I go through phases. Musically obsessed, I will listen to one artist over and over again until something takes me off course. I am not exactly sure what dictates this audio gorging, but I’ve always been this way. Ask my mother and she’ll tell you about an ABBA cassette I wore out in the 7th grade. Get me hooked on something and I don’t give it up. Won’t give it up. Ever since kisa was able to get bootlegs of BubbleGum I have been in his audience for months now. Sometimes I’m the back, absently humming along. Other times I’m right up in the front row, screaming my heart out. Daily doses of BubbleGum. Two nights ago I watched Any Given Thursday back to back with a New York show from earlier this year, trying to reconcile 2002 with 2007. I still can’t believe it’s the same guy! Just last night kisa found a secret show, something recorded at 1am. Intriguing.
Recently though, thanks again to kisa, I’m back to my Natalie obsession. Almost like coming full circle. It started in 1998 and most recently came around again when my knight put a gigantic, humungous pair of headphones on my head and said something about Noise Blocking Technology. The latest. I couldn’t hear him. Not one word. “Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re saying.” His mistake was pushing play and letting the cd spin. I couldn’t hear him, didn’t want to hear him… for Natalie had begun to sing.
I admit it. I have missed this voice. I have missed the anger, the passion that always bubbles up from somewhere secret when her lyrics hit me. Tonight I relived Live in Concert (1999). Natalie has always conquered the tough subjects in her songs. I could sense the rage simmering as Natalie sang, “there’s a world outside this room and when you meet it promise me you won’t meet it with your gun taking aim” (Gun Shy, 1987). She was talking to her baby brother about joining the military but all I could think about was Cho Seung-Hui. What made him meet his world with a gun taking aim – just days before the anniversary of Columbine? Would this tragedy get to Natalie as much as 4/20/1999 did? Would she write about Seung-Hui as she had about Harris and Klebold? Tell me. What makes someone’s hatred so untouchable, his alienation so absolute? When does taking aim become the only answer to desperation? I’m hoping Natalie explores the unexplicable because it’s time to hear her voice again, to hear her ask the tough questions.
Category: Good
1959
Davis, Thulani. 1959. New York: Grove Weidenfeld. 1992.
Part novel, part historical rampage 1959 is 100% rich in descriptive imagery. 1959 is the story of Katherine “Willie” Tarrant, a coming of age girl growing up in racially divided Turner, Virginia. She has all the typical angst of any twelve year old – boys, makeup, popularity, daydreams driven by movies and celebrity fanfare. Woven into Willie’s world is the climate of the times. Segregation and integration push-pull of a racially divided era. While some of Davis’s story is told in first person from Willie’s point of view, much of the political, historical meat of the story is third person – conversations Willie overhears, meetings she eavesdrops on and situations she couldn’t have possibly been in. (Like during a sex scene and towards the end of the novel when Cole gets shot on a desolate road outside Turner.) There were times when I couldn’t believe a twelve year old was my guide, “With each grind your thighs would become sex weapons blowing away his cool” (p56). What kid speaks like that? “Death brought out banquets as if the mourners were starved by their loss, and yet the grievers never ate” (p 195).
What made this book such a page turner for me (I read it in less than a week) was the tension of the times. It builds slowly with the talk of school integration and builds after eight black college boys sit at a white only Woolworth’s counter, quietly demanding service. Davis masterfully weaves fictional characters with the undeniable historical truth of what really happened. I could hear the dogs bark, feel the sting of hate, see the bravery in the protester’s faces. Even though school integration didn’t happen for another six years, 1959 proved to be the catalyst for change and Davis captured it brilliantly.
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter called, “Southern-Fried Fiction: Virginia” (p 209).
Knit Nut Week 1
Knitting was another one of those things I loved doing but could never claim to be any good at. In fact, if anything, I could only brag I was proficient at making one thing: four sided shapes. Squares and rectangles seemed to be my forte and I would create them all the time. If I was feeling ambitious I would take all my squares and rectangles and stitch them together to make something really spectacular, a blanket. I did that once. I made my mother a blanket shortly after dad passed away. It’s coming apart at the seams, but she still has it. My crowning achievement. My pride and joy. I had grand designs to do it again for my honeymoon.
After years of making four sided shapes I sensed hints of bigger and better things from my family. Gifts in the form of knitting books, gift certificates to yarn stores and skeins of same-weight yarn whispered the potential to make something more complicated. Either my family had faith in me to move onto something more complex or they were sick of seeing squares. I’m not sure. After all, the honeymoon blanket is still in pieces. When my mother-in-law presented me with two technique books and yet another gift certificate to a yarn store I caved and bought myself lessons. First time, beginner to knitting lessons. Never mind that I’ve built a blanket. Never mind that I know the difference between knit and purl, long tail cast on and garter stitch. Never mind all that. Truth be told, I wanted to learn how to knit with two hands. I wanted to learn how to avoid digging one needle into my hip for support. I wanted to learn how to knit standing up. If there was such a thing as proper knitting I wanted to learn it.
Today was the first class. As with anything involving social graces I was worried sick I would be the fool. With only five of us in the class I was worried I would be the sore thumb in a handful of graceful fingers. The palm was against me: two mother-daughter pairs and little ole me. I told kisa it would have been nice to have my mother there. I was envious of the heads bowed close together, counting each other stitches, admiring each others’ rows. Gentle murmurs of “that looks great honey” and “did you see how she picked up that stitch?” They whispered back and forth while I worded nothing to nobody.
Sometime later their conversations spilled like marbles out to me and I picked up a few. We talked cable television. We talked parenting. We talked Food Network. I found a kindred spirit in one of the daughters. Not wanting kids or commitment she was the coolest of the bunch. We talked Alton Brown and agreed that cable packages should be pick and choose show specific. We’d only want the cooking shows.
At the end of the class I learned a few new things about knitting. I’ve been doing it right all along. Imagine that. The hip was a crutch I can now throw away.
Hell or High Hail
Me, myself & moi, we were the exact opposite of this as we went running in the rain, hail, snow. I had an on again, off again relationship with indecision. Should I run? Looking at the weather I thought not. Looking at my state of mind I thought yes. Finally, I settled on taking a chance with yes.
I took BG out with me and he told me stories about being the next “whatever.” His joking kept me going. Rain soaked me through and I needed something to put one foot in front of the other. Laughing always works. I look insane, but it works. By the time I hit the bike path the rain was going right through me. By the time I hit the first stop sign it was starting to bounce off me and it hurt. Hail. It looked like the tiny beads of styrofoam they fill beanbag chairs with. Small, round, white…and pelting.
I had a small conversation with my knee. Not happy about the run, not run attitude I have had of late, she protested a little. I moved to the dogs’ side of the path and immediately started watching my feet. Broken pen, neon green barrette, empty bottle, dirt crusted button, a scrap of torn paper, another pen, dog sh!t, rusted bottle cap, shards of bark, broken glass, the debris from lives carried on without thought. I thought about the neon green barrette and wondered if it was worn in the hair of a little girl too young to tell her mom it dropped from the stroller’s height. I pictured her staring back at it lying in the dirt, watching it get smaller and smaller as she is pushed away. I thought about the pens. Who would write on a bike path? Was this a shortcut for a business man? A source of inspiration for a budding poet with bigger aspirations than paycheck?
The hail started to mix with snow and it was time to head for home. I learned an inspiration trick from a running magazine – run a bath right before heading out. The faster you get through your run, the warmer the bath will be. As the hail pelted me and the snow chilled my skin to red I thought about the hot bath waiting for me. I couldn’t wait to climb inside. Come hell or high high I made it through.
Party
This picture has absolutely nothing to do with the blog other than it’s a party…and the fact someone in this picture is celebrating a birthday today. Happy Birthday, my friend! XOXO
Leftovers. The very word implies discarded, used up, tired, unwanted. This morning I made french toast with Easter old challah bread and bottom-of-the-quart strawberries. Food leftover from the family visit. The french toast was better than the original purpose of any of these ingredients. Oddly enough.
There are leftovers all over my apartment. Empty plastic eggs, a sad deflated rabbit, sticky Scooby stickers and an Easter cake fast drying out. I’m at a loss as to what to do with the remains of a visit gone by. We never touched half the food I bought in preparation. I don’t know what I thought I was preparing for but it never happened. The only thing worth keeping around is the blooming Easter lily that fills my kitchen with the heady scent of the spring that refuses to arrive.
This afternoon I’ll fold up the blankets, put away the books, clean out the fridge, dismantle the crib and throw out the rabbit head. The party is over. It’s like traveling across the country and stopping along the way to look at some amusement park or scenic landscape. The party is over so it’s time to get back on the road.
Chuck Lelas Memorial
It dawned on me in the middle of my lasagna that the Chuck Lelas Memorial 10k walk/run is next month almost to the day. I haven’t run an inch since March…early March. If you do the math, a 10k isn’t a stroll in the park. It’s over six freakin’ miles. That’s many, many, many inches.
The background (my background) on the CLM walk/run is this. My friend S asked me to walk it with her two years ago. I think we came in dead last. At least, after we crossed the finish line they shut the clock off…what does that tell you? No matter. We were having too good of a time gabbing to really worry about PRs and beating the clock (as if!). I skipped last year’s walk due to a little 13.1 miler I was running for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, but this year I’m back…and stressing about half that distance.
Briefly, the Chuck Lelas Memorial Walk/Run is dubbed the “You Gotta Have Heart” event and this marks the 4th year of it’s existence. The money goes for scholarships in Chuck’s name. My personal tie to this charity event? S and the fact that Chuck was a coach where I work.
For more information go here. In the meantime, I’m off the to the gym!
Can’t Love You Enough
My husband went to Denver for a week. For a week. That’s a long time when you never get sick of someone. It would be different if we needed head space or elbow room. Our body parts didn’t need distance. Always questioning what’s in it for me I discovered the only benefit of putting my kisa in Denver is Chipotle. I dare anyone to find me a better burrito. Definitely dare you. Chipotle has its own wiki page for Frank’s Sake!
I can’t love Chipotle enough. The affair started in 2000. I was introduced to a chicken, double salsa, cilantro-lime rice, black bean, cheddar cheese & sour cream cylinder of goodness within moments of arriving in Denver. Love at first bite. Heaven and Hell. Heaven because I had never tasted anything so good. Hell because it didn’t exist on the eastern seaboard. I was hooked. Caught up in the pleasure and pain of I-Have-To-Eat-The-Whole-Thing. So full I had to unzip my pants, but I finished it…satisfied.
I left Denver in ignorance and innocence having not yet learned of transcontinental burrito travel. Once home I wrote bigwig Joe Stupp of my adoration for his chicken burrito and my lament at leaving the land of yum. He wrote back with coupons, good for youknowwhats and the assurance that Chipotle would dominate the east coast very soon. (As of today, four have invaded New York City.)
How much do I love these bomblike burritos? At Christmas 2001 a friend was detained at the airport and nearly missed his flight. He was searched because he carried a suspicious silver cylinder. His crime? Bringing me a frozen burrito wrapped in aluminum. I joined the fan-club in 2000. I get their email newsletter despite the fact it would take me three hours to order from the nearest menu.
Today, I am enjoying a chicken, double salsa, cheese, bean and rice number courtesy of being separated from my husband. Courtesy of a long distance love affair. I can’t love you enough.
Ahab’s Wife
Naslund, Sena Jeter. Ahab’s Wife or, The Star-Gazer. New York: HarperCollins, 1999.
This took me forever to read! I tried to twice before starting the BookLust Challenge and practically groaned when I saw it on “the list.” It’s not that it isn’t a wonderful book. It is. It’s beautifully written for sure. The only problem is that is it so long! Una’s marriage to Ahab, the namesake title, Ahab’s Wife doesn’t come to pass until page 359! There’s a bit of back and forth on the timeline but all of that is explained at the end.
My other “issue”? Una’s life experiences are shocking yet she handled every single one with heroic resolve. Nothing fazes her for very long. Her father committed suicide, her mother froze to death, her first born died, her first husband went mad, she experienced cannibalism first hand, she braved hurricanes, blizzards and fires. Laced in with all the events are the scientific, political, and sociological happens of the era. Una is submerged in it all: slavery, the womens movement, astronomy. Many famous people parade through the second half of the novel.
Despite the length of Naslund’s story, I loved the language. There were passages that held my attention and caused me to read them over and over. “I have ever feared the weathervane in me. I point toward Independence, isolation. Sometimes I rotate- my back to Independence – and I need and want my friends, my family. with a force like a gale” (p190). I too, find myself wanting to be alone much of the time. Yet, when I need the ones true to my heart the longing comes over me strong and hard. I can relate. Another passage I identified with was on the very next page, “The very atoms I’m made of come apart in a kind of sparkle. A cloud of sparkle propelled by will” (p191). It reminded me of that partical theory I have.
Probably the best part of Ahab’s Wife or, The Star Gazer is the many, many references to literature. If I had more time I would create a reading list from everything Una mentions in her narrative. Shakespeare, Keats, Thoreau, Frederick Douglass to name a few…
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lustin the chapter of “Lines that linger, sentences that stick” (p143). Pearl points out the opening sentence “Captain Ahab was neither my first husband nor my last.”
Peta
Peta = People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.
Yesterday they sent me a survey. Stuck to the survey was a fake sticky note from “Ingrid.” Designed to look like a last minute message in blue “friendly” font it read, “you have been chosen to take part in a critical national referendum. Please read this ballot and return it within 10 days. Ingrid” Thanks, Ingrid. The wiseazz in me wants to send the survey back blank with a sticky that reads, “Ingrid, I followed your instructions to the letter. I read the ballot and am sending it back.” But, I can’t do that. I can’t be that sarcastic to an organization I admire.
Back in the day my favorite place to shop for bath products was the Body Shop. I liked the “this product was not tested on animals” sticker on every bottle. I liked that it was a grass roots organization that fostered trade with third world countries. Recycled bottles, handmade Tibetan paper, banana hair masks. It all seemed so back-to-basics good, earthy and wholesome. Until I learned they sold out and the company went corporate. I didn’t trust the labels anymore.
I think I’m schizophrenic because I don’t wear fur, yet I eat meat. And when it comes to testing on animals I like to play devil’s advocate. We want scientific advances for evil things like cancer. We want cures that are 100%. We need to be able to test our scientific breakthroughs to make sure they really do work. I know testing on animals is cruel, but would you rather they strap down your 80 year old blind grandpa? What the hey, he’s gonna die anyway. Save the puppy! Grandpa a bit much? How about testing on your two year old instead!
Okay. I know I being cruel. There’s a commerical running right now about protecting animals against cruelty and everytime I see it my heart breaks. I want to run out and adopt every abused animal out there. But, researchers are caught between a rock and a hard place. I honestly don’t believe testing on cute and fuzzies happens because they’re all Dahmers inside. Yes, we are learning more about testing on cultures of human cells and the organs of donors but if you were dying of cancer would you trust this babynew research?
But, that’s only one side of the story. If researchers are testing for allergens to cosmetics, cleaning products or even worse, military warfare I am dead set against using animals. Go find the Dahmers of society and put them to good use. Seriously.
ps~ True to nonprofit form Peta sent me mailing labels and asked me to donate.
For more information about Peta, go here.
Smirk
Dear You,
I call today Shakespeare. A tragedy and comedy all rolled up in one. Work was good, for once. Isn’t it funny that the moneymaker is an okay place to be?
I came home to the crib. Or not. I think Papa tried and untried a gazillion times. He finally gave up claiming fatigue. I can’t blame him. He banged your mother on the head with a power drill (she’s fine). We’ll try again tomorrow.
I was accused of trying to burn the house down. See, it’s like this. I wanted to use the smoker again. Turkey burgers done up in hickory and homemade barbecue. Doesn’t that sound good? No standing in front of the fridge eating cottage cheese from the container; pickles from the jar; fingers sticky and cold. I wanted a real meal complete with baked beans and cheddar cheese. The smoker, well, it smokes. Your dad wanted to know why the smoke detector didn’t go off…oops…busted. He shook a finger at me and I swear I heard a tsk, tsk in there.
Indy is still crying. She claims you left her for Maggie. I told her I didn’t think she was your type but still she carries on.
Me, even though it’s only 9pm I’m going to bed. I’ve discovered diagonal isn’t that bad. I don’t ditch the sheet either.
Tell Johnny I think his queso story is bunk and that Chipotle still rules the planet. Hang onto that cell phone and call soon.
love, me
What the Diamond Said
I found a diamond earring I thought was past missing and had moved onto completely and utterly gone.
Later she mentioned her own mortality in a casual tone, “I think I have 10-15 years left.” Standing on the other side of young and talking old. Unnatural to consider at her age. I didn’t consider and was unnecessarily cruel. I agreed with her. Yup. 10-15 years. The conversation we must have – I was not having any of it. The conversation I dreaded was on my doorstep but I was in denial. Can’t we talk about this later? If not now, then when? Is there an easy way to discuss this?
I found a diamond earring completely gone. It glittered on the carpet, winking at me to notice.
Save me before I’m sucked up. Save me so you can see me again. Place me in a box named Cherished and don’t hand me down or hand anywhere. Place me in your ear and learn to sleep on your other side. For good. Forever. For I am the gift of your mother. I am the symbol of pride as she fussed and fidgeted with your hood seconds before marching. I am unrelenting love. Unspoken mother’s love.
10-15. She said 10-15. They say diamonds are forever. Not so when lost in the carpet underfoot. Pride from a parent is permanent. Love is everlasting. Wear it well.
Rocking
Dear You,
It’s only 9 something pm but I think my head will find the pillow soon. Things are fine. I gorged on tons of TV until my hand fell asleep from changing channels. I think I like this rule the remote thing. Your mother-in-law called – wanted to talk about the house. I suppose it needs to happen sometime, right? Your daughter is bitchy. Says I’m not fooling anyone as she sniffs around for the body. I swear I didn’t kill you but she just won’t believe me. Call soon so I can put her on the phone. I’ve been in communication with your parents. We slide notes back and forth under the door. Rent is due, crib is ready when you are. Okay, I made that first part up but I’ll write a check anyway.
By the way, the rice cooker isn’t broken. I’m just an idiot. And. The chocolate raspberry sauce works on graham crackers.
Speaking of food – how was that burrito? You better bring me back one – make that two. One for both hands. I can handle it. Tell the boys I said hi.
love, me
ps~ No hot air balloon ride. Sorry.
With Indifference
I think I’m overtired because this is how I feel. Sideways. Leaning back in my not there chair, almost on the way down. I’ve been this way all morning. Maybe it’s the daytime hue. The gray outside my window flattens and dulls every other color. Brick isn’t a shade of red but rather an ugly brown. Trees look more dead black than living green. They are neutral colors to the point of washed out blah. My senses are flat-lined and bored. 1pm looks just the same as 8am did. The path of the sun has been invisible, sulky and sullen just like me, myself & moi. I wish it would rain. I’m the type of person who wants a reason for the weather. The cold without snow, clouds without rain – they seem pointless. I need purpose. It’s hard to be motivated in the face of such indifference.
I will go home and put on the nanooks. I’ll close the blinds against the colorless sky. Maybe make some tea. Try my hand at rice. Again. Eat it right out of the bowl with parmesan and butter, salt and pepper. I won’t think about the streaks on the window I can’t seem to rub out and watch tv instead. I’ll rule the remote until I realize I’m lonely and it’s not fun anymore. Inevitably, I’ll end up talking to the cat. Together, we’ll count down the days until kisa comes home.
Lip balm Laughter
This weekend has turned out to be one of the most unexpected best. I have to give public thanks to my amazing friend Ruby. She rescued me Friday evening and helped me forget about my current hypertension life. She asked about old dramas that have eased into that We-Can-Laugh-About-It-Now phase. I relived foofaraw and FEFFFF and giggled over the stupidity of it all. Men in bear suits, Jesus on a telephone pole, jars of mayonnaise, Easter forgotten, swinging walkers and can you rearrange your whole studio to meet MY needs? Probably my favorite moment was visiting an old haunt, tripping down a memory lane of scents, trying to avoid the overpushy saleslady, and being chided for not buying lip balm. Kisa and Ruby know me that well. They’ll say I Told You So but I can’t stop thinking about what I didn’t get so I’m going back for a tube or two!
Kisa & I spent Saturday night wandering Northampton – we zipped into Different Drummer for a cookbook stand and a flexi cutting board (kisa is so smart), eating yummy pizza (it’s a tradition now!) and listening to Rebecca Correia and Kyle Spark at Bishops. They are so good together! I almost remembered the entire setlist:
- Greatest Mistake? – a new song I haven’t heard before
- Miss You – easily one of my favorites
- Better Day – I always want to call this one ‘Rain’
- Quiet Hands – I shed a small tear for “our” first dance song. I love it!
- On Your Way Down – I thought Rebecca would tell the story but she didn’t
- For the Taking – my favorite Kyle and Rebecca duo song. They sound great together!
- Walking Back – definitely one she needs to perform more
- Sarah’s Song – I love the line about the Chinese buffet
- Gin – this one always gets people. Kyle’s solo is kickazz!
- ? – I don’t remember this one. Something new? Something unfamiliar?
- No apologies – another one I need to hear more often
My glass of Merlot lasted all night. It went well with the amazing music. Rebecca talked about the Miss You cd release party she’s having in Florida (at Virgin). After six years we are all anxious for the new music we have heard so much about. She joked that if we didn’t come to Florida we would have to buy Miss You on the Internet. Very funny.
After the show we talked about a hometown cd release party. I’ll see what I can do about rallying the troops when the time comes. Time to party!
Mine All Mine
I need to claim April as my month. The once cruelest month needs to be my saving grace. I am mourning the loss of so many things. Physical, mental, spiritual, individual. All gone for better or worse.
Yet, I have so many things to look forward to in April. My family, for one. I haven’t hosted their laughter in so long, and in some cases, never. We’ve had the carpets professionally cleaned, the couches dumped and the vents sucked out. We’ve only just begun. I’ve cleaned out of necessity. I want to cook out of love.
4/4 is my chance to speak my mind. A chance to be heard. Will it stand up to the powers that be? Will it matter in the grand scheme of things? The answer will dictate Should I Stay. The answer will determine the direction of my sails.
4/27 seems so far away. Lights, camera, action seemed like a dream but with every passing day reality is creeping in. I firmly believe in helping out those I truly love and this is no exception. Kisa is the driving force behind this venture and I couldn’t be more blessed.
April also brings a reunion of sorts. I almost want to hold my breath for fear of it not happening. We have promised togetherness for years but every assurance sounds more hollow than the last. I want to see him yet I’m afraid of what won’t be.
Now and Zen Yoga has moved to the new location and I’m anxious to start over in the world of yoga. With a couch propped in the back room I haven’t had room to move the way I want to. April is the month to get back into the studio.
Knitting classes also start in April. Will I be a dolt with sharp objects? I think if I handled a chef’s knife okay I can handle a knitting needle. Make that two.
April is my month.
~*LunaSea*~ 