February 2022

1701 Lawrence

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I watched this when it was broadcast on The Johnny Cash Show — about 1969. Good memories.

Three of the most important years of my life were spent on a Marine Corps Base in Hawaii. I was 7 when we moved there in 1967. 

We lived on the main road into officer’s housing just across the street from the Officer’s Club golf course. Our yard was sometimes littered with stray golf balls if the foursome at the hole closest to us had too much to drink or were just novice golfers.

It was a small 3-bedroom ranch on a corner lot. Outside my bedroom window was a palm tree that would drop coconuts on the roof, sometimes startling me out of a sound sleep.

There was no need for insulation in Hawaii. If you hammered a nail into a wall and then removed it, daylight would stream through the hole. It was military housing and nail holes were pretty much forbidden. They were too much of a bother to fix to pass housing inspection when transfer orders were received. You didn’t just pack up and leave military housing.   The house had to be squeaky clean from top to bottom. Many women had a side gig cleaning houses with a guarantee of passing inspection.

There was also no need for air conditioning most of the time. The windows were all thrown open to the island breezes. We had an extended carport with a covered patio – the patio was called a lanai. My mother, and my father too if he were home, would sit on the lanai and watch the children play on the communal playground just beyond our backyard.

I racked up some hours on the swing set and merry-go-round.

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in time of daffodils – e.e. cummings

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Blue Skies and Daffodils Are a Comin’

Daffodils make my heart sing each and every spring since I saw my first one — I would have been about 15. I had’t lived in places that had daffodils. It was love at first sight. I planted a hundred daffodil bulbs about 32 years ago. They multiplied and multiplied. I think it accurate to say that I have thousands now

I ran across e.e. cummings poem some years after that. It too was love at first sight. 

in time of daffodils(who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why, remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so(forgetting seem)

in time of roses(who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if, remember yes

in time of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek(forgetting find)

and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us free)
forgetting me, remember me

Falling Through the Ice

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Photo by Bryan Rodriguez on Unsplash

Dropping out of college and moving to Wisconsin to follow my family seemed like a splendid plan. I was attending university in West Virginia and floundering—oh if I’d only majored in English as my secret heart wanted, but no. I chose pre-med. I wasn’t just floundering; I was lost and drowning.

I grew up in California, Hawaii, and the southern part of the east coast. When I was 14, we moved to West Virginia, where there was regular snow and winter. I liked it. It was such a change to have 4-seasons. 

My dad began his second career and transferred to Milwaukee. I had been a military brat, and home had never been a place–it was a group of people. My floundering became frantic when my folks left. 

I moved. 

I didn’t understand about Wisconsin winters. I thought winter was winter–a sort of uniform experience.

Oh my.

I moved in October. There was already snow on the ground. Deep snow. Cold snow. It was the winter of 78-79. Some of you may remember the gawdawful spectacle that Ma Nature put on. Snow to the rafters, subzero, blizzard after blizzard.

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The Revolt

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Me at 13
The Revolt

My hands cramp, fingers arching backward.
Arthritis. Two Advil daily.

My lower back aches, stooping my spine.
My arches continue their path to flat.

It feels like betrayal this revolt.

I was supple and graceful once upon a time.
First a disco queen and then a yoga diva.

This revolt surprises me.
The me that was me that will always 
be me is still there.

But aging and menopause have not been kind to me.

I tell the young’uns not to get old ---
there’s no future in it.

My arm wattles jiggle when I do goddess pose.

Oh, how I wanted something to jiggle when I was 13.
Unnaturally thin for most of my life,
I longed for hips and breasts.  
I had neither until the hot flashes were spent.

This extra weight is foreign to me.
There doesn’t seem to be a map for this territory.

I am frequently besmirched by the 
indignities of old age.

The beginnings of incontinence,
dull dry brittle hair,
my oily skin suddenly flaky and wrinkled.
But the acne has persisted.

I buy moisturizer and acne remedies.

I’ve quit wearing eyeliner.
The crepe underneath my eyes
prevents a straight line.

My beloved shoes languish in the closet.
My balance precarious --
four-inch heels may be my past.

This menopause cleavage astounds me.

Oh, how I had longed for breasts and 
now am plagued by underwire.

This revolt aggravates me.

My visage in the mirror a shock.
Who is that woman?

I feel weighed down by this body in revolt, 
but I practice yoga and I continue to dance.

My spirit intact.  
The me that was me that will always be me 
is still there.  

In revolt against the revolt.