So, Obama is having a 4th of July party and the Iranians aren't RSVPd. They aren't even really welcome anymore but the pesky invite was in the mail prior to the taboo civil rights violations. Hmmm, gives me an idea.
Everyone wants to go to the big, major parties of the year. People spend almost all year trying to get invited to Fashion Weeks Armani opener, the Academy Awards Governors Ball, etc... What if America threw a yearly party, and made a totally fierce guest list. I mean, really the creme de la creme of the international scene. I'm talking a party even Oprah might not get invited to.
I'm thinking it would work. After a couple years, a few discreetly leaked photos of President Sarkozy doing a jello shot off the belly of Federal Chancellor Merkel... suddenly everyone wants to be in the in crowd. All the cool kids get together at the UN meetings and giggle about the hilarious attempts to keg stand Michelle without ruining her Haute Couture gown.
I'm telling you... in a couple years, Kim Jon Il will be begging for two party talks so he can schmooze and Dmitry Medvedev will be bringing Obama gifts to the G20 summit meetings. Everyone wants to be included...
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Today
Today the Pope grew a beard,
and I wondered if I'd ever fully appreciate the charismatic nature of a sunrise.
Today the mailman did his route backward
and drank his coffee with half milk, laughing about correspondents.
Today we carve our goals in fast food booths and cower in the comfort of persuasiveness.
Today we bask in words, comprehension is the adversary, rationalization is television- our bases are covered.
Today the government played tennis and beat down my friends. I screamed "love" in the shower, once for every election I survived.
Today a tour guide purposely became lost and wondered if he'd ever fully appreciate his beard.
and I wondered if I'd ever fully appreciate the charismatic nature of a sunrise.
Today the mailman did his route backward
and drank his coffee with half milk, laughing about correspondents.
Today we carve our goals in fast food booths and cower in the comfort of persuasiveness.
Today we bask in words, comprehension is the adversary, rationalization is television- our bases are covered.
Today the government played tennis and beat down my friends. I screamed "love" in the shower, once for every election I survived.
Today a tour guide purposely became lost and wondered if he'd ever fully appreciate his beard.
You
Smile over the illustrious nothingness,
Your sweet yellow blanket covering your solitude.
I lay down over your sadness,
Swallow the anguish,
Kneel down below your screams.
Covering my ears with platitudes.
Love is inept for the mother and the daughter,
I am inept.
Talk, talk, talk.
I stifle your sensibility,
my own insecurities you suffer.
Beautiful one;
You are more deserving than your reality.
Your sweet yellow blanket covering your solitude.
I lay down over your sadness,
Swallow the anguish,
Kneel down below your screams.
Covering my ears with platitudes.
Love is inept for the mother and the daughter,
I am inept.
Talk, talk, talk.
I stifle your sensibility,
my own insecurities you suffer.
Beautiful one;
You are more deserving than your reality.
Yusef Komunyakka: Venus'-flytraps
I am five,
Wading out into deep
Sunny grass,
Unmindful of snakes
& yellowjackets, out
To the yellow flowers
Quivering in sluggish heat.
Don't mess with me
'Cause I have my Lone Ranger
Six-shooter. I can hurt
You with questions
Like silver bullets.
The tall flowers in my dreams are
Big as the First State Bank,
& they eat all the people
Except the ones I love.
They have women's names,
With mouths like where
Babies come from. I am five.
I'll dance for you
If you close your eyes. No
Peeping through your fingers.
I don't supposed to be
This close to the tracks.
One afternoon I saw
What a train did to a cow.
Sometimes I stand so close
I can see the eyes
Of men hiding in boxcars.
Sometimes they wave
& holler for me to get back. I laugh
When trains make the dogs
Howl. Their ears hurt.
I also know bees
Can't live without flowers.
I wonder why Daddy
Calls Mama honey.
All the bees in the world
Live in little white houses
Except the ones in these flowers.
All sticky & sweet inside.
I wonder what death tastes like.
Sometimes I toss the butterflies
Back into the air.
I wish I knew why
The music in my head
Makes me scared.
But I know things
I don't supposed to know.
I could start walking
& never stop.
These yellow flowers
Go on forever.
Almost to Detroit.
Almost to the sea.
My mama says I'm a mistake.
That I made her a bad girl.
My playhouse is underneath
Our house, & I hear people
Telling each other secrets.
Wading out into deep
Sunny grass,
Unmindful of snakes
& yellowjackets, out
To the yellow flowers
Quivering in sluggish heat.
Don't mess with me
'Cause I have my Lone Ranger
Six-shooter. I can hurt
You with questions
Like silver bullets.
The tall flowers in my dreams are
Big as the First State Bank,
& they eat all the people
Except the ones I love.
They have women's names,
With mouths like where
Babies come from. I am five.
I'll dance for you
If you close your eyes. No
Peeping through your fingers.
I don't supposed to be
This close to the tracks.
One afternoon I saw
What a train did to a cow.
Sometimes I stand so close
I can see the eyes
Of men hiding in boxcars.
Sometimes they wave
& holler for me to get back. I laugh
When trains make the dogs
Howl. Their ears hurt.
I also know bees
Can't live without flowers.
I wonder why Daddy
Calls Mama honey.
All the bees in the world
Live in little white houses
Except the ones in these flowers.
All sticky & sweet inside.
I wonder what death tastes like.
Sometimes I toss the butterflies
Back into the air.
I wish I knew why
The music in my head
Makes me scared.
But I know things
I don't supposed to know.
I could start walking
& never stop.
These yellow flowers
Go on forever.
Almost to Detroit.
Almost to the sea.
My mama says I'm a mistake.
That I made her a bad girl.
My playhouse is underneath
Our house, & I hear people
Telling each other secrets.
Geekiest Convo of my Life- Possibly
I said:
Did she just come in here and not mention the witty repertoire of banter?
He said:
Just because you love correction, are you using words without knowing their full definition again, Liesel? Even if you take the definition of repertoire in its loosest form, as being the entire stock of something, and allow the something to be banter, you should have written the witty repertoire of our banter, as our banter does not represent the entirety of banter in general, as there is a lot of banter out there. And yes... she did. How dare she, right?
I said:
That is a perfectly acceptable use of the word repertoire. It is not the "loosest" definition. It's the collection of what we said, and that is implied by the fact that it was obvious what, and who, I was talking about. I don't have to use a determiner in a statement where the pronoun is implied.
He said:
You do, if the object can also be used in the context of a noun. You used banter as an object, and not a subject...
I said:
Wait, a preposition can't link two subjects, so isn't that implied too?
(sensing a loss in this battle at this point)
He said:
A cataphoric subject often requires a subject of it, followed by a verb, preposition and the remainder of the subject... so no. In any case I meant that because it was an object a pronoun isn't implied. For example if you take a glass of water from me, and I say "give back water", it sounds weird... because I am asking after specific water, not water in general. You had to talk about our banter specifically, otherwise you're claiming she should have commented on the stock attributes of all the word's banter located within the page.
I surrender with:
Gotcha... you are so right... damn. I see it now. Mention/banter is the verb/object, just as you said. I was thinking of it more in terms of a modifier/compliment, but that's not really relevant. I'm using reportoire as an object compliment. So, I guess you are right in that sense too. I'm using the word incorrectly. Actually, all of this confusion stems from the incorrect use of reportoire. Lol. You're right. It needs a possessive determiner, either way, because it's a dependent clause. I don't know... If I even have it straight in my head now. It's been four years since I've taken a structural writing class...
I am confused about which of my pronouns are co-referential though (to make it a cataphoric pronoun, I thought that was necessary). Is it "she" and the implied "our".. Oh, wait, am I describing antecedent pronouns... Man, you are stretching me...
I said:
Okay, I had them reversed in my head... I thought that in order to be a cataphoric pronoun the sentence must contain a subordinate clause where the pronoun refers to the main clause, and that isn't happening here.
He said:
*grin* Good catch. True... however I never claimed you used a cataphoric subject sentence... I was using the cataphoric pronoun as an example of where a preposition can be between two subjects. Which you said couldn't happen.
I said:
Well, give me an example of a preposition between two subjects in the manner I was using reportoire and banter. I mean, can it happen subject/subject rather than in my situation where it's a subject/object? Can a dependent phrase even have two subjects? I guess not.
He said:
It doesn't matter now, because you realised you were using it wrong... the two subjects was just me being a smartarse, showing one example of where it has to occur.
I said:
Realized.
Did she just come in here and not mention the witty repertoire of banter?
He said:
Just because you love correction, are you using words without knowing their full definition again, Liesel? Even if you take the definition of repertoire in its loosest form, as being the entire stock of something, and allow the something to be banter, you should have written the witty repertoire of our banter, as our banter does not represent the entirety of banter in general, as there is a lot of banter out there. And yes... she did. How dare she, right?
I said:
That is a perfectly acceptable use of the word repertoire. It is not the "loosest" definition. It's the collection of what we said, and that is implied by the fact that it was obvious what, and who, I was talking about. I don't have to use a determiner in a statement where the pronoun is implied.
He said:
You do, if the object can also be used in the context of a noun. You used banter as an object, and not a subject...
I said:
Wait, a preposition can't link two subjects, so isn't that implied too?
(sensing a loss in this battle at this point)
He said:
A cataphoric subject often requires a subject of it, followed by a verb, preposition and the remainder of the subject... so no. In any case I meant that because it was an object a pronoun isn't implied. For example if you take a glass of water from me, and I say "give back water", it sounds weird... because I am asking after specific water, not water in general. You had to talk about our banter specifically, otherwise you're claiming she should have commented on the stock attributes of all the word's banter located within the page.
I surrender with:
Gotcha... you are so right... damn. I see it now. Mention/banter is the verb/object, just as you said. I was thinking of it more in terms of a modifier/compliment, but that's not really relevant. I'm using reportoire as an object compliment. So, I guess you are right in that sense too. I'm using the word incorrectly. Actually, all of this confusion stems from the incorrect use of reportoire. Lol. You're right. It needs a possessive determiner, either way, because it's a dependent clause. I don't know... If I even have it straight in my head now. It's been four years since I've taken a structural writing class...
I am confused about which of my pronouns are co-referential though (to make it a cataphoric pronoun, I thought that was necessary). Is it "she" and the implied "our".. Oh, wait, am I describing antecedent pronouns... Man, you are stretching me...
I said:
Okay, I had them reversed in my head... I thought that in order to be a cataphoric pronoun the sentence must contain a subordinate clause where the pronoun refers to the main clause, and that isn't happening here.
He said:
*grin* Good catch. True... however I never claimed you used a cataphoric subject sentence... I was using the cataphoric pronoun as an example of where a preposition can be between two subjects. Which you said couldn't happen.
I said:
Well, give me an example of a preposition between two subjects in the manner I was using reportoire and banter. I mean, can it happen subject/subject rather than in my situation where it's a subject/object? Can a dependent phrase even have two subjects? I guess not.
He said:
It doesn't matter now, because you realised you were using it wrong... the two subjects was just me being a smartarse, showing one example of where it has to occur.
I said:
Realized.
Christmas
Christmas, when I was about 10 or 11, all I wanted in the entire world was a Pound Puppy. I mean, badly. I wrote Santa, and I begged and begged. Well, my mom was a single mom, working at K-Mart and she couldn't afford much.
Christmas morning, I woke up, ran downstairs, and all I cared about in the world was finding my Pound Puppy. Instead, in a little brown basket was a little stuffed brown puppy dog. A note was attached that said something like, "My name is Brownie. I know you hoped for a Pound Puppy, but when your mom saw me at the store all alone, she knew I needed a good home and a little girl that would take good care of me."
Well, I'd like to say I was happy... but I threw a fit. Man, I was a total brat. I cried and cried. Late that night, I heard my mom crying. At the time, I didn't understand the depth of emotion that dragged those tears from my mom... maybe I never will until I experience something similar with my son, but I think I have a better understanding now.
Years later, my first year of college, I wrote an article for the school paper about that Christmas, and the little ways we break the hearts of those around us without maybe realizing the damage we're doing. I love that puppy. I still have him. My son has adopted him.
My mom did the best she could with what she had. It's all any of us can do - every day, not just during the holidays. I'm staying here with my mom over Christmas, rather than going up north, because that's the circle of life. That's the way it should be. It's not the name on the gift that matters, it's the swelling, love-filled heart behind the giving that means a damn. I'll hug her a little tighter, brush her hair a little gentler, because she's my gift... she's my gift.
xoxo
Christmas morning, I woke up, ran downstairs, and all I cared about in the world was finding my Pound Puppy. Instead, in a little brown basket was a little stuffed brown puppy dog. A note was attached that said something like, "My name is Brownie. I know you hoped for a Pound Puppy, but when your mom saw me at the store all alone, she knew I needed a good home and a little girl that would take good care of me."
Well, I'd like to say I was happy... but I threw a fit. Man, I was a total brat. I cried and cried. Late that night, I heard my mom crying. At the time, I didn't understand the depth of emotion that dragged those tears from my mom... maybe I never will until I experience something similar with my son, but I think I have a better understanding now.
Years later, my first year of college, I wrote an article for the school paper about that Christmas, and the little ways we break the hearts of those around us without maybe realizing the damage we're doing. I love that puppy. I still have him. My son has adopted him.
My mom did the best she could with what she had. It's all any of us can do - every day, not just during the holidays. I'm staying here with my mom over Christmas, rather than going up north, because that's the circle of life. That's the way it should be. It's not the name on the gift that matters, it's the swelling, love-filled heart behind the giving that means a damn. I'll hug her a little tighter, brush her hair a little gentler, because she's my gift... she's my gift.
xoxo
Holding On
I'm holding on minute by minute. It's the moments I'm caught completely off guard that bring tears. Sometimes I'll be laughing; maybe Aeden did something funny and I'm laughing, or Nathan is leaving after his lunch break and I'm just fussing in the kitchen. All the sudden the loss smacks me, and I want to double over. It takes the breath right from me. I go to call my friend and I see her number in my phone. I see the stack of Thank You cards I should be filling out. I see the flowers from the service wilting in the vase... and I want to freeze them in time. I hate the melodrama of their demise, but I can't throw them away just yet.
I typed out the entire service. I have the hand written service and commitment, and I typed it all out... even the lyrics of the hymns. I don't know why. I just wanted it. I have read it several times and it always makes me feel a tiny bit less surreal. It brings it a little bit closer to real. She's really gone. I'll never call her again. I'll never hear her voice. I'm motherless.
Sometimes I think of her before her illness, sometimes after. When I think of the last 7 years, all the pain, all the sickness, all the doctors, nurses, CNAs... all the ways we sacrificed and strove to make her happy, make sure she had the very best care. How do I move on from that? What fills that void? How can something that has consumed me so fully for so many years just... end? No more phone calls in the middle of the night. No more fear when I talk to a doctor, that he doesn't even know her case, hasn't familiarized himself with her history. What will it be like to mourn rather than worry?
I miss her. I miss her calls. I miss the good days when we'd talk, and I'd hear that certain pitch and tone that told me she was having a good day. I miss her infectious laugh... and I miss being able to hold her hand. I miss making her smile. I miss making her proud.
I miss you mom.
Have you ever sung the full Jesus Loves Me? I sing. My Dad bought me singing lessons, and I was in choir my whole schooling years. I sang the song a cappella at my mom's service. It may sound silly, but my mom loved that scene in The Bodyguard when the sisters sing it together. I'd sing along and my mom would tell me how pretty it sounded. I was going to just sing the first and last verse, because I didn't want to be too long, but then I read the lyrics... so, this is what I sang.
Jesus Loves Me Jesus loves me, this I know.
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong.
They are weak, but He is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me,
Yes, Jesus loves me,
Yes, Jesus loves me,
The Bible tells me so.
Jesus loves me,
He who died,
Heaven’s gate to open wide.
He will wash away my sin,
Let his little child come in.
Jesus loves me,
Loves me still,
When I’m very weak and ill.
From His shining throne on high,
Come to watch me where I lie.
Jesus loves me,
He will stay,
Close beside me all the way.
He’s prepared a Home for me,
And some day His face I’ll see.
Yes, Jesus loves me,
Yes, Jesus loves me,
Yes, Jesus loves me,
The Bible tells me so.
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