hollywood farm girl

I was a Fool.... Forgive Me. I'm Trying.

2012-01-11T05:03:00.000-08:00

what holds me back

i was a fool
made a fool
feel like a fool
danced like a fool
naked like a fool
screamed like a fool
placed my right hand on the bible
and swore like a fool
i didn't cross my fingers
make my vows- i was a fool
took it seriously
thought it was
forevah

i was a fool
and how does one recover
from the swearing of
love
love
love forever???

so i come to you today
to admit
i was a fool
blinded

tammy faye
her mascara too thick
too thick to see what was right in front of her
i get it now

when things are too clear,
to close
right in front of you
sometimes the truth is
too painful to bear
so you "choose"
not to see it
as you barrel through to try to
to fix it cuz that is what
you think
everyone wants too

you do not realize
that
as your back is turned
people are drilling holes
into your lifeboat
waiting for you to sink
go away
leave them alone
shhhhh
and take the stories along with you
just be quiet
--the images
the smoke and mirrors
have worked for so long now
"don't you know what your stories
your blogs could LOOK LIKE in the press?!?!"

um. ask me if i give a shit?

i love truth.
i crave truth like
a hermit crab needs its shell.
i ache for truth like
a Yankee aches for a home run
I glow in truth, like Oprah glows
with Gayle and Steadman
Truth is where my heart is.

Get with it.

Alas.

I in fact, gave up on the idea of marriage. On the idea of togetherness. On the idea of TWO. I tossed "TEAM" right out the window along with "trust" and "together" and "love" and "truth". I pretty much wondered if there was such a thing in this town, or in marriage ("non-binding committment ceremonies") after that. I wondered if I was the only person who had any idea how important FAMILIES and STAYING TOGETHER were/are/is. I swore off dating, people, kissing, making new friends, meeting new people, and most of all: BELIEVING IN ANYONE.

I felt safe. It was the only choice I knew to make to keep the kids and I safe from a similar fate of getting dropped on our heads. And so it was.

I was no longer a fool
for love
no longer a fool
no longer a fool

maybe lonely
but no longer a fool
dancing like a fool
singing like a fool
the only one
dancing to the fool music in my head
that I had been told
could be heard by everyone

no
I was the only fooled
publicly fooled
world-wide fooled
set to music
and published
and copyrighted FOOLED
onstage
in front of everyone
lookit me
as you have all been doing for years
lookit me
naked now
I AM A FOOL
AN IDIOT
LOOKIT ME

I
AM
AN
IDIOT
AN
AMERICAN
IDIOT

so i've been piecing together
why i was a fool
what fooled me
and what the hell
i want and need
and believe in
for the future

and how in the world to talk about it here
cuz if i find someone sparkly

i feel a FOOOOOOOOOL
again.

but

and here's my $25,000 question
if this person
has only one personality to them
and nary a staff of assistants to keep
their personality going without bumps
and their warmth is consistent
not depending on me to do as I am told
pleasing one's needs at one's every whim.....
am I a fool again?

where does the end begin
from the previous fool-ation
so that I may perhaps begin
to believe in human-ation
and intimate relationships
where there are
only two people involved
(not two people in front of the curtain
and many in the wings/emails/office
for later?)

I was a fool
I posted all about it
didn't know it
I screamed it
I sang it
I preached it
I gathered people to go to a church
and insisted it was the way to find
the Holy Land
I
Was
Wrong

I steered people to
ONE PERSON'S HOLY LAND
so often the WRONG thing to do
here on EARTH
mixing religion with spirituality with humans

and yet they follow
the sheeple
the sheeple
poor sheeple
they tune in, they do

I was a fool for love
I was a fool for art
I was a blind fool
I was young
I believed blindly and whole-heartedly
in every word uttered
I am guilty of honoring every promise I made
and guilty of believing
there were no fingers crossed
as I heard the vows enunciated into my eyes

oh, Tammy,
you fool
you fool
you fool

and now I sit before you
admitting my greatest guilt:
I have hesitated to admit before you all:
I was a fool
I screamed it on here,
I don't want to do it ever
ever
ever again

what a mistake I made
to think that "2+2=7"
I wrote
WHEEEEEEE

and yet there are some folks out there
who still believe

and I feel responsible
oy. sad. i'm sorry.

and so i am so so so hesitant about what i come here to write because for so many years I wrote about something that I thought was NONFICTION, but it turned out that I was the only one living that side of the Non-fiction.... there was in fact, an entirely different life going on elsewhere... which... did it make my writing part Fiction?

I suppose only time will tell, and the unraveling of the stories... the webs....

I was a fool for love
i was a fool
made a fool
feel like a fool
danced like a fool
naked like a fool
screamed like a fool
placed my right hand on the bible
and swore like a fool
i didn't cross my fingers
make my vows- i was a fool
took it seriously
thought it was
forevah

i was a fool
and how does one recover
from the swearing of
love
love
love forever???

so i come to you today
to admit
i was a fool
blinded

tammy faye
her mascara too thick
too thick to see what was right in front of her
i get it now

when things are too clear,
to close
right in front of you
sometimes the truth is
too painful to bear
so you "choose"
not to see it
as you barrel through to try to
to fix it cuz that what is what you think
everyone wants too
you do not realize
that as your back is turned
people are drilling holes into your lifeboat
waiting for you to sink
go away
leave them alone
shhhhh
and take the stories along with you.......
and bury them

but i can't
won't shan't

but.....
*sigh*
I was a fool for something
I
THOUGHT
was love

this time
though

this time?

i think I might
have found the real thing.

If only I knew how to tell the difference.

I hear Time whispers the truth....................

and so she comes to me

2011-12-08T00:48:00.000-08:00

falling backwards
into an abyss
of
suffocating memories
stuck like tar

toppling
head over heels

whatever i was doing
wherever i was
whomever i was with

vanishes into thin air
out like a light
poof
gone

then I'm 4 and it's the brothers
or i'm 4, 5 and it's her
or I'm 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 or 12 and it's him

twisted like a vanilla and chocolate
ice cream cone at Mcdonalds
damnit fuck
and how do you unscrew that
before it all melts?

sometimes you can't
sometimes it stays twisted
sometimes it melts
sometimes your lover has to come and rescue you
from 1979

it takes a strong lover
a fearless lover
to go that far back
for me
she doesn't quite know
who made the shadows
what befalls her path
she only can trust that
my voice will lead her to me

and so she comes
and so she comes
and so she comes to me

it takes a strong lover
a fearless lover
to go that far
back
for me

and take my body
lift me from the ashes
ashes, so charred and distorted and
blistering to my soul
each visit for me a

*flashback*

threw me back at least 25
at least 25
usually more than 25

a bit of relief in the form
of a darling
make the journey back
as I slam into
my 2011 nudity
and try to awaken
albeit shakin'

vascillating between one era and another
one world and another
one set of emotions and another
one set of psychological set-ups and another

((do you see that sandusky?
your dick is still in everybody's ass today
years later
a kid doesn't forget))

takes a strong lover
a darling of a woman
to make a stand and love me across the board
when the flashbacks swallow and
i can't even grope my way out
of the pitch dark hole far enough
to reach for a straw of reality
fingers clawed raw to the bone
flesh away, nails long ago fallen...
a steady, stable, salt-of-the-earth woman
lassos me in her arms
strong and steady, ready and willing
listening to every
drop of echo from my lips
drip of echo from my lips
drip of echo from my lips
to help me
just help me at times
when the
vacuum of another reality
seems too real
and i just need a knock at the door
from a lover with strength that has eyes
that look
outward

no smoke and mirrors in sight.

i think i just saw a dove fly by over heard.

and a bluebird!

Ahh, life is as it should be...

Sandusky; Eddie S.& sis Amy; Spud & Brent; Gina R.

2011-12-04T05:21:00.001-08:00

I know people like Jerry. I spent time with people like Jerry growing up. But Eddie was closer to my age- he was only 5 years older. When you're 7, a 12-year-old is QUITE mature though. That's a boy who's already entered puberty, has interests in the girl's body, and wants to know how it works, etc... Eddie had issues with tying up neighborhood girls to his bed, and his parents coming home to find this situation... Eddie got in trouble for that- he was grounded for a week I think. But nobody thought anything strange of it. When I would beg not to be forced to sleep in his bed with him at night (who can sleep with a stray finger screwing their 7-year-old-virginal holes anyway?), I was rejected as "There are no other places for you to sleep- you'll be fine. Go to sleep and quit complaining!" SO I would spend my nights rolling around that damn water bed, trying to escape the teenage octopus that was also related to me. There was just taking No for an answer, for that guy sometimes.

As he grew older, so did I. I tried to twist the attention into attention that I wanted... I tried to convince myself that ANY attention was better than NO attention at all or ABUSIVE attention (like what I was receiving at home).... I tried to trick myself, my brain, my heart, my body into thinking that this grown-up, sexual relationship was MY CHOICE, and my 8,9,10,11,12 year old self was ABSOLUTELY okay with this idea, regardless of how many times I had to throw up afterwards. No adults would listen to me. I'd beg my mother to come pick me up. She would not. I'd beg the grown ups in the house to protect me, they would ignore me, and smoke their cigs, drink their diet pepsi, and do their crossword puzzles.... Instead I had his younger sister watching me with her squinty blue eyes that could barely see over her obese cheeks, who knew all.... she saw all... watched all..... peeped all... she knew everything her brother did because she would watch through the holes in the basement ceiling... and she never called it off, backed me up, told her mom I was telling the truth... she just waited for the Touching Hour, and assumed her post on the washer and dryer behind Eddie's bedroom wall in the basement, and stood on tiptoe watching him strip my childhood. I could hear her whispers to my sister. I could hear giggles, murmurs, and the stumble of books on the other side of the drywall, as they piled more height-builders to watch the 8 year old and the 13-14 year old mimic adult intimacy, with only one person in the party being willing.

And it did start easy, with my escapes being easy. Little touches here, that I didn't tattle about. I didn't want to be unwelcome. I wanted to be a "good kid"- I didn't want to be a tattletale, and have no friends in the house. This was the house I'd be staying in ALOT while my step dad would be in the Methodist Indy hospital while he had emergency surgeries done to his right leg to amputate first below the knee and then above the knee when the first operation didnt work out.... So, indeed... I spent many a many a week there.....From '81-'85. Far too many to have held on to my soul, and kept it in one piece all by myself with Eddie and his sister, Amy, so bored that they needed sexual human sacrifice to keep themselves entertained. Sick. I saw a photo of her not too long ago, and she had to weigh at least 300 if she weighs a pound. Now, I have no issues with large people (anyone recall my Evelyn, who can hold 3 small children in her lap at any time?).... but I do find it curious that Amy ate herself into the size of a small car. What secrets doth you eat away at, Amy? What shame doth you shove down your throat, Amy? Anyway...

When I finally started intense therapy for the sexual abuse 5 years later (Eddie being just one of the lucky bastards who gets credit-Gina R., Spud & Brent are also a some add-ons), I wrote a letter to Eddie's mother and sister. I had just learned that his sister, Amy, was pregnant. I nicely, calmly reminded her that she herself had seen where her brother pushed his fingers in me, and that he was a boundryless pedophile. And that if she was going to be having children, that's great--- but she should think back in her mind to her memories of her brother molesting me, and then she should be VERY CAREFUL when her brother holds the baby, and she should REALLY watch where he puts his fingers and other inanimate objects.

I never heard from them after that. Strange, huh? I thought for sure we'd have a family reunion.

But I DID NOT want Eddie to molest any other members of his family. And so I put out a letter as soon as I heard there were more babies coming into the picture. But wether or not he touches them, I can't do anything about it. The statute of limitations was up by the time I went into therapy, I couldn't press charges... I'm feeling such guilt after watching all of these Sandusky victims come forward and tell their stories.... and I'm praying that in between Eddie abusing me... and him graduating high school, and moving on in life... I'm praying he didn't molest any other kids... I'm hoping i was the only one. Is that so wrong? Is that a fucked up wish? I see he has kids now- it makes me sick. I can only hope he got help/grew out of it/something. I can only pray he never wants to coach PENN state, too, I guess....

It's hard to come out and talk about stuff that you've convinced yourself is okay. It's hard to UNTWIST a story in your head that you've convinced yourself is RIGHT love, when you've had FUCKED UP love in your life before. If you've been beaten and bloodied at the hands of your parents.... but a gentle man comes along, regardless of where he puts his hands... if they're gentler than the beating... it twists a kid... it "feels" better than the beatings... it confuses the victim into "well, why do i hate it? why does it feel weird? i kinda of like it cuz it doesn't make my face bleed... but i kinda hate it too...." It's such a terrible terrible twisted and confusing situation for a child-even one whose grown into a man- to find themselves in. (or girl- gorown into a woman.)

When the touching starts- a child who is NOT gonna take it will scream their heads off. Peds can spot kids those a mile away, and generally steer clear. But peds usually seek out the lonely, scared, forgotten, wall-flower, needy ones who WILL respond to "extra touching" and demonstrative behavior.... then the pedophiles will push it from there. This is my experience anyway. And the longer the relationship can "bloom/rot", the further it is pushed into "romantic/special" relationships....

It's scary for the child. You thought you were special for one thing.... then one day you wake up and you realize you are special for another thing, and another thing only, and YOU DON'T WANT TO DO THAT ANYMORE AT ALL.

I woke up one morning at my molester's house, and my mother was due to come pick me up. She'd been at the hospital all day (and for days) with her husband, and I was DYING to get home, away from Eddie, away from Mr. Octopus. And I'll never forget how fucking sick I was that day. Eddie's mom wanted to leave me at home with him, and have him drive me to meet my mother that day. I knew if we were left alone in the house all day, I'd be pregnant by afternoon. For "some reason", I got so sick, so so so sick, I thought I was going to die. I needed to throw up, shit my brains out, and explode every ounce of my being outward into a millions pieces of bloody confetti. Preferably onto Eddie. Shockingly, he was not in the mood to touch me once he realized I might throw up on him.

I was 12 at this point, and he was 17 or 18. And I was DONE DONE DONE having him chase me. DONE. OVER. I wanted my body to be MY BODY, and my emotions to be MY EMOTIONS. And you can't have them, or own them when you're on the run at 50PMH for years.....

When it was time to go meet mom, I shuffled out to the car, and Eddie didn't even say anything to me. I didn't say anything to him. We drove in silence to the softball diamonds where his family was working the concessions, and where my mother would meet me and my sister to pick us up and drive us back to Lafayette. When we got to the dusty softball diamond, I went into the large concession stand building, and laid down on the couch in the back office.... and the thought that went through my head was "Eddie will never molest me again. Eddie will never molest me again. Eddie will never molest me again. I am never going back there. I was 12 when it stopped."

Swear to god. "I was 12 when it stopped." was what went through my mind. I made a note. And he never touched me after that. Sadly, my step dad did pass on soon after, and our families drifted due to your typical after-death fights regarding money and who did he leave what to $$$$..... But I was just fine with that. I didn't want to see Eddie or Amy ever ever ever again.

My babysitter Gina R..... boy were her fingers FUCKING BUSY!!!!!! If her mother is reading this right now- or her sister- the reason we stopped using her is because SHE MOLESTS LITTLE GIRLS!!! Even 5 year old ones!! Did she have NO boundaries?!!!! SPUD- sorry he passed from leukemia as a teen.... but he liked to try to stick his d*ck in me a million times behind Evelyn's garage....while I was being held down by his little brother, Brent, and my big sister would pin my arms back. Ah, good time sibling memories....

Now let's remember, there are many Eddie S's and Gina R's in this world. Let's not attack any ol' one you see. I've tried to be honest and upfront, yet let the pedophiles retain some sort of anonymity simply cuz i don't need a court case. :) Ironically enough. So the names are real, I haven't changed much. But the spellings might be different, and they might have died already..... who knows. But I figured HEY! if all of us survivors are being brave and coming out .... I'm inspired. I will too. Let's go. Why do the abusers get to hide? For their whole life? I'm sick of carrying their shame!

I
am
a survivor
of
you

are
you
a
survivor of me

we'll see.

Teachers. You Might've Heard This One.... Oh Well...

2011-12-02T06:38:00.000-08:00

My mind is on my teachers these days. My mind is traveling back to my childhood a lot lately, revisiting the reality that surrounded me, who took care of me, who was maternal, whom I took care OF, whom I was maternal TO, even at the age of 5, 8, 12, etc. Judgement aside, I accept that I mothered adults as a child. Fact of my life. Moving on.

Teachers... now teachers, they never required for me to take care of them. Perhaps that is why I allowed myself to be more lazy in my emotions around them. I didn't have to hold it together, I didn't have to wonder if they were going to end up in an insane asylum or a mental ward if I said or did the wrong thing, as I'd been warned so much in other situations.... I felt at ease around my teachers, which was ironic as I hated school with such a pure passion, it was almost like a red stripe on a zebra- so much is right about the zebra- but for the BIG GLARING MISTAKE OF A NASTY RED STRIPE. That was school for me. The one nasty thing I could barely swallow in my childhood. The other crap I could take. Junior high and high school? Barely made it through.

My dislike for school was nothing short of bitter hatred- each kid seemed more Catholic than the last, more rich than the last, each had nicer clothes, and bigger curlier hair than the last.... And there I stood in my ONE pair of shoes that were to last me until they wore out. And maybe past then. Kids aren't nice to other kids in teen years....especially the religious ones. They weren't nice to me. Teachers were. I clung to teachers. They were the adults I looked up to, to make sure that my guesses as to "how do i live this life, i have no guidance" were correct, or at least headed in the right direction. I trusted them. And when I let a teacher down... oh, dear fucking god.... it was hell. Sitting in my room at night, with all the lights out but one small tiny desk lamp still aglow for me to work on my "academically challenging homework"... I'd fret and stress about letting my teachers down, and not wanting to do that, and how could I impress each and every one to get some sort of attention the next day to fill my empty bowl of need and desire to be recognized as something other than a caretaker for a mother?

I was more aware of this behavior in high school... but not so much my elementary years. My elementary years were ignorant bliss. I feel sorry for the teachers I did have- I am sure that the abuse I suffered came out through my behavior somehow, and I am sure that my neediness affected the class somehow... and I KNOW I was always getting lectured about talking too much (I think that is a gene that runs in my family though).... Thank god I had such wonderful teachers throughout all my years. I can really only recall one or two assholes.

Kindergarten was Miss Kimble. She had to be 100 if she was a day. Her grandmotherly hair was snow-white, and she wore it shortly-cropped, in a curly perm, and touched off her look each day with her darling thick glasses that were constantly sliding down the tip of her large shiny nose. She was plump, had a wonderful lap (wether you were stuck in the lap for naughty or nice reasons), and never punished a child unless there was a very fair reason. I felt so safe with her. Perhaps this is why I felt so comfortable taking the assignments she would give us, and I would hand off my assignments to Jennifer Danaher, because she was SUCH a better colorer than me. Her coloring was BOLD, and she stayed IN THE LINES!!! I wondered how in the world she could color SO BRIGHTLY, with SUCH FORCE, and NOT go out of the lines. So of course, I put her to work on my coloring homework immediately.

Now, Miss Kimble was a sharp one. Apparently her decades of teaching, and mothering and grandmothering, had taught her a thing or two about kids. Even adorable, charming kids like myself..... She pulled me aside and asked why my coloring looked exactly like my "neighbor" Jennifer Danaher's coloring. I froze. For some reason, it was the first time it was occurring to me that perhaps *I* should have tried to color that myself. And perhaps not have designated Jennifer D. to do it for me. (It's just that Jenny didn't seem to mind....) So after I came clean and explained that I wanted my coloring to look like Jennifer's, so I simply asked her to do it. Miss Kimble looked at me for awhile, and then handed me another xerox copy of the numbers 0-9. "Color these yourself, Tammy. If you like your neighbor's way of doing something, you can try it yourself. But please don't ask your neighbor to do your work for you, okay?" I nodded and returned to my seat.

I was so disappointed. You see, I felt it was my duty to assist the teacher. I liked to walk around the room while the other kids were coloring, and I liked to lean over and give comments, be supportive (I thought), and in general, be Little Miss Teacher. Um. Miss Kimble had to explain to my mom in the parent-teacher meeting that perhaps that is not my job, but that I just needed to be a kid in the class. So that was my last opportunity to be teacher for awhile. And later when Miss Kimble was going through our Coloring Books, ones that were our very own, and on each page was an animal whose name began with a different letter of the alphabet.... she did call me up again to her desk. "Tammy," she asked, while flipping through my many pages of Bunnies, Rabbits, Cats, kittens, puppies, kangaroos, ant-eaters, etc.... "Why didn't you color so many animals?" Miss Kimble allowed her glasses to slide down her nose as she glanced at me over her transluscent-framed glasses. "OH!!" I exclaimed, realizing she must not have the same creative, genius brain I have, "Those are the WHITE animals!!!"

In hindsight, I do believe she swallowed a chuckle, and perhaps tightened a smirk on her lips. She closed my xeroxed "book", and handed it back to me gently with a smile. "Well, Tammy, I think you have made a great choice to make those animals white, but now you just have to color them white with your CRAYON." I was SO UPSET!!!!! It was a special day where she was letting all the kids play outside while she looked at the animal books, and now here I was, I was going to have to stay inside all morning to color these damn animals WHITE!!!! I was not a happy kindergartner, regardless of the karma that might have been biting me in the butt.

But she was a sharp one, that Miss Kimble. She often worse her polyester pants and navy polyester button-up short-sleeved shirt that showed off her wagging grandma arms.... She kept a cardigan in the room for the cold days, and shoved tissues in her sleeves so that she always had some handy.

It would be years and years later before my mother would tell me that at the parent teacher conference with Miss Kimble, Miss Kimble also told my mother that "someday Tammy will make her mark on this world, Mary. I don't know what it will be or how... but that little girl is going to make her mark on this world one day, trust me."

I don't know what to say to that, how to respond... if it will come true, if the infamous break up was a "mark" (god forbid- let me make a BETTER mark, please!!)

When I graduated high school, though, 13 years later, I received a graduation card in the mail from her. In the card were old clippings she had been collecting of me over the years, from whenever I had been mentioned in the local paper: newspaper carrier of the month, star of local "Hello, Dolly" musical, star of "Cyrano de Bergerac" in high school, etc.... and a $5 bill. I felt so honored. So valued. So priceless. In that moment, I recalled her smell, the feel of her arms around me from when I would enter her classroom each morning and expect a hug, I heard her voice, somehow stern and loving all at the same time, in a way that only grandmothers can do.... We never spoke voice to voice or face to face.... I only received one email from her family once that said she had read what I wrote about her, and they loved it, and I meant a lot to her, even 30 years later.

To a kid from a shattered home who was starving..... that is invaluable to hear.... to hold.... even decades later.

That was kindergarten. I will share about each of my teachers. One by one. This was about Miss Kimble.

I'll tackle Miss Gamble next. She is the one who made me realize I needed to grow up to be a man so that I could come back and ask her to marry me. :-)

*sigh*

Glenda Cornstuble, R.I.P.

2011-10-28T06:31:00.000-07:00

I'm recognizing now how very deeply my teachers influenced me and my life growing up. I knew that certain teachers had had an affect on me (my son is named after my 8th grade teacher/turned-life-mentor-guardian-angel, for Heaven's sake, as I feel certain she saved my life more than once, in so many many ways), but I didn't know that other teachers had such an affect on me until recently.

Mrs. Cornstuble was my 11th grade English teacher. I always had a connection with my English and Creative Writing teachers. I usually excelled in those classes, and the teachers tended to pull me aside to comment on my writing and my interests in furthering my "gift" or whatever. I always blew off their comments, and walked away from the nonsense they blew my way. Not because I didn't like writing, oh, no, in fact, the opposite was quite true: I loved writing, I was always keeping a journal- the journal was my daily breath, my way of living. I had no one to really talk to- no way to release the horrid ugly truth of what was really going on inside the walls of my home (I hated to even share with my darling trusted music teacher at the time, though unbeknownst to me, her decades of teaching had sharpened her keen eyes and she already knew to help me get out of my house as much as possible- her way of doing so was to consistently ask me to babysit for her child-- it didn't occur to me until years later to question why she needed me to babysit when she was always home with me and her child...) So whenever I was approached about my writing "gift", I took it as a violation of my personal privacy- like, "Hey, I only write to save my life- don't send me to college for it, and turn it into WORK! NO THANKS!!"

But Mrs. Cornstuble. Now that was a woman who didn't take shit from anyone. She was a spit of a woman, she couldn't have been a hair above 5 feet tall, regardless of her two inch white-woman curly brunette afro. Her nose was like a bird's beak, peeking out beyond her petite face, fitting it perfectly, her jet black eyes perched on either side, and a tiny valentine mouth-- just as quick to bite as it was to open wide and throw pearls of great laughter to the sky, her lady-like guffaws echoing off the ceilings of the high school hallways. she was a hard one to get to laugh. i tried my best. and i was successful at times. it felt grande and powerful to make her laugh.

I had often taken "gifted and talented" classes in school- the classes that are REALLY hard, and the grades are more college-slanted, and the homework was HOURS long at night, and the students were getting college credits for all their classes by sophmore/junior/senior year cuz their so ahead in education and classes, etc etc. Yeah. That was me. Can you believe it? I was put into those classes starting in about 4th grade, and they kept me in those classes until I begged my Mom to let me go into regular classes in my junior year so that I didn't have to spend every waking moment in the library at Purdue University doing my HIGH SCHOOL homework, when I wanted to be playing softball, basketball, volleyball, and rehearsing for plays.... (you're only a kid once, right? and I was never a kid, so I just wanted to be able to play a little after school those last two years of high school. how michael jackson of me. perhaps i needed propofol.... paging doctor conrad murray...) When my mom agreed to let me take normal classes, and not the college classes in high school, I was thrilled! I was the first one signed up for Mrs. Cornstuble's class, a combo class she was going to teach with a history teacher, Mr. Womack. Two hours: she'd teach English, he'd teach History, and then we'd get an assignment including both, and VOILA!!!! AMAZING way to teach two classes but give one assignment. Genius. After my first paper was turned in (yes, I just slapped together some sort of Creative Writing story about a slave girl's diary- SO EASY! i just had to look up slaves conditions back then, get imaginative, and pull out my pen and paper...) I scored an A+ (duh), and Mr. Womack insisted on reading my "diary of a slave girl" aloud to the class. (Embarrassing.) Then afterwards I was pulled aside by Mrs. Cornstuble.

"Tammy," Mrs. Cornstuble said approaching me just a few seconds after the bell rang, while the kids were scrambling for their backpacks and gathering in their after-school cliques. She had my blue constuction-paper slave-diary in hand. She waved it at me a little bit, but wouldn't hand it to me.

"I need to talk to you about your writing," she said. "This writing, Tammy. You're writing. What do you think of your writing, Tammy?" She sat down in a chair that she had pulled up in the corner of the room, next to a desk. She gestured for me to take a seat in the rolling chair across from her. I was a little confused. It occurred to me that Mr. Womack had obviously enjoyed my writing... but suddenly I was wondering if maybe Mrs. Cornstuble had a different opinion. I started to get nervous. Rumor around school had it that she was a hard-ass teacher, and if you got on her bad side, there was NO getting OFF of her bad side. I was starting to feel like maybe I was sliding towards her bad side, without a rope to grab onto.

When I didn't move towards the chair, she gestured again, nicer this time I guess, because I was more inclined to reach for the back of the chair and pull it towards me. As I sat, she asked me again, "Tammy, what do you think of your writing? Do you write very often?"

I sat silently. My writing at that point in my life was a secret. It was something I did at night under the covers after my mother and sister had quieted their bloody furors amongst each other, and I needed to release the nightmare anguish inside myself so that I could breathe again. I only wrote when I had such pain inside from my sisters fists, or memories of tormentors so large I could not defend myself, and I knew they would be coming back again, so I wrote of my fears and anger, I wrote poetry, hoping the poetry would make my ugly insides feel pretty...... my writing was my uglies.... my writing was where I really lived. My writing was where I kept the truth of my life that I could not tell anyone else, where no one could reach the fragile inside of me that would die if broken, maybe even if touched.... so, no I had never looked at my writing as a "GIFT". I looked at it as an oxygen tank. A set of lungs. My writing was legs that got me out of bed. My writing was a mind that told me I'd be okay, that would convince me I'd make it another day, that it'd all get better one day. My writing flowed from me at times, almost as if I wasn't the one talking, but someone was talking TO me... and telling me to hang on for just a little bit longer.

So when Mrs. Cornstuble stared at me that day, with her usual piercing licorice black eyes, softened and dripping, looking into me for an answer... I had no answer for her. I shrugged. "I keep a diary everyday...." I began.

"You do?" she asked. "Okay, so you do writing exercises everyday!"

I felt insulted at that description. Saving my life everyday is NOT a writing exercise. "Well, no, I write in my journal everyday, several times a day, for pages and pages a day. It's not an exercise. I talk to my journal more than to people. More than I talk to my friends...." I admitted.

She fell silent for a moment as her eyes fell down to my assignment again. Her tiny claw-like hands with beautiful, perfect painted nails flipped through the pages of my "misspelled, slavery girl scrawl" I had done for the work, and then she lifted her eyes to meet mine again. Her tar eyes to my sky eyes.

"Tammy, you have an incredible gift for writing. And if I treat you like every other kid in the class.... if I grade you like every other student in the class, that is not fair to you or them. You are not like them- you have a writing gift, and you need to challenge it- you need to polish it. You can not ignore it. You can get scholarships for English- full ride scholarships to great schools, Tammy."

I stared at her. It was quite well known in my little rinky-dink high school that I was going to be graduating in one year, and then my ass was going to be high-tailing it OUTTA THAT TOWN for DA BIG APPLE. So I was pretty confused as to why this teacher was talking college and looking for scholarships to get me there.

"I don't need a scholarship, Mrs. Cornstuble. I'm going to be an actress," was my knee-jerk response. I stared into her eyes. I was by then, getting used to the patronizing response I would get from grown ups after they would hear my declaration. And god bless- Mrs. Cornstuble was no different.

"Tammy. Acting won't get you anywhere. You need a back up. 99% of actors are unemployed--" she started.

"Mrs. Cornstuble," I said, interrupting her, "99.9% of actors are UNTALENTED." I stated AS FACT. "I am not one of those. I will get a job. MANY. I won't have problems."

The look of softness and kindness fell from her fece, and she hardened. I immediately thought of her daughter Ericka, who was my friend in school, and I figured I was getting the "strict, mean mommy look" that she would probably give to Ericka when Mrs. Cornstuble would get mad at her. So, dutifully, like a daughter, I cringed in my seat.

Her voice tightened. "Tammy. You need to think of having a REAL job. A REAL career. A way to REALLY support yourself out there one day. You are a writer. A NATURAL writer. A GIFTED writer. And I'm telling you that I am going to hold you up to the standard that you need to be held accountable for- you are better than these 'typical' classes- I know you used to be in the gifted program- you still should be. But since you are not, I will still expect your writing to be up to that kind of performance, because CLEARLY you can do it in your sleep."

I stared at her. I glanced at her crazy curly afro-hair. I'd never seen such curly hair on a white woman. She seemed to always have fuzz or some sort of lint or clothing fabric in it. Her complexion was impeccable. Like porcelain. Her make up was always flaw-less. NEVER too much. Just a touch, just enough. I tried to avoid her eyes. I looked around the empty school room. The bell had rung so long ago, signaling classes were over for the day, and by now the hallways had fallen silent, save for the few stragglers in the distance..... I couldn't beg off from the meeting to say I had to get to my next class... so we sat quietly. My blue construction paper make-shift journal-cover sitting on the desk to our side. A quiet reminder of my potential that I was scared to share because it meant taking off my last layer of REAL protection, the layer of protection, closest to my skin, to my heart, to my soul- I keep my Writing Hand in front of all that to protect it- I can and would much rather write out my feelings than anything else- than act them out or even feel them! So when Mrs. Cornstuble told me to start focus on my writing- to start letting others giving me assignments, and let them read it, and "Hey let's all climb in your head together!" it FELT (not saying that this is what she MEANT or WANTED to do-- it just FELT like this at the time) it FELT like it was a proposal to have a team of people step inside my head and steal the one thing that I had left to myself: the stream of consciousness that flows from my being through my hand onto a page somewhere. And then helps heal me.

And I wasn't willing to let that happen. It was all I had left to myself that was all mine, that wasn't being destroyed by my home life of hell, that wasn't being taken away from me by the stress of school. The kids at school didn't know about it, so I wasn't being teased about ANOTHER something "unique" about me that meant something so much to me.... I needed to keep my writing to MYSELF. I needed to keep my writing UNGRADED. NOT marked out with red pens and graded and then chewed up and spit back. AND... I didn't need my soul to be read aloud to the class day after day. Naked. I didn't want an A that bad.

I sat there for so long. She and I. Then I finally looked at her with the same shame I felt when I had to tell my mom I had stole my sisters Mo-ped for a joy ride at 13, and the cops had stopped me, and I got in trouble. I told Mrs. Cornstuble no, I didn't want to do extra work, I wasn't special, I didn't want my "gifted writing talent" to be graded differently. I didn't want "special assignments".... I just wanted to be normal.

I'll be honest. She got mad. She was very angry with me. She made it abundantly clear to me that she felt I was throwing my talent away. She felt that acting was a waste of my time, that it would never take me anywhere, nor would I be able to do anything "in acting" because it's just such a hard world to get into.... and she just couldn't believe that I would have such a natural gift for writing, and "just walk away". she was "JUST SO DISAPPOINTED" i recall her saying many times, at the end of the meeting.

I left there feeling like shit. And strangely feeling honored at the same time. Until then, I really didn't know that my writing actually was able to convey to people the same things I was feeling inside. I had no clue people responded to my words, or that people could draw up visions in their head just based on what i describe with letters and words. On my walk home that day, I finally began to understand that I had been writing for years- and I in fact- DID love to write. PERIOD. And that, yes, Mrs. Cornstuble was, in fact, correct.... I did love to write. And maybe one day I would write professionally. I hadn't thought of it until that moment. It was a long walk home that day. I really respected Mrs. cornstuble, and her response to my backing off of my writing was unsettling for me, to say the least.

For the rest of the year, Mrs. Cornstuble did as we had talked about: she left me alone. she didn't give me extra assignments, she didn't grade me differently, and I flew through her class with all A's. Of course, she'd hand me an assignment back, with a big red A scrawled across the top, and when I'd catch her looking at me, she'd just roll her eyes at me as if to say, "Yeah, you got an A. DUH. SO what? You basically STOLE THE A, Tammy." So after her talk with me, and my time in her class ended, I never felt or looked at my writing the same way.

My darling, lovely, amazing, generous, gifted herself, wonderful Mrs. Cornstuble passed away so recently that I found myself sobbing over her death last night.

I was told of her passing so late that I couldn't even make it home for her funeral. I was beyond devastated. For a second time in my life, my words were pulled from me.

I found myself at her Facebook page. Many have asked me about "friending me" on Face Book.... I don't do FB so that I can connect with tons of people- I do FB to stay connected to loved ones, and to stay in touch with old pals from Lafayette, Indiana whom I went to school with. And would you believe I had my old English teacher Glenda Cornstuble on there as a FB friend? Yup, Glenda Cornstuble right there. That's the way we rolled. If I had a stressful lawyer meeting coming up or something, I'd say it on FB, and she was the first to post her prayers and blessings. She was a supporter of me through and through- never stopped. even 20 years later. So last night... somehow I found myself on her old FB page... it's still up and active. I was brought to the knees of my soul. I think because my parental figures were absent, I felt parental emotional connections with some teachers, on many different levels.... Mrs. Cornstuble being one of them.

Yet, I let the days pass without saying what I should have. I didn't TELL HER what I should have- what I OWED HER. I didn't mention that her WORDS still change my life to this day. Teachers get crappy salaries, but I do know they are highly rewarded when a student returns to pay back some gratitude for all of the lessons he/she learned while in the class, and how they carried those lessons on forward with them in life. That is the "salary bonus" for most teachers....

I had no words to post. I wanted to write all of the lessons she had taught me, but I never told her. And I'm talking about the lessons that aren't in books... I wanted to tell her I finally understand now what she meant when she said I have a "gift" for writing. I wanted to tell her so very many things, but... after I typed everything up... and read it.... I realized no one was going to read it but her family. and it would be so futile to post such frivilous post-mortem love. Too late. (That's why we must all do something TODAY-- NOW, in expressing our love to people. Don't wait for tomorrow.) (She went in to have an operation for something-they opened her up-she was so filled with cancer, that there was nothing to do for her-so they closed her up and sent her home with hospice- she passed within 6 weeks. shock, no warning. twin grand daughters, age 3.5....) I had so much to say to her, so much gratitude to express. SO so so very much. Instead I left one sentence. Because indeed, she has gone. And the only ones left now are her family. God bless.

I found myself clicking off of her FB page last night, weeping in grief that I didn't get to tell her one last time THANK YOU for calling me out in high school, for telling me I could be doing better with a gift- for telling me I SHOULD be doing better.
I found myself staring at my blank blog page last night for hours, crying, hearing Mrs. Cornstuble's voice echo in my mind over and over again. The Gift The Gift The Gift. Don't Waste It Don't Waste It Don't Waste It.

I'm wasting it, aren't I?

So in lieu of sending flowers, Mrs. Cornstuble, I'm going to write again. Write the way you told me I do, I can, I should, I will. I remember what you told me- I'm positive you never forgot either- and so I shall.

Rest in Peace, my darling English Teacher
Glenda Cornstuble
28 years of teaching
Lafayette Jefferson High School
Indiana

just a paper not a voice, a-tisket, a-tasket

2011-09-19T01:01:00.000-07:00

i went for a walk the other day
a fine day
a fine day yes indeed it was
in the neighborhood
and on this walk a
piece of paper
flew past my ankle ever so lightly
ever so lightly
just ever so lightly
like a cat laying eyes on you
for the very first time

don't you move
the cat will

but it was paper
not a cat
and it was my neighborhood
and i don't i don't litter
so i picked it up
i picked it up
i reached down
and picked it up

moving like the tin man after
he's been stuck for so long
in the rain and seasons

twas the beginning of someone's
journal
"Dear Diary", it said
then it had been ripped out and
tossed away
tossed away
discarded...

losing a page of a thought
is just losing a page of thought
....losing a journal
isn't losing a voice
or a person
or a time

i tossed the litter in the can
when i returned home
and reached
WAAAY back in the cupboard
for a notebook
simple, spiral-bound, school type thing
and found a good pen
and i swear
as i snuggled up on my bed
i swear
i heard a whisper...

of my voice coming back.

twit

2011-08-20T09:19:00.000-07:00

just because there's
not enough ways to
already communicate
with the
outside world
from
way inside
the illustrious world
of smoke and mirrors....
yes...
i did sign up to
be a twit
with the rest
140 characters or less

to talk to people directly
real people i hope
(some fake hiding behind facades
but that is what they need
not for me to care about
karma, right?
karma yes?)

it's all good
i'm all good
life is good

and on we go

like she says...................

"Ah, yes...

2011-07-26T13:58:00.000-07:00

...now I see."

said the blind woman

...as she removed her
blindfold,
only to see
each
and every detail
cross the horizon of the storyline
crystal clear
details that were invisible
beneath the smothering, spun web
of the blindfold

it was bejeweled, see,
and i used to be distracted
by such the like as that

but a glint in the sun
means you might miss
a hundred and one

truths
right under your nose

know what is affective and
even more deceptive than
one spider?

two, with the same intent.

botox

2011-07-13T00:55:00.000-07:00

i talk to my friend about botox. my friend is pretty smart, in general, and really smart about medical stuff. i asked her about what she thought of botox, and is it really so bad? What's the big deal?

she explained that

botox
is short for botulism
which is an
often deadly
toxin found in
a certain bacteria
around food poisoning
symptoms include:
nerve paralysis

um... yeah. yikes. that scares me a bit.

she mentioned that it will be interesting
to observe these people in several years
...see if any auto-immune problems
come up
since botox
er botulism
attaches to the nerves and all....
paralyzes them

yikes. that scares me a bit.
i'll keep my face with feeling, thanks.

2011. That's me, with curly hair up there. wtf?

2011-06-25T10:54:00.001-07:00

i drink lattes again
i wear leggings- something I said I'd NEVER do
i had a cigarette the other day- not a whole one
but enough to make me yell at myself
for an entire week
i have curly hair and people I know
but that haven't seen me in awhile
barely recognize me
or they assume I went to the pet store for a grooming
and ordered the "poodle perm" on sale
i kinda laugh about it- it's my own joke i guess
we could barely keep fish alive, but I let
my kids get a pet bunny.
I'm hoping we do alot better this time around.
it helps that we can hold and stroke this pet....
it was hard explaining that last time around
about how you can't hold a goldfish... you can't pet it
but you still call it a pet...
i learned to never say never
my doctor said that
if someone makes you completely dependent on them
and they suddenly jerk it away, remove it all,
the person left with zero, no support, nothing,
will fall into a possible rage because their basic human
needs have been stripped away without warning-
it's natural he said- it's what happens
in one nanosecond, one loses all paths
to support for water, clothing, shelter--
I had no clue, but it shall never ever happen again
letting money and people and others
control my life and if i nurture my career or not
but either way
ugh shit that sucked
table for one
I still can't believe how much I knelt at the alter
of the smoke machine
and believed

I forgive myself
for believing the red flags
were the beginning of a rainbow

and now
here I stand at the start line
my best glitter sneakers on
and lip gloss in hand
no labels this time
I'm feeling my spine, my muscles,
my legs- i do wish they were stronger.
i'll have to practice more i guess....

but i'm standing.
dammit.
straight and tall
and in fully in charge of my life
for the first time.
(well- except i do listen to my lawyers.
i allow them to boss me around at times.)

let's see what happens with this recipe.
:-)

I'm so curious about life now, and what happens
when one opens up to EVERYTHING in life.

? I wonder if I just say yes, what will happen ?

When one adopts the word "Never" into a subject of their life...... the Universe might laugh one day,

2011-06-24T14:26:00.000-07:00

& throw one straight down that slide.

The more I age, the more I learn that I pretend to be in charge of so many things that I am not. There are so many times I've used the word "Never" in my life. For instance: When I was little, I used to LOVE spin-ny rides at the fairgrounds and festivals. I used to stand in line, clutching my sweaty, filthy hands, just the right amount of tickets I needed to go on the round-abouts at the 4-H fairs when I was under 4" tall. I couldn't get enough of 'em. (Well- if Mom had had the money, and I would've have been able to go on them more than twice, I would say "I couldn't get enough of 'em!!"... but you know... You get my rift. I never got enough of 'em.) Then... one day, I was, like, 22 or something? And I went on one of those spaceship spinny things at the local fairgrounds... I had more than enough tix tucked away into my denim pocket, as I was SURE I'd want many more trips after just the first... But the strangest thing happened. I climbed inside the "Alien Spaceship With Gravity-Defying Walls!!!!!!!!!" with such anticipation, I could almost feel it in my throat.... that during the ride, the faster it spun, the more my body clung to the walls, and the less I could tolerate my guts also leaving their internal homes inside me.... and then the floor below dropped out from below me (and the other 44 people on the "ride"). I had no control when the bullhorn pierced my mind, and my files' o' Self Knowledge screamed "I'LL NEVER RIDE A SPIN-NY RIDE AGAIN IN MY LIFE!!!!!!!!" I do not know how my food stayed behind my tongue. I thank the Universe for it's assistance in those last 53 seconds of inundating, vibrating, spin, and the following 60 seconds of slow-down-stop. Afterwards, I did not know much. I could barely leave my alien seat in the round cabin of hurl-o-sphere. I barely noticed a few other "Never-Never-Land" joiners. I didn't know where my feet were, where my friends were when I got outside, where the trash can was, to lean up against it for support, and okay, maybe a vomit-catcher in case it was needed... I didn't know much. But I said to my friends "I'M NEVER going on a spinny thing again!!!!"

And so I lived.

Yup.

Yupperoni.

*breathing* *time passing*

Yep.

And then my child asked me to go on a spinny thing. An external piece of myself, a reflection of me, with open innocence and pure joy.... asked if I would please go on a spinny thing.

*sigh*

I've learned....

Never
Say
Never.

I liken that moment to some wire inside me flickered and fizzled and then reattached to another a second wire, and that second wire fused together all of the wires..... and soon there was new wiring... with old wiring, but new wiring too.... and the new wiring making me stronger in all areas, including my old wiring. So.... more wires for the connection I guess. I dunno. I'm just likening a moment in a metaphorical way... here....

that hesitation before the shine

2011-05-10T11:47:00.000-07:00

well
lookit these digits
moving
i can hear the creak
in the joints
as the bulb
hesitates
to shine

healing laughter

2011-05-08T20:35:00.000-07:00

sammy bo bammy
fee fie
foe
fammy
he hides his key in his fanny
fo
sho
fo
sho
and i once knew a canine
harry brown harry brown
he wore a maltese suit
but i knew he was really just
a cool dude who would unzip at
night and slip into the dark alleys,
hoping to find a free drum kit some somewhere...

and don't get me started on luke
and reuben................
i'm mostly a cat person..... but then a dog comes along,
who's something else, zipped into that dog suit.....
and it's humorous....

oh, black, oh, silly, oh, my friends
theirs apples so silly
in a circle so funny just saying it once
say it again
BLILLY
BLILLY.

happy mothers days and to all a good night.

2011-05-08T17:36:00.000-07:00

and on this day
i have
two
that turned me inside out
made me wear
one
giant
bloody
thumping
pumping
heart on my sleeve

hallelujah
amen.

happy mother's day.

true love and true notches in the wood of Holly

2011-05-08T11:04:00.001-07:00

is there anyone in this town
who doesn't make a notch
a slash
a mark above their bed
a joke to their circle of friends
a pamphlet of jokes to their new comedic boss
about the the few dates with
the fresh meat in town
down off the hill

notches
on belts
on bed posts
in the work place
high fives
good jobs
"get out, no way!"

after all is said and done,
and the candles are blown out
the rose petals blown away in the soft
breeze of the night
there is a fading wonder of
how much was real
how much was notching
and just a fling?
it's H'wood after all
and don't they all look for flings
and things?

Walking anew if you will, and I think you will.

2011-02-10T10:55:00.001-08:00

there were 12 or 13 of us in that first class.
those first weeks of flittering around classes
like different airborne animals
aflutter aflutter afloo
and classes on how to make your
Ssss more SSSsssss-like
"SSSSssssssssound it out CLASSSSSSSSssssssssss!"
she would sssssay,
as everyone would ssstare
at her bosssom
that sat upon her fully filled diaphragm
"CLASSSSSSSSSSSssssss!!!!"
BOSOM!!!!!
and so forth
alexander technique
nobody got it jean-luc wouldn't talk to us about
anything
in his thick accent
he would mumble on about
who knows what
and just ask us to walk
one day
the lavender cowboy
RG
he got it
he stood up
and walked
Jean-Luc cried
"YES!!!!!"
clearly.... i was missing the boat. later, another cowboy from texas, Todd,
"got it".
damn.

i was really missing it. one by one
or one by none
each of tried
it took some of us a whole week
and we weren't allowed to tell what we were doing or trying to do once we understood it all.

but we understood what we were trying to accomplish
we understood
why

jean-luc called my name again
and i stood before him
he called me to
The Spot from whence we were all starting to try
i spun around to meet his eyes across the room,
and he instructed me to go

i tried something new:
i left my self-illustrations on the outside of my head
and walked with just my muscles and body
no thoughts
it was interesting
blank page
starting from the beginning-
i didn't have my right shoulder hunched in the air
from holding my backpack with books long ago
or my right leg shuffling along because of my doc martens
i was conscious not to walk like that in the present

to erase signs of scabby old me
and
just think of it like
walking anew if you will
and i think you will :-)

by the time i crossed that hardwood NYC ballroom
and reached Jean-Luc in October of 1993
he said in his thick accent, "yes! did you feel that? did you feel that?"

yes. i had. i had made that decision and carried it out,
little french man and you felt it

sometimes people don't know how to walk. or talk or crap or eat or do something right because simply, their world is upside down. like a free roller coaster ride that nobody buckled them up for or warned them about. or maybe they lose sight of walking because they broke some limbs in their own personal war. as much as they say it, as much as it's been said in the cheapest, most-off-handed way.... it is true. TIME is what heals wounds. i think because TIME gives answers. and TIME settles the ripples. and soon TIME is a dear friend to trust. i looked in the mirror the other day and didn't recognize myself. so much TIME has passed.

i'm walking anew
if you will

and i think you will.
:-)

typical

2011-01-21T14:56:00.000-08:00

okay, so like
if you come looking

for bitter

you will find that which you seek

even if it doesn't belong to me
but is a reflection of you

i can make comments on my life,
my dirty house,
my sick kids,
my "typical american life"
and not at all feel resentful or bitter

just snotty and buried under blankets

and hopefully be allowed to be seen
as typical

but if it's hard to come here
and read without the Bitter Glasses on....
i'd suggest ya find another pasture to graze in
something more your flavor?

i'm pretty typical.

is it friday? it's gorgeous outside.
and i'm cleaning out all of my drawers
and vacuuming each corner of my house.

a perfect day.

frazzle my dazzle from yesteryear? maybe if i can get my house cleaned.

2011-01-19T13:15:00.000-08:00

oh
my
god

one has the ear infections
one has possible stomach virus

one has been up almost every night for two weeks
one was up all of last night throwing up

i have had the cold thing for two weeks
and as i cough up green
i am hoping the shades will fade to lemon
and let go of my lungs and we'll be on our merry way

but until then
there's piles of toys (trucks!!!!)
and dolls and crayons
and some towels on the floor
next to my bed from where
one threw up last night
--i'm waiting to see what he has--
i need to empty trash cans
of regurged whatnots and trash
i need to do some laundry
pay some bills
balance the checkbook
make an appointment with the phone company
cuz the 3 pound rat in the garage
ate through the phone wire before we caught it
(god i love my landlords)
and just sort of in general...
get the house in order before the kids
come back home tomorrow....

but i might have to just lay here
buried under my dirty sheets and pillows
one pillow even smelling like the inside of
my child's stomach....
because i'm just friggin' tired

and i'm told by many friends
that my housework won't just get up and
walk away- i can get to it tomorrow-
so i can rest for today
take care of myself today
lie here on these lovely dirty crumb-filled sheets

who has time to frazzle their dazzle
over old hairy green, jurassic news from yesteryears
gone by?
not i
said the mother from under the sheets with a cold
not i.

bless.

speak, spread, walk the talk

2011-01-18T07:52:00.000-08:00

a couple of seasons
a little time
some bark falling from trees
and some children's rhymes
i moved out november 23rd 2009
she said it would help
i was convinced it would
too and i trusted there was
no one else
i didn't know
there was someone moving in
as i was moving out

indeed

three weeks later a box of new toys
was delivered and her assistant brought
it to my rental house as a mistake
i opened it
and that's when i felt something was up

i called her
"i have your new dicks on my kitchen counter?"

one thing by one thing
i slowly felt things were not
as
they were being represented

one never even said one was breaking up with me
one only says things in song and string

and then i listened to the album
and i understood
oh
you don't want to work it out
oh you already have someone in the wings
oh you already have pined for another
oh you are done here

oh i have become another one of your exes

oh i have become an album

many albums
starting with lucky
which is why you can't find that tattoo on my
body anymore

and then
i begged for the news not to be let out until after the
release
but apparently no?
the news just HAD TO BE LEAKED three weeks before the album dropped-

i had only wanted to process my feelings before the public did
divorce should not be a mass emotional project

i found it all very fascinating.
in the most gory and heart-wrenching way
months later

but i have had some time to let it digest, rip my stomach apart,
digest some more, and i think i'm in a better spot now.
sometimes reality takes a moment to settle in. you know, like if
you were standing in the pitch black, and suddenly you threw
on some intense 1500W bulbs around you?? you'd need to quint
and adjust and maybe be blind for a minute? okay. maybe vomit up
your stomach until you have a brand new lining, but hey, who
doesn't do that when their world turns upside down? :-)

so. you know. people magazine tries to get things right. they try to
clean things up for the famous folk- their sources are usually the publicist
for the celebrity. i'm here to clarify. well... i want to clarify without
dealing with getting sued for SLANDER (and paying someone), which would include
me saying that the two were involved while I was living there (it is still my house, by the way).
and i haven't gone just that far yet.

since april of 09? mmm.... one of my little sweet peas told me otherwise much
earlier than that, Pooper magazine.

they should have shut the bedroom door.

and once again... if we're going to have little "leaks" and such... let's make them truthful?

perhaps folks out there are going to start doing math. "speak true and spread the peace" of 2010
i kept this to myself last summer. maybe i shouldnt have- it would have explained another reason
why there was so much bitterness in my cray-cray crazy blogs. i couldn't believe someone would have a
saying, and motto to ask people to buy and live by, but not oneself?

spread the peace? speak true.

and i found better friends. real friends.

and most importantly to me: the kids are alright.

and i met found someone myself. apparently they specialize in inflating roadkill? someone who almost made me believe in the tooth fairy again. which means there's hope for those of us who got even the most flattened. the tooth fairy, santa claus, and even leprechauns. now- i'm not sure what the next move with this chick is- do i leave her a tooth under my pillow? cookies and milk by a tree? green beer on the doorstep?

i don't know.

speak true, spread the peace, and have faith that we all walk the talk. that's the way to do it. not through your backdoor pooper magazine "sources have stated", babe. :) 'kay?

a f*ck up is a f*ck up is a f*ck up. drop it, and stop trying to clean up the mess with flubs and fibs. :-) let's move along.

blessings and blessings and blessings and blessings and golden rainbows and more blessings
even to those who need to learn how to walk the talk and talk the walk and
just learn how to love unconditionally
period.

xoxoox

Tammy Etheridge
(who has never ever changed her married/family name, so someone explain why the press has changed it for her? just curious.)

in other words-
it's not news
nothing new for me
only you guys-
i found out last year
long ago
and kept my mouth shut
for some reason
i'm interesting like that:
i'd rather squirm in rage
and look crazy
than open my mouth
about someone's secret
i guess?
i don't know.
but i knew this
last summer
and before
no news
no "new couple!"
try again, pooper magazine.
almost only counts in horseshoes, right?
:-)

oh- and i guess Pooper magazine looked bad, so now they're going to come after me?
they're going to write crappy articles on me now, eh?
i "bristle" at the "new" relationship? no. it's old, Pooper, remember?
old news. stale. like mold. like you don't wanna eat it anymore. green. furry. hairy.
like day old news, pooper. like you were WAY SCOOPED, pooper.
so you can quote my blog, and keep acting like you are on the edge
of breaking excitement.... but you're just quoting my blog
out of context,
rewriting fragments
arranging my words to fix your quota for online hits
and..... what?

:-) silly magazine.
do you need to step down with larry king?
losing your edge?
:-)

and can't we focus on the really really amazing talent over at nurse jackie anyway? LIZ BRIXIUS. friggin amazing writer. brilliant. where's her credit? her name? who does she have to sleep with to get some bright lights people? so cute, she is. such adoreable trinkets, and always matches, always accessorizes. she was always my favorite. somebody tell Liz she's doing a fabulous job.

Elizabeth E.

2010-12-08T07:12:00.000-08:00

I've been following her story since it was announced that she had cancer. As soon as it was publicly known, I assumed her husband would step back from the limelight, the presidential race, and tend to his wife, his support system, his core strength.

When he did not, I began to count her days. And when he did not, I began to question his character. Before the rumors of any infidelity came out. I couldn't believe he was going to let her go through it alone. Who the hell does that to their spouse?

Rest in Peace, Elizabeth,
rest,
rest
and be at Peace.

still here.

2010-11-15T09:42:00.000-08:00

still breathing.
i think i got off the spin-ny ride
and everything is a little
less dizzy now
still here
still breathing

putting all of my words together
in a nice fashionable way
so as not to be misunderstood

i'm like a ballerina en pointe
but instead of having a little wooden block down there-
it's a brick
and i accidentally deliver my
words with bricks
instead of little pokes of wood-
i'm sorry
i didn't mean it
i'm taking care of it

not everyone is perfect

and not everyone admits to flaws
but i do
which makes me near perfect
:)

someone said
that people change
and grow

that happened to the tree in this backyard
the owners had to go out
and buy really really strong rope
to tether together the two pieces that looked
like they were growing in opposite directions-
and they were the main foundation.....
that rope so strong, those two tree trunks stay
growing alongside

and so they grow
never too far apart

and i found my favorite john denver CD yesterday-
ok- i didn't find it, a friend bought it
and that made the entire day awesome
awesome

puzzles, bracelets, arts and craps (as called by 4 year olds here)
and john denver with some home cooking later done by me

a fine day.

zig zag lightening 'tween the best of intentions

2010-10-12T10:24:00.001-07:00

i remember going to the bar behind the red carpet right before the movie. it was a friend's movie premiere, not a big one, but i was nervous as hell. i felt like i was about to take off my my pant and underwear and bend over in front of the world and pull my entire VJ apart and show the world the most INTIMATE of my intimate lady parts. parts i had lied about and hidden for years. parts id hidden in shame and then wonderment, and then excitement.... and at that moment... i had finally reached the point where i wore my sexuality like a medal. it had bullet holes in it from the bullies in middle school and high school (gotta bless those christians- who else would remind us where we're gonna wind up when we die?), but i was ready to hit that ruby velvet and say "okay, ready or not, jobs or not, here i come...." she did a shot. my heart jumped... and we rounded the curtain.

i almost couldn't see for the amount of popping light bulbs. I heard a wall of people shout her name as we walked from the bar to the red carpet, and then they began to shout my name too. i was a little embarrassed, a little silly, it overall, it was just A Moment i guess that is filed away now.

but in that bar area, i'll never forget what was said to me.... "they're about to take pictures of us."

"so" i said.

"so that means, that if we ever don't work out... god.... i hate that ugly zig zag lightening they put through the ugly pics of the couples... i hate it. i just hate. and these are our first pics together.... and i just.... "

i understood at that point what she meant, but i knew it would never happen to us.

that's when the shot came in.

and the pics are all over. good ones, bad ones,
scary, sexy, help a story
and they are zigzag
like one said. lightening.

peace be with us all. so many pieces at that.

2010-10-11T12:11:00.000-07:00

i've been writing in this blog for so many years that i think i can use two hands now to count up the years. i talk about my lives here: personal, my public, and how the two intertwine in the most beautiful, ugly, hilarious, silly, strange, ironic ways. how in the world would could all of that change now, as i go through this next hurdle in life? my dear friends warn me that being too honest and true might allow lawyers to call me "unstable" in court- especially if i blog it.

but. really? just cuz i didn't set it to music? and it's a daily thing that won't have one "Drop" date.... and i'm "unstable"? nah. just a loudmouth. i gave my blog a rest... and that was nice for those who asked. i bet. but there are so many folks who are kicking my butt into gear again to get the hollywoodfarm gal back up- so okay.

and now i'm a mom still, who is single, and living with her brother, and i'm trying to find out how to make this a great home full of memories to be played back one day. it's funny.... i was asked to stay home and be a full time single mother 10 years ago... and i loved it. and that's something i wanted to do for my twins, for my own children-- i wanted to offer them the same that i was able to provide those other children: a full time mother at home to provide for their needs. looks like i will have to fight for that this time around. did i set back the women's lib? not in my mind- if a lesbian wants to stay at home and raise her kids until they are well into the middle school grades, how is that ruining women's lib? if she wants to provide hands on care for ALL FOUR children she raised, how is that wrong? dunno.

someone asked about getting a job. okay. well.let's talkaboutthisheregirlfriend...... i have "help" until 2 pm a lot. i can't tell my bosses that i can work each day until between the hours of 830 and 145. tv hours aren't like that, waitressing ours aren't like that sadly.... strippers hours aren't like that, whores' hours aren't like that, secretary hours' aren't like that, starbucks' jobs aren't like that... crossed my mind this morning to get a paper route, though. that's a quick job, but i bet a lot has changed since i was 11. but thank goodness i was able to go home that day and eat- not like in haiti where you eat dirt cookies. while i drove, i spit brown stomach bile into my cup, and rinsed with water. then when i got home i simply ate a bagel. it's not really great for my stomach to sit empty right now. like being pregnant, but no baby inside. :-) but then my friend and i laughed... cuz once i am able to get my twins so set and solid and older, THEN there's jobs for me, and i'll be open.

either way.

my brother moved in. god, i love him. and he was a much needed thing for my son and daughter. they need hairy, deep voiced, smelly tall creatures around them. and i need someone to reach the highest shelf.

happy birthday
they turn four on sunday
isn't that awesome
it should be a funday
four four four four
holy shit
apparently they age faster than i do
as i don't recall having four birthdays
recently
it's just been a little bit
since they were both in my arms
and everything was still in one piece
one peace
one piece
one peace
one piece

one peace.........

bullhorn to amputee

2010-10-05T07:22:00.000-07:00

oh, to spin, to spin again
ready just now?
or in the middle of something
longer ago.
but that sounds bad
doesn't it?
always something
just a bit off in timing
and truth...

peace and harmony
if you want it in life
use a broad stroke
paint life with that same brush
truth can match:
real life
and media

it just makes it easier to get along.

his cape was tattered and torn, but i'll love him through and through

2010-09-05T21:08:00.000-07:00

i found my way back to Papa's old home in san diego, where he and my mother lived for a couple of years while i shot Popular, literally, the name of a tv show. and each weekend, or nearly, i'd wrap it up, and make the drive down to their old gray and blue stoned house that hung just at the edge of a canyon. dad would fill me up with fried catfish, fish, salads, chicken, you name it. he and my mother were both great cooks. of course, ironically, i was on the screen by then (and taking 6 laxatives a day, whatever, and drinking laxative tea, whatever), and i "needed" to be in "fighting weight"...blah blah blah. either way, me living in LA, and them living in san diego- i liked it. so basically, the only time i ate was if they cooked for me on those two days. great diet.

by this time in my relationship with this creature i would stumble and sometimes call Dad dad or papa, bob... daddy again, round and round.... we'd been through so much. he was an alcoholic. brutal. just brutal. i'll say it now, because he's passed on, but boy, his "bottom" was when he was with my mother and myself.... and it was pretty awful. nasty. and i moved to new york, he went to rehab... then he went to another rehab... and i'm thinking that a few words stuck in that therapy, because he put the gin and tonics down after that. for awhile. a long while.

and we got on SWELL. like mint and chip. like vanilla and chocolate syrup. like dough and chocolate chips. two peas in a pod. in fact, my mother would turn out her light before dad/papa/who is this man? would turn out his light.... and he and i would sit for those hours.... i am told that is called B-O-N-D-I-N-G. good god, that man and i could laugh for hours on end, his face turning so beet red, and i'd be so pleased with myself that i could make him laugh that hard. i think it was our similar sense of humor for the irreverent.

but there was a falling out- a crashing through- a F*CKING FIRE that seemingly engulfed our relationship when mother and he broke up. i assumed he never thought of me again.

then last april of 2010, when i heard he passed, i was sad. devastated. beyond beyond any grief i can desribe. but then when i couldn't found out how he died, suddenly i felt the urge to know. the need to know. i made a few phone calls to random numbers i saw attached to his name in the obituary... no leads, maybe one... my sister? dad's other daughter? the one who was a righteous christian and refused to speak to her dad (thus, my dad, OUR dad) for almost 10 years? dear god, it was really bizzarre. thank god i've played improvisational games a few times or two in my life, i thought as i dialed one of the numbers from his obituary. i was able to get my (ex?) sister's number out of her zipped little lips. but not before we discussed his suicide.

it didn't take me by surprise. not at all, in fact, when she asked, "do you know how he died?" i did already knew..... an old familiar conversation was ringing in a dusty file from long ago... a file i'd put away, didn't believe, and therefor, never opened again. i didn't need to hear her say it, but we ended up saying it together anyway. hers was an announcement, official, emotionless... my voice was a whisper.

damn that man. he was always so stubborn and "i'm going to do it MY way!!" whether he was putting gas in the car (with gloves he kept in the trunk so he wouldn't get diesel on his hands and smell all day) or whether he was going to end his life whenever he damn well wanted to. period. argh. she was very official until she was reading the details: "wow- your father was a very very intelligent man! he knew what he was doing!" and then she gave me details. which, i knew i would eventually be curious to know, so i jotted down some notes, and i filed those away for visualizing another day.

and then that man haunted me for days, in and out of consciousness, in and out of my dreams, and even after my new-ex-sis and i got back in touch. it took me a month or two before i was able to place that somewhere in my broken heart. but right now, as i type, his living room furniture helps me provide a home for now to the twins. (okay- it provides them with more stuff to jump on.) and some dishes and VERY nice crystal... some strange art.

i spoke to my sis B. we talked at length while we were hanging out-slash-cleaning dad's house out for "the sale", where we realized a lot about him. and then we took off for a day at disneyland (we got the cleaning done early, and we had THREE 3-year-olds that were really really bored)- and what we discovered.... or maybe what i discovered is that the man i love and did love SO MUCH is not and was not perfect. not even close to perfect. WTF is that about????? yeah. how 'bout that? that's that. we talked about his history of sexual harrassment in the work place. we talked about how he was a big time guy somewhere and he always took advantage. i did not know that. until B told me. fact. and it also led me to more questions, most of which will probably never be answered.

and you know what? i found out something.i discovered that my dad, that hero, in my spirit: he didn't fall, he kept flying. that cape didn't come down. i cursed him out in the disney pool, sure (she had a room, we were sneaking in and out as guests of guests) i was SO MAD AT HIM.... and it took me a long time to decide it was his disease (alcoholism ain't pretty). i gave her some big crappy stories about his drunk days, which she could believe. and his temper was ugly.....

and then we talked about his WHOLE person. his parents, how he was raised, what love meant to him, how it felt to him, what you needed to do so that he could see it and feel it, etc and what we came up with, after a couple of days time, is that my hero was a man. with chips and flaws, which i felt in our relationship at times, but we all have those. we just don't feel them because they are OUR chips and flaws. how he changed over the years, how he ended up, what his goal was... what he DID every day. he was a counselor at a senior center. he volunteered at two others. he was active all over the place. i wish i had known him longer. he taught me more than anybody i ever met.

heros can make mistakes, and have chips and cracks and black streaks- heros are made from humans. and heros are not flawless. my biggest heros have been made from the imperfect humans wearing a cape with a tear or two in it. and being human.

his cape was tattered and torn
shredded and shorn
but i'll love him all the same.

indeed.

2010-09-03T22:06:00.000-07:00

emotional thievery
i would beg to say
has as much value
as stolen gold
wouldn't you say that?

something real

2010-05-22T11:26:00.000-07:00

i spent the evening at my aunt and uncle's last night. some cousin's were there, some of their kids, which are my kids' age... and pizza, fried things, ketchup, potatoes, and lots of things i'd never let my kids in los angeles. but. we're home in indiana. so i'm pulling a big 2x4 out of my ass and letting things go- first of which is the nazi-food voices in my head. if we're spending ONE NIGHT with family... geez, let them eat something processed.

the kids were in one room or another... underfoot, with crayons and coloring pads at one point.... sometimes we heard from them every two minutes, sometimes not for 45 minutes. we grown ups (me! finally at the grown up table!) talked about tv, sports, the new bishop in town (they are catholic), and for a while my aunt and uncle shouted lines from that movie where someone yells "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!!" only they shouted many lines, and there was a lot of spittle going back and forth. sometimes there was some disagreement in which line came where, but it was hysterical and wet and everyone always shouted "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!" i mean, c'mon? i love my family.

after the pizza were sweets, and then pajamas, all the while, the family's string of conversations didn't break. the new cousins giggled at seeing each other in new jammies, and as the night drew to a close, life's shrapnel began to dissolve from beneath my skin. good and bad, judged and beloved.... the pieces of foreign objects that tore me going in, don't need to tear me going out- just dissolve away like there was never a sharp object to begin with.

sunshine in the shape of laughter

2010-04-30T14:46:00.000-07:00

he was putting a puzzle together
when he pointed to a shape
"what's that?" he asked
"Tennessee" i replied

he finally nodded, with understanding
after a lo-o-o-o-o-o-o-ong pause...

"oh, yes! that's where they play tennis!"
nod nod
nod nod
nod nod
nod nod
nod nod
nod nod

real life

2010-04-27T13:11:00.000-07:00

happy birthday to my sister and
happy birthday to my children's
godmother.

EVERYBODY VOGUE!!!!?

2010-04-14T07:45:00.000-07:00

click that blog title up there for fun!

it was fun. i remember i was super self-conscious about showing off the "area above my navel"....and do we need to talk about my tittays in those GIANT CONES? looking back, actually, that reminds me of what i looked when i was hooked up to my breast pump machine GIANT CONES .... so as i watch myself flail around and dance back then, i now try to imagine myself swinging the breast pump around with me, cords and all, milk flying everywhere, people getting sticky and the floor getting slippery.

i guess motherhood has changed me. i digressed. anyway.

anyway... right before that night shot, i'd had a glass of champagne just to loosen my non-dancer self up. let's watch that again. nope. i was not loose. there was a crew of about 30 guys that were so nice and acted like i had dancing talent instead of drunken rodeo clown talent. damn i love crew. sometimes they're all that get ya through a long day on set.

anyway. for old times sake. let's pull this good stuff out of the vault and watch.

i do think jane comes off like a swan and i come off a little like frankenstomp?

true love

2010-02-26T20:33:00.000-08:00

ain't money
and doesnt't shine
ain't gorgeous
all the time
true love
is nothing
you'll be able
to hold
nothing you can
call your own
nothing you can
chase
acquire
true love
is
how many years it took that couple
to learn how to play that piano
through the ups and downs
the kids and grandkids
how to get it just right
that silly dance and song
so many many years
of patience
and maybe some fairy sparkle
and for sure some ugly times, don'tcha think?

Kim.

2010-02-19T10:34:00.001-08:00

i'm sitting here waiting until my favorite sushi restaurant opens. only 54 more minutes. and then spicy tuna and me are gonna have a throw down like it is december 23, 2012 and there is no tomorrow. wasabi-i-i-i-i-iiiii. (said with an accent.)

i had friend in indiana, back in the day of old (ha)- i think she joined our class in middle school (88? 89?). kim. jesus she was tall. i think she was over 6 foot in 7th grade. no joke. with coke-bottle glasses and teeth that could use braces yesterday. no joke. so you can imagine how well we treated her... how kind, and warm we were to her... what cheerful and thoughtful nicknames we had for her. poor thing.

but then came basketball try-outs. and damn, the girl could retrieve a basketball from the basketball boards! so being the Hoosiers we were, we did allow Big Bird a little leeway. our name-calling stopped ever so slowly. and of course, she played in every basketball game that she showed up to play in- she showed up for them all. her legs were twice the length of my body, and her arms twice the length of everyone else's arms, so of course she was center, and of course, she was always able to slap that ball where she wanted.

i have a clear picture in my mind of her giant michael jordan palm, spread out like a spider on a windshield, smacking that orange ball right at me, and then me dribbling that thing down the court for a lay-up. SWISH! we made a pretty good team, she and i. kim was a great team player. she made a good team with just about anybody you put with her. and after just a few games, her you're-not-going-to-get-me-down spirit shut us all up. and i think we began to admire her for the true sportsman she was: let me play and have fun and do the best i can. dare i say we learned a lesson from her? not to judge a book for its cover? cuz that book might just be the book that ends up with MVP for the season? i dunno. i'm jussayin'.

then cut to years later. and i'm on FB. cuz i LOVE LOVE LOVE FB. yes i do, i love it, i love how i found my old friends, my dear friends, my sisters and brother, my stepmom... i friggin' LOVE FB. it brought me back to where i come from, who i am, and what is R-E-A-L. and there is kim. only by now, we're grown ups. my braces are off, and so are hers. she's 6 foot something, and i'm still at her knee caps, she's gorgeous with her blue twinkly eyes, and she's living far away from our hometown as well. but this time instead of trading basketballs and dribbles, we're passing cancer notes back and forth. her mother was diagnosed with stage 4 not too long ago, she told me. and then she asked about my kids. "isn't it funny, tam" she said "who would have thought there would have come a day when we would be talking about cancer and kids?"

kim's mom passed yesterday. which stunned me. she used to come to those games. you really couldn't miss her. you didn't need to guess which mom was kim's. she was the only mom over 6 feet tall in the bleachers. little mom, little mom, little mom, little mom, KIM'S MOM, little mom, little mom, little mom.... to be more specific.... bridget's mom, melissa's mom, lauren's mom, KIM'S MOM, hope's mom, karyn's mom, natalie's mom, etc...

*sigh*

i wish i could smack an orange ball of strength and support to kim - a ball of answer if you will. but i have none. in fact, i have the same questions today that i had years ago. i can only wish kim's mom peace....

and most of all. i can only wish kim peace. and fulfillment. and time to heal most of those wounds. i say time to heal MOST of the wounds, because it's my experience.... that time does not heal all wounds. time might take the sting away. but time does not always make the scars fade or remove the memory of the pain and sadness.

RIP to KIM'S MOM.

and peace be with you, Kim.

pills, princessa, percocet, pain, and planning wars

2009-04-27T16:53:00.000-07:00

<---- this is the before photo, april 23

this is the after photo, april 27---->

i think the united states should use deviated septum surgery as a new form of torture. it's similar to water-boarding, but with thick, bloody phlegm.

and i've also discovered that i don't think i'll ever be able to find love for pills. i was feared this potential, especially with all the pill-loving within my family. (okay, only one person, but she loves pills enough for a dozen of us... i digress, perhaps with bitterness..?) but during this weekend of pure torture, i have to say, the pills only made it worse. first the doc wanted me on vicodin, which i flatly refused. i now know that more than two vicodin within a year's time frame will set my gut to slow, snail-like, lava-oozing puke-age. after my c-section, they gave me percocet. which totally helped ease my first-time nursing pain as well (can you say "blisters on nipples?" now can you say "the pump was set too high?" now say "she almost sucked her damn titties off, forget about milk".) so this time i asked for percocet again, the haunting of my relative and her grasp on the pill bottles always in the back of my mind. so i order them with hesitation, and always leave extras in the bottom of the bottle.

let me just say here and now, that those fucking pills make me NUTS. within minutes of taking them, i get hyper sensitive to sound and light, and then i get hot, and then i feel claustrophobic, and then i feel the need to run outside and rip my clothes off. this i ascertained from the second dosage of pain relief after the surgery, when i found myself ripping my pajamas off (again), and clawing at the back screen door (again), because "i need to be outside! i need to be out out out! get my clothes off!" (again). i ended up almost naked each time. that's when i said "screw the pain killers". so now i have a stockpile of vicodin and percocet in my medicine cabinet.

that reminds me of a story. OOoooooh, another story. this one involves a legend. a legend that i will not name because... well... she'd have me killed. and i don't know if i'm joking or not. so. let's call her Princessa. honey and i were trying to sell a house some time ago... we'd had it on the market barely a day when the calls began to flood in. by the first weekend, we had Princessa on our doorstep, asking to have a "private viewing" of the house. so, unlike with other potential buyers, we left her in the house with our two realtors. our realtors were supposed to be there to answer any questions. but princessa dismissed them with a flick of her perfectly manicured hands. "i want to look alone" was what she cast off over her shoulder. the realtors left for the kitchen, and she headed straight upstairs, where she'd been directed for the master suite location. she was alone in our suite for about 10 minutes, we were told, and then she left with a bottle of leftover vicodin (lotta dental work) from my medicine cabinet, and my diamond watch. i noticed them gone right away, and told the realtors.... and there was some rumbling and mumbling for a few days, and then some fading voices after a week, and then... there was nothing. like nothing had ever happened. honey and i didn't go to the police. we couldn't wrap our brains around the fact that PRINCESSA came to our friggin' house and friggin' STOLE meds and JEWELRY. right? so we kept telling one another that the watch would show up. it actually had sentimental value, not just pretty diamonds. anyway... just a week later princessa called and wanted to come check out our house "alone" again (naturally), and at four o' clock, so that she could "see how the sunlight hits the house in the evening". i fucking kid you not. i said no way, we weren't giving any more "private, solo, unguided tours" of the house. princessa said no thanks and we didn't hear from her again. when i see photos of her, i scan her wrists to find my first christmas present from honey.

long story not at all made shorter, i don't like to keep leftover pills in my cupboards because i'm afraid someone will steal my watch. and here i have a pharmacy what with all the root canals last year, and now this surgery. but bottom line- i hate those little round balls of legal tripping. and some people don't.

back to my deviancy. looks like i have two nostrils again instead of the holland tunnel and a butt crack. i smelled something the other day- something green and plant-like. i'm still not sure what it was. this whole smell thing is new all over again.

and holy crappers. while laying around, trying not to rip off my clothes and scare the neighbors, i found myself on you tube. watching everything i could about 9/11. darn if i agree with the theory that no airplane went into the pentagon on that morning, nor did a plane full of people go down in shanksville. as far as the rest of it all- i'm open to learning all the facts before i say more. i sat and watched professionally, demolitioned buildings fall on you tube for 10 hours today. the twin towers included.

i can attest, above all else mentioned, that if we open another torture chamber, we have GOT to offer deviated septum surgery as a choice for torture. a little phlegm-boarding, we'll have answers in no time. of course, the answers might not be what we want to hear, but when has that ever stopped us?

someone take the laptop from my hands. they're so chatty tonight. i haven't been able to talk in a few days, so i'm feeling verbally constipated. this helped relieve some of the pressure.

internet = colon cleanse ?

i won't be taking a picture of that.

a calendar marking, bouncing light squared

2008-10-17T12:26:00.000-07:00

pieces of me
rusty or bent
or halved or cut
or worn or faded
or torn or shredded
hues of blues

smeared and spread
evenly not

getting better
better can get ugly for a minute
ugly
i've experienced
can grow into a
swan

patience is needed
expensive, yes

and yet each morning
i never fail to count my blessings
just as there are many i hold
there are many i will gain
in addition to

gentle
dimly
softer
until there's almost never a need to squint

happy bday to you
happy rebirth to me.

oklahoma to st louis, trying to beat the storm...

2008-06-08T20:23:00.001-07:00

a boy at the mall
i have age-dar now with toddlers
something in him
was eerily familiar
as we passed, me holding my son's hand
and he holding his mommy's hand
skin the color of chocolate
long forgotten, semi-bleached
from being left in the visiting sun
decked out in his Sunday Best
church, probably,
as we passed, his eyes lit up,
his hand reached out to me
our eyes held on
and could not stop connecting
i stopped in my path
he pulled from his mother's grasp
and ran to me,
"Hi! Hi!" he waved at me
over and over
like he was bumping into an old friend
at the market
i knelt before him, and got eye to eye
the best level for a child, i think
his name was letrell,
he was 21 months old
he was with his mom and grandma
his cheeks were the size of large oranges
and hung down over his collar, nearly to his
second button
i looked at his mother
"how do you not eat him" i asked her twice

he did not want to move on, his females did,
he did "knuckles" with both of my toddlers
and said "BYE! BYE!" with great satisfaction
for knowing the social skill,
but great sadness for knowing finally what it means

it was several minutes before the his sobs of
"Bye!... Bye!... Bye!..." faded away into the
cacophony of shoppers, teens, and store atmospheres

i do love the young ones
allowing themselves to orgnically connect
before they are conditioned
the way all mothers are supposed
to condition: don't talk to strangers

that little boy
with cheeks the half the size of my fist,
a beam of light
straight from heaven

babies make me a better person
i wonder if my babies have made me a better person

ugh. such cliches, this motherhood is.

now imagine
if all of those cliches
are true

yes. i bleed glitter now,
i am so filled with bliss
i speak in poems
and seek understanding
so that they'll know the whys
not just the whats

cascading rainbow water falls
whose splash melts into the soul,
scarring the body with droplets
of life and love
and prism-drunk truth.

peace be with you

2008-06-06T14:50:00.001-07:00

the last time we were in this hotel, i was HUGELY pregnant, and could barely fit into the damn shower stall. i cannot begin to string together words to describe the wonder i have in watching my two toddlers run through the grass, discovering leaves and bugs of varying sizes. last time: inside me; this time: outside of me. and yet somehow, i don't feel seperate from them. in their eyes, i see my own joy; their bliss finds its way to my mouth, pushing it into an unknowing grin. i feel what they feel, sometimes i think they feel what i feel. the thought of kindergarten brings tears to my eyes, and a lump of unswallowed acceptance to my throat. because of this, i intend to handicap them in ways that will prevent them from ever being able to "leave the nest", so to speak. you know... skip teaching them social skills... tell them the world is full of big scary men like the current american president.... is this so wrong? keeping them to myself forever and ever? i do not see a problem with this.

phoenix. it's hot. like la.

my grandmother turns 80 this week. i thought about trying to get to her big party at the senior center, but it turns out we'll be just a few days off, so we wouldn't make it in time. i haven't seen my grandma in a long time. grandma jo(sephine). such a good catholic woman. did she go to mass? you betcha. she went more than once, sometimes three times a week. she and my grandfather took much comfort in sitting in their back pews, listening to the priest's voice bounce off of the pastel ceilings and giant wooden crucifxies. i went to church with them when i was little. i always fell asleep. oh, grandma, she'd get so mad. there was just so much about the stories i heard in that beautiful building that did not make sense. so i'd fall asleep. up, down, kneel, pull the foot rest out, put the foot rest in, kneel, stand, sit, chant, sign of the cross, up, down... the part i waited for with great anticipation: SHAKE HANDS WITH NEIGHBOR!... i really liked that part. my male cousins shook hands like they were having a wrestling match, we female cousins would smile and giggle and try not to guffaw (okay, that was me)... my aunts and uncles would sometimes hug each other... i actually really liked that part. if only catholicism had been more of the "hug your neighbor" idea..........

yeah. anyway... we'll be in clearwater in one week. i hope the babes sleep better tonight than last night. dear GAWD let the toe head boy sleep through the night without needing to toss and turn with me in my itsy bitsy bunk.

i have cher's "if i could turn back time" stuck in my head. hm. random.

a handful of safety pins and watercolor hope

2008-02-12T09:49:00.000-08:00

again... do i rest the laptop ON my pooch, or under it? if i rest the laptop under my pooch, then my pooch pushes my clicker thing, and mail is accidentally sent before i am done writing it. if i rest it over my pooch, i can't see the screen. i kid. it's not that big. okay, maybe it is. or not. whatever. i want a minimizer bra for my pooch. honey suggested situps. HA! i don't think so. i'd rather just bitch about it than actually break a sweat over it. yeesh.

at times i feel that living the life we do (money, cars, assistants, managers, private jets, etc) really does a disservice to the children. the life i live in is not typical, and it is very easy to become accustomed to certain things, thereby multiplying the chances of having TYPICAL life things feel aggravating. since the likelihood of the children building a life like this is narrow (i don't believe in trust fund babies- well, to be specific, i believe in them, and i have experienced that many are spoiled and empty of forethought or passion) *sigh* where was i? right. raising children in a purple world when they are more likely to live in an orange world. i feel as if we are missing out on opportunities to show them how to live one day. so i'm going to start with clipping coupons, showing them bargains and sales, and then looking at price tags before we buy things. Maybe the next time they ask for gum at the store, i can sort of turn the gum over in my hands, looking for a price, and when I don't find a price, i'll simply put it back and say "i don't know if we can afford it." and leave it at that. right? i don't know. i want a soup kitchen that provides an atmosphere where children can go and help. i think it would do a world of good to famous-people-kids if they were exposed to people that do hear the word "NO" each day; and if they can witness choices and the affect of them (you don't get homeless from working hard, and being healthy, and living an honest life, just my opinion and experience-- considering i was homeless once as a kid, i figure i have a little insight on that situation). i just want the kids to know what hard work is, what it can bring, and what laziness will bring upon them. we are just starting to let go of the remainder of people that live off of us. we pay their rent, food, bills, etc. just cuz they don't feel like getting a job. (i wish i had thought of that as a career: mooching.) i don't want to raise children to behave as if they need the the financial assistance of others to make a life for themselves. if my kids want to flip burgers, i don't care. they just better have integrity and pride when it comes to their burgers. and pay their bills themselves for f*ck's sake.

my pooch rests on my thighs when i sit on the potty. (too much information? eh- go read another blog, sweets, as i am sure there are just more offenses to come from me in the following words). sort of like having a pet in my lap every time i sit down.

valentine's day, huh? oy. another time for commercialism to grab us by the balls of our wallets, and make us spend money on trivial shit to relieve us of our guilt for the times we fight with our lover. i'll do an anonymous, random act of kindness for someone on behalf of honey today, and call that her gift from me. we love to anonymously pay the meal bills for nice strangers who sit next to us in restaurants. maybe something like that would be a good v-day gift to her.

miller is going through a "mommy only" phase right now. is it wrong if i find it to be the most delicious cry in the world? the "only you will do for my me" sort of cry? like stitches to a gash, they are, those twins. like sewing me back together, one wound at a time. and scar tissue tends to be stronger than healthy tissue, so i will be even stronger than before by the time they are done unknowingly healing me.

i'm learning how to raise children as i go through it each day. and raising the babies is sooooo different from raising my other ones. compare it to walking a dog while chained to a backyard post, versus walking a dog while on a leash down the block. same dog, same idea, same environment.... but totally different experiences.

today is Field Trip day. we go on a field trip to somewhere most wednesdays. i am so stinking blessed, i don't know what to do with myself some days, other than smile really really big and sometimes let out a laugh for no reason.

it's not about life being perfect, it's about finding the perfection in reality. thick, sticky, messy reality made of love, war wounds, memories, and hope and a few safety pins.

on i seek, on i seek.

2008-02-01T10:59:00.000-08:00

addiction is a fascinating thing. well, i suppose it's only fascinating if you've witnessed addicts and their behavior and then been puzzled by the results.

why the heck do i need to hide that i have addicts in my family? addictions run rampant. there was the time we ran out of food at donor's house while visiting him... and he made us wait in hunger for half a day until he ran out of beer and "needed" to run into town. so my sister gave us cheerios. leftover cheerios for six kids? not filling. ha. six kids. two kids times three wives... equals six. (six kids all having visitation at the same time- brilliant. it never happened again.) six kids ate cheerios from 6am to dinnertime. well. actually we ran out at lunch. but i don't think of this memory as a "boohoo" memory, it's more of an informative memory: a memory that gives me information long after i lived it. plus, i just can't find the space in myself to feel sorry for cheerio eaters- that little haitian boy's tongue was streaked yellow from the mud cookie. cheerios is far better than dirt.

i digressed. or maybe not.

i recall a love i had once. a love that i thought was love love love. it didn't matter how often she blacked out from her rolling rocks, it didn't matter how little affection she gave me... i only remember having the recurring thoughts "if i can just get her to stop drinking, we'd be perfect!!!" when, really, the alcohol intake is just a SIGN that something else is wrong deeper inside. there are those who have no compassion for addicts. i go through those periods, myself. i go through the idea of "Someone let her fall on her fucking face already, and if that means death, so be it". but if i think about it, really deep down think about it

i still can't believe someone would choose addiction over children. i witnessed it, experienced it, lived it before i was old enough to get my period. no wonder i sought it in relationships. i was a creature of comfort, never straying from my original script. back then anyway.

they suck from the bottle like there is an answer written on the bottom. but once they see the transparent glass or plastic at the point of emptiness, they simply reach for another bottle of promised land. i might always have a fascination with it- the wonder of how strong one's numbness must be to conquer the screaming voices within.

i find addiction to be familiar. when i see it living in front of me, thrown at me whenever i turn on my mail, i cannot help but watch and see if there are answers people are giving that i am not applying to my own questions. i watch others in similar situations, as i'm sure you can guess by now....

i have my own family member spiraling out of control. and she always has been. i just don't know if she's a stand-still cyclone... shrieking insanity in one place forever, or if she will continue to deteriorate. i think it's the latter. i've done interventions, i've pleaded for one to help us help themselves. i've done the counseling with the rehab counselor and patient. and yet no matter how many hoops we all jumped through, we found ourselves staring at her standing in her square one 42 days later. no change.

i find my fellow brothers and sisters can go through similar fates as myself. some of us struggle to find answers, some of us turn our backs and say "you did it to yourself". i'd like to give myself permission to stop seeking the why's of the situation.... i'd like to stop watching the train wreck that so eerily resembles my own memories- insanity, violence, disregard for any safety...

but on i seek, and on i seek.

my tom, his suzanne.

2008-01-20T10:08:00.000-08:00

it never ceases to amaze me, my naivete. no matter how many deaths i experience in life, each time i think to myself, "but why? why did they have to go?" it doesn't matter if the death had been expected, and we were warned; it makes no difference if the passing was 107 and hadn't recognized me in a decade.... i don't seem to fully grasp death. why it's there, is it lonely, were they scared? are they okay now? it's very childish of me, i understand. and yet, reading about suzanne pleshette's passing brought me full swing into my baffled and bewildered child-like state of confusion.

the first dead body i ever saw was a great uncle. and i remember he looked like a sleeping rock. i had no recollection of knowing him while living, so i met him while he was lying in his beige satin-lined casket. i remember some of my mother's tears fell on his pasty folded hands, and i was very confused as to why he was wearing blush. and as usual, during some of the most painful times in life, my family found ways to laugh. so amidst the pain, there was also display of laughter- perhaps if for no other reason than using laughter as a way to release that which we don't understand inside, "why'd they have to go"? i only know that any memory i have of rosaries wrapped around hands are coupled with giant family potlucks and roaring, table pounding laughter.

great aunts, great uncles, grandpas, great grandmas, a stepfather, even a little girl who was killed by a nurse when she was drinking and driving. that funeral i understood the least: tiny little hands hugged by white gloves, a bonnet, and a teddy bear. she was half my age. once again, "why'd she go?"

i don't know if i shall ever find my answer to that question without stepping into my spirituality. and spirituality is sometimes the only thing capable of getting me through the painful times. spiritually, i know tom and suzanne are back together again. as was always meant to be.

but i still sit here in sunday sweats, the twittering of birds outside my sliding glass doors, the trickle of our waterfall reaching over the sound of a tiny plane far away.... and i wonder, "why'd she have to go? why did he have to go?" and i wonder what it does to our friendship- can i still call them friends? can i still love tom immensely? can i smile when i think of suzanne's sailor cackle? can i laugh when i watch our gag reel from Committed? can i keep the notes we exchanged over the last few years? can i play the good memories over and over when i get sad?" see? death and birth are so much the beautiful same thing, yet my human-ness steps in between my spirituality sometimes, and i am left with simple, earth-bound, human sadness.

it's so hard to let go with fingers, when one knows the heart will never.

7th grade, mrs. morgan's class.

2007-12-27T21:33:00.000-08:00

as my understanding of this parade we call Human Life evolves from one perception to the next, i find myself wanting to have a ridiculously long lunch date with my seventh grade english class. i wanna ask the small group of, what was it, 12, if Life is the ride they thought it was going to be back then? as we scribbled our copious notes from mrs, morgan's barking intelligence, why in the world did we think we knew so much? regina, i thought she was all but jesus himself. she was tall and had a perfect soft bob, natural wave, and glasses that resembled the beginnings of coke bottles. her kindness made her the beauty of the class- in my opinion. and scott's too, apparently, cuz later on after high school, regina and scott got married. i wanna know if sheri ever wishes she'd stayed my friend even after high school swept us away in the tides. i really missed her when we stopped hanging out. i liked sheri. she was really perky, and i wonder if my "what the hell is this thing called Life, cuz no one's home to teach me" wackiness overwhelmed her. i overwhelmed myself at times. and i sometimes still do. if i could, i wanna ask derek what the hell was he thinking when he broke into the high school 4 years later and created such a scene with S.W.A.T. and everything, all so he could rip off some tv's and electronics and sell 'em later- or something like that, if i remember the newspaper clippings correctly. and where did he get the guns? i vividly recall his second grade lips perfectly landing on my own during a game of "kiss 'em, ditch 'em" during morning recess. like tag, but with kissing. no tongue. (wish that babysitter of mine had taken a hint.) from second grade kisses, to advanced english classes in 7th grade, to waving guns at 4am in the bowels of a high school for money his family already had... i'd ask him what happened. you know? what the hell happened? damon. he was a little crush of mine. growing up, i dug older chicks (pe teachers and softball coaches) but threw my crushed-out feelings towards a "teddy bear" boy for awhile. i threw my feelings at a sweet teddy bear in 5th grade: damon. he was so nice, had such round freckled cheeks, and he hugged- HUGGED. this is when everyone else wanted to land their first kiss... but i'd scored my years back thanks to the molesting (hey, gina... i'm not even tempted to change your name here... BOO!), so i guess i got my first hug from damon. and my first hug meant (and still does) more to me than my first kiss. and that darn crush lasted. lasted in and out of the years, the awakenings of our social class differences, and well into junior high. it was only when his mother screamed at him to "quit hanging out with that dime store hood" when she thought i was out of earshot, that our mutual fondness for one another and peanut butter began to fade. which was unfortunate, cuz i coulda used that cover for the following years of "why do I want to kiss the girls more than ever?" self-loathing. denial can sometimes indeed be buried for long periods of time when one has another focus in life: like that sweet teddy bear damon. who i hear married his high school sweetheart and had kids. if we were sitting in mrs. morgan's 7th grade room, i'd just give him a hug. and i'd tell him that i use in my own home, the "if you leave a toy laying around the house for a day, without putting it away, it goes into the Time Out Box For A Month" rule that his mother used in their house. i think he was a good guy. after hugging him, i'd pass a note to sheri... who'd may be pass it to karyn, and natalie (was she in that class? i forget)... and we'd all agree to go for pizza later. and then, i'd apologize to mrs. morgan for taking some of my "please don't push me to my full potential" crankiness upon her, and i'd thank her. i'd tell her that her off-the-cuff suggestion about me going into acting (was that 1987?) one day in my adulthood, in fact, turned out to be a great idea. and then i'd show her a picture (album) of my beautiful family. and tell her about the magnet that hangs on my dryer: "sometimes on the way to a dream, you find a better one".

saving the world, the poo, and the smoosher

2007-12-20T08:30:00.000-08:00

i don't accept plastic bags when shopping anymore. i haul 4-5 canvas bags around with me, each bag whispering an advertisement for the store from which it came. using canvas bags instead of paper or plastic is no chore at all at the grocery store. lots of people bring their own bag to the grocery store to bag their stuff. very european. but when it comes to malls, i don't see a plethora of people wrestling with their empty canvas bags, each rolled up and placed inside a slightly bigger one. when people see me coming now, they know two things: i will buy for a boy and a girl, whether it's a size 12-18 months, or a size 10 in big kid clothes.... AND they know i don't want wrapping tissue, or a bag to place my purchases in- i bag my own stuff, in my own bags, and i walk out with only the items i bought. i even make them take the shoe boxes to recycle. it might sound complicated or like a hassle, but let me tell you., i don't have 128 plastic/paper grocery bags slid between my washing machine and the wall... i don't have bag after bag to carry in from the car- i pack it myself in the store, and i rarely come home with more than a few small canvas bags to empty.

we are getting our "new" car (old to some other family, new to us)-- in diesel. as of february of 2008, each of our cars will run on bio diesel. and we'll fill the tank from our effin' GARAGE. we get what's called a "wet drop", which is when some dude with a giant gas tank truck who lives far away, will drive to our house, and fill our giant "gas barrels" with non-war, non-earth killing, domestic, renewable fuel. i can't wait. it's so easy... oh, so i'm low on gas today? no problem! it'll take me a minute to fill it from the barrel TEN FEET FROM THE HOUSE, and then i'm on my way.

so much easier than making dick rich. and feels better, too. how about that dick company raping that young girl? i wonder how easily dick would cover it up if it were mary cheney that had gotten gang-raped and help captive. oh, dick. i don't wanna stand next to you- between the lightning owed your head, and your karma.... and boy have you got it coming. i just wanna know: is your wife in denial, (she looks so sweet and naive in that photo you released of your grandbaby), or is she like a Mafia Wife, and she pretends to know nothing.... but she really LOVES the extra money and the shiny lifestyle? and your daughter mary- does she spend any of our blood money? oh, the irony of mary mary quite contrary. does she have mirrors in her home, or is she unable to face herself?

i'm not buying a lot of toys for the babies' holiday- i refuse to teach my children that once a year, in the name of a thousand-year old myth, we will bury them with toys and goodies that they won't care about anyway. they just want wooden spoons, a little pot with a lid, and some cheerios to "stir". they are very fond of mops, vacuums, and dusting with a rag. it's cute. but with two "helpers", my chores have expanded to being a one-hour chore, instead of a quick 15 minute clean up. but i'd have died to have ONE " little mommy's helper" a couple of years ago, so suddenly, my time is no longer as important. my time has become their time... and their time has become my education. i am being educated in living in the moment, loving each breath, laughing at the mistakes and pratfalls of life, and cheering them on until they can get up themselves. what valuable lessons to learn from such angelic creatures.

they like to poop in the tub, though, which is slowly getting to put a damper on bath time. three times in the last 5 days. inevitably, they get in the tub, and are splish-splashing.... when suddenly we will hear a little grunt, a whimper, and then a little face will pop over the tub. if it's miller- his face will be full of jest and screeching joy... if it's johnnie rose, she seems to understand pooping in the tub isn't the long-run goal, and she gets sad. either way, though, we figured out the first time, that regardless of any one's feelings about the floating poop- get them BOTH out immediately. cuz if you just lift out the pooper, the other twin is left with a very interesting, floating new "toy". which they will reach for and try to "smoosh" immediately. so bath time has a new ritual: when someone poops, i grab the pooper, and praise them ad dangle them over a sink (it's important to praise the pooping, as i don't want the poopers to get pooping anxiety).... and honey catches the poop. she's such a great poop catcher- she doesn't even flinch. in fact, she said she takes the chance to get a good look at the poop- "it's important for a mother to have a good understanding of her child's poop. poop is related directly to health". yeah. well. she can be the poop/rock star mom. i'll be the vacuuming/laundry mom.

and they've been walking for months now. MONTHS. they're only 14 months old. people see them run around the mall, and freak out, thinking they are little robots or dolls. yeah, i tell 'em. they're those new "I Poop Like A Real Baby" dolls.

honey is home for awhile- done with that roller coaster of publicity and album stuff. whew. i feel our roller coaster car slowing down and coming in for a stop. oy. fame, hollywood, holding what others seek.... what a trip. seussland, i tell ya.

oh the places you will go.

dear diary, december something, 2007

2007-12-13T21:15:00.000-08:00

dear diary,

is anyone else finding al gore as lusciously sexy lately as I have been finding him? ooh, he's so intelligent and assertive, humbly commanding and warm, friendly and demanding. sexy. there was a photo of him pointing and reporting the inconvenient truth... he's my boy crush. if i could have a garage where i keep my tools and mechanic supplies, that reeks of gasoline and stale weed... i'd plaster the ugly walls with shiny posters of al gore. and kate jackson, circa 1980. and mary from "eight is enough". and tina turner, the B52's john denver and neil diamond. and carol burnett (for inspiration, not sexual fantasies), and robin williams and the muppets. and dennis k. and ricky martin, because his shaky bon bon is fucking INSANE. but in there, i'd hang a big glossy photo of that sexy al. lots of 'em. a couple with Tip, cuz she's a hot mama as well, but that's typical of me. she's a woman. i dig chicks.but al... al. there is a man with a thick, compassionate, emphatic, righteous, generous soul, no matter how often it is sucked dry by the war mongers. and i'd hang out and change my oil (that's all i know how to do, really), and surround myself with photos of al.

children get attached to things, like stuffed animals and blankets. i have no problem with that. as a therapist once said to me, "he's not going to walk down the aisle with a pacifier in his mouth." so. i encourage loving stuffed animals. well. johnnie rose has a doll, knit of beautiful, soft yarns in rich, delicious colors. her skirt is brightly striped, and her hands and feet and smile are pink. the rest of her yarn skin is the most intoxicating chocolate color. creamy milk chocolate. she and johnnie rose are pretty good friends. if i try to tuck another doll in bed with johnnie rose at bedtime, she shakes her head no and tosses the doll out of the crib. so. at first, i thought, "what would make a great name? an appropriate name?" for this new doll? i felt a little silly calling a brown-yarned doll "Ginnie Mae" or "Heather", right? so i thought i'd give her a socially conscious name, a name belonging to a person that might inspire johnnie rose to be a change-maker, help this world be a better place. there was only one name that fit: oprah. that's right. oprah. oprah and johnnie rose are closerthanthis. at first it felt strange and slightly schizophrenic, saying, "johnnie rose, do you want to hold oprah? do you want oprah in the stroller with you? do you want to share your pretzel with oprah?" and johnnie rose would grab her tight, feed her a pretzel, or just mash her slobber into oprah's face. well, of course, the name stuck. and i didn't think about how other people might hear us refer to Oprah now and again. the looks we get when oprah goes shopping at target with us and we're all yakking about "johnnie rose and oprah" this and "johnnie rose and oprah" that.... oh, my. i'm constantly whispering "oprah's her doll" to the mystified and hopeful passersby in the aisles.

miller. boy. my boy. a mom's boy. needs to be kissed and hugged, but then let him go cuz he has things to do. the first to whimper at a noise, the first to bang his wiffle bat into the window. boy. i can give the exact same toy to each of them, and their reactions to it are totally different: miller tries to pound it, make it change shape, see how hard he has to push it certain ways before it breaks... he beats the crap out of it, and doesn't think twice before dropping it/smashing it into the ground. johnnie rose, on the other hand, she will take the item, and hold it gently in her hand. then she will look at me, as if to ask "what is this?" i explain it to her, and she tries to mimic what i say: "this is to pound in the pegs!" i'll say. and she'll gently start tapping at the colored pegs. when it's miller's turn, he immediately starts hittingthe floor,the kitchen seats, the family room furniture... but once he's discovered all there is to discover about the now-broken toy, he will run to me for love and affection. he can't get enough kisses for his manliness and strength. he's like a candy store that overflows with sweets and chocolate rivers- he is a boy whose joy and enthusiasm runs over me like a sugar waterfall. so sweet i can barely eat it all.

i watch my son and daughter, both natural, and sharing every toy in the house (both use the toy vaccum, both use the toddlers pounding mallet/pegs, both like to wear hats of any kind)... and it really upsets me to think that men are running this planet. it's not natural. it goes against a man's natural state of mind to try to nurture nations and heal wounds and bridge divides. women should be in charge again. like we were so many thousands of years ago.

i guess that's all.

wait.

oh. one more thing. let's be real. let's be serious. if hilary gets in that oval office... that is one sexy bitch. regardless of whether or not i vote for her, she'd be a WOMAN in DA HOOOOOOUSE. and let's be real some more. that's kinda sexy.... hilary in her presidential suits, in charge of so many things... whoo... like a lady in uniform... okay. i admit it. (pretending i weren't civally unioned) if i was an intern, and hilary was ruling the free world. man, i would totally suck her dick in that oval office without thinking twice about it. curve or no curve to the tip.) BOOOM!

silence fell across the dusty files, as the bullhorn blared the whispered

2007-12-12T16:02:00.000-08:00

out loud
my truth echoes
on pages further away
than my journals written by mine own

a hush
fell over the shadows in my library of secrets
as they all tilted their heads upward
my words shattering their confidence
like a jagged rock through the church's masterpiece window
they thought i'd keep the secrets forever
that's how i was trained

Waltzing in my constellation of thoughts.

2007-12-02T12:15:00.000-08:00

when she waltzes she
is the first to fall
and the first to stand again
and spin
when she eats
she is the only one to dive in
with all ten fingers
and lick the plate
when she cries
she is the first to hush her yelps
and the last to understand
why

when she wakes each morning
flashback after flashback
of what once was
the way she swears it'll never be again
when she awakes
she awakes
and begins her journey again
step by step by step

life in the shade
darting the spotlight
the spotlight that changes
that which is being observed

one foot in front of the other
is a testament to faith and the belief
that my dirt path
leads me somewhere
other than in a circle of where i've been
and where i've promised i'd never go again.

faith in oneself
is more important than
faith in another self
god comes from within
not from without

who told you someone else was god
besides you?

the white man who swore a life of poverty, yet his
Prada costs the same as my mother's first paycheck
from Purdue University
and we had to sit in the back pew.

everyone is shooting everyone
cuz this way of life
doesn't work anymore
everyone
looking for another way to live
another way to carry on our feet
one in front of another
and when the Man In Charge is a criminal
and thinks nothing of sending our boys to a
death dance
what do our children learn?
killing is the answer- no talking, no compromising,
my way or death
guns guns guns guns
"just shoot 'em and shut 'em up."

it's like living in an abusive home again

someone get me out of here.
or give me better dreams at night

tick tock tick tock
sometimes life seems to be a waiting lesson-
breathe in and out... all the while waiting
to see what comes next
and if i can still waltz when
all is said and done.

indeed.
i can still waltz.

nothing real at all.

2007-07-20T19:51:00.000-07:00

fame is the intangible manifestation of multiple perceptions and projections happening all at once, onto one subject, and then amplified.

jiggity jig.

2007-07-15T08:27:00.001-07:00

back home again
families with intentions of like minds
love laughter manners joy

in a small town, we've rented a house on a little lake
absolutely cozy and midwestern at its finest.

the babies' birthing from me
stirred awake something inside of me
to reach deeper than the latest travels of me
and find the roots of where i began

i began with the simplest of dreams
and the surrounding society carved self-shame into me
lack of catholicism, divorced mom-ism, etc-ism
lack of guidance,
questions with nonsense answers
my childhood was a swirling whirling mess
and anger filled me
defiance became the wind to my sails of pain,
and a dream to go go go
be big bigger biggest
saved me
my buoy in the storms

turned out my big dream
what i thought was the be all end all
was merely a bus stop
in this journey
and it wasn't long before
the moonbeams were pointing me
home again
with a pocketful of stardust and truth

if i could tell the dreamers of dreams
the big wishers of
one day !
when i get there !
when it all comes !
....
i would tell them
you are missing out
on naught
there are no stars over Hollywood
that cannot be caught
right here in the
fields of swaying grasses

patchwork khaki greens and golds
witha nary a memory of the winter cold
more memories than this girl can hold
tucked away deep in the farming folds
my family
has come home
all of me
the beginning spiral
outward into adulthood
spinning off into dreams
hitting the stars
and ricocheting back into the arms
of the farms

home again home again
jiggity jig.

danny with the proud smile

2007-07-03T15:12:00.001-07:00

i thought he was asian
as in
might have an asian accent
but instead
i found out he was french
only cuz he told me so

my cashier at tar-jay
danny
said his name tag
i'd have guessed his age to be 65
my height
gray hair, what was left anyway,
and a proud smile

beep beep beep
my items flew over the red laser shooting from below the surface
jar after jar of baby food
beep beep beep
"how old your baby?" he was tossing the glass jars
with swift, gnarled hands
into the empty bag before him
beep beep beep

"eight months old."

"they should not be eating this food"
beep beep beep
"your babies need table food
you and me food-
not this- this is soup"
beep beep beep
"I older than you- I know more"

life is short
so I nodded and agreed I should make a change
beep beep beep

i think he was lonely
and maybe he liked my face
cuz then he started to tell me
about his life
--wife gone long ago,
his daughter died this year
of breast cancer
left him with her six year old daughter to raise
so he is

he gets up early
to get ready for her day
feeds her
walks her to school
goes to work at tar-jay
all day
picks her up after school
takes her back home
to do it all over again

big proud smile
beep beep beep

"do you work?"
he tossed the conversation ball to me
my stomach churned butterflies into ice
as I answered
"not right now. i am blessed to not have to work right now."

he smiled
"you so lucky!"
he said
and i nodded
watching his grandfather hands
bag my silly items for my silly vacation--

and I recalled
how my mother's quick hands used to pass the
red laser over the tags at Kohl's
how my mother's agile and strong hands used to balance
the trays of food and drinks
how my mother's gnarled hands grasped the sponge tightly
as she cleaned in the creases of our toilet

later
as i was home playing with my children
danny walked through my mind

and again today and probably will again

and again

danny with the proud smile.

muddy puddles in razziberry city.

2007-07-02T06:44:00.000-07:00

one true test of my motherhood is traveling coast to coast with 8.5 month old twins. thank goodness for all that touring- i feel as though i've been adequately prepped by way of tour: hotels, suitcases, freeways, highways, byways, airplanes, suitcases, walking sneakers, comfy clothes that camouflage the messes i will inadvertantly make on myself with random foods, liquids and fingerprints...

i'm preparing for the razziberry of it all. i see those nyc pics- i see those "here they are walking on two feet: normal or not normal?" pages in rags (gotta read something whilst i poo). i am accepting that i will not be able to hide enough on the streets to avoid photographers, without making myself an anxious mess about it all. and how i behave around the babies will teach them so much about life, and how they should respond to similar situations. while my anxiety might stem from unwarranted/unwanted/invasive/leering stalking-with-a-camera... the babies don't know that, and i don't want them to think that walking around nyc causes great distress. it doesn't- i find walking around nyc to be healing, in fact, but that's another blog. i need to be careful to teach them how life is good, life is beautiful, life is safe (if i have to be careful, does that mean i don't believe it to be so already?) which will be hard to do if i am cursing the razziberry the whole time. so i am understanding that in order to help my children live a healthy and well-adjusted life, the journey begins with how to react when one is violated. isn't that life in general? a series of responses bouncing between one another? so really, how i handle the razziberry, will show my children how to get through life in general, i think. MUDDY PUDDLES. i think i'll go look up that blog of mine. MUDDY PUDDLES. that was a good one.

it's funny. back in the silly days of yester, we thought the government was going to create a Big Brother type of atmospehere, the type where we are never alone, never free to do as we please without fear of judgement or witness.... we thought THEY would plant cameras on every corner, and have no act go un-photographed. we thought THEY would do it to US. and what i think i witness at hand is US doing it to US, while the government runs amok elsewhere. and i wonder if we are "big brothering" ourselves because our trust in the government and in our fellow neighbors in general (terrorists, anyone?) is in the gutter. because, really, if i think about it, the razziberry takes photography, which rarely lies, unless photoshopped. and if one disregards the caption adjoining the photo... a simple photograph, with no words/thoughts projected upon it, allows the truth to be seen by others. so i wonder if we are all craving truth, and the only way we can get it un-censored is to get it through the razzi's? i dunno... i if we weren't focusing so much on "what is the effing truth already?" with the bigger issues at hand (cheney? iraq? health care?) we wouldn't crave such truthfulness of mundanity. (mundanity- my new word. means having to do with "mundane". i think i made it up.)

and the truth is, there are many gay families out there that do not have another family within hundreds of miles. those children might not see likenesses of their family anywhere in their life, except in a magazine once in a while. and so i am trying to use that as my motivation to move through the razziberry city calmly and with love: any photo taken and run of me and my most precious beautiful family.... that photo will be seen by some child in a gay family, or some gay teen, or some closeted grownup... and maybe the truth captured in those photos will inspire them to love their own uniqueness, family structure or otherwise. so i'm going to bless the violaters, bless the razziberry, bless the truth that will be seen. in the end, not much will matter anyway, not much more than truth; and the truth is, while people can stalk us like a hunter to its prey... ultimately, no one no one no one can take joy from me and my family -- unless we give them permission. which i don't.

bless us all
everywhere

as we all save ourselves
the first step to peace
is
just thought

7-7-07

peace peace peace peace
truth truth truth truth

and a meditation on Muddy Puddles, please turn to page
http://hollywoodfarmgirl.blogspot.com/2005/08/muddy-puddles.html
in your hymnals.

tom.

2007-05-01T18:18:00.000-07:00

tom, sweet tom,

my children share your birthday
i wanted to tell you
how 'bout that?
i laughed aloud when i realized it...
so much i meant to tell you....
but time got away from me and ....
that phone call i owe you...
well....
you know how life goes....

so much to say
and so little so late
one more reason
to say what i feel
when i feel it

excuses
never fill in the gaping hole leftover from a life's passing

he asked me once
as the laughter and applause faded away
"it's fun, ain't it?"
with such a twinkle and a smile
i knew it was a hypothetical question

you sweet man
with the bluest of blue eyes
oh,
tom.

gumballs and butterflies and bologna

2007-04-30T11:01:00.000-07:00

we toppled out of the steel door and onto the red carpet like gumballs into an outstretched hand. our bejeweled fingers held tight to each another. it took a few moments to adjust to the light, before i was able to focus on the people and the new environment. i laughed watching so many southern californians stumbling around in daylight without sunglasses. honey and steven and i merged into the shuffling crowd, as i tried to figure out which of my hands would carry my dress's train throughout the night. my dress's sash dictated that i stand on the left of us, which meant that i needed to hold honey with my right hand. so my remaining hand, my left, would need to hold not just the excess dress (hem), but my left hand would also need to hold my purse as well, down the carpet ride.

as luck would have it, i suck at carrying things with my left hand.

some woman in sunglasses introduced herself to us and said that she would be helping us down the red carpet. and then she said she couldn't find her phone or something, and then she rifled through her giant purse, and then she jerked her head out of it, and said she would be right back, and then, poof, she was gone. our tour guide had vanished as quickly as she had appeared. it was just the three of us again. honey and i looked at steven. steven looked at honey and i. steven and honey exchanged some eyebrow twitches, a head jerk and a shoulder twitch. and then wordlessly, we began shuffling off with the rest of the diamond cattle towards the two story tall (looking) golden statues on either side of the entryway arch. like a millionaire's mcdonald's.

at this point, it got very crowded, and my personal dance space was narrowing by the moment. this meant i had to stand up taller, and put more weight on my chubby toes smashed deep into the new heels. i promised myself i wouldn't wear heels like that for at least 12 more months. i would allow extra months of slipper-wearing due to breast-feeding, i decided.

we came to a full stop, bottle-necking where a velvet rope sliced the carpet down the center. at this fork, the famous and their dates continued down the carpet to the left side of the rope, and the non-celebrity guests went to the right. i found it amusing that it was at that point where we came to a screeching halt: are you famous or not? i hadn't thought there'd be much debate over that sort of thing... but perhaps fame is in the eye of the beholder. to the left, i saw the photographers thronging with what appeared to be hundreds of cameras and lenses and flashes, of all shapes and sizes. i've gone down enough red carpets to know that that would be our carpet ride, on the left.

after steven gently linebacked us to the left side, honey and i waited while the celebs in front of us made their appearances in front of the cameras/world. we ran commentary as the cameras flashed. sometimes we were quiet, and held hands, People Watching, our favorite past time. that had been such a great thing on our cross-country road trip... the People-Watching... life's best movie. anyhoo... so there we are People Watching, and I'm noticing details in people that magazines gloss over: both physically and metaphorically. it was fascinating. there was mr. lizard eyes with the snappy head and smacking lips... always twitching, jerking, sniffing.... twitching... as i watched this hollyood man eat at his face, i had a flash-back to one of the bars i worked in nyc. it was only years later that it was revealed to my ignorant self that, in fact, the bar was merely a front for what it really was: a drug house that specialized in cocaine. i had never understood why all the customers went in and out of the kitchen- i was one of only two waitresses... but random people wandered into the kitchen to see joe (not his real name, cuz at this point, i don't wanna piss off any former co-workers)... and that's another story.... so there we were at the Oscars, and there's this guy, mr lizard eyes, nipping at his own eyes with his choppers. i whispered something to honey, and we People Watched him and had a good laugh. and then a lot of things made sense about him. and then we moved on.

as we began our descent into the hairy scary valley known as Publicity Land, we dodged a giant 120 pound, 85 year old butterfly lady. god bless her. she clearly felt so beautiful. her joy swirled in her dress, which had several brightly-colored scarves sewn to her ankles and wrists. i'm not kidding. (honey says she is not 85. whatever.) and she'd swwwwwoo-oo-oo-oo-oop her arms up and down, flapping, flapping, smiling for the cameras, twirling, whirling, and feeling so glamorous. honey and i laughed, and ducked her crayola wings, and she moved on down the press line.

we all knew the routine by now: steven guide's us to each media person, honey says hello, introduces me, and the questions would start. that's every red carpet, bologna or no bologna. (it's important to note that there are BLINDING LIGHTS everywhere, and this farm girl SUCKS at squinting without a brow furrow. i've seen far too much footage of my "what the hell is she saying? what am i looking at? what is happening?" squinting face played back on entertainment news shows.... and yet... nothing seems to change. over and over.... me, squinting, furrowing, forehead-pursing all over the background of honey's shots...) and there we are, on another red carpet, and i couldn't hear what was being asked... so i tried to lean in, but not look like a busy-body-leaner-inner, but i couldn't hear a darn thing being said.... at one point, i tried to smile politely and look doting and loving towards honey... but really... i couldn't hear a damn thing that was going on. at that point, i made a mental note: "figure out how to look attentive and involved, yet loving, when on red carpet".

i'm never sure what to do on the red carpet for one of honey's accomplishments. i know that while some people might like to get a few shots of us standing together, i don't want to stride down the red carpet as if any part of my being had anything to do with her musical skills. thus, my night before each red carpet, consists of a rock garden of thunking questions at honey: do "they" want shots of her alone? do "they" want me to move? am i hogging her spotlight? should i hold her hand or put my arm through her arm? if i lean to the left to fart, will the "body language expert" read the photo later and say that we are growing apart and i hate honey's suit? the night before each red carpet we have the same discussion in the bath:
me: "i'll just hang back with steven, okay?"
honey: "no! stay beside me, please?"
me:"okay. but maybe if it's tape, they won't want me to talk..."
honey: "no! just keep holding my hand!"
(which, i have to be honest, it is so sweet that honey wants me to hold her hand as much as i want her to hold mine. and, truth be told, that tangible contact with the other can be very grounding and securing during such public chaos.) and then i nod and she smiles and we kiss. same thing. every red carpet eve. the bologna night being no different.

and there i stood, at the start of It. even though the red carpet covered a large area, i could tell exactly which parts of the red carpet were where the photography happens, the Magic part of the Smoke and Mirrors. the Magic parts were cleared of people, and the red carpet was super-duper firmly duct-taped up and down the sides, i'm guessing, so that heels and hemlines don't get tripped. reality was to the right, no special lighting or tape.

dust kickin' tires....

2007-03-24T08:46:00.001-07:00

the roads that lead me 'round
bring me home again
my arms are full
my plate is fuller
to throw another life saver
at one
whom might not want to be saved
is what i call
a waste of time,
but in life
there are self-inflicted Shoulds
and this one
will let me look in the mirror
for years to come
no matter what it looks like
when all is said and done
the roads that lead me 'round
bring me home again.

a little something.

2007-03-22T13:25:00.001-07:00

frozen
speechless
too much to say
so little time

isn't there always a part two in life that we're waiting for? how many times have we started that "to do" list, only to lose it amongst the dirty clothes?

he said
"i believe life is easier
when you find the right partner.
sometimes i come home and give
aunt kay an extra hug
and tell her
thank you for being here."

oh, yes, isn't that an important thing to do, i thought to myself.

isn't that an important, overlooked, significant thing to do.

truth....

2006-12-30T00:00:00.000-08:00

it gives me anxiety
watching bits of
his words
he called her fat
like she's hiding osama
or raped a child

perhaps he feels threatened by her size
in more ways than one?

coming from where i do
i can't spit the word
fat
out of my mouth with venom
too many people i love
are large
too many hearts too big for the average body
and so they are
large
big
round
lush
plump
hug-able
mushy
big enough, with a lap large enough, to hold three small children

it hurt my feelings when
he loaded his mouth
and shot out the word
bullet-like
the explosive kind

fat

ouch

maybe cuz i've visited that
island
before
and perhaps will again
in my life
or maybe i just don't find
weight
to be a point
to praise or criticize

the bullet grazed many

he reminds me of the
tazmanian devil
during the moments when he's not spinning:
sweaty
tongue wagging
salivating profusely
dizzy
drunk on the ego
destructive
blind

fame
is a two edged sword
cupcakes and bullets
euphoria and humiliation
victorious
and
naked

public verbal abuse

... reminds me of the dad
across the street
when i was a kid
he used to spend his weekend mornings
in cut-off shorts, shirtless,
hairy belly hanging over his shorts...
screaming and cursing at his wife and kids
everyone on the block
heard it
we all cringed
we all knew it was wrong
but no one could stop him
over and over again

he wouldn't stop

didn't he know
didn't he know
didn't he know
how bad he sounded
the things he was saying
the way he was behaving?

that was when i figured out
sometimes grown ups...
they aren't right- they're wrong....
but they don't know better

emotionally uneducated
if you will.

peace and shine

2006-12-19T00:00:00.000-08:00

nobody told me
the dawn comes
and never goes again
i did not know
that it would take another
of me
to fix
the broken parts of me
the broken pieces
that i've stared at
and documented
but somehow never managed to
heal and seal
until
until
until

in my arms
i'm comforted,
in my lullabyes
the answers whisper close,
i have more to give
than she did
it's okay
it's okay
today
it's all okay

in the face of another
a mirror of mine own
comes the knowing
an understanding --
the forks in the roads
every child faces,
the decision they cast
whether they mimic or forge

forge on
old girl
forge on

pieces of me
reflecting the sum total of i
reaching from now
to all of yesterdays
face to face
with peace.

wanting for nothing.

2006-11-14T00:00:00.000-08:00

hygiene is overrated
sitting down to eat is overrated
eating with two hands is overrated
hell, sometimes eating is overrated
sleep is underrated
clean clothes are overrated
desitin is underrated

we came home to realize our cat isn't so little- she's quite huge, and fatter than we thought. it just took having tiny babies next to her, to show us that fact.

you haven't lived life to the fullest until you've leaked breast milk a-a-a-a-all-ll-ll-ll the way from the bath to the pump machine, in the next room.

if you don't get more than 90 minutes of sleep at a time, for several days in a row, your eyes start to cross involuntarily.

i was right- honey is the perfect partner. she hasn't missed one consultation, not one appointment, not one ultrasound, she's been right next to me every step of the way. every minute, every second.

soul mates are underrated.

i left the house yesterday, for the first time in weeks. it was far too over stimulating. everyone going so fast, so busy, so many things to do, places to go, blah blah blah... it hurt my eyes to be out for too long, so i cut my list in half and headed home early. which was just as well, as the milk dispensers i carry with me were running over.

i drove our new ford.

ford, that's right. ford is very supportive of my alternative lifestyle, so we're trying to support them as much as we can. we bought a used 2005 ford excursion- a diesel. and now we put BIODIESEL in it. HA! savin' the earth. then we also have the ford escape-- its a hybrid.

the other night, i was pulling the night shift, and my mind wandered to my dreams from years ago. i used to fantasize about my future family: i wanted lots of kids, some of them "mine" and some not. i wanted a big kitchen, with a big pantry, and a stocked fridge. i wanted clothes for all of them, food enough for each one, and laughter all around. and i got it. four kids- some from my womb, some from my heart; a big kitchen, enough to eat, warmth, and laughter for days.

what more can i ask for? my birthday is coming up, and people are asking me what i want for it.

i want for nothing. i have it all.

1+1+1+1= Two Names

2006-10-28T12:01:00.000-07:00

Heaven has been good to us
from the beginning of our journeys

Honey had her father
guiding her way through music
records at 4
guitars at 8
gigs from the age of 12
always always
holding her hand,
lighting her way:
"Listen to Neil, Missy
do you hear that lyric?
do you hear that music?
now THAT is a fine song writer"
he taught her all he knew
and some of what he didn't know,
he was the most important person in her life
he passed away when she was 30
his name was John

Johnnie

Evelyn
the Big Indian Chief
as she called herself to
all 20-something of us little ones,
the babysitter of the neighborhood
enough love in her
to fill two dozen children
daily,
she was my buddha mama
potty-training me
loving me
disciplining me
never letting me get away with
trouble-making
always good for a rocking in her chair
on her cushy belly of love
big enough to hold three small children
as I've said before
her middle name

Rose

the music teacher in 8th grade
who saw me crying
and pulled me aside
to let me know
I was not invisible
and neither was my pain
she was my first
confidante
she was the one
who took the knives out of my hands
she was the one
who taught me how to fly
her last name

Miller

Honey's brother
not by blood, but
brother by soul
by spirit
he was there during her downs
her ups
before I even came into the picture
he helps us keep privacy
like you wouldn't believe
sneaking us in and out of hospitals
for cancer
chemo
radiation
fertility appointments
OB appointments
pre-labor hospital appointments
hotels
busses
venues
restaurants,
he is
part guardian angel
part body guard,
part brother,
and all
Heaven sent
his name is

Steven

Johnnie Rose and Miller Steven
not one letter is wasted,
not one name pulled
out of nowhere
everything means something

life is a metaphor
and I have given birth
to two
named after
four

who changed our lives forever

blessed be

John
Steven
E. Rose
M. Miller

All That is Joy

2006-10-17T12:00:00.000-07:00

Johnnie Rose and Miller Steven
are
home

healthy
perfect
beautiful
and
all that is joy.

Peace.

it's a pillsbury cherry turnover kind of day....

2006-10-15T00:00:00.000-07:00

right now
it's about comfort food

can't think of one more thing to watch
tivo ran out of space to tape any more trash
and there is no sign of premature labor

two babies
each one
the size of a singleton,
not ready to come out
for an early visit
they are just fiiiiine and beyond
inside
a blessing yes
and a sentence of insanity
for me
cuz I can't do much more than
eat, drink, pee, and complain
sleep? what's that?
I think I look pretty with circles under my eyes
blotchy skin
and seventeen necks
and a belly that makes Santa look
man-orexic

so today I've decided on comfort food:
Pillsbury cherry turnovers
yummmmmmmm...
they don't sell them here in this state, or even a surrounding ones
so my cousin
Heather
who lives in Indiana
she sends them to me
wrapped in dry ice
or packed with ice packs
and overnight-ed
she's my hero today
(right after Honey)
she's always been one of my favorite people

triangular dough
filled with cherry stuff
baked to a golden brown
and drizzled with icing
complete trash
and I don't give a rat's ass

I shall eat these
watch football
(that I don't really understand yet
but I'm getting better the more Honey explains it to me)
and perhaps go for a waddle around our house

the turnovers have cooled almost enough to eat

nope, don't need silverware, thanks
no napkin either- I can lick the drippings off when I am through

now get outta my way.

I Heart Neil

2006-09-18T12:00:00.000-07:00

Neil Diamond.

Really. He is so incredible. I told Honey that if we have two girls (we're not), we should name them Holly Holy and Sweet Caroline. Second option: I am and I Said. I can't get enough of him.

Nows let's talk John Denver. If I could pick two men to be God and Son of God, I'd pick John and Neil. I'd go to any church that has stained glass windows of their likenesses... Gimme the stations of the cross starring John and Neil, and I'll tip some money into that collection plate.

Walking through the grocery store today (my exciting excursion for the day, thank you very much), a woman a few years older than me rounded the corner, bumping her cart almost directly into my luscious belly. Since my belly rounds corners 4 feet before the rest of me, it was no one's fault. We each swerved our vehicles at the last minute (she swerved her cart, I swerved my belly.) She glanced at my waistline (HA! I laugh saying waistline), and as her eyes passed across my face, her voice tilted a little bit as she sang, "Girrrrrrl, stick a fo-o-o-ork in you, you're DONE!" and passed on by. I thanked her. Dunno why, but that wee bit of acknowledgement towards my luscious self gave me a extra bounce in my step. Not a bounce visible to anyone, but I felt inside myself that there was the intention to skip a little. Made me feel like I wasn't so crazy waddling through that store slower than an obese patient with broken feet.

I seriously can't get enough Neil Diamond. We're putting together a compiIation of music to take with us to the hospital. However/whatever kind of birth we have, I'd sure rather hear music I adore in the background, than bad musack versions of songs I didn't like the first time around. I wonder if the babies would like a little "Play Me" as they acquaint themselves with the world. I understand it's supposed to be really good to have kids listen to classical music, like Bach and Beethoven, when they are really young, but I can't sing along to those songs, and I there is no "shaker" that I can "air shake" to while I sing. (I am no good at air guitar, so I like to air percussion: shakers, tambourines, perhaps a triangle... I KILL at "air shakes" during "Holly Holy". I am FIERCE. I suggested to Honey that she add a traingle to one of her songs, so that I can join her onstage sometimes. She hesitated so long, I felt like Lucy asking Ricky to play in his band.)

I love Neil. I love John. I love the b52's, while we're at it.... They have an instrumental "Follow Your Bliss" that I love. Just sayin'.

I saw today that the SF Chronicle has quoted the ragazine I blogged about. So now here goes the gossip. Started in one magazine, and "source close to us" (the source calling me by the wrong name, let's not forget...), now it's in the San Fran paper... it's crazy watching stuff spread like wildfire, but without any real wood to keep it burning- just lots of hot air fanning it.... Oh, well. I'll worry about my pregnancy-induced carpal tunnel syndrome instead. Not bad, not crippling, but if I thought I was helpless before, poor Honey... she has to carry things for me from room to room now. And yet she never complains. She's the best.

*sigh*

Neil.

*sigh*

Honey didn't mind that I called him my man crush. I don't wanna swing for him, don't wanna DO him, don't even wann ahold his hand... I just want his music to blast open my ear drums and swallow me whole.

Who else can get away with writing a line like,
... "and no ONE heard AT all, NOT even the CHAIR!"

Miss Kemble

2006-09-14T12:00:00.000-07:00

She always wore sensible polyester slacks, white nurse shoes, and a sensible top. By the time I had her in 1979, her hair was a beautiful silver white color, with no particular style. It just sort of sat on her head, nicely combed, with some wave to it. She wore glasses that usually greeted the end of her nose several times an hour.

She taught me colors, numbers, letters, and some manners. When it was time to line up for the Pinning of the Parental Notes to our shirts, I didn't mind. She always gave me a big smile before her lips pursed and wiggled as she gently drove the pin through my tshirt, through the twice folded 8x10 piece of paper, and back through my shirt again before it clasped. She didn't let my ornery self get away with anything, She gave us sheets of animals to color each day, as we learned both colors and animal names. Weeks later, she was checking out our work, when she came to my seemingly empty pages. No color.

"Tammy, why didn't you color any of these animals?" she asked, as she held up several xeroxes.
I looked at her, answer already formed: "Oh- they're WHITE animals..." I replied.
She stared at me a moment. I wondered if she'd get mad. She didn't. But she took away my outside play time so that I could "perhaps use my white CRAYON to color them white". She nailed me.

My mother told me in high school, that at her parent teacher conference with Miss Kemble 13 years prior, Miss Kemble said many many things about me, one of which included, "She will make a mark on this world one day, I promise you".

She retired just 5 years after she taught me. What a loss for the school corporation, and the children of the future.

My senior year of high school, I received a card in the mail. Inside the card, it held newspaper clippings of everything I had been involved with so far: from school plays, to community plays, to an award for being Carrier of the Month as a newspaper girl when I was 12.... you name it, she had been clipping them for 13 years. As I opened the card, out fluttered the clippings, and a crisp new $5 bill. Inside the card, which I still have, were the words, "I am so proud of you! Congratulations! Love, Miss Kemble".

That card meant the world to me. After all of her years of teaching, of students passin in and out of her life, she remembered me. I was never able to find her, reach her, or contact her... but these last several years, as my own children pass through the lower grades of their lives, I've thought of her many many times. I've thought of her strength, caring, compassion, and insight. Now, THERE was a woman who was able to love and discipline with love... She let no child escape naughtiness unpunished, but the punishment never left a wound.

She was Miss Kemble, my kindergarten teacher. When people ask me, "If you weren't an actress what you do?" and I tend to reply, "I'd be a teacher."

I say that because I'd like to make a difference in someone's life, the way Miss Kemble left a mark in my soul.

Rest in peace, Miss Kemble.

From my hometown Journal and Courier:

"Marilynn Lucile Danley Kemble, 85, of Lafayette, died at 9:10 p.m. Tuesday, Sept. 5, 2006, at her residence.

Born Aug. 2, 1921, to the late Chester V. and Alliene Smith Danley in Lafayette, she was a 1939 graduate of Jefferson High School, received her bachelor's degree in elementary education in 1966 from Purdue University and received her master's degree from Ball State University in 1971.

Her marriage was to Charles E. Kemble on Sept. 7, 1941, in Lafayette, and he died in 1957.

Mrs. Kemble ran a private nursery school in her home from 1953 to 1966 and worked for the Lafayette School Corp. for 19 years at various elementary schools including Centennial, Highland and Edgelea as a kindergarten teacher, retiring in May 1986.

She was a member of First Christian Church, Christian Women's Fellowship, the Navy Wives Club and the North Park Home Economics Club.

Mrs. Kemble enjoyed gardening and crafts."

peace be with you

2006-09-10T10:39:00.000-07:00

what would jesus do?

call in a bomb threat, clearly

forgive yourself, father
for you have sinned
and you reek of hypocrisy
again

no gays allowed in heaven
but let's be sure to
harbor sexual predators

we had no electricity
no heat
sometimes no food
but the pope
he wears prada

how many little girls
sitting in the back pew
could be fed
from your shoes
pope

what would jesus do?
take the donations of the poor
and with his vow of poverty
head to the nearest Prada
for some spiffy red kicks

educate yourself
read
The Jesus Dynasty
educate yourself

jesus had siblings
jesus was royalty
mother mary
Virgin Mary
as we call her
had many more offspring
not just jesus
and some of them were
his disciples

jews know the truth more than most

watch the history channel
Mysteries of the Bible
more truth
than a year of Sundays

that collection plate would pass
in would go our only dollar
when I finally saw the house of the Bishop
the fanciest house on the block
when I was 9
for a moment
I wanted to be Bishop
so that I could live like a king

the Bible
the new testament
is a comic book
but without pictures
only predjudice

educate yourself
on the highjacking
of a man's message

it's not about jesus
it's about what he was saying
which is
we are all
christ
we are all
children of god
we are all god

what would jesus do?
he wouldn't spend thousands of dollars on prada
and he wouldn't call in a bomb threat

peace be with you.

Looking for God

2006-08-11T00:00:00.000-07:00

everyone is dying
for a God
a God that is
as real as real can be

I watch them in the audience
their hands waving back and forth
fingertips brushing against the bottom of Heaven
back and forth
back and forth
and they sing
they sing every word
they plead every song
faces tipped back
to God
singing and singing
mouths open wide
hearts open wider
souls split in half

everyone is dying
for a God
some literally

I was dying for a God
for something to claim
was my final destination
raised in a Church with
virgins and disciples and sodomites
came to my truth about that
different than what Father O'Keefe used to teach us

I was dying for a God
I looked in building after building
lover after lover
food after food
cigarette after cigarette
until one day
I had nothing but me
just outside the spotlight
watching
others
dying to find God

my journey ended right there
in a mirror
with 5,000 faces
I found God

in the masses of hope and joy
in the throngs of praisers and dreamers
God was right before me
in the faces
the souls of every brother and sister
poor and affluent
thick and thin
graceful face and not
that is God

I found God between a Window and a Scarecrow
perched on the wings of my life
in front of me
in me

and you

home
home
home.

Hungry

2006-07-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

Don't make me say it again: I LOVE NY. Damn, I said it again. There is something about brushing past the lives of others as we walk down the street. Without any metallic, gas-chugging borders surrounding so many of us, we are forced to mingle and bump into foreign brothers and sisters. I think it's good for us. That close contact, seeing the whites of someone's eyes, it reminds me that everyone is warm-blooded. I don't understand the idea that NY-ers are rude. I find them to be brutally honest. Sure, they might come off rude to tourists, but if a buttload of tourists stood around your neighborhood, taking photos of your apartment house, or blocking the sidewalk you need to take to get to work, while they stare at your neighbor's house- you'd give a good, "Move it along!!!" shout, too.

I remember bartending one night at a ladies' bar.... We ended up so packed full of people, they had to start turning people away at the door. Seriously packed. The ladies who were able to get into the bar were not that happy about it either. Not really any place to sit, barely a place to stand, and forget about using the restroom. I turned to the cocktail waitress who was helping me: "What the hell is going on?" She laughed and shouted back, over the din: "A Melissa Etheridge concert just let out!" and then I lost her in the crowd. I worked my ass off that night. I saw some friends who had been able to attend. I didn't. Couldn't afford to: every last penny was getting saved up for my big trip to LA. So I missed a lot of Melissa Etheridge concerts, but I sure as hell waited on her concert-goers. Just FYI: lesbians are the worst tippers. Gay men are the best. Straight men come in second, straight women come in third, and my sexy sisters come in dead last. I figured it's cuz women make less than men, and PE teachers make less than everyone else. But I loved being around "family". I loved working in a gay bar. I'm sure my regulars all freaked out when I started becoming successful and lied my ass off to the press about my sexuality. Ugh. How shitty of me. My eyes were on a prize that others had insisted was The Prize for me, and I had forgotten my goal in the first place: happiness. It's easy to lose yourself when you place so many others in charge of your life.

I think I will always love NY. I've lived in LA now, longer than I lived in NY, so I don't think of NY as "home" anymore like I used to. It's more like a second hometown, if you will. There's a memory on each street corner, at each subway stop.

I can remember not being able to afford a pint of chicken fried rice for $2.50... I had saved up my loose change. cleaned out my pockets, searching for money. I was so hungry that night. I was an East Village rat, it was 1994, and all I wanted was something to eat, to hold me over until my next shift at the restuarant where I'd get a free meal. I was living on Ludlow, below Houston, and there was a Chinese food place across the street. I walked into the dive, my mouth watering already at the thought of the hot, delicious, greasy rice filling my mouth. It was the cheapest thing on the menu: a pint of chicken fried rice. I had a few silver coins, but mostly pennies, sealed in a plastic baggie. I was ready for that pint that I intended to ration out for the next 24 hours.
I walked up to the man behind the counter, placed my order. He gave me a toothless smile, and turned his back to me as he began to throw things in the giant wok behind him. First a few heaping spoonfuls of rice... some oil... some cut up chicken... more oil... some sprouts, some veggies... more oil... Then he started stirring, scooping, mixing... I inhaled deeply as the smell of the food began to permeate the empty dive. MMM-MMMM. I was starving, and beside myself with the feeding joy coming my way.
We chatted, he and I. I asked for extra sprouts. He tossed them in. I waited. I was so hungry.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was really probably only 4 minutes, he grabbed one of those fold-y white paper containers for take-out, and began to stuff it with my deeelicious meal(s). He was very generous, shoving every last grain in there that he could. I loved him for that instant.
Then he turned to me, rang up $2.50 at the register, and slid the container over to me, with a plastic white spoon on top of it. I sucked my saliva back in my mouth as I presented him with my hard work: the baggie of money. I even gave him a big grin and offered cheerfully, "I'll help you sort it out, so that you know there is exactly 250 cents in there!!"

Stop.

His face changed. His warm expression shut off immediately as he realized I was serious. (Why wouldn't I have been serious? Cash is cash, right?) In a flash, before I could say anything, he grabbed the pint of meals off the counter and held it to his own chest as he shouted in a thick accent, "NO PENNIES!!!! NO PENNIES!!!" It was my turn to wonder if he was serious. As his greasy fingers clenched my food, I begged, "Please, sir, this is all I have. I don't have anything else.... I will count it out for you myself. I really would like that rice..."
Again, "NO PENNIES!!!!" and then he hurled the pint of gold into the trash can back by the stove. He threw it away. He threw it away, rather than give it to me. I was so hungry.
Hot tears burned the back of my eyelids as I realized it was Game Over. The End. Time to go home. I turned on my well-scuffed heel, and headed out the door and back to my apartment on Ludlow. I had to make peace with the fact that I hadn't eaten in a day, and wouldn't eat for another day. I was hungry. Hungry like when I was a kid and there was no food to go around. Well, not enough food anyway. There were always crumbs. But that's another story...
I stepped over the crack addict that kept our doorway warm, "Hi, Leon," I greeted him as I always did. Hey- a neighbor's a neighbor in my book. I walked the one flight up the stairs, not even taking in the new graffiti art on the walls from our neighbor on the second floor with pit bulls and strange smells. I was so hungry.
I reached my door, pulled out my keys to unlock all of the locks, and stepped inside my empty kitchen, where my tiny metal bathtub sat in the corner. I let the tears down as I opened the box of stale Fruit Loops. I took a clean bowl, filled it with cereal, and ran the dish under cold water from the faucet. I couldn't afford milk, you see.
And that was my meal. And I promised myself, it wouldn't be like that forever. Life would get better- I would make it so.

I wouldn't trade that day for anything now. I will never forget hunger. I will never lose sight of my own strength and determination.
Hunger is a good thing.
Hunger will make one brave, if you give it a chance.

I wish hunger for everyone, an undeniable pang of hunger that will set you on your path, and catapult you forward into whatever your life is meant to be.

Mable and the Princess

2006-06-05T00:00:00.000-07:00

Mable Mable Mable
friend of Evelyn's
she'd visit once a week
and sit in the kitchen
smoking
drinking coffee
and guffaw that raucus,
breathless
belly-deep laugh

she was a favorite of Evelyn's

she was a favorite of mine

she drove a yellow jeep
always dangled a cigarette from her lips
and her eyes
crinkled
when she smiled at me

she was broad,
too wide across the shoulders for me to hug
entirely
so I hugged her
sun-browned, leathery neck instead
and pushed my cheek up against hers
as hard as I could
and she'd laugh
but never shake my love away

remember when someone's smile
could inflate your self-esteem
and suddenly
instead of the ornery girl in the tattered clothes
you were the princess who could do no wrong?

that was how my Mable's smile lifted me

"Come on, kid," she'd whisper
not long after her arrival
"Meet me in the jeep."
and there I'd be
age 4
or 5
or 6
and I'd sneak away from the television
the 22 kids watching it
and Evelyn

and
off
we'd
go

to the store for candy

and we'd pick out a sweet thing
and chat
I don't remember what about,
but it was just her and me
and I was a princess in her eyes

and then we'd head back to Evelyn's,
each of us knowing the
hollars coming our way
once we got back there

"Hurry up, kid," she'd say
instructing me to eat my candy a little faster
she'd take me out for candy,
but not let me bring any back to
eat in front of the other kids
she was thoughtful like that

that was where I learned to shovel the sugar in
and ride the high

back in Evelyn's driveway
the kids would scream our arrival
"Ebby!!!! Tammy's back with mable!!!"
and then those hungry eyes
all 44 of them
would glare at me
with a mixture of
hatred and envy
I couldn't really blame them
I could only make sure
all of the starbursts were gone
wrappers stuffed into the side door of the jeep

"Here we go, kid," Mable would lift me up
I was sure it was to protect me from Evelyn's scolding
and she'd carry me inside
"Don't let her scare ya, she'll yell
but she won't bite ya."

Mable could say that
Evelyn wasn't HER god...

and then Evelyn would be waiting at the front door
screen door swung open wide
and she'd start barking at Mable
before our feet hit the carpet
"You can't play favorites! Those other kids
feel left out! You can't just come over here and
take Tammy out for candy!!"

Mable wouldn't let me down
as she fibbed her lips
"Aww, I just went for a pack of smokes,"
she'd chuckle,
those cigarettes making her chuckle like
old farm gravel roads

Evelyn didn't believe her
Mable didn't expect her to

they'd exchange a few more words
Evelyn struggling to remain stern,
and Mable would hold me tight until Evelyn told me
to skidaddle
and off I went
high on sugar
higher on love

Mabel
a tomboy of a woman
married with kids
loved me
loved me
loved me

loves me still

saw Mable last summer
her leathery face has a many more lines in it
each line highlighting her smile
crinkly eyes
corduroy cheeks
and a smile that still
told me I was a princess

My Mable
her yellow jeep long gone
but still never without a pack of smokes
she hugged me
said she loved me
and laughed as she said
"I always knew you were special."

Mable
Mable
Mable.

boy, girl, and bull balls

2006-05-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

our son and daughter
are coming home soon
they've been floating on a cloud
as long as we've felt under one
all of us waiting
waiting
waiting
to be together

son and daughter
squared
for us

found an awesome maternity store
finally had sizes suitable for me
enough larges
as I outgrew medium in such a short time
smalls in half that,
I'm told I'll outgrow larges not too far down the line
and by the end
it seems I'll just have to walk around naked

Honey won't mind

I just want them healthy
and big
when they join us on the outside of me

it's creepy seeing a tabloid
written by people I've never even spoken to,
pretend they know my due date--
they don't

I am getting the weirdest free stuff in the mail;
why do people with enough money
get all the free stuff?

...so we are filling the boxes
to go to the shelters
first thing in there:
some silly band that was to wrap around my waist
and cover my popping belly button
"hide your popped button!"
or some asinine suggestion

so much seems to target
the should-be-shame
of us women:
our curves
our softness
our thighs, hips
being pregnant naturally
without needing to disguise
nature's course on our body

my ass will spread
even more
my hips will widen
even more
my stretch marks will multiply
adding to the pubescent ones,
and I will sit with my legs spread
as if I have the balls of a bull
(which I have)

I will not be the best dressed pregnant woman
I will not cross my legs when I sit
I will need help getting up from my seats
I will love being pregnant
naturally
naturally
naturally

and then we will welcome
our son and daughter

we've been waiting
and waiting
and waiting....

platinum lining

2006-05-02T00:00:00.001-07:00

when the end result is
not what I was blessed with
my gratitude pushes the tears out

as the women
and some men
go down with breast cancer,
done with this life
one after another after another
it reminds me
of the two sides of reality,
and how blessed we are

"what would happen if Mama hadn't
beat breast cancer?" we are asked
and we give them honesty
cuz you can't walk through life
on a path of bullshit pebbles

and their eyes wide
they get it
and so do I
so we spend time
hugging Mama

they have no words
and neither do I
we just simply stand around
and hug each other
sometimes

and we teach them
"Aren't we lucky?
Aren't we blessed?
Let's be sure to give thanks."

big eyes
bigger souls
truth sinks in deep and far
with us all

they looked at me
"what would you have done?"
they asked.
"You love Mama so much."

and
I give them truth again
they know
I only tell them the truth

"Sometimes I feel like my heart would just have stopped
my heart has learned
life is best
when beating next to hers"

and we all understand

"If I love my spouse
as much as you love Mama
I will prolly feel that same way"

and so they learn
the grace
of true love
through our biggest hurdle yet

just like my mom said to me once

"Every gray cloud has a silver lining"

I am finding that some clouds
are endless in their golden lessons
and our foundation is stronger than ever
their understanding of
real love
unconditional love
is clearer than ever

when the fear sneaks up on me
in the night
I try to remember
she is not gone
she is still here
thank you thank you thank you

and then I awake
and make
sure
they know
how grateful we need to be....

surrender to the buns

2006-05-02T00:00:00.000-07:00

doctors who can keep a secret

prescriptions with an alias

gaining weight
(cuz I can't be Hollywood-thin
and carry a baby full-term)

tip-toeing into doctors' offices
and hospitals before dawn

not letting Honey utter a word at the doctor's
until no other patients are around
her voice gives up our anonymity

making friends with the parking guy
who helps us sneak in and out

the privacy was priceless
the protection we received
above and beyond the call of the nurses
they are heroes of class and discretion

cottage cheese
pizza
dried seaweed
olives
chedder cheese
meat
strawberry haagen dazs
popsicles
peppermint candies
meat
biscuits and gravy
warmed tortillas with butter
more cheese
egg salad
meat
protein drinks
cheese
bruschetta
meat
potatoes
did I mention meat?
did I mention cheese?

haven't seen my feet in weeks

can't sleep without 4 different pillows
so instead of spooning
we make do with hand holding for now

moving into the bathroom for awhile
"Gosh, Honey, you look so green..."

bras bras bras
maternity undies

outgrew Honey's pants a few weeks ago

getting up at least four times in the night
to eat a full meal
and to empty the bladder

spreading lavendar oil under my nose
to cover up any gag-causing odors

Honey feeds us every 90 minutes
running off to anywhere
anytime
to buy any food
with such a gleeful smile
it's like the sun has given me my own ray
that follows my every move

alkaline went out the window for me
when I couldn't unwrap myself from around the toilet
for months

"What can I get you honey, anything,
anything at all?"
I peered up at her from the marble floor
immobile on my nest of blankets and pillows
next to the toilet paper rolls
"taco bell?"
it was like the nectar of the gods
everyday at noon
for about 3 weeks

I am not in charge of this body
any longer

blessed be the surrender.

Happy Vernal Equinox

2006-04-16T07:08:00.000-07:00

it began as Vernal Equinox
thousands of years ago-
with rabbits and eggs used
to symbolize fertility
and the coming of life
during the warm months
after winter's frozen grasp

this day was all about
new life arising everywhere
not just one man

but time changes truth
and people forget
and the legends are altered
for controlling the masses,
and suddenly what was once
true and believed,
is suddenly deemed shameful
"sinful"
"blasphemy"
by the innocently uneducated

Happy Vernal Equinox.

Open Letter of 2+2=4

2006-02-16T06:30:00.000-08:00

Dear Starlet,
After watching you flail around town for years and years now, pretending to avoid the paparazzi, I have finally broken my self-promise to ignore you. I'll be honest: your behavior and choices cause me to pause, and I am worried that no one is helping you figure out the ropes of this town. Now, I don't know everything there is to know about this entertainment business, but I do have a rather high IQ, and I've put two and two together in someplaces. (2+2=4, by the way. No worries- I'm here as your pal.)
You seem to be really getting hounded by the razzi, and it seems that you are "scared and intimidated" by them. Poor thing. Cuz then you end up RIGHT IN THEIR LAP. And you play all shocked and stuff, like you haven't realized that EVERY DAMN TIME YOU GO TO MALIBU THERE ARE RAZZI TAKING YOUR PHOTOS. But then again, 2+2=4. As a show of sisterhood in LaLaLand, I am going to list off the places that I've witnessed the razzi to camp out, waiting for a "shot".

~Malibu shopping (great stores, huh?)
~Most Beverly Hills, 90210, shopping (thank goodness
you can find everything in BH at another location,
so one has a choice to simply not go to BH)
~The NewsRoom Cafe
~The Ivy (in 90210- the razzi literally stand there
right outside the entrance,
by the dozens all day, don't they? Wacky!)
~Mr. Chow's
and almost any upscale Beverly Hills,90210, eatery
~Fred Segal (the Melrose one we avoid,
the other one is more private- so we
shop there. Easy decision. 2+2=4.)

The other thing is, living in a gated community with more than one entrance and exit gate, helps keep the razzi from your stoop, too. Gosh, I love that ocean, but I know that if I want to avoid the razzi, I could never build a home there. I'd have the ocean on one side of me, and the razzi on the other- I'd live in a constant state of entrapment. Can you say "Anxiety"? I know it kinda sucks having to make choices, based upon what protects us from the razzi, but that's okay. I bet you've seen a homeless person or two in your life, and you're bound to be grateful for these problems.

Oh, and the other thing is.... if your body guard is going inside to get the coffee for you , why don't you stay home in the first place??? That way BabyBoy won't have to deal with watching Mommy scramble from the razzi again. He will learn to fear them if that is his role model's behavior.
Oh, and I also wanted to let you in on a little secret in H'wood: There is a position held by some, it's called 'The Assistant". They are there to help you live your big famous life easier. They can do things like get coffee for you, so that you don't have to drag your child into a pirhana pit of paparazzi to get it yourself.

I know it's tough in this town, Mrs. Starlet. I know sometimes you don't know if someone if a friend or foe- and if they are friend today it doesn't mean they won't be foe tomorrow. That's why it's so important for us in the fishbowl to be very careful in our decisions. One seemingly tiny decision we make can affect us the rest of our lives. Why? Because our lives are lived in front of amplifiers. Fame is an amplifier, a megaphone to the mouth, a zoom lens, if you will. Every public choice we make is coupled with the possibility resulting in never-ending echoes and reflections of that choice. Who we are becomes even more so in this lifestyle. Fame fractures the view of us as humans, enabling the public to only see the parts we are displaying. Thus the "smoke and mirrors" idea. The razzi, though, they like to display what we like to hide. I have a theory: if ya got nothing to hide, the razzi got nothing to hound. Just a theory so far...

There can be a sad ending to that fame fracture: sometimes the Fame Fracture causes a Mental Fracture. A Mental Fracture is when someone stops being able to see themselves as who they are organically, but are only able to see what they "project" to the public, a false image. Soon the Famed is hooked on those razzi-the Famed begin to chase the razzi, needing another hit of their own reflection staring back at them from the pages. That new "self" that they created, not that organic self they are running from. So the Famed and Mentally Fractured put themselves in places where they can be "found" and photographed. The strongest drug in Hollywood, that Fame thing. The needs for consistent hits of it can make 2+2 seem like an unsolvable problem.
I am not pointing fingers saying that is you, little starlet, as I would like to give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that after all these years, you are just confused, still figuring out how to live PRIVATELY private , not publicly private.

My rant is done.
Sincerely,
HollywoodFarmGirl

*stepping of the soap box, folding it up nicely, putting it into the basket of my bicycle, and peddling off*

angels and tears

2006-02-09T12:00:00.000-08:00

and so the grief
fades into quiet
while I wait
for the answers
to form in the clouds

clouds
that can't swallow my tears
fast enough
no matter how long I look upward
and none of them
look like
ice cream cones
today

I'm figurin' out
that I don't know much about life
and
I'm figurin' out
that I won't know all the answers
anytime soon

angels and tears
and all my fears
rolled into one goodbye

tell me
we will see each other again
before I lay me down to sleep.

Frift Tore Magic.

2006-01-21T00:00:00.000-08:00

I had a speech impediment until age 5ish that caused me to call the thrift store, "Frift Tore". Our Frift Tore was one of my most favorite places to visit. It was downtown, on the other side of a "bad" neighborhood, according to mom. I didn't think it was "bad" at all. In fact, I found the houses on that street to be almost magnificent with their porches bigger than a car, and thronging with masses of family, maybe 20 or 25 people per lawn and porch. I could tell they were family from the way they sat draped over each other across the sagging wooden porch and car-strewn yard. The wide open smiles in the faces, the guffawing laughter, black plastic bags with empty beer cans spilling out the gash in the side... It spelled family to me, and happy one at that. I would barely have time to fantasize about the delightful possibilities of having broken-down cars in my own playground, as mom would speed down the street, barely addressing the stop signs. I had to catch what little glimpse I could of those families. When it came to those Satuday trips, I liked the "driving there" part, as much as the "being there" part. I told myself back then it was a good idea to have fun on the way there... cuz what if we never got there? Car wrecks, mom changing her mind, so many things could happen on the way there. Then I'd have no fun AT ALL, if not only did I NOT enjoy the ride there, but then we didn't even get to the destination at all. It was an early choice, my lifelong decision of "enjoying the journey as much as the destination".

Sometimes finding a parking spot was hard, as there were only three or four parking spots available each surrounding block. I asked my mom once how come so many cars were parked by the Frift Tore, but the store was never crowded. "I don't know," she said with a sigh. Many of my questions were met with "I don't know" followed by a sigh. Sometimes it was an annoyed sigh, sometimes it was an angry sigh (in which one could diguise a growl), sometimes it was just a sigh... the sigh a bedridden elderly might sigh at 2am in the nursing home unable to sleep, and without a death in sight to relieve her.

After we'd park and walk, my skip would bounce higher with each step closer. I knew what was going to meet me on the other end of this walk. I was going to my favorite place. I was going to warmth.
The door was so heavy I couldn't open it by myself for many years, so I was forced to wait those last moments patiently holding onto the door knob, while mom caught up with me. In one swift, strong motion that never failed to impress me, the thick metal door would WHOOSH open. The excitement of arriving prevented me from being prepared for the raucus jangly bells that hung over the door: they never failed to shock me. I would inevitably spend my first few moments in the entryway of the store, silently blinking away the silly tears that had sprung up in my eyes. To this day, when I am startled, the tears spring forth.
The store was large with no dividing walls, and only a naked ceiling that held large rectanglular lights, with every other row lit up. The warehouse-style store could have easily sheltered 20 cars, but instead it held rows of clothing, shelves of shoes, racks of toys, bins of bras, and a few aisles of kitchenware. I found it to be the perfect store. By the time my eyes had re-absorbed my tears from the bell-noise shock, Mrs. Davis would already be halfway across the floor to me, arms outreached. Mrs. Davis was my favorite of all the lady volunteers that worked there. She was tall, with white hair that sometimes looked purplish. I thought she used some fancy grape shampoo, so each time we hugged hello, I would sniff deeply, hoping to finally catch a whiff of that delicious candy smell. Time after time, I'd wind up with rosewater lingering on my tastebuds. I had to learn to sniff with my mouth closed.
"Little one!" her crackly voice would half-sing as I would throw my arms around her legs. By the time we were done embracing, mom was off shopping. My favorite time: "Frift Tore Tory Time" (translation: Thrift Store Story Time). The ladies had put in a children's section next to the check-out counter, where kids could play while their parent shopped. There was a bench there, sort of like an old church pew, that kids could use while they read or played. Mrs Davis would pull me into her lap, with a stack of books, and we'd snuggle in for what felt like days, but was probably not even a few hours. She'd offer me water, a cookie or two, and sometimes part of her sandwich that she had packed for lunch. If someone needed to buy something, she'd simply sit me on the counter next to her, introduce me as her "little helper" and then use that time to praise me publicly.
"What a smart mind you have! What a clever thing to say! What an interesting thing to wonder!" It seemed that everything about me was loveable when I was in that store.
To have one person, both eyes on me, both arms around me, their kindly voice intended for my ears, was heaven. Those hours benefitted me much the same way a flower benefits from water or sunlight.

And that I could take with me out of the store, long after the jangly bells rusted.

Mrs. Davis passed on before I made it back to tell her thank you. And when I did finally get back, I didn't recognize any of the ladies in the store behind the counter. And the children's books were gone. There was no more children's space. The sadness I felt when I laid my eyes where our bench used to be, Mrs. Davis and I's, was almost overwhelming. It made me sad to think there'd be no more women who watered the little thristy ones.
I have visited many Frift Tores in my time, state to state... And in each one, somewhere after I browse the t-shirts, and right before I leave... I glance around to see if there's a bench with books in the corner.
I want to know if there are any more Magic Frift Tores, or if I found the only one that can turn a bug into a princess?

Southern Illinois, 1987

2006-01-18T12:00:00.000-08:00

Donor was a man whom I could thank for half of my DNA, and none of my character. I had "custodial visits" 5 times between the ages of 3 and 13, equaling up to two months time. He was not a man I liked, nor wanted to get to know.
It was mutual. A child knows.

He only appeared every 5 years or so, but nonetheless found it imperative that he lecture us loud and long about subjects and situations that sibling and I had no interest in. What can one expect from a man who doesn't remember the year of his offspring's birth, let alone the birthdate? Warm conversation with appropriate parental intimacy? Even I knew not to expect that by age 10 when he told me to take off my shirt for a special massage.

As donor and sibling carried on in conversation at the gas station restaurant, I buried my nose into a book, pretending to be very far away.
"You got a boyfriend?" donor asked as he clapped his new pack of marlboro's against his palm.
"Yes," sibling answered.
"What's his name?" and he unwound the plastic wrapper from the cigarette box.
"Latrell." sibling answered.
Donor stopped his smoke prep to peer over his aviator sunglasses at his offspring. "He's a nigga?"
"He's black," she replied.
Donor didn't say anything. He banged the open pack against his palm, knocking three out of their cocoons. He brought the carton to his mouth, as his lips reached out wordlessly and wrapped around a stick. He flicked his cheap green lighter, and held the flame up to the clean brown tobacco of the cigarette. Just before he inhaled the flame, he peered at sibling. "You datin' a nigga?" and he took his first inhale of the stick.
His words hung in the air, like the lazy smoke of a fat cigar with no place to blow. I'd heard of people calling black people those slurs, but not so directly. I wasn't sure why I felt so insulted personally. I knew he wasn't talking to me, or about me, but something IN me, still felt the sharpness of his tongue. I didn't lift my eyes or my head as I waited for sibling's response. Times like these, I knew I had been smart to keep out of the line of fire. "Say nothing and keep small" was my motto. I had to unlearn that later in life, but that's another story.
"He's not a nigger, Dad," sibling said. "He's a really nice guy, and his parents are really nice, they're still married even, and I like him."
Donor exhaled the smoke across the table, where it swirled in front of my face, and I had to wave it away to continue to pretend reading. "We don't date niggers in my family," donor said. And then, as if on kkkue.... donor looked over sibling's shoulder and said much louder, "IN FACT WE DON'T LIKE NIGGAS AT ALL AROUND HERE." From the way my hair stood up on the back of my neck, I knew someone unlike donor's self had entered.
I looked over sibling's shoulder and saw the accidental tourist. He was a slight man, not much older than donor, and had a beard that covered his entire lower face, the way they used to grow beards. His clothes were clean, but very wrinkled, which made me fantasize that perhaps he was one of the many truckers. From his cocked head, and slumped shoulder, I felt his weariness. I figured he was looking for a restroom as I noticed his sweet brown eyes that wandered around the corners of the restaurant...
Donor stood up at our table, his gut bumping the edge, sending my pencil/bookmark flying to the floor. "Didn't you hear me?" donor bellowed, "WE DON'T LIKE YOUR KIND HERE!!" and then he blindly flicked his cigarette in the ashtray as if to send a final warning.
Every muscle in the man's body froze as his face searched the room for the voice of alarm. His eyes fell on donor: pasty white skin, greasy unkempt blonde hair, beady bloodshot blue-eyes, and some army tatoos... I felt the man's fear kick in. His eyes bounced off donor as quickly as they had arrived. He spun slowly on his heel, and walked back out of the door without so much as a exhale. Donor sat back down with a grin so wide that I could hear it spread over his yellow teeth. Donor was proud. He sneered at sibling.
"We don't date niggas," he said, and lifted the fire stick to his lips once more. "Ever."
Sibling said nothing.

It was in those moments afterward that I understood him to be imperfect, even deeply flawed in some places. I gave myself permission to set out on my own, find my own definition of family, of love. It was in that day that I started choosing what kind of adult I wanted to be in the future... My visions did not look like his visions. I never went to visit him again.

Man of My Dreams

2006-01-07T00:00:00.000-08:00

when i awake in the night
with a start
visions of
Katrina
tsunamis
heat waves
winter tornadoes
fires
droughts
it's hard to rest again

saw one man's soul
splashed across a documentary
he'll save us all
he'll save my sleep
he's the one we're supposed to be following
anyway
anyway
anyway

Vice President Al Gore
Elected President Al Gore

i'm listening to him
the truths he shares
convenient or not
he speaks the truth

my nights may be filled
with stumbling and tumbling
hoping my grandkids get a full life
on this expiring planet
if they do
it will be
because of

President Gore
President Gore
President Gore

when he speaks
listen to him

An Inconvenient Truth
will let my soul finally rest

together
i believe
as does he
we can make a change
we can make a change
we can make a change

we are of one.

2006

2006-01-02T00:00:00.002-08:00

in the long run
we only hit
that which has been our aim.

me and henry

2005-12-27T00:00:00.000-08:00

It was closing time, 1996, I think. Summertime, baseball season, I think. Manhattan, around East 20-something and Park Ave, a large restaurant sat on the southeast corner, it's blinds drunken and cockeyed. I'd had a slow night, making only $55 in tips. My regular, a woman who preferred Kendall-Jackson chardonnay with her chicken salad, hadn't shown, so I was down her kind, drunken $20-tip-on-a-$30-meal. I bet she never knew she shelled out a quarter of my rent to me in tips each month.
I was glad Henry was the manager on duty that night. I didn't like closing out alone with the Brazilian hunk Ricardo, as any question I had would immediately be met with half-slit eyes and licked lips as he would ask me once again if my boobs have been enhanced, if I liked tea-bagging, or if I can come with anal penetration. If Ricardo was the sly fox with the wet lips, Henry was my round-bellied walrus man, complete with a sweeping, charcoal colored handle-bar moustach. It was men like Henry that allowed me to understand the foreign idea of men being dear and darling.
He was just turning off the last of the 45 television sets; tv is very important in a sports bar.
"Hey, girlie!" Henry's smoker's voice bellowed at me, far too loud to be appropriate for our lack of distance. But again, that was another thing about Henry that never bothered me.
"Hey, my man," and I pecked a kiss on his whiskery cheek before I plopped into an empty bar stool.
"You make good cash?" he asked.
"Nope," I said, as I began to count out my single dollar bills. "I'll be sucking cock for rent this month, too."
I have to say, Henry's laugh was one of my favorites. I've made people laugh in my time, and his melodious guffaws have remained a favorite echo. As his laughter chuckled off, I felt it change. The shift in the conversation.
"So you mind if I ask you something?" my walrus asked me.
Having heard that tone before in a lot of straight men who would flirt with me, I said, "Sure". Henry was the last guy I was intimidated by, and if he wanted to talk sex, I was ready.
"Shoot," I told him.
He finished polishing the wine glass real slowly before he hung it above his head in the wine glass cradles. It was so long before he opened his mouth, I actually thought maybe he'd changed his mind, and I'd get out of there without that silly interrogation disbelievers would give to me.
Nope.
Henry twisted the damp clean towel in his hand, and wouldn't look me in the eye as he asked, "So... why do you think you're gay?" and then he shot me a smile so bright, we coulda blacked out Manhattan for the moment and never noticed. Sweet guy, another one who thought the "Hey, you're too cute to be gay" line was a compliment.
I didn't have a change to answer as he rattled off the list of worries that threatened his understanding of chicks and dicks.
"You're cute- don't you want a guy? You know you could get any guy... I mean, I just think, you're really young, you're what? 20? 19 I mean, you're really really good looking. Don't you know that? Look, once I kissed a guy, but I'm not a fag,I was curious. You sure you aren't just curious?"
I'd have given anything to have been packing a dildo down my britches, and been able to have whipped it out and bitch slapped him with it... but alas, I had only some thongs that were losing the battle of ass-suction.
And, I woulda walked away with a sarcastic smirk, but he slid me an Amaretto sour, two cherries. Henry knew how to work me, he did.
I tucked the two cherries under the ice, and peered at him over my glass... I didn't normally give guys such patience in their ignorance, but I liked Henry. He had a 5 year old daughter that adored him, he never once accidentally brushed against my boobs or ass too hard, and he never once flirted with anyone but his wife. Like I said, Henry was different.
The first sip of an Amaretto sour will tell how the rest of the drink is going to be. Sort of in the same way that the first 6 months of a relationship will tell you how the rest of the journey is going to be. Henry made a good one: mixed just right with just the right balance of biting and sweet.
"I'll tell ya, Henry..." I started, "I knew when I was 6 that I might need to grow up to be a boy so that I could marry a girl."
His jaw dropped open. "Really?"
"Yup."
"But, didn't you like sex with guys?" he asked.
"Never had it," was my routine reply.
His eyes bugged. That and his slack jaw made him out to look quite cartoonish. "You've never had sex with a guy?"
I loved those reactions. Really. I didn't even know that such a silly feat on my part would elicit such awed and shocked responses. It only made me even happier to be pussy-pure.
"NEVER?!?" his voice rose an octave.
I lowered mine even more, "No," and then chugged some of that cherry liquid, my second favorite kind.
Then, whether it was my buzz from the amaretto, or my own fucked up teen scars steering me, I punched the point home with hidden glee, "I looooooove pussy, Henry, probably more than you do. I like the way women feel, taste, sound... You don't have to fuck a guy to know you're straight, I don't need to fuck a guy to know I'm gay."
And then purely for effect, I chugged the rest of the amaretto. I almost choked on it, as alcohol and my body have never gotten along smoothly, but I managed to turn the cough into a "throat clearing".

only 3

2005-12-22T00:00:00.000-08:00

wayward ho
on we go

sometimes
can't tell
which direction

sometimes
can't tell
if it's a storm
or life
rocking the boat

is there a difference

only 3 answers
from the universe
only 3
only 3...

yes, now
no, later
no, something better

wayward ho
on we go.

joy

2005-12-11T00:00:00.000-08:00

I love to go on walks and
admire my neighbors' gardens

yesterday
I found a garden I hadn't seen in a while
so I paused to take in
the details

bursting with greenery
I gazed out among the flowers
to two flowers
that caught my eye in the back

well, I should say one flower caught my eye
the other flower was simply a bystander
to my appreciation

giant yellow sunflower
black face the size of my palm
stalk as round as my own leg
burning yellow petals thrown open wide
and a cute little something or other
can't think of the name
next to it

right next to each other
now how does that happen
I thought
so I stopped to talk to the
whats-its-name flower

perhaps it was my crankiness
but I asked this
"Don't you feel a little silly trying to be a flower
next to that sunflower? It's 10 feet tall
while you barely peek through the dirt.
People only look at you
because of what stands beside you."

flowers with forgetful names
must have a sense of humor
especially if they are growing next to
giant plants that draw in crowds

the flower never flinched
"What do you want me to do-
move?
Replant
myself somewhere else
cuz my neighbor is so magnificent?"
and it's petals shook with laughter

"Silly,"
said the flower,
"I do not want to be that flower
I was born with this height
this color
this life
and I am beautiful as I am."

so I left, wondering
how a plant could be
glad of anything
while in the shadow of a flower
clearly
so much greater?

joy is in never wanting to be
the best of someone else

joy is knowing we are beautiful
even when others are blind.

yesterday's beauty

2005-11-22T00:00:00.000-08:00

in the autumn
back on Beck Lane
the trees each picked
a different day
to finally waste into
blood red

back on Beck Lane
when I was teened
unpreened
a suicide machine
I could not appreciate
the beauty staring me in the face
I was preoccupied
with breathing through the pain

gay teens in religious towns
my own
my own
my own

out here
my autumnal walks
turn towards Beck Lane
and I catch myself
remind myself
not to dismiss
today's beauty
just cuz it doesn't look
like any beauty I had yesterday

"comparison is wasteful"
'tis true, and I remind myself

each day has something golden in it

wasted is the day
I seek yesterday
for happiness.

blessed

2005-11-02T00:00:00.000-08:00

lucky life
lucky girl
lucky me

sometimes I wonder
why I was able to learn
so many wise lessons
early in life
what made me
the lucky one?

marriage and stepparents
were regarded like buffets in my family:
get all you want, and
heck! there's always more
if you don't like what you got;

latchkey kid
with some neglect,
a decade of incest in there
a myriad of abuse
a teenaged suicide goal

I learned early in life that
love is the only thing that is real
love is the only thing I want in life
love is the only thing I understand

without those lessons back then
I wouldn't see so many colors in life now

lucky life
lucky girl
lucky me

blessed be.

Miss Parks

2005-10-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

amen
to you
Miss Parks
amen to you

show me how to honor thee
inspire my path to liken thee

angel from high
angel of all
their opposition of you
showed desperate flaws
in they that sought to be
god-like

weary
bravery
saved humanity

pray it happens again

amen to
to you
Miss Parks
inspire our paths to liken thee.

truth.

2005-10-23T00:00:00.001-07:00

here
is
another
truth

cancer
scared the shit out of me

cancer
still scares the shit out of me

I had abandonment issues already
as children of abuse tend to have
and then cancer comes in
slaps my love in the face
and
quite honestly
I thought the end of my life was near:
if my beloved was taken by cancer
I figured a broken heart would be my ending
soon after

my honey makes lemonade out of lemons
I close my eyes and say
"make the lemons go away
make the lemons go away"

I was raised that cancer
is forever
you get it and
that's it
you're gone
say goodbye
get your affairs in order
leave the farm to someone who could use it

cancer
is fucking scary
complicated
death-defying and
death-introducing
who knows which one you get

I can blog a pretty poem
as I struggle to make sense of this last year
but what it all really comes down
quite simply

cancer
scared
me
to
death
and I am still catching my breath.

Happiness Is a Choice

2005-10-10T00:00:00.000-07:00

Happiness is a choice
her mantra to me
took me years
to get it
but I finally did

if we come upon a traffic jam
and choose to honk and freak out
and scream abscenities

that is a choice

if we come upon a traffic jam
turn up our favorite CD
and sing along

that is a choice

happiness isn't
liking whatever comes along
happiness is
finding a way to smile
at whatever comes along.

Captain Sandy

2005-10-07T00:00:00.000-07:00

we went up and down
the Wabash river
that afternoon
Sandy and I
up and down
she was Captain
of the tiny motorboat
me
and the other 2
were there for company
and beer passing

when I first came out
at age 19
I scanned my
childhood memories
hoping to find gays
wondering
if anyone from my upbringing
had been
like me

Evelyn
raised 200
5 of which she birthed
4 girls
one boy
2 of her girls
turned out
like me
gay

Sandy was one

Sandy
a tight perm
tighter jeans
with a green sports car
I remember one time
hanging with a group of her and about
15 of her tomboy friends
backyard BBQ
lots of laughing
laughing
laughing
my tummy
had butterfly breakdancing
all afternoon
I didn't know which friend of hers I liked best
they were all so funny and interesting and cute...
my first dyke party
if you will
at age 11

I went back home
after I came out
and Sandy took me out on her boat
we went up and down the Wabash
all afternoon
she was smiling
laughing
trying to make life
lighter
than her experience
of it

Captain Sandy
may your Heaven
have rivers full of bass
may your boat
have a cooler full of beer
and may you fish all the days of your life

rest in peace.

Eating Pyrite

2005-10-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

when I first moved
to the land of Pyrite
I found it every bit as shiny
as they said

until I awoke my third morning
and then the land of Pyrite
became reality
another place
to set up life
in the skinniest way possible

on that first and second day
I could tell
what was
too sknny
I still had a fresh
recollection of food-fed bodies
the one in the mirror for example

years later
I awoke one morning
to a scale
that only gave me two numbers
and a haunting melody
singing
EAT
began wandering through my mind
growing louder every day

I get it
I get it
I get it

I forgot to take care of my body
when Honey went down
I forgot what makes me strong
what feeds me
in this town
there are many other things
besides food
that feed people
food is the last on the list

certainly was the last on mine
for awhile there

ironically, when I was at
the weight of a 12 year old,
I never got so many compliments
on a red carpet

no wonder it's so hard
for actresses to get pregnant in
Pyritewood
embryos
aren't
fed
from
applause

being told to eat
in this town
sometimes feels like
being told to parachute
underwater

impossible
against logic
unrealistic

Pyriteland
man
it can fool you.

testing 1,2,3...

2005-10-03T12:00:00.000-07:00

she didn't believe in her own answers
so she copied off her neighbor
certain
her neighbor's answers
were better than her own

when the results came back
she was shocked to find
she had failed
while her neighbor had perfect scores

what the hell happened?
those answers worked for her neighbor!

here's a truth
in life
no two people
have the
exact
same
tests

so no two people
can use the exact same choices
resulting in the exact same
successes or failures

when the challenges in life swell
if you copy your neighbors' answers
you'll only copy mistakes
cuz they don't have your answers
you do.

wish I had learned this
before I copied my neighbor's test answers in 7th grade
and Mrs. Morgan found out
and nailed me.

lemonades out of lemons

2005-10-02T00:00:00.000-07:00

cancer

that word alone
sucks
doesn't it

I never thought
it'd hit me so close to home
it did
we made it
life goes on
hopefully we keep our
lessons we've learned

and now my wife tells her story

they applauded her
for going bald
she was such a hero that day

she didn't mean to be

and then she started telling her story
and boy
some people
are
pissed
she's so damn cheery

apparently
you aren't suposed to look at a crisis
as an opportunity to better yourself

a few think
my famous rich wife
(damn her!)
should have shut up
after the bald song
her
"experience" different than others
cuz she got money
so
her experience is foreign
and useless for sharing

not so
not so
not so

I am believing a new theory
cancer starts NOT in your body
it starts in your life
your emotions
your thoughts
your behavior
your environment

cancer hits your body last
and is a
behavioral magnifier
behavioral magnifier
behavioral magnifier

I'm realizing it was different
cuz my wife likes to make
lemonade out of lemons
she doesn't believe in
throwing those lemons
back at life

acid
cancer
it's in the body
it's in words and minds

don't spend your journey
pissing on someone's shine
you'll never
cure yourself of cancer
living in acid.

controlling the uncontrollable

2005-09-28T00:00:00.000-07:00

the wind is blowing
with determination
the branches and twigs
swirling in the blustery breeze
like human foliage-graspers
with their hands in the air like they don't care
the arms twirl round and round
this way and that
trying to let the fat gusts pass
by flailing their leaves

I didn't even flinch today
when I heard the wind,
I've learned what wind
is going to carry tornadoes with it
and what wind
is going to clean out the air of toxins

(farmgirls are taught tornado 101 early in life)

not all wind
is destructive
some air dancing
can be calming, cleaning
blowing that smog out of our valley bowl

as a child
I thought wind was a monster
now I realize
a monster can be anything if we let it

weather
people
behavior
children

how many times have I heard:
accept the things you cannot change
have the courage to change the things you can
and may you have the wisdom to know the difference

monsters
only grow
when you're
trying to control something uncontrollable
let it go
no monsters.

tick tick tick

2005-09-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

global warming
I thought we'd have at least another 100 years
but
my president
President Gore
says about 50
is all we have left
to change our ways
or

ready for
another
species annihalation?

tick tick tick

global warming
when we produce so much
waste in the air
it ruins the balance
the air gets thick from the waste
the waste doesn't let our planet cool off
(like we can't sweat cuz the atmospheric pores are blocked)
what happens if we can't cool off?
we warm up
little by little
cuz remember 5th grade science?
"That sun is dang hot!"
like not being able to pull your hand
off a hot stove
globalwarming:
you can't let go
so you just sit and burn

tick tick tick

and things start happening
like warm oceans,
category 5 hurricanes
catastrophic earthquakes
killer tsunamis

those dinosaurs
killed instantly
all over
each one
by something
naturally annihalated
in the blink of an eye
wonder if their boss
wasn't paying attention
to the global warming signs

tick tick tick

global warming has already happened here many times
science
science
science

no wonder
President Gore is trying so hard to be heard
he knows
we're on our way out
as a species
this planet is heating
those glaciers are melting
the Great Flood
will happen again
it's in every religion
every story
our ice age is coming
unless we change something
like we did with the hole in the ozone layer
we fixed that hole
cuz people cared
and made laws about aerosol cans
remember?

tick tick tick

there is a man, let's call him
Mr Planet Sensitive
who sent out a memo to someone years ago
in it, Mr Planet Sensitive
says something along the lines of
"Basically, my job is placing doubts about global warming
in the people's minds. The people can't believe it's true."
then later, no joke,
Mr. Bush made
Mr Planet Sensitive
in charge of our environmental department
this memo is on the web
look for it

America
the planet's cancer
ask anyone
who doesn't watch
only American News

tick tick tick

the US
said no to making changes
in our country
to save our species
us and Australia
everyone else in the world
is fighting for our survival
right now
as we breathe on borrowed time

50 years,
my planetary siblings,
my kids won't live to see 100
if we don't make a change
in how we trash the air, the planet

globalwarming
is the real deal
get it yet
get it soon
get educated
get smart
read something
other than a menu

stopglobalwarming.org|roots.com

less than 50
tick tick tick

make a change soon.

homosexual evolution

2005-09-23T00:00:00.000-07:00

what if
homosexuality
is
evolution

evolution:
survival of the fittest
survival of the spieces
who best fit this planet
survival of the planet

those families
with the litter of kids
I got 'em in my family, too
don't believe in birth control
that's why I am working on a theory
that if one comes from a large family of siblings
(4 or more)
at least one sibling will be gay
(one of the youngest ones)
ensuring
no more surprise riders
for this
already-crowded bus

gaydar
KNOWING
when the other is gay
is like
a species KNOWING
another of it's own species

dogs know dogs
birds know birds
a possum
in a room full of snakes
can still pick out another possum

what if
homosexuality
is
evolution
and 20 years ago
it was
1 in 10 are gay
but it's 2005, and
from my own bartender calculations
I think it's more
1 in 7 now
and by the time our kids
have kids
it'll be 1 in 2

over time
we naturally evolved
as a spiecies
to stand more upright
not drag our knuckles
build a wheel
build fire
and now
we've found
as a species
a way for humans to be intimate
without the
uncontrollable
offspringing.

diana bellamy

2005-09-17T00:00:00.000-07:00

diana bellamy
was an actress I worked with
on Popular
she was around
my mother's age
and very warm

she was blind
(from diabetes
meeting breast cancer
just a few years prior)
she played
Principal Hall
also blind

after having had many scenes together
she finally said to me
"I like your voice
-what do you look like?"

I had heard of blind people
using their fingers to see faces
so I said to her,
"You can touch me if you want to see"
her face lit up
"Could I?" she asked

so there, in the halls
of some fake high school
in the dark
(like she needed the light anyway)
Diana was finally able
to see
the face she'd been working with

"What color is your hair?"
"Oh, your skin is nice..."
I tried to describe
the yellow flecks in my eyes

when it was time
for the cast and crew to meet up
one evening after hours
I offered to drive Diana

we had a ball
until we got to the other side of la
and my nyc-loving ass
got lost
"Uh, Diana, I dont' know where we are."
I murmured
"What's the street name?" she asked
I gave her the intersection
"Oh, I know this area!" she exclaimed

and then the blind lady
led me there
I would tell her what streets we were crossing
she'd know first sometimes

when we finally arrived
I joked with Diana
"Thank gawd I brought the blind lady
or I'd be lost right now!"
and we had a good laugh

she later said
that night did a world of good for her
it reminded her
that losing your sight
doesn't mean
losing ALL of your sight

she didn't come back 2nd season
her angels came for her instead

all-seeing Diana
touched my face
touched my soul
led me where I needed to go

she let me know
sight comes from within
whether you're blind or not.

i heart nyc

2005-09-16T00:00:00.001-07:00

that clean smell in the air
the crisp mornings
when the subway passing under the sidwalk
is warmer than the weather
and Central park is
ablaze with crayola
cherry
citrus
crayola

walking the city streets
eating as you go
bodegas
will have anything you need
except spackle

big dinners
full tummies
a nice long walk
through the village
hand in hand

all the way to heaven is heaven

there's something
about eastern air
that my lungs like
I can breathe easier

nyc
moved there at 18,
enrolled as a student
starved
made peace with my sexuality
dropped out
starved
nannied
waitressed
bartended
auditioned
auditioned some more
paid my bills
illegally sublet a fine apartment
grew up

nyc
where my beginning of me
is always easy to find
and the rest of me
grows inspired.

Old Friends, Best Friends

2005-09-16T00:00:00.000-07:00

I was walking through
a mall yesterday
and passed an older couple
in a flash
I was able to note
their relaxed faces
her hand in his
chatting
smiling
to each other
and then I noted
his cane
with the one red end

blind
he's blind?
I thought
and looked to his eyes
which were blue
watery
wide open
and sightless

I looked at her
she looked at me
and I knew

his hand was in hers
so he would know
how to walk through the corridors
when to turn, pause, speed up

he couldn't walk without her

I smiled at her
she smiled back

and she couldn't walk without him

I passed them again
by the pretzel stand
still walking and talking
clasped together
like the links in our backyard fence
one may be sightless
but when love is real
there's another set of eyes
in the other

you never go without
if your love
has any

old friends
best friends
all the way
home.

intention.

2005-09-10T00:00:00.000-07:00

intention
is stronger
than action
or spoken word

however
if your actions
or words
directly conflict
with your intention

all goals will be missed

including

your intention.

haunting

2005-09-09T00:00:00.000-07:00

haven't heard another song
like that one
in generations

those thick pipes
vibrate together

sandpaper waterfall

she wrote another one
for another voiceless one
their souls
must talk to her
at night

tell my story
tell my story
tell my story

she will sing it
for the world
this Saturday

her
sandpaper waterfall
is
haunting
haunting with this one.

long after

2005-09-03T00:01:00.000-07:00

sometimes
it only makes sense
long after
that is when
patience
is the only way
to gain the wisdom.

Bring on the Prayers

2005-08-31T00:01:00.000-07:00

get the erasers
redraw the map
the coastline is different
than where it was
before

all us players
it's time to
bring on the prayers

city of new orleans
there's a song in my head
right now
over and over again
city of new orleans

all us players
it's time to
bring on the prayers

built against nature
it fearlessly grew
thronging with revelers
yet everyone knew
there'd come the day
it would sink this way

bring on the prayers.

this too shall pass

2005-08-18T00:00:00.000-07:00

this too shall pass
the same way
a summer storm
in the southwest
comes racing across the sky
straight towards my head
dumps
an ocean of thunder on me
and
is
gone
before
I
can
blink

this too shall pass
say it once
say it again

it will
it does

it may seem huge
overwhelming
unbearable
confusing
massive
uncontrollable

but it's not

this too shall pass
and life will be
even better

this too shall pass
it has already begun to pass
the beginning of the end
of the ugliest storm
goodbye
goodbye
goodbye

this too shall pass
say it once
say it again
amen.

Muddy Puddles

2005-08-13T00:01:00.000-07:00

in my weary travels
I've come to a
muddy puddle
in my time
a muddy puddle
is the middle of yuck
can't see through it
to the pavement below
don't know
quite how deep it is
muddy puddles are like that
can't see how thick they go
how much filth
has been collected

I used to go around them
perhaps even looking the other way
not knowing how to address
muddy puddles
so I'd ignore them
go around them

then I learned
how to talk
about muddy puddles
which words went with
the muddy puddles
dirty
scary
toxic
opaque
and my journey
around the puddles
were filled with lively chatter
about the muddy puddle

then
one day
I went for a walk
it had just rained
and puddles were everywhere
muddy puddles
puddy muddles
muddy puddles

and I came to a muddy puddle
it gave me a riddle
Girl
said the puddle with the riddle
girl
what is bright and shiny
with blobs of brown on it?

and I laughed
cuz who ever heard of a muddy puddle
telling a riddle
to a
liddle
girl?
but I said
I don't know- what?

that silly muddy puddle
with the riddle
threw a laugh back at me
what is bright and shiny
with blobs of brown on it?
wisdom through life,
honey child,
it's wisdom in Life,

when you come to that
puddle
liddle one:
don't step 'round it
child
don't step over it
child
go through it
that way

the next time
you come to a muddy puddle
in the middle of your road
it will not be an obstacle
as you once claimed it to be

if you walk through it
it will only be more of the road
nothing
dark scary opaque
just a little wet

and don't worry
you'll dry

time dries

change how you treat a muddy puddle
in the middle of the road
decide you don't need to change course
and then don't
ya gotta know
you have more power
than the puddle

and that liddle puddle
with the riddle
was the last
muddy puddle
I ever saw.

You Lose 'Em the Way You Get 'Em

2005-08-03T08:01:00.000-07:00

you lose 'em
the way you get 'em

a wise friend once told me

was she involved
with another
when you began dating
my friend asked
yes I said
well
then why are you suprised she
started dating others
just cuz she's with you?
you lose 'em the way you get 'em

and I did

if the relationship began in
secrecy
lust
haste
lies
the relationship
will end that way

you got a job by being sneaky
pushing someone else out?
look out for your job
you lose 'em the way you get 'em

jobs
loves
friends
life

we make our own endings
when we make our beginnings

you lose 'em the way you get 'em

you make the choice
you make the karma
you make the cycle complete

you lose 'em the way you get 'em

you have the power to see the ending
at the beginning
you make it so
the ripples in the water
are from the rocks you throw

you lose 'em the way you get 'em.

The Sweetest Journey

2005-07-31T00:01:00.000-07:00

the sweetest journey
skin to skin travels
town to town
using the veins of society
we threaded our way
from coast to coast
the fabric of America
patchwork
Beverly Hills silk
southwestern corduroy
midwestern denim
NYC suede
and back
the sweetest journey is
going through it
can't feel it going over it
motorhome
toilet chemicals
pullout beds
pushout sides
backing up
gas fillups
campsites
fishing licenses
7000 miles
coast to coast
cowboys
waitresses
truckers
gas station cashiers
post cards
public showers
overnight neighbors
southwest clouds
that look like
mountains of cottonballs
held aloft by an invisible countertop
parallel to the horizon
rainbows against storm clouds
remind me to look for rainbows
next time it storms in life
they are there if I look
Oklahoma sunsets
old-fashioned truckers
who hold the door open for you
when you go inside to pay for gas
20 different ways to make
biscuits and gravy
kickball until dark with my cousins
like we used to
only now our kids play too
catching up on life
by slowing down how we go through it.