Sunday, November 30, 2008
2008...Thanksgiving with the gang at our house
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Jessie hard at work....cooking and cooking and cooking....and it was beautiful!
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One of two beautiful turkeys (Yay!)
Almost everyone has arrived (more family than friends....Sarah, Derrik, Mandi, and Angie)
Mandi, Sarah, derrik, angie, jess C., and aubry...wating on ash and abbyIt was lovely....Mandi and Angie's baby (Aurora) slept most of the time... Derrik (Sarah's) played in the jumper and ate...and ate...and ate....jessie got dinner ready on time and I got home from work on time. And, the most wonderful thing was that Mandi and Angie's 9 year old, Sarah's 7 year old, and our 7 year old, and our 11 year old stayed outside almost all day long....because....we had sun.
What a beautiful day....and a very beautiful dinner....love you jessie
Picking up in April Parts 1 and 2, By C.B.
Picking up in April
Part 1
By C.B.
written in 2002
I'll give up anything-
my home, my security,
you,
to be with the one I love.
You step off of the bus. This time a plane,
All very old fashioned,
tears in the rain,
green stripes to black- to tan- and back again.
My hand tightens on the flag as you hold me-
arms stretched around the baby.
"Your hair looks good........Have you lost weight?"
This is what it has come to-
after seven years together-
generic, cold, words fall and smother
our hearts with October frost.
And,
I am alone,
In a crowd of familiar faces,
with you,
more familiar than the rest.
In the morning after sex----
for the first time in 8 months,
You stand and put on your underwear.
Familiar tattoos weaving a maze on
muscular arms and back.
I rise a little and meet your eyes.
I know you will be home by ten
and,
not to ask where you are going again.
I turn to stare at a shadow
of a coat,
hanging.
Only when the darkness kills the light---
and I don't hear footsteps in the hall---
And only---
when the car engine sounds far away----
Do I kiss the hearted envelope,
touching the 6 perfect petals,
my lips touching the floral handwriting---
the scented desire of my soul.
Picking up in April
Part 2
The road is long for dinner---
but we go anyway---
baby sleeping in back.
You are screaming again----
nothing new,
something else that I've forgotten to do.
"Why can't you remember to do these things-
I don't fucking understand what in the hell is wrong
with you!"
Do I bite---
of course.
Stinging words lead to angry tears,
and after 2 days-
I am wishing that you were gone again.
You do not spend much needed time with us,
You are drwoning,
A spoonful of applesauce into baby's mouth,
As you slam your 5th drink.
Anger is seeping into the lines,
into your stone blue eyes,
and into the whiskey
that you choke down your throat.
You will yell again,
and I will cry,
and then when we turn off the lights,
I will have to give up my body...my soul....
again.
When I am pretending to love you.
When you are lying next to me in bed.
Six soft petals will enter my mind,
And I will strangle my feelings---
and wish that you were dead
Part 1
By C.B.
written in 2002
I'll give up anything-
my home, my security,
you,
to be with the one I love.
You step off of the bus. This time a plane,
All very old fashioned,
tears in the rain,
green stripes to black- to tan- and back again.
My hand tightens on the flag as you hold me-
arms stretched around the baby.
"Your hair looks good........Have you lost weight?"
This is what it has come to-
after seven years together-
generic, cold, words fall and smother
our hearts with October frost.
And,
I am alone,
In a crowd of familiar faces,
with you,
more familiar than the rest.
In the morning after sex----
for the first time in 8 months,
You stand and put on your underwear.
Familiar tattoos weaving a maze on
muscular arms and back.
I rise a little and meet your eyes.
I know you will be home by ten
and,
not to ask where you are going again.
I turn to stare at a shadow
of a coat,
hanging.
Only when the darkness kills the light---
and I don't hear footsteps in the hall---
And only---
when the car engine sounds far away----
Do I kiss the hearted envelope,
touching the 6 perfect petals,
my lips touching the floral handwriting---
the scented desire of my soul.
Picking up in April
Part 2
The road is long for dinner---
but we go anyway---
baby sleeping in back.
You are screaming again----
nothing new,
something else that I've forgotten to do.
"Why can't you remember to do these things-
I don't fucking understand what in the hell is wrong
with you!"
Do I bite---
of course.
Stinging words lead to angry tears,
and after 2 days-
I am wishing that you were gone again.
You do not spend much needed time with us,
You are drwoning,
A spoonful of applesauce into baby's mouth,
As you slam your 5th drink.
Anger is seeping into the lines,
into your stone blue eyes,
and into the whiskey
that you choke down your throat.
You will yell again,
and I will cry,
and then when we turn off the lights,
I will have to give up my body...my soul....
again.
When I am pretending to love you.
When you are lying next to me in bed.
Six soft petals will enter my mind,
And I will strangle my feelings---
and wish that you were dead
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
friends to check out
our lovely friend Betsy...artist...welder...sculptor...performer...this is her fire hula hooping video...she makes them and then hula hoops...it is beautiful...almost as beautiful as her....we love betsy.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
yep.... Denver pride....2008
The Parade....8000 degrees and they were throwing out red bulls....among tons of rainbow stuff
Balloon man with the 11 year old's hands...he has a diff. ballon costuve every year and they are all huge and lovely
and then...the performers....
The highlight of the performers on Sunday....Marth "It's rainin men and C and C music factory," Wash. On Saturday they had Sophie "Damn I wish I was you lover," Hawkins..... So much fun and then water world on Monday....Yay...Can't wait till next year
written in Jan 2008....C.B.
Things have finally calmed down for us- that is until next week when I have to go back to school early. But for now…...
Much needed time spent cuddling, space heater and new feather comforter. It is so nice to have time together. We get so wrapped up in one another. There is no drama and nothing to do. Long drives in and out of town for nothing…we hold hands all the way. We talk about the journal that I got for Christmas. Putting on eyeliner in the rearview mirror you say: "Maybe we should write a journal together. It will be like, 7:00 wake up. You get the kids dressed while I make them oatmeal and toast. 8:00 and I drive them to school while you make coffee and take it to the bedside table. Coffee and cuddling until we fall asleep all nestled in each others arms. 11:00 we get up, take a bath together, and then drive in to Casper." All of a sudden, turning up the stereo, you lose track of the conversation. "You know I truly think that the Pretenders' song, Night in My Veins, has to be the dirtiest song ever written. I can't believe that it was played on the radio as much as it has been…. I mean the whole song is about some chic getting it from behind. Wow, she really loves it too. Listen to all of the different places that she is gettin' it." With the radio on full blast you matchChrissie Hynde's voice so well that it is hard to tell where she ends and you begin. When you are done singing you turn the radio down. "Anyway, then on a little side note in the journal we can write everything that we had for lunch. We can start with the sandwiches that we had for lunch yesterday. I would eat them all over again. I can't stop thinking of jalapenos and raspberry sauce." You grab my hand. "So," I laugh, "a whole journal dedicated to our boring lives. It sounds more like a journal dedicated to the sandwich of the day. That would be Awesome!" I rub my fingers through your hair, "But what you are really saying is that you want to go to Sanford's again for lunch today. As you wish!"
Much needed time spent cuddling, space heater and new feather comforter. It is so nice to have time together. We get so wrapped up in one another. There is no drama and nothing to do. Long drives in and out of town for nothing…we hold hands all the way. We talk about the journal that I got for Christmas. Putting on eyeliner in the rearview mirror you say: "Maybe we should write a journal together. It will be like, 7:00 wake up. You get the kids dressed while I make them oatmeal and toast. 8:00 and I drive them to school while you make coffee and take it to the bedside table. Coffee and cuddling until we fall asleep all nestled in each others arms. 11:00 we get up, take a bath together, and then drive in to Casper." All of a sudden, turning up the stereo, you lose track of the conversation. "You know I truly think that the Pretenders' song, Night in My Veins, has to be the dirtiest song ever written. I can't believe that it was played on the radio as much as it has been…. I mean the whole song is about some chic getting it from behind. Wow, she really loves it too. Listen to all of the different places that she is gettin' it." With the radio on full blast you matchChrissie Hynde's voice so well that it is hard to tell where she ends and you begin. When you are done singing you turn the radio down. "Anyway, then on a little side note in the journal we can write everything that we had for lunch. We can start with the sandwiches that we had for lunch yesterday. I would eat them all over again. I can't stop thinking of jalapenos and raspberry sauce." You grab my hand. "So," I laugh, "a whole journal dedicated to our boring lives. It sounds more like a journal dedicated to the sandwich of the day. That would be Awesome!" I rub my fingers through your hair, "But what you are really saying is that you want to go to Sanford's again for lunch today. As you wish!"
about "Tintern abbey"....C.B.
about "Tintern abbey"
So....I love this poem. I think that it is beautiful and very serene. It paints a lovely picture. Anyway, I gave a copy to jess before I went to class on Thursday. At five, when class was over, I was walking to my car, freezing as usual, and my phone beeps. A text message from Baby;
"So...I read that poem.
Is that to his sister? Cuz if it is than that's sick.
If it is hidden Christ-inspirational,
double sick."
Sitting in my car, smiling, waiting for it to warm, I opened my phone and started typing,
Yes it was to his sister....but not like that
no, it
Oh well, I thought and shut the phone, just forget it.
Tintern abbey by Wordsworth
"Tintern Abbey"
FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur. -- Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.
These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration: -- feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened: -- that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on, --
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.
If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft --
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart --
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led: more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all. -- I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye. -- That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompence. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear, -- both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance --
If I should be where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence -- wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love -- oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!
So....I love this poem. I think that it is beautiful and very serene. It paints a lovely picture. Anyway, I gave a copy to jess before I went to class on Thursday. At five, when class was over, I was walking to my car, freezing as usual, and my phone beeps. A text message from Baby;
"So...I read that poem.
Is that to his sister? Cuz if it is than that's sick.
If it is hidden Christ-inspirational,
double sick."
Sitting in my car, smiling, waiting for it to warm, I opened my phone and started typing,
Yes it was to his sister....but not like that
no, it
Oh well, I thought and shut the phone, just forget it.
Tintern abbey by Wordsworth
"Tintern Abbey"
FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur. -- Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.
These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration: -- feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened: -- that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on, --
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.
If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft --
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart --
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led: more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all. -- I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye. -- That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompence. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear, -- both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance --
If I should be where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence -- wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love -- oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!
a deep thought by J.B.
By the way, if anyone wonders what in the world can be good about today....it's this: no matter how crappy life gets or how bored you may be...Genesis still rules...and when I say Genesis...I mean Phil Collins!
J.B.
J.B.
a look into our life C.B.
So jessie started jogging after work. But, she only runs on the nights that she works....usually 16 hour shifts. She comes home; changes into her running gear, and goes jogging. Then, after about a half an hour; she comes home, drinks 2 or 3 beers, takes a shower, and gets into bed. The only problem is that I have to clock out around 12 or 12:30. I just cannot stay awake any longer than that. So, I am sitting on the bed....watching Bill Maher of course (funny how wild and cutting edge those of our tribe really are)...anyway, so there I am...big glass of ice water...pajamas....reading and watching t.v.... back propped up by 3 pillows....cuddled into 2 comforters.....when jess comes in from work.
"Hey baby...I'm home," she says as she takes off her work clothes and tosses them on the floor by the door. "Aren't you gonna come in here and talk to me while I get ready to go run?" She walks up the stairs and sets a bag filled with gloves, used tupperware from her dinner, the last couple drops of a 2 liter of Mt. Dew, and an empty coffee thermos, onto the living room chair. "Wow...so not even a hello....and I thought you loved me." She walks to our bedroom and stands in the doorway, in her underwear, with her hands on her hips. "Hello?"
"Just hold on," I say staring at the t.v. "Gary Shandling and Sean Penn are on Bill tonight and Shandling is totally funny. It just started. You should watch it."
"No," she says, "I made a promise to myself that I would get some distance and I am gonna do it. If I wait till after the show it will be too late and I won't want to go because I will be afraid of getting up at 4:00 in the morning."
"I don't see why you only go on the nights that you work. On your days off you never even bother....It's just weird," I shift my books now and try to look at her and not at the television.
"You know that I don't get enough time on my days off...I just want to spend all of my time with you. And....you don't even care enough to get up and meet me at the door with my jogging clothes."
"Well," I sigh, "I didn't know that this was a new requirement. Let me just stop doing what I am doing....put all of these books and papers in a pile....and find your sweats. I bet I know where they are...still on the floor at the bottom of the bed."
"Noooooo," she says in an exagerated voice, "don't worry about it. I will work all day and miss you all day and you can just ignore me when I get home at around 11:30 at night....missing you," she sticks her bottom lip out.
"Fine I say," as I follow her to the bathroom and stand in the doorway while she laces her running shoes and fiddles with her earphones, "here I am...so what did you want to talk about?"
"Well...If you would have answered the phone the hundred times that I called since 10:30 you would already know."
"Yeah?"
"The weather guy on the radio said that there was a 100 % chance of snow tomorrow.....Can you believe that? You never hear that.....wow, if he is wrong he is gonna have to live up to a lot." She stands up and puts her hair into a ponytail.
I stare at her, "hmmm," I say nodding my head
"What?" she smiles, "don't you get it? Have you ever heard one of them say a hundred percent chance of anything? I called everyone...Betsy...Alice...I just dialed all of the numbers....since I couldn't get ahold of you," She kisses my forehead and walks past me into the hall. I follow her toward the living room. As she walks out the door she smiles at me, " You know....If you really loved me you would have an ice cold glass of ice water, a beer with a lime and salt, and my pajamas waiting for me in the bathroom when I get home.....Love you!" She shuts the front door behind her. I sigh as I walk to the kitchen. In the background I can hear the audience laughing hysterically
"Hey baby...I'm home," she says as she takes off her work clothes and tosses them on the floor by the door. "Aren't you gonna come in here and talk to me while I get ready to go run?" She walks up the stairs and sets a bag filled with gloves, used tupperware from her dinner, the last couple drops of a 2 liter of Mt. Dew, and an empty coffee thermos, onto the living room chair. "Wow...so not even a hello....and I thought you loved me." She walks to our bedroom and stands in the doorway, in her underwear, with her hands on her hips. "Hello?"
"Just hold on," I say staring at the t.v. "Gary Shandling and Sean Penn are on Bill tonight and Shandling is totally funny. It just started. You should watch it."
"No," she says, "I made a promise to myself that I would get some distance and I am gonna do it. If I wait till after the show it will be too late and I won't want to go because I will be afraid of getting up at 4:00 in the morning."
"I don't see why you only go on the nights that you work. On your days off you never even bother....It's just weird," I shift my books now and try to look at her and not at the television.
"You know that I don't get enough time on my days off...I just want to spend all of my time with you. And....you don't even care enough to get up and meet me at the door with my jogging clothes."
"Well," I sigh, "I didn't know that this was a new requirement. Let me just stop doing what I am doing....put all of these books and papers in a pile....and find your sweats. I bet I know where they are...still on the floor at the bottom of the bed."
"Noooooo," she says in an exagerated voice, "don't worry about it. I will work all day and miss you all day and you can just ignore me when I get home at around 11:30 at night....missing you," she sticks her bottom lip out.
"Fine I say," as I follow her to the bathroom and stand in the doorway while she laces her running shoes and fiddles with her earphones, "here I am...so what did you want to talk about?"
"Well...If you would have answered the phone the hundred times that I called since 10:30 you would already know."
"Yeah?"
"The weather guy on the radio said that there was a 100 % chance of snow tomorrow.....Can you believe that? You never hear that.....wow, if he is wrong he is gonna have to live up to a lot." She stands up and puts her hair into a ponytail.
I stare at her, "hmmm," I say nodding my head
"What?" she smiles, "don't you get it? Have you ever heard one of them say a hundred percent chance of anything? I called everyone...Betsy...Alice...I just dialed all of the numbers....since I couldn't get ahold of you," She kisses my forehead and walks past me into the hall. I follow her toward the living room. As she walks out the door she smiles at me, " You know....If you really loved me you would have an ice cold glass of ice water, a beer with a lime and salt, and my pajamas waiting for me in the bathroom when I get home.....Love you!" She shuts the front door behind her. I sigh as I walk to the kitchen. In the background I can hear the audience laughing hysterically
painting in color as style by J.B.
J did this painting on commission from a friend. It is a copy of a black and white photograph that she wanted done. The painting is quite large...covered most of our living room.
disillusioned by sunlight ~C.B.
Oh how the sun teases as it peaks out of an eternity of grey skies. I, a lifelong sun worshiper,am disillusioned by the broken promises of warmth.
vague....by C.B.
Who knew….who knew what people thought of you?
Did you know that after you left…
Two years of snow covered ground and bees
Two years of the seasons….bugs, and decay
Of your dreams….of your house…
Of the security that you wanted to wrap your self in
Of the frozen Christmas cookies left in a tin….
hiding in the bottom of the Maytag….
that still stands there...running...alone...
Who knew that someone else….in a world
Far, far away… would light up at the mention of
Your name…of the memory of your glory…
of an invisible fame...
Yes, my dear, dear love….yet another…
Another dim Alter…
far from the candle wax that burns…
as it drips down the wall…as it engulfs this
memory darkened hall…
my aorta…clogging
my valves ...
with trinkets and old photos…
paper thin hands and dump perfumes…
but not for you!…
And, you were so beautiful…that someone
would rise from deathbed
and wrap their hair… for you …
who thought yourself absurd….
tiny orphan...child of a crime,
of passion and insanity…
Watching, with pain, the beloved blood that dripped from my arms…
The same angry blood that ran in daddy’s Sioux veins…
And out of the back of mother’s tired, poverty- stricken Irish head.
You…on hands and knees…cleaning house for
The rich…for the kids in the cafeteria…
For him…from job to job….to job… always standing
behind…
and he was there today too…
he made her eyes lighten…he was a star…
beautiful and bright,
And she looked at me like I was the royalty…
That sprang from his thighs…but him,
he knew…
and so did you…
but only about him because we are homonyms…
and there are more similarities than
the pronunciation of the name…
and the way that we stand behind the stars…
that we hold so close…to make the world
a little more beautiful…loud...confident....and lovely…
as they shine through our shyness...guiding our way.
But you, my dear, dear love,
were not my star….you were the candle that lit my way…
untill the candle flickered out...
Did you know that after you left…
Two years of snow covered ground and bees
Two years of the seasons….bugs, and decay
Of your dreams….of your house…
Of the security that you wanted to wrap your self in
Of the frozen Christmas cookies left in a tin….
hiding in the bottom of the Maytag….
that still stands there...running...alone...
Who knew that someone else….in a world
Far, far away… would light up at the mention of
Your name…of the memory of your glory…
of an invisible fame...
Yes, my dear, dear love….yet another…
Another dim Alter…
far from the candle wax that burns…
as it drips down the wall…as it engulfs this
memory darkened hall…
my aorta…clogging
my valves ...
with trinkets and old photos…
paper thin hands and dump perfumes…
but not for you!…
And, you were so beautiful…that someone
would rise from deathbed
and wrap their hair… for you …
who thought yourself absurd….
tiny orphan...child of a crime,
of passion and insanity…
Watching, with pain, the beloved blood that dripped from my arms…
The same angry blood that ran in daddy’s Sioux veins…
And out of the back of mother’s tired, poverty- stricken Irish head.
You…on hands and knees…cleaning house for
The rich…for the kids in the cafeteria…
For him…from job to job….to job… always standing
behind…
and he was there today too…
he made her eyes lighten…he was a star…
beautiful and bright,
And she looked at me like I was the royalty…
That sprang from his thighs…but him,
he knew…
and so did you…
but only about him because we are homonyms…
and there are more similarities than
the pronunciation of the name…
and the way that we stand behind the stars…
that we hold so close…to make the world
a little more beautiful…loud...confident....and lovely…
as they shine through our shyness...guiding our way.
But you, my dear, dear love,
were not my star….you were the candle that lit my way…
untill the candle flickered out...
..."she loved incredibly long sentences"...by C.B.
It was June when my whole world changed from black to pink. It all happened on the night after he said that we shouldn't mind...what he wanted you to do...but you did....and you said that you couldn't. We were walking side by side, smelling like smoke and whiskey, two-thirty in the morning, mist in the air, meeting a young, muscular, African-American, soldier, giving him your name, straddling him with your back on an a.t.m. outside of Sunflower bank, your tongue in his mouth, me lying in dewy grass, uncomfortable on a hill, trying not to look, feeling strangely upset, saying we gotta go, the long silent walk to the car, Slim Shady on the radio, swerving up trooper's hill, sitting way too close on my front porch, talking to my drunk brother-in-law, choking on cigarettes and whatever else you had to smoke, following you to the bathroom, sitting on the floor, you saying, "now I have to go- back to Texas, Wyoming, or somewhere," crying because I can't understand, begging you not to leave me all alone with him, simple words...not whipsered in many years....and never from my lips..."I love you" feeling sick when you hush me with your hand, going up to bed, dejected, rejected and sad, lying on the bottom bunk in my son's empty room, you coming in, touching my cheek, whispering in the dark, "kiss me-even Xena didn't have to wait fifteen years," crying because I can't, but only because of him, waking at four in the morning, feeling your soft lips against mine, your tongue in my mouth, and butterflies in my stomach, kissing your neck, making love for the first time in seven years, my angry captor...sleeping soundly with the babies in my bed, your shirt on the floor, feeling aroused for the first time ever, moving together in love, feeling uncomfortable for a moment, (remembering being fourteen, sleepovers at my grandma's house, holding your hand, coconut-suntan and shorts, "Arachnaphobia" on a rented V.C.R., in the shadowy-dark, your giggles as I jump and turn on the lights, tickling each other until we can't breathe, throwing popcorn all over my room, falling to sleep, holding your hand,) but only feeling this for a moment, as my hand unbuttons your bra, your licks sending goose-bumps all over, holding your hand, like a million times before, childishly exploring everything, kissing your leg, noting the coffee-stained birthmark on your inner thigh, touching places that I would have never even been able to see, even after 20 years of sharing everything, kissing all the way up your stomach, over your breasts, running my tongue from your shoulder to your ear, feeling your body shiver and tense, you clasping my hand, deep breath of excitement, when I whisper, "Don't worry Xena, Gabrielle's finally here."
on movies...and one in particular
When we were kids Jessie loved the movie "The Color Purple," she watched it over and over and over. Jessie watched it so much that I actually read the book. Now....the book got a lot of bad press about the negative way that it portrayed African American men. However, I think that it was probably very true to the lifestyle that many people of all races lived during the time period. I don't think that it was a testament to the black man...rather a testament to the inequality that pervaded much of the country until the late 1900s....especially much of the south. However, I believe that the true injustice wasn't the way that the book....and the movie portrayed either men or women...the true injustice was that the movie decided to change the whole entire story and make it a religious testament....and a story that stayed far away from the nature of the book...and the nature of the love affair that was Sug Avery and Miss Celie. Now, this isnt the only movie that I love that did that...."Fried Green Tomatoes" was completely changed...with the love affair taken out of that too. And yet...great movies...and yet we took what we could and identified with what was there...."Towanda,".....because that was all that we were given to identify with then.
Anyway, the movie "The Color Purple" was a very big movie for a ten year old girl. And yet, it was recited...word for word...and checked out over and over. Another testament to the fact that although 3 years younger....Jess was always emotionally older than me. I would have never found interest in a movie like that had she not made me watch it so many times.....so....what is the point of this narrative?
Well....Jess is quite famous for singing "Miss Celie's Blues." She can sing it with the best of them....Baby can sing beautifully....have to get a few drinks in her for her to be comfortable enough to really let it loose. But...when she does...wow! Jess can sing almost anything... but the blues are a favorite for everyone...from everything from Etta James to Billy Holiday..."In her autumn years" But Miss Celies is the request that all of our friends ask for.
I was looking the video up on youtube to put on the front of the profile. And then, I decided to put the song Mandi always requests on the front and put "sister" here......why? ...because of this memory. When Jess was 14 years old her mom let her come and stay with me at my apartment. This was a little funny because her parents were very, very strict...and yet they let her stay for weeks on end....2 hours away...at a teenagers first apt. But, I was very responsible...I guess a little too much...and very (what are the words that jess and my friends use to describe....improperly moral...yeah that is it) anyway, we did drink...but jess drank at home and with her other friends anyway....like I said....she was way more mature than I was. One night I thought it would be fun to take jessie to a coffee house for poetry reading. I was a poet and I thought that I would make jess think that I was terribly artistic because I went to places like coffee shops...wore black...and hung out with artsy people. Well I took her...all dressed up and with her hair perfectly in place....looking like a young version of some movie star....jess was (and is) very...very pretty....but when she was young....wow! Anyway, I was not very cool...poet yes...but cool....no. So, I read my poem. It went over fabulously....of course...I am usually very emotional....so if skill is missing...I kill em with emotion lol. Anyway, I came back through the crowds generous claps... to jess....sitting in a mini skirt and dress sweater. "Wow Carrie that was great," but I don't have to do that right? I can't even write" I smiled...."No, you can just watch everyone...that is o.k. I have another poem that I can do later...you can read it if you want to" Jess looked at the piece of paper..." I don't know...that would be weird." The night went on...I read my second poem...a love poem. "Who did you write that for?" Jess looked at me suspiciously. "I wrote it for you silly." Yes...we were in love....for ever and ever....but, we were both straight....and we never were together (in a love way) until we were in our mid twenties...but the feeling was alway there...pulling our hearts together. Anyway, Jess loved that I wrote a poem for her. She went and gave her name to the guy standing by the stage. "What are you going to do?" You could never tell with Jess....she was a crazy girl. They called her name before she could sit back down....Jess walked up to the stage...sat on the bar stool...in front of a packed room....and with a timid voice said...."Well....I can't write anything...but I was wondering if I could sing you all a song?" I want to sing it to my best friend because I love her with all of my heart." People looked a little nervous...a pretty girl with no music....well anyone that has ever been to kareoke knows what could happen there...but....people yelled "Do it!" Jess gathered herself up....changed the way she was standing (always impersonating) and said, "This song is called Miss Celies Blues....cuz she scratches out my head when I was ailing." She started to sing...and everyone was silent staring up at the very bluesy voice that was coming out of the little blonde white girl....it was strong...southern and sweet....and she sang it to me. We were caught in the moment...alone in front of a full room of pseudo-hippys and dark...sullen poets. She sang it just like sug....without any music....all alone
...Well she was famous for the rest of the night. Guys were asking her out and no one could believe that she was as young as she was....with a voice like that (and....I kept telling the young men...her age...because I didn't like the way they were talking to her....I thought I had to protect her...and keep her safe....and I never understood the feelings that went along with it....untill I was much older...but I know by the way that she acted with all of my friends and boyfriends...that jess felt the very same way...and didn't understand it either)
Anyway, we probably went to Denny's after the poetry readin.... or something else... silly like that. Maybe we went to my apartment and rented movies (always a favorite) but i couldn't stop looking at her. She was famous...
The other night some friends asked her to sing...and lucky for us she was drunk...we didn't have to beg and make asses of ourselves...cuz she wanted to sing...and she sang a whole line of blues....with grand voice and she ended it with "Celies Blues" and, for all of those that couldn't be there...and missed a truly beautiful performance.....
Anyway, the movie "The Color Purple" was a very big movie for a ten year old girl. And yet, it was recited...word for word...and checked out over and over. Another testament to the fact that although 3 years younger....Jess was always emotionally older than me. I would have never found interest in a movie like that had she not made me watch it so many times.....so....what is the point of this narrative?
Well....Jess is quite famous for singing "Miss Celie's Blues." She can sing it with the best of them....Baby can sing beautifully....have to get a few drinks in her for her to be comfortable enough to really let it loose. But...when she does...wow! Jess can sing almost anything... but the blues are a favorite for everyone...from everything from Etta James to Billy Holiday..."In her autumn years" But Miss Celies is the request that all of our friends ask for.
I was looking the video up on youtube to put on the front of the profile. And then, I decided to put the song Mandi always requests on the front and put "sister" here......why? ...because of this memory. When Jess was 14 years old her mom let her come and stay with me at my apartment. This was a little funny because her parents were very, very strict...and yet they let her stay for weeks on end....2 hours away...at a teenagers first apt. But, I was very responsible...I guess a little too much...and very (what are the words that jess and my friends use to describe....improperly moral...yeah that is it) anyway, we did drink...but jess drank at home and with her other friends anyway....like I said....she was way more mature than I was. One night I thought it would be fun to take jessie to a coffee house for poetry reading. I was a poet and I thought that I would make jess think that I was terribly artistic because I went to places like coffee shops...wore black...and hung out with artsy people. Well I took her...all dressed up and with her hair perfectly in place....looking like a young version of some movie star....jess was (and is) very...very pretty....but when she was young....wow! Anyway, I was not very cool...poet yes...but cool....no. So, I read my poem. It went over fabulously....of course...I am usually very emotional....so if skill is missing...I kill em with emotion lol. Anyway, I came back through the crowds generous claps... to jess....sitting in a mini skirt and dress sweater. "Wow Carrie that was great," but I don't have to do that right? I can't even write" I smiled...."No, you can just watch everyone...that is o.k. I have another poem that I can do later...you can read it if you want to" Jess looked at the piece of paper..." I don't know...that would be weird." The night went on...I read my second poem...a love poem. "Who did you write that for?" Jess looked at me suspiciously. "I wrote it for you silly." Yes...we were in love....for ever and ever....but, we were both straight....and we never were together (in a love way) until we were in our mid twenties...but the feeling was alway there...pulling our hearts together. Anyway, Jess loved that I wrote a poem for her. She went and gave her name to the guy standing by the stage. "What are you going to do?" You could never tell with Jess....she was a crazy girl. They called her name before she could sit back down....Jess walked up to the stage...sat on the bar stool...in front of a packed room....and with a timid voice said...."Well....I can't write anything...but I was wondering if I could sing you all a song?" I want to sing it to my best friend because I love her with all of my heart." People looked a little nervous...a pretty girl with no music....well anyone that has ever been to kareoke knows what could happen there...but....people yelled "Do it!" Jess gathered herself up....changed the way she was standing (always impersonating) and said, "This song is called Miss Celies Blues....cuz she scratches out my head when I was ailing." She started to sing...and everyone was silent staring up at the very bluesy voice that was coming out of the little blonde white girl....it was strong...southern and sweet....and she sang it to me. We were caught in the moment...alone in front of a full room of pseudo-hippys and dark...sullen poets. She sang it just like sug....without any music....all alone
...Well she was famous for the rest of the night. Guys were asking her out and no one could believe that she was as young as she was....with a voice like that (and....I kept telling the young men...her age...because I didn't like the way they were talking to her....I thought I had to protect her...and keep her safe....and I never understood the feelings that went along with it....untill I was much older...but I know by the way that she acted with all of my friends and boyfriends...that jess felt the very same way...and didn't understand it either)
Anyway, we probably went to Denny's after the poetry readin.... or something else... silly like that. Maybe we went to my apartment and rented movies (always a favorite) but i couldn't stop looking at her. She was famous...
The other night some friends asked her to sing...and lucky for us she was drunk...we didn't have to beg and make asses of ourselves...cuz she wanted to sing...and she sang a whole line of blues....with grand voice and she ended it with "Celies Blues" and, for all of those that couldn't be there...and missed a truly beautiful performance.....
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