Declaration of the Occupation of New York City

This is huge.  I cannot sit quietly by.  I am the 99%.  I am out in the streets.

Petitions

I recently received a petition to ask the congress or the president or someone in power to forgive student loan debt.  I think that is utterly ridiculous.  As long as the system stays the same, those loans need to be paid back so other young people can get them as well.  If no one pays, where will the loans for the new freshman come from?  How will next year’s seniors finish school?  Unless the system goes to one like England has, where anyone who is a citizen can go to school for free.  Then I would agree that we should forgive all the loans.  Until then, there are some things that ought to be left alone. 

Jerry my Phone Gnome

So the other day, my phone stopped working properly. By that, I mean, I could no longer hear the person on the other end of the line, but he could still hear me. I found this out, when I finally got the speaker phone to turn on and I was told how annoying this was getting. This is spoken by my very patient husband. It only took 3 or 4 calls to him before I realized something was amiss and another 2 to figure out how to get the speaker on before he hung up again.

The reason things like this happen to my phone is Jerry. Jerry is my phone gnome. Jerry wreaks all kinds of havoc with my phones. Yes, that’s plural. Jerry seems to travel from phone to phone enjoying my company and watching my frustrated antics as each subsequent phone ceases to operate properly. Of course Jerry isn’t actually a gnome, but he hates it when I call him that. Since this is the only way I have found to get back at Jerry and cause him some annoyance, I find myself taking the opportunity every chance I can get. Jerry seems to want to play at least once a week and sometimes every day. Jerry is quite unpredictable. But I have grown to love Jerry over the years and I can’t imagine a life on the cell phone without Jerry there to cause static, dropped words and calls, screwed up speakers and of course the wrong dial.

Agnes Under the Big Top: A review

We saw Agnes Under the Big Top last night at the Long Wharf Theater in New Haven, CT. My favorite part, was the set. This design was truly amazing and the show is worth seeing just for that reason. It seemed so simple and yet did so much. There were so many moving parts it fun to watch. They did a great job of creating the subway station. I loved the platform signs that showed the scene titles. The subway station feel was great. From what I read, this set was very elaborate and required a bit of machinery. I wish I knew better how to talk about set design because this was very cool and I know I am not doing it justice.


I liked the lighting too. Again, it felt like being in the subway station, waiting on the platform, seeing the trains go by. The way the stage was lit between scenes, really worked as well. I liked being about to see what was going on and the set would change. The way the crew moved with the rhythms as they changed scenes was awesome. It all flowed to rhythm of the trains...it was brilliant.

The acting was fine. There were a couple of outstanding performances, but mainly outstanding moments. I loved the human music machine.

I'm not sure why but the show, overall, was just ok. I'm unable to pinpoint what it was that prevented it from being anything other than good. I always knew I was watching a show. There were moments that really stood out and I would forget for a moment where I was and enter the scene with the characters, but for the most part that didn't happen.

We should have stayed for the "talk-back" afterward, maybe it would have helped make sense of it, but I do think art should be able to stand on its own. I do love the theater though and a good (not great, not bad) show is way better than no show. There was much to admire and be in awe of so for me it was still a win.

Good chance I lost it again.
What is "it"?
"It" is me.
Me on paper.
Me on the screen, pretending to be paper.
That is where I lost it again.

The first time,
It was stolen by man.
This time stupidity took it.
The screen is not paper.
If you want it to last,
it ought to be backed up.

I didn't do that.
I lost it again.
My words.

Oh lamentable day.

The day the computer refused to boot.

Writing

I miss writing. There is something soothing or comforting in the act of placing the symbols for sounds on a page. Stringing them together to form thoughts or ideas that can be shared is quite fulfilling. What is it about this simple act many of us take for granted, that is so enticing? Perhaps it is taking the intangible, thought, and giving it a life to be touched, viewed and, with the right implement, even smelled.

Extracting ideas, that without the written word, would have no place to go, they could be told verbally, but it isn’t the same as existing on the material plane, giving them concreteness, is so exhilarating for me, that I often find myself writing about nothing more than writing or the idea of not having ideas which is still giving form to the creation of something from nothing. The nothing being lack of thought, the something being the words I am writing and hopefully you are reading.

Ahh, fulfillment.

My Inner Hippie

Things. We have them. We desire them. House, automobile, land, clothes, items to fill the home. We then need to hold on to them, for we musn't let go. The keeping and acquiring of these things takes a great deal of effort. For some, it is all that life is about, they thrive on their efforts to retain and gain. For others it is only with great difficulty and a huge amount of energy that they can have or keep the basic necessities for life. What would happen if we were to use that same amount of energy to love? Love each other, love the flowers, love the weather, just love. Love would encompass appreciation; appreciation for food to nourish; a roof, be it tarpaulin or wood, to keep the elements at bay; a hug to fill the soul. Things take great energy to retain. Love, freely given and received is what we really need, not a thing or any thing else at all.

The Baby

The phone was ringing. As my arm groped around for the source of the sound, my eyes blearily took in the time, 1 AM. Who the hell was calling at 1 AM? It was Meadow (not her real name), a very dear friend of mine. “My water broke. I didn’t go into labor yet”, I heard the phone say to me. My mind was trying to comprehend what that was supposed to mean to me. I had been asleep for about an hour and a half and was pretty sure I had some more of that to do. “Huh?” was about as articulate as I got in that moment. “Yeah, this is how it was with my son. We’re getting ready to go to the hospital, will you meet us?” “Uh, yeah.” “What are you thinking?” “My mind is racing in a million directions. I’ll see you there.” Oh no, I had planned for every possible outcome, except this one: middle of the night labor with husband out of town. Ugh!!! I had to get to the hospital. I had to get dressed. I had to find a place for my kids. I couldn’t think straight. There was a baby due to arrive in the world and I had to be there, but how? I thought I was prepared, but apparently, I wasn’t even close. I called my husband’s cell, he didn’t answer. I called my mother-in-love’s phone, she did, “Meadow’s water broke” I said. That’s all I had to say, we’ve all been waiting for this moment. “OK. Hold on. I’ll get him” she croaked in her “middle of the night, I’m sound asleep” voice. I hear her get out of bed and wake him. I tell him he needs to come home and get the kids, but there’s a hitch, I don’t know where they’ll be. I’ll call back as soon as I do. He is so wonderful. He woke up and was in the truck on his way home in less than fifteen minutes. Of course, he was still two hours away.

I had a list. I made this list because I didn’t want Meadow to worry about my end of things. I made a list of friends who would aide me, when I was called to aide her. These friends were willing to watch my children if their father wasn’t around, but only until he could get there. The deal was that I’d call him wherever he was and he’d come get them. He could be up to two hours away, depending on what job he was working on. When I originally asked each person to do this for me, the conversation was based on the assumption that this would be during the day. I never considered the fact this could happen after the sun went down. Neither did any of my friends on the list, who all happen to be parents by birth. What had I been thinking? Of course not one of them heard their phone. I called my husband back. “That plan isn’t working” I barked. “Why can’t the kids just stay there? I’ll be home soon.” replied the calm voice of reason. What a good idea. Now that was solved, all I had to do was find something to wear. I had a choice between looking good in cleanish clothes or donning a clean not-so-flattering attire. I decided the baby wouldn’t care what I looked like, but deserved the respect of cleanliness. I still needed a book, a change of clothes, and a pair of sneakers. Luckily they were all in the same room. I tossed them in bag, filled my water bottle...And I was off.

The hospital, which I have never actually been to, was over an hour away. I was a bit concerned about falling asleep at the wheel. I had just had a long day and with only an hour and half of shuteye, this was a very real concern. Why hadn’t I thought about this? What was I going to do? A solution began to form. I had to stop for coffee. Even if it was too hot to drink, the fear of dropping it on my lap would keep me awake.

Getting to the hospital proved itself to be pretty easy, it was exactly where I had imagined it. The problem began after I got there. It was a huge and sprawling complex. How in the hell was I supposed to find them? I couldn’t find any signs indicating that they even had a birthing center at this place. Maybe I wasn’t looking hard enough. Maybe I was at the wrong hospital. I really needed to find them. I managed to locate the main entrance and a parking lot not too far away. The night was very cold and windy. As I was walking towards the main entrance I remembered Meadow telling me she left directions on the phone. Shit! I hadn't checked cell messages in weeks. When I finally get to her message, it sounded like she was about to have the baby. I began to worry. A security guard came up to me as I was listening and told me I had to go back to my car, drive around to another lot, then walk down and around to the emergency room. UGH!!! I kept having visions of walking into the room and hearing the wail of a baby. Where are they? Why didn’t I check this place out sooner?

I finally found my way into the building, now I needed to get to the family. A surly night guard let me in and pointed me in the right direction. At last, the Birthing Center. It actually existed. The night nurse confirmed I was at the correct hospital when she recognized Meadow's name and directed me to “room #11, right down the hall”. I knocked and went in.

I actually held me breath, listening for the baby as I entered the room. To my relief, there was no crying baby, yet. What I did see was my beloved friend lying on the hospital bed, her lover and father of the baby by her head, a group of 3 or 4 women standing all around her. I saw her older children on the couch, bleary eyed. I took off my coat. I helped her son to take off his. They hadn’t been there very long themselves.

A few minutes go by. She is ready to push. I check in with the kids to make sure they are ok. I ask if they want to watch, they both nod not saying a word and get to their feet. We stand at the foot of the bed. Her daughter, the oldest, is standing to my left, my arm around her. Her son is to my right and doesn’t want to be held. They both seem nervous to me, but ok. That seems reasonable, so I let it be. Meadow starts to push. I can see a head just up the birth canal a little bit. Not quite to the opening. Her son keeps checking the clock. Meadow’s head is pushed back and I think she’ll snap her own neck. “Put your chin to your chest” the midwife says, gently over the sounds of pain and work coming from Meadow. She pushes a couple times and her vagina opens wide and the top of the head pushes on it. It opens more and the baby’s head comes half out. She takes a break, only a breath or two, then she’s pushing again and the whole head is out. I am filled with awe. Another breath and groan and push and the baby turns, then another breath. Another push and there she is. All blood and baby and Meadow and love and her son is checking the time of birth. “3:27” he says, “Actually, 3:26 and 45 seconds.” He’s right. As soon as her foot was out he was on that clock. He knew. Leave it to a big brother.

Within minutes baby girl was crying, then nursing. She knew what to do. Proud Papi cut the cord. I took pictures with their cell phone. It all happened so fast they left the camera in the car. I hope the pics come out ok. I know I don’t need them, I won’t ever forget this.

I have never witnessed a birth before. Meadow asked me a few months ago if I’d be there for her or her kids or whoever needed what. Of course I agreed. We’ve been friends for 9 years, the family means a lot to me. I never thought it would be like that though. Less than 10 minutes of pushing. I was ready to coach and say sweet encouragements and walk with her in the halls and read to the kids and do so many supportive things. In the end, it was quick and intense. A lot like my girlfriend. She is intense. Why would I think her birthing would be anything other? This baby girl is so loved and beautiful. She looks just like her father. I didn’t want to interfere, so I tried to stay out of the way, but it was hard. I wanted to hold her pretty badly. After an hour or so, Meadow had to empty her bladder, and asked if I’d like to hold the baby while she did. As if I’d say no. Wow. Holding that new, fragile, life in my arms was truly an honor. She’s strong and vocal and lovely. She doesn’t have a name yet, but that’s ok. She has love, the name will come.

Pretentious Poem

Pretentious Poetry,
Pretentious Poems,
Pretentious Poets.
The snake eating
Its own tail.
Some are just myopic.
Peering peripherally,
Well, then its plain as paper.
They don their pretty clothes
- or their not so pretty clothes
Writing words
Attempting to convey
A something.
So sure of their grasp of the language.
And, to what avail?
To impress?
Impress on who, or on what?
We hide behind our words
As others – behind masks.
We profess these to be our Truths.
And confess our depths perceptions.
But is it?
Look closely?
Could it be a decoy?
No really one knows.
And – in the end,
No one cares.
The paper crumbles
- as do we all –
A grave by pauper or prince
Is still a grave.

The Guys Go Fishing

My husband and our friend love to fish. So do I. So do our kids. Its fun and most of us enjoy eating fresh fish. I caught my first two keepers toward the end of the season. Now, I use the phrase “end of the season” very loosely. The reason being, these men are fanatical about fishing. They have spent at least a few hours every weekend since the water froze, ice fishing. I have spent every weekend since the water froze, teasing them. You see, they spend all evening, the night previous to fishing day, preparing their tip ups, lines, and other gear. They usually get 0-3 hours sleep, owing to the fact that they need to be the first ones on the ice, in order to get first pick of the lake. Then they spend the rest of day standing around 6 inch holes, freezing their asses off. They call this fun. They try to get me to join them. They just don’t get it. There is nothing in my genetic make up that thinks this is a good idea. My people are from the desert. My husband, on the other hand, was created to thrive in a cold climate, as some of his ancestors were Swedish. Hell, the cold is probably good for his constitution. More power to him. You just won’t find this woman any where near them if they happen to be standing around on ice.

Each week they go out with high hopes. They know which ponds stock which fish. They are equipped with the appropriate gear. Each week they come home and tell me about the guy who caught a salmon just as they were about to leave or the trout they caught, but didn’t quite land. One weekend they even brought home a few perch, to appease me, but they were barely edible. Too much work for not enough meat. There has to be some equation to make it worth it. For example, sun fish. Most people wouldn’t bother. They’ve heard they’re not good eatin’. Well let me tell you. They are the candy of the lake. So I’m willing to work for the little meat you get, but with perch... Sorry, just doesn’t cut it for me. Pardon me, I digress, I was discussing these gentlemen and their bizarre ritual. As I said earlier, I find it hard not to tease them. What is there to take seriously?

Well I guess today is the day they came home with the answer.

Take a look at these:

They did it!!!

Now that's a fish!

Yumm!!!

I guess they showed me. I don’t mind eating a little crow, especially when it tastes like salmon.