"Bits & Pieces From My Journal Page 2"
(Don't We All Like To Look In Each Other's Drawers?)
Check out "Palm Tree". I can't help myself. I LOVE this picture. Something about the eyes and the shirt together....Perfect.
I have only three words for this picture.
"Bond, James Bond". Or maybe it should be "Shaken, not stirred". What can I say? We are a Sean Connery family.
Been walking around with a severed head in a box. Not sure whose it is; it might be mine. I don't know. Ownership isn't the issue, but rather that no one is interested. I take it with me when I go to work; set it on the side of my desk, not even taped up all the way.
My family doesn't see it. Walked right past them while they were watching Friends; went up-stairs and hid it in my sock drawer.
What does a person have to do to share around here?
“The Undulation Stopped”
The undulation stopped immediately
and the wild that I thought I had captured
lay down silky smooth: placid and polite in a little jar
on the counter. No amount of stirring
brought to life those molecules. I tried everything:
bubbles in a straw:
the blender: left the fan on continuously.
I began to doubt my love, pouring some down the sink
just to see what would happen. Maybe it wasn’t
all those crashing waves of water
that I craved, but the wind instead,
or the circle of the moon.
And this is why that spot in the garden
holds too much salt and nothing grows.
I had hoped to at least kill some slugs
in the process, but no.
It is time for evaporation and rain and I feel
badly, living so far from the shore.
How will I ever swim again?
Over the years life as taken a big giant piece of sand paper and everyday sanded away a little bit of Ellen. Then taken the dust and hid it. I feel like I found this trunk hidden in the garage full of Ellen dust. I opened it and the dust magically jumped back on me. I'm me. (at least for a while.)
“You and the Park”
I am looking at the bark of a pine tree, wondering if it has always been orange and purple and only now do I notice.
Children’s voices from two yards over giggle across the drive. At this distance, it sounds as if the youngest is squealing over the inequities of freeze tag:
threatening to go tell Momma:
threatening to quit the game.
You can hear the highway from here if you sit very still and don’t hum. And there are birds. Red ones. Their songs aren’t as pretty as some of the more plain ones, but you can’t have everything
And speaking of everything, I wish you were here.
People would ask "what do you want to be when you grow up?" and I would tell them
(depending upon the age and year) doctor, writer, teacher.
I also played secretary a lot; really enjoying thumping the stacks of paper together to straighten their edges.
Loved the straight edges!!! Oddly enough, on my desk
now, I keep the papers all fanned out.
You can see from a glance what each page is
like holding a hand of cards. It is a messy necessity.
I never said what I really wanted. I wanted to three things.
1. To be a mommy. 2. To be Cher. 3. To be absolutely watched and worshiped.
I got the mommy job but I wasn't prepared for the complete loss of myself.. Maybe all women don't have that happen to them,
but it did to me. Now with my sons grown,
there is this hesitant wild creature crawling out of the shadows. I'm afraid of it, but it looks familiar.
I think it might be me.
I don't think she's dangerous,
but it is ravenous and seeking light. She
can't decide what to wear:
everything smothering it and constricting its arms.
I fear for her: not quite sure if there is a place in this world for something so counter and vague.
“Beating the Rain”
The devil is beating his wife. She was stupid enough to marry him, she probably deserves it. (I don’t mean that statement. It just sounds good.)
I’ve had dinner with Satan before; he doesn’t talk much but he’s a good kisser. (I don’t mean that statement either. I just feel like lying.) Besides, truths on vacation. She went to Maui with an old college sweetheart. They’re sunning on the beach and I’m sitting here trying to beat the rain: birds going wild with song.
I used to always love to hear birds sing, wrongly assuming in my naive heart that singing meant happy. Actually, a lot of their voicing is out of fear and danger: warning each other that the neighborhood cat is near or that the human is in the garden, to steer clear of the bird bath. (at least for now.)
This is it. No way to end this thought poetically; the rain winning. And me, I’m standing in the yard daring the lightening to take its best shot: bold against the thunder: allowing it the first swing.
To Elliot (New York Trip June, 2008
As I write these words, you are hanging in the sky without me: as free as any human can be except for the NASA thing and death of course. Your world just expanded. I can feel it breathing from here, large, healthy and on its way.
Camping at Saint Andrews State Park in July. The only time I have ever been to the beach and there WASN'T a breeze of any kind. It was brutal. To top things off, we went in the Explorer and the air was out. I thought Evan was going to explode and we would have to throw the tent away or bury him in it. One night it was so hot, I woke up about 3:00 in the morning (to try to pee without being eaten by an alligator) and couldn't find Elliot anywhere. He was in the men's room, laying on the cool tile floor with a wet paper towel over his head. We were HOT beyond living.
Here is Cherry and mother with Aunt Panzy's new baby. "Can you feel the love?"
Give me all your money! Now!!!!!! (I shouldn't be so mean but I can't help myself. I'm going to blame it on the toboggan.
Elliot and Wilson in Key West.
Here is Evan going for a walk with me even though it is FREEZING outside. I guess Elliot had the toboggan that day.
Don't make me go crazy on you.
Here I am in front of part of a mural that I painted in a previous life....previous wall....previous hair colour even. (word to the wise; don't paint murals because sooner or later, somebody needs to paint the wall a nice beige.)
Excuse me but this is occupied.
Elliot kissing the fish when he was less than two. Look for more embarrassing pictures as time goes on. :)
Evan pretending to be Santa. I guess when you are three, Santa is the ultimate "hero".
Well my heart is in my throat again;
it is like walking around with a big giant conscience lumped
in the middle of my neck.
How am I supposed to eat?!! Or swallow?
I guess I'm reduce to drinking melted milk shakes-
letting them drizzle down and around.
I hope you're happy!