Red Lips

Texas summers are a force to be reckoned with. While air conditioning is not my best friend (especially when the control switch is in the wrong hands), I do admit that it makes life a bit more tolerable when it's 100+ degrees during the day and drops down to 80 degrees only in the middle of the night. But really, the best remedy for escaping this infernal heat is a long dip in a cold swimming hole.
I love swimming too, it's such a lovely sensation. When I'm underwater I can hear myself think, without the static of the outside world. The only sounds are the bubbles coming out of my nose and the swoosh of the water I'm pulling myself through. Then I bob up for air and, for a second, I can hear children splashing and squealing, a lifeguard's whistle, birds squawking over territory, general cacophany. Now, back down into the silence. That's nice...
Lately when I've afforded myself the luxury of getting lost in thought underwater, I try to imagine what it must have been like in the old days. I go swimming at Deep Eddy Pool, which I recently discovered is the oldest swimming pool in Texas. Originally it was a swimming hole in the Colorado River, where cold springs came up and a boulder formed an eddy where people would swim. The concrete pool was built in 1915 by A.J. Eilers. In the 1920s, the pool was the centerpiece of a resort - the Deep Eddy Bathing Beach - with attractions such as a zip line, a slide, a ferris wheel, and Lorena's Diving Horse.
This is the most fascinating bit to me. A diving horse! This was an attraction popular from the 1880s until the WWII era in which a horse would dive from a platform - sometimes as high as 60 feet up, and sometimes with a costumed rider atop its back. When I was a kid, the Disney channel would always play this movie called Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken that was based on the life of horse diver Sonora Webster Carver. In 1931, Sonora and her horse "Red Lips" lost their balance on the platform. Sonora survived the fall, but was blinded (caused by detached retinas in both eyes). She continued horse-diving while blind. I probably watched that movie at least ten times, and I cried my heart out every time when she found out she was blind.
These days at Deep Eddy, no diving is allowed, even for humans. But as far as I know, cannonballs haven't been outlawed!

D-04

self-righteous ramblings of an EX-smoker

not really. i barely even qualify. if you know me well, you might still think i'm a smoker, and i wouldn't hold it against you. i was going to write a little eulogy to smoking for the one-month anniversary of my quit date. but i'm already starting to forget the romance i once shared with my cigarettes.
let me think... marlboro lights, marlboro light 100s, winston, camel lights, camel wides, parliament lights, nat sherman MCDs, delicados, faros, american spirits, bali shag... i smoked all of these regularly at one time or another. i reveled in smoking, the rituals, lighters, bumming smokes, giving cigs to a friend in need. i loved comiserating with fellow smokers - talking about how little or how much we smoke, how non-smokers just don't understand, how this tobacco is superior to that and menthols are just nasty, etc etc etc... all in a big old cloud of smoke.
i was 16 when i tried my first cigarette. lots of kids were smoking by then, not just the "bad" ones. i had scorned smoking whole-heartedly from an early age, so my decision to try it out says something about how desperate things got in high school. my friend had a pack that someone had bought for her a few weeks earlier. she slept over and, when my parents had gone to sleep, we went to the backyard. i really expected to hate the cigarette. i thought i would gag or cough or puke or pass out, but instead when i inhaled, i felt warm and light-headed and... well, good. after that first taste it became a weekend affair, to go somewhere and drink coffee and smoke three or four or more cigarettes.
still under age, i had to find ways of getting cigarettes illegally, which made it all the more thrilling. if i couldn't find someone who was old enough to buy them, it was only a matter of finding a cigarette machine. ahh, the good old days... the easiest one to hit up was at the waffle house, where we went to drink coffee and smoke anyway. within a few months i had even gotten a job there, which coincided with my increased dedication to the career of smoking.
i'll spare you the details of my habit for the next (oh god, was it really that long?) 14 years. i can't say that my life was more or less exciting because i smoked cigarettes. i wouldn't know because i was smoking my head off the whole time. it was just how i identified myself, sort of like being left-handed, but more aromatic and with frequent coughing.
anyway, whatever, i quit on july 5. i loved smoking. i said so frequently. i didn't really plan to quit. i just smoked myself sick on independence day. i was sick for two days and couldn't smoke, and then it didn't make sense to go out and buy a pack and start it all over again.
quitting really began on the third day... that day was awful. but a few days after that i decided that i shouldn't count how many days i had gone without smoking. it seemed like if i was counting, i was building it up more and giving myself a reason to smoke again. like i was testing myself to see how long i could go, and when the time was right i would reward myself with a cigarette. i don't know... i still can't really explain my own reasoning, but i do know that it got easier when i decided not to count. i wasn't thinking so much about smoking, or not smoking, after that. i think most of my physical withdrawal had passed by then, but i needed that edge for the mental part of it.
the time was right, i think. i still want a cigarette every now and then. hell, talking about it now makes me want one! but the feeling passes, like it never did before.
so goodbye cigarettes... thanks for nothing.

Rainy Days and Mondays

Nothing like standing at the bus stop in the rain in a garbage bag to make you feel like a complete a-hole... When the bus driver trudges through the murky lake of what used to be the right lane, ensuring that you're entirely soaked before he comes to a stop, you really wonder where you went wrong. Dripping, you step onto a bus filled with the chatter of a bunch of high school kids and pull out your bus pass. It's wet. You can't slide it. The driver scowls at you before letting you sit down. The A/C on full blast for the duration of the ride home doesn't so much dry you off as chill you to the bone. The crazy girl keeps staring at you. Maybe you're the crazy one staring...
C'est la vie, baby! Where's the laugh track?
Time for some tunes, fuzzy socks and jigsaw puzzle with my loves.

un poema por e. e. cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed (but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then) they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

NUMBER TWO

sorry, i couldn't help myself :)



please feel free to share a poop joke or story.

DON'T READ THIS

Well, I held out as long as anyone could expect.
I've been an avid facebooker for quite a while. On occasion friends have made the suggestion that I create a blog, and sure, I've daydreamed about it a time or two, but I always hesitated.
What is a blog supposed to be, anyway?
Perhaps it's a diary with no lock or key. I've never had much success keeping a diary though. I received a diary on nearly every birthday from ages 8 to 18. Each time I got one, I would write in it religiously for three or four days, mostly about my birthday. In subsequent sporadic entries, I would begin by apologizing to my diary for having neglected it. Eventually I would retire the miserable specimen to a keepsake box.
Maybe instead of a diary, a blog is sort of an open letter. As a young woman I romanticize the art of letter writing, but only because it's a dying form. Ironic considering that as a child I protested writing even short thank-you notes to relatives for the lovely birthday presents. Kids like me may well have killed the art of letter writing. And now we're trying to resurrect it by sharing a hyperlink to our lives.
Interestingly enough, letters and discarded diaries can be found side by side in keepsake boxes I still have. The idea for a keepsake box came about in high school, and it was the perfect companion for those dark days. It was just a shoebox where I would put awards I had been given, cards people had sent me for birthdays or Christmas, innocent enough notes that had been passed in school, and other assorted scraps of paper that seemed significant to me at the time. Prone to gloomy moods at that time, I could count on the contents of that box to cheer me up a little bit at least.
In later years, the keepsake box evolved into keepsake bags: gift bags (usually Sanrio) filled with drawings people gave to me, old photographs, a diary or two, letters and postcards that were sent to me, some that I never sent, stickers, wedding invitations, funeral programs, ticket stubs, sketchbooks, and so on. The effect of sorting through these bags was still the same, with a little less cringing.
I had a sit-and-sort recently when my sister dropped off a load of things she had stored for me while I was living in Mexico. I hadn't looked at my keepsakes in a couple of years. And I realized that those bags hadn't been added to in that amount of time. If I gathered all my bits from Mexico, I probably could fill a new keepsake bag, but I hadn't been storing things that way there.
Honestly, a lot of my treasures these days are stored in a different sort of keepsake box--my computer. I've got thousands of photos, tons of drivel I wrote for school, a few things I wrote for experiment, music I hunted down on the internet or downloaded from friends, photos and videos and artwork and writing and music that my friends and their friends have created or found, and more.
And now this will be in there too, so anyone can find it if they're sifting through and decide to give it a second glance. And I'll uncover it later and reminisce.