Drama in paradise.  i’m telling you.  Well, I’m not actually telling you, because I don’t want to talk about it.  But we’ll cut to the point of the story where I had a rational discussion with Littleloudone, and we made a bribery list.  The things on this list are actually pretty darn funny.  One of the rewards she wanted was a clean house.  So we set it up that if we clean the house, we have a clean house.  Which I think is amusing for so many reasons.  Mostly that it’s not going to happen.  I do appreciate the idea that she actually recognizes the concept “clean” and that it’s going to require group effort to get to clean.  Or not.  In this case.  The other bribes are pretty amusing too.  She’s 11, so you’d imagine bribery would require some expenditure of bucks.  Not so much.  One of the bribes she wants (and I hope she wants it a lot, because this item up for bid is the one that sent rational discussion out the window yesterday-reverberating and filled with all the best language), is a family movie.  All 4 of us in the room at the same time watching the same movie.  This is something she asks for a lot.  Also something that is not going to happen this week, but can next weekend.  And the best bribery of all.  The one that cracks me up.  If she does her best writing for the state writing assessment today, she gets turkey jerky.  Behold the power of dehydrated meat.

 

jerky

spicy dried meat

addictively yummy

chewier than food ought to be

eat me

another foody cinquain.  it’s what i got. npm. bluemooncat enormous thing 11. poem about meat 

twizzlers

chewy candy

a long deliciousness

bite ends off and use as a straw

yummy

 

coffee

required at dawn

day is broken without

several cups of consciousness

A.I.

 

Ok. that’s all I got.  Maybe I’ll add to the theme tomorrow.  But I’m fried right now.  I got the cutest book out of the school library.  It’s called A Kick in the Head and is a poetry forms book for kids.  It’s illustrated by Chris Raschka who does some pretty colorful wacky stuff.  So I like him.  He also happens to have been a visiting author a couple years ago.  I have another poetry book he at least illustrated, if not wrote- I can’t remember and it’s too far away up those stairs.  Anyhow that one is called A Poke in the Eye.  I certainly enjoy the violence of the companion books.  Why not encourage head kicking and eye poking… poetically.

I’m a superdork.  There it is.  And because of this, I had a very busy weekend.  Saturday was The Nittany Valley Handbell Festival.  I’m sure you’ve heard of it.  It’s famous for miles around.  Just imagine.  An entire day of playing handbell music with something like 14 other handbell choirs in a high school gymnasium.  Do you want to sign up for next year?  Of course you do.  Because it is fun.  In an on your feet for 8 hours with perpetual clanging that should really bother me but doesn’t kind of way.  And then there’s the concert where people actually pay money to come listen to handbell choirs.  More people than usual, I think.  Which was kind of nice.  And it was nice to be there.  I’ve said that already.  But it was nice because I haven’t been able to be in the choir this year because all the groovy classes conflict with choir rehearsal.  So that means I was sight reading and playing bells that weren’t mine. (which should be no big deal except that the D is usually in my right hand and instead a different D was in my left. that caused me some trouble. oh well.) So when I signed up for classes for this semester and discovered I couldn’t do choir again, I was disappointed because I thought I’d have to miss the festival.  I think it’s possible I’ve been doing it for 7 years. So I was bummed.  But people had to miss so I got to play.  I think I’ve beat this horse now.

The other thing I had going on this weekend is the big church musical with the kids choir.  Another activity I had to ditch for higher education on those lovely Tuesday evenings.  Anyhow.  So Friday evening was the dress rehearsal.  Which is what hell is like.  Chaos with a side of boredom.  A hundred million small people who can’t sit still and a crowd of hormonal middle school people who can’t think, follow directions, or give a crap.  Very fun.  And Littleloudone was in a mood.  We went from a delightful parent/teacher conference (rescheduled from when I forgot to go a week or so ago) to the LLO Obnoxious Show in the midst of dress rehearsal hell.  Anyhow.  I lived through Friday.  Obviously.  Since I made it to Saturday.  Also Sunday, which is today, when the musical was in church.  And it was fine and fun and so on. 

And then I had a meeting where we watched a truly horrendous video about sacrificing.  Where some strange man was talking about families holding the head of their pet sheep as they ___ and then the children being upset and the parents telling the kids that it’s better lambykins than the kids.  And this is where I wanted to run out of the room screaming.  Because this does not compute.  And I don’t want it to compute.  Thank you very much.  Thank goodness the sweetest little boy (who I hope is way too young to have understood) was stealing my yarn and throwing it around the room.  Ok.  I gave him a new skein in exchange for the one I was using.  Clever boy.  With his big brown eyes and brown curls.

Then I got home and promptly lost what was left of my mind.  I’m better now.

once a girl who had too much to do

somehow managed all day to get through

wrote a bad poem

just so she’d show ‘em

and her readers just wanted to spew.

 

There we go.  I have not only bored you to tears, I have also created the most horrible limerick ever shared on my page.  Happy npm.

 

 

 

 

 

we’ll call it poetry.  for npm.  because it’s random and has short lines

 

dancing in a big circle

smiling faces

people holding hands

some facing forwards

a few backwards

around and around

children and older ones

happiness

on the other hand

a long, long ride

twisty road, i don’t know the way

but i’m not driving

i’m waiting, watching, wondering

and then there was black

black moire curtains

black enormous crown moulding

black ceiling pockmarked

like the night sky yet not

and i ended up in a bathtub

my subconscious

my dreams in the night

rarely remembered

probably for a good reason

 

i was so shocked i remembered it this morning, it nearly popped out of my head. 

“mom hasn’t lied for me yet.” turns out she hates practicing the drum because she misses part of her lunchtime her favorite time of the day (which is news to me because i always hear how awful lunchtime is) and she has to rush on her favorite lunch (which is disgusting, sorry to say, girl).  and so we’ve been having huge wars because of 15 minutes of lunch.  and yes, i did lie for her.  because it’s more important to me that she go to the lesson than that her mother models honesty.  yes, we shall all ponder that a moment. 

“i gave away my jelly beans.”  the easter bunny (and let’s just talk about why an 11 year old pretends to believe in the easter bunny, or worse actually does) gave her jelly beans.  and she doesn’t like them?  who is this child?  and why didn’t she give the jelly beans to me?  yes, they were just the substandard fruit ones and i prefer the spice ones.  except for the white which are hideous.  still. any jelly bean is better than no jelly bean.

yesterday was snow and hail and rain. today appears to be sunshine. wait five minutes. i woke up (in theory anyhow) annoyed and aggravated and irritated and stupid and with a headache. and then everything is funny. i’m punchy and ridiculous. wait five minutes.

i see numbers and connections everywhere.  and i think it means something.  but i can’t connect from right here to right there.

deadlines and commitments.  have some bob seger.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNaA7fVXB28

 

I finished a book this evening.  This is kind of epic.  I don’t read the way I used to and this is bothersome.  Probably a side effect of what I have going on in my world which is a lot and the kind of concentration I have at present which is staccato at best.  I ran across this book at the college library when I was supposed to be doing something else and it has a delightful title (and I’m all about titles) and it’s Stephen King and it’s short stories and so I grabbed it.  Now, back in the day, I read a lot of Stephen King.  I read a pile of VC Andrews.  I read Peter Straub.  I read John Saul, who is one sick dude.  I inhaled these scary books.  And then one day, I picked up It.  I read It and hated It.  And that was the end of my fixation with the whole genre. (not that It fit the genre exactly anyhow)  In any case, I put aside my love affair with scary stuff. And that was that.

Until… Full Dark, No Stars.  Totally awesome title, yes? 

I read the first story.  It took me an obscenely long time to read this story.  It was everything I remembered about Stephen King, and it made me uncomfortable and disturbed.  I almost didn’t finish reading it at all.  And then I almost didn’t bother reading the next story.  But I did.  And the next.  And then the last.  In each story, there is at least one twisted character (it is Stephen King after all) and in each story there is at least one murder (same comment).   By the last story, I was nodding a little bit figuratively.  He had it coming.

Then I did something I never do.  I read the afterword.  I nodded some more.  Because Stephen (we’re on a first name basis now) said “The stories in this book are harsh.  You may have found them hard to read in places.”  Yes, indeed.  But he went on, “If so, be assured that I found them equally hard to write.” 

Suddenly, I get that.  Because sometimes something needs to be said that isn’t fun to say.  Sometimes something is inside and needs to come out and it’s not pretty.  And sometimes the words just happen.  This is ok.  More than ok.

We’re going to call this a poem because I already missed one day of NPM and I can’t miss two.

sometimes wrong can be right

once in a while right can be wrong

more often we’re stuck in the middle

wondering

worrying

wishing

and the middle is both right and wrong

 

And one last word from the dude, “Take my hand, Constant Reader, and I’ll be happy to lead you back into the sunshine.”

 

 

 

 

npm day 8 and bluemooncat enormous thing 15. ekphrastic poem

Dream House

 

she stands wistfully behind the fence

that guards the dream house-

but not guarding at all

the dream house is there

                          for anyone

closes her eyes

a buzzing sound comes from her wings

open eyes again

           thinking

                                        what wings

yet the dream house

bright ribbons swirling about

can she touch the ribbons

as they come ever closer

too slippery to grab

alluring dream house

key dangles just outside her reason

the verdant maze will lead her

calculate,  regulate,  obfuscate

elusive dream house

                no

not that part of her mind

closes her eyes again

wings buzzing as they carry her

      down

             away

                     into

the intricate path of sharp yet soft bushes

darkness keeps her vision clear

her feet follow the path

knowing the way to the dream house.

 

 

“Dream House” dreamy painting by @longshadow618

alas, curses

there are no verses

could it be worses?

 

 

npm day 6 and bluemooncat enormous thing 12. a lie you were told in childhood

a brown haired tomboy had two best friends

the blond skinny boy next door,

exactly a week younger,

but a year ahead in school

because he started school in the east

and she did not.

the other boy, a beautiful boy, eyes bluer

than the bluest summer sky

and freckles, she still loves freckles.

a sweet boy with no mother

just an oddly sad, distant father

and two younger siblings who didn’t like her.

these three played touch football

even though her mother said

young ladies don’t play football with boys.

who wants to be a young lady anyhow.

and they played rundown.

both games in the yard next door

near the woods where the blond

fell out of tree

and broke his arm

and where the bad boys from down the street

did things she didn’t know about.

and they played that game with the ball and bat

in the cul-de-sac.

it was one summer day

when the blue eyed boy

who never let her say anything

negative about herself

ever

that one summer day he told her

something she didn’t believe

even less than the nice things

he must have said before.

and she must have left the game.

and she must have talked to her mother,

the one who said young ladies don’t play football

who apparently didn’t think young ladies

should know what the neighbors told their children:

that sometimes the stork doesn’t deliver babies

to the woman they call mother.

she was much too old to not know.

there are all kinds of lies.

I started my day with BIG plans.  I have a pile of hoo hoo to do this month.  The grandparents came to fetch the loud people this morning.  It was the perfect visit.  I pretty much opened the door to let them in the house and then sent them back out with luggage and people.  I’m nice that way.  Once they left I immediately started the fretting about how I would be able to get everything done and attacked the problem in the most efficient way possible.  Avoidance.  So here I am with the day gone and all I have to show for it is the world’s lamest poem for npm-day 5.  Perhaps tomorrow will bring a little more action and a better poem.

the list

 

artificial intelligence in a cup consumed

gatherings at the library resumed

pre-tax paying status presumed

to have lunch did conspire

willy nilly time wasting assumed

sat with friend around the pit would be fire

of doing nothing i never seem to tire

then i sang in the choir