You'll notice the magnolia first, blooming ardently this year, making up for lost time and the single earnest bud it gave the first year with us. The maple, dotted in maiden green, feeling the springtime lightness of buds before the baroque leaves come down. Snowdrops. The beginnings of all the varieties of lilies: tiger, plantain, day. Chives and garlic grass run perfectly wild across the lawn. Rhododendron - buried to its neck in winter - now showing improbable brilliant pink.
And then the garden beds. The lowly onion sets, brave against the danger of late frost, waving over new-raked earth. The immortal rhubarb. The compost: our dead come alive again. And there are secrets too: seeds cast, a black promise under black earth, known only to the gardener. Wapsipinicon heirloom peach tomatoes. Potted basil under glass. Lavender. Cosmos. Red milkweed. Echinacea. The waiting. The watch we keep. All part of the ritual of the season that has come.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Obnoxious
Sometimes I worry that I'm obnoxious. Then I think, naaaaaah.
There's such a distance between what one person says and thinks and what another sees. We might as well be sending up smoke signals for all the actual communication that takes place, one humanoid to another.
There's such a distance between what one person says and thinks and what another sees. We might as well be sending up smoke signals for all the actual communication that takes place, one humanoid to another.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
The Nightmare
You can have a dream sometimes that doesn't register as a nightmare until you look back at it and realize what was happening. In my nightmare last night, my husband had to go into a closed ceremonial chamber to bargain with two big fat black demons (more on my sublimated racism in a later post). When he came out, my son and I were ushered beyond the chamber into the public areas of a big old hotel full of people who looked like they'd been there a while. They were watching sports on TV. I couldn't see the television, but there was that half-subliminal buzz of commentators and cheers. Others were playing foosball or sitting on shabby furniture, smoking. I knew my husband was there somewhere with us, but for most of the dream I stood there holding my son's hand and asking people who passed by if there was any way out.
The windows were covered by giant shutters. All the light was artificial. A short, thin woman who seemed to be running things stood by me for a while and discussed the history of the demon occupation. She wasn't old and she wore a pretty dress, but there was something not present about her. Everyone seemed that way, like maybe they were undead but didn't know what to do about it. She said that in earlier days they'd tried to sell the hotel, because then of course the new owners would evict the demons and the residents and everyone would be free. Somehow no buyers took an interest in evicting two big fat black demons and legions of foosball-playing undead. They remained hopeful though. In a tight real estate market anything might happen.
That's all I remember. My husband thinks the hotel is Iowa.
The windows were covered by giant shutters. All the light was artificial. A short, thin woman who seemed to be running things stood by me for a while and discussed the history of the demon occupation. She wasn't old and she wore a pretty dress, but there was something not present about her. Everyone seemed that way, like maybe they were undead but didn't know what to do about it. She said that in earlier days they'd tried to sell the hotel, because then of course the new owners would evict the demons and the residents and everyone would be free. Somehow no buyers took an interest in evicting two big fat black demons and legions of foosball-playing undead. They remained hopeful though. In a tight real estate market anything might happen.
That's all I remember. My husband thinks the hotel is Iowa.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
I make more than my husband
Not twice as much, but enough that it's noticeable on the monthly receipts. I get better benefits. I wear suits and hand out business cards. My husband wears pretty much whatever he wants and spends more time with our son than I do. My husband loves his job. On a good day, I don't hate mine. This seems precisely the reverse of the usual pattern. And while I don't love my job, I do like being the primary breadwinner. I like the power of it, the affirmation of my worth. I need to make a career change to something that gives me more satisfaction, I know that. But if my salary drops, I also know that I'll miss this feeling.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Bread and Roses
As we go marching, marching, in the beauty of the day,
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray,
Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses,
For the people hear us singing: Bread and Roses! Bread and Roses!
As we go marching, marching, we battle too for men,
For they are women's children, and we mother them again.
Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
Hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses.
As we go marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing their ancient call for bread.
Small art and love and beauty their drudging spirits knew.
Yes, it is bread we fight for, but we fight for roses too.
As we go marching, marching, we bring the greater days,
The rising of the women means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler, ten that toil where one reposes,
But a sharing of life's glories: Bread and roses, bread and roses.
Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
hearts starve as well as bodies; bread and roses, bread and roses.
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray,
Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses,
For the people hear us singing: Bread and Roses! Bread and Roses!
As we go marching, marching, we battle too for men,
For they are women's children, and we mother them again.
Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
Hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses.
As we go marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing their ancient call for bread.
Small art and love and beauty their drudging spirits knew.
Yes, it is bread we fight for, but we fight for roses too.
As we go marching, marching, we bring the greater days,
The rising of the women means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler, ten that toil where one reposes,
But a sharing of life's glories: Bread and roses, bread and roses.
Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
hearts starve as well as bodies; bread and roses, bread and roses.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Contemporary romance in the sticks
I've been reading several other posts talking about how smart young men really are interested in smart young women, and that's all grand in the urban areas where it's true. Out here in the sticks, though, sisters, it's not the same game. I'm a lawyer, and the young male lawyers my age (early 30s) are almost universally marrying down, either economically or socially and economically. Of the professional men who come to mind who've married in the last year or two, here are the stats:
Groom: Ph.D. Candidate
Bride: Hairdresser and volleyball coach
Groom: Lawyer
Bride: Hairdresser
Groom: Lawyer
Bride: First-grade teacher (quit within 6 months upon getting pregnant)
Groom: Banker
Bride: Student (working on grade school teaching certification)
Groom: Lawyer
Bride: Physical therapist
I wouldn't count out Maureen Dowd's hypothesis: it stands up pretty well out here in flyover land.
Groom: Ph.D. Candidate
Bride: Hairdresser and volleyball coach
Groom: Lawyer
Bride: Hairdresser
Groom: Lawyer
Bride: First-grade teacher (quit within 6 months upon getting pregnant)
Groom: Banker
Bride: Student (working on grade school teaching certification)
Groom: Lawyer
Bride: Physical therapist
I wouldn't count out Maureen Dowd's hypothesis: it stands up pretty well out here in flyover land.
Friday, January 13, 2006
A season in hell
A qui me louer? Quelle bête faut-il adorer? Quelle sainte image attaque-t-on? Quels coeurs briserai-je? Quel mensonge dois-je tenir? - Dans quel sang marcher?
- Rimbaud, Une saison en enfer
To whom shall I rent myself? What beast must be worshipped? What holy image attacked? What hearts will I break? What lie must I maintain? In what blood walk?
- Rimbaud, Une saison en enfer
To whom shall I rent myself? What beast must be worshipped? What holy image attacked? What hearts will I break? What lie must I maintain? In what blood walk?
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
her house
She lives at the end of a cul-de-sac in a middle-aged part of town, houses from the 60s and 70s with irregular lot lines and wide siding. Kids play hockey year round in the quiet street, rolling the net out of the way when a car comes through, then starting up with the shout of "Game on!" The neighbors consist of young families that have bought into the low-priced real estate and couples or singles near retirement who will sell out soon for a smaller space or a warmer climate or both. Little happens in the front yards other than mowing. The back yards come together in a patchwork of fences, lawn maintenance problems, incongruous home improvements and a higher than average incidence of dog shit per square mile. The dogs are the large breeds that their owners enjoyed as farm children: German shepherds, Labradors, golden retrievers. They're too big for this suburban setting and prowl the fencelines, barking in voices that whine up at the end, pleading rather than menacing.
The house itself has been the same color for forty years because it's brown and the extra coats to turn it a lighter color would cost too much. The trim is yellow. There's something edible and confectionery-like about the color scheme, but combined with the dated architecture the colors only evoke faded magazines and women in puffy skirts with glossy smiles.
The garage, in which a previous owner hung himself, faces onto the street. Small trees, mountain ashes and Russian olives and pines, have been growing around the house for years but never achieved much stature. Although it's a two car garage there is nearly always a third car parked in the driveway. Over the years that car has metamorphosed from an early model Volvo with no shine left, through a rusting Honda hatchback, an Oldsmobile Cutlass, and a Ford Escort. The family prides itself on extracting the maximum utility out of mechanical objects, cars particularly, and an old car is more likely fixable than a new one with all its expensive gadgetry.
The house itself has been the same color for forty years because it's brown and the extra coats to turn it a lighter color would cost too much. The trim is yellow. There's something edible and confectionery-like about the color scheme, but combined with the dated architecture the colors only evoke faded magazines and women in puffy skirts with glossy smiles.
The garage, in which a previous owner hung himself, faces onto the street. Small trees, mountain ashes and Russian olives and pines, have been growing around the house for years but never achieved much stature. Although it's a two car garage there is nearly always a third car parked in the driveway. Over the years that car has metamorphosed from an early model Volvo with no shine left, through a rusting Honda hatchback, an Oldsmobile Cutlass, and a Ford Escort. The family prides itself on extracting the maximum utility out of mechanical objects, cars particularly, and an old car is more likely fixable than a new one with all its expensive gadgetry.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Mad
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'" - Jack Kerouac, On the Road
The good news is, I'm mad. The bad news is, this is a hell of a way to live.
The good news is, I'm mad. The bad news is, this is a hell of a way to live.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Toltecs
You know who the Toltecs were? They ruled in ancient Mexico. They were legendary builders, metalworkers and artists. The Toltecs intimately understood the movements of the planets and incorporated solar elements into their architecture. They had rulers with names like Cloud Serpent and warrior clans with names like Jaguar and Eagle. You can still go down there and see what we figure are their temples, kind of like someone in a thousand years going to see Hoover Dam and saying "Now what the hell?!" Even what was left behind after the fall of their civilization is so impressive that the saying "work like a Toltec" has survived to this day.
At 5:42 a.m., while I am pulling through the last gut-heaving minutes of a head-racing piece in a bow-coxed four down on the not-so-sanitary Sanitary and Ship Canal on the Chicago River, I gain that last ounce of strength by imagining that I am a Toltec.
We've been winning gold medals at every regatta this fall.
At 5:42 a.m., while I am pulling through the last gut-heaving minutes of a head-racing piece in a bow-coxed four down on the not-so-sanitary Sanitary and Ship Canal on the Chicago River, I gain that last ounce of strength by imagining that I am a Toltec.
We've been winning gold medals at every regatta this fall.
Monday, August 30, 2004
Tacking
I'm working with a strong wind to starboard, tacking to gain ground. Even when I sit still the movement is too much for me. I need more: time, rest, space. The stolen hours are never enough. I miss Australia, the sunburnt country, and I want time to stop. The future is imminent: the work I've worked to have, the home I've waited to find, all of it so big and real that I want to throw up a billowing spinnaker against the brilliance of the light.
Triathlons are over for this summer. It will be rowing now, back in skinny boats with long oars and that spectacular sensation of flight when the keel stands balanced and runs out beneath you while your wake runs on in rivers. Let it run, they say. Soft hands. Breathe. It is meditation. It is God come down.
Triathlons are over for this summer. It will be rowing now, back in skinny boats with long oars and that spectacular sensation of flight when the keel stands balanced and runs out beneath you while your wake runs on in rivers. Let it run, they say. Soft hands. Breathe. It is meditation. It is God come down.
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
winding down
Today is my last day at the current firm. No triathlons are scheduled for the immediate future because we're flying off tomorrow for several weeks in Japan and Australia, visiting old friends. I may do a few late-season races when we get back, but the training is on the back burner at the moment.
In very good news, I got an MRI and MRA to see if there's any abnormality in my brain that's causing the bad headaches I get when I swim hard. You guessed it: they examined my head and found nothing. There's a history of stroke and brain aneurysm in my family, so I bolt to the nearest neurologist when I get a pain in my head. Luckily this time it's just a headache, nothing more. The MRI machine is the closest to a medieval torture device I ever hope to get. They stuck me up to my waist in it for 25 minutes and I imagined I was surfing - it made sense with all the vibration and noise. I rode the waves at Torquay and JanJuc the whole time, bobbing in that infinite, dark southern ocean, so far away nothing could touch me. It would have been too scary otherwise.
In very good news, I got an MRI and MRA to see if there's any abnormality in my brain that's causing the bad headaches I get when I swim hard. You guessed it: they examined my head and found nothing. There's a history of stroke and brain aneurysm in my family, so I bolt to the nearest neurologist when I get a pain in my head. Luckily this time it's just a headache, nothing more. The MRI machine is the closest to a medieval torture device I ever hope to get. They stuck me up to my waist in it for 25 minutes and I imagined I was surfing - it made sense with all the vibration and noise. I rode the waves at Torquay and JanJuc the whole time, bobbing in that infinite, dark southern ocean, so far away nothing could touch me. It would have been too scary otherwise.
Friday, July 30, 2004
a few more workouts
Nice swim workout the other night, a good bike ride this morning with Andy and Bu as part of RAGBRAI, the (Des Moines) Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa. We did maybe 25 miles on the old, unsexy hybrids with Bu on his tagalong behind my bike. He wore his US Postal jersey and had a fabulous time. Toward the end he got tired and it started to rain, but he's only three. He can go the distance in years to come.
And in other news, I won a full dismissal on the very first real-life motion for summary judgment I ever wrote.
And in other news, I won a full dismissal on the very first real-life motion for summary judgment I ever wrote.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
vertical
Yesterday Andy and I went rock climbing outdoors for the first time. We'd tried climbing walls before, but this was the first actual rock. We went to Pictured Rocks park where you can climb limestone cliffs along the Maquoketa River. A couple of local gurus (I keep discovering them) took us out. One of them has come within 1500m of the summit of Everest, so I think he qualifies as a knowledgeable climber. He also has the body fat of a gnat and scrambled up the cliffs like he was time trialing. Andy and I did okay. We made it to the top, or nearly, of several climbs, but today I don't think either of us could carry groceries to the car. It was a blast. By the end I felt like I was really getting it and trying things I wouldn't have dared before.
In winter, they say, we can climb frozen waterfalls. It ain't skiing, but maybe I could get into this!
In winter, they say, we can climb frozen waterfalls. It ain't skiing, but maybe I could get into this!
Sunday, July 25, 2004
fast wheels
Yesterday, while over in France they were time trialing, I went out for a nice hard 40 miler with the local cycling guru Nor. He rode a frame he got on Ebay that was actually ridden in the Tour back in the 70s, from a now-defunct Austrian manufacturer named Puch. I was on Ananda as usual, my Terry Symmetry, which is a great training bike but has begun to hold me back in races. It's a little heavy for my purposes, and the components are Shimano Tiagra - bottom-of-the-line and very poorly reviewed. They're already giving me trouble, and I clean and tune my bike (like the aforementioned unhappy reviewer) after every use. I also put in way more weekly miles, and harder, than the average recreational rider.
I can keep up with Nor, but it's more work than it should be. He's talking about building up a carbon fiber racing bike for me from the infinite selection of parts in his basement, and I'm doing everything I can to encourage the idea. I'm also stalking Ebay for a real tri bike in my size. With the right bike, I think I really could be leading the bike leg every race. A few sites I've read suggest the Cervelo P2k as the quintessential tri bike, and now that there are some newer models out maybe some will come available. Luckily I'm utterly average as a triathlete in height and weight. Fingers crossed that I stumble across one I can afford.
I can keep up with Nor, but it's more work than it should be. He's talking about building up a carbon fiber racing bike for me from the infinite selection of parts in his basement, and I'm doing everything I can to encourage the idea. I'm also stalking Ebay for a real tri bike in my size. With the right bike, I think I really could be leading the bike leg every race. A few sites I've read suggest the Cervelo P2k as the quintessential tri bike, and now that there are some newer models out maybe some will come available. Luckily I'm utterly average as a triathlete in height and weight. Fingers crossed that I stumble across one I can afford.
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Let 'er buck
That's what I say in the bike leg in a race, when I'm pulling up on someone or someone's trying to overtake me. I lean over my bike like the cowboy in Hidalgo and say, "Okay little sister, let 'er buck," and we take off. It's also evocative of my high school tennis coach, who had lots of inspirational and bizarre sayings, including 'let 'er buck', 'hey little girl, want some candy?', 'have some fun hitting some tennis balls', 'when E.F. Lyon talks, you better listen', and my personal favorite, "I want to hear you say, you painted a Rembrandt sir."
This morning was a run, a great run, fueled by extra adrenalin whenever the blackbirds and jays buzzed me, through an ethereal ground-effect fog on corn-lined gravel roads in a sweat-bathed dawn. Had to stop for trains going out and coming back, but I was fast and light and my feet hardly touched the dirt. The sun broke over the soybeans as I headed back into town, immense in the thick atmosphere, like the sun had cracked and was running yoke-like down through the fields toward the sleeping village. I ran ahead of it, buoyed up by the haze.
This morning was a run, a great run, fueled by extra adrenalin whenever the blackbirds and jays buzzed me, through an ethereal ground-effect fog on corn-lined gravel roads in a sweat-bathed dawn. Had to stop for trains going out and coming back, but I was fast and light and my feet hardly touched the dirt. The sun broke over the soybeans as I headed back into town, immense in the thick atmosphere, like the sun had cracked and was running yoke-like down through the fields toward the sleeping village. I ran ahead of it, buoyed up by the haze.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
The father is safely in residence at the Iowa Veterans Home, which is by all appearances and reports the nicest place. What a stroke of good luck that was, that it should be not only massively subsidized by the government but also a place you'd want to be. I'm afraid we went out to dinner last night to celebrate, which felt odd, considering that in some lights I did just institutionalize a member of my immediate family. But it's such a relief, and he seemed happy. I believe they'll take good care of him.
This morning I finally got to do yoga again, the beefcake dvd naturally, because if you're getting up at 5:30 a.m. to sweat the least you deserve is a little eye candy. I feel so much better. I'd forgotten how much it relaxes me. There may be a few more late-season triathlons, but I'm going to give myself a bit of a break to do whatever I want. There's also a long vacation to Japan and Australia in the works, so I can get a proper Japanese bath, eat amazing Japanese food three times a day (!), and then go back down under to the unique delights of Melbourne in winter and my absolutely lovely Aussie friends. I love Australia. How nice that it exists.
Bu is having issues with his child care provision. We took him out of preschool for July so that he could just play, go to the pool, ride his bike, roller blade, all that, and we hired a friend's 18-year-old daughter to watch him along with her 9-year-old sister, whom he loves. It seemed like the perfect arrangement, especially as he was showing a distinct lack of keenness for preschool. I think what we really accomplished is to teach him that his daily activities are infinitely mutable, and if we wanted we could probably arrange for him to play with his best friend Martin every day. Now he's holding out for that, creating a huge drama every day when I leave him. It's absurd - he plays and has a marvelous time all day long according to everyone who interacts with him (and that's lots of people), but he still tries to drive Mama and Papa into frenzies of guilt at drop-off time. Children. Can't live with 'em, can't rely on wolves to teach them phonics.
This morning I finally got to do yoga again, the beefcake dvd naturally, because if you're getting up at 5:30 a.m. to sweat the least you deserve is a little eye candy. I feel so much better. I'd forgotten how much it relaxes me. There may be a few more late-season triathlons, but I'm going to give myself a bit of a break to do whatever I want. There's also a long vacation to Japan and Australia in the works, so I can get a proper Japanese bath, eat amazing Japanese food three times a day (!), and then go back down under to the unique delights of Melbourne in winter and my absolutely lovely Aussie friends. I love Australia. How nice that it exists.
Bu is having issues with his child care provision. We took him out of preschool for July so that he could just play, go to the pool, ride his bike, roller blade, all that, and we hired a friend's 18-year-old daughter to watch him along with her 9-year-old sister, whom he loves. It seemed like the perfect arrangement, especially as he was showing a distinct lack of keenness for preschool. I think what we really accomplished is to teach him that his daily activities are infinitely mutable, and if we wanted we could probably arrange for him to play with his best friend Martin every day. Now he's holding out for that, creating a huge drama every day when I leave him. It's absurd - he plays and has a marvelous time all day long according to everyone who interacts with him (and that's lots of people), but he still tries to drive Mama and Papa into frenzies of guilt at drop-off time. Children. Can't live with 'em, can't rely on wolves to teach them phonics.
Saturday, July 17, 2004
alterna-tri
This morning I raced in the Iowa Games triathlon outside Ogden, Iowa. I won't be getting splits on the legs or the transitions because they didn't use timing chips, and I don't think my official race time is right (it was over a minute more than what my watch showed at the finish). But it was still a personal best. The time I registered was 1:18:30 (theirs was 1:19:39), ten minutes faster than my previous best for a sprint tri. The bike leg on this one was a mile shorter, but it was still a much faster race. The swim went great, I was very competitive on the bike leg, and on the run I felt a lot better than I have lately while running. Maybe eventually I'll find out my rank, maybe I won't, I'm not too worried. We took off right afterward to get showers at the hotel and go see Dad at the VA. It was a great race.
And what a funny race it was. Not a USA Triathlon event, so everything was just a little ... different. No security around the transition areas, no numbers on the bikes, no PA system, no race bag goodies, no particular anxiety about following the rules, just your basic no-frills swim, bike, run. The crowd with the tricked out tri bikes, swish wetsuits, etc., was conspicuously absent. A lot of first-timers, milk jugs for buoys on the swim. It was all very Iowa and in fact very nice.
And what a funny race it was. Not a USA Triathlon event, so everything was just a little ... different. No security around the transition areas, no numbers on the bikes, no PA system, no race bag goodies, no particular anxiety about following the rules, just your basic no-frills swim, bike, run. The crowd with the tricked out tri bikes, swish wetsuits, etc., was conspicuously absent. A lot of first-timers, milk jugs for buoys on the swim. It was all very Iowa and in fact very nice.
Thursday, July 15, 2004
oh the humanity
Yesterday was the firm's annual canoe outing. It was all great until I clubbed a partner with my paddle while trying to defend my canoe. That's just gotta qualify as a Career Limiting Decision. I took him to lunch today to make amends. It was a great time, but I'm sore all over from all the tree-climbing, rock-jumping-off, rope-swinging, canoe flipping, beer-drinking fun. Bruised everywhere. I went for a run this morning to shake it off a little. Why can't I run like that in a race? It was effortless, just smooth and fast and gorgeous in the early morning calm.
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