dark, quiet, peaceful
i watched them
my four year old
putting my baby to sleep
they held hands
he smiled
a neon sign was above their heads
green and pink
blinking the message
"Duh, this is life's most important thing. Right here. Duh."
with a neon arrow pointing down
to my kids
she reached up to his nose
hooked a finger in his nostril
and yanked
he said ouch
she smiled
giggled a sleepy laugh
they're fighting already
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Detour
Does God care more about the piss-ant town in the desert or the city, where the full-on press of people touch shoulders while their eyes bore into the sidewalk?
Fran wondered. Her husband's mind was closed to her. If she had to say whose mind she knew better, Oliver's or God's, she would say God's. She couldn't imagine Him up in the sky inhabiting every mind at once, shifting from Japan to China to Utah, and then deciding after weighing all the options to settle His gaze on her.
She sat on a cliff above the town, shoes off, toes in the grit and pebbles. It was noisy, but it wasn't. She thought she heard the highway twenty miles north, maybe a jake brake every once in a while. Western Kingbirds rushed the sun and lingered in the shade.
She smelled sage and sneezed.
If she were a betting woman, she'd put money on Him checking in on New York City, or at least somewhere on the East coast. She pondered the things all women ponder when they have a free moment:
apples
bananas
spaghetti (if she were back in New York the Italian deli would have the fresh pasta and marinara and she'd pick up some bread to go along with it)
but canned is fine, just fine
iron that shirt (and why Oliver started wearing plaid is beyond her)
organize the cupboard above the stove
send her daughter a birthday card (thirty two years already?)
psyche herself up for time with Oliver on the sofa tonight (she'd try not to be obvious about the fact that she'd rather be in the den reading a book)
butter
lemon
coffee cake
provolone
rye bread
batteries.
She traced a message for God in the sand, in case He happened to look there, then slipped her shoes on and walked to the grocery store.
Fran wondered. Her husband's mind was closed to her. If she had to say whose mind she knew better, Oliver's or God's, she would say God's. She couldn't imagine Him up in the sky inhabiting every mind at once, shifting from Japan to China to Utah, and then deciding after weighing all the options to settle His gaze on her.
She sat on a cliff above the town, shoes off, toes in the grit and pebbles. It was noisy, but it wasn't. She thought she heard the highway twenty miles north, maybe a jake brake every once in a while. Western Kingbirds rushed the sun and lingered in the shade.
She smelled sage and sneezed.
If she were a betting woman, she'd put money on Him checking in on New York City, or at least somewhere on the East coast. She pondered the things all women ponder when they have a free moment:
apples
bananas
spaghetti (if she were back in New York the Italian deli would have the fresh pasta and marinara and she'd pick up some bread to go along with it)
but canned is fine, just fine
iron that shirt (and why Oliver started wearing plaid is beyond her)
organize the cupboard above the stove
send her daughter a birthday card (thirty two years already?)
psyche herself up for time with Oliver on the sofa tonight (she'd try not to be obvious about the fact that she'd rather be in the den reading a book)
butter
lemon
coffee cake
provolone
rye bread
batteries.
She traced a message for God in the sand, in case He happened to look there, then slipped her shoes on and walked to the grocery store.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Grumpy Monsters Bubbling Snot
If I were single, I'd be at my sister's house right now, a five hour drive away. But the reality is I have two sick kids and chose not to endure the long car ride with grump monsters bubbling snot in the backseat.
Kids are kids. They inspire love, panic, boredom, anger, amusement, resentment. The panic comes in two forms. When I've been away from them for too long - as I was on my business trip this week - I need to hold them, feel their physical presence, their breath, their heartbeats, touch a flesh-and-bone reminder that they are healthy and alive and I haven't through some long absence neglected my offspring.
The second sort of panic comes from constant care for them from sunrise to sunset and then again from midnight to three in the morning. And then again, from sunrise, with forty eight hours more stretched in front of me. My husband works long hours on the weekends, so Saturdays and Sundays my hands are full and my brain cannot disengage. Every waking moment I am responsible for two human lives. Taking a shower and exercising and plucking my eyebrows and spending more than four minutes on the toilet and reading a magazine and cooking a hot healthy meal and having the freedom to drive to the fucking liquor store and back are far off dreams of a time long before and a time that surely will not come again for at least five years.
I've experienced both kinds of panic this week. I've rushed home to crawl into the cage and hold my children and I've mentally bruised and bloodied my fingertips clawing at the iron bars.
Kids are kids. They inspire love, panic, boredom, anger, amusement, resentment. The panic comes in two forms. When I've been away from them for too long - as I was on my business trip this week - I need to hold them, feel their physical presence, their breath, their heartbeats, touch a flesh-and-bone reminder that they are healthy and alive and I haven't through some long absence neglected my offspring.
The second sort of panic comes from constant care for them from sunrise to sunset and then again from midnight to three in the morning. And then again, from sunrise, with forty eight hours more stretched in front of me. My husband works long hours on the weekends, so Saturdays and Sundays my hands are full and my brain cannot disengage. Every waking moment I am responsible for two human lives. Taking a shower and exercising and plucking my eyebrows and spending more than four minutes on the toilet and reading a magazine and cooking a hot healthy meal and having the freedom to drive to the fucking liquor store and back are far off dreams of a time long before and a time that surely will not come again for at least five years.
I've experienced both kinds of panic this week. I've rushed home to crawl into the cage and hold my children and I've mentally bruised and bloodied my fingertips clawing at the iron bars.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
But still.
I think the whole world of work these days is wrapped up in worry..the economy, making more money, staying relevant even after globalization. In our respective workplaces we begin to eat each other alive, to pick and tear each other apart. Like a den of wolves, starving for fresh meat. When we're attacked by another pack, we turn on them and fight viciously.
The above is somewhat melodramatic.
But really, it's not too fun out there. I still believe that the people I work with are passionate about what they do, and will accept pay cuts, demoralizing speeches from leadership, bashes to the hard work they've done over and over again, and they will keep being passionate about what they do, because they aren't doing it for the money or the recognition or the promotions or even the camaraderie in the end. They are doing it for the deep-seated connection they have to wildlife. And when we wake up out of our blood-crazed senses and look around, we'll still appreciate that about each other.
Again, the above is somewhat melodramatic. But still.
The above is somewhat melodramatic.
But really, it's not too fun out there. I still believe that the people I work with are passionate about what they do, and will accept pay cuts, demoralizing speeches from leadership, bashes to the hard work they've done over and over again, and they will keep being passionate about what they do, because they aren't doing it for the money or the recognition or the promotions or even the camaraderie in the end. They are doing it for the deep-seated connection they have to wildlife. And when we wake up out of our blood-crazed senses and look around, we'll still appreciate that about each other.
Again, the above is somewhat melodramatic. But still.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Mush
http://crazycoppertop.blogspot.com/2010/02/love-letter-to-old-man.html
This Valentine's Day, I am proving my love to you with
green tea
burnt pancakes (damn it, I can never make breakfast, which is probably why i dream that you are in love with the blonde who makes french toast)
maple sausage
mexican lasagne
rice krispie treats smothered in pink icing
a card to tell you that when you get rid of your cold i'm going to jump your bones.
This Valentine's Day, I am proving my love to you with
green tea
burnt pancakes (damn it, I can never make breakfast, which is probably why i dream that you are in love with the blonde who makes french toast)
maple sausage
mexican lasagne
rice krispie treats smothered in pink icing
a card to tell you that when you get rid of your cold i'm going to jump your bones.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
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