Category: writings (Page 58 of 66)

nature’s crayolas: reds, blues

May 19, 2010 / jeanne / 1 Comment

so i read about color week over at mrs. mediocrity’s nest, and didn’t i just bop on over to curious girl’s place and invite myself to the party. it’s been a rather stressful few days, and tuning in to notice colors seemed the perfect antidote to life in the medical pinball machine. but of course, i start out late, so my entry looks more like playing catchup.

so be it.

on monday i saw red . . .

when a neighbor’s cow came to call.

when the rusty moose went on the loose.

(well, maybe not on the loose, but, hey, i’m tired.)

when . . . oops.

when i saw the red dirt of home

had stained my clothes.

~~~~~~~~~

tuesday these things made me blue . . .

flawed glass

actually, it blew the blues.

not a good girl . . . yet

May 17, 2010 / jeanne / 21 Comments

i try to remember to bless

even the crabbiest, scattered, distracted and inattentive people –

really i do.

everybody carries around

their stories of glory

and their stories of grief.

i know they do –

know it, i tell you –

and i have every intention of

blessing them.

saturday night in the emergency room

(and all day sunday, too)

i remembered to bless

all the people who bathed us in

positive, loving thoughts and messages.

i remembered to bless my friends

who asked

“do i need to come?”

and the friend from high school

who sent me a private message

containing only his cell phone number.

i remembered to bless

my children

and my mother

and my sibs

who checked in just enough

but not too much.

i even remembered to bless

the dog

who met us at the door

when we got home.

but

saturday night in the emergency room

i forgot to bless

the 2 year old who obviously

hadn’t gotten her nap in that day.

i forgot to bless

her parents

who settled into recliners

and let her run around

playing with the hospital computer

and talking to the other people,

also tired and sick,

everyone

(except possibly the 2 year old)

eager to get home.

i forgot to bless

the technician who was surprised to hear

that he was about to draw blood

and repeat the test

some 4.5 hours ahead of schedule.

i forgot to bless

the nurse who seemed surprised to hear

that she wasn’t supposed to draw blood

from the port they’d inserted hours before.

and i forgot to bless

the obviously ADD

attendant

who came to draw the blood

(at the appointed time)

and was surprised that she’d forgotten to bring

about half the things she needed.

i forgot to bless

the admissions people

who were surprised that we’d slipped right through their cracks,

meaning that some 8 hours later,

we had to do the entry paperwork

so we could do the discharge paperwork

and leave.

and for a while

for a short while

right when we first got to the emergency room,

i forgot to bless my husband

who hadn’t told me

that he’d started taking

blood pressure medicine

about a month ago.

it’s monday now,

and i’m thinking

that blessings don’t have

a shelf life

or expiration date,

so maybe i’ll just post-bless them all –

even the ones i’ve already

blessed repeatedly –

and i’ll start afresh

and again

to remember to bless

everybody,

every

single

person

no matter what

adjectives i attach to them.

(well, almost everybody.

cause

honestly,

i don’t think i’ll ever

be that good.)

when we gather around the campfire

May 10, 2010 / jeanne / 11 Comments

i am a passionate woman

who doesn’t lie,

but is finding it hard to tell The Truth. . .

My Truth.

i’ve been a nice girl for so long

that burning my membership card

is only an initiation, not a transformation.

it’s like learning to talk again,

like visiting italy with a ragged dictionary.

sometimes i mention the wart on your chin

when all i really meant to do was ask for directions to the restroom.

sometimes i squeal and shriek like a 3-year old,

when what i really want to tell you is that i wish this moment

this very moment

would last forever.

maybe i look like a grown woman

who should know better,

but please

bear with me.

be patient.

help me learn to talk.

when i allow my flat lines to go curvy with

fury or glee or deep-seated, bottled-up feeling,

don’t tell me to calm down.

when i disagree with you,

don’t push the air between us with your palms

and tell me to wait just a minute.

when i appear agitated and my words trip and stumble on their way out,

when i look down instead of making eye contact,

when i’m obviously upset,

and you can’t believe

or don’t understand

what you’re hearing,

set aside your admonition to take a deep breath,

and instead of

asking what on earth has gotten into me . . .

just ask me what’s going on right here right now.

ask me what it is i really want to say,

then

uncross your arms,

lean a bit forward in your chair,

and maybe, if you’re feeling especially patient and caring and willing,

give me a hint of an encouraging smile

or at least bring the frown up to a non-judgmental, non-commital flat line,

and listen.

just listen.

poetry by subtracting (and defacing)

May 3, 2010 / jeanne / 6 Comments

i think i have a new morning ritual.

(actually,
it was so fast and fun,
I think i could make this
an hourly ritual.)

the kindling comes from
a little something i picked up
while traipsing through the internet.
a fella who takes the NY Times
and does what he calls
newspaper blackout.

i was so intrigued,
i fetched a book right back out of
the trashcan,
let it fall open to a page,
then
quick as a blink,
i circled some words
that captured my
imagination,
took my green sharpie
and colored over all the
other words,
distilling the page down
to what i’m calling
a poem.

the first one
calls page 71 home
and it sounds like this:
Much wisdom
happening.
Stories and tales
illustrate
ask
change.
Questions
challenge
stimulate
help.

it was so much fun,
i skipped back to page 14
(my birthday is on the 14th
of one particular month)
and hatched this one:
Create
or
become
soggy.

he may have found
a revenue stream.
i’ve found a new way
to recycle books.

the speed of day

May 1, 2010 / jeanne / 2 Comments

today flew by
and i have precious little
to show for it.
which makes for the very best
kind of saturday.

the graveyard shift

April 30, 2010 / jeanne / 5 Comments

yesterday
lindsey took herself to a cemetery
and pondered life in its beginnings and endings,
and
that got me
thinking and remembering.
cemeteries,
you see,
are my all-time favorite place to go.

whenever i get lost,
foggy,
or otherwise
kerflunky,
i take myself to a cemetery
and not once,
not a single time,
have i failed to find remedy.

in cemeteries,
i can pull off
my masks and armor,
and lay them down
alongside all the selves
i am not.
there is such relief in
just being me.
nobody to impress,
cajole,
entertain,
feed,
persuade.
in cemeteries,
i can ask questions
and surprise myself
by coming up with
the answers.

cemeteries
were affordable places to take young chiclets
to learn about multiple-digit math functions,
spelling,
history,
art, and
various and sundry other important things.
with no more research
than the information readily available on tombstones,
we’d generously, willingly resurrect
and grant second lives on the spot
through character sketches and
other products of our
imagination.

a few weeks ago,
i attended a grave marker dedication
conducted in a cemetery i played in as a child.
it was an impressive ceremony
to mark the grave of
an american revolutionary patriot.
men dressed in revolutionary garb,
women wore hats and gloves,
and we all showed respect
with our words,
our salutes and curtsies,
our presence.

one woman completely
forgot her upbringing
and stepped right on a grave.
when it surprised us all by caving in,
she found herself acting out the phrase
“one foot in the grave”.

years ago when my great aunt rene died,
my husband and i
found ourselves in the cemetery
at midnight
in the rain
pulling weeds
in the family plot
to prevent public humiliation
at the upcoming graveside ceremony.

carefully avoiding the
waiting hole in the ground,
we set to work on aunt lucy’s grave,
(she was aunt rene’s sister.)
(aunt rene got all the fun and nice.)
anyway,
bless goodness
if the lucy didn’t
behave in death
just as she did in life:
she held on to her weeds
with,
well,
a death grip.

because it was
tombstone-deep in snow
the january i graduated
from graduate school
in vermont,
i took my mother,
daughter,
and teenage nephew
back one summer
to visit
hope cemetery.

i discovered it one semester
when caryn mirriam-goldberg,
my faculty advisor-turned-friend,
(also the current poet laureate of kansas,
i’ll have you know)
took a small group of us there
to write.

shoot, i don’t find cemeteries
sad,
morose
places
at all.

quite the contrary.

yes, i highly recommend cemeteries
when you want
or when you need to
reflect
or write
or ruminate
or remember
or even howl.

with laughter, silly:

majestic cacophony

April 29, 2010 / jeanne / 5 Comments

so intricately,
delicately
assembled.
a coming together
of layers,
a plethora of unique parts,
made from different materials
in various shapes,
each part with its own designated purpose.

alone, there is no sound.

ah, but when the parts come together,
when they touch each other boldly
without hesitancy
or apology,
or even explanation, for that matter
such beautiful music
is born
and the world is
never the same.

prima volta: the first (or second, if you don’t count the unloading) surprise

April 28, 2010 / jeanne / 1 Comment

to repay andy for his kind assistance,
i started today by tidying up his shop.

just kidding.

~~~

today i
fetched tools
(so many phillips-head screwdrivers
and nary a phillips-head screw in sight.)

and i made my first
surprise discovery:
this piano once
served as a cabinet
for a bar of
english leather
soap.

perhaps there
was once a little boy –
an adorable, enterprising little boy, no doubt
who
did not want to practice piano
any more than he wanted to
take his bath.

da capo: from the beginning

April 27, 2010 / jeanne / 8 Comments

what do you do when an idea latches onto you?
you listen.
what do you do when you need a piano to take apart?
you ask.
it’s as simple as that.

i spend so much energy being embarrassed by myself.
apologizing for myself.
shushing myself.
shielding myself.
protecting myself.

but, i ask you: what good is a crazy idea
if it’s not harebrained through and through?
so i did it:
i asked on facebook if anybody had an old piano
they were looking to get rid of.
and within 3 hours,
a long-time friend i seldom see
answered back that she had one i could have
if i’d just pick it up.
and she lives less than 10 miles from me.

~~~

we picked the piano up on a
fine sunday afternoon,
and i can’t tell you how quietly
excited i was.
i’ve been craving an adventure,
you see,
an adventure that fit my
pocketbook and my geography.

this was big.

in the 3 weeks that passed between
when i first saw the piano
and when my husband
could go with me to pick it up,
i fantasized
romanticized
visualized.

i imagined getting the piano into the shop
where i’d take pictures, lots and lots of pictures,
and keep a journal within arm’s reach,
ready to capture whatever
insights bubbled their way to the top.

what i looked forward to most of all was
taking the lid off.
i’d remove it
with great reverence and tenderness
then peer down inside
to see what secrets
were hidden there.

i’ve long wanted to know how the pedals
on a piano work.
to know how one sustains the sound
and another dampens, softens, quietens the sound.
before long,
i’d have my answer.

yes, yes.
symbolism and metaphors
were already ripe for the harvesting.

i’d take the lid off
then work my way
through to the pedals,
taking it apart from the top
to the bottom,
from the inside out.

~~~

my husband backed the truck
up to the shop double doors,
getting as close as possible.
it’s a spinet piano,
not nearly as heavy as a baby grand
or that old upright player piano we once owned,
but still too heavy for me to be of much help.

i offered to call my brother,
but husband said no, no need.
he’s an engineer, you see.
he knows all about leverage
and things like that.

he got one end off the truck,
sat it down,
then asked as he walked out of the shop,
“you’re going to take it apart, right?”
and with that,
he
drove the truck out from under the piano.

the front cover fell off.
some small decorative, accent pieces
flew off.
the pedal mechanism
separated completely.

“that was easier than I thought it was gonna’ be,” he said,
delighted with his accomplishment and ingenuity.

i excused myself to come upstairs
where i would remind myself that
literally, he was right:
i was just going to take it apart.

when i went back down to have a look,
with hopes of seeing that it wasn’t really
as bad as i’d first thought,
he proudly told me about how he’d just
taken off the lid
and beckoned me to have a look down
inside.
“isn’t that an amazing sight?” he purred.

~~~

epilogue:
he’s still the one.
oh yes, he is so
still the one.

just so you know.

overture

April 26, 2010 / jeanne / 15 Comments

i can’t explain it.
it’s just one of those things.
one of those crazy things i have to do
i just have to:
disassemble
a piano.

yes, a piano.

i’ve tried to get to the bottom of it
to satisfy inquiring brains
that work and wonder
that way.

maybe it’s because
i read
grand obsession: a piano odyssey last year . . .
but i don’t really think so because
perri was looking
to purchase a piano
not deconstruct one.

maybe it’s because
i need a hobby . . .
but i don’t really think so because
i have trouble stuffing everything
into my days as it is.

maybe it’s because
i need an outlet
for my frustrations . . .
but i don’t really think so
because i’m not looking
to destroy the piano,
i just want to take it apart
carefully
attentively
inquisitively
and
con grazia . . . with grace.