thursday

Immigration Reform

I want to learn Spanish, I feel

it’s the right thing to do, living

here among the lizards, the cactus

spines, the land of rocks and sun

and stings, the lank and curl

of snakes and everywhere sharp edges

Spanish is soft, Spanish rolls

off their tongues, lolls around my yard

making itself at home, working

while I watch

they rake and weed, heads wrapped up

against the sun, probably talking about me

I think, and who could blame them

Of course they’re talking

of their own lives, homes and weeds

sons playing ball, TVs

they talk of work and songs, dreams

and daughters, gardens, dinners

dogs, their mothers, cars and death

and yesterday, last night

week after next

But if I learned it, would they tell me

what they think about it all, would there

be a fence, a wall between us

could we become friends

or could I never speak that Spanish

theirs from birth, mine from a book or worse

a menu, even if I learn to say it all

correctly, get the accent right, hop up

in back of their truck, tie on

a bandana and ride

to the next yard and the next yard

and the next, laugh at all their jokes

would we ever laugh together?

I would like to tell them what I want

instead I watch them from my window

weeding in Spanish, their easy flow

of words a soft cool drink

their rakes cutting line after line

in the sand between us

--smh

monday

Beg

Come and get it you say

then up goes the fence, my face

against the slats, I try to push

my way through

use my tricks

the ones you taught me

also some I'm trying  

just to see what works

like how about these eyes, the way

they almost speak, this mouth

the way it turns just so

as close to smiling as I get

wet, curving lips

my panting tongue

and just a hint of teeth, I promise

not to use my bite, I promise

to be good for you

just let me at it

--smh

Thanks to Tess at The Mag for the prompt - 

Click on over and fetch a few more twists on the story...

sunday

There’s nothing like an airport for reminding you that you’re not in charge. Of anything, really. Except how you behave.

In fact, you can tell a lot about people by how they behave at the airport. And when a flight is canceled, you can tell even more. (Have you guessed that I am writing this while sitting at the airport after my flight has canceled? I hope to be on my way in about 7 hours…)

When I called my airline-executive husband for a little behind-the-scenes help getting scheduled for a later flight, he said, “A good day in the airline business is when you only piss off hundreds of people. Not thousands.” 

I shared that with the other stranded folks in line next to me. Only a few of them saw the humor, and those were probably flight attendants traveling incognito and stand-by on their day off. What do they care about canceled flights? They just roll to the list for the next one, willing to sit in a jump seat if need be. And then they pick up a latte or some frozen yogurt.

So I guess this is how I behave…I try hard not to cry and think about how to turn it into an essay. You have no idea how many times in the average day I turn to this coping mechanism. With more success sometimes than others.

But standing in the angry/dejected/frustrated line, watching 150 people who were all screwed to varying degrees, I decided it’s not the worst way to cope. All the tantrums in the world aren’t going to make the plane go, and they aren’t going to make the gate agent work harder to get you a seat on the next flight either.

The woman in line next to me was infinitely more screwed than I was. I was just trying to get home to let Cooper out. She is a pediatric heart specialist on her way to a morning interview with a group of surgeons in Atlanta for a prestigious and coveted spot in their practice. And there was not another way to get from here to Atlanta tonight. 

But instead of throwing a fit, she chatted about growing up in Iowa, the best places to eat in Chicago, the weather in Seattle, and the beauty of Vancouver BC, with the people around her. She had a great smile, generously shared. In the end, we laughed, we all said “this sucks,” and we shook hands and said “good luck!” when we parted ways.

It reminded me that it’s okay not to be in charge; even when you think you are, you’re only forgetting that you aren’t. Because that’s what it all comes down to. It’s a giant exercise in learning to roll with it. Whatever it is. 

And an exercise in doing so with as much grace as possible. Meanwhile acknowledging that everyone around you is not only subject to the same frustrations you are, they may actually have it worse. And therefore treating them accordingly. And that includes the gate agent. 

Just say "wheeeee," metaphorically speaking. And get some frozen yogurt while you're waiting for things to improve. It's a lot more fun that way. 

wednesday

Had my last medical test this week. By which I mean the last one until I'm 70. Yes, I've put them all on notice. I've had enough, and I don't intend to come back for 20 years. Except for my follow-up next week from that last test. And my other follow-up in January. That one's really important. And I guess that other follow-up test in three years because of the results of last week's test. Okay, okay...but ONLY follow-ups. 

No new appointments. No possible conditions, no suspicions, no symptoms, no lesions or abrasions, -itis or -osis, hyper- or ablations. Ever. For any reason. I've torn up my doctor dance card. And no online dating with WebMD either. Just say delete.

Look, it's not that I'm not grateful. I've received splendid care from all of you! I just don't want a relationship. I've got other things I've been neglecting while I've been spending my time with you, and I need to get back to them. It's not you, it's me. I was lonely when I moved to AZ and I needed some new friends. I thought maybe this was going to be the answer, but I think I need friends who don't poke me with sharp things, give me bad news, always stick me with the bill, make me wait for weeks on end to get squeezed into their schedule, and dump me the minute I stop being of interest to them. I need real friends. The kind who like to go to lunch and not lecture me about what to order. The kind who don't have waiting rooms.

You understand...don't you?

monday

 

 

Someone should engineer an oven that works as efficiently as hot flashes. Preheating would become a thing of the past, because the hot flash oven would go from zero to 400 degrees in approximately one second. Of course, it might be a problem when it found itself subsequently covered in sweat and therefore freezing and reaching for a jacket three minutes later. At that point, your souffle might fall, for instance. But I would feel like someone in my house truly understood me, so I would probably love that oven forever.

If you're a boy, about now is when you are beginning to wonder if I'm going to be writing about sensitive girl issues for much longer and at what point you should stop reading. You'll have to make that determination yourself, because unfortunately I have been suddenly thrust into a place that makes me a walking, talking sensitive girl issue. Well, sometimes a crying one too. Quite often, in fact. It's called "surgical menopause", and the only thing that makes it different from when your mother went through "the change" is that it happened to me in an instant. And that I have a blog where I can blab about it like I invented it.

I've always known that women are to be admired. It's not rocket science to understand that any being capable of miraculously growing another being, for the most part without even really trying, deserves a little extra credit. Because that makes rocket science look easy. And of course I've always felt that women also deserve some respect for having to put up with all the monthly pleasures that special talent brings with it. Whenever I hear women speculate about God being a woman, I laugh. Loud. Because it seems to me they're just not really thinking it through. While I feel that God values women very highly, endowing us with what I believe to be His defining attribute (the ability to create), I also believe that when we receive great gifts, we also receive other stuff that sort of balances things out. Evens the score, so to speak. And in this case, those things require their own grocery store aisle.

An aisle I will no longer be frequenting! I can just cruise right on by for the rest of my life! All the while feeling increased admiration for any older woman in sight, because along with this new gift of never needing to send another tampon through the check-out, I now understand that the divine hand again sets something on the other side of the scale. Menopause. For me, so far it consists of brain mush, the kinds of silly crying bouts not seen since pregnancy when the Hallmark ads required actual Kleenex, and sweating. A lot of sweating.

But also a greater appreciation for the continuing splendors of life's journey and a feeling that I have acquired another little piece of the puzzle. Initiation into a new club. Or maybe it's more like beating that level of the game and finally moving to the next level. And my first question about this level is...can I get a refrigerator/freezer to fight my new oven?