inside and out

We had a storm tonight.

the kind that shakes

the foundation of your

house and soul.

Window panes

rattled, lightning

filling the darkness

with bright flashes

of light. The thunder

matched the pounding

in my chest. The heavy

downpour brought the

start of my own tears.

The wind is still

pummeling against the

walls and I no longer

know if the storm is

coming from outside

or inside me.

I sit where you

once were and let

it all wash over me.

Maybe it will make

it all seem real

again.

Or maybe

it will float

to a further distance

where I can hold it

forever in my heart.

Wrestlemania – for Bill

My dad was a soldier, a lifeguard, a wrestler and finally a bricklayer.  I posted this story about him in a comment on Cafe Selavy’s blog and he asked me to share it here too, with a picture. A few years ago a student I had was so impressed that my dad was a wrestler that my dad sent him a copy of this picture with this email:

YOU WOULDN'T KNOW ANY OF THE WRESTLERS THAT I WRESTLED. IT WAS A LONNNNNNNNNG TIME AGO.

WE DIDN'T USE WEAPONS,  WE ONLY USED OUR MUSCLES AND HAD TO BE VERY STRONG AND IN GOOD SHAPE TO HOLD OUT. SOME OF THEIR NAMES WERE-- ANGEL FACE --LOU THEISS- DUSSACK BROTHERS- THE RED DEVIL. THE MOST FAMOUS PERSON I CAME  IN CONTACT WITH WAS HEAVY WEIGHT CHAMPION BOXER, JACK DEMPSEY. HERE IS A PICTURE OF HIM AND ME.  GOOD LUCK IN SCHOOL.

BIG GEORGE

The only story I remember well from the wrestling days, which were before I was born, was this one:

After my mother and father were married he took her to a wrestling match. He was the referee that night for some women wrestlers. During the match the women jumped on my dad, pulling him to the floor and one lady wrestler was sitting on his chest, her legs wrapped around his head. The crowd went wild...people sitting near my mom kept talking about how lucky the referee was and how much he must be enjoying it and how it was all carefully planned beforehand. My mom wouldn't speak to him for days and that was the end of his career.

day 4 - Tiny Dancer revisited...

Today I travelled across the state to Boca Raton, the city of beige and pastel colors, the rat's mouth. I suppose it is the way a beach town should be....

On the way I discovered a little town called Yeehaw Junction. There was a building called Desert Inn that held the history of the town. Over the years it has been the jail, the saloon, a restaurant, and even a brothel. Yeehaw is Indian (west not east) for wolf because as late as 1920 there were rare dire wolves in the area. The town was once called Jackass Junction but when the Florida Turnpike was built the powers that be decided the name should be changed to something more sedate and polite.




Spent time with Tiny Dancer...dinner and 'Where the Wild Things Are" Great movie, the lines were so perfect we found ourselves repeating them over and over on the way home.



Not much to say today...just family time... falling asleep now...


Song for the day: How does it feel? How does it feel? To be on your own, With no direction home, Like a complete unknown, Like a rolling stone... (Bob Dylan)

day 3 - Gwendolyn and Leonard

I have an aunt who lives in Florida. Her name is Gwen. She is 79 years old. I have always loved and admired her. We are losing her bit by bit as Alzheimer's destroys her mind. Today I went to visit her. Upon arriving my mother told her who I was and she responded by taking my face in her hands and saying, "Of course, I know who she is!" She looked directly into my eyes with recognition and love. I don't expect her to be able to do that much longer but today she knew me. I would like to share a story Aunt Gwen told me. I should preface this recollection with the fact that my mother's family lived in poverty in rural Tennessee in the 30's and 40's. Their father, my granfather, was a moonshiner, a gambler, an adulterer, a bigamist and a child abuser.

Imagine a young girl, grammar school age, joining her siblings to hold their mother down on the wooden floor of their small house. They were trying to prevent her from charging out of the house with a gun to shoot their father. My grandmother had just found out that her husband was living with another woman. She was hurt and angry. As they struggled and pleaded with her there was a knock on the door. My aunt realized it was a peddler at the door. A few weeks earlier a contest had begun at school. There would be a prize for the student who had the cleanest teeth. My aunt was determined to win. But the only toothbrush she had was a stick from the hickory tree. She wanted to buy a real toothbrush but there was no money then for such luxuries. She had arranged to trade the peddler wild blueberries for the toothbrush she wanted. She had spent most of her day in the woods picking buckets full of juicy blueberries. When she heard the knock she faced a dilemma, should she let go of her mother or go let the peddler in to make the trade? She paused only a second before she went to the door to give the blueberries to the peddler and retrieve her toothbrush. She did win the contest. I don't know what the prize was and neither did she. Years later, when she was 13, she married a 36 year old man who carried her to Florida to be his bride. She smiles as she remembers this and says he thought she was 16. They were married, raised children and loved each other for over 50 years. Sometimes she forgets he is gone and sets a place for him at the breakfast table.

Tonight I went to a Leonard Cohen concert...Gwen and Leo...aging icons of a more graceful time...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uyMC5MJYOZ8

dusty mall ball

This week I did something I haven't done in years. I entered a mall. Almost like an out-of-body experience bringing back memories of a life I no longer live. It's true what Alice said: "...it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then."

Who Are You?

making grimy mud pies in the dirt

shaping the dark, cool muck

into round compact disks

scoring the top into wedges

with a bent twig

decorating the pies with flowers

totally engrossed in the task

only the breeze as a playmate

until a caterpillar called her name

breaking her reverie

and sending her screaming

across the lawn

looking for her mother

who laughed until tears streamed

down her cheeks

and the young girl kicked her pies

breaking them in pieces

so they could return to the dirt

from which they came.

turf

there were supposed to be words with this but they got lost, somewhere in between and betwixt...work, Mother's Day, sushi, ghee, books on cd, Walmart, garbage, sex, drugs, violence (just joking about the sex part) ... I hope I find them again but you never know...I'm losing a lot of things lately...

walk this way

(written for browland's blog: visual organisms)

The earth moved today,

just slightly, a tiny jump

forward in the universe.

Enough to shake the

foundations and send

the moon crashing

into the ocean.

Fortunately she was sitting

on the edge of the galaxy,

balanced on the north star

when the shift occurred,

sparing her the upheaval

it would’ve caused

But tonight she will feel

the effects of the day,

pulling her further into the

dark rift of the Milky Way

and leaving her tired and lifeless

as she sits inside her room.

Somewhere a child cries,

a thousand golden teardrops;

windows shatter,

leaving glass scattered in the yard;

the rains fall,

drowning out all sound but it’s own

And the hunger moon looms on the horizon.

Summer Vacation

We were strolling down the shady path bathed in the gentle light of the sinking sun. Both barefoot, we nervously giggled as our hands touched for just a brief moment. Our eyes met and…Aunt Lillian called from the house telling us supper was ready. Hurriedly we raced to the house leaving echoes of laughter in the twilight.

Our first ever long vacation was to Missouri to visit my Aunt Lillian and Uncle Crockett. They had a farm, a huge farm with crops of cotton and soybeans. I watched Uncle Crockett as he rode the tractor through the fields. I was amazed by the strength of his arms, muscles twitching, veins straining against his skin. Then I thought…a man with only one leg would have to have strong arms to make up for the missing limb.

There was only one movie house near the farm. We went to see, In Like Flint, starring James Coburn. My sister didn’t want me to go. She was invited by my older cousins and couldn’t stand the idea of her baby sister tagging along. But I cried and pouted and Mama let me go along. I hated the movie but loved sitting in the dark theater feeling like I was grown.

David asked me to sit with him and listen to his radio. But I was afraid of him. I didn’t understand so I said no. He said I was probably tired and needed to go inside since I had such a bad sunburn. I quickly nodded and entered the house. I wish I would’ve stayed.

I met my Aunt Lillian and Uncle Crockett for the first time. I found out I had four cousins I had never met. One of my cousins had two boys and one was exactly my age. He smiled at me then ran away into the fields.

Traveling there we saw a bad car accident. It was in Georgia. It was raining hard. There was red clay sticking to everything. The man in the car was bleeding from a cut over his eye. Mama gave him some tissues to hold on his head until the ambulance came.

Somebody said there was something wrong with David. He ‘wasn’t quite right’ ever since he got out of the Navy.

She sent me the double wedding ring quilt she made soon after she was married. I have it now, folded over a chair in my room. When Uncle Crockett died she sold the farm and moved into the city.

On Sunday we rode to the general store for a sodey pop. Turns out a sodey pop is a soft drink, preferably Dr. Pepper. That was the summer I learned about putting peanuts in your drink for an extra special treat. I remember feeling disappointed when that was all we did.

Everyone was outside digesting supper and talking over the day. I slipped inside to my Uncle Crockett’s closet. I had to see the spare legs. He had a work leg with a heavy boot on it and a Sunday leg with a shiny leather shoe on it. I picked one up and it was so heavy. No wonder he went to bed so early every night…carrying that around all day would wear anyone out.

On the way to Missouri we stopped in Chattanooga and visited Lookout Mountain. We rode the incline railroad car and toured the city in a horse and wagon. My Mama sang a song about a surrey with the fringe on top. It was raining.

In the hot sun I picked a boll of cotton for a souvenir. For years it sat on my shelf enshrined in a glass bottle. I have no idea what happened to it.

The Bridge

He walked across the bridge with a swagger.

A heavy gold chain around his neck,

glittering from the disappearing sunlight.

His body was square and solid;

his strides bold and confident.

Only his eyes gave him away.

They darted from side to side,

anxiously searching the crowd.

Finally they rested on the subject of his pursuit.

The muscles in his face relaxed.

And though he didn’t smile,

his demeanor registered pleasure and relief.

His pace slowed, his back straightened and

he seemed to expand his chest and strut like a peacock

Spreading his feathers for his chosen mate.

Drop of blood

Hot sun beating down on the playground,
Children run and scream in frenzied play.
Cool shade behind the shed hides us from the teacher’s view.

It was in our history book we heard about it,
About Indians and blood and promises.
We conspired to become blood sisters, connected forever.

Someone found a sharp rock, roughly shaped like an arrowhead
With the significance of that in our head we scratched it across our wrists.
No blood appeared only red marks and nervous giggles.

A rusty nail was discovered in the dirt.
Anxious glances were exchanged with 8 year old seriousness.
Pushing the nail into her skin, one brave girl draws a drop of blood.

Each in turn pokes herself with the nail and a grimace.
Solemnly the blood is shared as wrists are rubbed together.
In a low mumble, vows of eternal friendship are declared.

With age sometimes comes wisdom.
Along with lessons learned of respecting promises, honoring oaths
And keeping tetanus shots up-to-date.

I often wonder where my blood sisters are now
and if we paid a price for broken vows.
Or maybe it’s enough to stay connected by childhood memories, rites of passage

And a single drop of blood.

Old School

This summer I have been reading the book, Writing Down The Bones. The author, Natalie Goldberg, suggests writing practice everyday. The rules for writing practice are simple: Keep your hand (or fingers on a keyboard) moving; Don't edit as you write (or type) ; don't worry about spelling, punctuation or grammar; lose control; don't think and don't be logical; go for the jugular (meaning don't avoid scary subjects that arise during writing practice). You are not trying to write a poem, an essay or the Great American Novel. You are simply getting in touch with your inner voice. Many of her suggestions I can use with my students when they are writing. I thought I would try to discipline myself to write everyday this summer. I write for ten minutes without stopping following the rules listed above. Today I would like to use this picture as a jumping off point for my writing. Here goes...

I walked into the auditorium of the school. It was right across the hall from the room where I would be teaching summer school. I'm glad it was so close because I love this auditorium. At first I saw it from a photographer's point of view...great light coming through the windows and bouncing off the smooth, worn wood of the seats, the lines of the old radiator and the rough, patched walls. Then I stepped further into the aisles and was transported back to my childhood. I went to a school that had an auditorium like this. The smell was the first thing I noticed. What is that smell? It seems to be a musty mixture of furniture polish, old wax on the linoleum tile floors, and damp plaster. I could almost hear the seats squeak as children filed in row by row, class by class and sat in their assigned seats. Then the giggles and talking, the teachers shushing, the feet scraping on the floor. And without fail the PA system would have to squeal and everyone would cover their ears until someone, usually the janitor turned down the volume. Remember in the winter, the first day it was cold enough to turn on the radiators, there was always the scorched smell of dust being burnt off, dust that had settled during the spring when the weather was warm and the windows were always open to catch the slight breeze and the sounds of the traffic passing by... I remember the assemblies were usually boring...someone talking for a long time while we whispered to our friends , passed notes and watched to see if the guy we were currently in love with had noticed us yet. For some reason I remember Allen...of all my friends he comes to my mind when I am in the auditorium...I also remember him on the playground. Trying so hard to show everyone he could do what all the other boys could do. He would climb fences, walk on monkey bars and jump from the swing. He was shorter than everyone else and because of polio he had braces on both legs. I can still see his dark brown eyes and determined face. He would not be treated differently. I remember hurting his feelings once because I offered to help him perform some task...his eyes filled with tears and he said he didn't need my help. Seems he also had that chip on his shoulder... I saw his picture in the paper years later...he was an archaeologist and had made some very important discovery...dinosaur fossil I think. I'm glad he received the recognition...in the picture in the newspaper he was taller...no braces on his legs...handsome...with those dark brown eyes and the slightest hint of a proud smile...good for you, Allen! I sat in the cool darkness of the auditorium remembering...