It's aturday and my s key i sticking

I'm not going to fix the "s" thing, so you'll have a little game today, I guess, this lazy Saturday afternoon.

Both boys have gone to the eat coast to spend the week in Hilton Head. I've decided to tay here with ophie and try to feel calmer and more relaxed. Hilton Head is not my happy place, to use a loathsome cliche, but I hall mis my family and the feeling of being together, however fraught with family drama. Perhaps it's a trial run for when Oliver goes to college in late August, and Sophie and I will be fairly alone and defenseless except for the large guard dogs we have and the crowbar I keep beside my bed, ready to swing at the first person who sets off my fancy Nest security system.

Reader, beware.

Today I went to see Dr. Jin, and when she stuck a needle in the flehy part of my arm just below my elbow crease, I felt a surge of -- something -- and then tears or were they water? started leaking out of my eyes and down my face where they pooled, I'm sure, on the white paper I lay on. What i this? I asked Dr. Jin, but she was already down at my feet and remarked, Almost done, it's good to cry. Cry and then relax. he put the tinny Chinese music on, and I cloeed my eyes and drifted, like I always do, to the past and a kind of lucid dreaming where I am at once aware that I'm lying on the table with needles sticking out but drifting through past lives and memories and boys and babies and it's all very zen and soft and humid and sensual without any exertion. Before I left, Dr. Jin reminded me to take the special pills she'd given me last week. I imagine they are some form of Chinese prozac and will help me to regain my former effortless composure and sunniness.

o.

What are you doing this weekend?

Things I Learned Today*

1. How to remain cool when navigating the treacherous waters of Verizon customer service, trying to figure out why I am being charged hundreds of dollars a month for a hotspot that I returned in July after my sojourn in Hedgebrook that I thought was taken care of but that I apparently didn't according to the Verizon people and now that I've switched to T-Mobile am being punished with the most incredible round-abouts and garbled technology talk that took hours and hours and is still not resolved even though I had to go to the actual Verizon store as well and take it up with them. 
2. Gratitude that I don't live in a concealed carry state because surely, if I hadn't learned #1, I would have been hard-pressed to not just go ahead and "settle things" Texas-style
3. How to "dab," a dance move that Oliver told me about, demonstrated and then judged harshly with the utmost scorn and mockery when I attempted it (see photo above). Oliver has no idea that I actually do have a sense of rhythm, and while I wouldn't profess to like the music that goes with this dance move (at some point he screamed over the jarring cacophony that whenever the pounding bass line dropped, I was to DAB!), it's not that far removed from the Hustle or the Bump, both of which I excelled at in my day.

Reader, what did you learn today?








*First World Problem Solving

Saturday Late Afternoon Sanity Beach Trip

I asked Henry to come with me and Sophie to the beach for an hour or two around 4:30 this afternoon. O,K., I begged Henry to come with me and Sophie to the beach for an hour or two around 4:30 this afternoon. I was desperate to actually go in and under the water, have been feeling this deep craving to do so for weeks.

Even though he had no interest in going in himself, he obliged me and brought his lacrosse stick to practice what they call cradling.

It was a scorcher elsewhere in Los Angeles today -- in fact, I went into the deep dark valley earlier in the afternoon to pick up Sophie's cannabis oil, and my car thermometer read 105 degrees. The temperature at the beach in the late afternoon was about 80, though, and the water as warm as it gets here which is still refreshingly cold. I took Sophie for a walk along the edge of the water and then in to about our knees before bringing her back up to her stroller and Henry. Then I walked down past the lovers and the mothers and the children and one small man in a bicycle helmet and what can only be called a private-parts or -- let's be blunt -- penis holder whose fabric was the American flag. I surmised porn star, such was the area and -- uh, length -- of the flag (honestly, Henry and I could not get over it), and when he turned away, it was difficult not to notice the line of stars, perhaps twelve out of the glorious fifty, disappearing into his ass.

Anyhoo.

The surf was pretty high, but the water was clear and blue and I felt immediately refreshed and replenished. Thank you, southern California. Thank you, Ocean Park. Thank you, Pacific Ocean. Thank you, Henry.

Saturday Poetry and Sophie

French Chocolates

If you have your health, you have everything
is something that's said to cheer you up
when you come home early and find your lover
arched over a stranger in a scarlet thong.

Or it could be you lose your job at Happy Nails
because you can't stop smudging the stars
on those ten teeny American flags.

I don't begrudge you your extravagant vitality.
May it blossom like a cherry tree. May the petals
of your cardiovascular excellence
and the accordion polka of your lungs
sweeten the mornings of your loneliness.

But for the ill, for you with nerves that fire
like a rusted-out burner on an old barbecue,
with bones brittle as spun sugar,
with a migraine hammering like a blacksmith

in the flaming forge of your skull,
may you be spared from friends who say,
God doesn't give you more than you can handle
and ask what gifts being sick has brought you.

May they just keep their mouths shut
and give you French chocolates and daffodils
and maybe a small, original Matisse,
say, Open Window, Collioure, so you can look out
at the boats floating on the dappled pink water.

Ellen Bass

Cubist Spiderweb

Because I don't have it, I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to take the above photo. I was strolling around my estate grounds, talking on the phone when I noticed a strange spiderweb on the rungs of a beat-up old wooden chair. I must have taken twenty shots that showed nothing on my phone and then more with my regular Canon. I considered stopping and justing observing -- why must we always make a record? It took me about a half an hour experimenting before I hung a black dress behind it and snapped the shot.

Have you ever seen a spider web so ziggy zaggy? I thought it must be a Cubist spider, an eight-legged Picasso or Braque who went rogue, away from concentric circles and into a break-up of form. The web was abandoned, pieces of it hanging and stuck with tiny yellow flowers shed from the tree above. If I remember my cubism properly, that break-up of form makes what is concrete, abstract, and in so doing, changes viewpoint. Is there meaning in that? What we think is concrete can so easily be spun into the abstract. One viewpoint shifts to another. Revolution is sparked.

Just something to think about when you don't have the time.

Saturday Really Good Lines From Books I'm Reading

What George told Mrs. Rock then was that her mother was under surveillance and had been being monitored by spies.

Mrs. Rock: "You believe your mother was being monitored by spies?"

That was what counselors were trained to do, to say back to you what it was you said, but in the form of a question so you could ask yourself why you'd thought or said it. It was soul-destroying.***

from Ali Smith's How To Be Both: A Novel









***The last two lines were what I thought really good -- I added the preceding ones because it needed context.

What to do before driving to Manhattan Beach for a lacrosse game

Lie in bed and read Roz Chast's new graphic memoir Can't we talk about something more PLEASANT?, laugh your fanny off, periodically text a couple of friends and continue to laugh your fanny off, wake the still-sleeping teenager at noon and inform him that he needs to begin his toilette in order to make the lacrosse game in Manhattan Beach, continue reading Chast's brilliant and brilliantly funny memoir (how does anyone manage to convey so much emotion and life with a bunch of brush strokes?) and post a selfie of yourself with your vehicle, a sexy white Mazda that is really your better half.

Saturday Agenda

I have lacrosse on the agenda today.

Lacrosse and, oh, more lacrosse.

Reader, what's happening in your parts (not pants)?

A Resilient Anatomy

re·sil·ient
riˈzilyənt/
adjective1.
(of a substance or object) able to recoil or spring back into shape after bending, stretching, or being compressed.

synonyms:

flexible, pliable, supple;

1. I'm taking Oliver's lead -- springing back into shape, feeling my supple body, my pliable mind. There are no accidents, as my friend Carrie says, and hope springs eternal, says Alexander P.
   

A certain mad rectitude

Here's Sophie, playing on the iPad with Saint Mirtha. It's Saturday and it's hot here in the southland. Oliver and I got up early this morning and drove into the valley where it's even hotter so that Oliver could try out for fall baseball. We decided to try a different league this year as the one we've been a part of for so long is sort of, kind of, getting on our nerves. There are too many politics, too many people who take themselves far too seriously, and while I expect that's true of most baseball leagues, at least we won't know anyone in this one and I can be oblivious because that's what I'm seeking these days if you haven't noticed. I picked Henry and his friends up from their first high school dance last night, and the car was electric with laughter and youth and, frankly, normalcy. I'm grateful that Sophie has an iPad this morning and that she can use it, however inconsistently. I'm grateful that I have Saint Mirtha here on Saturdays so that I can take my boy to try out for the sport that he loves. And I'm grateful that Henry is happy in his new high school, going to dances, raucous with his friends, a life ahead of him.

Here's a poem:

Say It Straight

What we would
and what we can say
stray as in a dream;
a certain mad rectitude
creeps in, by which something simple as an apple
can never be determined
wholly edible.
The crisp act is deferred,
the object blurred by scruples.
The more we cherish clarity
in principle, the more it is
impossible. Will enamel
ever strike the fruit?
Will Eve grow wild and forgivable?
For it's unlovable
to talk too long with snakes,
whose reasons fork
the more the more
she hesitates.

Kay Ryan, from Flamingo Watching, 1994

Reader, I know you think I'm not the gratitude kind of blogger, but let's relent and you tell me what you're grateful for today.

Saturday

Oliver is selling lemonade at the corner today for $.75 a glass. He squeezed the lemons last night at 11:00 and made simple syrup with The Husband. He wondered if Henry might go door-to-door and take orders and then deliver, but Henry, being Henry, said, Nah, I don't like working like that. So, he's in his room, playing video games or watching violent movies with lots of sex.

Just kidding.

Sophie is having a sleep-fest which she does periodically and which I believe is her body's way to cope with a period of particularly brutal and multiple seizures. I periodically poke my head over the door and watch to see whether her chest is rising and falling, and then I feel somewhat sheepish to still be doing that and then I realize that it's perfectly reasonable given our situation and Sophie's troubles and then I wonder, for a bit, if I'm irrevocably damaged and then I realize that we all are in one way or another but that life just keeps on blowing its breezes and throwing its lemons and pushing out mint.

It's another beautiful day in Los Angeles. I'm going to finish The Interestings and start on The Mouse-Proof Kitchen by Saira Shah. It's a novel about a couple living in southern France with a disabled child, and I believe the writer herself has a child with seizures. I know that someone (maybe here?) told me about Saira Shah a long time ago, and I pre-ordered the book on Amazon. It was downloaded to my Kindle the other day, and just this morning I read a review. I also might finish spray-painting two metal chairs that I picked up at a yard sale and that I'm working on, slowly, ever so slowly, because, really, I'm more like Henry when it comes to that kind of thing and would rather say Nah, I don't like working like that. As for sex and violence, I prefer the former.

Reader, how is your Saturday shaping up and what are you reading?

To the backyard

It's all benign neglect. Grass, dirt, lavender, tomatoes and lemons -- benignly neglected. Oh, and toes.

The Baker is Back

via Etsy

This morning I was up at 6:30 baking a cake. I've got two cake orders today, orders I took at the last minute because My Other Job has drawn to a close, and I need the work. I have a Blue Velvet Cake with Purple Frosting and a Luau Theme to make today and a Milk Chocolate Chocolate Cake tomorrow. I will, of course, post photos later.

If you know of anyone who needs to hire a baker, please let me know. I can also advocate for children with special healthcare needs, review grants, create caregiver manuals and train caregivers, write grants and pull my legs over my head.

Reader, what are you up to this weekend?

Two Pictures and Two Poems

To converse with the greats

To converse with the greats
by trying their blindfolds on;
to correspond with great books
by rewriting them;
to edit holy edicts,
and at the midnight hour
to talk with the clock by tapping on a wall
is the solitary confinement of the universe.

Vera Pavlova

Catch

Big Boy came
Carrying a mermaid
On his shoulders
And the mermaid
Had her tail
Curved
Beneath his arm.

Being a fisher boy,
He'd found a fish
To carry --
Half fish,
Half girl
To marry

Langston Hughes

Ryan Gosling, Los Angeles and Waning Bachelorette Days

Well, I had another 2/3rd less children day yesterday, and it was a quiet one. I finished a day of work and errands by going to a late afternoon movie which I don't recommend unless you only wish to gaze upon Ryan Gosling and Bradley Cooper for two and a half hours of gloom and doom. The older I get, the more movies have the power to depress me, and The Place Beyond the Pines was a real downer. There was a scene, though, where Ryan Gosling's character has just robbed a bank and he's exulting with his nasty co-outlaw, and even though he's basically dancing with an ugly little dog, I swear to you that his sexiness took my breath away and I felt about twenty years old swaying right along with him to Bruce Springsteen.

Anywho.

I parked at the top of the movie theater, though, and took some lovely shots of Hollywood, west toward the ocean and downtown Los Angeles. Here they are:

It's Saturday morning, and the The Brothers and The Husband will be home late tonight. I'll need to shut down this bachelorette pad and get busy with the usual. I hope ya'll are having a good Saturday.

Saturday Rapture

Last night, I drove Henry to the Pacific Palisades -- a twenty mile drive that took about an hour on a Friday night in Los Angeles --  for a baseball game, and no sooner had the boys begun to play then the fog rolled in and it was cancelled. We drove home.

This morning, The Husband informed me that Sophie had wet through the bed -- again -- so I pulled her sheets off, down to the mattress and put them in the wash -- again. I brought her into bed with me and read.

I'm reading a book of poetry called Incarnadine by Mary Szybist and feel enraptured. I wrote an essay of sorts a while back about the effect of a painting called The Annunciation by Fr'a Angelico on me when I visited Florence, Italy. You can read it here. I have copies of the painting everywhere in my house, under the glass top to my desk, on my bookshelves -- it informs me.

Szybists' book of poetry takes the moment when the angel Gabriel announces what the future has in store for the human Mary and uses that to spin poems about paradox of the spirit and the body. The poems are not religious but rapturous. They are sensuous, nearly erotic. One describes the annunciation from the point of view of the grass:

how many moments did it hover before we felt
it was like nothing else, it was not bird
light as mosquito, the aroma of walnut husks
while the girl's knees pressed into us
every spear of us rising, sunlit and coarse
the wild bees murmuring through

It's overcast here in Los Angeles, and there are no baseball games. I'm a woman of leisure with three children on a Saturday, reading poems.

The Overview Effect

Since I was a little girl I have wanted to look out on the earth from space. I never aspired to be an astronaut, but I would love to go on a ride. If you have twenty minutes, watch this beautiful, beautiful video. It will make you happy to be alive.

We are stardust.

Edgar Mitchell

Apollo Astronaut

Damn Wonderful Santa Monica Saturday

The Living

Yesterday, I noticed for the first time that gray clouds could float over gray, clouded skies.

Today the sky is blue and the grass wet with last night's rain. Opening my eyes, I felt the presumptuousness  of the living.

Yesterday, I removed all those whose feeds on Facebook argue for gun-ownership or who picture their smiling children, shooting, in grassy fields. Within seconds, a relative said good-bye and is gone. Today, I will feel the presumptuousness of the living.

Yesterday, I got a message from the Friend Who Loves Jane Austen that he had Sophie's medication in hand, the copy of her birth certificate and a letter from me, authorizing its transport from the cold north. Today I can only ponder the country I live in, where I might have more easily ordered rounds of ammunition and received them quicker than the two-month supply of medication to ease the seizures of my epileptic daughter. These are the thoughts of the presumptuous living.

I will go now and buy the things that I'll need to carry on today, the flour and sugar to bake, the champagne to toast. I will take my boys to basketball tryouts and lacrosse games. I will greet the caregiver at the door this morning, the tree lights sparkling in the corner. Our gratitude will be of the presumptuous living.

Saturday Southern Comfort Awesome

Who wants to hear about Romney, Ryan, rape and Rand?

Who wants to listen to Odetta sing Hit or Miss?

You just know it's only going to get crazier until November, and we're all going to have to bear it. You know I'm going to be posting some political stuff, here and there -- particularly when it crosses the path of disability -- but right now, I'm going to post this video that my brother-in-law sent me last night.

I just gotta be me.