Tuesday, August 17, 2010

I'm having one of the best summers of my life. Nothing momentous happened. Just a steady stream of pleasant and peacefulness, despite it's busyness. I say that despite my dissatisfaction with the paltry work I'm producing. I'm hesitant to mention my happiness for fear that I'll jinx it. But damn it, things are good and a new opportunity is on the horizon, something I long considered a far off event, but here it is:


The main source of my happiness this summer is Gideon. We spent so much time together and as corny as it sounds, it's one gift after another, really precious shit. I've always enjoyed being a mother, but there's something truly wonderful about the age of 5. I say that despite the nose picking, the stickers on the furniture, his delight in describing his poop and the increasing sassiness. And oh my god, he never stops talking, sometimes Chris and I have to ask him to take a break.

When we went to his kindergarten orientation in June, I cried. Soon, Gideon began referring to himself as "manly" and "serious." I've been conscious the entire time that this is the end of an era. It does make me sad.

But oh my fucking god, I'm going to have 8:30am - 3:20pm back to myself. It's the beginning of an exciting, new era, full of countless possibilities. Whenever I didn't have time/energy to do something, I'd tell myself that I'd get back to it when Gideon was in school. Now, I'm not so sure. Motherhood has taught me a lot of things and one of those things is that my time is really valuable. I ain't just giving it away. I'm not squandering it on things I'm not passionate about or that I don't enjoy. I'm certainly not giving it to people who don't deserve it. I'm not going to cram a bunch of things into my day. Now that I'll only have evenings and weekends with Gideon, I'll need energy for that.

I haven't decided what I'm going to do with my newfound bounty. Still taking inventory. There are so many things I can do. I'm experiencing world-is-my-oyster vibes. It's like me and Joni Mitchell finally knowing what we got.

elsewhere blogging cont.

We who get off our cheeto-gorging arses and write poetry reviews at We Who Are About To Die

We who are not The Nepotist at We Who Are About To Die

Presenting a Poem by Cynthia Arrieu-King at The Best American Poetry blog

Presenting a Poem by Steve Fellner at The Best American Poetry blog

Friday, August 13, 2010

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Regularly dreaming of sleeping through or missing classes.

Not good.

I'm supposed to be learning something, but I'm unconscious or not paying attention. Like I wake up in a drained swimming pool and realize I missed my lesson. Of course, I have to fill the pool back with water to take the next lesson, but water is the unconscious, so it's a catch 22.

I'm trying to figure out what exactly it is that I'm unconscious. I made a mental list of possible life lessons and opportunities that I should be mindful. As I did, I fell asleep. I dreamed I was back in my middle school auditorium as a symphony played. I became mindful that I wasn't really paying attention to the symphony, so I started to watch and listen. There was an enthusiastic male conductor, who then became a woman, a tall, slender woman with long limbs. She made monster mouth shapes with her hands as she conducted. She was really something. My chorus teacher sat next to me. I wanted to ask her about women conductors, but decided not to because I remembered her saying that there weren't many. Maybe I was afraid she believed women shouldn't be conductors. My chorus teacher talked about the woman conductor's husband, so I tuned her out. I didn't want to hear about him. Then a swtich, I'm at my dad's house with Chris and Gideon and I realize that I didn't make it to music class because I was waiting around for somebody to come get me.

What exactly am I just waiting around for? Well, I have some ideas.

I also dreamed that I was trying to teach Gideon how to use some high tech toilet paper dispenser in a public restroom. He wouldn't pay attention and ran into another stall. I found this frustrating. There were other women in the restroom who thought it was funny that I was calling for Gideon to come out. I was intent on teaching him how to operate the dispenser. Then I realized that I was only wearing underwear. I was pissed at myself, god damn it, why didn't I get dressed before I entered a public restroom to teach my son how to use a toilet paper dispenser? That's basic common sense.

There I was, vulnerable in my $35 beige underpants.

Wait, no, those underpants were from another dream last week. It was betrayal, insensitivity, insult upon insult. Her Eddie Murphyish ex-lover done her wrong for the very last time.

I tried to give some practical advice. I said, "you need to find yourself a nice accountant."

I can't believe I said that. What a moron. Luckily, Rose said no accountants for her. She planned to find a musician, one that nobody heard of or appreciated.

I said that if he didn't have a real job, he'd be living in poverty.

What a fuckwit comment. Where in my life am I being such a fuckwit?!? We're in the midst of a Grand Cardinal Cross and this is the advice I'm giving to my suffering and wronged shadow self?!? My ROSE!!!! I'm suggesting for my inner 'love, beauty and passion' to play it safe!

No wonder I hate everything I'm writing these days.
Chris and I both have our 20 year high school reunions coming up. Because I switched school districts mid-high school, I have two, but am only going to one because the other conflicts with a family beach trip. Besides, one 20 year reunion (plus tag along to spouse's) is plenty, don't you think?

This brought up the question, what is Chris going to wear? I'm easy. I have a closet full of dresses and can buy off the rack.

But Chris, Chris is a very tall man. He's 6'8. He's a 37" inseam. His shirts are 17.5" neck with a 37" sleeve -- these sizes are difficult to find, especially in something that isn't totally basic. These sizes rarely go on sale. He's a 46L suit, common enough, but it has to be a cut broad enough for his shoulders and chest. Many designers don't fit properly. Because he dresses casually for work, he doesn't need a lot of fancy clothes. Which is good because it's all wildly expensive. He has a suit, 6 or 7 dress shirts, a pair of slacks and a sport jacket. Weddings, funerals, meetings, presentations--covered. He's been covered for a long time. So it didn't occur to me until a couple days ago that that he might have wore that same sport coat to the last reunion, um, 10 years ago. Maybe not. I vaguely have a recollection of a dark green button down. Definitely the same pair of black slacks, but possibly he got the jacket closer to 8 years ago. Neither of us can remember. Because we're middle-aged.

Either way, it was clear that it was time for a wardrobe update.

Did you know that the fashionable young men wear earthtones and the old fogeys wear grays? When I worked at a men's clothing store (in the, um, late '80's) it was the other way around. Now those young men are the fogeys. Cycle of life shit. I'm falling behind.

The sales associate asked Chris if he wanted to project the message of "success" or "cool" at his reunion.

I told Chris that he didn't need to project success, he was already successful.

We decided to give "cool" a try.

Hah hah hah.

Monday, August 2, 2010

elsewhere blogging cont.

Presenting Tom Beckett's zombie poems at We Who Are About to Die

Presenting a poem by Karl Parker at The Best American Poetry blog

Presenting a poem by Daniela Olszewska at The Best American Poetry blog

Presenting a poem by Fritz Ward at The Best American Poetry blog

Presenting a poem by Evie Shockley at The Best American Poetry blog

Presenting a poem by Rebecca Loudon at The Best American Poetry blog
The past two weeks we've been to Dublin, Amsterdam, Maastricht, Brussels and Philadelphia. The layover in London doesn't count.

The summer has been one wonderful blur and there's still August to go. I'm not even going to bother saying what's on the agenda. I'll just sound like an asshole. I don't think I've ever been quite this busy, for such a long and consistent stretch, in my life. It's not an overwhelming busy, like say, caring for a newborn. It's not particularly stressful either. Or maybe I don't get stressed out like I used to. I just let stuff drop and you know what, everything turns out OK.

Back in January, the OTHER Rebecca sent a postcard saying she drew the 8 of wands for me for 2010. Pretty accurate.

Chris and I have already decided that in 2011 we're going to be couch potatoes. I know that's not going to happen. But it's a good dream.

Two dreams last night of being pregnant. In one, my dad helped me move boxes into my Grandmother's house. Guess I worked out whatever was going on back in early-mid July. Lots of pregnancy dreams -- I hope that's a positive indication about these poems I'm trying to write. I don't like anything I'm writing these days. I want that to change.

Speaking of dreams, I haven't seen Inception yet and it's killing me. I'm going to see it Weds. I've done a good job of avoiding spoilers, so don't go spoiling it for me.