Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Maura was delighted to be alone, finally. She’d been waiting all day to get the kitchen all to herself. There was a lot of work to do if she was going to be ready for the pre- judging and she didn’t need the prying eyes of the other contestants peering over her shoulder. Maura thought a win here would set her apart from the rest of the students. Maybe Madame Cora would notice her, finally.
Madam Cora is the queen of culinary arts and Maura was in love with her.
Ingredients assembled, utensils aligned, Maura set about her work. She’d decided on three dishes, going for the maximum allowed. She told herself it wasn’t overkill. The banging overhead was annoying, but Maura was determined not let anything knock her off her stride. She was on a mission.
The cumin-spiced sirloin with tomatillo salsa was going to anchor Maura’s entries so she decided to concentrate most on this dish, which would be easier if that incessant banging would cease. Maura wondered who was upstairs making all the noise. She wondered if it was one of the other students trying to distract her. She’d show them, she refused to be rattled.
Maura put the ingredients for the salsa in the food processor and flipped the switch. Damn. Nothing, no juice, why? Maura flipped the switch a few more times and still, nothing. Maura walked over to the circuit box to check the fuses. Of course she didn’t know what the heck she was going to do when she got there. Food she knew, fuse boxes? Not so much.
Before Maura had to decide what to do about the fuses in the box, the lights went out. Believing she must now be the un-lucky recipient of some prank, Maura didn’t panic. She did get angry and anxious. All she wanted was to finish her meals and every delay, every diversion hurt.
The banging stopped. Maura was ecstatic because her head was near splitting from the noise. Maura hoped for the lights to return without incident. She wondered why the pranksters would stop before the prank was concluded. Still, she hoped.
In either case, Maura was determined to cook these jerks under the table, putting her closer to the lovely Madam Cora. Madam Cora, hazel eyes that mesmerize, tantaliz..Bang! Maura was shaken from her reverie by big clanging sounds. Just then the lights return allowing Maura to see the source of the noise. Pots strewn from the pantry had landed in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Maura, full with all the shenanigans, stomps over to the pots building intent to do bodily harm to the first of her horrid classmates to show their putrid face. The rage taking over every fiber blinds Maura to the reality. Her last thought was how the cold floor could feel so warm.
Madam Cora’s thoughts wandered that morning during class. The lovely green eyed Maura must be sleeping in this morning-sleeping the sleep of the dead.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
A few weeks ago: Hey Harold! I hear there's a bun in the oven...and it's cooking too!!!! Congratulations man! Hey, this is your cousin Daryl, Daryl from California. Call me!!!
A couple weeks after that message I answer the call from California--recognizing the number. Daryl says hey and I go on to tell him that he's got the wrong number. But that daughter and I got a kick out of the 'bun in the oven' message. Daryl and I share a giggle. I tell Daryl that he's left several messages on my machine, he's dialed incorrectly a few times. Incredulous, he asks about the number, the town. I just assure him that while he's dialing the correct area for his cousin Harold, he is indeed dialing the wrong number. Daryl believes me, but unwilling to let go--asks me what I'm wearing. I laugh, quite out loud, before hanging up on him.
Heard on ans. machine once a week since: Hey Harold! This is your cousin Daryl, Daryl from California. I've been trying to get in touch with you man. give me a call.
Friday, October 26, 2007
After she's run the gamut she crashes herself into my ankles. I reach down to pet her and she wiggles and waggles towards flipping over on her back, offering up her belly. Having her belly rubbed ranks high on the pleasure meter for diva dog, AW. Oh, don't get me wrong, D gets the same greeting, only times 12.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
His letter to me in 1980 was in response to a letter I’d sent several months prior. He makes mention of this. I gather that in my letter I mentioned the plan to “hook up” with the man who would become father to my son and daughter, he makes mention of this as well, advising me to “be careful.” This communication in 1980 would have marked the first such communication in several years—on either side. I was trying to get past an intense hatred I felt for him. I don’t know what his motivations were. He said he loved me. I had a very difficult time believing he felt anything akin to love towards me.
Since 1980 there have been perhaps ten letters between us—his to me were usually in response to one of mine to him, always several months or years after the fact. Since 1980 I have seen him twice, talked with him on the phone perhaps a half-dozen times—the last time maybe 3 years ago. He did call and leave a message on the machine a year ago. When he didn’t call back like he said he would, I called him—got his machine, left a message of my own. I’d resigned myself to his silences leading into this exchange of messages. I’ve had to all over again. The silences really don’t bother me that much anymore. I prefer the silence over the lies.
In the years since 1980 I’ve come to feel something other than intense hatred for him. In all likelihood it wasn’t even hatred I was feeling. How could I hate my father? I didn’t even know him, not really. Further, what I’ve come to realize over that time-line was I don’t want to know him. Really, I don’t.
Still, he’s been on my mind a lot lately. Perhaps the letter, perhaps the birth date that recently passed, perhaps my younger brother—his spitting image—kicking up dust these days, is bringing him to my mind, perhaps.
The last time we talked he told me he loved me. I still have a hard time believing that sentiment. How could he love me? He doesn’t know me any better than I know him. Further, the realization has finally settled into my head, my bones, my soul-he doesn’t ever want to know me. Really, he doesn’t.
Friday, October 19, 2007
What I miss most about her being there and me being here is the touching. That touching to be sure, but all touching. The holding of hands, rubbing of backs, the sweet simple caresses of women in love—yes, I miss this most.
Well, that and the eggs. She does make a killer omelet.
The making of plans has begun in earnest as it’s starting to feel more real now. Only a bit more than 60 days, nearly close enough to taste it—oh the sweetness of it all. I miss you baby, I’ll be there soon. Be prepared to be touched, much.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
I’m sure you’ve noticed there have been some changes around here. I’m not sure why but then again, why not? I did like it the way it was but I was tooling around and before I knew it I was adding this, deleting that, previewing this and eschewing that. And voila…make-over.
I had a similar kind of oh, what the heck kind of sensation with my office space. I moved my desk 2 or three times in the last 4 or 5 weeks or so, raising all kinds of comments, some eyebrows and in the case of at one co-worker, eyeballs. To a man, every single one offered an opinion as to how much roomier the new configuration made the space appear. It does finally feel right, at least for now.
What on earth has gotten into me? Is it the season? I don’t think that’s it, not all of it anyway. Tweaking the template, re-ordering the office space are but small replies to larger questions. My personal living space, for instance is in need of some minor and major make-over moves. One thing or another is keeping much of that from being accomplished right now.
But there is more. Moving desks, re-working templates and even when I get around to purging, scrubbing, sanding and painting—that won’t solve everything that seems to be swirling. There is more. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Is it simple restlessness or……?
It’s still October, isn’t it?
Sunday, October 14, 2007
When I travel via bicycle to / from work it is over 7.4 miles of city streets, 95% of which is designated bicycle lanes. I’ve noticed in the last few weeks of consistent to or from riding that the intense concentration that must be employed while riding along city streets is sometimes broken by counting. I count for instance, the number of traffic lights I pass along the route. There are thirty. When I’m in rhythm I make most of them.
At least a dozen times each way, each time, forward progress is impeded by obstacles in the bike lane. There is a very special traffic torment set aside for those folks who choose to plant themselves and / or their cars in the middle of the bicycle path, on a city street during rush hour traffic for no discernible reason. This is particularly vexing when the plant subject is a very large vehicle AND there is ample parking in sight.
Five is the number, on average of the dunderheaded motorists who decide that right turns from the left of the bicycle lane is good and proper lane usage. I have three words for these folks. That! Is! Wrong! There is at least one primal scream every trip. It doesn’t do much to move the Hummer over to the left, but it is of tremendous help to me.
There are other stats to spout but they pale in comparison to the this: the number of lucky stars in action guiding me through each and every pedal rotation.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
According to the poem, Friday's child is loving and giving. This is certainly true of my Friday's child. She loves with the whole of her heart and gives in the same manner. Her bright smile has shimmered many of the days comprising the past 22 years. I expect it will shimmer into her next 22 and beyond.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
But even those not overly lofty hopes, dashed.
Motivation daunted by the loss to two big ‘o trees. Progress stunted by construction crews trampling and crushing most everything in sight. Three hostas gave their lives (probably) for new sewers, the cool grooved alley and the new (hopefully not retail) space next door being prettied for possible leasing.
It’s sad, so sad, it’s a sad, sad situation and it’s getting more and more absurd.
Oh, alright maybe it’s not that dramatic. But, it is sad (and pretty bad). But it is fall or rather, Autumn and it is time to clear, clean and get ready for Spring.
And so now that is my mission as I've decided to accept it, again. I shall clear the weeds and over grown foliage. I shall find some hearty, full sun variety of bulbs to plant. I shall plant them. I shall protect them over what may not be a harsh winter, but winter, none-the-less. I shall prepare for Spring, with colors bursting all over. Well, maybe not all over--the budget is still limited.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
My mind is fully engaged in looking at my love and thinking about when we will be together again. It’s been nearly three months since our last visit and we have another couple of months to go. The last several days we’ve been touchy, rumor has it that I’ve been snappish (or short). The tension is relatively painless and has been short lived. Still it crackles. Though we talk (have talked) every single day—some days for HOURS, the loneliness that befalls each of us at times is intense to the point of being fierce.
These past few weeks have been hard and the next few will be harder still--what carries me through is the knowledge and the comfort that follows knowing she is there, always. Neta tolerates my moods, endures my workplace frustrations, understands and exhibits extreme patience towards my family obligations. She is in short, a gem.
She calls me the best girlfriend in the whole world, well, note that I give as good as I get.
My mind is occupied with thinking about the sight of her standing in front of me, the feel of her in my arms and the sensation of her lips upon mine. December will bring a feast for all our senses.
Thanks for everything baby. This is for you. (that's for the public Deb---SMILE)
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Monday, October 01, 2007
Meet Diamond, our new little pup. She’s a 5 year old pug/terrier mix—at least that’s my theory. The family that surrendered here wasn’t exactly sure of her parentage. You be the judge.
What I do know about her is that she is cute beyond words, frisky and obviously used to being the queen D. We thought Pete would be a problem, but nooooooo such is not the case. He’s been the perfect gentleman, not that he’s had much choice. Diamond came in with such an air of entitlement that he was forced to defer to her will—to a point. He’s obviously very annoyed when she tries to “top” him. He leaps out of her reach and then all is well.
For the most part, the kids play nicely together. And that makes both mommies very happy.