Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
The Truth
Re-post from October 2010...but it bears repeating.
Adeline was 78 years old before she understood. And, boy, was she mad.
Jesus, I know you're not accustomed to being spoken to this way, but you're about to get an earful. And you can't run like Billy used to, cause you're everywhere. So sit down and take your medicine.
You are in trouble, Mister. Would you like to tell me why you made me wait until my knees won't bend, my eyes won't see and my body is a roadmap of wrinkles to figure this out? This little nugget, I could have used when I was 24 with three babes under three, thank you very much. This smidgeon of information that would have come in handy when I caught Andy rolling in the barn with that Schmidts girl. Might you have whispered in my ear when my Alan got colon cancer and we lost the farm?
I've spent my whole entire life worrying. Worrying myself awake at night. Worrying so that my breath came too fast and my fingers tingled. Worrying and fretting out loud until my husband was ready for his early grave.
And now...now, you show me the truth. A truth that might have made all the difference.
No matter what, everything is going to be okay.
Adeline was 78 years old before she understood. And, boy, was she mad.
Jesus, I know you're not accustomed to being spoken to this way, but you're about to get an earful. And you can't run like Billy used to, cause you're everywhere. So sit down and take your medicine.
You are in trouble, Mister. Would you like to tell me why you made me wait until my knees won't bend, my eyes won't see and my body is a roadmap of wrinkles to figure this out? This little nugget, I could have used when I was 24 with three babes under three, thank you very much. This smidgeon of information that would have come in handy when I caught Andy rolling in the barn with that Schmidts girl. Might you have whispered in my ear when my Alan got colon cancer and we lost the farm?
I've spent my whole entire life worrying. Worrying myself awake at night. Worrying so that my breath came too fast and my fingers tingled. Worrying and fretting out loud until my husband was ready for his early grave.
And now...now, you show me the truth. A truth that might have made all the difference.
No matter what, everything is going to be okay.
Unreliable Narrator
I am not in danger
But I can't convince myself.
I can't quiet the fear,
The voice inside that says,
Nothing's right.
Nothing's good enough.
Nothing's safe.
She's an unreliable narrator
Building a story of woe
That hasn't happened yet
And very likely won't.
Still she speaks
And I listen
And tremble.
What is she afraid of?
That I will suffer?
I suffer now in fear.
That I will lose?
I lose because of fear.
That I will hurt another?
I hurt others through my fear.
And suddenly I find that
Because of fear
All that I fear is realized.
But I can't convince myself.
I can't quiet the fear,
The voice inside that says,
Nothing's right.
Nothing's good enough.
Nothing's safe.
She's an unreliable narrator
Building a story of woe
That hasn't happened yet
And very likely won't.
Still she speaks
And I listen
And tremble.
What is she afraid of?
That I will suffer?
I suffer now in fear.
That I will lose?
I lose because of fear.
That I will hurt another?
I hurt others through my fear.
And suddenly I find that
Because of fear
All that I fear is realized.
There You Are
Across the table
I see you differently
A bigger picture
Of what we are together
Greater than the sum
I see you differently
A bigger picture
Of what we are together
Greater than the sum
Indian Giver
When I could not fight
And I could not fly
I pleased to survive.
I gave myself up.
Collapsing around the center.
Limp like prey, powerless.
But now I can fight
And I can fly.
I can choose when to please
And when to follow my pleasure.
I may have given me willingly
but I am taking me back.
Don't try to stop me.
I'm not feeling generous.
And I could not fly
I pleased to survive.
I gave myself up.
Collapsing around the center.
Limp like prey, powerless.
But now I can fight
And I can fly.
I can choose when to please
And when to follow my pleasure.
I may have given me willingly
but I am taking me back.
Don't try to stop me.
I'm not feeling generous.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
Peace
Believe in the innocent you once were.
She is not lost but wizened by pain.
Shed hard won wisdom and be wild
When you feel your heavy heart overtake you.
You were happy once. You were simpler.
Remember. Feel it. Let it grow again.
She will come back to you like an old friend.
And joy can then be the sense
That soothes you as you fall to sleep.
Silence no longer frightening.
Action no longer exhaustion.
Peace.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
What Happened Here?
What happened here... back
When these walls were as young as
the hands that built them.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Unknown
When I thought
I had arrived,
I had barely begun.
Now I'm shy to
Believe I know
Anything at all.
How do you know when
You have learned
All there is to learn.
You can't know
What you haven't yet
Come to know.
How do you prepare
For the inevitable
Pain of finding
You were not only
Ignorant but
Sorely mistaken.
How do you
Ever breathe relief
Knowing your next
Surprise may be the
One that hurts
The worst.
I had arrived,
I had barely begun.
Now I'm shy to
Believe I know
Anything at all.
How do you know when
You have learned
All there is to learn.
You can't know
What you haven't yet
Come to know.
How do you prepare
For the inevitable
Pain of finding
You were not only
Ignorant but
Sorely mistaken.
How do you
Ever breathe relief
Knowing your next
Surprise may be the
One that hurts
The worst.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Home
Time has all but stopped, all still.
Everyday the same, I wait the
Groundhog in this "home" that isn't.
Time moves only slowly as my blood flows
And in my muscles fibers that will
No longer spring to action upon command.
Ever since I came here I have
Been trying to leave. Each time
They catch me three slow steps
Out the back door. 'Now, Mr. Arnold,
Where do you think you're going?'
Home. Obviously. I'm going home.
______________________________________
Life seems to have stopped, all still.
The bluster and the battery
Thankfully and still sadly missing.
It was the reason for my maddness
Never a moment to breath, no peace.
Now I have breathe but no reason.
Ever since I came here I have
Been trying to leave. Each time
They find me before the last beat
Of my heart. "Code Red. Alice!
Come back to us! Where are you going?"
Home. Obviously. I'm going home.
______________________________________
Peace comes and cravings slow to a still.
The pain and the opportunity no longer
A constant surrounding presence.
But I feel the time coming
With joy and gut-wrenching terror
When I will again be mine to destroy.
Ever since I came here I have
Been trying to leave. Each time
They help me back from the ledge.
Remind me. "Paul, the steps, the book.
Learn and heal so you can safely go."
Home. Obviously. I'm going home.
Everyday the same, I wait the
Groundhog in this "home" that isn't.
Time moves only slowly as my blood flows
And in my muscles fibers that will
No longer spring to action upon command.
Ever since I came here I have
Been trying to leave. Each time
They catch me three slow steps
Out the back door. 'Now, Mr. Arnold,
Where do you think you're going?'
Home. Obviously. I'm going home.
______________________________________
Life seems to have stopped, all still.
The bluster and the battery
Thankfully and still sadly missing.
It was the reason for my maddness
Never a moment to breath, no peace.
Now I have breathe but no reason.
Ever since I came here I have
Been trying to leave. Each time
They find me before the last beat
Of my heart. "Code Red. Alice!
Come back to us! Where are you going?"
Home. Obviously. I'm going home.
______________________________________
Peace comes and cravings slow to a still.
The pain and the opportunity no longer
A constant surrounding presence.
But I feel the time coming
With joy and gut-wrenching terror
When I will again be mine to destroy.
Ever since I came here I have
Been trying to leave. Each time
They help me back from the ledge.
Remind me. "Paul, the steps, the book.
Learn and heal so you can safely go."
Home. Obviously. I'm going home.
Friday, July 15, 2011
A Fundamental Want
Just one more drink.
Only a little bit more.
I want it like
I wanted Sarah
In the 7th grade.
A want that feels like
A fundamental need.
I couldn't focus.
I failed my tests.
I ate in a trance,
Walked like a zombie,
Planned all my movements
To be near her.
All energy directed at
Touching her just once.
That is the way I want
One more drink
Every single time.
Only a little bit more.
I want it like
I wanted Sarah
In the 7th grade.
A want that feels like
A fundamental need.
I couldn't focus.
I failed my tests.
I ate in a trance,
Walked like a zombie,
Planned all my movements
To be near her.
All energy directed at
Touching her just once.
That is the way I want
One more drink
Every single time.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Love at a Distance
Still surprised to find
Goodbye doesn't have to hurt.
I thought pain meant the
Love was real but I was wrong.
Inconstancy and
Fear does not signal true love.
Apart and at a
Distance does not mean broken.
I do miss you but
I am not destroyed by the
Sensation. Turns out
This is how it ought to be.
Goodbye doesn't have to hurt.
I thought pain meant the
Love was real but I was wrong.
Inconstancy and
Fear does not signal true love.
Apart and at a
Distance does not mean broken.
I do miss you but
I am not destroyed by the
Sensation. Turns out
This is how it ought to be.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Deep, the Desert Darkness
Deep, the desert darkness
Lays soft along my shoulders.
Gently it seeps into my breath
And stills my blood and mind.
Like an old friend it comforts me
And bids me unburden my heart.
Moonless, I see by starlight
After the fire has died.
The outlines of my canyon walls
Could be stripes behind my eyelids.
In this place, so thick and still is the black,
I could sleep with eyes open.
The moon rises, a herald, just before the sun
Its white a sweet and silent warning.
Soon the orb illuminating the horizon
Will once again sear these ancient stones.
Fundamental. Water and shelter, my only need.
Discovery, my only reason for being.
Poorman's House
You know you've done enough
When every bone is sore.
You know you prayed enough
When you don't ask anymore.
You know you're coming to
Some kind of understanding
When every dream you dreamed
Is past and you're still standing.
From Poorman's House by Patty Griffin
When every bone is sore.
You know you prayed enough
When you don't ask anymore.
You know you're coming to
Some kind of understanding
When every dream you dreamed
Is past and you're still standing.
From Poorman's House by Patty Griffin
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Practiced Pain
Fickle pins prick
Smooth white linen
Drawing tiny red dots
Ignored and well-hidden
Two...four...six...then eight
How long can she wait
To whom can she cry
When the blood is
Too much to deny
Smooth white linen
Drawing tiny red dots
Ignored and well-hidden
Two...four...six...then eight
How long can she wait
To whom can she cry
When the blood is
Too much to deny
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Sweet, sweet smile
You're a slow ride down a country mile.
You're the smell of apple pie to the blind.
You're the last light on a July western sky.
You're the center of the watermelon,
You're a sweet, sweet smile.
-- Martha Scanlan
Monday, May 23, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Con-Fused
"Dearest, when you go,
You take me with you."
The notion, so sweetly cliche.
In practice, so shockingly raw.
My love turned to fear.
I didn't feel it happen.
Was there a moment,
While I was sleeping,
When my senses abandoned
My body for yours?
Without you I waver and bend.
Confused. Unfused.
Like my magnet has lost true north.
Or could it be that I now point
To a truer north.
You take me with you."
The notion, so sweetly cliche.
In practice, so shockingly raw.
My love turned to fear.
I didn't feel it happen.
Was there a moment,
While I was sleeping,
When my senses abandoned
My body for yours?
Without you I waver and bend.
Confused. Unfused.
Like my magnet has lost true north.
Or could it be that I now point
To a truer north.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Our History
Pieces of who we are, who we were, only hours ago.
Moments I want to keep but surely will forget.
How can I hold to the ether of this feeling?
Stop and preserve each sensation?
I dive back into the history of us
The waters are shallow,
Spilling over with an influx of the new.
How can I expand the holding place
Not simply watch our history overflow and fall away?
Heat
Those first days when we conversed in a fever like we were on fire and our breathy words might blow it out.
Sweet
The taste of the yellowjacket cocktail on your lips when we kissed like teenagers in front of the Friday night bar goers.
Wave
The shock then anger then confusion then relief of hitting the wall and being okay.
Ever
Your hand on my back in the crowd and the noise.
Your eyes on my face so focused, so honest.
Our history boiled down to a word, a twinge.
I can't trap the escaping steam.
Put a lid on it!
Build the tank higher!
It is no use
These memories will be made and lost.
Still, there is comfort.
It is what remains of our history, my love.
It is this love, our love.
Moments I want to keep but surely will forget.
How can I hold to the ether of this feeling?
Stop and preserve each sensation?
I dive back into the history of us
The waters are shallow,
Spilling over with an influx of the new.
How can I expand the holding place
Not simply watch our history overflow and fall away?
Heat
Those first days when we conversed in a fever like we were on fire and our breathy words might blow it out.
Sweet
The taste of the yellowjacket cocktail on your lips when we kissed like teenagers in front of the Friday night bar goers.
Wave
The shock then anger then confusion then relief of hitting the wall and being okay.
Ever
Your hand on my back in the crowd and the noise.
Your eyes on my face so focused, so honest.
Our history boiled down to a word, a twinge.
I can't trap the escaping steam.
Put a lid on it!
Build the tank higher!
It is no use
These memories will be made and lost.
Still, there is comfort.
It is what remains of our history, my love.
It is this love, our love.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Haunted
Ghosts live in this place.
Secrets clinging to the moss
Pollenate the breeze.
Bringing to my cheek the chill
Of lonely long lost.
Secrets clinging to the moss
Pollenate the breeze.
Bringing to my cheek the chill
Of lonely long lost.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Complete
Complete.
A sweet river burns
The back of my throat.
It fills the pit
But painfully.
Painfully full,
This feels like home.
Far better than
The lonely hell of
Fearfully empty.
A sweet river burns
The back of my throat.
It fills the pit
But painfully.
Painfully full,
This feels like home.
Far better than
The lonely hell of
Fearfully empty.
Monday, April 11, 2011
More Than You Knew to Ask For
Humility is not one to command.
Power, control, impatience
are patriarchs of our small universe.
Prized, practiced, perfected.
But with a little humility,
timid and small though it may be,
the greater universe --
the one we feel but do not know --
will provide with grace
more than you ever knew to ask for.
It is a law of nature,
like gravity, relativity, mortality.
An open mind and an open heart
beg to be filled.
Closed, controlled, corrupted,
they beg to be opened, forcefully.
Power, control, impatience
are patriarchs of our small universe.
Prized, practiced, perfected.
But with a little humility,
timid and small though it may be,
the greater universe --
the one we feel but do not know --
will provide with grace
more than you ever knew to ask for.
It is a law of nature,
like gravity, relativity, mortality.
An open mind and an open heart
beg to be filled.
Closed, controlled, corrupted,
they beg to be opened, forcefully.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Belonging
an affinity
so simple
and still
so strange
wanting so long
to belong
never belonging
with anyone
now here is one
with whom to belong
belonging
so simple
and still
so strange
i belong to me
with you
i belong with you
so simple
and still
so strange
wanting so long
to belong
never belonging
with anyone
now here is one
with whom to belong
belonging
so simple
and still
so strange
i belong to me
with you
i belong with you
Monday, March 21, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
No More on the Riverbank
The river runs and here I wait,
Standing on the riverbank,
Watching others jump with ease,
Rag-doll limbs, all smiles and knees.
They thrill to fill the space within,
Until the water tumbles them.
They struggle, sputter back to shore.
I never cared to jump before.
And now a new, warm breeze blows in.
The current quickens, waters spin.
Surprised, I feel the need to jump,
Hoping, thrilling, scared but willing.
I raise my arms, run for the ledge,
and take off from the grassy edge.
Waves of cold, both fast and deep,
Cannot conquer, cover me.
Holding to the rock I've found,
I float and find I feel at home.
Standing on the riverbank,
Watching others jump with ease,
Rag-doll limbs, all smiles and knees.
They thrill to fill the space within,
Until the water tumbles them.
They struggle, sputter back to shore.
I never cared to jump before.
And now a new, warm breeze blows in.
The current quickens, waters spin.
Surprised, I feel the need to jump,
Hoping, thrilling, scared but willing.
I raise my arms, run for the ledge,
and take off from the grassy edge.
Waves of cold, both fast and deep,
Cannot conquer, cover me.
Holding to the rock I've found,
I float and find I feel at home.
Monday, March 7, 2011
People Are So Strange
People are so strange.
You never can predict them.
Shhh, just go with it.
You never can predict them.
Shhh, just go with it.
photo: Parke Harrison
Friday, March 4, 2011
If You're Happy and You Know It...
Yesterday I didn't know.
Today I do, but wait...nope, don't know anymore.
Wednesday I was afraid.
Today I'm not, oh...well...yea, maybe I am.
Tuesday I really wanted it.
Today I'm ambivalent, actually, give it.
Monday I squeeled in joy.
Today I'm subdued, but Yay!!!!
Sunday I woke up with a frown.
Today I fell out of bed, but I'm smiling.
Today I do, but wait...nope, don't know anymore.
Wednesday I was afraid.
Today I'm not, oh...well...yea, maybe I am.
Tuesday I really wanted it.
Today I'm ambivalent, actually, give it.
Monday I squeeled in joy.
Today I'm subdued, but Yay!!!!
Sunday I woke up with a frown.
Today I fell out of bed, but I'm smiling.
Spring is on its way
Tart, light, sweet. It is waking.
Puker...bask...release.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Baby Suggs Sermon on Love from Beloved by Toni Morrison
Baby Suggs called the women to her. “Cry,” she told them. “For the living and the dead. Just cry.” And without covering their eyes the women let loose. It started that way: laughing children, dancing men, crying women and then it got mixed up. Women stopped crying and danced; men sat down and cried; children danced, women laughed, children cried until, exhausted and riven, all and each lay about the Clearing damp and gasping for breath."
In the silence that followed, Baby Suggs, holy, offered up to them her great big heart...“Here,” she said, “in this here place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it hard. Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it...No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And O my people they do not love your hands. Those they only use, tie, bind, chop off and leave empty. Love your hands! Love them! Raise them up and kiss them. Touch others with them, pat them together, stroke them on your face ‘cause they don’t love that either. You got to love it, you! And no, they ain’t in love with your mouth. Yonder, out there, they will see it broken and break it again.What you say out of it they will not heed…What you put into it to nourish your body they will snatch away and give leavins instead. No they don’t love your mouth. You got to love it.”
“This is flesh I’m talking about here. Flesh that needs to be loved. Feet that need to rest and to dance; backs that need support; shoulders that need arms, strong arms I’m telling you. And oh my people, out yonder, hear me, they do not love your neck unnoosed and straight. So love your neck; put a hand on it, grace it, stroke it, and hold it up. And all your inside parts that they’d just as soon slop for hogs, you got to love them. The dark, dark liver - love it, love it, and the beat and beating heart, love that too. More than eyes or feet…More than your life-holding womb and your live-giving private parts, hear me now, love your heart. For this is the prize.”
Saying no more, she stood up then and danced with her twisted hip the rest of what her heart had to say while the others opened their mouths and gave her the music. Long notes held until the four-part harmony was perfect enough for their deeply loved flesh.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Lo (ahhhh!) ve
"Hi, my name is Love."
"Oh, um, take a step back please,
You're a bit too close."
"Oh, um, take a step back please,
You're a bit too close."
What is this crazy
thing that I want so badly
but fear so deeply?
thing that I want so badly
but fear so deeply?
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti (1862)
Lately, I've been reading my favorite works to try to get my inspiration back. Goblin Market is one of my absolute favorite poems ever written.
MORNING and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
"Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpecked cherries-
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries--
All ripe together
In summer weather--
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come buy;
Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons and bilberries,
Taste them and try:
Currants and gooseberries,
Bright-fire-like barberries,
Figs to fill your mouth,
Citrons from the South,
Sweet to tongue and sound to eye,
Come buy, come buy."
Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bowed her head to hear,
Lizzie veiled her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger-tips.
"Lie close," Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?"
"Come buy," call the goblins
Hobbling down the glen.
"O! cried Lizzie, Laura, Laura,
You should not peep at goblin men."
Lizzie covered up her eyes
Covered close lest they should look;
Laura reared her glossy head,
And whispered like the restless brook:
"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,
Down the glen tramp little men.
One hauls a basket,
One bears a plate,
One lugs a golden dish
Of many pounds' weight.
How fair the vine must grow
Whose grapes are so luscious;
How warm the wind must blow
Through those fruit bushes."
"No," said Lizzie, "no, no, no;
Their offers should not charm us,
Their evil gifts would harm us."
She thrust a dimpled finger
In each ear, shut eyes and ran:
Curious Laura chose to linger
Wondering at each merchant man.
One had a cat's face,
One whisked a tail,
One tramped at a rat's pace,
One crawled like a snail,
One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,
One like a ratel tumbled hurry-scurry.
Lizzie heard a voice like voice of doves
Cooing all together:
They sounded kind and full of loves
In the pleasant weather.
Laura stretched her gleaming neck
Like a rush-imbedded swan,
Like a lily from the beck,
Like a moonlit poplar branch,
Like a vessel at the launch
When its last restraint is gone.
Maids heard the goblins cry:
"Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpecked cherries-
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries--
All ripe together
In summer weather--
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come buy;
Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons and bilberries,
Taste them and try:
Currants and gooseberries,
Bright-fire-like barberries,
Figs to fill your mouth,
Citrons from the South,
Sweet to tongue and sound to eye,
Come buy, come buy."
Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bowed her head to hear,
Lizzie veiled her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger-tips.
"Lie close," Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?"
"Come buy," call the goblins
Hobbling down the glen.
"O! cried Lizzie, Laura, Laura,
You should not peep at goblin men."
Lizzie covered up her eyes
Covered close lest they should look;
Laura reared her glossy head,
And whispered like the restless brook:
"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,
Down the glen tramp little men.
One hauls a basket,
One bears a plate,
One lugs a golden dish
Of many pounds' weight.
How fair the vine must grow
Whose grapes are so luscious;
How warm the wind must blow
Through those fruit bushes."
"No," said Lizzie, "no, no, no;
Their offers should not charm us,
Their evil gifts would harm us."
She thrust a dimpled finger
In each ear, shut eyes and ran:
Curious Laura chose to linger
Wondering at each merchant man.
One had a cat's face,
One whisked a tail,
One tramped at a rat's pace,
One crawled like a snail,
One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,
One like a ratel tumbled hurry-scurry.
Lizzie heard a voice like voice of doves
Cooing all together:
They sounded kind and full of loves
In the pleasant weather.
Laura stretched her gleaming neck
Like a rush-imbedded swan,
Like a lily from the beck,
Like a moonlit poplar branch,
Like a vessel at the launch
When its last restraint is gone.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Woody's World - Three-Minute Fiction Round Six
Charlie perches on a red vinyl stool belly-up to his usual, hot roast beef on white bread, smothered in brown gravy. Outside, the icy drizzle mimics fog. Charlie shivers and rubs his rough hands together. Vernon, his current boss and future father-in-law if he plays his cards right, sits beside him, scowling and poking at his mashed potatoes.
Though every table in the Story City Café is full, only the clink of forks and the occasional satisfied grunt breaks the silence. They’re the regulars – hard Iowa men at their midday meal. No need for discussion. Charlie picks up a newspaper and skims the funnies between bites.
The bell on the door rings out as a mother and child crash into the café, dripping and frenzied. Arms at his sides, the boy wails open-mouthed. His mother kneels in front of him and, brushing the water from his coat, begs him under her breath to be a good boy.
Forks still and the diners watch unabashed as she pulls her screaming son to the counter, plunks him on a high stool and orders a milkshake from the frowning café owner.
“Look, honey,” she pleads near her son’s tear-stained face. “You’re gonna get a milkshake! Doesn’t that make you happy?”
The howling continues.
“Don’t make him happy,” Vernon grumbles loudly to his mashed potatoes. “Make him behave.”
The color leaves her face as the mother looks from Vernon to the ground.
“Hey there, kiddo!” Charlie calls in a loud voice. He grabs the newspaper and makes his way to the boy, all eyes following him with interest.
“Look at this comic. It’s real funny.”
The boy quiets and looks where Charlie is pointing.
“It’s Woody’s World,” Charlie continues. “See, in this one Woody’s driving his truck and trailer but some oaf crashed into the trailer from behind. Otis, Woody’s horse, has gotten outta the trailer and is kicking the ever-living craaa….” he stops himself, “car like to dent it, cause he’s mad. And look! Here comes Woody and says to his horse, ‘I’ll handle this, Otis!’”
Charlie chuckles and looks up from the comic to see the child is wholly unimpressed, his bottom lip quaking, but his mother’s face beams with gratitude. Right on time, the milkshake arrives with a tall twisty straw that corks a new eruption of sobs. Charlie returns to his stool and the clinking and grunting resumes from all corners.
Later, after the milkshake is gone and the bell signaling the mother and son’s departure has quieted, Vernon mumbles, “Lemme see that comic.”
Charlie hands the paper over. Vernon reads for a moment, then, slowly, his face appears to crack and his lips bend. As he starts to snort, Charlie, watching in amazement, copies him inadvertently. Vernon begins to laugh, first in a hoarse chuckle, then in a loud belly-shaking guffaw, and Charlie follows suit. Soon the two are slapping each other and gasping for air, tears streaming from their eyes. Forks stop again as the diners turn to stare at the second outburst of the mealtime.
Their laughter finally quieting, Vernon looks over at Charlie’s plate. “You pert near done?”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
Sliding simultaneously from their stools, Vernon and Charlie head to the register.
The price of the lunch special is always the same, but the owner tells them anyway. “That’ll be two bucks each.”
Charlie pulls two bills from his fold, but Vernon steps between him and the counter and lays down four bills. Turning to Charlie, he smiles and says, “I’ll handle this, Otis.”
Though every table in the Story City Café is full, only the clink of forks and the occasional satisfied grunt breaks the silence. They’re the regulars – hard Iowa men at their midday meal. No need for discussion. Charlie picks up a newspaper and skims the funnies between bites.
The bell on the door rings out as a mother and child crash into the café, dripping and frenzied. Arms at his sides, the boy wails open-mouthed. His mother kneels in front of him and, brushing the water from his coat, begs him under her breath to be a good boy.
Forks still and the diners watch unabashed as she pulls her screaming son to the counter, plunks him on a high stool and orders a milkshake from the frowning café owner.
“Look, honey,” she pleads near her son’s tear-stained face. “You’re gonna get a milkshake! Doesn’t that make you happy?”
The howling continues.
“Don’t make him happy,” Vernon grumbles loudly to his mashed potatoes. “Make him behave.”
The color leaves her face as the mother looks from Vernon to the ground.
“Hey there, kiddo!” Charlie calls in a loud voice. He grabs the newspaper and makes his way to the boy, all eyes following him with interest.
“Look at this comic. It’s real funny.”
The boy quiets and looks where Charlie is pointing.
“It’s Woody’s World,” Charlie continues. “See, in this one Woody’s driving his truck and trailer but some oaf crashed into the trailer from behind. Otis, Woody’s horse, has gotten outta the trailer and is kicking the ever-living craaa….” he stops himself, “car like to dent it, cause he’s mad. And look! Here comes Woody and says to his horse, ‘I’ll handle this, Otis!’”
Charlie chuckles and looks up from the comic to see the child is wholly unimpressed, his bottom lip quaking, but his mother’s face beams with gratitude. Right on time, the milkshake arrives with a tall twisty straw that corks a new eruption of sobs. Charlie returns to his stool and the clinking and grunting resumes from all corners.
Later, after the milkshake is gone and the bell signaling the mother and son’s departure has quieted, Vernon mumbles, “Lemme see that comic.”
Charlie hands the paper over. Vernon reads for a moment, then, slowly, his face appears to crack and his lips bend. As he starts to snort, Charlie, watching in amazement, copies him inadvertently. Vernon begins to laugh, first in a hoarse chuckle, then in a loud belly-shaking guffaw, and Charlie follows suit. Soon the two are slapping each other and gasping for air, tears streaming from their eyes. Forks stop again as the diners turn to stare at the second outburst of the mealtime.
Their laughter finally quieting, Vernon looks over at Charlie’s plate. “You pert near done?”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
Sliding simultaneously from their stools, Vernon and Charlie head to the register.
The price of the lunch special is always the same, but the owner tells them anyway. “That’ll be two bucks each.”
Charlie pulls two bills from his fold, but Vernon steps between him and the counter and lays down four bills. Turning to Charlie, he smiles and says, “I’ll handle this, Otis.”
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
ABC I'm JK, LOL
I can say the alphabet as a word,but you can't hear it because this is a blog.
"I once had an abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwyxz,
but it ran away and I cried."
Say it with me:
AB(like ab)-C(like k)-DEF(like deaf)-GHI(like gee)-JKL(like jekyll)-MNOP(like men-op)-QRS(like cris)-TUV(like toov)-WYX(like wicks)-Z(like zzzzz)Art by Paul Thurlby
This Forever Coming of Age
I can't remember how
To attend to my feelings alone
Like my infant self
Who smiled at the sight of light on the ceiling
And cried at the twinge of pain if it offended.
Rather, now I hide from offense behind smiles
And cry instead at beauty like an angel fallen from grace.
I have learned too well to dissemble, even to myself.
So well I no longer know how to align sense and response.
Likewise, in this forever coming of age,
Reaction no longer follows action
As it did when I was young.
My small smiles do not bring joy and praise.
My wailing cries do not bring help and comfort.
But I would like, in just one lucid moment, to know -
Is it so because they know I lie
Or do I lie because it is so?
To attend to my feelings alone
Like my infant self
Who smiled at the sight of light on the ceiling
And cried at the twinge of pain if it offended.
Rather, now I hide from offense behind smiles
And cry instead at beauty like an angel fallen from grace.
I have learned too well to dissemble, even to myself.
So well I no longer know how to align sense and response.
Likewise, in this forever coming of age,
Reaction no longer follows action
As it did when I was young.
My small smiles do not bring joy and praise.
My wailing cries do not bring help and comfort.
But I would like, in just one lucid moment, to know -
Is it so because they know I lie
Or do I lie because it is so?
Monday, December 27, 2010
The Words That Get Her Through
1 The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. 2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. 3 He restoreth my soul. He guideth me in straight paths for His name's sake. 4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me. Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me. 5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou hast anointed my head with oil. My cup runneth over. 6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Still Fighting
Still fighting but the
fight seems long and her strength wanes.
Time for inner strength.
(And some revolver platforms.)
fight seems long and her strength wanes.
Time for inner strength.
(And some revolver platforms.)
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
BBC's 100 Books
Colleen from http://andotheradventures.blogspot.com/ gave me a challenge. She asks:
Have you read more than 6 of these books? The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the 100 books listed here. Let's see if you are the book nerd that you claim to be.
1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible - I've read some, but not all.
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare - I've read many but not all
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hikers's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma -Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - A.A. Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Inferno - Dante
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - E.B. White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
Not too shabby and now I have a list of books to read next!
Have you read more than 6 of these books? The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the 100 books listed here. Let's see if you are the book nerd that you claim to be.
1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible - I've read some, but not all.
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare - I've read many but not all
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hikers's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma -Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - A.A. Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Inferno - Dante
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - E.B. White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
Not too shabby and now I have a list of books to read next!
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Three-Minute Fiction - Round Five
Yes.. I entered again. This time the Judge is Michael Cunningham, author of The Hours and A Home at the End of the World. His requirements were that we begin with the sentence "Some people swore that the house was haunted." and end with "Nothing was ever the same again after that."
Here's my entry.
CONQUERED
Some people swore that the house was haunted. I didn’t care about that. I thought it was beautiful. Falling porches, shutters hanging by a hinge, white paint long since rained away. It sparked my imagination. It made me wonder who had lived there. What had they left behind -- in between the floor boards -- hidden in secret cubbies in the walls?
I had to know. So I committed my first crime at the age of 13. I trespassed, army crawling under the barbed wire and sneaking up the front walk while my little brother waited by the road. No amount of coercion could convince him to come with me. He was afraid of the ghosts. He asked me not to go, but not as heartily as he might have. I thought he felt sibling pride because I was so daring.
When I got to the door, I turned and waved. I didn’t notice that he had wondered dangerously close to the road. As I turned and pushed the door, I barely heard his squeaky, terrified voice asking me to come back. It wasn’t funny anymore. He didn’t want to be left alone.
The door gave way, screeching as its base dragged the floorboards. I stepped into the former great hall, like an explorer onto a new continent, I imagined. The staircase, partially missing, twisted up to the second floor in front of me. Two large rooms flanked the high-ceilinged hall. On the right, an old fireplace, ringed by ornately-carved tiles, held court in an otherwise empty sitting room. To the left, a single arm chair, its color and pattern obscured by dirt, sat in the middle of the former dining room. Beyond the stairs, stretched a dark hallway and at the end another door. Certainly behind that door lay all the mysteries the house was waiting to offer up. I moved down the hall, my mind on fire with excitement. I heard no noise from outside, only the boards beneath my feet and my loudly spinning thoughts.
The door was missing its knob. I pushed. It wouldn’t budge. I put my hand in the hole where the knob should have been and pulled once, twice, harder a third time. The door came out of its socket with a crack. I couldn’t hold its weight. It fell heavily on top of me, knocking the wind from me and showering me with dirt and filth.
Terror filled my heart and the fearless explorer was reduced to a 13 year-old girl. I choked on dust as I sucked for breathe and struggled to squirm out from under the offending door. When I was free, I didn’t pause to look into the room that had only moments before been my personal King Solomon’s Mine. I ran for it.
Still wheezing, I cleared the hallway, jumped the threshold and sprinted up the walk toward the road. I didn’t see Tim, but I couldn’t stop -- the ghosts were hard at my heels. I threw myself to the ground and crawled under the barbed-wire fence.
I stood, brushed at my clothes, wiped my face with my sleeve and looked around. “Tim.” I called, sure he had wandered into the bushes somewhere. “Tim!” I called louder and with twisting worry. “TIM!” I ran along the road. The fear I felt under the door a fraction of the fear now growing ever larger in my screaming brain. “TIM!!” On the other side of the road, I found the blood stain. Nothing was ever the same again after that.
Follow the link to read some of the judges favorites. He has not yet picked a winner. (Fingerscrossed!)
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=105660765
Here's my entry.
CONQUERED
Some people swore that the house was haunted. I didn’t care about that. I thought it was beautiful. Falling porches, shutters hanging by a hinge, white paint long since rained away. It sparked my imagination. It made me wonder who had lived there. What had they left behind -- in between the floor boards -- hidden in secret cubbies in the walls?
I had to know. So I committed my first crime at the age of 13. I trespassed, army crawling under the barbed wire and sneaking up the front walk while my little brother waited by the road. No amount of coercion could convince him to come with me. He was afraid of the ghosts. He asked me not to go, but not as heartily as he might have. I thought he felt sibling pride because I was so daring.
When I got to the door, I turned and waved. I didn’t notice that he had wondered dangerously close to the road. As I turned and pushed the door, I barely heard his squeaky, terrified voice asking me to come back. It wasn’t funny anymore. He didn’t want to be left alone.
The door gave way, screeching as its base dragged the floorboards. I stepped into the former great hall, like an explorer onto a new continent, I imagined. The staircase, partially missing, twisted up to the second floor in front of me. Two large rooms flanked the high-ceilinged hall. On the right, an old fireplace, ringed by ornately-carved tiles, held court in an otherwise empty sitting room. To the left, a single arm chair, its color and pattern obscured by dirt, sat in the middle of the former dining room. Beyond the stairs, stretched a dark hallway and at the end another door. Certainly behind that door lay all the mysteries the house was waiting to offer up. I moved down the hall, my mind on fire with excitement. I heard no noise from outside, only the boards beneath my feet and my loudly spinning thoughts.
The door was missing its knob. I pushed. It wouldn’t budge. I put my hand in the hole where the knob should have been and pulled once, twice, harder a third time. The door came out of its socket with a crack. I couldn’t hold its weight. It fell heavily on top of me, knocking the wind from me and showering me with dirt and filth.
Terror filled my heart and the fearless explorer was reduced to a 13 year-old girl. I choked on dust as I sucked for breathe and struggled to squirm out from under the offending door. When I was free, I didn’t pause to look into the room that had only moments before been my personal King Solomon’s Mine. I ran for it.
Still wheezing, I cleared the hallway, jumped the threshold and sprinted up the walk toward the road. I didn’t see Tim, but I couldn’t stop -- the ghosts were hard at my heels. I threw myself to the ground and crawled under the barbed-wire fence.
I stood, brushed at my clothes, wiped my face with my sleeve and looked around. “Tim.” I called, sure he had wandered into the bushes somewhere. “Tim!” I called louder and with twisting worry. “TIM!” I ran along the road. The fear I felt under the door a fraction of the fear now growing ever larger in my screaming brain. “TIM!!” On the other side of the road, I found the blood stain. Nothing was ever the same again after that.
Follow the link to read some of the judges favorites. He has not yet picked a winner. (Fingerscrossed!)
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=105660765
Thursday, October 14, 2010
The Truth
Adeline was 78 years old before she understood. And, boy, was she mad.
Jesus, I know you're not accustomed to being spoken to this way, but you're about to get an earful. And you can't run like Billy used to, cause you're everywhere. So sit down and take your medicine.
You are in trouble, Mister. Would you like to tell me why you made me wait until my knees won't bend, my eyes won't see and my body is a roadmap of wrinkles to figure this out? This little nugget, I could have used when I was 24 with three babes under three, thank you very much. This smidgeon of information that would have come in handy when I caught Andy rolling in the barn with that Schmidts girl. Might you have whispered in my ear when my Alan got colon cancer and we lost the farm?
I've spent my whole entire life worrying. Worrying myself awake at night. Worrying so that my breath came too fast and my fingers tingled. Worrying and fretting out loud until my husband was ready for his early grave.
And now...now, you show me the truth. A truth that might have made all the difference.
No matter what, everything is going to be okay.
Jesus, I know you're not accustomed to being spoken to this way, but you're about to get an earful. And you can't run like Billy used to, cause you're everywhere. So sit down and take your medicine.
You are in trouble, Mister. Would you like to tell me why you made me wait until my knees won't bend, my eyes won't see and my body is a roadmap of wrinkles to figure this out? This little nugget, I could have used when I was 24 with three babes under three, thank you very much. This smidgeon of information that would have come in handy when I caught Andy rolling in the barn with that Schmidts girl. Might you have whispered in my ear when my Alan got colon cancer and we lost the farm?
I've spent my whole entire life worrying. Worrying myself awake at night. Worrying so that my breath came too fast and my fingers tingled. Worrying and fretting out loud until my husband was ready for his early grave.
And now...now, you show me the truth. A truth that might have made all the difference.
No matter what, everything is going to be okay.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
The Cancer Day
Today is the day that my mom told me she has cancer. Cancer! Seriously? CANCER?!?! I didn't cry... at first. I was MAD. I'm still mad. How DARE this thing grow on my mother and make her sick. I'll teach it to mess with us. I want to take a cleaver to it, Lizzie Borden style, except mom says it doesn't hurt right now and that would most definitely hurt. No, she said no fighting yet, we just have to wait. WAIT?!?! Wait for her first appointment with the specialist. Wait for the specialist to decide what to do. Wait for them to cut off the offending tumor. Wait for the tests to tell us if the tumor has sent assassins into other parts of her body. Wait for them to give her the treatments that will sap her strength, take her beautiful hair and steal the fight from her. And then I'll give her all my fight. And will we fight. FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT! That thing will RUE the day it chose to grow on a Lee. And remission will be our triumph and a long, long, happy, healthy, LIFE. Did I mention LONG? I can't do without her. This is the only possible outcome. You higher powers better be listening. I'm not taking no for an answer.
P.S. I don't intend to fight fair.
P.S. I don't intend to fight fair.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Conflict
America
Stands between them
Arms outstretched
Hands on their hearts
Beneath beats anger
Inside each chest
For the other
Never-changing
Churning
Mindless
Hatred
How can we hope
To understand these conflicts
How can we make
Them see the other side
Peace at a price
They are unwilling to pay
If they must
Stop the pulsing
Churning
Replicating
Hatred
Stands between them
Arms outstretched
Hands on their hearts
Beneath beats anger
Inside each chest
For the other
Never-changing
Churning
Mindless
Hatred
How can we hope
To understand these conflicts
How can we make
Them see the other side
Peace at a price
They are unwilling to pay
If they must
Stop the pulsing
Churning
Replicating
Hatred
Friday, September 10, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Magpie to the Morning
By Neko Case
Magpie comes a calling
Drops a marble from the sky
Tin roof sounds alarm
And wake up child
Let this be a warning says the magpie to the morning
Don't let this fading summer pass you by
Don't let this fading summer pass you by
Black hands held so high
The vulture wheels and dives
Something on the thermals
Yanked his chain
Smelled your boring apex
Rotting on the train tracks
He laughed under his breath
Because you thought that you could outrun sorrow
Take your own advice
Thunder and lightening gets you rain
Run an airtight mission, a Cousteau expedition
To find a diamond at the bottom of the drain
A diamond at the bottom of the drain
Hear the mocking bird sing
In the middle of the night
All of his songs are stolen so he hides
Stole them out from whiporwills
Screaming car alarms
He sings them for you special
He knows you're afraid of the dark
Come on sorrow
Take your own advice
Hide under the bed
Turn out the light
Stars this night in the sky are ringing out
You can almost hear them saying
"Close your eyes now kid"
"Close your eyes now kid"
Morning is too far lit
They are waiting
Waiting
They are waiting
Magpie comes a calling
Drops a marble from the sky
Tin roof sounds alarm
And wake up child
Let this be a warning says the magpie to the morning
Don't let this fading summer pass you by
Don't let this fading summer pass you by
Black hands held so high
The vulture wheels and dives
Something on the thermals
Yanked his chain
Smelled your boring apex
Rotting on the train tracks
He laughed under his breath
Because you thought that you could outrun sorrow
Take your own advice
Thunder and lightening gets you rain
Run an airtight mission, a Cousteau expedition
To find a diamond at the bottom of the drain
A diamond at the bottom of the drain
Hear the mocking bird sing
In the middle of the night
All of his songs are stolen so he hides
Stole them out from whiporwills
Screaming car alarms
He sings them for you special
He knows you're afraid of the dark
Come on sorrow
Take your own advice
Hide under the bed
Turn out the light
Stars this night in the sky are ringing out
You can almost hear them saying
"Close your eyes now kid"
"Close your eyes now kid"
Morning is too far lit
They are waiting
Waiting
They are waiting
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
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