D minor in bathtub

The keyboard was intended for my brother-in-law, a scholar in literature of the distant past. He would have played lush classical pieces on the keys. Instead, The Fates sent this keyboard into my more humble and rough hands, from which I delivered it unto the Hell of instruments, The Attic. There, it remained, uncovered, wrapped only in its power supply cord, which Jared had purchased to save on batteries that otherwise powered this keyboard.

Read More

Summer Fair in America

After paying $7 for a wristband, Beren kicked off his shoes and ran to the bounce castles. Only the couple guys taking money had seats and a shade canopy. I looked around at the trampled grass that lacked broad leaf plants, indicating some kind of herbicide use (as with many lawns). I considered my bare legs, the herbicide, the irritating blades of grass, the interesting impressions my legs would take on, and I sat down in the sun.

Read More

Oh, my heart is so soft

Then, Jared puts on the Sticky Fingers album by the Rolling Stones. After “Wild Horses”, Jared asks me what cheerful music we could listen to.

““Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves?” I ask.

“Huh?” Jared replies.

“I’m walkin’ on sunshine, whoa oh. I’m walkin’ on sunshine…” I sing.

“Oh, yeah. Like that, but something else,” he says.

Read More

My Boss

Silver Maple Samaras, May 16, 2019

Silver Maple Samaras, May 16, 2019

After fixing the string in the string trimmer (also called ‘weed wacker’, folks, but I prefer ‘string trimmer’. I also say ‘bandage’ as opposed to ‘Band-aid’), running out of gas and refilling, noticing the poison ivy and my lack of long sleeves, I decided the best place for me was the shower.

I like being the boss. Anger was my boss, so I quit. I let the guys finish the job with highly effective and silent scythe and clippers. The string trimmer is awful.

When I dried off, I put on a faux crushed velvet dress. Wine-colored, spaghetti straps, and two high side splits. When I put it on, I felt a bit better. My hand still smelled like gasoline (stinkin’ gas can - this is why I wear nitrile gloves…usually).

I put my denim shop apron, a gift from my Dad, and covered my dress. Back out in the nursery, I was still aggravated and chopped back exuberant Late Purple Asters, Blue Heart-leaved Asters, and Woodland Sunflowers. I pulled weeds in the hoop house. I potted up Wild Geranium, Solomon’s Seal, and Blazing Star. The plants were my boss and my aggravation slowly, slowly faded.

Let me be honest, I am

Self-portrait in mirror, May 9, 2019

Self-portrait in mirror, May 9, 2019

Let me be honest, once a week my kid and I eat an ice cream cone before dinner.

Let me be honest, I believe in co-sleeping or whatever odd name you want to call it.

Let me be honest, I believe in home schooling.

Let me be honest, I believe that kids are whole, entire human beings that can be trusted.

Let me be honest, this is not easy.

Let me be honest, I sometimes throw out plastic bags I could reuse, and I feel bad but just for a moment.

Let me be honest, I noticed her flat belly and jubilant workout and thought, “You haven’t had a kid, have you?”

Let me be honest, I feel envious thoughts and that never feels very good.

Let me be honest, I feel negative thoughts towards others that I believe are unkind but justified.

Let me be honest, I am judgmental.

Let me be honest, I am very fearful of being judged.

Let me be honest, my cat annoys the heck out of me when he nags for food.

Let me be honest, I want more time to be alone.

Let me be honest, I miss my family when they are away.

Let me be honest, I rarely do things the easy way.

Let me be honest, I don’t like cooking with more than one vessel.

Let me be honest, the worst thing about going to a potluck is having to prepare food.

Let me be honest, I have a hard time making changes.

Let me be honest, I am having a hard time using the manual focus on my new camera.

Let me be honest, I wish someone else would figure it out for me.

Let me be honest, this is not a very flattering portrait but it is honest.

Let me be honest, I like being honest.

Cranberry Beans and a Vase

I uncovered the pot of cranberry beans and ham soup that had cooked all night. I ladled out three generous bowls. I considered asking the guys for help bringing the bowls outside to where we eat. Instead, I reached for our wooden serving tray on top of the fridge and sent a glass vase tumbling. The vase broke against the soup pot. Splinters of glass flew across the stove top.

We went out for Indian food.