A Cranky Ol' Lady Goes a'Blogging

Hassayampa, Temple Grandin

2010-02-08T00:47:00.002-07:00

Hassayampa River Preserve, near Wickenberg.

This is an oasis in the desert, complete with native palms. The river emerges from underground here, via 26 springs (originally), dug out decades ago to form a small lake, which is now being allowed to sediment in and revert to its natural form, which will take a while, already almost three decades since The Nature Conservancy got hold of it and stopped messing with it. An area with picnic tables is surrounded by desert palms (like the one in my front yard) which are loaded with drooping, fruit-heavy inflorescences. Birds make a constant racket here when most of the preserve is pretty quiet by mid-afternoon when I've been able to drag my butt out of the house to go anywhere. It's said to be a birdwatcher's paradise, which I hope to sample one day early and binoc-equipped. Squinting, I saw robins and flickers, and a ring-neck duck on the pond, and coots of course, and smaller birds I couldn't see well enough to name. I had a pleasant, slow walk. Half the trails were wiped out by our recent rainfall extravaganza, which also remodeled the riverbanks. I was surprised to see an enormous bull stopping for a drink, though why I was surprised, having already seen cloven imprints in the sand, is beyond me and a testament to scatterbrained relaxation in retirement, apparently not only from work.

Tonight I watched the HBO film "Temple Grandin," which I've been hearing about for weeks on NPR as they interview her and replay old interviews. I also saw her at a local bookstore where she plugged her latest book along with the film and was quite entertaining. She's a damned handsome sixty-something woman! Poised, gracious, funny, with a tendency to coast off track in response to some questions. Oh how she must get tired of repeating the same stories over and over! I heard her say how much she liked the film and how Claire Danes played her absolutely perfectly, so I've been eager to see it. It is a wonderful film! It kept me laughing, choking up, and teary-eyed the whole way through. Claire Danes really ought to get some awesome award for the role. She played its heart out.

Films, poetry, dog stuff

2010-01-31T20:33:00.003-07:00

Two more excellent films! "A Single Man" is powerful, characters dealing with & talking about heavy issues with absolute honesty. So rare. Role model much needed for most of us. It is a painful, hopeful, moving film, serious about love and death. Colin Firth has my full attention now. Fine acting, deep writing. "Appaloosa" is a western so non-formulaic it took my breath away. Ed Harris has had my attention for a long time, and he just gets better. So interesting and unexpected.

I won a poetry prize! This time first place, community college lit magazine competition. Moving on up!

Saw/heard Temple Grandin at a book-signing talk. I admire her so much, and she is a very handsome woman now at just about my age. She's all over the place pushing latest book and an HBO film about her early life & eventual success. She said on npr that Claire Danes does an excellent job being her, just perfect. Thesis on mooing. Can't you see the cowboy profs' faces? Got her master's here at ASU! I never knew that. Out in the stockyards with the guys (whose wives complained, this being the 70's) giving her a hard time, covering her car with bull testicles, etc. Now who's laughing?

Grandin says if you have a whiny separation-anxious dog, get another dog for company, or dog sitter, gave the impression you're dreaming to imagine there's a cure (though a friend tells me there are anti-anxiety meds for dogs that work). Lady is a case study in separation anxiety. If I leave and Grumpy is asleep, she howls and cries and carries on like she's been tossed down a well! If both of us are gone and we forgot to close the bedroom door, our nice moccasin slippers take a beating and every sort of paper and plastic within reach gets spread all around the living room. At least she doesn't destroy furniture or piss on everything. It could be worse.

I went dog shopping this weekend, finally deciding that's just not going to work, too much more on our plates than we can live with. But maybe a kitten. I have a mental image of Lady curled up with kitten while I'm gone. Is that too far-fetched? I dread kitty-litter stink though.

Lost Dutchman State Park

2010-01-23T00:22:00.003-07:00

Last Sunday, just before the weather got crappy, I hiked a 2.4-mile loop trail here. It was a mile relentlessly uphill, a jiggle across, and a blessed downhill mile, watching the sun disappear, back to the car. My thighs burned and were sore for two days. The rocks are more striking the closer one gets to them. Of course, being MLK weekend, there were too many people, and one has to remember to keep facing east to avoid gazing at citified views, but I felt my mind expanding, as always when I get outside and out of town and walk. Keeps me sane. This park has more trail distance to expand into as I get tougher (presumably). One can hope.

Chickeny bone!

2010-01-22T10:05:00.003-07:00

Days of rain, little explosions of high winds, tornado warnings (unclear whether any actually touched down), floods, feet of snow up north, highways closed, streets closed, power outages. We chose to hunker down, wide-eyed. Most of "Gray's Anatomy" was lost, and I finished another A. S. Byatt novel.

The poor dog seems never to have experienced rain. On the screened-in back porch by the doggie door, she looked out, then at me, squatted and peed inside with a look that said her decision was logical and surely... I shoved her out into the rain! She didn't die out there but finished peeing. I praised her like she'd mastered calculus, rewarded her with a treat, and she glowed with joy and ridiculously elevated self esteem. The pee-pee war continues.

This was back-to-school week, and Lady is coping with separation anxiety once again. I brought home a bag full of treats and chewy things, including two very expensive rawhide "bones" making dental health claims and incorporating a layer of "chicken." I put it in quotes because the color is strange and I have no idea what was done to it since it was a bird. When the first one disappeared unusually quickly, I thought, oh, gee, she chewed it all up in one day? Must be good. Then we had a sunny spell. I sat outside reading while Lady carried the prized and clearly too-precious-to-chew second chickeny bone around burying it, digging it up, burying it somewhere else, digging it up, etc. I was so excited I went in to get the camera. I had never seen this before except in cartoons! Slapping forehead, previous brown nose observations and dried mud on sofa suddenly make sense! On the other hand, I swear to never again spend $7.99 on a rawhide chickeny bone. Yesterday one mud-caked chickeny bone reappeared on a doggie bed in the living room. I confiscated it for a wash and dry.

Tonto Natural Bridge

2010-01-16T21:41:00.004-07:00

Winter session online poetry course completed, poetry reading done, four-day weekend before a new class begins -- time to get out of town. I chose a state park I've never visited -- Tonto Natural Bridge State Park. The state parks are closing down for lack of $, so I'd better visit some while I can.

The old guy at the gate looked me over skeptically when I drove in and went on about how steep the trail is. Ha! If I can climb up out of Walnut Canyon, I can get out of this one. It's only a quarter of a mile long with a 200-ft elevation change. I'm pleased to report that it was absolutely no problem. I'm stronger than I look. :)

The bridge formation is very pretty, with water showering down from above. I am so pleased the rainbow actually shows in the photo. I had only my iPhone for a camera. It was so cloudy when I left home I didn't bother to carry the good camera along. I wish I had. The zoom would have come in handy to capture the woman posing nude for a photographer on the rocks under the bridge. She was lovely, though a bit of a looney tunes taking it all off as chilly as it was.

I wanted badly to poke at the mounds of bright green moss on some of the rocks, but I played it safe and didn't climb down to it. Next time I'll bring my walking stick for balance.

Poetry reading

2010-01-13T14:16:00.004-07:00

Well! Last night I did a 20-minute reading of twelve of my poems for a small group that meets one Tuesday a month. I've read single poems there three times (open mike) and was invited to be a feature poet -- a first for me.

I thought I was perfectly calm. Ha. It hit me when I got up on stage. Turned red, of course, and kept bumping into the teetery mike. It went well, all things considered. Being winter break at the college, the crowd was smaller than usual, and quieter. I missed the usual guffaws when I read my bawdy poems. That was a little disconcerting. But I soldiered on, seeing smiles and nods of encouragement. They weren't all bawdy. I spread out into a couple of more serious ones, and two nature poems including the grackle sestina I'm so proud of. I survived, ate a cookie, received a nice little gift from the school, came home and had five shots of Glenfiddich in front of the TV. Yum.

FREEZE!

2009-12-25T16:35:00.003-07:00

What is the world coming to? Freeze warning tonight, 20's or 30's. I don't think it's ever been that cold in Phoenix since I moved here. Well, maybe once or twice in 20 years. Creepy.

Another creepy thing? Lady likes grapefruit, if I peel off the thin membrane, which I did today and swear I will never do again. That's just too much. She's craziest about nuts, any kind. She and Grumpy feast on pistachios together. Oranges too, but grapefruit? It took me a lifetime to develop a taste for them.

I've stayed home all day, avoiding people wishing me a Merry, content with my NPR, computer fiddling, picking at a poem, cleaning the kitchen. I made food for breakfast, turkey stew, lovely. Maybe I'm about to start cooking again? Grumpy pissed me off months ago rejecting anything with cumin or any other "weird" additive. I love cumin. I have a long memory, a bit much. I've been in house refusal status for months and months, but I got busy with a broom day before yesterday and swept up the heap of grass Lady has rolled in and deposited in the living room. Bedroom next. I have no explanation, just observing myself.

Two great films

2009-12-22T23:16:00.002-07:00

Breaking and Entering (2007), dir. Anthony Minghella, cast includes Jude Law, Juliette Binoche, and Robin Wright Penn -- Oh, I am sitting here just after watching this marvelous film, moved in so many different ways it is very hard to describe. Look it up, find it, watch it. Immigrants, crime, love, autism, urban renewal, ...more.

Bad Lieutenant: Port of New Orleans (2009), dir. Werner Herzog, Nicolas Cage is main character -- I guess they had to add the part of the title after the colon because there was another film, starring Harvey Keitel, also great, with the same name. Herzog is amazing, perhaps a lunatic, with extreme poetic vision. The film is like a poem, in that it shows rather than narrating a story, all imagery and emotion. The story is complex, fragmented, and so are the characters, especially Cage, who seems to splinter into shards but keeps going and going and going, ricocheting all over the place, coming out the other side intact. It reminds me of that TV series, "The Shield," done as a manic visual poem. Police corruption, prostitution, drugs, a dog, violence, comedy -- everything but the kitchen sink, set in New Orleans not long after Katrina tore it all to hell. Keep in mind, this is the guy who made Fitzcarraldo. This one is even better.

Winter doldrums

2009-12-22T11:27:00.002-07:00

We've been using the heat pump the past few weeks, wearing warm slippers and sweatshirts, sleeping under the winter duvet Grumpy brought home from Ireland. Some days the high temp is only in the 50's and nights in the 40's. Brrrrr! In the backyard, grapefruits are ripe and juicy.

In Uganda, death to homosexuals! Head spinning. Sometimes we need a reminder that there are places in the world a whole lot crazier than us. In the U.S., we've rejected universal health care (too scary to even talk about). We just love our parasitic insurance companies getting between us and our doctors to keep health care down and costs up. But they've cobbled together a monstrous (in size) health care bill that nobody really likes but it's all the fear mongers will let us have -- and that on the backs of women's rights with its virtual exclusion of coverage for abortion. Amazingly, it prevents insurance companies from denying coverage for pre-existing conditions, but it doesn't limit what they can charge for covering them! What the hell is that? Oh, it does include some improvements, but when you think about what they could have done, it's depressing. Hopefully a wiser future generation will modify it or replace it. (I heard that when Canada got universal health care, the bill was only seven pages long.)

Two weeks with no poetry classes! I should be working on poems, as I've accepted an invitation to do a 20-minute reading on January 12, and I'm not even sure I have enough poems to fill that amount of time. Maybe I can tell some jokes. ha-ha.

Lady fattened up so much she lost her waistline, but lately she gets so much exercise at the dog park that just a hint of narrowing behind the ribs has re-appeared. Tonight she ran like a maniac in figure-eights while a plaintive beagle pup tried desperately to keep up by cutting corners (corners?). They stop to catch a breath, facing each other, until the beagle yips and off she goes again. I'm trying to teach her to chase a ball. It shouldn't be so difficult. Everydoggy else does it.

I'm spending way too much time playing Spider solitaire while listening to NPR. Writing here again is my strategy to break the habit of passivity.

Grandma! (me)

2009-11-30T23:23:00.002-07:00

Visiting Henry, my first grandchild, is a trip! I don't believe I've even held a baby for more than a couple of seconds since about 26 years ago when I had my youngest. The first day felt awkward. Then it all came back to me and felt perfectly natural. I have no interest at all in other people's babies. This is a whole different thing. This baby sleeping on my chest fills me with peace and well-being (oxytocin? endorphins?). He's five weeks old now. Over the week I've been here, I've watched his gaze change as his vision improves. When he stares right into my eyes, it's a thrill. When he becomes perfectly still staring at a window or the ceiling fan or the line where wall meets ceiling, I'm fascinated. Such a simple thing, and no less amazing for that.

I have a heart full of negative things to say about my mother, but she was there for both my sons' births (and, for different reasons, their fathers were not). She was perfect, doing everything helpful and kind. Remembering that, and appreciating her so much, makes me joyful to have the chance to pass it on. Contrary to my usual cranky attitude toward domestic tasks (and fully negligent at home), here I am genuinely happy to wash dishes, help cook & clean, do whatever I can to give the parents a break. They are not getting much sleep yet, tired but happy. This child is so fortunate to have such parents, to grow up in a happy family.

Okay, I'm getting misty-eyed. Such a softy. Wait, I'll think about our never-ending wars and the struggle to allow our citizens straightforward access to health care. Yeah, here I am, all cranky again.

So much has happened!

2009-11-11T20:42:00.003-07:00

I have shamelessly neglected my blog. I wonder if anyone still checks it out. Whew! First, on October 26 I became a grandma! Totally new experience, full of unknowns, haven't even held him yet. But I'm traveling to see him soon, off to rainy Oregon for two weeks around Thanksgiving.

And I have done so much traveling and taken so many pictures!

Oh, and last night I won second place in a poetry competition at the community college where I used to teach biology in a former lifetime. That made me ridiculously happy and got me a basket of treats, including a twenty-dollar bill.

Cousin Hooly visited, and we had scenic drives and hikes. Here's Cousin Hooly on the trail to the natural bridge (ha) in Chiricahua National Monument. We mathematically challenged dodos had done a 2.6-mile hike, so naturally we figured that a 4.8-mile hike with steeper hills would be a snap.

We also intended to visit Garden Canyon inside Fort Huachuca, but Hooly has reached the ripe age of 55 without learning to carry her car registration "at all times," so I had to go back there alone after she left for home. Maybe I can blame her for the disappearing tire (nothing left but raggedy edges) on my way home from this second visit to Sierra Vista, stuck on the freeway at night too scared to change a tire with humongous semis blasting by at 75+ mph. AAA rescued me. I bow to AAA. After this incident, I conclude that in an emergency I am a totally useless basket case, instantaneously stupid. AAA of course wanted to have some better clue to my location than "somewhere between Tucson and Phoenix." I was in the middle of nowhere, literally. Nice lady losing her cool over the phone suggested I get out of the car and look around for something informative. Grumpily, I did so, totally forgetting that my car has a navigation system complete with a helpful map-on-screen, on which I could easily have located the nearest crossroad, without having to climb out between madly whooshing monster trucks to read the sign on the overpass that turned out to be right behind me. Anyhow, Hooly, here's a little of what you missed:

Films, poets, dog

2009-10-17T14:02:00.005-07:00

Golly, I've been busy! Two poetry classes at the same time is a lot of reading and writing, with a sick dog and a hunger for leisure. Forgetting to exercise.

Yesterday I saw two films in a row, pissed off because I had planned to hear Sherman Alexie, a funny native american poet, but tickets sold out! Can you imagine, a poet sold out? I had no clue he was that well known. Anyhow, I was pissed and took myself off to Harkins theatre to see a poet movie (Bright Star) and Capitalism: A Love Story. Good pairing. The romantic love epic complete with TB and blood was a bit much, but the poetry was actually beautiful, made me want to read more. Michael Moore was the perfect antidote and not a bit too much. I wish I knew how to contribute to the overthrow of Wall St. Right at the beginning of the film, a woman fell on me. I was sitting on the aisle, and she tripped on the dark steps. That wasn't so bad, but when she left I noticed I didn't any longer have my glasses on! I was down on my knees feeling all around the dirty dark floor under my seat -- yuk and panic. She came back, having found my glasses hooked onto her purse. We had a good laugh, and I didn't miss much of the film.

Lady is well now and pesky. Whenever Grumpy and I are both gone, she drags our smelly stuff into the living room (underpants, bra, sweaty shorts, shoes, slippers). She doesn't chew them up like she did a pencil and a dried out dead bird. I've seen her rest her chin on my shoe. I think she just likes having our smells close to her. Awwwwwww.

She is a good leash walker until she sees another dog, which is when Grumpy learned she is also an expert collar-slipper-out-of. This may be how she got to the pound. Now she has a harness, and we'll have to work on that. I swear I was striding with confidence and authority last night, a la Cesar, but clearly she didn't notice. I was not even on her radar, used brute force to get her attention. Gotta work on that.

Time to clean up the trash and gummy floors for company. Gotta finish reading Komunyakaa, start reading Boisseaux, write a paper on Sharon Olds, read a chapter -- pant, pant. Naw, I love it. Ed Pavlic came to class Thursday night, and now I'm determined to see Black Poet Ventures do a show based on his book of poems about the life and music of Donny Hathaway this weekend. (Yeah, I'd never heard of him either.) The floors may not get done after all.

Sick Lady

2009-10-03T15:05:00.002-07:00

Yesterday afternoon she started hacking, sounded like something was stuck in her throat. This morning it was worse, so off we went to the vet and came home with antibiotics, cough suppressants and a diagnosis of kennel cough. Not in her lungs yet, so hopefully she'll get better quickly. No interest in standard food today, but she opened wide for balls of liverwurst and cream cheese, with and without pills inside. She's coughing less now, lethargic, napping. I'm standing guard over her (sitting, actually). Saturday is my day to listen to hours of NPR anyhow. Upside, she's gained a pound.

Funny watching her change as she settles in. Day 3, she suddenly dared to get up on the bed and refused to move off it. She only weighs 42 pounds, felt like about a hundred trying to move her. Repeat, repeat. It took two days for her to give up trying, but she hasn't tried since. Once she gets it, she doesn't forget. Can't blame her for trying, but I'm not feeling sorry for somebody who has three cushy beds of her own scattered around the house.

Only yesterday morning, no cough yet, she was madly dashing through puddles in the park with a look of pure joy. I dared to turn her loose briefly, as she had started responding to her name. But I didn't push it. At the first sign of her testing whether she had to come or not, I leashed her up. She needs to build the habit gradually, and I didn't have any treats on hand to help that out. Homie had such good behavior, and its easy to forget he didn't come that way. Lady has to learn from scratch never to step off the curb on her own. We started that, along with staying on my left. We had two lessons on "Fix it," the command I use for when the dog gets the leash wrapped around something and has to figure out how to unwind. I do it by just standing there, waiting, saying "Fix it" until she accidentally moves in the right direction. Every time she does, I praise her and tighten the slack. Eventually she gets unwound, and hopefully it gets easier and easier with repetitions.

Lady Boxer

2009-09-29T20:40:00.002-07:00

There's a new Lady at our house. Here she is, first day at home from the pound (yesterday). Another day and she'd have been killed. Age about one year, has already had puppies, smaller than average for a boxer, and with too much white for breed standards. She's a blank slate, no history available, taken in as a "stray." Grumpy just couldn't wait any longer. He needs exercise, likes to walk but not alone. They did a five-miler this morning before dawn. She's sweet-natured and housebroken, way too thin but the way she eats that won't last. She had a check-up today at our new vet's office and was judged healthy. It's too bad Homie isn't here to play with her.

Visiting the moving wall

2009-09-19T20:12:00.004-07:00

Heavy head, longish day. For a poetry class assignment, I visited the traveling Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Phoenix for the weekend. I should have studied the original first, as this one was oddly organized. I was distracted trying to figure out the significance of apparent paragraphs, separated by blank space -- do they represent different years, or what? No, they are meaningless, an artifact of the fact that this version of the moving wall does not taper off at the ends. The "paragraphs" represent names on one panel of the original, I think, though some of the lists seem to continue from one panel to the next, thus obliterating any visible pattern of decreasing numbers of lines and throwing me into confusion as I tried to understand the artist's vision. This defective replica appears to exist solely for people who can't make it to Washington, D.C., to rub names from on bits of paper.

I was also thrown by the angled junction of the two wings, the right-hand wing starting with 1959 at the top, and the left-hand wing ending with 1975 at the bottom. I was sure the replica had been put together incorrectly! But I found a quote from the artist on the internet, and that turns out to be correct. She visualized starting from the angle at 1959 and moving along toward the east as the wall tapers into the ground, then circling around to start again at the tapered end of the west wall and returning to the angle, ending with 1975 at the bottom of the last column on that side. Odd, but it works. The long, tapered wings, joined at an angle, look like a scar in the earth from above, the shortest panel at each end with only one line of names, a vision completely obliterated by our version of the moving wall. There are several replicas, and from photos I could see that one of them, probably the first one made, does actually taper like the original though it's only half the original's size.

After this puzzling wall visit, I munched salad at Wildflower Bakery while reading 42 poems by Yusef Komunyakaa about the Vietnam War, which he experienced as a journalist (published as a collection titled Dien Cai Dau). The last poem is about the wall. My head became heavier and heavier reading all these poems. I didn't lose anyone in that war. Grumpy was damaged by it, says he was a horrible soldier, and when asked if he wanted to go see the wall, said: "No way in hell!" He proudly pissed on Lyndon Johnson's grave some years ago. It's been a while since I was outraged (for several years) by that rotten war. What fun to revisit the meaningless horror of it.

Who is Harry Crews?

2009-09-14T17:32:00.002-07:00

At the end of the film, "The Hawk is Dying," I waited to see if it was taken from a book and who wrote it. There it was: ". . . a book by Harry Crews." Who the heck is Harry Crews, and if he always writes such weird shit, why haven't I ever heard of him?

So I googled him, of course. Turns out he was in a documentary called "Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus" that I had watched with my two Gainesville friends on one of my visits down there, which also turns out to be where Crews lives. There is a website that pulls together stuff by and about and with Crews, where I read a couple of interviews. He kinda reminds me of Charles Bukowski (hope I spelled that right), cranky ol' guy with a history of hard drinking who doesn't enjoy much and writes like a sonofabitch (meant in a good way).

Wow. Three of his novels can be found in my very own local public library, where I've been spending time lately instead of in online or on-the-ground bookstores during my quest to stop pretending I'm rich. I have a Margaret Drabble novel to read first, then off I go to sample Crews.

Kaleidoscope

2009-09-13T23:58:00.002-07:00

My mind is awash with multi-mingled images. I drove across town to see two films, "Adam" and "Cold Souls," both very differently emotional, funny, and moving; "Cold Souls" more than that, ridiculous and profound. Then I watched the season finale of "True Blood," then another Paul Giamatti film, "The Hawk is Dying," both of which were perverse, grotesque, dysfunctional, and riveting. Meanwhile I'm thinking about a poem I will write about my face. So, you see, my mind is tossing salad.

"Cold Souls" is a do-not-miss film. Thigh-slapping kudos for Mr. Funny-Face Genius.

Poetic gamboling

2009-09-11T20:11:00.003-07:00

Back again. It's been a bit of drag with no Flagstaff trips to write about, but school has started and I've had two weeks of new poetry classes to keep me busy. One is a 200-level class at a community college, only 9 or 10 students, mostly young and mostly male. It's very odd to have a mostly male poetry class! It's almost always the other way around. We've divided into two groups for work-shopping our poems (instructor prowls around listening instead of participating in the feedback). In my group are three young males, one a bit older, and me. Two of the youngsters are hispanic, and are dreamy-eyed romantics. The third is blond and very shy. The older guy gives the best feedback. So, here I come with my second poem, first line "Her labia," and heads fly back.

I don't do this with malice or for shock value. Really. Sexual issues bother me, have bothered me most of my life, and so that's just naturally what I write a lot about. We had to write an extended metaphor poem, something standing in for something else. The labia were gates, and the rest of the poem tried to see them through the eyes of a man working out how to get in there and risking failure and humiliation. There are passwords and padlocks and pathways without signposts, yadda-yadda, the whole dilemma. I stared at my big toe for a while and got no ideas at all, but as soon as I thought of labia, bingo! I had a metaphor!

The instructor seems to be a bit timid, so I don't know what to expect from her re my metaphor. We get written comments on our poems next week. In the ASU class, 400-level, we all sit in a big circle, 20 of us and the instructor (as we did in the 200- and 300-level workshops). The interaction is busy and fruitful, the instructor participating in a way that helps produce productive feedback. I like this much better. My first poem -- a tale comparing chilly collapsed male genitalia to a novelty cow pie and going on to describe some of the pitfalls of senior sex -- was received with a few blushes and general hilarity and appreciation. The instructor wrote "bawdy and wonderful" on it. (Grin!)

"He died last night."

2009-08-26T14:30:00.003-07:00

I feel like a big old silly, but I tear up over and over again every time they say on NPR "He died last night." I didn't want him to die! I loved the old fart, warts and all, and I wanted him to see us get health care reform of some kind before he died.

Joyce Carol Oates wrote a little novel about Chappaquiddick, thinly disguised, from the point of view of the young woman in the car. Listening to the audiobook while driving, I abruptly found myself no longer on the highway but speeding through a copper mine. That's how riveting the story was. Backtracking, I discovered I had sped blindly past wildly flashing red lights, and I met a state police car on my way out after apologizing to the flustered gatekeeper. That's my most personal memory of Ted Kennedy.

Shifting gears

2009-08-25T22:30:00.002-07:00

Nearly heat-stroked visiting two campuses in the middle of the day Monday to buy textbooks, and that's wearing sun-hat, lugging water, and taking shade sit breaks to walk a half mile each way from the ASU parking lot. I am definitely spoiled by walking only in Flagstaff these past months. Poetry classes start tomorrow.

This morning I showed up at 6 am for a yoga class and watched the jaws of those who know me drop to the floor. Hey, at 6 am it was only 90 degrees out! I haven't done any yoga classes all summer, so it nearly killed me.

At Bally's a couple of days ago, I tried out some of those crazy machines for upper body work, really barely did anything at all, and for two days I have been so sore. I swear, even the fat under my upper arms hurts. I guess I know what I need to be doing from now on.

I'm craving Cheetos.

Raining like hell!

2009-08-21T20:34:00.002-07:00

Wow. This is so exciting -- thunder, wind, pouring rain. It feels like national news, like a war breaking out. Sadly, in the time it took me to take a photo and type this, it's already fading away.

Lockett Meadow & Bismarck Lake & Trail

2009-08-19T14:21:00.005-07:00

Aaaahhhh. I feel so much better after a trip to Flagstaff. I came back exhausted. That's what I like, and not even another poopy episode could bring me down!

Arriving about 4 pm, I checked into Motel 6 and took off to explore Lockett Meadow's loopy trail, which sounded interesting in the guide book. The drive up (from highway 89 across from Sunset Crater) was narrow and scary -- extreme drop-off on my side, no shoulder. The meadow was pretty but way too popular. Lots of campsites (not mentioned in the guide) and a very stinky latrine, lots of folks probably fleeing the wildfire smoke in town. I didn't see any point walking the overpopulated campsite loop around the meadow, but I was starved for a hike, so I took the Inner Basin Trail for maybe 3/4 mile relentlessly uphill to a big snake-head rock. I met kids, dogs, and romantic couples coming and going. It was steep enough to wear me out and threatening to get dark; a returning family said I was only halfway to my goal, a junction with another trail -- my cue to head gratefully downhill again.

The drive back was so much better, the up-slope on my right and pleasing sunset views. Just below the meadow I spotted a turnout hinting at a viewpoint. Sure enough, the setting sun was spectacularly focused on a cinder cone in Sunset Crater National Monument. My photo doesn't do it justice. I wonder if that's why it's called Sunset Crater!

I stopped to eat at Mary's Cafe on the way back into town. Big mistake. White lettuce salad with bits of carrot & cabbage so tiny one had to fingerpick them out for a bit of flavor. I asked for oil & vinegar dressing; I think it was soybean oil. Giant chicken-fried steak with soggy crust and utterly tasteless gravy, but tasty cowboy beans. The corn was bright yellow, enticing, but tasted like dishwater. Pretty good biscuit, but no butter (butter-flavored crap with a drop of Land o'Lakes butter that stood up like sponge castles, never melted). I know several great places to eat in Flagstaff, so this was a horrendous blunder.

Next day, Bismarck Trail after breakfast at Quinn's. They make the best pancakes I've ever tasted, with actual maple syrup. I just wish they'd keep the coffee hot. The trail in toward Humphrey Peak wasn't quite like the book described. I think the Arizona Trail folks have altered it, filling in their last remaining gap in that area. But never mind. The uphill slope was mild enough that I could handle it (with my usual panting breaks) for a couple of miles. When it started going downhill, I decided pretty quickly that I was too tired to face that coming back. All and all, in and out plus side trips, I think I did at least 5 miles, maybe a little more. Conifers and aspens, open meadows, pleasing views, cloudless sky -- I'll definitely return.

On the way back, a very laid-back horned lizard offered photo-ops, so I squatted (ouch) then sat down in the dust, inching closer with what I'm sure was a very sexy hip-walk. I took 20 or 30 photos, which got me a couple of pretty good ones. Then, while I was down there, I tried to photograph insects on flowers, none of which were anywhere near in focus. If the Coolpix can spot-focus, I couldn't find it. I had opted not to lug the D-70 around on such a long (for me) hike. Soon I will have a macro lens and will spend hours sitting in the dirt beside bugs on flowers. For now, the lizard (being much wider and lazier) was as good as I could get.

Oh, I'm sorry but I cannot resist another poop story. It's bugging me that I always seem to have just one more big poop in me that doesn't want out until I'm far from civilized facilities. At least this time I didn't fall over and had handfuls of folded grass for wiping. My mistake? I guess I was anxious not to be seen and didn't do the job at all thoroughly. Squatting is a little painful on my knees & hard to maintain.

I first suspected something was wrong about a mile into my hike when I sat down beside the trail and smelled something nasty. As I had just extracted a vertebra from the dirt beside me, I figured it was decomp. When I detected the same odor again later, I got uneasy. When I got to Domenic's for pizza hours later, aching and covered in dust and sweat, I slunk in like a homeless person set on bathing in the toilet, clean underpants shoved into my shorts pocket. Sure enough, I found a shocking quantity of shit in my panties! Omigod. I carefully folded them around the mess and hid them deep in the covered trash can, cursed the blow-dryer (no paper towels I could wet for cleansing!), washed dust off my face, hands, and arms, and ordered a Vampire Killer pizza with anchovies.

Now, don't you want to go hiking with me?

Poetry reading

2009-08-17T01:33:00.002-07:00

I cannot believe I failed to write here after last Tuesday's poetry reading! (slapping forehead, hard) At my old school, the community college where I taught biology for 18 years, I've discovered a vibrant, spirited, and surprisingly talented bunch of poets. One Tuesday each month, they hold a poetry event in the Student Union. One or more featured poets read, but first, a dozen or so anybodies sign up to read a poem or two.

I signed up to read, on stage, with microphone and audience of, oh, maybe thirty people. Not only did I sign up, I followed through. I got up there and read, with attitude, my favorite of my poems, "Triple D's," which is all about my tits and my struggle to get over being too fat to move like I need to move. It's funny, and the audience howled and clapped. I was higher than a kite by the time I finished and relinquished the mike, and all that evening, and the next day. When an audience gives back like that, it feels like a drug -- intoxicating.

Clenching my teeth

2009-08-17T01:08:00.003-07:00

What a boring week! No trips to Flagstaff! First, I kept putting it off, then when I was rarin' to go, rainy weather. We even got rain in Phoenix. I can't remember when it last rained, it was so long ago. In Flag, of course, thunderstorms expected early morning, late morning, and afternoon. I was set to go Sunday but overslept in a big way. Okay, Monday I'm taking off. I'll even set the alarm. I won't spend the night so I don't get caught up in the whole packing neurosis. I'll load up my cameras and binocs and all the books I could possibly need, and then I won't actually carry them but they'll be there just in case.

Just when I'd decided that, I got a call from somebody interested in buying my dive computer, which I'd advertised on craigslist so I can buy a macro lens without feeling like a spendthrift. Of course he wants to come by on Monday! Oh, man! Wait, no, Grumpy can handle it. Yes, he says he will. Then I turn around and pay $1745 for a 3-credit poetry workshop at ASU. Right, I'm really worried about spending. I bit my lip and paid, ignoring Grumpy's grumping and my own misgivings. This is for me, payback for all the years grading papers (while deflecting flack) and pouring $$$ into the parental launching pad. It's my time (and my money).

I just watched Persepolis. Excellent. Odd how this animated film communicated more deeply about what it's like to live through political turmoil and repression in general, to live through it in Iran, and to live through it female in Iran than all the individual news bits and personal stories I've heard and watched for the last 30 years. Odd, the power of art.

Lars and the Real Girl

2009-08-08T22:49:00.002-07:00

Wow, I just finished watching this film. I remember when it first came out, saw the preview, thought it was a stupid comedy about some looney tune who fell in love with a silicon sex doll. In fact, it is a beautiful and sensitive film about loneliness and fear of human contact, which the young man played by Ryan Gosling resolves by sending off for a Real Girl. He never even has sex with the "sex doll." For him it's the only way he can learn to love. Lucky he's in a small town, where everybody knows everybody. They all end up going along with the delusion that she's real until Lars is ready to let it go. I was so moved, and my right eye cried a little. Bizarre, but done so well it was convincing enough for me to suspend disbelief and take the ride. Glad I did.

Some time ago I watched a documentary about men who love these dolls. It was creepy to watch, and eye-opening, like a dimension of life I'd never had a clue about, but it is a lifeline for some. It surely does take all kinds!