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Posts Tagged ‘marriage’

These last few weeks have been no exception to a sea of changes that seemed to coincide with the start of my blog, January 01, 2011.

You may recall that my youngest graduated from the 8th Grade less than 2 weeks ago. You may recall that I am peri-menopausal, if not outright menopausal (don’t hold your breath, you have to go a WHOLE YEAR without a period before you are considered good enough to be fully old, crone-like, ancient menopausal). You may remember that we had 2 cats get killed within 6 months of each other. You may also remember that Hubby and I celebrated 21 years of marriage recently.

Completing 8th Grade in a Waldorf school is a BIG DEAL, I have stated before. I mean to write a nice, long, lovely post about this, but in some way I am uninspired.

To be honest, as yours truly is want to be, 20 years, and now 21 years of marriage, has been a monumental time of change for me and Hubby. We have always striven to make our relationship better and stronger, to dig deep in when things haven’t worked, but some remnants of old stuff have been getting in the way so Hubby and I find ourselves delving again, deeply and fundamentally. Why do I tell this here? For one, it’s a cultural taboo to talk about these things, at least until you’ve earned about 40 or 50 years in. Then, everyone is all ears about how do you make a marriage work and how did you do it and what is your best advice to young newlyweds.

Sometimes I think my poetry has dried up, but it’s not true, I write quite a bit. Sometimes I think I’m a bad mom. Sometimes I think that the garlic scape growing out of the compost bin is the loveliest thing in my life. Not only because garlic scapes are beautiful curled green things, but because there’s some accident there—I did not plant garlic in my compost bin.

I want to post poems here, I want to save them, I want to gnash my teeth. I want to scream at the poetry that gets published in respectable journals, I want to shout fuck you to name-dropping authors who are full of themselves and whose essays barely touch the surface of human experience.

I wanted to tell you about the ladybug that hitched a ride on the top tube of my new bike yesterday, my virgin ride on it, how I felt blessed, but how I was just trying to find an excuse that the world makes sense.

I did want to share about my cracked rib, but I didn’t want to divulge how it happened. I told a few people as the subject came up, but I hemmed and hawed with most people who asked.

I am not shy, so let’s say it involved a massage table, which has a very hard surface after all, and let’s say it involved sex and let’s say I’m being honest.

My right side has been feeling pained, deep intense pain like when you get the wind knocked out of you.

the solar plexus

When I was a little girl, in preschool or maybe kindergarten, at the little private school I attended for kids with high IQs in a suburb of Detroit, I remember getting the wind knocked out of me and going to see the nurse. Her name was Mim, we called her that at least, and I remember a white nurse’s hat and pink stripes, maybe even white shoes; somehow I associate her with the color pink. I loved her. I remember a stick of ammonia, smelling salts. I remember lying down in the nurse’s room more than once. How much I loved her and now, when I think of that time, how small I see myself, tiny and sad of heart.

I will write again. I will post poems, but maybe not my latest poems. I will save them for the waters or maybe for paper.

Sometimes poems reveal things and sometimes poems hide things and sometimes the time for either has not yet come.

This is me, one of the first photos I ever took of myself in a mirror (I found another one from earlier, when I still lived in the dorms at Kent State). This photo is from October, 1983, in a house I rented with 4 other people, Lake Street, Kent, Ohio. We found out my father had cancer in August 1983. One of many beginnings of growing up too soon and also one of many times when I wasn’t ready to let go of that tiny girl inside.

Remember to pay attention. You might miss something otherwise.

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Algonquin Park, Ontario, perhaps 1989

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1. I am not pierced in my nether regions

2. does an earlobe qualify as nether?

3. I love

4. I hate

5. I read

6. I write

7. brain cell count going down

8. blood

9. bloody hell

10. wank

11. wanker

12. tosser

13. wankathon

14. NUMBERWANG:

15. in England, your “fanny” is your “front bum” (girl)

16. you talk funny

17. I love many many fine movies

18. silly is good

19. play with your words!

20. food

21. not a vegetarian

22. yeah, I think I should be more evolved, too

23. 95

24. 100

25. THAT’S NUMBERWANG!

26. what do you want to know?

27. ask me

28. ask me, my blog is getting really boring

29. blue and purple and pink, pink too

30. I love frangipani (plumeria). It’s all over Hawaii, often they make leis out of it

31. lily-of-the-valley

32. those must be my 2 favorite flower scents

33. how am I doing? isn’t that exactly the kind of thing people write about on these lists?

34. a friend of mine in college once smuggled some fresh frangipani wrapped in tin foil back from the Virgin Islands

35. I used to collect matchbooks

36. my parents freaked out all the time thinking the house would burn down with all of those matchbooks in my bedroom

37. I had a really cool teeny-tiny tub-shaped container of matches from Kentucky Fried Chicken. It was supposed to look like a bucket of chicken. I think it was actually 3 tiny tubs that fit into a little box with a lid. Teeny-tiny. I’ll look for them and take a photo.

38. I have no idea how I got those matches

39. what do you think of asking for donations?

40. for my boob job, of course!

41. duh

42. I once swam in the turquoise waters of that famous little beach on the island of St. John

43. Seals and Crofts (first concert)

44. I don’t really want a boob job

45. Bowie, Detroit, 1976 or 7. I’m not kidding.

46. (that was my second concert, ’cause I sort of think that Seals and Crofts isn’t cool enough)

47. what rhymes with tummy tuck?

48. July. I’m a Cancer. It’s in my “About”

49. Smokey Robinson. That was a time.

50. I thought of going to Chicago in October just to hear Robyn Hitchcock perform Eye in its entirety

51. but I won’t

52. if I can do it, you can do it (except certain girl-only things if you are a boy)

53. once, I was talking to Robyn Hitchcock after a show in Northampton (2005?) but I was making a slight ass out of myself. I wanted to keep talking and talking. I was probably charming. I felt charming. He wasn’t really listening to me, just sort of off on his own tangent. I don’t think I was listening to him either.

54. it was probably 3 minutes or less of talking, but in my memory it was about an hour of interesting conversion. We were witty. And charming.

55. I related everything to Waldorf education and maybe to the Alexander Technique, too

56. I didn’t realize until that night that ham or hamp in a place name=hamlet and a hamlet is a little town and shire=county a more rural place where people live but really just farther out than the town itself and ton=town. Hampshire, Northampton. It’s like town town town town, all town all the time

57. Motown, city of my birth

58. Have you seen the Baha’i Temple outside of Chicago? I have, a few times. It’s beautiful (but I don’t think the photo does it justice)

59. Though my children have been Waldorf-educated, I’m terrible at handwork and I don’t like it, but I’m not sure which came first

60. I’m actually not bad at embroidery

61. but I don’t have the patience

62. rolling around to 21 years of marriage here

63. I’ve been with my husband longer (25 years) than I was without him (23 years)

64. that is a cool and wild happening in one’s life. when time falls away behind and also stretches out ahead like that

(this is goofy in the beginning, I know, but I really like this live version of this nice song)

65. I’m about done

66. Edna Mode quote: And call me when you get back, dahling, I enjoy our visits!

67. I don’t want to end on an even number, so I’m adding just one more (but this is NOT NUMBERWANG!)

♥ twinkly

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I do feel like complaining a little and this is exactly the point of Thankful Thursday

So let’s have at it:

Last night, I went out. BY MYSELF. Yeah, me. What did I do? I went to a poetry reading held at the Eileen Fisher store in Noho (that’s Northampton to y’all who don’t reside in the Commonwealth).

Anyway, the space was lovely, all wood and white and brightly, yet soothingly, lit. Sumptuous colors and yummy textures of clothing. A spread of cheese and crackers and strawberries and little bottles of Perrier (I had 2 of those).

The reading was given by 2 local poets, Patricia Lee Lewis and Diana Gordon. I had seen the websites of each of them, but I don’t know them or their work. Now I know a little bit more. I even bought 2 books, had them signed (TO ME!).

While I don’t want to diminish the quality of the evening and of the poets’ work, because everything was truly wonderful, the thing for which I am most grateful, aside from the aforementioned just being able to go out on a date by myself, is that the second poet, Diana Gordon, finished her portion of the reading with Edward Lear’s The Owl and the Pussycat.

This is one of the earliest and most familiar pieces of writing of my life. It is like a part of me, my heart, by heart. My father gave me a few books of poetry when I was young, one an over-sized book of Edward Lear’s nonsense poems. Maybe he read the poem to me then, maybe not; I do not remember. I later lent away the book to my good friend’s daughter who was like a little sister to me and who I grew up with when I was 21 and she was 3 and my father was dying. I never saw the book again, as is the case with so many books we love and which we know are out-of-print. Even then, when I lent it out, the cover was coming away from the binding, I remember the gap and the white stitching, the blue pages at the front and back where there are no words.

When Diana was about midway into the first stanza, my eyes welled up. I do believe that in all of my years of reading this poem out loud to others—myself, my father, my two beautiful and amazing daughters at many bedtimes, this is the first time I remember anyone reading it out loud to me.

And that is why we keep trying one more day

I found this charming illustration on google images and with a little research, discovered that it is by Mary Ellsworth, from The Colorful Story Book (New York, The Saalfield Publishing Company, 1941).

This style of painting feels quite right to me for the poem. A little European, more detailed and grown-up and proper than later styles of children’s book illustrations, somewhat distancing, but simultaneously engaging, inviting the viewer to be right there on that hill in the bright day with the three of them; we are party to their wedding and so it shall ever be.

FIN

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I done wrote a long post, but rather than subject you to it, I’ve decided to do the video first and the blabbin’ later, that way you can read it or shuck it as you see fit

I’m thinkin’ ’bout MY DOORBELL

(don’t worry, the herky-jerky is all part of the fun!)

I’m thinkin’ ’bout

the half rabbit that was left for us at the back door this morning. I mean, a perfect pair of rabbit legs, hiney, and a cottontail courtesy of our cat Miss Lilly. She is a killer extraordinaire. Tally for Spring aught 12 so far? 2 perfect and rather large chipmunks on successive days; 1 vole; one largish mole, which I found endearing for some reason due to its perfectly evolved digging “paws” and weird nose; one spleen or liver or something yesterday; and today’s beautiful bunny wabbit. Miss Lilly had a steamboat, she also had a bell, but she is good at being a cat no matter.

in the distance from the fields in Hadley, the beauty of the downy fluff of new buds on the trees on the Holyoke Range

that I have to hang up bras to dry for 3 females

that I otter be makin’ my granola, but I am too exhausted

how much I (yes, I purposely left off the ‘ve) been doing for Hubby and Eldest, in order that they may have an easier time getting out the door to China on Weds. This is usual–extra laundry organization, extra purchase of snacks for car trip to JFK, extra car care–oil change (it’s due anyway), car inspex (it’s overdue anyway), clear it out of junk (always overdue), fill the tank. Hubby’s on his own for getting the tires changed out and wasn’t that a kick in the nuts (not that I’d know but I have experienced EXTREME ovarian pain) since this was the first year he’d gotten snow tires (as a remedy for no longer having a Suburu) and we didn’t even have snow?

that my man and my kid will be gone for 10 days

my extreme lack of sleep, cumulative for weeks now (I seemed to catch up a coupla days here and there, but last night was a doozy)

I know, it came to me today when I was running god’s errands, that I am manic because I am trying to deflect the fact of their imminent departure. You have no idea how much I hate it when my man’s done gone. My kid–it seems more like she should be doing things like this and I’ll miss her madly and worry about her, too, but I’m never used to Hubby Away.

I’m happy though and I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout MY DOORBELL

11:29 PM: LATE-BREAKING ADDENDUM: I also remembered today, as I wrote out a check for my groceries, that this was the birthday of one of my Big High School Crushes. It was a funny memory, I laughed. I’m so smack-dab middle-aged, I don’t even want to think about it let alone admit that I qualify for this label. Oh, high school, oh crush, oh DKV!

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Here and here are the previous entries.

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Blue Skies Above, Low Tide Below

Gulls squabble in the shallows
where the fishing is best

I lie down in the low-tide waves,
stroke the sand

my arms sweep
like I am rowing in a shell
but I am not going anywhere today

the soft sand begins to feel dry
in my underwater hands

piping plovers
move one-mindedly
like ants or flocking blackbirds

I stand and look at the horizon
upside-down between my legs
the waves almost touching my face

can I orient to this strange world
where the sky flattens
and color disappears?

I lie back down on dry sand
cold on my bare back
and whisper your name to the blue above

I called and you came
my love

I called and you came

October 9, 2011

This week’s Poetry Jam directed us to write a love poem (I “missed” last week’s Poetry Jam, ie, couldn’t write an apt poem to save my life even though the prompt was a juicy one). Just something light and airy today, gott sei dank!

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