That's what she said

posted by Melissa
I think I am still delirious.  From the air travel, wine at high altitudes, and the amount of information I attempted to memorize in the past two days.

The Jersey Shore

I flew my kids to the east coast on a Wednesday night red eye (read: 3 hours of sleep) last week and arrived at the Jersey shore for some fun in the sun.  It was a great weekend of family, lots of family I had not seen in years.  And we even met a distant relative that shared my father's penchant for family history.  Don drove down from near New York City to share some photos and stories of what he knows of the Terry family history.  I was surprisingly entertained by it; history typically bores me.

We also spent an evening on the boardwalk.  Riding roller coasters and other daring rides.  Eating ice cream.  Drinking lemonade.  Whining when the night had to end.

I love the beach and the sun.  It leaves me wondering why we moved to Seattle, land of the dreary.  Where summer is but a flicker in your memory, like when someone turns the light on in the middle of the night.  You squint from the light, startled, and when you wake up you think maybe it was a dream.  But there was plenty of sun in Jersey, and I soaked as much of it in as I could.

One day I was pacing on the sunny beach, poetry book in hand, memorizing the Kipling poem, "If."  (Which I have accomplished! although the last stanza is a bit evasive)  A lone kid's shoe on the sand caught my eye.  I recognized it because we walked to the beach behind the kid that was wearing the black Croc flip flops just like the one I spied on the sand.  I feel like people must think I am such a stalker, because I notice so many details like that.  I spend a lot of time watching and observing people.

I walked over to the family, and pretended I didn't know if it was theirs or not.
"Is this yours?" I asked the kid.  He didn't speak to me, but his eyes said yes.
The Mom overheard and  thanked me.  Then she asked me what I was reading.  I told her and she asked a few more questions, and before I knew it, I was telling her all about the blog.  As I walked off, guess what she said?

"Well, good luck with that!"

"That is the name of my blog!" I told her, a little too excitedly, because I kinda swallowed some saliva and my voice sounded funny like there was an air bubble in my throat.  And I almost choked.

"What?" She said, puzzled and perhaps concerned.

Then I gave one of those fake laughs and told her again that it was the name of my blog.  And quickly walked away.  Human interaction can be so odd, or maybe I just over think it all.

Now I am back home in Seattle.  Without my kids.  I call myself a person that doesn't miss people, but you know what?  I do miss them.  A lot.  They are staying on the east coast for a few weeks of grandparent time.  I know they'll have fun, and so will we.  So, I stay grounded in that thought.

Back to Seattle = back to school.  I struggled through one test this morning after minimal sleep, and am working on studying for the next one this evening.  I know it is the first of the month, so I am also preparing for the reading of my poem.  The one I am going to read ON THE BUS!  I can't believe it.  I think I might for real choke and die.  I can't believe I agreed to this.

We are hoping to get the page all changed up for hiking/backpacking (yes, another think I can't believe I thought was a good idea) month in the next couple days...stay tuned.

-Melissa

Darting fears in Summer

posted by Melissa

Pete and Jamie playing at the cookout (notice dirty feet)

The other morning, on the 4th of July,  I was studying for my Anatomy & Physiology class up at Victrola Coffee.  Amy texted me to see if I was around the building to talk to, and I immediately thought, "Ok, if this cookout coordinator thing is getting to be too much for her, I can totally take some of it on.  We'll be Co-Co-ordinators."

I texted her back to walk up to Victrola and have a chat there.  When she showed up, very chipper, and announced that she wanted to share some of her poems that she memorized out loud; I was both relieved (that Amy was happy and looking forward to the festivities of the day) and very nervous.

I realized that my public speaking fears stretched father than I had thought.  I was even having that stomach tumbling and heart rising to my tight throat feeling when I thought of Amy sitting across the table reciting aloud to me, no book between us, just her words and my ears.  And two sets of eyes, possibly darting here and there, or maybe more comfortably staring off into space.

I handled it OK.  She gave me her book of the "Declaration of Independence" that she was reciting, so there was that to look at and buffer my insecurities.  Amy did great, besides a few small word changes, she totally nailed two whole paragraphs, at least.  That experience also brought up the unending conversation of the day (and into the night) of my intense fears of hiking/backpacking.  The thing I picked for August.  What was I thinking!?! (more on that another time.)

Later on that same sunny day, we were all hanging out on the front steps of the Boathouse (our apartment building), having a PBR and enjoying some poetry.  I decided we had to go on a poetry run to our local bookstore, Elliot Bay Books.  Me, Amy, Tallulah and our neighbor (and young poet) Pete all walked down through the park.  Pete was walking barefoot through the city and Tallulah couldn't seem to let that go:

"Pete isn't wearing shoes." repeated Tallulah.

"I know, he's an adult.  He makes his own choices." I responded to her with each announcement.

"Pete doesn't have shoes on.  He should be wearing shoes." Tallulah said, now looking to Amy.

"Yes, he could get cut, Tallulah, but his Mom can't tell him what to do anymore." Amy replied.

Pete's feet never got cut and Tallulah got more involved in whining about not wanting to walk.  But the good news was that the bookstore had one copy left of Laura Kasischke's (pronounced Ka-ZISS-kee) newest poetry book.  Whew.  It is called Space, In Chains.  So our holiday poetry run was a success and I love her work, all of it.  This is one of my favorite's today.

Summer
by Laura Kasischke

She drank too much
She was after
Some meadow
Some orchard

Some childhood night with the window open, and it was summer, and her
own mother was humming in another room, and through the screen the
fuzzy blue, and suddenly she was out there swimming, too, in softness, a
permanent candle, invisible, beautiful.

She drank too much
For many years
Some stairs
Some cosmetics
Once

I stood in the threshold and watched her disintegrate before a mirror.

My lovely mother before a tray full of bracelets
(Repeat: My lovely mother before a tray full of bracelets)

She invited me in to fish the ice cubes from her drink.  They were warm. On
my tongue.  Such calm.  Like a small bomb detonated in an isolated barn.  Like
a beloved pet in the middle of a busy street, just standing there, looking
around.


Hope you enjoyed it...
Melissa