Nuzzle.

No writing at the moment! Too much to do...look at this darling with his little claws and trills and purrs--just like a cute kitty:

In Which I Pet a Giant Fish....

My bragging about Friday's hot weather on Facebook inevitably led to the chillydrablackluster rainy weekend we are experiencing at this time. I pulled on another sweatshirt around 8:15 am Sat (Yes, I'd already had my coffee/crossword fix), to see who was pounding at my door...

Surprisingly, it was 'Dozer Davy', Pott County's competent bulldozer man. I say 'competent' because the other dozers around this county play with little hills of dirt for days on end causing much eye-rolling and many caustic comments about their so-called dirt-moving 'abilities'.

And our county 'Pott' is short for Pottawatomie County, not the 'smokin pot' pot, but the Indian/Native American Potawatomi or Pottawattamie, which actually don't even really reside here, but in the next county over-- Jackson County actually has the 'Indian Reservations'. (I have my reservations too.)
And KS pot is/was called K-Weed back in the day, but ya didn't smoke it-- you pulled it out of the creekbanks and fed it to your pigs. Only idiots tried to smoke it, but the law caught too many people in the 70's that were trying to grow the South American kind and got their panties in a bunch trying to distinguish between pothead pot and k-weed and banned everything that looked like a japanese maple leaf, thus denying pigs a good food source and making extra work for the farmers who had it all cut down. It still appears here and there in patches and ditches (and in the back of Paula's sr pictures as she leaned against a farm rail fence) No, we are not potheads!

But I digress. Dozer Davy had something to show me, so curiously, I jumped in his truck due to his rare enthusiasum. He's normally a man of few words, although if he's talkative he'll resort to bantering with the other local bluecollar men-- things like "Well, kiss my ass on Broadway" and other assorted farmer slams and quips. Knowing that he likes to set bank lines, I've been harassing him all year to take me along one morning. He failed to do that this weekend but he wanted me to see what was in the big fish tank, thus appeasing his guilt.

We drove out of town and tiptoed across someone's newly planted lawn to look at a monster. Petting the head of a 65 lb flathead was kind of cool; I even tried to stick my fingers by his gill, but not wanting to get my arm ripped out of my socket should he get riled, I withdrew my hand out of the cold water. A 30 pounder lay nearby all but shadowed by this grandfather fish that picked it's unlucky day to bite at a baitfish on a bankline. Noodling would be crazy--people that do that are darn lucky they're not drowned, but a large one like this is probably pretty rare. I'd only seen heads before, nailed on a shed by my cool Uncle Darrell...

I posted a generic pic of a 57 lb fish, as my battery was dead in my camera...

Influences...

Yesterday afternoon, Brig’s friend stopped by to tell me that his dad has inoperable brain cancer…we talked for quite a while and it was pretty sad. I heard more news of the same caliber when I went for coffee this morning, so I decided to run by a pan of cinnamon rolls to Brig’s friend, who enjoys ‘mom-made’ baked goods, as his parents are divorced. The dad himself (age 65) answered the door—tears streaming down his face…It was hard to talk and say the right things especially when you don't know the person very well...

After that, I decided to drive over to the town of Wabaunsee, small enough that one can raise chickens in your yard, if one so chose, without much comment from any neighbors, as they have them too, and maybe even goats!

Wabaunsee is the home of Jaguar Joe, the only guy in KS that I know whose living room (which faces the main road) opens up to encapture whatever Jag he’s working on at the moment. We also come to this town for gun purchases in a guy’s basement, and other than that, I am not aware of any other ‘business’ here.

Jaguar Joe, a Vietnam Vet with white Einstein hair, bought this abandoned old limestone grocery back in 1983. The very next year, he was awakened when the back wall crashed away from the structure…as he restored the property, he extended the home and added many tall southern windows—this area is his art studio where he creates his wax sculptures to be cast later in bronze in the backyard.

There not being many (any?) Jaguars in KS, its easy to spot him coming, especially when his Jag was painted as a huge red/white/n blue wavy flag—with large paintbrushes and house paint. Up close, you can even see the texture!

I hadn’t seen him in a couple years, since I had stopped going to the Columbian Artist Group, but since I heard he has cancer too, I had to visit. “Damn! If this is what makes you come see me, I need to get cancer more often!” and “Listen bitch! Stop using your ‘lost glasses’ as an excuse and make some new art!” He’s very vocal and opinionated! Despite his pain, Jaguar Joe was very inspiring and showed me some sculptures-in-progress, some websites to visit, and the spirit to get motivated on some new art.

I will definitely drop bye more often, re-join the Artist’s Group, and yank him along with me to keep his mind on art and away from the pain!

If I can…

: )

Eros Turannos

She fears him, and will always ask
What fated her to choose him;
She meets in his engaging mask
All reason to refuse him…

Every once in a while the lines from this poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson will magically appear in my mind and repeat themselves over and over—I don’t know why or when but I relate to them very well (I take it too literally, probably) and from the first time I read these melodious lines in college, a vision of bright, sparkling blue eyes hovered before me, making me smile yet depressing me at the same time…

“She fears him.” Yep. Anyone. Although it may not show. Put up the defenses immediately... “Engaging masks”—too many engaging masks out there. There’s always something lurking behind them. They all have some type of hidden agenda… “All reasons to refuse him”—sometimes its easy to see right through the charmers. The regular ones are the worse; seemingly normal and all. Its so hard to be caught off guard and try to find an excuse to get away…

She fears him, and will always ask
What fated her to choose him;
She meets in his engaging mask
All reason to refuse him…

When I was 14 and had just discovered that a large number of high school boys were interested in the upcoming freshman class, I and my friends spent hours at the swimming pool shyly ‘looking the look’ and looking away. It was a new phenomenon, exhilarating/exciting and a little uncomfortable and scary. What did we know about older guys? God, they were cute and flirty and driven and dangerous.

A guy named DJ had been trying to talk to us all week. It became bewilderingly apparent that we looked damn good with our tans and white bikinis. When we finally pulled on some damp clothes and left the pool, him and a couple of new buddies walked up to discover what young chicks were seated on the picnic tables under the shade of the oak trees. All at once I was gazing into a set of incredibly mesmerizing blue eyes which snapped and sparkled at me while every warning bell and siren in the book went off, but it was already too late…the spell had reeled me in and I was a goner for years…

I’ll call this guy Cecil, (though I’m tempted to type his real name in case a self-google-search will pull up this story for old-times sake) and I spent what seemed like eons repetitively falling for his ‘engaging mask’.

Cecil had just graduated OUT of high school as I was going in, and lived near the pool and park with his dad and several fast, spotless cars. His house was near enough the school that one could eye the driveway from American History or Business, hoping to spot him luxuriously rubbing down whatever piece of machinery was gleaming there at the time, which could either be an extreme emotionally high or devastating disappointment.

I loved this guy. Absolutely fell for him. Would hope and pray to get a ride home from him after an evening at the pool or later after a baseball/football/basketball game, as I became a cheerleader and lived a mile out of town.
Having the strictest parents in the world did not make life easy—when Cecil, DJ, and others heard we’d be sleeping outside in a tent, my dad greeted their crunching gravelly footsteps at midnight with a shotgun, much to our dismay. It was horrible. As a group of guys fearfully dove under our vehicles; we glumly promised never to ‘invite’ anyone over again. I guess any hopes of first kisses were shot that night. Thanks a lot.

Probably the severity of parental disapproval made the forbidden even more enticing. I managed many times to kiss this guy and it was far better than anything one could read about. It was sheer heaven n hell combined. To be around him was so exciting, yet sickeningly scary, there would be times when one’s knees would be too weak to stand. And the look. That magical gaze. The SPELL. How many many times did I really believe the quiet “I love you” because his bewitching gaze made it TRUE? What a sucker I was. So many times.

And so many times he was with someone else the very next day or even hours later. How many times did my world turn upside down because I saw someone else in his car when I got groceries with mom, or there was someone else in his car when I rode the bus home from school or there was someone else in his car when I was stuck at cheerleading practice or babysitting or a hundred other random activities? It was so gut-wrenchingly painful and horrible, yet he could walk up to me later with that look, or call and the thrill would erase all of my previous thoughts and misgivings. Every single time.

It became very weird that summer. The phone would ring randomly, for my sis, my mom, my brothers, but if it was HIM, I could tell. I always knew. My stomach flipped over. I knew when the phone rang that it was him. It was weird and to the point of panic sometimes, nearly screaming—‘Don’t touch the phone—it’s for ME!’

My freshman year was filled with ecstatic misery. My boyfriend became DJ; not sure why, except he was always around. Deep down inside I really liked someone else.

But Cecil was a charmer. A player. A true P-L-A-Y-U-H. He thrived for the chase. He wanted girls constantly. He was quite gifted in getting his fingers on, under, over, around, in anything young and naïve. I’d learned fast that some of the girls he flirted with and picked up in his car were deemed ‘whores’ and ‘sluts’ the very next day. It was as if he couldn’t help himself, yet the moment they finally gave in to those hands, he lost all respect and was filled with disdain. He ignored them after the ‘kill’.

I knew deep down inside and knew it from the moment I laid eyes on him:…if I really wanted him, really wanted him to like me, you had to play a game and a rough game it was.

I remember an afternoon that I was finally allowed to do something with Cecil—probably ride into town for a summer baseball game or something. My best friend was over, but when we gave him a phone call he said he wasn’t feeling well, thus plans were canceled and I was feeling pretty low. Since mom had made a batch of soup, we decided to take him some. She let us drive into town and as we walked near, glancing through the windows, it was apparent that he was ‘involved’ with someone on the carpeted living room floor; another cheerleader who had actually heard me discuss my ‘date’ that very morning at practice.
Shock hit, again the world fell apart and I tried so hard to pretend I didn’t care…my friend could read my face and while we joked and silently fooled around with his vehicle—turning on the windshield wipers, the radio, etc, I could hardly keep the tears from overflowing. I remember the pity in her eyes. And later that evening, when he actually showed up at the baseball game, those blue eyes snapped with hatred—NO ONE was allowed to touch his vehicle he was so particular about it…but yet, I got a ride home later although the eyes flashed and blazed dangerously. I nearly ‘lost’ him by touching his car…

I could type a zillion tragic scenarios, numerous lessons in agony, (I even caught him with my sister for Christsake) but I always fell for the look and the “I really love ONLY YOU” line.

Cecil joined the Air Force the following spring and left town, yet he came out to say a fearful and crushing goodbye. It’s hard for any guy to venture toward the unknown. During my high school years he would keep in touch and visit me. I had other random boyfriends, all of which despised Cecil; I probably had some ‘look’ on my face when I’d hear his name. And whenever the phone rang, I could elatedly tell if he was back in town from Guam or England or Hong Kong or wherever, and I would jump for joy that he still cared. He always snapped those blue eyes and drew me in. Addiction was powerful and consuming.

Then I became a party animal and left home on Graduation. There was a big party house a couple towns over and many girl and guy friends took up residence together. Summer was a blast until a fateful day when my boyfriend dumped me at home and I had to tell my parents, hesitantly mumbling, that I was going to get married…

I remember my dad sitting in his chair reading and my mom not saying a whole lot, but didn’t seem at all negative about it either. I was home that weekend because I wanted to start sewing a wedding dress and the machine was in the back room. These words were barely out of my mouth when the phone rang.

I swear to god that I knew. It was HIM. It was Cecil. Never mind the fact that no one had heard about him in months, that I hadn’t been home all summer….it was HIM and I looked at the phone in delirious fright and awe and the most gut-wrenching feeling ever…and answered it.
It was him.

It wasn’t the world that tilted this time; it was the universe. The universe fucking imploded because he sounded so calm, so serious, so crushingly believable: “Will you marry me?” Can you imagine the total shock, the unresolved longing, the hope, the cruel anguish, thoughts swirling a million times a minute? (WHY WHY WHY Didn’t you call a month earlier? Why?) I had to quietly tell him the reason I was home and I think we made small talk and I got off the phone.

I imagine my night, sleeping in my old bedroom, staring at the ceiling, hot tears streaming hour after hour after hour….

The dress was begun early the next morning; I’d already bought the pattern and lace. (I trashed it a few years after my divorce as it was an ugly, sucky style.)
In the afternoon, I rode with Cecil to Wichita—I don’t remember why, only that it was very quiet and we didn’t say much except through eyes and our holding (gripping) hands…
He had paperwork on Base down there; getting ready to be shipped out again. Yes, I left with another guy on the weekend I was making my wedding dress and no one knew except for my mom. It was about a 6 hour trip and I don’t remember where we stopped for a quick bite to eat. I don’t remember much at all except for the shock and his eyes could still sparkle and snap though in a heart-wrenching, sobering manner. He wasn’t all fun n games then. It was so quiet. The blue eyes were beautiful.

I got married. Had a baby. Coincidently, who showed up at the hospital hours after the birth? I cried later, when all the company left, feeling trapped in a blasé marriage, but making the best of it with a sweetheart infant.

Then 4 years later, separated and stressfully trying to raise 2 toddlers, I woke up with the strangest feeling--thinking of him and the eyes and the sadness. My mom called in the morning and said, “Guess who was in town last night?” He showed up at the grocery store at noon where I worked as a checker, so I shakingly went for a ride in another hot car—he’d married someone in England and it hadn’t worked out.

Several years passed by, college and a new job; I was working and nearing the end of the day, my room phone rang. I had barely taken 2 steps towards it when I KNEW. Totally out of the blue. I was shaking so bad I could hardly answer and it was the secretary apologizing all over the place: “I’m so sorry; I shouldn’t bother you…but can you come out to the break roo…?” “YESYESYES!” I was saying before the words were even out of her mouth. And there he was with those mesmerizing eyes and the look and I melted into a puddle once again. He didn’t stay long, married to a Japanese girl this time…

The flustered secretary later talked a mile-a-minute….”Oh I’m so sorry, oh my, I just couldn’t help it, I knew I shouldn’t interrupt, but he just batted those eyes at me….oh, he made my day…” Yes, he could raise the heart rate of a 65 yr old.

He could almost get you to do anything, ‘almost’ being the key word in our non-relationship…

Whenever I read this entire poem--an overwhelming misery permeates the ending—I’m filled with sadness and relief. Although I was only 14, then 18, I feel as though I was wiser than the lady that allowed herself to fall for the allure of the ‘engaging mask’.

So I think of this poem and know inside that I would have been unhappy, because despite all the tortuous wants and desires and the breaking heart, it would never have worked out. There would be no trust on my part, severe jealousy, atrocious mind-games and debilitating emotional humiliation. And he would still tell me that he loved me, but it wouldn’t have changed anything. My inner voice knows it would have been a life of arduous despair and misery. No happiness-ever-after for me…

She fears him, and will always ask
What fated her to choose him;
She meets in his engaging mask
All reasons to refuse him;
But what she meets and what she fears
Are less than are the downward years
Drawn slowly to the foamless weirs
Of age, were she to lose him.

Between a blurred sagacity
That once had power to sound him,
And Love, that will not let him be
The Judas that she found him,
Her pride assuages her almost,
As if it were alone the cost.
He sees that he will not be lost,
And waits and looks around him.

A sense of ocean and old trees
Envelops and allures him;
Tradition, touching all he sees,
Beguiles and reassures him;
And all her doubts of what he says
Are dimmed with what she knows of days--
Till even prejudice delays,
And fades, and she secures him.

The falling leaf inaugurates
The reign of her confusion;
The pounding wave reverberates
The dirge of her illusion;
And home, where passion lived and died,
Becomes a place where she can hide,
While all the town and harbor side
Vibrate with her seclusion.

We tell you, tapping on our brows,
The story as it should be,
As if the story of a house
Were told, or ever could be;
We'll have no kindly veil between
Her visions and those we have seen,
As if we guessed what hers have been,
Or what they are or would be.

Meanwhile we do no harm; for they
That with a god have striven,
Not hearing much of what we say,
Take what the god has given;
Though like waves breaking it may be,
Or like a changed familiar tree,
Or like a stairway to the sea
Where down the blind are driven.

I wrote the above story in my mind, with succinct fluidity, but while typing was interrupted numerous times by my son’s random friends, thus disrupting the flow. Apologies.

Would I go for a ride again? What would you think?

Hot Lips. Batman. I have sunk to an all-time low.

Batman is on tonight, but I felt faint disappointment that it wasn't one of the older movies. While 'others' have been reminiscing about the sugary sweetness of childhood breakfast cereals, I am childishly reminiscing about the sugary sweetness of by-gone Batman Lips.

God! I remember thinking no matter what people thought of Michael Keaton's 'not so handsome facial features', he didn't have to remove that black mask in order to look damn sexy. Hot lips--they looked good in both those movies.

How unfortunate that another actor took his Keaton's place--there'd be no replacing that mouth. But then Val Kilmer stepped in and after I warmed up to the change, how could one NOT find them (his lips) equally hot. Especially since both actors fit that 'sad, lonely, brooding, insecure yet strong, save me' personality quite well. Back in the day, when I was young...hell Batman--I'll save ya!

Anyway, I was way too young to remember Jim Morrison, but he probably had the hottest lips of all time. Even those old black & whites are totally mesmerizing. I had a friend whose older brother knew him (met him?). I guess all he had to do was look at a girl a certain way and she'd drop to her knees... so you'd have to add in his eyes for that kind of effect, I would think. (I knew this guy with these incredible eyes...but that's another blog!)

Back on track, I am taking a poll on who has the sweetest mouth ever. I say Johnny Depp. Johnny Depp wins. He is the winner. C'mon...that little cupid-bow perfect mouth. Johnny Depp's lips are the best. Johnny Depp wins.

Strange Corner

After posting a few comments about previous 'pillow stabbings' that occurred upstairs...I was bemused by Dan's phrase: "you seem to live in a very strange corner of the planet" while I hung out laundry yesterday....

Thwunk. (pause) Thwunk. (pause) Thwunk. (pause) This was the repetitive sound created by by neighbor as he practiced his bow hunting next door.

Chink. (pause) Chink. (pause) Chinkklang. (pause) Chink. (pause) Chink. (pause) Chink-klang. (pause) As I was removing laundry later, I listened to the sounds of throwing knives hitting a huge board set against a shed. This is across the alley. The chinker? Some lady I have never met.

Brrrrrrmmmm. Brrrmmmm. or Zeeeeee zeeeee zeeeee zumzumzum. or Gggrrrugggrummmgrum. Gggrrrggrrummm. A youth rides motorbike/scooter/4 wheeler hours at a time...up and down the alley.

The thought crossed my mind...if they were out here at the same time, bowman could overshoot his target, hitting knifegirl, who twists in mid-air, stabbing scooterboy as he flies by.

Sigh. What can I say? I looked down and saw a blowgun dart in our yard, neglected by my son who has just purchased a 5foot shooter as tall as my forehead.
(I shall refrain from my "getting shot by a blowgun" story for another blog; forseeable title: "why my son is a fast runner"!)

Anyway, I found almost 30 mushrooms under my cherry trees while listening to knifegirl--I'm wearing one on my pinky-- and here are a few more dart purchases. Evil-looking, aren't they?
Now tell me: what would you say if your son said "Hey, quick! Google, 'how to make poison'! From kitchen stuff. For my blowgun!"?
I told him I was probably already on the FBI's most wanted when googling about my 'crackhouse' dollhouse...and just because they made homemade Ricin on 'Breaking Bad' a few weeks ago did NOT mean that it would kill a bird immediately... animal poisons involved a lot of tracking and patience as the victim slowly wanders....blah blah.
Yes, we have a strange little corner here...what can I say? And there is a muskrat in a bowl in my fridge...
Don't worry. No Banjos or Stills though. But I bet there is down the street!

Exasperation.

Unfortunately, mom's been very sick and was in the hospital last week and mostly spending time in bed, which she should be. But yesterday she decided to try returning to work--and the last thing she needed to find in the parking lot after a long day was her STALKER.

I swear to God (not his. self-proclaimed 'preacher-man'. snarl.) that my blood pressure must be worse than a Mt ReDoubt eruption about now...

That little tidbit of information surely got a rise out of me. Any misgiving I had about self questioning or wondering if I was some type of a bitch for thinking I might be a mean person towards this old goat flew out the window now.

So I ran down to the PD to talk to a County Deputy (I knew many were in town since there was a wreck at the end of my street and vehicles galore!) and his recommendation was talk to a judge immediately...his own kids were within yards of my mom when it happened. No-one wants a person like THAT around their children and he'd had a run-in with this idiot already.

Sigh. Let's see what the Judge says--stalker was behind MY house later the same evening. My. He gets around.

DOCUMENT. DOCUMENT. DOCUMENT.