A Modicum of James

Secret Tidepools

Secrets shine
out of the cay.
Sun-pressed starfish
hold their treasures -
tidepool's gold.

This form is called a modicum, and was created by King... errr, Sir James of The Endless Saga

Tagged: Poem, Poetic, Poetry, Writing

Mimosa Skirts

Mimosa Skirts

I never saw the Mimosa bloom
this year, missed witnessing branches
laden with little ladies in petticoats -
each pink puff so carefully careless.

Walking through the woods today,
well into September, her last blossom
long past, I saw seedlings
groping, naked, at her legs.

Autumn leaves them bare, and I
pity the lack of skirts they find
in which to hide shy faces. It seems
a harsh way to spend the coming winter.

Spring will come again,
and burn its way into summer -
I wonder if her little ones
will have survived, or be buried
in the shedding of next year's dress.

Tagged: Poem, Poetic, Poetry, Writing

The Fair

For 6 of the last 7 years, I have lived within walking distance of the fairgrounds here in Union county. The last three years I've been able to watch them set up the rides from my front yard - it's literally just across the street. As the mother of five, the fair coming in the Fall is something I always look forward to. I get that twinge of excitement, and a twang of nostalgia. . . There's something in the air at the fair, the smells and sounds and lights - there's a certain freedom, a return to childhood, and a sort of celebratory last fling before winter sets in.

I admit I'm a kid at heart, I love going down the big slide and getting super sticky from cotton candy and caramel apples. I will admit to having sunk $40-$50 trying to get that damned BIG teddy bear by throwing the darts at underfull balloons. I get a new goldfish every Autumn at the ring toss and eat hot dogs with chili and onions and don't worry so much about chili stains or heartburn.

Oh sure I gripe about the pushy carneys that run the games, and I complain about the prices being outrageous. I've even been known to bitch a bit when my feet get cold after the dew settles and my shoes start to get wet. But damn it, I LOVE the Union County Fair. I love the atmosphere and the way you can watch the kids light up - they all but vibrate with anticipation at the idea of going, and I can't help but live vicariously through them and re-experience that thrill.

Tonight I was told that there will be no county fair this year because the fairgrounds are unavailable.

Now let me explain... Nelda Williams owns the fairgrounds, and her husband was killed several years ago by a truck as he crossed the street from his house to the construction company they owned. At that point, there began to be rumors that Nelda wouldn't be hosting the fair anymore, that she intended to sell off the land. We worried, but the fair came that year... and the next year... and the next... Even though we did see some parceling out of the property, we began to believe that the rumors were just that, untrue lip-flapping from the neighbors. It's literally been years, and we stopped even considering it as a possibility. The fair has been at that spot for generations, it was just unbelievable that it could be cancelled or even moved to a different spot.

I can only assume that the years have made hosting the fair just too much of a chore for Miss Nelda, or that the selling off of property finally left the remaining free space dwindle till it simply isn't large enough. I don't suppose I can hold it against Nelda, she's a wonderful lady, has always been the first to say yes when my kids come knocking on the door with school fundraiser packets or whatever. My mother took my kids fishing at her pond for many summers (you'd just drive up leave a dollar under the doormat on the porch, and "leave the place as you found it.") She's a pillar of our community, and offers all sorts of support to the city of Monroe, the county, and the various charities here.

But still, I'm heart broken at the idea that there won't be a fair this year. There's just something wrong with that, something undeniably sad.

Emo - so pitifully emo.

I hate the emotionalism and sentimentality that comes along with pregnancy for me. It's like watching some weird mental milkshake spinning around in the blender. The ingredients have become so scrambled that I can't even identify them anymore.

The gritty texture and bitter aftertaste keep gagging me, but nothing comes up. I have a serious case of the emotional dry-heaves that renders me aching and weary of worshiping such an ineffectual god.

One More Try

*sigh* I don't know why I can't ever get pics to align or my text to wrap and make pretty posts with my pics but screw it. These are all the kids, taken within the last week, with entirely too much flash because I'm a lousy photographer. Top two are Terra, then row 2 is Bren and Kassi, then Kory, then Tom. Damn if I know just what Tom was thinking when he did that for the pic, but I do know he'll KILL me if he ever knows it's posted on my blog! HAHAHA! The joys of motherhood!

A Question

I think that dishonesty and outright lying are different, yet the same - two levels of the same act I suppose. I classify it the same way my mother used to teach me that sin was classified: There is the sin (or lie) of omission, and the sin (or lie) of commission.

I guess the lie of omission is probably less heavy on the liar's conscience, easier to get away with or make excuses for. But as far as I'm concerned they have the same affect - they each destroy trust in a relationship, ANY relationship, be it romantic, friendly, or business.

So what am I rambling about? Well, I have a question. I am currently involved in a situation where a friendship of sorts (more of a close-ish aquaintanceship really) has become a business relationship. Before the business situation came up, I never had a problem trusting this person, because they were never dishonest with me. However, I heard all along many stories in which others said that this person had been dishonest with them, and was, quite frankly, warned about being her friend. She and I lost touch for a good while, then "met" again, in a business situation, which I entered into with caution, but not really with any mistrust - and was met with many many repeated warnings about doing so.

Since I entered into this business relationship, I have had the opportunity to question my decision, on several occasions. You know how it is when someone promises you something, but doesn't come through, and you hear the excuses and reasons, but never get what was promised. Of course, there's no way for me to verify the validity of the claims, and so I've had little choice but to accept, and wait. But eventually, I got impatient and more assertive, but the more forceful I became, the more resistance I encountered - the passive aggressive behaviors such as unanswered emails, which as far as I'm concerned, when in a business situation, there is simply no excuse for.

So, in an effort to get what I was owed, I bent over backwards to overcome all of the obstacles for this person. Every hurdle they presented, I jumped for them, and was met with yet more excuses. When I came to the point of having become an unavoidable nuisance who could no longer be ignored, I got - take a guess - yup, more excuses. Only now, the excuse given leaves me in a position of being unable to argue or question without taking the chance of being an absolute ogre. The problem being, I think the excuse is an outright lie - bold-faced and really horrible.

You see, there have been enough lies of omission and questionable excuses, that I can no longer trust this person's word, even though the latest reason that this person has not lived up to her end of a business agreement is highly emotional, and evocative. If it's true I am genuinely sympathetic and completely understand the lack of action on her part, unfortunately, I don't believe her. Plus my lack of faith lends me, even further, to have less respect because of the suspicion that she would possibly stoop to the level of this lie. I mean seriously, if it's a lie, it's damn low - if it's the truth, and I question her, then I'm damn low.

So what do I do? I've been waiting for 4 months for this situation to be rectified, but is this the point at which I bite the bullet for my own sake, or throw a hissy?

Martin the Musician.

The other day I got an international package in the mail. Just getting a package makes my little day, I'm easily pleased. But this package folks was from our one and only Martin Locock, man of many talents. We already knew he was published in the realm of architecture books. (I'm sure there is a better word for that but I'm at a loss for the moment.) And we already knew that he's a poet, and a blogger, but who knew he could sing!?

Yup. The package was a tape of his songs entitled "Say It Isn't So."

Now I've never made any secret of the fact that I love accents, but his English accent, set to music, somehow puts me in the mind of Pink Floyd, which set me into a remniscent mellow sort of mood (which was just enhanced by the grittiness of the sound quality - I think CD's have been over rated!) and put a big grin on my face. He starts with "Calling Like a Stranger" which really sets the tone for the whole tape. Now, in his note he warns me that he can't sing, which as far as I can tell is pure English modesty, or a good ole crock'o'shit because I thoroughly enjoyed each song.

Now, what prompted Martin to send me a tape of love songs? Well over at his blog he posted a poem/lyrics called "Have to Remember to Forget You" to which I replied that I'd like very much to hear with the music. Track number six on this tape is just that, and though it wasn't what I heard in my head when I read it (in my head, Toby Keith sang it, country style) it really is well done.

My favorite is track 2 though, "Say Somebody Loved You" because it's beautiful and pained and feels very real. Somehow his crooning took on a whole different texture with that song, and I just keep listening to it. It feels like, oh here I go getting corny but damn it, it feels like true love - the kind that ends with one person loving the other enough to let them go and wish them well... Know what I mean? Really just beautiful.

So, now I'm feeling all mushy, and I want to thank Martin for that, and for this tape, I'll cherish it, right up until it just won't play anymore.

Maisy! God help me.

Tuesday morning: 4:38 a.m. and Terra the terrible decides it's time to rise and shine. Time, in fact, to begin the torturous day-long Maisy marathon. If you are one of those people who doesn't have children, who doesn't recognize the name "Maisy" then count your blessings. We however, are intimately familiar with said mouse, and having given in to the addiction of 2yr old with the purchase of "Good Morning Maisy" - a 2 1/2 hour DVD - have had the joy of watching nothing but Maisy for about a month.
Maisy is a cartoon mouse, a very 2 dimensional mouse, who lives alone and has a handful of 2D friends - Eddie the Elephant, Charlie the Crocodile, Cyril the Squirrel and Tullulah the Duck, oh, and Little Black Cat (an appropriate name, since Maisy the Mouse is larger than said cat - but then, she's just about the same size as the crocodile too...) They talk, sort of, in unintelligable, nerve searing noises and were obviously designed specifically to expedite the onset of my insanity. Today might just be the day I give in to it.

My New Blog

How did Erin spend her day?

Yes, I feel sorry for myself.

They should make some sort of contraption for women in their third trimester, constructed of velvet and satin, but breathable - something padded and soft and supportive, with heat, massage and deep massage options for all of the things that ache, twinge, pang and generally hurt - for all the things that feel as though they're coming apart or in peril of falling off. I need lumbar support, abdominal support, deep massage between my shoulder blades and heat packs on my neck. I need something to stop my feet from swelling and something to control these uncontrollable hormones.

It should also come with relaxation tapes and prenatal xanax pills - the closer I get to labor and delivery the more I freak out. You'd think it would be old hat by now wouldn't you? It isn't. I'm more anxious now than with any of other pregnancies. More miserable and whiney too. I am just too old for this.

They have for years referred to pregnancy as a 'delicate condition' but it's never felt that way before. Hell, I worked through my entire pregnancy with Terra, hefting trays over my head over 14 hour shifts of being the only waitress on duty some days, and never thought twice about it. This time though, I'm feeling delicate, breakable, somehow helpless.

How disgustingly female.