Life and Work and Kate and Leopold

So, I've just survived two weeks of proposal hell. Shipped off our response on Friday around 1:00 PM and took the rest of the day off. While I was working on the proposal, several things became evident to me:
I was the only person in the office on Memorial Day weekend.
I was the only person in the office the following weekend.
Of the people who will profit if the proposal succeeds, I profit the least.
A costing dilemma makes the odds of the contract being awarded to us about 3%.
I am sacrificing my personal time with family and loved ones for naught.
I developed an illness during this time, but postponed caring to my own care so I would be able to fulfill my commitment to my employer.
It matters not in the least.

At the end of my life, (or even next week) not one person from that office will be present. Not one person from that office has regard for me as a human being. I am tool. (Not the way one would ever want to be considered a "tool" if one were considered in such a derogatory manner.)

So, this afternoon, as I finally catch up on my laundry, do some dusting, nurse my sinus and bronchial infection, I am watching Kate and Leopold- a not all that well-regarded romantic film of years back, yet I find it charming. And in even this light-hearted environment, I see the mirror and the window. A reflection of my sacrifice to unworthy work and the sacrifice of my better skills.

On the topic of seeing what is invisible to one another, one character, Stuart, explains:
Stuart: It is no more crazy than a dog finding a rainbow. Dogs are colourblind, Gretchen. They don't see colour. Just like we don't see time. We can feel it, we can feel it passing, but we can't see it. It's just like a blur. It's like we're riding in a supersonic train and the world is just blowing by, but imagine if we could stop that train, eh, Gretchen? Imagine if we could stop that train, get out, look around, and see time for what it really is? A universe, a world, a thing as unimaginable as colour to a dog, and as real, as tangible as that chair you're sitting in. Now if we could see it like that, really look at it, then maybe we could see the flaws as well as the form. And that's it; it's that simple. That's all I discovered. I'm just a... a guy who saw a crack in a chair that no one else could see. I'm that dog who saw a rainbow, only none of the other dogs believed me.

I feel as if I was the only dog who could see the rainbow. It is not the first time. It (I hope) will not be the last.

I dream my life, and it is so different from where I reside.But I am here now. One can be misplaced for a time. But eventually, to survive, evolve, we seek our optimum environment.

I have worked day jobs to pay the rent, then the mortgage. It is not dishonerable to earn a living in a manner that does not use of one's best abilities, is it?

Kate: I've been paying dues all of my life. And I'm tired, and I need a rest, and if I have to peddle a little pond scum to get one, then so be it.

Yes, it is exhausting to play out your talents for the beneift of others in missions in which you have no percentage, little faith, and no appreciation of your efforts. It could possibly be debilitating if you do it too long.

So who does Kate find to love in such a world; who but a man of good manners, intelligence, graciousness, and honor. He observes:

Leopold: What has happened to the world? You have every convenience and comfort, yet no time for integrity.

Bring me Leopold and if it mean that I set aside my current life and leap into the realm of an honor from time past, then so be it. I would gladly give up the clothes dryer, internet, dishwasher, vehicles, the rancid stink of the insincere. Oh, I know that that last item exists in every time, but I don't have to accept it, embrace it.

And in the end, Kate says this:
It's wonderful to get what you want. It's really a great thing..unless what you thought you wanted wasn't really what you wanted because what you really want, you couldn't imagine or didn't think it was possible.-What if someone came along who knew exactly what you wanted without even asking? They just knew, like they could hear your heart beating or listen to your thoughts..and what if they were sure of themselves and didn't need to take a poll..and they loved you, and you hestitated?...

What you hear . . .

when you are listening for something else can be exactly what you needed to hear all along.

On Saturday I went to Ramshead to hear Will Hoge perform. However, the warm up performer, Katie Herzig, played music that tugged at my heart and filled my mind with thought. To quote her web site's description of her music, it is "a spellbinding, uniquely immersive listening experience that deftly manages to be at once playful and impassioned - challenging and comfortable - intimate and epic." The cellist that plays with her is part of the magic of this group.

"Hologram" speaks to my psyche and "I hurt too" to my love (for want of the accurate word) life. But it's "Forevermore" and "Wish you well" that makes it all come undone with memories of my childhood and missing people who are irrecoverably lost to us. Forevermore sent me searching for Peggy Bittner but she is not to be found on Twitter or Facebook but as girls we performed the Playmate song with a painted cardboard box as our set. Our houses were caty-corner in St. Petersburg, Florida, and we walked to Blanton Elementary School together most days.

I've moved too many times, shedding best friends all along the map. It's not so much that I want them back, but I want them happy and I wish there was a directory where we could find one another without intruding. Mine would read, "Healthy, thriving, still writing and dancing, still pensive, still has a troubled heart." I think Peggy's would read, "Still laughing everyday, mother to three towhead girls, running a bird sanctuary in Southern Florida, happily married."

On Understanding

The further I travel, the more lost I become. The more I learn, the less I understand. So most of the time, I just trust the process and the random energy of the universe to deliver what I need to know when I need to know it. Sometimes that can be quite uncomfortable.

It is a little like living the life of Alice in Wonderland. On reading Jabberwocky, she responds:

"It seems very pretty," she said when she had finished it, "but it's rather hard to understand!" (You see she didn't like to confess even to herself, that she couldn't make it out at all.) "Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas--only I don't exactly know what they are! However, somebody killed something: that's clear, at any rate---"

Pain and Conflict

"Pain and conflict are, to a large extent, the result of a discrepancy
between the way we think others should treat us, react to us, and
appreciate us, and the way they actually do. Many of our miseries are
thus rooted in self-pity, the most worthless of all human emotions."

--Ann Davies, Qabalist teacher

Cinco de Mary

The most important celebration is only 8 days away. Yes, it's almost Cinco de Mary day! A few months ago, I bought tickets to a show at Ramshead Tavern for this coming Saturday. For the past few years, I plan an event of some sort on or around my birthday so that I can't lament that someone else did not. It turned out particularly well last year as the entire critique group joined me on the Cinco de Mayo cruise out of Annapolis.

I'd forgotten who I was going to see this Saturday, but I was delighted to discover that it is Will Hoge. Now I just have one dilemma - two tickets; one for me and another one as yet unclaimed. So if you are a big fan of Will Hoge, let me know.

The Vagabond Heart

Loves,
I have been untrue. You are betrayed, abandoned:
not for want of some other's heart but
for my failure to ever fully embrace that does not
permit abandonment by lack of possessing.

Possession is not needed. Jealousy is a shadow
by the dumpster that I do not visit.

Dark horse; mad one; butterfly; cinnamon girl;
gypsy; cold-hearted witch, sad case.
Leaving is easier if you attach a label.

Do not mistake this announcement. Your heart
cracks my chest, every day. Because I have never
really held you, never unveiled my eyes, never
took it all in to the tipping point.

I have loved you in the palm of my hand,
in the crook of my neck, in the bend of my knee.
You deserve more than that. Your love is assured,
a debutante of affection, a monument of conviction,
a canyon of generosity, a hummingbird's beat of hope.

Lucky is your heart in my departure. Lucky found and
lucky lost. Like a bead of sweat down your side in the
heat of summer, embrace the chill and delight of the
uncontrollable release. It is natures way of balancing
the heat of the body.

Walk on By

Yes, it is another one of those days when my horoscope is so accurate that I suspect the writer has been folowing my blog, reading my tweets, stalking me on facebook!

Horoscope for today: Saturday, Apr 18th, 2009 -- You want to take care of those you love, yet you might not want them to know how involved you are in their lives. Part of your current dilemma is that you are connected with your friends and family, even though you're motivated now to increase their independence. It's easy to act as if you are emotionally detached. However, it takes a lot more work to truly give others the freedom they need.

Both of my children (28 and 18) have become more independent this year. Dylan at University of Maryland does not ask for money or food or advice. He moves smoothly through his classes this semester, doing the hard work, managing to eat and sleep enough, exercises and spends time with his friends, returns home to share holiday with friends. I resist phoning him, checking up on him, hugging him too much when I do see him.

Sara has a strong ring of friends that have been onher side since she was a child and now she has a man in her life who is her daily witness, so I am not. Lately we find ourselves unavailable to talk when the other is available so that days slip by without speaking. Neither of us minds so much as we recognize that it is different than it was a year ago. She has heard me spin my dreams of moving away, of shedding my life, for enough years to know that although I want to go, I don't want to be distant from her or Dylan.

But those are not the only people that come to mind when I read this horoscope. When you have been close with someone but realize that you are not ultimately going to enrich their lives; then even if you have a selfish desire to hear from them, to know that they are well, you cannot. To contact them at all distracts and delays them from the very place they must go.

So if you see me walking down the street, just walk on by..."

Detours and noise

Late Thursday afternoon, a red car sped off College Parkway, dumping itself into a ditch backwards and somehow losing its roof. I was commuting to my house to gather materials to teach Business Writing in Waldorf that night. Emergency crews and police had blocked the street at both ends denying me access to my community. After an obsequious plea to the local "authority", he deigned to move an orange cone and permit me to my home (which was no where near the actual accident).

The two lane parkway, usually a constant stream of vehicles so that I imagine that I live near the ocean and late at night transform the flow of traffic into a surf landing on the beach that is just feet from my doorstep. This works until a Harley trespasses my illusions, although I transform it into a late night teen escape on a dune buggy digging through the packed sand.

I drove solo down College Parkway to my community. Silent silent. I creep the Prius, running on electric, so that no sound intruded. The stealth was intoxicating. And the silence.

Sally and I took our walk to the sound of birds nesting. I had not noticed them at that time of day despite the visual presence. Now a symphony of nesting of the birds camouflaged on high branches drew up my chin, perked Sally's ears.

By the time I left for class the flood of vehicles had returned. If you don't hear the birds or see the birds, are the birds still there? Does it matter if it doesn't heal your soul?

Then tonight, Friday eve, I start up College Parkway, windows open, sunlight and warmth for the first time this week. Headed west the traffic grew heavy, tight, nose to bumper close that could only mean an accident on Route 50 had detoured everyone onto College Parkway. Had they been headed east, I'd still be on the road. With every inch I traveled closer to home, however,I knew there could be no retreat; no west bound retreat. I could travel further east toward the sea, but no easy return to the society to the west.

At home, Sally and I go out and the rumble of the 16 wheelers and rusted pick-ups. Sally grows nervous, pulls to return home, to the back deck to warn the squirrels away, where she does not hear the squeal of breaks or smell the exhaust. I follow her. I know I am not trapped here. Though there is too much air in this narrow house for one person, there is too much to remind one. So if I stand at the very back of the deck and peer into the woods, imagine there is no end to them, imagine I migh walk until exhaustion sets the clock; I feel my soles on the spring floor and walk until dark and dig a shallow hollow and sleep in the arms of the earth. We bury ourselves, don't we? Isn't everyone mired somehow?

It's just what you need.

For want of a nail. . .

There is no easy way back. My
name is disappearing as I type,
each previous letter fading into
white.

Everyday more rocks in my
pockets, warming in my hand.
Does the water burn inside out?

Knowing Which Way you Want to Go

It is always best to ask an authority

Today, I put in my contacts (green tinted ones - I like to see who is paying attention). However, I happened to put in only the ones for seeing things close. That means the things at a distance are blurry, without refined edges. So I'm having something of a Monet day. Rain on the pavement is a pewter veil. The neon letters shimmer as if buried in a lake. At three feet, no one has wrinkles or acne or scars.


Of course, I could go remedy the error but it is teaching me something, and today seems like a good day for introspection.

So this accident inspires me to think a bit deeper, to consider the limits of perception, as well as the small things that inspire us.

March Progress - too much?

Lucky, lucky, lucky Mary!

Through the recommendation and reaching out of a former colleague, I was contacted regarding a position as a proposal writer (Government RFP writing). Bring it on.

The ability to cull through dense documents packed with extraneous and repetitious verbiage is one of the strengths I possess. Then the ability to analyze needs, desires, wants, and the words that speak to my audience; well, that is the icing. Now I have a position where I can be the substance and the icing (eventually - I mean I just started Monday).

Still, I was unemployed for almost 3 months and the collateral damage is approximately $8-10K. But I'm still teaching and now working full-time once again, and I have learned to live lean (that part doesn't hurt a bit - although I did recently see a pair of shoes and think "Wow. Could I buy those?").

Most surprising is how much of your self-esteem runs down the drain during unemployment. I am still wondering every day if they will want me to come back the next. The night before my first day, I spent hours wondering if I should even start.

However, the owner and principle is a smart, strong, generous, and thoughtful woman who sees my potential and is willing to mentor me to success, to all of our success.

I can promise this much, I will pay it back in kind or pay it forward.

Lucky, lucky, lucky. I am one of the lucky Irish.

Enough Said?

No. 2: Warren Buffett
Net Worth: $37 billion
(Was No. 1 last year, lost $25 billion over the past year.)
Source: Investments/U.S.
Age 78. Widowed, remarried; three children.

Last year America's most beloved investor was the world's richest man. This year he has to settle for second place after losing $25 billion in 12 months. Shares of Berkshire Hathaway are down 45% since last March.

If Uncle Warren is not able to swim this sea, who will?

We will. We, the capitalist Americans who know that work and performance and quality and product matter. If the banks fail, there will be a new way. This is not the first time. This time, though, the value will be tangible. Be tangible. It's March. Let the wind blow.

March is my month

Beware the ides of March.

Or welcome the ides of March. I do.

Tonight it is snowing - finally. Like the apex of the arch, I have been suspended, waiting, waiting, waiting. Now the snow falls, and I descend.

Many months ago, a sooth-sayer spoke to me; she told me that I would meet my true love in March - or rather that I would find true love in March.

Today is March 1st. I am alone. Snowflakes blanketing the apple blossom tree across the street; snowflakes in Sally's hair; snowflakes on my shoulders, my face; snowflakes carpeting the deck; snowflakes shrouding the details, covering the grim, removing the stain. I have waited for snow.

Snow is sacred to me; my metaphor for beginning. I know most prefer spring but I prefer snow. Cover me, bury me, let the ugly decay and fall away and the green stem beneath erupt in the sun.

The crocus are already above ground. Bent yellow heads shaped like closed tulips resting in the snow, what do they say to me?

Here is the quiet night--the pause--before it all begins again. Cherish this moment. Soon the winds of March will knock my socks off!

Red Hot Poker

Tonight, four of the precious members of my creative writing critique group met at an India of Annapolis on West Street. First, let me just say, the food, the wine, the service capture what taste and customer service define: Delicious and attentive.

But the delicacy of the evening is this - I write to them from my heart of hearts. I have been balancing on the high wire of a story for over a decade, balancing on metaphor and simile, sometimes in a sonnet and sometimes in free verse. Tonight, I read the words that were the most difficult.

I thank them but not with words that I can heave into my mouth. They understand the process, the lifeblood, the pulse, of the creative process - the becoming. There are few places where a writer feels like they might undress, knowing there is much, much at fault, and yet knowing, beneath, the bones are solid, strong, and telling. They help me prop the skeleton against the wall and discover the being. I am forever grateful.

Now I just need that red hot poker to keep me writing, writing, writing, the next untold truth (according to me).

Re-incarnated in Unemployment

Unemployment allows me to have shows on during the day that others watched. "Dead Like Me" is a program that comes on in the evenings; I was working days, some nights, and in graduate school and didn't see some series. I have never watched a single episode of "The Sopranos." I don't subscribe to Showtime or Cinemax.

But during daytime programming, they show last seasons episodes. Today, I am becoming acquainted with "Dead Like Me" as I file papers, submit resumes, floss, play with Sally.

"Dead Like Me" features characters who died but did not pass over; rather they exist on earth as grim reapers, escorting the dying through death. I see them as the scores of unemployed, wandering the job market, meeting the newly disenfranchised, sharing secrets and systems of survival in this incarnation.

"The more I try to hold onto my life, the less life I have," says the young protagonist. Indeed. Unemployment creates, well, actually a void. But also unlimited possibility. Actually, not unlimited. I will never be a professional ballerina or ice skater; too late to join the Peace Corp. And it is unlikely that I can even start a new career in medicine or the law, become a horse trainer, pursue an acting career,

"Why do I keep losing all the things and people I care about?" our young protagonist asks. "That what life is," the wizened friend tells her. The viewer is told to try to understand what is left behind.

I cannot decipher the message. Not yet. Most people I meet are in a panic or stumbling into despair about the economy. I cannot. Perhaps it is denial. Perhaps it is because even if everything fails, I get to choose this day, my emotional reaction, my moment, right now. I choose hope, courage, laughter, and a small square of chocolate.

Join me in Creative Journaling

Mary Bargteil is leading a creativity workshop for Anne Arundel Community College.

What is creative journaling? For every student, the creative journal will be a unique, rich reservoir. Through a series of exercises, writers discover the story inside the story, the poem within the poem. For the photographer or painter, discover a new way of seeing the subject, the landscape, the interior.

We will use a variety of prompts and interactive exercises to build a collection of ideas and insights to enrich your creative work.

Dates: Feb. 10, Feb.17, Feb. 24
Hours: 6:30-9:00 PM
Location: Arnold Campus, 101 College Parkway
Course Number: WRG-313-101
Register here!

I encourage you

I have been one of the round robin poets at this event in the past. Not this year. BUT it is a worthwhile event, a unique experience. I encourage you to attend.

Event: Spread the Love, Share the Warmth
Time: Sunday 15 February, Start Time: 19:00 PM
Location: Metro Gallery, 1700 North Charles St., Baltimore, 21201, US

To RSVP or view the invitation, go to MySpace:
http://events.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=events.detail&eventID=486356.7654&hashcode=dfc9c9c8-f8b8-4eb8-b237-ab6c62940b78

Be the change you want to see!

Best advice

Surround yourself with your friends. They will care for you - it is so clear to me how much they love you.

"Lucky"

That evening, she tried to heave her heart
Into her mouth. She said,
“I love your eyes, the way your hair curls
At the back of your neck. I love how you are with
Dogs, like a mate, a pack member. I love how you
Pick up broken things, like me, and don’t throw
Them away.

I love all the blue white of your cornflower eyes,
And the way they wet at joy and sorrow. I love your
Strong hands running over a piece of wood, lifting
a heavy weight or rubbing the small of my back.”

She was lucky, but she wasn’t strong. She was smart,
But she wasn’t disciplined. And she feared the words
“I love you.” Whenever someone said them to her, the
words echoed from a deep, uncharted wood, like distant
French horns through a fog.

And the words would come into her mind when she was
with her lover. The words hummed inside her, in the valley
of her throat, in the hollow of her hips, pricking the back
of her neck. The coveted words were a talisman, a keepsafe.

The words inside were a solid link, heavy metal.

That year, she bought him an id bracelet, fat links
Embracing the heavy center, “Lucky”. She had
Thought them lucky. Last night, the other words hid
Beneath her rib cage, and in the morning she found the
id bracelet frosted in the winter air on her front porch.

She put it on and slowly the heat of her own skin
Warmed the word.

Attainable dreams

Early this morning, maybe 4 AM, I dreamed I was skiing; the snow soft and fresh, uncarved and my body as flexible as a twizzler, my knees soft and giving at just the right moments, leaning over the edge and turning with no effort. All the air silent except for the shush that is like the return of your own heartbeat. It reminded me of how much I really like to ski. Just as when my mother, after a year or maybe only six months, shows up in a dream, and I wake with damp eyes realizing how very much I miss her and everything she gave me.

So I need to go skiing (some dream interpretation is easy). But I have not been working out or doing my walking much since the lay-off. But that is okay. I can do it now. And I'd already started in the last week to awaken my body, to savor the scent of my own perspiration, to happily anticipate the tender muscles the day after. This is one of the ways we know we are alive.

My mother did not spend enough of her life skiing. She did ski (in Austria no less - if Lorraine was going to do something, she was going to do it). But only on one trip and then no more. Her life would have been enhanced by nearby weekly winter skiing outings. So I should learn that lesson and make sure I ski every season, even if it is here in our humble surroundings and not in Austria. And I should prepare my body for it.

Some dreams are more attainable than others. What a day to begin dreaming...

you know there is almost always going to be a piano involved with me. it sounds better on the soundtrack. of course.

The Scholar - this just in

From the College of Computer, Mathematical and Physical Sciences at the University of Maryland

Dylan Bargteil has been listed in the Fall 2008 semester's Associate Dean's Commendation.

As a parent, I understand the difficulties that students face during the first semester of college. So, to my Beamish, who more than survived but thrived! I knew of his struggles (sometimes), his isolation, his connection - as much as a mother can know - which is not near to enough.

So, congratulations, Dylan. This is no easy accomplishment.

Inaguration: I was at the NE corner of the Washington Monument

Sunlight at noon and air crisp enough to remind you that every breath matters; blue skies and human masses; strong, well-organized, poetic language – language that resonates and will resonate for decades; citizens united to succeed, and we, white/black/asian/Indian/and all the tribes in between, stand at command. We cannot fail. We will not fail.

We believe, and because we believe, so it is. That is what faith looks like; that is the power of faith. Not some external force but the absolute conviction within.

I had wanted to be present. I live not far away. But, in an ironic turn of circumstance, I am one of the unemployed to whom President Obama speaks. As fate would have it, I had received a notice that my benefits had been suspended (since the very first week, so I grow a little lean in the bank account at this point) because one of my employers had categorized my leaving as a “voluntary quit.”

The brief story is that it was not a “quit” but rather a contract that had expired. However, the DLLR had scheduled to interview me by phone, home phone, at 11:30AM on January 20th. Despite multiple attempts to reach them to request that my phone number of record be changed to my cell phone, I failed to ever be connected to anyone. The consequences of missing the phone call are that benefits are cancelled.

Benefits are not a lot of money compared to my previous income, but they are the difference between depleting my savings in 60 days rather than six months. Significant. Especially in these times.

Throughout the morning, I wandered past three televisions; one set to CNN, one to Channel 2 (my second family Charlie, Diane, Robin), and the Today show – different networks on each floor of my townhome. Friends had told me they were going, invited me to go; other friends were gathering elsewhere; Annapolis had an event at the State Capital but I had to be within arm’s reach of my telephone, my miniscule shackle. It was nothing.

The interview call came early and the DLLR employee wanted to be on the telephone with me no more than I wanted to be on the phone with him, yet we found common purpose. The matter was quickly resolved.

Sara phoned, whispering into the phone of her plans to find a place where she could witness this moment. She sees it, feels it; Sara is the change. We shared our unbridled enthusiasm in whispers. Another friend tweeted his whereabouts in DC. So when President Obama placed his hand on Lincoln’s bible, I stood in my living room, and pandiculated as if Rip van Winkle himself had just woken. In a syncratic moment I felt Sara beside me and I was transported to the northwest corner of the Washington Monument. I breathed in the press of fleece and wool, the words reverberated, and heartbeats - singular and collective thrummed, and an absolute understanding streamed through us that we were all part of a powerful surge of human spirit, American spirit, relentless even when daunted.

Tomorrow, I will wake, take care of myself and mine, and look around and see what else is possible. Undaunted, determined, and reaching, stretching as far as I can.

If You Were An Anime Character . . .

Who would you be? Yes, I admit that I was intrigued enough to spend the less than five minutes and see me. Here are the results:
1664 other people got this result! That's 10% of total quiz takers.

You are a romantic anime girl and you love and care for a lot of people. There is no evil in you soul or your heart. Though sometimes people don't feel the same way as you do you keep on trying to change their mind. You love to help people out and you are always happy.Keep on trying to make the whole world smile because you know smiles are contagious ^_^. Oh and if it seems like there is nobody who could love you as much as you could love them, it doesn't matter; the thing is that the only thing that matters is that he cares and loves you, and it doesn't matter how much. Well maybe it does matter, but don't set your standards too high cuz then you'll find nobody.

So if you know me at all (and I assume you do if you are reading this post), you may find this surprisingly close to accurate.

In 2009, I resolve to do less . . .

1. I will Not cook the main meal for Christmas Eve dinner or New Year's Eve dinner in 2009. I get anxious in the kitchen, a room that has always intimidated me. In 2009, I will order carryout or let someone else cook or go out.

2. I will Not buy any exercise parafenalia or exercise clothes. I have tapes and videos and a two great tracks near my house and a 15 speed bike and a kayak and plenty of old clothes that are only enhanced by sweat and sunshine.

3. I will Not endure prejudice. I will speak up when I hear it.

4. I will NOT neglect my closest friends and family for the sake of people I hardly know.

5. I will not succumb to emotional manipulation; which is not to say that I am a cold-hearted witch; however, there are moments when someone's reaction doesn't really have anything to do with who we truly are and everything to do with who they are.

6. I will not miss the things I am casting off.

7. I will not hold onto clothes that are a size 2. Size 2!!! (Even a zero or two). If I am ever that thin again (small chance), someone put me in a pen and feed me Fritos and White Russians.

8. I will not deny myself skiing and dancing.

9. I will not be blind to my faults (I hope - okay, I'm going to try to see them/it.)

This list is subject to revision and does not imply that I have completed my assessment of the things I am better off not doing. So it is not complete.

Running with jello scissors

When you are not expected in the morning, to rise, to be outside, dressed, ready for the world, at any appointed time, time turns on itself and trims your day with jello scissors.

When you are not expected to speak, you find that you do not; not for hours on end. The most meaningful discourse shimmied to "Would you like plastic or paper?" or my favorite, "Did you find everything you were looking for?"

When you are not expected to perform excel manipulations or wordsmith tricks, you begin to teach your dog to dance; her silky coat rippling in the sunlight for a treat as you tempt her onto her hind legs for a count of ten.

When the alarm does not alarm, there is no need to shower, to dress, to comb the mares from your hair. You forget the days; seeing only is it daylight or night; hearing the quiet, the ticking of the clock (cliche clock) but it is there, tapping out the day and you will turn on anything to silence it.

Late, you wonder where is the twelve step program for the disenfranchised; the obsolete, unnecessary, expendable?

Then, late, all the pent up silence spills into a void, a vortex of silent deposit, here.

I should have known better . . .

than to buy him a present, an engraved present. He doesn't even know I bought him a present, but that is the way it has happened lately. The last three times (counting this one) that I have purchased a gift for a fellow, the relationship ends, self-destructs, faces undeniable truths, or communications are ceased.

A few years ago it was a watch. The last time it was imported Cuban cigars. This time it involved engraving.

So maybe being selfish is the best policy. Had I spend those funds on me, on Mary, especially considering this time I've just joined the ranks of those available for employment, perhaps those relationships would have turned out differently. I doubt it.

Nevertheless, how much happier I might be to think it is some random rule of the universe rather than something about me. Okay, it must be something about me then.

Vulnerable but hopeful

You know you are vulnerable when watching "Superman" and it's the scene where Lois Lane is hanging from the helicopter, about to plunge to her death. She loses her grip, and the Superman theme song swells. Your eyes fill with tears as Superman catches her mid-air and says, "It's okay, Miss. I've got you."

Well, no one has "got" me. I've got me.

I got the word on Friday that I'm being laid off. I only have about two weeks, then .... options. All of them -- what will I do?

I could go for a full-time teaching position.
I could teach high school or middle school English.
I could work at Trader Joes.
I could sell my house and become an international house sitter.
I could sell my house because I'm willing to give it away just so I won't have the debt.
I could stay and write and produce the book of our time, a first hand account of this "recession."
I could get another job doing administrative work - the mistake of my career for the last quarter century.
I could sell everything and move to Guatemala and buy a house for $20,000 and live on $3,000 a year; writing and hiking and swimming and eating mangoes and offering exclusive writing retreats to hand-picked writers six times a year (to earn my $3000).

BTW, Superman is 6'4" and weighs 225 lbs. Yes, that is the official word on that. At least I'm not crying anymore. And he never lies. I think that is a good policy; I'd rather hear an ugly truth than a pretty lie.

So, if I no longer have a 9-5 gig, what did I really want to be when I grew up? Didn't I always know that I could take care of myself? No. I didn't always know it. But I have known it for a long time. I cannot imagine that this won't be the next best thing that I never knew was coming.

Sabrina Wisdom

What you see depends on where you stand.

Some movies we enjoy because of the cinamatography; some for the characters; some for the message. Sabrina is full of lessons; never carry an umbrella in Paris, turn down the brim of your hat just a bit, and one of my favorite lessons is a cooking lesson:

The Professor: Bonjour, mesdames et monsiuers. Yesterday we have learned the correct way how to boil water. Today we will learn the correct way how to crack an egg. Voila! An egg. Now, an egg is not a stone; it is not made of wood, it is a living thing. It has a heart. So when we crack it, we must not torment it. We must be merciful and execute it quickly, like with the guillotine.
And the lesson that helps us see how this life is a conversation and not a lecture.


Thomas Fairchild: He's still David Larrabee, and you're still the chauffeur's daughter. And you're still reaching for the moon.
Sabrina Fairchild: No, father. The moon is reaching for me.
Of course, near the end of the film, there are more thoughts about the moon:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sabrina Fairchild: I might as well be reaching for the moon.
Baron St. Fontanel: Oh, you young people are so old fashioned. Have you not heard? We are building rockets to reach the moon!

Not to mention the lessons about cooking a souffle. The film Sabrina is full of lessons.

Just because you don't get what you want doesn't mean you won't get something better and more authentic and better suited later.

Taking on Water . . .

Dreams of the last nights are riddles, puzzles, mirrors, windows; if I can just decipher the code.

Four nights ago, on a windy dark road through a thick forest, no moonlight, I am driving. There is a female in the passenger seat; maybe Sara, Wendy, Susan - I don't know the woman, but I know she trusts me and she is counting on me for something. I am driving. But I am blind. I say, "I can't see yet."
"But you're eyes are open." She raises her hand to the wheel.
"Yes, but I can't see yet. I have a condition."
"A condition?" I can see her panic like a funnel cloud in the distance racing closer.
"It's okay really. I'm highly intuitive."
"What kind of condition?" she says and her voice is pitching higher than the strings.
"Delayed rotation."
"Can you see yet? Can you see the road?"
"No." I begin to doubt myself. My teeth clench and my shoulders turtle up. "But I'm on it." I swallow. "Right?"
"What is delayed rotation?"
"I open my eyes but my eyeballs are turned inward because it is my nature. Mine have become delayed. They take longer to turn out again."
"Do you know where you're going?"
Then I wake up. I open my eyes, grateful for the dark room but the grays of definition. How much do I need to see to know where I am? I walked through much of my childhood without the lights on and I'm thriving. I can walk in the dark. I can trust my feet.
Right?

Dream two:
Last night, sidewalks, trees, dark misty night, some chemical smell as if a refinery is not far, The air is dense. My thighs are loaded with lead; I'm no larger; but I cannot move. I need a machete to move through this thickness. My back bends and there is no relief and no end to the road, rolling out like a ribbon of gray taffy. There is no stopping, no resting place. There is only the hot tar road beneath the thin souled shoes and this weight. Is this how we move in the world? Is this where I have to be now. It is as if I am swimming toward a shore that recedes with every stroke. And I am not in a place that permits floating. So there is only moving, stroking, swimming.
I wake exhausted, beaten. There it is then; the thing that doesn't happen to Mary. I feel beaten. I know I am not - but right here, this night, this moment, the vessel is swamped and taking on water.

There comes a time . . .

At one point or another most of my children's generation contemplate or get a tattoo. My daughter, Sara, chose her 18th birthday to get one. My son, Dylan, has been talking about the one he wanted for over a year; one of his own design and meaningful to him; individual.

I shared with him that I believed the strongest statement he could make with his skin would be to be one of the very few of his generation who turned around at 35 or 40 years of age and did not have a tattoo or piercing; that who he is should speak so confidently that no mark or sign would better represent him.

He disagreed. He was determined and had decided he would get a tattoo when he was 18. So, I decided I would scope out local tattoo parlors, try to determine the cleanest, safest, and most talented ink artists. Once an 18 year old "child" decides a course of action, it seems the best alternative is to participate and guard and guide as much as they will permit. I was impressed with Dragon Moon Tattoo in Glen Burnie. They refused to tattoo Dylan prior to his 18th birthday. They check ID. They use the most recent and thorough of sterilizing devices for their needles and their ink! So here is Dylan, my Beamish boy, my brilliant son, bearing the ink that defines him, for today anyway. It is possible that this may be the ironic highlight that defines this part of his life.

Psyche's Dream

Psyche's Dream

As Psyche, the most
beautiful of mortals,
sleeps among the
flowers, she dreams
of beholding the
perfect face of
Eros, her lover.
Having found true love
in each other,
they float down the
river of life forever.

What resonates for me is that Psyche is dreaming, floating. It is very much how I move through any given day -- seeing the endless potential, the potential, the portent of the curve of the moment.

Hope on Fire

Sometimes our lives ignite.
Like tonight.
There is the personal and
the global.
First - I am unwilling -
but you knew that -
to ask for help, to be less
than my whole life - to do less
than breathe fire.
If not now - when?

We knew this moment - we smiled all this day - we were jubilant at the poll place - we danced in the streets - we were gleeful - we knew.

Now, harness the faith in your own desire, your own perfection, your own "everything." There is no need to compromise in your self. Celebrate - and then get to work. As my grandfather always said, "Life is work. Love your work."
Thanks, Pop-pop.

Don't Vote

I remember when the school system made a move to ban books by Stephen King. He was thrilled. He told them to go ahead; ban his books; remove them from the library. He smiled that crooked, wicked little smile and said, "Ban them and your children will seek them out, find them, and huddle beneath the covers with a flashlight and read them in the dark of night."

So I say to you, "Don't vote." It won't make any difference. Besides you haven't done enough research, and they are calling for rain later. Why don't you at least wait until after you get off work. Put it off. After all, you are just one person. How much could it possibly matter.

So stay home. Don't vote.

Haunted by Tail Lights

She doesn't stand at the door.
She doesn't watch people drive away.
She's not haunted by tail lights
trailing off down the dark country road
under a half-moon, neither waning or waxing.

She doesn't hold on too long.
She doesn't want the off-balance
of the early release, the tumble
seeking gravity. When she turns,
she just keeps going; no need to
check over her shoulder; rather use her
resources to shield the glare of the sun
streaming into her eyes.

Mary Buys a Kayak!

Mary Visits Jiffy Lube

I'm experimenting with making videos. Some things are bound to turn out better than others :-/

Read this right now!

Obama is recalling growing up, raised by his grandmother. She said to him, "Well, it's no picnic for me either." What I heard was, "My life ain't been no crystal stair/But I's still climbing...."

I dob't take anything away from McCain. I respect McCain. I admire his service to our country, his tenacity in surviving being held captive. I see a life well-lived, in so many respects.

BUT, he does not know my childhood or my friends lives. That doesn't make him a bad choice for a leader; but McCain is not my choice. Not just because we are not similar in our experience in America, but more because he chose, he "chose" Palin.

I had wanted Hillary to be the democratic candidates. I see now why she is not that candidate. I only say this so you see that my objections about Palin are not because she is female. My doubts are not that she is inexperienced with world leaders and even national politics beyond her peninsula. I wonder, however, if you put her in a room of 8th graders and they played, "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego", if Palin would be in the top three. I wonder if she played a game with sixth graders about the constitution and the amendments, if she would be in the top six. I am not willing to wonder that about my vice president.

Barack knows the constitution, knows he is not a perfect man, knows he needs guidance and help and will ask for the help he needs. I believe those things about him. I do believe that if he asks America to step up, that finally, we will "all" step up; all of those that are able.

Is this powerful media - YES, it is. This is a presidential candidate who understands that all of the citizens are at his disposal; this thirty minute spot is how he talks to everyone - not the people who can buy a plate at a dinner to support him that costs in excess of $500. He spent his campaigning dollar to talk to me, to you. What did he ask for in return?

Pay attention. Listen. Vote.

Crazy Kayak Girl

The summer of 2008, I went kayaking about six times. The Severn, the Magothy, the Bay, became as much my waterfront as any one elses. No cell phone, no moving quickly. The sun, the salty-ish air, the birds, and my sister and friends made for hours of paradise in my own neighborhood.

We'd typically meet at the Boatyard Bar and Grill in Eastport for their legendary Bloody Mary(s) and then walk down the block to rent kayaks from Annapolis Canoe and Kayak rentals. They hold an annual end-of-season kayak sale and I was among the handful of people anxiously waiting for them to open the doors on Sunday morning.

An hour later, I was a proud boat owner! My kayak is a blue Dagger 12 with a skeg. Now all I need is a paddle, a whistle, a bailing system (sponge or cup and sponge), and a life jacket!

There is one other small detail that I didn't think through - transportation. For now, my kayak is safely cradled at Annapolis Canoe and Kayak. Next weekend, I hope to recruit a friend with a large vehicle to help me get my boat home. It is just possible that this modest kayak may fit inside my vehicle with the hatch open, etc. We'll see. Until then, if you see me walking down College Parkway with a kayak trailing behind me, you'll know that I'm headed for water!

Long Nights

Take off your shoes
Pin up your hair
Don't worry about the crumbs
or the dog hair. Spill
your wine on the carpet

And don't worry about the
mail; this has been a long day
and it's gonna be a night
deep as hell.

There is no help at the door
and no one inside. All the window
are closed and the curtains
are blind. Sheets as cool as
a shroud and your lips wanting
a swell.

TV is chatter, night fog for the ear,
your skin has grown onion thin,
your heart a mollusk shell.

You just don't want to go,
and you'll die if you stay.
Those will be the words
on your dying day.

14 Hour day and still restless

Here is an indication of a lack of balance: the person who was up at 6 AM is still up at nearly midnight and worked two job and cannot settle down, cannot rest, cannot take herself upstairs to sleep. Oh, the snooze alarm will wink at me in the morning, entice me to tap it, tap it, tap it, til I go to work in wrinkled clothes and unruly hair and all the thoughts that would not settle down scribbled in the furrows of my brow.

Financial Forecasting

"There is a tide in the affairs of men.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures."

Julius Caesar Act 4, scene 3, 218–224
Brutus

Sarah Palin Debate Flow Chart

Okay, I didn't create it and probably won't leave it here long but you have to admit that it applies to plenty of other situations, not only during a debate.

Sally escaped in the woods

Not far from here is a wood, a conservation area off Log Inn Road; the wood is untamed for the most part except for a service path that cuts through the center and around the perimeter.

I was looking for an open, natural space to allow Sally off her leash, to ramble and race and run like a dog should: Well, at least as Sally should. So I parked on the side of the road, and we climbed over the low placed loosely fitted chain. Twilight coming on but still an hour hence, soft light filtered down through the leaves and the ground was forgiving from recent rains. After a few yards, I undid Sally's leash. Whenever she got a bit of distance between us, I called her to stay and sit. She did.

We traveled deeper into the wood. I threw a stick and she chased after and carried back the stick (or its cousin) several times. Then just beyond where Sally stood, I spied a burst of movement, tall and muscular, nearly invisible, blended with the palette of colors of the wood. "Sally stay," I commanded and thankfully she did as I envisioned her otherwise bounding off through the woods, relentless in her pursuit of a deer.

I secured her leash and walked a bit more. It seemed the deer (or it may have been Sasquatch - who appears sometimes when the air starts to chill) had left the area. So I let Sally free once more and she wandered and returned and wandered and returned. Although she was growing increasingly confident in the degrees of separation between us. So whenever she returned, I produced treats (ah, bacon).

The sun was moving closer to the horizon and I realized I might have started this adventure much earlier lest I find myself far from the gate and still in the woods (Sasquatch prefers company at sunset). It is at this moment, as my creative thoughts begin firing more brilliantly, that Sally races off into the wood, her nose twitching, her quarters leaping logs and brush as she manically pursues, a zig to the left and a zag to the right.

I shout, I cajole, I offer food. I run and yell, "C'mon Sally. Catch me." She is not interested in catching any human though as she has caught the scent of Sasquatch (okay, maybe it's a deer)and must find it, corral it. Soon I cannot see her and have to leave the access road/path and traipse through the brush, the prickly, the fallen limbs. After a bit, I cannot see the access path anymore even though I know it is there, even though I know if I keep going, I will come ot the access path on the far side, even though I know I am in a contained conservation wood not far from civilasation and will not be lost as I could be in the hills of North Carolina near Little Switzerland. "Sally!" I spot her and take off in that direction but she has hiding skills too and her invisibility coat is blending with the tree trunks and brush. "Sally. Come!" She does not. I go further in. What choice do I have? What else can you do when what you care about goes chasing after the scene of something unknown but has a primal urge compelling it to find the prey and contain it.

I spot her again and because she is dependent on me, because she is vulnerable among the wild things, I cajole her back, leash her up and lead her back out of the wood. I do know that she was joyous in her pursuit and would, no doubt, have responded well if she'd actually encountered Sasquatch - especially if he'd had bacon treats for her!

Why is it always that . . .

that sleep alludes me when work and life tax me the most?

My day started earlier than most because I'm presiding over a training seminar and then worked my days work and then taught my expository writing class; the late class that runs until 9:35PM and after the drive home, it is 10:45PM and even if I listen to a lullaby, my mind is racing with ideas of new class exercises and domestic tasks and missed birthdays and what to be for Halloween and you.

What surprises me the most . . .

Well, it surprises me (maybe not the most) is that I do find myself unattached now. This is how I thought I would write this when I was upstairs:

"People always seem surprised that I am alone. I admit that I have not spent much time examining it either; too afraid that I might discover the answer."

Mary - Featured Poet - October 10

Friday, October 10 6:30 - 8:30
POETRY AT BB BISTRO
Welcomes MARY BARGTEIL
Open Mic included.

Mary Lorraine Bargteil is troubled by her name, artifacts, and alignment.
Frequently inconsistent, her creative efforts have resulted in publication
in poetry, short story, novella, and essay. One of her creative
objectives it to make books from existing materials and to excavate
territories and characters where the artifacts are sketchy at best. Her
most recent poetry collection, “Artifacts” was discovered when she was
reading the unsubstantiated account of Lilith and broke her grandfather's
Baltimore and Ohio railroad official china egg cup. She finds
significance in things that are broken.
----
BB Bistro
112 Annapolis St.
Annapolis, MD
410-990-4646
DIRECTIONS

Binkys for All

“I’m frustrated by the war. Gas prices. A government that shoves rhetorical Binkys into our mouths to distract us from the dirty economic diaper in which we sit.”
Marc Davison

The Time to Make Up Your Mind About People is Never

I heard a quote about Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward and the success of their relationship. Paul Newman said he attributed their success to equal parts of desire and respect. I don't think that happens very often. His observation does compel me to sacrifice neither.

Training Wheels

For a long time, I've wanted to post a video. This was recorded a few years ago, when my son was learning this song. He may be unhappy about this video and I may end up having to take down this part of the process, the training wheels part.

The Point

When do you get to the point when you stop expecting someone to change?

Never. We change every day, sometimes a few times a day. We are hungry. We eat. We are tired. We nap. Then we are no longer tired or hungry. A fundamental change but if you have ever cared for a toddler who is tired and hungry, then you understand the way that these fundamental needs alter our rational thinking, our tenacity, our patience, our outlook, our hope.

We change in more significant ways; not in the moment but incrementally, by degrees, over a month, a year, a decade. So if you met me a decade ago, I am different now. You are different also.

Many books have been published that tell us that our moral and ethical foundation is set by the time we are six years old. I don’t dispute that the foundation is established. But a foundation is something upon which much more is constructed.

I’ve made some proclamations in my life; proclamations that have some validity but may have been limited by experience and understanding of my years. I am older now. I see things differently than I did twenty or more years ago. I have changed. Even in the last decade, the last few years, the last two months, the last two weeks.

If we stop expecting people to change, evolution ceases. Surely we are evolving – constantly, momentarily.

So I expect you to change. I expect to change. I expect change – unpredictable and surprising but not really frightening, not even in the frightening moments. Sometimes the frightening moments are the moments we discover our inner hero, leader, power.

Writer's dilemma

Here is what is difficult, for both writers and writers friends/family: people in our lives become characters, things become props, places become settings, real words exchanged become dialogue; all of that becomes story or poem. And ultimately, even when it is not, our friends/family sometimes believe the writing is about them or they wish it were about them. But the writing stands alone once it is done, no longer possessed by the writer or anyone else. What matter, ultimately, who wrote the collection of plays and sonnets we attribute to Shakespeare - it is the work that fascinates, resonates, entertains, touches, stimulates, just as much as if it were a living thing. That's why it is referred to a "creating" a story and/or poem. It becomes. Often it becomes something other than what the writer believed they had intended in the first place. Thus the writer's ego is no more or less than the writers' friends/family members when it comes to the actual work.

I have written on this topic before, but the cost of writing and publishing your work will always be that some will misunderstand.

Shoals

"[Thomas] Jefferson says, 'I've found the art of living is avoiding the shoals and the rocks. But the truth of the matter is none of us can avoid the shoals and the rocks.'"
Joe Kovac Jr.; This I Know: Max Cleland; Macon Telegraph (Georgia); Sep 14, 2008.

Given my recent sailing opportunities (more as ballast than effective crew member), I have been given to seafaring metaphor of late. I expect my poems to fill with it.

Essence

I’m celebrating – my second week of teaching as “Professor.” All the while, I adopt a posture that is not “Professor” but rather “professor.” What is the nature of the word anyway?

I have never stood in abject admiration and confidence with “doctors” who “practice” and would not expect anything more from my students. They should challenge, suggest, question, and inform me, as I do them. That is the dialogue that is learning.

As in every occasion when I've had the privilege to "teach," I find myself humbled by the experience and living more fully. This is not "lip service." Those who know me, know that would not be my way.

How do I write this post more effectively to eliminate the need for the previous sentence? Tell me, and I will change it. It is a self-serving sentence, yes? Maybe?

Question; push; challenge; "do not go gently into that good night"; ever.

Bon Anniversaire

It's been a month since I was visited from a dream such as I had today - at the moment, this post is a placeholder to remind me what I want to write - of wild strawberry bushes on a hillside overlooking a sea with tossed surf beside a declining house with faded shutters and weeds overgrown and a broken down pick up truck in the side yard and a real clothes line but no clothes.

Too late to be like yesterday

Clouded over moon
biting at my back
thinking of dawn,
warming light blushing
the bed covers.

Shattered thermometer,
mercury skidding across the
floor. Mercury sky at night,
women take flight. Cataloging
lost hearts on her sleeve.

Neurologist says . . .

Migraines - ocular migraines - no bad long term affects and no sinusitis (despite what Angie the office nurse said to me). I am vindicated - but more than that I am healthy - I am almost always healthy - perhaps why I tend to be impatient with doctors, hospital, required tests, and illness. "No, Angie. You are mistaken. They prescribed that antibiotic but I did not take it." And a good thing too as antibiotics bring me down hard. My reaction is always much worse than the malady.

Neurologist says factors to assess are; diet (erratic), sleep (anywhere from 3.5 hours to 9), exercise (some times 4 times a week then other weeks nothing), and stress (okay, I think we could be on to something here).

I work a lot. I take on a lot. When I reach a threshold and exceed it, migraine. I think he's right. My prediction - if I can situate my life in harmony then once this semester is over, no migraines. Til then, I need to pull the car over immediately if one starts up.

So weird to have migraines that are only inconvenient in that I can't see when I get them, but they are not particularly painful. Much better than the ones that visited me in my early 20's rendering me useless. This must be some mature migraine, knowing that life cannot afford to suspend for more than twenty minutes or so when what's left of life is not so long as it once was.

We want what we want - sometimes it overburdens the body.

Cleaning Up

Two bottles of wedding wine, empty now
and tossed into the recycling bin. St Lawrence
Valley could use a season off; her whites and
reds, cloying and a bit embarrassing.

She is cleaning house.

Easy

CAT scans are easy.
Paper sheet. Large empty room;
Donut of mysterious materials,
the size of a full moon.

Stillness is all that
is needed. And calm.
David Copperfield doesn't
elevate with such elegance,

Your head moved backward as the
images are captured; forward
and then back again. "You will
go in and out twice," Jennifer says.

CAT scans are easy. Not like
skinning the cat, palms
tender on the metal bars,
the bulk of your weight

suspended, slipped through,
gravity taking purchase,
recapturing ground in the cone
of possible collisions.

I told them I couldn't teach level 5

Once there was a fellow and his goal was to see me every day. Sounds obsessive, doesn't it? He told me, "I want to see you every day. Where do you live? I want to walk past your house and watch you water the plants or carry the groceries inside."

I kissed the top of his head, put my arm around his shoulders and said, "You don't want to do that."

"Why?"

"Because seeing people is not being with people. And you can even be with people who you can't see."

"I know," he said and linked his fingers between mine. "Last night when I couldn't fall asleep, I remembered you." His hair smells like toast left out overnight and his fingers are gummy with stickiness. "You said when I couldn't sleep, to remember my last happy day. To remember all of it." He smiled.

"That's good." I shook my head a bit and stared hard at the thin line of dark under his fingernails, his fingers wrapped onto my hand.

"Yeah.I asked you about your car?"

I nod, shake my head no, and then nod a bit more.

"It's a Dodge Caravan, 1990, red."

"Right."

"Well, that was my last happy day."

Ryan jumps up then and goes to stand with the other students lining up at the water fountain.

They shouldn't let me teach level 5. I'm not cut out for it.
My son, Dylan, was in fifth grade at that time. I came home from substitute teaching that day, told him I was proud of him, that we were lucky, the luckiest of the lucky.

Being Dylan, he pressed his lips together for a moment, then reached for the Pringles and said, "What grade did you teach today?"

I couldn't say anything.

"Was it level 5?"

I nodded.

Dylan hugged me. So Dylan's not here, but I don't miss him because I know he's here. He is at college now, learning and sometimes having to stand and wait for a water fountain. He's with me all the time. And somehow that other little boy, on that day, understood something that I thought I understood that actually took me a long time to really understand.

Blackberry Eating

It is haircut time of year; new shoes, back to school, a bouquet of freshly sharpened #2 pencils, a brand new notebook, and sandwiches wrapped in wax paper (they always taste better to me).

So I got a haircut but I still need to get the notebook and some wax paper to wrap sandwiches (and Oreo cookies but not applesauce). I put a new sticker on my car, University of Maryland for my beamish boy.

And the sun is setting just a little earlier every day, every day until the winter solstice (my favorite night of the year). Then the nights will grow leaner and the daylight hours more full. It’s the defining moment. Another favorite, like September. I wait for September. It's okay to begin again now.

I love to go out in late September
among the fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries
to eat blackberries for breakfast,
the stalks very prickly, a penalty
they earn for knowing the black art
of blackberry-making; and as I stand among them
lifting the stalks to my mouth, the ripest berries
fall almost unbidden to my tongue,
as words sometimes do, certain peculiar words
like strengths or squinched,
many-lettered, one-syllabled lumps,
which I squeeze, squinch open, and splurge well
in the silent, startled, icy, black language
of blackberry - eating in late September.
- Gallway Kinnell, Blackberry Eating

Borrowed this from a friend

A friend of mine recently posted this on 43 things:

“Moored” – safe in port, tied to a pier. nothing can go wrong that the city fire department can’t fix.

“Underway” – all lines taken in and afloat under own power. No dangers yet except for rocks and shoals.

“Risk of Collision” – there are two ships underway. By definition, there is some finite amount (above zero) that they will collide.

“Constant Bearing Decreasing Range” – the relative bearing to the other ship is constant, not drifting right or left, and the distance is shrinking. It’s a guarantee of a collision if one does not change course or speed. Without changes, the time of collision can be very easily predicted.

“Extremis” – the condition, after CBDR, when action by one ship alone is NOT sufficient to avoid a collision. BOTH ships must change course and speed to avoid the otherwise certain collision.

“Collision” – the failure of both ships in Extremis to avoid the collision. It’s always bad at sea.

It happens this way at sea. And in relationships. We just don’t always see it.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Just by coincidence I had occasion to go sailing yesterday (which makes me very happy). Or rather I am very happy when sailing.

In any case, yesterday I learned that boats should pass one another port to port – I learned to tack and adjust to safely sail and not damage other vessels. Most of the time, it was not difficult. Once in a while, a speedboat barreled quickly toward me and there was no time to make any adjustment but just wait and see what happened. They were fast but they maneuvered around ME. For those of us who prefer to take it slow, it mostly means less damage to other vessels (and time to think).The photo is dark - because it was just post sunset and then the lights mean things too; green light, red light. There are so many signals and stances in place to keep everyone safe and moving along on the same water undamaged.

Oh and it turns out - I'm incorrect. They are starboard to starboard. So two elegant expensive sailboats heading out after dinner, go starboard to starboard instead of port to port. "Learn something everyday." If I photoshop it, can I make it appear that I was correct? Does the eye reverse and reverse everything anyway? Stay tuned because tomorrow I learn more about my brain than I ever knew before. CAT scan. Maybe then I'll know more. Maybe not.

Maybe every thing is metaphor. Certainly, everything is connected.

Also I got to wear my new water shoes. I'm very keen on them as they are comfortable, utilitarian, and pretty. I like pretty. Oh and they are pink but they are showing up on this computer as blue while on my laptop, and camera, they are indeed pink. Very odd this. Maybe this computer just prefers blue.

Barack for Beamish

When Dylan was a baby, I wrote in his baby book about war – a war I didn’t want to be a part of his life. Today Dylan is a freshman at the University of Maryland – just. Classes have not started. I moved him in two days ago.

Tonight, Barack Obama is accepting the nomination for President of the United States. In my lifetime, this is a hallmark moment. A man of color is nominated. AND his biggest challenge was overcoming a woman, Hillary Clinton, for the nomination.

But Dylan does not think of this as a hallmark moment. He recognizes it never happened before. But so much that has happened in his life, in his friends’ lives never happened before. This young generation only knows a few things and one is that change is constant – not inevitable – but desirable. It’s called evolution. For Dylan, this is not momentous. Of course, a black man can be President. Of course, a woman could be President. Dylan and his generation do not see the barriers that his parent’s witnessed. This is their world.

I watch this moment. It matters to me on some level. Maybe because I came from an unconventional home. Maybe because my pedigree is not what I think is acceptable for the President of the United States. Maybe it is because despite my meager financial beginnings, my mother never stopped telling me that I could be whatever I dreamed. And she was right.

I have taken a long time with my dreams. Dylan has been on the fast track. We spent many an hour looking at politics, looking at life, at opportunity, at folly, at joy, at education, at love. This is another dream that I held in my life, to commune with my children, to love them, and share their lives on a daily basis.

So this time is odd for me: I watch this moment in my living room and my children are elsewhere – living their lives, strong, independent, happy, healthy, and safe. As I listen to Barack, I think he may be the President of their lives. It is possible that he is the leader for their lives, for change. They are accustomed to it.

In the cracks

I lost. Again.
I went on a trip with someone who is lost.
We went to San Juan.
I am faulted - but I am not untrue with my heart.
But
She is heart sick. It will take time. Her needs are
her infection. Maybe we are all afflicted the same.
The manifestations are not so important as the infection.
My infections have different tangled roots. We thought we
might help one another - a pretty fiction.

I came back from the trip
and lost again.
Well, I didn't lose because you can't lose
what you don't have. But I was sheltering myself in a
weak structure that afforded some quiet and some treading
of water in a placid pool and an avoidance of the tide.
We were both treading. For a time. Now we are not. He was a
pretty fiction, just a weigh station, a time of stillness.

Then, I went swimming, carelessly, beyond the breech, not
charted, and got caught
up in an undertow that beat my limbs against hidden
tree limbs and boulders, caught very briefly in the
horizontal vortex until I burst from the wormhole
and found the water break, the air, the shore. Except
for some fading remnant, I'm thinking I will learn to judge
the surf better and help protect others from swimming when
no lifeguard is on duty. If I have anything left to write,
it is the warning notice.

I've been packing up my son's belongings and watching
him slowly move his most precious things to his father's
house; his music, guitars, keyboard, recording elements, harmonica
now there. I've asked my daughter to get her things. My friend, Heather,
has been moving her things to her parent's house. I'm freecycling things
I thought I'd hold. They are whole, with all their pieces collected.

My life, my Blue Caravan, my life is a fiction.

It's the letting time. The Lady of Shalott needs only a vessel, a bit of breeze, a dram, and a wake.

Last Call

Full moon Friday and
August thick, gnats and all that
stickiness, sticky-ness, mess.

Praying mantis carcass dead on
the front stoop. Lock the door. Lock it again.
Bar the door, Katie. Final last call.
Keep an eye on the door til the
Lights come up again. Lock the
Door. Lock. Bar. Bolt.

Bury the carcass under the blossoming
hydrangea. Pray. Pray for rain. For
salvation. For redemption. For all the
things you don’t believe in, Katie.
What now has changed your mind about that?

Katie did. Katie did. Katie
did not see the bus, the train. Katie
missed the bus, caught up in the
gnats, the stickiness, the mess.
Katie call. Call Katie. Call.

Broken but unbowed . . ..

"You save yourself, or you remain unsaved."

Alice Sebold - "Lucky"

Life is a High Wire

For those days that seem the most difficult and fear has a chance of winning, of paralyzing, I watch this. For every woman who has been afraid, knocked down, got back up and kept moving forward:

Stockdale Paradox

"You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end - which you can never afford to lose - with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they may be."
This quote is attributed to the famed POW, Jim Stockdale.

It's much too late today to be like yesterday . . .

the lesson of the moth
By Don Marquis, in "archy and mehitabel," 1927

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires
why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense
plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves
and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity
but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself
archy

What Orwell Knew

"Serious sport has nothing to do with fair play. It is bound up with hatred, jealousy, boastfulness, disregard of all rules and sadistic pleasure in witnessing violence. In other words, it is war minus the shooting." -George Orwell, writer (1903-1950)

And then this word of the day and the following quote - when life keeps sending messages like this, I have to listen.

vituperate:

"There are moments in life when true invective is called for, when it becomes an absolute necessity, out of a deep sense of justice, to denounce, mock, vituperate, lash out, in the strongest possible language."
-- Charles Simic, quoted in "The argument culture", Irish Times, December 17, 1998