Poet, poet
Tell me another tale.
Wind your words through leaves of oakish paper
fresh print, sharp taste, full-bodied and sweet
Like pepper and black cherries in that merlot last week.

Poet, poet
Tell me another one.
About the time took her hand at a moment’s notice
And she took to your charms with a simple smile.
And how that was years ago, but luck let you slide
Let you by by skin of teeth and tongue of dog.
Eye of bat, wing of frog.

Poet, poet,
Give, flowing outward like Tygrus
the milky mother juice of heaven and pride
And the feelings of home and lands from the past
Homelands, true, and all the tales of being pulled from nest and burrow
from the top trees to swell the ground with number
so angry
So fierce and unjustly hurt
You have no choice but to burst.

Poet, poet
Speak of the time before time
When man was monkey not of soul, but of mind
Just some time last week
Before the great revealing you had when you dropped a quarter in a pay phone
Just to realize your love was no longer at home
and your heart fluttered closed.

Poet, poet
Tell me another tale
About liquor back alleys and marijuana jail
Back-beat births and fire by trial
eighteen day trail mix dinners
Ten week rehab reconciliations gone wrong
Interventions of soul
Decorations of mind

Poet, poet
Give off thy wobbling knees
To hold thyself up on legs of voice
Tongues stronger than armies
Lips firmly gripping tear-shaped faces from times gone by.
I don’t want to hear about the trees;
I want to hear about your knees
Skinned to the broken back-bones of all the years gone by.
I want to hear the cries of loves that withered and died.

Poet, poet
Tell me a tale,
Give me a song to sing
Because the heart longs for newer coats of glitter-glow.
Because the heart has so many things left to know.

I walk into the high school band hall to find the following angrily written on the white board at the front:

“It’s Christmas, not Xmas.”

Fortunately, someone had written a “have a nice day” at the bottom. Someone else, of course. Open hostility. Open hostility toward a comment previously written there with no intent of ill means.

On the prior day, while scribbling out the rehearsal plan for the percussion class, I had written the following things on the white board at the front:

“English, Xmas, Nut”

And left it there all day. I was trying to be fast in my scribbling. I didn’t even write the whole of the word “nutcracker.”

I’ll admit, I have no internal drive to celebrate Christmas as it stands. Much of what the holiday stands for now has to do more with marketing and consumer number-crunching than anything about peace on Earth or a tiny package of joy entering into the world.

When I was younger, my mother explained to me that it wasn’t really “X-mas” but that’s how people would write it on boxes of decorations just before packing them into the attic. I took note of this, and even as I scribbled on the white board, I figured someone would not understand.

The recent rash of hostility toward the lack of Christianity in certain aspects of life bothers me. I know I live in the middle of the Southwest, where Christianity isn’t just religion, its a culture; how different is that from anywhere else in America? At the junior high where I spent most of my day, it has been abundantly clear that prayer in school will be encouraged. The teachers pray every Monday morning together in the front office. I’ve walked in on one of these. I didn’t feel ashamed of walking out again.

I remember the big debate during my high school years over whether prayer before a football game was appropriate, and while I was, at the time, avidly against Christianity as a concept, I felt people should be able to believe what they want. And now, I think of all the people I’ve seen injured on a football field, and think they should be allowed to have whatever comfort their soul needs when they end up in that much pain just trying to have a good time.

Last year at this time, the debate was whether it was appropriate to say “Merry Christmas.” I thought it was completely innane, and while I don’t celebrate it for its original intended purpose, or really even its newly found corporate purpose, I still said “Enjoy your Christmas,” to people because I felt it was important to have a good day with family, should you be able to.

Remember when it was whether the Pledge of Allegiance should have the words “under God” in it? This site details how those words weren’t added to the pledge until 1954 because the Knights of Columbus fought for it, and that the Pledge itself was written in 1892. Here, one can find all the facts necessary to prove that the Founding Fathers were neither supporting any one religion, nor belligerent to it, so the USA is really just a bunch of people who didn’t want to be bossed around anymore. I’ll leave that at that.

Evangelicism. The new Christianity.
I’ve seen Jesus Camp. Evangelical Christians are the subject. The people in this movie are the extreme. These type, and those you hear the loudest when you turn on Fox or CNN are the crazies, the idiots, the loudmouths, the assholes, and the liars. False prophets, even…perhaps. However, when the people I see everyday, and the students I work with every day, make it clear that even the slightest shortcut around the six-letter word of much debate is unacceptable, then I have a problem.

Never, in all my years, did I think being a Christian was about making sure everyone understood, in no uncertain terms, that the God of <a href=”http://www.peterpaulandmary.com/”>Peter, Paul and Mary</a> was the only god need paid attention to.

“Burdens are the foundations of ease and bitter things the forerunners of pleasure.”

- Rumi

I don’t know how many of these things I’ve gotten over the years, but it seems Jen makes hand-painted ornaments nearly every year since, oh, probably 2002. I think that’s when I got the first one. Wait, no, I think I got one a year before that. I got this year’s Ornament in the mail yesterday. It’s adorable! This little purple angel, blond hair, bells. So cute. Looks just like her. Okay, not really.

Bad news is it’s broken clean in two. Actually, with the state that it is in, I’m probably repairable with a little bit of apoxy. I’ll have to find someone with steadier hands than myself to fix it, though. The only extraneous fragment that seems to have falled off is a bell, right on the front. I’ve pieced the thing back together twice, laying on my desk, and both times, I was able to drop the bell right in place, no problem. Otherwise, it looks like an angel that’s gone through some magic stage show. Still smiling, at that.

I also go a card from her with a picture of her, her husband and new bouncing baby boy. While I’m not the type to send out cards, and Christmas isn’t exactly my holiday, I do like getting such simple correspondence. Especially the picture. I’ve got two pictures now that family on my friends. One in my wallet, now that I think of it.

That’s something interesting about the holidays that I both love and hate: the fellowship. Seems to be a recurring theme here.

The holidays seem to bring out this innate need to be together with people. Maybe it’s because it gets so cold outside sometimes. Maybe it’s because of the messages delivered with the holiday packages: those of peace, love, rebirth, salvation, forgiveness, family, hope. All the good warm fuzzies, I suppose. Maybe it’s because we whir around so much during our normal daily lives that we have to have some sort of time to put ourselves aside for a little lovin’. I know I do. Nothing makes me smile more than seeing my mother after not visiting her for months at a time. Not that I’m good about that anyway, but that’s another post all together.

Maybe it’s the other way around: we focus so much energy on being together, being at home with loved ones on these special days in the bleak midwinter that we spend ourselves and have to retreat to our opposite corners for a while. And by the time we feel up to doing it all again, its time.

Okay, so none of that is fool-proof. I know I certainly don’t enjoy every waking moment of the holidays, and while my family’s precarious situation (losing my grandmother, grampa getting married, brother has his girl, people moving, etc.) isn’t that bad, it does seem to get in the way of holiday cheer, as it were.

I found myself last week, while I was sitting at home trying not to get sick (and partly failing, though I’m feeling better, thanks), wanting to light a few candles, say a couple words, and stick my feelers out there for the great unknown. Maybe there is a god out there still waiting for me to open up enough. Maybe not, but I thought, for just about thirty minutes or so, that it might be worth the effort. This is what the holidays do to me: make me a sentimental.

1. Name one person who made you laugh last night.
Well, there were about seven other people in the room. Must have been Chase. He does that.

2. What were you doing at 0800?
Sleeping.

3. What were you doing 30 minutes ago?
Blogging.

4. What happened to you in 2006?
Sleeping and blogging, and lots of angst. And roadtrips.

5. What was the last thing you said out loud?
“There is so much shit to do.”

6. How many beverages did you have today?
Two: chocolate milk and ginger ale. Note I said two, and not one. Ew.

7. What color is your hairbrush?
Black and gray. Silver if you’re nasty.

8. What was the last thing you paid for?
Lots of medication. Lots.

9. Where were you last night?
Playing Guitar Hero three like a good boy.

10. What color is your front door?
Green.

11. Where do you keep your change?
I’ll not be divulging this information. I’m a gentleman, after all.

12. What’s the weather like today?
Partly cloudy, dammit Where was all the snow we were supposed to get?

13. What’s the best ice-cream flavor?
Chocolate Brownie Fudge/Chocolate chip cookie dough

14. What excites you?
Not having the flu.

15. Do you want to cut your hair?
Yes, quite badly.

16. Are you over the age of 25?
Not for another two and a half years.

17. Do you talk a lot?
Yes.
19. Do you know anyone named Steven?
Why Steven? I know a Joshua, and a Ben, does that count?

20. Do you make up your own words?
No, I wait for my friends to do it for me. *smiles at C*

21. Are you a jealous person?
Only if you have something I want.

22. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter “A.”
No.

23. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter “K.”
Um…yeah, K. Hi K!

24. Who’s the first person on your received call list?
My grampa’s cell phone.

25. What does the last text message you received say?
Ha! I cleaned out my inbox! Take that, survey!

26. Do you chew on your straw?
Only when I’m in Oklahoma?

27. Do you have curly hair?
Remember: gentleman.

28. Where’s the next place you’re going to?
Bed, because I’m sick. Pity me.

29. Who’s the rudest person in your life?
Typically, I don’t really keep rude people around. I guess if I have to choose, its gonna be my brother.
30. What was the last thing you ate?
Generic, over the counter cheerios

31. Will you get married in the future?
Not unless they change some laws around.

32. What’s the best movie you’ve seen in the past 2 weeks?
I’m watching this anime, Bleach, a lot. It’s pretty cool.

33. Is there anyone you like right now?
I like a lot of people. We’ll leave it at that.
36. Did you cry today?
Not even water in my body to cry right now. Pity!

37. Why did you answer and post this?
Because when C posted this, I read “blah blah blah grenade, blah blah,” and thought, “Hey, grenades are fun.”

38. Tag 5 people who would do this survey:
I’d list the names out, but then it would sound like an episode of Captain Planet, and nobody needs to read that.

Someone has been taking some pretty sweet photos. This one comes from the Bad Astronomy Blog, where Mr. Phil Plait discusses the top astronomy photos of 2006. The Cassini probe was hanging around Saturn when it snapped this one. It’s a beautiful image. Mr. Plait makes it pretty clear that a lot of elements of this photo make it number one (at least in his book…okay, its just damn cool). Take a look for yourself.

Now, if you look really close, somewhere around 10 o’clock, just outside the main collection of rings and inside what looks like an aura around the same rings, you’ll see a small dot. Look close. Closer. Still can’t see it? Mr. Plait offers this image as well:

Is that better? I hope so.

See the dot now? Yeah, that’s Earth! Earth! Yeah, the rock you’re sitting/standing/laying down on. How awesome is this?! One photograph from the opposite side of Saturn, capturing not only the light reflecting through the atmosphere of the planet, but also a very small, maybe even pixel-sized, snap of Little Blue. Wow.

My stomach quakes. It’s one of those uneasy, tempestuous quakings that reminds me of the Goodfellas (you talkin’ to me?). I’m not hungry. Well, not really. I’m sorta hungry, but since I’ve not injested anything since that cup of hot chocolate three hours ago, and I’ve been up for almost five hours, this is surprising. What is not surprising is that I feel this way after almost spending my night hugging a toilet. I mean, damn, I get this new fancy bed with a mattress cover and an egg crate and a headboard and all the good it can muster, and I spend my first ride tossing and turning and hoping I don’t actually decide to remove my organs heave by heave.

So I glance at the door, and think of going and getting food. Then I think of all the food in my fridge, but thinking of food makes my stomach squirm, so I go back to the movie. I think about going for a walk, but think that I’ll end up buying food while I’m out, because what good is an outing without a tasty treat, like ice cream. Then I remember I have ice cream, and my stomach shakes its head furiously. I think about not spending money, but then I think I should get some medicine. My stomach considers even going outside away from the convenience and safety of my own bathroom, and it argues against going beyond the mailbox. I am inclined to agree.

I don’t get sick all that often. Actually, considering how I treat my body, its a surprise I don’t have serious gastro-intestinal failure on a regular basis. Granted, I’m really not that ill. I could be holed up in bed, gripping the sides for dear life, and clutching a trash can under one arm.

Should I blame Thanksgiving on this sudden turn? Mm…maybe.

midnight to 8.30: toss and turn all night, dream about weird eight-sided objects and throw my back into spasms.
8.31: get the hell out of bed.
9.40: go to town for shopping.
10.05: realize my mom left her wallet thirty minutes away at grampa’s. Decide to not go back.
10.30: settle for the last remaining table set that my mom wants. Hope its not busted to hell.
10:45: go house-hunting with mom. Notice that the kennel she has been researching looks more like a junkyard/RV storage facility surrounded by trailer parks. Turn around
11.00:Find a nice place, but notice that all the cabinets that usually house cooking sheets have shelves in them. Leave.
11.10: point out that all the houses my mom wanted to look at are directly next to a cotton field and tell her this will mean her certain doom. She agrees.
11.11: back to shopping.
11.30: chase down food processor in home depot. See all of home depot in the process.
11.50: head to Bed Bath and Beyond, end up at Best Buy. Determine its all the B’s.
12.00: Actually head for Bed Bath and Beyond. Settle on a really nice comforter set that will turn my bedroom in to a boudoir. Note the 200 buck price tag, and lack of gift certificates. Decide to wait.
12.30: eat at Schlotsky’s. Ordered a large sandwich. My god. Still haven’t finished it.
1.15: got to mall. Scramble through Mervyn’s to find sweaters and fleeces to get the buy 1 get 2 free sale. Score mega huge.
1.50: mill around mall while mom goes to Dillard’s. Find nothing interesting.
2.30: get belt at JCPenney.
3.3o: pull back into grampa’s, start loading furniture (including a dresser, mirror, headboard, and queen size mattress set).
4.40: finish with that, say goodbyes, take leftovers, head for home.
5.00: wish I’d taken a nap
5.01: get tired of radio in friend’s borrowed truck.
6.15: arrive at home. Realize I left my house key at grampa’s, nearly two hours away, plus a time change. Scream a little.
6.20: manage to get hold of rental manager, agrees to lend me her key to my apartment.
6.50: arrive in C-town, wait for manager. Call friend who owns truck to ask him to help me unload the furniture since all the planned help opted for other things.
7.20: manager shows up. I get key.
7.23: Go to Wal-mart, make copies of key.
7.27: Drive by friend’s house, learn he has already gone to P-ville. Dammit.
7.27.30: realize I forgot to take original key back to rental manager
7.30: return key, drive hom
7.35: decide to fill up friend’s gas tank.
7.50: finish filling gas tank. Sigh.
8.20: arrive back at home.
8.30: finish unloading, trade keys back, say goodbye to friend.
9.00: finish putting together new shiny and sleepy bed. Yay.
9.10: go play Halo with friends
11:50: remember I have to post today, drive home like maniac.
What a goddamn day. I’m tired.

Normally, at this time of day (that being nearly noon), I’d be holed up in the kitchen, tearing up biscuits and cornbread, white and wheat bread, pouring turkey drippings, egg, and dumping seasoning after seasoning for the dressing. It’s an old family recipe. I used to make it with my grandmother. It was a yearly thing for so long. And it wasn’t a scientific process. We just grabbed a bunch of stuff, piled it together, and when it tasted about like it was ready, we’d separate it into dishes, and bake it. Of course, we had to have two bowls of the dressing, because my grandfather is the only person in our family who doesn’t like onions in it, while the rest of us have to have it. Can’t be denying anyone their dressing.

This year, we are doing without the dressing. Not to be too macabre about it, but this is the first family holiday without my grandmother and we are cutting the one part of the holiday that reminds me of her the most. A few years ago, when it was evident my grandmother wasn’t going to remember everything after too long, we made her write down the whole recipe. My mother and aunt got it all wrong. They were trying to get all the exactness of the recipe down, and there was no exactness to it. It was a creative endeavor, an act of love. Your arms can only stretch so wide, and there was more love in the dressing than that.

Our family, for the past ten or twelve years, has had specific duties in the kitchen. Mine was the stuffing. My grandfather was responsible for the turkey, the sweet potatoes, the green beans. My mom and aunt did the fruit salad, my aunt did the cranberries (both whole fruit and jellied) and my mom took care of the pimento cheese-stuffed celery. Occasionally, my cousins would help with something, setting the table, something.  It’s a circular holiday, where we all come back here and do the same things over and over.

This year, it’s not the same. My grandfather is married to Jo, who is a charming woman, and I’m really enjoying her company. But we are not cooking too much today. Granted, I’m not all that sad that the work of being in a hot kitchen for four hours to make a bunch of food that won’t last long enough for it all to be eaten. There is something, however, missing in the holiday.

It is snowing outside in big flakes, just barely sticking to the ground. I love watching it snow.

There is a particular tradition in our family. Right now, as I type this (which I suppose means I’m live-blogging), we are sitting around the dining room table right after my mother and I have walked in the door and we are eating pumpkin pie, drinking hot chocolate, just chatting. Okay, it’s nothing particularly special, but it just seems to happen. When you walk in, you get something to eat and you take a seat, and we catch up a little.

We’ve covered the “champagne taste, beer budget” stories that seem to crop up with my mother so often, and we’ve talked about Honeycrisp apples, and now we are talking about failing eyesight. Somehow, since my grandmother’s back surgery about six years ago, the conversation seems to wander to medical topics.

Jo, my grandfather’s new wife, is sitting with us. She’s been under the weather lately. She’s got a staph infection in her leg, and she has to get daily IVs of…antibiotics, I think. She’s a wonderful woman. Lively, conversational, bright and smiley. She’s not my grandmother, to be sure, but she sure is a warm heart in this house. Not that it’s cold, but it is different.

A rough start to this weekend. I had to fight with my mother. It never fails, right before a holiday. We have at least one spat. I guess I should expect it. Now, we are fine. We’ll see how the next couple days go. *sigh* Oh, there is no place like home for the holidays. I’ll be keeping people updated. For now, I need some hot chocolate.