Standard of Normal

Alice: But I don't want to go among mad people.
The Cat: Oh, you can't help that. We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.
Alice: How do you know I'm mad?
The Cat: You must be. Or you wouldn't have come here.
Alice: And how do you know that you're mad?
The Cat: To begin with, a dog's not mad. You grant that?
Alice: I suppose so,
The Cat: Well, then, you see, a dog growls when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased. Now I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry. Therefore I'm mad.

*******************************
After telling someone I am normal they candidly ask me "what is the standard of normal?" Wow just when you think you are living a very ordinary life you stop to ask what is normal. I'm not hiding out from the law. I am not unable to get out of bed because of heartache. I am not sitting in my pajamas typing this, but I could be on any other given day, that's for sure. I didn't go to church this morning, elected instead to eat a bagel while listening to Gensis sing I can't dance, dancing all over, cleaning up the kitchen and planning on slow cooking some stuffed peppers.I want the whole house to smell good anticipating it and then sit down with Richie for a home cooked meal with a big salad out on the deck. Life is good, it's sunday and on sunday anything is possible.

So back to normal. Normal. It's not normal to miss someone you don't even know but it happens. It's one of those thoughts you keep a secret so people won't stop and wonder about you. I have a Best Friend so I have someone to share secrets with, pull them apart and then with her help glue them back together again. We do that for each other. Its not often I keep something from her and when I do she will always ask, "how long you been keeping this?" So she asks me this, this morning when I download yahoo messenger because we still yet do not have enough ways to contact one another. We are like Nasa, in constant communications. "A few days I tell her, no biggie." I wish she was here, we've spend endless Sundays with her doing one thing, me another in the same house, speaking and then not, eating together, chasing down something. One Sunday years ago I tried to dye her hair. I have my mother's hair, I can make it any color throw the box on it and it's all good, it never falls out, never turns a strange color, never ever ever. My mother had so many different hair colors that when you look through old albums you wonder if its really her. I tried red, may go back to it, red heads are dangerous and I haven't felt dangerous in awhile. Now, I am Artemis and I could use a little danger. So on a random Sunday I decide to dye the Q's hair. I left the stuff on too long, something I can't ever do to my hair because it doesn't care, and it turns white. What do you say? Oh gods, It's great. You lie. She knows when you lie, one look and she knows, I am horrible at it. "You lie. You fucked up my hair." I didn't know what to say, anything makes it worse. I'd offer to drive her to Ted's the next day, offer most anything and for the rest of the day she wears a hood over her head, not a good look for a tall blonde pygmy. She forgave me. She always does. I flip the pod over to Peter Gabriel:

Climbing up on Solsbury Hill
I could see the city light
Wind was blowing, time stood still
Eagle flew out of the night
He was something to observe
Came in close, I heard a voice
Standing stretching every nerve
Had to listen had no choice
I did not believe the information
I just had to trust imagination
My heart going boom boom boom
"Son," he said "Grab your things,
I've come to take you home."

I can hear the boom boom boom in my heart and the song makes my heart dance so much I need to throw my arms in the air. boom boom boom grab your things I've come to take you home. I type it out to her in messenger, her answer: "I'd come get you all over again, that's what friends do." I can think of years and years ago when we were both struggling and she'd call me to come get her to fetch a giant jar of change to take to turn in to pay the phone bill because her parents would not understand if they cut the phone. On the way home, smoking like a maniac, drinking diet pepsi, eating white castles, laughing getting in all the fun we could before her mom and dad showed up, before the ass clenching would start, before we'd have to be on our best behavior. Her father still looks at me sideways as when I was home for Christmas and they were putting a video in for the holiday, "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" I made a comment to one of my nieces that this was the movie with the hot santa, the young one by the fountain romancing that girl who would be Mrs. Santa. Best Friend's dad turns to me and says, "Jesus Carrie it's a puppet," off mumbling. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Somewhere he is rolling his eyes right now. My heart going boom boom boom. A few visits ago, back home I'd take my niece Laura, my favorite of all the favorites to see her grandpa's grave. We were there alone and I could hear him say "Oh god she's driving, who allowed this to happen?" She shares her family with me, now I get to miss two dads. When I want to irritate her I will remind her that she's like her dad, the wandering adventurer, the family man until his last breath floated away, the orphan who took in anyone, any soul searching for family, me. Richie recalls him fondly as Grandma.

To keep in silence I resigned
My friends would think I was a nut
Turning water into wine
Open doors would soon be shut
So I went from day to day
Tho' my life was in a rut
"Till I thought of what I'd say
Which connection I should cut
I was feeling part of the scenery
I walked right out of the machinery
My heart going boom boom boom
"Hey" he said "Grab your things
I've come to take you home."
(Back home.)

*****************************
I think we are all normal and then we get bored or lonely or in a rut and we are thinking of ways to gun it, "up over that hill over there" and see what's on the other side. Today all the windows are wide open, I am super charged with life and ANYTHING is possible. Today, I am building the landing pad on the roof for the helicopter to fly Best Friend here for stuffed peppers and her pilot, oh he'd be handsome with dark eyes and he'd light a fire while we both just kinda wonder about him until we laid in bed all three of us pondering the universe listening to Peter sing to us, we'd tell him something we both know. We would share it, each with our own perspective. I'll let her giggle a little and tell the story (so I just hit messenger again and said, what's something we both know from two different angles, like the night greg showed up? she laughs and she'll think of something fast so I won't write about it) She'll tell her story of my first trip to New York to find adventure, with her parents monitoring my insanity and I will tell it my way, the innocence of it all. She'll laugh thinking of me spinning out of controlled control and I will recount the terror of it. She'll say "she's always the girl with the green cocktail dress in her hand needing a push." Later I'd tell a story to make her blush red red like her shirt and her heart.

Normal. Do I want the picket fence and the house ever so together? Sure, dont' we all? Do I want the kids gathering around at the holidays? No. I like it when it pops up, but I like parts of the dream of normal. It's when I see people so far on the fringe I get afraid and retreat to where is it safe wondering and gathering strength to climb Mt. Baldy. It's when I crave the center and the focus. When we kids we would go to visit my Aunt Rita and Uncle Al, both dead now for years. They lived in bridgeport where the streets sit above the sewer, but open to the sewer so you could go down there and explore a little my mother dressing me in some insane white dress always so the exploration would have to be even more of a secret.

I had a cousin named Jerry who lived there and his sister Kathy, she was my favorite aunt. She did the things I do as an aunt and I loved her dearly for it. Jerry was a larger than life personality, full of light and he loved life, ate it up. Being around him was fun as he was chatty, full of adventure, into Karate and things I'd never know about. When he'd talk about karate for awhile and we'd leave later my father would be driving, he'd turn to my mother and say "that jack ass thinks he could kick someone to death. One shot to his leg would fix that." Ha. The old man was nuts. There was a sunday afternoon when Jerry was showing us Karate in our living room and my father reached down under his chair and shot jerry in the leg with an air gun. He hit the ground writhing in pain my father laughing his ass off. As kids we were laughing, laughing the way we did when our deaf cousins would come over and my father would make up pretend sign language and they'd fall for it every time.

We we going to stand up to Jerry's wedding a wonderful girl named Maureen. She had red red hair and a lovely smile and pretty blue eyes. She lit up when he was around. I was going to wear this little pink dress and my brother a suit with a matching pink shirt, we'd stand up like we did for his sister and I kept the dress for a long long time marveling at the way it was made, knowing I'd only ever wear it once. We showed up, hell everyone did that Saturday morning in June, everyone but Maureen. She'd changed her mind, left a note, yes she left a note. I can't think of a more horrible situation and was reminded when reading DH Lawrence, women in love, a man this time leaving a woman at the alter to stand there alone and explain. Who does this? How does one do this? Hell I lived in hell for 8 years just to keep the yes I said at one time in tact, not to be the girl who would just leave. Now I'm not sure I wouldn't do that either and when Katie (my lovely niece got married) I reminded her moments before walking down the aisle that I had the car running outside.

When Maureen didn't show, Jerry fell apart. He didn't leave his parent's house, set up in the basement and quit his job. I'm not sure he quit, he just stopped going. He told people he had MS and that he was sick. I would think you were one MS karate kicking dude awhile back, did she leave you because of the MS? It was my mother in a tender voice who would tell me he didn't have MS, he made it up because he was full of melancholy. Wow. The power of love turned backwards. It happens. It can happen. I'll avoid that love thing I thought. Bukowski described love as a mad dog from hell. He may be right. Jerry started to collect guns, knives and for the remainder of his life, another 30 years he lived in that basement. We never saw him at weddings or funerals, the time our family gathers. He didn't make the family reunion, he was always "too sick." If they talked about him, the older family it was always in whispers and always he was a "whack job" or "so crazy." Every family has them and we had a few. I wonder about Maureen sometimes, if she knew that a change of heart had destroyed this man's life. I wonder if she could have loved him enough so that if she had left him years later he would have been Ok. Maybe it would have been worse and he would have eaten a bullet at his own hand. Normal.

I'd like to be in love again. Is that normal? I'd like to live to be just old enough not to wear out my welcome. I'd like to paint something soon that inspired me to paint something else. I'd like to miss someone but know in my heart they'd come looking for me. The knowing part makes me normal I think. People think flowers are normal but if you look at them closely, pull one apart, pull the pedals off a rose it's so spectacular you'd have to believe in God's presence. My mother would say, see that butterfly, it was a worm once, a horrid little worm. God had designs for that worm, imagine what he has in store for you? Imagine.

When illusion spin her net
I'm never where I want to be
And liberty she pirouette
When I think that I am free
Watched by empty silhouettes
Who close their eyes but still can see
No one taught them etiquette
I will show another me
Today I don't need a replacement
I'll tell them what the smile on my face meant
My heart going boom boom boom
"Hey" I said "You can keep my things,
They've come to take me home." - Peter Gabriel

******************************************************
I'm off to cook, make some jewelry, sing some, try to figure out how to rearrange the living room. I need to clean out the fridge before Best Friend gets here, she will worry about me if there is some crazy old food in there and crazy old food LOVES to live there. I'd like her to think that even when I am spinning, when I am worried, when I am not sure where I am in the world that I am afterall, just normal. Seize the day.

Carrie

You can always find me at summerpoet@msn.com and my work at poetsummer.etsy.com.

It's a lie that sets you free


I have been spinning a conversation through my head. It started a few days ago on a park bench near my house next to an abandoned lot where kittens play. I love to watch the kittens darting out between the tall blades of grass. No, I am not taking another one home. Sitting there on the bench next to me was a guy just reading the paper. He could have been any guy. I would have thought he was much older than me just by the way he carried himself but I'd find out later he was 43 the age I was a few days ago. I forgot for a moment never to mistake shy for aloof. Hell people think I am aloof.

So he started the conversation asking if I was going to take a kitten home. Do I spit out my secret shame about having four? Hell no. I was considering before he spoke though that I could equate three cats to one dog and still have room for one more cat in the house and how I'd be doing the community a favor by rescuing an animal nobody wanted and then a flash in my head of me sitting on the sofa with four cats sitting all around me, on my lap, above my head on the sofa all wanting to be loved and how it freaked me out a little when they are all in the same room. No. No more cats.

We sat there talking for awhile. He was degreed could speak on things that were out of the ordinary and I just had this feeling that somewhere at his house there were star wars characters in boxes still in the "original packaging." I lived with one of these guys for three years. We even made love like Babylon5 characters. Yes, I was in love.

So this stranger tries to provoke me into a conversation about politics, even an argument. The GOP is pissed off because they lost and I try to temper that with how pissed off I was when the war started and I kept thinking even now, when we can microwave things and send up satellites we haven't figured a way around war and killing. I didn't go to peace rallies I just seethed in fear.I wanted to put my arms around him and say "don't be afraid. we lived through FDR and Reagan, oh gods, Reagan." I didn't say a word I just kept my mouth closed. I don't watch CNN enough to speak carefully, all my musings would be from the gut and a little piece of me smiling knowing I canceled out his vote. Besides, I love Republicans. My best friend is a Republican, I've had Republican lovers. David loved Reagan so much that we'd have little dinner conversations about the ten best presidents and when he spit that name out it almost made me smile in the end. If they love me for being a bleeding heart liberal or despite it, that's fine with me. I voted for hope, sometimes hope wins and even succeeds.

Religion is really like politics. Nobody wants to hear your personal views on this. Nobody wants to know that God is a living being if you let him be. Nobody wants to know who you voted for, not really. Nobody wants to know that when you have cramps, chocolate works. Nobody.

His attempts to draw me into an argument weren't working, I was too full of joy. Best Friend will be here soon. I felt free of some weight I've been carrying, I had a book in my head and a secret I've been carrying too. So, the war, taxes and this angry soul were the last of my worries. Tomorrow when I came here I'd wear a tie dye dress and a big peace symbol I'd wear like a talisman, maybe even a guitar even though I don't play.

We just chat and he says the most curious thing to me. He said if he found a good republican girl at the bookstore he'd give her a "shot." I was almost shocked at the idea of how insulting that word is. A shot. Shot. I suppose it's the same as saying I'd open my heart to that, I'd look at that, we'd have dinner, make all cozy, and I'd kiss her because it would be Friday and people should kiss on fridays. No, a shot. (at this point I am missing every charming man I've ever known, even the ones with hooves.) Why do people think that unattainable love is all that great? Seriously, Romeo and Juliet was special but they both died. Being apart from it, or aloof is foolish and let me tell you why. Nobody wants to work that hard to get to know someone who hasn't figured out that the word shot is horridly offensive. And if you make someone work that hard and you aren't everything they imagined in their heart that you better be the disappointment will swallow you like Jonah. That is simply why I'd can't really promote even my art. One time I listed a book I made on ebay. The bids kept going insane, $100 then $200 and I though Oh Gods I better stop this now or they will be horribly disappointed. We are our own worst enemy.

After sitting next to this guy for an hour I can promise you that anyone getting the shot here would be him. After she climbed the wall with her Uzi, after she pulled the brambles of fear from her legs, blood filling her shoes she'd be too exhausted to do the gymnastics it would take to get his pants off. Wait, he admits to being a virgin at 43. This topic seems to come up often anymore and I wonder why but don't ask, I don't want to crush his head like a bug.

"Well he tells me, it's the safest sex, masturbation." (Am I really discussing the war and masturbation on a park bench?) As Suzy would say, Ayup. He tells me VD rates are skyrocketing and there must be a 43 year old woman out there who hasn't had sex and when he finds her he's moving out of his parents house and running away with her. I made a mental note to buy a lottery ticket on the walk home and one of those candy bars with marshmallow on the inside. I blanked out at some point and was listening to James Blunt singing in my head:

I'm not looking for us
And neither should you.
Absolutely gorgeous,
Then nothing I say is true.
You won't find yourself
In these guilty eyes

'Cause I love anybody who's
Fool enough to believe
And you're just one of many who
Broke their heart on me
And so I say I don't love you,
Though it kills me
It's a lie that sets you free.

Love, love, love
I can't take your
Love, love, love

And so I say I don't love you,
Though it kills me
It's a lie that sets you free.

I will wrap my body
In other women's arms.
Make love in a hurry,
Feel better than I am.
Hope you find yourself
In someone else's eyes

'Cause I love anybody who's
Fool enough to believe
And you're just one of many who
Broke their heart on me
And so I say I don't love you,
Though it kills me
It's a lie that sets you free.

*******************************
I wanted to nudge him in his glasses from 1982 and tell him that he wouldn't want a woman who is a virgin at 43. It would take him 3 years to get her to say yes. I've been a little easy myself lately because I didn't want someone to have to ask me three times let alone three years. (Yes, it was worth the yes) I didn't the nerve to tell him that women who are virgins don't take off their clothes for you, you have to nudge them off and their panties won't match their bra, not ever ever ever, I promise. I wanted to tell him that for a girl who has kept it until the age of 43, who has fielded those petulant demands to her bedroom, her golden mound that you will have to swim farther, jump higher, and sing a song of true grace. He'd have to get rid of those glasses, shave his head, look mysterious and when she kisses you it better be the kiss of a lifetime. You better have lightning shooting out your ass when those hips are moving like a jackhammer. It better be better than horseback riding and eat chocolate at the same time. I have been off sugar and when I ate a piece of my birthday cake it was SPECTACULAR. As it should be.

I have an Aunt Linda. Lovely woman. She waited her whole life to find love. At the age of 48 she meets a man, a curly haired fellow and marries him. Three months later he died of a massive heart attack. I was heart broken for her. As we approached his green, almost milk green casket that amazed me a little my father leaned in as we were praying and said, "let this be a lesson to you kids, he died of stored up pussy power." Two very different perspectives to the situation.


So if this guy's lie was about VD and taxes and that his parents "need him" there why would I care? I kept thinking that Richie once thought I needed him here and now he's sure he's intrusive. I am not sitting around pining for the next time I can make baby richie pancakes sure this motherhood thing is the be all end all. I've done this for 22 years, 22 years of darning things, coaching him along, showing up for football games and protecting him from the other side of parental heartbreak, explaining carefully that "daddy didn't mean to not show up, but you can come along with Auntie and I and we'll have fun, I promise." He knew being here put me out. Perfect. It should be that way. We are supposed to move away from our parents, have our heart broken, wish "he'd" call, love without fear, stand on the edge, let someone else run the day, trust a lie, hold your hand out ever so nervously and hope the other person has a stronger foothold, sing too loud, mail a valentine.

I went to dinner with Richie and his girlfriend Chrissy the other night and in the middle of dinner I reminded them that when they first met they used to wrestle all the time and how I'd watch knowing one day this will go bad. Well they were wrestling on the lawn one night and chrissy hit him in the sack with her keys. He comes hobbling in full of drama and she kinda giggles saying she didn't think it would hurt that much. He calls her a fucking dumbass and she runs out of the house speeding out of the driveway crying huge tears. He stands out on the front lawn until she drives around again and two hours later their hair was all messed up and their clothes a little "off." Lesson learned. Don't wrestle with a bully and if you do expect to lose. Keys and sacks don't work well together. Loads of lessons learned here. When they figure out absence makes the heart grow fonder I will celebrate with cake.

I wondered what I would teach this guy, this guy on the park bench who is sure I am insane. And then it hit me. I am done teaching anyone a lesson. I was here to learn. Open your eyes Carrie, I said to myself, pay attention here someone is talking to you and this is big stuff. I was reminded about why recently even embroiled in romantic drama I put it out there a little. Why I left the window open, why I take risks. I had some wonder in my head and even now as I am typing this I am thinking about him a little, letting him dance around the edges of my mind even looking for the key to my heart. He's off super heroing I thought and he'd be a little delighted by this, maybe even laughing, flying over head thinking "Jesus she is nuts." I hope he's having such fun.

God was here sitting on my shoulder, you see he was missing me and worrying about me. He was sitting near, watching wondering why he has to scream to me to get me to listen. Smooth Sailing. I wanted the God of all that is loving and patient and teaching to stand up so I could see him and put my arms around him and put my face in his gown and stand on his sandals and say thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me strength when I don't have any. Thanks for making the moon bright so I can sleep without the light off, thanks for making Richie joyful this visit, thanks for teaching me to live with my scar, scars. I could hear God's voice in the day and this guy on this park bench could be me, untouchable, so far removed from love and life and very very safe. I bet he doesn't have a scar on his whole freaking body. I bet he has never ridden his bike down the hill where I broke 3 ribs. I bet he has never cried in an airport, I bet he has never let someone push them so high on the swings that you were sure, absolutely sure you couldn't hang on and come crashing to the ground trying to figure out the three numbers you'd have to dial to get an ambulance there.

When I leave God will talk to him in kitten whispers in the tall grass. His parents are alive and he can go sit with them today I would have to call my father down from the skies. His parents are worried about him, you know they are like I worry about Richie when he's raging or lost, when he's supposed to get the car serviced and he won't, when he studies at the very last minute. My parents aren't worried about me at all. If I am sure of anything right now, its that they have no worries in my concern. The world loves me and I love them back without reservation. I will put my arms around suzy soon and I will whisper to her that I love her. I will leave the window open, trust my gut, brush myself off and get on with it over and over and over again. I like the whirling around too much to give it up.

I told Suzy recently, I am going to find some adventure. I am such a bad influence I thought. She'd follow along because we do that for each other. Even now in secret moments I plan my escape from here so we can move to be near her, watch her fix the government while I create. I even threw suzy a net, reminded her that hunting for adventure is fun. I kept worrying she'd get hurt, that I was always her bad influence and here I was risking again and I shouldn't encourage her to. Then, this morning she texts me (I really want Denny's Pancakes) I will worry when she texts me that she's feeling a little pang of heart ache, I am always the fun influence in her life and to be reminded fills me with joy. For a moment I was back years ago in bed with the guy so forgettable and she was trudging up the stairs to my room with a box of donuts telling him "it's time to go, we are going antique shopping. Have a donut on your way out the coffee is downstairs." If he only knew that antiques creep her out because they are full of ghosts. "why is she like that?" the boys always ask. My answer: "she has a sickness in her head, thank god eh?" We'd sit in a bookstore later, sharing little bits of this and that like we were gold mining. She'd finish a whole book in an hour and I'd walk out with a Bukowski book, one of a 100. She'd say "It's almost over this thing with the guy with a pony tail." "Why?" I'd ask. "Well he has a pony tail and he drinks too much coffee." Gods she was right and yes it was over. A guy who owns a car that never runs and $5,000 in sex toys is not the guy who is going to kill spiders and open bottles. She was being kind. I appreciate that of her nobody is kinder to me. Nobody.

I was headed back home and I could see God standing in the middle of the street by the house I wonder about, the green house with the broken windows and the giant splashes of orange lilies overgrown everywhere. I remember the day they took the old man out of that house on a stretcher on his way to a nursing home. Funny, I was sure the house had been abandoned weeks ago and he lived in there dark and alone and it made me angry with myself that I didn't check. God was just watching me walk home and I turned to nod to let him know it was all ok. I would be fine, no risk, no reward. I'd pray a little later in the night or early in the morning and yes I'd remember to do something nice for someone today because I am a child of God and I do love the tender mercies when they float this way. We can all be God, we all are. I can feed or kill someone tomorrow and in their life I am God for that moment. He smiled large and went over to sit on the park bench next to the guy with the paper. Let's hope he has his listening ears turned up. Maybe he'll be there next week with different glasses, his shirt messed a little and looking in the paper for his own apartment. Maybe.

I will wrap my body
In other women's arms.
Make love in a hurry,
Feel better than I am.
Hope you find yourself
In someone else's eyes

'Cause I love anybody who's
Fool enough to believe
And you're just one of many who
Broke their heart on me
And so I say I don't love you,
Though it kills me
It's a lie that sets you free.

Love, love, love
I can't take your
Love, love, love

And so I say I don't love you

'Cause I love anybody who's
Fool enough to believe (Love,
Love, love)
And you're just one of many
Who broke their heart on me
(Love, love, love)
And so I say I don't love
You, (Love, love, love)
Though it kills me
'Cause it's a lie
- James Blunt

**************************************
If you haven't given someone your number hoping they'll call out of the blue, I suggest it. If you don't have a cat, shame on you. If I go get one of those kittens later I am naming it fluffy after the almost dead cat. If you think God isn't around all the time, know he's as close as your next thought. If you are worried about having a broken heart, then you'll never have one full of love. If you haven't heard James Blunt sing when you do your heart will be all a flutter. Text someone today and tell them you love them, that you miss them. They're waiting to hear it. Paint something in a few spare moments, put it out there in the world. "Cause I love anybody who is fool enough to believe and you're just one of many who broke their heart on me and so I don't love though it kills me. It's a lie that sets you free."

Carrie

You can always find me at summerpoet@msn.com and my work at poetsummer.etsy.com.

Ipod Adventures

Rhiannon

Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night
and wouldn't you love to love her?
she rules her life like a bird in flight
and who will be her lover?
All your life you've never seen a woman
taken by the sky
where would you stay if she promised to you heaven
would you even try?

And he says Rhiannon don't go
and he says Rhiannon, stay
and he says I still cry out for you
don't leave me don't leave me


she is like a cat in the dark
and baby she is your darkness
she rules her life like a fine skylark
and when the sky is starless

once in a million years
a lady like her rises oh no RHiannon
you cry and she's gone
and your life knows no answer
your life knows no answer
***************************************

So I often ask people, what's on your Ipod, just random wonderings. I love my little white machine and when people worry about what someone would find in their house if they were hit by a bus, I think I'd be judged best by what is on my Ipod. I made a little deal with myself, when I sell an extender chain in the shop I am putting $10 of music on my machine. You can load books on these things, audio books and it's like someone reading to you at night. Oh Gods I love when someone reads to me at night. Only a few more days and Suzy will be here and she'll read to me.

So the texts start this morning:

me: You ever listen to Chris Cornell?
bf: Who the hell is that?
me: Great voice youd like him
bf: where did you hear him? Vh1?
me: Stuart recommended him
bf: for the music or lyrics
me: both
bf: Are you singing along?
me: yup
bf: there ya go
me: I am grumpy tell me the first three songs you'd put on an ipod
bf: wha? (Ok I am thinking she's trying to do the deaf thing in text messages)
me: ignore
bf: One more time? three what?
me: Three songs you would put on an ipod
bf: Well let's see how about the drops of jupiter from train, Crash by Dave Matthews, tribute to Tommy John and his thousands of hours of fun and Levon by EJ because when I couldn't find you today I was singing that to myself
bf: what first three did you load?
me: elton, all ej
bf: what's the last three
me: eagles; most are sad, the carpenters; rainy days and mondays, Rhiannon
bf: isn't that the chick who got beat up?
me: you need some sugar

and that's how it started. I could have lost the afternoon in music and almost did. I asked my brother what he listened to: Frank sinatra, Grateful dead and the stones. Of course the stones. Then Michael: Rider on the wind; the doors, American Highway, ventura, Woodstock; Joni Mitchell. Can't ask Batman, he's rescuing a damsel. The bossy republican of course picks Bob Dylan (what a fake ass democrat answer), the boxer by Paul Simon and anything by the Stones. Men love the stones. Jagger is a guy's guy. Richie would pick Usher (I like usher also), John Paul (gagging) and thriller by MJ. I love listening him to jam to MJ and hear him dancing up on the third floor.

If you found my ipod you'd find Elton of course, some James Blunt (gosh he makes me sadly soul full, Joni Mitchell, Melissa Etheridge, Stevie Nicks, Pachabell; the Cannon in D Minor, and Adelle chasing sidewalks. On quiet nights you'd find a little Willie Nelson and when I am full of power a little You Ought to Know. I listen to the same songs over and over again until they are good friends. I am intrigued with the theme from August Rush, the screaming violins, the triangle and a little moon dance hidden in there.

If you haven't tried the Ipod craze yet, I recommend it. Music soothes the pacing caged tiger in all of us.

You can find my me any time at summerpoet@msn.com and my work at www.poetsummer.etsy.com. Carrie.

Tender Mercies

I have been missing my father lately. What to tell you about my father? He was larger than life, not particularly tall, strikingly handsome though and full of personality. When you wished he'd tone it down that's when he turned it up. I woke up this morning and my throat was aching and I thought about my father. When we were children my father took care of us when we were sick. When I was 11 or so we took a summer trip to Missouri to visit family. Notice I didn't use the word vacation because nothing in Missouri ever felt like vacation. We caught frogs, went to Nascar like things and my cousins shot turtles off logs. My brother was sickly when he was little but I seldom got sick. I had broken bones mind you because I was out of balance and careless then but never really sick. So on the way home from MO in the back of the pick up truck with the cap on the top, sitting on lawn chairs that tilted to the side when my father would turn (yes, this was not a vacation) I was ill. My father took me directly to the hospital and I had tonsilitis.

For my mother to take time away from work was difficult as she ran the show and when my father took time off it was usually to work another job so we would have money put away for a vacation or a new car or something of that sort because my father didn't believe in running up credit. He made me paranoid about it also as I never have a running credit balance. As kids we had a Sears card that my mother would pull out if the washer broke or we needed new school jackets.

So my father elected to stay home and take care of me. This was so rare my brother was sure we were doing something secret and I wasn't sick at all. I can't help but smile thinking my brother will call me every day now just so we can laugh together for a few minutes. Soon he's going to be a father. Well, he's not bringing a child into the world. He and the pretty younger girlfriend are adopting an English Bull Dog named Mr. Smoochums (can you imagine what they will name a child?). You have no idea the preparation that has gone into bring this puppy home. I didn't prepare like this when we carted Richie home from the hospital. My brother who never emails me emailed me photos of the puppy, like someone sends out ultrasound photos. The first day this dog chews up an expensive pair of their shoes, the first time it craps in his arms while he's carrying it down the 5,000 stairs to their place it won't all be so cute.

In the rare moments I think of my father tenderly it was during the week I had tonsilitis. He was so excited to be home just doing little things around the house without my mother being there to nag him. He reveled in cooking family dinners, huge elaborate dinners to make my mother giggle, amazed that he attended to the little details. He'd bring me mashed potatoes and ice cream and we'd watch Bozo in the afternoon on the little black and white TV on the end of my bed. We played checkers and he told me things, life things he felt important for me to know. You are wondering now what those life things are. Well Charlie always had a wisdom about him that ran in two directions. In one direction, complete insanity the other such common sense that you can't believe he found the insight. It was even hard to put the thought process together, wonder of the experience to know how he'd arrive to the life conclusions let alone to share them with others. Charlieisms:

Never take a greyhound bus anywhere. People who ride on a greyhound bus either have lice or don't mind having it.
Always wear a hat. Ok, this didn't work for me because my head is too large for hats and I have never found one hat I looked good in.
The trick to good health was keeping your feet dry.
Men who work hard are never drunk. He didn't mention women, I assume he thought they should never be drunk.
People of color didn't really know how to swim. His proof of this? Ever see a really good olympic swimmer of color?
Men in the Marine corp are better men and they have brothers all over the world.
Children should never be heard past 5pm and he's home whatever he wants to watch on the tv is what we are watching even if that means the mating practices of any african animal on marlon perkins
Planet of the apes could really happen
You can always superglue a cut if you dont have bandaids

So he'd glide in, tool belt on, a pencil tucked behind his ear held by this giant flush of dark hair. He'd kiss me on top of my head and he was off again. He'd float by after my nap, feel my forehead and just my luck at 3pm all that week on wls, the planet of the apes movies. He'd make Stan come in and watch too but sit across the room in the big french chair my grandmother sat in while she watched Sox games in the afternoon. The three of us "holding down the fort" until my mother came home. This week he'd fix the dishwasher that she used to store pots for a year. He worked in the garden, worked on the pool filter and looked through the yard for snakes so my mother could hang sheets on the line without screaming like a maniac but mostly he was my guardian and my caretaker.

At the end of the week on Sunday morning while my mother was at church with my brother he'd come in my room, sit at the little electric organ and play swing low sweet chariot and sing loud, waking me. "hey your tonsils saved us from a morning of church wanna watch wrestling with me?" We cooked breakfast, I felt better, the fog of sickness lifting and tomorrow morning he'd be back saving the world. He ate the world. Richie hardly remembers him and he's like my father, a bull in a china shop. He's not as brilliant as my father but he's more tender when you aren't sick. I remember being fresh from heart surgery home,home finally. I told Richie I needed some chicken broth hot in a cup and he said "I'll have to check the salt content on that." I kept thinking how horribly had I screwed up that Richie was in charge and we had to think of the salt content of anything.Soon he will be back at school and my house will be mine again. When I floated through the house yesterday there were two tvs on, the stereo running on the counter and I ached for quiet.

take your head around the world
see what you get
from your mind
write your soul down word for word
see who's your friend
who is kind
well it's almost like a disease
and I know soon you will be

over the lies
you'll be strong
you'll be rich in love
and you will carry on
no no no, oh no
no you won't be mine

take your straight line for a curve
make it stretch
the same old line
then try to find if it was worth
what you spent
why you're guilty for the way you're feeling now
it's almost like being free
I know soon you will be

over the lies
you'll be strong
you'll be rich in love
and you will carry on
no no no, oh no
no you won't be mine - Rob Thomas

***************************************
My father would like that I was writing about him this morning, this hazy lazy summer morning. We've had a rainy cool summer and those are the summers I like the best. Today I am making a bracelet for suzy's visit, something she will love with not too many beads. I am going to wander to the farmers market and find the perfect melon and some very ripe tomatoes to practice something wonderful to cook for her. I'll work all day because that's what I do and I think tonight I will watch the hulk. I could use a little mindless entertainment. If my father were still alive I'd make him lunch and take the kid over to see him, he always liked that best. We'd talk of life and I'd put my head on his shoulder and wait to hear him say, "this shit passes." Bukowski would say life is a "river of shit." word.

You can always find me at Summerpoet@msn.com and my work at poetsummer.etsy.com.

Carrie.

Red Red Wine

This morning I woke with the taste of red wine still on my lips
my head ached and my throat was dry, the throat thing again
I went out last night and when I smelled the fruit
so sweet and so dark, blood red grown with love, blended and then waiting
waiting to make your head dizzy and fill you with romantic notions
I had to have it flowing down my throat past the worries
past my bruised heart; down to my belly
I had to have another glass and another.

You see if you open the jewelry box there's the little ballerina
she's in a tutu and she's smiling (aren't they all?) and
she has perfect balance no worries
The truth though? That ballerina is dangling on a ledge
she's dancing to distract you
so you won't notice her screaming
and one day you will open the lid and expect to find her there
and she will being flying past the 25th floor

Someone careless will have opened the box
Someone will have handed her a bottle of red wine
and she will drink it from a plastic fish cup
knowing that if he has enough red wine and she's a little too honest
the emotional part will well to the surface and the glass may crash into the wall
someone will step on the shards,
bleed all over and she will be cleaning up the mess later.

But not tonight. Tonight I stopped
well I stopped when I couldn't get the other bottle open
try pulling out a cork from a bottle of red when you are sober
and then try it when you are sure you aren't.
I looked at the photo again and wondered
what keeps him and why
could the obligations of the world be more important
than showing up here now and opening this bottle of wine
and then stopping me after one more glass?

I have been dancing on a ledge for so long
I don't even know fear
When the worse thing that can happen is the thing that you crave
when you are too afraid to pull the trigger
when you are half way through the day and know
it will end like the day before


When you can't get the bottle open
you do without
When the spider is crawling up the wall
you learn how to kill it
When you have to get the piano upstairs
you hire someone to move it, a stranger
When you are worried you are lost
you drop bread crumbs enough for the birds to eat
and enough to find your way home
When you are tired and confused
you thank God you have a Best Friend who wakes up easily
she won't have an excuse
When they say, bring someone with you
you'll shrug it off and smile
Your boyfriend is off somewhere
he's at band camp

"Drink another bottle of wine tomorrow sweets."
She will say and it's easier than sitting across from a priest
and she'll forgive you anything
but tonight I called her to tell her a secret
you see when I was soaked in wine
feeling weepy a little and fragile even
when I was thinking of going outside
and breaking the top off the bottle on the edge of the fence
and down below the perfect casket sized hole dug
there for a flower bed and just sitting empty waiting
there was a shadow that followed me into the house

It wasn't a bird
or my child
or the thief in the night
it wasn't a cat on kitten feet
and it wasn't something I was sure I made up in my head

Batman showed up.
The caped crusader
not the one in the purple tights
the mysterious one
I know, I know wine can play tricks with your head
stir in a little lonely
fold in apprehension and you can make up most anything
this is a worry, not a passing concern
He didn't open the bottle
no spiders around
instead he made laugh and put me at ease
and told me stories turned that cape into a magic carpet
and we rode
we rode like Kerouac and in all the excitement
Somewhere Hunter Thompson was smiling laughing even
throwing his arm in the air, shooting at stop signs
I forgot to be afraid (I'll blame the wine)
and I drank his laughter instead of wine
and finally I felt tired
I could hear him say "you'll be just fine, go to sleep."


Well not yet.
"Hey wake up," I told her.
"You ok?"
"Yes, I am just fine." We laughed and I fell asleep.
Red Red wine, a river of it in my belly
and a life raft in my heart
It's mid day and Mr. Oh So Buzy will stop by
we'll kiss he won't ask me anything I'd like him to ask
He doesn't want to clean up the mess and I am too busy
planning my escape
past the 20th floor
One day he will open the music box
and dancing there will be a girl with darker hair
and her smile will be a little different
a stone sober hoping ballerina
he'll cut out her heart
and throw it in a brief case
off to a meeting of the 'I can't believe we have to discuss this.'
This is so far removed from my life
as I fly past the 14th floor I will raise the bottle of wine
a dead soldier of sorts over my head
and find that last drop
and let it slide down my throat
past the worries
into my belly, a river of hope

**************************************
This is the part where I encourage you to read some Hunter S. thompson as he was a genius and let's not forget Jack. Jack wrote poetry and ate life, shouldn't we all?

Enjoy the day. You can always find me at Summerpoet@msn.com or my work at www.poetsummer.etsy.com

Carrie

Road Trip!

I was in the yard this morning looking for the long green squash to make some bread. One of the joys of having Richie home is cooking for him and having him cook for me. He's quite the little chef these days, learning as he lives on his own at school. I love to cook and make cozy and since he was little he was always so grateful, marveling what women do as magic.

A bee buzzed past my ear and I almost lost my balance. Those that love me know I have almost no balance and fall all the time and I stopped for a moment to glare at the little rock I slipped on a few days ago and banged my hip so hard it's still sore even though the bruise is gone, a little reminder to 'be more careful.' I could hear my father calling me 'Crash'.

This bee buzzed down my ear, down my throat to my bruised heart and just sat there buzzing. He sneaks in this little bee when no one is looking and then flies somewhere else cause flying is what he does. He sits there and thanking god I can speak and understand buzz talk we share our lives. He tells me about adventure and living life as though it would be over tomorrow and life is like that isn't it? In a flash, in a moment we are worm food or we own the world. The middle part is what sucks, the rotting waiting for the promotion, for love, for happier times, for worry and wonder, for anything good. I'll see Paris soon only a few more weeks, next month will be the start of my busy season and then I'll feel less restless. Summer is the time of wonder and when wonder doesn't show up you start to question your whole world.

So back to this bee buzzing away his stinger taking things I love about me and chewing on it a little making honey, the honey that will make sticky candy later if we are very careful and if we are careless at the same time. This little bee likes adventure more than I do. Can you imagine? It's like finding a child who likes candy more than I do and nobody likes candy more than I do. This bee is singing his song and today he was singing Daniel...Daniel is traveling thursday on a plane. I can see the red taillights traveling to spaaaain. I can see Daniel waving goodbye, Lord it looks like Daniel, must be the clouds in my eyes. They say spain's pretty though I've never been daniel says it's the best place he's ever seen.

Meanwhile my heart is singing make the world go away, the version by Hank Cochran..Do you remember when you loved me? before the world took me astray? If you do, then forgive me and make the world, make it go away. Make the world go away get it off my shoulder, say the things you used to say and make the world go away. My father used to sing this song when my mother was angry with him, when he'd been out drinking.."i'm sorry if I hurt I'll make it up day by day just say you love me like you used to and make the world go away." I have been missing my father lately, mostly missing the magic he had when he had the world angry with him and with one look, one smile, one kiss on the cheek, the anger would melt away and all you wanted was to see him smile like that for awhile.

In all our singing we were exhausted this little bee and I and I sat on my favorite chair on the deck to look at the green oh so green from the rain the night before. The gentle rain comforted me while I drifted off last night and my last thought was writing this morning. He said write when you want, whenever you want this little bee when he was buzzing at my window last night. He wants me to step on a land mine I thought, and that was my last thought. I woke this morning pointing out the scars in the sun out the window in my sanctuary, all the scars from land mines when I was young and fearless. Now I am a day older, a year older, no longer a daughter, hardly a mother, not a wife, an where was the boyfriend today? Oh yes, golfing, meetings and obligations that had so little to do with me. "I held on to let you go and if you lost your love for me, well you never let it show." I was singing when I woke up, humming a little throwing a few words in here and there. I could hear best friend saying "I will listen for a few words that I recognize so I can figure out what the hell you are singing," shaking her head laughing. "and that he missed me sometimes when he's alone in his room, do I feel lonely too? You have no right to ask me how I feel, you have no right to speak to me so kind. We can't go on holding on to ties, so for now we'll go on living separate lives." If you haven't heard this song, throw it up on the ipod. Phil collins and the woman's voice I can't place will make your heart ache a little. "Well I held on to let you go and if you lost your love me, you never let it show. There was no way to compromise (how do you compromise the aching in a heart?) so now we live in separate lives. Ooo, it's so typical love leads to isolation. so you build that wall, yes you build that wall, and you make it stronger. You have no right to ask me how I feel. You have no right to speak to me so kind. Some day I might, I just might find myself looking in your eyes. But for now we'll go on living separate lives."

Life was waiting, toe tapping me.

I wanted to linger a little longer with the bee buzz, buzz buzzing. I needed to get the car serviced something I'm horrible with, the details that kill me. I dislike driving so much. There are days when I feel free in the car, feel free to be fast and dangerous but for the most part it's about being careful, watching, moving without fear all things I hate not dislike, hate. You see there in my garden the bee was on his way. He was coming to fetch me and he has maps and charts and we were leaving. The bee good at the details and I am good at fun. I was busy making cozy, packing a pic nic you could eat in the car. I'd made banana bread, asparagus wrapped in rare roast beef, little melon balls in the shapes of stars and flowers. I made tiny sandwiches with the most wondrous delicacies each wrapped in wax paper two at a time, one for me and one to share. Nothing ordinary as this is not an ordinary bee, not easy to impress and I ached for some smiling bee time. I packed them carefully in a cooler with honey drinks for me and my buzzing bee friend. I have packed endless pic nics like this for the Best Friend and I on hundreds of road trips and I stopped giggling for a moment as she always makes me giggle thinking of the road trip home, home to see her dad for the last time at Christmas. He was waiting there up for us late late into the night while we trudged through more snow than I can remember, eating an entire box of the little mini fannie mae chocolates. You could tell the pieces she'd eaten as there would be one bite missing and then throw back in the box.I remember being afraid to look at the weight marking on the side of the box.

After our pic nic was packed, a pic nic for lovers and bees and wandering women who mused of poetry and cool tea blended with the black tea from the African jungle I started on the fun part. I packed traveling clothes, things with pockets, sun dresses that wouldn't wrinkle some that would look sexy when they did. I'd pack a hat, a big floppy brimmed hat for sitting next to the place he'd climb. I packed a swim suit for a pool, not a lake, a pool with lights for swimming at night. And finally I'd pack the little dress I kept hidden from any eyes the one I imagined I'd wear to a wonderful dinner eating canjun rice with saffron, sitting in the corner, whispering wanting to tell the waiter to throw everything in one of those horrid styro boxes and finish it in bed.

I'd pack a backgammon board, knowing he'd win and not caring one bit. I'd pack old movies adventure movies like Out of Africa so late into the night we could pretend to be Dennys Finchutton and Isek Dennison on the farm alone at night surrounded by her books, drinking very red wine smelling of the african sun.

I'd pack two box kites for box kite fighting in an open field on the side of the road, traffic slowing to watch us. I'd pack my own mo jo necklace I'd made weeks before hoping to trade with some native New Orleanan who we be fascinated with my handiwork. I'd pack beads because I always have beads with me. I'd not forget the music, some books; one of short stories and another of poetry, an empty paged book to write notes; one of those books that looks a little mysterious and wraps with a leather cord. I'd pack watercolors and little things pieces of this and that to paint on and a book of the impressionists so we could match their paintings with the gardens of the south as we both love to plant. Of course we both love to plant. Later we'd talk of a water garden filled with monet's lilies and koi fish afterward finding one of those long lingering New Orleans light poles where he'd kiss me like I was 17 again and this was the first and last kiss I'd ever think about the pink lipstick on his neck, later.

When I heard the buzz and looked up there he was and when he saw these things piled in the drive way with no end he'd just shake his head and say "I thought you were packing light." That was for the trip to pluto, this was for a trip to New Orleans where the weeping willows would be ever so green and my heart ever so red. The blue was fading, yes we were back to red again. The cooler and quilt in the back seat with a few pillows for cloud pondering, everything else in the trunk and tucked under my arm a book of poetry I think Yeats, yeats had a heart full of summer, faeries and mystics along with some spatterings of wisdom and love.

When you are driving you have to look straight ahead and this would be the perfect opportunity for me to wear my dark dark movie star sunglasses and just peek out of the corners getting in some long lingering looks at his jaw line and his shoulders and his hands the hand he'd hold on my knee waiting for an answer, a secret. I wondered how he got the blood stains off. And with that we were off. We'd take a little detour through Indiana to Mt. Baldy. It was one of my surprises of the trip like the little thin square of dark chocolate I'd press to his tongue one night when we were kissing in a hotel room that must have seen a million lovers, a million kisses, moans that could fill a dark room.

I hadn't been to Mt. Baldy since Richie was little. Suzy, David (the oh too young lover who looked at me as though I had fallen from the sky), Richie and myself went for a winter day adventure. We drove to Indiana about an hour away and found this place. You had to drive down a canyon of sorts down a twisting road. At the end was a hill very high. I would sway a thousand feet tall, Suzy would remember it as about 300 feet. It was all sand a giant pile of sand that she talked me into climbing, cajoling me, one step up, would slide two back and was petrified the entire time begging her to end this trip and head home. At the top, an hour later an hour of me complaining and whining there was lake Michigan. It was something out of a sci fi movie, the lake water lapping on the shore carrying huge chunks of ice that would bang each other like a giant never ending car accident.

I wouldn't stand up, no way no how.I was sure a wind off the lake would take me, whooshing away and throw me down the mountain and perhaps not kill me but make me brain dead, a vegetable, like a carrot. I watched the three run over the ice chunks along the beach and point and laugh at me terrified starting to inch my way back down the sand dune.

Today I had other plans. Today I'd walk to the water, today I'd not complain, today I felt fearless and today Mr. Bee was driving all would be good with the world. We'd find a shaky bridge, we drive through the rain, we'd kiss without fear, throwing our cell phones into the lake. Today the world was full of possibilities and fear well i forgot to pack fear.

Enjoy the day! gas up the car! Don't pack light. Bring everything, write a poem, tell someone you love them because you do and leave room in your heart for more love because today may be as good as it gets. If the bee shows up, open your mouth wide. Let him guide you to thoughts of nothing ordinary. Listen to his buzz and know that when he's gone you will miss him terribly.

You can find me at Summerpoet@msn.com and my work as always at www.poetsummer.etsy.com

Carrie.

Flying






I read somewhere that when you think there is no love in the world you should go to the airport. Love is all around us every day, we step over it, we misplace it, we even take it for granted but at the airport it's difficult to do that. Airports are places we say good bye and then places where we are reunited with people we've missed (and isn't seeing someone you've missed oh so sweet?). I can remember sobbing unconsolable in an airport long before Richie was born in LA knowing I'd never see the blond skiing lover again only to run into him years later in San Francisco wishing I hadn't. And I found myself at the airport, a kind of an airport, people coming and going, looking, moving on and finding adventure. For the past few weeks I have been struggling, kicking back the blues trying to figure out what is missing, I was negotiating a deal in my head sure that if I struck the right balance I could satisfy something broken in me and not risk the space of comfort I had established. I was a hunter, Artemis, again.

I will tell you that I can't remember the first thing he said to me to get my attention. I can tell you that the ease with which he shared himself was alarming. As a woman I tend to be more comfortable around men that are nervous or fidgeting or wary of me. I think the really brave women seek out those that are comfortable with themselves because they aren't going to be injured with a jab when we feel defensive, even the subtle jabs. He carried a log book so I surmised he was a traveling salesman or a pilot. He was a pilot and I was certain someone who had been in the service or was. They never lose the haircut. My father was a marine until the day he died. I remember as a child finding his uniform and putting it on, thinking I'd wear it for halloween only to be scolded and reminded that I hadn't earned the right to wear that uniform and that if I touched it again I would be very sorry I had.

Surrounded by people, by noise, by the comings and goings of life; he told me about flying. "aren't you ever afraid?" I asked. Driving a car was difficult for me, so flying seemed impossible. Best Friend is very nervous about flying, I love it. I didn't really give a thought until now how it had worked, only knew there would be adventure at the other side, a land unexplored, someone or something waiting for me, toe tapping. "The white clouds are exciting, it's the dark clouds that will break your plane." They wouldn't wreck your plane I thought later, just break you. You can fix a break, you can't fix a wreck and he was certain there was no situation he couldn't fix, you can break a leg you can't wreck a leg. Dark clouds are like dark men, they too will break you.

Behind every set of eyes there is a story. These days my story was sitting too close to the surface and if you poked hard enough a delluge of tears would show up, not out of sadness I haven't had a day of sadness in a very long time. The tears would be frustration, anxiousness and uncertainty. These weren't issues someone could help you through, merely distract you from. When he told me of the colors of the sun, the strips of light and the colors, I wanted to see them, give him another set of eyes so they could transmit the images back and let them sit in my head, to hold the beauty without the risk, impossible. And behind his tender eyes, that story just sitting there a puzzle piece wedged in around others that may fit, but if you closely maybe not. Sitting alone here? he wondered. What's the story? I'd quote the asking part but I can't remember he just knew like someone knows if it's raining. You can't tell someone you are dying just a little. "it's a secret."

We talked of our mothers, missing them. For a moment I imagined my mother arranging this, having tea with his mother, cutting her hair, the two of them baking bread. My mother would pick this one for the same reasons she picked my father years ago. I knew my father had no involvement, he would have picked a guy with a wonky eye to make me comfortable and laughed and laughed. When we were children, camping with my parents my brother and I had gone swimming only to arrive back and the campsite where my father had befriended a group of carnival freaks. He was cooking for them on an open campfire, a lady with a beard, a short man with some problem I did't understand at my young age, a woman large enough to sit on back of my father's truck bed, small people in costumes who flew through the air every night. It was surreal to watch him interract with them like he'd know them a hundred years listening to johnny cash music on an old 8 track player that looked like a stick of dynamite. You had to "set off the bomb" to change tracks. He'd feed them as he thought feeding people was taking care of them. My father was drawn to the unusual he liked the challenge of loving the unlovables.

"So when you are up there and there's trouble (Isn't there always trouble?)," I asked him, "do you have fast anxious thoughts or are you slow and careful when you are in a dark cloud?" I knew the answer before it fell out and of course I was wrong. I can't remember the last time I was surprised by an answer. He told me it was both, but there was a photo quality like snapshots, thinking through things exciting and yet careful at the same time. Sitting there with him was exciting and yet careful and the little snapshots of his life were sitting on my lap like polaroids, the images of his mother laughing wondering if her hair was dark like his or blonde and whispy. When he was talking I thought that if we left here we could travel up to the big lake where you can feel very small. We could make a big red kite, write all those little troubles that were biting at me, his oh so beautiful girlfriend, my oh so powerful boyfriend and what to do with them, to ponder the next step. I'd jot my fears of summer making you old, he'd write a secret thought he hadn't shared with anyone else and we'd let the line run out flying so fast through our fingers it would cause a cut, the blood tasting sweet like melted licorce.

He held out his hand
"If you put your secret here I'll take it flying with me and when I am twisting between the ribbons of white I will throw it there and you'll be free of it."

"It's fire and will burn your hand."

"No, it won't. You've made that part up in your head. Nothing you do can hurt me."

"How would you know that? I've caused hurt."

"You don't know me but you should listen to me, especially about this."

I thought on it over what seemed days. When you are figuring your life days can pass in an instant or each day can be a year and I could hear emily in my head she had the voice of an old librarian, slow and methodical (If you were coming in the fall I'd brush the summer by with half a smile an half a spurn as housewives do a fly. If you were coming in a year i'd wind the months in balls, putting them in their separate drawer until their time befalls) A few days I found myself sitting there again, in the same outfit, sipping the same diet coke, listening to my ipod humming a little thinking: some day I will be born.

This time his face seemed closer. Objects in the rearview mirror may appear closer but when they are striking the windshield they really are closer. We spoke of first kisses that tasted like lemon and the mysterious boy who would show up at my house late into the night not afraid of my father warrior, taking me walking until the wet from the grass made my feet ache in my white Keds a little. Oh to be that girl again, to feel lips brush my young lover's for the first time. I'd like to build a time machine and be in Kentucky watching him kiss this girl seeing him smile a few moments later when he'd walk away from her knowing it was the best day yet and being near the street lamp down the block on Mayfield kissing my first true romance and not wanting it to ever end thanking the night, seeing him in school the next day wanting it to be dark. I picked the home coming dress with more thought than that some women pick their wedding dress. A pleaser to the point of exhaustion.

"ready?"

Oh gods his hand was there again, this time balancing on my knee, palm up and I looked at each finger a few times.

"terrified." His eyes said, of course it's supposed to be like that, even a little bit of a smile that if we hadn't talked of mothers and kisses and the tender mercies of love I would have taken as a sarcasm.

"it's ok."

"I want to believe you."

I closed my eyes and could picture letting him drive in the snow, knowing we didn't even need to drive in the snow. We could stay in, I could make an excuse. I make excuses all the time not to be here or there and the people who love me understand or pretend to understand. The snow would melt in a few days and nobody would miss us. We could play scrabble and he could tell me about flying. I'd show him my scar and he'd tell me about longing. Or he'd show me his scar and I'd tell him about longing. There was no telling, no play book and if there was a log book he wasn't giving a hint. Play your hands close to your chest darling otherwise I will have figured all this out and the last thing sitting in that oh so confident hand will be my secret.

I went home and drew a map. From midway you drive south down Cicero to 79th street, west, a right to Mayfield, past the place I grew up until the end of the block a quick right and the street lamp, now older overlooking a new school but most of the same houses. I left the map at the airport, where I had been sitting. I waited until dark and went the house, sat on the curb, it belonged to another family now, another set of dreams. Out of the sky there was a whoosh that sounded almost like a storm. In the middle of the street landed a plane, certainly a surprise and quite out of place. I lived here almost half my life and nothing like this had ever happened. The most exciting thing that happened was the stoner girl down the block who fell out of the second story window or when I hit Jimmy Mandernack in the head with a lunchbox full of rocks because he bullied my little brother.

The door opened and he just fell out like he'd done this a thousand times and then some.

"Carrie, cmere" he held out his hand again and this time I wasn't going to hesitate. "You can't leave that here," I was pointing to the plane.

"Why don't you let me worry about that." this time his smile was large amused with my astonishment.

We walked quietly, I didn't lead. When we approached the corner he pulled me to him and he kissed me hard. I just had to close my eyes and let go. The ground opened up and I fell through for a few moments and I could feel the air flying through my hair and he caught me, whispered to open my eyes and see all the cloud cover. He carried me back down the block and put me in the grass and the plane was gone.

When I turn on the bat signal he won't show up right away. But when I am in the studio working, when the little gray cat is in my lap sipping an ice coffe; I'll hear the whoosh. I can glance up and there in the driveway with no end and there will be the plane. This will cause me to squeal like a little girl. Soon we'll be in my room at the top of the stairs. It will be quiet and in one pinch he will pop off my bra and every time he smiles he looks 17 again. We'll dance and make merry and he'll tell me something I didn't know, just leaving little footprints in the garden so I will be sure later that he was really here.

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When someone holds out their hand you can look away.
When someone stands in helpless abandon you can look away.
When someone is hungry you can feed them or you can always look away.
Or you can be a hero.
The path you take is the way you will be rememberd.

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You can always reach me at Summerpoet@msn.com and find my work at www.poetsummer.etsy.com.

Carrie.