victims of rape or incest. His actions, and the comments of State Senators like Bill Napoli of Rapid City, SD, set of a maelstrom of protests within the state.

Napoli suggested that if it was a case of “simple rape,” there should be no thoughts of ending a pregnancy. Letters by the hundreds appeared in local newspapers, mostly written by women, challenging Napoli’s description of rape as “simple.” He has yet to explain satisfactorily what he meant by “simple rape.”

The President of the Oglala Sioux Tribe on the Pine Ridge Reservation, Cecilia Fire Thunder, was incensed. A former nurse and healthcare giver she was very angry that a state body made up mostly of white males, would make such a stupid law against women.
“To me, it is now a question of sovereignty,” she said to me last week. “I will personally establish a Planned Parenthood clinic on my own land which is within the boundaries of the Pine Ridge Reservation where the State of South Dakota has absolutely no jurisdiction.”

Strong words from a very strong lady. I hope Ms. Fire Thunder challenges Gov. Rounds and the state legislators on this law that is an affront to all independent women."

Oglala Sioux president on state abortion law

Tragedy

The tragedy was in my eyes
en route from left to right
the usual routine
tracking, placing surroundings
stopping

The tragedy was in her posture
proud, hopeful
bloomed tall, despite youth’s best attempts
to keep her forever innocent

The tragedy was in three middle-aged men
On a business casual Friday, Tag Heurers gleamed
in the metallic saffron sunset reflection,
offhandedly discussing the weekend’s plans
paused mid-discussion

The tragedy was in a pitch
A horn splat of B-flat, C, F-sharp
Sustained into echoed crescendo
Curled like tendriled vines into my ears

The tragedy was in a new book
crisp unbroken spine
Arched unnaturally above a slender upraised arm
Shredded pages hovered momentarily,
hundreds of small earthquakes
poised to thunder their doom

The tragedy was in our gasps
God
ohgod
Fuck
HEY!

Mama

The tragedy was that
We each breathed our final goodbyes
without having seen a tragedy coming

empty

the rack by McBeth.

double-dipping

double-dipping by McBeth.

*no thin healthy women were harmed in the shooting of this image.

ashes to ponies

“So, like a forgotten fire, a childhood can always flare up again within us.”
- Gaston Barchelard

here piggy piggy piggy

It was while reading Snowball's latest update when I decided to give my bitter inner pig a poke.





I may have some personal experience in the matter of my arteeeestic creation. I can neither confirm nor deny such rumors. Suffice it to say that back in the day an air conditioned (freezered, but why pick nits?) job wasn't such a terrible thing, nor was great pay, nor was not getting fired (whew) for bringing a feather duster and an egg in onto the slice pak line after break, then popping the duster out the back of my whites and dropping the egg onto the belt with a mighty BAWK! to goad a possible coworker after he may or may not have called us summer employee girls "a bunch of chickens" for all the gabbing we did.

I happen to be of the belief that if I cannot face handling the various stages of food items I put into my body I should not put the items into my body. Idealistically I'd like to think that I could hunt and gather every item I eat, with the primary focus aimed particularly upon the 'hunt' part of the combination. That 'can you kill what you eat?' question seems to really weed out the sissies in the crowd, doesn't it? Sure, it's one thing to SAY it but man it's a whole 'nother thing to lop off a head. Or to gut a fish ... have you ever done that? Eew. Messy.

I have nothing but respect for my vegetarian and vegan friends and kin, but I am an omnivore (even moreso during those horrid pmstrual times. I dare you to take these sweet and delicately salty pork flavored chocolate dipped strawberries from my grubby hands. Go ahead. Try it.) I do eat meat. I consider myself absolutely lucky that there are others willing to do the unpleasant work of killing the beast on which I later will feast, and don't think for a moment that I don't have deep gratitude for the animal, and to the universe, for the sacrifice. And I may or may not have been one of those people who worked within the unpleasant work process to bring prettily packaged pounds of processed pig to your local retailer's shelves.

But there are precious few things that are fair and balanced in our funky little sphere, and if having a supervisor walk out of his office while I'm flapping my make-believe wings at a 55 year old skeeve means I manage to get by and to get through one more asunder-setter, then I can darn well draw my pig hoofin' it right on into the O.M. plant. (I'm sure I'll spoil all his fun, but if you're not interested in drawing a pig for your own self (shame on ya, it's just for fun!) the password into the gallery is 'oink'. There's a big surprise, eh?)

spot the cow

spot the cow by McBeth.

myoo.

Nancy Drew and The Ghostly Soundboard Haunting

Nancy Drew and The Ghostly Soundboard Haunting by McBeth.

ooooOOOOOOOooooooo

masks

“Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy." -- Kahlil Gibran

glimmer of hope

glimmer of hope by McBeth.

One slender shoot of reddish-green can mean the world in a sleepy world of brown.

no hunting

don't even try it by McBeth.

alone again, naturally

alone again, naturally by McBeth.

living in the skin

"Bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid."
-Franklin P. Jones

Aw shucks ... thanks!

Aw shucks ... thanks! by McBeth.

Who doesn't appreciate it when someone notices one's marmot?

and now, a word from our sponsor...

I'm glum, chum.

Leave it to our politicians to muck a sensible and so potentially good thing up. Yesterday Wisconsin's politicos passed the Civil Unions and Marriage Ban (which, essentially, states that anyone who isn't a married MAN+WOMAN does NOT = a legal couple, nor can anyone who isn't the married MAN+WOMAN receive any legal protections or benefits as those who are straight hets.

Some of the more ridiculous quotes I heard from our delightful backwoods representatives included such fearmongering as {paraphrasing} the concern that if they vetoed this ban, next we'll have poly groups asking to be legally recognized ... and then human+animal partnerships.

Gosh, just hearing that made my heart inflate to three sizes too big, so proud to be a fellow statesperson of such a braintrust. *sniff*

KD and I are engaged. She's a chick; I'm a chick. We're both female. Now I'm not saying I buy into the whole idea of marital bliss - but I do believe in monogamy and in staying with one and only one. I also believe that so long as we both have committed ourselves to living together, paying bills together, eating and breathing and washing undergarments together, sowing seeds and harvesting the fruits of our labor together, working out disagreements together instead of running away, planning our futures together ... well, I think it makes sense that we should be able to receive similar benefits (health, retirement, hospital, other legal) that married counterparts have. I'd GET married if it was legal for me to do that, but as of yet it isn't so I can't. What a Catch-22.

I also think that men and women who have committed to living their lives together should have legal options and protections afforded our married counterparts. If this ban referendum passes in November it's gonna be a hell'a mess down the road. Faith is something I'm struggling to collect these days, but I have to hope that the citizens of Wisconsin will prove that we are all a forward-thinking population and that we are all prepared to show our elected officials how absolutely incorrectly they voted, how poorly they (mis)represented us. Please Wisconsinites, don't let me down. PLEASE?

Bless our city's Mayor Dave Cieslewicz (pronounced SIZZ-el-witz) who had this to say about the stupid ban passing through the legislature:

"The Republican Legislature has had their say, now it is time for the people of Wisconsin to have our say on whether we should write discrimination into our constitution. I am growing in my confidence that when this question is put to the voters, they will reject this immoral and unfair proposal.

"The extreme language of this amendment doesn't just ban gay marriage, it goes a step beyond and bans 'substantially similar' legal status. A legal analysis by our City Attorney has indicated that this language would threaten our ability to offer domestic partnership benefits to our employees, erasing an important competitive advantage.

"Madison is competing globally for first-rate entrepreneurs, employers and employees to sustain our strong economy and create good-paying jobs. Writing discrimination into the state constitution and preempting our ability to offer competitive benefits to potential employees is tantamount to putting a 'closed for business' sign up. I look forward to being active in the months to come in the effort to defeat this discriminatory, anti-economic development measure."

As different as the nervous nellies are, they don't seem to understand how very not different I am from them, save my fairly open mind. I want what they want: fairness, equality and freedom. Imagine that.

Bead necklace tossing takes practice. Apparently.

“Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.”
- Albert Einstein

On becoming familiar with the wild turkey

How to thaw a frozen turkey: "Blow in it's ear."
- Johnny Carson

Time to send AOL to the litterbox to bury their dumb doodies

MoveOn.org Civic Action: Democracy in Action

There are very few political leaning sites I visit with any regularity due to the being swallowed whole overwhelm I feel when I don't 'get it'. Which happens with great regularity.

I subsume easily and need issues dumbed down profoundly in order for me to understand them or otherwise I don't/won't read it and, therefore, it doesn't exist. It's the web version of the la la laaaaaa I can't heaaaaar you song.

Moveon.org works tirelessly as a watchdog for both civic and political actions. This particular AOL issue that has me fuming today is a lesson in civics, and I read up on it a little before MoveOn.org had organized their petition. Even so, I'm delighted to contribute my voice to those of others in asking what kind of crack AOL folks have been smoking. Charging fees for sending email is ree-dee-que-lus, stoo-peed; dumb, with added emphasis on the -buh.

Here's a tidbit of the moveon.org campaign against AOL's proposed email tax:

AOL recently announced what amounts to an "email tax." Under this pay-to-send system, large emailers willing to pay an "email tax" can bypass spam filters and get guaranteed access to people's inboxes—with their messages having a preferential high-priority designation.1

Charities, small businesses, civic organizing groups, and even families with mailing lists will inevitably be left with inferior Internet service unless they are willing to pay the "email tax" to AOL. We need to stop AOL immediately so other email hosts know that following AOL's lead would be a mistake.

I told you AOL has a dumb idea going - was I wrong?
Come on, let 'em know you think it's laughable.

Add your name to mine here.

Or if you're more of a phone caller kinda person, moveon.org suggests the following:

Please ask AOL not to auction off preferential "certified" access to people's inboxes to giant emailers, while leaving everyone else wondering if their emails are being delivered at all. AOL's proposed pay-to-send system hurts the Internet.


America Online
Phone: (703) 265-1000
Press 0 for operator or 3 to leave a message. (If AOL transfers you to a tech support person, just let them know your concern and thank them for their time.)


Help track our impact by letting us know you called at this link. Before calling, it would be good to read the below summary of "AOL Claims & Reality" so you are prepared for what AOL may say.

After calling, please take a moment to invite your friends to sign the petition—especially those who use AOL or care about keeping the Internet free. You can just forward the sample letter that's below.

Spreading the word is critical, but please only pass this message along to those who know you—spam hurts our campaign.

Thanks for all you do.

–The MoveOn.org Civic Action Team


AOL CLAIMS & REALITY

CLAIM: Nothing would change for non-paying email senders. This is just an extra service for paying senders.

FACT: AOL currently has a financial incentive to put top-notch maintenance into their free email system and make sure legitimate emails don't wind up in spam filters. This helps everyone--corporate senders, non-profit senders, and regular senders. The moment AOL switches to a world where giant emailers pay for preferential treatment, AOL faces this internal choice: spend money to keep spam filters up-to-date so legitimate email isn't identified as spam, or make money by neglecting their spam filters and pushing more senders to pay for guaranteed delivery. Despite their denials that things will change for regular email senders, which choice do you think they'll choose?

CLAIM: Charging a fee will help deter spammers.

FACT: AOL hasn't officially made this claim, but they've let it be implied in news articles and it's completely untrue. AOL's "email tax" would not prevent giant senders from sending email, especially since many of these same senders are willing to pay a lot more money to send advertisements through the postal service. AOL's pay-to-send system would actually make it a sweeter deal for them to send masss emails - giving guaranteed delivery to people's inboxes with a preferential high-priority designation. Additionally, those who break the rules and spam recklessly right now have no incentive to reduce spamming because of AOL's proposed policy.

CLAIM: This is not an "email tax."

FACT: If AOL has its way, the only way to guarantee mail is being delivered will be to pay. For email senders, it amounts to an email tax--except the money goes to AOL instead of the government.

CLAIM: This MoveOn email is a hoax, we will not charge email senders.

It most definitely is not a hoax, and the charge to email senders has been publicly announced in the New York Times, the Associated Press, and other media outlets.

"Postage is due for companies sending e-mail," New York Times, February 4, 2006
article link

"Yahoo and AOL to Charge Some E-Mail Senders," Associated Press, February 6, 2006
article link

Signs, signs, everywhere are signs.

use the bucket by McBeth.

When a house has stood empty for two years despite the fact that it has simultaneously been on the market? That's probably a sign.

When the realtor suggests that we should bring flashlights along with us because there is no electricity? That's probably a sign.

When the realtor also suggests that we dress warmly because there'll be no heat, including on the inside of the house? That's probably a sign.

When the previous homeowner leaves a lavender colored bra hanging from the back of one of the bathroom doors as if to say either 'I'll be back for this' or 'Someone is coming, I'm outta here!' - yes, that too is probably a sign.

When you inadvertently discover two year old fossilized dog poo stuck to the house's basement floor in a section that can only be described as "probably the dog pen" when your partner waves the flashlight around? Not only does that probably explain some of the funky smell in the air, but it is also probably a sign.

When the realtor leaves a note on the kitchen counter detailing NO USE of the toilets, that's definitely a sign.

This isn't the one.
Keep looking.
You'll find The One*.

*and you won't have to pee in a bucket when you find it.

No swimming today

The first image is the metric version of the local weather and has something to do, I suspect, with how the term 'brrr-o-metric pressure' came into being. Or maybe only in my own imagination.

The second image to the left is the yawn-tastic Imperial lame-o Americano version of this morning's temperature. The wind chill, if that makes any difference when the fake mercury dips below zero, registered at -21 dF. Yipes. It's been a while since the last time we've seen these kind of lows. Hey, that'd make a great title for a book written by a depressed meteorologist - It's Been a While Since the Last Time It Was This Low.

At any rate it is a very cold day today, and not weather in which one should be out looking at real estate properties. But that isn't going to stop KD and me from checking out a house after having brunch later this morning. The house is smaller than our ideal but I've had a rough time disconnecting myself from homes we've looked at and I could use the practice to say, 'No thanks, this isn't what we're looking for' if indeed it isn't what we're looking for. I take a look around and my mind's eye immediately begins to move our two homes' worth of stuff in, rearranging and painting and decorating. I've already selected window treatments in places I have no intention of living in. I have to wonder ... am I the only weirdo to do this? Is this a girl thing that is somehow hardwired into my cells, similar to the nesting I began to do shortly before birthing my child?

The last in-home tour we scheduled was great but ended badly (for me) when I became churlish and disconsolate. KD tried hard to keep up with the mystery of me and the sorrow felt and tried to explain, but I can't blame her for the big flashing question-slash-exclamation mark blinking across her forehead. If the mark would have been human it would have slapped me across the back of the head, screaming "Snap out'v it!" So we talked, trying to work me out of my corner. No, you're right sweetheart, it doesn't make any sense. Yes, I agree that the house is SO not what we're looking for and holy cow, there's no way we'd be able to afford the fuel cost just to drive back and forth. Logically I could agree with everything we'd listed under CONS as cons in the list of 'Pros and -', but emotionally I had attached myself and it wasn't until many days later that I could laugh about it.

So a freezing horribly cold day like today should be perfect to visit a boarded-up, no-electricity, bring yer flashlights so we can visit the basement house for sale and I may yet get a grip on this attachment disorder.

after the snowstorm

after the snowstorm by McBeth.

Confidante. One entrusted by A with the secrets of B confided to herself by C.
- Ambrose Bierce

Scarlett

spotlight the girl by McBeth.

Scarlett is growing like a healthy weed. She's over 25" long and over 15 pounds, leaps and bounds since her birth 4 mos. ago.

She coos and squeals and smiles and studies my face with intensity and furrowed brows. Because she means it.

She also can gnaw the foot of a dangling giraffe with more ferocity than I've ever witnessed before.

After they're gone we are left with only questions

This was my second attempt at a 'fake lomo effect' in Photoshop. The grave in the photograph is indeed real, as is the Winnie the Pooh quote etched into the granite.

I was touched by this marker for several reasons (note: clicking on the image will show you a larger, more readable, version).
Clearly, this young woman (in her early 20s at the time of her death, I believe) had a profound effect on those around her, whoever the people may have been. Her life was incredibly short given the current-day, modern world trends. What happened to her? I also wondered about the process that those left behind must have gone throughand how they arrived at this quote as the marker "backside"; if this Pooh quote was a shoe-in because it was her favorite? Or maybe she hoped to one day have children of her own and was holding onto the book until that time came? Or if there were many quotes they had to sift through before they could determine together and finally agree upon feeling as though this quote was what they wanted to mark her burial plot with forever?

Safety

There is no safety in numbers, or in anything else.
- James Thurber