I am the mummy Barbie teacher

here

Giant Cat

Right now something is purring in my house like a giant cat—I believe it is the fan upstairs. I believe it is the fan vibrating against the hardwood floor. Yet I want to say it is a cat, something giant curled up against the wall, holding us close. When you jump there is so little to fear. A few years ago I use to fear open windows, sleeping alone in this house with the girls. Listen to me sleep, I would say on the phone to California, listen and be someone who hears me.

I don’t know if I need that as much anymore. I use to claim I had a hunger to be read; somehow it scares me now that in this journey to be whole I may have lost that. I don’t care if you read me. I don’t need you to listen. In fact, listening in some cases tends to incur judgment and the demons in my head do a damn fine job already, thank you very much.

Truth: I sat by the lake last night and read a poem that made my heart hurt. I wanted to write. I wanted to write so much, I would have traded it for a cup of air; a day of my life but there is not time right now. There are two girls and two houses and a non profit art program and so much change it feels impossible to measure.

And another truth: I don’t need you to listen. I hunger not for you to understand but for the simple action of moving my hand across the page. Because for the first time in my life there is something inside me deeper than being understood and maybe it began as this tiny seed, of saying all my worst fears out loud, maybe it began by not caring a little more each day or by becoming the one person no one ever expected me to be.

Maybe it began here in this place with the giant cat.

my fossil on the side of a mountain somewhere

 

She is the most amazing twelve year old on the whole planet and I had the best time camping. 

 

There are so many things we want to make beautiful, so many things we justify b/c we had no other way to go. Yesterday we went the wrong way; two other chaperones and myself; two other moms who left the campsite of 28 kids, who went looking for the fork in the road where the park ranger said we’d find fossils. Stay on the road and we didn’t, we tucked under the no trespassing sign, under the barb wire and the quarry was like something out of Tolkien so we kept going and b/c honestly, every mother gets tired of holding the line, there are days when we need to remember ourselves. Our young selves; our selves who can sneak and hide and meet after dark. I am a leader at this. I am a leader of sometimes teaching people how to do “the wrong thing” Because my friend, it sometimes tastes so good in the mouth, it is exactly what is needed.

I went camping with 28 kids this weekend. I slept in a puddle, I went thirteen miles underground in a cave. I hid in a bathroom and scared boys. I laughed more than I have in a year. I had a twelve year old put his arm around me and say, you are a horrible example and I like you soooooo much.

Turtle fornication makes me happy. It makes sense to me to swim around in a big blue world looking for love. It makes sense to have a shell to hide in on a bad day.

Saturn is still on my ass. All notes here will be laced with slight bitterness.

I enjoyed the children very much tonight until I tried to put them to bed, then they became horrid beasts.

My sink right now at the new/old house is on the front lawn. It is right next to the butterfly bush I planted for Dr. Peter. I wish there were butter sink flies.
A sink on front lawn does not bother the contractor, he seems happy to smoke in my house and throw sinks out the window. Tonight I saw him light a cigarette with a blow torch---I am taking up smoking for this reason alone.

Tonight I want to be Mina Loy, with long black gloves and an air of confidence. I want to have all my books written and not be at the mercy of printer who does not want to work for me. I want black gloves and a cigarette lit by a blow torch.
Or I want to be here, watching the turtles find their way. 

I planted heliotrope in the front yard b/c it smells beautiful and mixed with my moon flowers one can sit on the porch and believe the whole world is contained within one night.

I use to plant hard to grow plants b/c I was proving myself to myself when I was younger, now I am older and I want nothing but color. And smell; flowers as big as dinner plates and night flowers with blooms like moons.

Do you understand there are a hundred different ways to die in a garden?

I am quoting myself. If you want to read the poem, it is my pretend book which is in my pretend room, held by my pretend house. Jack did not build it. If Jack built it everything would be done by now, I would be moved and the boxes would be gone. You would say what a wonderful house Jack, what a wonderful life. 

 

Yesterday was a hard day; all day long it has felt like someone has drained my blood. Friday was full crying parents, sad kids and me, trying to be professional, trying not to be one of THOSE teachers who cries on her children’s heads while saying goodbye.

Tonight I am quiet. I am reading cummings and being quiet. I am hearing Walter Benton in my head—there is no music, there should be music. As a departing gift my students painted to Loudon’s beautiful sounds, it was amazing. She is amazing. Thank you my dear for such a gift.

I hope Sunday is a good day.

god I love this man

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
e.e. cummings

So Long.....

 

 

 

 

After reading several horoscopes about how June is going to be a bad month for me (and it is only the first) I’ve decided to fall off the face of the earth until after July.

One thing to say: Saturn get off my ass.

Tomorrow is a day I am dreading—I will turn in my keys at a school I’ve taught at for the last eight years. I will say goodbye to children I have known since they were three. I will close a part of my life that has known me married, separated, living with a partner, alone, single. It has known me. Certain days it has saved me. It is the longest job I have ever held.

I have said goodbye to so much, it cannot be named. This week when I transplanted some plants from the side garden I remembered “the trick.” When transplanting one must always take some of the old soil and sprinkle it in with the new. The plant will have less shock, it will remember the land from before and it will grow.

What do I bring with me? If I were to sprinkle you on the land, would you bloom there?
I don’t know how to transplant myself. I have given myself a new house, job, focus but I don’t know how to do with it less “shock”, less weeping.