...quiet, about a lot of things...

A poem to carry with you....


My favorite poet is e.e cummings. My Most favorite poem of his for THE RECORD is (somwhere i have never traveled). I findmyself, or how i would love to be viewed, in that poem. But I carry that one in my head, phrases, all the time.

The poem for today speaks to THIS PART of my life. When I have found a mature woman in the mirror, when it becomes to easier to analyze than live sometimes. When I wrestle with kids, feeling and control. When I long to be free and quiet... Happy Thursday..

PS This will be carried folded up...teeny tiny, in my bra. Has to be teeny tiny...cause my bras don't hold much...I also hold sugar cubes for my horses in there when I ride...and my husband made reference,once, to the odd sweet and salty taste of my right breast.. but I digress.......

since feeling is first

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all the flowers. Don't cry
-the best gesture of my brain is less than
you eyelids flutter which says

we are for eachother: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

e.e. cummings


Cant wait to see what you others carry, and where??? I'm going to Poetry Thursday...

Labels: Poetry Thursday

I believe it is an old 80's Depeche Mode Song...That reared it head in my life this morning.

"I don't want to start
any blasphemous Rumors
but I think that God's got
a sick sense of humour
and when I die,
I expect to find him
laughing"

Up at 6:00 this lovely AM, I went to worship at the alter I call COFFEE POT. Oh, its a shiny fancy stainless steel vessel of addiction. My husband operates this beauty like a pro. It's an all in one dealy ma bob. Grinds, brews and spits out "the juice" all in one neat silver edifice. Supposed to help with CLUTTER. (I have a problem, so my mother in law tells me, with CLUTTER.) Alas, my husband is yet again, gone, as in not brewing. I like to have my coffee "percolated" as Ricky Ricardo would say to Lucy. The best is when it is handed to me...LOVE THAT.

Oh well,life can't be perfect...I set up the drill. Beans in there..water in here, filter in this and push the button...the whirl of the blades ASSURES me that coffee will be waiting HOT AND STEAMY, when I return from taking one daughter to her very early bus pick up.

Instead, I walk in to find my youngest, Mags, running for towels like she was on Titanic and about to man a life boat!!! "What did you DO!!MOM!! REALLY" The coffee pot has gone ape crazy! Coffee everywhere..but the pot. On the floor, on the counter, on the cabinets. 6:20 in the bloody morning. Trying to fight back the terriers, who want to try..(terriers and caffeine...Definitely not a good combo)I am on my old knees on the hard wood floors swabbing the deck.

The lyric to the song start to run through my head. "OK OK," I scream in my head..."So sometimes I worship at the wrong alters!!! SUE ME" I mutter under my breath"at least its not a golden Calf or anything.."

I seriously consider licking the floor for a boost of blind faith...but instead I put the kettle on to boil...and walk to the washing machine with my mornings coffee dripping from the towels in my arms.

Very Funny GOD, very, very funny.

This entry for Sunday Scribblings, hearkened back to the name of my blog...and reminded me that there is still a strong shyness in me. Sometimes I almost forget, surrounded by friends, family and myself. But the world is still a big big place, and I am very small. So, here's my take on MONSTERS .

The Meeting

She'd rehearsed her opening line in the shower, in the mirror and in the car. She had carefully picked out an outfit that was casually elegant,but not forced. She looked "put together" but not primped. She hated looking like she had tried too hard.

She told her self she would be breezy tonight. She would hold her glass just so, and remember to tilt her head ever so slightly when she laughed. She would be fine. She told herself...she would be fine.

Cars were already spilling out onto the streets when she arrived. She was fashionably late...well at least that's what they had called it in California, where she came from. Here, she was afraid, here was more Bible Belty...and here,she was just plain old late. Driving her pick up between the other (on time) trucks was like threading a needle, but somehow she managed to squeeze through. The last truck, was a familiar one. Her favorite vet...she made sure to leave him plenty of room to get out...Just in case.

She could hear the party in full swing up on the hill. The big white tent made it official. Walking slowly up the gravel drive towards the noise..of people, she listened to her timing of footfalls. The sun was just starting to slant in the sky...and she hadn't brought her sunglasses. Squinting, she paused, took two more steps...and then turned quickly for the barn. She would "just check the horses water" before she went up, she told herself. It would just take a minute.

The slow chewing of the horses filled her ears, drowning out her foot steps. Rows and rows of jaws and muzzles and hay and breathing. Contentment filled the air. Dinner time was heaven and heaven was good. She walked to his stall and stopped.

He was never surprised to see her. He looked up at her and sniffed for peppermints. Smelling nothing promising, he went back to his eating. She thought of going in and sitting on his manger as he ate. She loved to listen to him chew. So simple, yet complete was his happiness at having hay. He'd finished his grain long before she got there. The horses always got fed..on time. She reached to undo the latch, and stopped. She had a skirt on...she had put makeup on,and her shoes weren't meant for sawdust. Time to face the music.

As she turned to leave, a voice behind here startled her. She looked up and saw him leaning two stalls down.

"The people are...that a way.." He grinned, pointing up hill. She immediately felt herself start to blush. Her eyes went from him to the floor in an instant. He waited for her to reply. She sensed his eyes watching her, seeing her. She had practiced her opening line in the mirror and in the car and in her head, but now she felt like she had swallowed a bubble.

"Just a quick check..." she managed to finally sputter. She glanced over at her horse..who seemed slightly intrigued...that or he could smell the difference about her..the tension, the adrenaline in her breath. He snorted out..and then was back to the hay. " I like to check the water..."

"They're automatic.. the waterers...aren't they?" He quipped, cocking his head ever so lightly. He straightened up as she started to walk by.

He was impossibly tall as she passed him, her cheeks burning, her eyes on her feet, willing them to move forward. "Don't trip," she thought. "Please, DO NOT TRIP!" She couldn't answer his question...she could only kind of giggle..and she forgot to tilt her head.




Check out more little Monsters at Sunday Scribblings

It is a thing of beauty to watch someone ride well. For anyone who rides, knows, its not quite as easy as it looks. Today was a beautiful day for jumping. There are some days the horses just seem to love to jump. Those are the days were they hunt the fences, scanning the green fields for their next chance to fly. Horses are show offs...they love to compete, and hate to make mistakes. They really are very careful animals. I suppose I'd be careful too...If I was jumping over a wagon...with a monkey..(or human) on my back.

People sometimes ask me why horses do it?..jump these things we ask them too. Put horses in a field and left to their own devices, I've never seen them jump tires or coops or haybales. They spin and rear and buck and play, but I've never seen them jump an obstacle..unless chased by something and trying hard to escape.

Yet, put a rider on their back,if they respect that rider..these horses bound over anything...really anything...Go to Rolex..in KY..and you will horse fly over the most amazing things, at a full gallop. It is breathtaking.

So Why do they do it? Some do it out of fear, not many though. Believe me, if they are afraid..sooner or later, they stop....and sometimes, that's that.No more jumping. Period. Some do it cause horses love a JOB. This is their job. These horse can be machines. Lots of race horse come of the track knowing only one lead. The left..(diection of travel). They are born, broke to a saddle, gotten out of their stalls, walked to the track, breezed, walked back to the barn, hosed, wrapped, and deposited back in their stall. While its hard for me to imagine the monotony of this..some horses thrive. It's their job.

And some horses are like my horse. My lovely little horse Roux. Roux jumps for me. He flings his heart forward, and I follow. He didn't know what jumping was til we met. He wasn't at all sure it was for him. I wasn't sure it was for him. No one, certainly the observers gasping on the ground, was sure it was for him. But...I loved him. and as silly as this seems, I think he fell for me too. And so, since I kept INSISTING, he finally started trying. Once he started trying....there was no stopping him. Today he showed me he was willing to try just about anything.

Cross country jumps are varied. There's always a water obstacle, lots of solid fences, sometimes you jump off a bank...or up "steps". Then there are ditches, also refered to as coffins. Large holes in the ground, as far as the horse is concerned. Tigers at the bottom. Roux is not fond of ditches. It took a looooonnnnggg time to get over one..even a little teeny weeny one...that I could jump on the ground leading him over like a dog. I would jump back and forth...back and forth..with him in tow...people laughing at me..I'm sure I did look ridiculous.

Today, my little Roux, the Lion hearted jumped a ditch that made me tremble...probably at least 3 feet wide, and deeper than that. Put a foot wrong and you could fall in...like a COFFIN!!!! We galloped up, he looked...I looked.... and he jumped!!!Oh how I fawned over him. Leaning up to his ear I let him know what a stud muffin he is...and then, turned back to jump it again. We galloped and this time, no one looked.. we flew...and landing on the other side, I waved my hand in the air like a winning jockey. Roux shook his head from side to side in the way only a true champion can. Bring it on, he said... I stroked his neck and laughed. Oh, today was a good day for jumping!!

As I have DRONED on, for two days....Time has been a Least favorite prompt. Too big. But, as the kindergarten teacher I now work with says...."this IS NOT a CHOICE". This is not how I would word things to almost 5 year olds...However, she does keep their little bottoms in their chairs..most of the time...except for my students...TRIPLET boys...all identified as special needs. Keeping those bottoms in the seats is my job....I guess. The poem that's in my head right now is about one of the triplets, always dresses in yellow. Has the most "LoUDLY" recognizable developmental delays. Coincidentaly, he is the cutest, most baby faced of the three identical triplets. Not really pertinent, I suppose...but I remember these things. So without further delay...my feeble attempt to PUT ON LISTENING EARS and FOLLOW DIRECTIONS!

My Color is Yellow

carpet time is
too much
and boring.
the colors of the squares
blue red yellow purple
are too big.
they hurt my eyes.
sitting on blue when
MY COLOR IS YELLOW.
is wrong.
MY COLOR IS YELLOW.
and I'm fourth in the line.
You put me there.
You said it was my place.
Today, you say just get in line.
and Stop Pushing.
But I'm Fourth in the line.
You said so.

When MY TEACHER,
ok...my helper,
gets here, can I go for
a walk? I'll tell her
I hate blue.
MY COLOR IS YELLOW.
She knows.
She says you're her teacher too.
Who makes the rules?
You make the rules....

My helper wears skirts
She has blond hair
her hands are old
Her clothes are soft.
I rest my head on her knee
She whispers,
"When we are in school,
we Keep our shirts down,
and our heads up."

I whimper and close my eyes.
The colors are too big.
I miss my mom.
I want to go home.
She whispers
"Open your eyes.
It's almost time.
I promise."

I open for her,
She promised.
She hasn't lied yet.
The first thing, I see
my shirt.
She put it down for me.
MY COLOR IS YELLOW.

wlf 8:08 am



For the GOOD STUFF go to POETRY THURSDAY. Have a good time!!

Labels: Poetry Thursday

Firstly, I hope the girls at Poetry Thursday, don't take offense at my finding fault with their TOTALLY OPTIONAL prompt for tomorrow. Their efforts are the lifeblood of this community we have got going here...My mind is so enjoying this party!!

As for the optional part of the prompt...well, I guess I look at these prompts as exercises. I was glad to read that Mary Oliver (to whom I was introduced to by one of you..thank you,..now I own two of her books) in her Poetry Handbook, feels much the same way. She speaks of honing ones craft, like a painter, or a musician. I am probably one of the most undisciplined people I can think of, but oddly, this makes perfect sense to me. So, I'll have to come up with something...

Thanks to Oliver, I have started thinking about style,and mannerism. I am definitely a confessional woman poet(in training). So any discussion of time for me, is bound to be more of a moment to moment affair.

The bigger topic, of TIME, is so beyond me that as a cowgirl socialite friend of mine says,..it would be as "Stupid as puttin a razor in the hand of a monkey!!" All slash, no finesse. So today for two minutes I will try to rid myself of every cliche about time I have stored in my pea brain...

1. Time in a bottle
2. Time waits for no man
3. Time's wasting
4. No time like the present
5. Like sands through the hour glass, so are the days of out lives
6. The best of times, the worst of times
7. Time after Time
8. Wasted Time
9. Killing time
10. To every thing there is a season...(I do love this passage though)
11. A moment to remember, cherish,
12. Tick Tock
13. if I could turn back time
14. Memories..like the corner of our minds...
15. Take time to smell...
16. Time to GO!!
17. Tell Time
18. Keep track of the time.
19. It was his time.
20. Time of death
21. Dinner time
22. Sleepy time
24. May I have a moment of your time
25. free Time
26.....Time Passages, By Al Steward..which by the way, is the song playing when I got "felt up"for the first time. Only top, no bottoms...I'm not that kind of girl..Well now I am,,Then definitely NOT. Freshman year in high school.... Amy Moore's house...she had 2 Whippets that barked a lot...and a massive house with lots of dark corners..

(told you I was confessional....huh....)

Last night, I cheated...and went to look at the poetry thursday prompt early. I shouldn't have. Sorry Girls, but I don't like this prompt. It feels big and huge and brings sentimental crap to my mind. I'm sure all the other poets will come up with good stuff....and that's all the bitching I can do in two minutes...off to work.

Chief Biscuit asked me who my muse was. I've asked others that same question. For some, it may be a vague diaphanous spirit, tickling their toes with a feather, chortling with creative laughter.

Mine is a person. Both the memory and impression of a specific person. He is a male. He is a past lover. He reappeared last year. At first, I did not know what I wanted from him. I knew he wanted nothing from me. I wondered if I was going thru a mid life crisis. I wanted to tell him things. Little things. Time had passed and I wanted him to look through me like an art book. Beautiful. Thoughtful. Well Printed on rich paper. I wanted him to DESIRE me. For it to be hard for him to put me back on the shelf.

Sounds dangerous...huh? I told you. I thought I was going insane. I told my husband all about it...and noted this weird feeling..of unfinished business. God BLESS my husband. He lives with crazy 24/7. I told him, though I wanted this "muse" to hang on my words, I didn't want to have an affair...or anything as simple as that.The Muse had found love...I had found love. It wasn't that.

I even told the Muse, I thought he may be the "MUZE". Of course I misspelled it...and of course in his REAL LIFE my muse is an editor big Chief WHO HA HA..blah blah..blah..(have I mentioned that Jealousy is a GREAT creative PROVOCATEUR!!!)
I actually told a HUMAN MAN, with a biggish size ego, that he may be my muse. OH MY GOD... WHAT made me do that. His answer was simple...He'd think of his muse as Sharon Stone type..in that Albert Brooks Film... and he'd want to sleep with her. Men are pretty dull sometimes. Dull but honest. I think I said something alluding to "that it was that same powerful feeling...just...north in my body...not between my legs but between my ears."

Conversation has stopped, one on one, between us. But nothing has changed. He is my muse. I write to him. I write to prove myself. I write out of jealousy, because he is an author, a professor, a BIG IMPORTANT MAN. I write to the boy he was, the only boy I ever introduced to my father. I write to his judgemental mother, who never thought I was good enough for him. I write to his secrets and my secrets, but I write to him. He is a good muse to me, giving no approval. He pokes at my back and shoots at my feet..and when he says dance, I dance.


Who's your Muse??...Leave directions and I'll come and check it out.....

Todays prompt is The Secret Life of Pets.... Talk about preachin' to the choir...I have 4 dogs and 2 horses...I know a lil somethin' sumthin' about this. But I am blocked...filled with maternal guilt,as to which one to write about. Don't want to play favorites. I'm not sure that I even have a favorite.. (usually with the dogs...The FAV is the one who hasn't peed, pooped or puked in my house today...As for the horses, usually it's the one who hasn't stepped on my foot or pooped on my shoe. So we have a theme..Don't POOP around me, and you too, could earn PREMIERE STATUS, in my book..But again, I digress....)

I am unable to pick...like Solomon, I can not choose,so, we will have to use plan B.



A Moment

Last night, she was sure she was human. Last time she checked the clock it was 2AM. She had a husband and a bed. She had unfolded clean laundry on the chair. She had a toilet bowl that need scrubbing. She had locks on all her doors, and she had the worlds worries in her head. She was tired. Dog tired. But she couldn't find rest.


Now,the sun is purple in the sky..The wind chimes have stopped their chatter. It is cool and barley stirring. She is instantly awake. "I heard it. Hear It?.. It isn't from my yard. It is from beyond the fence. It is from the other side, not My side." She cocks her head, inhaling deeply. "No blood, or sweat. No danger.... Probably hungry. Am I hungry???..no..just tired...too early...GO AWAY...now where was my spot??..I liked that spot..." Nose between her hands, (She'd seen humans do this too, cept,they just they cover there eyes instead of there nose..how stupid, huh?)
head impossible close to her chest..she is again asleep. Deep sleep. Restful sleep. Innocent sleep. Sleep.

"I need to pee." As her feet touch the floor, she feels the carpet against her foot. She rubs it back and forth until it bores her. She steps forward in slow motion, stretching the ripple of her body..all as she moves. "Start with the fingers...and then oh ..ah... yep.. all..the way.. to the toes..pointed out behind..yep..." With a shake, she is at the potty. She pees. "OH, how GOOD it is to PEE."

She walks back through the bathroom, across the marble floor, cool, and flat and glossy under her feet. Back to the carpet fuzzy and warm.. Back to the bed. Back to her spot. Almost back to sleep...when it hits her.

She hasn't glanced in the mirror...The one's that fill her bathroom space.. The one's she's checked obsessively for...41 years...She has walked right by them, on that cool, glossy marble...Those mirrors seem irrelevant. She smells someone cutting the grass. She is getting sleepy. She doesn't know for sure...but something has changed. She lifts her nose lazily. "Yes. Something is not the same." But still, with no blood, or sweat or danger, she is soon back in sleep.


Go read some more at Sunday Scribblings...go on now..GO FETCH!!!!

I've been reading over at some others blogs to see what they have been doing...Some are doing this interesting mirror meditation thing...Don't have the courage for that, just yet. But several have talked about things that this exercise brought up for them. Some talk about Poetry Thursday the same way... Mobilizing tons of feelings. Cool. Which leads me to:

Why I Stopped Writing Poetry

I have written poetry since I was probably 6. My grandmother died when I was in 3rd grade...and I know I wrote a lot after that. I had a cool 6th grade teacher who introduced me to haiku. She was the first teacher to praise me for my writing. I was a good student. But she had called me a gifted writer.

I wrote all the way through high school..all girl Catholic school. We had a great English dept. We had our own literary publication...I wrote a lot for that. I wrote silly love poems, about partying with my friend, about summer and the cruel world. I had lots of teachers praise me then. I wrote for the yearbook. I wrote a poem that I read at the Memorial service for a girl..whom I was "ok" friends with. She had died of anorexia...well..really of cardiac arrest from taking laxatives and having no potassium in her body. She died in her mothers arms. I read this stupid 17 year olds poem, at her service..and then we released balloons into the air. I would write a different poem of that scene now,(perhaps I will) but I did the best I could back then.

I wrote through college (the part I finished) and through boyfriend after boyfriend. I wrote copiously when I lived in NYC and had platinum blond short hair...and wore a rhinestone dog collar around my pointy black beatle boots.I wrote of coming home to Southern California...and then moving to San Francisco.

And in San Francisco I stopped writing poetry. In a neighbor hood south of the Haight I became a mother. I can't say I was prepared for this. I was never really prepared for anything. I just knew that I needed to start living a more "normal" life. Sylvia Plath had been an early hero. Now, she scared the hell out of me. With a baby inside me, I know longer wanted to suffer for my art. I didn't want to wrestle demons like Sylvia any more. I was afraid I'd lose. I knew I couldn't afford to lose.

A couple nights before my wedding I wrote my last poem for a while. I showed to my husband, who is an engineer...and he said it sounded sad. My mother had always said the same thing about my writing. Why did I write such sad poems...why couldn't I make happy poems?? I put that white dress on and marched down the aisle to happy poems.

I did write a poem for my girls wall..which I stenciled on their pale yellow walls. They were in first grade (rach) and preschool (mags). I think it went something like this:

A kiss to send you off to sleep,
A hug to hold the dreams you keep.
A smile to send you on your way,
Greatness grows in you today.

People, including my in laws..asked me who "that great quote" was by?? I would say I wrote it...and they were in shock. The poet in me was slipping out. I should have said Beatrix Potter or Dr. Seuss. That's the last thing I wrote..for a long while. Why? Because POETS are UNSTABLE. I was a mom...with a job to do.

So ten years later, here I am with this silly little blog...and I have found passion again. I have found the song inside my soul again. It pours out of me, and I drink it in from others. I still have trouble with HAPPY POEMS...and probably always will. But it doesn't scare me as much. I look at it all so differently now. I admire so greatly the young moms who have "one hand Typing". They are so much braver than I was. I learn from the grand moms, and the men who write too.

Like a long lost lover, my poems, in the hair and eyes and hands of my muse, have returned. They are so forgiving. They don't even ask me why I stopped. My muse leans over, and whispers in my ear.. I grin and begin again.

I wrote this poem, yesterday, as I and my girls are back to school. My posts of the last few days..are covering the rituals of this return. All this has changed my pattern of life. Putting me in more places, with more people jammed into them. I've always known I like People, individuals, but the throngs of humanity...crowded into one cubic inch, really is not my thing...Maybe it's because I'm 5' tall and people tend to look right over the top of my head. Maybe its because I sense the collective longings of these places...and can't help wondering what we are all doing there? What are we looking for?

Siren Song
(heard in the mall)


This store
had promised
to have everything
I ever wanted,
and more.

It Lied.

It has plenty.
rack after rack
shelf upon shelf
hanger pressed to hanger
tucked shoe next to shoe
even bra, with matching pantie.

It has much
of what I need.
I confess, as
my holes are filled
with socks.
and my spring has
sprung.

I suppose I should
crave them,
like pickles or pretzels.
But I have no taste
for them now.

I wander
haphazard, touching
wisps of fabric.
Here a skirt,
there a sweater.
searching
for something,
feeling for luck.

I am alone
with no fever
my heart dull and slow.

finding nothing to fancy
I surrender.
I am spent,
no money leaving my purse.

(which by the way,
is a knock off
I bought on a
street corner.
I remember,
because
the man had green eyes,
just like me.)


wlf 7:30 Thursday

It's a FREE for all at Poetry Thursday.... hold my hand...Let's GO!!!

Labels: Poetry Thursday

Yesterday, we tackled clothes shopping..sort of. Today was worse...Today it was SCHOOL SUPPLIES...We got I'd say 87% of the lists accomplished... Office Depot and Walmart..have not yet figured the correct algorithm for ratio of college rule vs wide ruled spirals...and note paper.

Maggie had 1/4 inch bound graph paper, as a requirement..for a 8th grade lab book...I think we found 3/8ths instead...She almost had a meltdown...in the sweltering NO AIR CONDITIONING office HELL depot...And I almost said her teacher could bite me....But I restrained my self...and said instead..."DEAL, MAGGIE...JUST DEAL".

Rachel vowed to recycle mostly...and as much as I love and admire this about her...she played the Sainted card a little too long today. She contemplated how many more times she could sharpen her old #2 pencil...Surely, it would last another semester. I threw a twelve pack in....and said (ok, maybe shrieked a bit) "MY GOD...There just PENCILS!!"....What followed was a brief but stern lecture (given by Rach to me..um...the MOM) about the effects of deforestation on the natural habitat of...UGGGHH... I could have retaliated with the fact that her Binders were made from Petroleum products..thus producing Green House gases that DIRECTLY contribute to overall global warming...but then I would be forces to search out soy based peachee folders and hemp three ring binders...So I took the easy way out and kept quiet.

$98.14 later, we were sort of, kind of, stocked up...on pens and paper, basically. Oh my BLOODY HELL!!! I am so fed up with being yet another peak in someone's profit season. $100.00 for school supplies. There's something fishy going on ....and I am sick of being played....Maggie's list also called for a pack (4) of dry erase markers... ok $5.00..right...Sure,..but there are, I don't know, maybe 400 or so 8th graders at her middle school, each bringing in 4 dry erase marker...that's 1,600 markers to the tune of $2000.00 bucks......JUST FOR MARKERS FOR OVERHEAD PROJECTORS!!!!!!!!!!! Please..really..P L E A S E!!!!

I heard recently that states pay almost double the dollars to incarcerate someone, as opposed to educate someone...(I think around 18k per year, per student... and something like 30k per prisoner). That fact alone points to a GIANT flaw in the system. But I've also heard now, that they are trying to provide the prisoners with a high school diploma, in some cases. I think this is a good idea. Really...I just wonder, WHO IS BUYING THOSE SCHOOL SUPPLIES???? I think we all know the answer to that question. Ah well, that's enough for today, let's all go to recess, shall we? I need a juice box.

Today, I participated in the ritual of back to school mall crawling, with daughter Mags and Comrade in Arms, Cy..also thirteen. I trailed behind, catching whispers of conversation. This for many American women, I suppose, is a way of life..For me,...not so much.

I am a shameless bargain shopper...loving the hunt for style much more than the kill. I worked on the "wholesale" side of the biz for many years...When I saw "Devil wears Prada" recently I howled the whole time. i was not a Fashionista...no, I was one of the designer "show room Girls"...pandering our wares, for the many buyers for dept stores across the country. I'd trot out spring lines and fall lines and cruise collections and outerwear. I worked for a down home American brand....with our biggest accounts being Mervyns and Kolhs...not Saks and not even Nordstrom. We just put denim on the shapely hips of middle class USA..(back when there was a middle class..long long ago..But AGAIN, I digress). Point being here,there was a lot less glamour and Paris...and a lot more sweat and Fresno, CA...but still a whole lot of kissing tooshey.

I love vintage clothing..and wish my girls loved the same...but tis not to be...So today..into the pink and black, semi-whore house facade of a store,I went..dragging my checkbook behind me. WHAT??...you say...do Victoria's Secret and Back to school shopping have to do with each other?...well...4 words... 13 year old girls.

While Heidi and Giselle still grace the provocative add banners that adorn the front windows, the first things one encounters, in this strange new world, are sweats...and little short shorts..all with a decidedly "girlish" feel to them...with the word "PINK" written anywhere you can imagine it would be written. Victoria's Secret, you see, has a BACK TO SCHOOL SEASON!!! Hard to imagine, but true....

To respect Maggies privacy...I won't go in to what we bought there. But I will pass on these interesting observations

1. There was a young man, about 19'ish who worked there...NOW that's a bold occupational choice, huh!!!

2. Men in Victoria Secret (except for the 1 who works there, as I found out) look HYSTERICAL!!! When the 13 year olds notice how funny they look in there...you know its Pretty BAD!! Hey guys...slip $100.00 into a card...with a note that says..."Surprise me" with a mapquest to the store. Please. Do not Pick out the lilac and black bustier set with matching garters and fishnets...(DONT ACT LIKE IT WOULDN'T HAPPEN EITHER!! IT WOULD...and we all know it).

3. I watched a woman of Muslim decent stroll through the store. Her beautiful brown eyes were visible, not much else. While this is very different from my own way of dress..I must say..I admire the HECK out of these women...There is a bravery about not presenting your beauty to the world..not posturing on perception...However...I was really really curious about what was running through her head...as she walked through that store... But then again...Panties are panties...aren't they?

4. I finally let my eyes rest on the mannequins... In semi sexual poses...Some demure, some defiant....all IMPOSSIBLY THIN....and felt very...soiled. Soiled to be in there...purchasing. That was until we went looking for...um..a "foundation garment" of certain sz for mags...It seems they keep the "smaller" sizes in back, by the fitting rooms, in bins. The "C's and D's" are front and center, baby...but you have to rummage a bit for the more Human sizes. I glanced back at those impossible plastic relics of PERFECTION...with their painted on, come hither looks. Then I looked at the two lovely young girls, standing at my side...and I spoke out. For them. For me.

I told them loud enough for anyone to hear...that I found it really PERPLEXING.. that the sizes modeled by the mannequins ...probably a 32 if that...were no where to be found in the actual store...and the actual CUP size sported by said "dummies"...well, that was the work of pure imagination, augmentation..that or a Genetic Fluke.. (and you can't build a business model on a genetic fluke!!) My daughter, though embarrassed, gave up, and left the store without...um..what she had really wanted....

As we headed down to JC PENNEYS, (where I used to get my undies as a girl...three to a pack)...I knew she got my point. Marketing was one thing....reality, another thing all together. She wasn't happy about it at all... but I won this battle...and led her victoriously in to the land of many sizes...into JC Penny's lingerie dept. NO, it wasn't "PINK"....but it fit everyone...and better yet..it was on sale!!!

This weeeks prompt is Who we might still become. Much harder, I think than last weeks longings of Who We Might Have been. i haven't read any submissions yet...as I am Very late with this post...so I'll wing it..

A Prayer for NOW

I hope I will still become an activist. I hope that I will gain some sort of "esteem" of others, giving my voice more volume. I hope to be a role model. I hope to live up to being a role model..There is a saying from the Special Olympic (for the mentally disabled). The slogan goes like this "Lord let me win, If I can not win, let me be brave in my attempt." I hope to live my life, through all my actions, with that valor and honesty. I hope to pass on to my children, and my children's children this trait. A trait of honest ambition and sense of fair play.

I hope to learn to be more gentle to my self, when things don't go as planned....Things can't always go as planned..I'm not that good..and I don't want to be.

I want to be fierce and sexy and alive. Just as I am. The way I was made, the way I have aged. I want to bask in my years, and stop apologizing for not being twenty. I want to flirt with the occasional box boy and make him blush. I want every one to know I am more woman now...than I was then.

I want to listen to others wiser than myself, and hear their guidance without self defense. I want to learn all I can. I want to snip out the 10% of me that can be snarky and back biting. I want to be careful and precise in all my words and actions.

I want to be bold and unafraid..If attacked, I want to fight back. I never want to provoke. I want to cry when I'm sad..not when I am angry or want to be heard. I want to be grateful..I want to die saying "Thank you". and when I go to heaven and see my God before me...I want HE/SHE to say.. " I told ya you could do it. I always knew you would".

I cant wait to read some other takes on this at Sunday Scribblings.

Thanks to one of my favs of fav CHIEF BISCUIT I am going to have some Saturday night fun..and finish this list.... also Sunday Scribblings prompt has me a bit stumped...so leave it to CB to give me a fun diversion....Thank God for friends..ok here goes...

10 Years ago : I was the mom of a 6 year old and a 3 year old.I was heavily in to photography..and was a Sunday School teacher, until I got in a fight with the head of the program...over using Kids as props...I hate MAKING kids do what they are uncomfortable with...I lived in Claremont CA...in a two bedroom 1 bath house..(our second since being married) I had a very large garden..with lots of old English roses and wisteria.and a huge fig tree in the back yard. I helped deliver our golden retrievers first and only litter of nine pups. I had to reach up and pull one gently out, when its puppy sac burst prematurely. I felt so proud to save that little ones life.

5 Years ago: We moved from Suburbia to the country. I yanked my kids from private school (catholic) and put them into the public school...very good..for our area. Maggie was going into third grade. Her second grade teacher..had been an ex nun.. They called her THE VELVET HAMMER... She almost broke Mags. She'd come home crying with headaches and threw up more often than not. After going the "lets talk to the principal route".. I left the school. The principal and I both cried..(really). As for the ex nun...Didn't crusaders kill in the name of God..and weren't people (women) burned at the stake for the good of us all. She was a throw back to that era.. And I am glad I took my daughter back..We had 4 horses on 5 acres. I drove down dirt roads to get to my house...We bought my black pickup truck and my first horse trailer.

1 year ago: My husband and I were just getting back from The big Island of Hawaii. We had a week to ourselves. We rode horses, swam with sea turtles, and remembered that we really like each other. I sat by the pool at the Fairmont and watched ladies doing water aerobics, as IZ (a island singer) sang "Somewhere over the Rainbow". I wore two lei's on that trip...and was truly happy. I came home to newly installed Air Conditioning at my house and all was right with the world.

5 songs to which I know all the words: Bruce Springsteen..anything really..but lets say BORN TO RUN (since he is speaking PERSONALLY TO ME!)Dixie Chicks WIDE OPEN SPACES, Loui Armstrong WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD, hum..how about The Doors LA WOMAN and..Shawn Colvin DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. That was way too easy...

5 Snacks : Gumdrops, Ben and Jerry's Half baked Twisted, pretzels,cheese nips and chocolate...a sweet and salty girl I am!!

5 things to do with 100 mill...:now this reveals a lot about me. I can't even fathom that much money...I'd buy a big ranch....and help kids get to know horses. I'd buy my husband his porsche...and his own company. I'd have a staff to help with things around the house ( i know that sounds really bad..huh) I'd start an alternative school for special needs kids.

5 Places to Run away to:: Montana, Oregon Coast, San Juan Islands (Orcas to be specific) Italy (maybe) and Sedona Arizona...

5 things I never would wear: horizontal stripes, a jump suit, granny panties,a t-shirt that says SPANK ME,sequins

5 Fav TV show:: MONK, Project Runway, Sunday Morning (on CBS) Friends, and ..oh so guilty to watch this smut... ENTOURAGE on HBO.

5 Joys: My kids, My husband, My horses, Writing and Watching it all go by.

5 toys: My horses x2, Camera, computer (ie adobe photo shop and blogging) DVD and CD players... and a little mini chopper thingie...I LOVE to chop things in it WHIIRRLL!!


Ok... told ya it would be fun...now, YOUR turn....Thanks again Chief!!

I'll post twice today....as I had a fun project in mind..but first... I must comment on a comment on my poetry thursday submission.

bgfay...let me know that there was a "typo" in the TITLE of my blog. Seems I like to spell ALOT...as one word....bgfay says it's two words.....he's an english teacher, so he should know. Thing is, I almost didn't change it at all. I know (well, now I know) it's a little wrong..... But so am I!!!! I love JIMs comments on some of my poetry.. he like that its ever so "off". EVER SO OFF should be my theme song....(or a new title for my blog..huh...)

bgfay also told me I had "some" of what he liked in a poem. Teachers red pen out, again..eh? I think I would have garnered a B- on "Mating Weeds". perhaps even a C+...but thats not fair....and I would have to POUT.

So here's the truths I can speak on the subject:

1. I can't spell... never could, never will be good at it. Sometimes I don't care. Sometimes I do..and I feel stupid. Like now, when someone is holding a red pen. and squinting. and leering.

2. Perhaps I'm not up for EDITING...just yet... seems I am overly sensitive.

3. I am like a dog...reprimand me, and after I piddle, I want to do better. So I try harder next time...

4. I am enjoying this "comment" thing...more than I knew. I love letting others know how I love their work...and welcome any critism of mine...just give me a second to regain my composure...ha ha.

Their. i think its aff mi chest nou,

PS ...I also made the dim-witted mistake of thinking BZ was a woman...had I scrolled to dig further, I would have realised, He is not...and to boot...He's a new PAPA!!congrats....and apologies for the transgendered mishap......

This poem flirts only vaguely with the prompt. But as with anything UNFINISHED, it is really impossible, from only one point of view, to tell if indeed it is UNFINISHED, or merely the start of something new all together.


MATING OF WEEDS


Bring me a fist full
of dandelions, plucked
from the edge of your life.

Let their fuzzy heads bend
under my probing touch,smelling
only of earth. Press them into

my palm. Your hand against mine,
fleshy warm as a greenhouse,
Find me moist with desire.

Let us be poor and in love
with more empty than full.
Ripe with seeds, mostly common,

tugging hard at their seams.
Simple as a glass bottle on
a worn wooden shelf,I offer this

vase. Though it shows cracks,
it is still sound. For beginnings,
they weigh next to nothing.


I will muster the strength.
(as the deed has been done)
For there's no stopping the bloom
once this bloom has begun.

wlf 10:24 thursday

Read more today at Poetry Thursday

Labels: Poetry Thursday

My mother in law, Helen, left today. I am slumped in exhaustion. While slipping away to write a few thoughts...she caught me.(the lap top is in the Guest room.....)I explained a little bit of my activity here. I write. Like a diary. only different. I knew better than to say poetry. Poetry would have arched an eyebrow. Diary was better.

"Any thing to keep busy, dear." Helen responded. And for a half moment I almost wished it were an affair instead. A big huge HAIRY SWEATY TORRID ON LINE AFFAIR....with a lurking someone...male or female...UNKNOWN..all the better to SHOCK her with.

But no, she looked at me as a little girl, cutting out strings of paper dolls. Or making Christmas construction paper links, in August. In short, wasting my time with the frivolous.

Like the guilty school girl I am, I closed my laptop quietly, put my toys away..and went back to work...being a good hostess.

Yesterday, I took Mags to registration....8th grade. Along with all the geeky boys and overly dolled up pre teens, I was amazed at the display of moms. I've already mentioned elsewhere, that this is a solid golf and tennis moms community. This time of year, its also evident , which fams belong to the club. (and it's pool...or as I like to refer to it...preteen Sodom and Gamora).

The moms, were in large part, more on display than the kids. Those in the know, cackled louder and glanced around, surveying the tundra of middleschool, more than their daughters did. Hence, where mean gils come from???? Mean moms of course. DUH!!!Such beautimous mani-pedis I have not seen in a while. and high stilletto slides...hum...I guess I missed the SEMI FORMAL dress requirement, on my invite..I mean, registration packet.

It surprised me how quickly I slid on my glasses and hid...Lest we not forget the name of this blog. I can be very quiet...almost invisable. I slunk behind my daughter...and silently berated my choice of clothing. Underdressed...as usual.

Over heard, was gossip, aimed at both student and teacher alike. Bragging of lacrosse and soccer camp heros. There was the occasinal health broadcast...and obituary.

The funniest by far, though, came out of the mouth of a soon to be 8th grade boy two back from us in line. Over and over, he kept telling his friends of the funniest SEINFELD episode he had just seen. At the beach house...some one (female) walks in on George..naked after being in a cold pool...and looks oh so disappointed. George screams in horror.."I was in the POOL!!!"

With all the posing and posturing and primping I had witnessed that late hot afternoon, it was refreshing that this boy was showing his "hand" so honestly. His attention was focused right where it was supposed to be focused..for a 13 year old boy...(or maybe all boys)...squarely between his legs.

Ballerina

I'm at home on a short break from my horse show...house is quiet as my kids, mother in law and husband have gone off to a scottish festival. I sneak a peak at Sunday scribbling....at what an appropriate topic... Thank you kismet.

I have thought of who else I may have been, were things different, many times...many too many times.It's kind of a Pandoras box question. Very easy to get stuck in...like the La Brea tar pits...

I've wondered what it would be like to point my right toes....to arch my foot beautifully and extend my right leg, back arched, in a full arabesque. My mother was a dancer. I have a good sense of rhythm. I wonder what that profound sense of balance and poise would feel like, standing on point.

My best friend used to be a ballerina. I always wanted her toe shoes....really badly. My left foot arched, I would try one baby pink slipper on, and lace the silk ribbons up my calf. How beautiful it felt...How divine. But then ...there was my right side..with its spindle thin calf and foot that hung like a non responsive brick. Ballerinas had sparrowed feet they flew on.. not a stone weight dragged along..leaving an ugly smear.

Ballerinas walked with their chins up, eyes bold yet soft, bodies throbbing with music. Their long hair never seemed to have knots. I grew up with short hair, that always seemed to stick to my cheeks. I tripped along through my youth..always had bandaids on my knees, but got really good at getting up..and not crying. I felt the music too..I was sure...but only danced when I was alone.


Read more should woulda coulda...at Sunday Scribblings

Dashboard

As she was, a teen,
she swore she had captured
a Genie
(if you will)
in the dashboard of her car.
a baby blue buick skylark
with torn headliner
and questionable stains on
the back seat.

She recalls
as she wretched
one stain to life,
Genie had offered
Don Henley crooning
about Heartache tonight.
She vowed to never taste
tequila again.


the faintest stain
no, really a watermark,
(is all)
was hidden in a
creased corner
where she had
turned her head,
and repented.
she prayed
for redemption
and recognition.
Genie brought forth
a new wave rendition
My Best Friend's Girlfriend
It was fairly simple,
she thought,
still (he) couldn't catch the beat.
Boys have no rhythm
at all.

She always drove home alone
windows down,
eyes soft on the horizon.
Genie along for the ride.
He finally offered
the song she
wanted.
She knew all
the words

she
sang
them
out
loud.

wlf 9:23 am

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Labels: Poetry Thursday

My mother in law is coming out for a visit..this weekend. She is an amazingly strong woman..of Scottish descent. We get along fine, better than fine, well. We are, however, TOTALLY different. More opposite you could not be. She is level headed, close to her sleeve, and pragmatic. I am a ditzy..(sometimes intelligent way), open book,out of the box, use every bowl in the kitchen to make a meal...kinda gal.

Her only son,...her BABY of 5 kids,only son... chose me...to marry. I think this kind of left he shaking her head a bit....almost 20 years ago.I catch my husband shakin his too sometimes..trying to clear my wifely fog...but, again I digress,...entirely seperate story.

Helen, (we'll call her Helen...) looked more than a tad bit like Elizabeth Taylor (Liz in her National Velvet period) in her younger years. Bold eyebrows, framed beautiful eyes. Those eyes always had a commanding look to them. I have never seen them look warm, in photos. Knowing, yes. Cool, yes. In charge, yes. Inviting, welcoming, curious..no. Not a bad no, just NO.

Helen has seen me dabble in a few passions..other than her son..through our years together. She's seen me decorate,oh, 6 houses. She seen pictures I've painted, and photos I've taken displayed in exhibitions. She's watched me go back to college...in fits and spurts.. and NEVER quite make that finish line..yet.

And then...Helen saw me get my first HORSE!...and all those past follies just fell away...I think she was waiting for it to be "just a phase"...but as the phase grew into a decade, it became clear to her, that maybe this one wasn't passing so easily... (reminds me of my kidney stones...but again...different story!)

So, Helen arrives this weekend. A weekend that hold a HUGE competion for me. I'll be riding in two classes a day..and have a meeting scheduled with the coach of the USA paralympic team. I'm trying to nail down my place on the paralympic team's "ADVANCED RIDERS LIST"..one step closer to USA on my show jacket! She'll arrive to see my living room/dining room, torn up..as we are installing new floors..not simple hard wood... but a hard wood border, with a maze of patterned carpet in the middle..and she'll know for sure..it was my handiwork, my design. Had to be..there's nothing SIMPLE about it...

I'll pop out for a quick lesson..to try to polish more, what I've been polishing for years.. I'll yell out as I leave..

"Helen, I'll be back after my lesson at the barn...."

"lesson??" she might reply " Haven't you learned to "Ride a horse" (or finish a project) YET???

She'll glance over her shoulder,get a look at the puzzle I've created in my living room...and chuckle.....Truth is..she likes puzzles..doing them at least..so maybe, in a strange way, she understands. I hope so.