My voice teacher died on December 2, 2008.
She was 90.
Her memorial service is tomorrow.
I can't not go, I have to go.
She loved to laugh, to eat and smile and
paint and talk and always, to sing.
She sang in the hospital, while
her organs shut down and
her daughter sat and held her hand.
At 90, she could still pop a high E
Still taught two days a week
Still mentored students around the world
by email, by phone
and me in her living room, every other week.
I miss her. My high E stinks.
I'm afraid I will disgrace myself tomorrow
bursting into loud tears
in the Old Church
but there is a hole in the world
where there used to be brightness
and colors
and music.
Friday, February 27, 2009
My mother
clings to me
as we walk
to the chair
the bed
the bathroom.
Why can't I remember
I just can't do anything anymore
She gets nosebleeds
I guess this is the end,
she says into the bloody tissues
She smells of mildew
of urine
She eats a few bites
and tries to escape her chair
I've got to get out of here
She leans on me, and says
I just don't want to go like this.
clings to me
as we walk
to the chair
the bed
the bathroom.
Why can't I remember
I just can't do anything anymore
She gets nosebleeds
I guess this is the end,
she says into the bloody tissues
She smells of mildew
of urine
She eats a few bites
and tries to escape her chair
I've got to get out of here
She leans on me, and says
I just don't want to go like this.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Health Food
Warning: this is a LOW-FAT chocolate cake!
Written in my grandmother's neat, precise handwriting
on a yellowed index card,
Devil's Food Cake
my mother's careful note next to the title -
Crazy Cake -
no eggs, no butter, no cholesterol presumably
3/4 cup oil instead, I used Canola
and 2 c. warm water with 2 T white vinegar
war-time stringencies
made bearable by warm chocolate
and ingenuity
I use extra vanilla in everything, a teaspoon becomes
a tablespoon (what does that say about me?)
I even used whole wheat for part of the 3 cups of flour
the recipe called for
(2 c sugar, 2 t soda, 1 t salt, 6 T cocoa powder, stir well)
I know it's better warm from the oven
with whipped cream melting over the top
but I will have to settle for chocolate sour cream frosting
(fat-free)
and walnuts.
Written in my grandmother's neat, precise handwriting
on a yellowed index card,
Devil's Food Cake
my mother's careful note next to the title -
Crazy Cake -
no eggs, no butter, no cholesterol presumably
3/4 cup oil instead, I used Canola
and 2 c. warm water with 2 T white vinegar
war-time stringencies
made bearable by warm chocolate
and ingenuity
I use extra vanilla in everything, a teaspoon becomes
a tablespoon (what does that say about me?)
I even used whole wheat for part of the 3 cups of flour
the recipe called for
(2 c sugar, 2 t soda, 1 t salt, 6 T cocoa powder, stir well)
I know it's better warm from the oven
with whipped cream melting over the top
but I will have to settle for chocolate sour cream frosting
(fat-free)
and walnuts.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
eigth grade
this homework is killing me.
wouldn't you think by the time i'm 42
i'd be done with book reports
and algebra?
wouldn't you think by the time i'm 42
i'd be done with book reports
and algebra?
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
My daughter
My daughter is small, dark haired, with a face like a monkey.
She is very solemn and intense.
She screws up her whole face when she yawns and squirms.
She is my whole world when I hold her in my arms.
My toddler has bruises on her face where she twirled too fast and fell and knocked her head on wood.
My heart stopped, and started again. She moves so fast I cannot reach her in time to save her from her own momentum.
Bright eyed and mischievous, she has a crush on her dad’s work boots.
Maybe they taste good.
The empty beer bottles at Christmas are not safe on the floor by people’s chairs anymore,
We will have to remember to pick them up before the little busy blue eyed girl crawls around to pick them up and swig the dregs.
My three year old loves Bambi. She stands on the front porch, where sounds bounce from house front to house front all the way down the block, and throws her arms wide and sings: LOVE is a song that never ENDS! Until the echoes can be heard all the way to the other end of the neighborhood. My favorite: MY MOMMY IS THE BEST MOMMY IN THE WHOLE WORLD!!!!!
In preschool she plays with the boys. She’s too energized for the girls, they are boring. Miss Yoko is traumatized one day when I show up to pick up my child, who has climbed all the way to the top of the monkey bars and fallen on her mouth. There is blood on her lip where her teeth almost went all the way through. Miss Yoko, tenderhearted and responsible, is in tears. My daughter is unfazed.
Sunday mornings she and her dad have a ritual while I am gone to work. They get the Sunday paper and he pulls her in the red wagon to the coffee shop. They sit together, have hot chocolate and coffee, and read the funnies together.
My daughter is the bravest child. When life with her second grade teacher becomes unbearable, we switch her to another school. She starts her new school all by herself, while Grampa is newly home from the hospital after a massive heart attack and Mom is quarantined with the chicken pox. She takes it in stride.
The other kids in her group of friends, at both her elementary schools, follow her around like ducklings. I hear a hawk scream, or an eagle cry, or a wolf howl, to be answered by one of her groupies. They rush to greet her with open arms at school, at parties. Younger kids in line for the school bus call goodbye to her.
The future tantalizes, unsafe but fascinating. The years of my daughter’s life flow past, melt together, separate and eddy in pools of years in my mind, kaleidoscopic memories of blue eyes, wicked grin, infectious giggles. I see the young woman evolving before me daily, and I am infatuated, proud and fascinated and curious. We struggle through thirteen, fourteen, laughing and crying by turns, together.
She is very solemn and intense.
She screws up her whole face when she yawns and squirms.
She is my whole world when I hold her in my arms.
My toddler has bruises on her face where she twirled too fast and fell and knocked her head on wood.
My heart stopped, and started again. She moves so fast I cannot reach her in time to save her from her own momentum.
Bright eyed and mischievous, she has a crush on her dad’s work boots.
Maybe they taste good.
The empty beer bottles at Christmas are not safe on the floor by people’s chairs anymore,
We will have to remember to pick them up before the little busy blue eyed girl crawls around to pick them up and swig the dregs.
My three year old loves Bambi. She stands on the front porch, where sounds bounce from house front to house front all the way down the block, and throws her arms wide and sings: LOVE is a song that never ENDS! Until the echoes can be heard all the way to the other end of the neighborhood. My favorite: MY MOMMY IS THE BEST MOMMY IN THE WHOLE WORLD!!!!!
In preschool she plays with the boys. She’s too energized for the girls, they are boring. Miss Yoko is traumatized one day when I show up to pick up my child, who has climbed all the way to the top of the monkey bars and fallen on her mouth. There is blood on her lip where her teeth almost went all the way through. Miss Yoko, tenderhearted and responsible, is in tears. My daughter is unfazed.
Sunday mornings she and her dad have a ritual while I am gone to work. They get the Sunday paper and he pulls her in the red wagon to the coffee shop. They sit together, have hot chocolate and coffee, and read the funnies together.
My daughter is the bravest child. When life with her second grade teacher becomes unbearable, we switch her to another school. She starts her new school all by herself, while Grampa is newly home from the hospital after a massive heart attack and Mom is quarantined with the chicken pox. She takes it in stride.
The other kids in her group of friends, at both her elementary schools, follow her around like ducklings. I hear a hawk scream, or an eagle cry, or a wolf howl, to be answered by one of her groupies. They rush to greet her with open arms at school, at parties. Younger kids in line for the school bus call goodbye to her.
The future tantalizes, unsafe but fascinating. The years of my daughter’s life flow past, melt together, separate and eddy in pools of years in my mind, kaleidoscopic memories of blue eyes, wicked grin, infectious giggles. I see the young woman evolving before me daily, and I am infatuated, proud and fascinated and curious. We struggle through thirteen, fourteen, laughing and crying by turns, together.
AWD
My car is old. It’s dying.
The exhaust system hits with a clank every time
I exit my brother’s driveway.
Something is making a RRRrrrrRRRRrrrrRRRRR
And the transaxle clunks every time I make a right hand turn.
The headliner is gone
The carpet smells like spilled soda pop and apple juice and horse poop.
The front bumper is clinging, just
There is yellow foam on the windshield where I used Gorilla glue
To glue down the rubber gasket on the windshield.
I am stranded when the weather is bad, not daring to drive on ice
After landing in a sheep pasture last year.
I have my eye on all wheel drive.
If my car is old and sad enough, can I buy a brand new one?
The exhaust system hits with a clank every time
I exit my brother’s driveway.
Something is making a RRRrrrrRRRRrrrrRRRRR
And the transaxle clunks every time I make a right hand turn.
The headliner is gone
The carpet smells like spilled soda pop and apple juice and horse poop.
The front bumper is clinging, just
There is yellow foam on the windshield where I used Gorilla glue
To glue down the rubber gasket on the windshield.
I am stranded when the weather is bad, not daring to drive on ice
After landing in a sheep pasture last year.
I have my eye on all wheel drive.
If my car is old and sad enough, can I buy a brand new one?
Write one about baking!
Ok, I love to bake. I admit it.
I love to create, to mix and stir and make lovely smells.
Biscuits, cookies, pies, cakes. It’s all good.
Tender pie crust, fluffy biscuits, butter is better.
Chocolate pudding, whipped cream. walnuts, hazelnuts
Rum flavoring. South sea vanilla. Freshly grated nutmeg.
I made a plum pudding this year for the first time
And quickly became addicted to the golden sauce
Made with butter and cream and brown sugar
And of course Bacardi and brandy
Poured over the dense rich pudding.
Hungry yet?
I love to create, to mix and stir and make lovely smells.
Biscuits, cookies, pies, cakes. It’s all good.
Tender pie crust, fluffy biscuits, butter is better.
Chocolate pudding, whipped cream. walnuts, hazelnuts
Rum flavoring. South sea vanilla. Freshly grated nutmeg.
I made a plum pudding this year for the first time
And quickly became addicted to the golden sauce
Made with butter and cream and brown sugar
And of course Bacardi and brandy
Poured over the dense rich pudding.
Hungry yet?
In honor of Mr. Tumnus' cave
We have our own cave
Firelight flickering orange on the bricks
Picking out the shapes of books on the shelves
The shape of the wingback rocking chair
The wood of the harp frame.
We sit together
Sometimes we do homework
Sometime just reading or knitting
Sometimes TV
The dog snores and sighs in his sleep
The clock ticks
We are together
The fire crackles and settles
Firelight flickering orange on the bricks
Picking out the shapes of books on the shelves
The shape of the wingback rocking chair
The wood of the harp frame.
We sit together
Sometimes we do homework
Sometime just reading or knitting
Sometimes TV
The dog snores and sighs in his sleep
The clock ticks
We are together
The fire crackles and settles
The apple tree
The raccoons in the tree are endlessly fascinating.
Leave them alone, I tell my daughter.
Let them be, the mama will get nervous and move them away.
She moved into the hollow apple tree one night,
Bright eyes reflecting light in the afternoon of the following day.
When the two babies got a little older they all disappeared, leaving the
Apple tree to the previous tenant, who liked to store her knitting in the trunk.
Leave them alone, I tell my daughter.
Let them be, the mama will get nervous and move them away.
She moved into the hollow apple tree one night,
Bright eyes reflecting light in the afternoon of the following day.
When the two babies got a little older they all disappeared, leaving the
Apple tree to the previous tenant, who liked to store her knitting in the trunk.
The plaintive tiger
He sits out in the foliage staring at the house
Until I hear him in my mind - let the cat in!!
And I open the door to let him climb the back stairs
Winding around my legs and telling me loudly and
At length that it took me too long to hear him,
that it was cold - or snowing - or raining -
And that he wants me to pet him while he eats
And I can’t leave him to eat by himself, the poor thing,
Who got left outside ( where of course he begged to go an hour, two hours previously)
He has the whole neighborhood mapped out,
Which neighbors like cats and will feed him,
Which will let him in and pet him,
Who leaves for work in the morning and doesn’t mind a feline escort to the car, or the corner.
He comes along when we go walking, tail held high.
Once he got locked in the neighbor’s basement for a week.
We gave him up for lost, the local birds returned to the backyard,
The neighborhood hadn’t seen him.
A movement caught my eye while I stood asking the neighbor about it
The cat flattened against the basement window
Waving wildly at me and calling to me at the top of his lungs.
After a week of incarceration he was pale, his nose bleached of peach,
And he was more interested in staying in my arms than in food or water.
There must have been something, mice at least, for him to survive
A week without water. Even his orange stripes looked pale.
Until I hear him in my mind - let the cat in!!
And I open the door to let him climb the back stairs
Winding around my legs and telling me loudly and
At length that it took me too long to hear him,
that it was cold - or snowing - or raining -
And that he wants me to pet him while he eats
And I can’t leave him to eat by himself, the poor thing,
Who got left outside ( where of course he begged to go an hour, two hours previously)
He has the whole neighborhood mapped out,
Which neighbors like cats and will feed him,
Which will let him in and pet him,
Who leaves for work in the morning and doesn’t mind a feline escort to the car, or the corner.
He comes along when we go walking, tail held high.
Once he got locked in the neighbor’s basement for a week.
We gave him up for lost, the local birds returned to the backyard,
The neighborhood hadn’t seen him.
A movement caught my eye while I stood asking the neighbor about it
The cat flattened against the basement window
Waving wildly at me and calling to me at the top of his lungs.
After a week of incarceration he was pale, his nose bleached of peach,
And he was more interested in staying in my arms than in food or water.
There must have been something, mice at least, for him to survive
A week without water. Even his orange stripes looked pale.
My House
My house has room for us.
My house has sunlight and music.
My house has laughter and baking and dancing and running.
My house has tears and quiet and calm corners.
My house has stars and greenery and roses.
My house has magic.
My house has dreams.
My house has sunlight and music.
My house has laughter and baking and dancing and running.
My house has tears and quiet and calm corners.
My house has stars and greenery and roses.
My house has magic.
My house has dreams.
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