Tornado Shmornado

So Mom was tooling around town, listening to a country music CD with one of her good friends, Zan, not an unusual way for her to spend a Sunday afternoon. Rain began to fall and was coming down in sheets- the kind of rain that people have to pull over for until they can see and it's safe to drive- when Mom noticed that people were stopping under overpasses*. She also noticed when the rain let up a bit that several people were standing out in their yards** looking up at the sky. Mom said to Zan, "I wonder why all of those people are standing out in the yard looking up at the sky.."

OK folks. I love my mom. But even if you do not live in the flatlands, you probably already understand what was going on.

YES. It was a flippin' tornado! In fact, Mom was sitting in her car at the intersection of 95th and Indiana (for those of you who are familiar with Lubbock), and the funnel was down at 94th and Gary. Streets are in numerical and alphabetical order on a grid there, so you can imagine how close she was to it. AND it was headed toward her house, her destination.

She did finally realize that there was a tornado down, and she did actually see it.

Technically, the Super Doppler enthusiasts from "Storm Track 5!" are calling it a waterspout because it was pretty small. But still..

I LOVE the weather. I love radar and Doppler, thunderstorms and gully washers, but I am reverently afraid of tornadoes. When the sirens go off my heart pounds and my stomach drops, especially when I'm in the car.

At least where my mom lives, it is flat enough to spot the wall cloud and the forming fingers. Also, in the flatlands, you often see a storm chaser headed towards the storm, my cue to go the other way. Here in Metroplex, USA it's a bit harder to spot them because of tall buildings and "hilly" land. Often times the tornadoes rumble down I20 or I30 (I guess because it's the perfect alley). Two hit less than a mile from where I live, and one of them turned over several small airplanes at the local airport and damaged several of my students' houses. That same storm put a stop sign through one of my friend's car windshields while she was trying to beat it home. Another one knocked out the power at our local dive (it was free shots all around, or at least for me).

My whole life I've been around these funnel clouds since my relatives all live within a hundred mile radius of Lubbock, and I have only ever seen them at a distance. There were only three times that I can remember being in the projected path where I've had to seriously take cover, and only once when I was worried that my life was actually in danger (probably the birth of my fear). I should be used to them, right?

Well, I'm not.

* stupid

** typical of flatlanders who actually can look up and tell which way the storm is going and whether or not they need to take shelter.

What the hell is going on?

I've heard of having the winter blues, but it's springtime!

Really!

The equinox was a couple of days ago. Didn't you know?

Several of the posts I've been reading lately have to do with the stress of the day/month/season/year. Here's the proof:

"The past couple of days I have been having the Spring Break Blues!"

"STRESSSTRESSSTRESSSTRESSSTRESS (and on into infinity) "

"Okay, okay...so I've been a tad distant lately."

"I've been too melancholy/weirdly needy lately to participate in a healthy social encounter"

"I probably shouldn't even be posting because I'm still in my funk which means I'm even more apathetic and shrewd than usual.."

I only bring this up because I am in the SAME boat. Last night I nearly bit Rich's head off because I was pissed that Subway was out of vegetables! I held my head and irrationally sobbed because I had no spinach on my 6 inch wheat.

Then I went to bed at 7:00.

That'll show those veggie stingy sandwich bastards!

Christine told me earlier this week (after she kindly tolerated an overreaction rant from me over something embarrassingly minuscule) that sometimes the last straw is the friggin' LAST straw. In other words, these stupid little stresses build and build and build until we can't take anything anymore. The metaphorical cup runneth over. Or in this case, the super sized tankard full of steaming shit drowneth all of the sweet baby animals that gathereth around f-ing Cinderella. (Angry much?)

Anyway, I'm not sure why this particular spring seems to be filled with such anxiety and stress, though I do feel it all around me. I haven't even been able to stomach the idea of going outside to my garden retreat this week since the weeding I need to do makes me want to crawl inside of said stomach to decompose in my own putrid acids. (Because somehow I think that being burned alive in my own stomach juices would be better than actually pulling the weeds. (?))

I don't know. Maybe it's that my ridiculously stressful and increasingly unmanageable job contradicts the fact that I LOVE it and want to be the best I can be at it (and then am gutted when the kids don't respond in the "right" way, or when they decide to compromise their integrity for a decent grade, or when the lesson doesn't go according to the plan, or when they flat out call me a bitch). Maybe it's the state of the world or politics. Maybe it's that I can't get away from the paradox of me: who I am is not who I want to be and who I want to be is someone who knows how to alleviate all of this. Maybe it's tornado season, or finances, or responsibility, or adulthood in general. Maybe it's nothing at all. And maybe it's everything at the same time.

Whatever it is, I'm NOT a fan.

So I'll stay away from Sylvia Plath, Kate Chopin, and all Russian literature this week-end.

Blech.

After a long day:

Here's what greets me:

And then I feel:

(Sweet Casey Cat)

St. Pat's Recap- A Little Late

Last Saturday was St. Patrick's Day, and because I am a gluttonous, asshole American, that means one should wear green, enjoy a local parade, and go to directly to the pub. True to form, we (Tom, Pat, Amanda, Ella, Rich, and I) all wore green, we drove past people who went to the parade (seriously, who wants to go to a crappy parade when you can go directly to the pub?), and we did, in fact, end up at a pub.

This year we found ourselves (by chance because our favorite pub was too crowded) at the Idle Rich Pub in Dallas where we threw down on "Irish" food and libations. Foodwise, Shepherd's pie, a Reuben, and some fish 'n chips graced our table. For drink, I stuck with the priest's collar (aka Guiness and cider, sometimes called a snakebite here in the flatlands) while the boys went for straight up Guiness (which is now owned by the English! (gasp!) Damn you, England! (shaking fist aggressively!))* Nonetheless, we pretended that it was all very Irish.)

We wore green beads (not to be confused with Mardegras beads, though Ella did help me flash the entire pub, which is better than flashing Open House, but whatever... Where are my frickin' beads from that occasion?), listened to bagpipe music and U2, said "och!" a lot, and used Mc and O' in front of all nouns.

After the pub, Rich and I headed to Ft. Worth to the Fougses house for not so Irish pizza and a movie. We watched The Departed which was actually very Irish, and for which Scorsese won his academy award this year. It was a really good movie and had an A++ cast.

All in all it was a really fun day! Thanks friends!

* Not really, England. I love you, though I realize our relationship is often hot and cold. I need you to be nice to me since I'm coming to visit you in 2 1/2 months! In return I promise to be nice to you. Deal? Please don't kill/maim/otherwise injure me with your trains and veggies, and spongey grass! Please!

Ode to a Lemon

Out of lemon flowers
loosed
on the moonlight, love's
lashed and insatiable
essences,
sodden with fragrance,
the lemon tree's yellow
emerges,
the lemons
move down
from the tree's planetarium

Delicate merchandise!
The harbors are big with it-
bazaars
for the light and the
barbarous gold.
We open
the halves
of a miracle,
and a clotting of acids
brims
into the starry
divisions:
creation's
original juices,
irreducible, changeless,
alive:
so the freshness lives on
in a lemon,
in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,
the proportions, arcane and acerb.

Cutting the lemon
the knife
leaves a little cathedral:
alcoves unguessed by the eye
that open acidulous glass
to the light; topazes
riding the droplets,
altars,
aromatic facades.

So, while the hand
holds the cut of the lemon,
half a world
on a trencher,
the gold of the universe
wells
to your touch:
a cup yellow
with miracles,
a breast and a nipple
perfuming the earth;
a flashing made fruitage,
the diminutive fire of a planet.

-Pablo Neruda

Let this be the poetry we search for worn with the hand’s obligations, as acids, steeped in sweat and in smoke, smelling of lilies and wine, spattered diversely by the trades we live by, inside the law or beyond it. A poetry impure as the clothing we wear, or our bodies, soup stained, soiled with our shameful behavior, our wrinkles and vigils and dreams, observations and prophecies, declarations of loathing and love, idylls and beasts, the shocks of encounter, political loyalties, denials and doubts, affirmations and taxes. (Neruda, “Impure Poetry”, Contemporary Authors, vol. 19-20 p. 310)

Thriller - Michael Jackson 1983

Who knows the dance?
[I'm raising my hand.]

80's Day is Coming!

Rich and I have made it a tradition to have an 80's day every spring break that we're in town. This year 80's day will be on Thursday! This means that on Thursday, I'll work at feathering my bangs, and will peg my jeans and wear blue eye shadow. We'll buy tons of junk food eighties snacks (Jiffy Pop, Reese's Pieces, Nutter Butters, Lik-em-aid, Whatchamacallits, YooHoos, Licorice Whips, Cheese Wiz, Whoppers, Gummy Bears, Fruit Roll-ups, Shasta, Skittles, Zotts, etc.), and will lip sync to all eighties music using a hair brush as a microphone (Thriller (Mikey J), Take on Me (Aha), Money For Nothin' (Dire Straits), Video Killed the Radio Star (Buggles), Manic Monday (Bangles), You Spin Me Round (Dead or Alive), Born in the USA (Bruuuuce), Lucky Star (Madonna), Karma Chameleon (Boy George), etc. AND possibly most importantly we will have an all day movie marathon. This year, I figured we needed some help in choosing our movie list since last year I had trouble staying awake through some of them...
Here is a sampling of what we're considering this year (and let me know if I've missed a VITAL movie):

Airplane
Aliens
Beetlejuice
Better Off Dead
The Breakfast Club
Caddyshack
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
Ferris Beuler
A Fish Called Wanda
Goonies
Gremlins
Heathers
I'm Gonna Get You Sucka
The Karate Kid
Labyrinth
Meatballs
The Never Ending Story
Pink Floyd The Wall
The Princess Bride
Raising Arizona
Romancing the Stone
Savannah Smiles
Say Anything
The Shining
Some Kind of Wonderful
Spaceballs
(This is) Spinal Tap
Strange Brew
The Terminator
Tremors
Tron (!)
Top Gun
Top Secret
When Harry Met Sally
Xanadu
Young Guns

Of course, we can't watch all of these marvelous movies. That would require an 80's week, month, or worse - a whole decade! Better just stick to four or five movies. Let us know what you think we should watch!
Also, if you see a cheap mullet wig for sale, Rich is in the market (permed is preferable).

First Sunburn of the Season

Today I actually bathed in the sun! What a great start to spring break! I woke up, made a pot of coffee, put on my swimsuit top and board shorts, grabbed a blanket, one of my MANY books and my journal, and went out to commune with nature. The air was fresh (or as fresh as it gets in Metroplex, USA), the sun was warm (80 degrees, already!) and the birds were singing. Nice!

I read a great chapter out of Thich Nhat Hanh's book, Going Home - Jesus and the Buddha as Brothers, that I wanted to share with you. The chapter is called "Person to Person" and begins by talking about how every living being is related to every other living being. Jesus, the Son of Man (a real, living person), has the five elements: form, feelings, perception, mental formations, and consciousness. These elements make Jesus relatable to us and very much like our brother or father. What we have is a "person to person" relationship with him in this respect. Thich Nhat Hanh says about Jesus,

"This person is an extraordinary person; he is a teacher and he carries within himself the Way. 'I am the Way.' And the Way is Tao. The Way is the Dharma.

"The Dharma is deep and lovely. Because the Way and the Dharma dwell in him, he is our teacher. He has become our teacher. Jesus is our Lord because he embodies the way, he embodies the Dharma. There is a kind of love between both of us. 'Jesus loves me, this I know.' We know this because first of all Jesus is the Son of Man - he is a living being. He has the five elements, and we can conceive, we can see nature of love between us and him. Love your teacher, love your student...

"We know the nature of our love. Loving Jesus is something we can experience. We need our teacher, we need our students, and with this presence around us we feel happy. This love is quite tangible, touchable, and conceivable."

I love this idea.

AND What a gorgeously profound way to begin a holiday!

I think it is supposed to rain tonight which would make the day all the more perfect. I do, however, need to break out the aloe. The first sunburn of the season, though slightly painful, is a magnificent foundation to what will be many more days spent outside for me! (and yes, Mom, I do know to wear sunscreen next time...)

Womanifesto!

I'm not finished yet, but seeing as today is International Women's Day, I thought that I would share what I've written in my Womanifesto so far. Also, in an effort to promote community, I invite you to participate by adding input/suggestions. All of you (both my fantastically amazing and beautiful girlfriends and you men who uplift women and treat us with respect and equality - all of you who have already influenced my life in profoundly significant ways) are welcome to respond.

[Working on the title of this Womanifesto]
A rule book for life and for what I believe to be the TRUTH about/for myself and all women, EVEN on the days when I blindly work at doubting who I am and who I want to BE.

1. Dance. Do it. Daily. Even if only in spirit. Seriously. It'll make you feel good. Heart. Body and Soul.

2. Spot color is essential. Have it in your journal, in your life, and all over who you are. LIFE HAS TO BE colorful, especially in all of that gloriously pure white space, especially in the margins.

3. Be spiritual, both ethereal and earthy. Connect with the things that you can't see, but also remember the passions that nourish your body through your firmly planted soles. Commune with that which humanity has called different names - the great I Am. Commune through music, in conversation, in meditation. Use your art (even if your art is only spot color today). Hold out your arms to that which cannot be held, and at the same time STOMP, STOMP, STOMP(!) that gorgeous duende* out of the earth and into your body. Feel both (the airy and the grounded) at once. There is where you'll find communitas and the liminality that goes with becoming who you are.

4. Remember to BREATHE. Be mindful about it. This is your existence. Breathe it in! Fill yourself with it! Frustrate Dionysus. Make him jealous of all of the life you're living.

5. Listen! Listen to your body, to your internal rhythm. Listen to your instinct. Listen to your friends, especially your girlfriends. Listen and HEAR. Listen more than you speak - but NOT more than you dance -You only get this existence. Listen to Ella Fitzgerald, to Joan Jett, and to Nelly Furtado. Listen to Emily Dickenson and the sad, sad song of Sylvia Plath or Kate Chopin, but also listen to Dorothy Parker, Lily Tomlin, and Amy Sedaris. Listen to Condoleezza Rice and to the mother of any soldier. Listen to Emma Goldman. Maya Angelou. Listen more than you think. Listen to your mother.

6. Be on the same pro-feminine team - the one that wants equality - politically, economically, and socially. [I need more here for sure, and possibly each of the three needs it's own defining category]

7. PARTICIPATE in Life. Be Necessary.

That's what I've got so far - a work in progress.
Probably always so..

*duende as in "tener duende" means "having duende", is a rarely explained concept in Spanish art, particularly flamenco, having to do with emotion, expression and authenticity. In fact, "Tener duende" can be loosely translated as "having Soul".

Random Musings Under the Big Top

When I read anything, I always have at least a pencil at the ready in case I need to underline something or write that excerpt in my journal. Usually I do both so that the words have twice the opportunity to seep into my skin, and I try to have multicolor pens close by in case the words make me passionate for purple, red, green, or rainbow. I often read and reread the words in an effort to fully realize their significance in the "you-niverse" and I find inspiration in the way that they unite all of the yous who have ever read them. Maybe I should share some of the excerpts that I have been juggling recently under the big top in my brain.

These are a few quotes from a book that one of my litmaggers let me borrow. (Don’t worry dear Uzbek, I wrote my thoughts in my journal and not In the Margins.) These are Inga Musico’s musings from her book, Cunt; an uncomfortably titled book book that empowers the sacred feminine (body and soul) in a very comfortable manner, but that also talks politics, art, and community. Her book brings together many voices from all over the globe, no matter gender, race, or creed:

On getting to be you:

“In Letters to a Young Poet, Rilke says, ‘The highest form of love is to be the protector of another person’s solitude.’ That’s what I want. For other people to love each other without having to partake in them, to possess them, to allow them to be their own inside their solitude, to protect that. I wish people respected each other’s aloneness” (Kristen Kosmas, from Cunt 153).

On women, art, and the patriarchal society:

“Art imitates life as life imitates art. Art and community are whirling dervishes unto one another. Takes two to tango. It doesn’t matter which one causes and affects the other, or when, or why, or how. This came first: the chicken or the egg.

“There is, of course, a huge problem here.

“Throughout the history of Western civilization – and by this term, I mean the destructive, competitive, capitalist, patriarchal, filthy rich, white male social system which threatens to consume every other culture on the planet – what is considered “art” has been presented by and for far less than half of the human community: the white, male portion…

“The difficulty in locating art made by women artists compared with the impossibility of avoiding art work created by men reflects how women live in this culture.

“It is the absolute normal reality…

“And it hurts us.
Ouch.
Every day” (Musico 201-206).

On "Mapping out a Belief System":

"The first thing you need in order to protect yourself is a womanifesto. My friend Panacea turned me on to the importance of womanifestos when she said, 'I like them because they tell me what I think.' Defining and articulating your beliefs serves you in any context...

"A womanifesto does not have to be written. It can be a song, dance, painting, or whatever medium stirs passion in your heart" (Musico 177).

Inga Musico's is called, "The Womanifesto for the Categorical New Freedom Lady." I'm starting to write my own... something to do with being the high flying, winged moth - both colorful and communal, I think.