Hats

I used to love hats and wore them to mass in the first blush of Catholic conversion. On Easter Sunday I showed up in my new maternity dress with matching beige cloche only to see it’s twin perched on the head of an elderly woman sitting to my right. After mass, I went straight home and threw it in the trash.

We were newlyweds, married first by a Baptist preacher in the home of Ms. Hamm, the church pianist. Later we took our vows before the Virgin Mary, John in his dress blues and me swathed in baby blue polished cotton, trying to hide my huge belly. I felt pious as I laid the cluster of white daisies at Mary’s feet. Later I wished I had kept them for a souvenir.

Later still it didn’t matter anymore. A second baby, a disorganized move to California. A shabby apartment two miles from my in-laws, transplants from Brooklyn who talked too loud and too much. We quit going to mass, quit talking to each other, quit planning for the future. Within six months it was all over and I never, ever wore hats again.  

Backbone

The women in her life had backbone, stood up for themselves and others. They marched for gender equity, the right to choose their own partners, control of their reproduction, the right to receive a fair wage. They wrote letters, staged demonstrations, and refused to settle for less than full equity. Sometimes they went to jail. And sometimes they grew tired, hoped for the younger generation to take the lead. But they never, never, never gave up.

Too Many Balls in the Air

Sometimes I just feel like letting everything drop. But I don't. And I'm glad for that.

Love

she once loved a gentle, hardworking man
 and when she left him, she felt free

then she loved a violent man
 when he was gone she was filled with compassion

next she fell for a pretty man
 and was infused with style

her new love for a strong man didn't last
 but it left her healthy and strong

for a short while she loved a younger man
 and when he was gone she embraced age

and at last she loved an older man,
 a gentle and strong, handsome and loving man
 and she felt blessed

For John

Backward, turn backward,

O Time in your flight,

Make me a child again just for tonight!

Elizabeth (Akers) Allen 1832-1911

How's That Organizing Thing Going For Ya?

Sometimes a picture really is worth a thousand words!

Why I Sometimes Miss School

 

The kids. Especially the ones that live away from town, who have mothers and fathers that care about their education, that want their sons and daughters to have what they never did. The bling-thing? Well, too much tv but it inspires their creativity so I give them a pass on this.

Potatoes

Fried, boiled, mashed, baked with butter and sour cream. Sautéed with onions, cubed in potato salad. Potatoes in the stew pot, soaking up the juices from the beef chunks and fresh home grown tomatoes. Potatoes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner

Potatoes as a weapon chunked at the boys who try to catch the barn cat hiding in the haystack with her new kittens.

Potatoes that turn to vodka, vodka that turns to Bloody Marys, Bloody Marys that turn to romance, romance that turns to marriage. Marriage that turns to babies, babies that turn to grownups, grownups that turn to old men and women, sitting at the table, eating mashed potatoes. 

Relieving the Pressure

  

Over the past 4 and a half years I've spent over $13,000 on storage. $13,000! This month, I'm finally moving everything out of the last storage unit and into the garage. It's not ideal. But it's a step toward someday having a normal life: my own house, my own furniture, my stuff out of boxes. Before I'm too old to remember where it came from, why I'm keeping it in the first place. And I can finally quit paying that monthly storage bill.

James at 13

Her heart is full of grief.

Her heart is broken.

The pain runs out the bottom.

Love flows in the top

runs out the bottom.

They let her dress him.

She touches his face, his body

checks to see

if he was taking care

of himself.

He’s not skinny.

She feels better.

She kisses his feet.

Like the day he was born.

My youngest son died on this day, in 1997. His brother lit a candle for him this morning. It is easier now, but not by much. Loss of a child is surely a mother's greatest sorrow. He left four children behind, none of which are in our lives today. I grieve for us all.