May 10, 2001

"Floors"

Floors Creaking floors, creaking joints - the floor creaks with much less excuse than I, for was it not 'born' less than twenty years ago, and I, over forty? But creak it does, as I pass with careful feet over it. I don't want my midnight prowlings to awaken those who are still sleeping. But I cannot stop the creaking - neither the floor, nor my joints. Louder, it seems, in the night time darkness. Still, as I make my nightly pass, daylight arrives in some other part of the world,   and the world grows loud there. Floors, old or new, are given little notice, as people rush across them, workday goals in mind. Floors are backdrop, background for our larger lives, larger and louder than any creaking. JAL, 5 - 10 - 01

 

May 12, 2001

"Rich In Culture"

Whenever a customer looks thirty or under, I'm supposed to 'card' them if they are purchasing controlled substances. I usuallly don't remember their names. All I care about is the magic age of legality. However, occasionally, their name will stick with me if it's an odd name. Last week, the short, brown skinned and brown haired lady didn't have an unusual name, but it DID happen to be the same as a friend of mine in college. I made mention of that, and she said that maybe they were related. I said, no, not likely, as my friend was tall, with almost blackish brown hair and very pale skin. I noted, with only a slight tone of ruefulness, that she, unlike me, was probably hauling in the big bucks by now. I can't remember what she majored in. I do know that it was something practical. It WASN'T art history and studio art with a minor in philosophy, that's for sure. It surprised the lady that a college grad would be working at a convenience store. ''Well, I guess that's because I didn't major in computer programming, as my gramma had urged me!'', I sighed.

''POOR though I may be, at least I have CULTURE!, '' I said to myself after she left. Do I ever regret not majoring in computer programming? I remember one class I shared with several of those future computer programmers. SYMBOLIC LOGIC, a philosophy class, was required of them, for it would help them to think logically, and thus be better able to program those computers. It was a tough class, and were it not for the teacher's grading us on the curve, none of us would have passed it. I had great difficulty grasping the concepts of the class. But apparently, the other students had even greater difficulty, as somehow I managed to earn the highest grade. Oh, I don't doubt I could have wrestled with the programming and done all right.

Would I be any HAPPIER, had I done so, rather than taking the course I did take? That I can't answer. I do know that art enriches my life greatly. This fact was reinforced when I went to the bathroom at work, and pondered the picture you see next, with which someone has graciously beautified the homely room, while I did my 'business'.

"The Swing", by Renoir

Every time I have need of the 'loo', I never fail to 'crawl inside' that picture. The glory of light, that was Renoir's strength. I get a real sense of that warm spring day, every one on holiday. The weather was just right. It was one of those 'perfect' days, that you hold forever in your memory. The lady is feeling fine. She's enjoying the attentions of the man whose back is turned towards us. If they are married, the relationship haven't lost the newness, yet it is still comfortable. The young girl is perhaps the lady's daughter. She, too, is looking at her pretty mother, and admiring her. Who's the man in the shadows? Perhaps he is envying the good luck of the other man.

All this, while I can almost feel the gentle spring sun on them. There's a breeze, not too hard or weak. I can feel all this, and enjoy this idyllic moment of a young family out on the lawn or garden.

For the brief moments 'on the pot', it is a mini-vacation. THAT's the power of Art, it can take you away from yourself, and return you to yourself, better for the trip. I don't regret my academic choices. As I type this, I am grateful to all those programmers who have made this form of communication possible. Yes, I could have been one of them. Still, I am even more grateful to all the artists who have enriched the world with their creations of beauty. Perhaps my own small contributions in this regard may also, in their own way, enrich the world. It's what I like to dream. Dreams are free enough, are they not?

 

May 15, 2001

"Better To Wait"

I will not know if there is anything if I do not look. And so I bend over and take a look. What is within? Is it more of these useless jumbles, or is it something finely glowing? Still, this glorious freedom. I can say what I will. And I will. There is never a dawn, a morning that the large light will not come. Better to turn on a small light and wait for the sun's radiance. But this is not what I wanted to say . . .

 

May 18, 2001

"A Nice Contrast"

Laura and I, settling in to bed, couldn't end the day without talking about the season finale of ''Charmed''. We've been watching the tale of the three witchy sisters since it began three years ago. Season finales are usually cliffhangers, but this one is even more so of a cliffhanger. All three of the sisters' lives are in peril, but one may be even more lost, as she's trapped in the evil underworld, and may be killed by the evil forces. Phoebe, the youngest one, had to make a deal like that in order to turn back time. Time had to be turned back, or else all three sisters would be dead. Of course, the plot is complicated. What will happen come September, when the new shows begin? Will Phoebe's half demon almost boyfriend be able to save her? Or will one of the sisters be forever lost?

The 'power of three'

The 'power of three' broken . . .

We are left waiting and wondering. However, a visit to a fan site gave a teasing possibility. One of the three sisters WILL be no longer with us come September. But it won't be the youngest one. No, it's Prue, the oldest sister. Behind the scenes in-fighting is the reason. Apparently the actress who plays the oldest sister isn't the easiest to get along with in real life. As a solution, she has left the show. A NEW sister will turn up from somewhere, to re-create the 'power of three'. Long lost relatives often show up in the fictional worlds of TV land. Buffy, the vampire slayer, acquired a sister in a most unusual way this season. That show's cliffhanger awaits until this Tuesday, when we find out if THIS sister makes it or not. We hope we find out . . .

No, nothing is ever easy in TV land. But that stands to reason. Entertaining fiction has to be more dramatic, complex, perilous and flashy than our real life struggles, or else it wouldn't entertain.

Those being the events of TV land, our real life settles in as a nice contrast. I had a really good day yesterday. I didn't have to work, which nearly always improves the outcome. But instead of just staying at home, Laura and I (Julia at work) had a little outing. We didn't go far, only to Arizona Mills and Ray Road, but getting out was just what we needed. I listened to CDs at Virgin Megastore, while Laura pursued other types of the silvery five inch round discs, namely DVDs. A new tenor has a pop/opera album out, and it's nice, but nearly every song made me think of Andrea Bocelli, and how HE sounds singing that piece. I'd rather just listen to my old CDs of Bocelli, with his rich, impassioned voice, than this new upstart.

Laura had more success in the DVD department, finding ''Billy Elliot'', and the first ''Superman'' with Christoper Reeves. We'll watch those this weekend, during sometime I am awake and not working.

After the 'virgin' visit, which, by the way, now sells condoms, believe it or not, Virgin condoms (!), we went in search of food. ''On The Border'' lured us. Would we be good and split a meal between us? No, we would not. We couldn't agree on what to get. Besides, as I didn't eat nearly two bowl fulls of chips, as I'd done on our last 'Borders' visit, I had room for the chicken chili relleno, two chicken and cheese enchiladas, beef taco and rice. What can I say, I have a large stomach! I didn't acquire my fuller porportions by eating tiny portions, you know. Anyway, it was a very tasty and enjoyable meal.

We'd talked of seeing ''The Mummy Returns'', but changed our minds. It can wait for later, even rental several months later. Heading home tempted us more, with its prospects of a good nap after such a filling meal. It wouldn't have done to fall asleep on an expensive theater movie, anyhow.

 

May 20, 2001

"There Are No Flowers"

There are no flowers in our yard. There were a few ultra tiny purplish things a month ago, but there are no flowers now. This yard lacks what is called 'mature landscaping'. It looks like raw brown desert. Because it IS raw brown desert.

Now, this would be a real opportunity for an industrious person. However, I am not said industrious person. I'll just instead, remember flowers from the past.

I don't even remember when or where I saw those lovely roses. But the one captured digitally still looks good.

Alas, I am no gardener. I fare better at photographing and drawing already existing flowers, than growing my own. I even fare better at INVENTING flowers. What would you think if you saw the likes of THIS flower in your yard?

odd flower, indeed!

Would you think it had been the seed droppings from ALIENS, perhaps?

In gardens of the mind, anything can grow.

 

May 22, 2001

"There ARE Flowers"

I was wrong. There ARE flowers in our yard. No, not anything of splendor, humble things really. But sweet, and determined, to grow all on their own, without any encouragement out of the hard caliche earth. I was gladdened to see these small, only three quarters of an inch wide (2 cm), delicate orange blooms with the tiny reddish centers near our steps this morning.

 

May 25, 2001

"Better Late Than Never?"

Laura mentioned early this morning that we should go out later and get bread and milk today. I didn't want to waste the dwindling hours of my 'time off' on another trip into town. Besides, I was already taking Julia to work this morning. Then, a brilliant and efficient (By MY standards, anyway!) thought occurred to me. I could get bread and milk after dropping Julia off and save wear and tear on me and the car as well.

You know how a simple trip like that goes. You see all kinds of things which get added to your shopping cart you'd never even planned on. We DID need the yogurt and the butter, and I could make a good case for the string mozzarella cheese. And fruit is always a healthy purchase. The apple displays drew me, with their colorful red and green high piles of fruit. Red delicious, nah, they didn't look so good. But those GREEN apples, now they really looked tasty. Pretty enough for a picture. PICTURE! Hadn't I promised you readers a picture of a apple on my poetry pages eons ago? Yes, I could photograph 'em and THEN eat 'em. I had a plan.

Picture cropped and background painted black to blend in on the black backgrounded index pages, I then set off in search of when I'd made that promise. Found it, I did, and saw I'd even asked you, as if you could know "So how fast will those images appear?" and begged you all to ''Stay tuned!'' Have you been waiting with baited breath for that apple picture all this while? It's ONLY been TWO YEARS TO THE EXACT DATE in making good on my promise!

I, able to find humor in the wierdest places, laughed out loud. Two years to the exact date. Well, I never did claim to be fast.

And, by the way, those green apples are just delicious! I've eaten two already.

 

May 27, 2001 - A

"Sleep In The Afternoon"

This is one of the stepping tiles that lead from the front gate to our front steps. A crude engraving of a man bending head for nap, sombrero covering eyes, graces each tile. Chances are, in real life, he'd find something less prickly than a cactus to lean against. They don't provide much shade, either. But this is what passes for southwestern deco this days . . .

Still, it does depict something about the southwest. It is no secret of the desert noon-time heat as the origins of the 'siesta', when people of this region and parts more southern used to knock off work in the afternoon for a nap, in the shadows, away from the heat.

Now, however, there are night shifts, and no one has time for siestas, except children and retired people. Still, there was a wisdom in that simple time. We may be more efficient. But efficient isn't always BETTER. Now I, as a nightime laborer, must sleep in the afternoon.

But today, I find myself unable to.

 

May 27, 2001 - B

"I Feel So Small"

The trouble with writing poems as I do, taking each word as it is 'given', is I never know what I'm going to get. Sometimes I'm so happily surprised.

And at other times, I feel positively cheated. This is one of those times. I've produced a wierd poem, but I'm not going to apologize for it, though. I record it here, simply in case it makes more sense later.

I Feel So Small Sixteen times you said, and sixteen it was. Not the hardest times, but math is hard, and counting is hard, and figures don't add up . . . it figures. So we'll take this one day and make it add to the next, and then the next . . . and so it goes. Soon my number will be up, and that, much too soon. So now, I count on head of pin. But to an ant, it is a very large pin. 'Be grateful for small things', the saying goes. I want smallness, the smallness of an hour tucked in my pocket. Shall I go hide in that pocket? The sun is too bright, the pocket seems better. And I feel so small anyway. Pocket will do, dimensional pocket, stretch to fit. Just in whose skirt, though? Mama Fate's? Maybe? Have pocket, will travel. I'll try to rest easy. Yeah, Fate has all this in store anyway. Hold it all, Fate. Hold me, Fate. Until that day, I will wait. JAL, 5 - 27 01

And this is DEFINITELY not what I wanted to say when I laid down with paper and pen. I envisioned a happy poem, full of light and flowers and ice cream and sunsets and puppy face-licks and . . .

But that's not what came to me. Still, it's not TOO horrid, almost cozy, even. Except for that dratted reference to SIXTEEN. I've had earlier poems with that ellusive reference. I wish I knew what it means, but speculation can often only lead to worry, and that's not very productive, either. So I'll leave it be. The poem's been recorded in case it makes more sense later.

 

May 28, 2001

"Among The Rocks"

I've been awakened from that 'NAP' . . .

This time, bad poetry . . . Sorry!

(It's the 'path of least resistence', of course!)

Among The Rocks On the path of least resistence, on the path, but the stones hurt my feet anyway, on the path, whose end-point is unknown, on this path, I must walk. Why this path, and not some other? I have just awakened and found myself here. Was I dreaming all that time before?   Hard to say, but here I am, in thin sandals, among the rocks . . . JAL, 5 - 28 01 rocky . . .