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Sometimes there is an art to it. I mean, you can't just come right out and say things exactly the way they occur in your mind. You have to find the right way to communicate things so that the receiver is receptive, so the message gets through without too much resistance. I could tell I was touching close to some sensitive nerves, because the tears welled up in her eyes. And I was glad I didn't just come at it with a frontal assault. I was glad I eased up to it slow and gentle like. And gave her time.
OMG how did this happen again? I'm looking at this calendar full of blue squares. Blue squares, the indicting array! Where have you been? Where have you been? And what the hell have you been doing anyway? You can find time every day to do your daily healing list. You meditate and send Reiki to people all over the globe. But you can't find ten minutes to enter your one hundred words. I mean what is up with that? You're just a damn slacker. That's all there is to it. Admit it, then, so we can get on.
My daughter's birthday. She's out of town, so I sent her an e-card. It was animated and musical and cost me money, so I hope she enjoyed it. It was the best I could do, considering I didn't have any idea where in the hell she actually was today. At some meeting in Seattle. She got here about nine tonight, to pick up her kidling, and it turns out she won an award and they are sending her to Texas to have lunch with the CEO of the company. One thing my kid knows how to do is work.
Sometimes I hate being psychic. Like today for instance. I had a dream about an old high school and college teacher of mine. My Latin teacher, Irving Kizner. Now, it shouldn't be any big deal to dream about people. But when I dream about people it isn't such a good thing. Especially if I haven't been in touch with them lately. Because generally when somebody visits me in a dream, it is because they have died. I don't know why it is, but people drop by to touch base with me when they cross over to the other side. Bummer.
I read a short short story in my writing class today, and true to form, somebody felt that just had to comment on the fact that one of my characters used colorful language. Well, let's not beat about the bush. He said Fuck. My classmate hastened to point out that the language fit the character. I had the feeling she was defending me against the unspoken but palpable criticisms of others in the class who take umbrage with my colorful use of language. Well, shit I can't help it if my characters cuss. Fuck sake, take it up with them!
Okay this entry is a simple record of today's get together. Luis and Sandy, Lonnie and Jay, Savanah, Jacob and Colby, Michele, David and Christopher, David McC, Kate, Richard, Tre and me got together at our house for a BBQ. Overnight, I marinated beef short ribs for shish kabobs, which we cooked on our brand new BBQ grill. The food turned out amazing. Some people stayed inside since it was chilly to cold on the deck. Some stayed outside and wrapped shawls and blankets around them to stay warm. Everybody visited continuously. I loved it. And it didn't rain.
The other day in writing class, we had to write a six word autobiography. My favorite was
"Brooklyn girl makes good out west."
Other possibilities might be
"I survived your fucking abusive parenting."
Or "Scars fade but they don't tan."
Maybe "New York to Spokane via Oregon."
Or "Hunter Girl escapes from Upper Manhattan."
How about "Hellman's is Best Foods out west."
Or "Fuck the subway - learn to fish."
I like "It's never too late to rebel."
And what about "But I got the Aspen grove."
Or "Never grew up, just got old."
And "Always had a way with words."
A loonie got a gun and murdered the late-term abortion doc in Kansas, where late-term abortions are legal. Which they most certainly are not in Washington, where I live. Though I have no doubt that women from my state have travelled to Kansas to terminate an unwanted pregnancy when it was too late to do that here at home. Because here in the civilized world we do not allow viable infants to be "terminated". There is a point after which they have a right to be born, to wit when they are capable of surviving on their own.
Finally a role I can really sink my teeth into! David cast me as Meg in "The Birthday Party" by Pinter. She's crazy, she's having an affair with the boarder, she doesn't understand what is going on. She never leaves the house. She lives in a fantasy. She's getting old. I love her. We'll be doing a reading at a local small theatre, I don't know when yet, but I'm just really happy about it. I'll be playing alongside David McCallum as McCann, Dave Rideout as Stanley, Bob Nelson as Goldberg, Richard Lasater as Petey and Anne Selcoe as Lulu.
It's the time of year again for growing things. Tomorrow we plant our garden. We bought some tomato plants, some more strawberries, some Basil, and some squash. Oh yes, and a couple of Jalapeno peppers. I sure hope it warms up and the sun shines, so we can enjoy working outside. Richard chopped off the weeds above the ground, but we'll still have to dig them out and turn the ground. Hand trowels. Dirt under your finger nails. Soil invertebrates scurrying away. Painful knees. Sore shoulders. Wonderful day. I can't wait to get into my old jeans and sloppy shirt.
Trying to find time to shop for my grandson's birthday present. This is a big deal when you turn six years old. He was sitting next to me on the couch today, and his little legs were tucked up in front of him, and he was leaning against my shoulder. It was one of those precious moments you just want to remember forever. Times of unguarded closeness, simplicity and tenderness. Then all of a sudden he piped up with, "Grandma, I am so excited to be turning six years old!!!!" "Yeah," I said. "It's pretty awesome, huh?" "Yeah." You bet.
Tre's birthday. Richard picked him up from daycare, while I wrapped his presents and set them on the floor in front of the TV. When they got here, Tre was sound asleep, so Richard laid him down on the couch. When he woke up I said "I have something important to say to you." "What, Grandma?" "Happy Birthday!" He hopped up off the couch and came over to stand beside my chair. "So, would you like to open one of your presents?" "What presents?" he said. "Those presents," I said. "Wow, I didn't see them!" Then he bounded over there.
Tre's party. Eight boys, ages five to seven in a five room apartment. What on earth were we thinking? Just me and Erin to manage the event. The doors were open almost continuously, as boys ran through the house, out back to the pool, out to the front where we were playing bocce ball and whiffle ball. To the lawn for a picnic in the grass. Into the bedroom to take turns at the X-Box. To the living room for Bakugan. Somebody gave him a set of nerf pistols. After that it was mayhem. Nerf bullets from wall to wall.
I'm so tired I may throw up. It was a short night. The boys were all asleep by ten, but I stayed up and watched a movie until midnight. I'd only been asleep a short time when I heard one of the boys crying. It was Wyatt. He said his eyes hurt. I put my hand on his forehead and could feel the inflammation. He had a whopper of a headache. He was up again about four. Then the whole lot woke up at five. By the time they were all gone and I headed back home, I was punchy.
Starting to dig a little deeper into my novel, and now there is a play wanting to be written as well. Between the two, it will be a busy summer. Spending long hours on the computer. When my brain starts to ache, I shift to Facebook to give it a break. Ah Facebook, it is truly a no-brainer. But I have to admit, I enjoy the company there. People make a modest effort to be somewhat amusing or interesting, and there is always a debate you can get involved in to pick up the energy. Well just a little.
When to kill off the antagonist? Who to sacrifice for the cause? What to do with the comic relief, the dog? How to handle the weather? What to call the drifter? How to get them all into lots of trouble? How to get them all out of trouble again? When to bring enlightenment to those who sorely need it? How to make sure justice is done? Questions fill my head now, as the story begins to unfold itself on the page, or should I say the screen. And then, the hardest part of all, is getting into the offender's head.
Give me liberty or give me death. It amazes me that people in the twenty first century still have to make that sort of stand. But that is just what people are doing in Iran. Their government stole the election, and the people are taking to the streets. The army is cracking down on them hard and fast, but every day they come out again, in massive rallies all over the country. People all over the world are rallying in support of these iranian freedom fighters. They definitely inspire me.
Some disturbing images are coming out of Iran. The international media is locked down in their hotels, if not expelled altogether from the country. The news is getting out through Facebook and Twitter. Videos of what is happening are being made using cell phones and then transmitted using cell phone technology. The government is trying to shut them down, but they are persisting. The violence against the demonstrators is escalating. We are getting footage of people dying, bleeding to death on our computer screens. Women and children, old and young, they are being killed in the streets. Terrible. Terrible.
My Mom woke up not feeling too well. She couldn't stop coughing and after a while she was coughing pink phlegm. She's been short of breath for several days. She had the presence of mind to call for emergency help. They took her to the hospital, and tests determined she has pneumonia in both lungs. So they are pumping her full of antibiotics and giving her respiratory therapy. And of course, they are prescribing rest. Lots of rest. I had the feeling all day that I should call her, that she might be sick. I should listen to my intuition.
Today was a whirlwind of activity. We had to develop a to-do list just to keep track of all the stuff we had to do. We started the day by driving to Idaho to pick up our cheapo mountain bikes that we will be taking to Burning Man in August. They are kind of rusty and the tires are flat, but I think they are basically sound. Vince says not to spend any money fixing them up, since they are going to get ruined at Burning Man anyway. Richard thinks he likes this cheapo bike better than his good one.
We read on the radio today. This was Richard's fourth time. My third. It's weird not knowing if anybody is listening out in the world. I always announce it on my Facebook page, but I don't think many people actually get it together to tune in. Today is Father's Day. I called my Dad. He asked me if I'm the one with the big tits. When I asked him what he is going to do today, he said "Ronna's gonna give me a blow job." My father the pervert. Now that he has dementia, there is no control at all.
We were talking about Burning Man today, and our friend was saying the thing that attracts him to it the most is that he has heard there is a lot of nudity. He says he is definitely a nude kind of guy. Richard and I are both clear we are not into nudity. For me, it's an aesthetic issue. I get that I look terrible at my current weight and condition. Richard is just a prude. He ain't showing his privates to anybody. If I looked better, it wouldn't bother me at all. As things stand, I will be wearing loose, comfortable clothing. And so will he. Works for me.
Who would have thought it would be the people of iran who would galvanize me into action after four decades of complacency. Well, now I shouldn't say complacency. Just haven't demonstrated for any causes during that time. But what is going on in Iran has inspired me. It has inspired the whole world. We are outraged, we are sympathetic with the protestors. And all over the world, people are turning out to rally in support of them. I was dismayed to see that nothing at all was happening in Spokane, so I started it myself. There will be a rally in Spokane.
The longer this goes on, the more I want to be involved in some way. At least I want to show support. Today I saw a map on a website showing all the cities where demonstrations of support for the people of Iran are taking place, and where they are planned for the coming days. Spokane just isn't on the map. It's like we're not even there. Where do you live? Nowhere, baby, it's not even on the map. Is that near Seattle? Three hundred miles. A major mountain range, a gigantic river gorge and a desert away. Where?
So I did a little research on the internet and I found out that I don't really know how to organize a rally. I mean, hey, I've gone to rallies. But I've never actually organized one. So I started thinking, what organization exists in this town that could possibly help me with this? I came up with PJALS - Peace and Justice Action League of Spokane. When I got to their website, the first thing I saw was an announcement of a rally that's happening today. So I sent them an email: Wanna play? And lo and behold, they said yes!
I met with PJALS (Liz) this morning, and we got a shopping list together. It felt good to be in action. I bought balloons full of helium and stuffed them in my car and had to make a couple of trips to get them back to the Community Building. I bought fabric and cut it into strips for armbands. I bought paint and poster board and made signs that say, "Support Freedom In Iran" and "Where Are Their Votes?" I even managed to find time to buy myself a green t-shirt. And then came the rally. If you build it...
weekend in Spokane. We were lucky to get a parking spot a half mile away from the downtown area, which is completely closed off for street courts. It's hard to know where to go or what to watch. There are dozens of streets, parking lots and bridges turned over to the games. So we just wandered into the crowd and paused along the way to watch the action. I think the most fun of all was watching the kids. The least fun of all was the pro's. Everybody everywhere played hard. The sun was hot. So were the games.
We had so much fun at Hoopfest yesterday, we went back again today. Little by little teams got eliminated and courts got abandoned. We started to notice the litter on the sidewalks. But the games that were still going on were mega intense. And by the middle of the afternoon, it was championship playoff time. We watched some 11 year olds from Portland, Oregon for several games. When they finally lost and were eliminated, we were as sad as they were.
When it was all over, we walked through the park along the river and the back way to our car.
What would have to happen to make him talk? What would it take for them to listen? Something really important would have to be at stake. Something both sides cared enough about to break down their walls and actually meet in the middle. What overcomes their fear? What are they afraid of? What makes them turn around and go the other way? What makes them go uphill when the path leads down, down, down? These are the questions that I must answer today.
This is the turning point for me. What fear must I get past?
June ended hot.
And I'm sweatin' my ass off. Somehow in the last few months, I gained twenty pounds. I was already overweight, and the last twenty really put me into the fat category. No getting around it this time. I even had to buy new clothes. Well, needless to say, the heat is no picnic when you are fat. I never knew any of this. But one thing is how you have folds in your skin, and you sweat inside the fold, and then it gets irritated. There is no way I am staying this fat.
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