| They were lovers. Anyone could tell. stroking each other's limbs with oil careful on every curve more oil than was necessary more stroking than was essential hair shining blonde and dark breasts teasing colored strings whispered words against soft faces a furtive kiss on a pale shoulder umberellas hot pink, lime green popsicle orange, every blue in the sea or sky I brush the sand from my ankles and sip the rusty sweetness from a paper cup of warm Coca-Cola. |
Friday, August 31, 2007
The Voyeur
How Magnolias Smell
His feet were filthy dawn to dusk
from early spring until the snow fell
Shoeless he walked to school
chopped firewood
gathered eggs in the chicken coop
kicked at dirt clods walking
as his Uncle Dion plowed the acres
behind the mule, with the 3-legged dog
Etta cooked grits and eggs
baking powder biscuits with honey
all in the woodstove even on
the hottest Tennessee days
He raced with his brothers through the pine forest
way down the sandy lane to the tenant shacks
raked magnolia blossoms on the huge lawn
They waded in the milky
farm pond catching bullfrogs
watching for snakes
and played whatever boys play
barefoot
in their denim overalls
At night they washed up in the metal tub in the kitchen
cranking water in a bucket from the stone well
never having hooked up the plumbing
to the shiny bathroom on the landing
They slept in the huge room in the attic
with china chamber pots beside their beds
They cut down the cedar tree one summer
immersing the whole "plantation" with the scent
and the green lawn with red shredded wood bits
and strutted in their teenage splendor
back and forth on the fallen giant
Arthur and Byron and Lyle the baby
handsome grinning faces so brown
their teeth glowed white in the photos
Arthur's teeth are mostly gone now
the thick dark waves of hair are short and grey
and spiked in all directions from the pillow
His sturdy brown feet lie quiet
blue veined and soft
whiter than white on the white sheets
He doesn't know his brothers are dead
for my dad on his 89th birthday
September 6, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
The Second Best Cat
Chinny has always been my second best cat.
I'm not sure why. She is beautiful. Her hair is ebony, thick and soft and long. Her paws are dipped in milk with little tufts of hair sticking out between her toes. Her tail is thick and plumy and her chest a white bib. She is prettier than Ollie was. And smarter. Her eyes shine. Or glitter with evil when she is annoyed.
She was friends with laid-back Max, but couldn't abide bouncy Eli until Ollie died. I guess with the referee gone, they had to make their own peace. She doesn't run when he chases her anymore and calmly steps over him to claim her place on the bed. There are no more angry skirmishes in the night.
Chinny was born here in my house in the early morning hours twelve years ago in May. I sat with my glasses and the vet book observing as four black and white kittens slid out of their mother. Each kitten had a white mark somewhere on their head and I named them accordingly to tell them apart. I didn't plan on keeping any.
Michael took Chin away to Syracuse when he went to college. It only lasted until Christmas because of his roommate's huge dog. Michael had to build a ramp for Chin to get to the top shelf in his closet to escape Aslan. He asked me to baby sit the cat when he came home for the holiday. She is still with me.
Chin was here when Willie was born and killed. I almost didn't live through that and still never developed that special feeling for Chinny that I had for Will and Ols.
Do cats feel love? Do they love back? I think Chinny loves me. She seeks affection more than Oliver ever did. He was more the king and I his royal subject. She is on the back of the couch behind my head or on the arm when I am sitting there or trying to lay on the keyboard when I am online. She insists on her nightly love fest when I get in bed, although she is more patient about letting Eli have his turn and he usually moves aside obligingly. She lets me play with her toes and rolls over and presents her belly for rubbing. She likes being combed and lets me take the knots out of her long hair as if she knows I am helping her.
She has been going out on the deck this summer after having been inside for all these years. Getting braver, she wanders a little and is honing her hunting skills, which appalls me when she catches something. She is fast. She plays with toys if I tease her with them, but mostly just does the cat thing, lazing around. She doesn't do the tricks that Ollie did, hiding behind the shower curtain or under the sheets when I make the bed. She will never be Ollie, but she is getting closer to my heart.
chinnysmom
I'm not sure why. She is beautiful. Her hair is ebony, thick and soft and long. Her paws are dipped in milk with little tufts of hair sticking out between her toes. Her tail is thick and plumy and her chest a white bib. She is prettier than Ollie was. And smarter. Her eyes shine. Or glitter with evil when she is annoyed.
She was friends with laid-back Max, but couldn't abide bouncy Eli until Ollie died. I guess with the referee gone, they had to make their own peace. She doesn't run when he chases her anymore and calmly steps over him to claim her place on the bed. There are no more angry skirmishes in the night.
Chinny was born here in my house in the early morning hours twelve years ago in May. I sat with my glasses and the vet book observing as four black and white kittens slid out of their mother. Each kitten had a white mark somewhere on their head and I named them accordingly to tell them apart. I didn't plan on keeping any.
Michael took Chin away to Syracuse when he went to college. It only lasted until Christmas because of his roommate's huge dog. Michael had to build a ramp for Chin to get to the top shelf in his closet to escape Aslan. He asked me to baby sit the cat when he came home for the holiday. She is still with me.
Chin was here when Willie was born and killed. I almost didn't live through that and still never developed that special feeling for Chinny that I had for Will and Ols.
Do cats feel love? Do they love back? I think Chinny loves me. She seeks affection more than Oliver ever did. He was more the king and I his royal subject. She is on the back of the couch behind my head or on the arm when I am sitting there or trying to lay on the keyboard when I am online. She insists on her nightly love fest when I get in bed, although she is more patient about letting Eli have his turn and he usually moves aside obligingly. She lets me play with her toes and rolls over and presents her belly for rubbing. She likes being combed and lets me take the knots out of her long hair as if she knows I am helping her.
She has been going out on the deck this summer after having been inside for all these years. Getting braver, she wanders a little and is honing her hunting skills, which appalls me when she catches something. She is fast. She plays with toys if I tease her with them, but mostly just does the cat thing, lazing around. She doesn't do the tricks that Ollie did, hiding behind the shower curtain or under the sheets when I make the bed. She will never be Ollie, but she is getting closer to my heart.
chinnysmom
Saturday, August 25, 2007
My Beach Hair
I am wearing my beach hair. I feel pretty, oh, so pretty. I am only partially sane. The house is empty again. The thunder is sneaking around. It thundered while I slept. Eli has become an extension of my body. Now at my feet, curled against my stomach on the bed. I showered him with iced tea, trying to pour it without watching the glass. It fills my lap as well. I don't want to stand up. We will be up late, having slept the evening away. I thought I would be going to Maine alone. Tony and I have barely spoken all week. He is playing golf tomorrow and will be incoherent by the time I see him. I will do my laundry, take Eli to Carl's, pack and spend the night on Main Street. Tony wants to leave at 5 a.m. I am sure he just said that to annoy me, but I didn't rise to the bait. We'll see, we'll see. What a bizarre life. Chinny is draped across the back of the couch. She and Eli seemed to have worked out a plan. There is no more arguing for a prime spot on the bed. They even touch noses once in a while. |
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Ladies Lunch
We had lunch today, four grandmothers, that is what my friends are now. We relished our cheeseburgers with token slices of tomato and lettuce. We ate all our french fries, waists thickening perceptibly with each swallow. We told stories of the antics of the grandchildren, agreed that each of them occasionally would benefit from the application of a mother's hand on their darling little bums. How our hands itched to apply it.
We are varying shades of blonde. Neatly coifed and plumply dressed in summer colors. Pink nails, coral toes, myself the only one tattooed and pierced, wild hair. I didn't want to talk about children. I wanted to talk about thong panties and cops in garter belts and California. I wanted good gossip, hair raising tales of neighborhood sex, and drunken barbeques and who we knew had been snorting cocaine.
God, we are all ready for the Price Chopper bus. We parted with hugs and assurances that next time we would bring more photos of the grandchildren.
Save me
We are varying shades of blonde. Neatly coifed and plumply dressed in summer colors. Pink nails, coral toes, myself the only one tattooed and pierced, wild hair. I didn't want to talk about children. I wanted to talk about thong panties and cops in garter belts and California. I wanted good gossip, hair raising tales of neighborhood sex, and drunken barbeques and who we knew had been snorting cocaine.
God, we are all ready for the Price Chopper bus. We parted with hugs and assurances that next time we would bring more photos of the grandchildren.
Save me
Monday, July 23, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
When did I get to be the grandmother
They started taking over. Giving directions. Making decisions. Making fun of my driving. They walked slow and waited for me to to go up and down the stairs. They waited on me. It was awful. Not that they did it, but that suddenly it seemed like the natural thing to do. I felt like, well, like an old elephant. Then I realized...I am an old elephant.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
To the Bronx
My virgin drive to the city, in Tony's car with Laur and Zach and Trex. Dinner Friday night at an Irish restaurant. Visit to the new apartment - it is huge and in a nice Irish neighbor. Night at the Ramada Inn with swimming (Okay, so I took a nap). Saturday at Van Cortland Park.
Amy's family was extremely interesting. Both of her sisters have married nice men. Megan and Dan live in Rochester and Megan looks and acts very much like Amy. Amy has buzzed her hair off and she looks terrific. Josh has been calling her his angel and they are talking about getting on "the adoption list" (and having a baby of their own). Sister Ginny and Daniel (yes, they have the same name problem that our family does) are missionaries in Guinea. They have adopted three chidren. Boys 7 and 6 named Elijah and Corbin and baby girl named Simka who is a heartbreaker. (Pictures on Picasa) Ginny and I had a conversation about their life there.
Her parents are pleasant. Dad Bill-2 was quiet, Etta more outgoing. I sat next to them at dinner and across from the great grandfolks. Bill-1 is a retired physician who is delightful with a friendly wife named Marilyn who looks very much like her stepdaughter (Etta). Amy's brother (Bill-3) is single, working on his doctorate in Japan, home for one more week, and is a real treat. Her father's brother - his twin John - came from PA with his wife Roberta. All very friendly and seemingly accepting of our foibles for a family of evangelicals (although we did try to tone it down).
J&A fixed a picnic - abundance of food - and a pinata in the park. Egan was wearing a purple tattoo. The guys all played soccer and frisbee and showed Trex how to hackey. All of them are involved in the church in some way. Josh's friend Jeff (from the Outsiders' tour) broke the pinata after the kids all had a shot at it. It was a perfect day.
We left around 3:30 to get Lauren home to make a frog cake for tomorrow. The drive back went faster, fewer traffic tie ups. Not a bad drive - I didn't like it, but would do it again. The boys slept most of the way. It was 6 when we got home and I did not pick up Eli. It is strange not to have to look out for him before I roll my chair.
I have downloaded a copy of Picasa, the photo program on the recommendation of "uncle" John, who does a newsletter for his church. I have all the photos on there now and it is a better editing program than what I have been using. The photographers were out in abundance. Amy's is a whole family of picture takers and I couldn't stay out of the way. Seeing myself - oh, Lord, I recognized myself. I am the grandmother.
the elephant
Amy's family was extremely interesting. Both of her sisters have married nice men. Megan and Dan live in Rochester and Megan looks and acts very much like Amy. Amy has buzzed her hair off and she looks terrific. Josh has been calling her his angel and they are talking about getting on "the adoption list" (and having a baby of their own). Sister Ginny and Daniel (yes, they have the same name problem that our family does) are missionaries in Guinea. They have adopted three chidren. Boys 7 and 6 named Elijah and Corbin and baby girl named Simka who is a heartbreaker. (Pictures on Picasa) Ginny and I had a conversation about their life there.
Her parents are pleasant. Dad Bill-2 was quiet, Etta more outgoing. I sat next to them at dinner and across from the great grandfolks. Bill-1 is a retired physician who is delightful with a friendly wife named Marilyn who looks very much like her stepdaughter (Etta). Amy's brother (Bill-3) is single, working on his doctorate in Japan, home for one more week, and is a real treat. Her father's brother - his twin John - came from PA with his wife Roberta. All very friendly and seemingly accepting of our foibles for a family of evangelicals (although we did try to tone it down).
J&A fixed a picnic - abundance of food - and a pinata in the park. Egan was wearing a purple tattoo. The guys all played soccer and frisbee and showed Trex how to hackey. All of them are involved in the church in some way. Josh's friend Jeff (from the Outsiders' tour) broke the pinata after the kids all had a shot at it. It was a perfect day.
We left around 3:30 to get Lauren home to make a frog cake for tomorrow. The drive back went faster, fewer traffic tie ups. Not a bad drive - I didn't like it, but would do it again. The boys slept most of the way. It was 6 when we got home and I did not pick up Eli. It is strange not to have to look out for him before I roll my chair.
I have downloaded a copy of Picasa, the photo program on the recommendation of "uncle" John, who does a newsletter for his church. I have all the photos on there now and it is a better editing program than what I have been using. The photographers were out in abundance. Amy's is a whole family of picture takers and I couldn't stay out of the way. Seeing myself - oh, Lord, I recognized myself. I am the grandmother.
the elephant
Friday, July 20, 2007
The Social Justice Center
In 1977 I looked pretty hot. Slender again after the birth of three children, I had great legs and better curves. I was sitting in the bar of a hotel in New Jersey waiting for my husband. I was chatting with the bartender and trying out a new drink he had recommended that involved amaretto and cream and strawberries. I was wearing a very snappy red and black suit with red pumps (sorry, folks, but it was the 70's). It was mid-afternoon and I was trying to tune out the revelry from a table of six business-types in suits who were ending their day with libations. They kept shooting glances my way. One of them got up and approached me. "Can I buy you a drink?" he asked. Politely, I said no, thank you. He persisted. I continue to refuse. Finally, he made a crude remark about me sitting in bar alone in the middle of the day, implying that I was a working girl. Flustered and furious I got up and left the bar. In my room I cried and stewed for a few minutes until I calmed myself and went back downstairs. Resolutely I approached the table where the men were still whooping it up, and proceded to give them a piece of advice. I am a married woman with three kids, I informed them icily. I am in this bar to meet my husband who is here on a business trip, probably the way you guys are. How many of your wives are home being accosted in a bar right now while you are out of town hitting on other women in a strange city? You are totally out of line, as well as obnoxious. Surprisingly, profuse apologies followed, from all the men and I stalked back to my room feeling proud of myself for not letting the moment pass to speak out.
Last night at the dumb poetry reading at the Social Justice Center, with Tim and Dennis and Obee and Mimi and Tom, I read my Las Vegas poem which mentioned being married by a judge holding a white Bible. The Bible I had in mind was one I had (and read) for many years, with a white leather cover. Following me, some goofy black dude got up to the microphone and in front of the whole crowd, challenged me to read my "white" Bible more because I would find that it was a Bible for black people, too. I was stunned and not sure if he were joking or not. I felt much the same as I did that day in the hotel. After the reading I approached the man. At first I spoke calmly and asked him if he was joking or serious. He was totally serious and resisted my efforts to explain about the cover of the Bible as opposed to the content. As it became obvious that either he wasn't wrapped too tight or was just fixated on this race thing, I chastised him for his mistaken assumptions and his rudeness. We parted without coming to an accord.
Dennis challenged me about the encounter, accusing me of having an anger issue. He was right that I was angry, but it was not uncontrolled. It was a matter of confronting injustice, which Dennis, I thought, would be sympathetic to. If we do not confront racism (or abusive parents or obnoxious salesmen or whatever) and attempt to defend what is right and true, then we are not fulfilling our responsibilites as citizens of the world. I used to be a non-confrontational person. I avoided the unpleasant and swallowed a lot of stuff I should have spoken out about. No more. I was angry and I made the effort, despite my innate aversion to it, to go to the root of the problem and make it right. I did the right thing.
Not a Racist
Last night at the dumb poetry reading at the Social Justice Center, with Tim and Dennis and Obee and Mimi and Tom, I read my Las Vegas poem which mentioned being married by a judge holding a white Bible. The Bible I had in mind was one I had (and read) for many years, with a white leather cover. Following me, some goofy black dude got up to the microphone and in front of the whole crowd, challenged me to read my "white" Bible more because I would find that it was a Bible for black people, too. I was stunned and not sure if he were joking or not. I felt much the same as I did that day in the hotel. After the reading I approached the man. At first I spoke calmly and asked him if he was joking or serious. He was totally serious and resisted my efforts to explain about the cover of the Bible as opposed to the content. As it became obvious that either he wasn't wrapped too tight or was just fixated on this race thing, I chastised him for his mistaken assumptions and his rudeness. We parted without coming to an accord.
Dennis challenged me about the encounter, accusing me of having an anger issue. He was right that I was angry, but it was not uncontrolled. It was a matter of confronting injustice, which Dennis, I thought, would be sympathetic to. If we do not confront racism (or abusive parents or obnoxious salesmen or whatever) and attempt to defend what is right and true, then we are not fulfilling our responsibilites as citizens of the world. I used to be a non-confrontational person. I avoided the unpleasant and swallowed a lot of stuff I should have spoken out about. No more. I was angry and I made the effort, despite my innate aversion to it, to go to the root of the problem and make it right. I did the right thing.
Not a Racist
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