Memorial Day Murder

My two favorite holidays are Memorial Day and Fourth of July. Not because I am a flag waving American, but because they are different from the more celebrated holidays in that you do not have family obligations on these days. You do not have to go see Granny and Granpap or Nana and Peepa, and no one cares what you do on those days. My mother will not disown me if I do not spend the Fourth watching fireworks at the beach with her. In fact, she wants me to leave her alone. She hates to face the crowds on the beach. I, on the other hand, love to go to the beach or Summer Waves and get roasted in the sun and cook hotdogs on a tiny grill in the picnic area.

Yesterday was no different. We headed out to Jekyll around 10 in the morning to go to the beach and Summer Waves. With the car packed full of beach toys and the tiny grill teetering in the trunk, we sped down the Jekyll causeway following a long line of similarly minded peple. I noticed the car in front of me swerve to avoid something. It was then that I saw the turtle, but it was too late for me to avoid him and I felt the thud and heard the crunch as I ran over him. The people in front of me raised their hands in the air as if to say, "You idiot! We missed him, why couldn't you?" I felt horrible and was pissed that they would think I meant to hit the turtle, or that I was somehow inept at driving a turtle obstacle course. They don't know that I frequently stop on the side of the road to pick up turtles and put them back into the marsh, or that just last week, I found a large box turtle in my yard and carried it all the way back to the lake thingy behind my house. I love turtles, and killing this one almost ruined my Memorial Day. He did taste good on the grill though.

Flock Off

I was listening to a radio talk show the other day, and the host said nothing is going right in America because politicians are too "afraid to fly away from the flock." I could not agree more, but many see the so-called "damage" done to the career of the Dixie Chicks and fear a similar fate for themselves. I do not listen to much country music, but the Chicks have taken me through many bad times. I was going through a painful divorce when I first heard Wide Open spaces. I remember lying on the trampoline at night after the kids had gone to bed and listening to that song over and over again while crying into the black springy top of the trampoline. Escaping the reality of being deserted and left with the fate of three little people in my hands, if only for 3 minutes, was needed by me to recover from the shock. Later, I remember walking through a nature trail listening to that same song and feeling happy and hopeful enough to skip and spin around with my arms held out like an idiot in a music video. Corny, I know, but there are some songs that do that to you; songs that evoke a feeling of carelessness or happiness that music often provides. The ability of music to produce a memory is an universal feeling.

What did the Dixie Chicks say that was so wrong? Natalie, the lead singer, said, "I am ashamed that the president is from Texas," or close to it. Maybe she could have found a better way to phrase it. How about, "I am against war," or "I don't want the violence perpetuated, more innocent people should not die." Is that a reason to threaten her life, and the lives of her family? When did war become something desirable? Of course 3000 people died in the World Trade Center, and it is tragic. I feel so much sympathy for all of the families who lost someone, but what will war solve? By our own governments assessment, 30,000 Iraqi civilians have died, but many of the estimates place it at around 100,000 civilians. The number is probably in between. Ashamed . . . That may be the right word. But, country music fans got into their flocks and denounced the Chicks, which of course is their right. However, now we have to move beyond the flock and start being individuals. I do not believe Bush is evil. Fine, start from there. I believe both sides should stop flying blindly and start making decisions simply because they are right. Stop disagreeing for the sake of disagreement and find solutions to the problems. Both sides are guilty of mouth service. I have three children, and I would hate for them to have to go to war one day because no one wanted to break their flocks formation. So, I bought the Dixie Chicks CD and I love it. Maybe their will be some forgiveness shown by those who listen to country music. That's what Jesus would have done.

Is the Slut in Me Showing?

Because it is spring and the kids are playing baseball, I have been spending quite a bit of time going into gas stations, Wal-Mart and the ball park to buy drinks and bubble gum before games. Lately, I have been getting quite a bit of commentary on my bumper sticker which says, "Well Behaved Women Rarely Make History." For some reason, it is usually from men wearing shorts and loafers with a tan line that starts at their ankles, and they are often lighting a cigarette.
"I like that bumper sticker!"
They say with a laugh that sounds extremely perverted. I talked to Kirsten about this before, and we decided that these men think the bumper sticker means I am a slut that likes to misbehave. They see it as an invitation to try and see if I will misbehave with them. Should I correct them and yell, "It does not mean I like to tie you up and beat you! I will not sleep with you and your hound dog! I will not piss on you in bed, or wear platform sandals and step on your neck while pissing on you!" Well, maybe I will, but that is not what the bumper sticker means.
The other day, my friend Nick said, "I like your bumper sticker" and I felt I needed to clarify its meaning, "It does not mean I am a slut Nick." He looked at me for a minute and said, "I know what it means." I felt shame creep up my neck. I had made an assumption and I was wrong. It was very embarrassing, so from now on, I am going to pretend that every guy that says "I like that bumper sticker" to me, knows what it means and does not want me to step on their neck.

New Poets and Television Shows

Hope

What's the use
of something
as unstable
and diffuse as hope -
the almost-twin
of making-do,
the isotope
of going on:
what isn't in
the envelope
just before
it isn't:
the always tabled
righting of the present


As always, I find that the best book and poet referrals come form trusted friends. Brandi sent me an article about Kay Ryan, who is now one of her favorite poets, and I can see why. She says a lot in a still, small way. She reminded me of Emily Dickinson when I first read her. The poem at the top of my blog is by her and I really liked it.

Now from poetry to TV. I had a dream about Hugh Laurie, the star of House last night. We were sitting in a small church together, surrounded by people, when I tried to refill one of those small sample bottles of perfume. I ended up spilling perfume all over the place, but I did not want to leave him because as soon as I went to the bathroom, he would leave. Alas, he left as soon as I opened my eyes. I have to recommend the show House to those of you who have not seen it. I have been trying to recruit Kirsten for ages, but so far, no dice. It is a very interesting show and Laurie absolutely grows on you. If you get a chance, watch it Tuesday's at 9:00. If you have watched it, tell me what you think.

My Mom

 

A Mother's Day Moment

"I studied the little girl and at last rediscovered my mother."
Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida

I love old photographs. I guess I agree with Roland Barthes' theory of photography in that when I see certain pictures, there is something in them that "speaks" to me, but they also produce a sense of sadness of what can "never be again." As my mother goes older, and I can clearly see it in her body, the way she seems smaller, shorter, her walk slower; her hair grayer, I begin to fear life without her. Being without her scares me more than my own death. As I watch my children grow older, I understand how much she loves me, and why she does for me what she does, and why she did what she did when I was a child. Her death would remove the only person in the world that loves me unconditionally. Sometimes I think about my life after my children; the life my mother is living right now. Will they roll their eyes when I call, as I sometimes do, when my mom calls for the fourth time that day? It is a scary thought to spend so many years of your life dedicated to your children and then to have them leave you behind as they build another life with their own family. I try to look at it in another way: that is what you try so hard for; you want to teach them to be happy and productive members of society; independent and capable of living without you. But their is a small piece of me that wants them to always need me for something.

Yesterday, I had a "mother's moment. " I was tired after getting up early to take my test and driving to and from Savannah, and the kids were being really mean to one another. Sometimes I ignore it and hope they will come to appreciate each other one day, but yesterday I felt compelled to say something. At the end of my rope, I pulled out an old trick of my mom's:
"Maybe one day I will drop dead and then you will be nice to each other."
Really, it makes no sense, and I had always vowed to not say such things to my children, but in a moment of weakness, I broke out the guilt. The kids looked sad, and then, after a few quite seconds, started blaming it all on Trey. It never worked when I was a child either. Not until late at night, when I lay alone in my bed in my dark room. Then I worried and cried with the thought of losing my mother. Now, I see why she resorted to guilt. Not because she was mean, but because she was desperate to make us stop fighting. It was a moment of weakness, and it is often felt by all parents.

When I look at these pictures of my mom, I look at her with the eyes of a parent now. Did that little girl of six have any idea how much she was loved by her grandmother who raised her? Did that beautiful girl in the diamond necklace know that her grandmother lay in bed at night and prayed for her granddaughter to make the right decisions in life. Probably not. We never realize until we have our own children how much our guardians, whoever they may have been, longed for our happiness and well being. I am glad that my mom is still around for me to let her know that I understand, now, why she spanked me for leaving home and not telling her where I was going; why she took the car keys from me when I stayed out to late; why she would not let me watch Helter Skelter because she knew it would give me bad dreams; why she would not let me go to the skating ring on Friday nights, even though I begged and begged and told her all the other girls could go. Happy Mother's Day and Thanks.

Random Stuff

These are two of the books I am expecting this week

Well, I am finally finished with school. I have one class to take this summer and then I can start my teaching career. I am past worrying anymore about whether or not I will like it. I will, or I won't. If I do, great, and if I don't, then I move on. Either way, it will be an experience. I have not been able to put down Alice Munro's book of short stories, Runaway. It is fabulous. Tomorrow I start a new summer job, and Thursday I take my chance at the Praxis. I am not worried about the reading and writing section, but the math section worries me. I have no idea how to do anything beyond addition and subtraction. I even have problems adding and subtracting fractions! I am fortunate that Hope is a math whiz and she is helping me study for the test. Sad, I know.

New Treasures

I went to the used bookstore yesterday and found a few good titles, and also the weirdest book cover I have ever seen. The Stranger by Albert Camus is a book I have always wanted to read, but have never bothered. When I saw this cover, I had to buy it, even though these weird characters freak me out! The first novel was suggested by Kirsten as "fun and delightful trash." I can't wait to read it. After reading Night Train by Martin Amis, I felt like a really good detective novel so I chose Sue Grafton another author I have never read before.

 

My New Obsession: Nightmare Alley

Now that I am done with finals, I can start my fun, summer reading. Yesterday, I read an article in The Writer's Chronicle called "One Man's Nightmare: The Noir Journey of William Lindsay Gresham." The book the article focused on was clalled Nightmare Alley, and I became immediately interested in reading it when the writer of the article said, "It's the only novel I have ever encountered that made me feel unclean by the time I had finished it." Apparently, this noir novel is an examination into the lives of circus freaks and hobos, ala Carnivale on HBO. It has recently been rewritten as a graphic novel, but to very little praise, so I have no interest in it. The book is out of print and it seems hard to find. If any of you bibliophiles (Brandi, you are the master at locating books) find the original book published in 1946, please let me know.