night of the iguana...

Oh courage! Could you not as well
Select a second place to dwell
Not only in that golden tree
But in the frightened heart of me.

tennessee williams

May she finally rest in peace...

My grandmother passed last night.  Just two weeks ago my father burried his father's brother.  Now he has to bury his mother.  She had been sick for a long time.  suffering from alzheimer's she knew no one in her family.  It actually comes as a relief to see her go.  she is no longer in pain. 
My father's mom was somewhat of a stern lady.  She wanted to be called Grandma Lewis and that's what we called her.  She played favorites and loved drama.  My fathet gets alot of mannerisms from her and disciplinary techniques.  She loved talk radio and carrot juice.  She had big strong, veiny hands that knew hard work.  And when I was little I witnessed her kill an opossum with a shovel on her back porch.  When I spent the night I was in bed by 7.  The sun was still out.  But usually I would be rescued by my aunt Holly.  Her youngest daughter who is just 5 years my elder.  She coddled my sister Melinda because she was Papa's first daughter.  Even though I was the eldest I was from my mom's first marriage.  It didn't bother me though.  I just remember it well.  On holidays my mom's mother (Grandma Cookie) would sometimes bring her oldest friend with her to dinner...Uncle Charlie.  There was no romance between them but Grandma Lewis would try to make her jealous by flirting with Uncle Charlie and sitting on his lap.  This always amused me and my sisters...good times. 
Thinking back on her now I see alot of Papa in her or vice versa.  His looks and sense of humor even the way she liked to stir things up.  Neither minced words or tolerated sass or back talk.  They use similar phrases.  And like me he was in bed when the sun was still shining and the kids still outside playing when he was a boy.  One time I referred to my grandmother as 'your mother' when talking to my father.  I said it to hurt his feelings or remove myself from the family line or something.  He promptly corrected me.  I always felt bad for doing that. 
Now we will lay Grandma Lewis to rest.  My father will bury his mother.  It will be a difficult day...for him...for his brothers and sisters...for all of us.  Because funerals always remind us of our own mortality and of those close to us.
To Grandma Lewis may she finally rest in peace.

Everything happens for a reason...

This last week has been particularly rough for me.  I feel like I have been awaiting my fate.  Like someone was going to brain me with a giant rubber stamp that read either "LIVE" or "DIE".  But of course that didn't happen...just more questions were raised and more tests ordered.  I spent alot of time with my daughter enjoying here every move.  I recall the day that I found out I was pregnant.  I was over a week late and I knew something was up.  It was not my plan to get knocked up....but then again I had been playing with fire.  I went to the drugstore and bought a pregnancy test and a bottle of wine.  I drank the wine until I had to pee.  My sister was taking a bath when I went in to do the deed.   I read the instructions aloud as if I didn't know what to do.  Then I went on the stick.  I said to my sister as I was getting up..."now I have to wait three minutes".  But before I could even rest the test on the counter it read "PREGNANT".  I had gotten the digital read out one...sparing no expense.  And I gaspsed..."where's the "NOT"?  But there it was...and the room began to spin.  And somehow I managed the words "I'm pregnant" to my sister still soaking in the tub.  Through my sobs and blubbering I could hear her coaching me to breathe.  And a million things swirled around in my head.  I was single and broke and 37 years old and pregnant...not the best combination of things to be but it was what it was.  And two years later I know why I had my daughter.  Because I may not be able to have any more soon.   And if I had missed the opportunity to have a child and then got sick it would have been a regret.  My daughter is the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me.  So no matter what happens I got to experience one of the greatest gifts.
My stamp will read "LIVE".  I might have a hard road ahead and I would be a liar if I said I wasn't worried.  But my daughter is living proof that everything happens for a reason.

Why should I be saved?

I visited the doctor the other day. I have not been feeling well and I've noticed a few abnormalities. So I had an in depth exam and we discussed the results of recent tests that came back 'abnormal'. She also tossed out the phrase...'detected abnormal cell growth'. These are words one doesn't want to hear because inevitably it's followed up with the 'c' word. But my doc says she will call me in 7-10 days to discuss the results of todays exam...two hours of poking...pricking...scraping and clipping. So as I wait to hear my destiny my mind races. I think about my daughter and what will happen to her. And ask a million questions about life and death. And wonder why I was given a child.if I won't be around to raise her if this turns out to be serious. Then I realize people die everyday...I'm not special. Who am I? There are women dying everuday leaving their children behind. There are children dying everyday. There are disasters that wipe out communities. There are diseases and famine that wipe out civilizations. Why should I be saved?

Sent from my Verizon Wireless Phone

i'm my shadow following behind a me that isn't there...

i've learned to say thank you when complimented. it's a lot more gracious then being self deprecating. i can do that all by myself. i don't need a straight line.
sometimes i think i'm someone else...someone good. but then i remember and the smile leaves. have you ever tried to look at yourself through the eyes of someone else? not picking at yourself just stepping outside of you. i do that occasionally...by accident mostly. although it tends to turn into something else...something more critical. like you're with a group of friends out at a restaurant or bar and suddenly you realize you're not you...you're someone else across the room and you catch this glimpse of you in your periphery. and you think...do i like i that person? do i like these people? would i approach me if i was a stranger? and suddenly you feel fake like the laughter you just spent on a friend's anecdote was completely put on. i'm a put on...an eminence front. but then you quietly slip back to being you like you never left yourself. but then that person across the room is now a part of you forever. you can't shake him.
so then i sit here and face every problem i have or think i have. i regurgitate it and ruminate on it like a cow on cud. then when i'm done with it i spit it out here in my own personal cud can. if you can't tell...i'm having a rough day. but as soon as i finish typing this mess i will feel as right as rain...cool summer rain.
i'm really choked up today. i'm gagging on my cud...lol. seriously i'm having a moment of desperation. my self assuredness is cloudy with a chance of periodic emotional downpours...with gusts of anger and self doubt reaching 50 mph. like everything i do is wrong or i've moved in the wrong direction. today feels like a game of sorry and i keep getting kicked back to start. i'm my shadow following behind a me that isn't there...where did i go? i'm going to go look in on my baby girl...she'll put things in perspective.

the effect of Ruby's Arms on the morning commute...

On the way to work today my car pool buddy and I were listening to Tom Waits. And I thought…he could be singing about a glass of water or a bowl of oatmeal and it would sound so dramatic and melancholy. And as we approached this big merge where four lanes merge down to three Ruby’s Arms was playing. Suddenly our commute seemed very slow…albeit it was. But the sadness seemed to transcend to all the cars around us and the break lights ahead of us appeared less bright. The normally drudgingly slow progress turned painfully slow and sad. The cars on the expressway appeared to be limping forward with their heads hung while clutching their broken hearts…trying desperately to hold back tears so the other cars wouldn’t know their pain. Then it really occurred to me how powerful music is.

the tale of sweetpea and cupcake...

a man walked into this bar.
he was wearing leather chaps and looked like the marlboro man.
he walked up to me and said...
you are finer than french wine.
i thanked him.
then he asked...
you wanna go for a ride on my chopper?
i said...
not tonight.
he bought me and my friend drinks for the rest of the evening.
he called me sweetpea and her cupcake...

I will beat you like Sonny beat Carlos...

Last night I watched Sonny beat Carlos. He chased him down in the street...grabbed him by the shirt collar and beat him in the face. Carlos tried to escape Sonny. He clung to a black iron handrail. But Sonny was relentless and pounded his face bloody. And when he couldn't stand it anymore he picked up a garbage lid from a nearby can and smashed Carlos repeatedly in the head with it. Carlos's whitened knuckles could hang on no longer and he slithered on his belly into the hydrant soaked street where Sonny kicked him and kicked him until he landed face down in a puddle of dirty street water. My thoughts were with you. You can't imagine the beauty I saw in that moment. My fury is like Sonny's. And as I was watching it I imagined that I was him beating you...in the street in front of God and everybody. And tears came to my eyes and I noticed I was biting my lip so hard that it was about to bleed. If I was a boy I would beat your ass stupid...as redundant as that may be. I know you can't read this. I made it so you couldn't. It just feels good to let it out and write to you like you cared. But I would rather the whole world know my feelings before you did. Ain't that some shit? I know it's absurd. I realize how ridiculous I can be. But this life is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. The lump in my throat as I write this is ridiculous...but what am I going to do? Write to you as if you were reading and cry until the lump goes away. But if I should grow a cock and balls one day lookout fucker. Because I am coming for you. And I will beat you like Sonny beat Carlos. I know that Sonny ended up eating it on the causeway. But when all was said and done Carlos got a one-way ticket to the bottom of the East River...

So pray I don't grow a set...

Goodbye...

I went to my great uncle’s funeral on Saturday. I did not know him well. I went out of respect and support of my father….a man that I’ve seen cry only two other times in my life. Once at his grandmother’s funeral when I was very young. Those were tears of sadness. Another was when I returned home from Atlanta after ten years penniless and insane and had to move in with my parents. Those tears were of frustration at my lack of will to do anything at the time. And the last was Saturday at Uncle Chester’s funeral. These were tears of guilt and loss. I did not expect to get emotional but things would change. The casket was open upon our entrance. He looked nothing like the man I had saved in my head. My mother even speculated that they had the wrong man in the casket. But bad health had withered him down and the man in the casket was indeed the right man. The viewing lasted for an hour and we greeted and kissed other family members upon their arrival…remarking how nice it is to see them and how unfortunate the circumstances were. An hour later we were asked to rise for the entrance of the family…his wife…kids…grandchildren and close family friends slowly marched in. Some collapsed upon seeing Chester lying there. There was crying and wailing and hugging of the casket. Family huddled together in groups of twos and threes to keep each other from falling to the floor. Meaning no disrespect it was like a scene from a movie…too surreal to actually be happening in front of me.
The pastor quieted everyone down and welcomed us to our relative’s “Home Going”. He insisted this was not a funeral…we were not mourning his loss but celebrating that he was moving on. He opened the podium to those who wanted to go up and remember the deceased...say a few words of remembrance. My father was the first to go. He tearily apologized for not being more present in his uncle’s life and encouraged his aunt and cousins to have faith because one day the hole in their heart would heal. He was followed by his sisters who gave similar messages and also insisted that we are all family and moving forward we should have more contact with each other. But when his daughter stood I could not hold back my emotion. She could barely speak through her tears and I can hardly remember what she said but I could feel my heart breaking inside my chest when she spoke because I realized that was going to be me one day. That was going to be me standing there trying to deliver a teary message to our family after the loss of one of my parents. That was going to be me some day hugging my mother’s lifeless body. That was going to be me some day clutching tissue after tissue try to keep up with the never ending stream of tears down my cheeks. That was going to be me some day steadying my mother as she looked down at her husband as he lay quieted in his casket. As the remembrances continued I tried to imagine what I would say. This I could not fathom and still can't. It’s a reality of life that I am currently willing to ignore. The bliss of ignorance shall shroud my world until the horror of losing a parent yanks down that gauzy veil. May it be a long, long time from now.