the confessional

We are Iron Man! For the refined headbanger

Sweet_Flicka — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 01:19:06 GMT

Okay, the movie is great. Go see it, don't take your kids. But even better, in sifting through the next day, was discovering all the covers of the Black Sabbath song, which was seared permanently into my brain when I was a high school kid in the eighties. If you are subscribed to Rhapsody or similar, don't miss the whimsical, soap-bubble version by the Cardigans (my favorite); Burt-Bacharach-in-Vegas style by Bud E. Luv; Bhangra Bloody Bhangra; the String Quartet Tribute to Black Sabbath; and two different Jazz Quartet Tributes to Black Sabbath. My kids thought it was hecka cool too.

Staking out the middle ground

Sweet_Flicka — Fri, 16 May 2008 03:52:22 GMT

Well, so six months back I was hiring, got my office set up, going after lots of new clients; now I am working nearly fulltime for my old boss, much happier, less stressed, money coming in on time and in adequate amounts. I am getting my roof replaced this month; my insurance and mortgage are paid. Why am I upset? Horoscope says, "even healthy changes require giving up something." I guess I must give up my intern and my Ayn Rand fantasies of bending the world to my will. It's like an expensive suit that never fits just right. I need to earn a certain amount of money to care for kids, mom, alimony, mortgage; but I long for all those crazy, irresponsible people who live for the moment and bounce checks all over the place. I can't stand to bounce a check, never could. But I hate feeling so constrained by circumstances. I can't seem to balance duty and joy, duty always wins and joy must wait. I guess I have to embrace this reality of the moment, well-paid gun for hire, and keep on making the deadlines, mustering up enthusiasm for another concrete detail, getting everyone to their destinations on time. I am working on much better projects now, driving up to Cazadero every other week to direct work on a multi-million dollar project; today a new client, just the right kind, another professional, so that means stable business, good budgets, good people to work with. I love seeing my kids growing up healthy and well-cared for. But it's so hard to have to be the grownup all the time and embrace all this, the overloaded plate sitting on the table in front of me.

Poetry breaking out like a rash, everywhere

Sweet_Flicka — Wed, 07 May 2008 19:00:26 GMT

this crushing force may yet reveal a truer nature concealed within this mass of mine or again may not... I catalog known catalysts Fire, for wood or lead or gold Earth, alike for seeds or gems Water, limestone's patient shaper These please me with their hopeful progress Yet regard the lowly grain of sand all unknowing on its path To pearl, or glass, or merely sand We are but multitudes of matter, washing in and out along the strand.

Boleo poem

Sweet_Flicka — Fri, 02 May 2008 00:22:56 GMT

Whether the slender steel lies closely enfolded within its sheltering case or swiftly swings open through its gleaming arc, one long smooth curve from hip to sharp tip, and snap! finds its place, instantly, inevitably The blade loves the clasp.

A tango poem

Sweet_Flicka — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 19:23:53 GMT

The countless hours of painful effort relearning how to walk, move and breathe dissolve as I melt into five minutes of dancing with you Surrendering myself to your will and allowing you to make me beautiful. ahhhhhh...

We are supergeeks!!!

Sweet_Flicka — Sun, 23 Mar 2008 23:56:01 GMT

Last week my son (5) pointed out to me that the melody in the first two bars of the Transformers theme is exactly the same as Gershwin's Embraceable You. How did I luck out to get such great kids? except all week I've been humming that snippet and letting it turn into transformers, and then doing it again and letting it turn into Gershwin; transformers, gershwin.... it's like magic.

Going home

Sweet_Flicka — Sun, 30 Dec 2007 02:11:55 GMT

Winter in Western New York is gray, gray, gray. Overcast skies with no patches of blue; muddy fields and ditches splashed with dirty piles of snow; ashy bark on the trees; dun-colored birds, deer, rabbit; and the people have adapted to their environment as well. Black, charcoal, taupe, maybe with a daring flash of tan or cream; shapeless bundles of humanity stepping from front door to car to climate-controlled mall. My relatives love this seam between Appalachia and the industrialized rust belt stretching from Detroit through Cleveland and Buffalo. The generations of farmers, each building a little more upon what they've received from their parents, houses and barns organically expanding and contracting, rootedness. Greek Revival farmhouses with hopeful cloaks of smooth, perfect vinyl siding next to all of the mom and pop machine shops that feed the Motor City. But I dread coming home. This place is so heavy, pressing the breath out of me. My mother's house filled to the brim with family antiques, broken furniture, cat hair, cupboards filled with food that will never go bad. All the people who know me as the twig of a mature tree rather than a fresh new shoot. And the rest of my family, who I love, patiently, joyfully straddling the seam.

Questionable judgement pays off again!!

Sweet_Flicka — Mon, 24 Dec 2007 19:19:32 GMT

So I adopted a rooster last week, from some Berkeley tribesters who couldn't keep him in town (thanks Kris!). I decided the next day that it was a big mistake, I thought about my neighbors and the crowing, the hens who would have to put up with all that... uh, testosterone. I was wrong to worry. He is such a sweetie, they are all pals now and another neighbor has already asked to adopt any chicks we get. And best of all my oldest claims he can speak Chicken now. My little guy has been making card after card for the rooster, painstakingly writing out "I love my Rooster" with hearts and little sparkles, asking me to draw the rooster on the margin so he can color it; and then putting each card out on the deck with his leftover waffles or toast. Now we just need to change his name, I think his first family was calling him "Edith".

Happy Holidays, to all of you who are less than perfect

Sweet_Flicka — Mon, 24 Dec 2007 04:03:05 GMT

Went to the office party on Friday. I have known these people for 10 years, probably. Talented landscape architects and their kind, intelligent spouses... a party at the beautiful, tasteful home of a colleague. I am not being ironic, they deserve everything they have. Some of them have supported me through a lot of crap. My kids were noisy, spilled juice all over. I was wearing my site visit clothes, clean, a little too tight right now; we had a good time. But I wish I had a beautiful house, beautiful clothes, organic homemade food to bring to the potluck.

Milongalama

Sweet_Flicka — Tue, 04 Dec 2007 02:01:25 GMT

Went to Verdi on Thursday night, got there way too early. (you can take the girl out of the country, but...) They were still setting out the coffee and bread and cheese. I hung around the door for a while and then decided to have faith in the evening improving. There was one uncoupled guy there, he was friendly and nice, we danced a while waiting for other people to show up. I liked him, he was smart and polite and a considerate, inventive leader. Then after a while I started to really like him. We danced another tanda, talked a bit. our last dance was slow, playful with feet brushing as they passed, quiet. I danced with a bunch of other guys, some okay, some not. Talked to some women I know, indulged in a little recreational complaining about the men (oops, not supposed to tell you that part.) Then I went home alone. sigh.

Carpooling with the spiders

Sweet_Flicka — Sat, 10 Nov 2007 03:55:54 GMT

There's a funnelweb spider living in my rearview mirror. Every day she drives in to oakland with me in the morning, and back out to the hinterlands at night. I've never seen her, but I'm always glad to see her fresh new web appear after a trip through the carwash.

Assault

Sweet_Flicka — Sat, 10 Nov 2007 01:46:58 GMT

On Friday night I was mugged, outside my boyfriend's loft on Potrero Hill. Three guys told me to give up my bag or they would shoot me; I said "keep moving, you can't have my bag." They ended up knocking me down and running off. I kept my bag, whoopdedoo, and about $200 in emergency room copay for eight stitches on my cheekbone where they hit me with a bottle; drycleaning to remove the copious bloodstains from my coat, shirt, and the underwire channel of my bra (curiously enough the most blood-retentive area of clothing I had on that night); cost of a new cell phone to replace the one that was knocked out of my hand as I dialed 911. I have been talking and thinking about this event all week. Did I do the right thing? I think so, my gut told me they wouldn't really shoot me and I did not want to submit, at the very core of my being I did not want to submit!!! But the larger question that keeps coming up out of all of this is, why are my support systems so inadequate? My boyfriend who thinks I'm invulnerable, so he didn't worry about my safety while I waited outside his door; my business that doesn't have slack for me to take a couple of days off; my ex who can't seem to take care of himself, much less me and our children; my long and weighty roster of responsibilities to family, colleagues and community that keeps me sprinting from gate to gate. The stitches came out today. When will I be able to free myself from these other ligatures and sutures? I am tired of being mugged by the people I love.

Contagious gifting!

Sweet_Flicka — Thu, 11 Oct 2007 21:49:24 GMT

For the first three people who respond- and re-post - this challenge, I will send you something. It might be something I've made, or something cool from my hidden stash, a sticker, a rock, a book I think you will enjoy, or something else that is awesome. Whatever it is, I promise that I will get it to you in 30 days or less. The only thing you need to do in order to participate is to be one of the first three to reply to this, AND post this very same thing - 'cause its fun to give people stuff .

Being an empty vessel

Sweet_Flicka — Fri, 05 Oct 2007 02:03:56 GMT

So many changes this month. My boyfriend, who has occupied the space next door in my office building, is moving his business across the bay, just when I got used to being here with him hanging around all the time. It's good, really, now work will be work and play will be play. (No more nooners! not that we did, not much, anyways....) And somehow I've already started taking steps to grow my business, with employees, new workstation, etc etc. It's all logical and good but I have lost the feeling that I know what's going on around here. Is this what I wanted to grow up to be? I was going to be an artist, remember? Many days I can barely scrape up the trickle of creative thought that is actually required of me. It still seems like a miracle every month I manage to pay all the bills, it's been two years and counting now since my ex moved out and I started my own business in the garage. I still wish someone would pick me for his next trophy wife and just whisk me away. Any takers out there?

Crossing the line from one of us to one of them

Sweet_Flicka — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 01:39:51 GMT

Today was my first day with my first paid employee. It was great. I think I'll do it again. It's mighty weird to be sitting on the other side of the desk, however. Why do I keep apologizing? I'm the fucking boss here now! And I am going to be a great boss. (repeat 20 times) "I'm the boss now".

More milonga

Sweet_Flicka — Wed, 08 Aug 2007 18:28:30 GMT

I always felt like I should have been able to change myself into the kind of wispy, delicate flower that my dad seemed to appreciate. I've never been able to accomplish that, for some reason... I like to be strong, don't mind a little sweat, like to go fast. Last night I got the best compliment ever from my friend R: "I like dancing with you because I know you won't break."

Milonga last night

Sweet_Flicka — Wed, 25 Jul 2007 18:01:49 GMT

Moving across the floor in synchrony with another person, nestled in close embrace, feeling gravity at hip and toes. The potent combination of utter relaxation and powerful movement. That tinny, pulsing, melancholy sound of the old orquestras, I know most of the words by now and the meaning of the song becomes part of the meaning of the dance. Loneliness, longing, doubt, love, all transfigured into pure, radiant joy at being alive to dance another dance.

the magic feather

Sweet_Flicka — Tue, 24 Jul 2007 02:08:49 GMT

Okay, so last week I completely lost it. just took a couple hours to sit and rock back and forth, stare at the clouds, try to turn away from the yawing abyss right next to the path. Vertigo is more dangerous than the abyss, actually, if you think about it. But I got a really great vision too. I know a lot of you are parents. Ya know, in Dumbo, how he has this ridiculous magic feather, and as long as he's holding it he thinks he can fly, and then one day he drops it and freaks out? But it turns out he didn't really need the feather, he had been flying all by himself all along. I still have to say, it sucks when you drop the magic feather.

Gratitude

Sweet_Flicka — Sun, 24 Jun 2007 06:51:49 GMT

for the people in my life who hold up the mirror of compassion that shows me the person I want to become - thank you, thank you, thank you. my best self can't exist without you.

Cornelius the Corn Snake!!!

Sweet_Flicka — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 17:23:55 GMT

We are all looking forward to a little more time playing with reptiles, wading in the water, and riding bikes. This summer my goal is to settle once and for all the burning question: do ice cream sandwiches taste better at Lake Anza or at Stinson Beach?

water, water, everywhere...

Sweet_Flicka — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 01:37:40 GMT

Broke up with Unsuitable Boyfriend last week, miscellaneous mopping up this week. He is still so charming, but fundamentally an unkind person. Can't see much potential with that. Invisible conveyor belt keeps bringing me more unsuitable boyfriend candidates. I think I am doing something wrong! Nice but not for me guy came looking for my office today... we had a nice talk, made vague plans for nice future events... At least there is a steady stream of something. I have been wondering, am I invisible? What are people seeing when they meet me? Maybe I need to shed some more camoflage this year. A sticky, glistening coat of 'nice' that is getting in the way and drawing all the ants.

Lorraine Feather, my hero

Sweet_Flicka — Tue, 05 Jun 2007 00:15:54 GMT

GAL ON THE SIDE Part II:SHE'S GETTIN' SOME (based on Fats Waller's recording of "Gladyse") Music, Fats Waller/Lyrics, Lorraine Feather The girl put down her little suitcase for a moment and checked her watch. She'd been waiting by the garden gate for some time…waiting for her lover to come and fetch her for their ride into the proverbial sunset. But he said he had one thing to do first: say goodbye and good luck to the Mrs. - a woman the girl waiting by the garden gate had never met. She had been described as his female counterpart in what – in years gone by - had been a passion play, but now had devolved into, sadly, no more than a brother and sister act. Well, the birds twittering in the nearby honeysuckle vines found this all somewhat questionable; and they mocked the girl (although they were not mockingbirds) with a little ditty, a taunting little ditty that went like this: He's been seeing you on the side And the passion won’t be denied All I'm saying is, girl, now don't you be dumb You know she's gettin' some At their cabin in Monterey After dinner or PTA One martini, that boy is bound to succumb She's gettin' some Though he tells you he's gonna split Something in you won't swallow it Still you hesitate to admit They're doin’ the horizontal tango Is he savin' it up for you I'll eat my hat it it's really true Sorry honey, but I just don't trust the bum She's gettin' some She’s in the game She’s got the name The love you want from your sweet pea Is still community property On their sabbatical to Paree Or in the back of their SUV While you're waitin’ for him to toss you a crumb She's gettin' some You haven't got a face to sneeze at Or a kiss to disregard But maybe all it takes to please that man Is right smack in his own back yard While you're trimmin’ your hollyhocks Watchin' "Oprah" or darnin' socks Thinkin' 'bout the dime novel life has become She's gettin' some Silly girlie What are you gonna do when he What are you gonna do when he What are you gonna do when he lies to you What are you gonna do when he What are you gonna do when he What are you gonna do when he lies Men are fools And passion cools Oh what are you gonna do when it What are you gonna do when it What are you gonna do when it dies… Though you figure you've got it planned Got the situation well in hand Deep inside, you do understand That stealing the candy is a no-no At the charity masquerade You saw him nibble her shoulder blade Tell me stranger, what planet have you come from She's gettin' some Fly, fly high and away You'll spy a true love some day Why keep moonin' while they're spoonin' No need to wonder If he's under Someone else's dainty thumb Though it's upsetting Smart money's betting That girl is getting some

Unsuitable Boyfriend #2...

Sweet_Flicka — Mon, 21 May 2007 18:40:36 GMT

is what I call him behind his back. What is he calling me? we can only wonder. He is such a pain in the ass. I really like him. He is smart, curious about the world, extraordinarily good at his business. He is self-centered and childish. He is irrationally generous. Empathy-challenged. Can play with little boys for hours, will never do the dishes I am sure. He is telling his friends that he is so happy, and really likes me, but it is possible he will never tell me that to my face. My life seems like it was so boring before, and now I am swamped with entertainment and annoyance in near-equal measure. So what do you do with a guy like that? Is it okay to spend time with someone you know will never be a responsible adult, who makes you ridiculously happy? Maybe for a while.

Rounding the Cape of Good Hope

Sweet_Flicka — Fri, 27 Apr 2007 22:00:31 GMT

My ex will be starting chemotherapy sometime this summer, he is so apologetic. Sorry, for a month he will be out of commission, not making any money, sick as a dog. I'm sure I'll be able to take the kids to day care, pick them up, cook and clean and mow the grass and earn enough money to pay the health insurance, mortgage, and regular bills, pay him his equity so he can eat, reassure them that he's okay, reassure myself that he's okay. The only way he could make this worse would be to die.

I'll play...

Sweet_Flicka — Thu, 26 Apr 2007 20:00:28 GMT

One Word About Me: Use one single word to describe me in a comment on this blog. Repost this on yours, and I'll respond as well.