Saturday, January 03, 2009; 12:11:41 PM
"Morning Pages"
Bah Humbug.
We are driving west on the Thruway toward home. I hadn't even typed halfway through the first sentence before Tabitha, the computer I am using, screwed up and moved the cursor to some other place on the screen. So I stopp.ed and went to the control panel and turned off the auto scroll function of the touch pad. Tapping is left on. This has been a problem since I owned this computer and none of my other computers do it. I hope this helps.
Then the low battery signal came on.
I am feeling tired and cranky and depressed and sad because we missed Sara and it is probably my fault but I did not know we'd confirmed for this morning and did not know what to do—I was afraid we would end up NOT getting together and then we would also miss breakfast at the hotel. WAHN! WAHN WAHN and then I had a fight with Keith and I feel so depressed that . . .
Sometimes I feel as if EVERYTHING is my fault and . . .
Well, never mind.
It is sunny and cloudy and the roads are nearly dry in spite of 3-4 inches of snow we had earlier. It was the threat of this snow that made all the confusing over verifying our plans and the fact that we were out late with Hal and Annie.
Meanwhile, the computer messes up multiple more times, and I have to keep stopping and fixing it and I have no idea what is causing the problem but it infuriates me and makes me not want to write on this computer.
Keith announced that we'd driven 1/10 of the way (just over 40 miles) and now we're at Rochester at the wide road section.
I ABSOLUTELY HATE this computer for writing on.
I wonder if my thumbs are touching the touch pad inadvertently while I type and moving the cursor to a new spot. I HATE IT! None of my other computers have EVER done that and it JUST did it AGAIN!
12:52 PM The traffic on the thruway is fairly bad. Keith just reported that we've gone 2/10 of the way (80 miles). The sun is shining and it is hot in the car. I've been trying to do some art from scratch on the computer and that has been just as horrible and frustrating as trying to write, only for different reasons. If feel really depressed about everything. It seems so difficult. Everything.
I feel as if I am wasting time because I cannot accomplish anything at all while we're driving. I'd like to accomplish something. Graham is asleep; Keith is hassling with the traffic. He's accomplishing something by driving us home. And I am sitting here hassling with things that won't work accomplishing absolutely nothing. GGGRRR!
I thought I might write a poem or a story. I could work on my diet plan or write my New Year's resolutions.
Something really weird has happened in Word on this computer. It starts writing at the top of the page instead of showing where the margins are. I hate that. I tried switching views but that didn't help.
GOALS for 2009:
- LOSE WEIGHT. I did lose weight in 2008, I think. I won't really know for sure if I did overall for the year until I weigh myself tomorrow morning. I've been eating bad food over the holidays and I hope I don't gain so much that I am as much as or more than I was a year ago because up until now, I was still lower than I had been a year ago. We'll see. There are 52 weeks in a year and if I could average losing only two pounds a week, I could weight 100 pounds less in a year. Ha ha. Sounds reasonable, but I've not been able to manage anything like that in years, not for extended periods—I always gain back what I lose and I am very fat. However, hopeless as it may seem, I hereby set a goal of losing 50-100 pounds in 2009—or more, and KEEPING them off. I know it's ridiculous, but I am going to try anyway starting soon. Starting within a week. Within a week from tomorrow.
We stopped to top off the gas tank at Clarence and we'll soon be coming to the last Thruway stop and then we'll be headed for Niagara. Still mostly blue skies and all dry roads now. This is good.
- continued. OK, my goal is to start dieting seriously on Monday January 12. I can start sooner but not later unless there is a really good reason. That will give me time to finish up my Holiday treats, plan what I'm going to eat, buy supplies, etc. During that week I need to generally cut back on eating, especially desserts except treats from Sara. I need to plan how I will attack the diet. The goal then is to begin planning and cutting down and be seriously dieting by Monday January 12 with the exception of going out with Sam and Joan.
1:28 PM We are now off the Thruway and headed toward Niagara.
- CLEAN UP. This seems to be another of those helpless hopeless goals for me. But it is still a wish and a goal. I don't even know how to begin to attack it, but somehow I must. If I sorted even ONE box a week, I'd be ahead of where I am now.
- WRITE. Choose ONE major project (and perhaps ONE minor one or back burner one) and set up a schedule and work on it UNTIL it is done. Either Geraldine or Sissy. I have to pick ONE and stick with it.
- Learn to use the new Cintiq.
I need that diagram I made of the parts of my life that need attention. I want to improve my relationship with Keith and everyone else (instead always messing things up). I'd like to see a shrink and get shrunk. I need to go to a GYN and get a mammogram. I've never gotten that straightened around since I moved. And go to a new sleep study and get new CPAP gear, as soon as the year is up since my last one.
- deal with health issues and medical issues including mental emotional health. (see above).
I should look at my goals for other years. Sigh.
OK, one of the things I wanted to do was to write a poem and/or a story and do some art at the beginning of 2009 to symbolically represent continuing to be a poet, writer and artist in 2009. I already took some pictures, so I'm a photographer.
2:01 PM We are through customs and tolls and into Canada. The sun is still shining, The roads are still dry. This is the good part.
Let me think a little about Geraldine. I may want to reinvent her a little bit. Who is Geraldine? Am I happy with who she is and who she's become? (Or do I want to think about Sissy—who she is and who she's become?)
Geraldine and Ricky are both brain-damaged. What does that mean exactly and how is it different from being "retarded?" Brain damage can cause "retardation." But besides being different genetically, what other differences are there? DO I need to do some research?
What makes Geraldine ANGRY? We've seen very little anger. Ricky gets angry too.
What poems are missing from the cycle and need to be written from scratch? And what ones need to be revised or discarded? And are these questions I can deal with NOW? I am asking them because I wanted to write a poem for the new year and I was hoping it would be a "useful" poem. Does every poem have to be useful? I would like the effort I make to move the manuscript forward toward being publishable. I wonder what Geraldine thinks of the new year. Just how compromised is she? I am tending toward wanting to make her somewhat LESS compromised than I had her at first.
I'd like to try to define who she is more clearly in my own mind so that I can write more effectively and consistently about her. And Ricky, and all the characters in Geraldine's story.
AND I would like to do some further characterization of some of the characters in Sissy's story. Especially Marc and Michael.
How much do I want Geraldine to be like the "real" Geraldine (and how well do I know what she was really like after all these years?) I sort of need to answer these questions before can write effectively about her.
I used to write poems about ME. That was easier. Whatever I wrote, whatever I was thinking or experiencing, was fair game because it WAS me. Geraldine IS me, but isn't me, at the same time. That makes it confusing. I used to write poems at the drop of a hot. Now it is harder. Am I having "writer's block?"
It seems like a LOT of work. Write about Ricky when he was Santa Claus in his Junior year in high school. It would be best if Ethel didn't know about it. So it wouldn't be at a play that Ethel would have attended. Maybe he was just given the task of handing out candy in the classroom, or gifts to the small children, and Geraldine helped. Maybe it was their senior year, not that long before the baby incident.
Santa's Helper
When the kids elected Ricky "Secret Santa"
and appointed Geraldine as Santa's helper,
Geraldine cheered and scampered up to retrieve
the Santa hats Mrs. Minor pulled from the decorated box.
She adjusted Ricky's hat, pulled the curls
out around his ears and leaned back to admire him.
Ricky stood at the front with the big red sack
while Geraldine pulled out the gifts. Mrs. Minor helped
them read the tags. Ricky and Geraldine
took turns delivering the gifts until everyone
received their present. Then they passed out
cookies and punch.
This is an unfinished "deliberate" poem, rather than an inspired poem. Inspired poems occur for me when something moves against something else in such a way that for a moment, I see, as in a "flash," some connection, something beautiful or resonant, and often, it is only the tip of the iceberg. The exploration of the connection, if successful, brings to light a meaningful connection, a thing of beauty at least to me.
Deliberate poems tend to be clunky and difficult and often prosaic. They are crafted from nothing but story and hope. What is it that makes a poem lilting and lovely—what it it that steals your breath and captures your mind? Some image, some deep inner truth—and where do you find that in a prosaic world. I seem to be inhabiting a prosaic world again. L
This poem needs a turn. If it starts out happy, does that mean the turn must be unhappy? Or can there be some other kind of surprise? No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader. Where is the surprise in this poem? I feel as if I want to write a sort of formulaic poem, which resembles a number of the other Geraldine poems. When they are returning the trays to the cafeteria, eg: Ricky says he has another present for Geraldine, and gives her a surreptitious kiss and they stand and watch as a small herd of deer emerges from the trees in a lightly falling snow. But that reminds me of the wedding poem and is the surprise surprising?
In a poem, one isn't supposed to have to carry the reader on one's back like a cross. One isn't supposed to have to build a bridge brick by brick. Poems are supposed to LEAP! This one has NO LEAPS!
Santa's Helper
When the kids elected Ricky "Secret Santa"
and appointed Geraldine as Santa's helper,
Ricky stood at the front with the big red sack
while Geraldine pulled out the gifts. Mrs. Minor helped
them read the tags. Ricky and Geraldine
took turns delivering the gifts until everyone
received their present. Then they passed out
cookies and punch.
Ricky says he has another present for Geraldine, and gives her a surreptitious kiss and they stand and watch as a small herd of deer emerges from the trees in a lightly falling snow.
Maybe he just squeezes her hand, but a kiss would seem more like a gift. Maybe he has ring and she has to hide it. Maybe Ricky isn't elected, but unanimously nominated. But why?
Santa's Helper
(How Geraldine gets her first kiss, December, 1966?)
"Ricky, Ricky! Ricky for Santa!" the kids all shout
when Mrs. Minor asks who they want to deliver
their "Secret Santa" presents. "And who
will be Santa's assistant?" she asks. "Geraldine! Geraldine!"
Geraldine leaps from her seat, cheers and scampers
up to retrieve the Santa hats from Mrs. Minor.
She adjusts Ricky's hat, sweeps the curls
out around his ears and leans back
to admire him. He sets her hat crooked on her head,
shuffles his feet, and blushes. Smiles. Dances a little jig.
He holds the big red sack while Geraldine lifts out the gifts.
Mrs. Minor helps them read the tags. Ricky and Geraldine
take turns delivering the gifts until everyone
receives their present. Then they pass out punch
and cookies, stockings from Mrs. Minor,
and candy kisses. Ricky holds a foil-wrapped kiss
in the palm of his hand. "I want to give you a kiss,"
he says, placing the candy in Geraldine's hand
with a flourish. As Geraldine unwraps the kiss,
five deer emerge from the woods behind the school,
lifting their heads in the falling snow.
Mary Stebbins Taitt, 090103-16351b
OK, it's getting a little better, it almost a reasonable facsimile of a copy of one of the other Geraldine poems. But it isn't right yet. Just a little closer, I think.
It is 4:42 PM. We are on the bridge to the USA. On the UP side of the bridge—so we have to go up this side and down the other to get to customs. We're in stopped traffic and move ahead a little once in a while. We've been here since 4:37 and before that we were in line to pay our toll. K guesses 25 minutes. The clouds are grey on the bottom and tinged with orange on the top. The sky is pale pale blue. Some of the clouds are dramatic. The river is flowing in the middle and frozen on the sides and there is ice going way out into the lake.
4:48 PM we suddenly moved faster, are moving forward. K says, maybe they finished cleaning up after the shoot out with the illegal aliens and I say you mean they mopped up the blood and bits of flesh and he says yeah and the shattered glass and bits of exploded cars. We come up over the hump of the bridge under the sign that says welcome to Michigan and I say, Two countries. Half the car is in the US and half in Canada. The sky is brilliant at the horizon with contrails and sunset. I want to turn Tabitha off at just the right moment as to be able to put her away before we get up to customs, as I have been chastised for having the computer running during questioning, "We don't want anyone recording our questions," they said. They made me turn off the computer before proceeding with questioning—but I have tiny recording devices I could turn on it I wanted to—that was just mean and stupid. I didn't want to, why would I care what they were asking? I am not a terrorist.
My feet hurt, they hurt more than they've hurt for a LONG time. L Prolly something I ate.
Santa's Helper
(How Geraldine gets her first kiss, December, 1965 or 6?)
"Ricky, Ricky! Ricky for Santa!" the kids all shout
when Mrs. Minor asks who they want to deliver
their "Secret Santa" presents. "And who
will be Santa's assistant?" she asks. "Geraldine! Geraldine!"
Geraldine leaps from her seat, cheers and scampers
up to retrieve the Santa hats from Mrs. Minor.
She adjusts Ricky's hat, sweeps the curls
out around his ears and leans back
to admire him. Perfect.
Ricky sets Geraldine's hat crooked on her head,
shuffles his feet, and blushes. Smiles. Dances a little jig.
He holds the big red sack while Geraldine lifts out the gifts.
Mrs. Minor helps them read the tags. Ricky and Geraldine
take turns delivering the gifts until everyone
receives their present. Then they pass out punch
and cookies, stockings from Mrs. Minor,
and candy kisses. Ricky holds a foil-wrapped kiss
in the palm of his hand. "I want to give you a kiss,"
he says, placing the candy in Geraldine's hand
with a flourish.
As Geraldine unwraps the kiss, five deer emerge
like reindeer from the woods behind the school,
lifting their heads dark in the falling snow.
Mary Stebbins Taitt, 090103-16351b
5:03 PM Well, it's been 25 minutes and we're just sitting here. We moved over to the left. But now these lines aren't moving at all.
--
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats
Mary
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