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

Excuse Me While I work

2008-11-06T09:54:00.010-07:00

On a list Poem for class. And just to vent..let me say that this session is different than the last, which I enjoyed very much. This one has a heady..I have my Masters feel to it... and I submitted a poem last week that had the F word in it..twice...and this week I submitted the poem about Marilyn and the Kennedy brothers. No one comments much on my stuff..Oh well. The purpose is to write, right?

So on to the list poem...

WHAT A DAUGHTER LEAVES BEHIND

I've kept the door closed, because
I am good at closing doors. A room

is not empty, if one does not enter.
My hand trembles at the knob. A knob

I have always hated. Note to self.
Replace all knobs in the house. The

house that holds one less. A daughter
who's walls are seafoam green,two different

shades, just hues apart. Subtle yet easily
articulated. These walls she left behind

hold pictures of butterfly winged alphabets
and towers, both Eiffel and Empire State.

Above me, hangs a crystal chandelier with one
bulb burnt. On the desk, stands a lamp

adorned with mardi gras beads, fastened
firm by a clothes pin, holding a memory I

did not witness. She's left behind clothes
in the closet which I picked for her, that

no longer suit the occasion.There's a guitar
she did not learn to play, and an antique ice

cream parlour chair, that I failed to re-cover.
I had promised, so she wrapped the cushion in

fabric and waited. Here is the doll from Africa
and the masks in Venetian red and kitten fur black.

Theses are the things.I can bear them all. It is the dust,
made from her skin that I can not bear. I could not

sweep it away. No more than she could part with those
roses,dried darker,but still from a boy she did not love.

wlf 10:26

Signs of the Times

2008-10-28T08:03:00.005-06:00

I drop Maggie off at school each morning. I am usually dressed in a robe and sporting bed head. It's all I can manage most days just to stay on the road and avoid hitting deer. (This morning it was a "husky" well pointed buck..but I digress)

On the way,I pass all the lawn signs. Obama. McCain. In my neck of the woods, there are lots of McCain signs.Today,I whirled by one lawn that stood out,but there was no time to lose. High school and first period waits for no woman.

I was alone on my return trip, so I slowed to take a closer look. There stood multiple McCain signs...and one poster board,hand made sign, proudly proclaiming
"OBAMA... AND FREE SPEECH" in multicolored pencil.

How I smiled!!!!

Oh, CHANGE...it is a coming! Yippee hoo!

I Voted, Therefor I Am!!!

2008-10-22T16:54:00.001-06:00

Go OBAMA go!!!!

Poetry Assignment

2008-10-13T09:29:00.004-06:00

Bad Poetry. Sure I have written my share..but never on purpose. I have written things not in my voice...but intentionally BAD..."So BAD, it's good." Tough. Then heap on top for good measure, make it a love poem. WELL NOW.

Make A Wish,Love

How many birthday wishes
have been squandered?
candles snuffed, smoke
rendered heavy, carting
the cheap waxy pleadings.
Barbie doll blonde,
with fake red dye #5
sugar roses, promise
happiness, and luck thrown
in for good measure.

But only if bestowed
a corner piece, gaudy
with flourish,love laced
thick with sweet nothings;
tubed in abandon.
A lure to the greedy,
desperate to win any
prize. Craving it's
slick smooth taste
that coats the tongue
in surrender.The needy

are willing to swallow
the lies,devour them
whole, without chewing-
for fear of crushing
the truth, lurking
like a bitter pearl.

Poetry experiment

2008-10-06T13:01:00.013-06:00

A Very strange workshop task indeed. Rhyme with preface......also rhyme was supposed to be subtle... but that was a little too much for me........so blatant it is. I am so blatant!

Why the Sky Is Blue and Other Dangerous Questions

The sky moves by, in fits and sputters
of grey or purple or coal miner black.
Darker for emphasis, stars as beacons.

The sky moves constantly with blue
just reflection of water. What then,
reflects in the black, I wonder?

The coal miners despair? And who supplies
the claret,murky merlot purple? Which
king dips his head in surrender?

I have met the grey before,as he mocks stars.
Those brave beacons,needing only contrast to shine.
Grey;a dull flat endless nowhere,in particular.

....

She never did believe
curiosity was conceived
to kill that cat.She disagreed

with it's very premise from the get.
To be free,released, yes, to let
go is danger fraught and yet

how thrilling! She could only dream;
to cross that path, to forge that stream
of thought and wish and will supreme.

To leave this plane of mortal piss
and cough and spew and toil, this.
Just cut it loose, with good bye kiss.

To venture where she did not know.
what lurks ahead? what troubles grow?
She'd gladly trade this earthly show

toss all grey tasks she'd known so far
to gamble on some distant star,
to throw the dice, or dodge the car.

She never did agree the cat did more
than take an odds on bet, before
banking on his lives in store.

Hers much more, a deadly game,
though it may appear the same
that damned cat, deserves the blame.

been gone..but I am back...

2008-10-06T11:08:00.003-06:00

with a pic of the girls at the Cal game. Michael took Maggie to homecoming at Cal. I stayed behind to ride in our championships..more about that later...

here now. a pic of my real trophies....GO BEARS! PS..they won!

poetry class poem

2008-09-22T14:27:00.004-06:00

long wide and dirty
the aisle to the
little boys underwear
department

winds past purple
paisley pantsuits

and pink cashmere
twin sets. he sees
her eyes as she
tries not to look.

But she does.

She cups his
damp and fleshy
hand in hers.

instead of
turning left
she steers him right

past the bone
and ivory breast
balloons..hadn't he
once called them that?
when he was much younger..

Lacy and deflated
they scare him now.
Hollow and haunting

they Make him feel
lost and empty.
he looks nowhere but down.
Feet on the wide long isle.
he is a foreign lad
in a foreign land.

he lets her lead him blindly
past what he does not yet fathom
he wants, to the only department
he has ever known.

the place of
6 pairs to a package,
now marked 50% off.

tucked forgotten in
the corner of
the half dressed
women and the broken
men.

Six unremarkabe things...

2008-09-18T19:11:00.006-06:00

Thanks to Joyce for the idea..

6 Unremarkable things about me:

1. Love Kraft Mac N Cheese...yep the Blue Box...With Ketchup.
2. Am not a night bird, nor an early one.....but I am a strange bird.
3. Only closed toes shoes for me.
4. I'd be a jack Russell terrier if I were to be a dog....For Sure!
5. I'm more of a jack of all trades..a renaissance girl..than a real master of
anything...like this blog.
6. I snort when I laugh...Hard...and only sometimes.....

One good thing that happened today...I went to a horse show...had some good classes myself...but the good thing was I got an update on a horse I used to own, about 10 years ago. He is the loyal mount now, of a short stirrup rider, about 8...bows and pigtails and all. Made me so happy. He's about 17 now and spends his days making his girl laugh.

He always was a good old boy. I'm proud of you Toby! (My Toblerone)

You'de Think I Would Have Asked This Before...

2008-09-16T10:10:00.002-06:00

An odd thought strikes me this morning. Here it is......What Do I Need?

I have much of what I want.....but how much of it plasters over the holes of what I NEED.

A plant has a list of things it NEEDS to bloom. It can not deny that it needs them.
It can not rationalize them away, or sacrifice them for love.

So what do I NEED to bloom?

'Cuz that's what I'm supposed to do...Bloom...right?

Girl, Interrrupted

2008-09-15T11:03:00.011-06:00

So today's assignment(for my poetry class) is an intrusive narrative. Premise being, we argue with ourselves constantly. And we are the narrators, true, of our own sagas...so why not write a poem that acknowledges our voyeuristic, Omnipotent self. Why not expose the man, I mean, the girl behind the curtain.

small hands

of all the preening done
-the smoke and mirrors
or bait and switch,

it is this, the taking of
my hands, that undoes me.

my hands, the minions
of my life, the holders
of my soul and love and
life -lined up all
scribble scrambled-
caked with grime of skin
shed,tears wiped, blood

spilt,then scubbed into
submission,bleached to
calloused surrender.

my hands betray
the fraud of my
lady like ankles,of
my tailored skirt and
kitten heels.

"such tiny nails,"
she marvels. "such
small Hands"

at this, i almost utter
"not even the Rain"
like a secret
between sisters.

as i part my
lips to offer it,
she clucks and turns
my hand with hers.
"too dry, too old"
between her teeth,
not white as my own.
still,even she is not
so easily fooled.

i have no poetry
to offer.

Digging In

2008-09-08T10:18:00.005-06:00

So, I told you that I rejoined the poetry group. Here is the poem I wrote. We had to do an ODE. Seeing as I have written NOTHING for very longish while... I might as well massacre an ode, right. So here goes.

Ode to Mongrels

"You know they are weeds!"
she said as if that should
make a difference.

"They blur your edges,
all but destroy your borders."
She used that same tone when
I was 14 with crimson lips.

"Now, REALLY, you have let
them take over. Not just this
years problem anymore. This year
and years to come".
A bold prediction, A seed
set to root deep.

She waited for me to say something.
Do something she understood.
Something that linked us
cell to cell, species to genus,
me as graft of her,
she the root of me.

She all but dared me to start
digging with my bare hands.
Tidy up my mess of uncontrolled creation,
this clutter of my unfettered pollination.

When I said nothing,
did nothing,

she turned her gaze away,
as if she always knew I
would welcome the mongrels
in my bed.

Some Pictures

2008-09-04T16:05:00.009-06:00

Just for the fun of it...

Katanga and I

All By Myself

2008-08-30T12:18:00.006-06:00

Over at Neil's.....He has posted an entry about the women of yesterday vs today...and the same for men.

Now,I can't even really believe that I am the same species as the women of yesterday. I have both disdain and admiration for them.

But this is not what pricked my interest. It's the thingy that you buy from a condom manufacturer. The "modern" woman slips this vibrating thingy on her finger..to...um... rock her own world.

We've come a long way baby..(no pun intended..)

But have we really? Yes..I suppose a commercial about a woman mastering her own domain..is new.

But..still..there is something she NEEDS to put between her pleasure..and her self.
Another party.

You could almost see the bad girl caught by her mother, or her friend, as she pleads for forgiveness..

"It wasn't me....I was just CURIOUS....I was trying to be responsible, and get some condoms..for when I finally give my FLOWER to Neil....This thing came with it..a gift with purchase. I love the Gift with purchase!

Anyway..I followed the instructions....and before I knew it, it was too late.I tried to say no..but it was sooooo good....

I didn't know, I just didn't know...sob...I'm Not a slut..."

Now Girls. Perhaps this is progress....but what the marketing execs need to know is this. A true scene of women and self love looks like....

Just a beautiful woman, thinking her own private thoughts, perhaps with a glass of very good wine...and a sly, slick, wet smile on her own lips as she kicks the door closed and lays back on her very own pillows.

Fade to black.

Now that's the truth. The revolution. That always was. And Always will be.

A Bold Move

2008-08-28T22:12:00.003-06:00

In a bold move...I rejoined a poetry group...the flesh kind...where I have deadlines..and am supposed to contribute feedback and general brainpower.

Haven't written a poem in A VERY LONG TIME.

I said a Bold move, not a bright one....

oh Yeah..

Obama! YOU soooooo rule!

2008-08-21T07:52:00.003-06:00

I'm a walk alone kinda girl. I have many people , who bless my life. They keep me company and certainly lend a hand.

But we walk this road alone.

So with that thought, today I will pack my daughters childhood into the trunk of my car, and drive her down the road to the jumping off point. To the fork.

When we have unpacked every last teddy bear, her extra loud alarm clock, and her multiple peace signs, I will leave her to settle in to her new life. The one she gets to craft with her own two hands.

She has good hands. She will craft well.

I'll hit the road, holding the steering wheel. Anchoring me to the present,pointing towards my path. Watching the intersection of My Way and Her Way shrink in the rear view mirror.

I'll blow her a kiss and leave her with a smile.

I hope. That's the plan anyway.

As If On Cue...

2008-08-15T12:18:00.004-06:00

A summer storm has rolled in.

Tomorrow I have a horse show, that will now be very muddy..and very moist. Not what I had fore casted.

Next Thursday I leave for CA to drop Rach off at Cal. Even though this HAD been fore casted..as in Chance Of Daughter Leaving For College = 100%....I am somehow still bewildered.

I don't even own an umbrella. Yet here I am in a stormy season. Rach is always telling me we need to get umbrellas. She's one smart cookie.

Maybe that's why she's off to college, whilst I am standing here, dripping wet.

Do I Have To? for Sunday Scribblings

2008-08-04T22:01:00.015-06:00

Once upon a time,I used to read a lot of self help books. I thought I would find the answer in one of them. I didn't.

Somehow, even then, I sensed it was bigger than me, this question I kept asking.

I now read a lot of philosophy books, and comparative religion.Oh! How the younger version of myself would LOVE that. See way back when..I mean WAAAAAY BAAAACK..I wanted to be a nun.

I remember going to the commitment ceremony of a young novitiate, seeing her dressed in white, laying prostrate on the marble floor, my elderly aunt whispering that she was now a Bride of Christ.

It gave me chills.

But, I soon grew up enough to realize that living my life away from worldly goods, even if it was for Jesus, wasn't what I really had a knack for.

(I was one of the first to dye my hair in high school..my all girl Catholic high school..I liked my uniforms a little too short, and my drinks way too strong for a girl my age.)

So I took up another calling. Another quest, I guess..and I Began running down rabbit holes many, many, many times over the next decade. Chasing something that seemed right there...but it never was.

I remember praying very hard when I got pregnant with Rachel. I prayed that I could be strong, brave..and willing. Willing to follow, and leap down that hole one last time.

I was very far from a nun at that point. Just the same, many a night, I would lie prostrate on the floor and ask God to come and take me, as I was.

Nealy two decades later, I sometimes feel like I am waking from a hazy dream. A dream where I WAS a mother...where for one brief second life flowed through me, and hands held onto me for comfort. A dream where I was a builder, a sleepy one, but a builder regardless.

It's just that now, I find myself looking at my efforts. I see that they are well forged, that they are true.

But, the building is almost through. Everyone knows it. There comes a time when the project is done. The moment when you just need to live with it, in it. That moment is Now. So, that's right where I am. Listening, once again, to a calling deep inside. To that question.

Except this time, it has an Eastern feel to it. This time it doesn't court me, or ask me to be it's bride. No, this time it dares me to let go of everything I have gathered, all my sticks and stones. It dares me to put down my hammer. It asks me to carefully thank them for bringing me such abundance and joy.

Thank them..and then let them go.

Part of Me is trilled by this notion,as my hands are aching from holding on. My heart is knotted from holding back. That Part of Me would not even turn back.

Still,the other part of me wants to sneak bits of this life, out in my pockets. Hide little parts of it in my lining..and prays I won't get caught.

For if I do get caught, if told to truly empty myself, empty all my nooks and crannies, I don't think I ever could fully release everything.

And even if I could...I know I would be quiety crying,while lovingly clutching the best little trinkets. I know I would plead..."Do I HAVE to?"

Sunday Scribbling prompt.

Celebrity Collage by MyHeritage

2008-07-29T12:46:00.002-06:00

Try it...I dare ya!!

MyHeritage: Family trees - Genealogy - Celebrities - Collage - Morph

Celebrity Morph by MyHeritage

2008-07-29T12:33:00.002-06:00

Just for fun...Proves the power of angles. huh?

MyHeritage: Family trees - Genealogy - Celebrities

Not One Single Post..Since Blog Her

2008-07-29T10:22:00.007-06:00

I'm not sure that this was the desired effect.

So here, I offer the briefest of recaps.

1. I found the speakers uniformly excellent. I listened intently to the McCain vs Obama debate. Try as they may, that's what it ended up being.. A Debate. Two highly accomplished women..jousting. How I respect these women! And yet, how I so wish that there was the possibility of a discussion. For, in all the bobbing and weaving..answers turned more point:counterpoint..rather than, listen then respond.
(A silly aside..I couldn't help thinking about the old "Jane you ignorant slut" line from the vintage SNL gag. If only we could giggle and think at the same time...)

2. I found the men at the conference very approachable. Perhaps because I found the women:

3. very UNAPPROACHABLE. Big surprise.

4. Lastly, I want to offer my profound thanks to the one woman..who approached me at the cocktail party at Macy's...to tell me I had powdered chocolate on the tip of my nose...and on my lips. Down in the lingerie department they had these Kahlua, rocket fuel,coco rimed shot thingys. I told you I would be drinking....So I had one of these little devils, which also had cayenne pepper in there somewhere! CALIENTE'!!!

(Made me almost buy this cute little leopard bustier number....but I digress)...But instead, all I got was a coco milk mustache. PERFECT!!!!!

How I would love candids of me sashaying though all those "cool" women...looking like a 4 year old clown. What? I was going for a look. Really? Not buying that? Ah well....Anyway, thanks to the sister that finally helped me out... probably the 500th woman I saw that night. To all those who said nothing at all....shame, shame on you. Karma is, just like each one of you ...A BITCH.

Shall we just get real? It's not the first time it's happened..Won't be the last. I trip. I drool. I snort when I laugh. That's just how I roll.

It is what it is.

More of a Guys Girl

2008-07-11T15:20:00.005-06:00

This next week, I'm leaving for an orientation at CAL with Rach...and then I'm attending BLOGHER..a conference of woman bloggers.

At this moment...I am beginning to question my decision. Truth be told, I was planning to hang out with Neil...who is a chic magnet in his own right...but to me, he is just a charming man, who said he would be my "date".

And now..He's not going. And I am going to be without an anchor...Did I mention Neils like UBER tall..while I am 5 foot???....Great for cutting thru crowds.
Plus, Neil was going to be kinda MY wingman.

But this turn of events brings up something about me. The truth is that I am way more comfortable being with men, than being women.Now, I do have girl friends..quite a few that bless my days. But in general,given the choice between in a room full of women..or a room full of men..I'd pick men every time.

This is not because I am a slut.. It's because I am shy. Women in large groups are very hard to get to know. There's a whole scoping out thing that goes on there...and small talk. yuck. I know how men feel. Women can be very unapproachable.

I find men easier to talk to...

How bout you? Are you a girl's girl..or a guy's girl....or a girl's guy..or a guy's guy?

All I can say now is.... I hope they have a bar.
I already need a drink.

Romance Starved

2008-07-08T20:10:00.005-06:00

My previous post was about how I met my husband. It's a pretty cute story, made all the more romantic, cuz, well we've been married for 17 years.

I promise someday I'll write it all down. I just can't right now. I don't know why.Someday though, I promise.

I've been lucky to have some really "movie" romance moments in my life. I know that when I am 100 years old, I will remember them.

The most romantic was at the airport, saying goodbye to an old boyfriend. Remember when you could say goodbye at the gate? Yeah, how old am I!!!

Anyway, he disappeared down the jet way, in his Navy Whites..oh GOD..those yummy Dress Whites..leaving me sobbing in LAX.

For less than one moment...til he turned back...to find me sobbing..dropped his weekend bag..and stayed for one more night.

No; he didn't carry me thru the terminal, or but his hat on my head ala Debra Winger.. but he didn't have to.

Just being swept up in his arms...knowing he was swept away too..was unforgettable.

How bout you? Share your most romantic moment..Come on I showed you mine..now you HAVE to show me yours!

Chance Encounters for Sunday Scribblings

2008-07-06T10:07:00.004-06:00

My biggest chance encounter was meeting my husband on the freeway.

Yep. The freeway. In LA.

I've known him over half his life.

Sometimes taking a chance, pays off.

Think about that next time you're faced with this decision: Should I or Shouldn't I?

You should definately go over to Sunday Scribblings. No Brainer.

The Prayer Is For Surrender

2008-07-02T10:55:00.002-06:00

I am not 5. Yet sometimes I find myself praying to God as if he is Santa Claus. So maybe I am 5.

Lots of people say that you should pray for the path to be cleared. I am beginning to think, that you should pray for the strength to clear the path.

What do you think?

Nearest Book Challenge...

2008-06-26T09:13:00.004-06:00

Thanks to Kay...for offering a solution for writers block.

The challenge: Reach for the nearest book. Find page 123 and copy the fifth sentence.

Well ok...except..it's me...so OF COURSE...The first book I reach for, does not have 123 pages. Hum? meaning? I'm not sure...

OK, on to the second on the pile...and yes I am a pile of books by my bed kinda gal. Good. This one is a nice and thick book. A big Girl book...

So here it is.

"I'd spent the afternoon making hay,really lending a hand to a farmer making hay, and after a few hours in the midday sun hoisting and throwing fifty-pound bales onto a hay wagon, I hurt."

WOW! You REALLY are what you read!

Quote is from The Omnivores Dilemma by Michael Pollan.

The short and sweet book that topped it...sadly was not Pat the Bunny....or Goodnight Moon..as those days have past, for now. It was The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success by Deepak Chopra....subtitled: One Hour of Wisdom.

Sometimes lately, I am so distracted...I have, like, one MINUTE. Which may be the reason why so often I come up a little short on Widsom..huh?

God and The Manure Pile

2008-06-24T10:36:00.008-06:00

My new horse should be categorized as an elephant...if one is to judge by the equation: size of manure production directly correlates to size of animal on a 1:1 ratio. (All this DESPITE her strict adherence to the Jenny Craig plan for horses.)

Which is to say she, produces great mounds of manure.

So she is an elephant...and her stall mate is a pig. Not so much it the production department. But careless, even hostile in the placement. If Roux, my gelding, was a man,he would DEFINITELY leave the seat up...and pee all over it while he was at it.

Odd subject matter, Wendy, you may be saying right about now, and of course you would be right. But this, folks, is part of my life. Housekeeping for farm animals.

Farm animals. If they could speak, I know that both of my horses would not be happy with that moniker. If I still had my grey mare, Callie...Well, she would have slapped me hard right across my face. Farm animals indeed! Pleasure vehicles is more like it.No.... HIGH END Pleasure Vehicles!is even better...

But, whatever they may be named, I pick up after them..a lot.It's strenuous work. It's dirty work. However, it's also some of the most spiritual work I do.

I read Eat,Pray,Love over vacation. I'm very late to this party I know, but I finally read it. While on a spiritual mecca in India, along with chanting, the author was given WORK to do. Hers was scrubbing floors. Mine is scooping poop.

Same thing. It's service work. It's lowly work. By this I do not mean it is beneath me. Just the opposite. I just mean that it is work that does not feed the ego. It is repetitive, physical, and necessary. It's also something that will never win much recognition.

And yet, if neglected, things quickly become a real mess. Now here's the service part for me. They become a real mess for my horses, who again, if they could talk..would probably say That they don't care a rats behind whether their stall is clean..(sorta like my teen aged daughter...but I digress.)They probably don't even notice as I drag four huge muck buckets of dung out of their pen everyday.

Still, this is what I do. I humble myself to them...The same one who sits on their backs and trys not to bark the orders too loudly.. The one who points them at obstacles and demands they actually JUMP them....The one who insists on molding their necks and dictating their tempos..at the end of it all, it is that same one who picks up the fork and tends to them.

Where is God in all of this? He is in the ebb and flow of power. He is in the rush and fall of leadership. He is in the humble strength of submission. He is in us both, as we give service to one another.

He is in the pride of a simple, sweat producing job well done. He fills my heart with purpose, as I survey they pristine pen; my fork tine having made quiet marks all over it like a large sand zen garden. I am peaceful.

He is also in my horses...as one of them always seems to meet my eye...and then proceeds to leave a little..shall we say, FLOURISH...to finish my masterpiece. One new pile in the tranquil space. One new pile that represents the NOW.

God is in that Laughter, too.

I Never Said "Expert Anything"

2008-06-15T14:49:00.006-06:00

My husband LOVES to tell trail guides at horse for hire establishments, that I am an expert rider. I always say that I am very far from that. He always says..that compared to the common man..I am indeed an expert.

He tells them this...thinking that this tid bit of information, will assure that we will get the fastest horses they have in the barn. He just doesn't get it. His need for speed over rides his logic every time.

You see what this gets me, is a pissed off wrangler.. and the rankest..or greenest horse in their string. Thanks Michael. Really appreciate that.

This time, there were quite a bunch of us going on this trail ride in Waimea. 6 in our group and around 5 other... plus 2 cowgirls..(one with a LOT of attitude...)Still, this is some of the prettiest ranch land I can think of..with Maui floating like a..well like an island, as a backdrop. We set off on a two hour tour.

I was mounted on a blood bay pony sized Spanish mustang mare. These exact words out of the wranglers mouth..."She can be a bit of a..spit fire...not at the walk..but she likes to take over at the trot and canter. Just put you foot down..and that will be that...oh and she's just had her baby weaned..so going out will be a bit...um...sticky. But you ride..so....." G R E A T.

Mona...yes that was her name, was part mustang...and all bitch. At first, I found my ego was up in arms. I was PAYING for the pleasure of trying to kick a horse to death to walk forward. This fine point of the humiliation was not lost on me. It's been a long time since I have had to "kick" a horse around.

You see, riding..is a subtle language. The more you "YAHOO", the less skill you have.
Girlfriend with the cowboy hat knew that..and was poking me with her sharp stick. At one point she asked if I rode "English?"..When I responded yes... She just trotted by and sniggered.."Thought so."

Sigh. I was in hell, though my girls were enjoying my humble decent. Glad to be of service there. My husband, who was just sulking because he figured out we were not going to run the whole time...assumed I would be really ticked off. I assumed I would be too.

But, strangely I was not. In an instant...I just decided NOT TO TRY IMPRESS this random cowboygirl. Screw her..and her judgement of me. I started to ride the horse I was on..(which by the way is awesome all around advice....)

I started to try to speak mustang. Cowgirl circled back twice to correct me. Finally I told her that I was fine...hatred in my eyes. She trotted back off..smirking, sure she would have to come back to rescue me.

I waited till she was over the crest, picked up my very long cowboy reins and smacked that little mare HARD on the neck..twice. Two little protest bucks later..we were thinking about moving our feet. First side to side...then, at last...forward. Good. I patted her neck...We,now at least, were on speaking terms.

To make a long trail ride shorter..we had a fine time. By the end, I had the little horse circling around, leaving the group...coming back...and not stepping one foot on the track everyone else was using.She did not eat on mouthful of grass. Her mouth became quiet and her head was still. I was talking and she was listening..

It was a great ride. For me...and, I think, for her. Cowgirl didn't say much as I dismounted. That was just fine by me.

See, I let go of trying to show off for her..and just started to ride...for me and the little mare. After all, it was her back that was carrying me. In the end, we were friends. It was quiet and simple. Communication at it's best.

One other thing...A sign reminded us to "pat our horse..and tip our guides" at the end of our ride.

I did pat my little horse.

Aloha Spirit

2008-06-10T12:09:00.003-06:00

The plane to the Big Island was late...tiny ..and smelly. Walking out on the tarmac, I noticed an older native woman wearing a lovely wreath. She boarded the plane, with her friend before I did. I found a seat behind my girls.

Just then a young boy came to sit down next to me, his dad right behind him. I could tell he was autistic by his blinking..( a sign of stress). He told me his dad said he had to sit next to me. His dad reassured him he would be right behind him.

I waited, made eye contact with the dad...and told him he could have my seat. I smiled at him so at the boy, so he knew everything was OK.

Sometimes God just clears the way.

This was how I found myself sitting across from the woman with the lovely head dress.
After chatting a bit,I found out that they had been celebrating her birthday in Honolulu. I complimented her on her wreath..which she had made herself. wow.

As the plane landed, her friend tapped me on the shoulder..and gave me the wreath. She placed it on my head...and said Aloha.

She fixed it just right ..."to compliment my beautiful eyes." I am sure that I blushed. I was really touched. A random act of kindness.

Sometimes God just clears the way.

A Tale of Two Doorways

2008-06-06T13:31:00.004-06:00

Just a quick little STAB at myself.

After the aforementioned martinis, I retired to my penthouse...(now there is something I don't get to say..um... well,EVER!)

I deftly inserted my high tech key thingy in to the door...and received a RED LIGHT!
Tish tosh, I thought....and tried again, and again, and again.

**Here I must insert that the definition of insanity is repeating the same thing over and over, fully expecting a different result. But,forgive me, I digress.

At the height of my frustration...or the pinnacle of my despair..just the thought that "the People" had figured out that I do not have any business in the penthouse.....After all, I mean REALLY, I'm not the Penthouse type...much more a Playboy kinda gal...(forgive me..I digress.....again)....I FINALLY thought to look up...and realize that I was feverishly trying to gain entrance....

....to the Broom Closet.

So the morale ofthe story today is... Don't panic... Just observe what is going on...and act accordingly...

or if the key doesn't fit...maybe you have the wrong door.

Oh yeah, and perhaps, just perhaps, two Cosmos..is one Cosmo too many!

Aloha!

A Lemon Drop, Please

2008-06-05T15:34:00.005-06:00

Just a quick note of clarification.....No, I haven't lost my mind and run away from home or anything....The girls are joining me tomorrow...and we will be flying to the Big Island...with two of their friends. We accomplished this all on miles...so I had to fly separately..getting 5 free tickets ANYWHERE..on the same flight is nearly impossible.

Michael, of course, has a business trip...so will be joining us later. A perfect illustration of my quandary with him. It is because of his hard work..and miles in the air...that I am here in the first place ( The "pro" side of the argument). It is because of his addiction to his work, that I am unable to even schedule a family vacation..the WHOLE family...anymore. (The "con" side)

So now on to the quick story for the day.

It's been a long time since I have sat at a bar by myself. The last time I can remember, I did not have any rings on my left hand. Like I said, a long time.

I did not go to a hot spot..pick up joint...just the bar in the lobby. Lovely happy hour. Martini's for $5.00. A beautiful thing.

They had a singer..who had his Ukulele out for some of the songs. How I love Hawaiian music..really..almost makes me cry. Simple, lyrical, unassuming. Just what I aspire to be.

So I sidled up to the bar..and ordered a lemon drop.And then I had to sit there and drink it. By myself. I rarely drink, much less alone.Thank God it was a good lemon drop.

And then before you knew it, there were two men sitting separately, at a right angle from me.Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Now I'm not saying this to be conceded, just to point out the same theme as the penthouse.

When you have no need for something, you seem to be able to come upon it...in abundance.

The rest of the evening was spent trying to avoid eye contact...just enough not to seem like a cold bitch. That's how much I think of what people are thinking of me. Sad really.

Next up, a Pomegranate Cosmo. Yummy....and Then it was quickly back to my room...just as the bartender was striking up a conversation....

I think tonight...It will be room service for me.

Alone in Paradise

2008-06-04T21:58:00.004-06:00

So...Aloha. I'm in Hawaii..For two days by myself...

And only as my luck would have it..they upgraded me to the PENTHOUSE!!!! I kid you not....So if anyone is near me...come on over...we'll party on the roof...

'Til then... I'm off for a martini...and then to bed.

Penthouse for one, please.

Graduation Day

2008-05-26T19:57:00.003-06:00

These are partial lyrics from Bruce Springsteen's Independence Day. Graduation Day in our case, but very same theme.

INDEPENDENCE DAY

Well Papa go to bed now, it's getting late
Nothing we can say is gonna change anything now
I'll be leaving in the morning from St. Mary's Gate
We wouldn't change this thing even if we could somehow

`Cause the darkness of this house has got the best of us
There's a darkness in this town that's got us too
But they can't touch me now and you can't touch me now
They ain't gonna do to me what I watched them do to you

So say goodbye it's Independence Day
It's Independence Day all down the line
Just say goodbye it's Independence Day
It's Independence Day this time

Now I don't know what it always was with us
We chose the words and yeah we drew the lines
There was just no way this house could hold the two of us
I guess that we were just too much of the same kind

Well say goodbye it's Independence Day
All boys(girls) must run away come Independence Day
So say goodbye it's Independence Day
All men must make their way come Independence Day.

Mags has 3 more years before she can sing her farewell. A blink of the eye. Yep. That one in the corner.

God Speed Rach.

She Re-Entered

2008-05-20T21:47:00.003-06:00

and found the room empty.

Instead of feeling sad, she had to laugh. It was her grandest entrance. Strong. Steady, with no tripping at all.

The only one who saw it, was the one inside her head.

The one inside her head was ALWAYS the biggest critic of all. So maybe things were just as they were supposed to be.

She sat in the most comfortable chair in the room; kicked off her shoes and just waited for the dance to begin.

She was ready to dance.

A Shift

2008-05-07T10:11:00.002-06:00

When I started writing this blog, I stood back and just took a look at my life and told "stories."

It's just that the stories I would tell now, are sorta scary to me. I find very little fodder these days. Bummer. I miss fodder.

As I have grown to "know" you, I have started to be more honest, than entertaining. Now I feel the need to cover it up a little. I feel a bit exposed..and my response is to clam up.

Pardon me while I pry my mind open again.

Just go about your business. It's really boring to watch..Shouldn't take that long.

Finally...

2008-04-29T21:43:00.003-06:00

A decision is made....

I made her stand up and say....My name is Rachel...and I go to Cal!!!(UC Berkeley)

Then I cheered "Go Bears"..... complete with little pom pom kicks...

And the wheels on the bus go round and round....

Congrats Rach! Go get em......

All Stacked Up

2008-04-28T11:41:00.002-06:00

You know, after 17 years of marriage....you sometimes try to stack the odds in your favor....A little Napa..a little wine and lacy.....plus the racy photos I told you about.

None of it saved this anniversary. Leaves one thinking.....

and hoping and praying.

Praying for what exactly? That's the hardest question.

Anonymous

2008-04-17T09:13:00.002-06:00

Giving in front of cameras bugs me. Sponsorship bugs me....Media coverage of Moms Saving the Planet bugs me.

What happened to sending in a check and asking to be listed as a "ANONYMOUS" donor?

Please shoot me if the day ever comes, when I have to be "styled" for my close up...as I go to my mulch pile... or recycle my glass bottles.

Please, please shoot me.

Attatchments

2008-04-15T10:43:00.002-06:00

I've been working on attachments lately. To people. To outcomes. To fears. To feelings.

I want to pare down what I need. Actually...I really want to "need" nothing. I'm not sure this is the wisest goal. But I feel driven towards it.

I crave a world filled with acceptance. Of what is here in front of me. The moment I feel "the need", I wish I could instead just surrender. Experience the moment. However brief or prolonged.

It will change. Sooner or later. I can not need or depend on it to remain the same.

I'm A Good Girl...I Am....

2008-04-11T08:16:00.006-06:00

Again I am the short one in the middle.

I had never seen My Fair Lady staged before. Of course, I have seen the movie several times. My girls may disagree, but I think it still plays very well.

The themes are timeless.

**Appearances, while perhaps deceiving...do count.

**Our language, and ability to speak correctly, effects us more than we are aware...

**And yet...for all the demands for conformity, it is the unique essence of our selves and souls...that ultimately melt the hearts of those who truly love us.

My memento of the evening?...A baby pink T shirt..maybe a bit too tight....that proudly states..."I AM A GOOD GIRL...I AM!" For me, more of a reminder to self..than a declaration!

The "What If's"

2008-04-09T09:48:00.004-06:00

I was visited this week by a friend from the para program....He's out looking at a horse for the Beijing games..which are fast approaching. I got the pleasure of seeing this prospective new mount... FANCY FANCY FANCY!

My friend is in a wheel chair. He too has CP..but his is much more severe than mine. Actually it's place in different areas of his body than mine.

It's always a pleasure talking to a kindred spirit..though it may look as if we have little in common. We actually have quite a bit...

He is much younger than I am..20 years. We both did reckless things as teens in an attempt to just be "one of the kids". He held on to a bumper of a car.. and had it pull him in his wheel chair.. until he and said wheel chair had a parting of the ways.. and he landed on his face...ouch. The other kids were doing it on their skate boards...and he saw no difference.

My reckless behavior was much more of the behind closed doors variety. Sorta anything you can do, I can do better. Enough said.

However, the impulses that drove this behavior forward.. were exactly the same.

After dinner, I asked him the what if question. What if God said..he could "Heal" him...but he would have to trade in his life up to this point? Kinda the Make a Deal version..Door number one...life as you have it now...OR...door number two..the lure of "normalcy"..and all that it would bring...good and bad.

At first,he of course, tried to barter, for just one day...as in..."If I could walk, stand..run..dance..for just one day...."..but I shut him down,(seeing as I was playing God, for the moment.) Nope. This was an all or nothing proposition.

He paused...and said he believed that he would choose his reality..his life now..over what might be better..or easier ..or more socially appealing. I told him I would make the same choice.

We sipped our drinks in silence for a couple minutes after that. We just sat there in the skin we were born into....and lived. Truthfully though,I also think we were both asking ourselves the same question.

Were we lying?

Yes Sir...That's My Baby

2008-04-05T20:01:00.004-06:00

I'd like to just take a moment to introduce the newest member of the menagerie...

KATANGA...Tanga..or as her old dad used to call her...BABY..

That's one big BABY...but she's a keeper for sure...

Oh, as for Roux, my lovely sick boy..he was able to move out of his sick stall just this week...back out side. Cross your fingers and wish us luck for a continued recovery. At least now he will feel the spring sun on his back again.

All That You Can't Leave Behind

2008-04-04T08:37:00.007-06:00

Don't worry, I've moved all of my "Rocks my Socks" friends to Google Reader. This started as a suggestion, from Karl at 2HT...and ended as a necessity, as I tried to "glam" up my template..and lost quite a chunk of my blog.

But there are things I refuse to leave behind. You will travel with me.

I had a conversation this week with an old friend. Inadvertently, the rules of a marriage came up. I think it's funny that different marriages have different rules. But it makes sense. What works for you, may not...and probably doesn't..work for me.

Michael and I have very few hard and fast rules anymore. After years of marriage, things have smoothed a bit.The vestiges of any rules, I may have put in place, long ago, sometime seem strange to me now.

Like "the call" from the road. When Michael first started to travel..over 10 years ago...he would leave, and often forget to call home. Some times I wouldn't hear from him for a day or two. I would worry..fret and fester. So I made a rule. He must call. I have never been a calling kind of wife. He has dinner meetings...and he doesn't need to field calls from me in the middle of conversations.

A lot of girlfriends think this is a big mistake. For me, its just the way I operate. But then I made the rule that he HAD to call me. He has tried very hard to fulfill this promise. Mostly, it's been a good guideline. However, sometimes, I see how hollow it is. There are days I get a call at 9:30pm..as I am drifting off.. (yeah..some days I am DONE by 9:30)with a message left.."just Checking in". He is keeping up his end of the bargain...but that call leaves me feeling more alone, than if I had received none at all. I'm not his Mom. He doesn't have to check in... I'm not the absentee office at the high school.

I am not a check mark.

But, that's what a RULE does. It says every time, every day...I (or he)will respond the same way. I train horses. I know training when I see it.

So..what is the alternative? I guess co-existence. A pledge of love.a pledge to try to avoid malicious behavior. However, a promise also to remain true..and present to ones self FIRSTLY...and then to try to meet the needs of another, the beloved.

No rule of mine will ever make him miss me, or need to hear my voice. No rule of mine will keep him safe from a terrorist, drunk driver, or blonde at the bar. He will live as he must. And so will I.

We will be married, joined...when we no longer look to rules to guide our marriage. We will be joined when we let life join us honestly. When we allow each other to live independently..and merge authentically. He must breath his own air...and my heart must beat on its own..

He can not promise to never leave me...through death or will...and I can not promise that either. The only promise or pledge I can make..is to love him fully each day I have with him.

I love him with all my flaws and perfections..with all my triumphs and mistakes. With all of my selfishness and generosity. I love him for now.

There are no rules for the future..not one that I could conjure..I just don't have that power. I never will.

oh GOD...Just WHat Have I Done??????

2008-04-02T21:03:00.002-06:00

Help.....I Should never remodel without proper supervision....OH CRAP....

A Fork Stuck In The Road

2008-04-01T09:55:00.007-06:00

Another turning point;
a fork stuck in the road.

Time grabs you by the wrist;
directs you where to go.

So make the best of this test
and don't ask why.

It's not a question
but a lesson learned in time.

It's something unpredictable
but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

So take the photographs
and still frames in your mind.

Hang it on a shelf
In good health and good time.

Tattoos of memories
and dead skin on trial.

For what it's worth,
it was worth all the while.

It's something unpredictable
but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

(music break)

It's something unpredictable
but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

It's something unpredictable
but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

I know all of you are hip enough to know this is the Mega Hit from a couple years back (YIKES! Over ten years ago..holy crap)..TIME OF YOUR LIFE..by Green Day....

If I could sing a single note on key, I would sing this to daughter Rachel; who now sits in the wonderful position of having to decide between some pretty awesome colleges to attend. The price of abundance.

(Note the above photo, is not of her sisters head/scalp after a bloody brawl...It's when Rach cut her hair for Locks of Love..a month ago)

She is still waiting on two answers. But for now, it's between UC Berkeley and Lewis and Clark University. Two very different colleges. Two very different sides to my first born.

One, in my meager opinion, fits her like Cinderella's slipper....all perfect. The other is also an incredible fit...but for different reasons..plus it all blingy and is a house hold name, with uber brand recognition. Lot of ego involved there.I'll leave it to you to decipher which is which.

I've called friends to ask for advise to pass on. They have tried their best. May God Bless them for that. I will try my best in return. But really, it is not my decision to make. It is HERS...The first door she will open on her own. The first step in crafting her brand new life away from us in ho-dunk Colorado. She will be Magnificent.

I hope she has the time of her life.

Out of This World...for Sunday Scribblings

2008-03-30T12:14:00.003-06:00

The worlds outside this world have never interested me as much as the worlds INSIDE this world. I guess I'm a Horton Hears A Who kinda gal.

I love finding the repeatable patterns of the infinite in shells and snowflakes, clovers and seahorses. Break it down, and these patterns remain, break it down more and still they are there.

The pulse original. The Alpha. The root of the root.LIFE!

So just like the expandable universes in the Discovery Store...what goes in Deep to the core, must conversely go out beyond my meager imagination.

But still I tend to stare down at the ground under my feet, and contemplate what is Close. I have always been a nearsighted girl.

Let's go looking for Alien perspectives over HERE.

Beam me up?down?through?parallel? Scottie.....

Call Me Crazy...

2008-03-27T14:46:00.009-06:00

So Michael and I are celebrating another anniversary soon. We've known each other over 21 years. That's more than half of his life...and almost half of mine.

I decided to shake things up a bit. Even though my husband teases me about certain "enhancements' that might be nice..I'm sure he doesn't want to send me in for an overhaul..yet.

This Christmas,I bought him a cheesy Sports Illustrated desk calender..flip a different bikini bimbo for each day. He hemmed and hawed. Our girls nearly threw up...However..The calender did somehow make it to his desk...and miraculously, seems always to be on the current day. huh. Me thinks he doth protest too much.

In a middle aged act of lunacy, I set up a photo shoot...you know the ones I'm talkin about...and yesterday was the day to be VAMPED.

Smoke and mirrors..and one shot for each pose...I smell disaster brewing. Below is one shot I took of my self when I got home. The photographer in me couldn't help but check out the paint I had on my face..through my own lens.I was even sporting fake eyelashes! I think I looked like Elsie the cow. I did not replicate the wardrobe....

I have a funny feeling this will have a more comic effect than I had intended(though down deep..I think I knew it would end up funny). But I must say, every woman deserves to do this once. Believe me, when they are twisting you like a pretzel..telling you to arch your back MORE, you certainly realize that the SEXY of this, is pure fantasy...This profound truth comes to you,as you begin to sweat as you balance on one foot and point your other toe.

But the plan is, that when Michael leaves on his trips..he can take a little of me with him to keep him company. I was hoping for warm and fuzzy..OK maybe even a little hot...But in "hind"sight(snort)..I may just make him giggle..and remind him that he's married to a nut..whose trying really hard to balance on her toes....

I'll keep you posted.

A Lovers Quarrel

2008-03-17T09:09:00.009-06:00

Yesterday I really exhausted myself at the gym. I've been sick, as noted below.. so haven't really worked out much in about ten days. That worried me.

It worried me because it feels so much better NOT to work out..than TO workout. So much that I could see myself letting the whole thing go, like a delusional phase..like the platinum blond hair phase in the 80's.

So what got me up off of my well padded ass..and back to the gym? Well, it's one of those weird life paradoxes. While it definitely feels better to be snuggled in at home, rather than on the recumbent bike at the gym...The moment AFTER the work out is done..is well...almost better than sex. That's when I walk a mile to "cool down".

Now, suggest I walk a mile to the store for some milk...without the endorphin buzz..and risk your life. But after delicious exertion, as a dessert, so to speak..it really feels like I could skip the whole way. Odd, huh?

So there I was skipping out to the Camry after my intense, pent up work out. Boppin, because, oh yes I DO BOP...to Mary J Blige... I fiddled in my pocket, to find my key "fob" and listened for my car to chirp in recognition. But it didn't.

Happier Times

What a drag. I had to actually pull the fob out..(now why does that sound dirty?) and hit the button to unlock the door..hum.

*NOTE TO SELF: Automated cars are creatures of HABIT. Take any change of behavior as a sign of DANGER.*

The door unlocked and I slid in. Now I must tell you that hybrid's have an odd starting system. You push a button. That's it. A big button on the dash. No key. No turning the key in the ignition. This is called "A Smart System."

Well, God in his/her infinite wisdom and or bully humor...must have known that I have some small talent in working with challenged kids...so he/she decided to give me a challenged fob..or car..(or perhaps...most true..a challenged DRIVER..but I digress).

The car turned on... YAY...but so did the alarm system, which went off, honking every 2 minutes...for a minute at a time....with me sitting in the car....and the car running.(Let me just interject here that my favorite curse word is F@#k. Do we all have a clear picture of this?)

All the while the dash board flashed "key not detected" at me..and flipped the bird to the fob I held in my hand. Yes, I even rubbed the fob on the dashboard in some feeble attempt at connection. Lame, huh. This went on for MUCH longer than it should have.

How did I make it stop?

Like any sane hysterical woman would have. I got out of that damned car, slammed the door.I pushed all the buttons..hoping that somehow translated into "F@#k YOU..YOU PIECE OF SH@#" in hybrid-ese...and walked away. Just then, like any good lover, my car...scared, I suppose, that I might just decide to become a pedestrian once and for all...finally chirped in recognition.

"Please come back..I didn't mean it. I'll be a good hybrid now..I'm sorry.."

Ughh. I couldn't help myself. I caved. That car makes me weak. I was in and on my way home, just like it used to be; back when everything was new and thrilling. Back when it was simple..and we didn't have to try so hard.

Back when I was the key...and my car was the ignition.

Ah, those were the good old days.

Experimental.... for Sunday Scribblings

2008-03-09T11:14:00.014-06:00

"Life is either a daring adventure...or nothing at all." Who said that? Someone far wiser and more brave than I have turned out to be.

And I see my self on the more adventurous side of life. Lots of things I consider normal...or at least close to the realm...others may dismiss as ridiculous.

Ah, but poets are ridiculous, aren't they? They speak in tangents and invite mis-interpretations. They are Lives courting disaster. The Poets note the feeling of the fall..and wish only to survive so they can document it.... in, what was that last phase the muse offered? before they hit the bottom. And in the doing, break their hearts..spirits..bones..livers..souls..or minds.

Poets know there is a price to pay..Yet fully being aware of the price of admission..I fear, may be giving a tad too much credit. No. Rather, I think, poetry is an experiment in obsession. A practicum in balance and the loss of...and a thesis on the aftermath.

An experiment of insanity, perhaps. Paring down of words and thoughts and justifications, to the point where all is so bare..that a even a comma or period can stand alone.

An experiment in deconstruction. Life and love as mere ingriedients. The poet as chef, unflinching..fearless...losing all perspective to the boil and the simmer. For now no longer A rabbit, or A chicken or THE buck; exsits. No,now there is nothing but meat melting from bleached white bones,into the stew. Pulled into the stew.

All that remains; this reduction. These hidden flavors of the marrow. The root of all. Leaking through the rigid pores of this structure. This life. My marrow mixing with his marrow. Different animals. Same soup.

No more than food. For today. Hunger for tomorrow.

Well now..that was certainly interesting....riffy and unexpected...truly experimental!

Let's see what's cookin in other labs....shall we?

PS...quote was Helen Keller..of course. Played her in Miracle Worker...in High School..but a whole different story....

Orson Wells Knew....

2008-03-07T09:27:00.004-07:00

Turns out that Orson Wells knew what he was talking about when he had the cold virus kill off all the rouge aliens in A War of The Worlds.

Colds suck... And just imagine if you were an innocent man eating alien predator..with no knowledge that after a day or two, you usually feel better..just imagine how you would feel..

Probably desperate enough to end it all..with one swift sharp sucker thingy...right to the head!

Don't worry about me though...I know the drill..Cough cough..sneeze sneeze.

Plus, I don't even have a sucker thingy..and I know for damn sure...it's not sharp.
So I'd only end up poking my self in the eye.
ouch.

PS.. There's a name you don't hear every day anymore...Orson....

Eat Your Heart Out

2008-02-29T20:49:00.005-07:00

Find inspiration where you must.

Eat Your Heart Out

It wasn't the first.
With no way of knowing
if it was the last.

This Friday he did not
return home.

She ate a piece
of coconut cream pie,
thinking only of
what he was eating.
She could not taste it.
Was it sugar or salt?

The second piece was
overkill, she had to
admit. But the
knife went in anyway.
A bold act of aggression.

The second piece was
for the fucking.
For, why the fucking
hell not?

The third piece was
merely for her tongue.
To meet a touch.
To Yield. Meant only
to keep her mouth full.
Whipped cream muffling
the mourning.
Sweet and alone.

wlf 9:00pm

wicked - For good

2008-02-29T11:01:00.001-07:00

just because.today seemed like a good day to be WICKED.

Quick...Before It Ends....

2008-02-28T10:01:00.005-07:00

Before the month of February ends...even though,it is sporting an extra day this year...I wish my lovely Michael...a happy 40th Birthday! FINALLY!!

We went up to the mountains and frolicked a bit.

I must remember to frolic more often.

PS..The kid with the braces holding onto my blond haired daughter...is not a son I never told you about.... No...It's Maggies boyfriend. Is there a story there? You bethcha. Am I allowed to tell? UM, no. Parent::Child privilege. Sorry.

PSS...oops..Seems my blonde haired daughter..though covered with a pink beanie..is the one cluthching him..Go figure! The other boys are some of my many nephews..These two I especially adore. One is the picture of sweetness.. and the other..well lets just say I call him Nanuk...oh..how he cracks me up!

What A Long Strange Trip It's Been...

2008-02-25T21:09:00.005-07:00

This was my senior quote. At the time I was referring to my varied experiences in High School.

But the quote still applies.

Today I watched a movie a friend suggeted I see. I should say...I tried to watch. The movie was Peaceful Warrior...What I have seen so far reminds me a little of a male version of What the Bleep Do We Know..a personal favorite.

The funny thing is just as I got to the climax...the DVD skipped stuttered and promply procedeed to the end credits.

A karmicly comic outcome. NO ANSWERS FOR YOU!!!!

Ode to my Body...At Least It's Wrapper

2008-02-19T12:58:00.008-07:00

I have the skin of a snake.
Though I can not shed it.

Free myself.

In one birthing push, cast off
this vague impresssion.

Start anew.

My scales become fissures.
Some cracks turned to blood

red cuts.

More than death, less than life.
The skin of a snake! I long

to shed.

Centered, cracked right down the middle.
Open and ready, I want.

I want.

wlf 1:00pm

Finally, following a readwritepoem prompt... Geez, what a long dry spell..It's just spittin rain now..But Hey..it's something!

Sleep and Teeth...

2008-02-18T11:54:00.015-07:00

Oddly enough this is firmiliar territory for the medicated mind. I often dream of my teeth. Falling out. I know that Freud has something interesting to say on the subject....But for me it's pretty typical dream fodder.

The more humourous teeth and sleep tie in..would be the fact.. That I am always "asleep" when I get my teeth worked on. Extreemly dental phobic. So when its a little work..I have a lot of nitros. But when its a lot of work..I have alot of nitros and that trippy mind erasor drug..Halcyon. Sleepy time she comes...

Except, they call it conscious sedation. Which only means my mouth does not stop...and since we all know that my MIND NEVER SLEEPS... I end up saying things.

Uncensored things. About how cute my denist is..at least I think I did. Great.

I really don't remember much. However, I have a hazy recollection of him commenting to the assistant.. how nice and low my blood pressure was...until he came into the room.. I believe that may have been when I told him...it was because he was a HOTTIE. Wonderful.

Now, it's quite possible that I did nothing more than snore and gurgle...but this time I think I may have proof that I crossed some line. I saw my dentist...up at the receptionists desk, as I waited to be picked up by my daughter.

I DO remember him saying... "Don't worry...you didn't say anything embarrassing."
WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN, EXACTLY???

Evidently, there is quite a vocal kitten...living in this shy girl.

Inhibited. This just may be a word I need to have subconciously tattooed upon my filthy mind. Perhaps that,along with the purchase of a muzzle..for use when I am all but out of my mind. Then and only then...it may be safe to go back to the dentist.

(posted late for the Sunday Scribbling prompt.. Sleep..or Teeth...And since I used both..I believe I deserve extra credit!)

It's all Hearts and Flowers

2008-02-14T08:58:00.002-07:00

This morning I got up and tip toed downstairs to confront my husband's mistress. She lay patiently waiting for him...and got me instead. I was glad to find her turned off. (She scares me when she is turned on.)

In as much of an act of defiance..as much as love...I placed my token of affection on her well worn keys...and retreated back up stairs, where I waited. And waited. And...you get the idea.

Finally, patience never being my strong suit, I went back down those stairs..to find my wayward husband.

He had moved my lavender valentine,simple though it may be, unopened, from his beloved computer...and was checking his email, instead.

I swear if she could talk to me..SHE would have sighed...as he stroked her lovingly with his fingers...

"That's MISTRESS one... Wife Wendy..a big ZERO!"

Ah...love. Well Happy Valentines Day anyway....

A Twister....

2008-02-05T09:26:00.000-07:00

It is snowing again in Colorado. No big surprise here, and yet again I find myself just that. Surprised.

At just how cold the cold is. At how my body all but gasps when the chill hits my cheeks. The cold has gone right through me this winter, with no regard to the many layers I don to shield myself. They seem as substantial as a paper pin-the-tail donkey.

For, just as the javelin in a joust..this damn winter continues to find home, hitting it's sweet spot with uncanny accuracy, knocking me to the ground handily...(which by the way, is really quite hard, when all iced over.)

I've reached that day in winter. That day you begin to think you just imagined the spring. When you begin to remember spring nostalgically..like a childhood memory or a long lost love. You add extra hue to the colors, you embellish the taste and the smell. In losing faith that spring will come, you start to make the memory of it, just a bit more grand, than it ever was actually.

That's where I am now. Not in Kansas anymore..I mean Colorado. I have hopped a twister to Oz. In this dream,in this version, green is not merely Emerald, it is way beyond Emerald. This green is the green of creation. Yet, instead of being the deep muddy moss of primordial ooze, it's so much deeper..It is iridescent, like a peacock feather, holding every color within its shade.

Yet it is still GREEN.

Home calls me back. Home. Where the heart is. No place like home. Home at the moment is a charcoal painting..of grey and white and wheaty tan...a monochromatic blend of chill and shudder. Not a speck of Emerald to be found anywhere.

Emerald is hibernating. It's hiding. Still, each morning, I ring my eyes carefully in purple, to coax out the green in them. It's time to stop sleeping. Time, even to stop dreaming....

It's Time to start living again. I'm Off to see the Wizard.

Too Quiet....Even for me.....

2008-02-03T22:29:00.000-07:00

So I'm not going to be able to figure this whole "life tipping over on it's head thing" in one month or one year. Probably not even one life time. Time to put my good ole' medicated face back up...

and rejoin the blogging race.

Below find an interview experiment, as proposed by my serious blog crush Neil. He's never "freaking out"..and going all silent. He just lets his penis talk for him in times of stress...But a girl can only hear "Please!!!!" so many times...

Still when his big head takes over..as it always does..Neil always manages to come up wwith some great, community affirming ideas. He rocks. His penis tries...as all peni do.

So Lisa was assigned by random comment order to interview me. Poor child....

You are 5 feet tall. In what ways do you use your height to your benefit?

My height makes me approachable. I appear to be a very non threatening person. This puts people at ease. Then, I pounce like a tiger. No, seriously, I think its a definite advantage to be underestimated.

What uncomfortable topic can you talk about most truthfully? (on or off your blog)

I'm trying to think of a topic that I am uncomfortable with......I'm pretty comfortable talking about anything..at this stage of the game. Perhaps depression...perhaps having a disability...

What comfortable topic do you love to lie about?

Being late. The real reason is often very boring...so I have been known to embellish just a bit.

The real reason is usually leaving to little time...and expecting traffic to part like the Red Sea before me.

What's your best false excuse for being late that you can think of?

Like the coward I am...the dogs most often get the blame....and usually I'm rehashing something that actually did happen....once!

If you had to rename your dogs, what names would you select?Well...Zoey the white Jack Russell...would be Beanie. Zeus....the Black Jack Russell..would be Bear....Lola the Golden would be Killer (don't ask)...and Mia the Saint Bernard would be Lugger.

What was the first poem you memorized?

I have memorized very few..if any poems. Instead phrases stick in my head....Maybe Bah Bah Black sheep....Have you any wool?.....

Do you have a catch phrase? (Something you find yourself saying very often)
Not really..but I do say "perhaps" more than the average person I suppose.

What phrase or saying drives you crazy?

In emails "lol". I laugh out loud often....but never at the places (they) would....and "she was like..he was like...I was like..." I have teenaged daughters.

Do you find you pick up on the language habits of your daughters?
I've said "up in my grill" a couple times for comic effect....and "deal e o..." for a chuckle.

I also went to an all girls high school. Do you look back on those days fondly? Do you think your single gender high school experience shaped you?

Hum. Yes and no. It resembled a very pricey piranha tank at times. I got a great education..academically..and socially. I became acutely aware that I do not belong in the white upper class...I actually am very suspicious of this stratosphere..even today. I have one or two good friends from those days..the rest was folly. I did grow to greatly respect the power of the female mind during these years. Women are so damn smart.

Who is the most intelligent woman you know?

Face to actual face...at the moment...my daughter. She has the passion of youth..and an un-quenchable drive to learn. But all of my friends are clever.

Anybody who reads your blog probably begins to paint a picture of you and your life in their head. What do you think the most common misconception about you is? In what ways do you feel misrepresented?

Well, I have only met one blogger..face to face...and that would be our own Neil... He said he expected me to dress in black and have a dark demeanor....Instead he found me much lighter than he thought I would be. I am actually described as bubbly an awfully lot. On my blog, I reveal I am shy. In person, people never think I am. There are always two sides to any penny.

What is the most frivolous thing about you?

So many. I am a very very ditzy girl. Really..I think frivolous is a judgment...but I do like pretty bras...and boots...Both of which are completely unnecessary to collect.

Pretty things turn my head. But when it comes to the real things in life. I like true and deep. What I have in my life doesn't need to be big...just real.

PS... My spell checker..is on the blitz...and Yes...I DO spell that badly.

The Big Ugly Truth

2008-01-18T10:09:00.000-07:00

There's a million reasons I have not written anything for a while. But only one of them is the truth.

I am scared.

Of 2008. Of the year my daughter leaves this house and enters the world outside my doors. The year of a "BIG GOAL" that I did not quite make. 2008. The year of shift.

My husband (finally) turns 40, this year. It's about time. I feel like I am 20 years ahead of him. My youngest gets her driving permit this year. One of my dogs turns 8 this year, a danger zone for the big breeds.

There have been deaths and very few births to balance them.

So it is the deaths that I am afraid of..right?

Actually it is the births. The deaths are out of my control. The book closes. I can not, for all my plot thickening, stave off the words: The End.

I tremble at the first sentence. Actually that is not even the truth. I tremble at the impulse before the first sentence. My Father, who I barely know (knew?) used to to talk of a time before I was "even a twinkle in his eye".

The place of beginnings. The place of creation, of possibilities. Are these out of our control also? Or can we have a hand in this? Do we dare to dream the dreams we really want?

So, before we form the first sentence of the first chapter of Forward, there is this brief moment, where we collect our thoughts and words,stringing them together to form the phrase...crafting the theme.

I stand here, fingers poised, lips parted, as if to say something...Ready to SAY SOMETHING.
Meaningful.

Christmas Details.

2007-12-26T14:10:00.001-07:00

I'm a detail person. That's where I find God. I am not a perfectionist...Just the opposite. If I can see beauty in the small, I can overlook a whole pile of ugly.

Here are some of the details of our Christmas. Hope your own tiny moments of the day, were stunning.

Angel

I love this strap of antique brass sleigh bells.

Elves just like my grandmother had. Isn't ebay a WONDERFUL thing! circa 1940

The Only Acceptable Military Presence

THE SUPPORTING CAST

Zeus

Zoey

Lola

And a very Happy Mia

THE BIG PICTURE

Mom's Tree

From my home to all of yours...
Thank you for touching my life. And if you ever get to Colorado for a visit...Bring a jacket, it's cold. Just look for the star..I'm right underneath it.

Some News

2007-12-23T00:26:00.000-07:00

Ya know how they say that no news is good news? Well, I have news. Ergo: bad in nature.

No one wants bad news during the holidays. We all would like to act as if we are protected by this bubble of Christmas cheer. Unbreakable.

Now, I am not one to break bubbles. I am a big supporter of fairy dust and windward wishes. But sometimes reality comes bearing a long sharp stick.

In this case, that stick is pointed right at my dear sweet horse, Roux. You remember him..The leaper of ditches, the jumper of oxers, the dancer of dressage?

Well, he is one seriously sick puppy right now. He is out of the woods critically speaking..but his jumping days may be over. So,in a strange way, this season has given it's own gift to me..however wrapped in ugly, as it is.

The gift? I remember, that I love this horse, for WHO he is, not just what he does for me. Watching him take very painful steps, when he was once light and quick on his feet, reminds me to savour the next time, if there is a next time, I get to ride on his broad back..even if it is just down the trail.

He showed me today in his stall, the same thing he has shown my during competition in the field many, many times. He is a trooper. I have made him as comfortable as possible. Even drugged, he nickers to me. I have been forbidden to give him any treats with sugar in them...so I got him sugar free peppermints. He knows they are not the same...but he takes them any way.

His life has changed. My life has changed. But, through the bitter and the sweet...He will remain my brave Rouxby..and I will always be his girl.

Dance with Me

2007-12-17T00:13:00.000-07:00

Michael and I took dancing lessons for three weeks before our wedding. I think we needed three years! Our first dance went something like...

One two three,
trip two three.
On my train,
and two three

Now, big finish:
dip.

Ah well. At least I would play the same song...What A Wonderful World...Louis Armstrong.

I have always loved to dance...doesn't mean I am good at it. I dance with abandon at least once a day. Weird huh...a girl thing I suppose. Sometimes I hula..sometimes I bop..and sometimes I even grind. My dogs look at me like I am having an epileptic seizure. But I bump on.

Dancing makes me feel alive. I just watched a documentary today on Ram Dass...the guy who was a Harvard professor (with Timothy Leary)..and was one of the first professors fired..for experiments with psychedelics.

He later went to India..and became a teacher. Don't worry...there's a point here. The documentary shows a tribe of Krishnas descending on his parents estate. Footage shows them dancing to the very basic, but deep intrinsic sounds of sitars and bells, chanting and moving. I know, had I been more than one or two then..I would have joined them. Dancing is mystical. Dancing is essential.

I did some research on this guy. One of his many books is called The Only Dance There Is.

Life; that is. I couldn't agree more.

Prompt for Sunday Scribblings

Line Breaks and Commas and Flow..Oh My!!

2007-12-12T11:24:00.000-07:00

The challenge over at Read Write Poem...is to take on a different persona when it comes to line breaks. This is when you know you are talking to a different crowd folks! See, a poet knows, there is a certain pattern they flow into when writing. A certain form, a shape to their poetry.

The problem being, out of comfort or habit one may choose the same coat time and again...because it just feels right. And in truth, it may be " just right". But it may be just convenient, or a tad lazy.

So I am up to it..I think. As you may know,I am the queen of the short line, the short stanza, the short poem. The fact that I am 5' tall may or may not have anything to do with it.

Be that as it may, today I will ramble and amble, down the long winding line. Why? Because they told me to.

Undertone

I should have given you anything else, I suppose. In truth I wish I had a choice.
But, as it turns out, I didn't. This does not surprise me at all, really. That

what I wanted,didn't (doesn't) count. Just like when I made you,I guess. I had
no say into what pocket they dipped..to create you. I was splayed open; all

pieces and parts...Some one other than myself, picked and poked at what was to become YOU. I was just the aisle marked MOTHER. What an odd assortment of things?!

On my shelves.Disorderly conduct, haphazardly thrown. Illogically arrayed attributes
nuzzled cheek to cheek with hard cold facts. I had no judgement in their placement.

I wonder what was on the list when they made you? You are certainly more exotic than
you ingredients. More nuances for all the quirky blends.I only wish they had pushed

the more obvious aside, and plowed deeper into the back stock. I always have kept the best stuff hidden. Perhaps they did find the treasures I had squirrelled away.

Perhaps, just like your mother, you are good at hiding too.
So much of you is undertone.
wlf 11:59

Thanks for such an interesting and challenging prompt. For the basis of mood.. go below one post for explanation..the one with the Santa hats.

PS..Blogger wanked up all the line breaks..funny huh?.. Each stanza should be two long lines. I swear I wrote it that way. This disproves form over function.

Now,
get
over
to

Read
Write
Poem.

Shoo.

It's the Happiest Time of the Year

2007-12-12T10:38:00.001-07:00

This picture was taken the evening of a doctors appointment. One of my daughters is struggling. I have passed my depressive spirit on to her. I watched as the joy drained out of her in the last year.

Enough was enough. I took her to the doctor, and gave them my permission to help her. The tears of relief spilled down her oh so young cheeks.

I feel profoundly ashamed. I have burdened her with my dark side. With my unshakable melancholy. With my slightly eschew point of view. I feel like I have betrayed her.

The good thing, and there is always a good thing, is that I sucked it up and got her help. I chose to look her in the eye and admit that something was not right. I chose to drag her from her bed. I helped her.. help herself. I believe I was just her age the first time I retreated into the black of my room for months. No one seemed to notice. As mad as she is at me, she at least knows I noticed.

As that same layer of shame began to fall on her shoulders...(I mean how many times have we told our kids how "Blessed" they are..how privileged...how spoiled (sigh))..I told her I was proud that she decided to take control of her life. I told her now she was becoming a woman. I hope that this choice to fight for herself, will help her speak up in the future. Ask for birth control when she needs it..Insist on condoms..and say No when no is what she means...in all kinds of situations.

Not that taking a pill makes you better; but telling the truth does. And trying to dig out; does. Asking for..and accepting help, certainly does.

So, is this above picture a lie? A delusion? I don't want to think so. I want to think of it as a vision...a diffused glow of what we almost are..perhaps what we really are, when we slow down, drop our masks...and believe.

Perhaps this is the Christmas portrait of the family we truly are, when we all decide to see ourselves for who we really are. Right now. Right this moment.
amen.

A Poem

2007-12-07T09:53:00.003-07:00

At last a poem. Not much of one...but something on this page.
The snow is coming. The white storm. The peaceful cold. I will know I am alive. My breath will hang in the air.

PATTY CAKE

When you give a dog a bone,
at first he will love you.
He may dance on cue,sit or

spin. You will be magic. But,
the time will come. It must.
When you give that dog his bone,

he will seem changed. As if
suddenly he knows,you could have
given him meat, instead.

wlf 9:54

Almost As Bad As Coal...

2007-12-06T12:46:00.000-07:00

Is writers block. I don't get this malady often, as I can drone on and on...

But...

It comes from keeping secrets. Holding on too tightly to (dastardly renegade) feelings. Smiling so long that your muscles twitch with exhaustion.
Eyeing the door a bit too long, with the desire to bolt.
Waiting for the fever to pass.
Not wanting to speak of hallucinations.

ya know..the typical holiday crud.

Please bear with me.
This too, shall pass.

Ho Ho....Hum

2007-12-04T09:25:00.000-07:00

I've just returned from a trip to San Francisco to go Christmas Shopping. I just wasn't feeling it.

I have time, right....to catch the holiday spirit?

What do I give my daughter for her last Christmas as a child? Next year..she will be off to college, 18...and away....

What do I give my other daughter for her journey through High School? I have looked and looked for a magic mirror..to show her the true beauty she contains. It eludes me. All I find are cheap knock offs.

What do I give my husband, that I haven't already given? I wish I could give him my restlessness, my un ease. But again, I only seem to find disguises..and false smiles painted with great sparkly lip gloss..

What would I give to myself....That I would not be afraid to unwrap?

All for One

2007-11-26T10:16:00.000-07:00

V-Grrrl has a very entertaining post (in the good and funny; as well creepy and stalkerish way) up over at her blog.. The Good Samaritan Gone Bad.

I too, have invited strangers into my home. I guess in reality, it was my mothers home, but at the time, I didn't know the difference. The first time,I was a freshman in college. I met a friend at school who had moved from Arkansas to attend Cal State Los Angeles. Why?? Really it's a very logical question. The campus was almost entirely concrete..and had no dorms. 100% commuter.

I was there because my mother had run out of money..and forgotten I was supposed to be leaving for college..Yep LEAVING.As in Departing.... flying far far away. But with the cupboards bare, I was left local..driving to a college 30 minutes, yet a world away from where I came from.

I was shocked to find out that my fellow students, considered me a little snotty. This only got worse when every one in the theatre department, discovered I had graduated from an all girl, private high school in Pasadena. I then became known as the rich girl.

WHAT A JOKE! Had I been "said" wealthy debutante..there is no WAY IN HELL..I would have been even 500 miles of my house. Alas, I was in my present situation, because I was a middle class girl...

And there in, lies the rub. I was so busy looking at the year at THIS college, as some sort of purgatory, a penance if you will;that I didn't notice others were happy to be there. Happy, just for the chance to go to college, perhaps the first in their families to do so. In hindsight, I was a whole LOT of snotty. I ended up learning much that year.

Things like, I was much more middle class, than upper. That everything my mother gave me was not just crumbs, but tons more than some of my "New Friends" had. that, and, oh yeah...you don't have to be rich to have talent. I also figured out, that the nose up position I had perfected, did not suit me. In fact, I think it led to a lot of tripping, and other mishaps.

So I made it my business to climb down off my high horse, and get a real life, not a faux privileged one. I hung out in coffee shops instead of espresso bars. (Remember this was early 80's...so there was not a Starbucks on every corner..yet. Real espresso bars were few and far between..and pretty swank? OK, at least I thought they were!)

Which brings me to my friend..Tammy from Arkansas. She and her mother had moved so that Tammy could become a STAR. Probably not much chance of that..but hey..we were all young and optimistic back then. They rented an apartment..and promptly got evicted about two months into the fall semester. Little thing called "PAYING THE RENT"

My mother had been gone, I think in Hawaii...and I offered to let them stay with us..for a few days..which turned into a few months. My mother was livid. She went off to work, Tammy and I went off to school, and Tammy's mother stayed in our house all day, and watched the Price Is Right and "her stories".

I don't exactly remember how it ended..but I don't think it ended well. I just could not bear the thought of them living in their car....

I hadn't come to realize that sometimes the most helpful thing you can do for people..is help them help THEMSELVES.

So lets hear your Good Samaritan stories??..I have more...I've brought home all sorts of strays. But lets hear from you first.

An Explaination

2007-11-23T14:43:00.000-07:00

A good blog friend told me recently, that my blog template was boring.So here's a change. Though I fear equally ho humish. If any of you know how to get those cool custom ones you sport..I'm all ears.

My profile picture looks like I have been medicated. I like that.

Our Thanksgiving went well..just the four of us...out last one before Rach is off to college. Look at this picture.. It's official..they are grown up..not all grown..but close.

Let me know what you think.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone..

2007-11-22T10:13:00.000-07:00

So, since I follow Neil's blog, like an obsessed fan..I will accept his challenge to thank my first commenter...but as I did this last year also... I will thank my second...which was Tara From Paris Parfait...Wow! really what a great 2nd commenter!

This was the post..

from this angle
she could not see me
watching

checking her reflection
chin up
fierce straight on

only a moment
then eyes soften
downward
mask crumbles

too much
her mothers
daughter, i fear

wlf 7:00 this AM

and this was her comment..

"Lovely! Well done"

Little did I know then, what a lovely person Tara was..and how well done her blog is...but boy! Was I in great company or What!

So today, as everyday, I am Thankful for all my wonderful and mysterious friends, out there in the dark! You have all been a blessing in my life...and I am graced by the honor of knowing you.

Have a great day..holiday or not. Know that you are always included in my prayers, my perfect strangers! Cheers, here's to you all!
wendy

Inaugeration..at read write poem

2007-11-19T17:24:00.000-07:00

The first of the new prompts..American Sentences..17 syllables.

In thinking, I wondered what makes a sentence "American" as opposed to a human sentence. I just read the headlines on my browser..and and looked into my own life.

In Georgia three boys, ages eight and nine, are charged with raping a girl.

I was young, I thought everyone dreamed of living in America.

Has Patriotism become less about us and more about them?

I had not realized her husband was ill when I dropped the brownies off.
He has been my neighbor for more than two years, and sick for all that time.

Good luck to this new endeavour.

Here's read write poem....

Carry a Lie: for Sunday Scribblings

2007-11-18T10:01:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine, of similar age, and experience, is going through the "shoulda, woulda, coulda's" at the moment. It is so easy for me, to stand outside and observe my friend fixating on things that are not even remotely important. When I think of this person, these worrisome burdens wouldn't even make the top 20 list of my description of them. Probably not even the top 100.

I find myself emailing and very assuredly reminding this friend.."This is not WHO you are. Don't get caught in illusions. Remember WHO you are."

It's easy from the outside looking in. A point of perspective, I suppose. Sometimes we are to close to see the whole picture. We just fixate on that one eschew, crooked detail. We let that detail become a focal point, instead of incidental. This is when we need friends to tell us to back up a few inches, and refocus. "You are missing the mark. Back up and look."

How many times have you wished you could help someone you love SEE themselves? It's as if they are standing next to two mirrors. One, all convex and contorted...like a fun house mirror, in bad lighting. The other, crystal clear, with just the right ratio of reality to mood lighting..with a bit of beautiful amber human tone, the light of which, makes flesh almost eatable. The roses; rosier..the blues; deeper, the creams; softer. Reflection from this mirror is the reflection of love.

So your beloved, be it friend, lover, daughter, son or spouse, stands in front of these two choices, right smack in the middle of them. They turn to you and ask you which is true. Being honest, you tell them, that they are both illusions, as all skin deep reflections are. Still, the illusion of love is more true. The most true. The best version. But they can not see it.

Perhaps someone very early on, polluted their eyes, ruined their vision. They feel only drawn to the warped and clownish rendition of themselves. The more you point their shoulders towards the love, the more they turn to the hate. The more you see the good, the more they find the bad. In love, the uniqueness of their character, makes them priceless. In loathing, it makes them a freak, distorting all differences until they are hideous and unbearable.

But few things are truly unbearable. So for all you effort, when the lights go out, their money all gone, their paid time through, the image fades. All is black.

They turn and face life again. They carry the reflection with them. They carry the lie. They bear it. In time, they will no longer even feel it.

So you wait for the next chance. You wait for them to gather the strength to look again. You hope against hope, that you will be there with the right words to help them see.

(You hope that you will not be too busy gazing at your own illusion to notice that they need you.)

And after it is all said and done, and this dream is finally over,you hope that in the end, as in the beginning, you will join with them. With laughter, tell them, that in this shell game of life, you never once lost them. Through all the crazy costume changes,in all the hide and seek, you always could find them. You always could see them. You always will see them.

"Oh what a game! Oh what a silly, silly game. Thank Goodness it is over. We Are Through."

Amen.

More Beasts of Burden at Sunday Scribblings

Blindfolded for Totally Optional Prompts

2007-11-15T08:08:00.000-07:00

How do I use "place" in my poetry? Usually, I dwell in my lack of place. The impermanence of place. Our dependency on place. I will always, I fear, struggle to find my place.

The Game

When he takes vision
out of the equation,

at first you think
it will be manageable.

Your mind remembers outlines
traces where the edges are.

The silk is almost refreshing,
with darkness cool and absolute.

There is no fear til you start
to spin,pushed by forces not

your own. From which direction
do they come? Is it the left

or right? About the third time
round, you are lost. In your hands,

from somewhere, comes a sharp piece
of steel. Perhaps the dial of

a compass? Perhaps not. So with a
nudge, you are sent off in a direction

-to seek a prize you can not see.
You hold your weapon against the air,

spreading each finger to help you
move only by touch. But there is

nothing to feel,just empty space
between your steps, unknown.

wlf 8:24

Guess what?..TOP is on WEDNESDAY..not Thursday....Ooops sorry..got a little lost..for a second there!

Baby, Look How Far I've Come..

2007-11-14T20:08:00.000-07:00

...really not so far. I just had an "AH HA" moment watching a ABC sitcom. What in the WORLD does that say about me?

I don't even want to know...

Over a week ago, Pepek tagged me with this...

I am to try to think of three things that I feel good writing should be.

(I have to giggle at this as I am very unfocused on this subject lately...
but any how... here goes..)

1. Honesty. Really not pulling any punches. Writing is no place for the ego..well, no GOOD place for the ego.

2. Humble.Nothing I will ever write will cure cancer. All I can hope for is a bond, a virtual hug...or a wink.

3.Hokey...the person I am is somewhat of a nerd. So I would be the one to blurt out..."I love ya man..."and "My love will go on and and.." and "Love is all you need".

Nuf said.

I'm supposed to pass this on to 5 people... So in no random order of popularity..and with apologies..if this isn't your thing....

1.gk girl....Because she seems up for most things...

2.deb..because she thinks of cool projects..and has GREAT penmanship...

3.michelle...Because she rocks that little blog of hers and wears converse tennies.

4.Veronica...because she is a soul and sister, both.

and last but not least...

5. Neil....Because he hardly talks to me any more, now that I've met him "mano e mano". What does THAT say about a girl? Oh yeah, and he has a penis...that speaks sometimes..so I think he's man enough to handle it...

Thanks to Pepek for the nod. I'll see your nod, and raise you an air kiss.

So, As Usual..

2007-11-13T08:59:00.000-07:00

I blew off yet another goal..Skipped a couple of days of poetry. I suck at set goals.
Admitting this, has effectively shut my creative valves. Failure, even on random goals, is hard. Highlights downfalls. Mine being first and foremost, highly destractable..lazy..and quasi depressed. The joy, oh the joy, of self discovery.
But it's time to bounce. Get back up. Start again.
The prompt today isFriendship at Writers Island.

I spent the whole weekend with some people that could be my friends. The Olympic/Paralympic training facility was really more impressive than I could have imagined.I do feel that when I am with these other athletes, I am among my peers.

What a motley crew we are!! We all sport different disabilities. We span the gamut between 15 to 60ish in age..Some are in chairs, some are not.With out a sign of introduction, it may be hard to tell how we all fit together. I noticed this in the "general public" faces as we went to get a drink after workouts..or traveled in a pack in the airport. The public at large is clearly not prepared for a posse of disabled people hanging together. One by one, with our able bodied friends, and families, we blend more. As a herd, we are somewhat of an attraction.

I was amazed with how many questions we DID NOT get. No one asked anything..though some in our group have the annoying habit of wearing stuff that says USA all over it.
There were no questions about our "Team", outside the facility. I found this odd. Generally, if a group of people wearing similar clothing, say hats or jerseys came into a restaurant...the hostess or waitress probably would ask a question or two about the team. Nothing.

I don't think they knew what to ask. So instead, there was a lot of staring. I have always hated to be looked at. It is what makes me very shy. This weekend, one was forced to get used to it. I found myself getting more and more protective of those in my party. Watching their backs. Challenging gazes. Returning stares.

However,the trainers at the host facility were phenomenal. I have never seen so many creative solutions to problems, willingness to listen, belief in excellence.

They trained our butts off.. No slack..3 times a day..Cardio,endurance..circuit...I kayaked with other CP friend. I hadn't laughed that hard in a while. I strapped my self into a hockey sled, used by paraplegics..and wiped out pretty impressively..I tried out some sports wheelchairs..and discovered how strong these guys and gals need to be for just their daily live, let alone the rigors of athletics. I hand biked, and rode a tandem bike with a friend with only one hand. I had not been on a tandem bike in a long time. We had a BLAST!

We all have scads of able bodied people who we love, and who love us. But for a brief time we could all just relax with each other. We were com-padres. Fellows.

It was not all warm and fuzzy, because that's not any ones real life. We are meant to compete against each other. Some like to feel that they have it better or worse that others. Perhaps some feel they are more entitled. I choose not to focus on that.

I choose to remember having a kamikaze with two of my team mates and saluting US. The US of our team. The US of our sport. The US of our country, the US of our world.

STRONGER. FASTER. BETTER.

Missed a Day

2007-11-11T21:46:00.000-07:00

So Does One Missed Day
Defeat The whole Goal
Does One Mis step
Sink the whole Ship?

No Time

2007-11-09T21:49:00.000-07:00

Down in Birmingham
So tired I can't think

and yet that doesn't
seem to phase any

of them.Lifting,
more and more weight,

is what counts.
5 lbs by 5 lbs.

That and good form.
wlf 10:54

Evoke Something for God's Sake!!

2007-11-08T11:33:00.000-07:00

Way back when, I wanted to be an actress. Passing phase lasting two years of college.
I realized what I really loved, were the words. To this day a well written screenplay, or a bit of dialog, gives me the shivers.

Back in acting class, we used sense memory a fair bit. You know, painful memory..OK, now what did it smell like taste like sound like. Rarely ever were we to remember what it looked like...as looks can be deceiving.

I wrote this a bit ago..but it seems to fit today's prompt.

I'm a tad distracted, as I am getting ready to go on a weekend "boot camp" style training session at the Lake shore Olympic Training Facility. The image of a lab rat pops to mind. They have this contraption called the Bod Pod Sounds fun huh?...I go into testing right after a 16 year old girl friend...FAN bloody TASTIC!!

Ah well, to late to exorcise my ass now.. And by this I mean expel demons..Not the other dirty connotation...

Anyway, Enjoy the poem..I hope I don't falter in my poem a day quest. Does "I'm a big fat blob; next to a stick thin teen"....qualify as poetry?? May have to suffice.

Swirl our senses...make it different. In my case...led by my nose.....

Rinse, Repeat

Who knew
that you were
lurking in
an over the top
bright pink bottle
of price reduced shampoo
from aisle four?

Not me.
That's for sure!

I was just
innocently dirty,
naked wet.
My face in steam
eyes closed
reaching out
blindly, by touch.

It took only
a squeezed second
for memory to reach me.
It was too late.
Already I had tangled you
with my fingers into my hair.
Through my scalp.
Down my spine.
You stopped deep
within, the deep
within I had forgotten.

I could not tell
if the pain
was my heart
or just my eyes.
I rinsed
my face
my hair
my mind.
I prayed to
send you down
the drain.

I failed.

Sure, I came out,
clean in the end.
But now,I can not
help but smell you
-each time
I turn my head.

You are nowhere
that I can see,
yet everywhere
I must breathe.

wlf 10:15 pm

(originally posted September 27, 2006 for Poetry Thursday)

oops..Don't forget to check out Totally Optional Prompts...

Just The Blind Leading The Blind

2007-11-07T10:33:00.001-07:00

I must have missed the part of the divine conversation, where I get all the answers. Knowing me, I was busy talking about some cute boy..or worrying about my hair. Skip forward 25 years or so...and I'm worrying about my wrinkles..and the lack of skirt Maggie trotted off to school today wearing.

Still no answers carved into stone for me.

Companion Animal

Finding myself alone,I watch
the dog as she tans herself.
Almost winter,she follows the sun.

But I am wrong. She is clearly
searching, and so moves again to
sigh long into the pillows of my

husbands smell;his breath, his hair.
She curls around his last worn t-shirt.
She,at least, is grateful that I take no

issue, letting sleeping dogs lie,
on discarded dirty clothes.Somehow,
they always seem to make their way

to the hamper, but I feel no pressing
need to assist them. Let them rest where
he was.She settles, finally, reassured

That he is hers in scent. she exsist a the
space of his lingering memory, of his promised
return. I know he is mine,though, I know it

more vaguely.

wlf 10:46

"Oh...But Look What I've Got..."

2007-11-06T08:50:00.000-07:00

..line from The Way We Were. Hubble tells Katie.. she asks too much. That is her response. This and when she brushes back the hair from his eyes are my favorite memories of that movie.

The lyrics to the much overused and cliche' song Memories..(still I LOOOOVE it..and cry every third time I hear it)are really quite poignant. My favorite line is:

"Could it be that it was all so Simple then,
or has Time rewritten every line"

I think this about my children..my lovers, my past. How time rewrites every line. Photo shops every thing in a nice "diffused glow". That or takes an extreme close up for the gory detail. Neither of which are reality.

But that reality is gone. Memory is all that remains.

.....So enough of the Streisand moment..the DRAMA with a capitol D. I sometimes have to force myself to acknowledge the comedy memory can bring. Like this one I had made for me, custom, over the weekend.

Michael left for Alaska early Sunday morning. Maggie and a friend, downstairs asleep on my couches. Rachel, asleep in her bedroom. Me working, in my bed. Michael in the sky, where he seems to belong.

Sometime mid morning, Maggie enters, looking charming, sleepy and grumpy all at the same time. I am expecting a "Good Morning."

Instead I get a Safeway receipt thrust in my face.

"You better tell dad..he should be more careful where he Leaves these.."Friend" found THIS on the island last night!"

Taking the receipt, and giving her my best 'You must be on crack' look... I ask her what on earth is the problem with Dad leaving a grocery receipt in the kitchen?

"Oh, I don't know??...maybe the VERY FIRST item?"

I now, LOOK at the receipt..

CONDOMS.

I break out into hysterical laughter. Maggie is clearly not amused.

"Friend..SAW THAT MOM...How Disgusting! What the heck does Dad need those for anyway?"

I responded in a deadpan voice. "Water balloons...What the hell do you think, Maggie? So we don't....Oh, I don't know??..have Like a million kids!!!"

The look on her face was a memory in the making.
Priceless.

Wander over to Writers Island..to see more of the sketchy details we call memory...

Oh.. the poem.. an American Sentence.. I suppose..Give me a moment:

With all the sex on TV, you'd think she'd excuse her parent's; BUT NO!

Oh, the Places He Goes

2007-11-05T09:50:00.000-07:00

My husband travel A LOT. Constantly. Today he is in Alaska...of all places. As he heads back to Denver, I leave for Birmingham Alabama. We pass each other in the air. Then by the time I arrive back, he is gone to San Francisco.

And so it goes. And so it goes. This morning I am wondering why I miss him more, when he is gone to a place I have never been. I have never been to Alaska. I believe this is his first trip there too.

To a husband who could be on Mars,
but swears he's in Alaska

You lift your bag
and your attache
in the same way
you always have.

Kiss me sideways,not
quite meeting my eyes.
You are always quick
in leaving. Lingering

does nothing but
punish us both.
You are a seasoned
traveler. I am well

schooled in the fine
art of departure.
The truth is: we both
know it is so,I am

better on my own.
Left to my own demise.
You are a sailor and
I am your port.

Why is it only when
I have never been to
where you travel, that
I fear the edge of

the world is near?

wlf 10:00am

Id Love to Change the wolrd (peace for everyone)

2007-11-04T09:32:00.001-07:00

Money..for Sunday Scribblings

2007-11-04T09:23:00.000-07:00

Here are the lyrics to this circa 70's song.

Catches me in the car each time i hear it.
Go to post above the title to hear it sung by Ten Years After

I'd Love to Change the World

Everywhere is
Freaks and hairies
Dykes and fairies
Tell me where is sanity

Tax the rich
Feed the poor
Till there are no
Rich no more

I'd love to change the world
But I don't know what to do
So I'll leave it up to you

Population
Keeps on breeding
Nation bleeding
Still more feeding economy

Life is funny
Skies are sunny
Bees make honey
Who needs money, monopoly

I'd love to change the world
But I don't know what to do
So I'll leave it up to you

Oh yeah

World pollution
There's no solution
Institution
Electrocution
Just black or white
Rich or poor
Them and us
Stop the war

I'd love to change the world
But I don't know what to do
So I'll leave it up to you

From: Mary Clare Stanley

Now let me just honestly tell you which part challenges me the most. It's not any part about peace, or population. I'm all for both.

It's the part about money. I do believe with all my heart that we ought to tax the rich, feed the poor..til there are no rich -no more.

My heart nods along to the truth of this..finds the beat. Until my head pops in, and in an off key voice whispers my dirty little secret....

"Have not we, in many respects, Wendy Darling, become the Rich, of which you now speak?"

I can not lie to myself. As I have typed over and over again, why even bother to try?

Does this proposition thrill me, or petrify me? Am I willing to feed the poor? Certainly. Now, til there are no rich -no more? Pause. Shameful pause.

Would I level the playing field, giving everything away, so that we could all be equal? Would I have to see my neighbors go first, before unlocking my coffers?

I don't know. That makes me sad to admit that.. You see I would love to change the world, but I don't know what to do...So I'll leave it up to you.

God, forgive us all.

American sentence:

I already have been educated; so please, just entertain me.

For more on Money Money Money...go to Sunday Scribblings

Day Three...

2007-11-03T11:04:00.000-06:00

As I Am

As I am in some
constant thrust,

deep throbbing rush
forward, bent in a

prayer to become;
in progress toward

perfection; What will happen?
When? I open my eyes.

With my first stale breath,
realize it in the dawning.

Today is that day. We must
turn the clocks back.

What hell could live in
this hour I must repeat?

wlf 11:15am

With a Little Help From My Friends

2007-11-02T08:27:00.000-06:00

Day two. Kay introduced me to a technique of Allen Ginsberg's. An American Sentence 17 syllables.

I usually find constraint, well, tight. But as the word "Tight" is used often by my professor (I guess that is what she is..she does have her PHD...) to compliment my work...I suppose I will see how I might tighten tight.

Just Love

He takes
the sharp
knife

and cuts
my steak.

Holds it
with no
judgement.

Just
love.

Really amazing. Not the poem. Just the realization that a moment can be brought to life in 17 syllables.

It also proves another of my classes observations about me. I work in "plain" language. I did not try for the words in this experiment..just wrote, and edited, as always...but it turns out 15 out of 16 words are one syllable. Only one two syllable word. Wow.

Thanks Kay, that was very revealing to me.

Oh, and by the way..I believe they are really all supposed to be in one sentence. But as always, I tweaked.. took what I liked...

You may be able to tighten..but never bind me. Not my style!

So, A Poem A Day.....

2007-11-01T13:29:00.000-06:00

Huh. The minute this becomes real today...I clam up. Not so great under pressure.

So I'll act as if there is no pressure.

OK..no pressure....I thought the prompt for Totally Optional Prompts was "Quotes". I mis read it. I mis read a lot, which leads to some interesting interpretations of poems and things.. like I have said before, there is more than a little Emily Litella in me...."Never Mind...."

So anyway..I think I'll offer this mashup..Look at me getting all techie with my bad self...Mash up being a fusion between what i mis took as the prompt: Quotes and what really is and/or was the prompt Work.

Off the top of my head..and reaaaaaaallly stretching for this one....

Preparations

She lines up the
glasses in straight
rows, clean edge
next to clean
edge. As if to
kiss.

She settles the
spoons, wiping
stray spots with a
rag, next to the
forks. As if to
touch.

The sound of the
cupboard door
shutting against
the frame
comforts
her.

Thank God for
superior workmanship
and tight hinges.

She checks her
reflection in
the steel, but not
so stainless,
toaster.

Convex and curved,
it is not as she
remembers. She bends
to squint. Stops
instead. Thinks,
"Perhaps I just
imagined it
differently." Even

so, she is tidy. He
will be pleased by
her performance.
Stirred simply
by the buttons
on her blouse,
fixed firmly shut.
Nothing missed
or eschew. He
likes her best
well behaved.

Well behaved women
seldom make history.

wlf 3:33

"Well behaved women, seldom make history." Laurel Thatcher Ulrich.

I had first thought this was a quote from Eleanor Roosevelt..but I was wrongly informed. Ms Ulrich is a professor at Harvard.

Be sure to stop by T. O. P......for some other takes on toils!

Who Haunts?..for Writers Island

2007-10-30T11:38:00.000-06:00

I think when I'm done on this plane, I'll be, for the most part, done. I may check back with those I love, give a sign, lend a hand. But I really doubt that haunting would be a hobby I would pursue with much gusto.

Sure, I'd like to rattle some cages while I am alive. That's true. But I'm hoping that by the time I've expired, that phase will have passed.

I think to haunt, you really have to be pretty pissed off about something. I'm scanning my life to see if there is anyone I feel the need to torment. I'm coming up with no one. Certainly I have been wronged before.I've been hurt and mistreated just like any other future bodiless soul. But even in the doing of it, even in uncovering malicious intent, I have never managed to hate someone. Yet. I guess in that respect, I have been really lucky.

Or it could just be that I really do believe that it is all just part of the life we get to live here, as mortals. For joy there must be sorrow, for pain their is always pleasure. So for love, there should be hate, right? But what if that's not right. What if hatred is missing the mark, making a mistake, misunderstanding the situation. What if we are all on the same trip, returning to the same home.. Returning to good?..Some of us on the fast track..some of us having to do a little more heavy lifting..

Oh, I don't know. And I suppose this points out why I would be a really bad haunter. I think I will be much more interested in learning some answers..than I would be in asking the same old questions...I haven't the foggiest what will come next..after I die.

But I hope it will be time to try a different neighborhood, or a new flavor of life.

For more Haunting feelings...glide on over here...

PS..youtube's kinda addictive too...

2007-10-27T13:00:00.000-06:00

Below are just great random clips.....

First one..THE BEST example of the people I call my Eventer Friends...technical aside..if you come off cross country..its 20 points added to your score..(bad...at Rolex..even worse...)but if you stay on...you just have to deal with the extra time it took to stay on...

Second one...Come on...How could you not love this!

For a more serious and thought provoking post go to Joyce's site..
God, does she rock, or what!?

Eventers rule

2007-10-27T12:52:00.001-06:00

Horses - Ain't No Other Man

2007-10-27T12:51:00.001-06:00

Random Reflections in the Apple Store

2007-10-27T11:09:00.000-06:00

They opened an Apple Store closer to my house. This is good only in that I don't have to drive so far to buy replacement parts for the various IPODS in my family...or to have some arrogant techie nerd wipe their memory for me..so I can start again.

These people are like pushers really. Pushers become much loved by their fiend clientele. They hold power by the balls.

Ya, know it all started innocently enough, with the children. Maggie was the first to NEEEEEED an Ipod. Had to be an Ipod..no "no name" mp3 player. She wanted the whole enchilada. Then Rach,followed. Soon I was having whole conversations with them...getting no response. I perfected my crisp picking pinch, grabbing at white wires embedded in my girls ears. I had to repeat myself endlessly.

Really they were starting to look like robots. Devil spawn.

Then Christmas came. What harm, to get Michael a shuffle? He's constantly air born, and tethered to his laptop. He has always declared he is not a "gadget guy". He protested too much, I fear. I soothed his fears, "Hon, it's only $79..give it a try...you'll like it" as I placed the earpods lovingly in his ears. With a sly smile and a lingering kiss on his cheek, I pumped Red Hot Chili Peppers into his virgin canals. He was hooked.

I was the last hold out. But, now this is really sort of comical...The clippy feature of the shuffle got me. I ride what are called "Freestyles" or "Kurs" for dressage...horses and music..sometimes referred to as "Dancing with Horses". The fact I could clip the shuffle to my belt..and not have to worry about it falling of during a canter transition...finally the siren call to which I succumbed..strange huh?..

Thus started my addiction. First, I noticed that dishes got done a lot less painlessly with the Dixie Chicks singing sweetly of More Love and Top of Worlds. OK..Then, when my daughters decided to go at each other like wild kingdom...I could just let Bruce take me by the hand and I was off down Thunder Road. Cool. Plus, my hybrid has a docking station. Neat. Don't worry, I told my self naively, I'm am still in control...See, I was really an infant when it came to the technology. I'd simply copy my cd's onto my little tiny hardrive....

But then Maggie turned me on to itune's. Game over.I was lost.

All this became crystal clear yesterday..when tail between my legs, I wandered back into the apple store to buy YET ANOTHER stupid docking station...bastard..as mine is on the fritz..again..(AND no, my foot smashing it into the carpet..had nothing to do with it, thank you very much!!!).

I tried to live without it for a whole month..charging my little shuffle, whenever Michael was home and he was always gone soooo long....but I couldn't take it anymore. I was Jonesing in a bad way...

Only once I was there, did I see the real evil.The much publicised GATEWAY effect. For, while waiting for the pompous 20 year old "clerk"..oh, I am so sorry, "SPECIALIST"... to ring my purchase into his handheld gizmo..my eye DID happened to wander over to the new shiny LAVENDER shuffle..ooOOH, how pretty..and look at this new Nano..wafer thin....well..throw in an Itunes card...It's been such a long time since mama's got some new tunes...just a few new tunes..

Lord, how I am in need of an intervention......

Schooled...for Totally Optional Prompts

2007-10-25T09:49:00.002-06:00

This was a hard prompt for me today. Horses mean so much to me. I have zillions of poems in me about our connection..Though I haven't seen them in a week. In midst of a lovers spat.

I decided the prompt called for a tone that should be about a moment of horse..not me..and couldn't come up with anything. This was as close as I could get.

Schooled

I.
It's good that the man underneath the cowboy hat knows me. He has stitched and healed my most precious flesh.Maybe it's because he has watched me hold his needle,and study his hands as he sews.Perhaps that's why he trusts me, respects the curiosity, when I ask if I can watch. He nods and stands me just out of danger, yet close. To feel the steam. To catch the scent.

Meanwhile, I'm pretty sure I know all about this.

SCHOOLED

The mare is copper red
sleek with sweat,cloaked
by steam rising hot.
Never have I seen her
so focused, intent.
She quivers as she tests
her hooves, prancing slowly,
like a runner before the gun.

The stallion is
unrecognizable to me.
Bigger than his flesh,
drunk in his power.
Head high in flight to her.
He would have her with
a tiger on his back.
He will have her, with
ten tigers.

There is no love.
She does not go quietly.
He does not woo or ask permission.
He only pauses to avoid
her kick. Then, in a fierceness
that makes me swoon,
she is his.

The weight of him anchoring
her, while he still has the strength.
His teeth in her mane. Blood slowly
down her neck. Heads bent
in parallel lines, in tandem,
eye to ear, to almost eye.
No bridle, no bit.
It is over when it's over.
No apologies, like men or dogs.

He loses balance,spent.
Still with sense enough to
put distance between them.
There will be no leaning
on her now. Her last
buck catches only the air
where he had been.

But, he is quick and gone.
He backs unsteady. Steps away,
still huge, in no certain rhythm.
She shakes her mane and plants her feet.
One. two. three. four.

wlf 10:38

There are different ways of doing this..deed... but that is a whole other story.

Be sure to join the rest of the herd over at Totally Optional Prompts.

Across The Universe - Trailer

2007-10-24T09:51:00.001-06:00

Hangin with my Homies, the Boomers

2007-10-24T09:36:00.000-06:00

First a totally unrelated, and therefor,deeply entangled side note:

I am hear by calling a moratorium on any more pictures of me on this blog. I used to be wildly opposed to this practice..But seeing that it is October..I have found my obsessed with my face and all it's changing topography. Always happens to me this time of year. I am so tempted to rip them all down..But that would be a lie. Like saying I never have these moods...and I do...But ENOUGH ALREADY! I'm sick to death of it.... Now let's get on with the show..

I've been in need of some serious distraction lately. So yesterday I went to the movies at 12:20 in the afternoon. By myself. I used to do this all the time, when I was just me. I would sit and watch the dreams go by, without the slightest twinge of guilt.

My daughter had seen ACROSS THE UNIVERSE and told me I should see it. So, I did.

I loved the movie. Many will hate it. I was blown away. There is not much of a plot..Boy leaves home. Boy meets girl. and so on and so forth. But that is the plot of my life..so why belittle it? The movie is contrived. Again, so what? It presents the lyrics in a way they have always been most profound to me..as poetry.

The music dazzles less than the words. Most times, just the way I like it. Man, what a body of work. Amazing.

I'll link to the trailer...If you go and see it..cool...If you hate it..oh well. No harm, no foul.However, that is not what this post is about. It's about my experience in the theatre.

I walked in to find one other person in the theatre. A man, probably mid 50's with short grey hair..(Why do all men in my life lately..have grey hair?)He seemed a bit surprised to see me..and I was a bit surprised to see just him..

I took my seat about 6 rows behind him, slightly askew, so I could watch his profile, and the screen at the same time.

The movie started. I watched him, I watched the screen. Ten minutes later, the third person, a lovely silhouetted women, again in her 50's (I think) slid into one of the rows between us. She sat slightly askew, also. We formed a lopsided triangle. Flying in some kind of odd formation. The leader and his wing men..um girls... um..women.

I noticed some things during the movie. Women of this age have pea sized bladders. The silver queen was clearly frustrated with the need to relieve herself in the middle of the movie. Both of my companions had popcorn, and soda. I had nothing...I knew that being here when I should be somewhere else, was enough of a sin. (I also know better. I hate missing parts of movies.)

The man was squirming a bit in his seat..clearly feeling the same urges..but unwilling to succumb. At certain scenes he would run his hand across the top of his short shorn grey hair. Very sexy, uncensored. He had clearly forgot I or We were even there. He was swept away. Very cool.

I watched as the silver queen swayed her head to the music. So incredibly beautiful and alive.

No one was behind me, to observe me. I was the end.

I am the end. Of the baby boomers. The last year of their kind. I was four in the time of this movie. The time of the Columbia riots. The time of dropping in and dropping out. Instead of living it, I had absorbed it, in my tang and grilled cheese sandwiches. It filtered in my ears as I drifted off to sleep, my mom ironing shirts and listening to the news of Martin Luther King's slaying. I had no idea that it was just a piece of time. To me it was the world. I closed my eyes and napped to the sound of choppers and odd sounding words like Napalm and Saigon.

The two in front of me had probably lived it in the action. Been there. Done that.
But we were both there, and here we all sat. It was a wild ride.

I came back to find my daughters already home. I thanked Rach for her recommendation. She asked me who I went with, the idea of going alone, clearly not formed yet. I told her I went and hung with my hommies..The boomers.

This year my daughter will apply to Columbia. She is very politically active. But she will find no such fight left on that campus. A professor, who was there, and still is, wrote that the resistances are pale by comparison now. Because we have no draft. People can choose not to fight. People educated at Columbia, can now aspire to be brokers, bankers and lawyers. That's were the power is now. They are no longer are forced cogs in the war machine.

But there are still cogs..plenty of them, outside the gates in Harlem..and all the poor creases in this tired county of ours.

This professor calls the military the employer of last resort. Still very much alive and well in this day, in this age of ceaseless fighting and fires.

My daughter may go to Columbia next year, or to Berkeley, or to Brown. How I hope she will be one of the first of a new generation of activists. Of those raised to look beyond the piles of privilege afforded her by birth. I hope she rekindles that spirit of revolution.

I say "I want a revolution. I want US to change the world."

and, by the way..love IS all you need.

Imagine!

Perfect Strangers

2007-10-23T10:23:00.000-06:00

Don't we all start that way? Perfect. Strangers. In some strange way, we all end this way too; unable to break that thin skin I'm always talking about.

Some strangers come and go, and some stay rooted in our lives. Sometimes we can almost see the all of them. Sometimes we almost obtain our peak. Break through. Almost make it to the top.

But two souls can never live in the same body. So we must remain just a bit apart, depending on kindness.

For such a tried and true romantic, I really do believe we travel this road alone.Thank God, we meet some beautiful strangers along the way.

I met one of these beautiful men on the freeway in LA....and married him years later. Sounds unlikely. Sounds more than mighty strange.

Shortly after, he introduced me to this other strange man..who lived with us..as newlyweds, for a couple of years. Looking back, it could have been a recipe for disaster..or at least a really good sit-com.

But instead, it was a close as I will ever get to actually having a brother.
It was a strange blessing."We" were truly happy.

We ended up out growing the home we'd all made..and each moving in our own directions again..My "brother" eventually finding his wife and making his family.

We aren't as close as we once were. The addition of a new stranger, disrupted the balance. Made things feel strange.

We saw each other again, just last week, the three of us, perfect strangers. Still Perfect. Still a strange blessing. Thank God.

For more Strangeness..Head over to Writer's Island

Caught By Surprise

2007-10-21T23:07:00.000-06:00

Every first snow catches me unaware. Unaware that it is past the middle of October. All bets are off...Fall colors are still turning from green to gold. But nothing delays a storm. The Snow Falls. I am not ready. It makes no difference at all.

I could write almost the same caption for this pic of Rach and I. I have known all the seasons of her life. I've seen them all come and go. Yet still, when each moment is observed, I am unaware of the wind. A storm is brewing. A door blows open. A door slams shut. Unaware that it is past the middle of my life, perhaps. All bets are off. I am not ready. Again, it makes no difference at all.

In the midst of these the captions of my life, every once in a while, I look beyond my own nose...to notice some drama detailed in nature..like the little spent aster, on my porch, left too long unattended. I was unaware it's pod had burst open...or that Her seeds had been caught by the wind.I had missed that quiet act of creation.. Though just yesterday, I became aware. She finally, caught my eye: after so much blooming and blooming, after so much unnoticed effort. I noticed. She looks as tired as I feel.

Yet,for today She is perfectly spent. She is dressed in crystals, in a crown of minute glory. It looks too heavy,impossible really, for Her to bear. Still She bows Her head and She bears it..Beauty bending in royal surrender.Keenly aware, knowing this season makes no matter at all. She has weathered the storm. The storm will rage on. She will rage on. She is ready.

I am ready.

IF I Were Queen...

2007-10-20T12:49:00.000-06:00

I'd slow this world down. I'd only want it ( the crown....really a nice tasteful diamond tiara is much more flattering for my face..) for a day...probably less.. I"d insist on a chance to stop, and look and breath and be still.

Can you tell things are a bit stormy for me right now? Outside, it's a beautiful day.
This storm is of my own making.

Now is when I should be writing..but instead all I want to do is duck and cover.

So my one and only decree as a good Queen is... "Seek shelter. This too shall pass."

I'm sure there are many, far better suited for the crown than I.....Find them over here.

PS...I must add that I would make full use of the Royal WE...as there are several people living in my head and this would be the one time when I openly could admit this..without fear of retribution.

WE ARE NOT AMUSED!!

So What Do You Do?? For Sunday Scribblings

2007-10-14T09:31:00.000-06:00

I was glad of a relatively easy prompt this week..as I am frankly not up to much more.

My first job was in a clothes store. I was a sales girl. I worked with clothes..or in the industry, for years. I traveled up the management chain...Eventually leaping to the manufacturing side for a good long time. A decade of my life spent on putting denim on sz 12 good old American Hips. Bought at Target. God Bless us all. At the time, perhaps I wished I worked for Chanel...or Dior. But now, I can see how ludicrous that would have been. I was (and am still) an average American girl...

My last "Garmento" memory, that is vivid...is giving my OB-GYN 3 pairs of pants from our line. She loved them. They were comfortable. She spent a lot of her time bending over...

My worst job..EASY!!...Working in the Buying office of a large Fashion conglomerate. This was the only time I ever worked in a MIS department (Merchandise Information Systems)..a prehistoric version of IT. This was my first go in with Lotus..and my boss EVOUT..(yes this is a first name..think "a trout")cursed this new fangeled "WINDOWS" system as the DEVIL...I had to try to learn the language of Lotus. Who the hell knew that a back slash was so damned important.

I also learned the nasty little secret about data. It can be spun. Spun in any old direction you want it to go. My job was data reporting. So my job was to be the spinner. My boss said make it go over here..swing it this way,bend it like Beckham...and I tried like hell to write a command that would bend it, not simply command it to" Cover Your Eyes"...and..."Pay No Attention To The Man Behind The Curtain". In the end, I left, unable to reconcile their ENRON thinking with my more childish thinking. Hiding data was hiding data, was lying.

I think they hired me because I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. If ever caught, my name could easily have been changed to Sitting Duck..or Scapegoat. I just caught on a bit quicker than they expected...and I had a bigger mouth.

What I miss?...the suits. I wore short little skirts and suits and heels..and make up. Still my idea of sexy. Silk blouses and pearls.

My best and dream job...KIDS. Love teaching them. Love making them. Love photographing them.

Someday, I will write to them, for them. Someday I will make enough money, from this, to help them. To live, to grow and to laugh.

A girl can dream...

Let's stroll down to personnel and see what other job listings are posted.

Falling In Love Again

2007-10-11T08:15:00.004-06:00

I'm having a bit of a spurned lover moment, in regards to new Poetry sites. I have really mourned Poetry Thursday's departure. I knew it was the best thing for both of us. I could feel the weight of the site getting heavy on it mistresses. And like a good lover, I let it go, sweetly into the night.

But since it's leaving, I have felt my heart harden a bit. I have tried to wise myself to the ways of this nether word we call the blogspere.I remind myself that Dumbo never needed that damned magic feather to fly in the first place.

Yet, Thursdays come, and I am compelled to read and write Poetry. I catch the scent of poetry in the air and turn, hoping to see all that IT meant to me, back. Smiling.

So when I heard of this new beginning, I decided that while "the first cut is the deepest, I'd try to love"..and write..again...

As with any new lover, some things are the same...but oh, how the differences make my breath catch, make my cheeks flush, make my mind go crazy in the possibility that THIS one may be THE one....

Check out their first prompt....impressive!

I wish I were close
To you as the wet skirt of
A salt girl to her body.
I think of you always.

'Salt girls' boil seawater down for the salt.

OK..Here goes..

Always was

Was it just yesterday,the first
time I let you?(No, that is a lie.)
I WILLED you to unbutton my blouse.

I dared you,with one look,to slide
your hand up.Damn the torpedo's!
Damn those good girl brittle rules.

"Break me! Like my shell makes
no difference at all. Open me
like a egg, crack me,wide."

Such a thin space
veiled with skin
between you and I.

So,it was, me waiting for
you,for your fingers to come.
For you, to pick that button.

wlf 9:15

Thanks and congrats to the proud parents on the birth of their new site.. She's a beauty...and thanks to Deb of Stoney Moss for the directions.

Shift into Renewal

2007-10-09T08:29:00.000-06:00

Written very Loosely to prompt...for Writers Island....

This past weekend was all about rattling my own cage. It involved looking back and leaping forward all in one fell swoop. Lo and behold, I ended up having a good time doing my little spastic time warp dance.

First, the leaping forward stanza. The tempo of this one: haunting..hopeful.
There are not many times in my adult life, when I meet people anymore with out any reference. By this I mean, most people I have in my life now, have come into said life, because of some very concrete connections. I have friends that are mothers, fellow equestriennes or kindred disabled comrades. My bonds with these lovely souls are visible, easy and logical.

The bond with writers I know is much more tenuous. It is invisible and ephemeral. It is,to the naked eye, almost minuscule and murky. Yet, something about it rings so true and real.

Meeting Neil was wonderful. And awkward. And easy. I have not sat with another new man, and eaten...for a very long time. I was suddenly aware of my hands....and my voice..I was reminded of what it feels like to be seen for the first time. A rather odd sensation.

You would think we knew each other already. In some ways we certainly did. In a way that made me feel safe. My defenses never once came up. But still..I realized how much I did not know about him. I think he found me very different than he expected.

I found him much the same as what I had envisioned. He is nuanced, thoughtful, and dare I say, a bit shy....just like me.

Oh yes...He is tall.

He's funny, but he doesn't always lead with this. I really like that about him. I found so much to like about him. He was so much more interesting then the food we were eating. He teased me about this. Most of my loss of appetite, was un- intentional...but clearly he hadn't realized I was one of the most vain women..on planet earth.

OK.. now on to the jerking jarring whiplash of the past. The tempo for this one is staccato, allegro..

Right before I left for my 25th reunion..I was stricken with the most, intense stabbing headache I've had in a very long time. This no doubt, was because my blood pressure was through the roof..and as Neil could attest to..I hadn't really eaten much in days...

I had not been this nervous in DECADES. I went to an all girls school..so any thoughts of past loves..and such are not relevant..

But the thought of these girls left me quaking in my 4 inch heels..Which we all know are a costume for me. I am a dirty riding boot kinda girl. I had even had my nails done. Clearly I was already hiding.

The reunion itself was fun, in a very surreal way. It's true...the 40's are todays 20's. Everyone looked fantastic. We are not 20 any more..but boy..everyone was still tight and taught and well turned out. I tottered around on my heels and tried not to faint.

I cried two times. Not boo hoo. But tears just the same. These women were still some of the best and the brightest. I laughed from a place hidden behind my left kidney. So hard. So deep.

The only sad thing..were the claws. Still there. Perhaps cut shorter..(we all have kids now..and wouldn't want to scratch them unintentionally with overly sharpened weapons. So they are squared, filed and usually sport french manicures.)

But they are still there. They appear in a quick comment, or eye roll or linger a little long over someone else's personal tragedy. A little too much pleasure from someone else's pain.

Yet all and all I glad I attended. I am glad I got the chance to meet eyes with some of my very first loves...NO..NOT IN THAT WAY..geeze..when will the Catholic school girl fantasy die??

I do feel more alive now. More centered firmly in my skin. More balance on my feet. So that has to be a good thing, right?...

Or it may just be,that I finally took off those heels....