Easy Like Sunday Morning

6 May

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My Life is a Scream

4 May

This is not Munch’s painting.

Edvard Munch’s The Scream sold recently for a record amount of money, 120 million. It is one of the most recognized pieces of art in history. It ranks right up there with my son’s drawing of me he did for Mother’s Day when he was three years old that I have proudly displayed on my fridge. Hey, I wouldn’t sell it for 120 million if that’s what you’re thinking. To me it’s priceless.

Apparently, this multi million dollar sale of The Scream came along with a poem Munch wrote about his tendency to shiver with anxiety when he felt the “great scream of nature”.

Image–wikipedia

Oh, Munch. Dear, sweet, Munchy. I, too, have felt that great scream. I feel it all the time, pretty much every single day of my life. And I have proof.

Here I am stepping on a scale yesterday after consuming half my weight in peanut butter cups:

And then I made the sad mistake of thinking that was my accurate weight. I found out I needed to add just a few dozen more pounds when I went to my doctor’s appointment later that day.

So off I ran to pick up some low-fat low-calorie low-taste yogurt. But after trying to choose from the 10,000 flavors and reading all the calorie labels, I started to feel a scream lurking deep inside and I lost it right there in aisle seven of Stop N Go.

Think my day was scream-free then? Oh no. My husband begged me to stop at Home Depot right after my yogurt meltdown. And once you’re in a Home Depot, they hide the exits on you so you can never get out again. It’s just an endless maze of lightbulbs and paint cans and I can feel a scream bubbling up to the surface within five minutes of being trapped in the plumbing department. Here I am trying to figure out how my husband disappeared in the nuts and bolts aisle right before my eyes, never to be seen again.

After a few desperate hours, I found him drooling over some power tools and dragged him home , where he sat down and proceeded to watch three straight hours of Deadliest Catch.

Amazingly enough, I managed to silently scream through two hours of this show until I went to use the bathroom and saw what my kids did to the toilet.

After cleaning for a few hours, I tried to watch a little TV to calm my nerves and found out that there would be yet another TV show based on the Kardashian sisters.

That scream really got my adrenaline pumping, so I decided to exercise–especially now that I couldn’t delude myself into thinking the doctor’s scale was some kind of sick joke the nurse liked to play on patients.  I headed downstairs to my elliptical and realized, not only was I about to exercise, (scream-worthy enough as it is) but first I would have to put away the mountain of laundry that had accumulated on top of it.

Not soon after folding and putting away laundry for three hours, my son informed me that I had promised to take him to Chuck E. Cheese for a birthday party for his entire third grade class for hours of just-stick-a-fork-in-my-eye fun.

And, that, my friends, is when I knew exactly what Munch was talking about when it came to “shivering with anxiety”.  And I didn’t need to spend 100 million dollars to find out.

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In Another Life, I Was Italian

3 May
Part of Positano, Italy.

Part of Positano, Italy. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Even though I’ve traveled far and wide across these great United States a few times, I have never been to another country. I suppose you could say the time I went to Canada on a band/chorus high school field trip counts, but really it doesn’t. I could go to Canada just getting lost while hiking in my backyard.

My entire life I’ve had this gut feeling that I should’ve been born in Italy, not Maine. Maybe it’s because I love to eat pasta 24/7. Or because I drink wine 24/7. Or because I find myself spontaneously yelling out things like, “Prego!” or “Arrivederci!” to people while I’m at Walmart. In any case, I’ve never felt like I belonged in a place where fried clam strips are considered high cuisine or where moose outnumber people.

I blame the movie Under the Tuscan Sun. After seeing it for the 50th time, I’ve realized that I want to be Diane Lane. I should be the one in an abandoned delapitated villa. I should be freaking out during a lighning storm that fries my washer. I should be riding my bike through the winding ivy-covered cobblestone streets in a quaint Italian village, inhaling the salty air.

Oh, look, Sexy Italian Guy–it’s that plaid-clad girl from Maine again begging us for wine!

Sometimes in life you get certain signs. Little odd coincidences that really aren’t when you add them all up. Last week I was flipping through channels and was compelled to watch an old classic movie, Summertime, with the great Katherine Hepburn. I was mesmerized with the scenery, forget the story. I suppose there was something about a sauve Italian guy and maybe they met and fell in love, blahblahblah and then he gave her a Gardenia and she hopped a train back home to America, so sad, yadayadayada. All I could think while watching this movie was, Oh, Kate! Just look at you! Sitting there by the river, sipping your wine all by yourself, watching the flocks of birds swoop over the church as the bells toll. I want to do that. I belong there. Not here in the sticks of Maine. Although being surrounded by all that water is dangerous for someone like me. Kate figured that out the hard way.

The same day I watched Summertime,  I checked out Freshly Pressed, (something I never ever do), and for some reason clicked on a travel-themed post. It was all about Italy, specifically the town of Positano. It was like I’d died and gone to heaven reading this post. I drank in every word, savored every image and it only sparked my Italian obsession even more. Turns out, the little town the author wrote about was the exact location that parts of Under the Tuscan Sun was filmed. Say, what?! Then I knew, I just have to go there one day before I die.

Just a horrible place to visit, I’m sure.

I told my husband about it. “Hey, honey, guess what? For our 20th anniversary we are going to Positano, not Disney World, so I just thought I’d tell you now so we can start saving our money. Oh, and we’re going to eat prosciutto and drink wine and lay on the beach and drink wine. Then have some dark chocolate gelato with a dessert wine. Maybe ride a bike through the village laughing our heads off while drinking wine.”  Then I told him all about my lifelong obsession, all the dreams I’ve had that I’ve once lived there in a past life. He looked at me and said, “You’re nuts. We’ll do it.”

The only way to travel.

Deep in my heart, I know we will be sitting in an outdoor cafe in Positano eating eggplant parmesan and sipping Cabernet sauvignon someday.  If it’s not until I’m old and gray and down to one brain cell, so be it. This gives me plenty of time to figure out how to convert american cash to lira.  And get over my fear of flying over the ocean. And my fear of flying. And my fear of flight attendants. Also, how to take pictures without falling backward into rivers. And how to say in Italian, “Excuse me, can you please direct me to the abandoned villa that you’ll sell us for pennies so we can fix it up and live there forever? Oh, and where’s the wine?” In the meantime, I plan on finally seeing the movie Roman Holiday with Audrey Hepburn. I’ve heard it’s good. I’ll make a huge pot of pasta, pour a glass of wine and dream.

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Much Ado About Nothing Monday

30 Apr

As you all know, I have two young kids that are basically blog fodder gold for me. Oh, yeah, and I love them dearly, etc. etc. That’s important to me, too. But back to my blog again. Now that my son is almost ten, he’s decided to limit our conversations to one word. I’ll ask him a question and he’ll either ignore me completely, or he’ll say, “Huh?” while looking off into the distance. So it’s getting harder for me to give you, dear blog readers, those fascinating gems that used to fly out of his mouth.  But he still manages to crack me up with a few choice words.

He’s been writing to his pen pal from another country in school for months now.  They both love Super Mario Brothers, Hot Wheels and pizza. I am as shocked as you are. The other day, the teacher set up a live video chat with everyone’s pen pals so they could finally meet in person. I was desperately trying to get information out of my son about the experience.

“Did you see your pen pal?”
“Huh?”
“Did you see him?”
“Yeah.”
“How was it?”
“Okay.”
“Did you talk with him?”
“Yeah.”
“Wasn’t it cool to see your friend from another country?”
“I guess.”
“What country is he from again?”
(shrugs) “Wisconsin?”

And the conversation ended. Along with my hopes of him ever becoming a geography teacher.

My son doesn’t come up to me as much anymore to strike up a conversation because he’s probably afraid I’ll sneak in one of my quick hugs and kisses and he’ll be forced to make a hasty retreat. So it was shocking when he came up to me and my husband on purpose to sit down and talk with us while we were watching TV.

“Mom, Dad, I want to tell you something.”
(mutes TV) “Yes! What is it?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking and….”
“Yes?”
“Don’t get mad but….I kinda wanna….”
“It’s okay. You can tell us! You can tell us anything at all! At any time!”
(leaning forward, on the edge of our seats)
“Well…Mom, Dad. I’ve decided to change my name.”
“Oh?”
“To Mario.”
Silence.
“Just thought I’d tell you guys to call me Mario from now on, ok?”
And he ran away.

I’m hoping by the time he’s in college, Mario will want to talk with me again.

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You might have heard about this craze called ‘photobombing’. Where someone sneaks into the corner or background of someone else’s picture and makes a face or something equally clever and obnoxious. Here is a video of my daughter, trying to sing the ABC’s “Country Style” (her preK teacher taught her this version which I find hilarious) My daughter had tried to do this video more than a few times and, as you can see by the end of the video, she had a hard time.

And here she is attempting a rousing rendition of Lady Gaga’s Born This Way.

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Fellow blogger extraordinaire k8edid is running a series of writing contests titled The Deadly Sins. This week it’s all about gluttony. You should have a character die or be in the process of dying and it should be no more than 600 words. She promises lots of prizes (this week it’s her world famous chocolate chip cookies and a $20 donation will be made, in their name, to the Food Bank or other hunger-fighting charitable organization of their choosing!) and besides, it’s fun to write, so go on over there and enter. Death, sins, charity and cookies. What more could you want, really?

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Losing Pieces of You

27 Apr

My five year old daughter’s first loose tooth had been hanging by a thread for about a week. She was very nervous about it coming out. “Is there gonna be blood? What if it comes out while I’m eating my goldfish crackers? Am I gonna eat it by accident? What if I swallow it? I don’t want to eat my tooth, Mommy!”

After I reassured her it wouldn’t hurt, she wouldn’t swallow it and there would be no blood (a tiny white lie), she spent the rest of the week standing on her tiptoes, gazing at the loose tooth in the mirror, gingerly wiggling it with her tongue. I tried to remember back when I lost my first tooth and I’m sure it was a bit traumatic. Or maybe I’m just remembering all the cruel ways my brothers suggested I rip it out of my mouth, most involving firecrackers or strings tied to skateboards.

To say losing a tooth is a milestone for a child is putting it mildly. And for a mom, it’s big. As in, ‘my sweet baby girl is growing up before my eyes and why can’t I do anything to stop it or slow it down?!’ big. Aside from the fact that she’s losing a small part of her old self, shedding a baby tooth, I am slowly shedding yet another part of my motherhood along with her. Think I’m being overly dramatic? Of course! That’s what being a mom is all about.

Last night my kids were doing the usual– jumping around their bedroom behind a closed door, whooping it up like a herd of elephants on speed. Then silence. The door flung open and my daughter raced toward me, her eyes wide and her mouth open. She held her hand out and there it was. A teeny tiny tooth nestled in her palm. “Mom! We were jumping and Christian knocked it right out of my head!” I smiled and shook my head. Typical brother.

“Tooth Fairy is coming! Tooth Fairy is coming!” she yelled and danced and twirled around the living room. She watched me as I put her first tooth in a ziploc bag and slipped it under her pillow.  I heard myself sigh. She’s lost a tooth. What’s next? Wasn’t it just yesterday when her first tooth erupted? Wasn’t it just yesterday she was wearing her little overalls and running around the house saying “baba” with her tiny wisp of hair and big hazel eyes, her chubby fingers grabbing mine?

I felt a tear well up, like it often does when a mom faces another milestone in her baby’s life. I brushed it aside, managed a smile and hugged my daughter tight. She grinned up at me, exposing the little space in front. I noticed right then just how different she looked now. How her entire face competely changed with the missing tooth. How grown up she was already, and how much more growing she had in front of her.

And just how incredibly lucky I am to be here to watch it happen.

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In Your Eyes I Can See Forever…and Dinner

24 Apr

What did you want for dinner tonight?
I don't know, maybe meatloaf and potatoes?
We're outta potatoes, how about spaghetti?
Sure, sounds good.

Sometimes you might see them in a crowded restaurant. An older couple, married for decades, eating their meal in complete silence. Not a single word exchanged. The husband busy chewing his steak and gulping his beer; the wife busy clenching her jaw, sipping her wine and gazing wearily off to the side to meet your eyes with a  ‘this will be you one day’ look.

I used to think, how sad. Now I know better. It’s not simply that they exist in a loveless union or that the resentment they feel for each other has completely snuffed out every bit of desire to communicate. Oh, no, this couple just might really get each other. So content with the other’s existence that words aren’t necessary. It’s a safe place. A place as comfy and worn as an old pair of ratty slippers. My husband and I have been married 12 years and we’ve recently faced reality: we are comfy, worn and ratty in more ways than we’d care to admit.

In the beginning of every relationship, things are fresh and new; everything you learn about the other an exhilarating discovery. You’re giddy with love, lust and the sheer disbelief there is someone out there that actually wants to spend time with you. You get married, you spend every waking moment gushing and babbling about your love for the other. This honeymoon period may last a few years, then the stresses of kids, mortgages and jobs start to consume every aspect of your relationship. Busy schedules leave both of you exhausted. This is why communicating telepathically is such a rewarding and worthwhile experience in any married couples’ life.

Long ago my husband and I had given up on fighting or yelling or nagging (well, sometimes I truly can’t help the nagging part, it’s a necessary evil). But really, we were just wasting precious energy. If we kept up with those things, we’d never be able to find the strength to reach for the remote or walk to the fridge for a beer.

When we first fell in love, we were both full of endless chatter, enthusiastic about every topic. Now? Well, we still want to talk, but sometimes we’re just too burnt out to do anything more than grunt or nod. Add to that the constant interruptions from our kids, we found having a simple conversation was almost impossible. So naturally, our interactions have slowly developed over the years, finally progessing to the point where we only communicate our innermost thoughts with subtle facial expressions. We are so in sync now, we just read each other’s mind–almost like we share one brain. Which is good because mine is almost gone.

Here’s a quick rundown of our 14 year relationship:

The Early Years–just dating and full of nonstop mind-numbing chatter

Him: So, what kind of music do you like? I’m really into Metallica…

Me: Ooh, wow, yeah I love Metallica! Well, just Enter Sandman, that’s the only song I know, but I love them soooo much! They like, totally rock!

Him: Yeah, totally, dude!

Me: They are SO cool.

Him: Totally!  I think I have a track here somewhere…

Me: OOH! WOW! Yeah! Once I almost saw them in concert, but my roommate, like, totally flaked so instead I saw Aerosmith.

Him: Get out! I love them!

Me: Yeah! And this one time, I was in the third row and I swear to GOD Steven Tyler winked at me!

Him: NO WAY!

Me: BLAH! Blahblahblahblibbityblibbityblahblahblahblahblah…

Him: Blahblahblah?

Me: Blah-blah BLAH blah blah! Blahblahblahblah! BLAH! Blahblahblahblahblah—
(etc. etc.)

Mid-marriage–about seven years in, conversations getting more blunt and to the point

(Metallica’s Enter Sandman blaring from husband’s stereo)

Me: Oh my god! Turn that crap off!

Him: What? I thought you liked them!

Me: No. I never said that. God, turn it off!

Him: No way, you always get to listen to your music. Aerosmith! Pssbbbt. God, they suck!

Me: Well, I can’t stand it! Turn it off!

Him: Don’t you dare turn it off! Don’t you dare–

Me: Hmmph! (turning off stereo)

Him: Gah!

Me:  Gah!

Married 12 Years–verbal communication not necessary

Husband pops Metallica CD into car radio.

Me: (glares)

Him: (pushes play and sheepishly raises his eyebrows)

Me: (glares, flares nostrils)

Him: (smiles cautiously)

Me: (narrows eyes)

Him: (slumps, takes Metallica CD and throws it out car window)

Me: (tilts chin up, smiles smugly)

See? So much energy was saved with a simple exchange of looks and gestures. Silence is golden. And this works with even the most complicated thoughts. Just imagine the secret discussions you and your spouse could have and no one would be the wiser!

With this next scenario, our secret language of slight gestures/expressions are in parenthesis. I will do the translating of our inner thoughts in italics for those out there who are telepathically-impaired or haven’t been married that long.

Discussing Easter plans with the in-laws:

Mother-in-law: “So what are you guys doing for Easter?”

Me: (side glance at husband) They are not coming to our house for dinner, we don’t have enough room and I am not going to cook.

Him: (raises one eyebrow) What if I do all the cooking?

Me: (opens mouth,  tips head to the side, rubs forehead, glares) You can’t be serious! You know damn well I would be the one left cleaning up all the mess and then you’ll run off to talk with your parents while I am stuck watching the kids and listening to my mother discuss her lactose-intolerance!

Him: (leans head back, scratches chin, sideways glance) Okay, so what if we have dinner at their house? (shrugs) My dad can cook, my mom can watch the kids and you can go for a walk by yourself, maybe catch up on some of your reading or go grab a cup of coffee? (rubs stomach) I know Starbucks has that cinnamon dolce latte you love so much…

Me: (smiles, rubs chin, eyes twinkle) Okay, sounds good. (leans forward, narrows eyes, flares nose) But I swear to God if your parents bring up politics in any way, shape or form I am outta there in a heartbeat (raises eyebrows, half smile) and tell your dad to make that German potato salad I like, (wrinkles nose) but make sure he goes easy on the pepper, I don’t do spicy. (glares, nods slightly) You know I don’t do spicy.

Him: (smiles) Done deal.

Mother-in-law: “Okay! So, it’s a plan. You’ll eat over at our place and Dad will make you the potato salad with no pepper!”

Both of us: (mouths drop open) Wow, she is GOOD.

Mother-in-law: “I know. Been married 42 years.”

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I Need to Have a Word With You, Friend

23 Apr

At first, I usually try to avoid most things popular in this digital social media technological-informational-crappola-highway-to-hell that is Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest. Mainly so I can smirk when people ask me why I’m not obsessed with the latest app or fad like the rest of them. Then I normally cave and get sucked into it like all the other mindless drooling souls out there.

So it’s no surprise that I’m late to catch the Words With Friends  bandwagon. (Apparently a bandwagon for nerds who like to stare cross-eyed for hours at a jumble of letters for fun.) Sure, I suppose you could say I am also a nerd. And yes, I’ve played Scrabble many times in the past and was terrible at it. And okay, I tended to stick with the easy two or three letter words and would always lose to the person who’d put down ZYGOTE or QUASI.  Still my interest in this WWF craze was piqued when I read that Alec Baldwin famously brought the airline industry to a grinding halt because he was hopelessly consumed with the game.

Finally, I gave in and played my first WWF game last week on Facebook. Before I knew it, I was playing several games at once, with about 100 different people. Right away I’ve noticed a few things, a few tricks people use. First, they most likely are spending their turn googling all the word combinations (I believe that’s called cheating. I’ve never done it, of course. You believe me, right?)

Next, they try their hardest to use little known words like ODALISK or ADZUKIS and get a billion points in one turn, while I put down words like SING and HAT. Nice words but they ain’t worth jack. (I’m not even sure AINT will net you much.) My feeling is, you shouldn’t be able to put down a word if you don’t know the meaning of the word without looking it up first. Hence, why I use SING and HAT all the time. This might also be why I lose all the time.

Clearly, I suck at Words With Friends. I don’t think I’ve won a game yet. And oh, have I tried. Sometimes, late at night, after my eyes have completely crossed and my brain has melted, I try to throw in some weird letter combinations, y’know, in the off-chance that these words actually exist. And I think some of these words I’ve invented should exist. For instance:


SNIRG (verb) The embarrassing sound one makes when snorting and scoffing at a snarky comment because they know deep in their heart it’s true.
And then she had the nerve to tell me that I was the worst Words With Friends player in the history of the world and my only response was to snirg uncontrollably.

QIG (slang): When you are really upset about something but you don’t want to swear because there are kids present.
Oh my god! There’s ketchup on the ceiling and popcorn in the toilet! What the qig is going on here?! OR
She just scored 68 points with a three letter word?! What the qig is going on here?!

(notice I have the ever-popular ZESH waiting in the wings for that all-important triple word score. Zesh, of course, meaning when you bite into something zesty yet real mushy, like a pomegranate.)

ZEQUISH (adjective): The state of getting dizzy while failing in your attempt to quiet your mind during Zen meditation.
I was trying so hard to empty my mind, so I chanted ”OM” and closed my eyes. Then tomorrow’s grocery list popped into my head and I began thinking about all the ways I could cook a damn chicken and I started to feel so zequish I had to stop. 

NERSH (verb): When you crush a nerdy opponent in a Words With Friends game by using either X, Q, or Z with three different words all in one turn for big time points.
I was losing by 300 points when I made my move and totally nershed her with the word QIVIUTS! OH, I wish I could’ve seen her face! Take that ,suckah!

ZANG (noun): 1. When you get carried away while cooking and add something incredibly spicy to a recipe that will probably set your tongue on fire.
Hmm…this chili could use a little more zang. Throw in a few tablespoons of cayenne pepper and some tabasco sauce. Ah, hell, put in the entire habanero!
 (verb)   2. When you are so eager to eat or drink something you know is scalding hot, you think blowing on it will cool it down enough and you end up repeatedly giving yourself second degree burns on your tongue.
Dude! That pizza just zanged the hell outta my mouth! But I can’t stop eating it. Can you take me to the emergency room?

(for those of you that questioned the other word I created above, GPUNA, well nice try, but I do believe that is a small nation nestled between the country of Ghana and a puna (which is obviously a high, cold, arid plateau, as in the Peruvian Andes). So what if they’re on different continents, this isn’t a geography test.)

ZARF (verb): When you are so tired of losing Words with Friends you start to feel like you’re going to be sick.
I swear to God, if she uses the letters Z and Q in the same word and gets the triple letter score, I am going to seriously zarf!

These are just a few of the words I’ve tried. Maybe some day soon the dictionary gods will recognize them. As a matter of fact, I’ve just discovered that ZARF is, in fact, a word.  Definition: (esp in the Middle East) a holder, usually ornamental, for a hot coffee cup. Further proof that my made up words are catching on! This is great news because the next time I’m in Egypt on my way to Gpuna and order a grande cappuccino at Starbucks I’ll have the benefit of snirging at the barista, “What the qig?! Damn, is this like a billion degrees? I just zanged my tongue! And hey, can you give me a freaking zarf for this thing, it’s burning the hell outta my hand!”

Until then, wanna play a game with me?  C’mon, you know you wanna….I promise you, I will lose.

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She’s a Maineiac Greeting Cards: Summer Edition

20 Apr

“]Cover of "Road House (+ Widescreen DVD) [...

Cover of Road House (+ Widescreen DVD) [Blu-ray

Slightly insensitive cards for the ones you love:For Your Kids:

The days are getting longer
Boys and girls are home from school

Time for one last important lesson
Let’s call it: Mommy’s Golden Rule

If you say the words, “I’m bored!”
She’ll have you wash your father’s socks

If you say it three more times
You can clean the litter box

If you say it yet again
Just to see if Mom goes crazy

She’ll go Roadhouse on your ass
Just like actor Patrick Swayze

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For Your Wife:

The time has come again                      
Swimsuit season is upon us

Fear not the dimpled butt and thighs
(Just being brutally honest)

I’ve found the perfect beach outfit
That you really shouldn’t pooh-pooh

It’s versatile and colorful
Mrs. Roper’s ratty muumuu

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For Your Girlfriend:

The long cold winter is over
Snow and ice are finally gone

Warmer weather is a-coming
And now you must be movin’ on

Put on your capris!
Put on your shorts!
Knock back some coke and scotch!

Dust off that razor, woman
Damn, you look just like Sasquatch!

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Stuck

19 Apr

Stuck

It all happened so fast
I was too careless,
my heart full of glee
blindly rushing forward,
now I’m in too deep.

Struggling against its grip
I succumb to its judgement
and await my demise.

 Suffocation threatens
my last gasp

I push

I pull

I fight

It only strengthens the vice!
Panic leaks into my soul
Will I ever be free?

Wait–could it be?
a slight give?
a sweet release?
Could my soul bear to witness
a dream such as this?

It loosens
O joy! O happiness!
busting wide open like a wave on the sea!

One!

Final!

Tug!

–my jacket zipper breaks free!

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I’m So Glad We Had This Talk, Mom

16 Apr

The following is a recent phone conversation with my 78 year old mother:

Phone rings forever, finally picks up

My mom: (long pause) Hello! HELLO!

Me: Hey–

HELLO?!

Hey, Mom. Me and the kids are gonna-

Whaddya want!

I’m heading out to pick up some pizza so-

WHAT?

I SAID THE KIDS AND I ARE GONNA GO OUT TO PICK UP SOME PIZZA, SO DID YOU WANT–

Pizza! Oh, god, no! I had some pork chops last night. Fried it up with some olive oil…no buttah, you know how I’m tryin to lose weight…a little onion…some peppers…some Mrs. Dash. Oh! GOD! It was too spicy. Too spicy. You know I can’t have spicy. Well, maybe you don’t know, you never come over or talk to me these days. I’m just here all night. All alone. I could have died last night and no one would have known for days. Maybe weeks. But here I was last night, wide awake because of that damn Mrs. Dash I had.  Stomach was all upset…

Ma…

…worst pain I’ve had in all my life…

Ma…

…bowels were all tied up in knots…

Ma!

Mrs. Dash! Oh, I dashed all right. Dashed to the bathroom all friggin night long is what I did. Oh gawd! It was terrible!

Oh, god….jeez, Mom!

It was 3 am before my stomach settled down….

Mom, look, I’m in a rush so I need to know if you–

…so I made myself a pot of coffee, cuz coffee helps me sleep ya know, I don’t care what they say…

Uh huh.

…and I watched a little TV, some of that Kenny Chesney. Oh, jeez! He’s awful. Always wearing that stupid hat. What is he trying to hide under there? But I love that other guy, the other country singer. Whats-his-face. You know the one!

Uh…

Oh, come on! You know that guy! The other guy! 

Listen, Mom, I–

Keith Urban! That’s the one! He’s a good young man. Good looking, too. Married to that gawd-awful tall and skinny actress with the big chest. Pbbstt. She is so ugly!

Yeah.

And then I watched the CNN and OH MY GOD! That Mitt Rumney is gonna be president!

Oh, no, I don’t think so. I think–

Oh, yes HE IS! People always vote for the handsome guy. The good looking guy always wins and Rumney’s very good looking. Gah! I can’t stand that man! Thank the good lord above it’s not gonna be Newt the toot! God, he’s just terrible. Horrible, horrible man. He just runs around, cheats on his wife, his wives, his floozies, whoever or whatever god-forsaken poor pathetic woman who will actually sleep with him. God!

Yeah, I’m happy he’s–

But it’s just not right! Obama is the best president we’ve had in a long time! Well, maybe not, but he’s a helluva lot better than that idiot Bush. Gawd! And they’re sayin Obama should fix the gas prices! It’s near FOUR DOLLARS A GALLON! Did you know that? Oh, you probably did. Is that why you don’t take me anywhere? I am going stir crazy here. I need to get out. I’m going crazier than a squirrel trapped in a coffee can. Can you take me to the dollar store?  Then I have to stop at the doctor’s so she can tell me this chest pain is all in my head and charge me more money! Jezum-crow! I’m just an old lady! I am broke! And she tells me she wants me to sign a living will. Yes! Well, of course I will, you moron. I want to die. Give me the damn pen, where do I sign? Can I put that in writing at the bottom? P.S. Don’t bring me back, whatever you do, doc. Just let me go! I don’t have much longer ya know, Darla. Could be days for all I know. Do you remember where my safe deposit box is?

Yeah. Look Ma, about the pizza–

And the key to it?

Uh huh.

And I don’t want any fancy-schmancy funeral. Just throw me in a box and dump me in the river down the road.

Ah, no, Mom, I don’t think they’d let me do that…

No? Hmm…

So–

So the gas is four dollars a gallon! So they blame, who else, Obama! Gawd! The poor man! He can’t fix everything for chrissake!

Ma! Did you want some piz–

…so now he’s to blame for the gas! Can I blame him for my weight gain too? Oh, I know! it’s HIS fault I ate those potato chips the other day! It’s just not right. Country is too busy pumping a giant handcart to hell. Same people always getting rich while the rest of us can’t afford a damn pot to piss in…

Uh…

…did you know what I saw on Dr. Oz the other day?

MOM!

WHAT! What do you want anyway!

I AM CALLING TO ASK YOU IF YOU WANT SOME PIZZA!

Pizza? Oh, god, no–you know I can’t have gluten.

phone clicks, dial tone

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