Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Brawling

Yesterday on my FB page, Middle Son posted this:  "Because I know you love yourself a good baseball brawl."  And then he put up a link about last week's epic Blue Jays/ Rangers bench-clearing. Which I enjoyed.  It must be said.

But why?

Why does a good brawl feel refreshing to me?  Like, it totally clears my sinuses or something.  I have no answers on this front, but if you enjoy yourself a good brawl as well, feel free to peruse the following links.

http://espn.go.com/video/clip?id=15554750&ex_cid=espnfb

http://espn.go.com/blog/sweetspot/post/_/id/70727/you-like-a-good-baseball-brawl-here-were-10-of-the-best

You're welcome!

Thursday, May 12, 2016

A big sprawling messy metaphor for my big sprawling messy life

I had a bad day yesterday.

I didn't want to have a bad day.  It was our youngest boy's birthday and who can't be happy that Q. came into the world?  It was also the day I nearly cashed in my chips during that whole birthing thing--seriously--so I usually take a moment on May 11 to consider how lucky I am to still be alive and that all of the transfusions didn't leave me HIV positive, which was a thing they worried about in those days.

But gah.  I woke up feeling truly melancholy, missing all kinds of things and people.  It didn't help that when I opened up my address book--one I've been keeping for decades now--I noticed how many friends and family have died.

SO CHEERFUL!

And then my Avon lady came over and my dogs bothered her and the more my dogs bothered her the more nervous my Avon lady got and then they started to bark and then she started to bark (not really) and then when I locked them all up (not the Avon lady) they went crazy barking some more and I did think unto myself these thoughts:

1.  Three dogs are too many.

2.  I'm in over my head with three dogs.

3.  I want to slap my Avon lady for being afraid of dogs.

4.  Wow.  Wanting to slap your Avon lady makes you a NOT NICE HUMAN BEING.

5.  Why do I always take on more than I can handle in life?  And thereby create chaos and messes and half-assedness wherever I touch down?

Then I woke up this morning, went outside, looked at my crazy garden with way, way, way too much going on--no one is every going to give me a prize for being tasteful and restrained and possessing an artful eyes.  But I went shit.

I like this anyway.


Friday, April 22, 2016

Prince

This morning I dialed up my Prince playlist and listened as I walked my dogs through--wait for it--the cemetery.  I wasn't being all symbolic although it was apropos somehow to be wandering through a thicket of tombstones while hearing Prince in my ear talk about the afterlife.

I was surprised yesterday by how emotional I felt when I heard the news of Prince's death.  I've always said he was my favorite guilty pleasure, although now I'm wondering why I felt obliged to attach the "guilty" disclaimer.  (My other favorite guilty pleasure = AC/DC and yeah.  I should probably keep the "guilty" part in place for that one.)

Who knows why we love the music we love?  I could say Prince's music had a good beat and was easy to listen to.  I could also say that I admired his way with lyrics.  I often used "Raspberry Beret" when I taught creative writing because that song does so much kickass work in such a few short lines.

Consider.

I was working part time in a five-and-dime
My boss was Mr. McGee
He gold me several times that he didn't like my kind
'Cause I was a bit too leisurely.

Seems that I was busy doing something close to nothing
But different than the day before
That's when I saw her, ooh, I saw her
She walked in through the out door, out door

Think about all the work those two stanzas do.  We have "setting"--a five-and-dime.  We have "characters"--a grumpy employer, an underachieving clerk, and a girl who defies.  Dude.  She walk IN though the OUT door.

Great stuff, right?

But for all our fancy schmalzy analysis of why we like what we like--and the intellectual justifications for it all--humans connect with music in their gut.  And something about Prince and his mind-blowing, body-moving, foot-stomping funk punk vibe invited me into His Purple-ness's world.

Let's go crazy today, okay?

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Lilac time

Is there any scent more evocative than that of lilacs in bloom?

This morning I was out trimming things up in the backyard when I had my first real hit of lilac fragrance of the season.  And suddenly here's where I was.  In Poland on a train twelve years ago, rumbling through the countryside with my brothers and our spouses and our parents.  Banks of lilac shrubs stretched everywhere--all in full, sun-shimmered bloom.  As I looked out the window and saw the rolling richness all around me, I felt the taste of my own heart and thought this:  I have never ever seen anything more beautiful than now.




Tuesday, April 19, 2016

The perks of being invisible

They say as you age you become invisible and HOLY COW, BATMAN it's kinda true.

But I'm discovering that there are advantages to this state.  One of them is that you can just stare, stare, stare away at people to your heart's content and nobody thinks you're being rude or nosy because hello.  They don't see you.

That's why I had fun staring at army guys running in Liberty Park today.  There was just all this patriotic testosterone in T-shirts floating around, which I enjoyed very much and nobody thought it was weird when I stopped my bike to take a look.

Although now that I write this down, I'm wondering if maybe this sounds a little weird after all.

GO, TEAM AMERICA!

Saturday, April 16, 2016

Mother of boys, grandmother of girls

I had Bean (five year-old granddaughter's nickname) here for a sleepover last night.  We ate ice cream and colored and did lace-up cards.  This morning she wanted to dress herself and since I am a disaster on the clothes front, I said knock yourself out.

A little later after she joined me in my bedroom,  I noticed that there were sparkling reflections on the walls--like I had a big old disco ball hanging from my ceiling inviting me to put on my big hair and my Joan Collins earrings and GET DOWN TONIGHT!

Where were the sparkles coming from, I wondered.  And then I looked at Bean.  She had sparkles on her hair bows and sparkles on her shirt and when she twirled around it was Sparkle-Rama time at chez Cannon. and lo I did reflect unto myself that in all those years I was raising boys, there were never any sparkles on my wall.

Thursday, April 14, 2016

Talking trees

When I was little we had an orchard.  I can still see my grandmother standing there when I snapped a branch off the tree and waved it like a wand.

"Ooooo," my grandmother said.  "You just hurt that tree."

"How do you know?"

"Because it told me."

This was all said in the spirit of play--she wasn't scolding me for tree abuse.  But ever since then I have always thought of trees as beings with stories to tell.  If only I could hear them.

I have been missing my grandmother something fierce lately.