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.