Mantis in a Teacup

Hello I Must Be Going

2007-11-09T16:52:00.001-05:00

I can't believe it's been two months since I returned from Ibiza. Wow. Things have been busy. It was a great trip. We relaxed on beaches, we saw hours of the night that I haven't seen in years (at least not having been immediately caused by a crying child), and we got to see people we haven't seen in years.

Here is the man who was the reason for the trip. Or rather, the birthday boy.

And all the ladies who came from around the world to help him celebrate:

The theme of the party was "white and bling". Because that's what he wanted. Here's me and hubby at the villa where most of the people stayed. (We stayed in a nearby bed and breakfast that was wonderful)

And here I am with my two childhood best friends. I've known the man on the left since the day he was born, and the man on the right for about 30 years. And when we saw each other again (after 7 years since our last meeting), it was like we'd seen each other yesterday. I love that.

So, yet again, I don't have much time for posting and this one is just a quick overview of pictures (and it has taken me a week to put this together).

On this note, I am going to put this blog into retirement. I may resurrect it at some point (and those of you who visit here will know as I will come and let you know on your blogs), but life is too hectic these days (in a good way) for this kind of thing. The blog will stay up, but I probably won't be posting to it unless I get time and inspiration to write more poetry (which was the whole point of this blog in the first place). Thanks to all those who have read my words, I appreciate the time you've spent here.

Take care of yourselves. ~Joni

I'm baaaaaack.....

2007-09-18T07:28:00.000-05:00

Ibiza was wonderful. Unfortunately, no good vacation goes unpunished so I am swamped at work and will need a few days before I can write about my time out of the country.

Ciao!

If a Tree Falls in the Forest...

2007-07-30T20:03:00.000-05:00

Standing Deadwood

It was the possibility of her that he loved.
Not the conquest, nor the acceptance. Her life
lay out before her like a grass carpet through a forest.
It was the promise of her life that drew him.

Even as his own path narrowed to darker stands
of trees hers was light and full of options.
Entwining with her was renewing his own potential
giving himself again a life he'd already squandered.

He tasted it within her as his tongue traced the shallow crevice
of her spine, he inhaled it in her scent like wildflowers blooming
after rain. He felt it as he touched the strength of her jawline.
He looks at the hands that once caressed her. His hands

fresh with new creases. The furrowed lines dug deep into them
and drained her away. The younger hands that had
touched her were gone. Replaced by his father’s hands.
There was coldness in the calluses that she would never know.

Life. To live again under a blanket of potential with
a sky of wonder, sheltering. He clung to it, then only to the dream,
then finally was forced to let it go for the many things
neither could control yet were thrust upon them.

Now he wanders the standing deadwood of the thicket of his heart
past former loves and more former friends, seeking the sapling of
young love again, and again, and again.

Joni
1/4/2006

Life is Popping!

2007-07-23T07:25:00.000-05:00

Wow! I have been BUSY! And, of course, this place has been a bit neglected of late. Ah well. Such is life.

The good news is I have about a month with most of my family out of town so I can do all the things I've been meaning to do for years and haven't gotten to yet. My closets have been warned.

So I have a lot I want to get done in the next month (including some vacation time with the family) and then after that, I get to REALLY relax. On a small island in the Mediterranean called Ibiza. Just me and my hubby....and about 15 other people who will also be attending a birthday party for a friend.

I'm so excited to get things done, and so excited to go to Spain. So forgive my posting slow down here, but I expect after Ibiza I will pick this thread back up more regularly again. In the meantime, I'll post here and there (and maybe even from Ibiza), so keep checking in!

In Memoriam

2007-07-12T12:41:00.000-05:00

James

A soldier was killed in Iraq yesterday.
Major James Ahearn.
A friend to my husband in peaceful times.
He didn’t know James particularly well,
but enough. We are not to be
pitied anymore than all of us.

He was a good man.

He used his pay to buy toys for the
children pummeled by aggression.
He married a local and brought her to
Carolina so their family might know peace.

He was a good man.

And this is the problem with war’s blindness,
it kills both the bad, and the good.
Someone once said Heaven must have needed another hero.
But we’re short on good men right here.
In the end war doesn’t care what I think.
And today all that matters is that James came to say:

Remember me. I was a good man.

Joni
7/11/07

Festival Performance

2007-07-09T08:40:00.000-05:00

This past weekend, my bellydance troupe performed at the Festival for the Eno, a local festival where they use the proceeds to purchase land around the Eno River to keep it protected and maintain the park there.

Here are a couple of shots from the two performances we did. I decided to go with bold colors for this outfit as you can see (I'm in the bright yellow and red).

We performed a zil (finger cymbal) piece and a double veil piece. Both went well and it was a total blast performing. To the people who came to see us, a thousand thanks!

Another Night, Another Moon

2007-07-05T15:01:00.000-05:00

Riding Silent

I watch a late moon rising on an early night.
I look to her cycles for answers to the walls
in my mind. But tonight she rides in silence,
keeping her counsel well guarded. These are
my ramparts to climb or tear asunder, not hers.

Through treacherous trajectories and
pummeled paths she has emerged
beautiful and strong without backward glance.
Her example is not lost on me.

This night she will trail her paned light past
rooftops and I will be left to blanket
my own hush in lullabyed sweetness
and feigned sleep knowing that
tomorrow my maze winds on.

Joni
7/3/07

Just Plain Wrong

2007-06-25T10:27:00.000-05:00

It is unimaginably wrong to start a Monday morning stuck in traffic while listening to Born To Be Wild on the radio. That song absolutely requires an open freeway and not having one is just really, really wrong.

I am confident things will improve though. LOL

Measuring a Life

2007-06-18T09:21:00.000-05:00

The Metrics of Pasta and Laundry

I never knew her first name,
she was always Mrs. D.
We avoided her as much as we could.
And she obligingly did the same.

When we did meet, the eyeroll was
palpable and always followed by the same quip:
Another kid, another pound of pasta, another load of laundry.
Such were the metrics of her life.

It wasn’t always that way.
Sicilia was her home and given the connections
of her sons and their sons, I’d wager
she emigrated with the family.

From poverty her soul was sold for opulence
But such transactions are transitory
and cosa nostra only hides so much.
The arrogance of a wink can be a man’s undoing
and with his own came hers.

She would reprimand our sitting on a bed prepared for sleep, chiding
What do you think this is, a bungalow in Far Rockaway?
Not knowing how short the time would be where that
bungalow might be seen as a treat to her tobacco tarnished eyes.

I imagine she is dead now. The wisdom
of her years being drowned out by the clamor
of all she could not say, and the din of children
who would never understand even if she could.

And then there is me, who only met her a few times.
Yet was touched to carry her lessons daily.
Rest in peace, Mrs. D, for you taught me to be
vigilant about how I measure my life, and I’ve not forgotten.

Joni
6/18/2007

Not Good Enough

2007-06-15T07:47:00.000-05:00

Musing

What does one say to their muse when they are gone?
I miss you is not enough.
Could I list all the ways you’ve flinted my words to flame?
Not likely. And you already know.
How do I satisfy this need to explain what you understand?

I told you once I would not write poetry for you,
but really all of my words are for you.
Somewhere within is you, driving me to push
these keys to birth your whispers.
Do you know that you charge me thus?
Is it enough for me to tell you that?
Will this admission sate me?

My God, this poem is nothing but unanswerable questions.
Even this work to honor you is immeasurably flawed.
Like me. Without you. Or even with you. Flawed.

I miss you.

That will have to be enough.

Joni
6/14/07

Defining Success

2007-06-11T21:24:00.000-05:00

Doesn't he look like a salesman? No offense to any salesmen out there, but that is just so not me. LOL

I have been working with a career counselor to figure out what I need to do next in my career. One of the worksheets she had me complete asked me give three definitions of how I define "success" by completing the sentence "I know I am being successful by....". My answers did not really surprise me, and yet in a way they did. I can't really explain it, but here are my answers.

1) I know I am being successful by seeing how my husband interacts with our children and knowing that my work allows them to spend lots of time together.

2) I know I am being successful by the way my daughters articulate their thoughts and ideas and are actively engaged in questioning their world.

3) I know I am successful by the feeling I have when I look around my home and know that I have created a little oasis that suits my spirituality and love of the outdoors for my family.

My answers make me smile. Care to share your answers?

Copperhead - Continued

2007-05-29T09:03:00.000-05:00

So here is our friend Mr. Copperhead (thoroughly dead, I assure you) lying on my cutting board. This weekend, we dissected our little friend (using my husband's great-grandfather's dissecting kit).

Here is a picture of him laid out and ready for cutting. That's my 3 year old's hand touching the snake. My 5 year old was taking notes about how long he was (15") and drawing more pictures of his patterning and habitat. I don't know of any other kindergartners that have dissected a snake with their parents. LOL

Prior to dissection we noticed that he had something in his stomach. My husband removed the skin, then the muscles and bones. Both my daughters wanted to touch the ribs and see the heart. They are obviously not squeamish at all! Then they wanted to know what was in its stomach. I did not take a picture (aren't you glad), but it was a mouse. A very intact mouse, actually, which was pretty neat.

My husband gave me the skin to start drying it. Here it is.

Now I just need to find the right hat. LOL

Copperhead

2007-05-24T06:54:00.000-05:00

Yesterday we found a (probably) 2 year old copperhead in the woods in our backyard. Thankfully, my husband is skilled at capturing such creatures. Unfortunately, he likes to bring what he catches, into the house.

I have to say it is a really beautiful creature, that I'll be happy if I never see again.

We decided this was a great opportunity for our children to learn what a copperhead looks like, so we got out the Boyscout Manual and talked about markings, camouflage and habitat. Here is my eldest drawing a copperhead in his habitat (and about to get a mouse) while studying his markings.

Under much protest from the girls, after dinner we finally put him (in his cage) in our freezer (the safest way to kill him). I don't know if we'll skin him or not - he'd make a nice hat band.

I can't wait to hear the "EWWWW's" about that last comment. LOL

Luna-tic

2007-05-18T06:54:00.000-05:00

Sweeping Moon

I gather broken blackbird branches,
icicled baby’s breath with antiqued mint and bind them.
The Sea of Tranquility is dusty.

I cross this clouded bridge of mangled
road signs, live oaks, fish bones and good intentions.
My job starts in the walking.

My broom sweeps the tired dust away,
but only the tears of a broken heart can restore her.
I weep and scrub her clean.

Nightly I come to bathe the moon’s face
for you. I swim in Mare Frigoris a million miles away
and watch you cry for another.

Joni
12/13/05

A Gift

2007-05-14T07:55:00.000-05:00

The honeysuckle is in bloom here. Nothing smells like honeysuckle - it is divine - and we have a profusion of it. My husband has lovingly trained it over fences and encouraged its growth for 3 years and now it is an amazing, heaven-scented, fence full of blooms.

His caring has given me a wonderful opportunity: to spend time eating honeysuckles with my daughters. This is a real gift.

And this weekend, he chopped out a little place in one of the "mounds" of honeysuckle he had trained, to make my eldest a "honeysuckle fort". For her it is the Queen's castle (for who else should live among such beautiful flowers than a queen), and she is a daring knight bent on killing the evil dragon that will kill the Queen and her flowers.

We had hours of fun playing "castle" and eating honeysuckles and running from dragons.

Who knew one patch of flowers could make so much fun?!

Aqua Culture

2007-05-07T12:55:00.000-05:00

So this is how it happens.

My eldest daughter hounds me for swimming lessons, swim classes, anything having to do with swimming. Unfortunately, we live out in the country, so it's a 30 to 40-minute drive to any of the swimming clubs. And worse, for a membership just for the two of us is about $350 a season. And that doesn't include my husband and youngest daughter.

So we bit the bullet. We bought an above-ground pool.

And this is what happens when you rent a bobcat for hubby to clear the spot for the pool.

The nearest 24 feet of open dirt was the planned pool location. However, we have bedrock near the surface, so leveling the ground became more of an issue. Hence the migration of the pool 20 feet to the east!

Oh well. All that extra dirt did provide for some fun-time for the girls.

I will keep you posted as to how this project progresses. I hope that by the end of the month we'll be able to swim in the pool. At least I'm keeping my fingers crossed that we will.

No Words

2007-05-02T16:07:00.000-05:00

I have tried to keep politics out of my blog, but this has left me with no words.

Hometown Baghdad

Aqua

2007-04-23T13:44:00.001-05:00

The Serious Moments of Water

I am afraid of them, the serious moments of water.
They touch the very core of who I am.
I am mostly water after all, but that’s
not what I’m talking about.

I was born to water. Given, gifted and wrapped
in a bow for water. All my life I knew it
would be this way, I’ve always known
I was only for him.

From early on I would swim naked with him. He
caressed the parts of me the sun rarely saw.
He seduced me with bouyancy,
and was always cool.

The most serious moment of water came when
I was in college. As we stood together in
one mind and one body and I pledged
eternal devotion to him.

But, as old lovers tend to do, we drifted. Slowly my
attention shifted and I became enamored with
puzzling over the earth, and he moved
on to other oceans.

And now I’ve been asked to write this poem.
A clever ruse on his part to make me face my
transgressions, my falseness. For I have
dishonored my pledge and passion.

And now I see the great gnawing within me
has been my heart pleading my return to
honor him again, and having written
this, I hope that I will.

But there is a fear that I am no
longer the one he desires. Forever
lost is the young nubile woman
who eagerly sought his caress.

I am old and tired. I wonder if I have
fervor left within me at all. My earth
has sucked me dry and left me weak in
thirst, as earth always does.

Really, the most serious moment of water
is when you realize you have none.
And you wonder how to get it back.
And I wonder if I ever will.

Joni
4/23/07

Apidea

2007-04-19T13:48:00.000-05:00

The Bees are Dying

They hang as jeweled ornaments on
branches with legs clenched in
tiny fists of unexpected cold.
The bees are dying.

I pluck a stem and cup it in my
shaking hands. As God did for man,
I breathe myself across him.
Life pulses anew.

His segments flex, legs uncurl.
I can not save him, I know this.
For as a bee-God, I am limited.
Only a magician.

Or perhaps my intrusion is more
Old Testament treachery. How has
this bee sinned to be judged to die
only to die again?

I make a bed in tall grass for him
in the hopes that the earth's womb
can preserve what I can not.
This too is fruitless.

The bees are dying. I see them
decorate this field, giving the gift
of beauty with their very lives.
For only their God to see.

Joni
4/19/07

Tomb Raiders

2007-04-16T07:09:00.000-05:00

Here's my weekend in pictures -

The Event:
A museum opening of antiquities from Egypt.

The Crowd:
A few hundred patrons and museum members.

The Entertainment:
Some awesome bellydancers (including me).

And just because the juxtaposition of this one cracks me up:

Looking at the size of the knife on that sculpture, I'm glad I was dancing well, or he might have come after me!

We had a blast, the patrons were thrilled to have us there and everyone had a great time.

Does it ever stop?

2007-04-10T20:33:00.000-05:00

Before we're dead? I mean, dayem. I am so frackin' busy it's hard to even enjoy the things I like to do because I'm a certified stress bunny these days. That is a technical term - Stress Bunny (from the Latin Stressisorius Bunnirhunsis)- look it up if you don't believe me.

So things are insane, but I suppose I could not have a job and they wouldn't be as busy but still be more stressful - so I have a lot to be thankful for, right?

Oh well. This is life these days I guess. I will return to more regularly scheduled programming sometime next week when a couple more deadlines come and go.

Windscance

2007-04-01T16:24:00.000-05:00

Windscance

The wind forgets your name as she hustles down
the street looking for soul food and a beer.
What you do with her touch is for you to decide.

She will not pursue you, or apologize for almost
knocking you down. She doesn’t see what
you might perceive as transgression.
She knows you will love her in spite of this.

It is a glamour that you desire her despite
the knots she makes in the locks of your heart.
She owes you nothing and will give it gladly.

“Your problem” she says, “is you ask.
I take what is mine and move on. I don’t stop
for entanglements. You don’t want me to.”

She knows herself in ways that you do not.
Her enticing nature is swirling disruption and
heady chaos. But, in the end, she’s just walking
past you on her way to somewhere else.

Joni
3/30/07

Kids Say the Darndest Things

2007-03-29T07:20:00.000-05:00

My eldest daughter, who is 5 and a half said something the other day that floored me. I almost laughed out loud.

Her kindergarten assignment for the past few weeks has been to work on making a community. First she made a list of all the things that are in a community: houses, police, firehouse, library, etc. She then took boxes of a variety of shapes and sizes and made each box a building. We then laid them out on a large sheet of white cardboard and she drew the roads between the buildings.

As we were constructing the community, I was taking her "buildings" and taping them onto the cardboard. She did a few and then said:

"Mom, I'm going to sit over here in this comfortable chair and supervise for now".

Me: "blink....blink...(suppressed laughter)"

If she hadn't been sick, I probably wouldn't have let her get away with that, but she's been fighting off something for days, so I let it slide.

So there it is. My daughter is headed for management. God help us all. LOL

Chaaarleston

2007-03-26T07:27:00.000-05:00

My conference was in Charleston, South Carolina. A beautiful place filled with history, great seafood and a great waterfront. The hotel of the conference was across the street from a nice park on the Ashley River.

I have family in Charleston, so I got to stay with them and eat seafood and drink beer in the breezy comfort of my brother's home. The first night I was there, my brother invited over two friends of his that I've met several times before at a variety of parties.

When the first one, Eric, showed up, his comment was "Joni (giving me a big hug) the last time I saw you you were hurling over someone's deck railing".

I should stop here to say this is not accurate, I was hurling in the bathroom and he did not see it, he heard about it. (Damned Tarantula Azul tequila.)

The second friend, Shan, showed up and said "Joni (giving me a big hug) the last time I saw you you were tore-up!".

As there was only one party in Charleston where I hurled, I have to surmise that they were both there. And although I remember seeing Eric that night, I don't remember seeing Shan. Oh well.

I vowed this weekend to give them memories of me that did not involve vomit. (I do set my standards high, don't I?) Thankfully, I succeeded in that task.

We cooked up some shrimp, drank beer and talked politics until late in the night. Just so we could all look and feel our best the next day. Shan did not make it into work the next day. Wuss.

After the conference I had some time to go to the historic district and do some shopping. I did not go on a carriage tour, but they seemed like fun. The area behind the horse and carriage in this shot is The Market. The Market has a varied history, including being the slave market. As I walked through (even though I've been there before) I was overcome with the thought that people were bought and sold where I stood.

On Saturday morning we left for our campground at Edisto Beach State Park. It's a great place right on the water with Live Oaks all around. My husband brought the kids down for the camping trip, and for the first time Shan (who also camped with us) got to meet my husband. Upon meeting my husband, Shan made the comment "Joni's a great storyteller. She's very animated". Nobody has ever described me in this way. It was an unexpected compliment.

So we hung out around the camp fire drinking beer and telling stories. We went for a hike at dusk with the kids through the maritime forest, it was great. We all had a great time.

The next day we went to look for wildlife and go fishing. Both my kids tried their hand at fishing, and had a great time just hanging out.

Overall, it was a great trip.

Relax......

2007-03-21T09:02:00.000-05:00

Doesn't that look nice? I'll be there tonight. I love conferences. I have two days of conferences (and I don't have to teach, so this is even more relaxing!). Then my family will be joining me there for the weekend.

Two days of learning, shopping, and historic district sashaying, and two days of family vacation time. To me, that is balanced, and I can't wait!

Y'all have a good weekend. I'll be back next week with a sweet southern drawl.

There Were Roses

2007-03-18T07:45:00.000-05:00

(Edited with a link to the song below - and it should be noted that this song is based upon a true story. Both the men in this song were friends of Tommy Sands.)

With each St. Patrick's day I've been trying to instill in my children a sense of their Irish heritage. My Great-grandmother hailed from County Cork. There are several other lines that lead back to Ireland, including my father's grandmother on his mother's side (I think).

My kids woke up and both put on Halloween clothes. We never wore ORANGE on St. Patrick's day. Orange is the color of the British supporters of William of Orange - in other words - Northern Irish. We're Southern Irish. You do the math.

At first I had a moment where I thought "well I'll have to change their clothes". Then decided to throw a shamrock necklace on my youngest daughter and told my husband that she represents the unification of Northern and Southern Ireland.

Later that day, as I was cooking corned beef, I recalled this song. Whenever I hear this song, I do not cry - I weep. It's about....well...read the lyrics.

There Were Roses by Mick Moloney

There Were Roses
by Tommy Sands

So my song for you this evening, it's not to make you sad
Nor for adding to the sorrows of our troubled northern land
But lately I've been thinking and it just won't leave my mind
I'll tell you of two friends of mine who were both good friends of mine

Isaac Scott from Banagh, he lived just across the fields
A great man for the music, the dancing and the reels
McDonald came from South Armagh to court young Alice fair
And we often met on the Ryan Road and laughter filled the air

-Chorus-
There were roses, roses
There were roses
And the tears of a people ran together

Now Isaac he was Protestant and Sean was Catholic born
But it never made a difference, for the friendship it was strong
And sometimes in the evening when we heard the sound of drums
We said it won't divide us, we always will be one

For the ground our fathers plowed in, the soil it is the same
And the places where we say our prayers have just got different names
We talked about the friends who'd died and hoped there'd be no more
It was little then we realized the tragedy in store

-Chorus-

It was on a Sunday morning when the awful news came round
Another killing had been done just outside Newry Town
We knew that Isaac danced up there, we knew he liked the band
But when we heard that he was dead we just could not understand

We gathered round the graveside on a cold and rainy day
The minister he closed his eyes and for no revenge he prayed
And all of us who knew him from along the Ryan Road
We bowed our heads and said a prayer for the resting of his soul

-Chorus-

Now fear it filled the countryside there was fear in every home
When late at night a car came prowling round the Ryan Road
A Catholic would be killed tonight to even up the score
Oh Christ it's young McDonald they've taken from the door

Isaac was my friend! he cried, he begged them with his tears
But centuries of hatred have ears that do not hear
An eye for an eye, it was all that filled their minds
And another eye for another eye till everyone is blind

-Chorus-

So my song for you this evening, it's not to make you sad
Nor for adding to the sorrows of our troubled northern land
But lately I've been thinking and it just won't leave my mind
I'll tell you of two friends of mine who were both good friends of mine

Now I don't know where the moral is or where this song should end
But I wonder just how many wars are fought between good friends
And those who give the orders are not the ones to die
It's Scott and McDonald and the likes of you and I

There were roses, roses
There were roses
And the tears of a people ran together
There were roses, roses
There were roses....

And I write this for all my southern and northern Irish breathren who are finding their way to peace. Hopefully, one day, the joy of the people will run together.

And....

2007-03-15T07:09:00.000-05:00

And.....

It is within your motion, where your
beauty lies. Static does not suit you.
Your frenzied dance opens my heart.
My wind is borne blind on the other side of you.

And I feel.

I call your name with birdsong voice.
Your back remains mine with your
wolfing hips moving skyward.
My trees are held breathless in your landscape.

And I know.

You settle deep within my marrowed skin.
A joining of purest connection
in grazing circles of florid repose,
my stars run sunlit through your madrigal hair.

And I love.

Joni
3/13/07

Art Credit: Tree Deva by Mia Friedrich

Forgive Me Father For I have......

2007-03-13T07:44:00.000-05:00

Where do I even begin. I guess to admit that I have relied too heavily on other's opinions and allowed myself to be convinced to do something against my own better judgement.

I know you are all drooling....what did she do?

I can hardly even utter the words...but I will share.

I went on a family religious retreat.

There, I said it. Go ahead and laugh. I know you want to.

I was told by people who's opinions I thought I could trust and who had been to this very place before, that it was a great place for kids to go horseback riding, hiking and other activities with other kids while the parents could do their own activities (riding, rifle range, archery, hiking or any other myriad of things) on their own. The religious aspect of this was never really discussed, and we go to a Methodist church for God's sake. Our credo is "Out by noon". I certainly did not think that a Methodist retreat was going to be as "dogmatic" as it turned out to be.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I pushed aside my own better judgement.

We arrived and everyone was very friendly and helpful. We saw some of the people we know from church. I should say here that we started going to church, as most young married people do, because we have kids. I want them to get some kind of religious knowledge early in life. And the people we met there have been friendly and seemingly well-educated people with similar world views. No extremism - at least none that I've seen.

The first night we met together at 8:30 for a "session". My understanding was that we were going to go over the schedule for the weekend. When they started handing out Bibles, I bristled. When they handed my husband an "Adventure Bible" with a cover depicting two kids apparently rappelling off a mountain (which my husband, who used to teach rappelling, had several technical inaccuracies to point out) he looked in complete disbelief that he'd been handed this book.

I should also say, my husband is the son of a Presbyterian Minister. So he grew up in church camps, etc., etc. He is no bible-thumper and is very down to earth. More of a hellion, really. This was, shall we say, not his cup of tea, nor what he was lead to believe we'd be participating in either.

As I started to make my first snide comment (of many) he put his finger to his lips to shush me. I gave him a death stare and he said "I know. 'I did join the army, but I joined a *different* army. I joined the one with the condos and the private rooms.'" (which is one of my favorite quotes from the movie Private Benjamin). He knew. He understood. He agreed. He reaffirmed many of the myriad reasons I love him with that one quote.

After a few abysmal quotes and songs, we were done. We read stories to the kids and put them to bed and went to bed ourselves. Our room was in the upstairs of the meeting building which also housed the cafeteria. This worked out well in that people were in there all night making noise and thus keeping me awake. Sometime during the night I told my husband I was not going to spend another night there. He agreed.

The next day we spent way too much time in the morning in another "meeting". The kids were off in a group riding the horses and I was stuck with Ben the Baptist (as I found out) giving an ineloquent diatribe on God and the bible. I was painfully aware of the minutes of my life I would never get back. Then my jaw about hit the floor.

Ben said the "C-word". No. Not THAT C-word. He said "Creationism". He only implied that he believed it, so I (nor my husband) did not dig into a debate. My mother-in-law (minister's wife - who was with us) actually got up and left toward the end of it. She's a good woman.

We had lunch, and went for a hike with our oldest daughter in a group of people. We hiked up to a point on the mountain where a rock juts out over the air. We walked out on it in groups of 3 or 4. Someone asked how the rock got there like that. My husband said "ask that woman standing behind you (meaning me), she's a geologist" I opened my mouth to speak and another woman (that I'd never seen before) said "Now remember, this is a Christian camp". Those of you who know me, know the great restraint it took to keep myself from saying "what does that have to do with anything?" Instead, I simply talked about erosion and the forces that carved the rock. The ultra-Christian woman said, "now see, I would have just said that the rock is there because that is where God put it". I looked at her, half-smiled, and walked away. Nothing I could say would have any impact on her.

When we got back, my mother-in-law (who had been watching our youngest daughter) had packed all of our stuff. My husband had told her at breakfast that I hadn't slept all night and that we were leaving before dinner. We packed up the car and got ready to leave. I told one of the guys from my church, who I previously had respect for and who had organized this mis-adventure, that we were leaving. He asked why. I told him that I couldn't spend another sleepless night and that we have a summer house an hour away (which we do) and that we were going there.

Yes, I could have told him I was offended by the whole thing, but I realized that I should have done more homework on it before I assented and that really it was my lack of due diligence that brought me there. My bad. I promise I won't do it again.

What I wanted to say was "Sorry, we didn't drink the Kool-Aid when we got here and we're just not buying it. You can keep your Nikes and purple cloths too" (I know, a sick reference but it felt accurate).

So we drove to the town of our mountain home and spent the night. Woke up and had a great breakfast, played in the park, did some gardening and then had a great drive down the mountain. And that was enough to make the whole misguided trip ok in the end.

But next time, I know better. And for now, I need to reasses what I want to teach my kids about religion and faith, and what organization, if any, is a part of that.

A Wind Like No Other

2007-03-09T08:07:00.000-05:00

Wupatki Wind

She is Persistent.
Braying into my ears,
my skin, my hair, my soul.
Cleansing me to my core.
She does not flag.

She is Needful.
Ancients heard her sunlit call.
Arms stretched wide to embrace
endless sky.
She craves my sheets of rain
driving hard on her desert pavement
washing away 400 years alone.

She is Inscrutable.
Her cloudless words stir atavistic senses.
Wolf-skin stretched taught, attentive.
A howling lament for the Sinagua, lost.

Her message of wisdom, barely
audible through her mourning, calls.
Padding on shifting sands straining to hear.
My feral heart opens, slowly.

She Pursues.
Striking in my vulnerability.
Needing one another.
Completing one another.

She challenges my muscular
trees with heavy laden boughs.
Loosed leaves dancing in her wake.
The detritus of a life lived fully.

I am her Familiar.
Licking her hand as she caresses me.
Reminding me, again and again.
My life will be spent deciphering her

Joni
11/11/04

Shimmy South

2007-03-05T07:17:00.000-05:00

The other day someone asked a friend of mine why she belly dances. Her answer was perfect.

Freedom

There is no way for me to describe how freeing this dance style can be. There is no real way to express how being a part of "strong women in community" has affected my life. But they are both wonderful things.

This weekend my troupe held our annual Shimmy South workshop. Our workshop instructor and star performer was Dondi, a former Bellydance Superstar, former Bellydancer of the Universe, and both those titles do not even begin to describe how wonderful she is. Unfortunately, in all the fun of the weekend, I did not manage to get one picture of Dondi performing, however, our professional photographer did, and when I get one, I'll probably post it here. Let me add here that Dondi was fun, a great teacher and great to work with. Truly a delight.

My troupe did not perform this weekend, however, we did manage to take an impromptu (and I mean impromptu) promo photo that I like.

This isn't everybody in the troupe, but it was who was there at the time.

The whole weekend was filled with great performances, smiling faces and supportive community. It truly does not get any better than that. And for all the volunteers that helped, a thousand thanks. Events like this would not be possible without the help of many hands, and all the helping hands were and are greatly appreciated.

Now, back to freedom.

I took this shot this weekend. From a photographer's standpoint, it's not a good shot. But to describe what I'm talking about, it's perfect. Look at her. She seems to exist in more than 3 dimensions. She's there, she's not there, she's everywhere. There is freedom in this. Words will never describe it, but there is freedom in this.

Definitely.

Vietnam - The End of the Line

2007-02-28T07:02:00.000-05:00

I realize that I never finished this sequence about Vietnam. So, today I will travel back there again.

After a loooong trip on a short bus down the bumpiest stretch of highway that actually had pavement that I've ever been on with no air conditioning in 100 and god only knows how many more degrees of heat - we arrived.

Nha Trang.

A drink of water for the soul.

This is the image I think of when I think of Vietnam.

Buddha sitting on the hill over the city, watching over us all.

Nha Trang. A truly magical place. We stayed at the Bao Dai Villas - the summer resort of the last Vietnamese King, Bao Dai. A great hotel set on a hill overlooking the South China Sea.

Immediately upon arriving we hit the gorgeous white sand beaches. Which included vendors who walk up and down the beach with coolers and a hibachi who want to fix you a wonderful shrimp shish kebab for lunch.

I love sun-bathing and not having to leave my seat for food, beer or jewelry. THAT is relaxing.

We did leave the beach to go sight seeing though. There are some amazing ancient temples in Nha Trang. This is part of the Cham Towers complex.

And a beautiful port that this old picture from an old disposable camera does not show nearly well enough.

And then there was Mama Hahn. I love Mama Hahn. She's the one with her pinkies up, indicating the small size of the men on either side. (I am not in this photo - I have no idea who the girl is).

Mama Hahn runs a boat tour around the South China Sea and the coastal islands of Nha Trang. We arrived on board at about 8 am and everyone was told to be seated on the lower deck. Mama Hahn strode out in her camo pants and white shirt tied at the midriff and shouted "On Mama Hahn's boat, you don't be lazy" "I tell you how the day will go. You don't be lazy". "We will leave port. You ask Mama Hahn or one of the helpers for beer. DON'T BE LAZY! You count the beer you drink. Don't forget. At the end of the day you pay me for beer you drank".

Hung over at 8 am from the previous night's debauchery made this a particularly interesting way to wake up.

As the boat left, beers were passed handily throughout the passengers and the day began. A few hours later, we looked like this.

Then an amazing lunch was served on deck. The entire deck was full of plates of food with everyone sitting along the railing and sharing food from each plate. All of it wonderful.

After swimming around more and drinking stellar amounts of alcohol. Mama Hahn got in the water in her camo pants to ride a bicycle modified to be a floatation device and rode it around the water delivering beer.

I love my Mama Hahn!

Finally at around 7 pm we arrived back at port. Paid our $8 for the 30 or so beers we drank and headed back to the hotel to pass out. A great day.

While in Nha Trang, and the whole reason for my visit to Vietnam, a friend was turning 30. He was on a trip around the world and would be in Vietnam for his birthday. He flew me in for the special occasion. Thank you again, Stephen.

So we, with the aid of a very helpful moped taxi driver named Mint, got a birthday cake and made reservations for a party at the Nha Trang Beach Club. We spent the day scuba diving, then celebrated Stephen.

Of course, when the Beach Club closed, we were nowhere near ready to end the party. The Club owner directed us to a small bar (that was little more than a grass shack with pool tables) further down the beach for more partying. I was informed at this bar that we simply HAD to stay up all night and see the beach at dawn. The man who told me would not say why - just that I had to do it. Of course, we were all game to stay up all night! After a few hours there, the bartender informed us he had to close. Somehow we convinced him to let us buy enough beer for the rest of the evening and to let us have access to the stereo and that he could go home and we would lock up.

WHAT WAS HE THINKING???

At about 4:30 am there was a rather large segment of skinny dippers swimming around in the sea. What a lovely time. Then as dawn approached everyone got out of the water and gathered their clothes. Within 15 minutes I understood why I had to see dawn at Nha Trang beach.

The dawn itself on the beach was beautiful, but rather unremarkable from other dawns I've seen on other beaches. What was remarkable, was that most of the population of Nha Trang comes to the beach at dawn every morning.

And does Tai Chi.

There were thousands of people on the beach - totally silent - standing in small groups or alone, and doing Tai Chi.

It was a ballet of light and sand and bodies. I am still awestruck to think of it.

And so ends the saga. Good Morning Vietnam. One of my favorite places in the world.

The Haunted Showboat

2007-02-23T06:58:00.000-05:00

I know, I know, what is a 40-something woman doing reading Nancy Drew?

Well, recently I collected my old Nancy Drew books from my mother's house and brought them home thinking that in 4 years or so, my daughter might like to read them. I mentioned to my daughter at dinner one night that I brought some books home that she might like to read in a few years. She insisted on seeing them and immediately picked out the Haunted Showboat and said "I want you to read this to me tonight!".

Three nights later, we have finished her first Nancy Drew book. This is the first non-picture book she's ever listened to at story time (she's only 5 years old), and she LOVED it. We read between 50 and 80 pages a night and she could not get enough of it.

Tonight we start our second book. I'm thrilled that she is interested in them. How cool is that?!

Wordless Wednesday

2007-02-21T06:56:00.000-05:00

Home Again

2007-02-19T07:25:00.000-05:00

I am home. I am safe. I am exhausted. I am swamped at work.

Therefore, for today at least, I will leave you with this small tidbit:

Poetry is wisdom that enchants the heart.

Wisdom is poetry that sings in the mind.

If we could enchant man's heart and at the same time sing in his mind,

Then in truth he would live in the shadow of God.

Khalil Gibran

Off Again.....

2007-02-10T08:55:00.000-05:00

I have to leave town again for several days. Thanks to all who have been here for me. You know who you are. (((HUGS)))

Wordless Wednesday

2007-02-07T17:01:00.001-05:00

Stirred, Not Shaken

2007-02-04T08:32:00.000-05:00

She Stirs

She stirs her glass of ethics with a red fingernail.
"No good can come of this" she says, ignoring
herself while her olive listens intently.
There are choices to make.

She looks in the mirror and opens her compact.
Her fear lies there, whispering sweetly to her.
"You deserve this" "You are tired"
She longs to be excused in weakness to choose
that which hurts her again and again.

She crouches, steeled on the haunches of her
own becoming. Unknowing of how far her choosing
could fling her from all she wants. Rejecting
that there is no becoming, only being.
She asks "Who will I become today?"

I ask "Who are you?"

Joni
1/31/07

Art credit: Lynne Rutter

2007

2007-02-01T07:53:00.000-05:00

A Different Year

This year I am different.
I have sat among the icons of my
youth and watched as she flew
just below the speed of freedom.
I have allowed the mission bells
to remind my faith to battle
my fear, and hers.

This year I am different.
As trees bud against their season
I have lived in accordance with my own sun.
A sun who shines ceaselessly through
Matisse's clouds acknowledging
some things take more effort.

This year I am different.
As family rallies to shift
the balance I see the errors
of my assumptions and theirs.
I stare defiant in the face
of pain to find kinship.
This year I am different.

Joni
1/31/07

Our Secret Garden

2007-01-22T08:39:00.000-05:00

I Won't Write Poetry for You

I won’t write poetry for you
so don’t ask. I did once.
The contents of my heart staring
back in black and white frightened me.

My heart will carry these words
and the thousand poems I’ve started,
hidden from my eyes. In a beautiful
corner decorated just for you.

The only place for such things.

Where I may wander by and listen to
the whisperings. Allow myself to be swept
along in their current for a time. Before
I step away to tend the rest of my plantings.

The corner of my garden for you shall be unkempt.
No weeding or trimming here. You wouldn’t want that
and I shall not give it. My wilderness is yours with
all its thorns and ivied glory. Behind this stone wall.

Where neither you, nor I, will ever see it.

Joni
3/9/05

Winter's Ice

2007-01-15T07:22:00.000-05:00

One Last Word

Within her heart is snow fall.
Inch by inch covering the scorched place
where the dream took light, blazed and died
its sputtering ashen death.

Silence befalls this place.
Only the cold hiss of ice crystals
landing en masse like cruise ship
tourists overtaking the shore.

Surely they’ve never been here before.
They peruse the shops looking for perfect gifts.
The conch shell he’d brought from Florida?
The beret from Paris? The poetry?

No, they are agitated in their cold
obnoxious way. They want service.
They want a cold drink by the pool.
They wonder why they came here at all.

Still they settle into their icy silence
awaiting the only other sound they will ever make.
The crunch of a new traveler’s footsteps into her heart.
Hoping to conjure the arctic explorer’s of tomorrow

to say one last word.

Joni
11/13/05

A Touchstone

2007-01-08T22:41:00.000-05:00

The Last Place I Felt Your Smile

I visit it again. The stage of your renown
and the poetry pushes against the leaden
edges of my heart. This is the place of my father.
A holy relic of a youth I barely remember.
A building abandoned long ago, like the
pristine child’s love I held you in.

I remember basking in the glow of your
accomplishments here. A bit part, with no lines,
but great satisfaction that I was yours.
My words came later, but only shouted in
response to the vine that gripped us in the hush
and shame of fallen warriors and heroes.

I didn’t make the choices that led from this place,
but I grew within them like a cold estranged wife.
Now I’ve made my own place in a new world.
And as I stand in the last place I felt your smile, I
weep that I lost our love when I was so very young,
and I realize that everyday I've missed the man you were.

Joni
1/8/07

2 Minutes to Say....

2007-01-07T22:06:00.000-05:00

I'm home. I'm O.K. I'm exhausted. Turbulent flights suck, but as long as the landing is smooth - it's all good. I'll write more soon when I have a moment to catch my breath, and can piece together the past week into something coherent. Right now the last week, and I, are both too fragmented.

5 minutes

2006-12-28T21:53:00.000-05:00

5 minutes is all I have right now to say I have an unexpected trip to make. I won't be back for several days.

Take care everybody.

A Day for Rumi

2006-12-26T08:00:00.000-05:00

This resonates with me today.

My Dear Friend

My dear friend
never lose hope
when the Beloved
sends you away.

If you're abandoned
if you're left hopeless
tomorrow for sure
you'll be called again.

If the door is shut
right in your face
keep waiting with patience
don't leave right away.

Seeing your patience
your love will soon
summon you with grace
raise you like a champion.

And if all the roads
end up in dead ends
you'll be shown the secret paths
no one will comprehend.

The beloved I know
will give with no qualms
to a puny ant
the kingdom of Solomon.

My heart has journeyed
many times around the world
but has never found
and will never find
such a Beloved again.

ah I better keep silence
I know this endless love
will surely arrive
for you and you and you.

Rumi

Solstice

2006-12-21T09:05:00.000-05:00

On this, the shortest day of the year (for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere), let us reflect (and reflect upon) the light we carry within. May this light grow stronger and brighter with each passing day and with each footfall from this point forward.

Happy Solstice everyone!

A Maddening Lack of Depth

2006-12-18T07:11:00.000-05:00

Words of Love

Why are the words of love so short?
No matter the language it seems.
I love you, Ti amo, Jeg elsker deg.
In the land of the Kama Sutra
they do a bit better
Main tumse muhabbat karta hoon
I expect they know the value of
lengthening love.

I say I love you each time we speak.
At the end of conversations, and e-mails,
at the end of letters and notes,
these are the last words to issue from me
so you never forget your place in my heart.
Does my repetition lessen their meaning,
or do you understand this flood of soul?

They’re meaningless, these three words.
Unable to express what words so often fail at - depth.
And how can I expect them to convey the fullness
of my being as it holds yours so gingerly.
You have written your days into my very breath
and by filling my lungs, given me new life.
No words could ever convey that, really.
These words here least of all.

Joni
12/17/06

Da Roof, Da Roof, Da Roof is on Fire....

2006-12-15T07:00:00.000-05:00

My husband and I were reminiscing about this the other day so I thought I'd share it. In the not too terribly distant past, my husband was spending time working on our family's summer house in the mountains. He was there working on the house with his brother. His brother is brilliantly smart, but isn't, shall we say, the most practical person. And when a crisis comes, he is not the one you want to have around.

My husband was working on the security system for the house, and putting motion sensor flood lights at the peak of one of the eaves of house. He was probably 30 feet up a ladder and preparing to wire the lights in place. Prior to going up the ladder, he asked his brother to make sure the light switch was turned off. His brother flipped the wrong switch and actually turned the current to the wires ON. My husband then went up the ladder and was picking the best light location. He noticed the paint on the light housing needed to be touched up to match the house, which is a deep forest green. He took out the spray paint can and started touching up the light (yes, at the top of the ladder). At that moment the spray from the spray paint can crossed the live wires and ignited the can nozzle into a gout of flame. My husband quickly threw the flaming can down behind him. It rolled, flaming, across the lawn into the woods (where there was a ton of brush, dead limbs, and other highly flammable items).

My husband rushed down the ladder and ran into the house, where he found his brother gingerly carrying a soup-pot of water out to the yard. My husband grabbed one of the THREE fire-extinguishers his brother passed to get the soup pot, and ran out to put out the fire. His brother had no idea he'd passed three fire extinguishers (even though he'd help choose their locations). Like I said, he's brilliant, but you don't want him around in a crisis. And now my husband knows to NEVER have him around when he is doing construction projects. I'm just thankful the spray paint crossed the wires and my husband didn't!

So, has anyone else's brother almost killed them or burned the house down?

An Unbearable State of Being

2006-12-11T08:29:00.000-05:00

It was many months between the start and the finish of this poem. The pain of it precluded my seeing how this one ended for a long time. Thankfully, eventually, I did.

Soul Shatter

The things that shatter our souls come unnoticed in their silence.
In gorged furrows too deep to ascertain
they flow beneath the skin.
Cleaving us together and apart.

These rivulets converge to the thunderously silent tears that fall.
Through salted pain I watch my fragments fly
and wonder where they go.
I am no longer whole without you.

Falling to earth sightless they wander to search for connection.
For the comfort of your heart’s breath,
the communion of our words.
Searching for your eyes to see through.

A silent hand, all knowing, reaches to comfort where yours can not
in the shattered jail of cloven heart.
Through the gift of these pieces,
she tells me, somehow, I shall be complete.

Joni
12/8/05

Nothing But This

2006-12-07T12:04:00.000-05:00

For Laurence

You leave us here.
We all knew you were
going. Your absence
is no surprise.
Yet it is.

Somewhere between
mind and heart is a
veil of self-deceit, a
lie of self mastery. This
day, as yesterday,
in unending march.

We should celebrate
your freedom from a
broken body. Yet
we will mourn the
loss of your light.
A light that made
ours a bit brighter.

See all the beauty
you never knew you
were. Swim within
the shine of the
Universe. Revel in
the love that we send
between our tears.

For now you know
what was always
yours.

Joni
12/7/06

Unexpected Redemption

2006-12-05T10:16:00.000-05:00

Harley Forgiveness

And I find myself here again.
Heart racing as the wind rips her
fingers through the knots in my hair.
She forces me to focus on each
tactile moment as my last.

Somewhere between fear and trust
I feel my breasts against your back
smooth as we sway side to side.
The road winding beneath our locked thighs
my fingers report news from your chest.

This moment and this one and this one
replacing history and future with now.
In each second of our reveling
our bodies move in Harley timed motion.
As perfectly as you once moved in me.

This reckless mix of aftershave, exhaust
and engine vibrato bring back abandoned
ghosts of our passion, as the sky pulls
all clinging bitterness from me and
gives me only this moment in exchange.

Joni
5/15/06

Busy, Busy, Busy.....

2006-11-30T23:15:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow night is Ye Olde Company Christmas Party. I, in a moment of total insanity, decided to volunteer my house for the event. Why I did such a foolish thing I have no idea. Maybe because I wanted to clean my house from stem to stern AND decorate for Christmas, AND rebuild the front walk (ok, hubby did that last part - but still).

Jeeeeesus. What in the HELL was I thinking???!!!!

Tomorrow night is the event. I'll be glad when it gets here, so I can stop obsessing about cleaning. Saturday I'm up to a nearby lake for some much needed R&R (girl style - no family around). THAT will be fun.

I'll miss y'all while I'm gone.

Speaking of Women's Health - An Invitation

2006-11-29T09:31:00.000-05:00

Speaking of Women's Health is a conference that first started in Ohio regarding Women's health issues (ranging from osteoporosis to sex and everything in between). It has been so successful, they are holding one in Raleigh on the 9th. Now here's the fun part -

A group of dancers (including myself) will be hosting the "Afternoon Power Break". We will be dancing for a crowd of 600 women, teaching them some moves and encouraging them to dance with us. 600 WOMEN! WOW.

Click the link above if you're in the area (and are interested in Women's Health) and register. They'll be covering some great topics. It's $30 a ticket on Saturday the 9th. Check it out and c'mon down! If the lady who is organizing it is any indication - it should be great. She's a powerhouse.

Wheeeeeee! I feel like spinning!

I promise, I have not forgotten the Vietnam travelogue either, life is just sidetracking me a bit. I love that about life - it likes to remind me that I'm not the conductor on this train and that maybe I should sit down, shut up and enjoy the view.

Wheeeeeeee!

For The Angel I Can Hear

2006-11-28T11:58:00.000-05:00

For The Angel I Can Hear

For the thousands of angels I can’t hear
I’m glad for the one that I can.
Your song lightens my dancing
to effortless heights.

You are beauty defined in balance.
Grace defined in motion.
In this singular moment your
breath holds my spirit.

My soul returns to yours, soft, compliant
comforting and warm, your porcelain
skin reflects the flush of my love.
Such fullness within me.

Let me write words for you in future
tense that would make poor Anais
jealously blush and reach for
The Awakening.

And as presents are wrapped and given, let
mine be to take your pain from you,
cloak you safe, and hold you
in gentlest adoration.

Joni
11/28/06

Something Unknown

2006-11-25T22:09:00.000-05:00

So my Mom quit drinking and is apparently pretty stable in early sobriety. That's fantastic and I'm still so thrilled. Hopefully she will continue with it and not backslide. But this whole event has put me in touch with something interesting this weekend.

You see, I dealt with my childhood many years ago. I looked at it unflinchingly for a long time and really wrapped my head and heart around forgiveness and making healthy choices for my future knowing the kind of patterns I developed in my youth. I released the pain of my inner child and moved on. I really thought I had.

This weekend has been punctuated by crying jags. They start out with joy that my mother has finally pulled up out of the nose dive that probably should have killed her long ago. But they end with me doubled over in emotional pain for what was. My only guess is that there were parts of that inner pain that I couldn't release because she was still living her part of the nightmare. And I'm sure there's something in there about being a "rescuer" (because we children of alcoholics are really, really good at that), and not being able to "rescue" my mother from her alcoholism for, like, my whole life.

So I'm really glad to have discovered all this. It's just one more layer of releasing something toxic that hinders my forward motion. One more way to rise above it. My favorite tarot card is all about "rising above it". It's no wonder my whole body resonated to this image when I was small. It helped me see (on some unconscious level) that the only path out was to get above it.

I'm Shocked...in a Very Good Way

2006-11-23T20:58:00.000-05:00

It really is a Happy Thanksgiving. I have more to be thankful for than I realized, and I was told of it tonight.

My mom quit drinking.

She also quit smoking.

Since St. Patrick's day.

My mom has been an alcoholic since I was 6 years old. I'm 41.

She told me tonight as an almost off-handed comment "Well, I go to bed earlier now that I don't smoke and I don't drink. I'm much more boring now"

I was so shocked it took me a second to form the question "you quit drinking?". She said she hadn't drank anything since St. Patrick's day except a Bloody Mary on her birthday. I wanted to jump for joy, I wanted to shout from the hilltops.

Mostly I stood there not knowing what to say except "that's awesome, good for you". Her response was "not really. I don't even miss it".

More shock on my part.

When the conversation ended I hung up the phone. My husband (who had heard the whole thing) looked at me, also in shock.

I stood there and burst into tears and just let him hold me for a while. I'm teary now, writing this. I can't believe she did it. I'm so happy she pulled it together before she died. I just don't even know what to say. There's so much to say and honestly, none of it matters. She did it.

Way to go MOM!!!

Vietnam Part Deux

2006-11-21T07:24:00.000-05:00

As I recall, we only spent a couple days in Saigon. We typically left the tourist areas of the city prefering to immerse ourselves in the "foreign-ness" of the place. Frequently we were the only blondes on any street we walked. I was blonde back then, having forsaken my natural color for something more flashy. I definitely stood out in the land of black hair.

We would walk down the streets and some of the smells would be overwhelming. There was one smell- Djurian fruit - that would about take you to your knees. I believe I called it "ass fruit" because that is what it smelled like. Terrible. The locals would rave about how wonderful it tasted. I could not bridge the gap given the connectedness of taste and smell that something could smell so horrible and yet taste good. I never put that fruit to my lips. I never will. It is pretty though.

At nights we would explore the nightlife. There was one place, The Q Bar, that I particularly remember for their absolutely beautiful bartender. I never knew how much I appreciated oriental beauty until I saw her. I'm really not trying to sound like a pig here - it wasn't like that. It was more like appreciating a Van Gogh. Just. Beautiful.

I will not post the picture of a rather drunk Joni laughing her ass off sitting on the floor of the hotel room after having accidentally pulled the drawer handle off dresser. You had to participate to get that view. But it was hilarious. Trust me.

From Saigon we took a day trip down to the Mekong Delta. On the way we saw lots of lovely scenery.

Had lunch at a the Vietnamese Family Robinson's house across the delta. At least that was what we called them. Every child could sing in English or play an instrument. And all were shuttled out before the foreigners to "entertain" them. It was kinda bizarre. The kids were cute and we appreciated their effort, but it was clear they'd done this drill for many days of their short lives.

We went up-river after lunch in a small boat. Very quickly the jungle encroached and enveloped the small river we floated on.

I could not help but put myself in the place of an American soldier at this point. A hush fell over everyone. The quiet of the jungle (except for the occaisional animal screech) pulled me into a head-space of being on alert, or looking for danger. What immediately struck me was that as the jungle died at the edge of the water, the plants fell with sharp points jutting out into the water. If you were to come under fire on that river, getting out onto shore among the bamboo and palms would be almost impossible. The thought of it chilled my soul.

Upon our return to Saigon, we had dinner at an outdoor cafe. It had to be about 10 pm, and a small boy (maybe 7 or 8 years old) was out selling gum on the street. He tried to sell us some gum, and we started talking to him. He spoke perfect English, he was funny, and obviously bright. And we all knew that circumstances would likely keep him poor and destitute. I believe he told us that his father had left and he had to help earn money for the family, so he could not go to school. Now maybe he was telling a lie to con the foreigners. But I refuse to withold compassion on the chance of a lie. We asked him to join us for dinner and added what he wanted to our order. He ate only a little, and then scraped his plate into a plastic bag to bring the extra food back to his family. It still breaks my heart to think of him.

The next day we headed down Highway 1 to Nha Trang. One of my favorite places in the world.

Vietnam Part 1 of ??

2006-11-20T06:51:00.000-05:00

About a million years ago, I stated that I was going to write about the inspiration for the poem Ten Thousand Shades of Green. Finally, I am getting back to it. In 1997 (God, has it already been almost 10 years??), I went on a two week trip to Vietnam. It was not someplace I particularly wanted to visit, definitely not on my top 10 "must see" places. As it turned out, Vietnam is one of my favorite places that I've been.

A friend was turning 30 while on a trip around the world and Vietnam is where he was going to be for his birthday. I've known this friend for a looooooooong time. Since junior high school. There were three of us - Stephen, myself and Richard. I've known Richard since the day he was born (I am a few years older) - he grew up across the street from me. Stephen was Richard's best friend in Jr. high. We were the three musketeers.

So, for Stephen's 30th, he wanted both Richard and I in Vietnam, and sent us airfare to ensure that we were. I love Stephen.

When I landed, at midnight, in Saigon airport you had to leave the building to meet friends and family - there was no interior area for that. So I went outside and all I saw was a sea of short people with black hair. Stephen and Richard were both crouched down in the crowd to make me think they weren't there to pick me up. Bastards! I love them, but dayem! LOL Finally they jumped up and screamed "Joni". There's a level or relief after 24 hours of traveling followed by panic that is particularly satisfying.

We rode on moped taxis (called Honda-om's) to our hotel, dropped off my bag and hit the bar. Heart of Darkness

I found that logo on their website and just love it. The mood was "hype with fun vibes". It was great! Definitely the ex-pat hang out, but welcome after my long trip there. I'm guessing we were there until 3 am, but I really don't know. It was late.

The next day we traveled around the city and got our bearings. One thing we learned quickly - there are no crosswalks in Vietnam and few lights. Crossing the street is like the old video game "Frogger". You step out into traffic and move at a relatively slow and even pace. The mopeds zip around you, and the few cars, and as long as nobody makes an unexpected move, everyone survives. A whole new level of zen for me.

The other zen bit for me was not sweating over how much I was sweating. This was June, in Vietnam. Hell's sunny vacation spot for those who really like the heat. My body frantically tried to cool itself pouring every bit of moisture I had within me onto my skin. I had no idea I could sweat that much. Truly. But after a while you just got used to being wet - all over, all the time. It just was.

That day or the next (I don't really recall) we visited the former "American War Crimes Museum" (which was renamed in a trade deal, but none of the exhibits were changed), and the Cu Chi Tunnels (the VC stronghold outside Saigon).

The American War Crimes Museum (I don't know what the official name is now) was jarring and horrifying. There were numerous pictures too disturbing to describe that I will always carry with me. I literally left there ashamed to be an American. I was only a toddler during the war, yet I felt guilty for what my country had done.

Then we journeyed outside Saigon (Ho Chi Min City now), to the Cu Chi Tunnels. There were Vietnamese army personnel at every entrance (yes, in the black "pajama" uniforms). It was very imposing and was a strong reminder that we were indeed in a communist country. The exhibits at the tunnels included a guide going into the 15" x 8" entrance hole. There's no way my hips would have fit in that hole, but his whole body did easily.

We then went through a series of the tunnels that they widened for westerners. Here is a picture of one of the tunnels that was not widened. I can't imagine living in something like this. But that is what they did.

The final exhibit at the Cu Chi tunnels included pictures of American soldiers that had been killed in a variety of ways. Again, too horrifying to say more than that. I walked away from the Cu Chi Tunnels bearing anger and hatred for what the VC did to the our soldiers.

It is amazing how I was spun one way in the morning and the other in the afternoon. Upon reflection, the only conclusion I can draw is that war is hell for everyone involved and it makes my soul grieve that we, as a species, still engage in it.

I think this is going to be a series of installments - no way to tell this story quickly and I don't want to. The place and the people deserve more than to be rushed through. The whole experience was something to be savored. So more on this soon.

Damn the Bad Luck....

2006-11-18T09:00:00.000-05:00

And now for something completely different.......

You said it was precious
When first you felt my fire
Before you dreamed flat tires
You dreamed flat tires
You dream flat tires

Joni Mitchell - You Dream Flat Tires

This song was stuck in my head all Friday afternoon. But probably not for the reason you think. Or maybe so, I have no idea what is in your head.

I decided to pick up lunch for most of the people in my office yesterday. I went to the most wonderful Middle-Eastern deli in my area, and as I parked in the end spot I scraped the edge of a steel-curb storm water drain and it cut an inch long gash in the side of my tire.

What was interesting was my reaction. There was a time when my frustration level would have boiled over because of something stupid and annoying like this. But today, when I felt all the air leave that tire in a WHOOOSH! I simply laughed. Admittedly, not a hearty guffaw, but I did laugh it off.

I called my office and asked one of the great guys I work with to come and give me a hand. I got out the spare, jack, etc. and he arrived about 10 minutes later.

There was a time when I used to feel I had to prove I was as good at everything as a man. This is a danger when you work in a male-dominated profession - you find you take proving yourself to new and unexplored levels. At least they seem unexplored at the time. Usually they've been done by thousands of women around the world butting their heads against old value sets.

A friend once said "Women have liberated themselves into servitude. They set out to prove they could do everything and now they stuck doing everything." At the time I had a full-time job, a kid, a baby on the way, and a husband who did not help very much around the house (I cooked, cleaned, washed, etc., etc.) mostly because of his crappy job, but in part because he didn't realize how much work it really was. I handled it with seeming ease. It couldn't be too much to ask then, could it?

I related with every fiber of my being to my friend's statement. I was the liberated woman stuck in servitude.

In my relatively middling age, I've discovered the happiness of knowing how to enjoy some of the benefits of my gender. I'm glad I discovered it before it was too late and I became an embittered old bitch. And one of the things I've discovered is the ability to allow myself to be the damsel in distress when circumstances dictate that I kind of am. Now don't get me wrong, I technically could have changed that tire if I'd wanted to. I know how to use the jack, and know the proper procedure for loosening and tightening lug nuts. But to be quite honest, there's no way I had the strength to loosen the lug nuts on that tire.

So I am thankful that I happily or gracefully allow myself the ability to ask for some care and some help when I need it. And I'm very thankful for those who are motivated to assist. Thanks to all who help others out there. We'd all be nowhere without it. Makes me want to do a random act of kindness today.

Pre-dawn Light

2006-11-17T07:16:00.000-05:00

Awakening in the Blanket of You

You are beautiful.
This is not flattery.
I would not speak to
beguile. This is truth.

Your light shines forth,
brilliant star, and
I am awed to my
own shining depths.

As I awaken in the
blanket of you, let
me linger long in our
breathless exhaling.

This gift to bare
my soul to you is
silvered compared to
your cloudless flashing.

Fill me once more.

Joni
11/17/06

When Writers Meet

2006-11-15T08:16:00.000-05:00

I had the distinct pleasure of meeting the lovely writer of Camera Obscura last night and after 3 1/2 hours of coffee and wonderful conversation, I'm hopeful we'll get to do it again.

Thank you for being willing to meet up, Billie. I really enjoyed our time together.

My Only Religion

2006-11-14T17:07:00.000-05:00

At the Altar of One

I will worship at the altar of all that you are
with the reckless abandon of a woman's
soul eclipsed and enlightened by yours.
My light, dimmed without your light,
Your light, shadowed without my light.
In swirling Oneness, we are beauty defined.
I am yours, beloved.
I am yours.

Joni
11/14/06

Owning it before God and Everybody...

2006-11-13T12:49:00.000-05:00

As I'm still in total rush and thrall from Saturday night, here is a picture from my performance that I just received. No, I did not crop my head off, that is how the photographer took it.

Here's another from the back

I was exhausted by that point, but man that was FUN!

Happy Belated...

2006-11-12T08:47:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a dear friend's birthday - and I missed it. I did say Happy UN-birthday a few days before as I knew it was the last time we'd talk until after the event, but still, I hate when I can't greet the day itself. So in the interest for making up for my slack behavior I'd like to take this opportunity to say Happy Birthday to Joseph. I'm so thankful for your presence here and the anniversary of the day you came to this place.

I hope you had a wonderful day.

As for me, my yesterday was busy from 6:30 am until midnight without a break. On my feet almost the whole time and today I am bone-tired. Today I will rest as much as the rest of the house will let me (that means not at all). Yesterday I didn't do everything I was supposed to, I wasn't as organized as I'd have liked, I was reacting instead of acting, and our choreography could have been executed better (read - I screwed up one part). In part because by the time we got around to the choreography, I'd been dancing for hours and organizing for hours before that (including moving tables and chairs hither and yon). Actually, I'd been in "go mode" for about 14 hours before we got around to the choreography. I was already wiped!

What did go right yesterday was watching everyone enjoy themselves and knowing that I helped make that possible. And that made all the inadequecies and tiredness ok. It was a good day.

Well, that AND my new bling. I made a rather expensive impulse buy from one of our vendors yesterday. I've been looking for a lavender colored costume for a long time and finally found a beautiful Turkish Cabaret outfit that is gorgeous. I still need to buy a skirt for it (they come as bra/belt sets with skirt sold separately), but I'm very excited. I can't wait to write a new choreography and perform in it!!

Standing by.....

2006-11-08T07:32:00.000-05:00

Well, it looks like my plans to post about the inspiration for the poem below are being redirected by the Universe. I have a belly dance gig this weekend, and a very complicated choreography to pound into my brain before then. The gig will be at an all day event, so there are other preparations to make as well, and therefore all my focus between now and then is on what needs done before the weekend. Nothing like a looming deadline to get my ass in gear.

So, between work being crazy busy and my other favorite art being down to crunch time, it will be a few more days before I get back here. See you on the flip side, y'all. ;-)

Fade to Green

2006-11-05T17:32:00.000-05:00

Ten Thousand Shades of Green

Ten thousand shades of green
ooze forth in shimmering stillness
cooling my overheated eyes,
while Buddha’s children
sell chocolates and ask
to be photographed.
The con made sweeter
by the presence of God.

Concrete Blonde fills the
potholes we dodge with
careening trucks and
comforts moved by bicycle
to reach your sea.

Darkness enthralls your
river’s mouth where
ghosts whisper of the
wounds you lick in silence
and broken men wait by
the shore for redemption.

Rooftop luxuries rise
from the ashes of soldiers
gone mad, like sundae cherries
and women inviting from
the center of their ripeness.

In the end it’s your voice
of kindness that surrenders
my soul to all that you are and
has me forsaking all colors,
hues both light and dark, for
ten thousand shades of green.

Joni
11/4/06

Without Limitation

2006-11-02T17:16:00.000-05:00

Infinite

I long to gently enfold you.
Coaxing you with soft kisses
and lyrical sighs.
Raven hair seen through closed eyes,
moist lips awaiting yours.

I whisper your name,
a breathless mantra
sung near silence.
Sent heavenward,
too hopeful to be restrained.

Trembling fingers attempt to express
that which only souls can know,
Time ceases, place vanishes
and only We remain.
And We are infinite.

Joni
9/6/04

Halloween, Then and Now.....

2006-11-01T07:17:00.000-05:00

THEN:
There I was. 22 in Greenwich Village on Halloween night. It was about 11:00 or so, and we'd just arrived in the the city, found a place to park, stopped by a friend's apartment and headed for the parade. THE Parade. There are few things in this world as fun as the Halloween Parade through the Village. I mean, let's face it, gay men KNOW how to throw a party and they KNOW how to dress up. These two prime pre-requisites being met, the rest of us are helpless to do anything but have a good time.

Due to poor planning on my part and a penchant for dancing more than dressing up, I wasn't really wearing a costume. I was wearing black jeans, a shirt and a David Crosby tan suede fringe coat. You know the one, it had the fringe that runs down the length of the arms, across the chest and along the bottom edge. The one that you are categorically required to give a peace sign to any and everyone while wearing it. THAT one.

We got to the parade and stood against the police barricades. Cops on horseback were walking up and down the inside of the barricades to keep the rest of us from joining in. We were down near the beginning of the parade. When the cop nearest us moved off a bit my friends and I stole our chance to run under the barricades and into the parade. I first walked next to a man dressed as Bart Simpson taking a dump. I'm not kidding. His whole upper body was a toilet and Bart was perched, bare-assed, on the toilet just on top of his head. (Remember, this was the 1980's). There were many other great costumes we saw: a man as a very sexy Marilyn Monroe, a man dressed as Cleopatra being carried on a litter by four very well built "egyptian slaves", a man dressed as a baby, and a man wrapped as a present in very well placed colored Saran Wrap and very little else.

It was a blast waving to the crowd, sneaking nips of Jack Daniels from the flask and generally ogling at the elaborate costumes. We reached the end of the parade route more quickly than I would have liked and came up behind about 25 men in black leather jackets with pink triangles on them. There was a tag line beneath it that I didn't have time to read before they all shouted something and fell to the ground writhing and screaming in feigned agony. It was rather alarming - it was supposed to be - they were a group trying to raise consciousness about AIDS.

After we left we went dancing at several clubs (Belido, and MK probably I don't really remember now) and finally capped the night at Global 42 (?? I think that was the name) at 5 am with grilled Brie sandwiches before going home to pass out.

NOW:

A mom who put her costume together in about 15 minutes (including finding the chopsticks for my hair). I had the fun of coaxing, prodding, cajoling and carrying two kids through two neighborhoods of trick-or-treating. So, not my best look, not my best costume, but overall more satisfying in the end. And that's really what it's all about I guess. Although I'd love to be in the Village Parade just one more time.

The Most Beautiful Art

2006-10-30T07:54:00.000-05:00

The most beautiful art, it seems to me, comes from pain. I certainly do my best writing when I am unhappy. I know this is true for many. I wonder why it is harder to write from joy? I've never been able to do it well. Everything I write from joy sounds trite and cheesy. Some might say everything I write sounds trite and cheesy, but I think they'd be wrong about that. LOL

Of course Ode to Joy is in direct opposition to what I wrote above. Maybe it is just the people like myself - rather inexperienced artists - find pain easier to express artistically. In the end, all I know is what works for me.

Release

I sit on stone beside the river.
Leaves of Willow and Birch surround.
A death shroud most fitting.

Anguish crashes against stone
like the river’s din.
Relentless, neither yielding

I come for healing, unsure if even this place
is strong enough for the task. I examine the
shards of a shattered life, seeking a lesson.

Here, the familial love withdrawn in shades of racism.
There, the job precariously balanced due to your position.
Another, my wild nature tamed by your children, half grown.
I sacrificed all of importance and laid myself bleeding and empty
in supplication at your feet to acquire a gem far more precious:
Us.

The rush of the river drowns the sounds of a life crushed
to hear your whispers. The relentless sound as the glass
settles into its heap beside me. Echoed mercilessly through
the dead telephone line, the last I heard from you.

My breath gone, my tears gone, the clamor of water’s rush fills me anew.
Freedom comes in realization: none of the past can be reclaimed.
I let the river sweep the glass downstream I want no part of it.
Instead I gather clay.
My life starts here.

Joni
November 4, 2004

Venus Chases

2006-10-24T07:50:00.000-05:00

Modified from an original photo by Jade Wah-oo Grigori

Venus Chases

Venus chases a blushing moon from the sky,
red from the heat of her intensity.
She shouldn’t act like this.

The sun chastises her in morning mist as the moon
speaks his fears and shrinks to the west.
Pluto looks away.

An empty temple once worshiped, just as she was,
in bitter cold of alone we share branded
memories of heat

In morning fields she taunts me with the aroma
of your skin. Pale shadows of passion
implore my attention.

With fingers looping lazily on my own flesh pitched
to fevered strumming beyond myself.
she lies in between.

Venus chases me, blood red and flowing, past
moons and the scent of lovers long gone
returning to myself.

Myself alone.

Joni
9/9/06

Tilt-A-Hurl

2006-10-20T19:48:00.000-05:00

Well, we've made the annual pilgrimage to the great national past-time of the State Fair. We drove up yesterday afternoon so the children could partake of such old-timey favorites as the "Pig Races" (yes, they actually race pigs), the "Tractor Pull" (ok, we wouldn't be caught dead going to the Tractor Pull, however it was there if we suddenly lost our senses and my southern twang slipped into overdrive), various rides, the farm animal competitions, and of course, deep fried Coca Cola (ok, there was no way that was going to cross mine or my family's lips - but it was there and people were eating it). Let me just stop here and say: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

Unfortunately, we really didn't leave enough time to properly visit the fair before we had to make the trip home again and therefore only got to go on some of the rides and eat some cotton and candy and some food (no, we didn't eat the deep fried Snickers bar either). There was a LOT we didn't get to see.

We did find time to go on the one kind of ride that can, almost without fail, induce vomiting from me. The kind that goes around in a tight circle and up and down at the same time. My oldest wanted to try it. We soon both realized what a mistake this was. No, I didn't actually hurl. The thought did cross my mind though. A LOT. However, my daughter was ok with it as we were just spinning around, but when it started to jump up and down at the same time, her screams changed from screams of glee to sheer, abject terror. And my thoughts of hurling changed to thoughts of "how do I calm her down?". I told her to stare at my foot inside the car, and that we were slowing down and we were ok. We weren't actually slowing down at that point, but stretching to truth was not beyond my grasp in that moment. In the end, we were both ok, although woozy from the experience.

Here's a pic from the ride overlooking part of the fair. It was still pretty early in the afternoon and not many people were there yet. We managed to go on the day of lowest attendance which was just fine with me.

Finally, we found the kiddie rides and my oldest LOVED the kiddie roller coaster (in the shape of a very stoned looking caterpillar).

My youngest loved the spinning Strawberries (which I made my husband take her on because more spinning would have sent me over the hurling edge!). We managed to actually meet up with some friends there. Unfortunately, even using cellphones it took a while to find which rollercoaster they were standing near. But it was good to see them when we finally did meet-up.

All in all, we had a great time. If we hadn't spent so much money, I'd almost consider going up there again! Guess I'll wait until next year though.

Alex

2006-10-16T07:59:00.000-05:00

I have a friend named Alex that I met this past May. The moment we met there was a spark of recognition, of kindred, that was unmistakeable even upon the first words from his mouth. We have spent only a few hours in each other's presence, and yet I've found there is a commonality between us that is uncommon. I have my dear friend Joseph to thank for our introduction. My friendship with Joseph is even more uncommon and uncanny, but I won't go into that now.

As I knew I would in that first moment, I have since found much in common with Alex and we have shared some wonderful discussions regarding some very deeply held beliefs and ideas regarding the world and ourselves. I bring all this up about him today, because it was he that I thought of when the first frayed thread of this poem came through. At the time I didn't even recognize there was a poem in it. Only after the second thread came through, did I realize this was a poem and I knew that it was for Alex. So, Alex, this poem is for you.

Women I’ve Known
For Alex

She stands by a bridge abutment
drinking in sunlight on the road
to Las Vegas. I left her there, so
she might forever live on the edge
of adventure. She is anticipation.

Another eternally ferries a stormy
sea hoping the clinging salt will
bridge impossible love. I left her
there to find her love and lover.
She is full of pain and torment.

A third sits infused in pine straw
scent from the forest around her,
learning of her own divinity for
the first time this life. I left her
there to become her own perfection.

The last is walking through a foreign
land. Well beyond her own comfort.
I left her there for distant tongues
to drive further into a knowledge
of her mind, her spirit, her courage.

I have sent many women out into the world.
Pieces of myself, frozen in ambered time.
It seems in these later years I gather them
again like buoys through my uncharted course,
so they might remind me of who I really am.

Joni
10/14/06

Southern By the Grace of God

2006-10-12T20:34:00.000-05:00

When I think of the South I think of two songs: Southern Accents by Tom Petty and a song called Sweet Tea by a little known South Carolina band called Cravin' Melon. There are plenty of other songs, of course: Dixie, Suwannee River, etc., etc., but those first two captured the South in my imagination. The first before I moved here, and the second when I found that the southern drink of Sweet Tea is a touchstone for an entire culture here.

I have lived here a long time. Some people say Maine is a place where you could live your whole life and everyone who was born there will still refer to you as an outsider, a transplant, someone from somewhere else. The South is much the same. In my case, I am a Damn Yankee. A Damn Yankee is a Yankee who came down here and stayed. I tell my husband "I'm southern by the grace of God". He, being a true southerner with a rich history here, chides me - "No, you'll always be a Yankee." And only recently have I discovered something about living in the South for as long as I have. The following is a poem about that.

Drawlingual

I hear the humidity drip from my lips
denying Bleeker Street in its strength.
I sound foreign and quaint.
Proper, to my raucous youth.
I sip from magnolia’d fingers and
demur “bless her heart” - alien
but equal to more abrading words
where long avenues stretch black
leather past shops, cafes and rivers
in harsher tones reflecting coldness.

In this warm clime words and vaporous
thoughts take time. Tongues are
softened to melted pavement and
scented with gardenia and honeysuckle.
I had no idea this was my home until
I heard my sugared voice tell me.
Fifteen years and I’m a world from
where I started. But this world is my home.

Joni
10/12/06

Insecta

2006-10-06T21:02:00.000-05:00

Ah, what a crazy week. I am marginally suffering from laryngitis and my work week has been insane. But rather than discuss my work load, I'd rather kvetch about a co-worker.

She is from India and from what I can surmise, when she lived there she apparently never went anywhere that was not paved. The great outdoors was what she walked through between her home and her car. Consequently, she knows NOTHING about being outside.

Part of my job requires me to visit job sites (usually undeveloped land) and do work to characterize certain aspects of the site. This requires a lot of walking through woods, fields, etc. I've recently been instructed by my boss to use her to assist me in this capacity. This is NOT a good thing.

First time out, she shows up in jeans (ok, but not ideal for hiking through the woods), sneakers (again, not ideal) and a relatively nice shirt with beading on it (definitely not ideal). I discuss her wardrobe with her briefly and we begin our work. First, we hike through about 1000 feet of woods. These are thick woods with rather prickly underbrush. If I heard her say "Oh my God" once, I heard it ten thousand times. Now admittedly, with the accent it did sound amusing, but dayem.

Then I told her not to step on a log as there might be bees under it. "Bees? What are bees?" OK, my 2 year old daughter knows what a bee is. This girl has been here for a over year and has never seen a bee or heard what a bee is? So now I have to have a 5 minute discussion of what a bee is, and how they sting - all while trying not to totally freak her out (which she was on the verge of).

Later that day we walked through waist high grass and both got Chiggers. Hi, welcome to America. These are Chiggers and they SUCK. If you've never been chigger-bit you never want to be - they itch fiercely for a long time. After that incident, I am now a stockholder in Deet.

Her second time out in the field was a little better, however we were working in a soybean field that had a rather large population of grasshoppers. This girl is deathly afraid of grasshoppers and it took concerted effort on my part to keep her from retreating to the truck. Then a coworker, who picked up that she has a fear of grasshoppers says:

"Oh! Did you see the teeth on THAT one? They bite you know!"

I did not have to physically restrain her, but I thought I might have to. I explained that he was joking and that they don't actually bite. She was tentative, at best.

Her third time out in the field, she was working with one other person. After showing her what to do and staying with her for 2 hours, I left. Within 2 hours of my leaving, she stood on a patch of ground between not one, not two, but THREE fire ant mounds. She did not realize there were ants crawling on her (I don't know HOW) until there was a rather significant number on her legs. They were literally raking them off her. She was bitten several times. But I will say this, she toughed it out and didn't go home, but shook out her clothes out in the bathroom and went back to work.

So now I am putting together a pamphlet of all the biting, and poisonous things in our area. This will probably freak her out, but she needs to have a clue. And being the bad person that I am, I'm thinking I should include the following picture. What do you think?

A Birthday

2006-09-29T07:19:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was my oldest daughter's 5th birthday. To celebrate with her at kindergarten, her teacher asked me to put together a book of pictures of her from birth to today, and to bring a story book to give the class. My daughter saw the book of her pictures before we left for school and she asked:

"Mama are you going to show the pictures of me to my class so they can see how adorable I was as a baby?"

I said "Yes, and you're still adorable now."

She replied "But not like I was when I was a baby."

LOL

When we got to school, I read the books for the class. Let me just stop here and say:

Kindergarteners are SOOOOOOO cute!

I started by showing them the book I'd made of pictures of my daughter. When the saw the picture of her in the hospital a few hours after being born, every child in the room said: awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

They were So Cute!!!

I had a lot fun reading them the book we'd gotten the class.

After I returned home we had a small family party. We've already given her a child-sized John Deere Gator for her birthday (which she loves), but my husband had made a special present to give her on her birthday.

My husband is a stay-at-home dad who can............sew.

Like with a machine and everything!

I have no skills with sewing other than attaching a button - but my man can SEW!

Since my daughter envisions herself as Supergirl he went to the fabric store and got two different rainbow fabrics (one for the outside and for the liner) and made her a cape. If, when she is older, she decides that she is a lesbian, I will blame him. I'm joking, of course, but with this cape she could definitely march in the Pride parade and be very welcome.

No matter how she turns out - she was a happy girl yesterday.

Happy Birthday baby. I love you.

A Good Day

2006-09-22T18:58:00.000-05:00

I wasn't going to write today....but sometimes life has other plans. Today I took the time to walk back from a meeting to my office, and that is where the fun came in.

I live in a small city, but I grew up in New York. Not NY city itself - but I spent enough time there to have some real impressions and formative experiences there. Today as I walked back, I was reminded of the film My Dinner with Andre. There are many who will poo-poo this film and say what crap it was - sorry you feel that way, but I was reminded of the last scene in the film. In this scene Wally is walking home to his apartment down streets he's walked down his whole life, and he is suddenly struck by all the memories he holds of these places that he constantly overlooks during his daily life.

Today as I walked, I was not reminded of my history on these streets, but of my history in New York. The homeless people I passed, the druggies rocking out when a car with a loud stereo went by, the lost woman wearing a set of gold that would have Mr. T. drooling looking for the Sheriff's Department, the closeness of the skyscrapers nuzzling me down the street - all of it felt familiar on a very visceral level. It all felt like home.

Then I heard something.......

Cockadoodle doooooooo

I thought "What the......."

Cockadoodle doooooooo

it was getting closer.

Cockadoodle doooooooo

An SUV went past and was obviously the source of this VERY loud rooster. I smiled. and the SUV stopped at a light. The rooster crowed several more times and was replaced by....

ribbet..ribbet

I laughed out loud at the juxtaposition of one minute being in New York, and the next being on this small street in my small city with an extremely loud rooster and frog singing in an SUV driving by. As I laughed a small blonde head leaned forward to see if her mischief had found it's mark. It had most surely as I walked down the street laughing out loud without care as to who saw me.

She and I locked eyes and smiled, the light turned green and she was gone.

So my life is good, and I've been to New York and back. It's been a good day me hearties! Time for a beer.

This Old House

2006-09-19T20:48:00.000-05:00

This week my boss put me in the unsavory position of trying to save his ass. Which is a pain, but ultimately has value. Although at midnight on Sunday, when I was at the office, I wasn't really thinking it did. Anyway, given my schedule this week, I'm going to post a poem I wrote a while ago with a story.

My husband's great-grandfather built a vacation house 105 years ago. The house is spectacular and has the requisite ghosts for a house this age. One ghost continually opens a locked bookcase every night (no matter where the key is hidden and yes, I've checked the lock).

(Perhaps one of these children (photo taken in 1906) is our ghost? They look rather ghostly.)

It was in this bookcase I found a small book of my husband's great-aunt's poetry and upon reading it, I decided to name my youngest daughter after her. I'll save that story for another day. Anyway, it was at this house that our reunion (see post below) took place. We have made huge efforts to save this house over the last 6 years. The previous generation let it fall into disrepair in a major way. The house is finally almost 3/4's done, and we are extremely pleased with how things are taking shape. It is so nice to preserve something this precious not only to the family, but to history. It was while I was staying at this house a couple of years ago that I started the following poem, and it was during subsequent visits that the poem was finished. I wrote this one for my oldest daughter.

A Passage of Time

Cool cricket song billows windowed lace.
In dark night, abed in warmth, I listen.
Stories of hearth and songs sung to
accompanying piano, guitar, fiddle.
The mountain whispers these tunes across
time and gorge to remind forgetful fingers.
Remembrance gingerly reties familial strings.

Door casements watch rising maturity.
Gaston, Ellis, Allen - names given,
given and given again to yet return to dust.
Veneration in repetition and our own
wish for some semblance of immortality.
100 years, a new casement starts with me,
What words will be used when my name is read?

Generation upon generation pledged
conjugal oaths for these walls to bear witness.
My own pledge made larger in dutiful history.
In crisp linens, feathered quilts and chestnut walls
our marriage beds were made softer for us on
the ash of those who passed and passed before.

Preparing each matriarch with lineage tales.
Steeping her very skin with history to be
passed in placental waters to the next
woman-child. She will find her first steps here.
In Hemlock and Rhododendron she will shade.
With her eyes filled with the mountain of
her grandfather and his grandfather before.
Even as I fade into wisps of hearth smoke.

Joni
5/21/06

Reunion

2006-09-15T06:39:00.000-05:00

This past weekend I went to my husband's family reunion. There were about 40 people there and we had a wonderful time telling and retelling stories from the past 100 years or so of family oral history. One story, as told by my husband's aunt, was one I'd never heard before.

Her son Daniel, when he was about 4 years old, asked her: "Mom, what does sunlight taste like?" (I was immediately struck by this, as you'll see in a moment). She thought, oh, how poetic of my little boy to think of such a thing. She went on to try to explain that we can't really taste the sun, to which Daniel replied: "No, not the Sun. 'Sunlight'....the dish soap!" LOL Talk about spoiling a perfectly poetic moment! Of course, that question rattled in my little head for a while, and the following is what that rattling wrought.

What Does Sunlight Taste Like?

What does sunlight taste like?
I stand alone stretched on an afternoon
mountain above the clouds
and kiss, french style,
but no answer.

What does sunlight taste like?
I lie in a noon meadow and playfully
lick the shafts of wildflowers.
Their dew is sweet, yet
sunlight is elusive.

What does sunlight taste like?
I sit in a dawnbreak cornfield sipping
beams of light as they break
the bending of earth.
Still no word.

What does sunlight taste like?
I recline across a sunset beach, my
tongue waiting for the green flash
and a taste of yellow nectar.
Neither come.

You come up from behind, cover my
eyes, and part my waiting mouth
with your honeyed lips. You
are the taste of sunlight
I’ve waited for.

Joni
9/14/06

Recurring Patterns

2006-09-13T07:58:00.000-05:00

Have you ever done something painful and thought you were doing it for all the right reasons, only to discover (eventually) that you were actually doing it for all the wrong reasons? I have. Over and over and over. After years of having broken the pattern (in this one instance), I found myself back in it in a sort of a different way, but unmistakably the same. It was then that I really saw the pattern for what it was and recognized my role in it. This poem is one of the good things that came from the experience.

Frostbite in Your Eyes
For Dave

I saw the frostbite in the blue of your eyes.
Only the slightest trace of the warmth that once resided there.
A cold gaze piercing far beyond your view, into the past.

Her polar words and arctic stares sliced through you,
leaving no hallowed room or unsanctified altar of your soul, unfrozen.
Her dizzying descent from love more than your heart could bear.

Would you have been this beautiful if you were whole?

The floes of your heart melted just enough
to cast forth these tears into my Atlantic realms. I smelled
them in salt spray inhaled deep, in the froth of your angry tide.

The brooding shadows which darkened your brow, would not
deter me. I was stronger than your torment and more steadfast.
Purpose found in the reconstruction of your smile.

What did I know of giving?

I wrapped you, naked and shivering, in my blankets.
Pressed my body in impassioned arc to shield you from her biting
words that echoed a siren’s call in the songs of your mind.

Ritual pyres lit in offering, in the name of all that
is unconditional. Cloudless and stormy nights, through
hurricanes and floods, my poorly timed heat was welcomed.

Why did I stay?

In your labyrinth I found the key of giving, unlocked my own
painful prison and released my heart. In your presence,
I dwelt as all that can knit the sutures of wounded hearts.

For the first time, I put other before me in
completeness. Finding reverence for myself in suffering
for you. The attractive nature of searing pain.

What did I learn?

Oh to believe that lie and have myself be so altruistic. But it
was the scars of my dysfunction that brought me to this dance and called
the tune. I hungrily ate the pain you brought as something I deserved.

Lifetimes of lovers stuck low taught me to shun your pitiful cross.
So that finally, I am no longer a purposeful girl
foundered on the seas of her own irrelevancy.

Joni
September 12, 2006

Why Mantis in a Teacup?

2006-09-11T07:58:00.000-05:00

I've always been fascinated by the Praying Mantis. They are majestic, deadly (to other insects), inscrutible, and seemingly spiritual in their prayerful gait.

A few years ago I went to the china cabinet to get one of my "good cups" for my tea that day. I pulled out a cup and inside found a praying mantis.

Dead.

In my teacup.

I have no idea how he got into the china cabinet (I don't normally have insects running around my home), and I feel bad that he died there. However, the minute I saw him, the juxtaposition of a creature so inscrutable held within the confines of a symbol of polite society (a china teacup from Japan decorated with small blue and pink flowers and a gold trim) was not lost on me. It was something I instantly related to. I knew in that moment at some point in my life I would name something "Mantis in a Teacup". This place, where I plan to post poetry and occasional commentary, seems to be as good a place as any to bear that name.