Day 300

Day 300

and I haven't.....

lost 20 pounds, cleaned my office, closet, spare bedroom, car....,finished my chapbook, written more than 30 poems, had my camera cleaned, heard back from Sentence, submitted more than 5 times, visited friends more than 500 miles away, thrown away the hole ridden Tigger towel Rach has had since she was 2, organized my photos, my poems, my life or cleared the clutter from my brain.

Us Guys

This is Us Guys, a term my daughter coined to describe the three of us when she was around three or four. Michael and I she referred to as Guys and herself as the The Baby. We have very few picture of Us Guys, for a number of reasons, the most selfish one on my part is that I loathe pictures of myself, the other a more pragmatic consideration is that there are only three of us, and someone must take the photo. I remember an incident when she was in kindergarten, she needed a picture of her family, I gave her one of her and her Dad, and one of her and I. She stomped up and down and said NO, NO, NO---she wanted US Guys,, and she preceded to count us on her fingers, Momma, Daddy and Baby---all in the same picture. I believe I asked my sister-in-law to take a picture of the three of us. As I type this I wonder where that picture is, I will have to find it. Over the years it has been Rach that has insisted on the few family pictures that we have, inviting her friends over to take the photos, hopeful that we would send out Christmas cards with the three of us, all smiles. I think only one year did we actually make that Christmas Card and I censored who I sent it to---I thought I looked old and fat ( I am old and fat). I believe I gave the cards to Rach and she handed them out to her friends and our closest neighbors. She hasn't asked me since. It's funny how things turn around, it was I who insisted on the photo above, I who asked Rach's friend to snap the shot. I who wants to hold on to Us Guys as she prepares for adulthood.

T.G.I.F.

A long week, the upcoming weekend--a much needed brain and body break. The house is not done yet--the floor company installing our floors has much to learn about craftsmanship and customer service. The flooring itself is beautiful, the installation a nightmare . We are not done yet. Seems that the company (whose name is InstallRight) installed it wrong. The second attempt at placing the stair nose failed miserably--the color right this time, but they were a foot short on the material needed and the mitered edges don't quite meet. No amount of floor putty can fill in a 1/4 inch gap. Would of/could of/should of learned how to use a protractor in math class? The installers themselves were nice enough, but they weren't given a project layout from the measurer, did not lay the stair nose out before they cut it, and could not use an engineers triangle to figure out the mitered cuts. Perhaps you should teach your installers the realities of an older house--where all angles are not perfectly right ( I can't believe I used the word perfect with right). These are our frustrations, I am hopeful for a positive outcome ( it's that Pollyanna mentality of mine).

We are in the process of lightening our load, clearing out our accumulation of things. I have a friend who he and his wife go through every 5 years and burn what they haven't used or missed, he calls it a scorched house policy. I am not quite ready for the metaphoric bonfire--my husband loves this idea--but I am beginning to see the beauty of less. I am going through my house trying to find homes for things that I have accumulated that I love but don't want to keep--a set of music box carousels are going to my friend Bonnie--and I think my friend Patty might want my display case for her husbands archaeological finds-perhaps my sister Michelle will want my rattan dining room set for her covered patio-the rest of the things will be donated to Good Will. I am actually getting excited about the less--the empty--the openness of space---of course we will still be buried in books, photographs and computers---and the sentimental--the Snoopy Lunch Box, the vase Dr. Quane gave me when I married, the first picture of our daughter, the wood carving Margaret gave me of mother and child, Rachael's Doogie Dog, the bowl Rach made me in 3rd grade---the poem written by my friend Nicole---all of these pieces of heart and more I shall keep.

The photo, one from Galveston Beach, I wanted to hear their wisdom, to speak gull--I prayed for the gift of understanding, to be able to speak in the tongue of the gull, much like my grandmother was given the gift of tongues. A translation inspired by the grace of God. My grandmother a devout Pentecost--her gift forgein, to my Methodist ears--

I have not yet imprinted this place with the sound of my noise. It is unfettered with the essence of our life, it could be anyone's room--or no ones room. It is a blank slate. I imagine someone other--living here--surrounded by beige's warm tones. I have tempararily stored my noisey fetish's, quirks and penchants in a teak box. And for now I shall sit in the quiet, embrace this bareness and leave my things, gathering dust in the middle of the spare room.

Letter Fodder and other Obscure Observations

We are home from the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and it feels good to return to Muggle status. We had a great vacation at Universal Studios and Cocoa Beach. Of the two I preferred Cocoa Beach. Perhaps I have outgrown theme parks, or more likely as it is with movies, I simply prefer books over cinematic interpretations of a book. While I thoroughly enjoyed our vacation, I found that I kept running list of the bothersome--a mental eye tic of sorts, one that I feel compelled to share. An affectation of my personality that manifests itself in the form of letter writer. I am evolving into that person, that letter person that makes mental notes and fires off the unsolicited letter to business establishments, manufacturers of odd products and hotel management. Is it that I truly believe that these entities want and value my opinion? Or that I have some point of view so unique that it has not yet been vetted through focus groups that conduct consumer research for these mega corporations--not likely. Do I have some David and Goliath, Erin Brockovich need to be the little voice that could--hardly. It is more that I believe that feedback is a good thing, that without the giving and receiving of feedback nothing ever changes. It is merely my fear of utter stagnation that fuels my need to elucidate my point of view. I write letters in response to extremes, good and bad. I write snarky letters when fired up; and heartfelt letters of gratitude in response to a kind turn. I am not naive--I know most of these letters end up in recycle bins. Every now and then I do get a response other than the polite form letter--sometimes a small action. I am okay with that. That ticker gene of mine, the one that counts on fingers and simultaneously rolls eyes--the one that is not equipped with an off button--no matter how hard I try---took notes this weekend in Florida.


Artifacts of a noisey brain so to speak.


1. All rides end in a souvenir shop

2. Where were the healthy food choices (are the calories a fairy tale too?)

3. How many people, people and more people can you fit into a small wizard village? Inquiring minds want to know.

4. Why do parents bring children under 2 to theme parks (they are too small to ride and they won't remember--quit using your children to gain admittance--fess up-admit that you love HP and hire a babysitter)

5. Prevalence of mediocre customer service. (Does knowing this is a once in a life-time experience negate the need for service that might bring you back)

6. Hotels that do not provide complimentary coffee before the restaurant opens up and 3.00 a cup Folgers after the restaurant opens.

7. Door to Door shuttle services that stop at 5 hotels between start and end point.

8. Hotel Guest Services desk and information kiosks where service/information are contingent on a 1.5 hour time share sales pitch.

9. The unavailability of women's souvenir shirts larger than an XL. Honestly this fat girl is living proof that a mans 2XL is not a flattering cut on a women of size.

10. Why no where inside Universal Studios can you buy a Ogre Fiona Doll. I found it untenable that the quintessential anti-princess movie--one which celebrates the non-traditional hero and heroine--would not sell a Ogre Fiona. When asked if they were simply sold out of Ogre Fiona---I was told that little girls only liked the "Beautiful Princess Fiona"--and that they quit selling the Ogre Fiona dolls, even those dolls that were both Ogre Fiona and Princess Fiona. I did point out to the sales clerk, that both Fiona's were infact Princesses.

11. Families that wear Thing 1, Thing 2, Thing 3 and Thing 4 t-shirts.

I am still working on my letters--one to Universal for that Ogre Fiona snub and one to Holiday Inn for that customer service Thing 1 through Thing....


The photo of me and my Michael, one I just love. No bearing on the post what-so-ever.

Sunrise in Suburbia

I likely have used this photo before, one I took the first day I had my Nikon. Tuesday I was backing up some photos and this was the last directory I had opened, today's shot courtesy of pure laziness on my part. I had titled the photo Sunrise in Suburbia, add recycling to my offenses today. Today we get floor, tomorrow we get carpet and I will be not be here to see the first look of everything put back together, which oddly makes me sad. My daughter has fall break and we are going with my best friend and godson to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. I am excited, I loved the books and the movies and its been about 5 years since we have been on a trip with Trish. When Rach and the boys were young we went most every year, and then puberty and mid-life care of parents hit and we kept running out of both time and money. We had been holding off to take the kids to Europe, but frankly we simply can't afford it. Rach is applying to go to Iceland through Girl Scout Destinations in Summer 2011--and I am hoping that she will get accepted. Several girls went last year and between fund raisers and scholarships raised most of the money themselves. So perhaps she will get a bit of international travel next year. Universal has some great trips including air-fare, hotel, tickets and round trip airport transfers the cost worked out to be around 500 a person. We simply have to not go overboard on Harry Potter goo-gaas (licensed merchandise) and 5-star restaurants.

I am packed and ready to go. I have a magic carpet bag, a rolling angled laptop case/overnighter with pockets for everything. I can pack my olympus point and shoot, computer, phone, ipod and 5 days of clothes in this bag or all of the above, my nikon and 3 days of clothes. I have become a connoisseur of luggage during my 25 years as a road warrior. I packed for 5 days in a third of the space my daughter did. I am hoping Michael will send me a pic of the living room when it gets done, and I will send him a pic of Hogwart's.

Considering Opting Out

I am thinking about opting out of such things like Facebook, Twitter, and MySpace, I miss the blogosphere, when most of my friends kept blogs--and we visited each other and left notes, it seemed more cozy and less frenetic than the mass social networking phenomenon. I have a 176 friends on Facebook, most of those I know through poetry, high school, family, friends and work--and a small percentages of these friends I have known most of my life. Without Facebook I would not have an extended network of writers or have been able to catch up with high school friends. The remainder of the friends I have not lost contact with and can pick up the phone and talk to them anytime. I would love to start a letter writing campaign--I love to write letters, to receive letters, to communicate fully through the written word. I don't want sound bites, 140 characters poems, clever wordplay, or hidden innuendos--I like people, I like to talk to others, to share ideas, to explore thoughts on politics , the environment, child raising, the changing role of woman, the pressure on girls, how to get a B student into a decent college, what it means to be wife, mother, writer, photographer and environmental scientist. Okay maybe not politics as I myself am pretty politically neutral. A dear friend of mine describes Facebook as an opium for the masses and I am beginning to think he is right. Perhaps it is time to opt out.

Santa Fe at Sunset

My friend and I went to see the Aspens turn colors, drove up a winding road through the mountain to the ski area (which actually we never saw) as we stopped to gawk and photograph on the way up,and the sun set about a mile before our final destination. I took over 150 photos, still processing them, finding the ones that I like the best. I generally only like 5-10% of the photos I take. Much like my poetry, I tend to generate alot of excess before I find one I like.

Nic Sebastian has a fantastic new audio journal, Whale Sound, guidelines for submissions can be found at Whale Sound and Very Like a Whale. I would highly recommend you check it out. I have three poems up at Flutter, (Thank-you Sandy) and a few more forthcoming in Red River Review (November)and Illya's Honey(November).

I have one sub out that I have been waiting 127 days for a response (if your counting) that I'm nervous about. The sub is for what I call my Death and Dying poems, ones that I feel strongly need a home. I read three of these poems at the DPC First Friday Poetry event. I was nervous reading as they are odd; I was unsure if they would translate to spoken word. My voice shook and I felt like I was in junior high. The poems were well received for being a bit on the macabre side.

My poetry toe is still broken and I am struggling with finding the time to write well. I am not sure how this will resolve itself, I wrote a poem in response to a prompt recently (something I loathe doing) and I pushed myself to completion. I haven't yet decided if I like the poem. I am excited/relieved/proud of being able to craft the poem. The poem of course,a bit dark--which I find odd as the happier I feel the more macabre the poem.