Sestina for the Working Mother

I recently picked up Deborah Garrison's The Second Child at the library. It's the most recent work by the Pantheon Books editor, and mom of three.

This one was quite beautiful--no less another reminder of the awkward and sorrowful reconciliation between working and staying at home.

Sestina for the Working Mother
No time for a sestina for the working mother.
Who has so much to do, from first thing in the morning
When she has to get herself dressed and the children
Too, when they tumble in the pillow pile rather than listening
To her exhortations about brushing teeth, making ready for the day;
They clamor with "up" hugs when she struggles out the door.

Every time, as if shot from a cannon when she shuts the door.
She stomps down the street in her city boots, slipping from mother
Mode into commuter trance, trees swaying at the corner of a new day
Nearly turned, her familiar bus stop cool and welcoming in the morning.
She hears her own heart here, though no one else is listening,
And if the bus is late she hears down the block the voices of her children

Bobbing under their oversized backpacks to greet other children
At their own bus stop. They too have come flying from the door,
Brave for the journey, and everyone is talking and no one is listening
As they head off to school. The noisy children of the working mother,
Waiting with their sitter for the bus, are healthy and happy this morning,
And that's the best way, the mother knows, for a day

To begin. The apprehension of what kind of day
It will be in the world of work, blissful without children,
Trembles in the anxious and pleasurable pulse of the morning;
It has tamped her down tight and lit her out the door
And away from what she might have been as a mother
At home, perhaps drinking coffee and listening

To NPR, what rapt and intelligent listening
She'd do at home. And volunteering, she thinks, for part of the day
At their school—she'd be a playground monitor, a PTA mother!
She'd see them straggle into the sunshine, her children
Bright in the slipstream, and she a gracious shadow at the school door;
She would not be separated from them for long by the morning.

But she has chosen her flight from them, on this and every morning.
She's now so far away she trusts someone else is listening
To their raised voices, applying a Band-Aid, opening the door
For them when the sunshine calls them out into the day.
At certain moments, head bent at her desk, she can see her children,
And feels a quick stab. She hasn't forgotten that she is their mother.

Every weekday morning, every working day,
She listens to her heart and the voices of her children.
Goodbye! they shout, and the door closes behind the working mother.

march, march, march!

those of us in central ohio have been slowly recovering from a bi-polar snowstorm that hit us about 3 weeks ago like a bad case of the miseries. the ice is now slowly melting and there are just a few traces of snow left around town in dirty bits that remind me of the piles of laundry in my bedroom. one thing that i actually love about living in ohio (i'm a southern transplant) is that we actually get snow...and i often look forward to it arriving, preferably during the winter holidays, now excluding valentine's day and president's day.

this year it came kind of late and in a big glob. it snowed straight for almost a week and ultimately caused tons of chaos--for me anyway. my husband and i landed ourselves into crazy bickering sessions over how to handle it ("you're not supposed to boil pots of water and pour them onto your car! don't break my window!!!"). and our cars took a beating as well, ending up with holes in the pipes underneath and layers of salt coating the exterior. thankfully we were able to get around after digging ourselves out many times over throughout the days. there was one sweet moment where about 8 people stopped what they were doing to help get my husband out of the snow while he tried to turn a corner.

the most significant impact the snow has made, i think, has been my mental stability. snow is beautiful and makes things clean and all, but for someone like myself who prefers the predictable, the snow war created a ton of anxiety. i assume because of the work we had to do to get around and the lack of options for childcare once the school shut down for several days. i think also because of how isolated i felt from the world, though it was only for a few days.

so three cheers for march! hip, hip, hooray!

all in a day

The last 24 hours of the insatiable E! RSS feed has included the following headlines:


"Anna Nicole's New DNA Deadline"

"Anna Nicole Dead"

"Anna Nicole Dies"


Kinda gross. Kinda sad.

Sorry, Anna Nicole.

who is the wee little woman?

One of our favorite bedtime books is "The Wee Little Woman", a story about small, single gal who spends her day milking her cow and hanging out with her animals. The book has been such a staple that I've give it it's own song, titled "Wee Little Woman", sung to the tune of Asia's "Heat of the Moment", respectively.

Anyway, the wee woman gets in a fight with her cat when he tries to drink her milk. The cat gets scatted ("scat cat!"), leaves town and returns to a very sad wee little woman. They all make up--and drink up some milk.

I have been trying to figure out who the wee little woman reminded me. Perhaps she's a woman from Guatemala...a lady from downtown...a figure from a work of art. I finally got my answer. Last night as I opened up the book and read out the title, my husband said from across the room, "...starring Lisa Bonet, circa 1986."

Moments like these make story time rule even more. Thanks, Paul!

water, trail mix, pen

I've often wondered what I'd do if I were faced with an animal attack on myself or a loved one--or total stranger. I'm still not sure. However, it appears that this 65-year-old woman knew what to do while when her husband was ambushed by a lion while the couple hiked in a northern California park last week.

As I started reading about the attack I wondered how this granny chased off the cat. With the machine gun she had nestled next to her Patagonia fanny pack? No, a pen. She used a pen to save her spouse. Apparently, she pulled a pen from her husband's pocket (at his request while being attacked) and gouged out the animal's eye. I've been wondering how on earth did she could have mustered the courage to make it happen. A pen! She also grabbed a large log and clubbed the cat in the nose until it backed away. I'm absolutely blown away by her bravery.

So this brought me to some pondering about whether or not I'd respond so well to an attack as such on my own partner. One seriously has to get it together, dig in and go on the offense. I'm still marveled that she got as close as the eye--let alone the head or body. Do you need to have taken a self-defense class to have your brain and body in that place? Do you have to read "The Power of Now" or is it pure love that makes us to apt to save our beloved during these frightful moments?

Apparently, it's just teamwork, according to a statement she gave to a reporter:

"We fought harder than we ever have to save his life, and we fought
together," she said.

The collective. The we. The together. That's the answer. I can almost believe it. Pens are useful though, I suppose.

Happy almost Valentine's Day.

resolving to be simple--but not broke

My resolution for this new year was to live a little more simply: not buy as much crap as I usually do (from Target), not give in to the urge to have all the latest of coolness, get rid of my credit card debt, not fill my brain with celebrity gossip (sick, sickedy, sickness), not eat as many pre-packaged foods, spend more time with the family, read more, walk more, sing more, enjoy life more simply.

Simplicity all of my own doing--until I was hit with the reality that December was a 5-week month and that the money that I would have used to spend on my bills at the beginning of this month was used to actually pay for Christmas (I was avoiding credit cards the last two weeks of December...part of my "simplicity" plan, which is actually a "get off the master's card" plan). SO I have had no extra money at all, other than that needed to buy gas and groceries. So it's not so much fun any more that I'm actually broke. But it is indeed, I think, my own fault. I know it is my own fault.

Making this transition from semi-broke to living with less is hard. But I think that downgrading has allowed me to see how much I really don't have and how much I depended on charging for things.

(I have to insert here that I work with low-income folks for a living, so I know what real broke is and RRrrrreeeeal broke is. We aren't real broke. Just 1% real broke. But I feel the pinch.)

So what are we doing this weekend? Using our Blockbuster "get one free" coupon, swimming at the Y, making pizza at home, taking the dogs to the park, singing, playing cards, putting away the decorations (such a cheap option for entertainment), and dreaming of next Friday: payday...and Wendy's fries.

gramma's up!

Who knew that Nancy Pelosi could turn Senators into little boys!

You go, gramma!!!

yay for everything

i'm back. trying to return to the routine of just writing...to anything. writing is good. not writing is bad, sometimes. but i'll keep posting...more soon.

until then, i'm in a frenzy of knitting a million scarves (the only thing i can knit) for holiday gifts. starting now. when i get to the end of the yarn pile, i'll write a little more.

the new job is amazing. working with therapists is the best thing. no drama. and it's quiet. and everyone is nice. and i only have one job to do...not three in one.

happy december. stay safe and warm.

and the wisdom to know the difference

I'm not so great at keeping up with this blog. I'm definitely not what I'd call a real deal cheese wheel blogger. But I've found that writing here does some kind of good in my life. The simple act of writing is enough to keep my brain healthy amidst the whirlwind I live in right now (2 year old, being broke, working full-time, politics in Oldhio, dirty house, eroding landscaping on my property that beautiful gay men created, fleas!!!). It's been good. Hopefully, I'll write more...more that's somewhat better, anyway.

99% of my brain:
I'm about to quit a job that I've been in for over 5 1/2 years. I'm pretty down about leaving it. The change must happen though for a good number of reasons, one of which is the necessity for more money (a whole 75 cents more--but it adds up!). I could list all the nasty and heartbreaking others, but won't to save my ass. No steam needed in the last week.

The place is a non-profit career counseling/education agency that serves women in career/life transition. The clients I help often face multiple barriers in their search for meaningful work and a sustainable income. They come to us to find the answers they've been carrying in their pocket all along. A rainbow of options, with Jesse Jackson at the end, cheering them on. Or maybe someone just as fabulous and skilled. The work and results are absolutely rewarding. I've had a chance to recruit and work alongside hundreds of volunteers and witnessed the life change of well over 400 women. Have even changed myself and of course, learned via the stories of countless, what NOT to do with your career (thank GOD!!!). I'll make some mistakes in the future, no doubt.

My next job will provide me with a lot more space in my noggin to be creative, I hope. It's still in the non-profit, counseling vein--but with the Catholics! And thankfully it won't be as fucked up and complex. So I hope to write more, maybe. And hell, think more about what I'm writing. Or write what I'm thinking, or write...think...

And now Ms. Natalie has linked me to her blog. Yikes. The pressure to do well is on!

Happy Fall, ya'll. And to the Canadian...single-sex education benefits those who want to be there in addition to benefiting the world. Just ask Miss Jamaica World 2006!

Oh, quick poll: is it benefiting or benefitting? The dictionaries disagree and the bets are on...

dervishes

we attended an evening with the whirling dervishes of turkey last night. it was pretty amazing. and on top of that, i was soooo tired, so i ended up half quite lucid the show. midway through the long and very quiet set i realized that they reminded me of the "spinners" at grateful dead shows, minus the tall camel haired hats--and obvious influence of islam. and a little more dreamy.

can't-a-name-a-mammal

tonight we ate this for dessert...



...and later, i told my son that this animal was a cantaloupe.

i'll take part of the blame for the low scores he gets on future aptitude tests.

the rest i'll leave for the idiots who name zoo animals after fruits!

Our Mayor, Mike Coleman is a big fan of the Pearl Alley Market. I myself was down at the market today, in fact, doling out information about a non-profit I work for. As I got up to leave, I spotted the city big whig with his bodyguards (2 of them, in fact).

On my way out, I told the pie selling ladies from southeastern Ohio that the Mayor was around. Maybe he'd buy a pie. One of them then turned to me and asked, "now which one is he, the big one?," referring to the bodyguards. I looked around and noticed everyone's eyes on the Mayor and his staff and said, "no. He's the one with the glasses."

And at that moment, the Mayor became just another passer by lookin' for some goods--and not buying nothin'.

Now until the end of October you can get some goodies from MaMaw's on Tuesdays and Fridays at the Pearl Alley Market in Columbus, OH (if you can make it).

you know you're the daughter of Nursery owners when...

you "accidentally" kill 50% of the plants in your yard while spraying round-up to get rid of those pesky weeds you've been too lazy to pull all summer. i didn't need those damn plants anyways.

better get me some mulch!

but can she get write her own code?

as some of you know, my alma mater has decided to go co-ed. there's a good sized fight to keep this from happening. with hope, it will be overturned soon. there are actually hundreds of folks pullin' out the can of whoop ass right now, including students, parents, alums, faculty, lawyers and area residents. it's all very serious.

with that, though, i thought that i'd post a little smidge of talk from the alum listserv that happened recently between a few of us.

a little background: the school hired a firm to do a feasibility study on the college's future as single sex (which i call a paid study to tell them to go co-ed, known to others as prostitution). the firm's conclusions found that the women the college would eventually want to attract--to keep them financially afloat would be:

"A new variety of female students. These women are more social and outgoing, dress up for class and seem to care more about their appearance."

Someone from the listserv then posited, "Might these be the 'normal girls?'"

To which I replied, "Actually, they're robots."

Suddenly, I had it all figured out.

i hate fleas

i hate fleas,
they hate me.
i wish them death,
for being a flea.

one day, i will break all the chains
they put around me,
kick them out of my house,
put 'em where they should be.

in the flea grave!!!

Three steps forward, two steps back.

photo from Save Randolph-Macon Woman's College

The Board of Trustees at R-MWC voted this morning on a strategic plan that will admit men into the school starting next Fall. The school will also regear as a "global honors college"...and die faster than a Hollywood marriage.

i heart my neighborhood

I have a tragic love/hate relationship with my neighborhood. I've lived here in the home that I share with my husband for over three years. In this time I've created a tiny family, made new relationships, gone through personal losses, purged enough clothing for every Gap in America, learned how not to garden, created art and loved like I've never loved--all in my home. I am thankful for this place.

The neighborhood is nestled much like a kidney between the bustling and trashed northern end of the University District of The Ohio State University and the quaint southernmost end of "Clintonville"--a village of sorts that features craft-style homes, quiet streets and 30/40 something's who fear the leap into suburbia--so they hold on for dear life.

The fact that the area is in flux/semi-despair makes it somewhat sexy. There are lots of working class folk, rockers, artists, university folk, professionals, hipsters and elders who call this kidney space home. It's grungy exterior in itself makes irresistible note of the softness and beauty that must reside within the tiny to mid-sized dwellings. And a good number of first-time homebuyers rejoice with new properties they bought for 0% down--a major draw for those in debt and without a nest egg.

About 40% of the time though, I loathe this neighborhood. I typically voice the same laundry list of complaints:

air pollution from cars, planes, and trains
deteriorating homes (with ours slowly joining the lot)
dead smelling trash in the alley
speeding cars (our street is a major vein out of downtown and campus)
3 a.m. fireworks
drug dealers
loud porch parties
a weird and anti-social neighbor who I know is keeping something or someone in his basement
unfinished eyesore properties
the occasional roaming pit bull or t-shirted poodle

And this is just my block.

But at night, I am especially grateful for all the life around me. And it's all pretty unintentionally unique and genuine. I would appreciate the silence and clean air outside of the city, but I think it'd miss the gifts this area gives me every day. The trash in the alley eventually gets cleaned up. And the fireworks stop. And the dealers move and deal somewhere else. The air pollution I'll give away any day, but the sincerity of this neighborhood, no. Can't get that in the suburbs.

Thanks, Neighborhood!

Yes, they are

This week, Randolph-Macon Woman's College Board of Trustees will be voting on whether or not to go co-ed. The vote is really just a formality--something that has pissed hundreds if not thousands of alums off. The Board lied and told alums and students alike in '05 and '06 that going co-ed was the last thing on the list of options that they'd ever consider. This plan has schematically come in through the back door. They have even hired a fancy pr firm to help them handle the anger coming from all directions. Alums only had a few weeks to mobilize and educate other alums about this decision...and unfortunately, this hasn't been enough time to cause enough of a ruckus.

I think that I could be wrong though. Despite the lack of afforded time, a good deal of work has been done very quickly in reaction to the plan the Board's chosen to vote on. Alums have collected enough money to file a lawsuit against the school, there's a huge ass protest planned this weekend, there will be walkouts and hopefully Osama or Jerry Fallwell will show up and take the Board of Trustees hostage. Or maybe Oprah will show up and take over the school...with everyone getting a new car.

The Board of Trustees have no idea how screwed they are. And they never thought that the women they educated to be fierce leaders would rear their ugly heads in defense of their school...loudly. It's going to be nasty.

This photo is from a recent DC gathering of alumnae. Quite inspiring to say the least.

Kick some M' effin' ass, ladies. And play some good music while you're at it.

black sheep

i don't plan on writing much about my son in this space, but his official foray into the two's this week is an occasion that i thought i'd make note of.

i know that this is so damn cliche, but i really had no idea how painfully difficult the transition into being a parent would be. i also wasn't ready for how magically wonderful toddlerhood is.

the song baa, baa, black sheep is now a balm for my chaos, particularly when sang: "baa, baa baah shee, pah ney wooo" at any given moment. life is indeed so very beautiful.

happy birthday, parker.

folding in

I wrote last week (screamed into an entry, that is) about the Board of Trustees at Randolph-Macon Woman's College making preparations for a vote of yes in the case of the school going co-ed. After a few days of reading hundreds of emails on an anti-co-ed listserv as well as the school's Strategic Plan, I've realized that it's a no-win situation. Someone even said that it's a done deal...the vote on September 9 is simply a formality.

The petition that someone set up has only gathered 2700 names. And there are only several hundred letters in protest that have been written to date. They need thousands. It's pretty hopeless. But I am not going to give up hope. Mills College, Hampden-Sydney and others out there have stayed co-ed after long fights between the Board and alums. Maybe a force of hidden alums will come about at the last minute and take over, like the ghosts in "Pirates of the Caribbean." Oddly enough, those who would be fighting the hardest right now are much like those ghosts...they've past on.

I did have a chance to meet Helen, an 89-year old local woman who attended the college from '37-'39. She was the sole attendee at a get-together I threw together for alums with not so much order. She somehow got jaundice and had to leave the school in '39 or '40. She told me that she so regretted never going back and finishing her degree. She was still sending money to the college, even though she hadn't graduated. "It's a shame that there aren't that many women's colleges left," she said. "This just doesn't make sense."

There are about 40+ alumnae in the Central Ohio region. I'm planning a get-together for the Fall...a funeral of sorts for our school. But I think it will also be a celebration of what we all had the chance to experience in our life. Helen remarked to me before she left, "you never get another time in your life to really do something like this." She sure is right.