Writing Prompt: It was the evening of the Winter Solstice . . .

It was the evening of the Winter Solstice and I wondered how I ended up in Tahiti on a sailing yacht. I looked in the bathroom mirror. I didn’t recognize the woman gazing back at me. I had no memory of her, only a hazy knowing that a life I once knew was no longer mine.

In my cabin hung a silky, midnight blue cocktail gown, and next to it a pair of matching strappy sandals. The clock on the nightstand declared that in thirty minutes there would be a party to celebrate the return of the sun. Somewhat ironic considering there is always sun in Tahiti.

A knock at the door startled me from thought. A maid carrying a gin martini came into the room; she handed me the glass and I took a long sip, letting the liquor burn the back of my throat. She helped me into the dress, then the shoes, and handed me a floral pashmina. As she smoothed a wrinkle at the hem, I wondered how I became a person who didn’t dress herself?

I gave a final glance in the mirror, finished my drink and thought,
“This is who I am now.”

Writing Prompt: I once encountered Santa Clause . . .

I once encountered Santa Clause as I was lying in bed one very early Christmas morning. We lived in a 100-year-old farmhouse in rural western Pennsylvania. My parents slept upstairs, with my small bedroom downstairs in the front of the house. Only a curtain of beads separated my room from the main living area, so I could see and hear most things that happened when I was supposed to be sleeping.

It was just before dawn and the first glimpse of light seeped through the heavy, opaque plastic that covered our windows. A noise in the next room startled me awake; I silently lifted my head to better hear the rustles that I knew must be Santa.

My heart raced with anxiety—excited that Santa was there, but also frightened that someone, even he, had intruded our home. It was so close to morning, why was he still out delivering toys? I imagined we must be at the end of his route or perhaps he was behind schedule a bit.
I Once Encountered Santa Clause
Hiding under the thick pile of quilts that protected me from our cold house, I carefully ran through my list: Barbie Hair Salon, Barbie Make-Up Head, Barbie Car, Barbie Dreamhouse, and record player. I didn’t want to move and alert him I was awake. I had to breathe quietly and force myself back to sleep—certain if I didn’t, Santa wouldn’t leave my presents.

I tried to hush the questions racing in my mind: Why didn’t our Golden Retriever Tess didn’t bark at him—did Santa have magic over dogs to keep them quiet? How did he get in? We didn’t have a fireplace. Where were the reindeer? Would he feed them the carrots I left on the table? Would he eat the sugar cookies my mother baked? Was he at that very moment filling my stocking with an orange at the toe?

Slowly and softly, lying in my bed, I listened. I couldn’t hear anything else, but just to be certain, I would stay, unmoving, exactly where I was.

It was just long enough to fall back to sleep.

Writing Prompt: She wasn’t a particular stripper . . .

She Wasn’t a Particular Stripper

She wasn’t a particular stripper. She wasn’t particular in an ordinary way, but rather she wasn’t particularly particular about stripping. She stripped. It wasn’t who she was, but rather what she did. She wasn’t exacting, or meticulous, not fastidious. She didn’t have a fancy stripper name like Nightingale or Tasmania, or Whistler—nothing to identify her as special, sought after, or popular. She couldn’t do fancy stripper moves, hang from a pole upside down or hold things in her vagina. She didn’t have implants or labiaplasty or wear a wig. She was just a young woman, who wasn’t getting any younger doing something that didn’t particularly interest her, but she wasn’t particularly interested in doing anything else.

She quietly went to work on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, passing the bouncer who barely looked up from the New York Time’s Crossword puzzle he scribbled with a short Number Two Pencil. She didn’t know his name; he didn’t know hers. She entered the dressing room, which was really a converted supply closet to change into a plain, red, string bikini that matched her lipstick. She covered with a duster and drank the coffee she brought from home, settling in the corner with a ragged copy of Lolita. Her good copy was at home—this was her travel copy.

Other strippers scurried around; the smell of marijuana, hairspray, and Japanese Cherry Blossom drifted through the room. Complaints about boyfriends, bartenders and babysitters bounced in the distant parts of her hearing. “I am trying to describe these things not to relive them in my present boundless misery, but to sort out the portion of hell and the portion of heaven in that strange, awful, maddeningly world,”she read among the chatter.

No one particularly noticed that she took the stage. Or when she finished.

Let There Be Peace on Earth and Let it Begin With Me

I, like so many of us feel numb. I feel more numb than I did at any time upon hearing of a national tragedy. I feel void. Empty. A chasm. Null. I remember Oklahoma City, Springfield, Columbine, 911, Virginia Tech. I even remember Jonestown.

I’m not alone. What have we become? What will we do to stop becoming this even more than we already are?

 

Week Eight

A few posts ago I was bragging that “I can do anything for ten weeks.” Ha!

I guess technically, I am doing it, albeit not very well sometimes. I am managing, barely. Things, not just school have been a bit difficult, but along with some of those difficulties, it’s been, as always, a great learning experience.

Our family has taken turns being sick since the second week of the term. Halsey-Kennedy-Cher-Me-Cher-Me-Kennedy-Mikayla-Me. Good times. I’ve been coughing so much that yesterday Kennedy asked if I have amnesia. “Do you mean emphysema?” I asked. “Oh, yeah. That’s what I meant.” God, I hope not.

I’ve had two refills of two different kinds of cough medicine and two inhalers. I’m hoping I’ll be better by spring.

My classes are going well. I have so much freaking reading it is unbelievable, but it’s good reading. The problem is that I read so many wonderful essays, but then I forget which ones I read, which means I will need to go back and at least mark my favorites so I can remember them later when I’m assigning readings to my own class. This is something I wish I would have done from the very beginning. I have been going back through my notebooks to find handouts or notes that to use in the syllabi I’m developing for my “Teaching and Tutoring Writing” class. Yes, I have every notebook from my entire four years of undergrad and yes, I will keep them, as well as every book (except that stupid Science class,) I ever bought. Don’t tell Cher.

I am also finding that my confidence as a writer is waning. I wrote a piece for PQ Monthly that is coming out tomorrow and I kept putting it off because I didn’t feel like I could do it. I would just stare at my computer screen and try to make some notes but absolutely nothing was happening. This was the first time I’ve ever had that experience–I’m sure it won’t be the last–but nonetheless, it was very difficult and confusing. One of my professors told me that this is completely normal and is part of the growing experience. He likened it to when Tiger Woods reached the highest echelon of golf but then went back to the basics to re-learn his swing. Although I haven’t reached the highest echelon of anything, I guess I’m trying to re-learn my swing. I’ve been so overloaded with so much information that it is going to take time for it all to settle in. I just need to be patient.

Through these last few weeks, I’ve learned some good life lessons about graduate school:

1. Don’t take 12 credits. Ever. Unless of course you are single and have no other outside responsibilities.

2. Don’t take 12 credits and then do a 15 hour/week teaching assistant position at the same time.

There is a very good reason for this, which I learned the other day when designing my schedule for next term. Did you know, that one credit hour of graduate school is equal to three hours of work outside the classroom, per week. Which means a four credit class is four hours of work in class and 12 hours of work outside of class. Which means that 12 credits of graduate work is equal to around 48 hours of work, weekly. Combine that with a minimum of 15 hours a week of teaching and that comes to 63 hours.

Every week.

No wonder I’m exhausted. Next term I’m taking nine credits and 15 hours of teaching, which is only 51 hours of work. I don’t know what I’ll do with all that free time.

Next term I am doing a teaching practicum for a literature class called “Imagining Justice,” and it is part of the “Inside Out Prison Exchange” program. I will be helping to lead a class of 15 Portland State students and 15 students from the women’s correctional facility. I can’t express how happy and grateful I am that I was chosen for this.

Hopefully I’ll have a little bit of time over the break to recuperate and be ready to go again January 7.

I can do anything for three more weeks.

Vote

Cast your vote my friends. In Oregon we vote by mail and our ballots were mailed last week. Mikayla got to vote this time–which was very exciting for me to watch. I remember the first election I voted in–1988 Bush and Dukakis.

Now, twenty-four years later and my child voted in her first election. Democracy works people, even if it doesn’t always seem that way and although it does matter significantly to me who people vote for, it means even more to me that they vote period. Vote. Go to the polls on Tuesday or drop your ballot in the box here in Oregon. Do it. Exercise your right as an American citizen. Do it for your country. And your mother. Go. Be. Democratic!

 

Dinner

I have been utterly and completely overwhelmed and have come to the realization that this new adventure of mine–is really hard. I have no other eloquent way of saying it. It’s hard. I feel as though every ounce of my creativity and focus has been drained from my body and I’ve been on pure survival mode.

The second week of school I got sick. Like really sick. And so did my entire family, sans Mikayla. It has been a slow recovery and finally last Thursday, I finally felt back to normal, just as Cher came down with Round Two of sickness, which I’m hoping doesn’t transmit to me.

The sickness, as well as for the first time trying to figure out how to be gone four days a week, has been quite challenging. My family is used to having me somewhat available to them and this has been quite an adjustment. They’ve been doing great–helping out when I ask, helping with dinner and doing what they can–it’s been impressive and very telling; I guess I finally figured out how to get your kids to do stuff around the house–don’t be home. I no longer have time to grocery shop during the week at all, which means if I don’t have something–I go without it. This has created some interesting lunches for the girls and some modified dinner recipes. And guess what? So far, everyone has survived.

I have to do some quick thinking and a lot of planning when it comes to meals. I utilize my Paprika app on my computer, iPhone and iPad a lot and since I’ve become a vegetarian, trying to find vegetarian recipes that can either go in the slow cooker or be prepared ahead so the girls just have to pop it in the oven. Otherwise, we don’t eat until 7:30 or 8:00 o’clock at night. Paprika has a browser and a way to save recipes you find on the Internet right into your recipe file. It also has a meal planner, which also generates a grocery list that’s been a very helpful tool to have around. (I sound like I’m promoting this app. I’m not. It’s just been very helpful.)

Yesterday, I finally did what I’ve wanted to do since starting school and prepared most of the week’s meals at one time. I prepped fresh vegetables for tonight’s meal (celery, carrots, and cucumbers,) to go with grilled veggie burgers (Morningstar are the best I’ve found–Costco sells the big package,) and baked potatoes. I cleaned the potatoes, wrapped them in foil and put them in the oven with a note to turn it on to 400 degrees at 4:45 so they’ll be ready when I get home. That way I only have to grill the veggie burgers and put out the veggies and dip. Dinner done.

For Tuesday I made a baked ziti. While I was cleaning and chopping veggies for Monday, I took some carrots, green peppers, and celery and shredded them in the food processor. For the sauce I started with 2 Tbs. of olive oil, added a diced onion, three cloves of minced garlic, and the veggies. When they were soft, I took out half of the veggies to use in Wednesday’s dinner, then added a cup of dry red wine to what was left, let it simmer a minute then added one large can of San Marzano tomatoes and one small can of tomato paste and let it simmer a while.

I cooked the ziti for only five minutes and drained, (first reserving a cup of the pasta water,) then added it back to the pot and stirred in the sauce, some shredded mozzarella cheese and half of the pasta water. I layered half of the pasta and added blops of ricotta then the rest of the pasta and topped with mozzarella and Parmesan. I covered it in foil and put it in the refrigerator. I’ll leave instructions for one of the girls to pop it in the oven around 5:00 and serve it with sliced cucumbers and Italian bread.

For Wednesday, I made a simple vegetarian chili using some of the veggies I cooked for the sauce. I put the cooked veggies in the slow cooker and added one can each of black beans, kidney beans and white beans (drained,) and one can of chili beans in sauce (not drained,) two cans of diced tomatoes, two cans of tomato sauce, one can of diced green chilis, and two cups of frozen corn. For spice I added two Tbs. of chili powder, some homemade Creole mix (garlic and onion powder, salt, pepper, oregano, thyme and cayenne pepper,) and some cumin. I don’t measure–I just throw some in. I stirred it around, put the lid on the slow cooker and put the entire thing in the refrigerator. On Wednesday, I’ll put it in the slow cooker and cook all day. Serve with cornbread (I’ll probably made when I get home, it doesn’t take long,) and chili toppings (we like sour cream, cheddar cheese and Cheese-its.)

Thursday I planning on a butternut squash soup or depending on how the week goes, it might be pizza night!  

Last week I made dinner in the morning for that night: Vegetarian Thai Curry, Baked Macaroni and Cheese and Lentil, Kale and Potato soup. That was fine, but this was much easier and it’s so nice knowing it’s DONE!

These are the things that I need to implement more to give me more time with the girls and Cher. Last week I went to the girls’ parent-teacher conferences and was so bummed to hear that Kennedy didn’t do well on her Personal Narrative assignment because she didn’t have a strong opening paragraph. Really? My child didn’t have a strong opening paragraph on a personal narrative? That breaks my heart. Even though she probably wouldn’t have come to me for help anyway (unless I asked,) it still makes me wonder if it was because she knew I was so busy and didn’t want to bother me. I am busy, but believe me, Kennedy’s essays come before my student’s essays or even my own.

I’m trying to figure it all out–it’s just a process I guess and I know that next term won’t be quite as challenging as this one. One day at a time I guess. That’s all I can do.

First Day of School (Again!)

I received my official degree last week. I feel very official about it.

Today begins Fall Term 2012. This time I get to start as a graduate student and a Writing Intensive Course Assistant. The class is a Physics/Science class and there are 75 students, there to fulfill their Writing Across Curriculum requirement. They will write essays on two science fiction novels. Science fiction is not really my genre of choice, but I’m adaptable. I’m excited and nervous and can’t believe I’ve made it this far.

Tomorrow begins my first day of graduate studies. Because I’m some kind of Masochist (this seems to be a common theme lately,) I’m taking twelve credits. Twelve. Three classes.

I can do this. I can do anything for ten weeks. This is what I keep telling myself anyway.

I’ve received a lot of emails and messages from people who have also decided to go back to school later in life (we call them Non-traditional College Students,) and have been told that they’ve been inspired by my journey through academia. This thrills me to no end. I have also been inspired and continue to be inspired by the people around me and know that I still have a lot to learn, and hopefully to teach.

So I guess I’ll hit the ground running!

Why I’m better off than I was four years ago . . .

The Dems are having their convention. Tonight, President Obama will receive his party’s nomination for the upcoming presidential election against Mitt Romney. Last week the Republicans had their convention and because I’m obviously some kind of Masochist, I watched some of it. I was pretty much disgusted the entire time and actually felt physically ill.

This convention is better.

I have been inspired, moved to tears, hopeful and once again happy to be a Democrat in America. It’s true that the president has disappointed me a little on a few things; to me he’s not nearly liberal enough, but I also understand that it’s politics and no matter who is in office, there are going to be politics that I don’t always agree with. The fundamentals of the president’s term so far, have been good and I can honestly say that I am better off than I was four years ago.

Why I’m better off than I was four years ago:

• I have a college education that wouldn’t have been possible without the federal and state financial aid and student loans that were made available to me.
• If I were so inclined, I could join the military and openly serve without fear of being dishonorably discharged because of my sexual orientation.
• The validity of my relationship has been recognized by the leader of our nation as one that should be held in the same regard as my heterosexual marriage was.
• I have restored faith that our home won’t be worth less than we owe on it when we sell in a few years.
• Because of low interest rates, I was able to consolidate the small amount of debt that I had at less than 3%.
• My credit card company is restricted in how high it can raise my rates.
• I am ensured that life saving tests and preventative care will be available to me if I need them.
• I will not be charged more for the same medical care because I’m a woman.
• I know that my wife, my daughters, and I have access to birth control, including Plan B.
• I know that my wife, my daughters, and I have access to a safe and legal abortion if it were ever to be necessary.

In many ways, I’ve always been a one-issue voter: if a candidate is at all opposed to a woman having control over her own reproductive health, I won’t vote for him or her. This is of course true in this election as well, although there are other things that scare me just as much, including the chance that 10% of our population will be pushed back into the closet and stripped of whatever rights we’ve managed to obtain and hold onto thus far, millions of people losing healthcare coverage and promising young people being deported, even though they’ve lived in this country most of their lives.

But for me it is, and always will be, about a woman’s right to choose. I honestly don’t understand how any person who has a daughter, a uterus or both, could ever consider voting for a Republican this year; why would any woman vote against her own best interests? Why would any woman want the government to control what grows in her body? Why would any woman concede to being forced to undergo unnecessary medical procedures? Why would any women be okay with being forced to be pregnant against her will? Why would any woman agree to be paid less than a man for the same job? It’s very confusing to me.

The speakers at this year’s convention have blown me away (Warren/Castro 2016!) and I’ve spent most of the time in tears. President Clinton last night? Amazing. I’m sure tonight will be no different and I look forward to it with vigor.

But for now, all I can say is:

Four More Years! Sí, se puede!

Adventure

Every June, I think to myself, “Wow, I will have so much time to do things this summer. I will do home improvement projects, organize my entire life, read the twenty books that are in my queue and write the great American novel!”

This has never happened.

I did manage to do a lot this summer. Besides vacation with the girls, traveling to PA and camping with friends, (which took up the entire month of July,) I did manage to organize my closet and re-do M’s room, a project that I meant to finish last summer, then I was going to do it over winter break, then spring break and then put it off until this summer. It’s nearly finished and it turned out very nice. I ripped out her carpet (something I made her help me with and she HATED.) I did the Brown Paper Floor treatment, which turned out absolutely beautiful, painted her walls and some pieces of furniture and coordinated it all with new drapes and bedding. I think it’s gorgeous, and even though she’ll only be living at home for another year, I wanted her to have a sophisticated room to be in until she’s launched from the nest. You know, make it comfortable for her before she faces the big scary world all on her own!

I read a few books in my queue but didn’t quite make a dent and I didn’t write the great American novel, but I did do some work on my book project and wrote a few essays just because and not for a deadline, which was one of my goals.

Most of all, I spent time with my girls and that’s the most rewarding thing I ever do when I have time off.

Throughout the summer and for the better part of the last five years, Cher has been looking for a sailboat. She has carefully researched different options, first thinking that she would buy a very small starter boat, then thinking perhaps a larger boat would be better as to not “grow out of it” too soon. After we took a Learn to Sail class this past spring, she had a few ideas narrowed down and began to do a more diligent search. She had been saving for a long time and knew she what she could afford and what she couldn’t, which was anything very new or above a certain size. We wanted something that we would learn on that wasn’t too overwhelming or complicated and something that would be nice for the girls to enjoy as well.

Looking back, (at two weeks ago,) it kind of seems that we were a bit impulsive, but nevertheless, Cher bought a boat and her name is Serenity.

She is a 1995 MacGregor 26X and until a few weeks ago, I had no idea what that was. It’s a sailboat, but it also has a 48 hp engine, which makes her a bit zippier than a regular sailboat. Zippy enough that we can pull the girls on a tube, albeit not very fast. Also zippy enough that we can fully enjoy the boat, even without wind. It’s also (supposedly) a forgiving boat to learn to sail on, and we definitely need forgiveness for our lack of sailing ability.

To say that we’ve been a little bit overwhelmed and obsessed with Serenity would be an understatement, but it’s also exciting and fun and something we’re both interested in at the same time that we can learn and work on together. That probably sounds a bit more romantic than the inevitable reality; we’ve been told that owning a boat is a bigger test to a relationship than putting together a piece of Ikea furniture. Additionally, despite the fact that I barely keep up with my writing in this blog, Cher and I decided to chronicle our (mis)adventures with Serenity on a blog, and yes, Cher is contributing as well, even a bit more than I have! Martini’s Serenity can be found at martinisserenity.blogspot.com.

Follow along . . . if you’re not faint of heart.