The Night is Seductive

What is it about the middle of the night that makes it so . . . hard to resist? When the world is sleeping, I feel as if I inhabit a secret world that only I can find.  If I miss that window of opportunity to go to sleep – sometimes it evades me and I find myself in . . . Nightworld!! 

Nightworld is seductive.  It teases you into thinking that you are alone by preference.  It is occupied by beautiful tv people who charm you with clear skin and eyes.  They sell things.  Everything from phone calls to “male enhancement”.  Hours of canned laughter are available for just a small price.

In Nightworld no one bothers you while you read.  You can finish a page, a chapter or a book without interruption.  Puppies sleep, rather than trying to come between you and your page.

In Nightworld you can play computer games and chat with strangers until all hours.  Both hold their own sway – both are low hanging fruit.

The thing about Nightworld is that it’s wonderful but it doesn’t get along all that well with Dayworld.  Doing without Dayworld – now that is the trick.  Dayworld is where my time is worth money.  It’s where loved ones, pets and responsibilities live; where the phone rings and the world has expectations. 

Dayworld seems thankless, relentless and not all that fun.

What’s to love about Wisconsin Dells?

There I was trapped in a boat after a lovely ride over land and river.  Beautiful rock formations that reminded me of those I grew up with in Colorado.  Sweet faced college boy driving and telling VERY bad jokes.  Kids are laughing, smiling and pointing at wildlife along the way.

The area is still brown from winter but the day was warm enough for light jackets.   We are having a lovely time.  Then, about a half mile from the end of the tour, young Toby or was it Troy?  Stops the duckboat and invites us to tip him.  Seriously, he brings the vehicle to a complete stop, passes out books and postcards as if they are gifts then asks us to pay $2 each for same.  After which he talks about tipping and needing to pay college costs. 

Really?  I had a $5 tip in my pocket.  It remained there.

The resort was beautiful and Marilyn, my dear friend, is the queen of coupons.  She had a coupon for everything.  Even so, the food at the resort was not great and was outrageously expensive.  The best meal we had was barbeque at Famous Dave’s downtown. 

The best part of Wisconsin Dells is of course the waterslides.  They were awesome but it was the off season so we were limited to those at the resort.   As it was, it was nice to have the water park right there so that the kids could play some on their own when their Mom and I were too tired to go on!

Marilyn and I had lovely wine in the bar.  Since our friendship began over a bottle of wine after training in Lansing one night, we have mostly concentrated on family activities – so our evening drinking wine was really nice. 

People in Wisconsin are great.  Warm and friendly even in a resort town. 

Just sayin' . . .

PHENOMENAL WOMAN

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies

I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size

But when I start to tell them

They think I'm telling lies.

I say,

It's in the reach of my arms

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.

I say,

It's the fire in my eyes

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing of my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can't touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them,

They say they still can't see.

I say

It's in the arch of my back,

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Now you understand

Just why my head's not bowed.

I don't shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It's in the click of my heels,

The bend of my hair,

The palm of my hand,

The need of my care,

'Cause I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

  

from And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

copyright © 1978 by Maya Angelou.

Really?

Who told you that $3

Is appropriate tip for a $22 dinner tab?

That smiling girl – who was at our table

over and over again,

filling, checking, toting, fetching.

We sat there for an hour and a half

She filled our drinks 3 times.

$3 -  really?

Why is it that

the kindest most generous men don’t see

that all that work,

is worth more than $3?

1/25/11

tsr

Twice in my recent dating history I have excused myself, pretended to go to the bathroom, and tipped the waitress more than was left with the bill.  The third time I just put cash on the table right in front of my date.  It is a particular hang-up of mine.  The majority of wait staff are women and many of them head single parent households.

It’s a generalization but men seem particularly unaware that the base pay is miniscule.  It’s a very difficult job and I can’t imagine doing it.  Girlfriends and I have discussed this.  We think it's fairly common.


"Tipping is optional" said a young man once.  "Not when you're with me" was my reply.

The thing to ponder is - should bad tipping be added to my list of non-negotiable things?  That list is generally reserved for things like homophobia, racism and the narrow minded.  Should it include devaluing people who serve you?

Hmmmmm . . . .

Meat . . . in a can

What can be more fun than meat in a can?  My previous meat in a can experience has been limited to tuna and the like.  I’ve never eaten actual red meat out of a can.  Even saying it makes me feel like laughing out loud.  I have no idea why it tickles my funny bone so much.

I love to cook and somehow meat from a can just feels . . . wrong.  I have tried Vienna sausages in the past and if you haven’t tried them – don’t.  They ARE just wrong.  Pale, too salty, slimy and vaguely phallic.

Some time ago I came by 2 cans of corned beef.  The way they came to be with me is a different story for a future blog. They have been languishing in the back of my cupboard, untouched and ill considered for what turns out to be not quite long enough. 

Yesterday, desperately hoping to avoid a trip to the store and somewhat fascinated by the opening process pictured on the side of the can, I ventured into the rich and aromatic land of processed, meat-like, food.   Who can avoid opening something that comes with a key?  You take it off the side of the can and then insert the small tab of metal left on the side of the can into a hole in the bottom of the key.

Wasn’t sure what to do with it once the can was opened and I shook the gelatinous contents out.  It was shaped vaguely like a pyramid . . .

I sliced it, fried it and slapped some mayo on two pieces of bread.  I managed to eat the major portion of the sandwich but the rest was enjoyed by Dexter and Wilbur at dinner with gusto.  

Anyone want a can of corned beef?

Possibilities

The thing about starting over is that the world is filled with possibilities.

From loss to possibilities . . . a huge, wonderful leap.

I’ve closed my eyes, checked my straps and I’m about to jump from the plane.

So scared, so proud . . . of myself.

I am my own heroine.  Moving forward to make the life I’ve chosen.

So stuck . . . for so long.

Where to from here?

The best days, scariest rides . . . still to come.

Places and people waiting around the corner.

I am an unfinished story, fraught with possibilities.

I want to dance . . . spin, in wide circles.

Close my eyes and falling - know

that I’ve fallen before and know how to rise.

Awkward – that time on your knees – regrouping.

Before you stand, wavering, unsure.

That is when I choose to dance – that moment.

So, you are right – I will fall.

For me, falling is essential.

Mistakes – elemental.

Not “NO FEAR” nor “fearless”

Filled with fear and jumping anyway

That’s me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1gcMsRiNok

Last July

I wrote this poem last July.  I was reading back through things to find something worthy to post.  Friends have now commented that I haven't added anything new, so . . . pressure builds.

The dance circles around you

on your dais – with your gavel.

Pronouncements  follow -

who is worthy . .. who is not.

Each step analyzed.

Must be within prescribed limits -

within strict control.

Must be nice to be so certain

that you are the ultimate judge

of their worthy submission.

7/12/10 

tsr

I always end my poems the way my mother did.  You could tell hers from others that she collected because she ended with her initials and the date.  I liked that idea, so I've done the same since I was in fourth grade.  Since I collect snippets from everyone – whether written or said by pretty much anyone around me, I need a system. 

The question I'm asking myself today is . . . what was this poem about?  I wasn't actively involved with the legal system so it's a metaphor.  I have no memory of the disagreement that precipitated this poem.  I can tell that I felt judged – apparently negatively. 

I suppose I could investigate.  Look back in Facebook, emails, my pda.  Who was I feeling answerable to?  Who was I so afraid of? 

The truth is I’d rather not know.  The thing about art is that it captures that moment as perfectly as it can.  The imperfection is the things that are missing – the negative space that it does not capture.  In some ways I think that the unsaid says as much as what is said.  The unadorned canvas is very much a part of the overall impression of the art itself.

The larger context of the poem, although interesting, really wasn’t meant to be captured.  So, what I know is that on July 12^th . . . this was where I was.  That is enough for me.