How to Close a Door

The other day I asked a question. The idea was that people would put some thought into the answer. Would want to know who was asking and why. Instead the responses were general and more indicative of individuals who want to give but, not take.

That's how we live. Detached. Everybody is afraid of making actual contact despite the popularity of things like blogs and facebook. The fascination is the anonymity. We want to express and not interact. We want others to speak with us without speaking with them. We want to remain circumferential.

What facebook got right is that we do want to connect with other people. We just want to do it from behind bullet proof glass.

Sleep will come

It used to be that a break was unimaginable.
It used to be that life was too short to waste not spending every moment with the ones you love.
It used to be completely inconceivable that soft singing and humming to nobody would be so irritating.
Now that's not the way.
Now mommy time is something all too well appreciated.
Now I get it.
I get what alone time is really all about.
It used to be that seeing something beautiful was something to be captured to be shared with others.
Now I understand the jealous zeal used to guard the happy place.
Now I get the happy place.
We're going on a pretend adventure.
We're looking for cute creatures in the forests that we can find and nurse back to health.
We're having tickle fights and I know that every second is ticking away and one day I'll be old and one day I'll be gone. And now, I don't care.
I'm ready for the one day when I'll be tired, too.
I understand there's life to live and lots that wants being done.
I haven't left my mark yet and nowhere near being begun.
But, one day I'll be tired.
One day I will sleep.
One day it will end for me and I don't care one bit.

At the end of the visit

The people across the road had the grandparents stay with them this summer. I'm not exactly sure how long they stayed. We didn't pay much attention to them because nobody from that side ever said hello.

Then, one day the kids decided to play together. By necessity we had to become acquainted. Still, the old folks were strange. One day the old lady was outside sweeping the gravel driveway. The asphalt had not even been put down yet.

Today, the girls were playing and that's when we found out that tomorrow is their last day. They're going home to China. We just assumed they lived here. The kids don't really get it. You can tell that for them it won't sink in until they don't see the old folks pattering about in a couple of days.

For us, it will have an impact, too. It will mean that the kids won't be outside as much. It will mean that my girl won't see her friends as much. That's what happens when people get older. You notice them less when they are around and when they are gone they leave this void that never gets filled up again no matter how much you try to move on. Somehow, with each day you know they are gone.

My grandparents are gone in a different way, I know what to expect. My kid is spared that for the moment. The best part of oblivion is truly being able to enjoy today and not care about the next moment, day, week, year. You can't really do that once you know and are old enough to care.

Procrastination

I have to go
I cannot stay
I'll come again another day

Work must be done
And still I stay
I'll do the work another day

A list of things that wait their turn
Unattended on the stand
I've stared at them time and again

The list must wait
I'm too absorbed
To do the things it has been told

The days go by
The dust builds up
The floors so sticky for the fly

The chores will wait
For I must stay
I'll do the tasks another day

Anger

Anger is a fascinating thing.
It is all encompassing. It swallows you whole and sucks hard through a little pit right in the middle of your rib cage.
Heat gathers at your cheek bones and steam rises through the pores on your face and off the sides of your shoulders.
The muscles tighten below your shoulder blades.
It runs down your spine until it reaches your tail bone and wraps around your hips like a lusty lover's hungry hands.
Its fingers dig into you and blood flows through your thighs down to your knees.
The urge to move engulfs you. It emancipates you. It liberates the binds that keep you still.
Your feet find a direction before your mind can stop long enough to determine a path.
You race and repeat the cause in your mind until it stops to matter.
You slow down.
You stop.
You say thanks. It is only when you get angry enough are you able to be completely self-engrossed and not care.
That's when you are reborn and can really appreciate that which surrounds you.
Remorse sets in. Guilt.
Still the silent private pleasure of a deep sigh that would not have happened if you had not lost control remains.
Quietly you turn around and go home.
Home. The place where you started. When you get back all is quiet.
Traces of their fear replaced by gratitude that you have returned.
Anger is rain followed by the calm of a misty gray morning, before the rest of the world woke up.

Cognac and Jasmine

I shouldn't have been drinking
I did it to myself
My throat is dry
I cannot sleep
Nobody else is up
I'm waiting now until the morning
Can't wait to start the day
A few more hours of this torment and then I'll leave my bed
I shouldn't have been drinking
I did it to myself

Follow Along

A scratch
A sniff
A tug
A hug
Jump to the left
Jump to the right
A dance
A flance
A fluke
A look
Jump to the back
Jump to the front
Bend on over
Bend up right

Did you ever?

Did you ever want to pee but, were too lazy to go?
Did you ever say to yourself "I'll do it later"?
Did you ever feel the droop of your eye lids as you lay there thinking something up?
Did you ever wait for nothing, not caring when it comes?
Did you ever feel her crawling over you and snuggle up behind you, adjusting as she does?
Did you ever feel her warmth surround you?
Did you ever love your life?

The Mosquito

The mosquito sat on the edge of the pool looking at the forgotten hair elastic from the night before. I knew it had noticed me but, found the fuzzy brown circle infinitely more captivating. I felt safe in its lazy revelry.

The cool morning breeze washed over me as I floated by the edge. Eventually, I dived under and kept going, knowing we wouldn't meet again.

Stop. That's not entirely true. Something inside me couldn't let it live. One less mosquito made me calmer. I scooped up a handful of pool water and drowned it where it stood.

Watching it wash away completed me. It gave me a sense of accomplishment and nobility. Now the morning was working out as it should. Not giving it another thought, I dived under and swam.

Boy Parts

Boy parts are toy parts
Are fun parts
Are hard parts

Boy parts are strong parts
Are nice parts
Are sweet parts

Boy parts are small parts
Are can't do without parts

Girls doing boy parts can do them much better
Girls doing boy parts are stronger than ever
Girls can make boy parts and girl parts so clever

Sing both the girl parts and boy parts together
Cut up the fish parts and cook up the soup
Throw in the boy parts and girl parts together

We all set the table
The girls and the boys did
We all ate the dinner the boys had brought home
The boys sat together and said they could do better
The boys can do better than say so and so

Girl parts are fun parts
Are soft parts
Are best not done without

Girls like their boy parts
Boys need their girl parts
Neither is worth much all on their own

Writer's Block Cure

The key to overcoming writer's block is the right kind of an audience. Allow me to illustrate the point.

I cannot sing. At the tender age of 7 my music teacher called in my parents to complain that I was a real trouble maker in class. It seems that I went out of my way to disrupt choir because surely nobody could actually sing that badly. My parents could not believe what they were hearing and to settle the confusion I was asked to demonstrate my singing abilities to the three of them.

Surely, I would not try anything in such circumstances. Not thinking anything of it I began to sing. Thought I was pretty good, too. That's when we discovered my complete and utter lack of musical talent. My ears, I was told are not able to distinguish tone.

When my daughter was born, nobody told her this. Since mothers are supposed to sing to their children, in the seclusion of bath and bed time I did sing to her. Since this had previously not been a pursuit I was at a noticeable lack of memorized lullabies and such and was left to my own devises.

To wit, I made stuff up. The inspiration flooded my mind with rhymes and it all just came out. A few we remember to this day. Where did it all come from? Simply from the right kind of an audience. A silent, appreciative and non-judgmental one.

With time, my daughter grew to realize that I, in fact, cannot sing. This is partially in thanks to my putting her to bed to the sound of classical music on a regular basis. She, I believe, is not tone deaf. The rhymes dried up with the milk.

The cusp of the idea is that although we are told to write what we know, it depends on whom we are writing it to. An audience does not have to be a person. It can be anything. The quality is far more important than the mass of atoms that define it.

Writer's block hits everybody. You hear about it constantly. What they don't get is the cause. An audience is organic. Organisms need shock. Original appreciation of a writer's work is due to the shock of not having expected it to be that good. The next piece has to be better. If it is not, the audience is no longer surprised and then has time to form an opinion outside of the primary.

Nature is good. Innocence is good. Innocent nature is best. Innocence is independent of consequence. Therefore, since any consequence of the work will have only limited influence on such an audience it will not judge. Lack of fear of being judged removes the barrier blocking the mind from thinking.

So, find yourself a baby, find yourself the wind, find a bird or pond or duck and close your eyes and think.

Kid Nation and the Painted Bird

The human race is built to survive. Generally speaking that is what evolution is all about. We face hardship. Some of us overcome and become stronger. Some perish. The strong go on to determine how future nations will be shaped.

By age 8, children are resourceful enough to survive on their own. If they have to. What they don't have is wisdom of the ages. They are bound to recreate the regrets from which their ancestors already learned. A lack of loving adult guidance will have its impacts.

Reality TV is not harmless. For the children who participated in Kit Nation it left its scars. They won't be the only victims. All those involved, audience included, may never fully appreciate the impact of this social experiment.

Each civilization goes into decline and the Western Civilization is not immune to this natural cycle. The fact that this show has been permitted to progress to the point where we are even discussing it is indicative enough of how far we are down the path of decline.

The Painted Bird is a story of what happens when a child is forced to find his own way in the world. He was thrust into this situation due to a nation bent on ethnic cleansing and parents who tried to protect him and give him a chance they didn't feel they had. In the end, we never know what would have been or who he would have been.

Once an experience has been realized, there is no going back. We are not talking about censorship. There is a fine line between free speech and protecting yourself from experiences that change who you are and force you to become part of something that changes your own path and effectively prevents the realization of a positive potential. Innocence should be protected and allowed to grow into maturity at a natural pace. Not thrust through artificial interference for the sake of pushing entertainment boundaries.

I want to start my day

The archetypal life direction was preset long ago
Some thing had to take place in order
Based on what we know

First school
Then marriage
Then children

In between a life
A job
A love
A passion

The details weren't so clear
Somehow a lot of blanks laid bare
Directions all askew

It felt like something missing
A quest, a search unrealized

The point
What was the point
What is the point

In hindsight always present
In hindsight always there

The tough part is all over
Now to execute the plan

Listen to me

Listen to me
Listen to me
Listen to me

Mama, mama, mama
Listen to me

Mama, mama, mama, mama
Listen I have something to say
I have to tell you a story

Okay, I say
What would you like to tell me?

Listen, mama, listen
I have something to say

Naked Masses

Blame is something best placed on a woman. Preferably a young one.

It's easy to do. There are enough people who will jump on the band wagon and not all that many that will stand up for them. Either by virtue of their strength or weakness. This is an easy target.

We all need somebody to blame. Without a cause, there can be no momentum for action. Without action there can be no affirmation of one's own worth and justification of actions that may otherwise be deemed self-serving or pointless.

To blame is to validate anger. Anger pushes the masses and masses are groups. Groups are societies and societies need members to belong to them. If you pick a mass you belong somewhere. Jumping on a bandwagon gives a sense of community. A community built on ignorance is easy because ignorance is bliss and we all want to be happy.

If you see a woman. Don't think about it too long. She might get away. Jump her. Blame her. Beat her down.

If you are a woman. Jump on her anyway, if you don't, you'll be next. Who cares? You'll be next anyway. But, jumping on her may distract them, may delay them. Women are and have always been the root of all evil. A feminist that knows the true meaning of feminism and believes in humanity and the need to respect all life regardless of what form it is in is the worst kind of sinner. She cannot be subjugated or controlled because she has a mind of her own.

Better to band against her and beat her. Beat her hard and hate her while you're doing it. Hate is easy. It makes you happy. We already covered that.

American Dollars

Ludmilla read the planets.
Hasia read the cards.
Fenya read the omens.
Mary read the charts.

Each one in her own right
knew what would happen next.
Each one in her own right
was right until the end.

The planets kept on shifting.
They cards they did not lie.
The omens were all bad ones.
Mary read the skies.

The birds just kept on flying.
The stars blinked in the night.
Mary kept of crying.
The fish, they swam on by.

The antelope kept grazing.
The children kept on playing.
Each door knocker hung limply
waiting to be used.

The breeze it swayed the curtains.
The windows were ajar.
The suitcases stood packed.
The tickets all arranged.

Nobody came back there.
The plans did not realize.
They caught her in the passage.
They stopped her in her tracks.

Instead of a reunion
a memory remained.
Instead of a new life
an old one laid to rest.

Tap, Tap, Tap

With a pat pat pat
and a tap tap tap
I love you sadly

With hug hug hug
and a kiss kiss kiss
I love you gladly

With a pat pat pat
and a dab dab dab
I love you badly

With a clap clap clap
and a slip slap slop
I love you madly

Medusa Bled

Medusa was a beauty. A real looker. She caught the eye of a god. Granted, he had a wandering eye.

In those days a girl didn't have much of a choice and, well, let's face it when the big guy says jump (or in this case lay down) you jump. So the poor girl didn't have much of a choice. Stuck between a rock and the proverbial hard place. Okay, the literal hard place.

The wife didn't like it much. It was a bit of a routine with them. He bagged them and she, not able to do much about the boss, took it out on the innocent girls caught in the middle of their marital issues. You can understand where the old gal was coming from. She was, after all, quite a bit older than him. More his mother's age. She'd survived the overthrow of the old regime and was the most powerful of the female gods. You don't get to be that mighty without knowing how to defend your turf. She knew where to play politics and whom to crush. Medusa, she crushed.

Though her face remained beautiful, none would be able to appreciate it. Her long flowing hair was transformed into deadly snakes. It was not their venom but, their glare that stopped the blood cold in your veins. With time her blood began to run cold, too. With time all that was left of her was her legacy. People forgot who she was or how she came to be regarded as a monster. She was vilified not by her actions but, by a woman desperate to retain control and order.

History tells again and again of people, regardless of their groups (women, Jews, Blacks, whatever) that they should band together. Instead they do their worst to their own. This was no different. Medusa bled and cried. None of us cared. We didn't care why or what for. So Hera won.... or did we lose?

Sisters and Brothers

Em didn't know what to say. She was an only child and really wasn't in a position to judge any aspect of the sibling relationship. It just didn't seem right to her. Perhaps she was just naive.

To her, no matter how close a family is there is still a distinction of the sexes. Something appropriate and something that is not. To her it seemed odd when her boyfriend told her about his sister. They are a close family but, how close is too close? They weren't kids anymore. She was in her late teens and he was in his early twenties. Should she still be sharing his bed?

She had her own room but, preferred to snuggle with her older brother. It seemed wrong to Em. She felt a little violated. She felt the need to distance.

Not knowing how to react she decided to share a part of her own uncomfortable truth. Share something wrong from her story. See if the shoe was on the other foot how they would deal with it. It did the trick.

His sister didn't try to be her friend anymore. It didn't bode well for Em's budding romance, though. His sister was bound to tell him the story. It didn't matter. There were other things that didn't sit right, either. The plastic on the furniture, for one thing. The strict religious upbringing. None of it would work. So, it didn't matter.

His friends were all against her, too. Half wanted to bang her, half couldn't handle the leader of their pack having a girlfriend. It meant that he would not be as available to them during the long breaks between classes. Some had more sinister reasons.

It wouldn't work out and it didn't. Would have ended earlier if he let it. But, there is that masculine pride rearing its head. He couldn't let her do it. He had to be the one. So it dragged on a bit longer than it needed to and took far to long to get over.

The problem was the lack of understanding. Lack of cohesion between the logical and the acceptable. Eventually, everything settled. They both moved on. Eventually.

Chaos

What do you do when you get stuck? The option to walk away is always there but, the nerve really isn't. I suppose people do. But, do I have enough guts to rend open a life just beginning? The opportunity to let her live in a false sense of stability or a broken home?

For me, it doesn't matter. No more children one way or another. If I wait, I'll be too old. If I stay, it won't happen either. Acceptance has always been an issue. To accept is to give up. I should give up. It would be easier.

Once in a while there are moments. Moments when it doesn't seem so hopeless. Moments when he acts like he cares. It's an act. She's too young to realize it. When she's older there will be time to part. From him. From this. Maybe a chance to find somebody who will care. Who will be happy when a presence is felt. Who will welcome it.

For now, he's trying to keep it together, for her. He's trying to coexist. I should, too. I guess.

For now, there is no rush. Just that my birthday is coming and it would be lovely if the man I'm with wanted to be with me. Wanted me. He doesn't. I know this. I've always known. Why did I let this happen?

And then, there are those that didn't let it happen. Stuck to their ideals. They're alone. Life went on. But, there would be no her. No touch of the hand nor leaning of the head. There would be nothing. This way there is something. Someone.

After all, the sacrifice is worth it. Even if he isn't.

Chaos will end. Peace will come. It has to.

Smoke Under a Boat

Corners are always a tricky thing to drive past. Usually, I try to be extra careful, not knowing if the drivers coming from around the corner are quite as committed to not colliding with each other as I am.

Yesterday I was distracted. Thinking more about the apple tree and the smile on her face than double checking that the red light also meant stop to the big white truck hauling the big white boat. All of a sudden tire screeching woke me from my daydream. Stunned, I didn't see where the commotion was coming from until I stopped smack in the middle of the intersection.

Didn't really expect to see smoke surrounding the truck and engulfing its tires. And so my day began. Nearly crashing.

The Bird and The Owl

The backyard pool is a cool thing. It prompted them to finally put up a fence between them and their next door neighbor. Only after seventeen years, after all. Now it's good. Up until now I thought pools were reserved for the girls from Sweet Valley High, and occasionally their big brother.

Now it is a private oasis in the middle of suburbia. A reason to not have to drive further than to them and something to do on a hot summer day. It did not take long for the wildlife to discover the new attraction to the landscape. Before they opened the pool for the season some geese tried diving for fish and even after she had kept having to pull out drowned Sparrows from the filter.

That's when, with stroke of genius she set up make shift bird bath. Really it's one of those rubber trays for wet winter boots filled with some water. But, it's enough to make the birds happy. Since then the birds very quickly adapted to the new installation. Not one drowned bird. They all take turns and sometimes a few share at a time.

Yesterday there was an owl in the bird bath. It was 33 degrees out and humid and all the little Sparrows sat watching patiently until the owl had taken its bath and flown away. Then they resumed their routine.

There you have it. Nature adapting to us, once again. The grateful little birds and the owl all working around us, and we in some small way trying to thank them for letting us use their space for ourselves. We take so much and leave them with a drop of water and they just line up to use it.

New Hat

I bought a new hat today. I'm not a shopper and it's not just any hat. The closest I can come to explain it is that the complete stranger behind the counter that cashed me out took one look at me and said: "You couldn't resist, could you?"

It's more than a hat. It's a way to white wash one of the more unpleasant memories. Unpleasant because I can usually figure things out eventually and this was one where I couldn't figure it out. I still can't. I couldn't figure out them and I couldn't figure out him and I couldn't figure out why I told his sister what I told her something like that or why his little freak boy brother did what he did.

The entire family is a bit off the mark. Kind of an anomaly and it made me want to distance from them but, I was young and he was cute and the coolest guy in the Engineering department, and I had a bit of an issue with finality anyway, so instead of just parting from the entire lot of them I opted for complete baffling and random acts of self destruction. I would say that the majority of self destructive things that I've done in my life have to do with the opposite sex. What else is new?

Well, back to the hat. I had a favorite black cap. One day we were standing in the subway with his idiot brother and the big oaf decided that he should adjust the brim of my cap. It was too straight for his liking and so rather than gently creating a curve Attila cracked it right in half. In my shock I just stared in disbelief. Heart broken at my loss and feeling violated by this teenage mutant of a boyfriend's brother. All he did was grin in his oafish grin. To this day I have no idea if he didn't mean any of it or if he was trying to do something mean. It's been ten years and I still think it was more than a benevolent attempt to correct his impression of my fashion sense.

After that, I tried to still use the cap and try to replace it but, in truth the incident marked a bit of a scar on a few levels. My boyfriend made no attempt to come to my defense and the look on his face was a milder version of the oafish expression on his brother's face. It was more than the demise of my cap it was the realization that really there was no relationship worth saving either.

My new hat is a redemption hat. The past no longer matters. None of the people that were part of my life when the black cap was around are part of my life now and I'm tired of tending those scars. It is impossible to learn from mistakes that have never been fully understood and ten years is enough time for trying.

Still I can't help but wonder if the reason I told her that story is because I was trying to distance her or if it just the excuse I told myself after the fact because there is actually something really wrong with me that I told it to her in the first place.

August 13th

August 13th is the day it all changed for me. The day I had to start wondering what would happen if somebody I cared about died. I started planning about what I would do.

I was only four and the entire family was gathered to celebrate me and my dad's birthdays. Mine is on the 16th, his on the 15th. Dyedushka stood up to make a toast that he never got a chance to finish. Just as he was wishing us long life and good health he fell back on the sofa behind him, glass in hand and died. It was that quick.

Since then everything in my life had been framed around the eventuality and suddenness of death. It's given me an appreciation and insight. It's also prevented me from taking for granted. I always thought taking for granted was a bad thing. Now that I have a child, I'm not so sure. Taking for granted is good. It is the most pure way of absorbing the now. Within moderation, this is essential. Otherwise, what is the point? We all know what is going to happen. Don't we? So why do we have to worry quite so much about it happening?

My daughter takes for granted. My mother was always worried about me having an overinflated sense of ego. Two things happened. I'm really insecure and I have an overinflated defence mechanism.

I shouldn't blame my mom. I'm an adult. Not much is her fault anymore. Now, it's all on me. What I teach, how I live, what I decide.

At the same time, it's all on her. What she'll absorb and learn.

This is not a new thought. Children change you. They change everything. You know that feeling you get when blood starts to pour? That prickly, tingly, warm feeling and that warm smell? The wet sticky feeling when everything just stops for you and all you do is watch it spill? Helpless and devoid of anything? That feeling when you are completely in the moment? That's what having a kid is like. That's what it's like when they grab your hand or run at you or kiss you all on their own. That's what it's like the first time and the next time, and every time after that.

That is the purpose of life, and when death stops to matter.