Duly Noted

Hear no evilWe never really know what people think of us until there’s a fly on the wall. A coworker of mine was staying in town for the holidays. Super nerved up because his wife’s family had never met his family, he was looking for distractions, “something different”, something to do that would ease the distress. Think Country family meets City family. He was most worried about Urban brother-in-law. I suggested dinner and a show. Then, for the first time in a while, suggested a band. “They are playing right down the street from you guys. I don’t know if you would care for the music, but your wife would…maybe the taste runs in the family,” is what I said.

I was right and wrong to make such a suggestion. Music was good. Company not so. I guess it was a small enough place and conversations could be heard. Overheard. My name. My worker came back to me, complaining of the “fat-fukc” who bad-mouthed me. All I could think was, “really? Really? Really!” It’s a coldwater bath, but also duly noted.

Hip Therapy

Ask and you shall receive, even if you’re not sure it’s what you want. Doesn’t that translate to Be Careful What You Wish For Because You Might Get It? That’s what happened at Now & Zen Yoga last night. In the morning I was whining about losing my hip flexibility so what did we work on in class? Yup, hips! I could be complaining to be facing my humility for the second time in a day, but that’s like going to a therapy session and talking about the weather. No bang for the buck. Know what I mean? No, this therapy session was all about facing what humbled me most. Facing it dead on. I am appreciative of the “bowl story”. It helped me visualized where I want to be and to respect what isn’t. Once again I am grateful for time in face to face class.

This morning’s “Lee Session” was about back bending. I had to smirk when I read, “Our daily activities such as driving or working at a computer invite us to round our shoulders….slouch in our seats.” (Om Yoga p.81) Okay, didn’t I just hear that in class last night? There’s that bang for buck again.
I had a hard time with this series. It might have been that I woke at 5am and couldn’t get back to bed. When I finally did, I had dreams of my father. They rattle me and always will. By the time the alarm went off proper I was exhausted and unmotivated. Even this Lee-described “cultivate joy” sequence couldn’t get me out of the funk. However, having said all that I did discover two, no three postures I would like to concentrate on: shoulder stretch (I think I’ve seen it described as “cow face”?), pigeon and pigeon with thigh (king pigeon?). Pigeon was just plain disastrous. My straight leg felt…well, mangled, for lack of a better word. I didn’t stay in the pose for very long because I felt it was all wrong-wrong-wrong, even though I am noticeably more fluid to the left. So, today’s yoga was a C-. Maybe I’ll come home tonight and practice some of the trickier things I learned at Now & Zen.

All Souls’ Rising (with Disappointments)

Bell, Madison Smartt. All Souls’ Rising. New York: Vintage Books, 1995.

I’m having a love/hate relationship with this book. Only 110 pages into it I waiver between devouring it and chucking the whole thing across the room. The first chapter opens with a description of a women nailed to a pole. She is being punished for killing her child. She drove a nail through her newborn’s skull. Lemme back up – she’s a slave and she was raped on a ship bound for Haiti. The year is 1757. Need I say more? When the woman finally dies, her feet, hands and head are chopped off and displayed as an example for other slaves. Some example! As a rule, I don’t get “into” historical fiction, especially those with such a political, violent underbelly. However, this is a Booklust book and I’m bound to at least give it a try. When I started this venture I agreed to Pearl’s 50 Page Rule (stop reading if by 50 pages you can’t get into it). In All Souls’ Rising‘s case, when I got to page 50 I was in the love phase and couldn’t put it down. C’est la vie.

Booklust Twist: Pearl labels this, “novelistic history” of Haiti (More Book Lust p55)

12/30/06: Update~ I am admitting defeat with Bell’s book. After the slave uprising it has been nothing but vivid descriptions of violence. I think this book is responsible for my week’s worth of nightmares about war. Here’s an excerpt. I warn you, this is one of the tamest scenes of cruelty!

“He cut a bracelet all around Maltrot’s wrist, just above the thong that bound it to the branch. He made a vertical incision into the palm and turned back the flaps of the skin from the whitish fatty layer underneath and began peeling it back towards the fingertips as if he were slowly taking off a glove…” (are you getting the picture?)…”Maltrot ground his teeth and bit his lips until the blood ran freely, but finally he could not contain the scream and when it came it was large and loud enough to split the sky.” (p235)

I realize flaying, raping, torturing, murdering, baby impaling, etc is common in times of war. It’s happening today. My problem is Bell. He is such the amazing storyteller that not only do I believe every eye gouging, I can almost feel it too!

BookLust Twist: Found in Pearl’s More Book Lust under the chapter, “The Contradictory Caribbean: Paradise and Pain” (p.55). She wasn’t kidding.

Like Never Before

mean santa

The Hero worked through the night so now he’s out like a light.
And I have an ugly cold I am trying to fight.
Alone by the unlit trees, I’m trying not to sneeze.
Got nowhere to go, nowhere to be
for I left my wallet across the sea.
With my nose on the run I’m definitely not having fun.
We cancelled presents, we cancelled holiday cheer
For sleep in the form of “have more Nyquil, my dear.”
Feeling doped up for hours, my mood – how it sours.
I reread a diary of Christmas long ago
A time when I couldn’t tell family from foe.
I can’t sleep for the noise in my head,
not to mention the cat who hogs my side of the bed.
I know this rhyme is crude, and I’m being rude
All ‘cuz I’ve copped a ‘tude.
It’s Christmas day and I’m sick as a dog.
Maybe I’ll go back to bed, sleep thru this fog.

Merry Christmas and to all a good night!

Posted in Bad

Sweet Desperation

platypus

I dreamed of my father the other night. Even today my nighttime images are as clear as daytime. I stood on the other side of a door, watching him through the screen. He was bent over a dark green, almost black trash bag sorting through hundreds of papers. The longer I watched the more it was clear to me what he was sifting through: multitudes of colorful drawings of my childhood, mountains of homework of my youth, many writings of my young, just starting out, adulthood. My life in his lifetime. In print. I saw a biography of Eleanor Roosevelt fall from his hands with barely a glance, a poem about summer slip to the ground without care, a stick drawing of a cat thoughtlessly drift away on the breeze. I knew what he was doing. He was on a quiet, desperate quest for what wasn’t there. He thought if he searched long enough he would find my maturity on a piece of paper. The answer to how I turned out, for he needed to know. Desperately. Despite fearing he wouldn’t find his answer I asked the obvious. I don’t remember his response, but it prompted me to step out onto the porch to join him. I’d like someone to analyze my dream and tell me the significance of three platypus wandering across the lawn. A mother and two babies. Or was it a father? Mine barely gave them a glance as he kept searching for something he would never find.
Desperation is an ugly word. It’s an even worse state of mind. If I could I’d send my father a care package. In it would be a business card, a diploma, a wedding license, a bill for Indy’s shots, my drivers license, a certificate for running, pictures of my nephews…and a note. “These are the things you missed, daddy. This is what I’ve been up to since you’ve been gone.”

Shoot Me Now

When you’re not feeling well everything stops. You can’t imagine driving a car, eating a meal or getting dressed. Lifting your head is even a chore. Such was my downfall last night. I started out feeling achy and blamed it on the run. Later it progressed into something worse. Whether it was food poisoning or the stomach flu, it definitely involved the digestive system in the most horrible way. All night long. A L L night long. I read an entire book in the bathroom. By five a.m. cramps had me curled in a fetal position on the cold tiled floor wanting someone, anyone to shoot me. I mean really, Shoot. Me. Now. Instead, I crawled to my husband and asked him to take me to the emergency room. It hurt that bad, but we didn’t go. Instead he took care of me myself and moi all by himself. Minute by minute, hour by hour. It seemed irrelevant that he had a Patriots game to go to later that morning. He stayed by me, loved me sick and all. He would have held back my hair if I asked.

Ten hours later and the Patriots won. I’m starting to feel better. I haven’t moved from the bedroom and I’ve watched more episodes of America’s Next Top Model than I care to admit. I missed work and I’m afraid to eat anything. Ugh

So, if I blew you off today, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t wish my day from hell on anyone.

You Tried Again

You tried again to connect to me. You invited me out and from the moment you did, we both knew it was a mistake. From the moment the invitation left your lips your eyes betrayed your true feelings, your true mistake. If there was ever a time you wished you could reach out, grab those words back, and cram them into your mouth, this would be it. Take them back if you could, I am so sure you would, because you should. Was it because of my instant dismay? How badly did it roll across my face? Your invitation deflated me. I was getting comfortable with the Let’s Not Push This. Your invitation disappointed me. No was on my lips but I didn’t want to be the one to offend. Lamely, I mumbled something about checking my schedule. I looked at my feet and the clouds, anywhere and everywhere save for the space between us. You have always said you are the smarter of the two of us. Imagine my relief when you brilliantly thought of a way to retract your invite. You were skillful, yet transparent. I see how it is and I want it that way.

Sorrow

Sister Thoughts

DMB once said something about having a lid: “I have no lid upon my head, but I I did you could look inside and see what’s on my mind…” or something like that. If you were to look inside my head you would see two conflicting thoughts, duking it out for control in my skull. They circle each other, growing stronger, weaker, and battling back again.
Thought Number 1 is all about a You that I refuse to relent to. Some people don’t have access to this blog because, I’ll be honest, I’m a coward when it comes to confrontation. I would rather blather about You, my words being the spit in your face that I could never dare fling in real life, than try to work it out with you. It’s too far gone for reconciliation. Really. Keeping mentioning how you miss my blog. Go ahead. You don’t miss it, you miss the ability to think you know me. “Do you love me or the thought or me? Me, or the thought of me?” (yes, more John Mayer). But, back to the confrontation: I don’t hold much favor for MyUglySpace, so I wouldn’t take it personally if someone deleted me as a “friend”… BUT, when you delete someone strictly to retaliate, that’s childish. Did you really think your “friend” was going to sulk a corner, crying because your “profile” was no longer on the space? How much hurt were you trying to deliver? Whatever. Delete away, my friend. You still can’t read my blog.

Thought #2 is all about being proud of a different you, an honest you. I have watched this you grow and change and grow again. I’ve been aware of your life from further away than I would ever like, but I’ve been a huge fan. I’ve been a cheerleader for all your accomplishments…all your life. Yes, we have created different circles. I don’t feel left out of yours. Not in the least. I was born into your circle, just as you were born into mine. I can say it openly and honestly, I am proud of you.

Now – go kick that other you’s ass, will you?

Recapping The Heart

I know myself. If I don’t feel welcome I walk away, drift away, go away. Why force this square peg into the roundness of someone else’s complete circle? I’m walking backwards in this endeavor: wanting more but moving further & farther away. Go figure.

I had wine with mom on Friday night and we talked about the different ways of moving away. Ruth who has that cancer. My cousin has that other cancer. I could choke on my own lack of courage at the very thought. Six months older. Six hundred years wiser. Cabernet untied my tongue and I talked of terrors of my own. A decision I was asked to make, “for the sake of my health” is a decision I have put off, “for the sake of my heart.” I admitted as much. I said I think it’s time to recap the heart. Stop it up and stop the hurt. My mother said it was okay. Really. With that acceptance I came thisclose to telling her more, more, more, but held my tongue. Capped it. Stopped it. The cab wasn’t working that well. I was too aware of my surroundings. Square thoughts for a round hotel. I hadn’t been there since that time in the pool. That time He told me water makes things taste better. Up and up and up to the 6th floor better. Round room better. So, we talked of other people’s cancers. Other people’s problems. It was easy to move away from mine.

I wish I could recap the brain, too. Stop the thoughts. For now, I’ll recap the heart.