Lent Day 10: More AWP

I am still at AWP: writing is exactly spirituality. We are born to create, to go forth and multiply, and by taking a little liberty with what that command might mean, I find that writing or making art is doing just that. Through creation of text or visual media, we multiply all that is good and right and beautiful in the world. We cause people to think through the less appealing parts of the world in order to see the more appealing ones. We can take the worst situations, the most horrible events, and create through them healing, help, peace, and grace with our words and images.

Part of today’s daily prayer from Common Prayer reads: “Sometimes we don’t realize the intensity of the things for which we pray, Lord. Keep us courageously mindful that your way is laden with tears on the way to resurrection. Amen.” Keep us courageously mindful that the way to creativity is laden with tears on the way to resurrection. Keep us courageously mindful that your way is laden with tears on the way to creativity and rebirth. Keep us mindful.

*

I went for a run this morning after sleeping for five whole hours last night.

The Reason I Slept So Well

Wacker and Wabash in Chicago

Chicago River "Private" Walkway

I'm Lovin' the Ferris Wheel

One Lighthouse

Super Yellow Beanie and Cityscape

Another Lighthouse

Lake Michigan

Ferris Wheel in B & W

Marilyn Monroe on Michigan Avenue: Fidelity

The Giant Bean and Some Tourists

Don't Let the Pigeon . . .

Peace.

Lent Day 9: Insomnia and Catharsis

I haven’t had insomnia this badly since I was in college. For this week, I am averaging about three good hours of sleep. At least, unlike college, I am not so jittery I can’t stay horizontal, so I am rested, but not well-rested.Our hotel situation worked out strangely, in that many of the AWP Conference goers received king-size beds instead of two double beds for groups of three adult-size people. I refuse to sleep in a king-size bed with two friends, no matter how close they are, so I volunteered to sleep on the floor. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor, but it isn’t as conducive to good sleep as I would like.

Tonight’s keynote address is with Margaret Atwood, the author of one of my favorite books, Oryx and Crake, and another book I have found becoming frighteningly realistic, The Handmaid’s Tale. After her address, several of us are going to go out for a bit. My plan is to exhaust myself and have a couple of nice hard ciders, so that I will be sure to get some sleep tonight. I also plan to run in the morning. I haven’t been exercising much the past couple of weeks, and I think the extra energy I’m not spending may be contributing to my insomnia. We’ll see.

*

Chicago is a spiritual meditation. Chicago is cathartic.

Stop Here to Get Chocolate-Covered Gummi Bears

Don't Forget to Exit I-90 Before This Toll Booth

Expect a Beautiful View of the Lake

Bring Plenty of Supplies

Eat at Lou Malnati's on State Street

Eat at Trendy Cafes

Consume the All American Breakfast of Sausage, Eggs, and Hash Browns

Wash It Down With My First Greek Coffee

Don't Swirl Well Enough

Watch A Worker-Artist Clean A Goddess

Watch Him Work Some More

Make Black & White Photos During a Session in a Ballroom

Revel in Beauty Whenever & Wherever She Shows Her Face

Hope and pray and wish and dream that I can sleep tonight.

I Know Why.

I know why homeless people stay homeless. As I was riding my bike in the rain to the mission this morning, I thought to myself, ‘This is why some homeless people get stuck in poverty. If I didn’t have a job or a home, how could I get one?’ I thought about this because it was raining pretty hard and my tires on my bicycle were spitting water all over my pants. By the time I got to the mission, I was drenched, cold, and out of breath. If I had been a person who was unemployed and on my way to a job interview, there would have been absolutely nothing I could have done about my appearance. My pants were literally soaked through. My underwear are still a little soggy and it is exactly twelve hours later. How many people do you think would hire a person who can’t even show up for her interview looking halfway presentable? Is there anywhere that will let you work the first couple of weeks until you can afford to buy a uniform? What if you still can’t afford a uniform after the first two weeks? What if you can’t afford to pay your water bill and don’t have perfectly clean clothes each day? I think about this frequently because I wonder how people are supposed to get a leg up when we place such high expectations on people in the work force. Surely there is somewhere that helps people help themselves, but I don’t hold my breath.

*

Today was writing club: Write On! Huh? One of the students led the group today. He brought a prompt, which was a list of fifty words. We picked numbers between one and fifty, then used the words that corresponded with the numbers in a story of 300-500 words. The words were pretty lame, according to the student, but I made my first (lame) foray into writing fiction using these words:  plastic grocery bag, candles, large drink cup, mustache, and poster.

It Seemed Like Child’s Play

I stopped in front of the wanted poster hanging outside the candy store next to the grocery store on our town square. “Small Town USA,” our town motto rang in my ears. I moved here when I had a child, so she would be safe. I thought there was too much crime in the big city to raise children there.

Usually they wear leisure suits with wide lapels in these posters. Apparently, the perpetrator’s wardrobe updates end in the late seventies. This man was no exception. Movie villains are always well-dressed and looking for a good time. Slick mustache and hair combed straight back: every movie villain has the same style. Sometimes the hair covers a bald spot. Sometimes the bald spot shows through. But this wasn’t a movie villain. This was a man who had been spotted in our town.  This was simply a pervert looking for a good time.

I stood there looking at the poster, thinking about how it resembled a B-movie poster when the wind picked up, cold and fast, bringing with it a large drink cup wrapped in a plastic grocery bag. The whirlwind circled around me as if it was trying to tell me something, like Lassie explaining that Timmy fell into the well. I ignored the icy gust, and kept staring into the eyes of this man in front of me, shuddering and thinking about my beautiful daughter and how this man was loose in our neighborhood. All I could think of was his sleezy mustache and greasy comb over. They consumed me. They haunted me. They made my skin prick with cold.

The wind howled around the building, the plastic grocery bag crinkled and scraped its way across the parking lot, taking with it the cup, which must have been empty. The pair blowing across the pavement made me wonder about their former contents. Someone’s lunch. An after work snack. Halloween candy collected by a small child. I put my collar up to shield my neck from the sudden cold, and thought about the mustache and the hair. This man with his piercing stare could be anywhere, lurking, waiting for a small child to pass his way.

I began to question. Was the grocery bag clutched by small hands, greedily collecting falling leaves? Those could have been my daughter’s hands wrapped tightly around the plastic handles, waiting for a piece of penny candy. They could have been the hands of the boy next door, holding the bag for his father on the way home from the store. Had the pervert’s dry, cracked hands, having been run across his greasy hair, having caressed the ends of his mustache, gripped that large Styrofoam cup? Had his lips pulled the soda through straw to quench his thirst?

Now the drink was gone, the contents of the bag were gone, and the child was gone. I thought about how scared my mother had been that I would be kidnapped as a child, and now I had my own worries. But my morose imagination had run away with me. When the wind whipped past my collar and began to sting my eyes, I remembered I needed to pick up candles for my daughter’s birthday cake.

*

Exercise: biked to the mission then to Burris

Food: banana, milk, two Bliss chocolates, Clif bar, tea, apple, almonds, pumpkin spice steamer, sun chips, pasta with stir fry, M&Ms

a political writing

During the winter of the year Ross Perot ran for president, they walked along the railroad tracks, high on life and reeling from the acid they had dropped earlier in the evening. There were several of them, young, middle-school aged, without a care in the world. They ambled along the lazy stretch of tracks alternately walking on the rails and then stepping on each tie as if the rocks were a sort of grey, jagged bayou filled with hungry alligators. Tisha, a soft intelligent girl with wild curly hair, had been with them just hours before, but had gone home to eat dinner and her parents wouldn’t let her back out. She had homework. Her friends were trouble. She wasn’t leaving the house. In retrospect, that was the best move they could’ve made as parents. They saved her life by forcing her to her bedroom to do homework that, at that point in her life, meant less than hanging out, smoking, and doing things that kids her age shouldn’t have been doing. Amber wasn’t as lucky. Her parents didn’t care. In fact, her parents may or may not have been in the state at the time of the accident. I don’t know if they made to the scene that night or had to return later to mourn the events they weren’t there to witness. By now, in today’s time, the truth has been skewed by years of its evolution into urban legend. Did it really happen the year that Ross Perot ran for president? Had they really been high? Who sold middle-schoolers acid? Why didn’t they decide to walk on the railroad tracks? None of that seems to matter in light of what did happen. Amber is dead. The train hit her. The rescue workers used gloved hands to pick pieces of her from the overgrown bushes. We all became more afraid or more enamored with trains. Our school started a DARE program. Those are the facts. Ross Perot didn’t win.

vegetables

gardening>weeding>farming>organics
beets>beet salad Richards
corn on the cob>eating, freezing, plastic bags
asparagus> Allen and Rita> Dad
green peppers> in salad, ICK
radishes>
carrots> taste like dirt
jicama> Travis
tomatoes> sandwiches> off the vine> Harriet the Spy
potatoes> digging them with Janie
Mr. Peacock’s vegetable stand> Bob Merideth
green beans> snapping
peas> shelling
jalapeños> Subway
banana peppers> Cole and pizza
zucchini> stir fry> eggplant
okra> hot sauce
squash> butternut, spaghetti, acorn

Overheard conversation:
I’d dress up as a half-boy/half-woman, but I couldn’t do that for school.
Why? Would it scare the kids?
No, the kids would probably ask, Mommy, why is she half-boy/half-woman?

Ten Years, Two Pages, A Whole Lotta Nonsense

Zero to Ten in Two Triplicated Pages
July 21, 1974. Mom ate pie. The whole pie. It was apple. Her stomach cramped. Pie was blamed. Could it be? Was it pie? Was it I? Labor is pain. July 22, 1974. I was born. They pulled me. I slid breathless. I breathed in. I cried out. My life began. Crawling was cake. Walking was hard. Talking came quickly. I sputtered around. Sentences found me. I used them. And never stopped. I talked incessantly. To anyone listening. “Are you Clarence?” Black equaled Clarence. He bought dogs. My parents sold. One saved me. Mom was pregnant. They attacked her. Men on bikes. The dog bit. We were safe. They shit themselves. Literally shit themselves. “Jigs,” one eye. A protective pit. Missing an eye. No socket even. Just an eye. One fierce eye. And huge teeth. One door separated. Them from us. She bit through. One clean bite. A gaping hole. Her one eye. They opted out. They never returned. We survived it. Quick flash forward. Three brought change. Adam was born. Blond, birdlike, ugly. I was fat. My hair black. A beautiful baby. His eyes shut. They brought him. Wrapped in blankets. Skinny fingers poked. His lungs large. His cry loud. Put him back. Put him back. Four years old. Methodist preschool began. New experiences abound. Naps on cots. Snack time, lunch. Dukes of Hazard. Penny root-beer barrels. Little brown bags. Long winter rides. Kindergarten soon began. I learned coloring. What colors where? Choose colors properly. Do not imagine. Sun is yellow. It’s not purple. Grass is green. It’s not red. Sky is blue. It’s not black. I got frownies. Never received smilies. I met Kim. We keep cordial. I met KT. We lost contact. I met Angie. We still spar. She hates me. I hate her. Still, we’re 34. She got smilies. She colored correctly. She reminded me. Everyday she gloated. We sat together. Four of us. In little chairs. A round table. I learned quickly. I read everything. Finishing the primers. I read books. I never stopped. First grade sucked. I re-read primers. Boredom engulfed me. I cried daily. The Blue-Butterfly Incident. I loved them. Mrs. O negated them. They don’t exist. Me: They DO! I have proof. I showed her. My desk relocated. I sat outside. In the hall. We rhymed words. Rhyme with “it.” One says “sit.” Another says “pit.” I say “tit.” Like the bird. Like a titmouse. Mrs.O named me. You are obnoxious. I cried out. You’re a bitch. I missed recess. That undid me. I got paddled. I told Floyd. He’s the principal. She’s a bitch. More paddling ensued. My desk moved. By the office. I ate alone. I sat alone. I did worksheets. Second grade sucked. Tommy got hit. He fidgeted constantly. Opening and closing. The pencils rattled. Mrs. Minnemum threw it. Tommy’s pencil box. Wooden and antique. It hit him. Then crashed down. His head bled. And he cried. I was indignant. I told her. Trouble found me. I embraced it. Branded by seven. She is trouble. Mrs. Minnemum grabbed me. Long fingernailed hands. Claws dug in. Scars cut deep. Stood in corners. Head pushed in. Goose eggs grew. I banged trashcan. Second grade passed. Third passed similarly. In the corner. Missing every recess. Eating lunch alone. So did fourth. I worked alone. Everyone else, groups. We watched films. The girls one. The boys another. Sex entered in. Periods and ejaculation. Kotex and tampons. No more cooties. Real fear loomed. We grew up. Films brought change. Pregnancy became threatening. Scared with beauty. We were young. Fifth grade came. A new school. Mr. Michener for homeroom. He taught Social Studies. And read outloud. I loved him. Love was Platonic. He was kind. He understood me. Miss Wehmeier taught English. They were dating. They ate together. We teased them. I teased mercilessly. I was jealous. My first crushes. Miss Wehmeier and English. I outshined classmates. She noticed intelligence. They accused me. You’re teacher’s pet! She was athletic. She was young. She was smart. Possibly, she’s beautiful. And she read. Outloud, to us. Her voice, sweet. Her cadence, perfect. Her interpretation, divine. I was enamored. I fell fast. I was ten. And in love. School ended abruptly. Summer warmly embraced. I turned eleven. Ten years gone.
No Socket Even
Because I was in utero, I don’t remember the whole story. The little I do remember has been pieced together from fragile scraps of the memories of others, particularly my mother since she was the only witness. What I am saying is that this story may not be true, although I like to believe it is.
When my parents were newly married, before I was ever in the picture, my father began raising Pit Bulls. He had majored in biology with a specialty in genetics, so he has been hybridizing, selectively breeding, and generally genetically engineering plants and animals since I can remember. The main point of friction in my parents’ early, married life came in the form of these dogs. He engineered them so well that up until a couple of years ago, one of his Pits was the breed standard picture in one of those big Dog Atlases that has pictures and descriptions of every breed. Along with making his own dogs, he also rescued them from the pound. Whenever Gayle, the dogcatcher, would get a Pit, he would call my dad and my dad would go get the dog. That is how they got Jigs.
Jigs had been used to fight. She was short, she was massive, her tail was broken, and she only had one eye. The other one had been ripped out fighting, and even the socket had been surgically removed. What was left, where the eye had been, was a big gaping hole of scar tissue that was purple and red and a sickly white. I imagine it looked worse than simply having no eye. She was my parents’ baby until I was born, and she tried to get in my bassinet to play with me. At that point, she moved outside in the kennel with the rest of the dogs. The important thing about Pit Bulls is they are really quite charming dogs, loyal and protective of their owners. In fact, over half of the American Dog Heroes—dogs who have rescued people or saved people’s lives—have been Pit Bulls. When provoked, however, just like any other dog they can be a little difficult to deal with. Possibly, the motorcycle gang should have considered that before they paid my mother a little visit.
At some point during my mother’s seventh month of pregnancy, while my father was at work, she rocked in the rocking chair watching television and playing with Jigs, who was still in the house because I wasn’t born yet. To hear my mother tell it, she heard a loud noise like thunder and looked out the window to find the driveway filled with chopped motorcycles. Knowing their wasn’t a motorcycle convention at our house, she rushed through the kitchen to lock the back door, and went back and sat in the same rocking chair. Meanwhile, Jigs went crazy, jumping, barking, growling, and pacing around the small living room. My mom sat calmly rocking. She said she started singing to herself as the bikers came and started banging on the back door. Apparently, they didn’t think to try the windows. They knocked. My mom rocked and sang and rubbed me through the thick skin of her belly. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me…
The back door cracked a bit as they tried to pound it open. Jigs, unable to take the threat any longer, shot from the living room through the kitchen and into the back entry. Her barking didn’t deter the invaders, so she jumped up to a man’s eye level, and in one swift bite bit through, yes, she bit through the back door. Taken aback slightly, the knocking bikers desisted, but they didn’t leave. Jigs began jumping from the floor to the hole she had created, looking out at the burly, leather-clad men, first with her good eye and occasionally with her gnarled socket. The lack of a socket must have done it, because when my mom stopped singing upon hearing the motorcycles start, the men were gone. They only left behind a pair of jeans and underwear intertwined and filled with shit.