|listen to the woman
a better half
resident in my body
Pregnancy is having a fertility goddess living resident inside my body.
Growth, fertility, and sensuality, She is recreating my physical form in Her rounded image.
She is making me Her venus shaped shrine.
She is reaching out to embrace and nurture the world. Growing me bigger skin, fuller breasts.
She calls loud to the men in my dreams
Come father-lover-brother-husband join Our rites of procreation. Worship here.
She grows my hair thick, shining, seducing all.
Our long nails harden and luster grasping the world to us.
She has sensitized this virginal new epidermis, Her image.
Our nipples rise to every occasion.
stretching like a cirrus cloud
Just you and i
And Anna Ahkmatova
Who, as well as recoalescing San Franciscan poets,
had a portrait painted of her in a blue dress.
I printed the picture out and hung it on my wall
because Rob Brezsny said i needed to get in touch with a muse.
and then i went out to the farmers market where nothing looked good except the Cherries
Which brought to mind that play by Checkhov
when i spot Anna Akhmatova dressed in a men's work shirt and chinos handing out samples of piroski
I take a bit and am transported into a heaven of spinach and mushrooms and tender pastry.
I buy this young man's piroski and wonder that i have never laid eyes on anyone who looked so Russian.
Sight for soaring minds
During my early adolescence I frequently saw things, with my peripheral
vision, which were neither tangible nor had a verifiable existence. Mostly
shapes and lights, but on a few occasions things more defined.
Once while I was minding the young son of a Methodist minister (out of doors in my back yard, so that our parents could chat undisturbed) I saw a person with short dark hair wearing a hat, a navy coat, nondescript trousers, and dark boots walk with hands in pockets across our garden which was dormant for the winter. I turned to see who it was but they vanished.
On another occasion I was doing homework at the kitchen table and my cat walked into the kitchen and halfway across the linoleum before sitting down to regard me. It was an UN-customary behavior so I turned to see what she wanted but she wasn't there.
In the last couple of months seeing things in my peripheral vision seems to have become a part of my existence again. I see the cats wandering in the apartment where they are not. Right before I wrote this I saw a shadow swirl far outside my window (11 stories above downtown) then dive out of sight.
|The First Seven Years
In Sickness and in Health
So, Rochelle, was the question when [how] do you know your in love? about anyone in particular?
I know I'm in love when I can't stop obsessing about someone. With Mark I dreamed about him all the time. I thought about him all the time. I dredged all the ugly things about him and I couldn't shake my thoughts free of my vision of him. I finally prayed to God for Resolution ... and we slept together.... That definitely resolved things.
I have had some crushes since then. I had a crush so bad once that I physically couldn't stand up. I was sick and crazy and I knew that if the object of my desire were near that nothing [no vow, nothing] could keep me away from him. That was sobering.
When I first thought of marrying Mark and when I did marry him, I didn't think I was capable of Adultery. I thought that such a thing would make me sick. I don't count my self as an adulterer but I believe I am capable. I simply choose not to.
I think that Being in love is a choice. I own my emotions I can open and close my heart as I choose. I choose to Be in love with Mark. I choose to love my friends and to love my job.
I think that you are in love when you choose to admire, choose to care deeply about, choose to lust after your love; at every turn, with every decision.
what's in a name?
What is the first adult name not related to you that you remember learning? I remember the name Ruth Niswonger. She was a Music Director or somesuch at the church that my family attended in Santa Rosa, CA when I was 5.
My family moved from California to Illinois three days before my seventh birthday. I have no recollection of Ruth, only the name and the impression that she was special to my mother. For someone's name to stay with me all these years she must have been very important to my mom.
My mother looked up to Ruth Niswonger. I'll bet Ruth was a wonderful, giving, dynamic person that a 35 year old mother of three could wish to emulate.
I also remember from later in my childhood my mother explaining to me why she was sad one day. She asked me if I remembered who Ruth Niswonger was, and then she told me that Ruth Niswonger had died of stomach cancer.
Until today the name was stored in the deep recesses of my memory. I would not have known, nor considered, how to spell Niswonger. But in the paper I read an article about the fate of the San Jose Cannabis Club. It seems that the club owner is Robert Niswonger.
Maybe it's not so odd, that the owner of a medical marijuana club shares a rare last name with a musical woman who died too young of an intensely painful form of cancer.
|it's all timing
the only non-renewable resource
A friend of mine is on vacation in Iowa for two weeks. I gave him a ride to the airport on Saturday the 10th of May and he will arrive back late on Memorial Monday. This given the collective habits of my group of friends means that I have his JEEP for two weeks. I thought that Mark had wanted me to get the JEEP so that he could sleep-in 'cause it has been our habit for him to take me to work by 6. And that made me kind of mad but I didn't know why. Aside from the base assumption that Mark wanted me to get the Jeep and Why, which as it turned out to be wrong. but anyway...
WHY? Think about Time...
WE both work 40-50 hour weeks. WE both sleep 8 or 9 hour nights. There are only 168 hours in a week. So subtract work get 118 hours. Subtract sleep and get 60 hours. I usually hike on Saturdays and Mark usually does not, take away an other 8 hours, 52. We Play Fantasy adventure games on Wednesday nights a group activity for this purpose will not be considered quality spousal time, delete another 4 hours, 48. We normally go to Brunch with one to three friends on Sunday morning, again a group activity, subtract 4 hours (trust me it works out that way), 48 hours. I have a semi regular date for watching the X Files on Sunday nights, 2 hours, 46.
[bring in the bass line a la George Thourogood]
I cook alone / With nobody else / Ya Know when I cook alone / I prefer to be by myself.
He codes alone / With nobody else / ya know when he codes alone / he prefers to be by himself
[ok enough of that]
We need unwind time when we come home from work and I usually use it to cook dinner or pet the cats and he usually uses it to do things (I have no idea what) on the computer. Subtract another 5 hours, 43.
Let's work with that figure for a bit. 43 precious hours in a week to wake and get ready for work (we do not routinely shower together), Get to work, Come home from work, Go to movies, make love, eat, drink, share, argue, dream, play, be miserable, and have fun. This is when we ride to work together.
When we go to work separately it is different. I work from 6 to 3. Mark when he isn't driving me, works from 8:30 to 5:30. So we loose 5 hours a week to me getting up when he is not awake, 38. and we lose an additional 18 hours a week because i get off at 3 then he gets home at 6 and decompresses until 6:30 (at least), 20. We can subtract another 8 hours for me going to bed earlier than he does.
Suddenly our luxurious 43 hours comes out being a minuscule 12.
My, my, no wonder I was miffed. He's my husband. My Significant other! Hello?! I did the math on the person outside of the house and work that i see the most of (group activated included) and Came up with an easy 12 hours a week. WOW.
About 6 weeks ago Mark and I weren't doing so well, we couldn't point to anything that had changed much except my work schedule. So we decided to ride to work together earlier to accommodate my shift change.
I'd give you 43 to 12 it was the best solution.
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