random bits

Do you ever have random memories pop into your head?  she asked.

His smile was a response, she knows he does not.  Her question was not a real inquiry anyway but, rather, a polite intro to her own reverie.

“I was remembering a very hot August Sunday afternoon.  I was about 9, out on the small porch on my grandparents’ apartment in Revere, Massachusetts.  

The small portable radio is at my side and I am laying on a thin bath towel. on top of the splintery wood floor. When I look up the sky is fragmented into uneven bits by a criscross of  wires that look like they have been there as long as the sky, but that couldn’t be.

‘Love is higher than a mountain, love is thicker than water . . . heaven’s angel, devil’s daughter.’  (Two separate women?  two sides of the same woman?)  Do I never hear that song anymore because it is so awful, or because i have fabricated it?

I feel like the big girls, my cousins who sun themselves by their outdoor pool, who Drink Soda and Talk About Boys.  I like to pretend I am becoming indoctrinated and try to ignore niggling questions like “How do they lie there uncomplaining and baking for hours at a time like glossy game hens?”  and  “Does anyone actually find this fun or is this the modern day Emperor’s New Clothes?”

I am bored but I don’t have the energy to get up for a long time.  The sun erased my will.  Eventually I do go inside, away from the too-intense sunshine and too-friendly hornets.

My mother begins, ‘Don’t let the screen door…’

whump.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I understand why the older ladies start wearing shawls.  Once you are marginalized, no-one gives you their heat.  No-one wants to touch you any longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He loved her for her quirks.  The way her sounds of pleasure were small questions (“Oh?  Oh?”).  But mostly, for the things she was not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She looked at the flags and wreaths adorning the gravestones with a grimace – the popularity contest doesn’t even end with death!

Some

Dear unsated self,

I’d like to introduce you to Some. Some is better than None. Some is even sometimes better than All, because it may mean moderation. It may mean not exhausted, not tapped out, not 0 to 60, not over-caffeinated, not unrealistic, frustrated & whining.

Some is your friend. Some is the real world. Some can be cause for celebration in some contexts. Some is the down-to-earth, working class, worn but comfy couch of the sanctuaried mind. Some laughs with you.

Embrace the Some. Invite Some in, try it on like a new-to-you fleece vest. Close your eyes. There. Some wants you to remember the journey. Memento vivere. Some is the truest legacy.

Not Overheard – well, except for her & me

Me: Is there, like, a disorder where, unless you write something down, it feels like that thing isn’t official, or really real or something?

Care Provider: Oh, probab . . .

Me: Wait, no, actually, is there a disorder where you feel compelled to write lots of things down in order for them to be official and on the radar and “real”, but you struggle against it b/c you’re afraid it means you’re a freak?  Cuz I think have THAT one.

Care provider: Hmm.

Names

For a long time there was only one name I’d ever have wanted to change my name to.  (If I wasn’t a cheapo, of course).  It was a real name I came across when doing data entry as a faculty assistant in grad school the second time, about 15 yrs ago, before dropping out the second time.  Her name was: Ginny Champagne.  Ginny Champagne!  I mean, a name that incorporates two drinks!  I hope her middle name is Kahlua.

Anyway, the other day I came across a rockin name that’s a close second for my most wanted new name: Althea Wolf.  Ah, the things I could have accomplished if I’d been Althea Wolf.

And I Feel Fine

Last night I dreamt Nick Nolte released a cover of REM’s “It’s the End of the World (and I Feel Fine)”, in a country-western style.  I was listening to it on a 45 LP.  It was pretty good.

The album cover showed a close of Nick staring soulfully into the camera, wearing a ribbed blue scarf.

Yup.

buzz

Sometimes I like to creep myself out, and let my imagination run wild and tell itself spooky stories.  Yesterday morning I was driving without any music, NPR or podcasts on and without the youngster chatting in the back – rare.  I could hear a faint buzzy hum in the front of the car.

I told myself that it was the a mega-hive of yellow jackets that had begun building itself under my hood.

One like this, whose image you can find while happily trolling the internet.

Or this doozy.

Ahem.  So, in my story it’s a massive nest I’m unaware of and I get an urgent call from a friend in need and have to drop everything and drive cross-country by myself.  I’m cruising along, then I get tired.  I pull off the road and take a nap.  I wake up because something is tickling my lip.  When I wake up I’m covered two-deep in yellow jackets.  Aiyee!

This is one of the reasons why I haven’t been super successful at meditating.

Tahini Weenie

Much as I love bright colors, I’m realizing I would be wise to start building a tahini color-only wardrobe (excepting, of course, the teeny weeny tahini bikini).  This is because I like tahini smeared liberally upon my lunch, and my snacks, and it is damn gloopy.

So each day I end up with tahini speckles around the neck of my shirt, all over my rack, and inexplicably on the right thigh, only.  It doesn’t rub out nicely with a paper towel and a bit of water as my pals iced tea and yogurt do.  It kind of soaks into the tiny spaces between threads in the weave of your clothing, then takes a break to gather its energy so it can laugh at you.

Tahini. . .now with more gloop!

Something Extra

I do believe it’s time I told you about my Freecycle experience a couple of years ago.  According to the Freecycle main site, “The Freecycle Network™ is made up of 4,940 groups with 8,412,467 members around the world. It’s a grassroots and entirely nonprofit movement of people who are giving (and getting) stuff for free in their own towns.”

So, for a frugal-minded yankee who blows through hobbies and interests like others go thru kleenex, this seems like a delightful win-win.  What little treasures might my neighbors no longer need that I can briskly snap up?  What’s not to love?

I can recommend posting items you no longer need – this was a breeze.  My guinea pig had died and I scrubbed his cage, bowls, bottle, cozy fleecy pocket, etc. and a little girl and her mom took the whole lot for a new guinea pig they had gotten and were quite happy.

But being on the receiving end was another story.  A few years ago I became marginally interested in the pastime of, yes, macramé.  Perhaps I could knot a nice iPod  holder, I thought.  Or make some other thing out of thread to, uh, hold some other thing.  Yes, this will bring joy and meaning to my life.  Wouldn’t you know it, a Freecycle post goes up saying they have a box of macramé cord and supplies.  Stuff usually goes quickly and the post had been up for a couple of days.  I emailed the poster but wasn’t optimistic that the supplies were still available. Some lucky schoolteacher probably already grabbed it, I figured.  But it was still available!  And they were in my town, not far from where we live!  It’s like it was meant to be.

The man said he’d leave the box at the end of the driveway and gave me the address.  It was a Friday and I was going to swing by on my way home from work.  I drove down the long cul-de-sac and slowed down as I got to the address I’d written down.  There was a boy about 13 or so at a different house shooting baskets in his driveway, watching me.  As I got out of my car, I saw signs stuck into the grass on both sides of the driveway, every 10 inches or so, with warnings about the attack dogs and the low tolerance for trespassing.  Don’t think I’ll light here long, I thought.

I quickly looked around and finally saw a ratty cardboard box with its flaps closed.  I picked it up and started scurrying away without looking inside.  When I looked up, I saw the teenager had stopped playing basketball and his parents were standing with him and glaring at me.  I started feeling guilty and had to remind myself I had not done anything wrong.

I sped home.  Once I was in my driveway, I opened up the box.  There was some huge honking 70’s looking nasty macramé cord, sure.  But a little “extra” as well.  A cheery Freecycler “howdy neighbor”, perhaps.  An opened packet containing a womens’ XXL black lace garter with a big butterfly appliqué front and center.  “Aiee!” I squealed, and dropped the envelope like it was a mouse.  I picked it up again and saw that it had been purchased via ebay and sent to a woman’s name at the address where I had gotten the macramé cord.  Why in the world was this in the box?  Had the husband put it in there by mistake?  Or had he needed to sneak it out of the house somehow?  Did they need it back?

I emailed the Freecycler I had been corresponding with.  I can’t remember the exact words I used, but it was something rather vague, such as “There was a woman’s clothing item in the box, do you need it returned?”  He responded that they had gotten the box of supplies from another Freecycler so it must have been in there from the previous macramé cord owner.  Um, sure, except the envelope had your address on it, pal.

I couldn’t keep the cord now, no way.  I couldn’t even imagine donating it to Goodwill.  I’m no prude, but potential germs from a garter?  Insert squeamish shiver here.

I don’t view the Freecycle posts looking for treasures any more.  Because it really is true:  there’s no such thing as a free hobby supply.