Dear February,
Take yourself away. I have no use for you now. I used to have it for you, you know, I had it pretty bad for you. Your fickle charm, your warm / cold weather indecisiveness, your hint, promise and tease of Spring, your tickling and tempting, romancing the blooms to burst. You know I used to love the young greens you pushed through the waking trees. Your lavender and rose sunrises used to take my breath away. But you, you took something from me that was not yours. And I'm done with you now. Keep your calendar page, keep your Mardi Gras, your Valentine's day and your Superbowl Sunday. Keep your actual vs observed Presidential birthdays. Keep it all. The only thing I can say I like about you now is that you are now and always will be the shortest month. From the bottom of my broken heart, I thank you for that much.
Without affection,
Me
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
There are songs
There are songs that I listen to and hear differently now. There are lyrics that vine their way through my heart. Some caress, some strangle. These words soothe me.
My father sang in perfect harmony
And though he never sang in a musical key
You could hear him when he'd enter the house
the kiss he'd give my Ma
My father sang in perfect harmony
My father's words were always sure and clear
and like his presence they would rid me of my fears
When I crawled up on his knees was safe as I could be
He'd hold me tight and whisper in my ear
He'd say, "girl you are a part of me
I have made you strong
when you grow up and are on your own
remember to win them with your song"
Musical Key, Cowboy Junkies
My father sang in perfect harmony
And though he never sang in a musical key
You could hear him when he'd enter the house
the kiss he'd give my Ma
My father sang in perfect harmony
My father's words were always sure and clear
and like his presence they would rid me of my fears
When I crawled up on his knees was safe as I could be
He'd hold me tight and whisper in my ear
He'd say, "girl you are a part of me
I have made you strong
when you grow up and are on your own
remember to win them with your song"
Musical Key, Cowboy Junkies
Monday, February 14, 2005
The goodness of people
It's the worst of nightmares, this is. I realize now that trying to heal friends through this in the past has been a complete waste. I thought I knew. I could not know. There is no release, no freedom, because there cannot be. But there is appreciation of those who reach out and say, "I'm here." This is a club I wish that I never joined. I know now things I never wanted to know: how sound and light have changed, how music can nauseate me, how food can be repulsive, and what it is like to be aware of every single breath. I can honestly and selfishly say that I want to shout out at the entire world: Be quiet, bow your heads because my father is gone. Because I truly am dumbfounded that the world is continuing to spin, and perplexed that it can do so without his presence. In my mind, and in my heart, he was that big.
And then, then there are the angels. The friend who has taken over and made decisions for me because I simply have been reduced to a substantially different skill set than what I previously possessed. This is the same friend who has not only taken care of me daily but also my mother. And she has done a real good job with Mom. The friend who flew to Houston in support of me and let me push him around and drink too much and who allowed all of it with the patience of a saint and who told me yesterday that it's excused because it's understandable and he knows me better otherwise. The good, the bad, the ugly, he got it all. And he released me from responsibility. Done, no apologies, no embarrassment, just understanding. The friend who immediately came to retrieve my dog and cried with me and held me with all the strength she has. This same friend who sent me home with the only food I could eat for two days, and who with her partner also my friend has taken care of my dog and allowed me to come visit her even when they know I am going to get her all stirred up. The friend who has known me so many years that she too loves my niece and nephew and even though she was exhausted and had much to do, did not hesitate to take my nephew anyway and help him with his homework and watch over him all day. The friend who got us a gigantic limosine extended thing because there were, afterall, ten of us, and I could not handle being separated when going to or from the church. The friends of my niece's who have taken care of her and spent time with her and loved her through this, with a skill beyond their age. The friend of my nephew's who in a beyond his 15-year old way still was able to find words to console me, and gave me comfort knowing that he was also helping my nephew. The friends who have stood every-ready with a drink, a cigarette, a shoulder, whatever I needed. And I have asked, and they were there. The family friends who have shared their stories and their tears. The lady at the make-up counter who walked me all over the store for appropriate cover-up and mascara and then unbeknownst to me, loaded my bag with additional items she did not charge me for but thought necessary, in particular, eye cream to reduce swelling. Lastly, on my chair in my office this morning was the signed and numbered Thomas Crowe print of the 1998 Texas Duck Stamp, the one of the Black Labrador in the water and pintails and pintail decoys, the very one that used to hang in one of the conference rooms, and for years the very one that I was referring too when I said out loud that one day I am going to buy from my company and give to my father for his birthday. While not just anyone I work with has the authority to remove the print from the conference room wall, there are a few who do. And no one is willing to step forward to accept the gratitude, so the mystery is mine. These things all bring comfort to me. And they do so because these are actions that remind me of my father.
And then, then there are the angels. The friend who has taken over and made decisions for me because I simply have been reduced to a substantially different skill set than what I previously possessed. This is the same friend who has not only taken care of me daily but also my mother. And she has done a real good job with Mom. The friend who flew to Houston in support of me and let me push him around and drink too much and who allowed all of it with the patience of a saint and who told me yesterday that it's excused because it's understandable and he knows me better otherwise. The good, the bad, the ugly, he got it all. And he released me from responsibility. Done, no apologies, no embarrassment, just understanding. The friend who immediately came to retrieve my dog and cried with me and held me with all the strength she has. This same friend who sent me home with the only food I could eat for two days, and who with her partner also my friend has taken care of my dog and allowed me to come visit her even when they know I am going to get her all stirred up. The friend who has known me so many years that she too loves my niece and nephew and even though she was exhausted and had much to do, did not hesitate to take my nephew anyway and help him with his homework and watch over him all day. The friend who got us a gigantic limosine extended thing because there were, afterall, ten of us, and I could not handle being separated when going to or from the church. The friends of my niece's who have taken care of her and spent time with her and loved her through this, with a skill beyond their age. The friend of my nephew's who in a beyond his 15-year old way still was able to find words to console me, and gave me comfort knowing that he was also helping my nephew. The friends who have stood every-ready with a drink, a cigarette, a shoulder, whatever I needed. And I have asked, and they were there. The family friends who have shared their stories and their tears. The lady at the make-up counter who walked me all over the store for appropriate cover-up and mascara and then unbeknownst to me, loaded my bag with additional items she did not charge me for but thought necessary, in particular, eye cream to reduce swelling. Lastly, on my chair in my office this morning was the signed and numbered Thomas Crowe print of the 1998 Texas Duck Stamp, the one of the Black Labrador in the water and pintails and pintail decoys, the very one that used to hang in one of the conference rooms, and for years the very one that I was referring too when I said out loud that one day I am going to buy from my company and give to my father for his birthday. While not just anyone I work with has the authority to remove the print from the conference room wall, there are a few who do. And no one is willing to step forward to accept the gratitude, so the mystery is mine. These things all bring comfort to me. And they do so because these are actions that remind me of my father.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Monday, February 07, 2005
Dad
When I was a little girl, Dad would take me on walks on Surfside beach. He'd wrap his gigantic hand around my little one and we'd sing this song together. I feel him doing the same right now, holding my hand. And though my heart is breaking, I know he'd say to me, be brave.
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee,
Little jackie paper loved that rascal puff,
And brought him strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff.
ohPuff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee,
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee.
Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sail
Jackie kept a lookout perched on puff’s gigantic tail,
Noble kings and princes would bow whene’er they came,
Pirate ships would lower their flag when puff roared out his name.
oh!Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee,
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee.
A dragon lives forever but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys.
One grey night it happened, jackie paper came no more
And puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar.
His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain,
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane.
Without his life-long friend, puff could not be brave,
So puff that mighty dragon sadly slipped into his cave.
oh!Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee,
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee.
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee,
Little jackie paper loved that rascal puff,
And brought him strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff.
ohPuff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee,
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee.
Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sail
Jackie kept a lookout perched on puff’s gigantic tail,
Noble kings and princes would bow whene’er they came,
Pirate ships would lower their flag when puff roared out his name.
oh!Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee,
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee.
A dragon lives forever but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys.
One grey night it happened, jackie paper came no more
And puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar.
His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain,
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane.
Without his life-long friend, puff could not be brave,
So puff that mighty dragon sadly slipped into his cave.
oh!Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee,
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called honah lee.
Edward Groth, Jr. (May 10, 1924 - Feb. 6, 2005)
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
W.H. Auden
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
W.H. Auden
Sunday, February 06, 2005
The hazards of being me
I am a mess. And I always have been. I’m clumsy and I don’t mean to be but it’s just a fact that I am. So with the tripping and stumbling and getting my purse strap caught on stairposts, or shutting my skirt in the car door, it’s inevitable that things that I’m carrying, say liquid things, spill on me. And people think I wear black because I think blondes look better in black. In fact, black hides the spilt coffee very, very well. If I’m wearing other colors, say khaki in the summer, or heaven forbid a white top, before getting to the office, I’m managed to spill something on them. My dry cleaning bill is exorbitant. So too is the amount of time that I spend painting over the spots and smudges on my interior walls. Painting over smudges and scrapes and all sorts of signs that something, I guess me, has rubbed against, discoloring the Summertime color of my walls. Summertime? Is new townhouse term for off-white or light beige, but not a color that has anything at all to do with summer colors. It’s a matt finish that shows absolutely every smudge as if illuminated by spotlights. And I realized this morning that the walls were again filthy with smudges. I do not understand how one individual can smudge the walls as much or as often as I do. One hour it took me to cover the spots. I was blessed with many skills, spot painting one of them. But I was reminded again today, not one iota of balance.
Friday, February 04, 2005
So far today
So far today, I have:
Walked the little brown dog two miles under what started out to be an eastward sky lighting up with a huge expanse of rose and pink that only lasted about 15 minutes before being consumed by clouds, but it was there above me and I got to see it
Had somewhat of a temper tantrum while reading the morning paper (refer to earlier post)
Dropped off my clothes at the dry cleaner, which is only important because it's so close to my house and yet I haven't gotten around to it. Today, however, it was necessary
Broken down and purchased a coffee rather than my usual which is to bring it to work from home - except that I've purchased coffee everyday this week since I keep forgetting my travel mugs at the office and I keep telling myself I won't do it the next day. And I forget and do it again
Had a very sticky work-related conversation that I had to handle in a smooth way and it not only gave me a headache, because I am not naturally smooth, but also put me in a very bad mood. Because maybe sometimes I'd like to be (smooth)
Rediscovered my liking for tomato juice
Made loads of appointments for next week - doctor, manicure, pedicure, eyebrow wax
Made flight reservations for next week
Put $10.00 on two squares in Super Bowl pool and received Eagles 6 to Patriots 1 and Eagles 1 to Patriots 4. If we can get the 1s to 21s, there's some hope. Some
Filed my taxes
Refrained from telling someone to sit on it (so to speak) when they said, It's coral, in response to my saying, I like your orange shirt. WTF? Because of that, I don't like it anymore. Burn it for all I care
Taken two Advil
Refused to add any end-of-sentence punctuation in this post - because I need the control
All of this, mind you, before Noon
On their conscience
From the Houston Chronicle, February 4, 2005
The timeless battle between humans and wildlife is growing ugly in San Jacinto county, where herds of white-tailed deer numbering in the hundreds relentlessly chew their way through garden and forest, possibly upsetting the balance of nature and endangering their own future.
I wonder how many others read that with puzzled mind this morning. It's the possibly upsetting the balance of nature bit that stuns me. The fact is that more than a handful of people decided waybackwhen that living on Lake Livingston would be a peachy thing to do. So they came and they built and they paved and they added on. And I wonder just what they thought the previous dwellers there were going to do, exactly. The deer are possibly upsetting the balance of nature? Ha! That'd be laughable if it weren't so sad and wrong. So, what's the solution going to be? Well, cull the numbers of the deer, of course. Down the heard to a manageable size of 200 or so that will be appealing when driving down the street or sipping margaritas at dusk on your back porch, but not so many as to get in the way of your newfound gardening hobby. Sick, just sick.
The timeless battle between humans and wildlife is growing ugly in San Jacinto county, where herds of white-tailed deer numbering in the hundreds relentlessly chew their way through garden and forest, possibly upsetting the balance of nature and endangering their own future.
I wonder how many others read that with puzzled mind this morning. It's the possibly upsetting the balance of nature bit that stuns me. The fact is that more than a handful of people decided waybackwhen that living on Lake Livingston would be a peachy thing to do. So they came and they built and they paved and they added on. And I wonder just what they thought the previous dwellers there were going to do, exactly. The deer are possibly upsetting the balance of nature? Ha! That'd be laughable if it weren't so sad and wrong. So, what's the solution going to be? Well, cull the numbers of the deer, of course. Down the heard to a manageable size of 200 or so that will be appealing when driving down the street or sipping margaritas at dusk on your back porch, but not so many as to get in the way of your newfound gardening hobby. Sick, just sick.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
It's a dog's world afterall
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