InSight

When someone shows you who they are,

believe them the first time.

Randumb Thoughts

Why is the phrase “walk home” void of a preposition? We wouldn’t say “walk school” or “walk store,” so why do we say “walk home”? Just imagine how odd it would be to hear someone say “I walked to home” and, yet, it would be grammatically correct!

Why isn’t there an accurate word to name one’s adult, live-in partner? No one over the age of twenty-five wants to walk around referring to the one they love as their boyfriend or girlfriend; it completely demeans the eminence and longevity of a relationship when you have to tag it with a term that most associate with adolescents. As for “partner” – it’s not really a feasible option if you’re straight, as it was long ago claimed by the gay community. How about lifemate? (i.e. "My lifemate and I are planning a trip to Mesopotamia”) Would that just be too cheesy?

Why is there no gender singular or plural word for cousins? We have aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, moms and dads, sisters and brothers, grandmothers and grandfathers, but no word to describe male or female cousins. At the same time we have words that group both genders (i.e parents, grandparents, siblings) but no one word to describe aunts and uncles or nieces and nephews at once. Why is it that we can say “I went to visit my parents and siblings” but we have to rail off a mouthful of words when we want to tell someone that we “took a trip to visit our aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews”?

And finally…this one drives me crazy: why do most singers pronounce the words “heaven” and “Christmas” as “Hev-un” and “Cris-muss”? Does Eric Clapton think his song would be less emotive if he sang about tears in heaven rather than “tears in hev-un”?

In Love

Introducing my little Mac-doe, who was able to push his brother, Lincoln, aside this afternoon to steal the spotlight during my sister Meghan’s ultrasound. [Link to Link]

Currently weighing in at 4.3 pounds, his precious little face is making Auntie Carrie think she may soon forget the days when she said she didn’t want children.

Sun Tea and Dusty Dog Bones

The forecast is calling for a chilly, rainy weekend, so I am willing the good weather’s hasty return by sharing some shots of mine and Joe’s quiet afternoon in the sunshine.  While I graded stacks of papers on the back deck and waited for my sun tea to warm on the porch railing, Joey-girl strode stridently through the backyard – proud as a peacock over her new bone, which she buried in the dirt more times than I can count.  Although I am now coming down quickly from a caffeine high, and have a backyard dented with paw-marked craters, I can’t wait to spend another day just like this one when the warm weather returns to us.

One Woman's Trash...

The fun thing about living in the city of Albany is that the Department of General Services is indiscriminate about the size, quantity, and content of the garbage placed at the curbside to be hauled away each week. Unlike Albany’s neighboring suburban residents who pay for garbage removal, we can throw refrigerators, mattresses, discarded construction materials, etc. to the road and they are toted away without question on our tax dime. Although it leaves me scratching my head and fretting over the elevation of our local landfills, this practice was a perk for Mart and I at the height of our home renovation.

Spring is an interesting time of year to live in the city, as people get the itch to follow the landscape’s lead and start anew. This results in lots of cleaning, lots of de-cluttering and, thus, lots of garbage piled upon the curb sides. This being our third spring as Albany residents, Marty and I have become accustomed to the rumble of the rusty, dilapidated pickup trucks that belong to the men we call “The Creepers”. They could be hoarders, slumlords, or salesmen, but you name it and these guys will take it: sixty year old kitchen cabinets, crushed wicker baskets, scrap wood, worn tires, musty furniture…the list goes on. They know the garbage men’s schedule by heart and each night they run their circuit, creeping through Albany neighborhoods, making innumerable drive-bys, peering from their dusty windows until they spot the next gem tossed to the roadside by some unsuspecting resident.

Yet The Creepers aren’t the only ones who get a thrill out of other people’s previously loved household items - Mart and I are often amused to see neighbors head down the street on an evening stroll only to walk back a few minutes later with a treasure they grabbed out of someone else’s trash pile. Two summers ago, we ourselves participated in the dumpster diving when the family across the street placed fence panels at their curb for removal. Hours later, under the cover of darkness, we made a half a dozen trips across Westford Street to collect enough panels to repair our own ramshackle fence.

But just a few days ago we scored our biggest find. With spring fever in his bones, Marty took the afternoon off from work and dedicated himself to a thorough overhaul of our garage, which had gone gravely neglected during the winter months. While lugging a dusty bag of unwanted items to the street, Marty noticed our next door neighbor’s father hauling a brand new grill out to her curbside. Mart struck up a conversation with the guy and learned that his daughter had decided to discard her newly purchased grill because she discovered, after bringing it home, that one of the burners was out of commission. Mart, being the resourceful guy that he is, thought he had a shot at repairing the broken burner, so he got busy dragging the grill into our yard before one of The Creepers came by and snagged it for himself.

Two hours later I returned home from work to a boyfriend who was grinning from ear to ear as he stood beside the same grill we had admired at Lowe’s last season. Together we carried his fortunate find up to the deck, gave it a good scrub, hooked up the propane tank, and decided to try our luck with diagnosing the problem. As Mart pressed the ignite button and turned the knob to high, we both expected the grill would give a soft sputter and the flame would die. Yet to our delight, we discovered our neighbor’s diagnosis had been dead wrong: the grill was in perfect working condition. Yay!

Mart deemed this an occasion worthy of a gin and tonic, and as he got busy pouring, I knocked around the kitchen and got busy chopping and seasoning. Within twenty minutes, our neighbor's grill, which  hours earlier had been sentenced to a life in a landfill, was doing a dandy job of roasting red potatoes, frying garlic smothered asparagus, and grilling lemon pepper seasoned tilapia. 

As we enjoyed our lunch together on the deck in the sunshine, we decided that being Creepers wasn’t so bad.  After all,  the best things in life are free.

Ya Get More With Sugar Than Ya Do With Vinegar

I was given the great privilege of watching my niece and nephew on Tuesday night while my sister and her fiancé enjoyed a quiet evening downtown at 677 Prime.  Upon their arrival it was decided that cupcakes were in order, so we got busy in the kitchen cooking up our happily chaotic concoction.  When Willow and Manny decided that white cake mix was too vanilla for their taste, we got crazy with the food coloring.  It wasn't long before Willow's pretty pink dress was green, and our lips and tongues were blue.  

 

My kind of teamwork!

Gotta love them big browns!

"Eat dessert first" is the rule we follow at Aunt Carrie's house.  However, when my veggie-lovin' Willow noticed that "Uncle Babe" was boiling up some edamame, she couldn't miss out on the treat, and soon we were enjoying an edamame picnic on the dining room rug. Willow ate so many I thought she'd surely turn green in the face.  Of course that didn't happen, but I imagine my sister must have been in stitches the next morning when Willow went to the bathroom to do her business and shouted "Wow, it's green.  That's amazing!"

Another Good Reason to Teach

A student approached me at the close of yesterday’s class and thanked me for laying a stronger foundation in her writing by taking the time to review the basics of grammar and punctuation. She said that she was "so relieved to finally learn what a semi-colon is." 

"Yes,” I responded, “its function is highly overlooked and sadly underestimated.”

"No," she stated, "You don't understand: before this class I didn't even know that the semicolon existed. Every time I saw it in a piece of writing I thought it was a typo."

All Dressed Up With No Place To Go

What happens when you mix Carrie, a sunny day, procrastination, and a super tolerant pup?        

"Mom, this is soooo embarrassing..."

2:34 am

There’s something in the hollow

Bump of bone

Against each ninety degree

That raises the edge

Of an ear in mid dream.

Somehow marrow’s intellect surrenders

To the verity that it isn’t

The stranger I’d been anticipating

I’d awaken to:

Calloused palm against moistened lips;

A barrel to the crest where wisps meet nape;

Or loot cascading from elbow crooks,

Strewn across the outer parts of the

Sheath constructed to deflect the villain.

Far worse:

Searching hands

Against darkened walls

That dissipate

Where they stand.

And the crumbling that existed

Before sound

As various versions of

Former selves

Collide to the linoleum.

It was me who landed

Beside bare foot heels

In the spot I’ve been

All these years

In alternate states

Of awe

And submission.

Modesty’s irrelevant.

Watch as my heart beats beside me.

Ēostre

It was a beautiful Easter Sunday here in upstate New York.  The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the grass appeared to reach a deeper hue of green with each passing hour.

After waking up early to make my contribution to Easter dinner --sweet potato casserole with pecans and marshmallows, and cinnamon and raisin kugle-- I woke up Marty and we headed out to Capital Hills Golf Course to enjoy our last walk on the green with Joey before the course closed to us and opened for golf season. 

After our walk it was on to my parents' house for delicious food and great company.  Click here for a link to photos of the day in full.

My Best Good Things

The photo  below was sent via email today by my sister on behalf of my nephews, Lincoln and McCann, whose entrance into this world I eagerly await.  I stared at it through watery eyes, arose from my desk, poured myself a glass of wine and toasted to all of my best good things:  siblings, parents, nephews, nieces, true friends, and a few good words.

The beauty of a few good words is that they have the sovereignty to negate all offensive predecessors; to make the beneficiary cast off the adverse force of caustic declamations that came before; to remind us of what is real and pure and worth it in this world; to extend to us the strength and resiliency to dismiss those things that compromise our best good things.

Here is a look at one of my best good things to come:

LINKIE HANGIN' OUT IN HIS MOMMA'S BELLY

Isn't he the cutest?  I asked my sis if I she'd mind if I just crawl in there and cuddle the crap outta him till he is ripe and ready to greet the world.  I don't think she was so crazy about the proposal...

Little Macdoe is in there somewhere too - it seems he's still a bit camera shy.

Thanks, Linkie and Mac, for sending me a few good words.  You are a beautiful reminder of all that is real and pure and worth it in this world.

Uncorked

It’s something like rising

and dressing in the finest gown

at the hour that death portends;

flesh braces

for the laceration

sure to accompany the blow of

an innocence formerly mislaid in

the cyclonic splendor of found self.

I wonder if you know that

I’ve borne you

in sinew and thought

through nights of dreams

that promised reconciliation, and days

of adulthood that witness retribution’s ruin of

an everything that once was.

When I awaken, I vomit ancient truths; shuffle

with knotted fingers through the debris of

our years, doubling as

entrails twine around educed trepidation

of grocery aisle scans,

perked ears amid droves of vacuous visages

and waiting…

Years ago I searched and discovered that

we both journeyed the parallel paths we had taken

our maiden, stumbling steps

down together.

You liked Whitman as much as I had learned to,

and thirsted for the fervor found in Kerouac.

I read somewhere that the only people for you 
were the mad ones,

and thought: we had been 
roman candles that exploded like spiders across the stars.

It’s that detonation’s residual crater I explore each time

I pass two young girls on foot,

or worse: in uproarious laughter

that brings flush to cheeks, and hands

to jagged knee caps.

I wonder whether I’ll ever lose the envy for those

who speak unassumingly

across phone lines - before, between, after

the six o’clock whistle’s three second delay.

And my tongue lurches back

from impetuous serrated words,

and my soul cringes as

the me we once created and knew

seeks moments unpreserved due to lack.

As years go on, I persist searching likely places and find you hiding in none.

Most days I keep to looking for you 
where you left us: dusty upon the shelf.

For I have come to learn

it all turns out nothing like they say;

it’s no fine wine,

but I pull it down anyway.

And though most often the words I speak are null,

when I finish, the girls

on our pages are breathless

from the recognition

that fiction is their only plausible truth.

Home is Where "The Mart" is

It’s been nearly 48 hours since our plane lifted off the tarmac at Cancun International Airport and I’m still defying the urge to greet people with an “Hola” and thank them with a “Gracias.”  We only spent five and half days in Mexico – Akumal, to be exact, but the warm water, cool sand of the Riviera Maya, and fruity drinks aplenty will tumble through my thoughts for days and weeks to come.  

THE CARIBBEAN SEA

It was refreshing to wake up to the sea breeze blowing in through the open balcony door, and to lazily lie in bed and watch the sheer curtains dance in the draft.  I reveled in the thought that the only decisions that needed to be made were whether to wear my olive green bathing suit or my maroon one, or whether to hit up the breakfast buffet at 9:00 or 9:30.   

Yet although resort life can be good, but it had its setbacks:  being so used to traveling to places where we are deeply ingratiated in the culture that surrounds us, Mart and I had a hard time feeling like we were, in fact, in Mexico.  Everywhere we looked we saw Americans, Brits, and Canadians, and other than the resort employees, who were predominately Mexican, the crowd was largely homogenous:  white, middle class folk.  Don’t get me wrong – I like white, middle class folks.  I happen to be one.  But after two days on the resort, we packed up the sunscreen and bottled water and hopped the collective to the Tulum Mayan Ruins and then to Tulum Pueblo, where we got our cultural fix and rubbed elbows with the locals.

TULUM RUINS:

 

TULUM PUEBLO:

While in Mexico we marveled at the sea, spent listless hours with our toes in the white sand, and ate as much as our bellies could hold.  At the end of each day we questioned our sanity for settling in the humdrum county of Albany.   As we walked the beach on our last day there, we passed a vendor selling pottery in an open-air thatch-roofed hut.   

He greeted us as we entered:  “Hola, como estas?” 

“Muy bueno.  Y tu?”

“I’m at work,” he responded dryly in English (as if to say, "How happy can I be?")

We looked at his wares and continued our walk along the beach, discussing the fact that our idea of paradise is just someone else’s idea of home – the place they live, the place they laugh and cry, lay in bed when they are sick, visit the bank when they are low on cash, stand in line at the grocery store, and work.  I mentally sifted through our short list of reasons why we chose to stay in Albany, to have it be the place where we did these things.  Family and friends were, of course, number one.  Work came in second, and comfort and convenience followed close behind.  The list may be short, I thought to myself but, damn, those things are worth it.  

I thought about how the more I travel, and the more I see of other people’s places in this world, the more I understand that those who live on paradise’s doorstep don’t recognize it as such. Looking out into the miles of vast open sea, I pondered the relevance of Dave Wilcox’s song “In Plain View”:

"You don't get it when you got it
 You can't see it when it's in plain view
 Don't ask a fish about the water
 You never notice what you're right next to"

Link to "Plain View" 

As we walked the beach and I dipped my toes into the far reaching edges of each fizzling wave, I contemplated how much home makes me appreciate 'everywhere else', and how much ‘everywhere else’ makes me truly appreciate home.

 

Tuesday’s return journey was long and tiring – it’s always so difficult to leave a beautiful place and go back to life as usual.  But when we pulled up to the house at 2:30 am, stumbled to the door, turned the key in the lock, and wearily prepared for bed, I realized how good it felt to be here.  As I sunk between the cold sheets of my bed and pulled the down comforter over us to ward off the March chill, I thought about our trip, about the time Mart and I shared together in Mexico, and all the other times we have shared in new and interesting places.  A smile came across my face:  no matter where we go together, it always feels like home where he is. 

Link to Photos of Our Trip

Oh, Mexico

"...it sounds so sweet with the sun sinking low
Moon's so bright like to light up the night
Make everything all right.

Oh, down in Mexico
I never really been so I don't really know.
Oh, Mexico
I guess I'll have to go..."

Sing it to me, James <link>

Hasta Luego!

Capital Hills

Whoever said 'you can't buy happiness' 
obviously never owned a dog

Marty and Joey at Capital Hills Golf Course

Friends by Choice?

Since the day we introduced Joey and Tao, Marty and I have joked that the popular saying “Sisters by chance, friends by choice” doesn’t at all apply when it comes to the two of them.  In our household, the saying goes "Sisters by chance, friends by force."  Although Joey makes daily attempts to snuggle up to Tao when an opportunity presents, Tao typically dissuades her by whacking her on the muzzle, or biting onto her ear until Joey submits and retreats. However, just moments ago, I witnessed what I believe may be history in the making. Joey was curled up on her bed in a sun spot beside the back door. Tao had been sharing the same sun spot (from a safe three feet distance) for over an hour, and Joey had long since given up her repeated invitations for Tao to come mingle. As I sat at the island doing work on the laptop, Tao stood up, yawned, stretched dramatically, and then pranced straight to Joey’s bed. I held my breath, thinking the slightest movement may swiftly throw her off course, and watched in disbelief as she climbed in beside Joey and snuggled up against her as if it were their daily routine. As soon as she was securely settled, I lunged for the camera and began to click away like a mother watching her child take her maiden steps while daddy was away at work. 

Even Joey appears shocked...

...but she's smart enough to know a good opportunity when she sees one!

Ginger Squash and Potato Soup

 

I tend to be a blind cook – throwing things into pots at random and simply cooking to taste.  This afternoon I experimented with ginger squash and potato soup.  


Here is my recipe.  

Ingredients

1 butternut squash peeled and seeded

2 large potatoes

2 cups chicken broth

1 large onion

2 tablespoons of butter

1 garlic clove

Fresh ginger

Ground pepper

Dill

Rosemary

Half and half

Sour cream

Scallions

Directions

1. Heat 2 tbsp of butter in pan on stove.  Chop onion and sauté in butter until lightly browned.  Remove from heat. 

2. Chop potatoes into small chunks.  Boil for 4-5 minutes. 

3. Bring chicken broth to boil in large pot.  Chop squash into 1 inch chunks and add to broth.  Add one minced garlic clove, a dash of rosemary, and a sprinkle of dill. Boil until tender.

4. Drain broth from squash and set broth aside.  Place squash in blender and puree. 

5. Return pureed squash to pot.  Add half and half and remaining broth in equal parts and blend until the mixture reaches desirable consistency. 

6. Add onion and potato.

7. Stir in a few pinches of fresh ginger and ground pepper to taste.  Let simmer for 3-5 minutes to allow flavors to marry.

Serve in deep bowl.  Garnish with sour cream and sprigs of scallions. 

Enjoy!