Children HELPING Children

Today I accompanied my high school juniors and seniors to a local school that exists primarily for  underprivileged and/or transient students. It is an elementary school in the heart of Tempe. Community Outreach is mandatory for the students at my school, and I think that is a beautiful and meaningful requirement. Their task today was to assist various third graders in completing a reading assignment, a word search and to color a Mexican Independence Day worksheet. 

While my students were being paired up with the youngsters I observed the following:

Angels with glitter in their hair.

A boy pounding another on the wrist, while the victim remained silent and appeared bored.

My principal telling the teacher about the pounding and my students calling him a tattle tale.

One boy's attention continuously drifting from his reading to gaze at a book on a high shelf. The title of the book was Lawn Care for Busy People; there was a living grasshopper on its spine. 

One student wiggling a loose tooth with his tongue while concentrating

A female toddler child, belonging to a couple enrolling their older son-- she was wearing tiny pink Chuck Taylors and would scream then giggle. Repeatedly.

The smiles of typically angst-filled teenagers as they left the building with fewer answers ready to leap off their tongues, and a new perception of the Universe.

And another....

Altering Course to Port

We place confessions in glass bottles

About being left of center. Meanwhile

Port side adds the desert to our view.

Our horizon is uncorked, we spill out 

Forcefully and feel insignificant.

Home is there! You ring some bells.

Later, when it is 115 degrees

And you're mowing a guilty lawn, 

I'll try hard not to nag you about the edging.

(Attention to detail makes a difference though.)

The hairs on your chest turn silver

My freckles seem to be melting.

I love your laughter when I say 

Don't forget to wear a hat. 

The way you adore the hell out of this heat, 

How we conduct a slow orbit in familiar space.

I Think So.... A Skimming Rant

I think you can hate Republican viewpoints and still be patriotic. My friend D. equates watching the RNC with watching televised church programing. I admire her for trying. I watched for about 15 minutes and began to feel the dichotomy that America has become. Theirs....and mine. 

My America is comprised of : struggling, vanishing, middle class families--uninsured teachers and students, teenagers that don't know how to form a paragraph yet know who Britney Spears fucked last, long hours, and concerns about future costs on the budget we're on. Concerns about national debt, wars, and almost-wars.

I honestly don't understand their America. I am glad they're participating in Democracy, I suppose. Although, I wish they had something better to do. Okay, not really. I just find it shocking how critical the Right has become of OTHER. There seems to be virtually NO accountability for anything. No weapons of mass destruction; oops, let's finish the job, right? I won't even start on recent elections or I don't know, the Attorney General. Worse even, is their new outrage at being questioned. Imagine that. 

It seems like America has been sleepwalking for the last 8 years. 9/11 could have been a catalyst for new alliances, diplomacy and humility. Instead it became a long and detached shopping spree. And, now, 98% of Americans can't afford the sale.  

Personally, I'm afraid to put my faith in a party, or a person. In spite of myself I hear Obama speak and I feel hope stir. Watching the DNC, I repeatedly found myself thinking, "Oh my god, those people could be my friends." That and, "Please let him be wearing a bullet proof vest." I suppose the feeling of isolation, of political minority status- began to melt in the light of the messages given there. 

Now, this week, I am left to consider what country separates me from my countrymen and women who are bent on the politics of exclusion. Well. That's fine. Count me out, but don't imply I'm not patriotic. God Bless America, and theirs too. Dammit.

Almost done....

Poor, neglected blog. Cyber-whiner. I've been busy growing a mini-book of poetry. Chapbook to be precise. And, for the record, writing/saying chapbook makes me also want to use words like "gent" and phrases like, "Cheery-o mate." These poems and I have wrestled for a good, long time. We've come together in a loose embrace.

They are a series of poems written to maritime flags. I know, I live in the desert. Opposites and imagination my invisible, non-existent audience. Each poem is titled after a semaphore symbol.

For example; "Diver Down" and "Keep Clear".  I've even decided to include the flag images next to the titles which should stir up a whole lot of ridiculous discussion if they are ever considered for publication. "Perhaps she's relying too heavily on the image...perhaps it's a gimmick." Perhaps it's semaphore on all counts, sillies. The poems are not about the sea. They're about being out to sea in relationships....ummm hmmmm.

I feel brave about submitting, as I have 5 poems forthcoming in Locuspoint late this summer, or early next fall. Hooray!

Below is a preview:  

Keep Clear of Me

Name calling after a good one,

Like trumpets! I agree Penelope was clever,

Yes, I envy her patience. Still, 

I CAN'T SEW.

Angel, hasn't this been pretty good?

Can't you forgive me for blah, blah, blah?

I know--let's climb into cornflower sheets. The argument

Docking like limbs in our ever-bed.

Cellos will state their intentions

Then steam tinted windows

Where you doodle me

Plus you. Me, but with horns.

Perhaps my moods are volatile. 

See how the sunlight plays

Checkers on the floor? King me.

What the Body is Trying to Say

I recently read that approximately 27 million people in America are misdiagnosed with depression, or pms, or anxiety when the real culprit is a misfiring thyroid. I learned that thyroids can function erratically for a variety of reasons too. Poor diet, food or environmental allergens, post pregnancy hormonal changes etc. 

This may or may not apply to me. This may or may not apply to everyone. I'm not a doctor. I'm definitely not a great patient. I've lied in order to appear healthier than normal so as to avoid blood work! I know I'm not the only one. Still. 

Did you know the thyroid is a butterfly shaped gland? Next, a metaphor about broken wings...

Today I'm tired. This might be a result of running around with the family yesterday, grocery shopping, cleaning a bit, cooking a bit, swimming a lot, seeing a movie, then getting crappy sleep. The amount of energy required to be in a constant state of awareness about diet, and exercise and mood, and the effects of the world is draining. This may be the result of a misguided thyroid. Poor butterfly is trying to migrate.

Batter Up.

Baseball in in the air. Andrew is trying out right now for the Little League All Stars team. He is amazing on the field. Very graceful and joyous. It's amusing because parents assume Kris and I are diligent with Andrew about practicing. Not even a little bit. In fact we have some guilt for not practicing with him more. He loves baseball the way a kid should. It's magic for him. It's not corrupted by salaries, steroids, or obscene trades. It's about throwing, catching and hitting. I am not lying when I say that one of my favorite past times is watching a little league game. 

Kristopher won diamondback tickets! Get this! His office had a trivia contest for exactly one month. He had to answer random questions everyday. Yesterday he found out that he won 4 tickets with box seats and a parking pass to see the D-backs play the Kansas City Royals play at Chase Field. How cool is he? Super cool!

***Home run, Dearest Vincent***

In the back of my mind I am thinking of things other than baseball. Van Gogh is haunting me a bit. I'm considering his Cyprus trees and some of his letters to brother, Theo. I don't think he was crazy in the least. I really don't. It seems his fatal flaw, (lead based paint theories aside) was being so deeply idealistic. He truly believed he might form an artistic utopia where competition between artists would become unnecessary. Instead, he envisioned an enlightened group sharing and pushing boundaries with paint, imagination, and companionship. 

I think he was beautiful. Too innocent, or progressive for his time. And, I know he was human and desired to be acknowledged for his work, but he seemed to struggle with that. He was aware of his desire for an audience, and seemingly tried to rise above, or at least away from it by confronting it head on. That's brave. I love him for risking it. And I love him for leaving us with emotional sunflowers.

Succulents

This picture is from Oregon, last summer. Miss Lilly's full name is Elisabeth Lillian. She calls our swimming pool the sea....

I've planted new succulents in the backyard, washed the dogs and set up new umbrellas. Husband bought little umbrellas for our pool area. I told him they look like they should be in a a shirley temple. Still, they look lovely and create the perfect amount of shade. 

Today there will be yoga. Today we will be sea-side.