Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Where the Wind Blows

It's been over a year since I had a "real" job and while I'm not complaining, I'm sort of wondering where the winds of change will blow this gypsy seed next. I have spent most my waking hours in the pursuit of writing (which I love) but somehow with all that time and thought spent alone, I'm wondering if it is too much of a good thing. In manic periods usually brought on by the imbibe, I am compelled to write poetry. My deepest thoughts and fears come to surface begging for an audience of one... me. I place them in a blog aptly titled the Somnambulant Solipsist which, broken down means a sleepwalker/insomniac who has extreme preoccupation with indulgence of one's own feelings... in other words a self-absorbed egoist. It's a form of therapy and I'm happy to report that not many people view it, as it's dark and personal, even though I try to keep my person out of it and focus on universal problems. I attempt to read other people's poetry to gain a perspective on the form and beauty of words... but I get stuck, as a solipsist can only see everyone else's words through their own eyes. Sometime it feels as if every poet I read is pointing a finger at me personally and saying, "get with the program" though I haven't a clue what the program is. I'm hoping to find another outlet to fill my time... maybe a helping role of some kind... and so this week I'll walk around town with my resume in hand and see if I can join the ranks of the unemployed and find something to do. It will probably end my short lived poetic career, but I think it's time.   

Thursday, May 21, 2009

A Virgo's Secret

I read my horoscope on most days, mostly for the fun of what has been hashed over ad nauseam for years. I'm told I'm practical, analytical, fastidious, loyal, even pretty... all good things I suppose. Funloving, spontaneous, artistic... those traits never seem to come into play. But today there was a glimmer of hope that I am not just a depiction of some snooty, prudish, and critical archetype of spinster maiden. Today I happened to look at the general overview for my sign, something I haven't done in years and I had to laugh when I read, "You might be a clean freak, but most Virgos have a messy closet or a disaster underneath their bed." Messy closets I will attest to, as in my attempt to make things tidy, I'm often shoving things in the dark recesses of the cabinets or closets and then can't seem to find them at at later time. I take pride in my organization skills... my work files were always up-to-date and immaculate, as was my folders and email. However, my husband can attest to the fact that when I am in the midst of my writing, all organization goes out the window and I can't even seem to separate the scribbles of poetry, snarks, and prose, into the confines of a three subject notebook. It all just gets scribbled down in a messy fury that often needs decipher from my patient partner. As far as disaster under the bed, I'm comfortable with dustbunnies as I pull the comforter down so no one can see them... that is until I am up for the inspection of prospective home buyers, and then in a frenzy I will vacuum and polish the wood under the bed (as if that should matter.) I really want to be a wandering free-spirit without the confines of a house, a job, and responsibility, but I know that even if we get to enjoy the dream of a traveling home, it will be spotless and out of a sense of purpose I will probably sweep the dirt of the campsite... but somewhere in a laptop, there will be the messy scribbles and photos of the adventure, and I will probably have to rely on my fun-loving Gemini mate to help me make sense of it.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

A Need for Mental Exercise

When I was a kid I used to love doing the word find puzzles. I would get my pencil, scan the words, and circle the answers with hardly a hesitation. I could see words backwards on the diagonal as easily as I could spot them forward across. I was sure if there was a contest somewhere I would have won it hands down. Of course, the teen years changed all that and I forgot about doing the puzzles until about a month ago. Since I spend an awful lot of time alone, and I am getting up in age, and I find myself wandering to a room and then haven't a clue why I went there, I figured that I needed some mental exercise. I bought a bathroom word find puzzler and I have been doing one a day since. You can imagine the horror at finding that it took about an hour for me to find 44 words the first time I did it... after all I was a champ. I have been slowly getting better, but I must admit I have some distractions that I didn't have back in the day. I have to wear reading glasses and since I never wore glasses before, they are constantly slipping down, not to mention that if I move my head a certain way the page blurs and I lose my place. Secondly, as a kid, the word finds were fair... no letter could be used more than once. The word find I have makes you use letters from words already found... not really fair for a messy circler like me. Lastly, I think my right brain has completely taken over, as the only way I seem to find the words now is by nonchalantly scanning around, and usually when I'm scanning for a word, I will found something else on the list instead... it's kinda creepy. As a kid I had a method. I would hone in on the the rarest letter in the word and then search all the letters around it. I also used the board and it's layout to see what spots looked empty... but those tricks don't work anymore. Although I never cheat... even if I have to sit there in humiliation for an hour... sometimes I feel like it, and then I feel guilty for even thinking about cheating. So much extraneous thinking occurs while searching for the words, I'm wondering if I might have a focus problem. I could go on with excuses, but the grown up in me needs to admit that I've grown rusty and I'm no longer a word find champion... and I'm still a poor loser.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Bugging Out in the Floral Department

One of my favorite weekly outings is the trip to the local Shop-Rite. On Saturdays Gerry and I do our chore run which includes Petsmart for Otis supplies, Cosco, for clothes, nuts, and Red Bull, and then the World Class Shop-Rite for Saturday night dinner stuff. We usually return on Sunday for all the weekly groceries and it was on this occasion last week as we strolled through the revolving door that we heard a terrible ruckus in the floral department. Two ancient people were having a full blown screaming match. The wife with the shopping cart was a short, slight, wrinkled woman with fishy blue eyes and a white poodle perm. She would have looked somewhat smart in her white stretch pants and anchored and striped cotton top, however her face was purple with rage as she screamed at her husband that he was going the wrong way on route to the exit. He was a queer little man, about 4'9" with a prominent widow's peak, unnaturally brownish hair, pale lined face sporting wire rim spectacles. The trench coat that he wore came down to the ankles of his stubby little legs and the hem flapped angrily as he strode with a rapid penguin gait. He was shouting back at his wife, in essence stating that she didn't know what she was talking about. As she pushed her cart with her head shaking in anger and disgust, her gnome-like husband took off down the produce aisle. I thought that maybe he was heading for the men's room at the back of the store, as he clearly wasn't going to leave through that direction, but no, he was obviously lost and muttering angrily to himself. I got the sense he was capable of violent behavior so I kept my distance and refrained from interfering. As my husband and I meandered up and down the aisles, we saw him darting around the store in his own private snit. I was hoping his wife would return to steer him in the right direction to leave, and I doubly hoped that this angry and confused little man was not going to drive a car. When we finally pushed our cart through the floral department to leave, low and behold there were two disturbed young women, obviously sisters, having the same fight as the old couple... and in the exact same spot. One screamed, "you don't know where your going," as the other one stormed by us and yelled the same line in louder volume. It was if they caught the anger left behind from the old folks and caused an identical scene. Like everyone else around us, we tried to pretend we didn't see or hear them, but the coincidence was as clear as the noses on those angry faces.

Monday, May 18, 2009

A Trip to New Hope

My sister Bonnie came up from Florida this past week and a we shared a Mother's Day brunch with our girls, Tara and Erica (my daughters) and Kelly (Bon's daughter) in New Hope. Tara our mom-to-be drove us and the drive was a pleasant one as we travelled to our favorite shopping town in PA. The traffic was being diverted from the restaurant that the girls chose, and we didn't realize why until we were sitting in the private room on the sunporch of our destination - it was the New Hope Gay Pride Parade and we had front row seats, an unexpected bonus. We all had brunch cocktails (except Tara) and luckily we had the whole porch to ourselves, as in our excitement of the get together we had a lot of loud laughter and catching up to do! The brunch was exquisite and the parade was surprisingly low-key (nothing compared to the Gay Pride Parade in New Orleans, which as you can imagine has lots of floats and costumes). We all ate way too much and Tara who did not have a cocktail ordered a chocolate cheesecake with mocha chip ice-cream and strawberries, to which we all looked on in envy. From there we walked along the main drag of new Hope and checked every little shop and boutique along the way. They have the most unusual gift items and clothes, and very pricey tags to boot. Everyone got a chance to exclaim their love for something that was was neither practical or affordable and yet the moms in their years of thrifty wisdom did mange to pull off a few purchases for the girls. I'm not much of a shopper, but I waited outside of the littlest of the shops (having a touch of claustrophobia) and the sun came out to a beautiful day in this quaint little town. Once the girls had their fill of all the shops on the strip, we headed for the car that was parked by the Raritan River. I felt a little guilty as I didn't quite share in the enthusiasm for all the trendy little items that were displayed in the shops, but when I passed one of the most expensive jewelry stores, I looked down on the side walk and saw my souvenir. It was just a piece of branch that sat under a tree. At first I thought it too must be for sale as I stared at it... the girls walked on... and then it dawned on me that this was my reward for all that shopping. I picked it up and took it to the car... my girls know I'm a nature nut and no one laughed. Once home, I found an old sake jar that stood neglected on our shelf and Viola, I have a one of a kind bonsai like decoration that thrills me every time I look at it. The cost? Nothing. The reminder of its presence? The wonderful day we had as mothers and daughters on a sunny New Hope outing. The meaning? Priceless.  

Thursday, May 14, 2009

I Got to See the Baby!

Today I was up bright and early... the morning routine completed within an hour. At 7:30 my daughter Tara (nicknamed Beauty) arrived with her bagel and OJ, a mom-to-be needs her nutrition. I was too excited to eat, so I brought my bag of raisins and nuts and we headed to the hospital for The Ultrasound. We got there in time for Beauty to fill out the 7 forms for insurance and I watched her methodically sign with the same scrawl as her Dad. I tried not to chatter too much, but we managed a few laughs just the same. The scrub dressed technician called us in to the room, and I needed to sit down as my Tara got her blood taken from a pinprint... I could have fainted even though as a nurse I'd done this to others hundreds of times before. As soon as the gel was applied our eyes gazed to the monitor screen and within seconds the black and white swirls turned into a little person nestled into a hammock of comfort. I couldn't help myself, the tears ran down my face..."Oh, Mom, I knew you would cry," murmured Beauty (her eyes looked a little teary too)...  it was amazing! The sound came on and there was the beating of a little heart... 164 beats a minute, a perfect assessment of health. My daughter was relieved as last time she couldn't hear this sound. As the ultrasound wand waved over her abdomen, my grandchild started doing wiggles and flips in the watery nest and we started laughing as the technician told us that this was normal. It was the best acrobatic show I ever saw and I did the happy clap. Then as the screen went quiet, as we were told the baby was resting with heels together... the goddess position? What a wonderful show! Afterwards we chatted a few minutes about our personal experiences... me explaining that my daughter was born three weeks late. "Don't worry," replied the tech, " in this day and age no one is allowed to carry beyond 41 weeks." I was relieved... thank goodness medicine found some common sense. On the way home, Tara and I had a happy chat and I held those pictures as if they were gold. I can't wait to show them off and share my excitement with those who like me, adore our Beauty, mother-to-be.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

The Big Mean Cutting Machine

I'm not too afraid of anything these days since I've taken the fear of earthworms off my plate. But there is one event that occurs now on a weekly basis that will keep me in the house, nervously peeking out the window for a good 20 minute stretch of time and that is the visit by our trusty landscaper. He is honest and faithful and always shows up just when the lawn starts looking a tinge overgrown. He is a lone man this year, the extra helpers that usually do the trimming and the blowing of the patio are MIA, probably due to the current state of the economy. I don't mind because as nice as the "kids" have been in the past they really can't tell weeds from live flowering plants... last year all my chrysanthemums were unmercifully whacked to stubble by the trimmer... oh well, they were getting kinda shabby looking anyway. The boss seems to be a kind man, average build and height, and nothing to really be afraid of.... until he drives that professional mower off the ramp of his landscaping truck. Then look out because all hell breaks loose. Like a demon on a racetrack that has no boundaries, he careens across the yard at about 20 mph in zig-zags and curves that really kick up the dust on the bald spots. He wears a headset and I suspect he is listening to some kind of heavy metal music, perhaps Motorhead, as he throttles around in reckless fashion in a kind of sun-glassed trance. The squirrels run for shelter and suddenly even the birds get quiet as the roar of the machine drowns out all sense of peace and quiet. Everything in his path is pulverized to mulch as he seems to have no time to pick up sticks or branches. Only once I made the mistake of trying to leave in his presence, and I almost got run over... and I swear he didn't even seem to notice me as I jumped out of the way. An acre of lawn is mowed is the course of about 10 minutes (it used to take my husband 2 hours with a ride on mower and a good cigar). Once the mad demon has finished the lawn it's weed whack and sidewalk trimming time, which he does alternately using the same piece of equipment. The 'For Sale' sign is yanked with one pull of his arm as the whacking continues... amazing, but kinda scary. Then the tool is thrown into the truck and out comes the leaf blower. Anything left on the patio is fair game to blown to the side of the fence... I have even seen my rabbit's glass bowl sailing across the patio to be finally smashed into pieces and the pieces blown under a bush.... of course, it's my fault as I should have tidied up before he comes... but frankly I'm intimidated. Sometimes he actually charges us for the service with a bill in the mailbox and other times he just plain forgets. We always try to let him know when he has forgotten, but he just waves us off saying, "Ah, don't worry I'm a little behind on the billing." Now don't get me wrong, I love this guy and his unorthodox ways; he gets the job done... but I know to stay safely indoors when he comes around.
  

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

A Walk in the May

Today was a banner day for a Springtime lover like me. Dogwoods are in full bloom and just slightly browning and wrinkling at the edges. The graceful little lily of the valleys are still pearly in the streak of sunlight as they quietly hover in the cool shade of the leaf laden trees... the delicate aroma still exquisite. But the specialty blooms of azalea are in peak performance in shades of red, pink, orange, and white. As I walked by the various shrubs in neighboring yards, I noticed that every blossom was open and basking in the sunlit sky under the the shade of cottony gray and white clouds. As I did my walking meditation in thankfulness for the grace and splendor of Mother Nature, I pulled out my pocket camera and  snapped pictures of the beautiful blooms along the way. Even the mailman clad in his official walking shorts and blue short sleeve shirt remarked that it was the perfect day for a mailman... in an unusual burst of friendliness. The two mile walk I took was not a walk for exercise, but a meander of visual delight... I could have walked ten miles on a day such as this. I even stopped at the local nursery and bought two packs of purple and white petunias to plant in the empty urns on our back patio. Such joy I felt digging into the dirt and delicately placing them as if by professional arrangement into their new home. Once this task was completed, the sky rapidly began clouding over and now a quiet darkening has occurred... perhaps a sprinkling of rain will water and nourish all this surrounding beauty. I sigh in thankfulness for a day that was well spent.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Mother's Day



What a beautiful day it was on Sunday... sunny (after all that rain) and a little breezy, but the warmth of family made up for the fact that it wasn't really hot (my kind of day).  Our youngest was up from VA this weekend and it is always a pleasure to spend time with him as he enters the next phase of his life. I had a nice long talk with my son over the weekend and I am always impressed with his mature view on life and the advice he gives to me... sometimes your kids are able to see you better than you see yourself. I lamented the fact that I had not yet seen a hummingbird and he brought me a fuschia plant to help speed the process along. I missed a visit from our youngest daughter but she sent the nicest card and gift certificate for a future pampering... we'll catch up at Zumba class. My daughter, thoughtful as ever, found me a Tara cow complete with jewelry for my beloved collection.. and bore with me the fact that for the hundredth time I told her she was named for the Hindu goddess whose name means shining star. Her husband brought me a bottle of good Scotch... a real luxury these days. My in-laws came and as usual delighted us with their laughter and stories, and a lavender hanging geranium for me as well. My dear sweet husband cooked us all chicken parmigiana and spaghetti, I made sure everyone got their greens (with a summer salad) and there was a potent chocolate cherry mousse cake. After the family left and the kitchen was cleaned, I called my Mom and sister to wish them a Happy Mother's day. My mom usually a little down these days, was cheerful and awaiting her special chocolate dessert... I still miss her terribly. At sunset, I enjoyed my alone time on the porch to write poetry and listen to one of my favorite groups, INXS. I couldn't have asked for a better day or a better family.   

Thursday, May 7, 2009

The Phantom Phone Ring

There it goes... another phantom phone ring. All day and all night I listen to the sound of the land line ring. A carryover jingle from the days of Ma Bell... brought on by probable interference with the wireless router or modem, or any such new fangled conveniences (Shakespeare aka. Bacon used the word aptly as long as new preceded.). The phone bought at Costco featured all the latest features of VMX, call waiting, caller ID, conference call, and three lines to boot. It's become the bane of my existence, the interferer of a solitary calling. Sure, hope arises and fades in the usual incoming calls, here a recruiter for my talent, a family member letting me know I matter, an appointment confirmed... but more than not it's just a tease that someone is trying to get through as a friend. I've tried that route in Facebook, Blogger directory, and outbound calls to busy lines. The phantom rings go something like this...
Ring (a hesitation... short ring, a "fakey"). Hours later, Rrrrriiingggg, (a real call), Oh, goody, a real call "Hello" (cheerfully), an unknown caller, "Hello?" (no  answer in gleeful, but wary expectancy) "Helllllooooww?" (in desperation). "Oh, I guess you don't want to talk to me" (poor me) "Good-bye" (trying to maintain cheerfulness). 
At night, I go to bed in hazy good spirits and drift into my world of unicorns and dragons... until in the weary hours after midnight and before dawn... the ring. I wait in awake, as no good calls come in the middle of the night. Heart pounding with a thousand possible fears, I drag myself from the coziness of my bed... to think, and smoke, and write the poetry that by day I'm too self-conscious to post. That ring is driving me insane... I'm here to answer, but is anyone really on the call?

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Celebrating Cinco de Mayo

Most of you who know me will attest to the fact that I love holidays... anybody's. When a month goes by without a holiday in it I will make one up just to celebrate. Yesterday my husband and I celebrated Cinco de Mayo and like most people I thought it was a Mexican Independence Day much like our Fourth of July. I was wrong... their Independence Day is in September. The holiday is a celebration of defeat stemming from the 1862 Battle at Puebla, where 4,000 Mexican men defeated an imperialist French regime that tried to take over. The US was unable to help them with the supply of arms, because as you know (I didn't), we were battling our our Civil War. So one can say that it is a day to commemorate the beating of insurmountable odds. Most people in the states celebrate with Coronas, Margarita's, and Mexican food. Being it was a work night, we celebrated with food and music mostly. In order to make my Mexican feast I actually waked a 1/2 mile to the grocery store for cilantro and jalapeno  crushed tomatoes, every thing else I had on hand. I started by making the cilantro lime dressing for the arugula and tomato salad that was resurrected from a previous meal. I breaded some nice center cut pork chops to which I added a little chili powder and cumin to the seasoned crumbs. Then I made Mexican rice by frying Texmati rice in oil until slightly brown, adding a chopped pepper, onion, and garlic for about a minute and added my jalapeno tomatoes, chicken broth and a pinch of oregano, for a slow simmer on the stove. A spicy peach sauce was made with Mott's peach sauce snack cups, a little white vinegar, cayenne and white pepper, and a touch of cinnamon. While I made the appetizer (chipolte-cheese and cilantro quesadillas), I put on Los Lobos and heard their version of Bertha for the first time. Who knew it was a Grateful Dead song? ... well my husband did and was proud to tell me. The only other suitable music in our repertoire was Los Lonely Boys, and they rocked us right up until dinnertime. Once my chops were fried exactly 4 minutes on each side (perfect) we took our meal to the TV room for a Jeopardy sparring. It was then that it hit me that I hadn't a clue about what this holiday really meant... so I looked it up. Next year I will know better. 

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Looking for Worms

All my life I have had an earthworm phobia. It started when I was about four years old and according to my mother's claims, I saw many of them coming out of the ground after a rainstorm and I began screaming WORMS, WORMS, WORMS in fright. After that I would not go out after a rainstorm, and when I had to walk to school on a rainy day, I remember feeling panicked the whole way. I walked with my head straight forward so I wouldn't have to look at them, and if by chance I did see one, my mouth would go dry, I had a hard time swallowing, and I felt as though I was going to faint. Lately though, I'm trying very hard to make peace with these harmless and important creatures. Last week as I took some photos of mushrooms growing in the dirt, I saw a tiny baby worm wiggling furiously next to my intended shot. At first I felt that jolt of alarm until I realized this was so tiny, like a little newborn, so I bent down to watch closely. I even took a photo of the little thing, and mysteriously when I uploaded it, although you could not tell it was a baby worm, its glistening form created a little smily face in the dirt. The next day after a rain shower, I noticed another tiny baby worm wiggling in the flooded seat of a canvas chair. I felt sorry for it knowing that it would probably drown, so I tipped the water into the grass to give it chance. I thought of picking it up, but that still seemed too scary. Today, it is overcast and the weather is calling for rain showers all day. I thought it would be a good day to face up to my phobia and go for a walk. As I strolled down the sidewalks and into the street on the way to the grocery store, I purposely looked down hoping to spy the crawlykins of my fear. Everywhere I looked there were wet twigs that caught my eye... but not one single worm during the 40 minute walk. I don't know whether I should feel happy or disappointed, but with the forecast calling for a week of rain, I'm sure I will get another chance.

Monday, May 4, 2009

A True Champion

My daughter Tara is one of the people I most admire in the world. She is always signing up to do charity work with both people events and animal activities. When she makes up her mind to do something, she always sees it to the end. Yesterday she completed a 1/2 marathon race in Long Branch (she has been training for months). Working with a trainer of the same name, my daughter set her goals and steadily increased her stamina and endurance... that was until a few months ago when she became pregnant. No, she didn't stop training like many would have done, but common sense told her that she needed to be more flexible. When the fatigue and nausea of early pregnancy visited, instead of just quitting or postponing her goals, she instead adjusted her workouts and listened to her body to tell her what felt right and what didn't. Her trainer continued to work with her in understanding and encouragement. Tara also had the loving support of her friend Tee and her sister Erica, who also trained for the big race. Although I was worried about her health and safety during this arduous event, I kept my thoughts to myself. I rationalized that she would be in good company during the race and her supportive husband would be there for her as well. It was probably good that there was a misty cool rain yesterday instead of  hot humidity and glaring sun. When I saw Tara after the race, (at a congratulatory party given for the girls by Tara's other mom), she looked tired but contented. Unfortunately, her trainer had a family emergency to deal with and wasn't able to support my daughter from the start of the race... completely understandable. Tara started off in the company of the girls, but by the five mile mark had to slow to a walk. The girls were concerned and wanted to keep pace with her, but my daughter indignantly yelled at them, "NO, go for it.. and everyone knows you don't argue with a red head. Tara relayed that she was almost ready to give up at the 10 mile mark, but amazingly her trainer showed up at the marathon, calculated mathematically where my daughter might be at that point of the race, and ran the rest with her in support and encouragement. I'm so proud that Tara was able to achieve her goal, and relieved that it is over. I would like to thank her trainer Tara for being there... she is a trainer truly worth her weight in gold.