Well, as you can tell I haven't blogged for a while. Got some disturbing news ... my vision is not getting better and might get worse. I'm coping, writing more and working through how I feel about losing more of my vision. In the meantime I'm also writing for Nanowrimo.org's 50,000 words in 30 days assignment. So far I have almost 5,000 words ... who knew?
Jerry had another back surgery, and has been really grumpy with the change of weather, tempermental. We had our bathroom redone and it's nice, but the floor is already lifting so I have to deal with the company that did the job ... I'm not looking forward to that. Our finances are better and I'm finally getting time to go through all of the 'stuff' we've accumulated and start getting rid of what I don't use any more.
So, all in all, it's good news and bad news ... life, in other words, is normal.
More later....
Monday, November 07, 2005
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Blog of the Day -- Aug. 28, 2005
old woman, old woman, what do you see
rocking there so quietly
smiling faintly as you weave
back and forth so silently
old man, old man, what do you dream
softly nodding as you swing
are you sleeping as you rock
or are you listening for the clock
do you know the time goes past
fleeing thru the new mown grass
do you see the cresting moon
peering softly through the gloom
do you remember love's sweet song
bringing dusk to waiting dawn
does regrets e're dog your path
do you remember your first laugh
old man, old woman can you tell
my softly chiming moving bells
are calling you away tonight
into a softer blooming night
old man, old woman can you see
who's waiting here so silently
the rocking slows the dance is done
old man, old woman, here's the sun.
All rights reserved
Joanne Nakaya
rocking there so quietly
smiling faintly as you weave
back and forth so silently
old man, old man, what do you dream
softly nodding as you swing
are you sleeping as you rock
or are you listening for the clock
do you know the time goes past
fleeing thru the new mown grass
do you see the cresting moon
peering softly through the gloom
do you remember love's sweet song
bringing dusk to waiting dawn
does regrets e're dog your path
do you remember your first laugh
old man, old woman can you tell
my softly chiming moving bells
are calling you away tonight
into a softer blooming night
old man, old woman can you see
who's waiting here so silently
the rocking slows the dance is done
old man, old woman, here's the sun.
All rights reserved
Joanne Nakaya
Monday, August 08, 2005
Invitation
I'm going to be hosting a workshop on Sunday, the 28th of August, at Barnes and Nobles in Summerlin at 2:00. The topic is "How to Write Haiku" If you live in Las Vegas, or close enough to travel, you are invited. If you don't live close enough, I'll be posting a synopsis of what I run through on haiku-jin.blogspot.com.
Hope you can make it.
Hope you can make it.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Blog of the Day -- Aug. 7, 2005
I had breakfast with Lynda this morning. We don't get together often enough and it was, as usual, great. And also, as usual, I've come away with some tidbits that I want to carry with me ... and share with me, and you.
The law versus grace. Okay, I know, sounds like Christian-stuff. That's because it is, that's because I am.
I hate driving slow; I hate it! I always want to drive as fast as I can, make the trip as short as possible, and so I leave to go anywhere at the absolute lastest (it's not a word) minute. But I like to, want to, sometimes to satisfy something inside need to drive fast; and so I do. I've been fortunate. No car accidents, no tickets, and I drive, fast. So, as a result of our breakfast I decide to drive slow. It's difficult. It's difficult because I don't want to drive slow. It's difficult because I don't want to exert self-control. It's difficult because I want what I want. I decide to use my cruise control because it's hard to drive 35 mph when I want to drive 50 mph and the road is clear. That's the law.
I wait for the traffic behind me to become impatient, to roar around me and throw me a disdainful look. Something I've been guilty of, often. I wait for the car to roar around me and for the slow burn that starts at my neck to ascend to my face because he can go fast and I can't and it's not fair because I have decided to obey the law and he/she doesn't have to. It's not rational, but there it is, my self-serving needs. So, I wait, but this time it doesn't happen. And I slowly realize, as I turn into the residential area where I live, that if he did roar around me, my decision to not get mad at him, not to feel angry and self-sacrificing, not to feel justified in being angry, that's grace.
The law versus grace. Okay, I know, sounds like Christian-stuff. That's because it is, that's because I am.
I hate driving slow; I hate it! I always want to drive as fast as I can, make the trip as short as possible, and so I leave to go anywhere at the absolute lastest (it's not a word) minute. But I like to, want to, sometimes to satisfy something inside need to drive fast; and so I do. I've been fortunate. No car accidents, no tickets, and I drive, fast. So, as a result of our breakfast I decide to drive slow. It's difficult. It's difficult because I don't want to drive slow. It's difficult because I don't want to exert self-control. It's difficult because I want what I want. I decide to use my cruise control because it's hard to drive 35 mph when I want to drive 50 mph and the road is clear. That's the law.
I wait for the traffic behind me to become impatient, to roar around me and throw me a disdainful look. Something I've been guilty of, often. I wait for the car to roar around me and for the slow burn that starts at my neck to ascend to my face because he can go fast and I can't and it's not fair because I have decided to obey the law and he/she doesn't have to. It's not rational, but there it is, my self-serving needs. So, I wait, but this time it doesn't happen. And I slowly realize, as I turn into the residential area where I live, that if he did roar around me, my decision to not get mad at him, not to feel angry and self-sacrificing, not to feel justified in being angry, that's grace.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Blog of the Day -- August 3, 2005
It's still raining.
the humid air
like a woman ready to give birth.
waits,
knowing the inevitability of the coming storm.
patient,
the wind breathes in
torpid strokes
a slow cadence, measuring time.
the sky blazes with light
sparks set the clouds on fire
light
and then the dark reclaims the sky
no thunder
thunderbolts sear the sky
daring
man to ascend the throne of night
fountains
descend from the air
the waiting
is over.
the humid air
like a woman ready to give birth.
waits,
knowing the inevitability of the coming storm.
patient,
the wind breathes in
torpid strokes
a slow cadence, measuring time.
the sky blazes with light
sparks set the clouds on fire
light
and then the dark reclaims the sky
no thunder
thunderbolts sear the sky
daring
man to ascend the throne of night
fountains
descend from the air
the waiting
is over.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Gardening Day
Oh, it is so nice out. Yesterday and today even ... waaaay under 116, only in the high 90's yesterday and rain ... and today low 100's. So, I weeded my roses and my front garden and rakes junk up and now I'm hot and tired and I work tonight (darn).
But it was great! And ... more rain later this week. I love monsoon season.
But it was great! And ... more rain later this week. I love monsoon season.
Friday, July 22, 2005
The Liquorish River
I'm going to be posting some stuff that I wrote some time ago. This is one of those.
The liquorish river beckoned me,
promising all that could never be
by standing on the shore so tame
by waiting there in slow refrain for evil or for good
it called inviting all who may
to come and enter don't delay
to come and view its depths unbound
to come to try the muted sounds that called within its depths
I stood a moment caught in time
that call so furtive and divine
that seemed to be life's final kiss
that seemed to promise endless bliss if only entered I
Swiftly now it whispered sweet
displaying it's unending treats
one tiny taste of slow delights
one tiny sip of night to night
might cause my feet to fail
A moment only there I stood
a moment only safely shod
but close, too close the shore did break to clasp me to that endless lake
to clasp my hand fast to that friend whose grip would never ever end
But life is strong in it's own song
and held my heart in love's sure bond
and pulled me back from endless depths and pulled me from that soulless threat that called so many there
The licorish river beckons still
when nights are long and hurts are full
come dance with me for just a while
come dance and cross that final stile
but life is stronger still
— Joanne Nakaya © 2002
The liquorish river beckoned me,
promising all that could never be
by standing on the shore so tame
by waiting there in slow refrain for evil or for good
it called inviting all who may
to come and enter don't delay
to come and view its depths unbound
to come to try the muted sounds that called within its depths
I stood a moment caught in time
that call so furtive and divine
that seemed to be life's final kiss
that seemed to promise endless bliss if only entered I
Swiftly now it whispered sweet
displaying it's unending treats
one tiny taste of slow delights
one tiny sip of night to night
might cause my feet to fail
A moment only there I stood
a moment only safely shod
but close, too close the shore did break to clasp me to that endless lake
to clasp my hand fast to that friend whose grip would never ever end
But life is strong in it's own song
and held my heart in love's sure bond
and pulled me back from endless depths and pulled me from that soulless threat that called so many there
The licorish river beckons still
when nights are long and hurts are full
come dance with me for just a while
come dance and cross that final stile
but life is stronger still
— Joanne Nakaya © 2002
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Blog of the Day -- July 20, 2005
I saw a purple sky
today
a solitary runner
racing across the burgeoning light
softly, insistently caressing the hills
a trumpet from the east
light
joined the race
shoulders streaming with lavender
tendrils of smokey night in her hair
laughing in delight and triumph
reigned
and heralded in a new day
I like this but I think it needs some work. It's not quite where I want it to be. I woke early, took Paca out and sat watching the dawn chase the night from the sky. I yearn to be content, but desire and a sense of time slipping through my fingers battles contentment.
today
a solitary runner
racing across the burgeoning light
softly, insistently caressing the hills
a trumpet from the east
light
joined the race
shoulders streaming with lavender
tendrils of smokey night in her hair
laughing in delight and triumph
reigned
and heralded in a new day
I like this but I think it needs some work. It's not quite where I want it to be. I woke early, took Paca out and sat watching the dawn chase the night from the sky. I yearn to be content, but desire and a sense of time slipping through my fingers battles contentment.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Blog of the Day --- For Neva
Thanks for the topic, Neva. I agree, personal meanderings are good. They stretch me too, take me out of my comfort zone. I feel uncomfortable about being personal, as if people will see too much of who I am; that my poetry will reveal more of who I am than what I am prepared to reveal. I think my fears are residue from just being a kid.
Often, when I was young I didn't understand my parents anger. I always assumed it was about me, so I thought it was my responsibility to fix. Because I didn't know what I had done, I concluded that there was some mysterious thing wrong with me that made them unhappy. It has taken years of effort to hide the unknowable. So now, ancient baggage reigns, and I'm afraid that my writing will make me too transparent and that others will see the 'whatever' that is still wrong with me; that I still cannot see.
So I need to confront my fears and write anyway. After all, in the light of day they are not very realistic.
Thanks Neva!
Often, when I was young I didn't understand my parents anger. I always assumed it was about me, so I thought it was my responsibility to fix. Because I didn't know what I had done, I concluded that there was some mysterious thing wrong with me that made them unhappy. It has taken years of effort to hide the unknowable. So now, ancient baggage reigns, and I'm afraid that my writing will make me too transparent and that others will see the 'whatever' that is still wrong with me; that I still cannot see.
So I need to confront my fears and write anyway. After all, in the light of day they are not very realistic.
Thanks Neva!
Saturday, July 16, 2005
So Today I Write
Columbian Erotica
Thick and dark and honey sweet
hot as summer
burnished peat
savor savor savor on
when nothing else
will bring it on
close your eyes
and breathe it in
through sinew bone blood and skin
don't delay
the time is now
let it flow from root to bough
open wide
the ride's not done
the second sip awaits your tongue
Thick and dark and honey sweet
hot as summer
burnished peat
savor savor savor on
when nothing else
will bring it on
close your eyes
and breathe it in
through sinew bone blood and skin
don't delay
the time is now
let it flow from root to bough
open wide
the ride's not done
the second sip awaits your tongue
Blog of the Day -- July 16, 2005
I have waited, and wondered, how I will write of the loss of Cordie and Gizmo, our two Akitas. Now I know:
Half an hour before sunrise
while the moon still reigns supreme
I wait
Half an hour before sunrise
while the birds tuck sleepy heads
beneath their wings
I wait
Half an hour before sunrise
while the long night lengthens
in triumph
I wait
Half an hour before sunrise
you are gone and will never return
and yet forever will
I wait
Half an hour before sunrise
while the moon still reigns supreme
I wait
Half an hour before sunrise
while the birds tuck sleepy heads
beneath their wings
I wait
Half an hour before sunrise
while the long night lengthens
in triumph
I wait
Half an hour before sunrise
you are gone and will never return
and yet forever will
I wait
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Blog of the Day -- July 12, 2005
OMG it's HOT!!! Up to 115 today. Even for Las Vegas it's hot. I want to climb into an ice cube and wait until October (pant pant pant). I obsessively carry water around with me everywhere. I flood my little veggies every morning and jealously measure the progress of little watermelons, corn, cantelopes, green beans, zuccinis, green peppers and tomatoes. We've hit the swimming pool twice this week so far, and it's been great!
I was surfing the net and found a quote that intrigued me from ComeReason.org. It is, "I appreciate the concern you have in making sure that Christianity isn't unduly corrupted by pagan influences." It occured to me that the opposite might be true, that pagans might be concerned about the Christian influence that has changed their pagan holidays. Think about it. You're a pagan, Constantine enters Rome and decides that everyone will now be a Christian. In order to make it more palatable he takes the current dieties and religious observances and converts them to Christian holidays. A new diety with all of the old familiar trappings. You probably would have been furious. It explains why God insisted that all of the pagan tribes that the Hebrews found in the Promised Land be wiped out ... no converting old holidays into new ones, with any hint of old theology still intact ... just start new.
Isn't there a quote in the bible where God will change the corruptible into the incorruptable? Yep, there is, I think in the book of Revelation, in the future, may be not so distant future.
I was surfing the net and found a quote that intrigued me from ComeReason.org. It is, "I appreciate the concern you have in making sure that Christianity isn't unduly corrupted by pagan influences." It occured to me that the opposite might be true, that pagans might be concerned about the Christian influence that has changed their pagan holidays. Think about it. You're a pagan, Constantine enters Rome and decides that everyone will now be a Christian. In order to make it more palatable he takes the current dieties and religious observances and converts them to Christian holidays. A new diety with all of the old familiar trappings. You probably would have been furious. It explains why God insisted that all of the pagan tribes that the Hebrews found in the Promised Land be wiped out ... no converting old holidays into new ones, with any hint of old theology still intact ... just start new.
Isn't there a quote in the bible where God will change the corruptible into the incorruptable? Yep, there is, I think in the book of Revelation, in the future, may be not so distant future.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Voyeurs of Death
Voyeurs of Death
Watchers of decay
Gleefully do they imprint
Sweat-dewed palms
Upon their pier glass
Peering, avid with
Each incision holds its breath
In anticipation of
The culminating event
Panting with
Exertionless effort
Red rimmed eyes
Follow every move
Fearful to blink
And lose that brief pinnacle
Of time and event
The essence of life
Lost in the glaze of death
Frosts the air in the brief of time
And erased is gone
As the voyeurs of death
Live on
Watchers of decay
Gleefully do they imprint
Sweat-dewed palms
Upon their pier glass
Peering, avid with
Each incision holds its breath
In anticipation of
The culminating event
Panting with
Exertionless effort
Red rimmed eyes
Follow every move
Fearful to blink
And lose that brief pinnacle
Of time and event
The essence of life
Lost in the glaze of death
Frosts the air in the brief of time
And erased is gone
As the voyeurs of death
Live on
Monday, July 11, 2005
Blog of the Day -- July 11, 2005
On June 1st we had two cats (Killer and Squeaky) one kitten (Princess Wookie), one elderly Akita (Paca) and two younger Akitas (Gizmo and Cordelia). Today we have Princess Wookie, Squeaky, Paca and a newly rescued 3-year-0ld Akita (Nikki) (sigh). Too sad.
I've been taking my grandkids on summer outings to take their mind off of Giz and Cordie. They ran off on July 4th and are still missing. We rescued a young Akita from the pound, she had less than 12 hours to live ...given up because she shed ... a horrific crime I guess if you don't happen to be a dog (versus a puppy) lover.
The outings are good, for all of us and I'm glad we could save Nikki, but I miss Giz and Cordie. Through the years there have been many losses, but it never gets any easier. The only consolation is the joy we were privy too while they were with us; it keeps me from refusing to get more pets when ours get old and move on.
life is too sad
too sad
life is too short
too sad
life is too weary
too sad
but
life is also
deliriously
exuberantly
joyfully
present
too
I've been taking my grandkids on summer outings to take their mind off of Giz and Cordie. They ran off on July 4th and are still missing. We rescued a young Akita from the pound, she had less than 12 hours to live ...given up because she shed ... a horrific crime I guess if you don't happen to be a dog (versus a puppy) lover.
The outings are good, for all of us and I'm glad we could save Nikki, but I miss Giz and Cordie. Through the years there have been many losses, but it never gets any easier. The only consolation is the joy we were privy too while they were with us; it keeps me from refusing to get more pets when ours get old and move on.
life is too sad
too sad
life is too short
too sad
life is too weary
too sad
but
life is also
deliriously
exuberantly
joyfully
present
too
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Blog of the Day -- June 30, 2005
It's a good day. I'm recovering from some kind of upper respiratory thing, with the help of prednesone (sic) and cough syrup. Now everyone else in the house is getting IT; but I'm at work. I am working at the library today so I get to look at books ... heaven!
I watered all of my plants (babies) at home this morning. The desert heat is starting to scorch everything so I have to water every day. My poor tomato plant almost died. It looked so great, getting bigger every day, about 3' tall, and suddenly, tomato worms devoured everything on the top .. no leaves at all! I found three of them, pull them off, squished them and, tada, today there's new growth. I had a wonderful watermelon plant in the middle of the grass in the back yard, but the g-babies found it and brought it in to show me (sigh). But the watermelon in the front yard, growing under the watchful eye of my sunflowers) is still intact. I lose some, and some survive despite the obstacles.
I made it to work on time, nearly, got my banking done, called the school district about my sub job (fall 2005) and found a great quote for a new poem. Here it is: voyers of death. Think about the possibilities ... incredible!
Good chat last night with my summer writing workshop group. I'll need all the help I can get to organize and write a whole book. So, I've started the outline, finished the first chapter and we'll see what the group thinks of my offerings, so far.
Sad news, Killer, our 16+ year old Persian is on the ropes. He's barely eating and drinking, and cries at night. It's so hard watching him go, a little at a time. Even the babies are noticing now and ask if he's okay. I'm trying to soft pedal it, but am trying to prepare the older ones (10 and 12) by explaining that no one and nothing lives forever. I'm hoping that they don't catch on that poppy (whose health has been sketchy since his back surgery) is not as vibrant as he was three years ago (sigh). Since he's Poppy's cat he'll take him to the vet tomorrow. Lots of stuff hanging over me, the cat, poppy, no wonder poetry about death intrigues me.
Mom is 82, Jerry (Poppy) is 55, I'm 55, Killer is about 80 in people years, and Paca, our female Akita is 12, which is elderly for an Akita. It's good that the babies (Aaron 4, Kat 10 and Katt 12) are living with us, they keep us young.
I watered all of my plants (babies) at home this morning. The desert heat is starting to scorch everything so I have to water every day. My poor tomato plant almost died. It looked so great, getting bigger every day, about 3' tall, and suddenly, tomato worms devoured everything on the top .. no leaves at all! I found three of them, pull them off, squished them and, tada, today there's new growth. I had a wonderful watermelon plant in the middle of the grass in the back yard, but the g-babies found it and brought it in to show me (sigh). But the watermelon in the front yard, growing under the watchful eye of my sunflowers) is still intact. I lose some, and some survive despite the obstacles.
I made it to work on time, nearly, got my banking done, called the school district about my sub job (fall 2005) and found a great quote for a new poem. Here it is: voyers of death. Think about the possibilities ... incredible!
Good chat last night with my summer writing workshop group. I'll need all the help I can get to organize and write a whole book. So, I've started the outline, finished the first chapter and we'll see what the group thinks of my offerings, so far.
Sad news, Killer, our 16+ year old Persian is on the ropes. He's barely eating and drinking, and cries at night. It's so hard watching him go, a little at a time. Even the babies are noticing now and ask if he's okay. I'm trying to soft pedal it, but am trying to prepare the older ones (10 and 12) by explaining that no one and nothing lives forever. I'm hoping that they don't catch on that poppy (whose health has been sketchy since his back surgery) is not as vibrant as he was three years ago (sigh). Since he's Poppy's cat he'll take him to the vet tomorrow. Lots of stuff hanging over me, the cat, poppy, no wonder poetry about death intrigues me.
Mom is 82, Jerry (Poppy) is 55, I'm 55, Killer is about 80 in people years, and Paca, our female Akita is 12, which is elderly for an Akita. It's good that the babies (Aaron 4, Kat 10 and Katt 12) are living with us, they keep us young.
Blog Poem of the Day - June 30th of 05
What is the ocean made of?
Mermaid tears
coral spears
timid whales who've lost careers.
Minstrel's harps
razor sharp
maws of sharks who caught a dart.
Cupid's arrow
long and narrow
studed sailor's deepest marrow.
Fin of fish
urchin's itch
remains of storms unfailing pitch.
Ground as must
dust to dust
tangy salty totten trust
Mermaid tears
coral spears
timid whales who've lost careers.
Minstrel's harps
razor sharp
maws of sharks who caught a dart.
Cupid's arrow
long and narrow
studed sailor's deepest marrow.
Fin of fish
urchin's itch
remains of storms unfailing pitch.
Ground as must
dust to dust
tangy salty totten trust
Monday, June 27, 2005
Blog of the Day -- Monday June 27th
spring baits us
as teasing soft winds
gentle rains
draw us into
the heart of summer
warm sunlight dapples
through trees
drunk on rain
our backs
question mark against the bark
as we giggle, whisper and
giggle again
summer ponders our love
shading kisses
building green bowers
where our hidden love
grows
and wanes
as angry clouds carelessly
hurl lightening bolts
recrimination, fury, loss
tendrils of green
reach out to inhabit my grief
howls of anguish
tear the azure sky
and summer
remains
as teasing soft winds
gentle rains
draw us into
the heart of summer
warm sunlight dapples
through trees
drunk on rain
our backs
question mark against the bark
as we giggle, whisper and
giggle again
summer ponders our love
shading kisses
building green bowers
where our hidden love
grows
and wanes
as angry clouds carelessly
hurl lightening bolts
recrimination, fury, loss
tendrils of green
reach out to inhabit my grief
howls of anguish
tear the azure sky
and summer
remains
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Who Gnew? - June 25, 2005
Okay, today is Saturday. After cleaning all morning, not alone though, I am now at work.
At home, through finely honed senses I can hear my daughter yelling at her daughters. "Finish cleaning the living room! No, that bathroom is not done yet! Did you pick up your clothes in your bedroom? The dog run is not done yet! If you sit there doing nothing you will never get done!" Is this what I've passed down to the next generation, "Pick up your mess?" Maybe, but then again, maybe that's not so bad. Think of how the world might be if everyone cleaned up their own mess, hmm.
Maybe Hermes has started a trend, cleaning up its own mess. Or was it their mess anyway? Was it just a disgruntled famous woman who believes that a store who recognizes a celebrity should reopen for business. Maybe this will lead to an increase in business for signmakers everywhere who have to include opening and closing times for "Bankers Hours" for those who help bankroll the business.
And as far as our Supreme Court, whose mess are they cleaning up when they decide that economic development falls within the meaning of 'public use' as far as the 5th Amendment goes, otherwise known as eminent domain. In other words, if it is determined that it is in the public good (increased income from property taxes and more jobs) that your house be sold to a developer, then according to the Supreme Court, the 'Sold' sign is on your lawn. They also decided that each state could restrict this action. So, basically the Supreme Court got to rule on a Connecticut property case, in favor of the State over the homeowner, while still giving the last say to the state. Sounds like a 'hand off' to me.
At home, through finely honed senses I can hear my daughter yelling at her daughters. "Finish cleaning the living room! No, that bathroom is not done yet! Did you pick up your clothes in your bedroom? The dog run is not done yet! If you sit there doing nothing you will never get done!" Is this what I've passed down to the next generation, "Pick up your mess?" Maybe, but then again, maybe that's not so bad. Think of how the world might be if everyone cleaned up their own mess, hmm.
Maybe Hermes has started a trend, cleaning up its own mess. Or was it their mess anyway? Was it just a disgruntled famous woman who believes that a store who recognizes a celebrity should reopen for business. Maybe this will lead to an increase in business for signmakers everywhere who have to include opening and closing times for "Bankers Hours" for those who help bankroll the business.
And as far as our Supreme Court, whose mess are they cleaning up when they decide that economic development falls within the meaning of 'public use' as far as the 5th Amendment goes, otherwise known as eminent domain. In other words, if it is determined that it is in the public good (increased income from property taxes and more jobs) that your house be sold to a developer, then according to the Supreme Court, the 'Sold' sign is on your lawn. They also decided that each state could restrict this action. So, basically the Supreme Court got to rule on a Connecticut property case, in favor of the State over the homeowner, while still giving the last say to the state. Sounds like a 'hand off' to me.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Blahg Blahg Blahg
It was Sunday, the time it happened, the last time it happened. I was sitting in Anabell's Beauty Shop getting my nails done for my radio interview in Atlanta, on Monday morning. She never, I mean never, works on Sunday but I begged, and then I promised to make my supreme lemon pie, and she caved.
He came in out of nowhere. I mean, it's a Sunday, the shop has the big red sign in the window, CLOSED. He peered in past the sign, saw me, hands stuck in a bowl of soapy water, feet propped up on a red plastic chair, sipping a beer, lite beer. Then it happened. He opened the door.
"Uh, Sheriff?"
"Yeah," I set my beer on the wobbly table next to the bowl of soapy water. "What?"
"Um," he stared holes through Anabell's tall beehive. "It's kinda personal."
I sighed and glanced towards Anabell. "Um, girlfriend, would you mind if we...."
She groaned. "I give up my Sunday and now this? Okay, fine, you've got five minutes and then I've gotta paint the nails." His crushed look didn't work. "Oh, please, can the theatrics. Just get done so I can go eat my pie," she grumbled, turned, jerked open the door and slammed it behind her.
"Okay, she's gone. Now what is it?"
"Jakie took my bike again, for the fourth time," allegator tears threatened to erupt.
"Now, none of that. Okay, where is it this time?"
His face brightened, "Down Main Street. He said to bring my best shot, then him and his buddies laughed at me. Can you get it back?"
I looked at my watch. "How far down Main?"
"Just to the alley before Pine."
"Okay," I grabbed my holster, ignored the beer, grasped his skinny nine-year-old arm. "Let's go. I have four and a half minutes left."
"Thanks Sheriff," he giggled sheepishly.
"It's okay Davey. Just,next time."
"Yeah?"
"Stay in the neighborhood with that bike. I can't be shootin' up all the little kids in Stone Mountain, you know." I tried to look grim.
"Okay, mom."
He came in out of nowhere. I mean, it's a Sunday, the shop has the big red sign in the window, CLOSED. He peered in past the sign, saw me, hands stuck in a bowl of soapy water, feet propped up on a red plastic chair, sipping a beer, lite beer. Then it happened. He opened the door.
"Uh, Sheriff?"
"Yeah," I set my beer on the wobbly table next to the bowl of soapy water. "What?"
"Um," he stared holes through Anabell's tall beehive. "It's kinda personal."
I sighed and glanced towards Anabell. "Um, girlfriend, would you mind if we...."
She groaned. "I give up my Sunday and now this? Okay, fine, you've got five minutes and then I've gotta paint the nails." His crushed look didn't work. "Oh, please, can the theatrics. Just get done so I can go eat my pie," she grumbled, turned, jerked open the door and slammed it behind her.
"Okay, she's gone. Now what is it?"
"Jakie took my bike again, for the fourth time," allegator tears threatened to erupt.
"Now, none of that. Okay, where is it this time?"
His face brightened, "Down Main Street. He said to bring my best shot, then him and his buddies laughed at me. Can you get it back?"
I looked at my watch. "How far down Main?"
"Just to the alley before Pine."
"Okay," I grabbed my holster, ignored the beer, grasped his skinny nine-year-old arm. "Let's go. I have four and a half minutes left."
"Thanks Sheriff," he giggled sheepishly.
"It's okay Davey. Just,next time."
"Yeah?"
"Stay in the neighborhood with that bike. I can't be shootin' up all the little kids in Stone Mountain, you know." I tried to look grim.
"Okay, mom."
Blog of the Day - June 24, 2005
My writing assignment for today: Write about what you see by starlight. Feel free to join in!
By starlight
the moon spreads
her gossamer net
taking captive
hill, dale and stream
forest deep
andopen field
By starlight
dreary tenements
translate into
dusky streets
taut with mystery
and excitement
By starlight
houses ruined by daylight
become ensorcelled
enigmas
oracles of the unknown
By starlight
the debris of living
is transformed
into a Chinese puzzle
of night.
By starlight
the moon spreads
her gossamer net
taking captive
hill, dale and stream
forest deep
andopen field
By starlight
dreary tenements
translate into
dusky streets
taut with mystery
and excitement
By starlight
houses ruined by daylight
become ensorcelled
enigmas
oracles of the unknown
By starlight
the debris of living
is transformed
into a Chinese puzzle
of night.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
I'm taking a writing workshop this summer. It's fun, motivating and lots of work.
I rode to work this morning with the windows down. The late night plundering of now whispy nimbus relinquishes power to cirrus, sweet nector, is a gift from the gods. Cumulous cool, moist air catapulted into my lungs, crashing through veins and capillaries with glee. Like a tall glass of cool water, soggy oxygen poured through my body, icy and invigorating, an unstoppable flood. Saturated brain cells, reviving and reveling in the sustenance of life woke. Steamy clams, with hungry mouths they devoured their drippy feast, carousing with the exstacy of being alive!
I liked it too (lol!.
I rode to work this morning with the windows down. The late night plundering of now whispy nimbus relinquishes power to cirrus, sweet nector, is a gift from the gods. Cumulous cool, moist air catapulted into my lungs, crashing through veins and capillaries with glee. Like a tall glass of cool water, soggy oxygen poured through my body, icy and invigorating, an unstoppable flood. Saturated brain cells, reviving and reveling in the sustenance of life woke. Steamy clams, with hungry mouths they devoured their drippy feast, carousing with the exstacy of being alive!
I liked it too (lol!.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Blog of the Day - June 13, 2005
Well, it's not Friday the 13th, but it could be. I haven't blogged in a while. I've been busy and want to get my life in order before I jump into blogging. The only problem is, my life leans heavily towards disorder, so it's an unending battle to organize the unorganizeable. Is that a word? Hmmm.
Anyway, a name sparked my interest, and my creativity, tonight. So here's a poem to the Monkey Puzzle Tree. My blog for the moment.
Monkey Puzzle
Puzzle Tree
Puzzle you and
puzzle me
tall you stand
above the rest
more to follow
Anyway, a name sparked my interest, and my creativity, tonight. So here's a poem to the Monkey Puzzle Tree. My blog for the moment.
Monkey Puzzle
Puzzle Tree
Puzzle you and
puzzle me
tall you stand
above the rest
more to follow
Friday, April 29, 2005
Blog of the Day - April 29th - 05
So, I haven't posted for a while. The third eye surgery was successful - yes! I can't see much out of it, yet, but I won't need another 'detached retina' surgery -- I hope -- I hope -- I hope.
My daughter gave me a list of her contemplations from school and they are so cool. I thought I'd try one here. Check it out.
Reflect upon the metaphors you live by. If you were to compare life to some activity, what would you compare it to? Spend a day observing the connection between this metaphor and your daily experience. How does your metaphor apply to your interactions? In which cases does it prove helpful, and in which cases does it not apply? Observe and write.
Okay, here it is. It took me a bit to get a handle on 'metaphor.' The metaphor that comes to mind when I compare life to an activity is: Life is breathing. As I inhale I take in the same substance that I have taken in for fifty-odd years. As I exhale I breath out the same substance I have sent out for my entire life. But just because the substances are the same, there are small differences. I take in information but is it the same information I took in when I was five years old? No, I have changed. The information I provide is not the same either. I slept with my sister when I was a child, meaning we slept in the same bed. I slept with my husband on our wedding night, a very different form of 'sleep'. I slept with my dog last night, a third type of sleep. My sister and I kept each other warm during long cold winter nights, my husband and I spent passionate nights exploring each other's bodies, my dog nestled up next to me, comforting me with his closeness.
So, how is this helpful? Well, I can see where my life is the same, and yet different. There is a continuity that is comfortable and comforting. This provides a pattern that proves to me that life is not random nor is it unknowable. So, where does it not apply? Hmm, that may be harder. When I try something new, for the first time, the consequences may be unknowable. Thus, despite the fact that I've taken in life and distributed life, my life is not static, and I am not in a state of stasis. My life contains elements that are unknowable.
My daughter gave me a list of her contemplations from school and they are so cool. I thought I'd try one here. Check it out.
Reflect upon the metaphors you live by. If you were to compare life to some activity, what would you compare it to? Spend a day observing the connection between this metaphor and your daily experience. How does your metaphor apply to your interactions? In which cases does it prove helpful, and in which cases does it not apply? Observe and write.
Okay, here it is. It took me a bit to get a handle on 'metaphor.' The metaphor that comes to mind when I compare life to an activity is: Life is breathing. As I inhale I take in the same substance that I have taken in for fifty-odd years. As I exhale I breath out the same substance I have sent out for my entire life. But just because the substances are the same, there are small differences. I take in information but is it the same information I took in when I was five years old? No, I have changed. The information I provide is not the same either. I slept with my sister when I was a child, meaning we slept in the same bed. I slept with my husband on our wedding night, a very different form of 'sleep'. I slept with my dog last night, a third type of sleep. My sister and I kept each other warm during long cold winter nights, my husband and I spent passionate nights exploring each other's bodies, my dog nestled up next to me, comforting me with his closeness.
So, how is this helpful? Well, I can see where my life is the same, and yet different. There is a continuity that is comfortable and comforting. This provides a pattern that proves to me that life is not random nor is it unknowable. So, where does it not apply? Hmm, that may be harder. When I try something new, for the first time, the consequences may be unknowable. Thus, despite the fact that I've taken in life and distributed life, my life is not static, and I am not in a state of stasis. My life contains elements that are unknowable.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Melanmycholy Anyone?
I love feeling sad, sometimes. i wrap the quiet no, not sadness, melancholy around me. The word itself wraps itself around my tongue like melted licorish that seeps slowly, luxuriously into each sensitive pore. Music, draws me into her mellow arms and caresses my soul until I pool into myself and surfeit, dissipate into the cool waiting moon. Sighs, hooded eyes seek their meridian senses drink deeply of the low slow music drawing me line by line into immortality.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Post Scriptum
I invite you to write, but beware, I am beleagured. Blogging is verboten until March 14th, then watch out, my blog will be brandished unabated. Until then, remember, 'Wherever you go, there you are!'
Blog of the Day
I like this, blogging; cool. I have read nothing since Dec. 30th. I have written practically nothing since then either. Eye surgery is the pits! No reading, no writing, no editing, no gardening, no bowling, the list is depressing. But, I don't settle for depressing, it's a waste of time. Sooo, I'm blogging (the doctor didn't say I couldn't blog). But I can't read what I'm blogging, hmm, that could be good too. I work in a library ... water water everywhere but not a drop to drink.
Okay, another eye surgery on Thursday, sigh. But wait, there's a baby here. Cradled in his father's arms his eyes dart inquisitively drinking in the computer room. Black hair, black eyes stare curiously in my direction, a slow smile steals onto his lips. Unconsciously his father rolls his hips rocking his weight from left to right, arms cradle protectively, but free enough. The baby steers his attention around the room. The rocking motion slowly slips him lower in his father's arms. He twists his head. His father's lips move unconsciously, softly across a miniature landscape of head, ear and cheek.
I love watching people. I'll be face down for ten long dangerously boring days, but time is friend and foe. It captures me in its arms and drags me kicking and screaming to Thursday, but then, relenting, holding me like a child races recklessly on until, my imprisonment complete, I can read, and write, again.
Later....
Okay, another eye surgery on Thursday, sigh. But wait, there's a baby here. Cradled in his father's arms his eyes dart inquisitively drinking in the computer room. Black hair, black eyes stare curiously in my direction, a slow smile steals onto his lips. Unconsciously his father rolls his hips rocking his weight from left to right, arms cradle protectively, but free enough. The baby steers his attention around the room. The rocking motion slowly slips him lower in his father's arms. He twists his head. His father's lips move unconsciously, softly across a miniature landscape of head, ear and cheek.
I love watching people. I'll be face down for ten long dangerously boring days, but time is friend and foe. It captures me in its arms and drags me kicking and screaming to Thursday, but then, relenting, holding me like a child races recklessly on until, my imprisonment complete, I can read, and write, again.
Later....
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