Here is an off the wall question for you. Are "friends" and by that I mean people with whom we have no romantic or sexual entanglement, neuter? Sexless? Or does gender matter in all relationships? Something I'm pondering.
I added almost 3000 words to my novel today. 3000 words that I rewrote enough times to feel pretty sure they will stay. I'm nearly drained of energy though. That and being up four times in the night last night. I do hate the telephone sometimes.
It's been a long time since I wrote a memory. It is late, and I am tired, but I want to get back to it so hopefully a short one will stop by tonight.
When I was 7 and my brother was 8, it was our responsibility to do the dishes. We had several other chores too, but the dishes could be a problem. My mother worked nights then, in a factory, and my father worked days, as a steamfitter. Mom left for work at 3:30 in the afternoon, had a supper break at 8:00 and got off work at midnight. She made dinner before she went to work, so all my dad had to do was heat it up, and we all ate with Mom at 8. Her job was only a couple of blocks away, which gives you some sense of the neighborhood I grew up in.
Mom was one of those great cooks that never measured or studied or anything. She never served the same meal twice in memory, probably more than two weeks, and she never made traditional kid food. I had to have kids of my own to know that things such as chicken fingers existed. But salmon patties, liver and onions, Swiss steak… those were the kinds of meals mom made for weeknights. Never pizza or spaghetti or hot dogs. I smile now, thinking of how deprived I was!
Bedtime was always 9 pm, so when mom went back to work at 8:30, we had half an hour to wash and dry the dishes. Of course if we weren't finished by 9, we had to stay (oh no!!) until they were completed…we used to listen to top 40 radio and flip each other with dish towels and fight over washing and drying. The song that plays on the radio now that reminds me of those times is So Happy Together… was that the turtles? Can't remember. What I do remember is that my brother and I had many important serious talks over dishes.
Okay, I'm hallucinating with fatigue… white tigers?? Must be my cats.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Saturday, February 19, 2005
petal dropping
The writing for today began with a "catch more flies with honey" letter to someone I barely know, but I do that so well that it made no sense not to. Then there was the continual referral out and out and out (divorce? No I don't do that. Real estate? No, not taking new cases in that area right now. Class action? Puhlease. I work alone! And I can't decide why I haven't called Martindale to cancel my listing. Only takes so many months of paying before I finally figure out, I am not going to do it anymore. I just don't want to. Until I get that call that makes me plummet back into a world of justice and loopholes and neg-o-shee-a-shun…. And the words roll out of my mouth and off my fingers like warm honey and before I know it I'm committed again.
"Outsourcing" is the forbidden fruit this week. A concept, a method of doing business. I do hate to get behind. I get to learn the inside secrets on Thursday.
Add three more books to my reading list today, Wide Sargasso Sea, Feast of Love, which I own, and Dogs of Babel. Why is it that when I am really into writing, everyone wants me to stop and read? It isn't like I don't read. It isn't like I don't read a nice variety… I think it is the ultimate in literary snobbery… "I've read such and such and I know it will change your life if you read it too"… yet who can read them all? I'd be happy right now if I had read just the ones I've bought. I'm such a slut when it comes to books.
I'm about ready to go public with my blog again.
Not really, just thought I'd type that and see how it felt.
Every once in a while you meet someone and you know, just know that person is going to make a difference in your life somehow. Not talking about that buzz you get when you are attracted to someone in a primal manner, but that sense you get when you make eye contact and you know you are speaking the same language. It’s a rare thing.
I had a friend tell me today that he wanted to branch out, write about people instead of things.
Why would you want to write about anything else, I wonder?
"Outsourcing" is the forbidden fruit this week. A concept, a method of doing business. I do hate to get behind. I get to learn the inside secrets on Thursday.
Add three more books to my reading list today, Wide Sargasso Sea, Feast of Love, which I own, and Dogs of Babel. Why is it that when I am really into writing, everyone wants me to stop and read? It isn't like I don't read. It isn't like I don't read a nice variety… I think it is the ultimate in literary snobbery… "I've read such and such and I know it will change your life if you read it too"… yet who can read them all? I'd be happy right now if I had read just the ones I've bought. I'm such a slut when it comes to books.
I'm about ready to go public with my blog again.
Not really, just thought I'd type that and see how it felt.
Every once in a while you meet someone and you know, just know that person is going to make a difference in your life somehow. Not talking about that buzz you get when you are attracted to someone in a primal manner, but that sense you get when you make eye contact and you know you are speaking the same language. It’s a rare thing.
I had a friend tell me today that he wanted to branch out, write about people instead of things.
Why would you want to write about anything else, I wonder?
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
manipulation
People who have to have control all the time get on my nerves. I have friends who are master manipulators. I used to be more gullible than I am now, but now, it just makes me angry. The trump card that is always pulled is "their feelings"… I'm sorry but you don't go around bulldozing other people and then try to gain sympathy by saying you have feelings too.
I should know. I think I wrote the book on it. It does create a lonely landscape though.
Just cooling off here. Don't mind me
Today was Valentine's Day. If the contacts I've had today are any indication, I'm one of the few people left in the world that loves the holiday. I'm sure it's partly because I've been married for so long, and that my husband does a good job with romantic holidays, but it is also a time when you don't have to focus on negative things. My younger daughter is not in a relationship, hasn't been for a long time, yet even she bought silly cards with cartoon temporary tattoos to hand out to her friends. Side note to make my musician friend jealous, this daughter just turned me down for a trip to NYC for spring break--- we are NYC junkies--- (meaning we love the city!) in exchange for a SXSW wrist band. I feel… abandoned!!
No, not really. I'm glad she gets to go. I'll be in NYC in June anyway. Plenty of time.
It's been a while since I did a memory… tonight I have just filed through a whole list of them in my head… the recurring dream I had as a child, falling out of the back seat car door as the car went over a very high bridge, the first (and last) birthday party I was invited to as an elementary student … we lived in a trailer and the girl who had the party had to invite everyone in class. She lived in a big house across the road from the trailer park (yes, they were trailers then, not mobile homes) I remember the gift I took was something off the grocery store rack. A set of jacks or something silly like that, and that no doubt it was wrapped in the bag from the store… my family wasn't into gift wrap. I remember my embarrassment when the girl opened the gifts, and the other children brought Barbies or Board games or play make up, and there were my jacks. No wonder I didn't get invited back huh? … but as you can see, all the memories seem to be regretful tonight, so let’s just leave it at that, shall we?
I should know. I think I wrote the book on it. It does create a lonely landscape though.
Just cooling off here. Don't mind me
Today was Valentine's Day. If the contacts I've had today are any indication, I'm one of the few people left in the world that loves the holiday. I'm sure it's partly because I've been married for so long, and that my husband does a good job with romantic holidays, but it is also a time when you don't have to focus on negative things. My younger daughter is not in a relationship, hasn't been for a long time, yet even she bought silly cards with cartoon temporary tattoos to hand out to her friends. Side note to make my musician friend jealous, this daughter just turned me down for a trip to NYC for spring break--- we are NYC junkies--- (meaning we love the city!) in exchange for a SXSW wrist band. I feel… abandoned!!
No, not really. I'm glad she gets to go. I'll be in NYC in June anyway. Plenty of time.
It's been a while since I did a memory… tonight I have just filed through a whole list of them in my head… the recurring dream I had as a child, falling out of the back seat car door as the car went over a very high bridge, the first (and last) birthday party I was invited to as an elementary student … we lived in a trailer and the girl who had the party had to invite everyone in class. She lived in a big house across the road from the trailer park (yes, they were trailers then, not mobile homes) I remember the gift I took was something off the grocery store rack. A set of jacks or something silly like that, and that no doubt it was wrapped in the bag from the store… my family wasn't into gift wrap. I remember my embarrassment when the girl opened the gifts, and the other children brought Barbies or Board games or play make up, and there were my jacks. No wonder I didn't get invited back huh? … but as you can see, all the memories seem to be regretful tonight, so let’s just leave it at that, shall we?
Sunday, February 13, 2005
things i've noticed
Man standing at baggage claim. Startling blue eyes, red hair. He sports a goatee that is inches long, maybe three but the odd thing is that it hangs beneath his chin like goat hair, and it's trimmed so close on the sides that it reminds me of a woman's pubic hair trimmed into a landing strip. Odd. His hair is long, shoulder length, and straight, I wonder why he looks at me.
Woman I sat next to, in her St.John knit pantset, perfect hair and acrylic French manicure that I wore long enough to know she's gone through some pain to have them look that nice. There is something about here that says "older" though I cannot figure it out … There is no gray in her hair, no wrinkles, not even the tell tale bagging of her neck or eyes. Perhaps it is the single strand of silver encircling her neck…or the book on winning negotiation that she reads like it is an assignment. I think she may be a lawyer, clearly an exec… she pulls her blackberry out from time to time and touches it with the nails that are truly too long for my taste. He skin is tanned… is that what ages her? I think now yes. No creamy complexion, no shine of youth. It must be that. That and the absence of layers. Layers matter.
I make it a point to try to guess the ages of people on the plane, there are always clues, but most often I try to decide if they are older or younger than me, and I know that is not a good test, as I have no clue how old I am most days. It still shocks me to look in the mirror and see either my older sister or my mom, or somedays my grandmother looking back at me.
At breakfast this morning, after we refused the way-too-much buffet and opted instead for single breakfasts, me a waffle, him an omelet with everything and good strong coffee, a small finch landed on our table.. Yellow underneath, black on top it stayed but a moment, looked at me, and cocked it's head. I remembered that I am to write bird by bird. Yesterday, I saw a pelican, though I wasn't positive it was a pelican… and that while sitting on the patio. It worries me that my vision is so unclear. It looked like a pelican moving, but when it stood still, I thought I tmore a crane. Does it matter? Only if I'm writing about birds.
I hate that after this weekend I have so little left to say. My mind is nearly empty of words. I think I am trading my brains for one fuck after another, one more glass of wine. I wonder if that is it?
My feet are cold and would be fine if I could get my shoes back on, but they are still tied and there isn't enough space to untie them and do it right, so I'm all stuffed into the backs of them. They are warmer that way I guess. I'm going to open another file now, and try to do something productive.
Woman I sat next to, in her St.John knit pantset, perfect hair and acrylic French manicure that I wore long enough to know she's gone through some pain to have them look that nice. There is something about here that says "older" though I cannot figure it out … There is no gray in her hair, no wrinkles, not even the tell tale bagging of her neck or eyes. Perhaps it is the single strand of silver encircling her neck…or the book on winning negotiation that she reads like it is an assignment. I think she may be a lawyer, clearly an exec… she pulls her blackberry out from time to time and touches it with the nails that are truly too long for my taste. He skin is tanned… is that what ages her? I think now yes. No creamy complexion, no shine of youth. It must be that. That and the absence of layers. Layers matter.
I make it a point to try to guess the ages of people on the plane, there are always clues, but most often I try to decide if they are older or younger than me, and I know that is not a good test, as I have no clue how old I am most days. It still shocks me to look in the mirror and see either my older sister or my mom, or somedays my grandmother looking back at me.
At breakfast this morning, after we refused the way-too-much buffet and opted instead for single breakfasts, me a waffle, him an omelet with everything and good strong coffee, a small finch landed on our table.. Yellow underneath, black on top it stayed but a moment, looked at me, and cocked it's head. I remembered that I am to write bird by bird. Yesterday, I saw a pelican, though I wasn't positive it was a pelican… and that while sitting on the patio. It worries me that my vision is so unclear. It looked like a pelican moving, but when it stood still, I thought I tmore a crane. Does it matter? Only if I'm writing about birds.
I hate that after this weekend I have so little left to say. My mind is nearly empty of words. I think I am trading my brains for one fuck after another, one more glass of wine. I wonder if that is it?
My feet are cold and would be fine if I could get my shoes back on, but they are still tied and there isn't enough space to untie them and do it right, so I'm all stuffed into the backs of them. They are warmer that way I guess. I'm going to open another file now, and try to do something productive.
Friday, February 04, 2005
is it the dance, or the music?
And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music. -Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, philosopher
(1844-1900)
How is that for a quote? Lovely yes?
I am very fond of journaling. I like to close the day with a few minutes here, just recovering from the day, remembering, reflecting. Especially days like today when the minutes tumbled one into the next and the matter that filled them spread out like so much sweetness….
I'm feeling sort of poetic. I learned some new words today.
Things are different here. People don't seem to appreciate the awesome qualities of this city. The laugh at its politics or its lack of pristine beauty or its chemical cloud that is never far from a breath away. And honestly, I don't understand. No, I'm not much for chemical breaths, or strip clubs or the sense of unharnessed consumption that is very much alive and well. I think though, that it is important to understand that there is more to every city, every person than we will ever be able to see with our eyes, ever be able to hear with our ears… taste with our… oops… well. You see what I mean.
Houston has its beauty. It takes a while to find, but it is all over the place.
I used to give speeches on the value of diversity, and the best explanation I ever heard was that people are like flowers. It is in the mixing of the colors and types, and if I may, the ages, of them, that makes the bouquet complete, and oh so satisfying.
What kind of flower are you?
(1844-1900)
How is that for a quote? Lovely yes?
I am very fond of journaling. I like to close the day with a few minutes here, just recovering from the day, remembering, reflecting. Especially days like today when the minutes tumbled one into the next and the matter that filled them spread out like so much sweetness….
I'm feeling sort of poetic. I learned some new words today.
Things are different here. People don't seem to appreciate the awesome qualities of this city. The laugh at its politics or its lack of pristine beauty or its chemical cloud that is never far from a breath away. And honestly, I don't understand. No, I'm not much for chemical breaths, or strip clubs or the sense of unharnessed consumption that is very much alive and well. I think though, that it is important to understand that there is more to every city, every person than we will ever be able to see with our eyes, ever be able to hear with our ears… taste with our… oops… well. You see what I mean.
Houston has its beauty. It takes a while to find, but it is all over the place.
I used to give speeches on the value of diversity, and the best explanation I ever heard was that people are like flowers. It is in the mixing of the colors and types, and if I may, the ages, of them, that makes the bouquet complete, and oh so satisfying.
What kind of flower are you?
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