Sunday, March 29, 2015

Water Hook Up

Yesterday, I was talking to my son on the phone.  "Can you guess what that noise is?" I asked.

"No.  I give up."

"It's the sound of me mopping the floor."

"Wow, Mom!  I didn't know we even have a mop!  Good for you."

But we do have a mop, and I used it. I filled up the bucket with warm water and put vinegar and a tiny bit of dish soap in there, and swished everything around on the floor for a bit (what's the deal with mopping, anyway?  Does it seem vastly ineffective and weird to anyone else?), and when I wasn't talking to R. I was listening to loud music.  I tried not to walk on the floor, but that only lasted for about 5 minutes, so there are a few insignificant muddy footprints here and there.  Overall, though, it's a vast improvement.

It had gotten so sticky everywhere in my house, as if a toddler lives here, and the reason for that is bees.  Spring is the time for my bees to start building up their population so that there are thousands of bee women by the time the big honey flow happens.  They need to put lots of people I mean bees on the job of pollinating and gathering nectar.  But right now there isn't a lot to eat out in the wild, so I make sugar water, which involves spilling and stickiness everywhere.  (I know.  I am my own toddler.)  A few bees have figured it out and hang around inside to clean up -- like having my own, six-legged house elves.  But their tiny little tongues pale in comparison to the vast stickiness at hand, so I carry them back outside to be with their people.  I mean bees.

The other day, I was going through my hives, which are on an upstairs deck.  I was wearing my bee suit and holding a clipboard, because where there are bees, there's data, and where there's data, there should be clipboards.   In the midst of all this, I heard a voice calling my name, and it wasn't even in my head, it was out in the world.  And there was a man walking up the driveway, about 10 steps in, calling out, "Hello?  Betsy?  If I come closer, will I get stung? I need to turn on your outdoor faucet."

He's one of the construction people working on replacing our water line, which, by the way, I'm super excited about because making coffee with tonic water has gotten old over the years.

"No, the bees won't bother you," I say, but he stands motionless, the way you were taught in third grade to behave when there are stinging insects around, so I unzip my veil and go downstairs to meet him.

A few bees got caught in the folds of the veil, so they came with me.  I greeted him near the door, me and half a dozen disoriented honeybees.  To my credit, I wasn't carrying the clipboard.

He stood way back, and said, "Maybe I could use the hose on the other side of the house?"

I wish I could have said yes, because there is a hose over there, but this thing happened that I don't really want to explain to him.  I'm reluctant to even get into it here, because this is already a post about nothing much, but anyway.... One night this winter, I woke up and thought, jeez, it's cold.  I knew that because I sleep with the door and window wide open, and there was frost inside everywhere.  I remembered that a hose was still connected to an outdoor spigot, so I crept outside in the cold darkness to remove it, but it was stuck.  Maybe it was frozen, or maybe misthreaded, or maybe it was just too dark and middle-of-the-night-ish for me to be successful.  I knew that if I didn't do something right then, I'd forget about it until the pipes burst, so I went inside, got some pruning shears, and cut off the hose.  Right?  It might seem crazy, but isn't that what we do?  We travel through this life trying our damnedest to minimize loss where we can, and meet it head on with grace and kindness where we can't.  The loss of a hose seemed bearable.

"I think it's best if you use this one," I replied.

The construction guy was still keeping his distance, and he's looking at me like I'm a freak and a half, I guess because of the bee suit.  (But I have to say, because it's the women's bee suit, it does have the cute embroidered bee on the ass.  Grr.)  The bees were pretty occupied with something sticky they found on my suit; they were happily enjoying a ride-along and Construction Guy had nothing to worry about, but he didn't know that I guess.

The faucet is situated just above a gap in the porch that provides access to the crawl space -- it's kind of a weird 2' x 3' opening that things fall into.  I handed him a hose, and after examining it, he said there was a missing gasket, and water would probably drip into the crawl space when he turned it on.

"That's fine," I said.  "Oh wait.  Let me get my shoes out of there first."  Because, and I didn't explain this to him, but the shoes had fallen in a couple of weeks ago, and I was just happy to know where they were.  (I know.  You're thinking, "wow, I wonder how her house got so sticky, with all this thoughtfulness going on?")

So I fished out the shoes, some yellow raingear, and a bicycle pump while he looked on, aghast.  I thought it made me look pretty solid, actually -- all that useful stuff, and I knew right where it was.  But he suggested that I do the hose myself, and walked away.  I would say he backed away slowly, but he didn't.  Just normal walking down the driveway.  I know what he's thinking, he's thinking I'm sketchy, but I'm so on the up and up you wouldn't even believe it.

I'm pretty sure he grouped me into the same category as the sweet young adult who walks around our neighborhood barefoot, playing the ukulele, with a homemade basket strapped to her back.  But that's so not the case.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

Horoscopes: The Plot Edition


Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  There's a problem with my manuscript, which is the same problem I have with my life:  there is no plot.  I wander around each day from thing to thing without some of the key bits, namely rising action, climax, resolution.  On a good day, I set the timer, write for 15 minutes, ding ding ding, go wander around in the woods, and take a nap before yoga.  If we want a plot to our lives, we need a plot to our days, Pisces. I think Annie Dillard said that.  So good news -- we're all getting plots this week!  And you, my lucky ones, get "hero goes on a journey."  Make it worthy of you, and send me a postcard!

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  This morning as I was skimming my FB news feed (you see what I mean?), I saw a link to an article with the trick for getting away if your hands are duct-taped together. Is that a real problem?  Of course I clickedBut anyway, in case you're in that position, you put your arms over your head and swing them down with force.  Oh, Aries, I'm so sorry I brought this up.  I think we have enough to worry about without imagining situations involving duct tape.  Even at it's best, duct tape is the symbol for brokenness.  How about if your plot involves restoration, or rebirth?  Good things are ahead, Aries.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I think if I had a goal, it would be easier to have a plot, so I thought about goals today. It turns out that my goal is to have a plot.  So I've been researching plots on the internet, and two of the big ones are:  man on hill, and man in hole.  So many questions, Taurus.  How did man get into hole?  Was he pushed?  Did he crawl there?  Does man in hole ever meet man on hill?  What if man thinks he's on hill, but it turns out to be an ant hill or something, at the bottom of the hole?  Can there be a mid-plot correction from man on hill to man in hole?  Taurus, why don't you try rags to riches this week.  Enough about the hole.


Gemini (5/21 - 6/21):  This week, wake up and think of the tenderest, sweetest thing you can imagine.  Even if it's just a sip of perfectly clear sweet water.  And let the plot be metamorphosis!  Yes, my dear ones, you get to descend into a cocoon, become watery slurry, and emerge as a butterfly! Flap your little wings as you go by.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  Here's something.  The other day, I saw a woman walking down the street with a baby on her back, holding hands with a toddler.  They were moving at the achingly slow pace set by the toddler, whose legs were about one fourth the size of an adult leg.  The mom didn't seem in a hurry, she was just walking that slowly.  I don't know what your plot is for sure, Cancer, but take it slow, enjoy every possible moment.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I went to Seattle the other night to feed some homeless teenagers; a few adults and I took a few homed (is that a word?  What's the opposite of homeless?) teens; we made a bunch of food and it could have been super fun but it wasn't as fun as it could have been, mostly because of one person who values rules before kindness, which will probably be a whole blog post one of these days.  I think his plot might be vengeance, which I am not for.  But meanwhile, Leo, see if you can do something plot-ly with identical twins.  Haven't we always wanted a twin?

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):   I went to the Senior Center for dinner the other night with some lovely friends -- it was the annual steak dinner and cake auction.  We like to think our being there was funny/ironic, but it's really more like foreshadowing.  The way life is flying by, I will be elderly in about 5 minutes.  (Possibly before I finish this blog post, because it's taking me forever.  Did you see that squirrel? Ding ding ding, nap time!)  The dinner was the sort that's rare these days because it involved overcooked vegetables from a can and steak that was probably treated badly as a cow.  The only conversation was the auctioneer, taking about cake. The whole thing makes me look forward to catching the bus to that very senior center one day to play dominoes (that happens every Friday @ 12:45).  Virgo, your plot is aging gracefully.  Keep it up!

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  The plot for you, Libra, is Stranger Comes to Town.  I believe there are only two plots, hero goes on a journey, and stranger comes to town, which is actually the same plot from different points of view.  But I'm outnumbered by the internet, which lists so very many plots.  But be on the lookout for the stranger.  Sure, take the candy from him, get in the car.  Do what you must so that something will happen.  Why not?  

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  The weird thing is that I've been sitting here thinking about plot, and it's almost been too noisy to think.  Then I was like, wait a second. . . why is it so loud around here, in the middle of the quiet quiet country where I live?  And it was because of gunfire.  Right?  I'm looking for a plot when a shot rings out?  Multiple shots, in fact?  Of course!  Your plot:  Use everything that's on the mantel on Monday for good, not evil.  Just to move the story along.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Then I realized, why is it always a gun on the mantle?  Couldn't it be a chocolate cake, or a man in a hole who thinks he's man on a hill?  Here's the plan, Sag:  Put some cool stuff on the mantle in scene one, and then just go for it!  Enjoy.

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19): Alas, you get the Type C literary plot:
Type C: The Literary Plot  It doesn’t matter what decision the hero makes (to sacrifice or not to sacrifice); he or she is led inextricably by fate toward a (likely tragic) end, i.e. a conclusion that leaves the reader feeling as though life has no meaning/we have no control over our actions/the gods are toying with us like rubber duckies in lukewarm bathwater. Source: WriteWorld.org
But, Cap, don't live the rest of your life in a lukewarm bath!   See if you can live a simple plot with a happy ending.  Happy happy happy!  Smiley Face! Enjoy the ride.  Why not?  At the very least, add hot water in the tub.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):   Sometimes, when I get stuck, I look to see what people are searching for on the internet.  Guess what the most searched for chemical element was today, Aquarius?  Hydrogen.  Is everyone busy making bombs?  Number two was silicon.  (Do you see why I get nothing done?)  Silicon is in breast implants and  That makes me sad for some reason, or maybe I started out a little sad and it didn't help.  Breast implants and oven mitts?  But here's this happy bit:  the astronauts left a silicon chip on the moon inscribed with tiny messages of peace in 73 languages.  Space travel, Aquarius!  There's your plot!


Monday, March 2, 2015

Thank you

I'm feeling overwhelmed and full of gratitude by the response to my essay.  I've heard from so many people who have sent me their poetry, shared fears for their children, mentioned me on Twitter, and written from jails and mental institutes and kitchen tables.

Many of you have asked me for a list of poems that might be helpful, and when I read that, I get a little teary.  I can't tell if your ask is casual, in the category of, "Oh, I'll be in your area, where are the cool restaurants?", or more akin to laetrile treatments.  You've exhausted everything else, and the desperation of loving children who are in peril causes you to grasp at straws, seek guidance from an ill-equipped stranger.  Because you've tried everything else.  So I'm reluctant to ignore.

What I want to say to you is this:

It's not the poems that caused my daughter grow up to be the healthy and strong woman she is today.  It's what she was born to be, as are your children.  The poems kept me busy, out of her way, and feeling useful while she did the hard work of growing up.  She decided to stay on the one way conveyor belt into adulthood where you begin to understand that the problems in the world are huge, possibly unsolvable.  My poem project was akin to something you would do to keep your toddler busy:  "Here honey, while Mommy cooks dinner, could you move these pennies, one at a time, from one jar to the other one?  Good job!"  

I spent a long time thinking about shoes, and trying to understand what they meant to my daughter versus what they mean to me.  For me, safety, comfort, habit.  For her at that time, they seemed to represent selling out.  I'm incredibly proud of her for how deeply she cares about justice and right and wrong, and how hard she works to make the world a better place, and how unwilling she is to sell out. 

For those of you who have children who are struggling, my only advice is to find that thing that matters to them, and honor it in the most tender, respectful way you possibly can.  Give them a long leash, even though it's terrifying.  If you don't know what that thing is, study them until you do know.  Give them legitimate sources of power in their life.

I tend to think in metaphors.  During that time, I envisioned my daughter as swimming across the cold hostile ocean from childhood towards adulthood.  I was rowing a boat along side her, not fully understanding what it was like to be in the water with sharks, taking on unexpected mouthfuls of briny water, and getting pummeled by waves.  It wasn't my job to tell her how to do it, or why to do it.  I was just there to hand her a sandwich or a poem every so often, cheer her on, and be her biggest fan with the hope that she'd keep swimming.  Maybe a metaphor will help you too.

I wish you all a thousand blessings.  May your children grow up to be loving and wise, because they were treated with love and wisdom.

Oh, and your question about poems: here's a good place to start.  


I'm excited to report that the author Celeste Ng has selected m y modern love essay to read for the Modern Love podcast next week. Suc...