hallo, all!
a quickie before i take off to con - stewart got my bid'ness card posted, and you can find it HERE!
wish us luck, no arrests, that kind of thing. tobie vows to make national news. whither tobie goest...
eek.
ok, nevermind wishing us luck - wish ATLANTA luck!
MUCH love (and geekiness),
-sam
Thursday, August 28, 2003
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
hello, all. i was hoping to have another treat for you - stewart has made me some uber-swanky bid'ness cards for con, and i was hoping to be able to show them to y'all before i left, but poor stewart has been swamped* with work and with life, and just couldn't get to it**.
-SO, i have decided to give you another treat. some of you have already seen it, some have not. here is my very first (pre-weblog) rant***. WARNING: DO NOT DRINK ANYTHING WHILE YOU ARE READING THIS!
enjoy, take care, i will see y'all after con!
xoxoxoxox
-s
note: both this stewart link and the rant link are a couple of the hidden "easter eggs" somewhere on my webpage!
*swamped, swamed and rodeole'd!
**plus he can't go to con, either. brett, ken, sounds like magic/geek therapy is in order for stewart!
***DO be sure to follow the three picture links within this rant! it's worth it! put down your drink!
-SO, i have decided to give you another treat. some of you have already seen it, some have not. here is my very first (pre-weblog) rant***. WARNING: DO NOT DRINK ANYTHING WHILE YOU ARE READING THIS!
enjoy, take care, i will see y'all after con!
xoxoxoxox
-s
note: both this stewart link and the rant link are a couple of the hidden "easter eggs" somewhere on my webpage!
*swamped, swamed and rodeole'd!
**plus he can't go to con, either. brett, ken, sounds like magic/geek therapy is in order for stewart!
***DO be sure to follow the three picture links within this rant! it's worth it! put down your drink!
Tuesday, August 26, 2003
jams, sorry about the accidentally posted partial love letter. it has been deleted, it WILL be completed.
anyway.
i was driving down 176 tonight* and i remembered another summer, another highway, a moment id forgotten completely. what a gift when you get a memory like this back.
charlyn was driving her mama's silver camaro (late 70's?) down I-10. or maybe up it, i can't remember. we were some direction on the route between bfe, louisiana and bfe, mississippi, anyway.
i was in the passenger seat, i think casey, john, joe, who-knows-who was in the back - maybe piled into the front, too. the car was full of kids.
charlyn's the oldest of the six of us. we** are all one year apart for six consecutive years (except joe and casey, who were born six months apart in the same year...),
so, charlyn was maybe 16, me 15, and so on.
we were zooming along, free, buncha kids' in a hot car - in more ways than one, it was bayou summer. we were probably rockin' out to steven tyler and the boys. (charlyn was in charge of the stereo. we probably had jerry jeff walker in there, too.)
it was a good day.
traffic was fairly light. we passed some folks, and we were passed, too. we flirted with all the guys on bikes - unless they were skanky. we tried to make the truckers honk, and stuck our bare, brown legs out of the window, feet propped on the side mirror, hair turned into cat-o-nine-tails by the wind.
charlyn had been bird-doggin' with this other car a little. i don't remember what it was, but i seem to recall "muscle". there were kids in that car, too. boys and girls, all older than us. maybe going back to tulane for the summer.
we'd been sharing road with them for a few miles when suddenly they pulled alongside us, on my side of the car, yelling, cheering, flipping us off. they were angry, yelling, "F@#K YOU!" and making fists.
i couldn't believe it! i had nodded at them a couple of times as we passed, maybe even waved, in the beginning. i looked over to charlyn, and she shrugged, all innocence, and then it broke into a grinch-like grin. i followed the curve of her smile up and along her arm to where her hand stuck out the window - presumable resting on the roof. she'd been flipping them a constant, patented charlyn-delane-willliams skinny little crooked-ass big-knuckle bird for at least a mile by then.
i couldn't help but laugh. i gathered the courage to flip them off too, and then just prayed that charlyn would have the wherewithal to get the hell away from them.
she did.
she still does.
thanks for the memory,
and may you all always have the wherewithal. sally forth!
-s
anyway.
i was driving down 176 tonight* and i remembered another summer, another highway, a moment id forgotten completely. what a gift when you get a memory like this back.
charlyn was driving her mama's silver camaro (late 70's?) down I-10. or maybe up it, i can't remember. we were some direction on the route between bfe, louisiana and bfe, mississippi, anyway.
i was in the passenger seat, i think casey, john, joe, who-knows-who was in the back - maybe piled into the front, too. the car was full of kids.
charlyn's the oldest of the six of us. we** are all one year apart for six consecutive years (except joe and casey, who were born six months apart in the same year...),
so, charlyn was maybe 16, me 15, and so on.
we were zooming along, free, buncha kids' in a hot car - in more ways than one, it was bayou summer. we were probably rockin' out to steven tyler and the boys. (charlyn was in charge of the stereo. we probably had jerry jeff walker in there, too.)
it was a good day.
traffic was fairly light. we passed some folks, and we were passed, too. we flirted with all the guys on bikes - unless they were skanky. we tried to make the truckers honk, and stuck our bare, brown legs out of the window, feet propped on the side mirror, hair turned into cat-o-nine-tails by the wind.
charlyn had been bird-doggin' with this other car a little. i don't remember what it was, but i seem to recall "muscle". there were kids in that car, too. boys and girls, all older than us. maybe going back to tulane for the summer.
we'd been sharing road with them for a few miles when suddenly they pulled alongside us, on my side of the car, yelling, cheering, flipping us off. they were angry, yelling, "F@#K YOU!" and making fists.
i couldn't believe it! i had nodded at them a couple of times as we passed, maybe even waved, in the beginning. i looked over to charlyn, and she shrugged, all innocence, and then it broke into a grinch-like grin. i followed the curve of her smile up and along her arm to where her hand stuck out the window - presumable resting on the roof. she'd been flipping them a constant, patented charlyn-delane-willliams skinny little crooked-ass big-knuckle bird for at least a mile by then.
i couldn't help but laugh. i gathered the courage to flip them off too, and then just prayed that charlyn would have the wherewithal to get the hell away from them.
she did.
she still does.
thanks for the memory,
and may you all always have the wherewithal. sally forth!
-s
Sunday, August 24, 2003
how happy a day i've had...
i NEVER write drunk... i'm NEVER drunk.... BUT TODAY! whee! (even now, at 10:45 pm, buffy is standing here, telling me about marguerita loveliness... wheeee!)
today has been SO wonderful, we have had roadtrip and fabulous food (MY BRI-BRO MADE FRIED CHICKEN - omg, mm! - and good movie (WAY BAD STONE! SEE IT OW!) and then jack-in-the woodsing with my lovely court... what a day. this year, i have truly been celebrated. i cannot believe my blessing of friends. they treat me as a geek-queen, and i fell compelled to be worthy. who could be more lucky than i? who could be more blessed?
hard days come, and will come again, and hopefully i will remember these days. my courtier darrell said: as long as either one of us are alive, you will live forever.
mother-!@#$'in MOO!
universe willing, i be worthy.
xoxoxo
(as brett says) - our "inebriated" friend,
-sam
i NEVER write drunk... i'm NEVER drunk.... BUT TODAY! whee! (even now, at 10:45 pm, buffy is standing here, telling me about marguerita loveliness... wheeee!)
today has been SO wonderful, we have had roadtrip and fabulous food (MY BRI-BRO MADE FRIED CHICKEN - omg, mm! - and good movie (WAY BAD STONE! SEE IT OW!) and then jack-in-the woodsing with my lovely court... what a day. this year, i have truly been celebrated. i cannot believe my blessing of friends. they treat me as a geek-queen, and i fell compelled to be worthy. who could be more lucky than i? who could be more blessed?
hard days come, and will come again, and hopefully i will remember these days. my courtier darrell said: as long as either one of us are alive, you will live forever.
mother-!@#$'in MOO!
universe willing, i be worthy.
xoxoxo
(as brett says) - our "inebriated" friend,
-sam
Friday, August 22, 2003
more words and blossoms and peaches and and peach-like sentiments to share with you. this is to remind you of those certain days, and to wish you an abundance of them.
xo
-s
From Blossoms
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.
From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
Poem: "From Blossoms," by Li-Young Lee, from Rose (Boa Editions).
xo
-s
From Blossoms
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.
From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
Poem: "From Blossoms," by Li-Young Lee, from Rose (Boa Editions).
Thursday, August 21, 2003
today, robbie would have been 28, and abe turned 12 today. those two would have DEFINITELY gotten along. :)
i always look for a cosmic prezzie from her on these days. i think abe might be one of them.
here is the writer's almanac po-eem for yesterday. again, i thought it was exceedingly appropriate.
(don't worry, i will write up a big-fat-sam's-birthday-adventures rant before the week is done! LOTS of good stuff to tell!)
A Physics
When you get down to it, Earth
has our own great ranges
of feeling-Rocky, Smoky, Blue-
and a heart that can melt stones.
The still pools fill with sky,
as if aloof, and we have eyes
for all of this-and more, for Earth's
reminding moon. We too are ruled
by such attractions-spun and swaddled,
rocked and lent a light. We run
our clocks on wheels, our trains
on time. But all the while we want
to love each other endlessly-not only for
a hundred years, not only six feet up and down.
We want the suns and moons of silver
in ourselves, not only counted coins in a cup. The whole
idea of love was not to fall. And neither was
the whole idea of God. We put him well
above ourselves, because we meant,
in time, to measure up.
Poem: "A Physics," by Heather McHugh, from Hinge and Sign: Poems, 1968-1993 (Wesleyan University Press).
i always look for a cosmic prezzie from her on these days. i think abe might be one of them.
here is the writer's almanac po-eem for yesterday. again, i thought it was exceedingly appropriate.
(don't worry, i will write up a big-fat-sam's-birthday-adventures rant before the week is done! LOTS of good stuff to tell!)
A Physics
When you get down to it, Earth
has our own great ranges
of feeling-Rocky, Smoky, Blue-
and a heart that can melt stones.
The still pools fill with sky,
as if aloof, and we have eyes
for all of this-and more, for Earth's
reminding moon. We too are ruled
by such attractions-spun and swaddled,
rocked and lent a light. We run
our clocks on wheels, our trains
on time. But all the while we want
to love each other endlessly-not only for
a hundred years, not only six feet up and down.
We want the suns and moons of silver
in ourselves, not only counted coins in a cup. The whole
idea of love was not to fall. And neither was
the whole idea of God. We put him well
above ourselves, because we meant,
in time, to measure up.
Poem: "A Physics," by Heather McHugh, from Hinge and Sign: Poems, 1968-1993 (Wesleyan University Press).
Monday, August 18, 2003
for this rant, we can go on a little virtual trip together. this is one of my birthday wishes, to go here some day. wander through these lovely galleries with me.
mm, yak-butter tea.
love,
-sam
(here are some of my very very favorites, btw. :)
the great a'tuin!
http://www.visitmongolia.com/images/n_04.jpg
this one is called "lovers on horses". aren't they lovely?
la!
welcoming
young priest
mm, yak-butter tea.
love,
-sam
(here are some of my very very favorites, btw. :)
the great a'tuin!
http://www.visitmongolia.com/images/n_04.jpg
this one is called "lovers on horses". aren't they lovely?
la!
welcoming
young priest
hi, all. i am going to be gone for a couple of days, so i wanted to leave a few rants for you. i posted one for today, the 18th, one for the 19th, (see next post) and i'll post one here for the 20th. i should be back in the land of the living after that. :) take care, all. when next i see you i'll be thirty-FIVE.
This is from a beautiful book lent to me by a beautiful person. The book was printed in 1894, a small olive-green clothbound book with gold accents, in perfect shape. It is called "The Oliver Wendell Holmes Year Book". It is truly a thing of beauty.
This excerpt is his choice for August 20th. I am stunned at it's aptness.
"I come under your windows, some fine morning, and I play you one of my adagio movements, and some of you say, -- This is good, -- play us so always. But, dear friends, if I did not change the stop sometimes, the machine would wear out in one part and rust in another. How easily this or that tune flows! -- you say, -- there must be no end of just such melodies in him. -- I will open the poor machine for you one moment, and you shall look. -- Ah! Every note marks where a spur of steel has been driven in. It is easy to grind out the song, but to plant these bristling points which make it was the painful task of time."
from "The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table"
This is from a beautiful book lent to me by a beautiful person. The book was printed in 1894, a small olive-green clothbound book with gold accents, in perfect shape. It is called "The Oliver Wendell Holmes Year Book". It is truly a thing of beauty.
This excerpt is his choice for August 20th. I am stunned at it's aptness.
"I come under your windows, some fine morning, and I play you one of my adagio movements, and some of you say, -- This is good, -- play us so always. But, dear friends, if I did not change the stop sometimes, the machine would wear out in one part and rust in another. How easily this or that tune flows! -- you say, -- there must be no end of just such melodies in him. -- I will open the poor machine for you one moment, and you shall look. -- Ah! Every note marks where a spur of steel has been driven in. It is easy to grind out the song, but to plant these bristling points which make it was the painful task of time."
from "The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table"
well, i had my kayak lesson today!
sallie and i went to lake summit, in tuxedo. we had two slim boats, and i took lu. i tied her up on the beach, but as soon as i left shore she went bonkers*, so we had to come back. one option was to tie her up at the truck, but i suspected that wouldn't work, so i got into my boat, and sallie and i VERRRYYY patiently coaxed luna in with me. it's a small cockpit, and we were cosy, but once she got situated (butt between my thighs, paws out on the boat), she was just as fine as dandelion wine. we zoomed out over the lake like a waterbug**. luna sat still and straight. at first she was a little afraid, but then she realized that this was just another kind of flying! she began to realx, and when i turned the boat, the pressure of my knees caused her to automatically lean like a good motorcycle buddy. :) we discovered a HUGE flock of ducks and geese, and needless to say, she was very interested in that! she was still very calm and good though. she watched everything with that great, incomparable doggie interest...
I CAN'T BELIEVE I GOT MY CRAZY DOG INTO A KAYAK AND ONTO THE WATER!!!!!!!!! YAY, US!!!
some of you know that i spent some time a couple of summers ago trying to get her used to boating. i FINALLY managed to get her onto a paddle boat, but even that was a chore. i'd decided that my goal was to get her into a canoe, but i thought it was a bit of a pipe dream, and then the chance never came, until today.
so, MY second time EVER in a kayak, lulabelle's first - and we just flat rock !@#$% socks! :) :) :) i was - am - SO proud!
sallie lent me the two boats and pfd's, showed me how to load the boats on my truck and tie them up good (joe, you'd be proud - she bragged on my knots! :) and on wednesday, lu, myself and boy are heading out into the wide wide world for a day on the water.
(thank you, ms. sallie. you are a dear and a blessing.)
in other news - HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY OLDEST BEST FRIEND AND HER BABY BOY! i love you both, and hope you enjoy your lobster this year - as always.
in other other news, i started my birth-days-off quite nicely. i worked at the 'flour yestiddy, made some more con $$$, we did a great day, broke the record for lunches served, and yet had a relaxed, fun, easy peasy day. luna came with and abe got paid again to sit her. niiiiice. she had a veggie burger for lunch, i had eggs inna frame. mm.) i worked with stewart a little on mandy's belated b'day prezzie, and then took off to finish some other werk. however, the night took an odd, but pleasant turn and i ended up staying up and outside all night - didn't go to sleep until 6 a.m. (or so) - and woke to dawn and birds in my yard. me, my dog, a blankie, a friend, a can of off, and more weird conversation than you even want to know about.
to weird boy - who is not my type and ugly - thanks. it was nice to not worry, and nice to wake warm.
have good days off, all.
much love, i will see you soon.
-s
*remind me to tell y'all a similar story that happened on the day of my dad's burial...
**ok, maybe an elderly, lame, confused one, but STILL
sallie and i went to lake summit, in tuxedo. we had two slim boats, and i took lu. i tied her up on the beach, but as soon as i left shore she went bonkers*, so we had to come back. one option was to tie her up at the truck, but i suspected that wouldn't work, so i got into my boat, and sallie and i VERRRYYY patiently coaxed luna in with me. it's a small cockpit, and we were cosy, but once she got situated (butt between my thighs, paws out on the boat), she was just as fine as dandelion wine. we zoomed out over the lake like a waterbug**. luna sat still and straight. at first she was a little afraid, but then she realized that this was just another kind of flying! she began to realx, and when i turned the boat, the pressure of my knees caused her to automatically lean like a good motorcycle buddy. :) we discovered a HUGE flock of ducks and geese, and needless to say, she was very interested in that! she was still very calm and good though. she watched everything with that great, incomparable doggie interest...
I CAN'T BELIEVE I GOT MY CRAZY DOG INTO A KAYAK AND ONTO THE WATER!!!!!!!!! YAY, US!!!
some of you know that i spent some time a couple of summers ago trying to get her used to boating. i FINALLY managed to get her onto a paddle boat, but even that was a chore. i'd decided that my goal was to get her into a canoe, but i thought it was a bit of a pipe dream, and then the chance never came, until today.
so, MY second time EVER in a kayak, lulabelle's first - and we just flat rock !@#$% socks! :) :) :) i was - am - SO proud!
sallie lent me the two boats and pfd's, showed me how to load the boats on my truck and tie them up good (joe, you'd be proud - she bragged on my knots! :) and on wednesday, lu, myself and boy are heading out into the wide wide world for a day on the water.
(thank you, ms. sallie. you are a dear and a blessing.)
in other news - HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY OLDEST BEST FRIEND AND HER BABY BOY! i love you both, and hope you enjoy your lobster this year - as always.
in other other news, i started my birth-days-off quite nicely. i worked at the 'flour yestiddy, made some more con $$$, we did a great day, broke the record for lunches served, and yet had a relaxed, fun, easy peasy day. luna came with and abe got paid again to sit her. niiiiice. she had a veggie burger for lunch, i had eggs inna frame. mm.) i worked with stewart a little on mandy's belated b'day prezzie, and then took off to finish some other werk. however, the night took an odd, but pleasant turn and i ended up staying up and outside all night - didn't go to sleep until 6 a.m. (or so) - and woke to dawn and birds in my yard. me, my dog, a blankie, a friend, a can of off, and more weird conversation than you even want to know about.
to weird boy - who is not my type and ugly - thanks. it was nice to not worry, and nice to wake warm.
have good days off, all.
much love, i will see you soon.
-s
*remind me to tell y'all a similar story that happened on the day of my dad's burial...
**ok, maybe an elderly, lame, confused one, but STILL
Sunday, August 17, 2003
you all know of my love for peaches. mm, in pie, and in drinkies... their shape, color, smell and bee-blowsy, heavy summer ripeness, mmm... despite all obvious appearances, they're even kind of the main character of loki's little acre. i also love words, and especially play with words. for those of you who don't know, gerard manley hopkins* is my main man, poet-wise, and word-sound-play was his forte...
this guy is pretty damned good, too. i wanted to share this with you, in lieu of a juice-drippy, smell-sticky, sweet summer-shared bite,
mmm -
Peaches
A mouthful of language to swallow:
stretches of beach, sweet clinches,
breaches in walls, pleached branches;
britches hauled over haunches;
hunched leeches, wrenched teachers.
What English can do: ransack
the warmth that chuckles beneath
fuzzed surfaces, smooth velvet
richness, plashy juices.
I beseech you, peach,
clench me into the sweetness
of your reaches.
- Peter Davison
(this came from writer's almanac today. it had a typo innit, and i fixed it. i did NOT write mr. keillor and tell him so, though. that would be rude. :)
love,
your own peachy
-'pie
*do look him up, and read my favorite "pied beauty"
this guy is pretty damned good, too. i wanted to share this with you, in lieu of a juice-drippy, smell-sticky, sweet summer-shared bite,
mmm -
Peaches
A mouthful of language to swallow:
stretches of beach, sweet clinches,
breaches in walls, pleached branches;
britches hauled over haunches;
hunched leeches, wrenched teachers.
What English can do: ransack
the warmth that chuckles beneath
fuzzed surfaces, smooth velvet
richness, plashy juices.
I beseech you, peach,
clench me into the sweetness
of your reaches.
- Peter Davison
(this came from writer's almanac today. it had a typo innit, and i fixed it. i did NOT write mr. keillor and tell him so, though. that would be rude. :)
love,
your own peachy
-'pie
*do look him up, and read my favorite "pied beauty"
Saturday, August 16, 2003
When I first bought my truck, I told everyone that I was buying it for Luna. It was not necessarily the most practical choice (ESPECIALLY the first one I tried to buy), it uses a LOT of gas, learning to drive a standard was tough (but imminently satisfying!), there were lots of ‘spensive repairs, etc… but all of it is worth it, every penny of that 1.40-a-gallon, 14 m.p.g., to see that Puppy-Girl in the back, watching the world go by, pretending to fly… Her favorite spot is right at the tailgate (Yes, which shuts solid), right in the center. (Yes, I drive VERY slowly – uber-granny when she’s with me.) She likes to look straight ahead and let her ears blow back, like she’s Super-Girl. Occasionally she sees something that catches her eye to the left or right (cows, horses, other dogs, running water, people…) and she turns her head. When she does, her ears stand up and just the tips flap a little in the wind. :) I thought at first that the wind was also causing the giant smile on her face, but nope, she’s just happy. She’s like me, she doesn’t really care about the destination* so much, she just loves to be going somewhere.
And I have the best rear-view-mirror scenery of my life**.
Ever since she was little, I could spell “r-i-d-e-i-n-t-h-e-c-a-r” and she would start to wiggle and run to the driveway.
As you all know, I’ve been having troubles with her lately. It’s hard on me. It breaks my heart to leave her every day. I took a chance today and brought her with me to the coalmines. I got lucky, though. Two of my trusty sidekicks (Hi, Eric and Abe!) were looking for something to do today and were willing to do it for nothing, so it made me REALLY happy to pay them a bit. So she got to ride up the mountain, she gets to meet new people, spend the day with very fun boys and go with me to lunch, she gets to ride down the mountain, and then she gets to have mom with her for four days straight (and kayaking on wednesday!!!). Yay, us – we need it.
In other news, here is a secret coded message for the purple girl (a clue for the rest of you out there, this is related to my 08/08 rant) and what you were brave enough to say to me on the phone th’other day. I heard this song (what I LOVE) this morning and there was this message in it for you. Please disregard the title and the rest of the song (this time. : )
“I hope them cigarettes are gonna make you cough
Hope you hear this [rant] and it pissed you off
I take that back: hope you're doing fine
And if I had a dollar, I might give you ninety-nine”
I hope you are all doing fine. And you know who you are 'what can have my .99.
-s
*I have this poster taped to the inside lid of my portable art-desk-box-thingy.
**well, since the last time i drove out of Butte La Rose...
raar! calendar update: pain in lower back and shoulders 6, fatigue 7, but have been burning midnight oil. Spirits much improved, due to various factors. rld1.
And I have the best rear-view-mirror scenery of my life**.
Ever since she was little, I could spell “r-i-d-e-i-n-t-h-e-c-a-r” and she would start to wiggle and run to the driveway.
As you all know, I’ve been having troubles with her lately. It’s hard on me. It breaks my heart to leave her every day. I took a chance today and brought her with me to the coalmines. I got lucky, though. Two of my trusty sidekicks (Hi, Eric and Abe!) were looking for something to do today and were willing to do it for nothing, so it made me REALLY happy to pay them a bit. So she got to ride up the mountain, she gets to meet new people, spend the day with very fun boys and go with me to lunch, she gets to ride down the mountain, and then she gets to have mom with her for four days straight (and kayaking on wednesday!!!). Yay, us – we need it.
In other news, here is a secret coded message for the purple girl (a clue for the rest of you out there, this is related to my 08/08 rant) and what you were brave enough to say to me on the phone th’other day. I heard this song (what I LOVE) this morning and there was this message in it for you. Please disregard the title and the rest of the song (this time. : )
“I hope them cigarettes are gonna make you cough
Hope you hear this [rant] and it pissed you off
I take that back: hope you're doing fine
And if I had a dollar, I might give you ninety-nine”
I hope you are all doing fine. And you know who you are 'what can have my .99.
-s
*I have this poster taped to the inside lid of my portable art-desk-box-thingy.
**well, since the last time i drove out of Butte La Rose...
raar! calendar update: pain in lower back and shoulders 6, fatigue 7, but have been burning midnight oil. Spirits much improved, due to various factors. rld1.
Friday, August 15, 2003
Well, I’ve made birthday plans!
My friends and I are having a couple of bashes next weekend – Saturday night (“S*A - T*U*R - D*A*Y, NIGHT!*), we’re geeking out with a pre-con par-tay and on Sunday, we’re having a potluck pic-a-nic (booboo) and hopefully bowling, or similar silliness. (Note to self - remember to bring the tranquilizer gun in case SoMeone loses…)
But that’s next weekend… treat to self THIS week – I AM TAKING FOUR DAYS IN-A-ROW OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOO! WHEE! YAY, ME!
The only plan I have so far – ‘sides working brunch Sunday for ‘CON $$$ and having a quick kayak lesson on Monday – is to go KAYAKING AT LAKE JOCASSEE ON MY BIRTHDAY!!! Sallie is lending me two boats, and on Wednesday I will take LaLuna and… (bum bum BUMMMM) a boy, and a pic-a-nic and we are road-trippin’ to Devil’s Something (Fort? Road? Hat? Something.**) State Park and we are gonna kayak on a lake pretty enough for me to want to name a kid after it!***
So. That’s plan so far. I don’t know if boy knows how to kayak, but he can learn, if he wantsta. He gets to share one with Luna, too! (my kayak will be little and fast and dangerous, his will be big and slow and safe…) Whee! Luna inna kayak – OMG! This is gonna be great ! Maybe I should buy one of those “underwater” disposable cameras… :D
I will get to have a day of big wide water, and big wide sky, too. YAY!!!
Wish me luck. I will try to put up enough rants before I bail for the week to keep y’all occupied.
Much love,
-sam
*sorry, I couldn’t find “Saturday Night” midi ANYwhere!
**don’t worry. I have a map.
***my children’s names would be “Charla Mytilene __”, “Mathilda Jocassee __”, “Milla Junaluska __”, “J. Barton Hood __” and “R. Estan King __”. ‘S probly a really good thing that I don’t have kids.
My friends and I are having a couple of bashes next weekend – Saturday night (“S*A - T*U*R - D*A*Y, NIGHT!*), we’re geeking out with a pre-con par-tay and on Sunday, we’re having a potluck pic-a-nic (booboo) and hopefully bowling, or similar silliness. (Note to self - remember to bring the tranquilizer gun in case SoMeone loses…)
But that’s next weekend… treat to self THIS week – I AM TAKING FOUR DAYS IN-A-ROW OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOO! WHEE! YAY, ME!
The only plan I have so far – ‘sides working brunch Sunday for ‘CON $$$ and having a quick kayak lesson on Monday – is to go KAYAKING AT LAKE JOCASSEE ON MY BIRTHDAY!!! Sallie is lending me two boats, and on Wednesday I will take LaLuna and… (bum bum BUMMMM) a boy, and a pic-a-nic and we are road-trippin’ to Devil’s Something (Fort? Road? Hat? Something.**) State Park and we are gonna kayak on a lake pretty enough for me to want to name a kid after it!***
So. That’s plan so far. I don’t know if boy knows how to kayak, but he can learn, if he wantsta. He gets to share one with Luna, too! (my kayak will be little and fast and dangerous, his will be big and slow and safe…) Whee! Luna inna kayak – OMG! This is gonna be great ! Maybe I should buy one of those “underwater” disposable cameras… :D
I will get to have a day of big wide water, and big wide sky, too. YAY!!!
Wish me luck. I will try to put up enough rants before I bail for the week to keep y’all occupied.
Much love,
-sam
*sorry, I couldn’t find “Saturday Night” midi ANYwhere!
**don’t worry. I have a map.
***my children’s names would be “Charla Mytilene __”, “Mathilda Jocassee __”, “Milla Junaluska __”, “J. Barton Hood __” and “R. Estan King __”. ‘S probly a really good thing that I don’t have kids.
Thursday, August 14, 2003
As dumb as boys can be, they can be equally (if not even more) awesome. I like the way they smell when they’re nervous or brave and the way they use their hands when they talk. I like it when they’re dumb in good ways, ways that, maybe intentionally (if not by conscious choice, then by clever biological design) make you feel special and smart. I especially like it when, despite all your training, education and jaded, cynical outlook on everything, they can make you feel pleasantly dumb. Ladies, you know what I mean…
I never get to feel out of my league in matters of (yurk) “romance”. I usually have two speeds – completely uninterested or completely distracted. Completely uninterested is the worst, because nineteen times out of ten, nice guys get their feelings hurt. Completely distracted is not usually much of a problem because I’ve gotten smart enough to realize that the guys who have this kind of “power” over me MUST be complete bastards so, even if it isn’t painless, it’s at least brief. Also, I’ve learned to just ignore the impulse until it passes. Sometimes. I usually never get to feel awkward* or surprised, I never get to feel “junior high”. Well almost never.
I fuss about boys, but I love them so**… they really do make life so much more interesting and pleasant. Yes, as a society, they suck like a bad chest wound. But individually, even the ones that are often a TREmendous pain in the @$$ are quite dear.
I was eating lunch at the local diner today and there was a photo of an ex and his little girl on the wall. His head was bent down to her, and the sunlight turned his buzzed-off hair to a field of red gold. The brightest gleam on the curve of his (unbelievably thick) skull and the swirly cowlick at the crown made my heart flip, even after all this time and trouble.
I’m so glad I still have it in me to feel this way. About all of them.
New boys usually just make me queasy, but every now and then one comes along that I can tolerate for an hour or two. I’ve even met one or two that I was both attracted to AND liked – when all the planets were properly aligned and I was temporarily mentally and/or physically vulnerable and so was able to over-ride my natural instinct to kick them down the steps.
I wish for forgiveness, understanding and acceptance for myself and all my boy-crazy girlfriends… not from the rest of the world (to !@#$ with them, what the !@#$ do THEY know?) - but from yourself. Celebrate your boy-craziness. If you know who you are and how you want things, if you love and take care of yourself, then BE CRAZY! I think it’s a good quality, and I’m sure the boys do, too!
Much love,
-sam
*R.C. doesn’t count here, Q.
**read your footnotes, people.
I never get to feel out of my league in matters of (yurk) “romance”. I usually have two speeds – completely uninterested or completely distracted. Completely uninterested is the worst, because nineteen times out of ten, nice guys get their feelings hurt. Completely distracted is not usually much of a problem because I’ve gotten smart enough to realize that the guys who have this kind of “power” over me MUST be complete bastards so, even if it isn’t painless, it’s at least brief. Also, I’ve learned to just ignore the impulse until it passes. Sometimes. I usually never get to feel awkward* or surprised, I never get to feel “junior high”. Well almost never.
I fuss about boys, but I love them so**… they really do make life so much more interesting and pleasant. Yes, as a society, they suck like a bad chest wound. But individually, even the ones that are often a TREmendous pain in the @$$ are quite dear.
I was eating lunch at the local diner today and there was a photo of an ex and his little girl on the wall. His head was bent down to her, and the sunlight turned his buzzed-off hair to a field of red gold. The brightest gleam on the curve of his (unbelievably thick) skull and the swirly cowlick at the crown made my heart flip, even after all this time and trouble.
I’m so glad I still have it in me to feel this way. About all of them.
New boys usually just make me queasy, but every now and then one comes along that I can tolerate for an hour or two. I’ve even met one or two that I was both attracted to AND liked – when all the planets were properly aligned and I was temporarily mentally and/or physically vulnerable and so was able to over-ride my natural instinct to kick them down the steps.
I wish for forgiveness, understanding and acceptance for myself and all my boy-crazy girlfriends… not from the rest of the world (to !@#$ with them, what the !@#$ do THEY know?) - but from yourself. Celebrate your boy-craziness. If you know who you are and how you want things, if you love and take care of yourself, then BE CRAZY! I think it’s a good quality, and I’m sure the boys do, too!
Much love,
-sam
*R.C. doesn’t count here, Q.
**read your footnotes, people.
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
I tried to blame the skies for last night’s misery. Mercury in retrograde, full moon, bits of stars falling and me unable to wish on them for the clouds in the way…
The Perseides always make me a little sad, anyway. When I was about 12, I think, my dad came home from work (he managed bars, and worked late) and said “I have an early birthday present for you.” It was a week or so before my birthday. I was still recovering from a badly cut foot* and an appendectomy**, not to mention the onset of puberty in the midst of a life that was already pretty shitty.
Dad had pulled his old Dodge pickup truck out behind our apartment, where the sky was darkest, and we lay on the warm hood and watched the meteor shower. I don’t know if anyone else was at home, but that night it was just dad and I.
I’d gotten into the habit of staying up until he came home – even on school nights. Sometimes we’d eat. Sometimes we’d watch a bad movie (“Ruby” was a favorite, and “Ghost Story”…) or talk about whichever book we were both reading at the time - Stephen King or Sidney Sheldon, usually… It was nearing the end of summer. I’d be going to live with my grandmother soon, facing a new life, a new school – again. I can’t remember what I wished for on all those stars that night.
Last night, I lay in bed and tried to sleep. I was hurting again, back, neck, legs, and tears kept threatening, but I wasn’t sure why. I fought them, but finally my neighbor’s lights went off and the pale moonlight filtering into the house drew me out. I hoped I’d see some stars. The sky was just a continuous, luminous umbrella. No definition, just diffuse light.
I went out and sat on the sidewalk and cried and cried. I cried for the futility of wishes, for the fact that, at the end of everyday, it’s just me that I have to rely on, and that’s a scary prospect. I cried for the fact that I may lose the only real bond to “home”*** that I have here. I am having a very hard time with Luna. She is my only family here, my protection and company in the middle of the worst nights, my only “person” to come home to at the end of the day. While I sat out crying last night, she was the one who came and licked my tears and then sat near me while I was grieving. Since my new neighbors have come, with their dog and their inviting nature, she won’t stay inside anymore. She chews the window frames and burst through the screens. I replaced one screen with mesh and hardware cloth and she split it with her claws. She won’t stay on her lead, she slips collar and harness. I have no option now but to leave her outside, loose when I go to work. I have to face the fact that I could come home any day and find her dead in the road. I have considered all possible options and they all break my heart. It makes me wish that I didn’t have either of us to worry about. Maybe it’s a good thing that there were no falling stars in my sky last night.
I wonder if this pain and exhaustion is connected to sadness. To the weight of my life on my own shoulders. To the fact that there is no one to go to when I hurt and fear like this. I can manage. I do. But it takes a toll that gets harder to pay every day.
I sat out until the mosquitoes came, and then I went in and lit candles and incense. I put some in my kitchen, and some outside. And then I lay down and pretended myself to sleep, like I did when I was little.
I know that I just have to accept things. The pain, the possible loss of my best friend, the inevitability of being alone, the tears - all the things that life hands me. If I’ve tried my best, what else is there to do?
If you have someone who is there for you in the middle of the night, hold on to them while you can. And watch for falling stars.
s-
*that had been sewn up by a doctor that didn’t care for patients with no insurance, so he just cut off the bits that were sticking out and put in stitches. That foot still troubles me.
**this operation was performed by a lovely woman named Dr. Kate Asemi. She was everything this other quack was not, a beautiful, kind, skilled Nigerian woman, with a lovely accent who referred to me as “dis’ baby” to the orderlies, and I didn’t mind. She made me feel safe and stole my heart. I’ll never forget her.
***not Mississippi, but heart-home, the place in your soul that makes you not be totally alone.
The Perseides always make me a little sad, anyway. When I was about 12, I think, my dad came home from work (he managed bars, and worked late) and said “I have an early birthday present for you.” It was a week or so before my birthday. I was still recovering from a badly cut foot* and an appendectomy**, not to mention the onset of puberty in the midst of a life that was already pretty shitty.
Dad had pulled his old Dodge pickup truck out behind our apartment, where the sky was darkest, and we lay on the warm hood and watched the meteor shower. I don’t know if anyone else was at home, but that night it was just dad and I.
I’d gotten into the habit of staying up until he came home – even on school nights. Sometimes we’d eat. Sometimes we’d watch a bad movie (“Ruby” was a favorite, and “Ghost Story”…) or talk about whichever book we were both reading at the time - Stephen King or Sidney Sheldon, usually… It was nearing the end of summer. I’d be going to live with my grandmother soon, facing a new life, a new school – again. I can’t remember what I wished for on all those stars that night.
Last night, I lay in bed and tried to sleep. I was hurting again, back, neck, legs, and tears kept threatening, but I wasn’t sure why. I fought them, but finally my neighbor’s lights went off and the pale moonlight filtering into the house drew me out. I hoped I’d see some stars. The sky was just a continuous, luminous umbrella. No definition, just diffuse light.
I went out and sat on the sidewalk and cried and cried. I cried for the futility of wishes, for the fact that, at the end of everyday, it’s just me that I have to rely on, and that’s a scary prospect. I cried for the fact that I may lose the only real bond to “home”*** that I have here. I am having a very hard time with Luna. She is my only family here, my protection and company in the middle of the worst nights, my only “person” to come home to at the end of the day. While I sat out crying last night, she was the one who came and licked my tears and then sat near me while I was grieving. Since my new neighbors have come, with their dog and their inviting nature, she won’t stay inside anymore. She chews the window frames and burst through the screens. I replaced one screen with mesh and hardware cloth and she split it with her claws. She won’t stay on her lead, she slips collar and harness. I have no option now but to leave her outside, loose when I go to work. I have to face the fact that I could come home any day and find her dead in the road. I have considered all possible options and they all break my heart. It makes me wish that I didn’t have either of us to worry about. Maybe it’s a good thing that there were no falling stars in my sky last night.
I wonder if this pain and exhaustion is connected to sadness. To the weight of my life on my own shoulders. To the fact that there is no one to go to when I hurt and fear like this. I can manage. I do. But it takes a toll that gets harder to pay every day.
I sat out until the mosquitoes came, and then I went in and lit candles and incense. I put some in my kitchen, and some outside. And then I lay down and pretended myself to sleep, like I did when I was little.
I know that I just have to accept things. The pain, the possible loss of my best friend, the inevitability of being alone, the tears - all the things that life hands me. If I’ve tried my best, what else is there to do?
If you have someone who is there for you in the middle of the night, hold on to them while you can. And watch for falling stars.
s-
*that had been sewn up by a doctor that didn’t care for patients with no insurance, so he just cut off the bits that were sticking out and put in stitches. That foot still troubles me.
**this operation was performed by a lovely woman named Dr. Kate Asemi. She was everything this other quack was not, a beautiful, kind, skilled Nigerian woman, with a lovely accent who referred to me as “dis’ baby” to the orderlies, and I didn’t mind. She made me feel safe and stole my heart. I’ll never forget her.
***not Mississippi, but heart-home, the place in your soul that makes you not be totally alone.
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
here is another lovely and appropriate poem from the writer's almanac. not only does it ring in my own heart and echo off of some of my own troubles, but more significantly, it hits home when i am dealing with my young library patrons, the ones i've been with now since before they cared what boys thought...
Advice to a Girl
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone,
Lay it on your hot cheek,
Let it hide your tear.
Hold it like a crystal
When you are alone
And gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed.
- by Sara Teasdale from Mirror of the Heart (Macmillan).
Advice to a Girl
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone,
Lay it on your hot cheek,
Let it hide your tear.
Hold it like a crystal
When you are alone
And gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed.
- by Sara Teasdale from Mirror of the Heart (Macmillan).
Monday, August 11, 2003
alright, some text-book rantage, by popular demand!
boys*, if you KNOW a girl likes you, and she KNOWS you don't like her, DON'T ASK HER TO HOOK YOU UP WITH HER FRIENDS! especially if these requests are accompanied by graphic descriptions of this OTHER girl's good qualities (that obviously are not the same as the girl you are asking). if this "spare" girl (the UNDESIRABLE one) has more than half a brain (and that is usually one** of the undesirable qualities, i've found...), she is aware that she is not your type, and she's ok with that. however "ugly"*** girls have feelings, too, and you really should not be such a weezer, especially if YOU are still single despite the fact that you can "obviously do far better", and this "spare" girl is willing to remain your friend in the face of all of this.
luckily we have been trained via not looking like [fill in bimbo's name here] to be able to tell truly mean, shallow jerks from nice guys who just aren't very bright sometimes. count your blessings - you must have SOME good qualities (other than JUST being cute) or these "inferior" ladies would have kicked you to the curb and told her "good-looking" friends what a jerk you were, and that she'd heard you were a convicted felon who shoots up miracle-whip and huffs air-freshener (el cheapo "money house blessing", too!) on your days off from "waffle house".
you have been warned! :)
more rants later, folks! keep your requests coming in!
xoxox
-s
p.s. YES, i know i'm gonna hear about this later, but NO NAMES WERE MENTIONED, and the very girl you asked me about today (you big dum-dum-head) said "sam, i like it when you write real rants! do more!" you couldn't say no to her, either (not that you'll get the chance, ESPECIALLY after she hears about the miracle whip! ;), and you must admit, it is a pretty good rant. :D suck it up, soldier! it could be worse. you could be ME. :[
*i say boys, because i honestly don't know any girls clueless enough to do this. i am sure they are out there, but i suspect that, when a girl does it, she KNOWS what she's doing and is not being stupid, just cruel - which, in my opinion, is far worse.
**often accompanied by a strong sarcastic streak, piercing wit, an ability to call 'em like she sees 'em, fierce independance, and a physical nature and build that would allow her to stomp said offending males into a mud-puddle if she so chose... aherm.
***please note that i am using this term in an extremely subjective manner, and to make a point. believe me, i know what ugly really is, and i am sure that most girls who go through this sort of thing day after day know what they really look like, what really matters and what beauty really is.
raar! calendar notes: today, exhausted, veryvery, almost unbelievably tired. pain scale 3, exhaustion scale 9 (almost unable to stay awake), irritability scale 4.
(the purpose of this raar! calendar is to help me try to figure out if there's any kind of cycle to this exhaustion/pain thing, and this is the only place where i write anything down with any kind of consistency/regularity that i can't easily lose in the drift of papers and notebooks at my house.)
boys*, if you KNOW a girl likes you, and she KNOWS you don't like her, DON'T ASK HER TO HOOK YOU UP WITH HER FRIENDS! especially if these requests are accompanied by graphic descriptions of this OTHER girl's good qualities (that obviously are not the same as the girl you are asking). if this "spare" girl (the UNDESIRABLE one) has more than half a brain (and that is usually one** of the undesirable qualities, i've found...), she is aware that she is not your type, and she's ok with that. however "ugly"*** girls have feelings, too, and you really should not be such a weezer, especially if YOU are still single despite the fact that you can "obviously do far better", and this "spare" girl is willing to remain your friend in the face of all of this.
luckily we have been trained via not looking like [fill in bimbo's name here] to be able to tell truly mean, shallow jerks from nice guys who just aren't very bright sometimes. count your blessings - you must have SOME good qualities (other than JUST being cute) or these "inferior" ladies would have kicked you to the curb and told her "good-looking" friends what a jerk you were, and that she'd heard you were a convicted felon who shoots up miracle-whip and huffs air-freshener (el cheapo "money house blessing", too!) on your days off from "waffle house".
you have been warned! :)
more rants later, folks! keep your requests coming in!
xoxox
-s
p.s. YES, i know i'm gonna hear about this later, but NO NAMES WERE MENTIONED, and the very girl you asked me about today (you big dum-dum-head) said "sam, i like it when you write real rants! do more!" you couldn't say no to her, either (not that you'll get the chance, ESPECIALLY after she hears about the miracle whip! ;), and you must admit, it is a pretty good rant. :D suck it up, soldier! it could be worse. you could be ME. :[
*i say boys, because i honestly don't know any girls clueless enough to do this. i am sure they are out there, but i suspect that, when a girl does it, she KNOWS what she's doing and is not being stupid, just cruel - which, in my opinion, is far worse.
**often accompanied by a strong sarcastic streak, piercing wit, an ability to call 'em like she sees 'em, fierce independance, and a physical nature and build that would allow her to stomp said offending males into a mud-puddle if she so chose... aherm.
***please note that i am using this term in an extremely subjective manner, and to make a point. believe me, i know what ugly really is, and i am sure that most girls who go through this sort of thing day after day know what they really look like, what really matters and what beauty really is.
raar! calendar notes: today, exhausted, veryvery, almost unbelievably tired. pain scale 3, exhaustion scale 9 (almost unable to stay awake), irritability scale 4.
(the purpose of this raar! calendar is to help me try to figure out if there's any kind of cycle to this exhaustion/pain thing, and this is the only place where i write anything down with any kind of consistency/regularity that i can't easily lose in the drift of papers and notebooks at my house.)
Sunday, August 10, 2003
i feel a strange sense of disgust mixed with intense pride over how easy it is for me to walk away from people and situations once i've been hurt.
i think the disgust does not really belong to me. it feels like "tv" programming. "the brady bunch" or "grape ape" or "the ptl club"* somehow embedded in me the thought that i should be ashamed of my graceful and powerful ability to hold a grudge (and therefore keep myself safe). this obviously happened before i was old enough to realize that 'grape ape' was completely full of $#^!.
part of my problem is that despite my well-developed traits of paranoia and hyper-vigilance, i am often ridiculously and blindly trusting. i realize that this is a good - if dangerous - quality. it allows me to be more open to possibilty than i might have been if i hadn't been intelligent enough to realize that not EVERYone in the world was as vicious and/or irresponsible as my parents. but it also leaves me open to a lot of heartache and disappointment. i am, however a VERY strong subscriber to the "first time, shame on you..."** school. this, combined with the spirit and mentality of a person who has moved (i think) 63 times, who has an uncanny memory, and a stubborn streak wider than the delta sky, well... makes for less christmas presents to buy.
the disgusted part of me says "you should forgive and forget..." and "let it go..." and "try and trust..."
the PROUD part of me says "bugger all that for a !@#$ LARK! nuke 'em till they glow and shoot 'em in the dark!" and "yay, one (or ten) less people to worry and wonder about! less xmas prezzies to buy!". oh, and of course it also says:
"!@#$ 'EM, FEED 'EM FISH-HEADS!!!"
karmically speaking, i may be shooting myself in the foot (or tentacle, or scillae, depending on how good or bad my reincarnative prospects really are...), but right now, i'm trying to cope on THIS plane. i'm not going knocking on people's doors (or busting into their weddings, or callling their work) to tell them what insensitive, obsessed, cowardly*** slug-weasels they are. i'm not publishing it in any newspapers, or even calling them by name HERE... what's it to them? they - if they can hurt me badly enough to make me want to write them off in the first place - obviously don't want me around, and they have one less xmas present to buy, too.
this pride would be hollow and the disgust more painful if i didn't know that i had it in me to forgive - and be forgiven - when the situation allowed for it. i have had some bad, ugly partings in the past, and some painful break-ups. when it was worth it, i managed to pull myself and my pride together enough to make the first move, or accept another's, and repair the break. in some cases, it was not the last time i had to do it, and in most cases, i am still close to that person, and our friendship is stronger than ever.
in some cases though, it's just not !@#$ worth it.
as i get older, i recognize that i can either tell more quickly if it is worth it, or just realize that life is too short to worry about it. ON TO THE NEXT PROJECT.
some good pieces of advice to remember however, if this ever happens to you:
"if you're going to do it, don't feel guilty about it. if you're going to feel guilty about it, don't do it."
-mr. p____, my beloved college psych teacher-
"you can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug, especially if it's waving a razor-sharp knife in your face."
-hunter s. thompson
"put more trust in nobility of character than in an oath."
-- solon
"trust in Allah, but tie your camel."
-- muslim proverb
oh yeah, and:
"!@#$ 'EM, FEED 'EM FISH-HEADS!!!"
-- me
tying up my camel and gatherin' some fish-heads,
the slightly disgusted/-ing but EXTREMELY proud-
sam
*the insane, immoral adults who participated in my upbringing fall into this category, too. i trusted them less than i trusted the tv, though, for the most part.
**"...second time, shame on me."
***fill in any stinkbughead-like adjective here. at some point or another, i am sure it will fit.
i think the disgust does not really belong to me. it feels like "tv" programming. "the brady bunch" or "grape ape" or "the ptl club"* somehow embedded in me the thought that i should be ashamed of my graceful and powerful ability to hold a grudge (and therefore keep myself safe). this obviously happened before i was old enough to realize that 'grape ape' was completely full of $#^!.
part of my problem is that despite my well-developed traits of paranoia and hyper-vigilance, i am often ridiculously and blindly trusting. i realize that this is a good - if dangerous - quality. it allows me to be more open to possibilty than i might have been if i hadn't been intelligent enough to realize that not EVERYone in the world was as vicious and/or irresponsible as my parents. but it also leaves me open to a lot of heartache and disappointment. i am, however a VERY strong subscriber to the "first time, shame on you..."** school. this, combined with the spirit and mentality of a person who has moved (i think) 63 times, who has an uncanny memory, and a stubborn streak wider than the delta sky, well... makes for less christmas presents to buy.
the disgusted part of me says "you should forgive and forget..." and "let it go..." and "try and trust..."
the PROUD part of me says "bugger all that for a !@#$ LARK! nuke 'em till they glow and shoot 'em in the dark!" and "yay, one (or ten) less people to worry and wonder about! less xmas prezzies to buy!". oh, and of course it also says:
"!@#$ 'EM, FEED 'EM FISH-HEADS!!!"
karmically speaking, i may be shooting myself in the foot (or tentacle, or scillae, depending on how good or bad my reincarnative prospects really are...), but right now, i'm trying to cope on THIS plane. i'm not going knocking on people's doors (or busting into their weddings, or callling their work) to tell them what insensitive, obsessed, cowardly*** slug-weasels they are. i'm not publishing it in any newspapers, or even calling them by name HERE... what's it to them? they - if they can hurt me badly enough to make me want to write them off in the first place - obviously don't want me around, and they have one less xmas present to buy, too.
this pride would be hollow and the disgust more painful if i didn't know that i had it in me to forgive - and be forgiven - when the situation allowed for it. i have had some bad, ugly partings in the past, and some painful break-ups. when it was worth it, i managed to pull myself and my pride together enough to make the first move, or accept another's, and repair the break. in some cases, it was not the last time i had to do it, and in most cases, i am still close to that person, and our friendship is stronger than ever.
in some cases though, it's just not !@#$ worth it.
as i get older, i recognize that i can either tell more quickly if it is worth it, or just realize that life is too short to worry about it. ON TO THE NEXT PROJECT.
some good pieces of advice to remember however, if this ever happens to you:
"if you're going to do it, don't feel guilty about it. if you're going to feel guilty about it, don't do it."
-mr. p____, my beloved college psych teacher-
"you can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug, especially if it's waving a razor-sharp knife in your face."
-hunter s. thompson
"put more trust in nobility of character than in an oath."
-- solon
"trust in Allah, but tie your camel."
-- muslim proverb
oh yeah, and:
"!@#$ 'EM, FEED 'EM FISH-HEADS!!!"
-- me
tying up my camel and gatherin' some fish-heads,
the slightly disgusted/-ing but EXTREMELY proud-
sam
*the insane, immoral adults who participated in my upbringing fall into this category, too. i trusted them less than i trusted the tv, though, for the most part.
**"...second time, shame on me."
***fill in any stinkbughead-like adjective here. at some point or another, i am sure it will fit.
Friday, August 08, 2003
I know I’m not perfect. I believe that I’m the only one who could really know just how terribly flawed I am. I know every scar and dark secret, I remember every moment of shame and pain I’ve ever felt and consciously caused – and there have been some whoppers AND doozies, and yet somehow, I still manage to love and forgive myself. Despite all potential I have to screw up, I still trust myself to go out in the world and try to make it a better place. I try.
I’ll be honest here, because frankly, I have nothing left – on this particular horizon – to lose. Some “friends” of mine are getting married tomorrow. The groom and I have known each other since before he moved here, and we have helped each other out and leaned on each other in a number of ways since then. We’ve been through some tough, interesting, and festive times, but we’ve never been “close”. I suspect that neither of us, despite outward appearances, are the type of people who easily – if ever- get really close to some people, and that’s always seemed ok. Our respect for each other as oddballs and artists* – and people in need of friends and helping hands from time to time has been enough.
I’ve been looking forward to the wedding for some time. I admit that I had my doubts in the beginning, but then, I’m very cynical about marriage and love, and all my doubts were honestly rooted within myself. They were vanquished partially because of a rare deep discussion that he and I had a month or two ago, but finally completely by seeing them play (music and life) together and watching them make this event happen. I was so happy to finally be able to believe in this, at least in their case. I felt like they’d given me a little gift of my hope-for-true-love** (and for his future and happiness), back. The simple fact is - if I don’t believe in a union between two people, I can’t attend the wedding. I would NEVER celebrate something that I believed was destined to fail just for a free party. Never. I couldn’t enjoy the celebration without being sick. It wouldn’t be worth it.
I’d picked out my dress to match their color-scheme, and planned to give them a gift of a photo-shoot and album. (I hate to shoot weddings for money, but I love to do them for fun. People are always pleased, and it’s a gift that really means something.) I planned to have the day off, and I sent out a note today to his roommate to be sure of the time. Before she even got the note, she called to wish me a happy birthday (I’d put the wrong day on her calendar), and when I asked what time the festivities began tomorrow, she told me that I was not welcome. That the groom specifically asked me not to come.
For one thing, she couldn’t tell me why this was the case, partially because she herself wasn’t completely sure, and partially because it was “his thing”. (I believe it should have also been “his thing” to tell me, especially considering that his bride-to-be told me a week ago that I was welcome and that I could bring a friend. I’m really glad I didn’t invite a guest…). For another thing, she told me this at work, at the circulation desk, while a patron was standing there, and I got the added joy of watching this strange man watch my face collapse into embarrassment and tears while I struggled to maintain long enough to help him and then attempt to rush to the closet so that the rest of my patrons didn’t have to hear and see my sobs.
I stayed in the closet for a while, but I could hear patrons coming in, and so I collected myself enough to try to deal. Just as I calmed myself enough to cope, my friend called back to say that she was sorry and that the reason he doesn’t want me there is because he is afraid that I will embarrass him in front of his family.
This time, I didn’t make it to the closet, and everyone just had to hear and see.
Those of you who know me might wonder what would make this young man worry about such a thing – worry enough to pass this edict and end our friendship forever. I have never in my life been drunk enough to truly embarrass myself and others – not even when I was a teen. I am not coarse, I work in a public job, for the government, and I manage to dress and comport myself well enough every day to please the patrons and powers that be. People treat me as if I am pleasant to be around, and trust me with their children, secrets, fears, wishes and handsome husbands.
I can only venture one guess, and if I am right, then this sickens me.
My friend said that he – the groom - didn’t trust me enough not to tell “certain stories” to his family. I can only think of one story that MIGHT have this effect, the story of the night we met. For one thing, this embarrassing aspect of this story does not involve either of us. We were truly innocent bystanders. It’s a funny story and he and I have both told it to various drinking buddies. The fact that he’s willing to hurt me deeply and end our relationship – as well as my ability to spend time at his house, which happens to belong to another good friend of mine – over the RIDICULOUS possibility that I might tell this – or any other (though this story id the only one I can imagine that he means) story to his Christian, conservative family ON HIS WEDDING DAY, hurts me more than even I can believe.
I have screwed up in the past, I have embarassed myself and others before*** - I assume that we ALL have. But I believe - and I thought that my "friends" believed - KNEW - that I can be a lady and a pleasant and useful addition to ANY oocasion - especially one as important as this.
There are many levels of hurt in this. Our mutual friend did not defend me. The groom did not have the courage and respect to ask me himself not to come, or just to ask me not to tell this – or any other story – at his wedding, and he – nor my friend, or any of our other “friends” had enough faith in me to realize that I would NEVER embarrass him on his wedding day, that I would NEVER attempt to tell a story like this to his family at ANY time. There’s the fact that I will be publicly embarrassed within our circle by the knowledge that I was asked not to come, there’s the fact that I have to live with this shame and embarrassment and self-doubt for a time, and there’s the fact that several friendships and artistic situations that meant a great deal to me will be permanently marred by this.
I’m glad I’ve learned to lose things easily, to just let go, and walk away (if only I could do the same with the hurt, but at least that’s fuel for MY art…). I’m glad that my memory is good enough to bring me the sound of his voice and the vision of his face and hands feeling his music as he played, when I am ready to again, and when I need it. And I’m glad that I don’t have to wonder anymore how some people really feel. More pain and isolation here, but less doubt. So be it.
One more room cleaned out, one more door closed and locked behind me here.
-Sam
*He is truly one of the most amazing people I have ever met. His brilliance and genius would seem unbelievable in the telling. You have to see and hear him to believe him.
The loss of seeing and hearing him play will be the most painful thing of all.
**This is an EXCEEDINGLY rare commodity for me, and I hoard and treasure every scrap.
***Though, again, I thought that anyone who knew me knows that embarassment and crass behavior is my kryptonite.
No wonder I feel so alien. At least i know it's not JUST paranoia.
I’ll be honest here, because frankly, I have nothing left – on this particular horizon – to lose. Some “friends” of mine are getting married tomorrow. The groom and I have known each other since before he moved here, and we have helped each other out and leaned on each other in a number of ways since then. We’ve been through some tough, interesting, and festive times, but we’ve never been “close”. I suspect that neither of us, despite outward appearances, are the type of people who easily – if ever- get really close to some people, and that’s always seemed ok. Our respect for each other as oddballs and artists* – and people in need of friends and helping hands from time to time has been enough.
I’ve been looking forward to the wedding for some time. I admit that I had my doubts in the beginning, but then, I’m very cynical about marriage and love, and all my doubts were honestly rooted within myself. They were vanquished partially because of a rare deep discussion that he and I had a month or two ago, but finally completely by seeing them play (music and life) together and watching them make this event happen. I was so happy to finally be able to believe in this, at least in their case. I felt like they’d given me a little gift of my hope-for-true-love** (and for his future and happiness), back. The simple fact is - if I don’t believe in a union between two people, I can’t attend the wedding. I would NEVER celebrate something that I believed was destined to fail just for a free party. Never. I couldn’t enjoy the celebration without being sick. It wouldn’t be worth it.
I’d picked out my dress to match their color-scheme, and planned to give them a gift of a photo-shoot and album. (I hate to shoot weddings for money, but I love to do them for fun. People are always pleased, and it’s a gift that really means something.) I planned to have the day off, and I sent out a note today to his roommate to be sure of the time. Before she even got the note, she called to wish me a happy birthday (I’d put the wrong day on her calendar), and when I asked what time the festivities began tomorrow, she told me that I was not welcome. That the groom specifically asked me not to come.
For one thing, she couldn’t tell me why this was the case, partially because she herself wasn’t completely sure, and partially because it was “his thing”. (I believe it should have also been “his thing” to tell me, especially considering that his bride-to-be told me a week ago that I was welcome and that I could bring a friend. I’m really glad I didn’t invite a guest…). For another thing, she told me this at work, at the circulation desk, while a patron was standing there, and I got the added joy of watching this strange man watch my face collapse into embarrassment and tears while I struggled to maintain long enough to help him and then attempt to rush to the closet so that the rest of my patrons didn’t have to hear and see my sobs.
I stayed in the closet for a while, but I could hear patrons coming in, and so I collected myself enough to try to deal. Just as I calmed myself enough to cope, my friend called back to say that she was sorry and that the reason he doesn’t want me there is because he is afraid that I will embarrass him in front of his family.
This time, I didn’t make it to the closet, and everyone just had to hear and see.
Those of you who know me might wonder what would make this young man worry about such a thing – worry enough to pass this edict and end our friendship forever. I have never in my life been drunk enough to truly embarrass myself and others – not even when I was a teen. I am not coarse, I work in a public job, for the government, and I manage to dress and comport myself well enough every day to please the patrons and powers that be. People treat me as if I am pleasant to be around, and trust me with their children, secrets, fears, wishes and handsome husbands.
I can only venture one guess, and if I am right, then this sickens me.
My friend said that he – the groom - didn’t trust me enough not to tell “certain stories” to his family. I can only think of one story that MIGHT have this effect, the story of the night we met. For one thing, this embarrassing aspect of this story does not involve either of us. We were truly innocent bystanders. It’s a funny story and he and I have both told it to various drinking buddies. The fact that he’s willing to hurt me deeply and end our relationship – as well as my ability to spend time at his house, which happens to belong to another good friend of mine – over the RIDICULOUS possibility that I might tell this – or any other (though this story id the only one I can imagine that he means) story to his Christian, conservative family ON HIS WEDDING DAY, hurts me more than even I can believe.
I have screwed up in the past, I have embarassed myself and others before*** - I assume that we ALL have. But I believe - and I thought that my "friends" believed - KNEW - that I can be a lady and a pleasant and useful addition to ANY oocasion - especially one as important as this.
There are many levels of hurt in this. Our mutual friend did not defend me. The groom did not have the courage and respect to ask me himself not to come, or just to ask me not to tell this – or any other story – at his wedding, and he – nor my friend, or any of our other “friends” had enough faith in me to realize that I would NEVER embarrass him on his wedding day, that I would NEVER attempt to tell a story like this to his family at ANY time. There’s the fact that I will be publicly embarrassed within our circle by the knowledge that I was asked not to come, there’s the fact that I have to live with this shame and embarrassment and self-doubt for a time, and there’s the fact that several friendships and artistic situations that meant a great deal to me will be permanently marred by this.
I’m glad I’ve learned to lose things easily, to just let go, and walk away (if only I could do the same with the hurt, but at least that’s fuel for MY art…). I’m glad that my memory is good enough to bring me the sound of his voice and the vision of his face and hands feeling his music as he played, when I am ready to again, and when I need it. And I’m glad that I don’t have to wonder anymore how some people really feel. More pain and isolation here, but less doubt. So be it.
One more room cleaned out, one more door closed and locked behind me here.
-Sam
*He is truly one of the most amazing people I have ever met. His brilliance and genius would seem unbelievable in the telling. You have to see and hear him to believe him.
The loss of seeing and hearing him play will be the most painful thing of all.
**This is an EXCEEDINGLY rare commodity for me, and I hoard and treasure every scrap.
***Though, again, I thought that anyone who knew me knows that embarassment and crass behavior is my kryptonite.
No wonder I feel so alien. At least i know it's not JUST paranoia.
Thursday, August 07, 2003
first, a tidbit for those of you who have been following my road-rants regarding my dangerous trek to work and back )see: july 16 and july 18, for some examples). day before-yesterday, as i was driving home from work (yes, DOWN THE BLOODY MOUNTAIN), my !@#$ BRAKES WENT OUT. yes, lovely. one more nail in the coffin, folks.
in COMPLETELY* unrelated news, i am a subscriber to a lovely service called "the writer's almanac" (thanks, gene!). among other things, they send you a poem a day, and usually you can actually hear it read. it's nice. garrison keillor is a neat guy. here is a poem that i found very... satisfying.
Watch Me Swing
I was the fifth man hired
for the city welfare cleaning crew
at the old Paterson Street ballpark,
Class A minor leagues.
Opening Day was over,
and we raked the wooden benches
for the droppings of the crowd:
wrappers, spilled cups, scorecards,
popcorn cartons, chewed and spat hot dogs,
a whiskey bottle, a condom dried on newspaper.
We swung our brooms,
pausing to watch home runs sail
through April imagination
over the stone fence three hundred feet away,
baseball cracking off the paint factory sign
across Washington Street.
We shuffled and kicked,
plowed and pushed
through the clinging garbage,
savoring our minimum wages.
When the sweeping was done,
and the grandstand benches
clean as Sunday morning pews,
the team business manager
inspected the aisles,
reviewed the cleaning crew
standing like broomstick cadets
and said:
We only need four.
I was the fifth man hired.
As the business manager
strode across the outfield
back to his office,
I wanted to leap the railing,
crouch at home plate
and swing my broom,
aiming a smacked baseball
for the back of his head,
yelling watch me swing, boss,
watch me swing.
-Martin Espada
watch me swing, folks!
xoxox
-samboLEEEENa!
*really. it has NOTHING to do with my current life-dissatisfaction. nothing in the least. not at all.
in COMPLETELY* unrelated news, i am a subscriber to a lovely service called "the writer's almanac" (thanks, gene!). among other things, they send you a poem a day, and usually you can actually hear it read. it's nice. garrison keillor is a neat guy. here is a poem that i found very... satisfying.
Watch Me Swing
I was the fifth man hired
for the city welfare cleaning crew
at the old Paterson Street ballpark,
Class A minor leagues.
Opening Day was over,
and we raked the wooden benches
for the droppings of the crowd:
wrappers, spilled cups, scorecards,
popcorn cartons, chewed and spat hot dogs,
a whiskey bottle, a condom dried on newspaper.
We swung our brooms,
pausing to watch home runs sail
through April imagination
over the stone fence three hundred feet away,
baseball cracking off the paint factory sign
across Washington Street.
We shuffled and kicked,
plowed and pushed
through the clinging garbage,
savoring our minimum wages.
When the sweeping was done,
and the grandstand benches
clean as Sunday morning pews,
the team business manager
inspected the aisles,
reviewed the cleaning crew
standing like broomstick cadets
and said:
We only need four.
I was the fifth man hired.
As the business manager
strode across the outfield
back to his office,
I wanted to leap the railing,
crouch at home plate
and swing my broom,
aiming a smacked baseball
for the back of his head,
yelling watch me swing, boss,
watch me swing.
-Martin Espada
watch me swing, folks!
xoxox
-samboLEEEENa!
*really. it has NOTHING to do with my current life-dissatisfaction. nothing in the least. not at all.
Wednesday, August 06, 2003
and the winner is....
SALLIE CORLEY!
now sallie, let us tell you what you've won!
sallie is my new ASSISTANT! yeah! she started work today - YAY, ME! she will be working here part-time, 20 hours a week, and i am so excited. not only do i have some PAID help now (my poor volunteers have busted heiney unpaid for THREE YEARS - and sallie was one of them), but i like her. she is smart and funny and bright and entertaining, hard-working, clean, thrifty and brave... :) she really is creative and a little bit wild, she's a fantastic cook*, she has an artistic spirit, she's funky and fun. not to mention veryvery pretty (ask stewart. :) and veryvery cool. yeah, we like sallie.
it makes me feel good that i have earned some help, that our branch is "grown-up" enough to merit another employee.
these are good signs. things are looking up!
congratulations, sallie - and congratulations to me AND the library. YAY, US!
hip hip, HUZZAH!
hip hip, HUZZAH!
hip hip, HUZZAH!
welcome on board, sallie-lou thelma-jean bobbie-earl! :D
-s (THE BIG BAD BOSS LADY!)
* i swear, that had absolutely NOTHING to do with my desire to have her here! ;) it really wasn't the lemon squares. honest... by the way sallie... when will you be making some more?
SALLIE CORLEY!
now sallie, let us tell you what you've won!
sallie is my new ASSISTANT! yeah! she started work today - YAY, ME! she will be working here part-time, 20 hours a week, and i am so excited. not only do i have some PAID help now (my poor volunteers have busted heiney unpaid for THREE YEARS - and sallie was one of them), but i like her. she is smart and funny and bright and entertaining, hard-working, clean, thrifty and brave... :) she really is creative and a little bit wild, she's a fantastic cook*, she has an artistic spirit, she's funky and fun. not to mention veryvery pretty (ask stewart. :) and veryvery cool. yeah, we like sallie.
it makes me feel good that i have earned some help, that our branch is "grown-up" enough to merit another employee.
these are good signs. things are looking up!
congratulations, sallie - and congratulations to me AND the library. YAY, US!
hip hip, HUZZAH!
hip hip, HUZZAH!
hip hip, HUZZAH!
welcome on board, sallie-lou thelma-jean bobbie-earl! :D
-s (THE BIG BAD BOSS LADY!)
* i swear, that had absolutely NOTHING to do with my desire to have her here! ;) it really wasn't the lemon squares. honest... by the way sallie... when will you be making some more?
Tuesday, August 05, 2003
My Aunt Sue helped a lot in raising me. She’s kinda’ my “wire monkey mama”. She had her limitations as far as how much she could do for us, but she did as much as she could within those limitations. All the things she did were very special, and went a long way toward making me who I am today. One of her major efforts was to familiarize us with different arts. Some days were painting and drawing days, some days were for crafts, others were opera, ballet, or poetry. Some days we had them all. She also made sure that I understood how special it was to be a girl, how satisfying it was to do good work, and to be thankful to be alive and blessed with my unique and amazing self.
Aunt Sue had someone like that to help her grow up, see the beauty of the outside world, and teach her good things, too. I was lucky enough to know him and be loved by him as well (he passed away when I was 19). Our “Papaw” Joe (he was “Giuseppe deCarmelo Bartelomi*, until Ellis Island) made a big impression on many of us. When I converted to Catholicism at age 15, Papaw Joe became my Godfather. I know that Aunt Sue (and most of the other Aunts) as well as my brother Joe (guess who he was named after) remember him with much love, appreciation and admiration. He was not related to us - he was from Sicily, and his accent was a challenge to some folks until the day he died. Just a few weeks ago, I found out a lot more about how he came into our family (when Sue was a little girl), and it seems very much as if he was dropped into our lives like a guardian angel. He bought land and built a house with his own hands for my grandparents and their children to live in all of their lives. I can’t imagine what things would have been like without him. He gave us faith, new ideas, a broader perspective, warmth, concern, love, and hope for peace in our own lives. Sue recently wrote this lovely “portrait” of Papaw Joe, and she said that I could share it. I’m also happy to share the art of someone so dear and special to me, someone who has shared her art with me all of her life.
“THE WESTWARD PORCH
A Portrait of Joseph Barton
By Sue Kittrell 7/15/03**
He sits there in a padded lawn chair as the sun lowers in the horizon, a small bronze man of Italian origin. His work worn and skilled hands now holding a Mary Knoll magazine obtained through Sacred Heart Catholic Church. He shares it with me and I read St. Paul’s words “in him we live and move and have our being” which is accompanied by a picture of Chinese street dancers.
His culture and intelligence are rich, his imagination and ability far beyond that of the average man. I didn’t know it, but there was a deep affection and love that has only grown over the years, like the beautiful flowers that he grew. I was especially fond of the roses on the arbor he built that arched the front gateway, and the hollyhocks that bloomed in the backyard.
He had a taste for fine things like beautiful cooking utensils for he was an excellent cook, but never usurped the kitchen from Mama. He never drank iced tea sweetened or otherwise; instead he drank iced coffee, and sometimes when it was available, he would have a little wine.
It seems that he knew exactly what would please children as well as others. I know I was always grateful for the flannel-lined jeans and the corduroy shirts and jackets, but especially his Army jacket he gave to me that was the envy of many others of my age.
I am so appreciative that he was a part of our lives, and I hug his memory close, remembering what he said. “When you dream of the dead, say a prayer for them.” So now in my daydreams of him, I say “Thanks Joe, for making our lives good, our memories sweet, and for the desire to pass on those qualities you gave so freely of yourself.
I shall always love you.” -SK-
And I feel the same, about my Sue and my Joes. I hope you all have someone in your life like this.
Much love,
-SL-
*His brothers were Salvatore, Giovanni, Rosario and Tiner(sp?). and his sister was Celeste (seh-LEH-tay) Josephina – my own mother is named Celeste Josephine.
**written on my dad’s birthday.
Aunt Sue had someone like that to help her grow up, see the beauty of the outside world, and teach her good things, too. I was lucky enough to know him and be loved by him as well (he passed away when I was 19). Our “Papaw” Joe (he was “Giuseppe deCarmelo Bartelomi*, until Ellis Island) made a big impression on many of us. When I converted to Catholicism at age 15, Papaw Joe became my Godfather. I know that Aunt Sue (and most of the other Aunts) as well as my brother Joe (guess who he was named after) remember him with much love, appreciation and admiration. He was not related to us - he was from Sicily, and his accent was a challenge to some folks until the day he died. Just a few weeks ago, I found out a lot more about how he came into our family (when Sue was a little girl), and it seems very much as if he was dropped into our lives like a guardian angel. He bought land and built a house with his own hands for my grandparents and their children to live in all of their lives. I can’t imagine what things would have been like without him. He gave us faith, new ideas, a broader perspective, warmth, concern, love, and hope for peace in our own lives. Sue recently wrote this lovely “portrait” of Papaw Joe, and she said that I could share it. I’m also happy to share the art of someone so dear and special to me, someone who has shared her art with me all of her life.
“THE WESTWARD PORCH
A Portrait of Joseph Barton
By Sue Kittrell 7/15/03**
He sits there in a padded lawn chair as the sun lowers in the horizon, a small bronze man of Italian origin. His work worn and skilled hands now holding a Mary Knoll magazine obtained through Sacred Heart Catholic Church. He shares it with me and I read St. Paul’s words “in him we live and move and have our being” which is accompanied by a picture of Chinese street dancers.
His culture and intelligence are rich, his imagination and ability far beyond that of the average man. I didn’t know it, but there was a deep affection and love that has only grown over the years, like the beautiful flowers that he grew. I was especially fond of the roses on the arbor he built that arched the front gateway, and the hollyhocks that bloomed in the backyard.
He had a taste for fine things like beautiful cooking utensils for he was an excellent cook, but never usurped the kitchen from Mama. He never drank iced tea sweetened or otherwise; instead he drank iced coffee, and sometimes when it was available, he would have a little wine.
It seems that he knew exactly what would please children as well as others. I know I was always grateful for the flannel-lined jeans and the corduroy shirts and jackets, but especially his Army jacket he gave to me that was the envy of many others of my age.
I am so appreciative that he was a part of our lives, and I hug his memory close, remembering what he said. “When you dream of the dead, say a prayer for them.” So now in my daydreams of him, I say “Thanks Joe, for making our lives good, our memories sweet, and for the desire to pass on those qualities you gave so freely of yourself.
I shall always love you.” -SK-
And I feel the same, about my Sue and my Joes. I hope you all have someone in your life like this.
Much love,
-SL-
*His brothers were Salvatore, Giovanni, Rosario and Tiner(sp?). and his sister was Celeste (seh-LEH-tay) Josephina – my own mother is named Celeste Josephine.
**written on my dad’s birthday.
Saturday, August 02, 2003
“NEWSFLASH! Worlds’ Biggest Five-Year-Old* Turns 35 (in human years) In 18 Days!!!”
eesh. I am wondering if I will just wake up, see the sun and turn to !@#$ dust! I mean, who EVER thinks they’ll be THIRTY-FIVE one day. Five years from (EEEEEEEEE!) FORTY. I mean, ME. OLD. whoa.
I’m glad I’m here (in the world) and all, no doubt about it, but this whole getting old thing is a bit intimidating. It’s also sort of compulsive, in ways that you don’t think about. Yes, you must get older, but does one really have to say things like “YOU KIDS ARE MAKIN’ ME CRAZY!” and “When I was your age/when WE were kids… [fill in blank with anything that you ALLEGEDLY did not do that kids THESE days are doing that is annoying and/or rude or with generic thing that was better in the 70’s**…]!”? It happens, and you don’t even see it coming!
30 didn’t bother me. In fact, it was nice. It felt like a good transition – a milestone. 35 just feels like a STONE. In actuality, I don’t feel much different on the outside. But inside my little rattly-coconut-head, I am starting to have some serious “sand-running-out” thoughts. I’ve had several nights of panic about whether I will ever see any more of the world, whether I will be able to learn even a small fraction of what I want to, whether I will ever be all that I can be AND find time to properly stalk Vin… see? It’s a quandary.
I think the only way to cope – for the time being – is to plan small, keep myself occupied, be myself... I am having (hopefully) two birthday celebrations. One will be going fishing and having a cookout with the extended Geek/Rennie family, maybe on the 24th; and then having a Gigantor Blowout Good Time at Dragoncon with the Geek Patrol (TOBIE’S FIRST CON!!! YAY!! MY first Dragoncon -my first ANY ‘con in 14 or so years- as a fan… ee.)
There are also some BIG plans in the works. I am thinking about Serious Grown-up Stuff for the first time in my life. These are plans for things that will make a BIG difference in the long-run… but more about that, later.
Speaking of the long-run, what’s really keeping me going lately is a thought that’s become a sort of mantra for me:
”Sam-‘n-a-beach…Sam-‘n-a-beach…Sam-‘n-a-beach…”
‘has a nice ring to it, dunnit? : )
Tide pools, lounge chairs, happy-frisbee-dogs and portable work to you all,
-sam
*other than Bjork***, of course. But I think I really can claim the title, because I am definitely bigger than she is.
**these things are sadly rare. They include cartoons, candy, violence in schools, and behavior in libraries
***THE Queen Mum, Mother Ship of the Universal Order of Bink - in case you didn't know.
eesh. I am wondering if I will just wake up, see the sun and turn to !@#$ dust! I mean, who EVER thinks they’ll be THIRTY-FIVE one day. Five years from (EEEEEEEEE!) FORTY. I mean, ME. OLD. whoa.
I’m glad I’m here (in the world) and all, no doubt about it, but this whole getting old thing is a bit intimidating. It’s also sort of compulsive, in ways that you don’t think about. Yes, you must get older, but does one really have to say things like “YOU KIDS ARE MAKIN’ ME CRAZY!” and “When I was your age/when WE were kids… [fill in blank with anything that you ALLEGEDLY did not do that kids THESE days are doing that is annoying and/or rude or with generic thing that was better in the 70’s**…]!”? It happens, and you don’t even see it coming!
30 didn’t bother me. In fact, it was nice. It felt like a good transition – a milestone. 35 just feels like a STONE. In actuality, I don’t feel much different on the outside. But inside my little rattly-coconut-head, I am starting to have some serious “sand-running-out” thoughts. I’ve had several nights of panic about whether I will ever see any more of the world, whether I will be able to learn even a small fraction of what I want to, whether I will ever be all that I can be AND find time to properly stalk Vin… see? It’s a quandary.
I think the only way to cope – for the time being – is to plan small, keep myself occupied, be myself... I am having (hopefully) two birthday celebrations. One will be going fishing and having a cookout with the extended Geek/Rennie family, maybe on the 24th; and then having a Gigantor Blowout Good Time at Dragoncon with the Geek Patrol (TOBIE’S FIRST CON!!! YAY!! MY first Dragoncon -my first ANY ‘con in 14 or so years- as a fan… ee.)
There are also some BIG plans in the works. I am thinking about Serious Grown-up Stuff for the first time in my life. These are plans for things that will make a BIG difference in the long-run… but more about that, later.
Speaking of the long-run, what’s really keeping me going lately is a thought that’s become a sort of mantra for me:
”Sam-‘n-a-beach…Sam-‘n-a-beach…Sam-‘n-a-beach…”
‘has a nice ring to it, dunnit? : )
Tide pools, lounge chairs, happy-frisbee-dogs and portable work to you all,
-sam
*other than Bjork***, of course. But I think I really can claim the title, because I am definitely bigger than she is.
**these things are sadly rare. They include cartoons, candy, violence in schools, and behavior in libraries
***THE Queen Mum, Mother Ship of the Universal Order of Bink - in case you didn't know.
Friday, August 01, 2003
I realized that, as soon as I’d made up my mind to getthe!@#$outtahere, I could see the beauty of this place with less pain and frustration. Maybe that’s how we should all try to be, all the time, about everything - but it seems very true that “you don’t know what you ‘got ‘till it’s gone…” I need to explore this aspect of my psyche more. Maybe it’s natural, maybe it’s zen, maybe it’s just me… I will write more as I figure it out.
One of my family members - one that I love dearly, one that I know loves me, but who is nonetheless sometimes a VERY negative person – asked me the other night “Sam, when did you fall out of love with the mountains? You were SO ready to go there.” I thought for a moment, and said with utter truth – “I never fell in love with them. I just needed to make a decision quickly so i could get away from there.” I've always thought this was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen or been. The weather here is wonderful ¾ of the year, and there is an abundance of amazing creativity here. But it’s beauty is dangerous and oppressive, the ¼ of the year that the weather is bad, it is unbearably miserable (and dangerous), and the creativity is in a lot of cases jealously guarded, meagerly shared, narrow in it’s perspective, and controversial outside of the expected “norm”. I’d truly hoped that I might fall in love with the mountains, but I know that I will never cease to be an outsider and oddball here, and I will never acclimate to the terrain and the winters.
I have met some people here that I don’t ever want to lose contact with. I have learned a lot, and I have enjoyed some lovely days and nights here. But there’s always been a sharp edge. I’m willing to accept the fact that I may always be near the edge, no matter where I go, but frankly, I am tired of doing it alone. I’ve been so frustrated about the pressure of feeling so unprotected and so singular. Society’s answer is “GET A MAN!”, but that is DEFINITELY not my answer. I’ve even had some people tell me that if I didn’t get a man and have some kids, then I would be alone forever and there would be no one to take care of me when I get old. Who wants to live in a world where that’s even an acceptable consideration? What kind of reason is THAT for commitment and children? I would throw in the towel before I would ever accept a life like that. Ever. If I ever fall in love again, it will be for love's sake and nothing more. It will be obvious, instantaneous, passionate and undeniably real. It will certainly not be based on any kind of practical, so-called "reality" or necessity. Nothing less will do. I would rather be alone forever than settle for anything less than my ideal. I'll settle on a car, a book to read, something for dinner, a place to buy gas, a movie to watch, even a house and a job, but not a partner. You can write that in your family bible.
I have been torn for years now between the need for safety and some protection, for the company of someone that I could truly trust and lean on a little in the very worst of times, and between my fierce need for independence and freedom. Not to mention the fact that, in my way, I am desperately private and selective. I have some good, dear friends here, but none that I can trust the way I need to, or would be able to lean on if things got truly bad. Not to say that my friends here wouldn’t help me with anything – they would, and they have come through in some dire straits. But as bad as those times seemed to them, and even to me, they were not the worst of times, and luckily (for me) they didn’t exceed my limits of what I could ask of friends. But if I got sick, was badly injured, or if things hit true rock bottom, financially, mentally, emotionally… I would be unable to go to them, and they would be unable to understand.
As it is, there are only five people in the world that know me well enough to understand all of this. One of them is barely able to take care himself, one of them has a life-full of her own responsibilities (but I know that if I really needed her, she would be there), one has his own life, and has become distant from me, out of a combination of necessity and Brownian motion in the last ten years (but I also feel that if I truly needed him, he would not hesitate to come to my aid). The other two are there for me, and it's just up to me to be wise, accept their help as much as I can without taking advantage, be sure that I make their trust and effort worthwhile, and thank the Goddess that I have this many people that I can feel close to.
I guess I really am a delicate tropical hothouse flower. I need to be in a place that gets more sun, less winter, I need gardeners that are familiar with my species, and I need to be around other flowers like me, so that I can propagate.
Propagate: prop·a·gate [pr?pp e gà yt]
1. vti BIOLOGY reproduce organism: to reproduce a plant or animal or, cause one to reproduce
2. vti GARDENING create new plants: to multiply plants by the use of seeds or cuttings
3. vt spread something widely: to spread ideas or customs to many people
4. vti PHYSICS impel something forward: to move or transmit something forward in space, especially as a light or sound wave
[Late 16th century. From Latin propagare “to breed plants in layers (of vines),” from, ultimately, propago “layer,” literally “planting out,” from an assumed base meaning “to plant.”]
clinging to the rocks for the time being (and praying for some mulch),
-Floribunda Samiosa*
*this sounds like a Hogwarts' style curse, dunnit? like it would make one suddenly sprout big funny looking, sparkly, hallucinogenic and very aggressive flowers. :)
One of my family members - one that I love dearly, one that I know loves me, but who is nonetheless sometimes a VERY negative person – asked me the other night “Sam, when did you fall out of love with the mountains? You were SO ready to go there.” I thought for a moment, and said with utter truth – “I never fell in love with them. I just needed to make a decision quickly so i could get away from there.” I've always thought this was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen or been. The weather here is wonderful ¾ of the year, and there is an abundance of amazing creativity here. But it’s beauty is dangerous and oppressive, the ¼ of the year that the weather is bad, it is unbearably miserable (and dangerous), and the creativity is in a lot of cases jealously guarded, meagerly shared, narrow in it’s perspective, and controversial outside of the expected “norm”. I’d truly hoped that I might fall in love with the mountains, but I know that I will never cease to be an outsider and oddball here, and I will never acclimate to the terrain and the winters.
I have met some people here that I don’t ever want to lose contact with. I have learned a lot, and I have enjoyed some lovely days and nights here. But there’s always been a sharp edge. I’m willing to accept the fact that I may always be near the edge, no matter where I go, but frankly, I am tired of doing it alone. I’ve been so frustrated about the pressure of feeling so unprotected and so singular. Society’s answer is “GET A MAN!”, but that is DEFINITELY not my answer. I’ve even had some people tell me that if I didn’t get a man and have some kids, then I would be alone forever and there would be no one to take care of me when I get old. Who wants to live in a world where that’s even an acceptable consideration? What kind of reason is THAT for commitment and children? I would throw in the towel before I would ever accept a life like that. Ever. If I ever fall in love again, it will be for love's sake and nothing more. It will be obvious, instantaneous, passionate and undeniably real. It will certainly not be based on any kind of practical, so-called "reality" or necessity. Nothing less will do. I would rather be alone forever than settle for anything less than my ideal. I'll settle on a car, a book to read, something for dinner, a place to buy gas, a movie to watch, even a house and a job, but not a partner. You can write that in your family bible.
I have been torn for years now between the need for safety and some protection, for the company of someone that I could truly trust and lean on a little in the very worst of times, and between my fierce need for independence and freedom. Not to mention the fact that, in my way, I am desperately private and selective. I have some good, dear friends here, but none that I can trust the way I need to, or would be able to lean on if things got truly bad. Not to say that my friends here wouldn’t help me with anything – they would, and they have come through in some dire straits. But as bad as those times seemed to them, and even to me, they were not the worst of times, and luckily (for me) they didn’t exceed my limits of what I could ask of friends. But if I got sick, was badly injured, or if things hit true rock bottom, financially, mentally, emotionally… I would be unable to go to them, and they would be unable to understand.
As it is, there are only five people in the world that know me well enough to understand all of this. One of them is barely able to take care himself, one of them has a life-full of her own responsibilities (but I know that if I really needed her, she would be there), one has his own life, and has become distant from me, out of a combination of necessity and Brownian motion in the last ten years (but I also feel that if I truly needed him, he would not hesitate to come to my aid). The other two are there for me, and it's just up to me to be wise, accept their help as much as I can without taking advantage, be sure that I make their trust and effort worthwhile, and thank the Goddess that I have this many people that I can feel close to.
I guess I really am a delicate tropical hothouse flower. I need to be in a place that gets more sun, less winter, I need gardeners that are familiar with my species, and I need to be around other flowers like me, so that I can propagate.
Propagate: prop·a·gate [pr?pp e gà yt]
1. vti BIOLOGY reproduce organism: to reproduce a plant or animal or, cause one to reproduce
2. vti GARDENING create new plants: to multiply plants by the use of seeds or cuttings
3. vt spread something widely: to spread ideas or customs to many people
4. vti PHYSICS impel something forward: to move or transmit something forward in space, especially as a light or sound wave
[Late 16th century. From Latin propagare “to breed plants in layers (of vines),” from, ultimately, propago “layer,” literally “planting out,” from an assumed base meaning “to plant.”]
clinging to the rocks for the time being (and praying for some mulch),
-Floribunda Samiosa*
*this sounds like a Hogwarts' style curse, dunnit? like it would make one suddenly sprout big funny looking, sparkly, hallucinogenic and very aggressive flowers. :)
Thursday, July 31, 2003
I’m reading “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”. Never read it before, but of course, I loved the movie. Johnny Depp, Benecio Del Toro*, Terry Gilliam, big fat special effects budget – how could it be anything other than excellent. Of course, I didn’t know until recently how unerringly true it is to not only the text, but the spirit of the book. I like Thompson’s simple, blunt writing style. I prefer him to Ginsberg and Kerouac (though I do have to say that ole’ Jack was a nice-looking man – AND he wrote “whee”** from time to time.) “Fear and Loathing” (in fact, all of his work) is a diary/commentary, basically. His Gonzo Journalism was all about experiencing his life to the edge – and over, if he could get there (and I think he did, quite often sometimes) and then writing about it, so that other people could have a sense of what he felt – without having to be so… “unsafe”. Without having to take the dangerous, insane, very visceral route that he did. He likes to live, to experience things to the nth degree, and he likes to share his opinions and feelings. (And he’d probably puke if he read this sappy girlie, bloody-hearted sounding description of him, too. But it’s true, and if he promises not to bring his gun, I’ll fight him over it…)
What I was thinking as I was reading last night was “Y’know… maybe that’s what I am – a Gonzo Journalist… but then I realized that I’m probably more of a Fozzie.
Yeah. There’s more tender humor to my reporting, more sentimentality, and a LOT less drugs. Whoa. I tend to not see lizards unless they’re running into the cracks in my steps (and they are definitely real, unless Luna is hallucinating, too). And I just don’t have the desire to randomly shoot things with giant guns. (I’d MUCH rather hit them with big sticks.)
Plus, my jokes are usually really, really bad.
Nonetheless, there’s a bit of Gonzo in me. I feel it surging in my head when I try to get to sleep, when I wake up with my jaw clenched and my fists tight. I think that’s the part of me that longs to strike out and walk the railroad tracks until they end and then find a dim bar, have a few drinks, listen to something sad on the jukebox and clobber somebody. It’s the part of me that wants to find out what the dark side of China and the bright side of New York is really about. It’s the part that wants to rant at intersections, tell my boss (and the government and my mother and preachers and teachers and Men…) to !@#$ OFF, the part that wishes I’d been with my brother and the Tuareg for that 400+ mile camel trek from Bamako to Tombouctou***…
I love being a woman, all my special powers mean a lot to me, but I rail and rage against the fact that I don’t have the power and safety that a man has… if I were a man, I’d be a LOT more Gonzo and a lot less Fozzie… it’s hard to live alone, work alone, drink alone, travel alone, be left alone. Maybe in my next lifetime…
For now, I’m dealing with the semi-Gonzo realization that it’s simply easier for me to love something when I know that I’m going to lose it – and all the other realizations that come with that. The why’s, how’s, and what-the-hell’s of it all. I hope I live long enough to understand me a little better. That would be so nice.
More about that, later. I promise.
And Ellie and Joe. I would love y’all both, no matter what (I think y’all know that by now), but I want you to know that you are more dear to me than either of you will ever know.
Much love,
-Sam
*not to mention, Tobey Maguire, Ellen Barkin, Gary Busey, Christina Ricci, Mark Harmon, Cameron Diaz, Katherine Helmond, Michael Jeter, Penn Jillette, Lyle Lovette, Flea, Harry Dean Stanton and Laraine Newman.
**”Oh, man,' said Dean to me as we stood in front of a bar, 'dig the street of life, the Chinamen that cut by in Chicago. What a weird town--wow, and that woman in that window up there, just looking down with her big breasts hanging from her nightgown, big wide eyes. Whee. Sal, we gotta go and never stop going till we get there.’”
***I can’t believe you got rid of that axe, Joe! I would love to have had that! : ) I’m just happy I got to SEE it!
What I was thinking as I was reading last night was “Y’know… maybe that’s what I am – a Gonzo Journalist… but then I realized that I’m probably more of a Fozzie.
Yeah. There’s more tender humor to my reporting, more sentimentality, and a LOT less drugs. Whoa. I tend to not see lizards unless they’re running into the cracks in my steps (and they are definitely real, unless Luna is hallucinating, too). And I just don’t have the desire to randomly shoot things with giant guns. (I’d MUCH rather hit them with big sticks.)
Plus, my jokes are usually really, really bad.
Nonetheless, there’s a bit of Gonzo in me. I feel it surging in my head when I try to get to sleep, when I wake up with my jaw clenched and my fists tight. I think that’s the part of me that longs to strike out and walk the railroad tracks until they end and then find a dim bar, have a few drinks, listen to something sad on the jukebox and clobber somebody. It’s the part of me that wants to find out what the dark side of China and the bright side of New York is really about. It’s the part that wants to rant at intersections, tell my boss (and the government and my mother and preachers and teachers and Men…) to !@#$ OFF, the part that wishes I’d been with my brother and the Tuareg for that 400+ mile camel trek from Bamako to Tombouctou***…
I love being a woman, all my special powers mean a lot to me, but I rail and rage against the fact that I don’t have the power and safety that a man has… if I were a man, I’d be a LOT more Gonzo and a lot less Fozzie… it’s hard to live alone, work alone, drink alone, travel alone, be left alone. Maybe in my next lifetime…
For now, I’m dealing with the semi-Gonzo realization that it’s simply easier for me to love something when I know that I’m going to lose it – and all the other realizations that come with that. The why’s, how’s, and what-the-hell’s of it all. I hope I live long enough to understand me a little better. That would be so nice.
More about that, later. I promise.
And Ellie and Joe. I would love y’all both, no matter what (I think y’all know that by now), but I want you to know that you are more dear to me than either of you will ever know.
Much love,
-Sam
*not to mention, Tobey Maguire, Ellen Barkin, Gary Busey, Christina Ricci, Mark Harmon, Cameron Diaz, Katherine Helmond, Michael Jeter, Penn Jillette, Lyle Lovette, Flea, Harry Dean Stanton and Laraine Newman.
**”Oh, man,' said Dean to me as we stood in front of a bar, 'dig the street of life, the Chinamen that cut by in Chicago. What a weird town--wow, and that woman in that window up there, just looking down with her big breasts hanging from her nightgown, big wide eyes. Whee. Sal, we gotta go and never stop going till we get there.’”
***I can’t believe you got rid of that axe, Joe! I would love to have had that! : ) I’m just happy I got to SEE it!
Sunday, July 27, 2003
dear diary,
myehn myehn myeh myeh, myehn...
KZZZT!
THIS B*!@# SESSION HAS BEEN INTERRUPTED* IN ORDER TO BRING YOU A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT!
'Day Off' has been completely updated today! There is a fat new photo gallery, a new art gallery, a new HOTTIE (woo!), and 3 (yes, THREE!!) brand new “Days Off”, catching y’all up on some my latest adventures (prepare to print, and get out the magnifying glass. and PLEASE don’t hurt yourself falling off of computer chairs trying to read upside down!)
Ellie, happy birthday. #26 is yours to keep and frame. I can mail it along with your negatives if you so desire. Joe, warning: get out the kleenex again, but only for laugh-tears this time!
Buffy, same goes for you, I would like to prezzie you with #27, you can hang it up (IN THE NEW HOUSE!) next to #22. Thanks so much for being GIRRLZ with me last Saturday night, I needed it. And in response to your question, I get the energy from: my mom's genes, the music, and a desperate built-up need to SHAKE MY GROOVE THANG! :D
Rick and all the guys in Sevenmoore - thanks again for inviting me out. As if you can't tell, I had a BALL - even if y'all DIDN'T "play some skynrd, man!" ;)
Thank you all (EXCEPT FOR THE !@#$ BOARD OF COMMISSIONERS) for the inspiration, photo-ops, abs & biceps**, and gin and tonics***. I do hope you enjoy the outcome.
MUCH love,
-Sambolina
*YAY!
**well...
***yes, seamus, i did think of you.
myehn myehn myeh myeh, myehn...
KZZZT!
THIS B*!@# SESSION HAS BEEN INTERRUPTED* IN ORDER TO BRING YOU A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT!
'Day Off' has been completely updated today! There is a fat new photo gallery, a new art gallery, a new HOTTIE (woo!), and 3 (yes, THREE!!) brand new “Days Off”, catching y’all up on some my latest adventures (prepare to print, and get out the magnifying glass. and PLEASE don’t hurt yourself falling off of computer chairs trying to read upside down!)
Ellie, happy birthday. #26 is yours to keep and frame. I can mail it along with your negatives if you so desire. Joe, warning: get out the kleenex again, but only for laugh-tears this time!
Buffy, same goes for you, I would like to prezzie you with #27, you can hang it up (IN THE NEW HOUSE!) next to #22. Thanks so much for being GIRRLZ with me last Saturday night, I needed it. And in response to your question, I get the energy from: my mom's genes, the music, and a desperate built-up need to SHAKE MY GROOVE THANG! :D
Rick and all the guys in Sevenmoore - thanks again for inviting me out. As if you can't tell, I had a BALL - even if y'all DIDN'T "play some skynrd, man!" ;)
Thank you all (EXCEPT FOR THE !@#$ BOARD OF COMMISSIONERS) for the inspiration, photo-ops, abs & biceps**, and gin and tonics***. I do hope you enjoy the outcome.
MUCH love,
-Sambolina
*YAY!
**well...
***yes, seamus, i did think of you.
Saturday, July 26, 2003
"It's bad timing and me
We find a lot of things out this way
And there's you
A little black cloud in a dress..."
Ahhh, Billy. I love you, dear.
(Remind me to show you guys the pics of Billy Bragg, his bass player Wiggy and I in a photo booth some time... )
For some reason, whenever I feel especially restless and girlie, lyrics from Worker's Playtime pop into my head. I think that most true B.B. fans find that album to be too sentimental and frivolous, but they are probably just suffering from the long-term results of severe testosterone poisoning* and so their opinions on such matters probably don't really count. The next time I'm in a photo booth with Billy, I'll ask him what he thinks about all of this - taking into consideration that he's probably got some testosterone poisoning, too - though it does sound as if he's been treated for it.
Raar. EVERYthing chafes. I feel like I have a bra on my LIFE. It's back to bobcat fence-pacing again. And so soon... raar. The thing is, while I was in California, I heard the proverbial 'baby cry'*** and now my pacing seems simultaneously more frantic AND pleasurable. as it, maybe it has a purpose, now. Maybe when that bobcat was pacing for so long, it had forgotten that there was, um, real prey**** out there... but after it heard that sound, maybe it's pacing felt better. like there was a reason for doing it, and for a little while, it could remember.
My friend Mark made a comment the other evening about my being a "free spirit", and then he signed my guest book and said "My comment to you that "you are a free spirit" is a little short of the mark... I feel you dear lady." Such a sweet thing to say, but it really made me think. I wrote him back and told him that as nice as the thought is, I am definitely NOT free. No more so than anyone else in this enormous monkey-cage. I also said that the only difference between me and some other people is that I see the cage, and I am CONSTANTLY looking for holes.
I realize that there are probably no holes, not anymore. The world is WAY past full, and relatively "safe" places to fly away to are non-existent; but that doesn't mean that you have to just pace and accept the section of cage that you've been given. What in the hell kind of bobcat
ARE you if you don't search EVERY INCH of your borders?
A very few brave and/or stupid people have asked me "So, what are you running from, Sam?"
Well, other than abusive family members, places that remind me of horribly murdered dear ones,
the oppression of being surrounded by ignorant, close-minded people who just can't handle the all of ANYthing - much less ME - oh, and ROADS FALLING OFF THE SIDES OF !@#$ MOUNTAINS....
I'm not running from. I'm running TO. New. New experience, new sky, new smells and faces and thoughts and ideas.
I'd have never been the person I am now (someone I happen to like very much) if I'd never made the jump to here... Who ever decided that "settling down" was the prime objective anyway? I mean, look at the Vikings and the Mongols (see Fri. Feb. 7 blog). What were THEY running away from (besides the worst !@#$ winters in the history of ever and no !@#$ FOOD, of course...) Not a damned thing. They were discovering new lands. They wanted a variety of things to rape and pillage - and who could bloody blame them. One gets tired of the same old raping and pillaging, day in, day out. Sheesh.
I have a card on my fridge that says "In order to discover new lands, one has to be willing to lose sight of the shore for a very long time." I AM WILLING.
I ache to discover new lands, even if they're mostly just in the Archipelago of Sam's Psyche.
I am already making a very small catalogue of the things I'd miss here... rainy lush summer is one. Satzes and other rennies is another... But i have become a pro at learning to lose things gracefully, and frankly, one feels a lot lighter when one loses things. I've also learned, thanks to my last big jump, that the important things - the things worth missing - can never be lost. As Buffy told her girls "Well, we'd just have a reason to visit California."
I sure do love that lady, and i feel as certain of her as I do of Sandy Parker and Charlyn... No matter where I go, Half Moon Bay or Ulaanbaatar, we will still be close. All the chaff will be left behind, and I will have a handful of golden wheat - not to mention a new sky to grow under.
"If no one seems to understand
Start your own revolution and cut out the middleman -
In a perfect world we'd all sing in tune
But this is reality so give me some room -
So join the struggle while you may
The Revolution is just a T-shirt away -
Waiting for the Great Leap Forwards"
MUCH love,
-s
*as dear Dave Barry points out in his 'Complete Guide to Guys'**, steroids - INCLUDING testosterone are a controlled substance and are DANGEROUS.
**buy this book, steal it, or check it out from the library. DO read it. DO NOT attempt to drink anything WHILE reading it.
***see Saturday, Jan. 18 blog for the original reference, and Friday, June 27 for the sequel...
****sorry, i know it's a creepy thought, but it's real life.
We find a lot of things out this way
And there's you
A little black cloud in a dress..."
Ahhh, Billy. I love you, dear.
(Remind me to show you guys the pics of Billy Bragg, his bass player Wiggy and I in a photo booth some time... )
For some reason, whenever I feel especially restless and girlie, lyrics from Worker's Playtime pop into my head. I think that most true B.B. fans find that album to be too sentimental and frivolous, but they are probably just suffering from the long-term results of severe testosterone poisoning* and so their opinions on such matters probably don't really count. The next time I'm in a photo booth with Billy, I'll ask him what he thinks about all of this - taking into consideration that he's probably got some testosterone poisoning, too - though it does sound as if he's been treated for it.
Raar. EVERYthing chafes. I feel like I have a bra on my LIFE. It's back to bobcat fence-pacing again. And so soon... raar. The thing is, while I was in California, I heard the proverbial 'baby cry'*** and now my pacing seems simultaneously more frantic AND pleasurable. as it, maybe it has a purpose, now. Maybe when that bobcat was pacing for so long, it had forgotten that there was, um, real prey**** out there... but after it heard that sound, maybe it's pacing felt better. like there was a reason for doing it, and for a little while, it could remember.
My friend Mark made a comment the other evening about my being a "free spirit", and then he signed my guest book and said "My comment to you that "you are a free spirit" is a little short of the mark... I feel you dear lady." Such a sweet thing to say, but it really made me think. I wrote him back and told him that as nice as the thought is, I am definitely NOT free. No more so than anyone else in this enormous monkey-cage. I also said that the only difference between me and some other people is that I see the cage, and I am CONSTANTLY looking for holes.
I realize that there are probably no holes, not anymore. The world is WAY past full, and relatively "safe" places to fly away to are non-existent; but that doesn't mean that you have to just pace and accept the section of cage that you've been given. What in the hell kind of bobcat
ARE you if you don't search EVERY INCH of your borders?
A very few brave and/or stupid people have asked me "So, what are you running from, Sam?"
Well, other than abusive family members, places that remind me of horribly murdered dear ones,
the oppression of being surrounded by ignorant, close-minded people who just can't handle the all of ANYthing - much less ME - oh, and ROADS FALLING OFF THE SIDES OF !@#$ MOUNTAINS....
I'm not running from. I'm running TO. New. New experience, new sky, new smells and faces and thoughts and ideas.
I'd have never been the person I am now (someone I happen to like very much) if I'd never made the jump to here... Who ever decided that "settling down" was the prime objective anyway? I mean, look at the Vikings and the Mongols (see Fri. Feb. 7 blog). What were THEY running away from (besides the worst !@#$ winters in the history of ever and no !@#$ FOOD, of course...) Not a damned thing. They were discovering new lands. They wanted a variety of things to rape and pillage - and who could bloody blame them. One gets tired of the same old raping and pillaging, day in, day out. Sheesh.
I have a card on my fridge that says "In order to discover new lands, one has to be willing to lose sight of the shore for a very long time." I AM WILLING.
I ache to discover new lands, even if they're mostly just in the Archipelago of Sam's Psyche.
I am already making a very small catalogue of the things I'd miss here... rainy lush summer is one. Satzes and other rennies is another... But i have become a pro at learning to lose things gracefully, and frankly, one feels a lot lighter when one loses things. I've also learned, thanks to my last big jump, that the important things - the things worth missing - can never be lost. As Buffy told her girls "Well, we'd just have a reason to visit California."
I sure do love that lady, and i feel as certain of her as I do of Sandy Parker and Charlyn... No matter where I go, Half Moon Bay or Ulaanbaatar, we will still be close. All the chaff will be left behind, and I will have a handful of golden wheat - not to mention a new sky to grow under.
"If no one seems to understand
Start your own revolution and cut out the middleman -
In a perfect world we'd all sing in tune
But this is reality so give me some room -
So join the struggle while you may
The Revolution is just a T-shirt away -
Waiting for the Great Leap Forwards"
MUCH love,
-s
*as dear Dave Barry points out in his 'Complete Guide to Guys'**, steroids - INCLUDING testosterone are a controlled substance and are DANGEROUS.
**buy this book, steal it, or check it out from the library. DO read it. DO NOT attempt to drink anything WHILE reading it.
***see Saturday, Jan. 18 blog for the original reference, and Friday, June 27 for the sequel...
****sorry, i know it's a creepy thought, but it's real life.
Friday, July 25, 2003
To live content with small means,
to seek elegance rather than luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion,
to be worthy, not respectable,
and wealthy, not rich.
To study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly,
to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart,
to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasions,
hurry never.
In a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious,
grow up through the common.
This is to be my symphony.
-William Henry Channing-
to seek elegance rather than luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion,
to be worthy, not respectable,
and wealthy, not rich.
To study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly,
to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart,
to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasions,
hurry never.
In a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious,
grow up through the common.
This is to be my symphony.
-William Henry Channing-
Saturday, July 19, 2003
A True Rant!
I have some people to add to the “Boot to the Head” list.
People who do ANYTHING in the theatre to distract me from the !@#$ EIGHT DOLLARS worth of film I am attempting to see. Talking, explaining the !@#$ movie to one’s idiot neighbor, crying babies or loud kids (ESPECIALLY in the evening shows of adult films. Raar!) !@#$ CELL PHONES, heckling*, etc. And yes, I want to see and hear the trailers, too.
…and speaking of cell phones, people in restaurants ought to be allowed to throw food (well, rolls at least) at people who sit there and talk on their damned phones.
People who come into public service facilities (eateries, convenience stores, department stores, federal buildings, LIBRARIES, etc.) and use the fact that you are FORCED to be polite and help them to exercise their inferiority issues. It is just NOT a good idea to treat those whom you rely on for assistance, clean potties, speedy checkout, or sanitary food like peons, people! You have been warned.
People who leave wads of gum ANYWHERE OTHER THAN THE TRASH!!!
People who let their kids run wild and loud in places where other people need/want quiet.
I won’t go to Chuckie Cheese and insist on a nice, quiet meal, YOU keep your little rowdy heathens outta my favorite bookshop.
Lets add certain adults to that list, too.
Gum and food smackers. OMG. I honestly want to believe in hell when I am around these people. And sadly enough, kid are not the worse transgressors. The kids who are guilty of this have an excuse. They're kids, they haven't learned yet. You can't say SQUAT to the adults who commit this heinous annoyance.
People who are purposefully obnoxious on the roads. This includes – yes, the whole cell phone issue, throwing out trash, impolite passing or just not getting the hell out of the way when someone else wants to pass.
Peeing on the seat... ladies do this, too. Just wipe it off, people! It's YOUR pee!
Boys who compare real women unfavorably to anorexic, collagen and silicone implanted, freak-of-nature celebrities. When you guys GET these girls, THEN you can talk smack. Until then, shut up and consider yourself lucky that real women will have anything to do with you.
Hugging people without being sure that it's ok, or touching ANY bits** without permission. The most obvious transgressors are old men. I wish I had a taser SUIT.
Those missing link people – yes, there are still some around - who think that if you are not a Caucasian Anglo-Saxon Heterosexual (Male) Christian who cannot suppress his or her emotions and opinions that you are not worthy to share the planets’ available food or oxygen.
People who have the unmitigated gall to tell ANY woman – but especially young girls – that their butts, or ANY part of their body are too large, too small, too ANYTHING that is their natural, unique and beautiful shape. If you are truly concerned about their health, then say so, kindly. Otherwise, shut the bleep up.
That’s it for now, but I expect that this list will grow as time goes by. Feel free to write with any suggestions that you might have to add to my list.
Thanks, and by the way, your butt looks GREAT – and I’m not gonna call you on your cell phone during a movie to tell you that!
Rant on, folks!
xo
-s
*this does not count if the movie is “Dungeons and Dragons” or any other REALLY bad movie, or a movie at the Brew&View. Heckling in these cases is expected and is actually an
intrinsic part of the viewing experience. Or in the case of "D&D", the only way anyone might get any entertainment for their $.
*my jewelry is fondled more than you would ever believe. yes. my jewelry.
I have some people to add to the “Boot to the Head” list.
People who do ANYTHING in the theatre to distract me from the !@#$ EIGHT DOLLARS worth of film I am attempting to see. Talking, explaining the !@#$ movie to one’s idiot neighbor, crying babies or loud kids (ESPECIALLY in the evening shows of adult films. Raar!) !@#$ CELL PHONES, heckling*, etc. And yes, I want to see and hear the trailers, too.
…and speaking of cell phones, people in restaurants ought to be allowed to throw food (well, rolls at least) at people who sit there and talk on their damned phones.
People who come into public service facilities (eateries, convenience stores, department stores, federal buildings, LIBRARIES, etc.) and use the fact that you are FORCED to be polite and help them to exercise their inferiority issues. It is just NOT a good idea to treat those whom you rely on for assistance, clean potties, speedy checkout, or sanitary food like peons, people! You have been warned.
People who leave wads of gum ANYWHERE OTHER THAN THE TRASH!!!
People who let their kids run wild and loud in places where other people need/want quiet.
I won’t go to Chuckie Cheese and insist on a nice, quiet meal, YOU keep your little rowdy heathens outta my favorite bookshop.
Lets add certain adults to that list, too.
Gum and food smackers. OMG. I honestly want to believe in hell when I am around these people. And sadly enough, kid are not the worse transgressors. The kids who are guilty of this have an excuse. They're kids, they haven't learned yet. You can't say SQUAT to the adults who commit this heinous annoyance.
People who are purposefully obnoxious on the roads. This includes – yes, the whole cell phone issue, throwing out trash, impolite passing or just not getting the hell out of the way when someone else wants to pass.
Peeing on the seat... ladies do this, too. Just wipe it off, people! It's YOUR pee!
Boys who compare real women unfavorably to anorexic, collagen and silicone implanted, freak-of-nature celebrities. When you guys GET these girls, THEN you can talk smack. Until then, shut up and consider yourself lucky that real women will have anything to do with you.
Hugging people without being sure that it's ok, or touching ANY bits** without permission. The most obvious transgressors are old men. I wish I had a taser SUIT.
Those missing link people – yes, there are still some around - who think that if you are not a Caucasian Anglo-Saxon Heterosexual (Male) Christian who cannot suppress his or her emotions and opinions that you are not worthy to share the planets’ available food or oxygen.
People who have the unmitigated gall to tell ANY woman – but especially young girls – that their butts, or ANY part of their body are too large, too small, too ANYTHING that is their natural, unique and beautiful shape. If you are truly concerned about their health, then say so, kindly. Otherwise, shut the bleep up.
That’s it for now, but I expect that this list will grow as time goes by. Feel free to write with any suggestions that you might have to add to my list.
Thanks, and by the way, your butt looks GREAT – and I’m not gonna call you on your cell phone during a movie to tell you that!
Rant on, folks!
xo
-s
*this does not count if the movie is “Dungeons and Dragons” or any other REALLY bad movie, or a movie at the Brew&View. Heckling in these cases is expected and is actually an
intrinsic part of the viewing experience. Or in the case of "D&D", the only way anyone might get any entertainment for their $.
*my jewelry is fondled more than you would ever believe. yes. my jewelry.
Friday, July 18, 2003
back in the day, before the expensive & intensive therapy*, the fat chunks of anti-venin-like misery that life handed me in the 2 or 3 years before i moved here, before i just pulled up my proverbial socks and grew up a little, i used to have pretty severe panic attacks. they were related to some odd triggers - old sheds, orange electric cords**, music by 'the eagles'***...
i know. it all sounds pretty odd, even to me. but believe me, there was a good concrete reason for all of it. nonetheless, i am happy to say that i don't have panic attacks any more. even on the plane flying out of !@#$ o'hare in the !@#$ thunderstorm, i just made myself relax and i coped. ok, i also took a sedative and prayed really hard, but still, i did not panic.
however, on the way to work this morning, driving up 176, curving up and through the lush, almost tropical scenery, broken only by the giant orange diamond signs:
"WARNING! MEN DIPPING AND LEANING ON SHOVELS!"; "DANGER! ROAD FALLING OFF THE SIDE OF THE DAMNED MOUNTAIN!", etc. i honestly think i started getting a little... 'trepid' just seeing the signs, all the big ncdot equipment and the 'rud wuhkuhs'****, but when i saw how much of the road is now just GONE, and a man on a bulldozer that was hanging off the lip, i remembered that feeling, the beginning of panic. the lurch in the stomach (my vertigo has gotten worse over the years here, to the point that thinking about a steep drop makes me queasy), the wooziness and the start of hyperventilation. i got a grip on it (that would be a very bad place to have my first attack in years) but what really galvanized me was the sight, as i rounded the curve again, of a boulder the size of Concrete at the edge of MY lane. the SAFE lane. !@#$!!! instead of panic, i felt MAD, partially because this is just ridiculous, and partly because it looks as if i'll be driving in trucker hell, sucking up burning brake fumes to and fro, now.
yes, people, it's a LOVELY view. enjoy it before something falls on you or you fall on something.
oh yeah, and be sure to visit the Big Bradley Falls****** while you're here.
nostalgic for hurricanes,
-s
*worth EVERY penny.
**people here call them "drop cords". damned yankees.
***sadly, this is not a joke. i have had to leave more restaurants on the first notes of "take it easy" than you would believe and don't even get me started on !@#$ "best of my love" or... *shudder* "hotel california"... strangely enough, though, i love 'desperado'.
****a lot of them are inmates, and honey, they make carnies look like the frickin' chippendales.
*****i tried to find articles about all the people who have fallen from here and died or were permanently injured (there have been at least one a year since i moved here, last year there were three.) but strangely enough the polk county tourism bureau isn't publishing that stuff. hm.
i know. it all sounds pretty odd, even to me. but believe me, there was a good concrete reason for all of it. nonetheless, i am happy to say that i don't have panic attacks any more. even on the plane flying out of !@#$ o'hare in the !@#$ thunderstorm, i just made myself relax and i coped. ok, i also took a sedative and prayed really hard, but still, i did not panic.
however, on the way to work this morning, driving up 176, curving up and through the lush, almost tropical scenery, broken only by the giant orange diamond signs:
"WARNING! MEN DIPPING AND LEANING ON SHOVELS!"; "DANGER! ROAD FALLING OFF THE SIDE OF THE DAMNED MOUNTAIN!", etc. i honestly think i started getting a little... 'trepid' just seeing the signs, all the big ncdot equipment and the 'rud wuhkuhs'****, but when i saw how much of the road is now just GONE, and a man on a bulldozer that was hanging off the lip, i remembered that feeling, the beginning of panic. the lurch in the stomach (my vertigo has gotten worse over the years here, to the point that thinking about a steep drop makes me queasy), the wooziness and the start of hyperventilation. i got a grip on it (that would be a very bad place to have my first attack in years) but what really galvanized me was the sight, as i rounded the curve again, of a boulder the size of Concrete at the edge of MY lane. the SAFE lane. !@#$!!! instead of panic, i felt MAD, partially because this is just ridiculous, and partly because it looks as if i'll be driving in trucker hell, sucking up burning brake fumes to and fro, now.
yes, people, it's a LOVELY view. enjoy it before something falls on you or you fall on something.
oh yeah, and be sure to visit the Big Bradley Falls****** while you're here.
nostalgic for hurricanes,
-s
*worth EVERY penny.
**people here call them "drop cords". damned yankees.
***sadly, this is not a joke. i have had to leave more restaurants on the first notes of "take it easy" than you would believe and don't even get me started on !@#$ "best of my love" or... *shudder* "hotel california"... strangely enough, though, i love 'desperado'.
****a lot of them are inmates, and honey, they make carnies look like the frickin' chippendales.
*****i tried to find articles about all the people who have fallen from here and died or were permanently injured (there have been at least one a year since i moved here, last year there were three.) but strangely enough the polk county tourism bureau isn't publishing that stuff. hm.
Thursday, July 17, 2003
its been another one of those "matrix-ey" days... i've had a lot of those lately. not bad, just extremely odd. even more coincidences than usual (and for me that is a LOT). every time i look at a clock it's 11:11, 1:11, 3:33... things LOOK odd... when i got out of my truck this a.m., there was a couple unloading two beautiful golden retriever pups for a stroll. i asked their names, and they were "rebel" and "dixie". i said "i'm from mississippi, i like those names!" and they looked shocked and said "really? where?" three or four sentences later, it turns out that the man's (clay odom) dad was the superintendent of the school that several of us went to and a couple of us taught at*. most people don't even know what "new augusta ms." is, but i run into people from there on my way to work, a thousand miles and light years of memory away.
the weather's wonderful. very hot and nicely humid. maybe it's set on that in my pod, to lull me. :) it knows i'm "homesick", so i run into folks from home. why can't it realize that vin diesel (or maybe johnny depp**) needs a vacation home in polk county?
i got a VERY sweet letter from ellie... i am going juking on saturday night. going to see 7Moore at the Orange Peel, by invitation from the band, no less... yay,me! jen called, Dragoncon and birthday plans are under way, and baby and mum&dad seem to be doing well... i got a nice call with lovely, lovely reading included from aunt sue last night, so no, definitely not bad matrix-ey... but still. there is a surreality to all of it that just makes me wonder. could my life really be like this? could i really feel and think this way all the time? i could definitely be responsible for the creation of vin diesel in a program like this...
GOD MADE ORC BOYS! :D
ok. i'll shut up. i have no right to complain - though i'm not complaining. just... wondering...
anyone else having these kinds of days?**** write me. ken won't admit it, but every time i mention it, he gives me a funny look. MAYYYYbe it's just a "damn, sam, smoke ANOTHER one!" look, but maybe he knows EXACTLY what i'm talking about.
ok. i'll really shut up this time...
FOR NOW!
waiting for the red pill (or was it the blue?),
-sam
* but also a place where i did not learn to end a sentence with a preposition. good thing i taught art, eh?
**sorry vin. i'm sure it's a passing thing.***
***ok, maybe not. *sigh* :D
****i've had them all of my life, but this damned movie has really made me wonder what in the hell is UP! ok, i'll admit it, it's just rerouted my normal hogwarts express of thought, but still! what in the hell is UP! (it's far more amusing to blame the movie, or even The Matrix than to blame "god" or "fate" or "pheromones" or what-the-hell-ever. :)
the weather's wonderful. very hot and nicely humid. maybe it's set on that in my pod, to lull me. :) it knows i'm "homesick", so i run into folks from home. why can't it realize that vin diesel (or maybe johnny depp**) needs a vacation home in polk county?
i got a VERY sweet letter from ellie... i am going juking on saturday night. going to see 7Moore at the Orange Peel, by invitation from the band, no less... yay,me! jen called, Dragoncon and birthday plans are under way, and baby and mum&dad seem to be doing well... i got a nice call with lovely, lovely reading included from aunt sue last night, so no, definitely not bad matrix-ey... but still. there is a surreality to all of it that just makes me wonder. could my life really be like this? could i really feel and think this way all the time? i could definitely be responsible for the creation of vin diesel in a program like this...
GOD MADE ORC BOYS! :D
ok. i'll shut up. i have no right to complain - though i'm not complaining. just... wondering...
anyone else having these kinds of days?**** write me. ken won't admit it, but every time i mention it, he gives me a funny look. MAYYYYbe it's just a "damn, sam, smoke ANOTHER one!" look, but maybe he knows EXACTLY what i'm talking about.
ok. i'll really shut up this time...
FOR NOW!
waiting for the red pill (or was it the blue?),
-sam
* but also a place where i did not learn to end a sentence with a preposition. good thing i taught art, eh?
**sorry vin. i'm sure it's a passing thing.***
***ok, maybe not. *sigh* :D
****i've had them all of my life, but this damned movie has really made me wonder what in the hell is UP! ok, i'll admit it, it's just rerouted my normal hogwarts express of thought, but still! what in the hell is UP! (it's far more amusing to blame the movie, or even The Matrix than to blame "god" or "fate" or "pheromones" or what-the-hell-ever. :)
