Today I realized I was wearing a nursing top. Despite the facts that: 1.) My youngest child
is ten. 2.) I’ve owned it for four
weeks.
I’ve decided that:
1.) This shirt makes a. lot. more. sense now! And 2.) I’m going to wear it anyway.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Friday, May 25, 2012
Umm, tasty!
Sometimes irony is so delicious that you might as well be eating 3 flavors of ice cream, in a chocolate dipped waffle cone ... that doesn't have any calories!
Well, just when I was starting to think that my break with thtudnwmtb was permanent and that all she cared about was whether her alimony check was in the mail or not something happened. We got a letter from the refinancing company who handled the refinance. The town was misspelled in the paperwork so they sent us an letter informing us.
But ... wait for it! ... our name was misspelled.
Well, just when I was starting to think that my break with thtudnwmtb was permanent and that all she cared about was whether her alimony check was in the mail or not something happened. We got a letter from the refinancing company who handled the refinance. The town was misspelled in the paperwork so they sent us an letter informing us.
But ... wait for it! ... our name was misspelled.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
A Poem
Gate C22
At gate C22 in the Portland airport
a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed
a woman arriving from Orange County.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after
the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons
and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,
the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other
like he'd just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,
like she'd been released at last from ICU, snapped
out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down
from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.
Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.
She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine
her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish
kisses like the ocean in the early morning,
the way it gathers and swells, sucking
each rock under, swallowing it
again and again. We were all watching--
passengers waiting for the delayed flight
to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,
the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling
sunglasses. We couldn't look away. We could
taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.
But the best part was his face. When he drew back
and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost
as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,
as your mother must have looked at you, no matter
what happened after--if she beat you or left you or
you're lonely now--you once lay there, the vernix
not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you
as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.
The whole wing of the airport hushed,
all of us trying to slip into that woman's middle-aged body,
her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,
little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.
Ellen Bass
At gate C22 in the Portland airport
a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed
a woman arriving from Orange County.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after
the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons
and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,
the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other
like he'd just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,
like she'd been released at last from ICU, snapped
out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down
from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.
Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.
She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine
her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish
kisses like the ocean in the early morning,
the way it gathers and swells, sucking
each rock under, swallowing it
again and again. We were all watching--
passengers waiting for the delayed flight
to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,
the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling
sunglasses. We couldn't look away. We could
taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.
But the best part was his face. When he drew back
and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost
as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,
as your mother must have looked at you, no matter
what happened after--if she beat you or left you or
you're lonely now--you once lay there, the vernix
not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you
as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.
The whole wing of the airport hushed,
all of us trying to slip into that woman's middle-aged body,
her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,
little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.
Ellen Bass
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Coming Home
We are flying home today. But I thought I would give you a fishing update.
Dada dada .... Half day of fishing 16 Mahi Mahi caught.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Costa Rica
My husband and I flew to Costa Rica for a work thing. I am his plus one. Basically that means that right now while he is at a work meeting I am sitting by the pool under an umbrella and if I want a drink ... There is a waiter three feet away. Because it is a work thing I am ordering room service every morning. Because I love room service and I never get it. In my next life I want to have room service every other morning. (I just tried to post the picture of my breakfast but it didn't work ... Probably because I am technically challenged.)
Tomorrow we are going deep sea fishing and Friday we are going on a zip line canopy tour.
This trip is of course, all due to my sister-in-law Dawn who flew out to take care of my kids. Everyone was delighted about that (except one of my kids who would have been able to be their dad's plus one).
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