Couch Killer

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We killed this couch last weekend. We will kill another one this weekend. What makes us so vicious with the furniture? New beginnings, maybe? Sad endings, perhaps? Indy doesn’t have anything to perch on anymore. I hope it’s not a sad beginning.

I’m contemplating not going to see sirsy tomorrow night. I don’t get the email newsletter anymore, gifts are untaken (my own word, so sue me) and sweet songs are still so sad. It’s like there is an uncaring for the awkward. It’s all unwanted. Maybe I’m not. In truth, I have missed a friend and would rather have dinner with her than try to navigate a menu of fried fat. I don’t want to be fake. I thought about making another attempt at an invite, but I know I will be ignored. Head in the sand I don’t want to deal and can’t bear to feel. Letting Go of you.

We killed couches for the sake of moving on. The new model folds out to recline and sleep. In that order. Recline and sleep. I like the new model for it’s wide arms and hidden spaces. Life goes on.

A is for Alibi

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Grafton, Sue. A is for Alibi. New York: Henry Holt & Co., Inc. 1982.

My mother-in-law was surprised to see me reading a Sue Grafton mystery. Mysteries have never been my thing. I don’t think she was convinced even when I explained that it was a Book Lust recommendation. I kept saying things like “I have to…” and “it’s on my list…” and still I got the skeptical stare. I’ve decided to loan her my “lists” in other words, my Lust books because I also have to read the F & Q books from Grafton.

I was struck by how much I have in common with Kinsey Millhone, Grafton’s main character. She dedicates Sundays to herself. I used to dedicate Friday with the same to do list: “laundry, housecleaning, grocery shopping. I even shaved my legs to show that I still had some class.” (p82) Kinsey runs even though she’s not good at it. She has conversations with her body when she runs. Me, too – although I could call mine arguments and not conversations. She’s big on breakfast. She drives fast. She even feels the same way I do about dogs if not plants. “I don’t know a lot about houseplants, but when all the green things turn brown, I’d take that as a hint.” (p. 33) Me, I’m a plant person. I may kill one or two along the way but if one dies I consider it suicide, taking one for the team.

Seriously, similarities aside I liked Sue Grafton’s first “alphabet” mystery. Kinsey is cool, as she should be. The mystery she was trying to solve had all the important gun on the table elements: murders, clues, infidelities, suspicions, low lifes, and more sex. My only disappointment? I had the culprit picked out before the end. Why? He was too good to be true.

BookLust Twist: Pearl has a huge mystery list in Book Lust. A is for Alibi comes from the chapter called, I Love a Mystery” (p 117).

Jumping Off

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I think about suicide from time to time. When I said this to my boss he looked me in the eye and solomnly said “we all do.” He didn’t try to patronize me and talk me out of something considered. He knew what I meant. I have respect for people like that.

Right now I am considering suicide of a different nature. I think by even writing this I risk decapitation of some sort. I want to jump off this career track and lay myself down in the way of the oncoming train of change.
What do you do when you find out your organization isn’t supported, barely acknowledged? What do you do when your values are scoffed at, swept under the rug? The writing is on the wall. The truth is in black and white for everyone to read and I don’t know what to do. Really don’t.

My contract is up in June. I promised kisa I would open the newspaper to the section I haven’t looked at in over six years. I promised him I would update the resume and who cares that the ink has even’t dried on the word “director”?

There is a part of me that wants to fight. Fight like hell. We have a good group. If we work together couldn’t we beat Goliath at his own game? Why shouldn’t we try? Or what about this – why can’t I play the Darwin game and try to survive on my own? Band with the enemy and take ’em all out? I’ve only been playing this game for three years. Before that I was a bit player, a volunteer. Who’s to say I can’t switch teams and go public? So many questions. No answers.

For now, all I want to do is jump. Suicide.

From Start to Finish

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From start to finish it was an all Good Night. Good food. Good company. Good music. Good drinks. Good plans. Good night. Where should I start? Kisa and I arrived at the factory not knowing what to expect. How do I explain this? I was more than excited to hear my favorite heartbeat, see my favorite couple, have a night out with my one and only favorite man. We interrupted sound check inadvertently. We had time to sit for dinner. The first thing I spotted when we were seated was a giant SpeakEasyExtravaganza poster. Huge. I entertained thoughts of stealing it. Fantasized about where it would go on my wall. I would have sacrificed Natalie for Soul Session for sure.
The music. Where do I even start about the music? Sean Rowe is amazing. I absolutely adore his voice. I was mesmerized by how much sound he and his guitar could put out. They were locked in harmony. I wanted him to sing all night long…well, if Greg could join him! My only disappointment? Wondering if I missed ‘Snake in the Grass’. All night I thought about it. (We came up late.) We ended up buying a cd so I would eventually hear my favorite SR song…twice. I didn’t know I would enjoy Sean as much as I did (even though Brian said I would)…so now I’m going to watch Sean’s tour schedule to try to see him more often. At least more often than once. I wonder if he’ll ever get out my way?

Then came Soul Session. It was a SS I have never seen or heard before. Back up singers…two keyboards…sax and flute…all new faces. All new sound. I didn’t hear my favorite cover, ‘Is You Is’ and I missed Greg’s first mini solo, but I had a great time just the same. It was a real party atmosphere (“bringing classy back”) – people dressed up, food, fancy drinks, candy, free stuff (kisa and I both got shirts and shot glasses) glitter dance floor, strobe lights and not a place to sit – every table packed. I decided my favorite moments were 1) not one but three men banging drums with Sean singing, 2) Night and Day (done right) and 3) being with the coolest people ever. I wish I had a setlist. I had moments during every song that sparked me one way or another. From pants-splitting special guests to Sade there was something to remember. I could have stayed all night.

Even better? Talking about filming. Drum beats. Foot prints. Cymbal smashing. I want it all. It was a good night. From start to finish.

Dangerous to D’bone

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knivesIt was Christmas again yesterday (in more ways than one, but I’ll get to that some other time). In December Kisa bought me a knife. I guess, according to someone in the culinary world, it is bad luck to buy someone a knife. To offset the “badness” you must give money as well. Are you thinking scam? Because it sounds like a scam to me…but nevertheless Kisa presented me not only with an eight inch Santoku (pictured here) he also gave me a gift certificate which I used for a knife skills class.
Class was yesterday. For me, the biggest rattler of life is thinking you know something and then finding out you’ve been wrong all along. A loser in the knowledge department. Playing the fool in the grand scheme of things. Such was my case before getting to class. I have been slicing, dicing, mincing, milling, you name it, for years. Someone had tried to show me the “right” way to dice. What if I really had been doing it all wrong, wrong, wrong all this time? A worse thought? I’d have to touch a chicken bone-in. I even joked with kisa the night before, “watch. They’re gonna make me debone a chicken.” I was practically trembling when I got to class. And I was right. And wrong.

I was right about the chicken.chicken Wrong about my abilities. Here’s the bottom line on holding a sharp instrument – it’s a sharp instrument. Hold it any damn way you please to get the job done…with care. There are four professional ways to hold food while “knifing” it. But, variations are acceptable. Completely acceptable. Yay. Class was easier than easy because everything the instructor taught us was something I either knew how to do really well (citrus supremes) or had attempted a few times (Asian garnishes) and everything in between. I’ve never worked in a restaurant but somehow I’ve held my own when holding a knife.

Then came the chicken. Unchartered waters for sure. I have never ever so much as touched a raw chicken that still has it’s skeletal structure. Panic set in. Surely this is where I would slice a thumb off, throw up, or worse – faint. Meat on the bone creates vegetarian thoughts in me. Seriously. Bones make it easier to see the creature it really is. Or Was. Whatever.
The instructor set to instructing. Her “first you do this, then this, then this, then this, then this…” play by play made my head spin. How would I remember to do that in that order? I think my eyes glazed over at that point. When we finally put boning knife to bony chicken I thought “surgery” and went to work. By the end I had a perfectly butterflied, boneless, not-resembling-an-animal-anymore piece of meat. The instructor came by and uttered “perfect” before moving on. Who knew anyone would say “perfect” in my presence? Perfectly unprepared for that.

I learned. I learned how to hone a knife (I mastered 20 degrees on my first try). I learned what dulls a knife (fat, picking up food). But, most importantly, I learned not to take my own knowledge for granted. I sell myself and my abilities short and this was just one more reason why I shouldn’t.

SoulSessionSeanRoweComingSoon…..

Up and Away I Wish I Was

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Last year t this time I bought a googly eyed sandbox crab. This year I bought another present in red – a Radio Flyer scooter. Good for a growing boy. This time last year I was on my way north to celebrate two. Now I’m stuck south thinking about three. Missing three.
I’ve been so preoccupied with all things me, myself and moi that I have once again neglected those who matter more. I missed my aunt’s birthday 100%. First time in I don’t know how long. I didn’t send anything in time for my newphew’s birthday. My brother-in-law’s birthday was Monday. My mother-in-law’s birthday was yesterday. Today is another aunt’s birthday. There were others earlier in the month (sorry M, D & W). Missed them all. Missed them all. First time in I don’t know how long.
But, things are getting better. I’m 90% in my new office and my good, good friend was oh so right – green is good for me. Very good. I’m getting over the things that ailed my emotion. I’m getting back to good. Just wish I was getting back to Maine, too.

7 1/2 Cents (with Spoiler)

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Bissell, Richard.  71/2 Cents. Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1953.Bissell

This was a fun read. I loved the wit, the humor of Bissell’s main character, Sidney Sorokin. He’s the new superintendent of the Sleep Tite Pajama factory in lovely, just-not-Chicago, Junction City, Iowa. With a sharp sense of humor he tells his story of romance and industry, ulcers and alcohol.  
The “gun on the table” in 7 1/2 Cents  is an unavoidable strike if the workers don’t get a 7 1/2 cent raise. At the center of the controversy is Sid’s girl, Babe. She’s a worker in the Sleep Tite factory and the ring leader for a industry-ending slow down. She’s beautiful, smart and funny. Of course she leads Sid around by the you-know-what. He’s so smitten he not only gets her her 7 1/2 cent raise he proposes to her in the end. You many think I spoiled the entire story, but I didn’t. There’s more to the book that inspired the musical “The Pajama Game.”

BookLust Twist: From the chapter “The Book Lust of Others” in More Book Lust (p.34). 7 1/2 Cents was mentioned as an aside. Bissell’s other book, “High Water” was the featured read in the chapter.

Losing Track of Days

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Is it a good thing to not know what day you are in the middle of? I get restless and nervous when days start to blend together into one big long string of same ol, same ol. It finally happened today. I was in a Saturday frame of mind all day.
Maybe it’s because of the setting sun of my vacation. Maybe it’s because my dreams are the result of restless sleep. Whatever the cause I need to change the pace. Faster, slower. I’m not sure.
I’ve seen my father for four nights running. He comes to my life when I least expect it and every time I end up trying to show him where I’ve been before. Again with the running shoes. Again with him not dead, just gone. Why do I cling to something so unreal? Should anyone mourn like this? It’s not fair. I’ve cried more than my fair share. Exactly what is fair these days?
I even had a panic dream – thought I had missed teaching an important occupational therapy class. Woke up thinking I was late and fired. Woke up feeling confused and tired. Sweaty and disorientated. I hate that feeling at 4:00am. Even the relief of realizing the reality didn’t relax me. Situational insomnia struck again. I’m not sure I know who I am these days.
I’m thinking I should write these night visions out – put them into a perspective more coherent than my perplexed psyche. Something to do. Anything to help.

Green Like Me

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The snow fell yesterday like it was January 16th instead of three months later than that. Instead of being the weekend of St. Patrick’s Day green it has been wild winter white. People spent their Saturday morning digging out driveways and sanding sidewalks. Not a shamrock in sight. We were no different before we headed to the office. Snowblowers and shovels. Backbreaking for the already bruised kisa.
Maybe I was thinking of Myrtle. Maybe I was envious of the Irish. I don’t know. Whatever the reason I changed one wall of my office to “Amazon” green. I kid you not. I hired a professional painter and while kisa & I hung curtains and rearranged furniture my wall of blue was washed away with an anaconda hue. It took two coats to subdue the blue underneath but in the end I had a wall of jungle.
Sometimes you need to do something a little daring. Go out on a limb. I see green as a little dangerous, a little evil. Maybe this snake-like hue will give me the venom I need to fight in the future. Court battles and corporate takeovers and cold hearts.

I sat and I watched Myrtle. Ancient and grace. Beautiful and green.

Running with John

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                                                                                                                       JM

Kisa found me MSG so I went running with BubbleGum yesterday. I call it my revenge run because it was at this time a year ago that I injured my knee. I didn’t know it yet. It was at this time that everything started to crumble, tumble down and my beliefs on running were compromised.  Last year I had been robbed of the nice weather and reduced to “running” the eliptical. Doctors orders.

This year I took John out and we made it through the streets of where I call home. Running on the road I couldn’t help but wonder how soaked my feet were going to be by the end of it all. Snow was subsiding into streams and running alongside me. I dodged as best I could, ran through when I had to. On Bridge I had companions – two very loose dogs, one gray, one brown. I don’t remember their breed but I recognized them from the calendar my sister gets every year for Christmas. I should have asked for autographs, but then again, that would have required stopping. John said something about waking up and forgetting for five seconds all the sh!t that bothers you. Nice idea. When I got to the graveyard I thought I would run by Get Head but realized I would rather run among the souls. It ended up not being as intimate as I would have liked but it made for a good shortcut in the end. Down by Kisa’s chiropractor appointment I thought about stopping in and only decided against it when I realized I didn’t know the way in. Plus, I didn’t want to stop my uphill battle. I ran on and only stopped when John did.

Bottom line: 3.8 miles

Not So Far

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I’ve been working on flickr all friggin’ day. I think I can safely call it a new obsession. Not because I have actively been behind the camera lately, but because I can hear my mother in my head. She’s talking about how she never sees the photos that I take. Hundreds of photos. Tons of trips. Lots of faces. She’s not complimenting my pictures, but rather compensating for the fact that she feels left out of something…whatever that something may be.

I stumbled across this picture and realized that even though it was orginally a “wedding planning” picture (as it was the site for the reception), it is now a “house we are renting this summer” picture. Cool. It’s within a stroll of the island’s best pizza, great coffee and of course, should the need arise, public restrooms…and the church. Only “the bog” separates us from what is considered the heart of town. (The heart being where the most gossip takes place and that would be the post office.)

It’s hard to imagine grilling in the summer sun with the snow coming down the way it is now.  But, I’m getting excited. Only 4 months to go.

Children of the Souls

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MacKenzie, Jeanne. The Children of the Souls; a Tragedy of the First World War. London: Chatto & Windus, 1986.WW2

When I first read about Children of the Souls; a Tragedy of the First World War in Book Lust I was excited to read it. Nancy Pearl described it as a book that “looks at the effects of World War I on a group of upper-class intellectuals” (p 251). Thanks to Tufts University I was able to borrow this book for a month and I needed a month just to even get into the story. Children of the Souls is sectioned into two parts. Part one sets up the lives of the intellectuals, The Souls. For the first 137 pages there is barely a mention of tragedy and even less of war (and the book is only 262 pages long). Like Pearl said these are the wealthy, the upper-class of England and author MacKenzie goes on and on about their schooling (all at Cambridge), their parties and socialite psychologies. I had a good laugh over the language when thinking of it in 21st century terms, “no one has molested me at all yet,” (p33) and, “I think there is something obscene about him, like the electric eel at the Zoo…” (p106).
It was hard to think of these people as tragic when one of their weddings was described as such, “With eight bridesmaids wearing dresses copied from Botticelli’s ‘Primavera’ the splendour was almost regal and overwhelming” (p112) and the description of their social lives is as follows- “parties of all kinds were now the warp and woof of their lives.” (p132)

Parts I and II are separated by photographs of the Souls. I studied their faces, thought about their lives. I couldn’t relate. They lived in a time I’ll never see, in a country to which I haven’t been. Their pictures were as foreign to me as green skinned aliens. I couldn’t even imagine a conversation between us. I’m sure it was the wealth, the high society that built the barrier and limited my imagination.

Part II introduces the politics behind World War I. Let the seriousness begin! What surprised me the most was how quickly everyone died. The first half of the book doesn’t mention the war and the second half is spent killing everyone off, one by one. I was disappointed I didn’t have more about how they experienced the war. Did their intelligence help them? Their wealth couldn’t save them.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust and the straightforward chapter about, “World War I Nonfiction” (p 251).