el nino

I am writing in the fog and haze of having just survived a sleepover birthday party. Ten little girls...ten tiaras....ten sashes....ten egos....ten cans of soda....three arguments.....one birthday girl. Oh, and one rat that broke free from his cage, I watched him scurry out into the dark and all I could think is, "TAKE ME WITH YOU!!!!" I felt bad for wanting to escape the party that I planned and executed. Bad Mommy.
I wonder what makes a "good mom". I hear this every so often, "You are a good mom." Am I? Whenever I do get this odd compliment I always respond with, "Tell that to my kids." Mostly I feel like I get blamed for everything, from their failing grades to their bad moods. I think they would tell you that I am single handedly responsible for more damage than global warming.
Then the moment comes where we are all together and someone says or does something and we all burst out laughing. In those moments I can breathe, we are all happy together. For a moment. And I think, maybe I am a good mom.

ça a été

I removed said post. But had you noticed the label? It was "Vacuum techniques for the amateur investigator" and to this I will return, ere nigh. Be well friend, n.

case of the missing blog

My friend,
Where did the last blog go? I wanted to read it again. It has crept into my mind so often in the last week. I love the imagery. I have even faced my days in a different light because of it. Raging wars against my self. My body, trying to make the battlefield even. Thin out the troops!
After reading that I have decided to change my armor. See myself as the warrior and not the martyr.
Remember Fried Green Tomatos? TAWANDA!
Surely we can turn the troops around and aim them elsewhere?
Please re post the blog.

wysteria lane

Your walk sounds delicious. This is the one time of year here where I don't feel like leaving. I have been spending much time out on my deck just looking at the treetops. I love the shocking new green against the steel blue overcast sky.
I too have tried to find a little tranquility of late. As you know water has always played a part of my dream life. Recently I thought maybe I am lacking water in my awake life and that is why I am flooded with it nocturnally.
I was wandering thru a store a few days ago and came across a small water feature. A table top fountain with cascading fake bamboo leaves, complete with a small bag of river rocks. Add water, plug in and voila! Instant relaxation. My blood pressure was lowering even as I shelled out the $24.99 for it.
When I got home I cleared off the pile of books and bills from my end table and made space for my new fountain of youth. I read the directions carefully, after years of fear drilled into me about water and electricity. It worked! The water came out the top and proceeded to trickle down from one leaf to another landing in a pile of rocks placed intentionally to look unintentional.
Ahhhh. The sound of water.
I will spare you all the details but let's just say that after having to re-set it up several times ( the cat that drank from it and knocked it over, the rocks that jammed the pump from little playing hands, and finally candle wax that mysteriously made its way into it) I packed it up and set it aside to return.
At least I have a clean end table. Well, except for the water stains and candle wax.
I should probably just take a bath.

night walks

Just this evening I set out with the dog, down toward the creek in the dark. It was almost nine, but already quiet, like midnight, not a sound, but the air was sultry the way it is all summer, filled with the dense smells of wisteria and jasmine, the canopies of the giant oaks leaning over the street in a touchingly protective way.

Earlier in the evening I could hardly imagine getting myself out the door.

Remember years ago when I worked the overnight shift at Kerbey Lane? I'd get the kids to bed and the babysitter would come, then I would be flying down the deserted boulevard on my bike with the crickets chirping and the wind howling. I never wanted to arrive, but just to keep riding all night. What a thought: hiring a babysitter so I could ride my bicycle all night.

Some day, I assure you, we will do that.

No Hoes At The Bar

The Curtain has been pulled back and The Great Oz has been revealed. He is just a man. Some may think it a travesty that he hid behind a curtain while trying to be Great and Powerful. Some were relieved to see that minor miracles were created by "just a man". In the end all needed to look inside their heads for the answers they were seeking. Could they have avoided the perils of flying monkeys, falling houses, and synchronized dancing if they simply looked inward from the start? Yup. So which is the right thing to do? Live the life without thought, or try to find meaning in the things you do? If I only had a brain...
There have been times that I have felt jealousy for the people who live without thought. How nice it would be to not always strive for better, to be perfectly content with the lot I have. I might even sleep better at night. But then I think about all that I would lose if I approached life in such a meaningless way. The joys I gain from pondering the reasons behind human action. The questions that turn into stories. The poetry I read. The people I love.
I dread a life where I am without introspection.
What if Sir Isaac Newton simply ate the apple instead of thinking about it? Not by any means do I compare myself to such great masters. But if contemplating a connection between thinner thighs and enlightenment brings me joy, then am I not enjoying life itself?
When I laugh with my children over having to take cold showers because I could not pay the gas bill this month, are we enjoying life less because we found humor in strife?
The curtain has been pulled back and I am just a woman. But like the Great And Powerful Oz, I see myself as oh so much more.

problematics of self

Dear G.,

You, perhaps more than anyone, know that nothing is ever what it seems on the surface. To the extent that we can ever know or be known by others, most of our deep inner self still remains in half-shadow, like the dark side of the moon. Last week I was sitting in the break room at work waiting for the teapot, when someone came in and commented that I looked so peaceful sitting there. I was actually wrestling vigorously with some anxiety or other, of little consequence probably (a paper, money, work), but the thought that my own lack of centeredness could appear as peace to the observer amused me.

I see myself in my minds eye riding my bike (down Duval, right?) sans helmet, like something of a banshee hurtling furiously toward the unknown, peddling not in joy, but absolute terror half the time. Of what? That something might catch up with me? And believe me, I never read in coffee shops, and rarely eat salad (I go for the "power" bar)--salad takes far to much preparation! The little free time I have I am madly catching up with schoolwork or trying to get above the ensuing environmental disaster that is my home.

I have never been good at being the calm in the storm (my interpretation of you), but more often am the storm in the middle of the calm. You grasp joy where you find it, all around you, in even the most unlikely places and situations, and I always see you as a woman swimming, perpetually, with those Florida dolphins. And you are right, I really should wear a helmet.