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 :-/