First Day, Last Day, and So On

For many years my uber-competitive super close Cuban-New Orleans-South Florida family has played a competitve ongoing game attempting to be the first wish each other "happy first day of (insert name of the month here)"

This changed, radically, when Abuela decided to jump into to the sky on December 1.

http://laughingmelissa.blogspot.com/2007/12/happy-first-day.html

Since then, we've all limped along, hollow and determined, alternately crying, laughing and staring into the sky.

So today, I sent a new text message to my inner circle, hoping maybe I'd start a new trend.

"Happy last day of August!"

My mom replied "You got me!" then filled the rest of the lines with with news of where our Cuban-New Orleans family was dispersing to during yet another hurricane crisis.

She ended with "I miss Mami."

I texted back quickly with the words that ran across my heart, "Me too. It's like a love tatoo on my soul - welcome but not enough."

Then the tears came in their usual silent tidal wave.

I walked away from the children who were watching the Simpsons, and took off my glasses, blinded by my own tears as I tried to load the dishwasher.

My phone buzzed from its nesting place inside my bra. http://laughingmelissa.blogspot.com/2008/08/abundance.html

It was Mom, texting me back. "You have the soul of a writer."

I know, I know, I thought.

She's been telling me that since I was four.

I don't want that soul today.

The words are too sharp, too bright, too much for me.

I reached for the strongest thing in the house -- Benadryl allergy pills-- and take two.

Hopefully the words -- and the feelings behind them -- will be just a little quieter, if just for one night.

A Bed Story

His head lays across my arm, and I can feel his breathing grow slower.

He is happy in this position, but I sleep on my stomach, so I'm basically waiting for him to fall asleep so I can get more comfortable.

Love, he says.

I don't answer.

Maybe he'll think I'm asleep.

I know he thinks I'm in the bed with him, but my mind is half-way around the world.

I exhale slowly.

I just *love* people, he mutters.

I LOVE people, he says, again, more loudly.

Mmm?

Who made people?

God did.

I just LOVE God for making people for us to love. I just love love and I love people and....

Go to sleep.

He curls against me, his face buried into my neck.

Thank you God for making people for me to love, he says.

Go to sleep, I say again, patting his head.

And I love my turtle. Thank you God for making a toy turtle so I can pretend he is a little boy in a turtle suit.

Go to sleep.

And thank you God for sleep, he mumbles, adding -- suddenly panicked -- Where IS my TURTLE?

I grab my cellphone and use it like a flashlight until we find his green turtle stuck between the mattress and the wall.

Thank you God for making Mommies to talk to and for finding things...

Good night Zack. Good night Turtle. The end.

He giggles. This cue always works with him.

Within minutes he falls asleep, and I flip over to my stomach, resting my chin on the pillow, thankfully slipping out of the room and into familiar dreams.

The Great Sprinkle Play Doh Drama

It came after being stuck in a house for three days, saturated with Tropical Storm cabin fever.

Then finally a break came in the rain so we took a trip to Target and came back with new things to do – a new Play Doh toy set for him, a big fat book for her, caffeine-free diet coke for me.

He started to play with his cool set at the table, making turtles, flowers and multicolored balls. She put down her book and joined him.

Relieved they were not hungry for my attention, I slipped to her room, grabbing up handfuls of clothing I couldn’t be sure were dirty, but hated to hang up if they were.

Zack called me back to help him.

She was next to him, they were friends sharing toys.

Then he saw it.

The cup full of confetti she had made from the sprinkle Play Doh. Sprinkle is the most sought after color – it is white, it has rainbow sprinkles, it mixes beautiful with other colors.

In the narrow and shallow world of a child, Sprinkle Play Doh is a wonderful and guarded commodity.

“Hey that’s MINE!” he suddenly screams, cracking our peace into little fragments.

She responds, “But I made the confetti! It’s mine!”

The two lock eyes from their positions at the table.

I keep my voice down. “Where’s the solution in this?”

He screams louder this time, “Give it BACK to ME! MOMMY MAKE HER!”

She retorts, louder, “BUT I MADE IT!” and holds the cup of confetti up as evidence.

Again, I keep my voice down. “How can we fix this so everyone is happy?”

He responds with a howling, wordless scream.

She tosses the confetti across the table.

He screams again, then I almost join in the yelling, driven more by instinct than compassion.

I exhale, choosing to remain silent until the two of them turn their attention to me. It only takes about ten seconds, then they both look up.

“Now listen to me, both of you. That did not have to happen. You put a “thing” before a person. Always put people first, “things” second. And if you had done that, if you had put each other’s happiness before the Play Doh, then we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

They both look down glumly.

"Now, neither of you talk until I write this whole thing down."

Which I have just done.

The end.

Tropical Storm Trilogy: Rain, Wind, Water

RAIN

#1
Rain falls
(like love)
Racing, rushing,
and streams
Pausing then returning
(like passion)
down my window
(my soul)
soaking the ground
to the sky
and to the sea
(and me).

#2
Rain falls
and streams
(like love,
(like passion)
Racing, rushing,
Pausing then returning
down my window
soaking the ground
to the sky
and sea

(my soul,
(and me)


#3

Rain falls
and streams
outside my window
soaking the ground.
Racing, rushing,
Pausing then returning
to the sky
and the sea.
(Like love
like passion
my soul
and me.)

WIND

#1
Wind dancing branches twist
Racing, rushing,
(like hope)
Glistening drenched in water
Pausing then returning
(like peace)
Joyful gusts push leaves
To the sky
(like prayer)
to tap on my window
and the sea
(reminding me)

#2
Wind dancing branches twist
Glistening drenched in water
Racing, rushing,
Pausing then returning
(like hope)
(like peace)

Joyful gusts push leaves
to tap on my window
To the sky
and the sea
(like prayer)
(reminding me)

#3
Wind dancing branches twist
Glistening drenched in water
Joyful gusts push leaves
to tap on my window

Racing, rushing,
Pausing then returning
to the sky
and the sea.

(Like hope
like peace
like prayer
reminding me.)

WATER

#1
Water rises up from the overgrown grass
Racing, rushing,
(like mercy)
Reaching patiently to join other puddles
Pausing then returning
(like joy)
Once reunited, runs singlemindedly
To the sky
(like wisdom)
back to completion
and the sea.
(my soul, and me.)

#2:
Water rises up from the overgrown grass
Reaching patiently to join other puddles
Racing, rushing,
Pausing then returning
(like mercy,
like joy)
Once reunited, runs singlemindedly
back to completion
To the sky
and the sea.
(like wisdom,
my soul and me.)

#3
Water rises up from the overgrown grass
Reaching patiently to join other puddles
Once reunited, runs singlemindedly
back to completion.

Racing, rushing,
Pausing then returning
to the sky
and the sea.

(like mercy,
like joy,
like wisdom,
my soul and me.)

Tropical Storm Triplets (Parts 1 & 2)

Note: This is an exercise in arranging and rearranging the same short phrases within poetry, teasing out different meanings.

Triplet# 1: Rain

**************

Part 1:

Rain falls
(like love)
it pauses
and streams
then always returns
(like passion)
down my window
(into my soul, and me)
soaking the ground
to the sky
and to the sea.

Part 2:

Rain falls
and streams
(like love)
like passion)
down my window
soaking the ground
It pauses
then always
returns
to the sky
and sea.
(like my soul and me)

Part 3:

Rain falls
and streams
outside my window
soaking the ground.
( Like love
like passion
my soul
and me.)
It pauses
Then always
Returns to the sky
and sea.

Triplet #2: WIND
*****************

Part 1:

Wind dancing branches twist
Then pause
(like hope)
Glistening drenched in water
and always returns
(like peace)

Joyful gusts push leaves
To the sky
(like prayer)
to tap on my window
and the sea
(reminding me)

Part 2:
Wind dancing branches twist
Glistening drenched in water
Then pauses
and always return
(like hope)
(like peace)


Joyful gusts push leaves
to tap on my window
To the sky
and the sea
(like prayer)
(reminding me)

Part 3:
Wind dancing branches twist
Glistening drenched in water
Joyful gusts push leaves
to tap on my window

(Like hope
like peace
like prayer
reminding me.)

Then pauses
and always returns
to the sky
and the sea.

Tropical Storm Trinity

-----I-----

Rain falls
(like love)
and streams
(like passion)
down my window
(and the soul)
soaking the ground
(of me).

-----II------

Rain falls
and streams

like love
like passion

down my window
soaking the ground


and the soul
of me.

-----III------

Rain falls
and streams
outside my window
soaking the ground.


Like love
like passion
and the soul
of me.

It pauses
then
returns
to the sea.

War Sex Dash

The first four hours of my day are an uphill climb of running, writing, organizing cranky children, matching outfits and making PB&J sandwiches.

On this particular morning, I exhale just as I leave the children at school, standing at the summit of my day.

That's when I saw one of the teachers scurrying ahead, keys in hand.

This isn't right, I think.

This woman works here. She most definitely is going the wrong way.

I shout out at her, laughing, teasing, "Hey! What's the hurry?" I shout across the three car lengths that separate us. "What? Is he going back to Iraq?"

She nods, and I stop in my tracks.

He just got back from a year there -- his last, ever, ever, they decided -- as a contractor, and they made so much money she re-did her kitchen and paid for their daughter's wedding in cash.

"I was kidding... I mean, not really. You're clearly running home for sex...."

She laughs and doesn't deny a thing.

"It's been months since he found work... and nothing around here pays that well. So he called his unit, and they just said to come up... he leaves Tuesday."

There, in the parking lot, as parents and preschoolers hurry by us and warm summer breeze swirls by us, she tells me how much he'll make and how much will be tax free.

It is substantial.

Shocking, almost.

I just saw him at a Birthday party last Saturday, everything was normal. I saw him deliver a huge Cookie Cake for to the school for his grandson's birthday this Tuesday. He looked happy and rested, and loved.

He will miss his granddaughter's birth, all the major and minor holidays, and a whole year of tiny intimacies.

They've lived like this for decades, and she doesn't seem one bit upset.

I exhale my concern and point towards her car. "Well, woman, we can talk any day... but the sex clock is ticking....."

She checks her watch, waves her keychain at me, and dashes off to her car, completely focused on her mission.

The Art of Failing (Guest Student Blogger)

(From one of this semester's students to future students)

The Art of Failing Dear future students, Due to a surplus of high grades in Dr. Soldani-Lemon's class, I, a previous student of hers, am supposed to inform you how to fail her class. To start the class on a good note, do not buy the book, it's a worthless bunch of pages that can be replaced by Google, in other words, you don't need it. Instead, use the money that you saved not buying the book and buy a case of beer. On the first day, come to class belligerently shwasted. After you are in the class listening to her boring speech about how the class will go over the next few weeks, interrupt her and start yelling out random things about what Dr. Soldani is wearing. However, don't be demeaning, be sure to compliment her. This will be a great first impression of how kind you are. She will be amazed with your actions and be completely flattered by your comments about her attire. After the first day there really isn't any need to go to class until the tests. Her notes are based on I.D.'s which are just key terms representing an event that happened in history. These can be Googled and looked over right before the test because all you have to do is tell her what the id's are. She will send them to you via email before the test. When you go into class to take the test, be sure to draw pictures of your answers instead of writing them in boring paragraph form. A picture is worth a thousand words and let's face it, there isn't enough space or time on the test to write the equivalent of what a picture could say. Also, don't worry about the multiple choice questions either. Just circle the "best looking" answer; you have a 25% chance to get it right. For the test there is no need in worrying about class cash to raise your grade because you won't have any. As of now, the only time you have come to class was the first day and instead of asking yourself if Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves, you need to know if you are even in the right class. When she assigns papers on blackboard, write the paper but change the topic a little bit to make it more interesting for you. For instance you will have to write about the id's that she went over in class the weeks before the test. She does this to help you study, but you aren't worried about that. Instead of writing what was assigned, write about what you did during the week. Tell her all about what was on TV, and what your friends are doing. She will appreciate this because with her busy schedule, she is not able to watch very much TV. She has to take care of her children and teach and grade and teach and grade. She has a very busy life so you telling her about all of this will keep her "in the loop" with you and your friends, and we all know how much she cares about her students personal lives. With you just doing this little bit that I have told you, I am positive that you will be a failure. My goal for you is to not strive for potential, and most importantly, to not pass this class. With the "who cares" attitude I have instilled in you, go out there and fail! You have the rest of your life to pass this class so why pass it now?

Pictures and a Story

Pictures.

A one word command/request in his email.

Odd.... pictures?

Of me?

Why?

But really, he does send me pictures all the time. And funny stories.

He never tells me no, so I of course will not refuse him.

I called to ask him, what specifically did he want a picture of.

He said "the f*ing phone, genius, what do you think?"

"Dad!" I actually stomp my foot in frustration, or maybe impatience with the coffeemaker, "How can I take a picture of the phone, when the phone is the camera I send the pictures with?"


"With your new Mac, how the f* else?"

"Good point. OK. I will. When I get back on it....Oh Dad, do you really want to see it? It's aubergine, plastic, and strangely glossy. I can't figure out anything on it."

"I want to see a picture of the f*ing phone."

"Fine, dad, I'll get right on that...."

We get off the phone, I pour my coffee and consider feeding the children breakfast, but since they haven't mentioned being hungry, I open my Mac up and take the pictures.

Then I remember that it isn't good manners to send pictures without a story.

So I here it is.

Once upon a time, last year, during the Spring wildfires, I accidentally threw away my phone.

Days later, my friend Ashley magically gave me her awesome phone she didn't need anymore.




This past May, I decided I really was ready for big changes and more in my life, so after a long sweaty run with my fantastic new iPod, I stuck the sticker from my iPod on the phone.

Turn into an iPhone, I commanded it, silently.



I showed many people, every day, the sticker on my phone, announcing the phone would turn into an iPhone, and then I'd smile and hug the magic silver phone.

Then one day I decided that I could not have an iPhone until I finished my book and sold it.

So then, I told many people that the day I signed a contract on my book I would buy an iPhone.

Last week, out of the clear blue, a Macbook Pro appeared on my desk at work.

A wish come true, clearly.

Days after that wonderful reminder that we live in a magical and abundant universe, my magic wish-giving silver phone died a quick death. (Remember that?)

After a full three days of prayer, fasting and constantly jiggling the phones keys hoping for a miraculous resurrection, I headed to the AT&T store and fiddled with new technology.

I told myself -- and the salesman -- that I really needed a phone that can text faster, send pictures, help me connect better with my Mom in quick and easier ways.

Believe me, I was tempted by Blackberries, by touchscreens, and by polka-dotted phones that twist open into a cute Barbie-sized keyboard.

Ultimately, I bought the plastic phone that cost $53.something, but came with a rebate for $50.

Free, after taxes.

Fantastic.

I'm thankful for my new free phone, but I do tease it.

Right now it's next to the Mac, and I just paused from my writing to remind it, "you're my transitional phone. You're only sticking around until my real iPhone shows up.... understand?"