Month: January 2005

  • Spring in Sellwood


     


    My windows were up and the radio was playing that “don’t forget to call…” — Something about don’t lose my number you may want to call me someday.  I think the name was Michael.  Was it a Steely Dan song?  And this song always seems to come on, through the years, when I’m on a driving adventure.  Not lost, just looking. 


     


    Out of the corner of my eye, to my left, I see a head pop up, behind a garage.  She’s maybe 11 or 12.  I’m on a fairly main, two-lane road.  There’s a tavern at the bottom of the hill where this road meets the big highway.  Their house, which has caught my eye before, because of the laundry stacked up on the back of the couch, is the last house before the tavern.  The girl’s head pops up again, and either I am seeing double or she has a twin.  They each have the same long, wild hair.  It would be an Afro, except that they are half white and their hair is just slightly bushy.  The bottom third of their hair has been identically dyed a hideous blonde. 


     


    Round and robust, these girls must be jumping on a trampoline.  They enthusiastically throw their arms up in the air, gaining elevation.  I bet they’re whooping and hollering.  They have big smiles.  The afternoon sun has forced a make-believe spring day and they celebrate.  The girl on the right does something so graceful with her arms.  It’s such a grand gesture.  She leaps up and her arms travel in an arc, one leg out behind her like a ballerina.  Her sister attempts it but lacks the confidence and form to pull it off.  The dancer shows her again, and again she tries to copy but she just can’t get the range.  They leap up again, together, almost crashing into each other.  I can see the dancer’s arms go around the other’s neck.  It’s twin love.


     


    The light turns green and my adventure is off to a beautiful start.  I looked on Mapquest for this park, after hearing about it from where I’ve been walking the dogs.  I am falling short on my resolution to find a place to walk.  The Park down by the river is handy but it’s no place where I can get three miles in or anything.  And I’m tired of all the geese and their shit.  The dogs love it, though.  The older one still manages to roll in it every time.


     


    I have no trouble finding this park.  Lots of people and their kids are here.  I see playground equipment and what looks like a school, which is being used for something else.  There is some kind of game going with a bunch of kids and a Frisbee.  And there are tennis courts down below.  It’s huge and I walk the perimeter.  I’m glad I left the dogs at home as this is not a good place for the puppy:  heavy traffic and lots of little ones.   I see an interesting garden across the street so instead of getting back in my car, after I’ve checked the park out, I start walking the neighborhood.


     


    The neighbors seem to all know each other.  People are out in their yards or out walking.  It looks like it’s after five o’clock.  The sun is starting to set.  Everyone’s enjoying the beautiful day, getting the last bit of sun.  I see purple violets coming on and I come to a halt when there before me is a tree of daphne.  I smelled it just to make sure ‘cause I’ve only seen bushes before.  I even saw iris blooming on the side of someone’s house.  There are some real artistic types living here. This one front porch had a beautifully woven rug with two rockers and a cat that matched the rug.  A pot of grasses graced the rail and I just stood and stared.  So much style.  The garden was the same low-key study in texture.  They had bamboo and roses and everything in between. 


     


    The girls made me want to dance and the neighborhood made me want to garden.  I’m bursting with inspiration.


  • I hauled wood in all day.  Sitting by the fire with a fun book, I only got up to make crazy stuff like blue Jell-O, boiled shrimp, brussel sprouts — Wow, I’m really into the b food– Oh, and rice krispie treats with peanut butter.  I ate all these at different times.  I’ve given up the idea of meals, I just have snacks. 


    The novel is going better than smoothly.  All I needed was a little alone time with my people.  We are tight; it flows.


    My girls came and went, the older two on the phone and the youngest in person.  Her dreads look pretty good, I have to say.  I don’t know what’s with this kid.  She has the best hair of all of them and she’s standing in the bathroom, admiring her mess-of-a do, and she says, “Finally, no more shine.”  She wears tattered clothes and not a stitch of make-up and she’s even managed to find a way to camouflage that beautiful hair.  Oh, well.  She’s happy.


    And I’m happy.  I’ve decided I want to be more whimsical.  You probably don’t know this but I’m a huge smart-ass, and most people think I’m funny.  I think I’ve been taking myself way too seriously on here what with trying to be a writer an’ all.  As I got a little more comfortable, got a feeling for who you all were — I’m using “all” loosely– I began filling you in on my history.  Then I got up my nerve and posted little bits of this and that: stuff I’d been working on.  But now I’m more in the mood to ramble. 


    I think I’m feeling more secure.


     


  • My friend, Teresa, and I went to see the movie Ray.  I feel sure Jamie Fox will get best actor for it.  I hadn’t realized that was his voice and piano playing.  I could hardly get up to leave.


    My youngest is at a friend’s, getting dreads.  She has wanted this for so long.  The latest reason she couldn’t was because of her job.  Well, now she doesn’t have the job and after more than two years of waiting she just called and they are almost done.  She sounded really pleased.  I think it will be a good life lesson.  But I’m pretty sure her dad will have a different opinion. 


    Did you see writer_within‘s comment about using the mirror for a story?  Good idea, huh.  I’ve started it, and so far it feels right.  What doesn’t feel right is my stomach.  Here’s what I did with the first batch of tofu:


    I cut it up into sections which I placed in boiling water for ten minutes, just to kill the bacteria.  Using a slotted spoon I removed the tofu and let it cool.  In a frying pan I sautéed cut up pieces of sundried tomato, in a little of its oil.  I added the tofu and crumbled it.  To that I added a little tomato paste, Italian seasoning, red pepper flakes, garlic salt and lemon pepper. 


    In the blender I demolished fresh:  red pepper, green onion, celery, in equal parts.  I threw in the tofu mixture and pulverized it.  The texture was sick but over spelt noodles, it tasted good.  The mistake I made was in adding anything but dried seasoning to the tofu.  It does bad things to the consistency.  I’ll work on it because I really think the tofu is going to be a good replacement for fattening things I usually use in white sauces.


     

  • There’s this elevator at St Vincent Hospital and I don’t usually enjoy standing there.  In between the elevators are large floor-to-ceiling mirrors and for some reason I look different in them.  I can look perfectly fine at my house but twenty minutes later, standing with the crowd, sneaking quick peeks at myself, I don’t look so good.  At home my makeup looked fine, but there I look washed out.  My hair always looks worse, like it’s boring, when I remember thinking it looked pretty good that day.  My pants won’t look long enough, it’s always something. 


    But today I looked great.  There was nobody there the first time I glanced and since it was such a surprise I hit the button to go up and went back over for another longer look.  Yep, I really looked pretty good.  And what’s funny was that I wasn’t feeling that attractive.  I’ve put on ten pounds and I hadn’t really done much with my hair.  I still can’t quite figure it out. 


    I don’t think it has anything to do with weight or hair or clothes.  I think that mirror reflects the inner stuff.  It’s not a normal mirror.  You don’t get a close-up.  I don’t know how to describe its opaqueness.  You get more of….I know what it is.  Because you can’t see details you look at the bigger picture of yourself.  You see your stance, your attitude.  It’s more of an overview.  And I’m tellin ya there’s something better about me.

  • Chaotic.   Finally.


  • I’m not sure how it happened but I just wrote the hottest sex scene.  I knew exactly what my characters were going to do next, I’ve been working it out in my head and I had to write some stuff to get them there, but then they tricked me and had sex instead.  Wow!  I just went with it.  I mean they’re married, why not.  I just wrote it how I’d want it.  Damn, that was some kind of fun.


    Last night we had our first workshop.  I made seventeen copies and went to class.  I asked to go first because I couldn’t stand the waiting.  Plus I was so nervous I didn’t eat dinner because I figured I’d have to take a shit the minute I started reading.  So I read them The Dream.  I put all the parts together.  It came out to about 2000 words, which seemed okay for a reading.  It was so fun.  What a treat to be able to add inflection to the words and manipulate the tempo.  I got some really good feedback and they pointed out some stuff that seemed obvious, which I’d overlooked.  Like they wondered who all the characters were.  I had left H and W in there and they wanted more.  They also wanted to know what Melissa had said the dream meant.  They wanted to know why I went looking for Wayne.  And two people said they felt it was too –what’s the word for crazy?  Two people said they liked the dream-like quality of the whole piece.  I can’t think of that word and it was two men who used it.  It’s what drove my ex crazy.  It’s not scattered, but close.  It starts with a C or Q.  I hate being old, I can’t remember shit.


    Anyway, I couldn’t believe what great writers these people were.  I am thrilled to be sitting in such good company.  Six of us read and I was impressed by each of them.  They all read their piece lovingly, as well.  I love it that there are as many men as women, as many young as old, and if I had to guess how everyone had voted it would be a dead tie.  That makes for really good discussion. 


    Did you see the recipe for tofu that my new reader, Sare_Meegan , offered?  Today’s the day I practice with tofu.  Forget weight watchers, I am going to just see what happens with some of these new recipes.  Did you know that oil should be kept cool, out of the light?  I have been cooking with oil that may be toxic.  Oh, and I have to tell you the really scary thing I did.  At the end of the tofu class he passed around a questionnaire, wanting comments on the class.  The second to last question was “Do you know of somebody who’d enjoy teaching a cooking class?”  The last question was “What would they be cooking?”  I put my name down for soup.


     

  • No, I didn’t write my 1,000 words yet, and the night’s not young.  But I am so thrilled with some things that happened today that I wanted to share them while I’m still pumped.


    The best thing that happened to me tonight was tofu.  I took a class at the local high school which was exciting for several reasons:  it was cheap, it was close, and it’s a wonderful facility.  The teacher said, “You just don’t find ‘em like this any more.”  The real excitement though is that I can make mayonnaise that has almost no calories.  I can make fried rice with tofu that tastes and looks like scrambled eggs.  And I can make French toast and deserts using tofu.  The teacher sold us the book he wrote so, if there’s anything you want to know how to make, just ask.  I’m thinking about cheesecake.


    What was almost as exciting was that I stopped by the library, my new favorite place.  It’s just down the street, like everything else around here.  I don’t have a printer any more so I go there.  So I was sitting there, making copies of all my different resumes, when the guy next to me, a very cute guy — And I had to take a second look because even though he was the wrong age I can count on one hand the number of reasonable-looking guys, of any age, I have come across over here — said,


    “I see you’re working on your resume.”


    Startled by his normal looks I stare, briefly.


    “Yeah, I made a couple different ones.”


    “I used to work for a company that did resumes for people.”


    “You’re kidding.  I know my resume sucks because nobody’s responding.  That’s why I decided to rewrite them to be specific to the job.”


    “Do you want me to take a look at it?  I see one thing already.”


    “Would you?  I feel so lucky that you sat down here.  It’s like God brought you.”  He didn’t flinch.


    “Yeah, what a coincidence.  I just got laid off from teaching a class on how to write resumes and I really miss it.”


    So I left there on cloud nine and got ready for the tofu class but what I am remembering now is E.  She was the 88-year-old patient I saw today, at the hospital.  She really made an impression on me.  Somehow, somewhere in the middle of the conversation, we switched places.  I think it was when I started asking her about her eating habits.  I probably told you about that little quiz I give older people who look great.  Sure enough she drinks lots of water, no booze, is quite active and eats lots of vegetables.  She thought the most important thing, though, was her positive attitude.  God, she was sharp.  But we were talking about how she was going home alone and that’s when I told her I lived alone.  I guess it was around then that I started identifying with her.  I could see myself looking and acting a lot like her when I’m that age, if I’m lucky enough to live that long. 


    Most older women….I don’t know, she just was not like most older women I see.  She wasn’t cantankerous, but she was very proud.  She was capable and independent, and I swear there was something sexual about her.  A lot of women, even by the time they are in their ’70s seem very removed, sheltered.  This woman was definitely in charge of her life, but not in the way my mother is, coming from a place of …like it’s her against the world. 


    I met three new people today who changed my thinking. 


     


     

  • I’m having a really productive day.  I went through the Sunday paper and highlighted all the jobs that sounded good.  Then I wrote, for each job, a cover letter and resume, which I Emailed.  I still have two to fax, but they didn’t sound that great.  I got my article done and sent off, and I wrote half of my assignment for Wednesday.  Plus I met my old boss for a drink and said, “I’ll just have a coke.”  What a day!


    I still haven’t paid my bills and for dinner I had popcorn and pineapple, but it was fresh.  I didn’t write my 1000 words today but I gave myself the day off for good behavior.


     

  • I fixed it!  All by myself!  My computer was not working and I still don’t know why.  I found the wire that the dog had pulled out and that should have fixed it but it didn’t.  Anyway, I’m back. 


    I have read everything I’ve written, all 46,000 words of the novel.  And I reconnected.  I have a new character and I’ve reconciled myself with making one of the characters bad.  I’m resistant to it but in order to have conflict between the other characters, it has to happen. 


    I have an article that I was supposed to turn in today, but I had no computer so I should be working on that.  I still have not paid my bills.  Instead, I have been pouring over the paper, looking at all the jobs.  I feel conflicted like I shouldn’t be pursuing a job that doesn’t involve writing or editing.  But, for example, there’s one right down the street from me, working for a title company.  I could come home for lunch and parking’s free.  What’s that worth?  Not to mention the price of gas and the time spent in transit that jobs downtown would require.  But there’s one working in a law library, which I have done, so it’s one of the few jobs where I have experience.  I have this odd, gut feeling like I should hold off, for some reason.  I can’t imagine why. 


    Well, I hope you all had a great weekend, I’m going to bed.

  • The puppy somehow managed to break the dog door so my brother installed a new one today.  The other thing I checked off my to-do list was getting the Christmas lights down.  It always amazes me how much time I spend feeling bad about not doing a chore that takes minutes to accomplish. 


     


    I am doing well on my New Year’s resolutions.  Someone on here — And maybe I have mentioned this already – introduced a new concept for me.  I now have categories that I am working toward.  It’s not so much a specific goal as it is a category with a five-year plan.  I tend to be an all-or-nothing type so this is healthier and easier to achieve success with. 


     


    But what is lacking is a more specific checklist.  Like:  1. pay bills.  I am amazed by my cavalier approach this month.  Usually I am wracked with guilt if I haven’t at least gotten them all out, discarding the ones that weren’t really bills.  This should happen by the 10th the second sitting will result in a nice neat pile, ready to go except the stamps.  And then it’s just a matter of finding the stamps and driving to the post office (I’m too paranoid to leave them in the mail box).  This process always happens by the 14th.  And I felt really bad about myself on the 15th and worse on the 16th but by the 18th I’d let it go. 


     


    You know what it is, it’s the writing.  At night, all I want to do is write.  And it’s never what I’m supposed to be writing, like the book or my assignment.  It’s my blog.  The blogging has gotten out of hand.  I used to think it was because I wanted more comments but even when I wasn’t getting many comments, like lately, I still poured my heart into it.  And every morning I’d come to the computer to see if you’d liked what I’d done and maybe there would only be two of you who said anything, but you were always kind and you seemed to approve.  And I knew I was getting better, I could see it.  And so with a self-satisfied smile I would read myself again.  That’s what it is.  I just figured it out.  It’s an ego thing. 


     


    See, I started back on the book today, and it just wasn’t as good as it used to be.  Because what I’ve been doing on my blog lately is finishing up stuff that I knew what to do with.  I was intimate with it.  My book on the other hand, I am not feeling intimate about.  I have left the characters too long and now they are strangers to me.  That’s the danger of blogging.  And I am going to rectify that.  No more blogging until I have written 1000 words. 


     


    I see the difference now between working on new stuff and old stuff.  I like detail work so I’d much rather be perfecting sentences than brainstorming, trying to find those sentences.  Maybe everybody’s like that.  I wish we could have another Nanowrimo.  I never realized how wonderful it was to have a big push like that.  Maybe we could start our own!  I sure miss watching that bar fill up; checking in every day with my progress.  It seems like a lot of you are working on books.  Anybody got ideas about how we could support each other, push each other, be held accountable publicly?

ydurp

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