for years i have been having math anxiety dreams. or history or french anxiety dreams. i show up a day or two before graduation realizng i haven't attended class all year and the final exam is tomorrow and surely i will fail. i blew off class, i didn't study, i didn't care.
usually i wake up in a shaky sweat reminding myself that i DID graduate, that it is all okay, and then i roll over and go back to sleep.
last night was different. finally after 30 years of that same damn dream, i marched myself into the principle's office, and told him everything. i needed that diploma, goddamit, but i've been awol for thirty years.
he was a nice man. ,he opened the top drawer of an olive green file cabinet, flicked his fingers through rows of manilla folders, and found my records.
well linda, he said, as you know, only 164 credits are necessary for graduation, and you have 171. it doesn't matter about those classes you missed. you are entitled to your diploma. congratulations!
he asked me to sit in the lobby while my diploma was being prepared, which i did. i sat with my legs crossed and my feet bobbing, waiting waiting for this to be over.
a pretty secretary with red hair and a white blouse found me on a used leatherette couch. she handed me a stiff white envelope with a gold Barrington High School seal on the back, which i immediately tore open.
inside, on a piece of parchment, i finally had documention that
Linda Louise Blocksom
has fullfilled all academic requirements for receiving a grade twelve diploma at Barrington High School, 20 Lincoln Avenue, Barrignton, Rhode Island.
it was signed in real ink by the principle AND the superintendent of schools.
what an accomplishment, after all these years.
but the question remains
will the dreams go away?
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
vote!
i was walking back from class on this lustrous fall day, when i ran into the mailman who was coming to fetch the outgoing correspondence from the box in the lobby of the admin building. he was very tall in his mailman uniform, with minty breath and a white plastic US MAIL carton tucked under his arm.
oh man! he said. i was just listening to the news -- all this acorn stuff is crazy!
with insistent gestures and full scale animation he danced around the lobby and continued
if obama wins, oh man! the government will be so corrupt! it is already but you know how we got here, corruption! you know it will even be worse if that guy wins.
i thought we could end the conversation there, but he followed me inside the building and up the hall, with an evident need to visit the men's room.
i smiled and said well it certainly has been an interesting campaign!
he leaned towards me and went on
that obama, he's gonna cook the books. he has no experience. wouldn't make a good chauffer. but macain, now there's a hero who has served his country - that's the guy we oughta vote for.
well i told him, we'll see what america decides, won't we?
funny how people hear what they want to, and when they believe what they hear it is because they believed it to begin with. and what they are hearing defends, recommends, supports, and validates. people like that. feeling good about their beliefs.
but the point is, people are believing this campaign season. they are believing in change or believing in sameness and comfort, but people are listening and believing. there is energy instead of complacency. interest instead of futility and indifference.
people are believing. they are listening to their own hearts and searching for leadership in one party or another. or another.
we don't know exactly how it will all turn out
but at least
we are believing.
oh man! he said. i was just listening to the news -- all this acorn stuff is crazy!
with insistent gestures and full scale animation he danced around the lobby and continued
if obama wins, oh man! the government will be so corrupt! it is already but you know how we got here, corruption! you know it will even be worse if that guy wins.
i thought we could end the conversation there, but he followed me inside the building and up the hall, with an evident need to visit the men's room.
i smiled and said well it certainly has been an interesting campaign!
he leaned towards me and went on
that obama, he's gonna cook the books. he has no experience. wouldn't make a good chauffer. but macain, now there's a hero who has served his country - that's the guy we oughta vote for.
well i told him, we'll see what america decides, won't we?
funny how people hear what they want to, and when they believe what they hear it is because they believed it to begin with. and what they are hearing defends, recommends, supports, and validates. people like that. feeling good about their beliefs.
but the point is, people are believing this campaign season. they are believing in change or believing in sameness and comfort, but people are listening and believing. there is energy instead of complacency. interest instead of futility and indifference.
people are believing. they are listening to their own hearts and searching for leadership in one party or another. or another.
we don't know exactly how it will all turn out
but at least
we are believing.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
seven days, thirty bucks
danny came to me in a dream and i can't get him out of my head. he was in his very late teens and was looking for one last chance. he sat in front of me and the judge in his jeans and stained tan jacket, waiting and wishing for hope. waiting and wishing for anything.
danny had nothing except dead parents, a criminal record, and a rough haircut they gave him at stillwater. he'd commited almost every crime and was headed back to four small walls for the rest of his life, unless he could try just one more time to make it.
the judge told him
son, i am sick of seeing you. you need to go one way or the other. here's a check for thirty bucks. come back in seven days and tell me what you did with it.
with no where to go and no one to ask, danny went down hard. he grabbed the car keys from my purse, dove into the front seat of the lincoln, spun the engine and started smashing everything he saw. the challenge was too great, the offer too little, and too late.
i got to wondering: if you, yes you, were at the end of your rope with no where to turn and nothing to stop you, what would you do
with seven days and thirty bucks?
i'd like to know.
danny had nothing except dead parents, a criminal record, and a rough haircut they gave him at stillwater. he'd commited almost every crime and was headed back to four small walls for the rest of his life, unless he could try just one more time to make it.
the judge told him
son, i am sick of seeing you. you need to go one way or the other. here's a check for thirty bucks. come back in seven days and tell me what you did with it.
with no where to go and no one to ask, danny went down hard. he grabbed the car keys from my purse, dove into the front seat of the lincoln, spun the engine and started smashing everything he saw. the challenge was too great, the offer too little, and too late.
i got to wondering: if you, yes you, were at the end of your rope with no where to turn and nothing to stop you, what would you do
with seven days and thirty bucks?
i'd like to know.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
wish i'd gotten you a pineapple
ted is home! ted the friend, ted the neighbor, ted the soldier, ted the dad. this was his fourth deployment since 9/11, and we hope the last. when he left a few months ago, friends gathered together on a breezey afternoon to say godspeed,
and to celebrate the first birthday of baby lucy,
and to express condolences for the sad passing of sasha the hound.
talk about a mixed bag.
i meant to stop by again the next morning to say good bye once more, but he had left before dawn and was well on his way to afghanistan by then.
while ted was gone the neighborhood experienced several changes: a series of robberies, constuction at the corner grocer, leaves that turned and began to fall.
best of all, lucy learned how to wave hi
and bye bye,
and lucy learned to walk.
this evening, when i saw his truck in his driveway as i pulled into mine, i knew all was well. ted was home.
there is a tradition in new england of putting a pineapple outside the front door as a sign of welcome. when sea captains came home after long tropical voyages, they would put a pineapple outside to signal an invitation for visiting and laughter. christopher columbus started this practice in the 1400's, and through the centuries the custom has been pushed forward by the spaniards in one part of the world, and the whalers off nantucket in another.
i wish i'd gotten you a pineapple, ted! what a nice way to say "welcome home", if only i had thought of it in time.
but then i realized that when ted touched soil, little girl lucy ran up the runway waving and laughing, something he had never seen.
oh, how our hearts are made for melting.
so my friend, sorry i forgot the pineapple but i don't think it bothers you. you received a welcome
you will never forget.
welcome home, neighbor.
and to celebrate the first birthday of baby lucy,
and to express condolences for the sad passing of sasha the hound.
talk about a mixed bag.
i meant to stop by again the next morning to say good bye once more, but he had left before dawn and was well on his way to afghanistan by then.
while ted was gone the neighborhood experienced several changes: a series of robberies, constuction at the corner grocer, leaves that turned and began to fall.
best of all, lucy learned how to wave hi
and bye bye,
and lucy learned to walk.
this evening, when i saw his truck in his driveway as i pulled into mine, i knew all was well. ted was home.
there is a tradition in new england of putting a pineapple outside the front door as a sign of welcome. when sea captains came home after long tropical voyages, they would put a pineapple outside to signal an invitation for visiting and laughter. christopher columbus started this practice in the 1400's, and through the centuries the custom has been pushed forward by the spaniards in one part of the world, and the whalers off nantucket in another.
i wish i'd gotten you a pineapple, ted! what a nice way to say "welcome home", if only i had thought of it in time.
but then i realized that when ted touched soil, little girl lucy ran up the runway waving and laughing, something he had never seen.
oh, how our hearts are made for melting.
so my friend, sorry i forgot the pineapple but i don't think it bothers you. you received a welcome
you will never forget.
welcome home, neighbor.
Monday, October 20, 2008
the scallops are covered
it was my third wedding day, but not really. the second wedding day never really happened because i halted steadfast at the top of the aisle with my arms clenched around those of my two brothers. my knees buckled and i screamed
i'm not ready.
a few years later it was time again to get married. the flower arrangements for the church were lined up in the living room, each as tall as the mast of a ship - lillies and lilacs and roses and stephanotus, and i wondered how much we were paying for these things?
how much are we paying for all of this??
a kind but urgent voice told me,
you guys are only paying for the scallops at the reception, the rest is covered.
upstairs with my bridesmaids i wondered how i should wear my hair when one of them sent my gown sailing down onto the king size bed -- a floating and lovely mass of pink and ivory toille, so elegant.
but when it landed we noticed the stains. oh god, too many to count.
quick!
someone said
hit the closet!
miraculously there were several gowns in the closet, one of which was the perfect size and did not need ironing.
but by this time, we were 10 minutes away from the walk to the altar. no time to shave my legs or even shower. the black socks i was wearing would have to do.
along with the birkenstocks.
i am not the elegance i had imagined,
but i do love a good scallop.
i'm not ready.
a few years later it was time again to get married. the flower arrangements for the church were lined up in the living room, each as tall as the mast of a ship - lillies and lilacs and roses and stephanotus, and i wondered how much we were paying for these things?
how much are we paying for all of this??
a kind but urgent voice told me,
you guys are only paying for the scallops at the reception, the rest is covered.
upstairs with my bridesmaids i wondered how i should wear my hair when one of them sent my gown sailing down onto the king size bed -- a floating and lovely mass of pink and ivory toille, so elegant.
but when it landed we noticed the stains. oh god, too many to count.
quick!
someone said
hit the closet!
miraculously there were several gowns in the closet, one of which was the perfect size and did not need ironing.
but by this time, we were 10 minutes away from the walk to the altar. no time to shave my legs or even shower. the black socks i was wearing would have to do.
along with the birkenstocks.
i am not the elegance i had imagined,
but i do love a good scallop.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
the fairgrounds
twice a month i drive through the state fairgrounds because it happens to be a shortcut to get to where i am going. i take a left on dan patch avenue instead of heading north on snelling and i drive through the green gates all by myself with no one to stop me because there is no one there.
sometimes there is an event there in the off-season, like there was on thursday - the beef expo. but mostly the park is deserted except for the constant and permanent things. the dfl building, condor fireplace and stone, the kool 108 booth, the skyride sitting empty without it's cars -- winding around on overhead cables, and various chainsaw carvings of eagles and bears.
something about driving through there in the only car on the roads of the fairground feels naughty and illegal, like running through the halls of high school at night in the dark. lockers gleaming against the glow of security lights, running fast up and down the corridors and stairs. no one should be here, no one allowed right now, we're closed.
but the state fair people don't seem to mind that some of us have discovered this sacred shortcut. no cheese curds today, no strollers, no horses or rides, just the place.
place is important. the ones we go to once a year, the ones we leave each morning and return to at the end of weary days. place is a setting that changes with time and yet it doesn't.
the state fairgrounds is such as this, just a place.
and in the offseason, it's all mine.
sometimes there is an event there in the off-season, like there was on thursday - the beef expo. but mostly the park is deserted except for the constant and permanent things. the dfl building, condor fireplace and stone, the kool 108 booth, the skyride sitting empty without it's cars -- winding around on overhead cables, and various chainsaw carvings of eagles and bears.
something about driving through there in the only car on the roads of the fairground feels naughty and illegal, like running through the halls of high school at night in the dark. lockers gleaming against the glow of security lights, running fast up and down the corridors and stairs. no one should be here, no one allowed right now, we're closed.
but the state fair people don't seem to mind that some of us have discovered this sacred shortcut. no cheese curds today, no strollers, no horses or rides, just the place.
place is important. the ones we go to once a year, the ones we leave each morning and return to at the end of weary days. place is a setting that changes with time and yet it doesn't.
the state fairgrounds is such as this, just a place.
and in the offseason, it's all mine.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
hot till you're not
the young lady who greeted us at the little italian place on the corner last night was hot. i mean hot. late 20's i'd say, with a perfect body and stunning smile. her dress was a clingy taupe with a ruffle at the bottom as if her slip was showing. we used to worry about that when i was younger - slips showing. seems now it's a sign of fashion instead of poor planning.
her neckline and backline plunged deep on both sides, creamy golden skin, luscious breasts and a slender neck. her movements were so graceful and relaxed - i remembered what it was like to move that way when i didn't have to hold anything in. everthing in perfect proportion, to the delight of various and subtle onlookers.
the women at the table to my left were hot at some point i guessed, they had the markings of former hotties. now they were in their 50's and 60's with smart turtlenecks, safe hairstyles, updated eyeware and nice manicures. very sensible women, these. and seemingly very comfortable with themselves.
i watched them order cosmopolitans, left hands lightly resting on their husbands' wedding bands, and then i glanced back at the gorgeous young woman and tried to visualize that span of time between the hostess stand and the dinner table. i thought to myself - i know i am now seated closer to the pretty ladies, but i remember that heat, a long time ago. when did we all go from hot to not? a gradual process i supposed.
it's all about getting older, and being fine with where we end up. if we don't like how we are turning out we certainly can take charge and change things - a few less desserts and glasses of wine, more trips to the gym.
how boring is that.
and anyway, if i am no longer hot, at least i'm still charming.
charming is hot, too, isn't it?
her neckline and backline plunged deep on both sides, creamy golden skin, luscious breasts and a slender neck. her movements were so graceful and relaxed - i remembered what it was like to move that way when i didn't have to hold anything in. everthing in perfect proportion, to the delight of various and subtle onlookers.
the women at the table to my left were hot at some point i guessed, they had the markings of former hotties. now they were in their 50's and 60's with smart turtlenecks, safe hairstyles, updated eyeware and nice manicures. very sensible women, these. and seemingly very comfortable with themselves.
i watched them order cosmopolitans, left hands lightly resting on their husbands' wedding bands, and then i glanced back at the gorgeous young woman and tried to visualize that span of time between the hostess stand and the dinner table. i thought to myself - i know i am now seated closer to the pretty ladies, but i remember that heat, a long time ago. when did we all go from hot to not? a gradual process i supposed.
it's all about getting older, and being fine with where we end up. if we don't like how we are turning out we certainly can take charge and change things - a few less desserts and glasses of wine, more trips to the gym.
how boring is that.
and anyway, if i am no longer hot, at least i'm still charming.
charming is hot, too, isn't it?
Friday, October 10, 2008
sadding
i was sadding earlier today but am feeling better now. sadding is different than just feeling sad, and quite the opposite of feeling grateful. when you feel grateful you collect all the beautiful things that have blessed you and pile them up into one overwhelming feeling of peacefulness. when you are sadding you do the same thing, only with regrets and disappointment and things and people you miss.
it started with a defeating ache of tiredness, one that kept us home from the north shore, which, after 30 years of living here, i still have never seen. a note from a friend said "bummer you aren't feeling well, i hear that the colors on the north shore are peaking this weekend." that started the sadding, a rolling over in bed with tangled sheets and wet pillowcases. and then like kindergardners marching out to recess the sad things lined up and bowed. or smirked. memories of friends who once held tight in loyalty, but who decided at some point that their lives would be better lived without me in them. thoughts of things left unfaced or done wrong, and mostly the sparkling presence of parents who drank champagne and shared photos at my wedding reception twelve years ago. a perfect fall day that was.
much like this one.
sadding is something not to be gripped too tightly, nor should it be disallowed. sadding comes and goes. and gratefully now,
it's going.
it started with a defeating ache of tiredness, one that kept us home from the north shore, which, after 30 years of living here, i still have never seen. a note from a friend said "bummer you aren't feeling well, i hear that the colors on the north shore are peaking this weekend." that started the sadding, a rolling over in bed with tangled sheets and wet pillowcases. and then like kindergardners marching out to recess the sad things lined up and bowed. or smirked. memories of friends who once held tight in loyalty, but who decided at some point that their lives would be better lived without me in them. thoughts of things left unfaced or done wrong, and mostly the sparkling presence of parents who drank champagne and shared photos at my wedding reception twelve years ago. a perfect fall day that was.
much like this one.
sadding is something not to be gripped too tightly, nor should it be disallowed. sadding comes and goes. and gratefully now,
it's going.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
church is no place for widescreen tv's
the boys were talking religion over poker the other night. interpretations from the bible, christian theology, and worship in general. the conversation soon turned to church. churches themselves, and the evolution of the place where people go for fellowship and acceptance, to feel god, to pray for hope and salvation, and celebrate the promise of eternal life.
one of the guys at poker is shopping for a new church. he said he tried one of those fancy new places you see on sunday morning tv. comfy padded folding chairs, wide screen tv's pumping up the pastor's image, ornate podiums, high tech microphones, electric guitars and clean cut choirs. the congregation is a mix of cultures and ages and backgrounds, eyes glistening with tears inspired and bred by the holy spirit. they sway alot and wave their arms alot and they are wrapped up in the love of god.
i see nothing wrong with this, but i admit it makes me a little uncomfortable. church should be about stained glass windows with images of lambs and the crucifixion, heavy wooden pews that hurt your back and your butt (reminding you of the importance of pain and sacrifice), and the seats are filled with tiny old bent ladies who miss their husbands and feel the pain of sin, even though they haven't committed too many themselves. the choir is all dressed in crimson "gowns" with white flowy tops, and their sheet music shakes as they hit the high notes. which some of them can get to but some of them can't.
the pastor is a smiley guy with a nicely pressed suit who is delighted to remind us all of about cookies and coffee and punch downstairs after the service and let's all pray for myla's loss, and saturday the youth group is sponsoring a car wash so come on down and get a good deal and clean hubcaps too.
we all choose how to worship, and where, and most importantly
if.
a friend of mine recently told me story after story of how god guides her every move, and how satan visited one lonely night when she was feeling vulnerable and scared. but her friends came by and prayed with her and she made it through and praise god praise god. and that is all good, very very good.
as for me, my prayers are directed to the universe, all of it, of which god is a part. but the depth of my belief in a greater power extends beyond god to the angels, and to my moms and dads and old friends and late hounds who are watching and believing in me, and in my happiness. fire, water, wind, and earth -- the power of all of these things freshens my spirit in the miracle of their constancy. these things we can depend on. these things bring comfort because of that, and for that
praise god.
however you define it, and whereever it leads you
praise god.
one of the guys at poker is shopping for a new church. he said he tried one of those fancy new places you see on sunday morning tv. comfy padded folding chairs, wide screen tv's pumping up the pastor's image, ornate podiums, high tech microphones, electric guitars and clean cut choirs. the congregation is a mix of cultures and ages and backgrounds, eyes glistening with tears inspired and bred by the holy spirit. they sway alot and wave their arms alot and they are wrapped up in the love of god.
i see nothing wrong with this, but i admit it makes me a little uncomfortable. church should be about stained glass windows with images of lambs and the crucifixion, heavy wooden pews that hurt your back and your butt (reminding you of the importance of pain and sacrifice), and the seats are filled with tiny old bent ladies who miss their husbands and feel the pain of sin, even though they haven't committed too many themselves. the choir is all dressed in crimson "gowns" with white flowy tops, and their sheet music shakes as they hit the high notes. which some of them can get to but some of them can't.
the pastor is a smiley guy with a nicely pressed suit who is delighted to remind us all of about cookies and coffee and punch downstairs after the service and let's all pray for myla's loss, and saturday the youth group is sponsoring a car wash so come on down and get a good deal and clean hubcaps too.
we all choose how to worship, and where, and most importantly
if.
a friend of mine recently told me story after story of how god guides her every move, and how satan visited one lonely night when she was feeling vulnerable and scared. but her friends came by and prayed with her and she made it through and praise god praise god. and that is all good, very very good.
as for me, my prayers are directed to the universe, all of it, of which god is a part. but the depth of my belief in a greater power extends beyond god to the angels, and to my moms and dads and old friends and late hounds who are watching and believing in me, and in my happiness. fire, water, wind, and earth -- the power of all of these things freshens my spirit in the miracle of their constancy. these things we can depend on. these things bring comfort because of that, and for that
praise god.
however you define it, and whereever it leads you
praise god.
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