Biker Buddy ON STRIKE!

The UAW and GM have been negotiating. Biker Buddy called this morning to say they were probably going out on strike at 11 AM. He would have to walk the picket line. At 11 AM, I heard on NPR that in fact the UAW has gone out as of 11 AM on Nationwide strike against GM for the first time since 1976.

I started crying when I heard the news. I guess I'm worried, more worried than I realized. Maybe it is bringing up old stuff from when my father was out on strike so often and so long against American Locomotive when I was a child. Strike times were scary times for me, my father home but not on vacation, pacing, worried, low on money. I was more scared then than I realized until just now.

My father finally changed jobs and went to work for General Electric instead. He worked at Knolls Atomic Power Labs, and changed again when we weren't allowed to go fishing in Canada because of the high security of the work he did. This was not as much a financial issue, but a matter of principle. He did not feel like a free man, and he wanted to be free, so he moved his family at a critical time in my life--I lost an opportunity to go to France as a foreign exchange student, was no longer in honor society, etc.

None of this has anything to do with Biker Buddy's circumstances, and my current ones, I hope. Except that they strongly affect my feelings about it and I am still in useless, pointless tears.

Not Quite over but finally getting there

My Mom died January 16. This picture was taken when we were there trying to clean and sort her stuff. Monday we had a closing on her house. Today, we are trying to get the power and water shut off or transferred, the insurance terminated and all that. The lawyers have to deal with the fees and money. But there may be a light at the end of the tunnel. I hope so; it's been a long row to hoe. I miss my Mom--a lot, but I won't miss all the bull$#\* that followed her death!

Murphy Mess

I didn't sleep much last night, didn't even lie down until after 3:30, lay awake for long time, and was awake again before 7:30.

For breakfast, I made myself a pancake which I intended to serve with apricot syrup. It was a new bottle and the top was tight; I couldn't get it off by hand so I used a nut-cracker to loosen it and set it aside. After the pancake was on the dish, I grabbed the syrup, and since it was new, I gave it a shake. I'd neglected to retighten the top and it exploded all over and made a huge mess.

These things happen to me much more frequently when I haven't slept, and I am also more easily upset when I haven't slept--double jeopardy! Darn Murphy.

Stolen!

Piano Boy Speeds along the Sidewalk

Stolen!

When Piano Boy left to “hang out with his friends” (the word "play" slipped out, but he quickly took it back) yesterday, I told him to call me and let me know where they were and to remember that he had an orthodontist appointment at 6:30. He was supposed to be home by 5:30, no excuses, to eat and brush his teeth.

The orthodontist called and left a message to ask if we could come in at 6 instead, since he had a cancellation and needed to leave the office. I didn’t call back, since I didn’t know where Piano Boy was or how to reach him.

At 5:30, no Piano Boy, at 5:45, no Piano Boy. We ate dinner without him. Since he lost his cell phone, we had no way to contact him. Then, finally, he called to say his bicycle was stolen. He was going to Yamaha’s to call the police.

The orthodontist appointment was a consultation. When he hadn’t shown up by 6:15, we left without him. As we were pulling in to the orthodontist office, the phone rang and he was home. Biker Buddy went back to get him. The orthodontist asked me when they’d be there. I said soon. He was annoyed and wanted to leave, but waited.

The appointment was strange. I wrote about it last night, and will add it later, if I have time. (I have to download it from my PDA).

Piano Boy said that Houston had locked their two bikes together and both bikes were stolen. That may be the truth, or it may be that they weren’t locked at all and he’s afraid to admit it because we had told him hundreds of times to always lock it to something that couldn’t be removed, like a tree, sign or bike rack. Bicycle theft is a popular and all-too common crime in our area. Around here, there are so many bicycle thefts that the chances of getting the bike back are near zero. The cops essentially ignore the problem. Sometimes, the stolen bikes are dumped into the lake. Other times they disappear into the ghetto or elsewhere.

So, the “new” bike is gone. Whose fault is? Well, first it’s the fault of the thief. The thief is ultimately to blame. But then, it is Piano Boy’s fault. He’d been given not one but two locks and carefully instructed in their proper use. He’d been reminded and encouraged to lock his bike and told that if it were stolen through his neglect, we would NOT replace it—at least not immediately.

This morning, Piano Boy asked me to drive him to Jake’s. I said no. He could take the other old bike or walk or stay home. He needed to suffer some consequences in order to understand why we tell him to do certain things. He said he would not ride the “ghetto bike” (it’s not “cool enough” for him). He took “my” roller blades instead.

I’ll probably have to drive him to Choir day camp next week. That will take time from my busy schedule. Or, we could let him take money from his bank account, the non-college portion, to buy a new bike. His carelessness is going to be a burden to all of us. And it’s sad; it’s an unnecessary and unhappy loss. It makes me question human nature. Why do we have thieves, computer hackers, rapists and murderers? Right, let’s put this in perspective. Piano Boy is OK. Maybe he’ll learn to take better care of his things. Maybe. But I’m not holding my breath.

Today's Detroit Photo.

Meaningful Lives and me

Occasionally, I read a novel that is more like life than most I read. I read one such a while ago, but unfortunately; I've forgotten it name. The protagonist was a klutz and everything always went wrong. If I wrote a truthful story of my own life, that's what it would be like. A comedy (or tragedy) of errors.

I did not want to write about my failed day. I wanted to write something meaningful. I had a whole list of topics to explore, including some of the people I admire and why I admire them.

For example, Tim Burke. I don't know him; I just met him at his home at the Heidelberg Project. This is why I admire him:

• Ø He's an artist. He's a real artist (whatever that means.)* He makes and sells art. He is serious about his work), but playful as well. Best of all, he lives like an artist. He lives in an art community, surrounded by his art. He makes a statement with everything he does.
• Ø He's a poet. He's a performance poet, and he does it well. He recites political poetry, poetry that might make a difference.
• Ø He combines his poetry and his art in performance and seeks to engage the public.

What do I like about him? He’s nice. I think what he's doing is important. I think art is important, I think poetry is important, and I think speaking out for what you believe is important. I'd like to be more like that. I'd like to live my art and poetry and speak out on important issues. Instead, I wallow. I wallow in a black hole of stupid wasteful activities.

Today, I tried to order tickets for the Harry Potter movie online because it's newly out, but Fandango kept saying, please enter a valid email address, even though I had. I Xed it out and tried again, numerous times. I called Star Theaters, emailed Fandango, wasting more and more time, but to no avail. This means that in order to assure we had seats, we had to go in really early. More wasted time.

I emailed back and forth about the sale of my mother's house. This is a daily or nearly daily activity that is a singularity of wasted time. Eventually, something positive may come of it. I sure hope so. But on a daily basis, it’s a time sink.

I could go on, but I won't; I will not list all the stupid things I did today instead of something useful and productive, except this: I wanted to have Biker Buddy's dinner ready the minute he got home from work so we could go right away to see Harry Potter. I am making grilled yellow fin tuna in a lemon-wine sauce with a side of fresh veggie mix in a curried wine sauce and a side of beans and rice and a fancy complex salad. In the midst of the elaborate preparation, I am reaching for the wine evacuator in the side of the silverware drawer and knock over the bottle of wine. It turns upside down in the silverware and special tools drawer and empties entirely into the drawer before I can rescue it.

Then, it begins draining out the bottom of the opened drawer onto my feet and the floor. Did I mention that what I had wanted to do today was work on my story and take a walk? Spinning through the darkness of Murphy, the day was almost gone, but I thought that once the tuna was marinating and the veggies cut and the sauce made, there's still be a little time to accomplish something.

But instead, I was cleaning a big mess on the counter, in the drawer, on the floor. I had to take all the silver and tools out and wash them, dry them and replace them after cleaning the drawer.
When Biker Buddy rolled in, I was just finishing cleaning up, and it was time to start the fish and veggies.

Now, I am sitting in the darkened theater, a half hour still to go before they even start the previews. I didn't work on my story and I didn't walk. I did no art. I didn't confront George Bush for ruining the environment or bombing babies. I did nothing useful or meaningful. I wasted a day trying to get Harry Potter tickets, talking about real estate, cleaning lost wine, and other unbearably unmentionable times sinks.

The people who do meaningful, good and useful things, do they have their own private Murphy diverter?*** Where can I get one?

*I am an artist, because I create art.** But I don't often consider myself a real artist because I rarely sell anything and don't live like an artist. I am a poet because I write poetry. I have a Master’s degree in poetry. But I don’t usually consider myself a “real” poet, because I don’t have a “real” book. I’m a photographer and have won awards for my Photography, but I don’t consider myself a “real” photographer. Don’t ask.

**What is art? What is poetry? Who defines what art is, what poetry is, what a novel is? Can I say for certain that I create art?

***Real people make art; I’ve met some of them. Real people write books, are doctors, find cures for diseases, etc. How do they stave off Murphy and the Black Hole? How do they fight Entropy?

This is an excerpt from my Journal for 7-17-07 and 7-18-07. The original full journal entry is posted here.
Another part of the journal edited and posted here.
Another picture of Tim Burke posted here.

PS, I messed up the QUIZ that I left while I was in Slovenia, so if you couldn't comment before, try again now. When I have 5 comments, or more (if they come in fast and furious, which I don't expect), I will post the answers.

It occurs to me that this post prolly should be placed in The Unbearable Darkness of Being instead of here. Oh well.

Feeling Crabby

Yes, I know this is a CRAYFISH, but I'm a crab, LOL!

Blogger has gotten so much harder I almost don't want to bother with it at all. And that's just one of my problems. I'm still dealing with my mother's estate and while I was away, I got huge piles of snailmail and email, and I'm not caught up yet. I am feeling crabby about it all, so watch out! (To say nothing of canceled and multiply rescheduled and recanceled doctor's appointments and worse yet, the health issues behind them.)

Why did blogger make blogging harder and less user friendly than it was before? Any ideas?

It will be a while before I can blog regularly again, I'm so so far behind.

I did, however, post some new posts including some juvenalia self portraits and two newer ones, some of my father's paintings. I have written some "real" posts but haven't had time to download them yet.

An interpretation of feeling overwhelmed, On the Street, for Self-portrait challenge, One of the juvenalias (click home while there to see the rest), one of Pa's unfinished paintings (click home while there to see more), one of my new pieces (click home while there to see more--I think there are at least 4 new pieces).

I took the crayfish photo last night at the tiny beach along Lakeshore while walking with Biker Buddy.

Where are my Bread Crumbs?

SWITCHED! Finally!

I wrote a new poem this morning. It's probably not good enough to ever be posted to AMARYPOEM or Twelve. So I am posting it here.

I just got switched, finally, to the New Blogger, but that may mean everything is all messed up, and I don't have time to fix it. It will have to stay messed up for a while!

I tried publishing this by hitting publish but it only went in as a draft.

Where are my Bread Crumbs?

I thought I’d reached a place of serene understanding,
once for a few hours or days, a loving equilibrium,
at the center of the teeter totter at the peak of Everest,
with the Maiden Tsar and the Baba Yaga perfectly balanced,
floating, bare feet dangling above the sunlit snow.
It was high summer and below, hand in hand, Persephone
and Demeter walked through wheat fields half green
half gold. The sun smiled and I smiled back. No hurricanes
struck for a moment, no tsunamis or draughts or wildfires.
But in the next moment, or day or week, they all hit
at once, flinging me back into the briar patch
in the center of the dark forest with no trail or light
where I still remain, lost, scratched and stuck.

Mary Stebbins Taitt
1st, 4/20/07, 070420

click image to view larger (artwork by me)(I'm an orphan now, at 60!)(Wahn!)

OK, this is the THIRD time I have published this--let me know if you can finally see it!