Across the Alley

She says she loves the moments when she can forget
to be her and instead remember,
sometimes too much, sweet dreams and vistas
that other times appear
in a magazine or on television
or in someone else's eyes.
But those moments when she loses
track of time and self, they are more than all that
because they are real,
even through a window-view,
and leaning out the window is its own poison
just like suffocation.

And he says he loves the moments when he can share
his heart and soul
with another who returns them
better than they were,
with another who breathes more than air - she breathes
the soft flesh of dreams both to be and not
and is not afraid of suffocation -
and he is ready to give her his breath anyway.

They speak across the alley,
smiling across the way through opposing windows.
Their hearts seem pinned to clothespins
sliding on the line from one to the other, like notes
or clean clothes. They sometimes see the blur of traffic
passing by, or faceless people, the mailman, but mostly at these times
they see one another.
Still, sometimes they see the door,
beneath its awning always lit.

~bsower

Sugar Plum Visions

Many are expecting snow to start falling sometime late Christmas Eve, early Christmas morning. This area last saw a white Christmas in 1961. The meteorologist indicates that two very different models are being watched. One shows the storm system tracking more northward and inland, granting a snowball's chance in hell of even a light dusting. The other model is in that vision with sugar plums, and all the kids are dreaming. Again, this area last saw a white Christmas in 1961. The combination of "meteorologist" and dreams as strong as new love tends to box up history like a textbook. Certain history, that is. Other historical data stands steadfastly, and one can bet the farm with no risk that by mid-afternoon tomorrow, the supermarkets will be out of milk and bread. One more time: this area last saw a white Christmas in 1961.

Naturally, the model dumping snow in these parts is the model the majority is expecting to prove accurate. The conspiracy theorist may find collusion clearly exists between the supermarkets, milk farmers, bakeries, and the various meteorological societies and associations. The more productive member of society operates beyond this entire matter, understanding that the masses possess a mob mentality even more so these days and that the weather - well, weather will happen, just be reasonably prepared. The overly analytical one believes this little tale of forecasting a white Christmas is further evidence that the masses prefer dreams over reality. Put more clearly, the masses are perfectly willing to make decisions based upon and indeed live in a dream-altered reality. This phenomenon is reflected in the divorce rate, the debt ratios, the amount of time parents devote to self-entertainment compared to time spent with their children, the amount of money spent on sporting events versus the amount of money spent on educational pursuits, the amount of media coverage Lohan and such receive compared to the lady who beat all odds to put her three kids through college on a cashier's income... We live in a sugar plum society.

Lest this seems all bah humbug and spilled milk, understand that this time of year is perfect for sugar plums. Spreading joy, observing the magnificent amazement and wonder on children's faces, pausing the ever-spinning life merry-go-round and disembarking to see the sights, give a hug, dream a little, share the love - this is Christmas. With great hope and love, the world was changed. With great hope and love, the world can change again.

Positive change is sorely needed, but sugar plum visions impede progress. Fear of life impedes life itself. Consider that the masses willingness to dream awake signifies, to some degree, a fear of life - a resignation that real life is too much work or beyond repair or disgusting or pointless or just plain scary. These sentiments are understandable. Soldiers are dying. Jobs are fleeing. Gas prices are soaring. Crime is consistent, like death and taxes. Love is lost. Marriages end. Friends lie. Relationships have gone virtual. Human touch is rarely shared. The world is scary at times.

This Christmas season, two roads diverge in every wood. One cannot travel both. However, one can take the hand of one nearby and pledge to help on the journey, to go meet the teacher, deliver a meal, shovel a neighbor’s walk, stop and fix a flat, have a meaningful conversation with children, love selflessly, give without hope of receiving. Life requires work. Work requires alertness and willingness to focus on the task at hand. Dreams exist for good reason, but dreams should not be confused with goals. Identify your desired life destination for 2011 and beyond. Roll up your sleeves, take a hand of one close by, and choose the road that takes you there. Put forecasts in your pocket with a compass. Grant expectations the foundation of effort. Have fun in the snow, rejoice in the rain, bundle up in the cold, be thankful in all things, love truly and deeply and without fear. Who eats sugar plums, anyway?

Tunesday X

Not much to write that hasn't been said already....

This tune has been in heavy rotation here for a few years now.

Citizen Cope Son's Gonna Rise

Nature, Nurture, Neurosis

Someone out there will read this and then know far too much about me, perhaps more than I know myself. See, I have this strange habit. Hang-up. Hysteria. I know not how long I've suffered, or caused others to suffer because of, this affliction, but I believe it started during my early teen years. The condition typically presents itself like this: I fall asleep, someone speaks to me, and I deny sleeping. For instance, Disturber-of-my-peace:"Come on. Go to bed. You're obviously sleepy. I mean, you've been sleeping during the movie." Me: "I wasn't sleeping. I was resting my eyes. They're dry tonight for some reason." I must have lots of guilt pent up about sleeping.

Perhaps I once felt an overwhelming urge to "hang" with everyone, and as long as they kept going, I determined to go, too. Maybe I possess some odd, foolish, or simply neurotic characteristic that causes me to believe sleep is shameful. Then again, I suppose I could blame my parents. Genetics makes for a wonderful scapegoat. After all, my youngest girl is afflicted with this condition. Not long after she turned four, she was in the backseat, in her car seat. She had fallen asleep. When we reached our destination, the other children scrambled out of the car. I asked the oldest brother to wake her. I turned from the driver's seat and said, "Hey, babe, we're here. You've been sleeping." Dazed, foggy, she glanced around slowly and then said, matter-of-factly, as sober and sure as can be, "I wasn't sleeping. I was blinking."

How about you? Do you have some odd habit that serves no legitimate purpose? If you have children, have you noticed that you've passed it on?

Humidity

Crossing the threshold
I am pasted sticky, wet
Eight a.m. and eighty-eight degrees
The air is invisible still but steamy, molasses
Life in slow motion
I do not want to mow the lawn in slow motion
I am thirsty
I do not want to wear grass and dirt today
I am soaking wet already
I wish you were still here
You would be surprised
I have fixed the place up nicely
Barn door thermometer reads ninety
The mower starts easily
I am tired already
Maybe you will come back today
for once
I look forward to a cold shower

inspired by Lime

River Rats

The kids and I have spent quite a bit of time on the river lately. I am thrilled that they love the river and aren't too worried about leeches, snakes, trout, slippery rocks, and the other dangers that I try to insulate them from. We slid down the rocks, caught several trout (and released them), and walked up and down the river as far as we could, our challenge being to go as far as we could without exiting the river proper.

Next week, the boys and I will do it again. This time, we are going to where the river begins, they tell me. Sounds good to me.

Melange

• Once upon a time there was a non-conforming sparrow who decided not to fly south for the winter. However, soon the weather turned so cold that he reluctantly decided to fly south. In a short time ice began to form on his wings and he fell to Earth in a barnyard, nearly frozen solid. A cow passed by where he had fallen, and crapped on the little sparrow.The sparrow thought it was the end, but the manure warmed him and defrosted his wings!
  Warm and happy, able to breath, he started to sing.
  Just then a large cat came by, and hearing the chirping he investigated the sounds. The cat cleared away the manure, found the chirping bird, and promptly ate him.
  The Moral of the Story:
  Everyone who craps on you is not necessarily your enemy
  Everyone who gets you out of crap is not necessarily your friend.
  And if you're warm and happy in a pile of crap, you might just want to keep your mouth shut.
• For those of you who invite persons onto your property for the purposes of a yard/garage sale, note that many jurisdictions classify these invited guests as "invitees." This is different than social guests, who are classified as "licensees." The owner of land owes to a licensee the simple duty of making sure that the social guest is not harmed by the owner's activities. The owner owes no duty to investigate and identify concealed dangers. However, invitees (those yard sale folks) are owed a higher duty. The owner owes to them a duty to warn of known and unknown defects. Therefore, the owner also has a duty to discover potential risks. Failure to fulfill the duty owed may lead to a nice little civil suit if the guest is injured.
• A turkey was chatting with a bull. "I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree," sighed the turkey, "but I haven't got the energy." "Well, why don't you nibble on some of my droppings?" replied the bull. "They're packed with nutrients." The turkey pecked at a lump of dung and found it actually gave him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree. The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch. Finally after a fourth night, he was proudly perched at the top of the tree. Soon he was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot the turkey out of the tree. Management Lesson: Bull shit might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.
• Math Teaching Over The Years

Teaching Math in 1950: A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is 4/5 of the price. What is his profit?

Teaching Math in 1960: A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is 4/5 of the price, or $80. What is his profit?

Teaching Math in 1970: A logger exchanges a set "L" of lumber for a set "M" of money. The cardinality of set "M" is 100. Each element is worth one dollar. Make 100 dots representing the elements of the set "M." The set "C", the cost of production, contains 20 fewer points than set "M." Represent the set "C" as a subset of set "M". Answer this question: What is the cardinality of the set "P" of profits?

Teaching Math in 1980: A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is $80 and his profit is $20. Your assignment: Underline the number 20.

Teaching Math in 1990: By cutting down beautiful forest trees, the logger makes $20. What do you think of this way of making a living? Topic for class participation after answering the question: How did the forest birds and squirrels feel as the logger cut down the trees? There are no wrong answers.

Teaching Math in 2000: A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is $120. How does Arthur Andersen determine that his profit margin is $60?

Teaching Math in 2009: El hachero vende un camion carga por $100. La cuesta de produccion es ….

Diving

A smile like the sunrise
Peering over Calibogue sound
Rouses him from other dreams where,
In arms as free as his
Longing, he rests peacefully,
And she wonders what he will do
when it rains.
Thoughts of darkness toss him
like a hammock in a hurricane,
but he recalls the fire within.
He knows he finds inspiration in the rainfall,
and he knows how to swim.
Swallowed by her light, though
He takes a breath
As deep as canyons
Just in case.

~bsower~