Sarcasm 1: "Bluetooth".

Oh my new little Dictionary of Sarcasm...perfection written here: BLUETOOTH--a wireless ear device allowing well-dressed businessmen to be indistinguishable from ragged skid-row lunatics that walk around spouting loud obnoxious conversation with people who aren't there.

I would add that these "Bluetooth Belligerents" are one of my major pet-peeves while waiting in an airport. For God's Sake man, no one else gives a rat's ass about YOUR investments, YOUR real-estate, YOUR number-crunching abilities--though through your boorish, reverberating conversation with Casper, it gives all appearances that you believe we must all bow down before you due to your remarkable marketing skills! You believe you are the God of Gab, the God of Blab, and when your 'gifted' conversation (thankfully) ends, you blatantly leap right into the next with no consideration to all those suffering around you. Hell, even moving myself away to a far corner brings no relief from your uncouth loutishness.

Let's just say, for one minute, that I, yes I, Mr. Bluetooth, decide to read ALOUD the book I'm trying (unsuccessfully due to YOU) to enjoy. I belt forth, with great volume and determination: "They could hear sea transport hooting in at midnight. The men had been sent to bed at ten, stuffed with cocoa and bully, having suffered an inspection of rifles and feet, had deficiencies of clothing and equipment made up, and been issued with many rounds of live ammunition. After three other ranks had been shot accidentally dead and the CSM of the HQ Company sustained a flesh wound in the buttock, this issue was withdrawn as premature:troops would be given their bullets--strictly for the enemy--at the base camp at the port of disembarkation."

What do you think Mr. Bluetooth? Am I interrupting your thought processes? Disrupting your air conversation? Do you find my oration irritating? No, unlike you Mr. Bluetooth, I have the ability to read the body-language of others. I would note the disgruntled faces, the heated glares, the crossed arms, the deep-veed eyebrows and down-turned lips. Politeness would supersede --I would shut my freakin' mouth!

Quit antagonizing us, Mr. Bluetooth. You sound like a raving idiot.

He's BAAACk!

Stalkerman (not mine, mom's) is going to strike soon, I just feel it coming.

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle

Last November I needed to borrow a book from my daughter for my flight home from AK; I took “The Story of Edgar Sawtelle” because I’d read a few pages, discovered it held the anguish of miscarriage, and decided my pregnant girl did not need sad scary thoughts swirling through her mind during that long stressful time.

I read more on the long wait on an Anchorage bench, backpack under my neck, reading and sleeping and listening for the reverberating, comforting ‘dong’ of their hourly airport clock. I read the whole flight home, though at times I had to hide my tears facing the clouded window and wiping my face raw with countless rough paper towels.

Once home, I slid the book under the couch, having reached what I thought was the apex, the ultimate heart-wrenching scene—I would have to wait until later to muster up courage to finish the end. My emotions needed a break from this boy, his family, and dog.

I hadn’t thought of the book for many months and couldn’t find it until this week—at the KC airport in June a Delta agent called forth a Korean gal named “Almondine” making me nearly gasp at the name and torturing me with the need to complete this book at once. And if found, I’d finally get to watch young Edgar enact his revenge, to accuse the guilty, become vindicated and whole—and so I’d feel the ultimate relief of an incredible book while finally consoling my heart.

I re-read it entirely, clear to that throat-tightening scene and then continued until it was done. Until I was done.

So unexpected—no. Nope. I shake my head. I keep thinking if I pick it up again and go back to the final chapters the words will rearrange themselves and the REAL ending will form. I was tired after all. I didn’t comprehend correctly. It should be arranged dictionary-like and formulaic where each precise scene remedies the previous and eases the grieving, smooths soothes softens the chest-crushing pain. These chapters can’t be possible when the end was actually quite clear in my mind—I KNEW what would happen, I thought. I’m not prepared for the twist.

Online, some of the reviews gave commentary like: ‘psychological insight and lyrical mastery’; ‘comforting joy of a book’; ‘enchanting debut’; ‘big mesmerizing read’; ‘reluctant to put it down’; ‘stunning, elegant’; ‘completely smitten’; ‘hauntingly impressive’; ‘rare and wonderful’; ‘will leave you crying for more....’

Let me evaluate. ‘Stunning’-yes, nearly a shock to the soul. ‘Insightful’-yes, in a bigger way than you can ever imagine. ‘Smitten’? Not a word I’d use in this case. ‘Smitten’ implies a cute girl, your new Cabbage Patch dolly, the joy of a matchbox car or fuzzy sweater—something causing joy or warmth—I doubt this person dwelled much or even caught an inkling of that current of grief streaming through these pages. (Shallow skimmer/cheater!) ‘Lyrical’-yes, descriptions beautiful and I loved the passages about ‘words’. ‘Impressive’-yes, ‘haunting’-yes. 'Comforting'-no.‘Rare and mesmerizing and elegant’-yes. ‘Enchanting’-yes/no-many parts are, yet enchantment also seems a ‘smiling’ word.‘Will leave you crying for more’? Yet I read no words to describe the clenching of one’s jaws or the inability to swallow as one steadily blinks back tears.

I guess I am ignoring the beauty of this book at the moment, in despair for Edgar's mother. Sadly, the word ‘crying’ will suffice.

To and From Homer...

...there's an Alaska story here, but just no time to write it!

Ladder Ballet/Clutz

When I got home from work today it was really freakin' hot, so I went out back to see if any garden tomatoes needed a drink from the hose. I was shocked to see 2 of my cherry trees had plenty of already ripened fruit. NO! NOT YET! Stay green for a couple more days--I have other things to do around the house before I am committed to cleaning and pitting YOU! Its a wreck!
Rats--I've slept after work almost all week. Knowing that I was to get one of my spine injections Thursday, I was not allowed to take drugs for the previous 5 days--and I started getting a killer ear-ache on Monday. By Tuesday evening and all day Wednesday, I was feeling rather chilly/sweaty, so I finally got some Bactrum on Wednesday eve.
(Shhhhh. That's a secret!) I didn't tell the nurse at the hospital that info when I went ahead with the shot on Thursday afternoon! But I feel great today--it only hurts a little when I bend!
However, I did get up at 4:00am Wed and Thurs, when the Briglet goes to work--so I could go to work too and then leave a little earlier. Hmmmm--in my state of sleepiness and the heat and that new shot, should I pick cherries or not?

I got a 1/2 bucket standing on the metal rung ladder wearing wet flipflops when I felt like it wasn't the wisest choice in the world to be sliding around like that. Plus the pair of sweat shorts I put in had lost their elastic and pulling them up with 1 hand just wasn't working.
I put on good decent shoes with traction and some long jean shorts to be safe. HA! No sooner had I climbed back up when I felt the ladder start to slide over sideways--like very slow motion. I calculated that I could get one foot on the top of the chain-link fence pole if I were lucky, and I was. I don't know how I managed to get BOTH feet on the top of the fence, but I did, still holding the bucket and a small branch like Tarzan. or a monkey.
Unfortunately, when my feet came down on the fence, they quickly slid on the green raspberry leaves that are covering the metal and I ended up with my butt on the bar (and pulling the poor tree over sideways)--whew! The neighbor guy has his garden of tomatoes and potatoes right in front of me...please don't fall forward and ruin his plants. Whew. So I sat there and looked around like a bird, burst out laughing and prayed no one had seen my graceful fall. But I saved the cherries--and my back. I think.

Photo Thief.

Succumbing to the equivalent of a lowly dumpster diver searching for supper, I've pilfered this picture from my daughter's Picassa, if only to easily/lazily update my blog with little thought process required, but mainly to show off such a darling photo of a baby and his daddy...
Yes, I shall also steal HER headline "The Boat Cab, the Captain, and the Bilge Rat". Oh, Grandma...shame. I doubt I would of thought of calling Emery a rattus rattus.

Classmate.

Hmmmm. You never know what you'll find cruising the back alley of Google...looks like a classmate of my daughter's. What the heck?! I wonder if many of the youth who've been under suspicion for local thefts...are possibly off the hook now?

Creepers.

Some youth in the area introduced me to a new word recently: creeper. In the old days, I think we called them just ‘creeps’ or ‘creepos’, as in “That guys a real creepo.” (At first, when I heard their word, I thought they’d said ‘keeper’ instead of ‘creeper’!) BIG difference. BIG.

Not many creepers have shown their faces lately—or else I’ve been indoors too much to notice. Hippy Bill quit working at my local coffee/gas station, so it seems rather sad—no one I can really talk to if I need to run over for a cup of ice: I’m lacking in area gossip and his episodes dealing w/ local characters.

I probably shouldn’t go looking for trouble anyway, now that I’m a grandmomma and all! Sorta changes your way of thinking. Previously—well, before Christmas-- I’d sort of run my mouth with just one sentence, thus exposing myself to an individual in one of my previous stories….someone who has been referred to as “Charles Manson Man”.
This guy (I will call him ‘Holiday’) was someone I’d seen occasionally since I was roughly 16 years old. Puppy-dog deep brown eyes--quite nice. Quite. Of course, I ‘d always kept this tidbit of info to myself as I’d no idea who the guy was—just that he always seemed a bit ‘dangerous’. He exuded an “I’m not an approachable person unless you wanted to end up in jail with me tonight…and it will probably be a felony” aura. Chills and Thrills! Cute! With long hair….mmm. But even other guys at parties avoided him except for a specific group…

Last summer I’d asked “Who exactly is that guy?—and when I displayed shock about his ‘Manson’ nickname, I was told “You’ve never seen him angry—when his eyes look like Manson—it’s scary!”….

What made me speak out after so many years of subdued interest—was the hair thing. (NO! I would never of gone anywhere with ‘suspect in missing woman case and she’s probably in a well or the river’ man.) I was standing around talking to Hippy Bill and I noticed a person getting gas that looked vaguely familiar. Since I was on drugs that month—that lovely pain-killer, lower-back medicine—vague being a key word… all of a sudden the door opened and beautiful brown-eyed guy stepped inside. I looked back and gasped with dismay: “YOU CUT OFF ALL YOUR HAIR!” That’s it. No big deal. Just that sentence. But I’d never spoke to him before (based on hearsay and the advice/tales of many). When I told cop-friend about Holiday later, he told me I was out of my mind and that I’d find him on my doorstep within a few days.

Holiday looked over with a raised eyebrow and blurted a few near-suggestive comments before he left—Hippy Bill was very curt with him …and I reassured cop-friend that someone with such a limited amount of damaged brain cells squandered in their skull would never remember the incident 2 minutes later--as their mind only retains crucial relevant information, like: ‘alibis’ and ‘bondsmen’ and ‘who dealt what with whom’ and ‘how much’ and ‘how many grams’.

Still, I would not consider this person a ‘creeper’. I’ll have to think of another category!

Wynken Revised.

Emery Clay and the dog Daphne
Sailed off in the Salty Dog—
Sailed by Bishop Beach ‘n Homer Spit,
Into deep Alaskan fog.
“Where are you going, and what to you wish?”
Captain Nate asked Emery.
“We’ve come to catch cod and herring fish
That live in Kachemak sea:
Pots and nets all hole-free”;
Said the babe,
and his dog,
Daphne.

Captain Nate laughed and played a song,
As they rocked in their wooden skiff,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled snow in irregular drifts.
The little stars were lights of Homer town
On the coast of the beautiful sea—
“Now cast your nets wherever you wish--
Hooligan--there are many”;
So swayed the kelp near the fishermen wee:
Daph the dog,
And
Emery.

All night long their pots they drew
Near the crab in the twinkling foam—
Then down by the Spit came the wooden skiff,
Bringing the fishermen home.
Twas all so pretty a night it seemed
As if it could not be.
But a mommy at home was missing her son
And smiled in reverie—
Dreaming the same dream in the minds of three:
Bailey,
Nate and,
Emery.

Bailey and Nate were two best friends,
and the babe was Emery—
And the wooden boat that skimmed their sleep,
Was a name in a memory.
So shut your eyes while Bailey sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As eagles fly by the black beach sea,
Where life was explored by the small family:
Daph,
Nate, Bail,
And Emery.

Pied Piper's not always human....

We sat around the other night confessing "bad parenting/horrible mother" tales: myself, Sandy, & Sheila the wedding bouquet maker...I can think of countless mistakes I made, yet all worked out in the end--for all of us!

Once upon a time there lived two brothers, toddlers they were, who took great joy amusing themselves in the sunshine or shadows of nature. Long afternoons they passed lolling about the rocky lane with dusty bums or in the sweet-smelling woods with muddy feet.

Between the cottage barn and the Queen's window was a slight clearing; she could watch the children play about the yard there chasing butterflies or collecting acorn treasures to fill their small pockets.

As the long summer days passed a strange occurrence transpired: before twilight cast its shadows, two odd visitors would slowly plod toward the youth from afar--a seemingly placid goat with his peculiar partner, Dog. With a cautious observance the unlikely pair would slowly circle the boys from a great distance before heading back down the road from whence they came.

At first the children took no notice, but as the days passed Goat and Dog casually tightened their path to a closer degree, occasionally nipping at grass clumps and wilted vegetables from the sleepy garden or wagging their tails beseechingly. The boys took note of the suspicious pair and soon wandered amoungst them freely, occasionally allowing a friendly lick or slight nudge before the Queen would gather them up in her arms and banish the creatures far down the lane.

Though dazzlingly bright in the sunlight, the baleful golden eyes of Goat now glinted and flashed in the evening shadows. Dog's tail grew silent and resentful while darkness fell upon all the land. A raven called. Dry lightening rumbled purply in the distance while oppressive heat settled in the uneasy valley. No rain came. Dog and Goat settled upon a high rocky ledge and scrutinized the tiny farm far below.

With dawn came the sleepy sun stretching its beams onto the earth and into the garret window. Pale yellow rays beseechingly called the sweaty-faced boys from their troublesome rest to come tumbling from the house.

It was slightly cooler under the nearby trees and much nicer to sit tranquilly on a moss cushion amusing themselves with twigs and sweet violets. Soon the children chattered amicably while brilliant charming beetles scurried about entertaining them with their antics, which caused them to laugh aloud delightedly. The queen smiled in her chamber.

A short time later as the morning hours wove the sun's warmth into a thick blanket, a gradual silence crept under the covers to envelope the still air. A sudden thudding heart drove the Queen outdoors; fierce fear speared an icy blade into her very soul. The toddlers had vanished...


more later/ more revisions!

The Hawk and the Mermaid

As I opened the freezer & laid to rest a saran-wrapped brush full of Kilz (not a dead animal) that will be resurrected by the pilot light in the morning a.m., I was glad that I'd made an attempt to paint the kitchen ceiling instead of moping about. High on the ladder, all I could think was the following:

"When the Mermaid Girl and the Falcon delivered the Frog Prince into the world, the onset of labor brought about a fierce wind and bitter snow that followed the little family for a fortnight; impeding the baby's first week check-up, yet they remained awestruck, snug and undaunted by the tiny miracle they'd created deep in their wooded cabin." or something.

Well, the first part of the sentence was a good start but I forgot the last half while I was watching "Desperate Housewives" and can't reconstruct it! Maybe I'll dream it.... I'd been calling Emery 'little minnow', while others referred to him as little frog or tadpole...my mom always called my son Tegan 'little grasshopper'. I'd received the "Owl and the Pussycat" poem re-written by Grandma Sandy a couple weeks ago and I was just tickled because I could picture each scene perfectly!
Here it is!

The Hawk and The Mermaid (with apologies to Edward Lear)

The hawk and the mermaid went to the beach
In a beautiful sea-blue Ford
They had plenty of “honey”, but not much money,
(‘Twas not in their nature to hoard.)

The hawk looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Lady, o Fishy, my love,
What a beautiful Fishy you are, you are,
What a beautiful Fishy you are!”

Fishy said to the bird, “That’s the best song I’ve heard,
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married; too long we have tarried,
But what shall we do for a ring?”

So they flew far away in less than a day
To the hills with the grass and flint rocks.
And there in the town, a jeweler they found,
With THE RING in a velvet-lined box, a box,
With the ring in a velvet-lined box.

“Dear man, are you willing to sell for one shilling
That ring?” Said the jeweler, “I will.”
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the “Cleric” who lived on the hill.

They ate barbecue and drank copious brew,
Minus the aid of a spoon,
And wing in arm, they strolled on the farm,
And danced by the light of the moon, the moon,
And danced by the light of the moon.

Oh they’ve had immense fun, but the story’s not done,
For what’s best is what money can’t buy.
Of the froglet they spawned they’re terrifically fond,
And the dog with the crazy blue eye, blue eye
And the dog with the crazy blue eye!

Brain Waves

Written several weeks ago: I was thinking today about my lack of ambition; my vacuous eonic state of passive winter blasé and I’ve decided perhaps that I should try to wean myself back off the pain killers I started in October. {Either that or I’m missing the sun.)
So.
I have not taken my afternoon meds. (I also missed them Friday and saw people’s faces blur and strangely twist—and that was BEFORE we went down to the bar.) So, bent over scavenging through the fridge today with my oversized ass in the air (thanks, pills, for my medicated addiction to anything sugar & the 10 extra pounds), I finally found some brew I had purchased in early fall when I was methodically taste-testing the entire beer section of the liquor store. (IN LEIU OF PAIN KILLERS, I might add.) Anyway, I found “Alley Cat” and popped one open. Ugg. Disgusting. Tasted just like alley cat. Rank. Even with tomato juice added. But meds make me taste NOTHING. Or nothing tastes right. I taste nothing except cloying metal in my mouth 24 hours a day and other strange oddities; simple foods tastes like: smoke from a firecracker, fingernail polish remover, oily garage floor, field dust, licking a rubber shoe, toadstools,any 1960’s vehicle, aluminum foil, bandaids….quite odd. And it’s hard to swallow. Physically swallow. Dry. That’s when the sugar comes into play—anything sugary creates a bizarre explosion of intense saccharine crystals so shockingly sweet it must be like crunchy honey on crack. Thus I continue to shove crap in my mouth. At least I sense a somewhat realistic taste. Sigh. It’s a catch-22. Stop the meds and I will hurt too bad to exercise (or walk or sit); be nearly pain-free, exercise but gain weight. Ugg again.
If summer were here I could mess around outdoors instead of sitting like a zombie watching ‘Toddlers in Tiaras’ or some other nonsense. One can tell I am lacking self-ambition this winter due to the sporadic inconsistency of my blogs. See, I am writing this one (and have written many mentally), but lack the motivation to open up Mozilla and type my blog password. Now that’s just damn lazy—too much work to type in a password. Go figure. Well, the weekend is over, thus I will reach for those prescription bottles in the a.m……………

TODAY!!! Laziness Update!!! 9 days ago I had a shot in my spine—yippee! It worked for 5 days, then Euphoria wore off…and I had my 2nd one this morning. “For a few moments, you’ll feel like you drank 2 beers—here’s #1!” says the nurse as she drugs my IV. “And #2!” It did! I never felt any injection in my spine either time—but whether it works or not, I am not going to take those pain killing, zombie-concocting pills anymore. I’ve stopped for 8 days and feel more human-like already! Who needs something called Cyclone (fun fun if you OD?) anyway—and I don’t have epilepsy, so why take THAT?!
LOOK! I am actually typing—and posting! And I am ready to add more details to illustration work tomorrow! And I didn’t even watch TV Sunday at all…

I got nuthin.