A Hidden Well

If you love me . . .

Somebody send me a poem -- please.

More YouTube

The previous one made me smile . . . but this one made me laugh my ass off.

fruity? who, me??

I've also been known to draw faces on oranges and bananas before packing them in my kids' lunchboxes.  Chloe still appreciates my efforts.  Jack, not so much.

This made me smile.

angry

Today's Quote: "There are two ways of exerting one's strength: one is pushing down, the other is pulling up." — Booker T. Washington

I'm angry and I don't know quite what to do with myself.  I am not comfortable with anger.  Anger frightens me.  It twists me from the inside out.  When I am angry there is an ocean in my stomach, a great stormy sea, its immense waves crashing against bone, muscle, sinew.  If not for my skin and sheer force of will, the sea would escape and we would all perish.  Each and everyone of us.  My anger feels that powerful, and that dangerous.  Thus far, I have been lucky.  I have always been able to keep that stormy sea contained, save for a few stray drops that escape through my eyes in fat, salty tears.

I am angry about nothing and everything.  Everything and nothing.  I am angry that I so often choose to be passive aggressive rather than finding the courage to speak my mind.  I am angry because I feel misunderstood, or not understood at all.  I am angry because what makes sense to me doesn't mean much to anyone else, and what seems to make sense to everyone else has little meaning to me.  I thought I wanted to write about it, but I don't.  Apparently I just want to stew.

FYI

Today's Quote: A ship in harbor is safe --- but that is not what ships are for. — John A. Shedd, SALT FROM MY ATTIC

Something just occured to me.  I often feel "out of sync", and I think I've figured out why.  On the inside I am audacious and adventurous, but on the outside I look so conservative and plain. (Suzanne claims the plain, conservative part is not true, but I respectfully disagree.)  I'm like this living breathing incongruence.  Not quite sure how to remedy the situation though.  Hmm . . .

So here's what's new:

• The wild turkeys keep returning to the back yard.  They are very cool.
• Casey has a double ear infection.  Good times.
• At the Renaissance Fair I got a henna design on my hand.  Love it, love it, love it.  Henna is perfect because in about two weeks I'll be sick of the design, and that's just about how long it lasts.  I seriously think I should invest in some henna and practice until I get really good at it.  It took the woman about a minute to do my hand, and I paid $15.  Fifteen dollars a minute!  Geez, I'll never make that as a social worker.  Oh, I suppose you have to subtract the cost of the henna, which is inexpensive.  And then what ever this woman paid to be a vendor at this fair.  So it wouldn't actually be $15 a minute.  But still.  You get the picture.  I've used henna before and I'm pretty capable with it, but it is difficult to manage the flow.  All too often I end up with a big blob, or a thick line where I wanted a thin one.  I can get away with this is I'm just using it with family members or kids at camp.  But if I actually expect people to pay me I think I'd better perfect my skills.
• At risk of exposing my true inner-weirdness, I share with you that on Saturday Jack and I are taking a "Supernatural Motorcoach Tour" to Salem with the Phantasm Psychic Research Team, founded by David Considine (who is affiliated with The Discovery Channel's A Haunting.)  It's kind of comical, really -- although it's not intended to be.  Yes, we are an odd family with odd interests.  Oh well.  Rather be odd than boring.

awesome

Today's Quote: "The most basic and powerful way to connect to another person is to listen. Just listen. Perhaps the most important thing we ever give each other is our attention.  A loving silence often has far more power to heal and to connect than the most well~intentioned words." - Rachel Naomi Remen

Thanks to Jack, our screen saver now flashes the words JACK IS AWESOME.  And I've no idea how to change it.  It's tough when your kid's computer skills far surpass your own.  I suppose I could figure it out if I fooled around with it enough.  But I've got better things to do.  Like prepare for my first Brownie Troop meeting tonight.  I'm a little bit nervous, which is ridiculous because how intimidating can a group of little girls be?  I think I've over-planned, but I'd rather be over-prepared than under.  Being under-prepared is a pretty typical scenario for me.  I always seem to over-estimate how long an activity is going to take, or under-estimate how many activities I'm going to need. 

Did I mention I joined a Book Discussion group?  We just finished reading a memoir called When I Was Puerto Rican by Esmerelda Santiago.  It was a cool book.  It left me craving pigeon peas -- and I''ve never even eaten pigeon peas!  Our next book is White Oleander by Janet Fitch.  I suggested it.  Go me!  It's one of my favorite books.  Yeah, I've read it a couple of times before, but it's been several years, and I really want to be able to discuss it with others.  If you've not read it, you should.  And if you saw the movie and weren't impressed, I don't blame you.  The movie stunk.  But the book is awesome.  Sort of like my son, as evidenced by our screen saver.

Speaking of my awesome son . . . Jack's school issues progress reports every two weeks, and thus far he is doing great.  He has A's in every subject.  He's always been a good student, so it's not as though I'm shocked that he's doing well.  But his classes are a great deal harder this year, and he's still excelling.  I'm proud of him.

I want pie.

Today's Quote: That's the difference between me and the rest of the world! Happiness isn't good enough for me! I demand euphoria! ~ Calvin, Calvin and Hobbes

"I want pie."  That's the first thing Casey said to me this morning when I went to get him out of his crib.  Okay, maybe not the very first thing.  The very first thing he said was, "Down!  Down!"  Meaning get me the hell out of this crib.  Instead, I lifted him onto the changing table to get him dressed, and he protested by kicking his legs wildly, clamping his little fist tightly around the zipper of his jammies to prevent me from removing them, and loudly hollering "No!  No!  Down!"  He's such a pleasant child.  But I am bigger and stronger, and I was determined to get Chloe to school on time, so I used the fine art of distraction to settle him down while I changed his diaper and got him dressed.  I have to vary my distraction techniques from day to day, otherwise they become too familiar and are no longer effective.  For a while I would say, "Let's talk about camping!" and that would settle him right down.  One distraction technique that's worked particularly well lately is, "Let's talk about Halloween!"  He hears the words Halloween and boom -- just like that -- he's all ears.  I don't have to tell a story or anything.  I just have to suggest the topic, and he takes it from there.  I say Halloween and he rambles on and on about ghosts who say boo, pumpkins who say boo, scary skeletons, big witches with big witch hats, and so forth.  This morning, however, he woke up in a particularly cranky mood, and the whole Halloween thing just wasn't cutting it.  I heard his stomach growl and I figured he must be hungry, so I asked, "Would you like to go downstairs and get some breakfast?"  No response.  Still the thrashing and screaming.  So I said the magic word.  Juice.  "How about some juice?  Would you like some juice?"  And that's when he stopped crying and said, calm and clear as can be, "I want pie.  I want pumpkin pie."  This is the kid who will eat nothing.  He won't eat peanut butter and jelly or grilled cheese or hotdogs.  He wants no part of the staples of an average toddler diet.  Bananas, grapes, cut up melon?  Forget it.  But the kid will eat liverwurst.  And now, apparently, he has a fondness for pumpkin pie.  (Glenn, who is also a fan of pumpkin pie, brought one home from the grocery store last night and we had it for dessert.  We offered Casey a bite, and he tried it -- which in and of itself is highly unusual -- and he loved it.)  And so I let him eat pie for breakfast -- because it's better than what he normally eats in the morning, which is nothing.

I think I have more to say but I'm quickly running out of steam.  Plus, I feel like I say the same things over and over.  Life is busy.  We have a committment every night this week.  I did a training at the Y tonight.  Glenn had a PTO committees meeting.  Tomorrow night Glenn and Chloe have soccer and I have a Girl Scout Leaders' meeting.  Wednesday night I have a book discussion group meeting.  Thursday Chloe has karate and Glenn plays poker.  Friday night I have a Brownie troop meeting.  Blah, blah, blah.  You get the picture. 

Oh, here's one cool thing I can share.  This morning I was standing at the kitchen sink getting a glass of water, and when I looked out the window I saw a huge flock of wild turkeys in our back yard.  It was awesome.  Everyday we drive by a turkey farm, and it's filled with these ugly white birds.  But these were gorgeous.  They looked like the turkeys you always see in books about the pilgrims' first Thanksgiving.  Anyway, I thought it was pretty cool.  Now I'm going to watch Little People, Big World on TLC while I fold laundry.  My life rocks.

whatever

This poem has been edited and revised so many times that it bears little resemblance to its first draft.  I'm not even sure I like it anymore, and I've yet to find an ending that satisfies me.  But its been hanging around my desk bugging me for weeks now, and I think this may be as good as it's gonna get.  Whatever.

A Memo to Alice

Peer curiously into the looking glass.

Belly to the earth, reach an arm deep

into the rabbit’s hole

and probe the mysteries that hide within.

Don’t run from the Queen of Hearts

and her wicked ways.

Embrace her, instead, and watch as her poisoned marrow

drips down her cheeks in fat, salty tears.

Smile at the Cheshire Cat and scratch

beneath his whiskery chin

until his purring fills your ears

and hums in your heart.

Set a place at the table for

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb.

Welcome them into your life as you would

long lost prodigal sons.

Accept the Mad Hatter’s invitation to tea.

Partake in all that is offered to eat and drink,

trusting that this meal may be the one

to finally satisfy the nagging hunger or to quench

the endless thirst.

Above all, remember this:

Shrink for no one.

Grow boldly toward the sun.

Feel your bones lengthen,

your muscles stretch,

your cells multiply,

your spirit climb.

Sing with abandon

and let your voice

mingle with the stars.

I swear I'm not a grammar snob. And I'm not angry, either.

Today's Quote: "I don't have pet peeves, I have whole kennels of irritation." — Whoopi Goldberg

Pet peeves.  I have many.  Ice cubes with specks of debris or tiny crumbs stuck to them.  People who don't RSVP to invitations.  When a writer ends every sentence with an exclamation point!  Like this!  It really bugs me!  Oh, and when someone writes that they have "alot" of work to do, or "alot" of clutter in their house.  It's "a lot".  Two words.  Not one.  Anyway, I'll shut up now, so as not to sound like the grammar police.  My own grammar isn't perfect, nor is my spelling -- especially since I can't get spell check to work tonight.  (This new computer is making me crazy.) And my vocabulary is limited.  Embarrassingly so.  And I constantly compose sentences that aren't true sentences -- as evidenced above.  But I do that on purpose.  I realize they aren't grammatically correct sentences.  I just don't care.  I like my writing voice to mirror my spoken voice.  And the fact of the matter is that I don't always speak in complete sentences.  When I speak, all of my statements don't necessarily contain a subject and a predicate.  And my writing reflects that.  Could someone please remind me how and why I got started on this topic? 

We camped last weekend with Kevin and Christin.  In general I prefer to camp in the fall because the weather is cooler.  Being hot makes me cranky.  When I'm hot I want to be in an air conditioned room.  Not in a tent or a pop-up camper.  Fall camping trips can almost always be counted on to be cool during the day and cold at night, necessitating heavy sweaters and sometimes even hats and mittens.  This past weekend was an exception.  It wasn't cold.  It wasn't even mild.  It was HOT.  The temperature reached the mid to upper eighties.  Kids were swimming in the river.  Not my kids, of course, because I didn't pack their bathing suits.  I packed sweatshirts and long pants and even two pairs of gloves.  It never occured to me that they might need bathing suits in October.  Nobody requested hot cocoa.  The box of instant oatmeal went unopened, as everyone opted for cold cereal and milk.  At one point we all sat in the van with the air conditioner running, munching on some trail mix my brother bought at the camp store, telling one another how silly it was to be sitting in a car but none of us wanting to venture back out into the heat.  (And George W. contends that global warming is just a figment of Al Gore's imagination.  Hmph.)  We had fun despite the bizarre weather conditions.  It was a Halloween themed weekend, so there was pumpkin carving and trick-or-treating and even a half way decent live band.  Casey loved trick-or-treating around the campground and wasn't frightened by any of the scary decorations or costumes.  It was a good trial run for Halloween night.  And everywhere we went people kept oohing and ahhing about how cute Casey looked, which was really nice, because usually when I'm out and about with Casey people just shoot me sympathetic looks as I frantically chase after him, trying to reach him before he runs into traffic or presses the emergency call button on an elevator or interrupts a classroom of students working in silent concentration on their state mandated achievement tests  -- thanks again George W.  No Child Left Behind.  Yeah.  Right.  But I digress.  Do I sound angry?  I don't feel particularly angry, but as I read over this entry I detected an angry tone.  But I'm not angry.  At least I don't think I am.