Holidays - The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

So I have not blogged in a few weeks mainly because I am still recovering from going home for Thanksgiving. So with that I bring to you: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly of the Holidays.

The Good

It was good being in my hometown and seeing all my folks. My parents home was the same as was when I last left. The poach still sagged in middle, the plants were brown from over watering and the brown from not watering enough. The house itself was hotter than the Mojave Desert in July. Thank God for the cold draft wafting through all the cracks my father (Wo-wa), failed to fix. Mom, I swear, was in the same gar-animal outfit from seven months ago and Wo-wa still eating that same cereal he left on the counter so it could get the right amount of sogginess. One would think they would change clothes and eat faster.My mother was still ornery and curmudgeonly.Wo-wa, was just plain antisocial and grouchy. Both seemed to want attention but did not anyone speaking to the other.  So as long as I paid equal amount of attention to them then they were okay. But still everything was as I remembered. That in itself was comforting. Even the in-laws were doing what they were doing the last time we saw them, which made Bob very happy. It seems more and more that we have changed but Sacramento hasn't. It is like leaving your home to go on vacation and returning to find that everything is where you left it. That is a good feeling.

The Bad

I had planned a gathering my parents house, hoping my siblings and various nephews and nieces would all show up so we could commune both verbally and foodstuff. Of course most failed to come and there was way too much food which those who did show up did not eat. My parents are old. I never really noticed how much they have aged in the last few years as I did that day. My mother is slightly hunched over and gray in skin and hair. When did Wo-wa become shorter? Both were more cynical and misanthropic than usual. Wo-wa comes out of the room when we decide after 3 hours to leave and head to a more festive affair in the Bay Area. Of course my parents have always been somewhat unsocial and strict but now they are beyond what anyone could have predicted. Even when they dish out the rare compliment it comes with such rancor that we children don’t get it until hours later when rehash the moment with someone else. In the meanwhile, my in-laws were busy appearing as if their world was so together that they looked upended. Nothing was together and everything ran extremely late. There was not set program or agenda for anything and no one gave anyone directions of what was happening next. So we haphazard our way to reunion events that were planned at the last minute or thought about but never thought out. The most disturbing was the obvious absence of key family members. We asked about some of them and guessed on others. Sometimes I think it is better to just say where folks are and what they are into instead of not saying anything at all.

The ugly

I had a Multiple Sclerosis attack while I was in Sacramento that proved to be mild for me but obviously disturbing  to others. The worry on their faces showed that they were concern beyond what they should be but, as I was told by my mother, they are allowed to worry. My mother was so concerned she started washing dishes in the dark and my father just stared in disbelief at my uncontrolled tremors. I tried to explain that this wasn’t as bad as it looks but to no avail. So I am left feeling sorry for my folks as I battle this ever increasing bothersome disease.

Cars! Beautiful Cars!

Ok so my car is great. 2003 VW Beatle convertible in Harvest Moon with only 40,000 miles on it fully paid named Maybelle complete with flowers. We barely drive it anywhere. I love my car and it was my dream car until we attended the Seattle car show showcasing the 2009 models. Now my dream has changed and I am now officially infatuated with the 2009 Audi Q7 and even during a recession this is one beautiful SUV. The environmentalist in me screams that this is so unnecessary and hurts the earth. But the Bragg in me reasons that I could make it up by composting my scraps from the kitchen and recycling my cans goods. So now I am saving, again, for a car I do not need, while I try to steer Bob towards a BMW or another VW to keep him out of my dream car. There is nothing more fun than riding in a beautiful car by yourself with your music loud for no reason other than to drive. I think I inherited that from my father, who is a diehard Ford man. So here I go making my future playlist for a car I have yet to own. It’s going to be a long year of dreaming.

Going To California

We’ve been contemplating going to Sacramento during the Thanksgiving weekend because Bob’s mother is hosting a family reunion with all the folks from the south attending. We think it might be fun to see some of them. Then of course there is the 608er’s. I do want to see those two old people who brought me into this world fussing and fighting all the way through. So after putting it off for awhile we make all the necessary arrangements. We got it almost all together as figured out the details. I made all the arrangements of getting my hair done, picking up the toiletries, and dropping clothes off to the cleaners. Then of course an MS attack happened as it enviably tends to do whenever I plan something detailed. I was shaking and unsteady for about three days wondering if I could even make this trip and if I did I wonder if I am going to be attacked while there. That is the problem with Multiple Sclerosis; it has a calendar of own. It shows up when it wants to and stays until it decides to go. Then Bob’s foot got bruised during his daily run around Greenlake. So he is limping and I am shaky and now I thinking I need to keep my behind home where I can at least control my surroundings and my situation with some familiarity. Damn. I hate when that happens. Now I have to go and really pray hard that God will have mercy on me and hold back an attack while I am there and that Bob foot has healed well enough for him to stop limping. I had at least three offers of staying with folks from both family and friends and although I know that would save us some cash and we would feel safe and welcomed, we both agree that it is better for all if we stayed in our own spot so I can heal properly without bothering anyone with MS or Bob dealing with his wrapped up foot. I wish I could explain that this is not the part of the disease that I want to share with anyone or how I much I feel guilty having to depend on Bob for every immeasurably small detail of my life while I am having an attack or that Bob hates the fact that he cannot run and has to watch his foot for more discomfort. I don’t want to explain that now my life is measured by my tremors: today only a slight quiver while bring fork to mouth, tomorrow I won’t be able to walk without some assistance as I have no control over the tremors in my arm and leg. There is also the fact that we chose not to inform Bob’s family about my disease. They are not really part of our lives much and we do not feel that telling them is necessary. I think I have it figured out but only the trip will tell the story of us being able to duck out of social gatherings when we feel like it and not having to explain to anyone about why. The runaway in me thinks this is going to one of those trips that determine that we won’t be coming back for a very long time. Sigh.

Fine Feathered Friends

I love dogs. They are really wonderful pets, truly almost human sometimes. I love to have them around and I love taking them on walks. I also love cats with their nonchalant ways and their soft fur waking you up every morning. But I really don’t have pets. I borrow them from friends and neighbors when I need a boast in my mood or I am feeling lonely and need company for a walk. Besides most dogs or cats greet me every time I am outside. Bob constantly reminds me that I attract animals and children with regularity. But still I do not feel that there is a need for me to bring a dog or cat into my very small condo where there is barely enough room for two humans. I won’t even mention the crowdedness that happens every Christmas and summer when my sons are home from school and choose to stay with us. Somehow my plan of my space being a pure two person home with an occasional guest keeps getting put on hold while my sons decide what to do with their lives. So I adopted the wild ravens outside. I tend to feed them at least once a week on my patio. I put some walnuts or chicken out there and they will spot it and feast until all is gone. Two of them I dubbed George and Fat Tony sometimes even knock on the door to let me know that it has been a while since I fed them. Sometimes I will put out some sunflower seeds to feed some of the smaller birds that live in one of plant pots. The other day I put out some walnuts after Fat Tony knocked. After about 5 minutes of George and Fat Tony taking turns hiding some prime pieces throughout the neighborhood they called over all their friends. This is the first time none of the other birds showed up. I couldn’t figure it out until I saw this huge ass seagull bullying my birds and taking all the walnuts. But because my birds are natural bad-asses they got very daring and extremely close to this bully seagull. They reminded me to not back down from a fight even if the other guy is bigger. Thanks Fat Tony and George!

Words are Bond

Word. The one thing we as a people are supposed to count on. If someone says something we take that as a promise, a truth. It is what we call a good sermon from a preacher with exceptional skills in bringing The Word. Even the Bible itself honors the Word: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1). Even rap mentions that a man’s word is bond:

Whenever ya hear the piece of the track, peace to the black
peeps on the streets with the beats in the jeeps
Comin back in '94 with the raw that's against the law
It's the G-O-D, my delivery is C-O-D
Word is bond and bond is life
We got it goin on tonight, don't nobody wanna fight
they wanna see a tight show where some brothers might go for broke
Utilisin the effects of the smoke……..
Brand Nubian will stand, without the use of a band
We always work with a plan…..
Word is bond, we got it goin on
C'mon throw ya hands in the air
Brand Nubian'll rock to the break of dawn….
Word is Bond – Brand Nubian Everything is Everything 1984

A man word is his honor and tells you about his character. Once you say this is what I am going to do or this is what I believe in, then those who heard will tend to believe what you said. But once you say one thing then do another then your word becomes useless.
So when I read this quote from Soulja Boy Tell Em “Shout out to the slave masters! Without them we'd still be in Africa." All I could feel was simply astonished. Absolutely stunned that we as black folks allowed this simpleton out of whatever southern backwoods, hole-in-the-wall, country ass town and show just how much the some of the south miss the Brown vs. the Board of Education verdict and continues to fail to teach our children history and how their word becomes who they are and determines where they are going. Without education in our history we become nothing more than a Bamboozled nation putting on a minstrel show with simpleton rap lyrics and saying asinine things for the world. Our words must be considered holy and bonding. Without such things then whatever we say is nothing more than a lie.

Election 2008

On Tuesday I wanted to write about the historic election of Barack Obama. I wanted to share how the phone started ringing repeatedly. How Bob and I were shouting so loud the neighbors heard. I wanted to write about how just about every Seattlite jumped and partied into the streets and celebrated with spontaneous bands and song and dance. I wanted to talk about how elated we were to watch his acceptance speech. I wanted to sum up the moment perfectly and somberly. But all I could think of is my two favorite words together and put on the front page of my favorite weekly newspaper, The Stranger…… Fuck Yeah!!!!

Pausing

Its been a hell of a week. So many things were normal that I was in that I-need-to-do-this-or-that mode. Just doing what I normally do while not paying attention to the small things that matter. While shopping for winter things I got one of those calls everyone hates. She died. And just as sudden as that sentence my life just changed. She is Jeri. She is my friend. And she died suddenly while going to the grocery store to pick up cupcakes for her twins birthday. Just like that. No explanation no warning. She died. As I try to wrap my head around this and wonder about her family I begin to pause and take notice of my own life. Questioning as one tends to do when something so tragic and unexpected happens. I came into that vicarious mode after the news full of reflections and thinking I need to change, be nicer, give more and stop worrying. I wonder if I’ve done enough to make my life something memorable for those around me. All I could do is remember who Jeri was and pray for her family especially her babies. None of us really are ready to die young no matter how many times we say we are and when it happens to a love one, life it becomes surreal. Never quite the same again. I could not imagine not being able to see Jeri again even if I haven’t really kept up with her in the last couple of years she was always there in the background and to think that we are not going to meet for coffee when I get to Sacramento. I cannot see us not being old ladies together dealing with the younger women in church and gossiping about whatever, for that was always the plan. It was me, Kimberly, Karlette and Jeri comparing notes on children and husbands and life. But plans change suddenly as the weather and we must reevaluate what it is that we are doing. Now I make these promises to myself: I will show love better and allow myself to be loved; I will remind those most important to me of their place in my life; I will live fully without qualms; I will be who God intends me to be, as I was called to be. Jeri thank you for being my friend. I love you girl! Peace.

Video of the week

Because I think we all need a break from the normal everyday BS and just chill.....

Television Cure

I so done with television! I was channel surfing and ran across the Dr. 91210 show thinking it was the early ‘90s show, but as I started watching, I figured out it was a reality show. Knowing that the most reality I need is on the news, I watched anyways. Bad choice. This show had me trippin’ hard. There was chick who decided to her vagina was ugly so she had it surgically altered. I have never heard of such a thing. I mean who in the hell would want to have surgery let alone down there?? But apparently there is a bunch of women who do and this made me wonder…what constitute an ugly vagina? And do not tell me guys have a preference. Honestly most would just be happy to have one presented to them, no matter what it looks like. Have we become so vain that we now must surgically change the very thing that gives us life? There are women all over the world being forcibly circumcised which most of us find horrible, so to think that there are women opting to have change themselves is just so f*&ked up. I could understand if say they were in pain or some other medical thing but to have elective surgery is just way too vain. So now I have stopped watching television and will get back to reading books or just make sure I stick to the safe shows such as Fox NFL Sunday and The Unit. Well, then again there is Mythbusters…..

Black Protest

When Adam asked what shaped my political views I was momentarily stuck stupid. I haven’t really thought about it ever, then I remember Tina’s then boyfriend, Twin, riding up the street in his Blue Oldsmobile Tornado with the half black vinyl top, rabbit ears and Marvin Gaye playing. At the time I was unsure what Marvin was talking about. Hell I was only 9 at the time, maybe, but “Mother, Mother, there’s far too many of you crying” made me stop and listen to the rest. Always a curious person I dug deeper and came across a whole host of music that resonated within my young mind. I would move on throughout my years listening and embracing a culture of protest, especially black protest and hung on to every word like a security blanket. There would be days when my father would play Billie Holiday singing “Strange Fruit” and Sam Cooke “a Change Gonna Come”. These songs and lyrics would propel me to find the source of songwriter’s discontent and I would spend countless hours after school and Saturdays perusing the library for information. The librarian at the time was an old woman with wild hair. Ms. Pierson, who was happy to supply me with all the writings of the Harlem Renaissance and Beat Generation. As I got older protest songs continued to shape my political views by reporting what was happening on the streets. Public Enemy hollering “……gotta give us what we need Our freedom of speech is freedom or death we got to fight the powers that be Lemme hear you say Fight the power…” Mind Blowing!!! Again I knew my politics leaned more militant than liberal. When N.W.A. started reporting on the L.A. streets with “F*&K the Police” and Tupac with “I hear Brendas got a baby but Brendas barely got a brain a damn shame the girl can hardly spell her name….), I was lost among the fist in the air, afro wearing protesters, rolling my sons around in their stroller in Davis attending every campus event that had anything to do with black folks under siege. I was so heavy into protesting that my sons bedtime story of the Autobiography of Malcolm X – Alex Haley and Soul on Ice – Eldridge Cleaver. Still to this day I look for protest in music and song and wonder if we will ever be able to report the news with such eloquence. Well one can only hope

Being Black

I love being black. I love everything about it. Now I am not the darkest sista or even the most knowledgeable about black history, but I do embrace the African Diaspora every chance I get. I actually don’t own a dashiki but I have some African jewelry and a Malcolm X “by any means necessary” t-shirt. I have also in my 43 years on this earth had felt my share of racism. When I was about 6 or 7 a neighbor told me I was a beautiful mulatto child. I was thrilled, thinking I learned some foreign word for pretty or beautiful. I thought it was a cool word. When I repeated what the man said to me to Mom she starts hollering and I get a whoopin’ and sent upstairs for cussing in her house. Took me years to find out what a mulatto was and why it was bad. Once while my oldest son and I were in Whole Foods here in Seattle, a white woman mistook Alexander as my husband. When corrected she stated “You know what Oprah says…Good black don’t crack”. I wanted to kick her lily white trailer park ass, but then I would have perpetrated the black myth that we are always hostile (although being Peggy’s daughter you have to be). Alexander who now attends Morehouse tells me he gets questions about his hair constantly, if he grows it out. Like a brother can’t have a curly fro. And if I chose to flat iron my hair people wonder if I am indeed black or black enough. Must we continue to explain why some of us are light and some dark? Why some of our hair grows long and lush and other not grow whatsoever? I can hope not. Bob always comes home with stories from work about the white men in lower positions than him questioning whether they really have to do what he, their boss, ask of them. I cannot tell you the frustration he feels every day. Luckily he is one of the happiest persons in the world. Adam Jordan discovered the positive effects of being black while in France. He was telling me how he is popular because he is black. For once is blackness is advantage over in Europe. He said for once he didn’t have to think about being black before he stepped out to go to the bars or restaurants. He even went to the so called “ghetto” and felt totally safe among the Africans and Arabs, whereas, others in his party were frighten. He even mentioned how popular Obama is over there. Amazing. We are still feeling the racism left over from slavery and all we can do is hope that it will ease when Obama wins this election. But that is the thing about being black I think I love the most is the fact that because of the racism we have learned to overcome so many obstacles. Something white folks will never understand.I have learned to fight the public school system when they wanted to demote my genius certified son in junior high school. I have learned to ignore the stares and questions of people who want to play the “what is she” game. I have learned to be proud of the great-great grandparents who were slaves but smart enough to buy some land in North Carolina. Being black has made me strong, come what may. I have an adopted brother, TSwept, who has a saying: “I love being black; but sometimes it is so inconvenient”. I have to say I agree.

27 years

The thought today brings about the number 27. Insignificant number really until one uses it to measure time. So many things happen in 27 minutes, days and years. In 27 minutes I can make popcorn on the stove and a cup a tea. I can watch the five o’clock news with time to spare. In 27 days I can go from hiking a three mile trail of the Northern Cascades with to not being able to get out bed because of MS. During the last 27 days I have performed spoken word poetry 6 times in various bookstores, coffee houses and bars. I also learned that Ravenna Third Place Books is revamping into a full fledge restaurant, of which, my heart is broken and I must now find another place to hang out in. Also I learned that Mother’s Cookies are no longer on the shelves. Although I have not eaten them in years it was always a comfort to know they were there if I wanted them. In the last 27 years rap has morphed into hip-hop and become global. Oprah is now a household name and CNN is the premier news source. In the last 27 years I have met and married Bob and became mom to Alexander and Adam Jordan, raised them and sent them off to college. In the last 27 years, I have moved six times, from Davis to Sacramento to Seattle. I would have never thought that I would not see my fly brother Kenny die or that he would not meet my youngest son. I could not imagine living here in Seattle, a big city that I have come to love, such farfetched ideas and events did not cross my 16 year old mind. Since 1981 we have run through five presidents with a sixth to be voted in soon, saw an economic boon and a depression and a black man win the Democratic Nomination to run for president. Hot Damn! Life came so fast and furious that it makes my head spin. I wonder now what is going to see in the next 27 years. Would we see even more important inventions such World Wide Web, personal computers and cell phones? How about Doppler radar, 24 hours of news, and HBO? The thought of my sons even thinking about getting married and having children freaks me out. I mean come on….me, a grandmother? In 27 more years, I will be 70 years old. Whoa! I would be older, my breasts will be more southern than I ever could be and things would have changed and hopefully I would have made the right choices to be living a good life and my children will have done the same. I want to be confident enough to know that God would bless me with the saying “Well done, my good and faithful servant (Matt. 25:23)”. I don’t know if I will achieve this, but I do know I will have tried. 27 years is long time and anything is possible. Anything. I know I will change and so will things around me, I just hope it’s mainly for the good cause 27 years is a long time. (Note to Donald…be safe and make the right choices from here on out).

Beer Runs

Ok so this weekend was great. It started on Friday with a small dinner party with friends. I got a bunch of tomatoes from the Bob’s coworker that needed to be cooked. So I made a great spaghetti sauce that everyone loved and I felt like the little Suzy Homemaker for the night. Kind of proud myself. They mentioned a hamburger joint that serves some of the best burgers in Seattle. As I am a adent lover of great hamburgers this put me instantly in the mood for one. Even though hamburgers are not allowed in the great MS diet I started I could not contain my lust for something that sounded so perfect; big, messy with all kinds of sauces made to order. Right on! I convinced Bob that this would be my last burger and that I should go out with a bang. I mean who would start a diet without eating some of their favorite things first. So Saturday we ventured out to Pike’s Place, Seattle’s famous farmer’s market, to find fresh flowers and vegetables, where I discovered agave chocolate sauce and veggie chips. Both of these items are within the new diet I am supposed to be following which I totally blow every weekend. But I believe that I am allowed to mess up until I get it right. Right? Anyways, we ended buying some fruit and vegetables and strolling into a Cost Plus where we discovered a new wine (2006 Panarroz Jumilla from Spain). While there we got into a discussion with one of the sommeliers about where we can purchase Bob’s favorite beer, Mac and Jack's. Now I am not a beer drinker at all, but I do enjoy alcohol every chance I get. Although I have never really gotten drunk, I love it so much I feel almost guilty and do my best to pull Bob into my alcoholic dreams by getting him to drink with me. Often he refuses and I am left alone to buzz with my liquor. So I was disheartened to hear that Cost Plus did not sell Mac and Jack’s and that we should try the grocery store up the street. Our adventure began there. We were on a wild goose chase going from store to store looking for the now infamous Mac and Jack’s. We ended up in a QFC across from UDub and being told there was a keg store on the Ave aptly named Dawgpound. The store is this hole in the wall place but the merchants were a wealth of information. It was here I discovered that Mac and Jack’s do not bottle their beer. They only sell the beer directly to the bars or you can get them in a keg. It is also where we learned about a thing called the kegerator. It is a fridge that houses a keg and keeps the beer at the right temperature at all times while working like a faucet. Damn I can see Bob’s eyes light up at the prospect of having his own beer on tab in the condo. All I could imagine were the neighbors knocking at the door at all hours looking for the beer hook-up. Never one to give up I convinced, for now, Bob that the kegerator has no place to live in our condo. But now the search for excellent beer to go with our burgers that we have yet to purchase was moot. Bob wanted both or none at all. Shoot. So go home and eat left over sauce and noodles. I drink alone. As I went online and Googled Mac and Jack’s I discovered their website and found that the brewery is not far from Seattle and they give tours on Sundays. Upon hearing this new, my guy, almost jumping for joy when I suggest we go and check it out. Sunday morning I woke up to a very clean house; vacuumed, dusted, polished and bleached. Bob had it in his head that if I had anything else to do that day besides going to the brewery he would do it himself. Now this is the way to a brother to clean house then this non beer drinkin’ chick will go to a micro brewery every Sunday. God bless my soul. That afternoon we toured the brewery and during the tour they give out free “tasters”. Everyone got to sample every one of their beers and get seconds, or thirds, of their favorite kind. After about an hour of sipping and learning all about beer and the history of the brewery we headed for home, after stopping for Hawaiian burgers and comic books. We spent the rest of the evening eating, reading and drinking beer and wine until we were both too tired to do anything else but sleep. Maybe, just maybe, I will find a place for a kegerator in time for Christmas.

Stories and Lies

There is a thought about how sometimes tell ourselves one thing when it really the opposite of what is really happening. I tell myself that I can get up and go running around Greenlake and not stop until I finish that 2.8 miles. But in reality I am lucky to make it to my car and drive to Greenlake. Most days I am stuck trying to figure out what is happening to my body as MS takes over. I come to acknowledge some of the symptoms and ignore the rest as if I can wish this disease away. I never think about what I could have been, more or less, I think of what I believe I am. Not what I am unable to do anymore, but what I can do when I get better. I don’t think I am defeated or that I am going to take this disease lying down even when all I can do is just that, lie down. I sometimes do wish I had some certain body changes that would make me feel better about myself. I sometimes wish that instead of looking so much like my father that I could have inherited his butt instead of my mother’s flat one. I wish was taller, thinner and had smaller feet also. Then I would not have to look so hard for decent clothes to fit my short, fat body or when I find the flat shoes I am supposed to now wear, I would not have Fred Flintstone’s feet. But I am what I am and at some level of discontent I am OK with that. My parents are telling this story about my first few months here on earth, something about me having a nurse or maid to care for me because Mom was too sick to care for me herself. This, of course, is subject to interpretation and as all old people tend to do, they only remember their version of things. I always thought my father was largely unaware of my birth for the first few months, which is the story I grew up hearing and one I naturally understand, given that my folks are slightly crazy and love to argue, fuss and fight. The idea that Wowa, my father, would pay someone to come in and take of things while there are other older children that could do the same thing is incomprehensible. I wonder what other stories they have lurking in their heads that they never told. How about those questions we all have about us as a family, whispered but never asked outright. I have many, but I must wait for answers until I either gather the courage to ask or they mention something in passing while we gather in the kitchen talking about the price of milk or how much it cost Wowa to feed us for that day. The stories all come out in some way. Some not as important as others, but they are still there. I wonder if that dream I had while l was in grade school, of being adopted and finding my real family who are incredibly rich and powerful, will come true. Oh my God, wouldn’t that be the greatest. Then they can give all the money I need to fix my fat body and they can better explain my flat behind. Of then I remember what I would miss. I would miss the stories. I would wonder what my sisters are doing, what my brothers are up to, the latest news of my nieces and nephews. I would wonder about who was in my childhood home and most especially my room. The room, to which I learned to read and love the written word. I would mostly wonder who would tell the stories of us. I realize I am stuck with the family have with all their stories and versions of the same stories, and stories that don’t come out until 43 years later. But I ok with that cause I know that in the end I am the one to tell the stories as I see them. My version will not be the version someone else remembers but it is the one I know. And that would not be lying.

AAAhhhh Saturday!

It's saturday and house cleaning day....but it is time for a dance break!!!

TV Junkie

OH MY God!!! I love television! I mean I am totally hooked without reservation. I can no longer fake that I am that serious writer and that I sit around everyday writing this serious stuff about the world. Which I do….sometimes….but not nearly as much as I’ve been watching television. I mean I was denying myself for years by only watching things like CNN, PBS and Wild Kingdom with an occasional series watcher of Buffy or the Wire thrown in cause someone else suggested I would enjoy it. And I would for the most part but never really finding that show on my own. Of course I would watch other shows but usually all at once on dvd’s I picked up from Scarecrow Videos and always cause someone else suggested it. That was until I was stuck on the couch and ran out things to search on the internet that I started really watched TV. I mean there are some really good things to look at. Stories that take you for a ride and stories you can get all involved in. I started out by watching Weeds on Showtime and now I am watching Californication. Damn. I know I’m hooked because I am alone, laughing out loud, at five in the morning. I don’t know when this happened, was it The Unit that got to me first or was it my Sunday ritual of watching Brothers and Sisters, which reminds me of my brothers and sisters, none of us could keep a secret either and there is always a discussion on something or someone going on. It could have been those damn decorating shows on HGTV and Fine Living channels. Then I begin to contemplate whether or not I am becoming my mother. She watches a lot of television. So much so that if I called her right now and tell her I lost my left hand in an accident she would tell compare that to one of the characters from the Young and Restless. I almost always have to discern if she is talking about an actual family member or not. But how can I complain about it if I am hooked myself? I mean I watched The Wire so faithfully I was angry when it ended enough to write the network about the audacity of them taking my show off the air. I want to blame Bob since he always been a huge TV watcher. He can quote original lines from Star Trek and Bonanza any day of the week. He can tell you the history of most shows along with the actors lives. Like my mother he loves TV. But I could blame him right? After all it was his hustling skills that gave all the channels on cable and he is the one that encourages faithful watching. “You going to watch your show tonight, Dear” is a regular refrain in our lexicon. What I am supposed to do? Say No? That is not showing loyalty. So I watch with happy glee and wait for the next show or series. Somewhere my sons are jumping for joy. The years without TV or limited television are over. They can come home assured that whatever show they want to watch will be here waiting for them On Demand or in DVD form. They won’t have to work as hard to convince me to check out some show with them. Chances are I already know about it and have recommended it to some of my friends. Well, there you go. Deneen hooked on television. My sons will think that this is great news but somehow I got to get away from the madness and find that serious writer again…but not today…I have to watch Entourage and Fringe. Maybe next month….

First Storm of The Season

It is a classic Seattle fall with rain coming down at a steady pace with a slight breeze in the air. I can tell a strong storm is coming by the impending black clouds coming from the shore and knowing this I put together the standards of a fall storm; pulling out the candles and flashlights, vacuuming the house, making a playlist for my iPod, getting a pot of stew going in the slow cooker. I got out the walnuts to feed my favorite wild raven I named George and called to him to come to patio and stock up. I only had to wait about five minutes before George and his fat friend, named Tony, comes over and starts picking up the walnuts and checking the weight of each one, choosing the heaviest for themselves. They are quiet about their task working quickly and constantly checking if other birds are flying by. I get the sense they aren’t into sharing until they have the best. Tony flies off first towards whatever shelter he is using then comes back and starts his picking all over again while George flies to his hiding place. This back and forth goes on for about ten minutes until I assume they got their cache and then they both sat there screaming for others to come and enjoy the bounty. I think I have fulfilled my obligation to the universe today and went back to preparing for the storm. Then I remembered, Margarite, the homeless woman on our block. She is as consistent as the rain in her ritual walk and writing session she has outdoors. I know where about she is everyday and pretty much know what she is doing. So I throw on some quick shoes and jacket and head outside. I stop first at the drug store and pick up a pack of Composition books and some Bics pens. I then go in search of Margarite and wonder how I end up feeding the birds and not the human. About a half a block down Margarite is hollering at her invisible friend about how she was not going to talk his shit anymore (could be a woman she is talking to, I really don’t know cause I can’t see the person). So as I approach wonder if she has a place to go to pass the storm by. Of course she would never tell one way or another. I never speak to her, I just buy the books and pens and leave them in her cart and walk away. I wonder what she writes and could someone one day publish them and keep the money for themselves. I would hate that. She stops talking to her friend long enough to stare at me with her beady eyes and snarl her discontent. I put the books and pens in her cart as she calls me a bitch. I smile cause this is nothing I don’t already know thinking yeah I can be sometimes. There is some part of me that feels we are comrades. Both writers living in Seattle rains. Maybe it’s more than that maybe that is all we have in common. But a part me likes to think that it is enough. Part of me considers her a friend. Getting back to the condo the whole hallway smells like onions and garlic. I have a group meeting with other MS patients that I decide is not worth my time. I really don’t want to be around folk gripping about some disease they can’t do anything about so I change into my loungers and turn on the television news while drinking tea on the chaise lounge. Robert will find me this same position seven hours later. I have to give it to Mom for the raining day lounging….nothing beats it.