Whenever I stop blogging
it’s hard to come back.
The pressure to edify, intense.
The longer I wait
for inspiration to strike,
the harder it is to believe
I can contribute anything worthwhile.
So I’m gonna make the leap
and proudly proclaim this:
YESTERDAY’S UNDIES
is a damned fine name for a band.
Wouldn’t you agree?
I’m reading Carl Sandburg’s childhood memoirs, Prairie-Town Boy.
Sandburg was born to poor Swedish immigrant parents in 1878.
The book was written in 1952.
Last night I was reading the chapter on the books he loved reading as a child.
The History of Napoleon Bonaparte and
Young Folks’ Cylopaedia of Persons and Places.
A series of history books by Charles Coffin.
Young Carl Sandburg loved many of the Coffin books,
especially one on the Revolutionary War.
But when he tried reading those written about the Civil War,
he found them dry.
Sandburg wrote:
". . . maybe it [Civil War] was so big he [Coffin] couldn’t get his head around it."
Wow.
I’m here to say it took me a while to wrap my head around
Carl Sandburg wrapping his head around
Charles Coffin and the Civil War he apparently couldn’t wrap his head around.
When I was going to school here for my teaching credential, I took a class on dream interpretation from a soft-spoken professor named George Jackson. He taught us the Jungian approach to working dreams and told us to drink a glass of water before going to bed and to keep a notebook and pen next to the bed so we could write down our dreams when we got up to pee.
George said an unworked dream is like an unread letter.
I think about that a lot.
Which isn’t to say I work all my dreams.
I don’t.
Not for quite some time.
This morning I had a dream between waking with Zippy and when it was time for me to get up.
Don’t worry.
I won’t bore you with the details.
Suffice to say it included
nudity
a slide
swimming pool
and an LJ friend who recently sold two books.
The dream was rife with symbolism.
And at first I thought it did not bode well for me and my career.
But as I let the symbols and feelings flow and connect,
I realized it was a perfectly wonderful dream.
And not just because it included a tall, super-fast slide.
Last night when Zippy reminded me today is May Day
the first thought in my head was a plane going down
and a pilot screaming "Mayday, mayday, mayday" into a radio.
This morning’s exhaustive (ahem) research revealed:
Mayday is, indeed, the international code word for distress
and is derived from the French venez m’aider
which means "come help me."
(Now that we’ve cleared that up…)
In much of the world and some regions of the U.S., May Day
is synonymous with the labor movement
celebrating workers’ rights and achievements.
May Day as a celebration of spring and fertility
isn’t as widely celebrated in the U.S. as other parts of the world
mainly because the Puritans were opposed to it.
Possibly because it involved . . .
Pole dancing.
But you’re in luck if you’d rather not celebrate with the May Day Dance.
Instead, you can make a May Basket and fill it with treats and flowers
then place it on a doorstep, ring the bell, and run away.
You should know, however, that the person receiving the basket might chase you
and if that person catches you, you have to share a kiss.
So consider yourself warned and gift accordingly.
Happy May Day, everyone!
Yesterday Wildebeest spent the afternoon in my brother’s high school math classroom.
My brother teaches at a last chance kind of school for troubled kids making a final effort to graduate.
It’s a pretty tough crowd.
Not all that motivated.
On the way home, Wildebeest explained how kids used to ask my brother for a bathroom pass.
They’d take the pass and walk out of the school.
For the rest of the day.
Never to return.
According to Wildebeest, my brother still gives out a bathroom pass.
Except now it’s one of these:
A full-size acoustic guitar case.
Covered with math stickers.
Wildebeest said plenty of kids used the pass yesterday.
And every one of them returned to class.
(And yes, I’ll find a way to use this in a story.)
As of today, I’m at 39,000 words on my WIP.
That’s Butt In Chair for 39 days straight.
Just sayin’.
(By the way, I discovered that an online search for "trophy" images results in
numerous penis drawings. Hmmm. Why do you suppose that is?)
From the always helpful Agnes brain trust…..
AGNES by Tony Cochran
In honor of National Poetry Month
and
here is my snowy day haiku:
April leafing out
cruelest time for snow to fall
buried signs of spring
MaryBeth Kelsey has a new book coming out April 28:
She’s celebrating by offering free copies of the book.
If you’d like to win a free copy, head over there right now to enter.
Her first book, TRACKING DADDY DOWN, was great fun and I’m expecting more of the same.
Especially since this one involves an excitable French chef!
Congratulations to MaryBeth on the impending launch of A RECIPE 4 ROBBERY!!!
It’s been one of those weeks.
A week-long funk.
Yesterday I felt crushed under the weight of it all.
But I forced myself to spin my hoop
while Zippy did his treadmill workout.
As we twirled and walked, we listened to an album that came out 25 years ago.
Yikes.
And I thought about where I was 25 years ago.
I remembered listening to that album (tape) in my car during lunch hour
when I worked for Giant Turd Enterprise (GTE).
I’d eat my fish sandwich from McDonald’s
and think about, well, I don’t remember what I thought about.
Probably not much.
Maybe I thought about the sweltering parking lot and
how my boss was the world’s biggest asshat.
Or that maybe the next day I should pack a lunch.
Fast forward to this week
in which I’ve had feelings of being that gerbil in a wheel,
always running and moving,
but never getting ahead.
It’s no fun feeling that way.
It crushes your spirit.
So I say to myself:
Tracy, you have made progress.
For one, you’re no longer spending time in a paint-peeling ’64 Ford Falcon Sprint,
sweating and ingesting questionable food.
And you don’t have to answer to that horrible boss-man ever again.
So.
Give up the funk, Tracy.
This morning Zippy and Zebu headed downtown to Zippy’s office.
It’s Take Your Child to Work Day.
Zippy is an engineer.
Zippy is currently employed by a company that filed for bankruptcy.
Zippy doesn’t have a whole lot of work going on right now.
Zippy is terribly worried Zebu will think engineering work is boring.
I’m terribly worried Zebu will think engineering work isn’t boring.
(Just kidding! Well, kinda . . .)
Still, Zebu chose to accompany his father rather than his mother to work.
Could it be because Zebu already knows
my work involves multiple trips to the kitchen to see if something tasty showed up since I last checked?
Did Zebu avoid my workplace because he knows
I’m likely to spend considerable time pacing the room, talking to myself?
Or could it be Zebu is avoiding me and my work because
yesterday as I sat writing in front of the window a turkey vulture circled my house?
( assures me the vulture was only there to carry off dead words, but it’s still worrisome.)
Either way, I was left alone to contemplate my career choice.
I’ve gotta say, no matter how tough this road to publication,
I’ve never, ever contemplated being an engineer.
And that’s okay.
For those who might be curious
about Tracy’s revision progress yesterday,
It was as I predicted:
She prevailed.
Never doubt a grackle’s wisdom.
Okay, so it’s a grackle rather than a raven.
And I’m no Poe.
Nonetheless.
I hereby pledge to tackle my revisions today.
I pledge to crack the characterization/plotting code
that has stymied me these past weeks and fueled my ongoing procrastination.
I will prevail.
My feathered friend assures me this is so.
I hesitate to write this because torture is ugly and scary.
It turns our stomachs.
Torture is something we’d like to pretend doesn’t exist.
Unfortunately, torture does exist.
Last week we learned the CIA waterboarded two detainees a total of 266 times.
In one month.
Waterboarded 266 times.
President Obama did the right thing by releasing the secret torture memos.
But then he said there would be no prosecution of those involved.
I understand the political risks Obama took in releasing those memos.
He faced huge opposition from the CIA and others in the "intelligence community,"
and acted courageously.
In this instance.
But now we need to help him be courageous again.
We need to give him political cover.
We must create a public outcry demanding prosecution
of those who sanctioned and performed torture.
Please, take one minute of your time to sign this petition to Attorney General Eric Holder
asking him to appoint a special prosecutor.
One minute of your time.
If you need a more eloquent argument for accountability, please watch this (h/t ):
Thank you.
April (snow) showers bring May flowers. Right?
The Obama administration is doing the right thing and later today will release the Bush/Cheney secret torture memos.
I was so afraid that ugliness would be forever locked away.
The truth is brutal.
Horrifying.
But the truth must be brought into the light of day.
This is just the first step, President Obama.
The next is accountability.
Several times yesterday I brewed a cup of eyebright tea and put the teabag on my left eye which was sore and irritated. It feels better today but would benefit from another dose or two of that holistic remedy.
However, since I do not want to be mistaken for one of those teabagging fools who didn’t give one crap about the financial and moral costs of invading and occupying another country but has suddenly discovered "patriotic" outrage, I will avoid all teabags today.
I’m hoping the eye irritation and sanctimonious bullshit simultaneously disappear.
Writing is like driving at night in the fog.
You can only see as far as your headlights,
but you can make the whole trip that way.
– – – E. L. Doctorow
I’ve always loved this quote.
But I’m sure it’s anathema
to John Irving who believes
if you’re making it up as you go along
you’re not a writer, just a liar.
Each first draft is different for me.
Each process unique.
What I know ahead of time varies.
Yesterday I felt a combination of
fear and exhilaration as I wrote my 1000 words.
Squinting ahead into the fog.
I haven’t written yet today.
I’m worried the story might be headed for a cliff.
But if that’s the case,
I’ll just have to grab the wheel and make a sharp turn.
And hope I don’t run over any liars
who might be staggering around in the fog.
This morning I put Wildebeest’s lunch in his backpack.
And laughed.
Since May ’08, one of these: COMBINATION LOCK
has been locked onto the top loop of one of these: BACKPACK
On the last day of school Wildebeest
took the lock off his gym locker and locked it
onto his pack for safekeeping.
And promptly forgot the combination.
So this morning when I laughed about it
he told me it’s “like the shoe thing and seeing who fits.”
Whoever can figure out the combination,
regardless of sex,
will be who Wildebeest marries.
Kids keep attempting
combination after combination
in hopes of freeing the Wildebeest.
It makes me smile thinking of so many friends
working to give him a happily-ever-after.
Wishing everyone a wonderful weekend
filled with new notions
and maybe
a wild ride or two.
If you need a weekend soundtrack, this is a great one.
This week I went to Goodwill and bought a blow dryer.
Not because I have a new hairdo.
But because I needed to remove this from my car’s bumper:
I’m disgusted by Obama’s Department of Justice.
Which means I’m disgusted by Obama.
This week the DoJ went even farther than Bush/Cheney’s claims of "state’s secrets" privilege
in regards to illegal wiretapping.
Obama claimed "sovereign immunity" to any lawsuit against the government
unless there is "willful disclosure" of the illegally gathered information.
Sovereign immunity.
I cannot believe the man who said he wanted to bring transparency to government
is now violating our constitution in order to protect Bush/Cheney from prosecution.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Or, in this case, get even worse.
Speaking as someone who started a fire in the oven after cranking the heat
on pumpkin seeds because I was hungry and wanted to eat them RIGHT AWAY,
this just cracks me up.
AGNES by Tony Cochran
Today in honor of Dot’s birthday, Agnes and Trout are making a pie.
Remember, Dot; their intentions are good.
AGNES by Tony Cochan
Wishing you a wonderful day and a coming year filled with much good stuff (not necessarily bologna pie).
Happy Birthday, Dot!
A while back I wrote about Wildebeest’s quest for dread locks.
He hit a, shall we say, snag along the way.
The dreads were put on hold.
This past Friday Wildebeest’s friends were here.
While skating on the patio, Wildebeest caught sight of his shaggy reflection in the window
and decided he wanted to see his neck again. (His words.)
He ran upstairs and informed Zebu, D, and J he wanted to cut his hair.
Mania ensued.
The whole process lasted about twelve minutes since Wildebeest had to leave for an
appointment. D and J did a pretty good job under those conditions but there was definitely
room for improvement. The next morning, with D’s guidance, I tided up Wildebeest’s hair
as best I could. Later, he took this self-portrait.
This morning I asked if he still liked his hair.
Wildebeest said, “My long hair looked nice when it was combed out and smooth.
But now it’s nice all the time.”
He’s happy.
I’m happy.
Okay, so Michigan State won against UConn.
Which means I jumped from 67th place in the Bransford Blog Challenge
up to 12th place.
It feels good being on the front page for once.
I love me some scrappy basketball!!!
UPDATE: Because UNC won, I’m now in 7th place.
According to my resident number crunchers, only one person can win besides me.
GO SPARTANS!!!
Tracy Abell 