Once again, the world changes....
Add to the list of things I love:
giggling in bed.
Especially in a waterbed, which multiplies the gigglebounce factor.
Exponentially.
30 January, 2004
29 January, 2004
...breathless...
Him:
"I do recall your illuminating golden aura! You could read by the light you bring into the room!"
Me:
"oh, gods, where's a chair, my knees have turned to water."
Good thing he can't see me.
Even if he was being sarcastic (I'm never sure, with him) that one's for sure going on my list of favorite quotes, 2004. Along with Connie's:
"Dress like a mother? Whose mother? A regular mother, or Garrett's mother? Because if it's Garrett's mother, it's gonna be sexy."
"I do recall your illuminating golden aura! You could read by the light you bring into the room!"
Me:
"oh, gods, where's a chair, my knees have turned to water."
Good thing he can't see me.
Even if he was being sarcastic (I'm never sure, with him) that one's for sure going on my list of favorite quotes, 2004. Along with Connie's:
"Dress like a mother? Whose mother? A regular mother, or Garrett's mother? Because if it's Garrett's mother, it's gonna be sexy."
Frozen Attack
Once again, the world changes....
Ice clad trees shook angry limbs at me, pelting me with tiny deadly crystal daggers. Chill wind blew dustings of snow across paths recently cleared. Two salt trucks braved my hill, changing powdered fluff to hostile acid on tender paws of pampered dogs.
Sun beams in brave patches while the sky holds its breath, saturated with the color of storm.
Ice clad trees shook angry limbs at me, pelting me with tiny deadly crystal daggers. Chill wind blew dustings of snow across paths recently cleared. Two salt trucks braved my hill, changing powdered fluff to hostile acid on tender paws of pampered dogs.
Sun beams in brave patches while the sky holds its breath, saturated with the color of storm.
28 January, 2004
Postcard of Winter
Once again, the world changes....
I step out into the crackling white world, intent on shoveling a bit of path for myself, my neighbors. Ice-coated branches rattle together like shiny bones. I trudge up the hill to remove frozen treachery from behind and in front of the car, handily parked for a quick exit into slush and slime. The empty spot in front of me is extra long, testifying to D.-across-the-street's van having been in recent occupation. A bit of salt in a pile towards the front is stained red, and a scarlet trail leads away from the spot of naked pavement, as though the van bled as it moved.
A horde of crows congregate in a cherry tree, waiting, waiting, waiting. There will be no salt truck down our road, no plow truck, and presumably, no garbage truck. I did not think crowes had collective consciousness: could these, then, be the same crows from last year, with more memory than I would have credited them with having, waiting for garbage uncollected on our street?
Cat prints trail around my feet, in a straight line, one print identical to the others, in a line, a chain, like pearls strung along a cord. The bushes wink at me, crystal coral formations in the yard.
I step out into the crackling white world, intent on shoveling a bit of path for myself, my neighbors. Ice-coated branches rattle together like shiny bones. I trudge up the hill to remove frozen treachery from behind and in front of the car, handily parked for a quick exit into slush and slime. The empty spot in front of me is extra long, testifying to D.-across-the-street's van having been in recent occupation. A bit of salt in a pile towards the front is stained red, and a scarlet trail leads away from the spot of naked pavement, as though the van bled as it moved.
A horde of crows congregate in a cherry tree, waiting, waiting, waiting. There will be no salt truck down our road, no plow truck, and presumably, no garbage truck. I did not think crowes had collective consciousness: could these, then, be the same crows from last year, with more memory than I would have credited them with having, waiting for garbage uncollected on our street?
Cat prints trail around my feet, in a straight line, one print identical to the others, in a line, a chain, like pearls strung along a cord. The bushes wink at me, crystal coral formations in the yard.
26 January, 2004
Third Haldeman
Once again, the world changes....
My second Haldeman lasted one rehearsal. He blew me away with his Goth-Matrix-Malcom inspired monochrome black beauty, and had the audacity to resemble a dear friend of mine whom I hold in high regard, only moreso...and never showed up again.
He'd gotten a better offer.
My first Haldeman did not make it to the first rehearsal, just before the first one finally managing to spit out a straight "no"- an improvement upon the previous monthlong infernal verbal waffling, which, in his mind perhaps MEANT no, but I'm the sort of person who needs to hear NO to believe it.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. He is, after all, a lawyer.
My third Haldeman has been at one rehearsal. I hope he lasts.
While not at all the physical type I was looking for (CJ says, physical type? physical type? how about BREATHING?), this actor seems not only enthusiastic and motivated, he's worked with a lot of these folk before and would be unlikely to want to lose face.
By all accounts, in addition to being a talented actor with a wonderful voice (which I remember from seeing him perform), this man is also a sweetheart who won't let us down. A good thing. I really can't handle any more disappointments in my life.
But I reserve judgement, and forebear to have hope...probably until Opening Night.
Steve surprised me on Thursday:
"In this meeting, which was about a product I found out JUST TODAY was hypothetical..."
what was it, steve?
"Vaginal microbocide."
what?
(A lengthy explaination followed.)
"Anyway, at this meeting..."
yes..
"There was this girl, dead ringer for you, maybe a few years younger..."
hmf. how old do you think I am?
"Okay, she was EXACTLY your age, maybe older, even, and she was wearing this wonderful perfume. It was incredibly distracting."
so did you find out the name of it?
"NO! I'm not gonna walk up to a girl I just met and ask her, 'Excuse me, but what is that fabulous fragrance you're wearing?' I'd be marked as a dirty old man. Or a fag."
(A longish pause follows.)
"I know what it tastes like, though."
okay, so you won't ask her the name of her perfume, but you'll walk up and LICK her?
"Us guys, we have our ways of casually bumping into..."
He had me going for awhile. He really did.
Thinking about it, I really can't imagine Steve casually bumping into anyone. First off, he's too big to do it unobtrusively, and second, he's too graceful to do it at all.
Tease me from a thousand miles away...
Well, it amuses us both.
My second Haldeman lasted one rehearsal. He blew me away with his Goth-Matrix-Malcom inspired monochrome black beauty, and had the audacity to resemble a dear friend of mine whom I hold in high regard, only moreso...and never showed up again.
He'd gotten a better offer.
My first Haldeman did not make it to the first rehearsal, just before the first one finally managing to spit out a straight "no"- an improvement upon the previous monthlong infernal verbal waffling, which, in his mind perhaps MEANT no, but I'm the sort of person who needs to hear NO to believe it.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. He is, after all, a lawyer.
My third Haldeman has been at one rehearsal. I hope he lasts.
While not at all the physical type I was looking for (CJ says, physical type? physical type? how about BREATHING?), this actor seems not only enthusiastic and motivated, he's worked with a lot of these folk before and would be unlikely to want to lose face.
By all accounts, in addition to being a talented actor with a wonderful voice (which I remember from seeing him perform), this man is also a sweetheart who won't let us down. A good thing. I really can't handle any more disappointments in my life.
But I reserve judgement, and forebear to have hope...probably until Opening Night.
Steve surprised me on Thursday:
"In this meeting, which was about a product I found out JUST TODAY was hypothetical..."
what was it, steve?
"Vaginal microbocide."
what?
(A lengthy explaination followed.)
"Anyway, at this meeting..."
yes..
"There was this girl, dead ringer for you, maybe a few years younger..."
hmf. how old do you think I am?
"Okay, she was EXACTLY your age, maybe older, even, and she was wearing this wonderful perfume. It was incredibly distracting."
so did you find out the name of it?
"NO! I'm not gonna walk up to a girl I just met and ask her, 'Excuse me, but what is that fabulous fragrance you're wearing?' I'd be marked as a dirty old man. Or a fag."
(A longish pause follows.)
"I know what it tastes like, though."
okay, so you won't ask her the name of her perfume, but you'll walk up and LICK her?
"Us guys, we have our ways of casually bumping into..."
He had me going for awhile. He really did.
Thinking about it, I really can't imagine Steve casually bumping into anyone. First off, he's too big to do it unobtrusively, and second, he's too graceful to do it at all.
Tease me from a thousand miles away...
Well, it amuses us both.
25 January, 2004
Once again, the world changes....
"I thought you were going to work on the computer?" This is code for "Don't come over here wanting cuddles or conversation; I am reading my new Warhammer magazine." Not even 48 hours home, and he's already craving solitude.
Me:
"No, my lover did NOT leave his tighty-whiteys washed and folded neatly in your drawer."
Him:
"I didn't say...."
I know.
Some well-meaning relative bought very large briefs for my son, which, by virtue of not having Spiderman or Harry Potter emblazoned on them, wind up, by default, in Hawk's clean laundry.
Me:
"My lover doesn't wear underwear when he comes over here to visit me."
No. I didn't. But I wanted to.
"I thought you were going to work on the computer?" This is code for "Don't come over here wanting cuddles or conversation; I am reading my new Warhammer magazine." Not even 48 hours home, and he's already craving solitude.
Me:
"No, my lover did NOT leave his tighty-whiteys washed and folded neatly in your drawer."
Him:
"I didn't say...."
I know.
Some well-meaning relative bought very large briefs for my son, which, by virtue of not having Spiderman or Harry Potter emblazoned on them, wind up, by default, in Hawk's clean laundry.
Me:
"My lover doesn't wear underwear when he comes over here to visit me."
No. I didn't. But I wanted to.
20 January, 2004
Alone in the World
Once again, the world changes....
The last time I was on blades, I felt wonderfully enabled.
Today, I simply feel awkward.
Of course, we shouldn't have gone. It is very cold, and windy, and my bones ache a warning at me. But I had promised, and the children want very badly to go, and try out Their Very Own second-hand store skates.
It is always interesting to have the world to ourselves, and we notice that this afternoon, the three of us, alone in the rink, skating every which way, instead of in repetative ovals. Because my focus is on the surface of the ice, the chill of the air, and the sensation of my feet in strange gear, I am uneasy. The ice seems slicker than it ought to be. I notice that my strokes are uneven, that I balance better on the right than the left, that I can turn this way but not that....I should be grateful to be skating at all. And I am; I simply want to be perfect, to be flexible, to be strong, to be as invincible as I believed I was before October the 10th.
The children are less joyous than last time, when their friends were here. Garrett falls, striking his head. He allows me to coax him back onto the ice for a bit (the get back on the horse school, call me old-fashioned), and then we make our exit after Alaina falls on her tailbone. She is more affronted than injured, but an injury of pride still smarts. We go for hot chocolate at a sweet cafe across the way...which we have to ourselves. Complimentary Internet sucks me in for a bit. Next, my favorite used bookstore. Which we have to ourselves. Why can't I get out of that place without spending twenty dollars?
We return home, where it is not strange that just the three of us exist, sadly. Rehearsal allows us all the oportunity to be with people, though I am separate in my mental gyrations, trying to shape the visuals of this play. I feel, from time to time, the cast giving me odd looks. Absently, briefly, I wonder what is the cause of that, what they think of me, then inhale and move on.
I drive a cast member to his home: his mother won't be off work for another half hour. By the time I pull up to the house, both children are asleep. In the house and off to bed they go; I am alone once more.
The last time I was on blades, I felt wonderfully enabled.
Today, I simply feel awkward.
Of course, we shouldn't have gone. It is very cold, and windy, and my bones ache a warning at me. But I had promised, and the children want very badly to go, and try out Their Very Own second-hand store skates.
It is always interesting to have the world to ourselves, and we notice that this afternoon, the three of us, alone in the rink, skating every which way, instead of in repetative ovals. Because my focus is on the surface of the ice, the chill of the air, and the sensation of my feet in strange gear, I am uneasy. The ice seems slicker than it ought to be. I notice that my strokes are uneven, that I balance better on the right than the left, that I can turn this way but not that....I should be grateful to be skating at all. And I am; I simply want to be perfect, to be flexible, to be strong, to be as invincible as I believed I was before October the 10th.
The children are less joyous than last time, when their friends were here. Garrett falls, striking his head. He allows me to coax him back onto the ice for a bit (the get back on the horse school, call me old-fashioned), and then we make our exit after Alaina falls on her tailbone. She is more affronted than injured, but an injury of pride still smarts. We go for hot chocolate at a sweet cafe across the way...which we have to ourselves. Complimentary Internet sucks me in for a bit. Next, my favorite used bookstore. Which we have to ourselves. Why can't I get out of that place without spending twenty dollars?
We return home, where it is not strange that just the three of us exist, sadly. Rehearsal allows us all the oportunity to be with people, though I am separate in my mental gyrations, trying to shape the visuals of this play. I feel, from time to time, the cast giving me odd looks. Absently, briefly, I wonder what is the cause of that, what they think of me, then inhale and move on.
I drive a cast member to his home: his mother won't be off work for another half hour. By the time I pull up to the house, both children are asleep. In the house and off to bed they go; I am alone once more.