we have lived in a hurricane of activity the past 72 hours. focused, but nevertheless chaotic. in my head right now, a small jeanne wears hip boots, and tromps  around in a large vat of squishy oatmeal (steel cut, of course. and no sugar.) in search of words and phrases that can be pieced together to tell the story.

she finds no words or phrases, this tiny bootclad jeanne, only oats.

tomorrow, perhaps. after another 11 hour sleep, maybe then i’ll be past the oatmeal effect and will be back to tell you my . . . our . . . story.

No related posts.

still drenched in color week, making my way through the crayola box called nature.

wednesday sent us in search of oranges and yellows . . .

sunset blazing

sunset amazing

sunset waning

today, we were on the lookout for purples . . .

aunt rene’s azaleas live on and bloom, just like memories of her

Second helpin's:

1. nature’s crayolas: reds, blues
2. a checklist to close out the day
3. it’s sunday, so it must be fidgety out

i think i have a new morning ritual.

(actually,
it was so fast and fun,
I think i could make this
an hourly ritual.)

the kindling comes from
a little something i picked up
while traipsing through the internet.
a fella who takes the NY Times
and does what he calls
newspaper blackout.

i was so intrigued,
i fetched a book right back out of
the trashcan,
let it fall open to a page,
then
quick as a blink,
i circled some words
that captured my
imagination,
took my green sharpie
and colored over all the
other words,
distilling the page down
to what i’m calling
a poem.

the first one
calls page 71 home
and it sounds like this:
Much wisdom
happening.
Stories and tales
illustrate
ask
change.
Questions
challenge
stimulate
help.

it was so much fun,
i skipped back to page 14
(my birthday is on the 14th
of one particular month)
and hatched this one:
Create
or
become
soggy.

he may have found
a revenue stream.
i’ve found a new way
to recycle books.

No related posts.

today flew by
and i have precious little
to show for it.
which makes for the very best
kind of saturday.

Second helpin's:

1. costume jewelry

yesterday
lindsey took herself to a cemetery
and pondered life in its beginnings and endings,
and
that got me
thinking and remembering.
cemeteries,
you see,
are my all-time favorite place to go.

whenever i get lost,
foggy,
or otherwise
kerflunky,
i take myself to a cemetery
and not once,
not a single time,
have i failed to find remedy.

in cemeteries,
i can pull off
my masks and armor,
and lay them down
alongside all the selves
i am not.
there is such relief in
just being me.
nobody to impress,
cajole,
entertain,
feed,
persuade.
in cemeteries,
i can ask questions
and surprise myself
by coming up with
the answers.

cemeteries
were affordable places to take young chiclets
to learn about multiple-digit math functions,
spelling,
history,
art, and
various and sundry other important things.
with no more research
than the information readily available on tombstones,
we’d generously, willingly resurrect
and grant second lives on the spot
through character sketches and
other products of our
imagination.

a few weeks ago,
i attended a grave marker dedication
conducted in a cemetery i played in as a child.
it was an impressive ceremony
to mark the grave of
an american revolutionary patriot.
men dressed in revolutionary garb,
women wore hats and gloves,
and we all showed respect
with our words,
our salutes and curtsies,
our presence.

one woman completely
forgot her upbringing
and stepped right on a grave.
when it surprised us all by caving in,
she found herself acting out the phrase
“one foot in the grave”.

years ago when my great aunt rene died,
my husband and i
found ourselves in the cemetery
at midnight
in the rain
pulling weeds
in the family plot
to prevent public humiliation
at the upcoming graveside ceremony.

carefully avoiding the
waiting hole in the ground,
we set to work on aunt lucy’s grave,
(she was aunt rene’s sister.)
(aunt rene got all the fun and nice.)
anyway,
bless goodness
if the lucy didn’t
behave in death
just as she did in life:
she held on to her weeds
with,
well,
a death grip.

~

because it was
tombstone-deep in snow
the january i graduated
from graduate school
in vermont,
i took my mother,
daughter,
and teenage nephew
back one summer
to visit
hope cemetery.

.

i discovered it one semester
when caryn mirriam-goldberg,
my faculty advisor-turned-friend,
(also the current poet laureate of kansas,
i’ll have you know)
took a small group of us there
to write.

~

shoot, i don’t find cemeteries
sad,
morose
places
at all.

quite the contrary.

yes, i highly recommend cemeteries
when you want
or when you need to
reflect
or write
or ruminate
or remember
or even howl.

with laughter, silly:

Second helpin's:

1. but you can call me “Her Highest Petticoat Potentate”
2. diving in: 2
3. communication gone to the dogs

to repay andy for his kind assistance,
i started today by tidying up his shop.

just kidding.

~~~

today i
fetched tools
(so many phillips-head screwdrivers
and nary a phillips-head screw in sight.)

and i made my first
surprise discovery:
this piano once
served as a cabinet
for a bar of
english leather
soap.

perhaps there
was once a little boy -
an adorable, enterprising little boy, no doubt
who
did not want to practice piano
any more than he wanted to
take his bath.

Second helpin's:

1. da capo: from the beginning
2. overture
3. diving in, at last

what do you do when an idea latches onto you?
you listen.
what do you do when you need a piano to take apart?
you ask.
it’s as simple as that.

i spend so much energy being embarrassed by myself.
apologizing for myself.
shushing myself.
shielding myself.
protecting myself.

but, i ask you: what good is a crazy idea
if it’s not harebrained through and through?
so i did it:
i asked on facebook if anybody had an old piano
they were looking to get rid of.
and within 3 hours,
a long-time friend i seldom see
answered back that she had one i could have
if i’d just pick it up.
and she lives less than 10 miles from me.

~~~

we picked the piano up on a
fine sunday afternoon,
and i can’t tell you how quietly
excited i was.
i’ve been craving an adventure,
you see,
an adventure that fit my
pocketbook and my geography.

this was big.

in the 3 weeks that passed between
when i first saw the piano
and when my husband
could go with me to pick it up,
i fantasized
romanticized
visualized.

i imagined getting the piano into the shop
where i’d take pictures, lots and lots of pictures,
and keep a journal within arm’s reach,
ready to capture whatever
insights bubbled their way to the top.

what i looked forward to most of all was
taking the lid off.
i’d remove it
with great reverence and tenderness
then peer down inside
to see what secrets
were hidden there.

i’ve long wanted to know how the pedals
on a piano work.
to know how one sustains the sound
and another dampens, softens, quietens the sound.
before long,
i’d have my answer.

yes, yes.
symbolism and metaphors
were already ripe for the harvesting.

i’d take the lid off
then work my way
through to the pedals,
taking it apart from the top
to the bottom,
from the inside out.

~~~

my husband backed the truck
up to the shop double doors,
getting as close as possible.
it’s a spinet piano,
not nearly as heavy as a baby grand
or that old upright player piano we once owned,
but still too heavy for me to be of much help.

i offered to call my brother,
but husband said no, no need.
he’s an engineer, you see.
he knows all about leverage
and things like that.

he got one end off the truck,
sat it down,
then asked as he walked out of the shop,
“you’re going to take it apart, right?”
and with that,
he
drove the truck out from under the piano.

the front cover fell off.
some small decorative, accent pieces
flew off.
the pedal mechanism
separated completely.

“that was easier than I thought it was gonna’ be,” he said,
delighted with his accomplishment and ingenuity.

i excused myself to come upstairs
where i would remind myself that
literally, he was right:
i was just going to take it apart.

when i went back down to have a look,
with hopes of seeing that it wasn’t really
as bad as i’d first thought,
he proudly told me about how he’d just
taken off the lid
and beckoned me to have a look down
inside.
“isn’t that an amazing sight?” he purred.

~~~

epilogue:
he’s still the one.
oh yes, he is so
still the one.

just so you know.

Second helpin's:

1. prima volta: the first (or second, if you don’t count the unloading) surprise
2. overture
3. rightful sound

the sign on the elevator said the launch was scheduled for 6:30 this morning, but when we got to the tiki hut bar at 6:25, we saw that we’d arrived in time to see the shuttle traveling across the sky, but too late to see the actual launch. my daughter blamed the hotel, saying they should’ve posted the CORRECT time, dammit. (she’s not a morning person.)

my mother (bless her heart) was just thankful we caught her and redirected her to the tiki hut bar instead of letting her walk on to godknowswhere.

me, i spent the rest of the day thinking about authority. about our role and responsibility in being, recognizing, and following authority.

we’re here on holiday, as my friend karen would say. in hilton head, my mother, my daughter and me. enjoying a 3-g (3 generations) week of togetherness.

on the drive down yesterday, i just can’t tell you how thrilled we were to have been informed that the stoppers on aunt lucy’s salt and pepper shakers need to be replaced. fortunately mother brought the ancient, worn-out stoppers with her so we can spend the week looking for replacements. the launch and now this. and to think i wondered what on earth we would do with ourselves for 5 days on the beach.

Second helpin's:

1. the key to thanksgiving 2009
2. lines of engagement
3. gretel never had it so good

every night between 10 and 11
a cat appears on our deck.
a totally, no-hair-excluded black cat.
a cat that is the same size
the same color
has the same eyes
as our indoor cat, godfree.

our indoor black cat
is not amused
and our dog snaps effortlessly
and loudly
into her role as protector.
(that’s how i know the outdoor cat has arrived.)

i take food out,
and each night the outdoor cat
gets a little teensy bit closer.

but the indoor cat
remains unamused
and vocal with his
displeasure.

they sit
with only a window between them,
one cat feasting
one cat fussing,
the outdoor cat fearful
the indoor cat fierceful,
and i know – i just know -
there’s a metaphor in progress.

No related posts.

i’m not an outside girl.

i’m not.

i just don’t like going outside. give me a window-laden, temperature-controlled room then leave me alone to treat the great outdoors as my own personal aquarium, and i’m good.

now i don’t know why i don’t like the outdoors, and i know i should be ashamed of myself because, really, what kind of person doesn’t love being outdoors? maybe it’s residual trauma from the time my mother insisted that i, the adorable little teensy jeanne, go outside to play. “no thank you,” i told her as i continued adding to my word collection which, for reasons that escape me to this very day, incited her to hoist me up, march outside, and sit me in my ruffled panties and ruffled socks and patent leather baby janes in the first mud puddle she came to. maybe it’s memories of my life as a miserable human bug magnet which resulted in summer legs covered in never-ceasing-to-itch bug bites. or maybe it’s because i have this, well, let’s just say unique eye thing going on that deprives me of depth perception meaning i don’t see a hole in the ground until i’m down in it.

it could be because we are hugely in love with waterfalls, but whatever the reason, something came over me yesterday, and i heard myself say an enthusiastic “yes” when hubbie asked if i wanted to make an impromptu stop and hike to glen falls.

i do lean towards authority issues, so that could be why i insisted we heed the advice carved into the post of the large bulletin board instead of availing ourselves of the plethora of printed information covering the actual board.

the hike started out easy enough with a rather gentle slope and relatively smooth ground. but soon enough came the trees and the accompanying exposed roots – which are interesting to look at, but can make someone with no depth perception a tad unsteady. on the up side, though, my small feet fit nicely into the little nooks and crannies created by the roots on the ever-increasingly sloped ground. (i also noticed that it was easier to walk when i put my feet down like i meant it instead of letting them tentatively feel around the ground before each step. just as in life, there’s something to be said for confidence.)

the sound of the falls grew louder until eventually we came to what surely is glen falls. while my husband took pictures from the paved and heavily-railed prepared-for-the-public photo spot beside the falls:

i made my way down to the cutest little spot between two trees right at the tipytop edge of the 200 foot drop – a spot where only two size 5.5 feet will fit – to take my snaps:

good news: footing was easier to come by on the trek back.

bad news: the trek back was all uphill . . . and i declare i think somebody stood that mountain up a little straighter while we were taking pictures of the falls.

i flunked out of girl scouts, so i’m always a little reluctant to move slowly or breathe loudly when on the rare outdoor adventure with my former eagle scout husband which meant i moved up the trail at a pretty fast clip. when we eventually came to a little ole’ bitty clearing, you’d've thought i’d never seen mountains, trees, and sky as i took umpteen pictures as a clever cover for catching my breath.

i’m certainly no expert on trail etiquette, but when we met the folks going down to the falls, it seemed the only courteous thing to do was to step aside and wait quietly to let them pass by. (okay, i would’ve said “hey” but i didn’t have enough breath. shoot, i barely had enough breath to smile at them.)

we made it back to the parking lot in the same day, i’ll have you know, and today i have only one teensy little double bug bite on my arm to show for my woodsy efforts. (don’t mistake that for a complaint.)

what did i learn from this little impromptu adventure? number one: pack those dryer sheets cause somebody told me to rub myself down with fabric softener and bugs will leave me alone. number two: step like you mean it. and number three: is there a mountain hike game for the wii fit cause honestly, i have to tell you that i much prefer looking at a waterfall from the heavily-cushioned rocking chair on our deck.

Second helpin's:

1. diving in: 2