Send Linda the dates for the readings. And OR give her nameto Crystal.
nerve.com literay smut
Marge sheffer
1365 Van Antwerp Rd
Schenctady, NY 12309 Howard died
Find Certified court copy of power of attorny form
find checks
talk to keith about mail of card for Chase
Tuesday, September 12, 2006, 12:08 I'm leaving after taking Mom for a walk and getting her situated for lunch and saying good-bye when lunch came. We also wrote a note to Marge Sheffer with a sympathy card. I have decided that I cannot write any more for a while--that is, no installments on Lonnie and Sassy, for example. Even if I only write while walking, because the spacebar on the Psion doesn't work well, it takes a long time later to separate all the words. I can't spare that time, so, probably no more story.
I'd like to walk in the quarry but the lawn needs to be mowed and it is supposed to rain tomorrow and Thursday.
2:15 I went home,made breakfast, and then went out to vote in the Primaries. I'd forgotten they'd moved the polling place, so Iwent to the old one, and was redirected to the new which was back near home (St. Elizabeth Ann Seton). Then I went to the P&C for DISTILLED water for the CPAP, as I am completely out. They directed me to Aisle 12, and on the way, I picked up mushrooms and some other things, but there was no distilled water on Aisle 12. Only spring water. So I put back everything I'd picked up and I'm headed for Wegman's. I don't want to shop, not a real shopping, today, so I'm annoyed that I have to drive over there. Meanwhile, I'd called for an appoitment for my car recall, they were at lunch so I left a message and now I won't be there to get the call. AND I am not cleaning and packing. Grrrr!
Everyone at Loretto (excpet Mom) was sick, the Aids, Marguerite, Janet, etc. When I got home, I scrubbed not only my hands, but also the Psion! I have a stomach ache now. They all had a "cold."
I did pick up 5 more boxes from the liquor store, though. It's a lovelyday and a moment, I'm outside, outside headed into Wegman's. I was out with Mom earlier. Somedays I don't get out at all, which is very sad.
3:14 PM I went in for water and came out with $111 worth of groceries and didn't even go up and down the aisles because I was planning on shopping tomorrow. I got three waters for the CPAP. Last time I shopped, I thought I'd be moving soon, so I didn't stock upon anything, but now there's been a set back.
Why is it when I'm in a hurry, everyone wants to talk and I get the world's slowest teller? Man oh man. Of course, I'm always in a hurry lately because I feel such pressure about the house (haven't done ANY work on it today!) and everyone always wants to talk, but it was worse than usual today. And I got Les, the old man (pretty feeble) who can't see. I had to help him read the codes and punch them in because neither the regular scanner or hand scanner seemed to be working. I got scallops and squid and lamb and chicken, but not many veggies. Did get corn though, and two Olive oils. And shallots and mushrooms. Nothing green though.
4:05 PM Scott just called to tell me that he can't come to reading because he doesn't feel well. Good thing he called, though, because Iwas thinking it was at 7 but he says it's at 6 so I really have to hurry to get the lawn mowed and eat and leave.
I brought in the food and boxes and put the food away and made myself an Acai sorbet float with pinapple and very berry carbonated water.
Out to MOW.
4:22 PM I've been trying to start the mower for more than 15 minutes and it will not start. I'm out of breath and exhausted from the effort of trying to start it and have wasted 15minutes. Nothing seems to help. I am feeling so pressured about getting out of the house that every time something goes wrong I feel like bursting into tears, plus I have to leave here at 5:15 or so and wanted eat first.
I HATE this mower, but since I am theoretically moving, it seems silly to buy one.
The oil is too full. Adam used it the last time, I wonder if he added oil and if the too-full oil might be slowing the starting.
Thursday, September 14, 2006, 10:31 AM I am back at Chase bank trying to straighten out the business with my mother's account. This is the 4th time I've been here trying to straighten this out and I hope it get's straightened out this time. :-(
I want my court certified power of attourny form BACK, too. Because otherwise I have to pay a fee to get another another one. I forget how much, but it's $15 or $20 or something.
A man walked in just ahead of me and is with the woman I want to see. Meanwhile, another man came in and is hovering by her door. When I see the man inside get up, I leap up and stride over. The other man looks disappointed and goes tothe waiting area. I'm sorry, I was here first!
I am so tired I can hardly stand it. Tired and sleepy. I had two really bad nights in a row and I don't see how I'm supposed to function! Between running errands that have little to do with me at this point that take so long (my mother's banking.)
The woman here says that the name change was taken care of the day I came in. That is is changed in the computer, and that my card would have been sent to my Detroit address but not in an envelope that would say Chase on it.
However, she says the card was probably never sent. And that it will be sent to Detroit. (Meanwhile, though, I should now be able to write that $30,000 check to Mom's trust to help cover the shortfall. I'm still worrying about that shortfall.) :-(
It was supposed to have all been worked out and it still seems a little shady.
However, that $30,000 is a separate issue and it was included in the original initial amount that would pay for her nursing home bills, so I need to send it and confine my concerns to the other missing amount and the house transfer. That money needs to be sent and I am the only one that can do it, because I am the only one with power of attorny and now, no one else can get that.
I am the only one with power of attorny for my mother, which turns out to be a bit of a burden when it requires so many trips to the bank (and me to be any at everyone rushing me with the house. I can't be doing the house when I am at the bank!))
I'm so tired I can't think clearly or remember clearly. WAHN?!
I am wearing the snowmocs I bought for my Westcott Street opening, but they are really too small forme. Hard to believe my feet had changed and grown that much, but even without socks, they are too tight. I need a size larger.
Wahn!
It is rainy, dark and dismal and I am tired and depressed and when I am tired or when I am depressed, I find the work of sorting and cleaning to be much more difficult. I tend to keep more and throw out less and pine over things more of I am either tired or depressed, and today, I am both.
6:15 PM I am feelinga little more cheerful now than I was earlier. But I'm slightly POed because my watch just zeroed out when I stopped to wake a picture and I don't know how long I walked. More than 40 seconds, which was what it said last time I stopped.
I was trying to get a good shot of goldenrod with an entire wash of yellow behind it and tried several times. Keith has commented that the first shot if often the best shot, and that's true, but it also often NOT the best shot and since this is digital, I want to give myself the best change to get the shot I want.
It rained all day, but when I started my walk, the sun was trying to (3:34) peak out. Now however, only about 5 minutes into the walk, heavy dark clouds are mowing in. I left my raincoat in the car. I do have my camera bag, the one I won. The camera was in it but I took it out when I wanted to take the first picture and haven't put it back in. It takes so long to get it out and get it ready.
I don't like the way the shoulder strap or any shoulder strap rides up aroundmy neck. I don't think it's a design flaw in the case but inmy body. The outward curve of my (6:33) breasts push the strap up from where I'd prefer it to be aroundmy chest to my neck where it feels uncomfortable. The camera and worse yet, seatbelts do the same thing.
I am walking along the shoulder of the road fromPalmer Scool where I parked toward 370. The road is very busy with fast moving traffic, which I find very upsetting and scary. Worse yet though is when one of those fast moving cars bears down right at me and suddenly honks. It scares me terribly, and I don't know why they do that. I'm on the shoulder of the road and not in their way and I know I'm here, how could I not?
I did drive here, but it's pretty close to home, even closer than Radisson, maybe, or if not, nearly as close. I am sick of the neighborhood (for walking purposes) and I have a Harvest theme, so was hoping to see something harvesty in this rural area. But instead, the fields are being plowed and look spring like.
Crossing 370 turns into a mini ordeal,but I finally make it. 14:19
15:34, 6:34 PM I stop for pictures of old houses and barns, same ones I've taken multiple times, but I can't help myself.
I get all wet walking through the weeds taking pictures. Over at Abbots, they have one of those guns to scare critter from the corn etc and every time it goes off, it scares me.
It was fairly bright when I left home and I was hoping for reasoable light for my pictures, but it's dark and dull and I'm back on 370 and the traffic is roaring by at frightening speeds. Too dang much of it, too. I am walking toward Abbots to make another attempt at those pumpkins, though if {22:13) the light gets any worse, it won't have been worth it.
The Abbot's coon gun just went off again and I leaped to the side. I'm much closser now, and it's really loud. Betwen that and the roaring speeding traffic, this is not a very peaceful walk, but it is different than Kimbrook, anyway. A black powder-type smell drifts by, must be from the coon gun, and meanwhile, a jogger speeds by. And car dragging a muffler making sparks. The jogger is really fast and I am really slow and he stretches the distance between us and is already nearly invisble in the hazy gret light.
I cross 370 over to Abbot's side of the road so I can photgraph pumpkins.
There aren't that many, but some is better than none. Boom. (28:23) (Hope Ican make itback to the car in 17 minutes or so. Hmmm.)
The light is truly wretched and I have to shoot at 1600 ISO which means thepictures will suck to put it mildly. Of course, these pumpkins aren't running around and I could have carried a tripod, but I didn't.
Ever since I read the article (or I should say perused it, scanned it) in Aperature about super long exposure phtogrpahy, I've been wanting to try it. I used to do a lot of time exposures, including some very long ones, but not really in a systematic way for artistic purposes. I saw avery cool one todaywhere a guy took a self portrait of himself (duh) in a chair, where he sat pretty still (but not perfectly) and then got up and stood behind himself on either side, it was very (BOOM) cool and I'd like to do one of those. He didn't turn the camera off as he moved around, but the light was so low that there are only light swirls that show were he walked. Fun!
Also time consuming and I am working on cleaning the closet off the master bedroom right now. I've made a lot of progress, but there is still a lot to be done.
I walk over a small snake crushed, not in the road, but on the shoulder. A garter snake. (35:09)
It's getting so dark at 7:07 PM that even 1600 ISO is producing dark pix, I ought to give it up. I also ought to start walking earlier in the day. What I TRY to do is get something accomplished first (because that improves my mood) and then walk. If I can see visible progress, I'm much cheerier. Even something as stupid as a really large bag of gabage makes me happy.
Happier, anyway, than the days when I am busy in other ways and get no progress on the house. I have laundry to fold and it's amazing how fast the dishes pile up! But I keep wallowing in the piles in the closet.
All the cars have their headlights on. I need to figure out when the sunsets are now andplan my walk to be OVER ahalf hour before sunset or earlier (unless I want to shoot sunsets.)
Of course, I'm dressed in dark jeans and a black shirt and have no reflective gear and am proabbly hard for drivers to see.
I put the camera away and move the bag to my front because it has a reflective bead around it. Now the cars, if no one is coming the other way a removing out away from me sooner. So WHEN is sunset now? I used to have easy access to that info when I worked at MOST, but haven't been keeping traack anymore.
I do know it is earlier here than in Detroit. One of the good things about Detroit, I prefer a later sunset.
7:19 I won't make it back to my car before the 45 minutes, since it is already 47 minutes of actual walking time.
I walked 52 minutes, 7 minutes longer than I intended to. I guess that's not really that bad.
Friday, September 15, 2006, 11:59 AM I am at Loretto, waiting for, now riding down the elevator. Mom dismissed me before the food came, ironically. The reason that's ironic is because I was going to stay a while because I'm meeting Linda at 12:30. But since I was dismissed, I left. Later, if I stayed, it might be harder to leave, as it usually is.
But now I have some time before Linda arrives. I could walk. Take a partial walk, since I don't know how the rest of the day will pan out. There is not enough time for a full walk. I guess I will walk a little.
I had another bad night last night. Not as bad as the two previous nights, but not good at all, either, didn't get to sleep until around 2 AM (which is a little better than after 2:30 and after 3 from the previous 2 nights. But not much.) But my tiredness is visibly present. I'm feeling slightly depressed and worried.
I'm worried about the house. I'm worried about getting moved. I'm worried about my mother. I'm worried about the account for her nursing home bills, the living trust, which is experiencing a shortfall. I'm worried about the Kimbrook house, my mother's house, and about getting that $30,000 to Sandy. I'm worried about the car and the noise it's making and whether it's safe to drive. I'm worried about my brain tumor, my health, my lack of exercise, my inabilty to lose weight, my fibromyalgia and insomnia, my ADHD and the accompanying inabilty to concentrate and really work on what needs to be done. I'm worrying about The Dodge poetry festival and whther or not Ishould really go to it and if so, can I round up everything Ineedsinceall mycampinggear (most of it, anyway, is in Detroit, and can I get campground reservations at this late date--I didn't get them earlier because I wasn't sure when I might have to evacuatethe house. I'mworrying about all the other things that keep impinging on the cleaning project (the packing and sorting), how the laundryis already piling up and the dishes and how I'll have to take time away from packing and sorting to do that. I'm worrying aboutmy writing, how it's taken a back seatto all this other stuff, and if I can ever get back to it.
I was going to walk down the trail in the woods behind Loretto, but it is all overgrown which wouldn't be quite so bad except for all rain. I start down the trail and in abou 5 feet, I'm already getting soaked so I go back. It's time to go over to Danzer's anyway. I've been walking the whole time I was writing. I guess I really didn't have time to walk; I only walked 13 minutes and don't dare walk any further for fear of being late.
2:14 I had a nice lunch with Linda, and lots of talking both ways. When she went to the restroom, I paid the bill, because she always pays it.
2:28 PM I am out on my constitutional at "Meadowbrook Park" which actually has another name, but I can'tthink of it, at the Meadowbrook Detention basin. It has suddenly gotten hot. I had the fan on full power in my car, and that was insuffiicient to the task.
I wanted to walk at the quarry, but this was more on my way to leMoyne and a smaller walk. When I go to the quarry, I want to walk the rim to the far side and look there. I would not have had time for that.
* * *
Pendula had spotted them and backed up so that the bulk of his porcupine-like body completely closed the mouth of the cave entrance to the underground castle. The great pendulous mane of snakeheads came erect, as did the pointy quills on his body. The lion eyes were fiery red and followed them as they circled overhead. The snakeheads, now erect, bobbed and weaved and followed them as well. Sassy had imagined they might slip past Pendula when they first saw him, for he hadn't looked large or scary and there was room between him and the entrance to fly in, but now she saw this was hopeless. No way could they just get past.
"Could there be another way in?" Lonnie whispered. Sam circled around looking. The mountain rose in sheer cliffs above Pendula, up and up.
"Look," Sassy said, excitedly, "what is that?" Sam climbed, stretching his long wings. Far above Pendula, there was a ledge and what appeared to be a narrow opening. Sitting on the ledge was a single rattlesnake as thick as Sassy's arm. But the opening was high enough that the rattlesnake probably couldn't reach them, if the flew in right at the top.
Sam dove for the opening. It was dark inside. If there were other snakes, or monsters, they couldn't see them. The cavern turned to the left and far in the distance was a faint light. Sam flew toward the light. Sometimes his wingtips brushed the cave wall in the darkness. Sometimes fluttery wings of what must have been bats brushed against their faces. But they flew on toward the light. Gradually, the cave brightened a little, and they could see magnificent stalactites and stalagmites and columns.
After awhile, they could see that the light came from two huge torches burning on either side of another entrance, this one hewn from rock in a rectangular doorway. The torches were clutched by iron hands with long clawed fingers that emerged from huge oaken doors that were dark with dampness and mildew except for a dark teardrop shaped area burned and stained from the flame of the torches.
Sam flew in the open door and voice called, "Halt! Who goes there?" They saw no one at first. Then they saw a figure sitting in the shadows at a low table. It was a woman. A very small woman, smaller even that Lonnie and Sassy. She didn't look too dangerous, but Sassy guessed maybe she had special powers.
"We are Sassy, Sam and Lonnie," Lonnie said.
"We come in friendship," Sam said.
"We want to speak to the King of the dwarves," Sassy said.
"You've come to the wrong place," the woman said. "This is the gateway to the realm of the faery folk."
"May we speak to you without harm?" Lonnie asked.
"You may speak. If you offer us no harm, we will not harm you."
Sam, who had been circling and hovering settled to the cave floor and Lonnie and Sassy scrambled off. They towered over the woman, who came only to Sassy's waist.
"Are you a fairy?" Sassy asked, I thought Fairy's had wings and would fit in the palm of my hand."
The woman, who had looked like a normal human only smaller, stepped into the air and flew up to sit on Sassy's shoulder. She was smaller than before, and huge butterfly wings waved slowly at her shoulders. They were golden and glowed faintly I the dark cave.
I thought the Faery Folk were just like humans only smaller and more magical," Lonnie said. The woman stepped off Sassy's shoulder, grew larger again, and suddenly disappeared.
"Are you still here?" asked Sam. The woman reappeared.
"What's your name?" asked Sassy?
"You can call me Linnette. I cannot give you my true faery name right now. Tell me, what is your business with the dwarves?"
* * *
I walked, including the time I walked at Loretto, 49 minutes. I have to hurry now to get to leMoyne.
OH, Barry Park is where I just walked.
3:37 PM I amatLeMoynenow,and I found my way to the visitor parkinglot. It's gotten very dark and cloudy. I think it's starting to rain lightly. I have to walk up through the campus to Reily hall for the Michael Martone Craft talk.
I don't really know how to getthere from here. Ithink I already made awrong turn.
AK
I left my raincoat in the car. I hopeit doesn't rain too hard before I getthere, especially since I am totally lost.
Oh-h,there'smycar. Ijust walked in a total circle, this is BAD!
I get my raincoat and my compass, ascertain that I want to go south, and start off thatway. It's totally overcast and the sidewalkswind every whichway and Iam unfamilarwith the campus,only having used a small part of it. But now I see the mistake I made I thinkand hope I can get there itime.
"Art is framed deviance" Michael Martone.
"Museumof Jurassic Technology Cabinet of wonders
Mr Wilson's Cabinet of wonders
nerve.com literary smut
Take an object in the wolld that has no erotic connotation and eroticize it.
Write a story in 20minutes. (A McSweeney's assignment)
--
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats
Mary
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Golden Harvest festival, unedited and full of errors
Sunday, Septmeber 10, 2006, 11:28 GHF
Well, here I am at Golden Harvest Festival. I was going to walk first, but it's 11:30 and John Rossbach's bluegrass band is supposed to play at 11:30. They are up there tunning up and doing a monitor check and I have a seat front row center. I do need to walk. But I can walk at homeif I have to. I can't hear live John Rossbach at home or in Detroit, probably.
I couldn't have gotten a much better parking place, row A here at Beaver lake. Someone left and I had the good fortune of being directed to fill the open place. I was hoping for acess to my car in case I get too hot and need to stash clothes. I charged Thyria's battery but forgot to bring film for the film camera, darn. So I left that in the trunk.
They are taking a too long time to tune up and check the monitor. John Rossbach has gotten grey and "older."I look the sameas I did when Iwas 16,of course. Oh,here they go, Shady Grove. I'd love to hop up and dance but I'mshy about being so fat.
I haven't seen Erin. Or anyone else. Except tourists, etc.
I think I have to change the lens onmy camera. I have the 100 macro on.
12:34 PM John Rossbach is overand they are setting up for the wildlife show. I'm trying to decide whther to stay for it or go walk or takepictures of scarecrows. Or what.
I thought the wildlife show might possibly give a photo op, but then again, it might not. I never did change lenses. I did take a few pix of John Rossbach and Perry Cleaveland.
I haven't seen anyoneI know yet other than John Rossbach.
The wildlife guy is named Brian. His first bird is a hawk from Texas, a Harris Hawk. MaybeI should change my lens.
Now he has an eagleowl out, and I got pix of both. The Harris Hawk flewaway into the trees!
Next, a peregrine Falcon. Alligator, legless lizards, king snakes and darn I forgotthetoher,the coral snakelook alike.
1:14 PM I did take somepictures,but they werepictures of animals being held (andthe escaping Harris Hawk). The best ones,ifthey comeout, might be the eagle owl.
Now I am sitting at the gazebo to listen to JohnRossbach again. If I don't get to walk I can always walk at 5:00 when the festival closes. I wantto pull up my haybale a little even though I'm front center. But on theotherhand, I'm not going to stay for it all, I don't want to hear the whole rhyming blues thing again,it drags out after a while.Fun,but should be keptshorter.
I do wish the events would start ontime. I could be walkinga round, but don't wanttolosemy front row cneter seat. Although there are otherempty haybales nearby.
I haven't lookedmuch in the booths but I did walk by a number of themand didn't seemuch that interested meexcept Dan Duggin playing and some watercolors. The rest of thestuff is just junk to spendmoney on. I'm sitting in the sun wiating for themtobegin and it's getting pretty hot in the sun. Facing into the sunandfacing uphill so I have to look up intothe bright sun.
1:47 Waltz across Texas with you. I have my shirt andvest tied aroundmy waist and amstill hot. Everything is getting covered with hay.
Terry Miller just said hi tome. He's sitting behindme with a woman.
Blue Moon of Kentucky (a BillMonoe tune). Icould get 3 John Rossbach CDs for $30 or 2 for £25 (they're usually $17 each),butialready have at least one of them,maybe 2. I'd like to get thenew one,it's $15 if I just get one but then I'd have to carry it.
I wish Keith would be in charge of music like I asked him and alternate between my stuff and his. The radio is a lazy default, though you do get to hear things you might not otherwise hear.
He's playing "the Coal tattoo" which I LOVE, great song. Good music and lyrics. I don't knowhat it is about livemusic I love so much, it seems so much more alive and vibrant, so real and present in a way recorded music never does. Maybe Keith would like this song; it's a union song of sorts.
2:11 PM Every other person here has an icecream cone. I haven't hadlunch
I had a story idea, call it Golden Harvest Festival or soemthing similar and look into the very differentlives of people intersecting at the festival. Handicap people,happy families,angrypeople,muscians,people working etc. The whole story,whateveitis takesplaceint he days of thefestival (pr in oneof them)P
I'minlinefor a chicken barbecue,even thoughthere'slots of other stuff. Ithinkthat's fairly safe, $7. Saltpot I haven't seen Erin yet,I don't even know if she's here andif sheis,where. She maybe taking moneyforpeople coming off the bus. But since I'm not sure if she's here, I'm probably not going to go look.
I paid formy chicken dinnerbutit will be 15minutes beforeit's ready. AK! No chairs of hay bales nearby. I'll get tired standing, wahn. Nothing to takepictures of,either,dark in the fod tent.
2:51 I scarfed down my greasy food at a table with unknonpeople includinga nice bus driver about my age (butter on the salt potates, baked beans which may make me sick, butter ladeled on the corn on the cob), tried to clean myself up (hopeless), stopped by the living scarecrow contest and took some pix of the kids (saw Greg Smith) and now I am back at the main stage listeningto Los Blancos (the white boys?). They just played Me-ohMy-oh Byou song andare now playingsomerocking Zydeco. Cool stuff. I like it.
This band goes on and on without a break but now they are stopping and will be back in 45 minutes.
Erin,if she's here,could also be working at the games or sellingdonuts,I suppose. I hear someonesinging, "The riveris wide, I cannotget o'er,neitherhaveIthe wings to fly, andI go insearch ofit,thinkinging itis Dan Duugin,butcan't findit and itends.
I grab someshots of the pie eating contest but I can't get close enough to get a really good shot,huge crowd.
I look in the gamesfor Erin, twice,no sign ofher.
3:29 Iwalkthrough the booths in the upperparkinglot and run into Bob and Pat Geraci. I look at somebeautiful leaf paintings and talk to the artist,he admires my camera
3:46 I'min the cideranddonut line(NOT fordonuts!).I have hadanything at all to drink norhave I used the bathroom all day. But Iamreally thirsty. IammissingDan Duggin up at the gazebo, but I have to have a drink. (Then I'll prolly have to pee).
I ended up back at the wildlife show and tookmorepix of the eagleowl, peregrine and baby alligator being held,but left for cider before he got to the legless lizards again.
I get two ciders and whileI'm attempting to drinkthem, Ann Pia, one of my T'ai Chi students, comes out to talk to me and I congratualte her for passing her teaching certificate for T'ai Chi.
I attempt somepictures of the jugglers but I have entirely the wrong lens for that. Then Imakeittothe gazebo for the last 1 1,2 songs of Dan Duggin and CO.
There is only 45minutes left of the festival--it closes at 5. It is probably unlikely I'll walk before 5.
Now the zydeco group isplaying again at themains tage, I think. I'm still thirsty, 2 glasses of cider wasn't enough.
They are selling kettle corn herelike at the Civil war Muster. The juggling is still going on. I goback and catch them juggling knives.
4:26 PM I stand and stand trying to get somegood shots of the jugglersjuggling kinves, but suddenly,Ican't stand any moreandI try to take one more picture butmy 1 gig card is full, so I walkover and sit down at the zydeco stage. It's loud and not that good for some reason and Ithink I've about had it. I took a lot of pix, but don't know if any of them are any good. The fishing scarecrows were deep in shade and the pond was in sn when Iwent over there. Later a big cloud came and the lighting would have been better, not as contrasty, but I couldn't get back in time. They are doing a riff and I'm getting in the groove, oops,but now they're back to shouting and the speakers are too too loud. Bleah. And I am so SOO THIRSTY.
Now, suddenly, it's cloudy again. Should I make a run for the fishing scarecrows?
I need to sit a little, I stood too long. Then Iam going to walk.
Pat Geraci told me to go in the building and see the line-up of the T-shirts from all the years of Golden harvest, but I never made it in. I considered buying one from this year, but since I didn't work it, it seems wrong to have a shirt. I did look. I haven't bought anything yet, and the time is almost up. It's officially over in 11 minutes (and then I'm going to walk.) I wonder how they did. There are plenty of people here, but not as many as other years. And Sara said it was sort of dead yeaterday. I hope they did OK; they have to pay for all the artists and the shuttle buses etc
Tomorrow is 9/11 and I had been planning on posting my "safe" picture ondomestic abuse and calling it home-grown terrorism, but I have an idea for another picture, more topic specific. I was thinking of taking a woman's shoe from Heidelberg and making it white and treating it with a lead layer for 9/11. But that means I have to do it. The other picture is already done.
It's 5:00 and still pretty crowded.
matt smith mcsmith3.shutterfly.com photos fromBozeman etc check itout
gregsmith@ongov.net
I break down and spend $1 on water and it isicy cold(I hate cold water) but I'mso thirst I suck down the whole bottle. While I'mdrinking it, Greg smith comes by and tells me his sonMatt is outin Bozemn or somewherestudying population of bears and fishers doing hair captures and analzing the DNA down to speciesandindividuals.
He gives me.his shutterfly adress.
I promise to give hima disc of pictures but I really out to givehim a DVD instead,since there are so many. I start out on the deep woods trail formy walk andsomeone roars by in a golfcart spewing dust all over me. It's cold int he woods. Theymust havedivided up tasks ahead in theplanningbecause the tentsarecomingdown andthe scarecrows are coming down, atleast someofthem, andI may notget morepictures on the way back--did Imentionit's cold inthewoods andmaybe I will have to stop and putmy shirtback on.
I never had a horse ride ($3) or a hayride--the last hayride is going by on thenext trail over onit's wayback.
I had been thinking Imight have somefeestival food for dinner,but I'mnot hungry at all.
I drankthat whole bottle of water and Iam still thirsty.
I was just going to comment about how as I get deeper into the woods itis getting quieter and quieter asthe sounds of the festival fade behindme, ut the guy inthegolf carts comes zooming up with somebuddies makinga racket.
Now it's getting quiet again.
I never did see Erin (I don't even know ifshe was here,butIsuspect shewas.) I also bever saw Bruce or Debbie or verymany otherpeople I know.
It's very still in the woods. What adelightfulcontrast to theloudness of the Zydeco bad (which was beginningto wearonmeeven though Iliked it) and the bustle of the festival.
Oh-h,Ijust discoveredmyISO is setat 800--Ithought it was at 400,and Imust have takenallmyfestival pictures atISO 800.AK! WAHN. I hateitwhen I'm stupid. Imeantto shoot them at 400.
I likeBeaver lake. I ought to come here and walk more often.
It's gorgeous inher, gorgeous to the eye, anyway. But the lightis very contrasty. I've tried making a few pix and they aren't coming out.
A walk past a tiny stream with a little miniature water fall and the trickling sound reminds me how thirsty I am. 2glasses ofciderandabottle of waterbarelymade adent in my thirst. I'm not hungry but I'm desperately thirsty!
I hear woodpeckers, serveral of them,and crickets. Earlier, I heard the shuttle bus go by a couple times.
I think for a moment, thinking about Greg and matt, that I married the wrong man, that I should have married soemone like Heidi's Ken or Greg who live in the country and are unterested in nature and science. But not only are Ken and Greg already take, but I don't like them that way, I don't love them that way, and I do love Keith. And he likes nature and science. Too bad he lives in Detroit though.
The water at the inlet is very high.
6 PM I am down at the duck blind. The man that sold me water was embarassed to be selling water. Someone could set up huge water jugs and charge 2 center a cup or ten cents a cup for tap water. I told him I'd heard an expose on NPR about the germiness of drinking fountains. I never did make it into the building.
I've had this heavy camera hung around my neck all day. I did take alot of pictures. Hope someof them are good. In spite of the 800 ISO.
A very close, very loud crow. People walking and tallking in the woods. I liked it better when I was alone. THAT is one of the reasons I rarely come here. I like being alone in nature. I hate that the space bar doesn't work well or at all one this Psion.
There is something very soothing and comforting aboutbeingout innature on aperfect "fall" day (very fewannoingbugs!). Itis almost as soothing and coforting as agood hug,butnot quite.
I was just thinking about how my pix got tuened downa t the State fair and I heard some people saying how therewas some real crap there who didn't even know I'd been turned down. And how at BP sometimes somepicture wins a prize and I think I submittedonelike it, only better. Dunno why they won,ineither instance. But there are somepictures that win that really deserve it, that are spectacular. The ones Imean are the scenics that areso totallycrisp and clear and incredibly lovely. To me, they are a represntation of a perfectworld and of a perfect awakeness and awareness.
I look around at this less than perfect world with it's harsh contrasty light and I think, I cna't take those pictures unless I arrive in the right place at the right time. I can't take them here, now. I'm here, the lake is here, nature is here, but although it's beautiful, it's not photogenic. I cannottakethosepictures, but itis still lovely. I can ENJOY it, enjoy the birdsong and cricket song and the still lake and the woodsy smell. And I am.
and I am missing keith.
I'llhave to tell keith about spending the cash he gave me. I spent $5 to get in, $7 forlunch, $1 for twoglasses of cider and $1 for 1 bottle of water.
I bought nothingin the way ofT-shirts, CDs, art,photography, cars (Isaw somenice leafones for Gail), etc. Nothing.
6:30 Iam at the bench at the council ring. The sun has moved down into some hazy cloud on the horizon. A couple walks by, gossiping loudly and somewhat breathlessly about other workers at GHF.
As I am leaving the council ring, I suddenly seeitpeopled with friends and relatives, and I remember how happy andhopeful we were. I got married here, andnow Iam divorced. Iwas a naturalist here, and now I amnothing. I am Keith's wife, a writer, a poet,and a photogrpahe But I have disappeared from hereandnotreappeared there. I am inlimbo. I feel sad suddenly for me and Bruceand the love we onceshared.
A flock of honking geese fly over and I wonder whythey call it honking and not squawling. I hear the honk sound,but they also sound like they are squawking.
The light filling the forest off the lake is tanged with honey ornagefromlow sun and the whole forest is alight with gold. I attemp a few photos of it but they don'tdo it justice. The autowhite balance removed the honey color,Ithink. I suppose I couldturnitoff.
But I lefthomebefore 11AM and haven't peed allday and it's almost 7 PM (well,it's 6:42) and Iamthinking I need to go home so I can pee.
Walking after the festival had onehopefuladvantage, Iprobablyavoided the great exodus. There were still alot ofpeople here when I left tow alk. Now itis only volunteers, artistsand craftspeopel cleaning up,and employees.
I run into Dave Schubert and talk to him,but Brucecalls onthe 2-way and wants him to do something. I see Richie in a big landmover and wave. I walk past the blooming onion stand (those are good,butonly if you have 6 other people to help you eat them. Most of tge tents are gone,most of the garbage is gone. golf carts and those gold-cart likemultiwheeled vehicles are buzzingaroun. I walk past the horses and goat pens, all that is left is the barnyrad smell. A haze of dust lies over the parkinga reas from the hugeexodus of cars.
There are still some cars and trailers in thelot.
Dave was upset becausesomebody released the huge wad of baloons from the entrance and theywere flying way to, as he put it, "kill sea turltes."
There'smy car. I forgot to turnmy watchback on after I stopped talkingto Dave and probablywalked another 5minutes tomycar but it doesn'tmatter because I'd already walked more than 54 minutes. My watch says 54.
A heron flies by and I try to get it'spicture with the 300 and a woman in atruck askswhatI'm doing. Shelooks forthe heron,but it's gone. I got it, but I don't know how good.
7:27 PM I'm in my driveway. When I droveintothe street,everything seemed strange, as if I'd been awayalong time. Isawmy houseandfeltsad. Will Iever getmoved? Will I ever get out? IfI ever get outand Erin gets in, will I ever be in the house again?
Idrankanother bottle of water in the ar on the way home. It's beenover 8 and a hlaf hours since I peed.
I've had no dinner, but I'm not really hungry yet, either.
I enjoyed the music, I enjoyed the nature, I enjoyed seeing a few people I knew, some more than others. I think it would have been more fun with Keith or with the girls, or with a friend. It's been a long dayand I am tired.
I bought a couple organic delicata squashes, and Iwas thinking of throwing them in the oven. How do you eat them if you can't havebutter or margarine?
I'm not hungry yet, but by the time they're done, I probably will be.
I not only didn't pee all day but didn't wash allday including before of after that messy chicken.
Wait wait don'ttell me is on again,Imissed ityesterday.
Someoneon Waitwaitdon'ttellme is talkinga bout how hismice lick the peanut butter off his traps without springing them. I wish I had some frozen corn to stuff the suash with. Maybemushrooms?
Ground beef?
Roy BluntJunioris the one with themice.
Sausage andmushroomsstuffed suash?
Monday Septmeber 13,2006, 8:03 PM I am finally out on constitutuional. It's dark. It was a beautiful sunny day,butInever stepped a single step putside the door. I did several loads of laundry, washed dishes that were piling up threw things away,listened to the 9/11 coverage. I also sleptlate again, because I'd had a bad night the night before last. So I had a shorter day than usual.
One of the thinsg I threw away was the caopenerthat Aunty Ann gaveme (an electric canopener. Onthe onehand,Ineverwnated anelectric canoepner,but on theother hand,the hand crankone I have is a piece of garbage. However, I tossed out the elctric one and a bunch of other less notable things includinga bottle or Pert shampoo that was labelled Sara from God knows when.
I spent a lot of timecrying listening to 9?11 survors and family talkabout their loved ones whodied. But I don't think that was any reason to kill other innocent people.
--
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats
Mary
Well, here I am at Golden Harvest Festival. I was going to walk first, but it's 11:30 and John Rossbach's bluegrass band is supposed to play at 11:30. They are up there tunning up and doing a monitor check and I have a seat front row center. I do need to walk. But I can walk at homeif I have to. I can't hear live John Rossbach at home or in Detroit, probably.
I couldn't have gotten a much better parking place, row A here at Beaver lake. Someone left and I had the good fortune of being directed to fill the open place. I was hoping for acess to my car in case I get too hot and need to stash clothes. I charged Thyria's battery but forgot to bring film for the film camera, darn. So I left that in the trunk.
They are taking a too long time to tune up and check the monitor. John Rossbach has gotten grey and "older."I look the sameas I did when Iwas 16,of course. Oh,here they go, Shady Grove. I'd love to hop up and dance but I'mshy about being so fat.
I haven't seen Erin. Or anyone else. Except tourists, etc.
I think I have to change the lens onmy camera. I have the 100 macro on.
12:34 PM John Rossbach is overand they are setting up for the wildlife show. I'm trying to decide whther to stay for it or go walk or takepictures of scarecrows. Or what.
I thought the wildlife show might possibly give a photo op, but then again, it might not. I never did change lenses. I did take a few pix of John Rossbach and Perry Cleaveland.
I haven't seen anyoneI know yet other than John Rossbach.
The wildlife guy is named Brian. His first bird is a hawk from Texas, a Harris Hawk. MaybeI should change my lens.
Now he has an eagleowl out, and I got pix of both. The Harris Hawk flewaway into the trees!
Next, a peregrine Falcon. Alligator, legless lizards, king snakes and darn I forgotthetoher,the coral snakelook alike.
1:14 PM I did take somepictures,but they werepictures of animals being held (andthe escaping Harris Hawk). The best ones,ifthey comeout, might be the eagle owl.
Now I am sitting at the gazebo to listen to JohnRossbach again. If I don't get to walk I can always walk at 5:00 when the festival closes. I wantto pull up my haybale a little even though I'm front center. But on theotherhand, I'm not going to stay for it all, I don't want to hear the whole rhyming blues thing again,it drags out after a while.Fun,but should be keptshorter.
I do wish the events would start ontime. I could be walkinga round, but don't wanttolosemy front row cneter seat. Although there are otherempty haybales nearby.
I haven't lookedmuch in the booths but I did walk by a number of themand didn't seemuch that interested meexcept Dan Duggin playing and some watercolors. The rest of thestuff is just junk to spendmoney on. I'm sitting in the sun wiating for themtobegin and it's getting pretty hot in the sun. Facing into the sunandfacing uphill so I have to look up intothe bright sun.
1:47 Waltz across Texas with you. I have my shirt andvest tied aroundmy waist and amstill hot. Everything is getting covered with hay.
Terry Miller just said hi tome. He's sitting behindme with a woman.
Blue Moon of Kentucky (a BillMonoe tune). Icould get 3 John Rossbach CDs for $30 or 2 for £25 (they're usually $17 each),butialready have at least one of them,maybe 2. I'd like to get thenew one,it's $15 if I just get one but then I'd have to carry it.
I wish Keith would be in charge of music like I asked him and alternate between my stuff and his. The radio is a lazy default, though you do get to hear things you might not otherwise hear.
He's playing "the Coal tattoo" which I LOVE, great song. Good music and lyrics. I don't knowhat it is about livemusic I love so much, it seems so much more alive and vibrant, so real and present in a way recorded music never does. Maybe Keith would like this song; it's a union song of sorts.
2:11 PM Every other person here has an icecream cone. I haven't hadlunch
I had a story idea, call it Golden Harvest Festival or soemthing similar and look into the very differentlives of people intersecting at the festival. Handicap people,happy families,angrypeople,muscians,people working etc. The whole story,whateveitis takesplaceint he days of thefestival (pr in oneof them)P
I'minlinefor a chicken barbecue,even thoughthere'slots of other stuff. Ithinkthat's fairly safe, $7. Saltpot I haven't seen Erin yet,I don't even know if she's here andif sheis,where. She maybe taking moneyforpeople coming off the bus. But since I'm not sure if she's here, I'm probably not going to go look.
I paid formy chicken dinnerbutit will be 15minutes beforeit's ready. AK! No chairs of hay bales nearby. I'll get tired standing, wahn. Nothing to takepictures of,either,dark in the fod tent.
2:51 I scarfed down my greasy food at a table with unknonpeople includinga nice bus driver about my age (butter on the salt potates, baked beans which may make me sick, butter ladeled on the corn on the cob), tried to clean myself up (hopeless), stopped by the living scarecrow contest and took some pix of the kids (saw Greg Smith) and now I am back at the main stage listeningto Los Blancos (the white boys?). They just played Me-ohMy-oh Byou song andare now playingsomerocking Zydeco. Cool stuff. I like it.
This band goes on and on without a break but now they are stopping and will be back in 45 minutes.
Erin,if she's here,could also be working at the games or sellingdonuts,I suppose. I hear someonesinging, "The riveris wide, I cannotget o'er,neitherhaveIthe wings to fly, andI go insearch ofit,thinkinging itis Dan Duugin,butcan't findit and itends.
I grab someshots of the pie eating contest but I can't get close enough to get a really good shot,huge crowd.
I look in the gamesfor Erin, twice,no sign ofher.
3:29 Iwalkthrough the booths in the upperparkinglot and run into Bob and Pat Geraci. I look at somebeautiful leaf paintings and talk to the artist,he admires my camera
3:46 I'min the cideranddonut line(NOT fordonuts!).I have hadanything at all to drink norhave I used the bathroom all day. But Iamreally thirsty. IammissingDan Duggin up at the gazebo, but I have to have a drink. (Then I'll prolly have to pee).
I ended up back at the wildlife show and tookmorepix of the eagleowl, peregrine and baby alligator being held,but left for cider before he got to the legless lizards again.
I get two ciders and whileI'm attempting to drinkthem, Ann Pia, one of my T'ai Chi students, comes out to talk to me and I congratualte her for passing her teaching certificate for T'ai Chi.
I attempt somepictures of the jugglers but I have entirely the wrong lens for that. Then Imakeittothe gazebo for the last 1 1,2 songs of Dan Duggin and CO.
There is only 45minutes left of the festival--it closes at 5. It is probably unlikely I'll walk before 5.
Now the zydeco group isplaying again at themains tage, I think. I'm still thirsty, 2 glasses of cider wasn't enough.
They are selling kettle corn herelike at the Civil war Muster. The juggling is still going on. I goback and catch them juggling knives.
4:26 PM I stand and stand trying to get somegood shots of the jugglersjuggling kinves, but suddenly,Ican't stand any moreandI try to take one more picture butmy 1 gig card is full, so I walkover and sit down at the zydeco stage. It's loud and not that good for some reason and Ithink I've about had it. I took a lot of pix, but don't know if any of them are any good. The fishing scarecrows were deep in shade and the pond was in sn when Iwent over there. Later a big cloud came and the lighting would have been better, not as contrasty, but I couldn't get back in time. They are doing a riff and I'm getting in the groove, oops,but now they're back to shouting and the speakers are too too loud. Bleah. And I am so SOO THIRSTY.
Now, suddenly, it's cloudy again. Should I make a run for the fishing scarecrows?
I need to sit a little, I stood too long. Then Iam going to walk.
Pat Geraci told me to go in the building and see the line-up of the T-shirts from all the years of Golden harvest, but I never made it in. I considered buying one from this year, but since I didn't work it, it seems wrong to have a shirt. I did look. I haven't bought anything yet, and the time is almost up. It's officially over in 11 minutes (and then I'm going to walk.) I wonder how they did. There are plenty of people here, but not as many as other years. And Sara said it was sort of dead yeaterday. I hope they did OK; they have to pay for all the artists and the shuttle buses etc
Tomorrow is 9/11 and I had been planning on posting my "safe" picture ondomestic abuse and calling it home-grown terrorism, but I have an idea for another picture, more topic specific. I was thinking of taking a woman's shoe from Heidelberg and making it white and treating it with a lead layer for 9/11. But that means I have to do it. The other picture is already done.
It's 5:00 and still pretty crowded.
matt smith mcsmith3.shutterfly.com photos fromBozeman etc check itout
gregsmith@ongov.net
I break down and spend $1 on water and it isicy cold(I hate cold water) but I'mso thirst I suck down the whole bottle. While I'mdrinking it, Greg smith comes by and tells me his sonMatt is outin Bozemn or somewherestudying population of bears and fishers doing hair captures and analzing the DNA down to speciesandindividuals.
He gives me.his shutterfly adress.
I promise to give hima disc of pictures but I really out to givehim a DVD instead,since there are so many. I start out on the deep woods trail formy walk andsomeone roars by in a golfcart spewing dust all over me. It's cold int he woods. Theymust havedivided up tasks ahead in theplanningbecause the tentsarecomingdown andthe scarecrows are coming down, atleast someofthem, andI may notget morepictures on the way back--did Imentionit's cold inthewoods andmaybe I will have to stop and putmy shirtback on.
I never had a horse ride ($3) or a hayride--the last hayride is going by on thenext trail over onit's wayback.
I had been thinking Imight have somefeestival food for dinner,but I'mnot hungry at all.
I drankthat whole bottle of water and Iam still thirsty.
I was just going to comment about how as I get deeper into the woods itis getting quieter and quieter asthe sounds of the festival fade behindme, ut the guy inthegolf carts comes zooming up with somebuddies makinga racket.
Now it's getting quiet again.
I never did see Erin (I don't even know ifshe was here,butIsuspect shewas.) I also bever saw Bruce or Debbie or verymany otherpeople I know.
It's very still in the woods. What adelightfulcontrast to theloudness of the Zydeco bad (which was beginningto wearonmeeven though Iliked it) and the bustle of the festival.
Oh-h,Ijust discoveredmyISO is setat 800--Ithought it was at 400,and Imust have takenallmyfestival pictures atISO 800.AK! WAHN. I hateitwhen I'm stupid. Imeantto shoot them at 400.
I likeBeaver lake. I ought to come here and walk more often.
It's gorgeous inher, gorgeous to the eye, anyway. But the lightis very contrasty. I've tried making a few pix and they aren't coming out.
A walk past a tiny stream with a little miniature water fall and the trickling sound reminds me how thirsty I am. 2glasses ofciderandabottle of waterbarelymade adent in my thirst. I'm not hungry but I'm desperately thirsty!
I hear woodpeckers, serveral of them,and crickets. Earlier, I heard the shuttle bus go by a couple times.
I think for a moment, thinking about Greg and matt, that I married the wrong man, that I should have married soemone like Heidi's Ken or Greg who live in the country and are unterested in nature and science. But not only are Ken and Greg already take, but I don't like them that way, I don't love them that way, and I do love Keith. And he likes nature and science. Too bad he lives in Detroit though.
The water at the inlet is very high.
6 PM I am down at the duck blind. The man that sold me water was embarassed to be selling water. Someone could set up huge water jugs and charge 2 center a cup or ten cents a cup for tap water. I told him I'd heard an expose on NPR about the germiness of drinking fountains. I never did make it into the building.
I've had this heavy camera hung around my neck all day. I did take alot of pictures. Hope someof them are good. In spite of the 800 ISO.
A very close, very loud crow. People walking and tallking in the woods. I liked it better when I was alone. THAT is one of the reasons I rarely come here. I like being alone in nature. I hate that the space bar doesn't work well or at all one this Psion.
There is something very soothing and comforting aboutbeingout innature on aperfect "fall" day (very fewannoingbugs!). Itis almost as soothing and coforting as agood hug,butnot quite.
I was just thinking about how my pix got tuened downa t the State fair and I heard some people saying how therewas some real crap there who didn't even know I'd been turned down. And how at BP sometimes somepicture wins a prize and I think I submittedonelike it, only better. Dunno why they won,ineither instance. But there are somepictures that win that really deserve it, that are spectacular. The ones Imean are the scenics that areso totallycrisp and clear and incredibly lovely. To me, they are a represntation of a perfectworld and of a perfect awakeness and awareness.
I look around at this less than perfect world with it's harsh contrasty light and I think, I cna't take those pictures unless I arrive in the right place at the right time. I can't take them here, now. I'm here, the lake is here, nature is here, but although it's beautiful, it's not photogenic. I cannottakethosepictures, but itis still lovely. I can ENJOY it, enjoy the birdsong and cricket song and the still lake and the woodsy smell. And I am.
and I am missing keith.
I'llhave to tell keith about spending the cash he gave me. I spent $5 to get in, $7 forlunch, $1 for twoglasses of cider and $1 for 1 bottle of water.
I bought nothingin the way ofT-shirts, CDs, art,photography, cars (Isaw somenice leafones for Gail), etc. Nothing.
6:30 Iam at the bench at the council ring. The sun has moved down into some hazy cloud on the horizon. A couple walks by, gossiping loudly and somewhat breathlessly about other workers at GHF.
As I am leaving the council ring, I suddenly seeitpeopled with friends and relatives, and I remember how happy andhopeful we were. I got married here, andnow Iam divorced. Iwas a naturalist here, and now I amnothing. I am Keith's wife, a writer, a poet,and a photogrpahe But I have disappeared from hereandnotreappeared there. I am inlimbo. I feel sad suddenly for me and Bruceand the love we onceshared.
A flock of honking geese fly over and I wonder whythey call it honking and not squawling. I hear the honk sound,but they also sound like they are squawking.
The light filling the forest off the lake is tanged with honey ornagefromlow sun and the whole forest is alight with gold. I attemp a few photos of it but they don'tdo it justice. The autowhite balance removed the honey color,Ithink. I suppose I couldturnitoff.
But I lefthomebefore 11AM and haven't peed allday and it's almost 7 PM (well,it's 6:42) and Iamthinking I need to go home so I can pee.
Walking after the festival had onehopefuladvantage, Iprobablyavoided the great exodus. There were still alot ofpeople here when I left tow alk. Now itis only volunteers, artistsand craftspeopel cleaning up,and employees.
I run into Dave Schubert and talk to him,but Brucecalls onthe 2-way and wants him to do something. I see Richie in a big landmover and wave. I walk past the blooming onion stand (those are good,butonly if you have 6 other people to help you eat them. Most of tge tents are gone,most of the garbage is gone. golf carts and those gold-cart likemultiwheeled vehicles are buzzingaroun. I walk past the horses and goat pens, all that is left is the barnyrad smell. A haze of dust lies over the parkinga reas from the hugeexodus of cars.
There are still some cars and trailers in thelot.
Dave was upset becausesomebody released the huge wad of baloons from the entrance and theywere flying way to, as he put it, "kill sea turltes."
There'smy car. I forgot to turnmy watchback on after I stopped talkingto Dave and probablywalked another 5minutes tomycar but it doesn'tmatter because I'd already walked more than 54 minutes. My watch says 54.
A heron flies by and I try to get it'spicture with the 300 and a woman in atruck askswhatI'm doing. Shelooks forthe heron,but it's gone. I got it, but I don't know how good.
7:27 PM I'm in my driveway. When I droveintothe street,everything seemed strange, as if I'd been awayalong time. Isawmy houseandfeltsad. Will Iever getmoved? Will I ever get out? IfI ever get outand Erin gets in, will I ever be in the house again?
Idrankanother bottle of water in the ar on the way home. It's beenover 8 and a hlaf hours since I peed.
I've had no dinner, but I'm not really hungry yet, either.
I enjoyed the music, I enjoyed the nature, I enjoyed seeing a few people I knew, some more than others. I think it would have been more fun with Keith or with the girls, or with a friend. It's been a long dayand I am tired.
I bought a couple organic delicata squashes, and Iwas thinking of throwing them in the oven. How do you eat them if you can't havebutter or margarine?
I'm not hungry yet, but by the time they're done, I probably will be.
I not only didn't pee all day but didn't wash allday including before of after that messy chicken.
Wait wait don'ttell me is on again,Imissed ityesterday.
Someoneon Waitwaitdon'ttellme is talkinga bout how hismice lick the peanut butter off his traps without springing them. I wish I had some frozen corn to stuff the suash with. Maybemushrooms?
Ground beef?
Roy BluntJunioris the one with themice.
Sausage andmushroomsstuffed suash?
Monday Septmeber 13,2006, 8:03 PM I am finally out on constitutuional. It's dark. It was a beautiful sunny day,butInever stepped a single step putside the door. I did several loads of laundry, washed dishes that were piling up threw things away,listened to the 9/11 coverage. I also sleptlate again, because I'd had a bad night the night before last. So I had a shorter day than usual.
One of the thinsg I threw away was the caopenerthat Aunty Ann gaveme (an electric canopener. Onthe onehand,Ineverwnated anelectric canoepner,but on theother hand,the hand crankone I have is a piece of garbage. However, I tossed out the elctric one and a bunch of other less notable things includinga bottle or Pert shampoo that was labelled Sara from God knows when.
I spent a lot of timecrying listening to 9?11 survors and family talkabout their loved ones whodied. But I don't think that was any reason to kill other innocent people.
--
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats
Mary
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Installment 3 of under the pond:
060915 Mow and pack
Tuesday August 15, 2005, 4:19 PM I just finished mowing the lawn. It took me 28 minutes but I didn't do the best job ever.
4:28 Now I am out walking. I have to walk about 17 minutes to make up the rest of my constitutional for the day. I am walking down toward the park. I see a few places on the lawn that I missed. I mowed it sooner than I would have otherwise because I'll be busy tomorrow and I am leaving Thursday. The problem was, with the grass not being fully grown out and the dappled shade and the circuitous path in some places, I couldn't always see where I'd already mowed. OH well, I was careful along the edges of the street and going through where the brush pile had been because there I could go straight and there I could see the path made by the wheels and the difference in the height of the grass.
Sassy stroked the material of her dress. It was smooth and silky, satiny soft and pleasing to the touch. It was chiffonier than it seemed as if it should be, almost ethereal. She liked the way it felt, but she couldn't see herself at the pond's edge catching frogs in such an outfit. And frog-catching was her favorite activity.
She glanced at Lonnie and saw that while his face looked like Billy's, his expression did not. He had a dreamy, relaxed friendly look. His eyes glowed with happiness. And his clothes--he'd been wearing Billy ratty cutoff's and Power Ranger T-shirt, but now he too was dressed in satin, in a shimmering satin shirt open at the throat and a satin skirt. A skirt. He was wearing a skirt.
Sassy thought of the bagpipe players she'd watched at the Celtic festival. They had skirts on. But they didn't call them skirts; they called them kilts. Her friend Marty had whispered to her that they didn't wear underwear under their kilts and she and Sassy had squatted down pretending to pick up some cards they'd dropped, but they couldn't see high enough under the kilts to see if the men with their hairy legs and bulging calf muscles were wearing underwear.
Sassy flushed, looking at Lonnie and his skirt. It didn't look like the kilts the men had worn at the Celtic festival. It was a softer and finer material, no plaid or pleats. But the question of whether Lonnie wore undies brought color to her cheeks, she could feel it.
She looked down. At that moment, there was a loud trumpeting sound, a long bark of sound barely akin to music, followed by 3 sharp short barks, and Lonnie tackled her, knocking her to the floor of the open carriage.
He shoved her under the seat and crawled in with her. "Get back, get back," he said, "it's an aerial dragon attack."
Tuesday August 15, 2005, 4:19 PM I just finished mowing the lawn. It took me 28 minutes but I didn't do the best job ever.
4:28 Now I am out walking. I have to walk about 17 minutes to make up the rest of my constitutional for the day. I am walking down toward the park. I see a few places on the lawn that I missed. I mowed it sooner than I would have otherwise because I'll be busy tomorrow and I am leaving Thursday. The problem was, with the grass not being fully grown out and the dappled shade and the circuitous path in some places, I couldn't always see where I'd already mowed. OH well, I was careful along the edges of the street and going through where the brush pile had been because there I could go straight and there I could see the path made by the wheels and the difference in the height of the grass.
* * *
Under the Pond ContinuedSassy stroked the material of her dress. It was smooth and silky, satiny soft and pleasing to the touch. It was chiffonier than it seemed as if it should be, almost ethereal. She liked the way it felt, but she couldn't see herself at the pond's edge catching frogs in such an outfit. And frog-catching was her favorite activity.
She glanced at Lonnie and saw that while his face looked like Billy's, his expression did not. He had a dreamy, relaxed friendly look. His eyes glowed with happiness. And his clothes--he'd been wearing Billy ratty cutoff's and Power Ranger T-shirt, but now he too was dressed in satin, in a shimmering satin shirt open at the throat and a satin skirt. A skirt. He was wearing a skirt.
Sassy thought of the bagpipe players she'd watched at the Celtic festival. They had skirts on. But they didn't call them skirts; they called them kilts. Her friend Marty had whispered to her that they didn't wear underwear under their kilts and she and Sassy had squatted down pretending to pick up some cards they'd dropped, but they couldn't see high enough under the kilts to see if the men with their hairy legs and bulging calf muscles were wearing underwear.
Sassy flushed, looking at Lonnie and his skirt. It didn't look like the kilts the men had worn at the Celtic festival. It was a softer and finer material, no plaid or pleats. But the question of whether Lonnie wore undies brought color to her cheeks, she could feel it.
She looked down. At that moment, there was a loud trumpeting sound, a long bark of sound barely akin to music, followed by 3 sharp short barks, and Lonnie tackled her, knocking her to the floor of the open carriage.
He shoved her under the seat and crawled in with her. "Get back, get back," he said, "it's an aerial dragon attack."
* * *
To be continued (I only had ten minutes to write today). Under The pondweed part 2
Trumpets sounded, and Sassy turned toward the sound. Coming out of a large stone castle was a parade of white horses decked out in dark red velvet. Lonnie stood up tall, pulling Sassy beside him. Tall knights in armor dismounted and came forward with a tiara and a small crown. They bowed deeply, placed the crown on Lonnie's head, and then turned to Sassy and placed the tiara on hers. A coach had appeared and Lonnie and Sassy were escorted into the coach, which headed toward the castle.
Sassy looked at her watch. "I hope this won't take too long," she whispered, "I have to be home for my clarinet practicing in half an hour or I'll get in trouble."
"Well, the prenuptials will take three days, and feasting five days, but we should get you back in time," Lonnie said.
"Wait, what? Huhn?" Sassy was looking down at herself now, because Something strange was happening to her clothes. Her cut-offs had disappeared and so had her Beaver Lake Nature Center T-shirt. She was wearing a white satin gown with tiny pink flowers along the ribbons of lace. It was smocked and tucked and petticoated. And her sneakers were gone. She was wearing white slippers.
"I don't wear dresses," she said, turning to Lonnie. "I never wear dresses, never."
"I don't see a dress," Lonnie said, smiling. And here were her shorts again. But in moment, the dress shimmered back into being. If anything, it seemed fluffier and more girly than it had before. Sassy was a frog catcher and an adventurer, not a princess. Something was wrong with this picture.
To be continued.
Mary
Monday, August 14, 2006
Under the Pondweed Journal 1st draft
Rob's birthday
aig
060812 Loretto Quarry 3
Saturday, August 12, 2006, 10:49 AM I am waiting for Sara at Loretto--abd here she is!
5:03PM I just packed one small box and carried it to the garage. I have a load of laundry going and just washed and put away some dishes. Earlier, we visited Mom. Erin came. Then we walked at the quarry, abeautiful sunnyday with a nicebreeze. Eeyore woulnd't work. Guess I will have to get her fixed. Sigh. I'd write about it but don't want to take the time. I'm feeling depressed. I need to work.
I've been working, and I got another load of laundry going, but I still feeel depressed. I am stiff and working is harder thanit should be.
Sunday, 8:27 PM Iam out on myconstitutional and I have to "hurry" by which Imeeanmakesurenot to walk ay extra in oder to be back in time totalk to Keith and Graham.
I'm cutting it very close.
Meanwhile, in the 43 remaining minutes, 42 now I am going to attempt a story.
Under the Pondweed
Sassy crouched at the side of the pond, looking deep into the half murky water where the tadpoles had stirred up mud and it was slowly settling. She'd caught and released seven frogs, and now she wanted a tadpole. Not any tadpole, but the big one with back legs and the little stubs of front legs and the face that was already a little squarish, instead of perfectly round, or as Dad would say, ovoid.
That tadpole was a teenager, Sassy reasoned. It still had a long tail, a very long tail, and its legs were still relatively small. But it wasn't a kid tadpole who had no legs at all.
There it was, lying alongside a submerged branch, looking like a knot in the branch and not at all like a tadpole, but Sassy saw it, and with a sudden lightning strike, she had it. And though she had struck quickly, she cradled the tadpole carefully in the palm of hand, keeping water around it so it could breathe. Even though it was a teenage frog, it still had gills and couldn't breathe air. She wondered then how that difficult transition must work, from breathing water to breathing air.
She was admiring the tadpole, who after attempting vigorously to escape, now lay still in the palm of her hand in the rapidly draining pool of water there.
"Kiss it": Billy shouted. When had Billy arrived? If she'd seen him coming, she'd have beat a hasty retreat. She just couldn't stand him, hew as the epitome of obnosticity, as her Mom sometimes whispered after Billy had left the house with her brothers.
"I'd rather kiss the tadpole, than you, any day, Billy Sampson!" she said to him, in a low hiss.
"Do it, then, or are you a sissy? Billy taunted. Sassy, who was no kid's sissy, leaned over and gave the tadpole a little kiss on the top of it's slimy little head, and it grew in her hand. "It's turning into a prince," shrieked Billy, "and you . . ." But Sassy never heard what Billy was going to say, or what he did say, perhaps, because his voice was a roar in her head and then the water closed over her.
She coughed and wheezed and suddenly, she could breathe. Not by breathing water into her lungs. Instead, she had gills, she could feel them, long and feathery around her neck like a living necklace. Some movement on the surface of the pond frightened her, and she swam for cover, swam deep into the pong and wriggled into the mud. There she lay, terrified and stupid. But after the panic subsided, she realized where she was, under the water of the pond.
Carefully, for she now had a great fear of things that ate little creatures, she wriggled up out of the mud, little by little, until she could look around
Mud was raining from the sky, little bits of dirt and plants that had been stirred up were now quietly settling.
And there, a little ways away, was the tadpole she had kissed. She was sure it was the same one, because it was the only one who was as well developed. Other tadpoles lying around looked younger, like Billy and her brother were younger than she was.
The tadpole, though, was huge. They all were. But wait, she'd only kissed one of them.
Sassy slowly realized that that the tadpole had not grown in her hand, but that she had shrunk.
Watch out, came a voice, the dragon is behind you. : Without looking back, Sassy swam toward the tadpole. She was sure the voice had come from him. Then, close beside him, she turned and looked behind her, and sure enough, a large cumbersome dragon-like creature was walking slowly toward them She knew what it was right away. It was a dragonfly nymph. They were vicious, but off to the side another far worse monster, a hellgrammite. These things devoured tadpoles bite by bloody bite, while they were still alive.
Come with me, the reassuring voice said. It sounded in her head. And she realized it was not a voice, but thought impressions, visual pictures that formed in her mind, along with reassuring feelings.
The tadpole she had kissed started swimming slowly toward the center of the pond, under the duckweed and the strands of stringy green algae.
"Wait," Sassy thought at him, "what is your name?"
"Lonny," came the answer, immediately.
"I'm Sassy," she said, following him.
Lonnie headed for a large submerged log under the deepest part of the pond. He swamp inside. It was dark, who could tell what monsters might be inside there. But Lonnie said follow so she did. He seemed trustworthy, though her Mom always said, "Don't trusts strangers." And who could be much stranger than a tadpole?
Sassy could see nothing. But she could tell she was with Lonnie, she could feel him nearby somehow. He turned downward into another tunnel. She couldn't see it at all, but could feel it. Then, the tunnel turned up again in a way that made her think of a beaver lodge.
A little light began to slow from somewhere, and then more. They ran into something that felt like a barrier, like an elastic skin,. It seemed impenetrable, but suddenly, it faded away and they passed through and came up again in the pond. It seemed like the same pond, only different. "Maerddth," Lonnie said, as if that would mean anything to her.
When they came to the shore of the pond, Lonnie lay at the very edge and slowly, slowly pushed his head out of the water. He indicated that she should do the same. She heard him breathing and then she was breathing, breathing air as if she'd never been under the water. She crawled out on land and stood up and looked down at herself. She was human again with legs and shoes and clothes. She looked toward Lonnie and shrieked, taking a step away. He had turned into her arch enemy, Billy.
What's wrong? Asked Billie. But it wasn't exactly Billie's voice, it was mostly Lonnie's voice, the voice she had heard in her head under the pond.
"You look like Billy," she said. "I hate Billie."
"I'm not Billie, he said, I'm Lonnie. I'm a merboy, and I've taken the likeness of the closest human so you can talk tome and I can talk to you."
"Oh, but why Billy UGH!"
"I'm not Billie, I promise you. I am a tadpole and a merboy. What is it you dislike about this Billie person? Tell me,so I won't be like him.
"He kills frogs," she blurted, and tadpoles. And that makes me mad, because I like frogs and tadpoles.
"Yes, said Lonnie, "I could tell by the gentle way you held me, and by the way you released my friends and my parents, after scaring them half to death by catching them
"I'm sorry. I never thought they had that much feeling. I mean, I knew they must be afraid . . . "
"Terrified," Lonnie corrected, "afraid for their very lives."
She saw a picture in her mind of a great blue heron swooping down its spear-like beak to grab a frog and felt the mortal terror the frog felt as the beak plunged toward him. Lonnie's way of talking with pictures and feeling was much more forceful than normal talking, which she had learned to screen out half the time, blabbing teachers and lecturing parents and obnoxious boys. to be continued
aig
060812 Loretto Quarry 3
Saturday, August 12, 2006, 10:49 AM I am waiting for Sara at Loretto--abd here she is!
5:03PM I just packed one small box and carried it to the garage. I have a load of laundry going and just washed and put away some dishes. Earlier, we visited Mom. Erin came. Then we walked at the quarry, abeautiful sunnyday with a nicebreeze. Eeyore woulnd't work. Guess I will have to get her fixed. Sigh. I'd write about it but don't want to take the time. I'm feeling depressed. I need to work.
I've been working, and I got another load of laundry going, but I still feeel depressed. I am stiff and working is harder thanit should be.
Sunday, 8:27 PM Iam out on myconstitutional and I have to "hurry" by which Imeeanmakesurenot to walk ay extra in oder to be back in time totalk to Keith and Graham.
I'm cutting it very close.
Meanwhile, in the 43 remaining minutes, 42 now I am going to attempt a story.
Under the Pondweed
Sassy crouched at the side of the pond, looking deep into the half murky water where the tadpoles had stirred up mud and it was slowly settling. She'd caught and released seven frogs, and now she wanted a tadpole. Not any tadpole, but the big one with back legs and the little stubs of front legs and the face that was already a little squarish, instead of perfectly round, or as Dad would say, ovoid.
That tadpole was a teenager, Sassy reasoned. It still had a long tail, a very long tail, and its legs were still relatively small. But it wasn't a kid tadpole who had no legs at all.
There it was, lying alongside a submerged branch, looking like a knot in the branch and not at all like a tadpole, but Sassy saw it, and with a sudden lightning strike, she had it. And though she had struck quickly, she cradled the tadpole carefully in the palm of hand, keeping water around it so it could breathe. Even though it was a teenage frog, it still had gills and couldn't breathe air. She wondered then how that difficult transition must work, from breathing water to breathing air.
She was admiring the tadpole, who after attempting vigorously to escape, now lay still in the palm of her hand in the rapidly draining pool of water there.
"Kiss it": Billy shouted. When had Billy arrived? If she'd seen him coming, she'd have beat a hasty retreat. She just couldn't stand him, hew as the epitome of obnosticity, as her Mom sometimes whispered after Billy had left the house with her brothers.
"I'd rather kiss the tadpole, than you, any day, Billy Sampson!" she said to him, in a low hiss.
"Do it, then, or are you a sissy? Billy taunted. Sassy, who was no kid's sissy, leaned over and gave the tadpole a little kiss on the top of it's slimy little head, and it grew in her hand. "It's turning into a prince," shrieked Billy, "and you . . ." But Sassy never heard what Billy was going to say, or what he did say, perhaps, because his voice was a roar in her head and then the water closed over her.
She coughed and wheezed and suddenly, she could breathe. Not by breathing water into her lungs. Instead, she had gills, she could feel them, long and feathery around her neck like a living necklace. Some movement on the surface of the pond frightened her, and she swam for cover, swam deep into the pong and wriggled into the mud. There she lay, terrified and stupid. But after the panic subsided, she realized where she was, under the water of the pond.
Carefully, for she now had a great fear of things that ate little creatures, she wriggled up out of the mud, little by little, until she could look around
Mud was raining from the sky, little bits of dirt and plants that had been stirred up were now quietly settling.
And there, a little ways away, was the tadpole she had kissed. She was sure it was the same one, because it was the only one who was as well developed. Other tadpoles lying around looked younger, like Billy and her brother were younger than she was.
The tadpole, though, was huge. They all were. But wait, she'd only kissed one of them.
Sassy slowly realized that that the tadpole had not grown in her hand, but that she had shrunk.
Watch out, came a voice, the dragon is behind you. : Without looking back, Sassy swam toward the tadpole. She was sure the voice had come from him. Then, close beside him, she turned and looked behind her, and sure enough, a large cumbersome dragon-like creature was walking slowly toward them She knew what it was right away. It was a dragonfly nymph. They were vicious, but off to the side another far worse monster, a hellgrammite. These things devoured tadpoles bite by bloody bite, while they were still alive.
Come with me, the reassuring voice said. It sounded in her head. And she realized it was not a voice, but thought impressions, visual pictures that formed in her mind, along with reassuring feelings.
The tadpole she had kissed started swimming slowly toward the center of the pond, under the duckweed and the strands of stringy green algae.
"Wait," Sassy thought at him, "what is your name?"
"Lonny," came the answer, immediately.
"I'm Sassy," she said, following him.
Lonnie headed for a large submerged log under the deepest part of the pond. He swamp inside. It was dark, who could tell what monsters might be inside there. But Lonnie said follow so she did. He seemed trustworthy, though her Mom always said, "Don't trusts strangers." And who could be much stranger than a tadpole?
Sassy could see nothing. But she could tell she was with Lonnie, she could feel him nearby somehow. He turned downward into another tunnel. She couldn't see it at all, but could feel it. Then, the tunnel turned up again in a way that made her think of a beaver lodge.
A little light began to slow from somewhere, and then more. They ran into something that felt like a barrier, like an elastic skin,. It seemed impenetrable, but suddenly, it faded away and they passed through and came up again in the pond. It seemed like the same pond, only different. "Maerddth," Lonnie said, as if that would mean anything to her.
When they came to the shore of the pond, Lonnie lay at the very edge and slowly, slowly pushed his head out of the water. He indicated that she should do the same. She heard him breathing and then she was breathing, breathing air as if she'd never been under the water. She crawled out on land and stood up and looked down at herself. She was human again with legs and shoes and clothes. She looked toward Lonnie and shrieked, taking a step away. He had turned into her arch enemy, Billy.
What's wrong? Asked Billie. But it wasn't exactly Billie's voice, it was mostly Lonnie's voice, the voice she had heard in her head under the pond.
"You look like Billy," she said. "I hate Billie."
"I'm not Billie, he said, I'm Lonnie. I'm a merboy, and I've taken the likeness of the closest human so you can talk tome and I can talk to you."
"Oh, but why Billy UGH!"
"I'm not Billie, I promise you. I am a tadpole and a merboy. What is it you dislike about this Billie person? Tell me,so I won't be like him.
"He kills frogs," she blurted, and tadpoles. And that makes me mad, because I like frogs and tadpoles.
"Yes, said Lonnie, "I could tell by the gentle way you held me, and by the way you released my friends and my parents, after scaring them half to death by catching them
"I'm sorry. I never thought they had that much feeling. I mean, I knew they must be afraid . . . "
"Terrified," Lonnie corrected, "afraid for their very lives."
She saw a picture in her mind of a great blue heron swooping down its spear-like beak to grab a frog and felt the mortal terror the frog felt as the beak plunged toward him. Lonnie's way of talking with pictures and feeling was much more forceful than normal talking, which she had learned to screen out half the time, blabbing teachers and lecturing parents and obnoxious boys. to be continued
Friday, August 11, 2006
In the Skytop Quarry again
060809 Quarry 2 Wednesday, August 9, 2006, 1:14 PM
I am in the quarry that Sara and I went to on Sunday morning. Mary Nicky is very happy. Mary Nicky, for those infidels who haven't met her yet, is my inner child, usually around age 10. Or 11 or 12. Mary Nicky LOVES to explore, its one of her favorite things to do (she has lots of favorites, but clearly exploring is one of the best. And this quarry is HUGE with LOTS of trails all over, many layers, old abandoned buildings and ruins, interesting f flora and fauna. Mary Nicky would like to spend the day here wandering around but some big meany (Big Mary) says we have to go back and get to work. Mary Nicky is particularly unfond of working. She's rather play.
Mary Nicky loves the many hidden places, the twists and turns, the piles and cliffs (she loves the cliffs!).
We just saw one of those giant wasps, the cicada eating wasps, and we took as good a look at it as we dared, MN and I (I'm big Mary today, sad to say.) And we decided that it is NOT golden all over, it just looks that way from the rapid wing beats, and that it is indeed one of those Cicada eating wasps Sara sent us the link to. That solves that question, at least tentatively. We might be wrong, but it sure looks like it.
Eeyore isn't working, at all. We're carrying tons of lenses and equipment that we can't use. And Nikki is essentially useless out here with no viewfinder. Nikki is an indoor camera, worthless outside. When I try to look at the screen, all I see, literally is my own face. UGH!
What I am doing is point Nikki in the general direction of whatever I want to capture and pushing the button. There's NO framing involved at all.
Some guy, young guy on a mountain bike just rode by carrying a shovel. His whole body was covered with tattoos and his black hair was sort of ratty looking. He had a pleasant face, but he avoided looking at me and rode into the rough stuff off the trail even though I stepped to the side to let him pass.
The cicadas are going crazy. It was wonderfully cool last night, but it's supposed to be 88-90 this afternoon.
I parked in the lot that goes with the building where Erin works and walked over here past the SU research center parking area etc.
I am on my way back even though Mary Nicky wanted to stay longer. I promised her we'd try to come again, maybe many times when we visit Mom and explore the area more fully.
Now I am out in the questionable area between the quarry and Erin's work. I feel a little less concerned now, because if they tell me to leave, I'll just leave, which is what I want to do anyway.
It turned out to be easy to get here from Loretto. I'd come up this way before, but when I saw the guardhouses and street closed signs, I got nervous and left. This time, I kept coming and no one stopped me. So, if I make it safely back to the car and the car has not been ticketed or towed, I can try it again next time.
YAY. Mary Nicky says, "Can we visit Mommy tomorrow? And then go explore?"
"No, I tell her, "we have too much work to do."
"Yuck!" she says, I'd rather play."
So would I of course, since Mary Nicky is a big part of who I am. But I want to be with Keith and Graham, be moved, be done at the house. So I have to bit the bullet and buckle down.
But first, dang it, I have to have lunch, shop, take care of the garbage etc etc. Then I have to work on my State Fair pictures.
I have ONE mostly done, one partly done, and two not done at all. AK! After all that, they may not even get accepted.
1:38 I am back to my car which has not been towed or ticketed, and that's good news because it means I can do it again.
I walked 48 minutes, which is not bad. Only 3 extra minutes over unfamiliar ground.
I HATE the spacebar on Psions!
I was just thinking of the things that my narration probably does not even begin to convey: the brilliant inescapable sunshine and reflected light at the quarry (Keith might not like that), the green and yellow greens of the vegetation, the expanses of rock and gravel, the painted abandoned buildings brilliantly colored in the somewhat sterile landscape, the intersecting trails and the terraces of rock and gravel. Old quarries are such interesting areas. The rusted machinery, the old power lines and old signs.
Old quarries are not necessarily healthy environmentally, but they are interesting.
I am in the quarry that Sara and I went to on Sunday morning. Mary Nicky is very happy. Mary Nicky, for those infidels who haven't met her yet, is my inner child, usually around age 10. Or 11 or 12. Mary Nicky LOVES to explore, its one of her favorite things to do (she has lots of favorites, but clearly exploring is one of the best. And this quarry is HUGE with LOTS of trails all over, many layers, old abandoned buildings and ruins, interesting f flora and fauna. Mary Nicky would like to spend the day here wandering around but some big meany (Big Mary) says we have to go back and get to work. Mary Nicky is particularly unfond of working. She's rather play.
Mary Nicky loves the many hidden places, the twists and turns, the piles and cliffs (she loves the cliffs!).
We just saw one of those giant wasps, the cicada eating wasps, and we took as good a look at it as we dared, MN and I (I'm big Mary today, sad to say.) And we decided that it is NOT golden all over, it just looks that way from the rapid wing beats, and that it is indeed one of those Cicada eating wasps Sara sent us the link to. That solves that question, at least tentatively. We might be wrong, but it sure looks like it.
Eeyore isn't working, at all. We're carrying tons of lenses and equipment that we can't use. And Nikki is essentially useless out here with no viewfinder. Nikki is an indoor camera, worthless outside. When I try to look at the screen, all I see, literally is my own face. UGH!
What I am doing is point Nikki in the general direction of whatever I want to capture and pushing the button. There's NO framing involved at all.
Some guy, young guy on a mountain bike just rode by carrying a shovel. His whole body was covered with tattoos and his black hair was sort of ratty looking. He had a pleasant face, but he avoided looking at me and rode into the rough stuff off the trail even though I stepped to the side to let him pass.
The cicadas are going crazy. It was wonderfully cool last night, but it's supposed to be 88-90 this afternoon.
I parked in the lot that goes with the building where Erin works and walked over here past the SU research center parking area etc.
I am on my way back even though Mary Nicky wanted to stay longer. I promised her we'd try to come again, maybe many times when we visit Mom and explore the area more fully.
Now I am out in the questionable area between the quarry and Erin's work. I feel a little less concerned now, because if they tell me to leave, I'll just leave, which is what I want to do anyway.
It turned out to be easy to get here from Loretto. I'd come up this way before, but when I saw the guardhouses and street closed signs, I got nervous and left. This time, I kept coming and no one stopped me. So, if I make it safely back to the car and the car has not been ticketed or towed, I can try it again next time.
YAY. Mary Nicky says, "Can we visit Mommy tomorrow? And then go explore?"
"No, I tell her, "we have too much work to do."
"Yuck!" she says, I'd rather play."
So would I of course, since Mary Nicky is a big part of who I am. But I want to be with Keith and Graham, be moved, be done at the house. So I have to bit the bullet and buckle down.
But first, dang it, I have to have lunch, shop, take care of the garbage etc etc. Then I have to work on my State Fair pictures.
I have ONE mostly done, one partly done, and two not done at all. AK! After all that, they may not even get accepted.
1:38 I am back to my car which has not been towed or ticketed, and that's good news because it means I can do it again.
I walked 48 minutes, which is not bad. Only 3 extra minutes over unfamiliar ground.
I HATE the spacebar on Psions!
I was just thinking of the things that my narration probably does not even begin to convey: the brilliant inescapable sunshine and reflected light at the quarry (Keith might not like that), the green and yellow greens of the vegetation, the expanses of rock and gravel, the painted abandoned buildings brilliantly colored in the somewhat sterile landscape, the intersecting trails and the terraces of rock and gravel. Old quarries are such interesting areas. The rusted machinery, the old power lines and old signs.
Old quarries are not necessarily healthy environmentally, but they are interesting.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
At the Quarry and Goat-N
060809 Quarry 2 Wednesday, August 9, 2006, 1:14 PM
I am in the quarry that Sara and I went to onSunday morning. Mary Nicky is very happy. Mary Nicky, for those infidelswho haven't met her yet, is my inner child, usually around age 10. Or 11 or 12. Mary Nicky LOVES to explore, its one of her favorite things to do (she has lots of favorites, but clearly exploring is one of the best. And this quarry is HUGE with LOTS of trails all over, many layers, old abandoned buildings and ruins, interestingf lora and fauna. Mary Nicky would like tospend the day here wandering around but some bigmeany (Big Mary) says we have to go back and get to work. Mary Nicky is particularly unfond of working. She's rather play.
Mary Nicky loves the many hidden places, the twists and turns, the piles and cliffs (she loves the cliffs!).
We jsut saw one of thosegiant wasps, the cicada eating wasps,and we took as good a look at it as we dared, MN and I (I'm big Mary today, sad to say.) And we decided that it is NOT golden all over,it just looks that way from the rapid wingbeats, and that it is indeed one of thoseCicada eating wasps Sara sentus thelink to. That solves that question, at elast tentatively. We might be wrong, but it sure looks like it.
Eeyore isn't working, at all. We're carrying tons of lenses and equipment that we cab't use. And Nikki is essentially useless out here with no viewfinder. Nikki is an indoor camera, worthless outside. When I try tolook at the screen, all I see,literally ismy own face. UGH!
What I am doing is point Nikki in the geral direction of whatever Iwant to captureand pushing the button. There's NO framing involed at all.
Some guy, young guy on amountain bikejust roade by carrying a shovel. His whole body was vovered with tatoos and his blackhair was sort of ratty looking, He had a pleasant face, but he avoided looking atme and rode into the rough stuff off the trail even though I stepped to the side to let himpass.
The cicadas 9or going crazy. It was wonderfully cool last night, but it's supposed to be 88-90 this afternoon.
I parked in the lot that goes with the building where Erin works and walked over here past the SU research center parking area etc.
I am on my way back even though Mary Nicky wanted to stay longer. I promised her we'd try to come again,mabe many times when we visit Mom and explore the area more fully.
Now Iam out in the questionable area between the quarry and Erin's work. I feel a little less concerned now,becauseif they tell me to elave, I'll just leave,which is what I want to do anyway.
It turned out to be easy to get here from Loretto. I'd comeup this way before,but when I saw the guard houses and street closed signs, I got nervous and left. This time, I kept coming and no one stopped me. So,if I amke it safely back to the car and thecar has not been ticketed or towed, I can try it again next time.
YAY. Mary Nicky says, "Can we visit Mommy tomoorw? and then go explore?"
"No, I tell her,wehave too much work to do."
"YuK!" shesays, I'drather play."
So would I of course, since Mary Nicky is a bigpart of who I am. But Iwantto be with Keith and Graham, be moved, be done at the house. So I have to bit the bulelt and buckle down.
But first, dang it, I have to have lunch, shop, take care of the garbage etc etc. Then I have to work onmy State Fair pictures.
I have ONE mostly done,onepartly done,and two not done at all. AK! After all that, they may not even get accepted.
1:38 Iamback to my car which hasnotbeen towed orticketed, and that's goodnewsbecauseitmeansI cando itagain.
I walked 48 minutes, which is not bad. Only 3 extra minutes over unfamiliar ground.
I HATE the spacebar on Psions!
I was just thinking of the things that my narration probably does not even begin to convey: the brillian unescapable sunshine and reflected light atthe quarry (Keithmight not like that), the green andyellow greens of the vegetation,the expanses of rock and gravel, the painted abandonedbuildings brilinatly colored in the somewhat sterile lanscape, the intersecting trails andthe terraces of rock and gravel. Old quarries are such interesting areas. The rusted machinery, the old power lines and old signs.
Old quarries are not necessarily helthyenvironemtnally,but they are interesting.
2:22 PM (really.) I just arrived home. It took me longer than it should have because I drove back Jamesvilleto Ainsley to Brighton,only to discover the on ramp to 81 was closed and I had to go all the way back andget on at Colvin. And THEN,when I was most of the way home, I remebered that I had wanted to go to Commercial art supply. WAHN. But it's 2:25 and I haven't hadlunch and Iam really really HUNGRY.
I am cooking a frozen hamburger left from one of Keith's spaghetti batches. I have to shop. I'mout of food--no meat, fish, fruit, vegetables etc.
While the hamburger was cooking,Imadeseven trips to the curb with onelarebag of trash, 4recycling bins,and two extra loads of recylcing bags.
I am thinking that even if I'd bought lunch, I might have saved money by going to Commercial art and nothaving to drive back there. My hamburger is frozen in themiddle andburnt on the outside when I comeback in. I eat itanyway, I'm hungry.
Actually, I guessitis not going to be that hot today,they say,not that it is cool. And Friday it is supposed to be "crisp."
And I carry out a fifth recycling bin. And I carry out a box of stuff to go to Detroit.
3:42 PM I just sorted another bag of recycling and carried it outto the curb.. It's not what I want tobe doing. I wnat to be working on my art and photography for the state fair. But today is trash day and it seemslike I should domy best to get as much as possible out of the house. It makes it easier to see what remains to be done. Each one of those bags,and there are a lot of them now, at least 13 that I can see clearly from here, repesents an hour or two ormore of sorting. It'snot that much stuff. But it'sthe best I can do.
Meanwhile, poet CK Williams is on the radio aspart of aprogram on arts and 911.
4:09 PM I justcarried out a fourteenth bag of sorted recycling. It was abag I'dbeen sorting in the livingroom and was already half to 3/4 full when I started on it, and I stuffed some gift boxes in it andthen sat and sorted more stuff. It's the sorting that's slow. I completed sorting another box of stuff. I don't want to be sorting but tomorrow morning they will be coming for the trash. Dang though, State fair receiving daysbegin TOMORROW. I really need to prepare my work. AK! What to do??? What to do?? I don't know how long the prep will take for the pix. Icons and images took a LONG time!
I feel suddenly a little sad. I'mtrying so hard tobe good,to work hard,andwhatdo I get for it? Apile of garabage! And Marguerite says to me, "do you think you'll be done in a week?" That's what I keep getting frompeople. It's very disheartening.
I'm sorry. :-( Taking out the garbage just is NOT fun, and doinbg it seven days a week is even less fun!
Thursday,August 10, b2006, 6:26 PM Iam out walking. It will be tight gettingback by timeto talk to Keith and Graham. I wishwalking walking fasterwould solve the problem,but, as I'vementionedbefore,it does not.
The sun has already set. The sky is pinkandornageand salmonint he west and the clouds are blue and multiple shadesof grey. They are testured in tinyclumos, a rather uncommon sky.And hereand there nitsof smears of smaller puffs,fractal-like sections fromthelargerpuffs. Ebven the largeones aresmall relativeto normal clouds.
I should work onmy novel,butIhaven't had timetoconsiderandappropriate 1 inch squarewindow. I consider havingfound the journal I keptat the crash pad and various other places to be a big help with the timeline,but ofcourse, Idon'thave it withme.
I love Janine'sblog andwould likeperhaps towrite some blog entries like hers,but it seems thatwriting soemthing that good and thatthoughtful would takemoretimethan I have available.
I'vebeen thinking about theending of the Goat bovel. Right now, Iam intendingtoend it when Strom goes back to school full time. At ESF. It's theend ofanera and thebeginning of a newlife. But it continues to afect Stromthroughout the upcoming years. There is noeasy dividing place.
In real life,I divorcedPeter, or hedivorced me,whenhe wantedtoarry patty. THat happened,I believe, when I was already at ESF. It ws twoto three years after we split up, afterpeterleft with Patty on the crosscountrytripandI stayed gratefully behind.
In thenovel, I think I wouldlike Storm to get the diivorcepapers int hemail the days she starts school at ESF as a symbol of the cutting of ties andbeginningof a wholenewlife. I would likeher tomeet Chris, Craig and Raythefirst day,as anecho ofmeeting thegoat clanpeoplethe first day at SKU. Instead of Eric the Flasher, she'll get invited to stomping, and told thatwill mean hiking in the woods, and object to the idea of stompingflowers, and find this new groupintersting and the book willend with them about to walk into cemetery ,anothersymbol of theendingand tet, thebeginning. Therehas to flowers and happiness and hope. Closings andopenings.
OK, well, thtareaffirms the endingof goatandleaves open awholenew spacefor another verydifferent book.
ont heother hand, JimAlexander seemslikesomething out of the otd story. A sort of uglyextendion of that,whichalmost seemstoneed to ebin there. Butthtaelaves the story open-enedagain,whichisnotsi bad. Or,thenew novel could be aboust abuse and Jim could be thefirst instanceof that. But Peter was Storm'sfirst abuser,so what about that?
well, the newnovel couldbackgtrack alittle,or useflashbacks.
q BeforeIcan really write thegoat novel,itneeds a container, a timeframe. Ido liektheidea of framing itover theperiodfrom starting onecollegeto thenext.
I need that book Erin gave me how to writeasamn goodnovel,LOL. Only thatkindof novel is notneceesarily thekindof novelthat Iwantto write. That is anaction novel Idowant action and conflict, and thereis lots of it. Butalso taestry and character.
Like TC Boyle'sdrop City, only different, onlymyversion of it.. But not really, because there will be more than oncecommune thatrises and falls.
For the sake of the novel,itcouldbe,like drop City,onemobile commune,the Goat Commune, moving about with Storm as the seedstone. That wouldn'tbe that far from thetruthof it.
Someone diesin Drop City and someone does inmy book, too. Heis theacid pusher and peacemaker. The bigsmile. Thereislittle about himthat sets himup asthe oneto die.
There are somany chgaracter, such a total pagentry ofcjaracters whoenter stormslife,but forthenovel,they have to be whittled down and combined. Iemtntioned earlier the improtnace of having some continuity, some continuous characters. Theone who dies needs to comeearly and be important, at leastto some extent.
I'mhaving somehealth issues I rarely have inB'ville andusally onlly have in Detroit. The currentoneis theneedto go to the bathroomwhile I'mwalking and I hiope I make it safely home.
I've walked 35minutes,andImay have to cutmywalkshort to go in and usefacilties and if so, I won'thave time to go back out.
First, I have to get home.
OK,back to the dead guy.Why is there a dead uy in all my books? Well,this is a real guy who diedand itfits inthe story. But unless I rearrnage theelemnts, it doesn'tfit inas well asin TC Boyle's book.
Then trhere's a dead girl. For real. She ODed on heroine. Only about 19 yearsold. Shelived with us.
She was rich Jeweish "pincess",small,pretty,vicacious,nice.
I pass somepeople with a dog walking the other way. Theywalk out aroundme. Iamon the correct sideof the road. They are not.
No one seems to knowany morehow to park at parking metersor which side of the road to walk on or even how to properly use a toielt.
There are cars racing at thefulton Speedway, I can hear them real It doesn't look that low.
ly well, so the ceiling must be really low tonight
None of my dead people aregoing to die in a plane crash in Alaska,proving how stupid and naivehippes were.
I walked 44 and a half minutes,not too bad, I canlive with taht. I could walk up and down the stairs for 30 second
Deathhs:
• Nancy ODedon Heroine
• what's his name was shot outsde the Wescott Street Grocery store strying to break up a fight That really ahppened. Both really happened.
Thenthere is Luke falling out of thedormwindowandsurving--but being brain damaged.
I can't remember the guy who gots hot'ss name. I haven't been able to remeber it for along time. I don't need to though. I cnagive hima name.
Monday, August 07, 2006
August 8, 2006 poems and a story and journalling
• email Katie Rapp
• recertifiation
060730 Another imbrookwalk
Sunday, July 30, 2006, 8:23 PM I am out on my night constitutional under a waxing crescent moon and the incessant cicada song. The sky is a gradiet of pale pastel blues and pinks with thin wispy clouds in abrighter honey pink,somealmost firey. The sunhad already set,which gives me a feeling of deep urgency.
A lot of things are making me feel urgent at the moment. I want to be back to talk to keith and Graham at 9:15 and I need to timemy walk in oder to that, particularly carefully. Not to stop too often, or I won't get my 45 minutes in. To further complicate things, I have't yet had dinner and I doubt I cando it in the possible space of time betwen the end of the walkand9:15. To further complicate things, I also havenot had lunch,so I am very hungry, and would prefer to eat. But Idecided it was more important to walk than eat because I can eat more easily when I'mtired than I can walk. I didhave a bigandlatebreakfast, but no so big and late that I am notnow at 8:30 PM not hungry. In fact I am quite hungry.
To further complcatethings, I finished boxing up the pictures I've been working on for the Iconsand Images show,and went up to email Katie Rapp to find out if Icould deliver them tomorrow,and when I opened myemail, there were several other urgentemails and I got distratced by them and did not email Katie Rapp so I have torememberto do so. It's hard formetoremember certain thingswhen Iamworried about makingthese little deadlines, toomany things tojuggle around in my mind at once.
I have an appointment to meet with Scott and walk tomorrow at 3R at 4 PM and would like to take the pictures to Katie in to timetoreach 3R a little before that.
I wnat to get the pictures delivered so I can go on to thenext thing.
Thenext thing is the 4 pictures for the Stae GFair. Oneis prnted already but has tobe framed. 3more have to be printeand one needs tobe framed and two need to be matted. I would like to get them doneand redy so Ican stopworrying about them and get on to thenext thing which is workingon the DARN HOUSE! DANG!
My backwasreally bothering me during and after I wasworking on wiring thosepictures. I was sitting down,but something about the angle Iwas working at wasn't feeling at all good tomy back.
It feels alittle beter now thiugh.
It isnot cool out, but itis not as hotas it has been!
However, to furthercomplcatethings, it is supposed to go up to 98 on Tuesday, a gooddaytogocreekwalking. But I have arrnaged tomeet Scott tomorrow at 3R andnot Tuesday at Silk Creek. I was trying to save an hour of driving time. However,whenit is 98 degrees outside, I will be unable to accomplsihmuch atthe house, so Imay as well go to Silk Creekor somehwere.
The little thin wisp of the moon is brightening up andthe sky is darkening. Dark cloudsthatweren't visible beforeare nowhangingat the horizon.
I feel pressured because everybody keeps asking me if I'mdone with the house yet and I'mnot. Ialsofeelpressuedbecause of themoneyit's costing me tokeep paying themortgage and dang now I will have to do therecertification,andother wasteof time! :-(
I desperately have to dothat or I'll be losing Twice as muchmoney.
A LOT!
I feelpressured by everyone asking and the recertification and the fact that I want to be with keith and Graham andwant to be done with the house and getmoved and get on with my lifer and work onmynovels etc. and my poetryand be with Keith and Graham, BUT apparently I'm a big loserbecause I can't seem to get ittogether.
I'mbad at this. I have ADHD and I'm trying really hard to work hard and stay on task,but I'mbad at it. I'm trying to stay organized and keepworking. But I get discouraged and unhappy! I feel liek all I've been doing lately is working and for a break, I get to walk around theneighborhood, again,whoopee!
And then Istart feeling guilty becausemeanwhilepeople are lsoing their houses to fires innebraska and gettingkilled bybombs inLebanon,and that makes mylittleproblemsthatare overwhelming meseem prettyminorincomparison.
WhatI wanted to do while I walked so asnot towaste anytimewasto workon oneof my novels. Ithought I could do thetimeline for thegoat novel, but it's kindofhardto do in the dark.
Maybe I can do a narrative timeline for the period ofmylife which I plan at thispointto be covered by thenovel. Drop City did notcover a verylongperiod of time,and I don't want to bite off toomuch.
OK, I graduated fromHigh School in the spring of 1964 andworked at the VA hospital with Hal Phillips and Dr. Otto Lilien that summer. I graduatedin Juneand startedcollege at St. Lawrencein September of 1964. That is theopening of the Goat Novel. However,background timeline is importrant too.
Sinceitis importantformeto write about the stuff Iactually know about,assumingIcan rememebrit,Iwant toget thisdown.
Septmeber 1964,start at St.Lawrence University. Tony Zak, Eric Potter, (really), Dick Zeiss, Dr. W the Germen professor. Firate experience with pot,peyote, mescaline,LSD and sex. Peter Black. Bob Dylan Bringing it all back Home.
I had the 1949 Indian then and before that, the scooter.. I used toclimb out mydorn window after curfew. I got caught several times and made to work on the telephone switchboard, a real, old fashioed plug into the holes telephone switchboard.
We had a 7 PM curfew every night exceptSaturdays and an 11 PM curfew Saturdays. I joined community ONe,became an activist, also campaigned for Robert kennedy.
Clibed the watertower and the radio towers tofly a Community Oneflag.
Oh-h,It's 9:04andI'mstill out herewalkinga roundand a waysfrom home,Istoppedto attempt a picture of a baby bunny,buteven with theflash,itwas too dark.
I start joggging, someyoungguys gobyandhootatme,meanly.
Normally, I don't midnw alkinge xtra, but Idon't want tobe late for a very improtant date.
9:14 No time for dinner. I sign right on to messenger as soonas I getsettled
keith is alreadyt here.
Monday,July 31, 2006, Midsummer night's eve. Tomorrow is Midsummer Day,or wait,maybe it's the NEXT day. August 2? I'd better look it up, but it's supposed to be 98 degrees and very humid. There's an excessive heatwarning. It's already pretty hot. I walked with Scott at 3R. We parked at the Spiral grove. Walked down to the normalparking and back. After scottleft, I walked down to Heron pond and back tomakeup the few minutes of time Ineeded to make 45 minutes. I left at 3:50 or so and got back at 5:15 or so, so I was gone about an hour and a half,which is twice as long or so, than it takes me to walk in the neighborhood.
I am tryin to use that time to accomplsih what needs to be done.
It was,however, nice to see Scott. :-)
We talked the whole timeand causght up with each other.
I did not take any pictures of him or us.
Wednesday, August 2,2006, 4:58 PM I am out on myconstitutional under a grey sky,walking the wet neighborhood streets. Directly after the rain, the terrible heatbroke for afew minutes, andit's still cooler than it was, but it's warming up again. It's Very hot in the house,but when Ileft to walk, I turned off thefans taking in andblowing out air for feat it would soon be hotter outside than inside, though it's not yet, and maybe I should haveleft them on.
In the heat, I feel as if I am accomplishinglittle, tryas Imight. I finally went ahead and did therecetification, though not as carefullly as I'vedone in thepast orprobably should have this time. I folded piled up laundry and started anotherbatch. Imade myself a nice meal: coconut soup. I talked to Rita and Robert and Sandy about my mother via email. I've been busy, but it isn't enough. I need soemhow to domore.
OK, timeline
Last timeI was working on the timeline Iended up brainstorming,listing varioussignificant and insignificant things that happned inno particular order, which is the way theytend to come up.
September 64,arrive St Lawrence
June 65leave St. lawrence for home
July 65 (?) go to NYC, see Eric and Tony, crash pad, meet Peter Schuschni.. Peter is a significantcharachter in mylifend in this story--not the original Goat novel,but the expanded oe. Book 2. If there's going to be a book I and a Book 2 inside the same covers,that is,thesmaenovel,they need to have some kind of coherence and continuity. This has to be characters that continue through besides our young heroine, LOL.
Peter Schni,however, is not oneofthose characters. He is the beginning of book II. Who is Peter? Do I have enough distance yet to givehim a fair and balanced portriat? Probably not,but I cna try. Peter is the man who becomes the horioine'shusband andthe father ofher dead child. It is his whims that shape her life. It is through him that shemeets Bob Dylan, TinyTimetc, it isthrough him and his wheelingsand dealing that she dances on stage with the dead and lives in Big Sur withJanis Joplinand Big Brother and the holdingcompany etc.
So who is this man,and what does the heroine, whatever her name is (I've forgotten, and the manuacript is in Detroit), see in him?
Let's callher Nykol for now, and shegoes underthe name Storm, or Stormy,short for Stormlight, one ofher poetrynames. Her realname is Nichol, but she refuses to spell it that borning way. of course, this is temporary, since she has another name.
Storm has cometo live at the crash pad, where Eric has taken her, but I don't have the timeline down. Since this is FICTION that I'll be writing, it probably doesn't matter.
But when I, Mary, first arrived, I had an appartment that Bo, Jean Boer,from SLU, Rick Cleverly's girlfriend, help me get. That was before Iwas robbed. Iwas ribbed and then I had no moneyand then Iended up at the crash pad. I think thathow it happened. I think Imet Peter there, but Imay have met him sooner. I met him through Eric Potter from SLU. Noneoftis really matters, I have an active imagination and can fabricate circumstances,but I like knowing the basis from which the energybehind the storyarises.
And the details of the places where I lived can be helpful for backgroundambiance.
So Peter. What did I see in him? Some of the same things I have seen in everyman I've loved, I think. He was cute,smart, and funny. He had a great sense of humor, and active and creative imagination, always thought of fun things to do, was interesting exciting and fun.
In the beginning, he was no one special. I was more of less with Eric Potter. And Peter wasin thebackground,one of the many people hanging around being cool. He worked hardat being cool.
((meanwhile, back at the ranch, otherwise know as Kimbrook, I get chases by a black cockerspaniel names Shamus, I see a hawk fly out of a tree, I see a man and his cute little girl walking on the wrong side of the road.))
Everyone's got faults, including Storm.. Peter's faults wereless obvious at first. And at first, they didn't seem like faults. He was a wheeler and dealer. He was a self=promoter. Hewas bssy and controlling. And he was inclined toward violence. But those characteristics weren't evident tome atfirst. And thosethatwere, like the wheeling and dealing, seemed HELPFUL. He was ableto get whatwe needed or wanted, whatever it was,though through dealings. He was not aman ofhigh moral standards, not "Honorable". Except usually in the sense of honoramong theirves.
he was abusive, but Storm didn't recognizeit, because herfather was also abusive,and it seemednormal.
At the beginning of the boook, Nichol is about as innocent as an eighteen year old girlcan be. She's never had sex, hashadvery little exposure to jews,that sheknows of, anyway, verylittleexposure to blacks,or to cities or serious poverty. She's been poor,but poor inthe context of a fairly loving if dysfunctional family. She has been wounded in certain ways, buther father'sabusiveness and darkmoods and her mother's over-compliance.
At the end of the novel, she is changed in may ways.
Thursday, August 3, 2006, 1 PM One never knows when something bad might unexpectedly happen. Think 911, thinkany sudden car accident. On a much more minor level, I just got stung by a bee. It really hurts, a lot. Ealier,in myown bedroom,I stepped on something sharp and that still hurts.
It makes me aware that something much worse could also happen at any time. Ow ow ow, hurts, pain.
I'm at Loretto. I took my Mom for a walk, then wentfor a walk myself. Iw alked down the path throughthe woods to the streetsbelow and walked there. It was still a neighborhood,but atleast,it was a differentneighborhood. It drizzled the whole time, and we're expecting more rain, so I didn't carry my "real"camera, but I did take a few pictures of flowers with mylittle camera.
I walked 36 minutes and am going to stop briefly at OLP for the last 9 minutes.
When I firstgot to Loretto, there were no parking places and I had to park below and then when I got to the elevators, there weremobs waiting to go up. I was frustrated, but everything is relative. (That bee sting really hurts, but war is worse, and fires, and hurricanes and Tsunmis!)
I'm really hungry because I left to see Mombefore my Meds hour was up, so I've no breakfast or lunch.
1:28 I've arrived at OLP formy 9-minute walk. The rain has stopped. Iwas crying thelast halfmile or sobecause thebee sting still hurts so much,and the blisters from mowing and the thorn,and that beesting wasjust the last straw, the one that broke the camel's back. Such a minor thing, but on top of the worries about getting out of the house and recertification and the title on the car and Mom's house and money and wellbeing etc. It was just the little bit that temporarily pushed me over the edge.
I feel I need to visit Mom, but it takes such a large hunk of my workday.
I'm at the "Good Dog Park," LOL (Longbranch portion of OLP) and I just witnessed a huge dog fightand I'm sorry, all the people running to try to separate their dogs, but it struckmy funny bone even though it's not funny. Excpet for the obvious irony.
Back to the timeline,as I walk along the river here.
SLU to NYC to California to NYC to home to California to Oakwood Ave to Chittenango? To OCC to ESF. Hmm. I'm not sure i have that exactky right. I need to check my diaries and refernces, But, Like I said, it doesn't have to be right, exactly, except that when I get timelines wrong, it ends upmessing up events and they way theymesh with each other. If I outline the story,the novel,though, I should hope to avoid that and Strom's story is differnt.
I'm such a dunce sometimes, intelligent as Imay be other times. What an ass Iam. I gabbed my camera, thinking I had the 300 on and cameto the canal where a heron stands byalog, agull sitson apiling, a turtle sits on a log, and there are zillions of lovely waterlilies--BUT no long lens. I didn't even look at the camera, I just slung it and didn't take the lenses because I thought I had the 300 on. I'm standing here with all these thingsin easyrane of the 300, butI have the 100 on. I look through it at each of them and none of the pictures are een worth taking without the 300. Should I goback for it? I was only supposed to walk 9minutes. GRRRR! whyam I so dumb?
I switchedlenses totake a dumb picture and never switched back. I NEED to keep the 300 on. There goes the heron.
Iw alk a little closer--there goes the turlte. Iwasn't closeenough with the 100,andnow theya re both gone, and Icould have gotten them with the 300. I'm noteven close enough to get the WATERLILIES with the 100,and there's not going anywhere, but are out in the pond.
OK, I'mgoing home. Walking back to thecar, dejected. At least the bee sting pain is beginning to subside a little. It's not gone, but better.
At least I have breakfastto look forward to and intend to make myself a yummy onelette.
The mosquitoes are abundant here. Some very tiny ones with extrasharp proboscises and some regualr ones, and humid and warm, but not as bad as the past two days.
And there is nice, buteriable, breeze
I made two trips across the country to Calfornia. The firsttime,wegot a driveaway car, where you drive a car for soemone else. That was the one with thebroen heater andit was summer time and we drove through the south and my legs cracked like mud in the sun,and never entirely recovered. The second time we drove with Colin McIver and a bunch of other people ina VWbug, there were six peopel or seven and we took turns sleeping in the back window. I got a ticket for drive 90 ina 30 mph zone at the edge of a tiny town (Texa?) at 3AM with a carfull of sleeping hippies.
I think we hitchhiked back both times, 13 hoursin a snowstorm in Lincoln Nebraska in California skimpy summer hippie clothes. Somelocals gage us winter coatsandhats,but we had no boots or mittens and stood in the snow in our sandals. We got aride after 30 hours with acrazy alcoholic who drankbottled beer on eafter the other and threw the bottles hard on the road, so they shattered as he drove. He never looked back once so we made love in his back seat on piles of his filthy clothes and blankets. We abandoned him when his car broke down in PA. We had no money, and no idea how to help.
2~11 PM I'mhome,breakfast soon. Marguerite told me thatMomwanted a scissors to cut the waistband of her pants because they weretoo tight--andthey did itfor her. She's been GAINING weight.
3:16 PM I just threw away a pair of sweatpants that I had washed for the salvation army but then discovered it had a small hole. If it fit me, I'd wear it, but no one there will want it, even though it is otherwiseperfect. I did feel sad when I put it in the trash,and evenmore than that,I flet a resntment verging on hared for all thepeoplewho think that everything they own must be perfect. Who think that their precious babies must wear something pristine without a single stain--don't they realize that the first timethebaby spitsup,voila, a stain? We had solittle moneywhen thekids were litle that we were thrilled to takehand-me-downs so they'd have clothes to wear.
There's aprogram on NPR about cancer and brain tumors and it's remindingme I have a brain tumor. I was so devastatedwhen I first found out about it, but I've gotten used to it, which is hard to believe. I'm not happy about it. But since thereisnothing I can do that I knowof, I'm turning my attentionelse where. I just folded a bunch oflaundry andcarried someof it up.
I wasshocked and horrified when Erinsaid they weregoing to get adumpster and throweverything into it that I leavebehind. Well,ofcourse they are. The furniture Ihave used all these years,clothes and paper andbooksand boxesof stuff. MY LIFE in a dumpster. An that's probably what we need to do with Mom's stufftoo,her life and Pa's. Andwhile somepeoplemay not care, it HURTS, it really HURTS. And someofmyfriends don't understand.
Pots and pan,including the one peter and I got fromLi Sichek Black in the little house behind the big house where she and Peter lives the first timewe went out there. Glass casseroles and breadpansmuffinpansthat I cooked for a family of four and somethat Iused to cook for everyone in Chittengo.
Flour bins,cups, glasses,mugs, babycarebooks,poetry books more pots and pans. I can't take all this stuff to keith's. Instead,I have to cook with Susan'sstuff,because it'snicer than mine. Because itnestsneatly. But it hasnomemory,or the memories ithas aren'tmine.
Before I can mow the lawn, I need to get more gas. Not right away. I carry a box to the garage.
Pens, markers, highkighters, pencils, paintbrushes, sewing stuff, thread, shoeslaces ,zippers. (from when I used to be a writer, a papinter, and sew.
Desk drawers and their contents, (similar to list above).
Notecards, rulers,envelopes, a silverware drawer insert full of pencils and pens--MORE pencils and pens. And erasers. From another life.
A kitchen utility junk drawer with knives, strainers,wooden spoons,pie servers, tea strainers etc etc.
4:04 PM I just sorted and filled one recycling bag and carried it to the garage. I moved another load of clothes from the washer to the drier. It's not cool, but at least I'm morecomfortable than I have been, the last few days.
4:19 PM I just filled and carried to the garage another bag of recycling. Today was garbage day,so it won't go out for a week. But at least it is out of basement. Iam takingtime to sort it because it is mostly stuff we don't want to move to Detroit just because we have to get out of here.
It was piles of want ads when I hated themostand was looking for another joband clippingfrom Mom and Kevin Bugnacki, and notes from mom and Kevin. The clippings were shosen forme, but Inever had timeto read them I'd still like to read them, but I'm throwing them all away, not even looking becauseif in all this time Ihaven'thad time, I probably never will. I saved one on whiskey Hollow for novel about Whiskey Hollow, which appened to be on top.
Did I memntion coupons, hundreds of expired coupons? Not all expired, butout they go anyway.
One clipping that comes out on top says Wake-up Call, Sleepiness a driver'sworstenemy! YUP!
4:45 I sorted another pile of stuff and took another bag out to the garage--that's three bags of recycling. This one was slower because there wasmore stuff mixedint hathad to be examined more closely,notes from my mother etc.
And more notes from my mother.
Ijust found an article aboutme mixed in with abunch of other unrelated clippings so who know howmany of my articles I've tossed outbecause i'm not looking carefully.
What about the monekey, Grim, of Peter Paula nd Mary? Is hein the novel?
5:26 PM I finally finished sorting through another pile of stuff and took out abag of recycling. I feeldespserately tiredand wantto lie down and sleep. Part of that is because I have not been sleeping well, but part of it is because I hate what I'm doing. I know from experience that if I were to start doing something I enjoyed, I would wake up and feel better. I haven't done ANYTHING just for fun in a LONG LONG time.
I also haven't showered today. I left this morning without having showered or eaten breakfast, and I'm hot. Iwant to break and shower, but Ithink I will do some more work first, GAK. I feel that I cannotafford thetime to play or relax. Or laugh or have fun or socialize because there is too much work to be done.
However, fo some reason, my neck and shoulder hhurt and I may have to at least do soemthing different. Different work. There are planty of different tasks that need to bedone. For example, I could drive some of the clothes to the salvation army. That would get them out of the house and make more space. But it's an escape--I need to stay here. I need to stay on task.
I've found a few clippings thatrelate to my novels, even though Iwas trying NOT to look at thslipping.
5:45 I am glad I stuck with it. I got another box pcked, taped,labeled and hauled to the garage.
:-)
5:59 PM YAY! I'm on a roll! I got another box packed! Of course it's a relatively small box. Bit that's three boxes today and 4 bags of recycling sorted and one bag of stuff for the Salvation army washed sorted and folded. So I am making progress, albeit slowly.
There are 6 boxes packed to go to Detroit now, total.
6:29 PM I just completed sorting and filling a 6th bag of recycling. Though I'dbeen thinking there wasnothing in partiular to makeme sad, about 7/8 of the way through, I started crying again.
But slowly, the volume of stuff in the mid-basement, where I am working is diminishing and the bags of recycling and garbage areincreasing.
But last time Erin was here, she couldn't see where I'd doneanything in here (the midbasement or "family rroom", but I had, and to the untrained eye, I'msure itlook horrendously bad andas if I've donenothing. ButI can see the difference, thank God.
But what remains to be done inthis area isfar more than what I've done in here.
How long amI required to keep working. Everyone seems to be judging me as "bad," but they aren't here sorting this stuff day after day, day after day? I want to quit for a while, to take a break, but there is so much still to be done.
I've been listening to NPR while Iwork, though I can't hear it very well inthe basement, especially when the dehumidifier comes on. There isastory onnow about a photographer. I didn't catch his name,but he is very interesting. Oh dear, the italics which were on for one word never went on..
Alabama 1964. !William Christian Berry (Barry?). Hejust told a story about aone-armedman wholost his arm in a sawmill accident andbuild a cement block house himself with onearm. Hetooka picture, andwhenhecameback, theman was dead. He'd frozen to death in his home. I cried when I heard the story and cried again retelling it.
And all those people dying in Lebanonand Iraq and Afghanistan and so on, each of them had a life asvaluable as that man's, as valuable asmine. I am wailing with sadness, but if I share this, I will be criticized for it by some of my friends.
I cry and cry and cry and can't stop crying.
It occurs tome that I have a prejudice. Ibelieve that awoman who is fat or old or messy isn't as sympathetic a character as a young attractive neat woman crying. (Who really cares if awoman who's a "fat ol slob" is sad?)
Is she going to throw my dressers in the dumpster?
7:15 I just took another bag of recyling out. Can I break now? Can I please. NO? Not yet? I'm getting hungry. I've only had ONE MEAL. Can I eat? NO? NOt yet? Please?
Have I died? Is this hell? No, not yet?
2:15 AM I was hoping to download Sylvanna, but it is 2:15 AL tomoorw (well,today, now, but I'mstill not inbed and I just can't do onemore thing--AGAIN.) There are toomanydagnabbit things I have to do. And the things I "want" to do get left by the wayside.. Tic tic tick the clock is ticking and Iamwaiting for Toby to shut down. I had a goal of cleaning up Toby and I have tried nearly everynight to tranfer somefiles to Hilda, but itis taking so long.
I wanted alsoto delete somefiles etc once I got themmoved, ut that will have to wait. Whichmeans I've accomplished nothingforemptying Toby.
HUH,what day is this,it must beFriday August 4th, but the date is wrong on this Psion. It's almost ten.
Last night, I had trouble turning off Toby again because it was running slowly. I had stuff to tranfer to Hilda, whichwould speed it up, butit was running so slowly I never got to do that, I was too tired. I went to bed so late, 2:30 AM,and then couldn'tsleep because I was having trouble with the CPAP mask. First it fell apart. I had to turn the lights back on and fart around with it. Then, It wouldn't settle and kept hissing air inmy face. I think it needs to be replaced, but I'm only allowed a new one every so often, I forget how often, and I wasted my new one on that weird one. I really shoeld try that one again. Mybe I would LIKE it if I could get used to it.
10:49 AM Friday, August 4, 2006, OK, I fixed the clock on the Psion. It now says the correct time and date. I hope.
11:01 So I went outside to trim the islandnext to theneighbors,and there isamn sitting in a whitecar on the road in front ofmy house. Hewas making menervous,so I wnet back in. The trimmer ranout of power anyway and needs to be recharged.
12:12 PM I just finished onemorebag of recylcing and carried it to the garage, six so far this round (yesterday and today.)
12:35 PM' I just finished another bag of recycling,whichmakes 7anda half, a forgot to count a smaller bag. I'm takinga short break topee andbrush my teeth etc. Get adrink. Idon'tknowhow long I cankeep doing this without a longer break or switch to some other cleaning project, because I am getting all stuffed up
And my nose is running.
12:54 I pack annother box andcarry it to the garage. It's a big box,but there's not a lot init, 2 sleeping bags,a winter jacket, my expedition weight fleece pants etc.
Then the realizationof a mininightmare sceario. I am wearing filthy clothes and no bra--filthy because I am working in the basement, no bra because 1more comfortable, and 2)I haven't showered yet. I wasn't expecting company. I'mout in the garage adjusting the positions of the boxes so the garage door will clothes when a young man arrives to survey the property. I have to stand there old andfat and dangling breasts, sweaty and filthy,andtalk to him. I guess of the roofer and the surveyors and people are coming here and I have to interact with them, I'd better shower and wear a braandnicer clothes. Which of course will get dirty anyway. AK! WAHN.
It may be cooler than earlier in the week,but it's still hot be working.
I still have a thorn inmy foot and I did not get the bee stinger out--at least part of it is still in there.
One time, when I wasvisitng Robert, I stepped on a thorn in my bare foot and it stayed in my foot and bothered me for more than TWO YEARS. I hope thatdoesn'thappen this time. I can't findit when I feel for it, but it hurts when I walk on it. It's in themiddle of the right side of my right foot.
I have to cut the mat for my state fair pictures and I don't know how to go about doing that with the tools and materials I have available.
1:41 PM I got another box packed,labeled sealed and carried to the garage. Once again, I had to reshuffle boxes in order to get that box, which was bigger,into the pile,not just take down the smaller ones, but move things around to make space at the bottom. But onemorebox is packed.
There are now 11 packed boxes in the garage. Nine of them, I believe, werehauled out here yesterday or today and two I packed earlier in the week.
Or last week, really, because I had been working on IconsandImages. I'm going to have to break from my Mad cleaning to work on the that fair pix.
1:54 PM I got another box packed,YAY. I have to admitthat bothof the last two boxes I finised were ones I'd started while Keith was still here and I had only to "top them off",not quite as easy as it sounds,as one of them was quitelarge. I'm not counting the work I do until a unit of work is completed, so Iamy work on a box or bag for days before it is actually finished. I don't want to take anythung unnecessary because then I'll just have to dealw tih it again and it will be clogging the new house. However, because of the rush, I'mpacking more unsorted stuff than I'd prefer to jsut to get out of HERE as fastas possible, it's already been ridiculously long.
2:41 PM I just sorted through a garbage-bag full of stuff hauled down to the livingroom two weeks ago. Itwas slow growing with little final product, but I did get through the bag, and taht's soemthing. Now I am going to make myself alate lunch and shower, I hope.
6:10 PM The title Keith mailed arrived inthe mail today and I addressed and stamped the DMV envelope and droveto Mailboxes etc or somewhere to make a copy of my driver's license and then drove down to the Liverpool Post Office and mailed the Title and Registration to the DMV for the second time. I hope it arrives back before my registration expires. It's too bad the timing is off, because once I leave the Kimbrook house, I will begetting a Michigan driver's license and registration. Time and money simply wasted.
But since I am hearing of people dying and being blown to bits in Lebnon and Israel and Palestine and Iraq and Afghanistan, I guess the fact that I have some wasted expenses and am tired from insufficient sleep is pretty insignificant in the greater sceme of things.
I decided that since Iamout in the car anyway, I would walk at Radisson for a slight change of scene.
One thing I do not unbderstand is why the Solstice is called Midsummer when it is the beginning of summer and this, which is the middle of summer is called Lammas,Lugnastad,or first harvest. Well, I do understand first harvest, but it seems asif this should also be midsummer and not the solstice which is first summer.
I HATE the fact that the space car on this and all Psions is (are) shit.
I wish someonewould invent the perfect Psion (palmtop).
I'm so tired.!
While I was out I also got boxes, 6 of them.
I feel more like sleeping than walking. I feel tremendously sleepy, like curling up on the grass in someone's backatd and going rigjt to sleep. But I am walking slowly alonbg, walking so I can continue to walk, down the paced sidewalks where two men are working in a backyard doing something with a small tractor,smoothing the ground I guess, and another man is edge trimmingw ith a very loud edge trimmer. It is hardly the peaceful idyllic scene I'd prefer.
In the wooded areas, touch-me-nots are flower, and the bees are attending the flowers, and pokeweed is in flower and early fruit and the squirrels are chasinge achother around on the forest floor. The path is wet and green withmoss, much more sothan any year I remember.
And the mosquitoes are buzzing and humming andlighting and biting,worse than any August I ever remember in Radisson. The ditches are full of water and Iam sure the water is full of wrigglers.
I pass a cute baby bunny butmake no attempt tophotograph itbecause I still haven't switched lenses back to the 300. I'm very tried and low energy and just walking is taking all my effort,something Keith doesn't always seem to undetsnad. Plus it's very buggy here, so if I stop, I'll get bitten. I need to changeback to the 300 and keep THAT lense on during outings. Sothat I can get animals and birds. If Iwant a flower, and need to 100, Ican swicth back if the bugs aren't too bad.
There are all these warnings about getting rid of standing water in your yard,but these people all haveponds intheur yards, and how precisely can they drainthem?
The blister on my feet frommowing on the 90 plus day when Iwas saturated in sweat havenearly deflated and don't hurt asmuch.
I reach Lake Oberon in 14 miutes. There is a young woman there, African American and overweight. I say hi. She has a pretty face. She reminds me of someone. I am aware of her dark skin and judgeher a little for being so overweight, jsut as I judgemyself. For some reason,I do not thus judge all my friends. I don't know why thatis.
I would prefer not to have those feelings and attempt to erase or release them
I am walking theloop portion of the standard walkinthe opposite direction from the wayI normallywalk it. This was because I was hoping to see water liliesstillopen, but theyare already all closed for the impending night.
That big Rotweiler with the mean deep voice hurtles itself at me and the dfence between us,scaring me as it always does.
* * *
Clarence stood on the stage in his Nixon mask. He held up a mirror and spoke to his reflection. He was saying something about a war, but Addie wasn't listening. She was watching the jerky way he walked, and listening below his words to the nervous stutter of them, He looked like a cross between a banty rooster and a braying donkey. Suddenly hewhopped off hsi amsk, but it was not Calrence's face underneath but George Bush's. He was still talking about war. He wastalking about Afghanistan and Iraq and Lebanon and Palestine and Syria. He was talking about collateral damage. People, he meant, people being killed by the bombs. Women like herself, children like Satcie and Amber. Babies like Jeremy.
Addie clutched at her heart and picked up her cell phone. She wated to call madeline and see if the kids were OK. But of course they were, why wouldn't they be. She couldn'tcall though,because the room was so crowded she couldn't move to go to the restroom or out to the sidewalk. Calrencewas so polular. All his students showed up at his readings and lectures, all his groupies and hanger-oners. Adddie soemtimes worried about the girl students who flocked aroundhim, about the lady professors. About the other poets.
Clarence strutted around the stage, and finally pulled offhisGeorge Bushmask. Bust it wasn't Clarence underneth, it was Donald Rumsfelt. Clarence has a big head, but it wasn't thatbig. How many masks could he have under there? Addie wondered if Clarence waseven in there. She looked at the women leaning forward with their mouths open. Laughing. Crying. The men with theiramsfolded. Calrence was kind of funny looking, really, that small body jerking around on stage blabbing at his own reflection, something about the hundred Donald Rumsfelds and the hundred Clarences. That tiny jerky body spasing out up there and the big nervous head.
Why did she worry about him? Who would want him, anyway?
Clarence stripped off another mask. This time she was sure it would be his own face, butno. He was a dead baby. A baby who'd been killed by a bomb. The bomb hadn't destroyed his abilty to talk. He talked like George Bush, all whiney and defensive. Thenhewasthe motherkeening, holding a torn doll he'd pulled out of somewhere, out of a shirt that lookedtoosmall to hideit. Clarencewas a magician.
Was Clarence in there anywhere? Addie wanted to jump up and just keep pulling,pulling at themasks,pulling at the skin,until the face in the mirror of her eyes was the man she loved. There was the sudden wailof a siren outside and Addie thought, if abombhits here, we're all toast. There wasnothing to stop them from coming,either,thatmuch was clear. Think 911. And all the fakeIDscrossing theborder every day.
Clarence took off another mask. He was Adolf Hitler, talking in GeorgeBush's voice. Addie tried to remember if Clarence normal voice sounded like George Bush. But she could remember his normal voice. Did he have a normal voice? Addie couldn't remember.
But now Hitler was singing a lullaby. And Addie could remember him again, remember him walking the floor last night with Jeremy, who was feeling collicky. Addie hadbeen feeling collicky herself. But that nervous banty rooster up on stage had been as calm as the mirrored lake at sunrise, his face a mask of quiet love.
On stage, Clarence took off the last mask. His real face wasactullay inside. He was laughing nervously for just a moment until the audience exploded with cheers. Addie crowded forward with the others, wanting to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin, to drag him away from Nixon and Bush and Hitler, Rumsfeld and the dead baby, all lying crumpledon thefloor.
* * *
OK, my walk is over, but my story is not.
But I'm going home. Work to do. Didn't take any pictures, to speak of.
8:07PM I just unpacked and repacked one of the boxes I'dalready packed,because I had brought home a better box. I threw away about 1/4 of what was in it, which means a box that was already packed and finished now needs more attention. But it's in a cleaner stronger box and there's that much less stuff to deal with later.
Saturday, August 5, 2006. 11:19 AM Cleaning in the bedroom, I just foundalittle folded piece of paper which I almost tossed out, but I didunfold it,and it had the outline of a nove, asequel to Frog Haven!
11:30 AM And now, deeper in the heap, I just found notes from Robert on Frog Haven.
8:11 PM I am out walking,my constitutional, in Kimbrook, under a waxing gibbousmoon,probably the nicest day of the summer, relatively cool, nit humid for a chnage, sunny and fresh, and I was inside cleaning sorting and packing all day long. And I haven't had dinner and if I don't hurry, Iwon't get any dinner. Because 9:15 is when I get on-line with Keith and I don't want to miss thator belate. The ironic thing about that is that hurrying won't getme back any sooner, Ill just have to walk further. I understand why thattell finro patients to walk a time rather than adistance, because soemthings, theycan barely walk at all, andthe time of walking is isimportnat tomanaging the disease, but it makes it hard when you're runninglate, but I really wanted to FINISHthatlast box, and I did. Of course,there was alos a bag of recycling I would have liked to have finished, but no way. I need to walk and soemhow I need to eat too. I'm hungry!
Dad and Deb I mean Bruce and Debbie looked pretty good. Their faces were more lined than they used to be and Bruce's hair is thinner on top, but they are at elast reasonably lean and healthy looking.
I wish Iwere lean.
I threw away a lot more stuff than I kept,either intorecyling orinto the trash, but as usual,I unearthed somethings Iwanted to keep. I'mspendingmore time than I would preferto spend sorting, but there is SO MUCH STUFF and most of it I don't want.
There's a little bunny, but it is so dark it is pointless to try to bget a picture of it.
It's a nice night, it really is, but I wish Icould have done something fun today or eat had awalk whileit was daytime. But the air is a little cool, and it feels really good. Peaopke are playing eitha largeball in the street and it rises up and echoes the moon. Istop and try to take a pictureof themoon,but I have no tripod so it's probably a wasted effort.
I think Imay need new sandals, these havelost their resiliency.
If Storms's story is tospan alongtimethan originally planned-darn the stupid spacebar on this computer--then what are the starting events and mainevents and story line. Storm becomes a hippie at St. Lawrence,hanging around withe hippies there. She ecomes a social activist and gets herself in trouble with school and gets kicked out. She takes a tarin to NY in June or July and gets and apartmentand begins looking for work. She gets in contact with her friends from St. lawrence and starts hanging oith them and gets ajob modeling--a temporary job,shethinsks, til she gets abetter one--that artists modeling as a nude model for art classes. She rides the staten island Ferry,drops acid,2wander around with Peterand Eric, goes to a Chines restaurant. NY is full ofnightlife. But the talk is that SF is where it's atso Peter talks her into getting a drivawy and driving to SF where they descend on Peter Balck and Janaleigh sickek. They are made welcome and stay while theylook for work but Storm gets pregnat and no one in SF will give her an abortion to theyhitchike back to NY to get an abortion because the laws in NYare moreflxible and someoneknows soemone.
Storm is very sick. Morning sickness. She can't eat without barfing andgets thinner and thinner. By the timethey get back to NY, the fourmonth limit haspassed and no one will give her an abortion there,either. Storm names the baby Gian Maria (orchoose anothername). She is sure it's a girl. Then whiel living in a crashpad, the same crashpad where the fire occurs (DialM formurder, the crack and heroineheads), she starts bleeding,5 months into the rpegnancy. Shelocks herself in the bathroom and won't comeout. She just wnats to die. Peter calls anambulance and they come in and put her in astraightjacket and haul her off tobellvue, to the charity ward,a huge open ward with no spaces hardly between thebeds. The old woman next to her dies and they simply cover her face with a sheet andleave her lying beside Strom, who thinks she too will die.
They give her a D&C and remove the baby,who has died inside her,andit is a girl, asStom has thougght. They won't let hersee it,though. Eric,Peter, Tony andChristian etc comein and give blood, because Storm has lost alot.m
Then she is out of the hsopital. They are livingdownon the waylower east sude on Forsythe streetl Whoever they are living with has an Ebglsih bike and Strom rides it aroundtryingto get her strenth back. She wantsto go home. It is November and shewants to go back to her parntes,to get a job, to go back to school. Herparents wire her the money (isthatwhat happened--I think so--and she goes home and shortly thereafter, peter shows up and though Strom s doesn't want him,he refuses to leave. Seppe threatens to call the cops, so ,to prevent that , Storm and Peter leave in the middle of the night and hitchike to California--or, no they go with Colin and a buch of otherpeole.
That's when Stormgets thatticket going 90 in a 30 zone.
They get out there and descend on Li again. They workmaking porn movies as,but only with each other, and Stormgetsajob as anude model again forreala rtists and then gets a job at Rincolnannex post office, which turns out tobe a nightmare too. Nowait,firstshe works as a toplessdanger for a while, then RincoldnannexPO. She hates itall,wnats to go back to school, saves Money buysavanand builds it into a camper littleby little. I forgottoemntion theirhippie weddingandhaightashbury and storms poetry beingsold their and the beins and dancingw ith thedeadetc. All the acid taken and the good and then bad trips andLangly Poetr Institue. All the hippie stuff. And she has amotorcycle,herownmotorcycle,and Peter is inanaccident andalmost getskilled and hisleg is crushed and he's in thehospital along time and when Strom says sheleaving, he cuts his throat from side to side, but not deepenough to kill him. And Storm stays. Fianlly she says sheisgoing andif he wants hecan come. Colin ahs moved into a hippie house ""commune" in Chittengo andinvites themtocvomeand thisinterest Peter who agrres to coem--they camp in Yellowstone andhae aninteraction with a bear in their campsite and travel slowly across the country until theirmoneyrunsout. Then theygo to Chittengo and Strom gets Peter ajob and herself atCaptainMac's Until shethrows a pitcher ofbeer inhis faceandhe fires her. Meanwhile,she goes bakc to Occ.
I haven'tmentioned the abuse, Peter is very abusive to her,hits her,beats her,t racks her downwhensherunsoff toEscalenand Big Sur etc. AndinChittenago,itjust getsworse. He's beating heranneighors call the cops and the cops comeandtheysaid to Strom,is thisman your husndand an she says ye and theysay I'msorryma'amwe can't help youand hebeginspummeling herandkicking herin the faceand stomach while thesops stand and watch anddo nothing.
Storm begins a strategy of trying to get rid of Peter. She's having acid flashbacks and thinsgare confusing. meanwhile, all this fre love is going on and storm hatesit. When te whole hippie house comes down with the clap, Atromdoesn't have it,forwhich she isgratefull. She'sbeen hiding oouta t the student unionflirtingwil BillSkvarch and others.
Finally, Peter leaves with Pattyafter Patty givces up siraqaforadoptuion, and Strom moves inwith Mikewhohas just returned from Vietnameandgoes tothemotcycle dirt bike races and is going to sumer school. Ilmconfused astothe timelinehere, but Ithink she bre==no,no, that's not right,never mind.
The story ends with Stormback at college at EsF,w here she roiginally ha wanted to go,it'sher firstdayback, and we see asimilarsebe of her arrival but now shehas been changed by these events, by the hippie stuff (an important part of the story) by all the drugs, by being raped,byebing abused, by begging on the streets, by the doctor who sexuallyabused herwhen shecut herfoot openaandsoon.
She's sadder but wiser, still plagued by acid flashbacks and so on, but eager to startover and make a new life.
Sunday, August 6, 2006, 11:43 PM I am sitting at my desk feeling frustratedbecause Toby is toofullandfunningslowlyasaresult. and I can't do what I need and want to do. 12:07 I deleted a bunch of files but thecomputer still willnot work. I wanted to do several things, none of which should take long, BUT the computer has just slowed to a total standstill. I am STUCK and cannot so anything. I can't even turn the computer OFF and I don't want to leave it on all night so I have to sit here for hours while it tediously completes each 30-second operation in 45 minutes. Meanwhile, the spacebar on this computer does not work and it takes 5 times longer than normal to write a single sentence. Or more.
I would like every much to simply go to bed, but I cannot. And I also cannot accomplish anything, between these two failed computers.
Monday, August 7, 2006, 4:57 PM
The poetryreading tonight is about surving domestic violence, whichI have done, but all my poems are in Detroit. And I have to walk. And I only have a hour before I haveto leave meet Janine. I have to walk 45minutes and then get readytoleave. Can I write a poem or two or three and walk in that time and have one or more of them be worthy of reading.
I don't know.
* * *
Answering an Emergency Call, 1966 (Before they changed the law)
They stood, hands on their billy clubs
watching
while he kicked
her in the face and stomach, kicked
until her teeth broke
and her lips bled. The stood and watched
and said nothing. Then turned and left.
"M'am," they asked her, first, though she didn't know they meant her
at first, though she thought of herself
as a girl, as a child. "M'am,
is this your husband?" He'd been slugging her then, in the face,
in the breasts, and he stopped, to let her
answer.
"Yes," she had said. What else could she say
but the truth, hard as it was?
And they stood, looking sad, their eyes wide and dark
and somehow wounded. As if it was they who were being beaten,
as if it was their baby who might die from those kicks.
"M'am," they said, voices cracking, "We can't help you."
"What kind of law . . ." she'd started to ask, before
he mashed his knucles into her face and she went down
backwards.
She Remembers Alleys
the crazy way they titled, the way they threatened to tip
and spill her
under his feet. She was fast, but he was faster,
her head starts shrinking, doorways
refuse to opening, no refuge, and women's rest rooms
no haven any longer. She remembers
the knife
he held over her head while the women in the next stalls trembled,
the length of the blade.
She remembers bushes, pricker bushes, where she crawled
shredding her skin to escape him.
Or try.
She never succeeded. Not for long.
His arms stretched through the city, ballooning
with fists to find her. Fists with eyes.
Feet with black wings.
"Have you seen my wife?" he kept asking.
Someone always pointed the way.
She was aftraif to come home.
The air in the housecongelaed and stiffened
and trapped her. It was fulloflightning, thunder
dense with crackling anger
with rage. She never knew how to turn it back.
She couldn't be nice enough. Niceness was a crime
or plot. It was her fault if the basketball team lost
or if his boss wnatedhimto go in early
orif his dog messed the floor. That was her fault.
She made him angry by simply existing, by breathing
his air. At the shelter, they spoke of red flags.
Of calling for help. But when he took her back,
everything he said and did did was red,
and ripped the phone from the wall.
5:24 PM Well, there are three poem,but they are first drafts. Or they all one poem.
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