Slim

On my way home from the solo and ensemble event yesterday,
I had to stop at Meijer.
I was soooooo tired after playing piano for nearly 9 hours straight...
and I just wanted to get home.

I was starved too, and, it was my Birthday!

So I perused the deli area, looking for something quick to grab -
something that I normally would never buy for myself (as a birthday treat)
but I was in too much of a hurry and couldn't find anything that looked good.

I grabbed the ear-plugs that I came for from Sporting Goods (long story),
and veered toward the check-out lane.
I was on Empty, big-time - tired, sort of depressed
and just wanting to be Home with my feet up.

Standing in the check-out aisle, I absently looked at the stuff there,
mentally reminding myself not to fall sucker to all of those impulse items.
Nail clippers, dog bones, mints, gum,
and weird things like black combs, lint brushes and light-up keychains.

Suddenly I perked up. I NEVER buy impulse items in the check-out lane,
but today was my Birthday,
and I was going to be impulsive.

Yeah, that's right.

I made the decision instantly and started throwing things onto the belt.
It wasn't really much to speak of, just a bag of licorice Snaps,
a three-pack of some kind of dark chocolate truffle and,
(this is wear it gets good),
a Slim Jim.

Not one of those shorty Slim Jims, oh no, this was the big long Slim Jim.
The real McCoy.
My mood changed instantly, from dragging to alert.
I could not WAIT to get into the car.

As soon as I was on the road I was unwrapping those truffles and I ate two of them in a row.
They were SO good.
The kind of good that you experience when you're starving, you know what I mean.
Then I eyed Jim.
I was actually giving myself a little talk, "You really going to eat that?"

I ripped it open and took a bite.

And it was everything I remember from the last time I had one,
which is when I was about 9 years old on a camping trip.

The thing about a Slim Jim is that there is no subtlety involved.
The whole experience is one of major, in-your-face sensation.

First of all, you can't nibble delicately on a Slim Jim.
You have to grab it with your back molars and yank off a hunk.
Then as you chew, you wonder if you were supposed to peel the thing or something -
it has a kind of "skin" that you just have to commit to or quit.
The flavor is smoky, firey, spicey and intense.
The after-taste is greasy, salty, and stings your throat.
You don't really want any more after two bites, but you go back for the buzz.

I made myself eat the whole thing, feeling dangerous and irresponsible.
Afterwards, I ate the last truffle, but it's flavor was reduced.
I could barely taste it at all, actually.
I couldn't face the Snaps.

But after that, I felt pretty good.
I didn't get sick, and I wasn't hungry anymore.
My mouth was numb, but I was awake.

I got home and stuffed the grocery bag into the garbage before anyone could see.
I had this delicious sense of having got away with something.

p.s. I just searched "Slim Jim" and found this site:
http://www.spicyside.com/
where reside people who like Slim Jims.
Their names, I'm not kidding, are:
Freaky Keith, Insane Kim and Twisted Paul.

yeah that's right.

*

I'll Take Them

And a big thank-you goes out to Evan at Cornerstone Home Loans,
who sent me heartfelt greetings for my birthday.
Along with a refrigerator magnet.

I like the cards from the real estate lady too.

And the ones our church secretary slides under our pastor's hand to have him sign.

They all count.

I know, it's dumb.
But I like them.

Peace.

*

What Do I "Do"?

Last night, band rehearsal until late.
Up early this morning to go to the high school.
Rehearsed with solo students from 7:45-1pm.
Pick up children at 3.
Give lesson from 3:15-3:45.
Drive into town for hair cut at 4.
Home by 5:30, get supper ready.
Leave by 6:30 for church band rehearsal.

Spending tomorrow rehearsing some of the 28 pieces of music
that I will play on Saturday.
Arrive at the event an hour away by 7:30.
Dash from room to room, accompanying choir students,
straight through until 5.

Come home and start preparing some bass music.
Students on Monday and Tuesday,
bass gig on Wednesday.
Back to the school to rehearse the band students for their festival.
Another event next Saturday.

Some people ask me what I do, "...now that the children are all in school?"
Huh?
I always have a hard time saying and it bugs me.

I do laundry.
I plan and cook meals and grocery shop.
I pick up after everybody.
I prepare musically for students, for church, for bands, for the school.
I write music, play my bass, and the piano when I need to.
I put my head down until my brain clears.
I field phone calls and plan birthday parties.
I take children to lessons and supervise their practice.
I read aloud to them.
I try to listen to their stories, keep them from fighting,
and give them creative things to do.

But since I can't nail down exactly what I do without bending someone's ear for 5 minutes,
I usually just mumble, "Well...I practice my bass, and um...laundry."

One of these days I'm going to come up with a really cool name for whatever it is that I do.
Until then....

there's a pile of "whites" in the basement calling my name...

Peace.

*

Check It Out

Ahhh, a friend borrowed this from the library.
For me.

It is something special, when another will look closely enough,
beyond the facade,
the mask,
the trying oh-so-hard to live up to others' expectations,
to see you how you really are,
and to say,

"you are something good."

Thanks to my friend.

History

I sat on my couch, all wrapped up in the big red blanket,
watching history,
just a few minutes ago.

I watched a black man become President of the United States.

I listened to the music, and to the words, and watched the faces of the crowd.

I saw our flag waving above it all.

I am not a politician,
not an activist.
Not a Republican,
not a Democrat.

Some people say that I am naive.
A dreamer.
It's probably true.

But sometimes good things happen,
sometimes dreams come true.

I wish it weren't such a moment of history,
a black man becoming president.
It shouldn't mean anything at all.

But there was a day
when a day like today,
would have been an impossible dream.

It is a good sign for all of us everywhere,
that that day is no more.


*

Numbers

I was getting groceries and picked up some cute little bangle bracelets for the girls.
Normally $5...but 75% off, I LOVE 75% off!

In fact, I'm a sucker for 75% off. I have bought WAY too much junk over the years, just for the thrill of doing that math in my head and coming up with the final sum.

It's close to the heady rush I get from Free Food, but not quite.
And that's another post.

So at the register, imagine my dismay when the price came up as $2.50.
Ummm.....according to my lightning-quick math skills, that would be 50% off,
and not acceptable, oh no.

So I politely alerted the cashier.

She looked like someone who had, seconds earlier,
been pulling the pin-curls out of her hair in her own home,
when suddenly and without warning, her body had materialized
at this very register, and now a woman was moving her mouth in front of her,
but only making unintelligible sounds.

I wanted to wave my hand in front of her face to make her blink.

Instead, I repeated myself patiently,

"This is supposed to be 75% off, but it's ringing up at $2.50."

Again, the look of total incomprehension.

I tried a new tact,

"Well, 75% off of $5 would make it $1.25."

Ah, this time she responded, pecking numbers into the machine.

I watched the screen carefully,

$1.75

mmmmm....

Now another person could let that go.

I opened my mouth though,

"ummmm, actually, it should be a dollar twenty-five."

She looked at me doubtfully and now I was alarmed.
Did she think I was putting one over on her?
I grabbed my cool spiral notebook and flipped the page over.

"See," I say, scrawling numbers down,
"75% of five dollars is $3.75",
(blank look)
"and see," I say, angling the paper toward her,
"you subtract that from five dollars, and you're left with a dollar twenty-five."

She looked up from my calculations and shrugged,

"Whatever you say."

I think my mouth was hanging open at that point.
I really wanted to go over this with her again, but the line behind me was lengthening.

I wanted to teach her.
I wanted her to understand.

I went home and did math facts with twin girl instead.

*

Can't Leave Her Alone For A Minute

It seems to me that when left alone too long,
I tend to conjure up my own disasters.

Yesterday, it was my last living Tupperware dish.
I put the frozen bread inside to thaw,
and,
with a quick look around the kitchen,
decided that the oven was the best place to keep it
until I needed to roll it out for pizza dough.

I said to myself, aloud, "Don't turn that oven on."
A little friendly reminder.
Totally unnecessary of course.

Within the hour, folks, I had decided to warm up the
rest of last night's supper,
and turned that sucker on to, "Low Broil."

Not low enough, apparently.

The bread was saved.
The lid to the dish, not.

Today it is the laundry.
While filling the washer with dark clothes,
I carefully poured bleach into the fabric softener dispenser.
Shrieking, I started pulling out all of the dark clothes
and throwing them into the laundry tub.
The spasmodic flinging of clothing jostled the dispenser
and bleach droplets flew everywhere making it way worse.
I filled the tub with cold water and rinsed rinsed rinsed.
My daughter's new skinny jeans were in peril.
I took off my own jeans and threw them into the water as well.
(That bleach went everywhere).

Still acting without thinking,
I looked at the bleachy water inside the washer
and decided to run a small load of whites in order
to help dispel all the bleach. In they went.

Only I didn't think about the fact that the darks were all
in the laundry tub that the washer drains into,
and if I turned that washer on, it would most surely overflow the tub
and flood the basement.
One load of completely soggy clothing would have to be moved.

I was left standing in my underwear, staring at the mess
that I had created in less than 3 minutes total,
afraid to touch anything else.

All by myself, folks.

*

Doesn't Fall Far

Red marks all over the math papers last week.
This is twin girl's cross to bear.
There was one wrong answer that caught my eye though.

It was a story problem:

If there are 3 red marbles and 2 blue marbles in a bag,
what is the probability that you will
pick out a red one with your eyes shut?

Her answer, scrawled in serious, round, 4th grade handwriting
was,

"a good one."

I'm sure creating a ratio was the last thing on her mind.
Instead, she was wondering about the marbles themselves,
and why anyone would want to reach into a bag of them with their eyes shut.
Why not just choose the one that you want with your eyes open?
And why are there no purple marbles?
And why would someone only pick out ONE marble,
when they could grab a whole handful?

I can just see her sighing over the complete irrelevance of the question,
and then carefully printing what she supposed must be,(generally speaking)
the answer.

That's my girl.

*

Hopeful

Taking a pause from an especially painful writing project,
he asks me,

"Do you think it would be rude to write,
'to be continued' at the end of an essay?"

I said it might send the wrong message.

He sighs and returns to the work at hand.

*

Lighter

My New Year's resolution is to clean out the bedroom.
Everything: closet, bathroom, under the bed, things stacked in corners.

I want to get rid of the seven pair of jeans that I own
that I wish still fit me.
I want to get rid of the leather jacket that was brand new
six years ago when I ripped it.
(I've been meaning to get that repaired.)
I want to get rid of the itchy sweater that looks nice
but feels terrible.
And the mint green suit that was in style for about 3 seconds
back in 2002. It was expensive and rarely worn.
It needs to be set free.

I have boxes labeled "Ebay" and "Donate" and huge garbage bags at the ready.
I will toss brand new lipsticks (I have never worn lipstick),
and extra links to the wristband of a watch that I never wear.
(I guess I kept them in case...my wrist grew?)

I will throw away pins.
The kind that you place decoratively on the yoke of your denim jumper.
I never have, and never will, own a denim jumper.
A gingerbread man pin. A fancy "K". A tiny grand piano.
Why do I own these?

I will take the curtain rod out from under my bed.
I will make a decision about it. Will I hang a curtain on it?
Or is it worth the safety I feel, knowing it is under there,
in case I should have to club an intruder with it?

I will get rid of various and sundry items in the bedroom,
and feel a little lighter every day because of it.

It will take me a year.

Wish me luck.

*

Winter Walking

I took twin girl for a walk in the woods because she was ornery.
Not enough sleep, not enough fruits and vegetables, not enough chores.
Too many presents, too much chocolate, too many video games.

So we walked, and she whined.
Until I told her that she should not talk like that in the forest.
She should stay quiet and just use her eyes to find some beauty.

And she did.

Red berries, on leafless winter trees.
Glistening dew-ice, on creekside rushes.
Swirling patterns of frozen flooding,
layered like ribbon jello beneath our feet.

Then...

Slender, bulbous and dripping icicles
in clusters between the fallen tree bridge
and the water.

They are glistening, crystal ice people-sicles,
hair caught on branches above,
feet stirring eddies in the water below.

If you focus on them carefully,
it seems as though the creek is the thing that is still,
and the glassy ice people are the ones moving.

Slender pixies,
melting
as they stand bravely,
feetless and
losing ankles to the tide and the sun,

water skiing anyway.

*

Lost Things

Today I am no longer blue.
I just returned from Kohl's where I lost my Kohl's credit card.
I had it in my hand, and then I didn't have it in my hand.

I rifled through my bags, my pockets, my purse.
Nothing.

I stood in line at Customer Service, with things to return,
and explained what happened to the nice lady at the counter.
She perkily asked for my last name,
and said she'd check but if I had just lost it, it probably wouldn't be back there yet.
Then she reached into the secret lost-but-found things drawer
and pulled it out.

"Today is your lucky day!" she said.

I couldn't believe it, and said,
"Wow, somebody was really honest to return that."

She said, "Oh yes, they usually do get turned in."

Lost things, returned by strangers.

I needed to hear that good news.

Blue

The children are usually the ones who have the day-after blues,
but this year I caught it somehow.

Might be partly because we dropped the teenager off at grandma's yesterday,
and coming home without him is never quite right.
Might be because now the middle child is a teenager too,
turning thirteen on Christmas Day.
Might be how I grossed myself out today by eating a fast food burger.
(I say I'm flexible as a vegetarian, but whenever I flex...I quease.)
Might be that picture of twin girl with what I highly suspect may be the
Last Baby Doll Of Christmas.

The night before Christmas, it is all potential.
The day of Christmas, it is all realized.
The day after, it is all over.

Now we live in the limbo of Not Christmas Anymore,
and Not The New Year Yet.

It's cold and I'm blue.


*

Lookin' Good

I was pushing my cart down the canned goods aisle,
when I thought to call home and ask if we were out of waxed paper.

I was feeling good,
purposeful,
baseball cap on,
there to get the job done.

Then I remembered that my cell phone was not in my coat pocket,
but in my sock,
because my clothes had no pockets today,
and it just worked out to keep it there.

So I hitched up one leg of my pants,
and suddenly I felt sort of cool.
I actually had the thought - fleeting, ridiculous -
that I hoped nobody would become frightened if they saw what I was doing.

Like maybe I was pulling a gun or a knife out of my cool,
concealed leg-holster.

Of course I was wearing big clompy boots,
pushing a cart full of groceries,
clutching a list written on a well-worn spiral notebook
with "Writing Journal" scrawled in a child's handwriting across the front.
And I had a purple washable marker that I was crossing stuff off with.

Yeah I looked pretty dangerous.

Anyway, the illusion was shattered when I reached into my sock
and tugged only half of my phone out, since the back panel had come off and,
inexplicably, adhered itself to my calf.

I peeled the rest of my phone off of my leg,
slid it back together and made the phone call.

Unperturbed.
Uber-cool.
Lookin' Good.

*

SNOW DAY

*

twin boy
*

*

middle girl
*

*

twin girl
*

*

School Daze

Taking a breath for a snappy comment over my shoulder
to the children in the backseat,
I realize I have already dropped them off.

sheez, I'm either talking to them when they're not here,
or we're circling the backstreets around the school
because I can't remember what I have driven into town for.

*

Stitches

They stitched him.
He tripped over the rug at Wendy's,
and banged his head against the trash can.

Nope, no germs to worry about there....

Anyway, today was the big Jiffy Mix field trip.
It's really cool.
They show you a slide show (I think it's an actual slide show),
and they give you a cookie and juice,
and then you walk between the red lines to see all the machinery
and the workers,
and you get to wear a hair net.

But the thing the twins have been talking about
for five days is the trip to Wendy's afterwards.

That's where he earned two stitches.

Funny thing about boy twin,
we always knew he'd end up with a few stitches,
the way he
careens,
cavorts,
caroms
through life.

We lost him once on a cruise ship,
and once at a Target,
and once at a petting zoo.

He was okay those times,
and he is okay this time too.

*

It's A Feeble Request....

...when you hand a ten-year-old a 20 dollar bill for Santa's Secret Shop
and ask her to,

Bring back some change.

*

I Can Take You

That's what I said to the teenager.
Although he is taller than I am now, I still outweigh him by a good ten pounds.
So I thought I could take him.

Now we are not a violent family.
We don't hit each other, even in play.
The worst fight anybody has ever had here
was a spit-fight in the way back of the van years ago
between the twins.

We try to touch each other gently.

But yesterday I was feeling sort of itchy
and I challenged him.
I think I just wanted to get him out of the chair
where he resides with his ever-present book,
slouched and slack.

C'mon, fight me.

He grinned and unfolded his body,
and proceeded to pin me to the floor.
He gave a running commentary to his delighted siblings,
a la The Dog Whisperer.

"See," he says while kneeling on my chest,
"this is what we call the submissive pose."

For my part, I could not stop laughing.
I had no strength whatsoever up against those dimples,
that curly hair, that wiseacre mouth.

There is something so startling,
magical,
and utterly incapacitating,
about the idea of my baby,
growing up.

Yes, I think the paralyzing laughter was why I lost this time.
I think I can still take him.

*

Numbers

His eyes were red and puffy and he appeared past bedtime.

"Ohhhh, come here," I said, pulling him into the chair.

He sank into my lap.

"I was just thinking about how I only have a few more hours left to be nine,"
he spoke into my shoulder.

"Ohhhh, shhhh, it's gonna be alright."

"But these 9 years went by so fast,
and now I'm going to be 10 and I just don't want to be."

I never knew a child who loves to be a child as much as this one.

He added,

"And I don't really know how many numbers I have left."

I thought about that.

I said,

"You are special, because you know how to enjoy the Now.
Most kids just can't wait to be older.
But you, you are living every minute with all you have.
It's going to be okay.

And I think you will have lots of numbers."

He sniffed, and nodded, and left my arms for bed.


I wonder...

Do I love my Now like that?