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.

you gotta do whatcha gotta do

Two bucks is two beeping bucks.

I've tried sleeping ... several times already, and have been to the grocery store and back already. Don't really want to take my knock-me-on-my-ass meds because they -well, because that's exactly what they do and I don't much like it. So here I am. blah dee blah.

So I'll play the stream of consciousness game and maybe that'll either bore me enough or wear me out such that I will go to sleep. Yes? Yes.

I had all my shit piled on the little conveyor belt at Mega-Store, waited waited waited for the checkout person to appear (he didn't). After enough time had passed that I had a good hunch s/he wasn't paying attention or wasn't nearby I started an aisle-by-aisle check to find a human. Lemme tellya, at this time of day (or night, I suppose, would be the more accurate term) there are only 4 people working the entire store. I found the guy, asked if he could check me out or if tonight was my lucky night and I was getting the goods for free. He laughed, apologized, followed me up front.

Scanned everything through and I was nearly all done. Then, the last 3 items were chicken (one not on sale, 2 ON sale w/$1 off in-store discount stickers on 'em). He scanned them, bagged them, tried to scan the coupons. BEEP. The register didn't like the coupon. He tried the other coupon sticker. BEEP. No go. Scan the first again. BEEP. Gosh, if it didn't work the first time, what makes him think that the computer is going to have a change of heart part-way through this process and suddenly love that bar code? Scan the second again, apparently following same train of thought as #1 ... BEEP. No. Scan. BEEP. NO. Poor guy, it isn't his fault.

Meanwhile, a line of alcohol-perfumed folk have lined up behind me, each with a couple of items each. I apologize to them for whatever the hang-up might be but the hell if I'm leaving that store without the $2 discount - these days it matters and where do we all have to be rushing off to so quickly anyway? They're all good-humored about the holdup, chattering between themselves about how there are eight different versions of Spanish so you can't just assume that when a person says they speak Spanish that it'll be some kind of 'universal' Spanish. Yes, the drunks in the middle of the night DO have important matters to resolve, and this is clearly one of them. BEEP.

Checkout guy is still waving coupons to and fro, hoping for something to change, some magic to happen. BEEP BEEP BEEP. He laughs nervously, explaining that he'll have to call the manager (one of the other three nighttime employees manning that behemoth of a warehouse neighborhood market). 'Not a problem, I've got until dawn', I purred back.

Up comes the manager, to wave coupons and press buttons. BEEP. whap. BEEP BEEP. whap. Seems the computer doesn't like my coupons because the chicken was already on sale and the computer doesn't think I should also be getting $1 off for two of the packages. I refuse to beg but I also refuse to leave without that goddamned $2 off my receipt because now... this is register war -just me and it- with only a pierced-nosed geek-looking student-aged manager standing between us.
And I intend to win. BEEP.

whap. clicketyclackclick. BEEP. thump. BEEP. click click.
.... silence. Silence? SILENCE!

He's done it! We are victorious over the computerized cash register and we have triumphed! I get a twitch, and the sudden urge to high-five the manager, the clerk and the other customers. Nobody else seems quite so excited as I am, but fuck em if they can't smile over a true $2 savings.



ok, sleepy and bored with myself (see? I said it'd work and voila!) so I'm really going to give this sleep thaang another shot. Thanks for being such a nice audience. Tip your wait staff generously ... I'll be here all week.

If wishes were snoglobe confetti

McBeth.

I prefer to take very broad, very liberal strokes at my wish list list-making.

It's not a simple thing to say the thing I want. I may be laughed at. I may be completely ignored. I may receive the size small instead of the large, I may get the thing that clearly indicates that someone was not listening to me (BIG personal peeve)... so I don't make the lists and try to talk about personally significant matters as infrequently as I can get away with, which really isn't all that difficult if you can manage to get a person to talk about their stuff because lord knows we all got lots of personal crap to sort through - anyone given an opening, an audience and silence will generally take it and run.

Try it. See if I'm wrong.

It's all relative

How rich are you? >> I'm loaded. It's official. I'm the 692,212,161 richest person on earth!

Come, rest a while.

McBeth.

I've been thinking about being in relationship with others: how and why we make the choices we do, how we deal (or don'€™t) with the consequences, what the next steps can be (which may or may not have any bearing on what actually happens).

I was on the floor of the lower-level room where my son tucks himself away for TV watching, computering, and other miscellaneous things mothers should not be required to keep close track of (this one doesn'€™t, at any rate). We were hanging out, watching a George Carlin video, laughing (possibly slightly more than gives positive indication of an overtly healthy mind). As we giggled and guffawed and high-fived Curious George, I poked around at the contents of items on the bottom of the bookshelf my father made for me in 1986, created after I was forcibly ejected from my parent'€™s home for the ultimate offense of loving a person deemed evil ~ sinful ~ un-loveworthy. I didn'€™t simply date him and love him, no. I continued to date and love him after my mother made her opinions and, in due time, her forbiddance frighteningly, screamingly clear. The cost of that decision - not to mention a few choices later on -€“ was energizing but ultimately fiercely destructive (for me, for him, for my sense of family) on a number of levels.

While gently using my hand as a dust bulldozer to shove layers of months-long inattentive housekeeping to the side, I uncovered an envelope mailed to me by that fellow I'™d dated back in the day. The envelope was postmarked 10 July 2000 and had affixed to it the ho-hum flag-and-a-building 33-cent postage stamp. Enclosed along with his letter was a page ripped from a J.C. Penney catalog. A lovely plus-sized blonde woman model in a periwinkle blue two-pieced outfit was slung comfortably upright in a white hammock, a pair of white slings to her left side. Her expression says "hey, I'€™m cute. Would you like to swing in my hammock with me?"€™; she'™s very appealing to me and a downright cutie. She's the gal who I'd imagine visits nursing homes on weekends, just because; who buys the extra groceries to place a few in the food pantry donation bin. On the picture he'€™d written '€˜Beth --->'™, assigning me to her characteristics. Funny ... we do sorta look the tiniest bit alike if you squint. Anyway.

The letter, written in loopy scrolling blue ballpoint pen read:
"€œDear Beth,
Hi. Ever think about going total blonde. You're much more beautiful than the JCP Modle, but you get the idea.
I understand you tried to contact me, and I'€™m puzzled as to why since you don'€™t want to be friends. Or is it from the bracelet you gave me? (I still have it), 'œThat'€™s what friends are for.'. I guess I just don'€™t understand.

You should see my new Apt. WOW! Its basicly sound proof; which I was not aware of till I went out in the hall; but it'™s a one bedroom loft Apt. with a sky light and cathedral ceiling; it has two floors since it'€™s a loft. And I love it.

Right now I'€™m still psychologicly ill and taking no calls, just writing, and I'€™m staying at my parents till I feel safe enough to go back to the Apt. without delusions. I'€™ve done some Art and a lot of Poetry since I last saw you. Its really a shame I'€™m not able to share it.

If I talk with you, will you once again burn the bridges of friendship? You hurt me, I don'™t know why -€“ If it was about the kiss, I just wanted to.

One time long ago, I asked you if I could kiss you and you said 'no, because I shouldn'™t have to be asked.' This time you kissed me, and I kissed the way I do. That'€™s it. Lisa is pregnut again. Her due date is Dec 25. And Laura will be 3, Jan 2.

Anyway I'€™d better close, take care and write me if you need to, but think about what I said.

Love Almost Always
M---"€œ



I can'€™t recall now if I responded to this letter when I ha€™d first received it. I know we talked, but I cannot recall the details of which conversation happened when. I also feel consecratedly, intensely grief-laden that I am not required to follow the basic rules of proper netiquette and common decency by asking him if I could have his permission to reprint his words here. And that is because he's dead. He was young, in his late 30s, and he'€™s fucking dead now.

I think of M--- a great deal, especially when I am struggling and want someone to just hug me, or when I'€™m insecure and want to be reached out to by another person. When I see super-excellent cloud shapes I think of him. His heart was so big, so hurtable, occasionally hittable, filled with anger and an unsteady mix of '€˜don'€™t push me'€™ and '˜please push me. Harder'€™.

I cut him off. Completely. I extricated myself from relationship with him long after we broke off our relationship, including the engagement I never had the opportunity to announce, save for meetings with the ring designer in Des Moines to create an unique wedding band from a bracelet of gold and diamonds I found several years prior. But that'€™s another story for another time, that bracelet. After our breakup turned to friendship and then friendship turned to an indefinable something else we danced back and forth around; I made clumsy attempts to reconnect with him at a level I could bear but it never seemed to be what he wanted from me: it never seemed to be enough. He wanted me back; he wanted our relationship back. He wanted me to accept his apologies. He wanted to make up. He wanted to not be crazy anymore. He wanted me, a loved person who understood the scariness of occasional mind-losing, to hold hands when he was frightened.

I cannot take staring into the puckered superficial face of decisions I made toward the end of his life. I believe it is an unwise move to live the next section(s) of my life in an unexamined happy lala-world state, but the guilt I continue to bear feels so soggy, so heavy. It's like tasting a mouth-watering dessert ... a little is so good ~ too much is sickening. Yeah, the examination process of my personal accountability and my continuing grief is a little like that.

Today I'€™m so sorry. I hope there is a spiritual part of him hovering close by because I'€™d like to think that by my whispering these admissions now he can find a way to forgive me. I'€™m not sure what I would say if he was still alive, but I'm certain it would be a hell of a lot more than I did back when I knew everything; before he offed himself, centuries before George Carlin help me forget for an afternoon.