So, tonight I watched the end of "Jagged Edge" - a classic late 80's movie.

I have always loved the last line of that movie - Robert Loggia, the hardened detective.

Somehow it sums up the last 20 years of my relationships with men, who purported to be my friends, lovers, whatever, (with one notable exception, Oli).

The line is " Ah, fuck him, he was trash".

Yep.

Oh Queen of Heaven, Rejoice

So many things stick with you from childhood. In a good way. Oh Queen of Heaven, Rejoice, Alleluia, Alleluia, for He, whom thou didst deserve to bear, etc etc.

I think this grounding is so important, and is being lost. Lots about dogma is wrong, but it is helpful to children, I think, giving them a base, as long as they have, as my parents did and do, and open mind to change.

Frankly, the shroud stands between me and complete disbelief, so perhaps that was the intended consequence. Ya gotta wonder.

Nerve Sheath Tumor Redux

Lili's Nerve Sheath Cancer has returned. I'm not treating her this time; I simply can't bear to carve up her leg anymore, plus there is almost no flesh left to excise as far as margins around the tumor, and she will be 14 in August. Her joint is pretty much frozen anyway. So we're passing our time, she and I, and treasuring it. She's still smiling, a crazy 13+ year old nut, canters along stiff legged. Spoiled girl, even though she CAN get up the ramp to the deck, she stands outside and barks for my help, which she doesn't need, just wants the reassurance of my hand on her ruff.

Rough.

But I'm blessed with this extra time with her. When we went through the three surgeries and radiation, it was almost four years ago now. The cost and anxiety (great on both counts) was worth every day I've had with her since.

The Judas Kiss

So, one of my closest and oldest friends just threw me under the bus recently. He blew up 26 years of friendship. I've been his rock, his confidante, his business partner. But he got offered more money elsewhere. Which would have been insulting enough, but the WAY he scuttled away is appalling and deceitful, plus his running off at the mouth to those who do NOT have my best interests at heart have left me with a peck of trouble.

Where do I park betrayal? It seems to be the gift that just keeps on giving. Sold out for a few more sheckels. Or those pesky 30 pieces of silver. From someone who has described himself as my closest friend.

Never. Saw. That. Coming.

Breathing

I know how to breathe from my diaphragm.

That deep breath that supports my frame,
my voice, my

self.

That deep breath.

It has been my constant companion.

I sit outside this cold December night.
I watch my breath
blossom like cotton candy against the wine dark sky


And hope I can breathe you out, once and for all.

You and I both know,
this is the land we call nowhere.

We hang on to little pieces, thinking maybe
it is enough.

that we can make it sufficient.

But life is not made of little pieces
and

no matter how tightly or loosely held,
little pieces are never enough.

And so I watch the vapor of my breath
on the cold air.

I watch the way it vanishes

breathing you out.




© Nancy A. Smith
2009

Oh, how I wish I had written this! Other writers humble me!


I have tried hard to have appropriate feelings

I have folded them away like sweaters.
Kept my distance from the moon, visited the sick.

I am proud of the life in my head. Nobody knows
the garden I've seen. I am tender with the suburb.

Some days even the ceiling worries me, the way
it keeps the roof on.

I only cry when the polar bears get to me.
The ones stranded on the melting ice.

Otherwise I'm kept in line by the steady curve
of my driveway, the tight fists of the roses. I can easily
converse
about the sweet peas and our eventual disintegration.

The sky has more to say to me than I could
ever hear, given the restricted space between
houses. Frogs sing at night and the whine of the train.

When moths circle the porch light
I think they might be coming for me.

Susan Denning
By Permission

I will post her bio as soon as I can get over the technical difficulties.

The Greatest Generation

Courage is Fear holding on a minute longer.

George S. Patton

Indolence
High summer seems a time for it,
for nothingness

abnegation of ambition which has
driven me
far too long.

Better my dog’s intention,
to follow
bliss of sensation
to drowse in heat
to drink when thirsty, which is to say

always

to revel in relaxation, to
let that sweet
sleep creep
into me and

Not. Care.

that I am

Not. Productive.

today.

High summer.

May I know no song but thanks.

George Eliot - An Unconventional Life

George Eliot - also known as Mary Ann Evans - led a quite unconventional life for her time. In thinking about the nature of fate, relationships, and roads not taken, I stumbled across this quote from her.

"Anyone watching keenly the stealthy convergence of human lots, sees a slow preparation of effects from one life on another ... Destiny stands by sarcastic with our dramatis personae folded in her hand."

On my way to work today ...

Blue Heron - The Meaning:


According to North American Native tradition, the Blue Heron brings messages of self-determination and self-reliance. They represent an ability to progress and evolve. The long thin legs of the heron reflect that an individual doesn't need great massive pillars to remain stable, but must be able to stand on one's own.

Blue Herons have the innate wisdom of being able to manoeuvre through life and co-create their own circumstances. Blue Herons reflect a need for those with this totem to follow their own unique wisdom and path of self-determination. These individuals know what is best for themselves and need to follow their hearts rather than the promptings of others. Those with the Medicine of the Great Blue Heron may sit until the rest of us loose patience. And, when they follow the promptings of the heart, they are one of the most magnificent when they choose to soar.

This is the message that Blue Heron brings.

A hopeful omen.

Gratitude


The Place I Want To Get Back To


is where
in the pinewoods
in the moments between
the darkness

and first light
two deer
came walking down the hill
and when they saw me

they said to each other, okay,
this one is okay,
let's see who she is
and why she is sitting

on the ground like that,
so quiet, as if
asleep, or in a dream,
but, anyway, harmless;

and so they came
on their slender legs
and gazed upon me
not unlike the way

I go out to the dunes and look
and look and look
into the faces of the flowers;
and then one of them leaned forward

and nuzzled my hand, and what can my life
bring to me that could exceed
that brief moment?
For twenty years

I have gone every day to the same woods,
not waiting, exactly, just lingering.
Such gifts, bestowed,
can't be repeated.

If you want to talk about this
come to visit. I live in the house
near the corner, which I have named
Gratitude.


"The Place I Want To Get Back To" by Mary Oliver, from Thirst. © Beacon Press, 2006.

What's Past is Prologue

Elizabeth I. Most people know her as Queen of England from 1558 to 1603. Most historians agree she was a complicated woman. Many people know she was highly educated and intelligent. Fewer people know she was a poet.

This woman eschewed much in the way of love. Here is her verse that I love best. It speaks to me.


I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate.
I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned,
Since from myself another self I turned.

My care is like my shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,
Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.
His too familiar care doth make me rue it.
No means I find to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be supprest.
Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.
Let me or float or sink, be high or low.
Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die and so forget what love ere meant.

An Amazing Thing happened in my backyard...

In our unexpected two days of welcome warmth, an amazing thing happened.

I tried to capture it in words. The below falls far short, but, for what it's worth -


Cherry Blossoms

Hard winter aweigh
through unlikely feet of snow
to today
a sudden April warmth.

The ground coolly uncertain which green thing
might still reach its tender
head into the sun.

I sit quiet
at the peak of the afternoon warmth.
Quiet - so still - I harmonize in my mind
to my old dog's
sleeping musical breath.

and in the stillness
(me - stillness in the warmth) a sound -

tick -tick-

not rhythmic but cascading,
like a herd of tiny feasting birds
breaking seed with sharp beaks.

tick.

tick-tick.

Like the smallest of small rain on an aluminum roof,
no cadence but drifting on the air in little waterfalls of sound.

What could that be?

Without disturbing
the music of the old dog
I quietly pace the backyard,
behind the bushes,
along the feeders,
up the tree branches to see if
that grey squirrel might be
teasing me with his ventriloquy...

I sit back down and let the silence,
except for the tick tick tick,
engulf me.

And then, all senses roaming,
my ear turns to the cherry tree,
leaning toward me like a longing old love,

and I knew.

I knew.

That the ticking astounding sound was the music of a thousand cherry buds
releasing from their green and swollen cases.

A mystery, revealed.

Humbled,
I harmonize the music of the old dog
to the sound of the bursting tree,

and for the first time in a long time

I am

amazed.



April, 2009

FAUX PRINTEMPS

... So who cares if its faux. After the snow, cold rain and wind - I'll take it!



Rain in Spring

There fell a beautiful clear rain
with no admixture of fog or snow
and this was, and no other thing,
the very sign of the start of Spring.

Not the longing for a lover
nor the sentiment of starting over,
but this clear and refreshing rain
falling without haste or strain.

Words: Paul Goodman
Music: Ned Rorem
Paris, 7 June, 1949

Treasure Hunting for the Past

In the spring of 1994, I was on my way to Minneapolis and decided to stop in North Dakota. My mother was born in North Dakota, on a farm halfway between Litchville and Marion, in a house that her grandfather Jacob Stroeder built from the ground up with his two strong German hands. All I had to go on was the picture above from Appolonia Stroeder's wedding (about 1910) and an old letter from 1963 describing very vaguely the way to get to the farm.

I drove around aimlessly through beautiful flat empty roads, navigating direction by the turn of the sunflowers. After visiting Litchville and Marion, with no one in those tiny towns willing or able to tell me where I needed to go, I meandered through the back roads toward Fargo. And then, out of the blue, I saw it, standing there in the middle of a field. Derelict, but still standing, with the beautiful sunburst ornamentation on the dormers. I parked on the road and hiked in to the house through the field, explored inside along with racoon scat and barn swifts who were none too happy to see me. Finally, the farmer who owned the land came down to investigate what I was doing. I explained and he was so gracious. He took me through the whole house, let me take pictures and videotape and told me I was lucky to have come when I did, as they were going to have to demolish the old house. So I took one last picture among many, as close to the wedding view as I could manage.

The farmer and his wife have passed over now. So has the old house. I'm glad I got to linger in its spirit for a little while.

The House with Nobody in It

Whenever I walk to Suffern, along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
and look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.

...But a house that has done what a house should do,
a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up her stumbling feet,
is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.

So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.

Joyce Kilmer

HOGMANAY 2007

What does Hogmanay actually mean and what is the derivation of the name? Why do the Scots more than any other nation celebrate the New Year with such a passion? Why should a tall dark stranger be a welcome first foot visitor after midnight, carrying a lump of coal and a slice of black bun?

The Origins of Hogmanay

A guid New Year to ane an` a` and mony may ye see!

While New Year's Eve is celebrated around the world, the Scots have a long rich heritage associated with this event - and have their own name for it, Hogmanay.

There are many theories about the derivation of the word "Hogmanay". Hogmanay could be traced back to the Anglo-Saxon, Haleg monath, Holy Month, or the Gaelic, oge maidne, new morning. The Church did not approve of Hogmanay traditions.

"It is ordinary among some Plebians in the South of Scotland, to go about from door to door upon New Year`s Eve, crying Hagmane."
Scotch Presbyterian Eloquence, 1693.

Historians believe that we inherited the celebration from the Vikings who, coming from even further north than ourselves, paid even more attention to the passing of the shortest day. It may not be widely known but Christmas was not celebrated as a festival and virtually banned in Scotland for around 400 years, from the end of the 17th century to the 1950s. The reason for this has its roots in the Protestant Reformation when the Kirk portrayed Christmas as a Popish or Catholic feast and therefore had to be banned. Many Scots had to work over Christmas and their winter solstice holiday was therefore at New Year when family and friends gathered for a party and exchange presents, especially for the children, which came to be called hogmanay.

There are traditions before midnight such as cleaning the house on 31st December (including taking out the ashes from the fire in the days when coal fires were common). There is also the superstition to clear all your debts before "the bells" at midnight.

Immediately after midnight it is traditional to sing Robert Burns' "For Auld Lang Syne". Burns claimed it was based on an earlier fragment and certainly the tune was in print over 80 years before he published his version in 1788.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot and auld lang syne
For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne,
We'll take a cup o kindness yet, for auld lang syne."

"First footing" (that is, the "first foot" in the house after midnight) is still common in Scotland. To ensure good luck for the house, the first foot should be male, dark (believed to be a throwback to the Viking days when blond or red headed strangers arriving on your doorstep meant trouble) and should bring symbolic coal, shortbread, salt, black bun and whisky. These days, however, whisky and perhaps shortbread are the only items still prevalent (and available).

Some of these customs do continue, especially in the small, older communities in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland where tradition, along with language and dialect are kept alive and well. On the Isle of Lewis, in the Outer Hebrides, the young boys form themselves into opposing bands, the leader of each wears a sheep skin, while a member carries a sack. The bands move through the village from house to house reciting a Gaelic rhyme. On being invited inside, the leader walks clockwise around the fire, while everyone hits the skin with sticks. The boys would be given some bannocks - fruit buns - for their sack before moving on to the next house.

One of the most spectacular Fire ceremonies takes place in Stonehaven, just south of Aberdeen on the North East coast. Giant fireballs, weighing up to 20 pounds are lit and swung around on five feet long metal poles, requiring 60 men to carry them as they march up and down the High Street. The origin of the pre-Christian custom is believed to be linked to the Winter Solstice of late December with the fireballs signifying the power of the sun, to purify the world by consuming evil spirits.

And it is worth remembering that January 2nd is a holiday in Scotland as well as the first day of the year - to give us all time to recover from a week of merry-making and celebration, all part of Scotland's fascinating cultural legacy of ancient customs and traditions surrounding the pagan festival of Hogmanay.

Why is there a monkey in my sink?

I haven't posted for a while because the vicissitudes of 2007 finally caught up with me. I spent Christmas (HO HO HO) in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer. And I do mean 'bleeding', the details of which I will leave off here. When I presented myself at the emergency room, I figured I'd be there a couple of hours. Until they hung five IV's, plasma, blood pressure cuff, heart monitor, the whole works. For a hospital/doctor phobic like me, it was quite an experience.

Needless to say, they admitted me, so I spent December 23, 24 and 25 in the good hands of the doctors and nurses. Diet, stress and lifestyle changes are now in order.

The EVENT of the stay however, was the endocscope. I absolutely didn't want to have an endoscope. Being a world class 'gagger' I could not imagine a tube down my throat into my stomach. I was assured and reassured that I would be in twilight sleep and remember nothing.

Maybe that works for some people, but not for me! I went to twilight sleep all right, but woke right up when it felt like a garden hose was being put down my throat. This is not the doctor's fault entirely - I had a drug interaction/allergic reaction and began hallucinating. I was dimly aware of three nurses holding me down as I mumbled something about a banana being forced down my throat. After three attempts at "the insertion of the tube" down my throat the ever hopeful doctor said "just one more try" whereupon my head spun round like Linda Blair's in "The Exorcist" and in my best Mercedes McCambridge voice roared "We are NOT trying one more time!"

He acquiesced. Poor guy. I apologized later - for what, I'm not exactly sure.

Anyway, I hallucinated for the next 45 minutes or so. I couldn't speak clearly and was afraid I'd had a stroke (I didn't, it passed). There was a lady's face in the clock on the wall, and the walls kept morphing between the hospital and my office. Very weird. The best part, however, was the monkey sitting in the sink.

The next day they brought in an anesthesiologist and accomplished the thing as it should have been - to quote Sgt. Schulz "I knew nussing, nussing".

I'm better now.

I worry about the doctor though! And where the heck is that monkey?

BECAUSE IT'S OBLIGATORY

Dog in Santa hat.

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CABIN FEVER

I have been pretty much 'home' and 'working from home' since Lili's last cancer surgery. Thankfully, that looks to be pretty much over. Other than her obsessive licking and a little small hole in her leg, she's doing well.

But strange things happen when you are housebound for too long, with only a dog for company. Things that you would not normally do, or find amusing, suddenly become hysterically funny.

I was playing with Lili with a dishtowel, and suddenly I thought "who does that look like?" So I took a picture. She was not amused.

I suspect that King Abdullah will also not be amused. But at least Lili didn't use "just for men" on her mustache and beard - she is proudly grey.

You'd better hope I get out of the house soon, or who knows what is going to show up on this blog!