Archive for » November, 2006 «

scars

Scars. This one is so much harder than any of the previous ones we’ve done. Do I even have any scars? She said we could do emotional scars. I guess I would have to because I don’t have a lot of physical ones. The one on my ring finger is gone now. I thnk it only shows up on really cold days. That was from hot grease. I have chicken pox scars, but I don’t remember those.

Emotional scars? Well, yes, I guess I do have a few of those as much as I’d like to forget and even though I don’t want to admit it because I should have moved on. I mean, I’ve moved on, but that damn scar tissue is still there.

There’s the worry every time someone is late—that heart-seizing panic that I just can’t seem to get rid of thanks to my ex’s ability to find car accidents.

There’s someone I don’t like. I want to kick her in the ovaries. I want her to feel remorse. I want her to cry, like she made someone close to me do. I want her to pay. I have scarring and unresolved issues because of it. I thought it was over, but apparently it’s still an open wound, not even to the scarring point. I thought I had moved on.

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masks

Wow. A lot of masks and a lot of stages. There’s the carefree, fun-loving mask that comes out when I’m around my fishing buddies. That comes out at the tailgates and on the boat. But there’s the sterner admin me that comes out on the message boards. I try to let the fun mask come out, too, once in a while.

And there’s the mask at work. That one is complicated. It must project capable, competent, thoughtful, serious, relaible, smart and knowledgeable. But I can’t be too serious and it must have a friendly, social side to it, too. One that plays well with others. It has to be many things to many people.

Then there’s my school mask. That’s the “I’m here to learn” mask. It’s also an “I don’t care what other students think of me” mask, because I can’t worry if they think I’m cool, hip, cute, if I dress well or am fashionable, or even if I’m smart or funny. I’m a senior. I’m here to finish. If I make a few friends and connections along the way then that’s terrific. I hope I do! But if I don’t, I won’t sweat it because I do have a full life and plenty of things to keep me occupied.

Of course, I hope I take all of these masks off the moment I walk through my door at home. Then there’s no mask. It’s just little ole imperfect me. I’m just a girl, asking a boy to love me. And he does. I’m one of the lucky ones.

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underground history

i tried a different voice this time. i’m not sure if i like it. but here it is for now, for better or worse

What’s my underground history? Do I have one? Seems like my kin don’t want no one to know that we come from crooks, thieves and murderers. Does that make us one? Hell no. But we gots to acknowledge that’s where we come from. Baldknobbers. Rednecks. Deserters. They’re all up in that family tree somewhere. Time to shake those branches loose and see what it’s really all about. John Smith? Shit – they ain’t no John Smith. Try John Dowdy. Why he change his name? Why come?? And why don’t no one want his kin to know? They deserve to know the truf. We all deserve to know. Why we all lyin’ anyway? What good that gonna do? We got to be true to our roots. We don’ have to recreat nothin’. I ain’t sayin’ that. Ain’t no way I wanna be a goddam baldknobber. Hell no. But yeah. We had bank robbers. Uncle Charlie and them was hellraisers. Another one, way back when, ran with Frank and Jesse James. We ain’t no angels, that’s fer damn sure! So what can we learn from that underground history? We come a long way, I think. And I think they’d be proud of their kin, all the way out in California, gettin’ educated. I don’t think they’d have one bit of problem with that. An oulaw can still have some learnin’ under her belt. Shit.

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favorite meal

What’s my favorite meal from childhood? I would have to say that I still love going back for Mom’s holiday meals. She makes the best turkey and dressing and mashed potatoes and gravy of anyone I know. I can eat the leftovers for days on end. On year, I was desperately ill and couldn’t keep a lick of food down. It was my most depressing holiday ever.

I think it’s a comination of not only the food, but the feeling of love surrounding the get-togethers that make it so special for me. I get all warm and fuzzy just thinking about it. Being surrounded by those I love. Celebrating each other, our love for each other, and Christ’s birth and his love for all of us. It all comes together to creat an atmosphere of warmth and acceptance for me. It’s hard to beat.

Mmmm, my mouth is watering just thinking of that rich, tender, juicy dark turkey meat and that brown, crispy skin. Oh, and the most delicious stuffing with lots of sage and onions. It has to be sage dressing; no other will do. When we couldn’t make it back for the holidays, we used to go to a friend’s house. He made sausage stuffing. It just wasn’t the same.

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elevator memories

in this, we are in an imaginary elevator, and as we step out on different floors, we step out into different times of our life. on this floor, i stepped out into the sixth grade.

I stepped out of the elevator and I was twelve. I was immediately in Mrs. Osgood’s 6th grade class. I saw the big windows at the front of the classroom, her desk to the right, door to the left, desks behind me. She was at her desk, asking me to spell a word. It was recess, but I was practicing for a spelling bee commpetition.

The floors were wood. The blackboard was to my right, but it was green. I turn to the right to face her, and our new intercom crackles to life. Mr. Allen’s voice fills our ears. He doesn’t quite sound right, though. Shhhh. Something’s wrong. I stood there, unable to move. Mrs. Osgood’s face crumbles. We’re stunned into silence. The Challenger shuttle – the one with the first teacher on board – has exploded just after takeoff.

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snake

Snake is an interesting word. I tend to think of it as amore of a descriptor. Like knowing someone who is a snake. Somone slippery and oily who from the first moment you know you don’t want to trust him or even get any of his essence on you. But really, snakes aren’t slimy. They are scaly, and we got to touch them and play with them at the zoo. My friend had one that used to curl around my neck and go down my sleeve every time I held him. So I wonder how the two descriptors got so convoluted. But still, I know people I would consider snakes—they strike when you least expect it. The rattles are usually so quiet, the signs so subtle that you could easily miss them if you’re not paying attention.

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danger

I don’t think danger and I will be good friends anytime soon. We don’t hang in the same circles and—frankly—he scares me. he takes too many risks—gets a little too close to the edge of this road or that cliff or that ledge. Yeah, he and I aren’t speaking. I don’t want to know danger intimately. Hell, I don’t even want to know his last name. Or his middle name or his siblings or cousins. In fact, let’s just pretend he doesn’t exist, m’kay? Especially when I have kids. I’d really not like to know him then. That would be optimal for me, and my sanity. But I know danger’s not entirely unavoidable. So I try to do the best I can when he jumps out from behind a rock and introduces himself again.

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new toys are grrrrrreat!

As a belated birthday gift, I got a 60mm macro (micro) for my D70. I’ve been wanting one almost ever since I got the camera almost 3 years ago. I’ve been debating the expense because, let’s face it, lenses aren’t cheap. But I love taking detailed shots. As up close as I can. I love textures and patterns and details. I am so looking forward to what interesting things we can find to shoot in Belize. And we’re both taking our cameras down there so we can shoot together. I’m so happy that he’s getting into photography and he really likes it. Something else we can share. Have I mentioned that we’ve been together over 8 years? And it just keeps getting better. Ok, enough schmoopy. I’m excited to use this new lens. Can’t wait. Watch for some macro shots in my Flickr stream.

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mini fiction #3

Big Fish

I had just dropped a large, pissed sardine into the drink and let him swim away when I felt the spool on my reel speed up. My heart skipped a beat and I held my breath slightly. Was this it? Suddenly the line ripped off the reel. I kept my thumb on it just enough to stop it from spinning out of control and causing an ugly tangle of line, otherwise known as a backlash. I counted, “One… two… three… c’mon! four… five!” I slammed the reel in gear and waited for the line to tighten. I yanked the rod tip in the air to set the hook and yelled “Fresh one!” at the top of my lungs. There were cheers around me as I reeled down on the fish and then lifted the rod up to gain leverage on it. Lift up. Reel down fast. Lift up. Reel down fast. I had to keep gaining line to get the fish. The line slackened. He’s coming toward me. “Reel! Reel! Reel!” the deckhand shouted in my ear. I cranked the handle as fast as I could. He must be charging the boat! The line tightened up as the fish suddenly changed direction. I started the steady pumping again. I felt my rod shake and knew the fish was beating his tail hard and moving away. He headed to the bow of the boat. Fast. I ran up the starboard side yelling, “Hot rail!” as I went. I ducked under anglers and lifted my rod over others. “Keep your line straight in front of you! Follow that fish!” the deckhand urged. The fish swerved and headed back the way he came. “Coming through!” I yelled as I went back down the rail. He settled, sullen in the corner, refusing to budge. With my arms aching and lungs heaving, I knew this brute had to turn or I risked pulling the hook. One pump up, two cranks down. Over and over for an hour, I fought this beast. But I had the leverage from the boat. Slowly, I gained back line. “I see deep color!” I shouted. That was the signal for the deckhands to be nearby when the fish got closer to the surface. My heart swelled up for a moment. Would I get this monster in? Just a few more turns of the reel handle! And finally, color – where we could see the size and shape of the fish just under the surface. The deckhands grabbed the boat gaffs to hook the fish and bring it on board. It’s a two gaffer! I took my reel out of gear as the fish came over the rail and sighed with relief. “Looks like he’s at least 70 pounds. Way to go!” the crew congratulated me. My arms shaking and head pounding, I made my way to galley for a much-needed rest and to enjoy the glow of a fight well fought.

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nuts

my husband is a nut.

that is all.

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