SAY YES!

"Marry me?".....No!

"Marry me?"....No!

"Marry me?".....No!

I've said no to bad ideas.

Last night the kids asked with bright eyes, eyebrows up, voices slightly raised to that pitch of excitement just short of shouting, "mom can we ride to the grocery in the morning to get donuts?" 

...pause...thinking: get up 30 minutes early, drag the bikes out, carry the bag, spend the money, fuel the sugar rush, another set of dirty laundry, bike wrecks, knee scrapes, hassle, hassle, hassle...."YES! great idea!" 

Sometimes, often maybe, it's good to say YES! especially to good ideas. (Yes, you can dig for worms. Yes, we can make glitter everything. Yes, you can look for spiderman costumes online. Yes, you can climb the tree. Yes, you can take our only loaf of bread to feed the fish in the pond---the fish do in fact eat bread in the pond.  Yes, you can hold the cat. Yes, you can get your feet wet in the fake waterfall.) 

Alarm at 545 (good god what was i thinking?) roll out of bed. "wake up kiddos. time to get donuts."  like kittens unfolding, they stretch, yawn, throw on sweatshirts, tennis shoes, and fall in line sleepy eyed. 

it is still dark outside. "twas the lark and not the nightingale" serenading us through the iron gate from the yard to the sidewalk.

Checking out, Leif to cashier "we rode our bikes here!" Cashier clearly hasn't read any zen books, or had coffee, or enjoyed life in years, poor dear. (also, slightly annoying dear, killjoy...)---"you rode in the dark? that's dangerous. why would you ride bikes in the dark?"  Me, sort of smiling (still hadn't had my morning coffee or read any zen books either), hoping to eradicate the nonsense from my children's ears "there is noone out yet. noone. and by the time we step outside, rosy fingered dawn will greet us."  (p.s. rosy fingered dawn will greet us is a phrase better written than spoken if one is hoping to actually engage in a conversation)

Riding home, Ava exclaims "the sky! mom, look at the pink strips so bright in the sky!" pointing to the east. "the sunset is so pretty" "isn't the sunrise pretty, doll."  

YES! it was good to say YES today. 

Another question from another source that required an answer "Will you at least try?"  Good idea. Yes, I will try.  And maybe I'll be awake when dawn unfolds all its layers of magical sensory charms.

try it

HOME: GETTING OUT

Getting Out by Peter Goff

I know my brother's work when I see it. Even if I don't know which piece is his beforehand. It has his mark all over it. Simple, three dimensional, usually a pointy piece somewhere, airy. Detailed, but so much room for the imagination. Whimsical.  To see his art is to feel my soul leap. He, through his creations, reminds me of childhood.  And childhood was good. Great, even.

chew-drive-comb (Peter Goff 2008)

The man is ingenious. Was so as a child, too. He made a go-cart (that rolled stinkin' fast) out of found materials--wood pieces, ball bearing wheels, string steering device. Flash forward 17 or so years, to his art studio, during his MFA work. Meticulously deconstructed found garbage, perfectly ordered and organized in bins (almost engineer and scientific), waiting to be twisted, tweaked, tuned, poked, and pinned to blank canvas, the white wall, to be recreated into colorful objects, and adored, even the shadows playful and delightful. 

chew-drive-comb detail

Tonight's show: "Home, a group exhibition consisting of nine artists, all whom have Arkansas roots.  The artists were given one month and asked to make art in their chosen medium based on the word "home." Arkansas Newswire.

the ladder so long

And, see, Pete reminds me of the best of home...I stare at his monochromatic textured pointy roofed house. I am 33 now. 1000 miles away from Pete. He has a family now. Me too. The title so telling. The ladder so long. The home so mobile. 

a gift to me from Pete

* Peter Goff's website: http://www.petergoff.com/isthmus%20H.html 

IMPERMANENCE

The conversation around the household buzzes with anticipation or dread, depending on the hour, of the new school year. School starts Monday.  The weather, by some unexpected mercy of fate, cooperates with the theme of a new year, and is cooler at night, crisper at dawn, and gentler in the afternoons. While we sleep (sometimes. hopefully. on good nights, anyway.) the stars twinkle, fixed.  We rotate imperceptibly, as they move in and out of view.  Summer ends. 

"Impermanence is meeting and parting," I read in a book.  (Impermanence is also hard to spell.) "People have no respect for impermanence."  (ah, yes, the title reveals many things. a rather difficult book to not throw across the room enraged from time to time, with all its zen calmness. your life sucks? stare at the pain of your life and breathe in and out, calmly. and then go watch batman, shove cake into your mouth quickly, repeatedly, drown your sorrows in blue moon, REPEAT, run til you're sweating profusely....NOTE: that part, the part starting with "watch batman" is my addition, and is not found anywhere in the book...then read another chapter...repeat..etc. etc. etc. throw in a mantra to live by...like, for example, "one can be lonely and not be tossed away by it"--Roshi...then quickly toss it away...find it again later in the day, etc. repeat. repeat.)

Sometimes in those hours before sleep gently takes me away from a hell of a day, questions linger heavy in the quiet under the stars: How could I have loved him so much? No, really, how can something so donkey beaten dead now, have been so alive? Have seemed inspired by the stars themselves?

Pablo Neruda:Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: “La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos.”

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche esta estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque este sea el ultimo dolor que ella me causa,
y estos sean los ultimos versos que yo le escribo.

~|~

Tonight I can write the saddest lines,

can write, for example: “The night is starry
and the stars in the distance are shivering and blue.”

The night wind wheels in the sky, singing.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this one I held her in my arms,
kissing her over and over beneath the endless sky.

She loved me, and sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes?

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think I do not have her, to feel that I have lost her,

to hear the immense night immenser still without her.
The verse falls to the soul like dew to the grass.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her?
The night is starry and she is not with me.

That’s all. In the distance someone is singing, in the distance.
My soul is not at peace, having lost her.

My eyes search for her, as if to bring her closer.
My heart seeks her out, but she is not with me.

The same night is whitening the same trees,
but we are no longer the same people we were.

I no longer love her, true, but how I loved her!
My voice searched the wind that it might touch her ear.

Someone else’s, she’ll be someone else’s, as she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body, and her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true. Then again maybe I do.
Love is so short, and forgetting is so long.

Because on nights like this one I held her in my arms,
my soul is not at peace, having lost her,

even though this will be the last pain she gives me,
and these the last verses that I will write for her.

But, then, I think about a well prepared meal. The preparation, starting with a recipe, then assembling ingredients (hopefully some picked from your backyard, even if just basil. Is bermuda grass edible?)  All the chopping, twisting, spicing, rubbing, boiling, steaming, basting, stirring, heating, cooling, tossing...all ending in a dish, in front of me, you, us, to be greeted. hello delicious. tasted. heeeeelllooooooo deeeeeliciouuuuuuusssss. and devoured greedily to the very last bite.  Impermanence.  All the more reason to savour, cherish, relish the experience.

"When you fall in love, recognize it as impermanence, and let that intensify the preciousness." Hmmmm. Working on it. 

Starting the school year is precious.  Fall is precious. (Mascarpone is precious, with ginger snaps, sliced peaches, cinnamon, drizzled in honey.) Impermanence is precious? 

LIBRARY LOVE

kiss me where aphrodite dwells

Two old men sat in the chairs, to the backdrop of shelves and shelves of books. one, head crumbled over, asleep, in a hook formation, book dangling from fingertips, resting on his chest. the other, face concealed completely by a large hardcover reference encyclopedia, open wide, titled "LOVE." 

The map first caught my attention. Where the hell is the Ukraine anyway? I saw a show once (my tv habits are so few and far between that having seen a show is like having taken a weekend trip and returning home with photographs and stories to share.) about a city in ___________?, an emerging tourist town not nearly as well known as others. The Ukraine sits atop the black sea. I had it confused with estonia, latvia.  "show me where you have been." pointing to the map, asking a friend.  As if by pointing to a colored blotch, covered with dots and jumbled letters I cannot pronounce, bordered by the color blue, I could somehow transport myself there. "yes, I've been to the Ukraine" (wait. no. actually, i just stood in a grand library once, by the pedestal, showered in filtered sunlight, in front of the spiraling stairway, near the stacks and stacks of civil war books from which an etched man in uniform seemingly watched my "international travels"....i stood there and pointed to a map.) In the hallway of our San Jose, Costa Rica house, that sat atop a hill, in the neighborhood La Colina, from which we saw, heard, then felt, earthquakes coming as the tin roofs rattled in a wave that finally shook us, my father placed a world map. It spanned nearly floor to ceiling and the length of the hall. The world in my hall.

I cried after I first visited the Pope County Library, a palpable measure of the stagnation of ideas, the "stuck in time" nature of thought life that surrounded me. The children's books, faded, out of touch, from another time, couldn't even draw a book lover in. We went twice that I can recall in the two years we lived there, a drastic change from our several times weekly habits in Columbia, SC.  

up and down we'd go

There, upon stepping inside the sliding doors, our minds would come alive. The hallway flanked by four stories of windows on the left and a drop off to the children's room below, prompted repeated "no running in the library" reminders. But I always let them dangle briefly from the large metal reinforcement structures that reached from the glass windows to the shining tile, eyes bulging, upside down smiles, hair like gold flagella reaching for the floor.

Yesterday, slightly dressed up for the occassion, in my dress, I toured the fayetteville library. Eyes teared up then and every time in the less than 24 hours I have recalled the place--yes, even now.  The combination of light, beams, rows of books, murmurs, demographics, the occassional coughing that echos and reverberates from the lungs near the chair on the east side, to the ears on my head on the north side. The scent of flipped pages softly emanating throughout. The anticipation so heavy on every aisle, waiting to be opened. Once, at a tour of the Rosewood Plantation in Louisiana, a guide lifted an enourmous heavy book into the air and with mystery and awe in her voice made a statement I've mocked heartily for years, "these books contain some of the most beautiful pictures ever seen. they haven't been opened in over a century." um. why.

Yes, I am in love. The library, my aphrodite. These books speak my language---time and physical touch. Hold me they say. Flip through my pages. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Devour me. I know you're busy, just stop by, another time you can linger. I have missed you, darlings. And the temple where you dwell.

AWARDS AND ANTIDOTES

Today I attended the 5^th grade awards ceremony.  Kids piled in carrying chairs, seated themselves, then squirmed, smirked, applauded, for the couple of hours that followed.  Parents, too. As a grand finale, the principal switched from authoritative order giver to nurturing mother hen, and belted out a song about being "better for having known you." Some things lend themselves to parody. Particularly when mid song the voice cracks with emotion, while 5th grade boys fart in their chairs. But if that's not funny, it's also not nice.

My oldest son raked in the awards this week: Highest Academic Achievement Award, Presidential Award, on top of his top in his class mathematics award (which he brought home folded in half and crumpled in his back pack. "why did you fold this, luke?" "because i had to get it home." fair enough.) and Quiz Bowl participant award.  

I flashed back to a scene some 5 years ago. “Is he having an affair” the half balding white male attorney asked me casually in a deep south carolinian accent. After attending a year of marital counseling alone (yes, it really does take two people to achieve any results in marital counseling), I found myself in a dimly lit, heavily furnished, family law attorney's office, to pay $300 and explore my options. The act alone felt risky, scandalous, bold, blasphemous, sacriligous.  I answered him, without emotion, attempting to make absurdities appear logical, as had become my habit “No I don't think so, because I usually know who the object of his affection is, and at this time can't name anyone.” A slight head tilt, squinting of the eyes, he continued, “look for hairs on his shirts, the faint lingering aroma of perfume, lipstick on collar, and condoms in his car.” 

In the fog, “impossible” I thought. 

He then offered me a condescending warning I will never forget “you know, ma'am, let me be clear, single mother's children end up using drugs, leading a life of crime, dropping out of school, getting pregnant in their teens...”  


whoa whoa whoa. hold on just a minute, mister.  


You can expose infidelity, you can suggest divorce, you can throw out ridiculously high numbers for legal fees, you can patronizingly explain the way the world works...BUT YOU MAY NOT CURSE MY CHILDREN. Back straightening right up, stone cold defiant gaze, looking right into his soul, "THAT, sir, will not be our fate. Excuse me, I will be leaving now."

So, today we celebrate the end of another school year. Ava graduating all smiles, shiny blonde hair, delicate lilac dress, snaggle toothed grin, reading and writing daily. Leif, recommended for the upcoming GT program next year, capturing every teacher's attention with his creative writing and illustrations. Luke, devouring every academic activity in sight, like candy.

Obviously, the teenage years lay ahead, so I'd be a fool to give advice, as if retrospect could be had beforehand. But, there are antidotes to the typical societal ills accompanying single parenting, that start with young kids. Here are my top three: 1- Severely limit television time. NO MATTER WHAT. Even if you have a final the next day, even if you are sick with pneumonia, even if you are exhausted at the end of a long week.  It is a habit that changes the way children perceive free time. 2- Eat supper together at the table at least 3x a week. NO MATTER WHAT. Even if the meal is a frozen pizza. Even if you get home at 5:30, starving. Even if you are exhausted at the end of a long week. This is the time of day when conversation is most natural.  3- Play outside with your kids.  NO MATTER WHAT. Even if it's 90 degrees, add popsicles and water to the mix. Even if it's drizzling, be ready to strip down and wash a load of dirty laundry. Even if you are exhausted at the end of a long week. This is when your kids will laugh, a lot.

OLD SOUL

the afterlife. from black to glowing white, with lacy wings.

"you are an old soul," i've heard a few times, from trusted sources. what really is an old soul? so, i googled it. taking a 10 question online quiz to find out if one is an old soul seems to prove one is not. wouldn't an old soul know what an old soul is? one link provides a quiz, question number 7 asks "Do you like to go out in nature and observe all the activity that is normally not noticed by others?" and another site "I always say that an old soul can walk into a room full of people and without even saying a word, three others will adore them and three hate them instantaneously." Naturally, my "research" prompted thoughts of insects, because every time I see a bug, I stoop to take a closer look. And what creature (other than snakes) gets such a violent reaction from others---stomped, crushed, sprayed, cursed, swatted, whacked.

saturday, to pause from the activity of the day, the kids watched Microcosmos, a delightful documentary on insects. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=76R2EKEnoJQ.  have you seen this film? incredible shots of the secret world of the little things. it is one of my favorites.  i have loved insects as far back as i can remember. in costa rica as a young child, i would collect already dead ones and pin them to cardboard with straightpins. the particulars of the first walk through the rainforest, at age 8, remains alive in my memory still, every inch of terrain teeming with life. once, while i cheered, my sister recklessly climbed up a second story iron terrace to chase a rhinoceros beetle. 

Costa Rican rhinoceros beetle

last year, i traveled to nyc, from arkansas, and returned home with a glass shadow box of framed butterflies, purchased from a street vendor. it hangs on my wall, a focal point for my gaze.

so lovely

 the grasshopper says good morning.

i met a fella one sunny day at a seed exchange. he noticed insects, too. filming and photographing them,  he charmed me with his mind's eye. captured these little creatures and brought them to my bare walls.  grasshoppers, caterpillars, spiders, flies...the photos have a cartoon quality, as if circus music and dancing could ensue any time.  his short film set to music "bugs, bugs, bugs" grabbed my attention http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R-VlgXLumQY. how kind of life to bring me a friend, even if briefly, who shared my curiosity.




many years ago, one night, following my legal separation, during the week my children were away (joint custody: children gone a solid week every other week. growing accustomed to the silence was one of the unexpected hardest experiences post separation), i was awake, alone.  surrounded by a pile of law books, laying on the floor in the minutes following midnight, the silence moved throughout the room so incredibly loud it reverberated through my ears and down my spine to the empty hollow of my heart...i felt the roach before i saw him...he was that big. as if his feet pattered, a vibration that moved across the carpet. and then i heard him, too. scurrying like a mouse.  my first conscious thought, with a bit of crazy tinged joy, came out an exclamation "i'm not alone!" ...and then i killed him. roaches demand respect---they never die. but sometimes they die, like at 2:33 a.m., when they jump you in a dead sleep, running down your elbow, being flung across the room, redoubling their efforts and five minutes later scurrying down your sleeping back. not even an old soul dreaming in 300 count bedsheets, can meet a survivalist roach pre dawn and mistake it for a soulmate.  

He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious. - Sun Tzu, The Art of War. c.400-320 b.c.

I WAS AN INTERN FOR SOUTH CAROLINA LEGAL AID

September 2007 through May 2010, I worked my way through law school as an intern with South Carolina Legal Services, in the telephone intake department. We sat for hours in cubicles in a basement, wearing a headset, answering phone call after phone call after phone call, screening clients for income requirements and legal issue categories. I loved this job, and hated it, too---it entertained me hour by sweet b'jesus laughing hour, but, my god, was it exhausting.   

                        http://www.sclegal.org      

ONE DAY, THIS:

boss is out on vacation, so the pecking order has changed, and older lady is riding the donkey of any slight authority she can wrangle in for the week....this has expressed itself w loud prolonged dealing w Staples delivery man over why we received two boxes of toilet paper instead of one box of toilet paper and one box of paper towels..."we dont have any evidence of an order for two boxes of toilet paper"....this conversation led to phone calls "upstairs" to inquire whether they were to receive a box of toilet paper, or if they had "evidence" of said order...

meanwhile

caller wants a divorce...he doesnt know why, as he yawns into the phone.. i inform him we only file physical abuse divorces...which prompts the story about his wife "vacuuming him up" while he was sleeping (midday), his pants, his shirt...why am i laughing?????   i tell him about pro se divorce, that it's cheap, easy way out...and then try to give him the number to call...he yawns and says "nah...im really sleepy right now...i'll jus call u back"....really? okay, i say...talk to ya later, pal.

meanwhile

old lady mentioned above puts callers on hold and shouts while slamming fist on table "what part of no dont u understand, b*tch! damn idiot!"  then releases the hold and restates "NO" louder this time....

meanwhile

i am dreaming of salsa dancing, and the closest i can get to that mirage right now is my puerto rican co-worker who continues to giggle w me and exchange frustrating phrases like "ay, dios mio!" "que porqueria!"....while checking out salsa club websites....

AND ANOTHER DAY, THIS:

Woman just getting out of prison for assault with a deadly weapon, explained to me her version of events: "I tossed what was in my hands. in his direction. it happened to be a knife. scratched him up a bit."

FINALLY, THIS, April 2010:

Me answering call: "Legal services. What county are you calling from?"

Ass on chair, in the nut house, the dungeon of drama, this beige basement, windowless, fluorescent light and computer glow…headset. Ring ring ring…

Me: “What is your legal issue?” caller: “I got me drama. Baby mama drama.”

Door opens with a gust of air and loud squeak. Why can’t we fix the squeak. Does anyone notice the squeak. Less of a squeak more of a screech, like a hawk on prey. When it rains, the carpet slops with water, the air wreaks of mold.

Ring ring ring…

Me: “i need a physical description of her. What color are her eyes?” 

caller: “her eyes? Her eyes be every which way”

me: “every which way, sir?” (how does this answer the question)

caller: “yeah. Every which way.”

Co-worker drops box heavily on ground. Excitedly “y’all come get some coffee.” Coffee? I love coffee. I need coffee. Coffee now. Free coffee? Coffee in a box..huh?...

Me: “let me put you on hold.”

Where’s the coffee? Co-workers circle around box, chairs exhaling with relief, feeling hundreds of ass pounds lighter… “man was throwing this in dumpster outside. I said, uh uh uh. Give it here. Why you wanna dump out perfectly good coffee….”

To us, “y’all take some” sifting through box, lifting bagged coffee into air, shaking it, squeezing it, turning it…

mental note: people don’t throw out boxes of perfectly good coffee…mental note: don’t disrupt the flow…mental note: check date on bag later…

I grab a bag “thaaaaanks”…back to seat, toss coffee by purse.

Me: “thank you for holding.”

(home later, check date, November 2006…NOVEMBER 2006…coffee in trash, quickly, shaking head knowing co-workers will slide into work tomorrow, next day, day after, wondering why their coffee tasted like liquid shit and they're dragging like snails, heavy eyes slipping into coma…)

7 screens open on computer…researching laws, social networking, looking for jobs… looking for jobs? Am I looking for jobs on the job? I am looking for jobs….

caller wants a divorce on physical abuse grounds.

Me: “and then what happened?” caller: “well, the police pulled me over for swerving. I stepped out of car. While I was stumbling toward police officer, my husband gunned the car and tried to run us over. Twice. He tried to run us down. Me and the police officer. Missed us by an inch. Officer pulled his gun and shot him in the head. Head falling off, he smashed into a tractor...yeah, he survived. he's still alive.”

Mental note: and YOU are the one claiming physical abuse?

this morning, eyes open quickly from dream, bracing myself for more drama, voices, accents, shouting, cursing, babies, dogs barking, allegations, tv’s blaring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring…….

Wait. Stop. STOP. Hold it...

today’s Friday. ..is it Friday? It is Friday…adrenaline stops pumping…heart rate slows, slower, slower…sigh…sigh again…NO PHONES ON FRIDAYS…no answering phones on Fridays…head clears…slowly, ceremonially, step out of bed…the last Friday of my 2.5 year internship at the south carolina legal services telephone intake line office…