"Since I have met you all over again, I find myself turning a corner about you ... a corner I wish to return to ... a corner I have not been to before ... what is the name of this street? I feel like I am being strapped in for some sort of fantastic, hitherto unexperienced ride of my life ... ready or not ..."
----- excerpt from an email from a special man
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Junkyard Quote #1 - Week 3
"Who cared if I passed astronomy anyway. Who cared about the science of the solar system and the infinite universe and the divine fucking plan, if the God who held it all in place was like this, forbidding a woman any of it unless she obeyed and became a captive breeding sow, her destiny bound to whatever beast happened to mount her that day. According to the Bible, all she had to do was trade in her sex and her freedom, and in return be yoked with the glories of indentured motherhood."
-----excerpt from Until He Comes by K. Dawn Goodwin
-----excerpt from Until He Comes by K. Dawn Goodwin
Monday, January 30, 2012
Free Entry - Week # 2
Burying Baby Biddies
On a warm summer day on the farm when I was around six years old, my five-year old sister and I were looking for something to do. With no TV, we were forced to be creative and design our own adventures. Spotting the old mother hen, followed by her seven adorable fluffy chicks, I had an unusual vision.
"Hey! I got a great idea!"
I explained my animal cruelty idea to Phyllis, and we immediately began digging seven little holes in the soft soil of the flower garden with our sand shovels. When the holes were all dug, we dropped a baby chick into each one and buried it up to its head.
"Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep!" was all they could do. We were delighted with our brilliant inventiveness! Their fluffy faces wore frightened looks as their eyes darted back and forth in puzzlement at their sudden paralysis. We were hysterical with laughter. Like alien yellow flowers with no stems, they were planted in the garden along side the other flowers.
After a while, our budding consciences summoned our guilt for robbing innocent creatures of their freedom. Carefully, we dug them out of their little pots, They shook briskly and tripped eagerly back to their distressed mother hen, happy to have sense back in their existence.
Phyllis and I felt noble for restoring their freedom, but nonetheless glad for having committed the crime. It gave us a wonderfully humorous memory.
On a warm summer day on the farm when I was around six years old, my five-year old sister and I were looking for something to do. With no TV, we were forced to be creative and design our own adventures. Spotting the old mother hen, followed by her seven adorable fluffy chicks, I had an unusual vision.
"Hey! I got a great idea!"
I explained my animal cruelty idea to Phyllis, and we immediately began digging seven little holes in the soft soil of the flower garden with our sand shovels. When the holes were all dug, we dropped a baby chick into each one and buried it up to its head.
"Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep!" was all they could do. We were delighted with our brilliant inventiveness! Their fluffy faces wore frightened looks as their eyes darted back and forth in puzzlement at their sudden paralysis. We were hysterical with laughter. Like alien yellow flowers with no stems, they were planted in the garden along side the other flowers.
After a while, our budding consciences summoned our guilt for robbing innocent creatures of their freedom. Carefully, we dug them out of their little pots, They shook briskly and tripped eagerly back to their distressed mother hen, happy to have sense back in their existence.
Phyllis and I felt noble for restoring their freedom, but nonetheless glad for having committed the crime. It gave us a wonderfully humorous memory.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Journal Response to Kay Lowery Junkyard Quotes #1 Week # 2
"It's like a crime scene in my pants."
I miss the monthly crime scene in my pants. Not so much the actual scene as what it represented: youth, vitality, fertility. All my eggs have hatched or were disposed of my Nature.
I need to embrace the gifts of menopause: freedom from fear of unwanted pregnancy, no cramps, no PMS, fewer mood fluctuations, no uncontrollable weird food cravings. I need to embrace wisdom gained from participating fully in the experience of life.
But I fight it every step of the way. I apply Retin-A to my face, use sunscreen daily, do yoga, cardio,
lift weights, take college classes for the joy of learning and staving off Alzheimer's disease. Hormone Replacement Therapy is my drug-of-choice. I am not ready to surrender to old age and wait for death to transport me to heaven. Heaven is here on Earth.
I miss the monthly crime scene in my pants. Not so much the actual scene as what it represented: youth, vitality, fertility. All my eggs have hatched or were disposed of my Nature.
I need to embrace the gifts of menopause: freedom from fear of unwanted pregnancy, no cramps, no PMS, fewer mood fluctuations, no uncontrollable weird food cravings. I need to embrace wisdom gained from participating fully in the experience of life.
But I fight it every step of the way. I apply Retin-A to my face, use sunscreen daily, do yoga, cardio,
lift weights, take college classes for the joy of learning and staving off Alzheimer's disease. Hormone Replacement Therapy is my drug-of-choice. I am not ready to surrender to old age and wait for death to transport me to heaven. Heaven is here on Earth.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Response to Damiyre Davis Free Entry 1 Week 1 by Beverly Smith
I can empathize with your feeling that Carrollton sucks. Having traveled to New York on three occasions, it is a thrill to experience even some of what NYC offers. Going to the top of the World Trade Center, The Empire State Building, riding the Staten Island Ferry to the Statue of Liberty, dining at Tavern on the Green and other fine restaurants, shopping on Fifth Avenue, admiring the architecture. Wow! If I could afford the real estate, I'd love to own an apartment there.
If you could experience the small rural town of Preston where I grew up, you really would be in culture shock. Mom's Kitchen is the ONLY restaurant in town. There are no hospitals, subways, museums, theaters, nor any skyscrapers. But if your father dies, the whole town turns out to pay their respects. They stand up and tell how they wish they could be just like him, a good, hard working, honest man. Everyone knew and loved him. That really means a lot.
I chose to stay in Carrollton after graduating from college. It lies somewhere along the spectrum between Preston and NYC. It has a lot more to offer now than when I was in college in the sixties: more restaurants, a cultural arts center, and easy access to Atlanta, a city with a few things to do. I hope that you will find a few good things about Carrollton someday. In the meantime, I feel your pain.
If you could experience the small rural town of Preston where I grew up, you really would be in culture shock. Mom's Kitchen is the ONLY restaurant in town. There are no hospitals, subways, museums, theaters, nor any skyscrapers. But if your father dies, the whole town turns out to pay their respects. They stand up and tell how they wish they could be just like him, a good, hard working, honest man. Everyone knew and loved him. That really means a lot.
I chose to stay in Carrollton after graduating from college. It lies somewhere along the spectrum between Preston and NYC. It has a lot more to offer now than when I was in college in the sixties: more restaurants, a cultural arts center, and easy access to Atlanta, a city with a few things to do. I hope that you will find a few good things about Carrollton someday. In the meantime, I feel your pain.
"Improv-ing/imitation Week #2
Rattlesnake
by Richard Hugo
I found him sleepy in the heat
And dust of a gopher burrow,
Coiled in loose folds upon silence
In a pit of the noonday hillside.
I saw the wedged bulge
Of the head hard as a fist,
I remembered his delicate ways:
The mouth a cat's mouth yawning.
I crushed him deep in dust,
And heard the loud seethe of life
In the dead beads of the tail
Fade, as wind fades
From the wild grain of the hill.
Spider
by Beverly Smith
I found him in my bathroom
trapped in the tub
silently climbing the walls
patiently attempting to escape.
I saw his large hard head
legs splayed out up the side.
I observed his helpless struggle,
like a baby learning to walk.
I squished him with my shoe
And felt his life crunch.
His legs curled and ceased to move.
I fished him out with a rag
And flushed him down the john.
by Richard Hugo
I found him sleepy in the heat
And dust of a gopher burrow,
Coiled in loose folds upon silence
In a pit of the noonday hillside.
I saw the wedged bulge
Of the head hard as a fist,
I remembered his delicate ways:
The mouth a cat's mouth yawning.
I crushed him deep in dust,
And heard the loud seethe of life
In the dead beads of the tail
Fade, as wind fades
From the wild grain of the hill.
Spider
by Beverly Smith
I found him in my bathroom
trapped in the tub
silently climbing the walls
patiently attempting to escape.
I saw his large hard head
legs splayed out up the side.
I observed his helpless struggle,
like a baby learning to walk.
I squished him with my shoe
And felt his life crunch.
His legs curled and ceased to move.
I fished him out with a rag
And flushed him down the john.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Junkyard Quote #4 Week #2
"Clitoris. Holy crap. I had those two completely confused.
Wait. Clit-o-ris? Oh. Clit. Oh! Clit! All hidden under that tubey skin thing. I'd always wondered. Nerve bundles, stimulation. Behold, the "special place." Behold, the orgasm button! Dammit, why didn't they bother to mention that in health? That would've been kinda freaking helpful."
----Excerpt from Until He Comes by K. Dawn Goodwin
Wait. Clit-o-ris? Oh. Clit. Oh! Clit! All hidden under that tubey skin thing. I'd always wondered. Nerve bundles, stimulation. Behold, the "special place." Behold, the orgasm button! Dammit, why didn't they bother to mention that in health? That would've been kinda freaking helpful."
----Excerpt from Until He Comes by K. Dawn Goodwin
Junkyard Quote #3 Week 2
"I apostrophize you with joyous felicitations and look forward to seeing you tomorrow."
---line in an email from a special friend
---line in an email from a special friend
Reading Response Week #2
January 26, 2012
"Next Door" by Tobias Wolff
My first reaction is that it is sad to have to live so close to neighbors that you can have little privacy or peace. It isn't as if they want to spy. The loud yelling is difficult to ignore. Their own world is invaded by the nightmare occurring next door. Most of my empathy is for the dog and the baby who is forced to grow up in all this dysfunction.
I am repulsed by the crudeness of this man who urinates on his neighbors' flowers. I find Wolff's comparisons of body parts to geography interesting and unusual.
I wonder how the couple would spend their time better if not for the intrusive drama playing out next door. When the wife crawled into bed with her husband, I wonder why she was unwilling to have sex when her husband became aroused. Is she bored with their love life, or is she really just too tired? Does she long for more drama in their lives? Is she subconsciously envious of the passionate sexual encounter she observed the neighbors having in the kitchen? Could she be jealous, or is she just repulsed that the woman would respond to such a crude man?
Instead of just watching TV and falling asleep next to her husband, I wish she had been more empathetic. What if she had just allowed her husband to explore her geography and let herself to become aroused? Wouldn't even empathy sex have helped strengthen their bond? If their relationship were stronger, would it not be easier to ignore the drama next door?
"Next Door" by Tobias Wolff
My first reaction is that it is sad to have to live so close to neighbors that you can have little privacy or peace. It isn't as if they want to spy. The loud yelling is difficult to ignore. Their own world is invaded by the nightmare occurring next door. Most of my empathy is for the dog and the baby who is forced to grow up in all this dysfunction.
I am repulsed by the crudeness of this man who urinates on his neighbors' flowers. I find Wolff's comparisons of body parts to geography interesting and unusual.
I wonder how the couple would spend their time better if not for the intrusive drama playing out next door. When the wife crawled into bed with her husband, I wonder why she was unwilling to have sex when her husband became aroused. Is she bored with their love life, or is she really just too tired? Does she long for more drama in their lives? Is she subconsciously envious of the passionate sexual encounter she observed the neighbors having in the kitchen? Could she be jealous, or is she just repulsed that the woman would respond to such a crude man?
Instead of just watching TV and falling asleep next to her husband, I wish she had been more empathetic. What if she had just allowed her husband to explore her geography and let herself to become aroused? Wouldn't even empathy sex have helped strengthen their bond? If their relationship were stronger, would it not be easier to ignore the drama next door?
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Make-up Work Junkyard Quote #2 Week #1
Jan. 25, 2012
Something I said to my personal trainer:
"It's not that I really LOVE chocolate. I use it only for medicinal purposes!"
Something I said to my personal trainer:
"It's not that I really LOVE chocolate. I use it only for medicinal purposes!"
Make-up work Junkyard Quote #1 Week # 1
Jan. 25, 2012
Words spoken to me by personal trainer
"You people all have snakes in your heads. If you people didn't have such beautiful asses, we wouldn't even bother with you."
Words spoken to me by personal trainer
"You people all have snakes in your heads. If you people didn't have such beautiful asses, we wouldn't even bother with you."
January 25, 2012 Junkyard Quote #2 Week #2
Words spoken by country Baptist preacher at funeral
"I promised Beverly that I wouldn't say anything about her going possum hunting or eating possum and sweet potatoes, so I'm not even going to mention it."
"I promised Beverly that I wouldn't say anything about her going possum hunting or eating possum and sweet potatoes, so I'm not even going to mention it."
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Calisthenics #1 Week #2
I am hoeing and pulling weeds in a peanut field because my father was afraid he couldn't pass trigonometry to get into the pilot training program in the Army Air Corps. I continue down another long row carrying my favorite light-weight hoe. Thank God, the hot July day is hazy, with cumulus clouds continually drifting and covering the blazing sun. I picture rich bitch Lynn lying on the quartz-white sands of Panama City Beach.
From ahead on his row, Daddy reminds me to be sure to get all the roots of the gigantic coffee weed that dared to shoot toward the sun on my row. Obligingly, I squat and grab the dirty stem low near the roots. I slowly wiggle it from the soil to keep it from snapping off and leaving roots that would have to be extricated with the hoe.
"Look, Daddy! I got it all!" I hold the intact plant up for his inspection and approval.
"Good work. You're learning."
I pull the plastic baggie from the top of my two-piece bathing suit and take out the wet wash cloth. I scrub the rain-splattered dirt clinging to the stem from my hands.
"Look at the princess! Too good for a little dirt!" my sister Phyllis shouts for all to hear.
"Shut up! The dirt on your hands will get so embedded your hands'll be stained forever. No one will ever ask you for a date with those filthy hands!"
I think of Lynn again and wish I could wash my hands in the saline-rich waters of the Gulf. My consolation prize is the "tanfastic" solar glow that will be mine. Thanks to the gift of melanin-rich skin from my Cherokee Indian great-grandmother, Susan Birdsong, I tan easily and rarely burn. I picture Lynn, her fair skin screaming with a painful red sunburn. Not that I'm sadistic, but I'm glad that I"ll have a tan, and not just the three dollars, for my hard labor in the field.
When the sun finally drops behind the oaks and pine trees, we hoist ourselves into the back of the pick-up for the short ride home. I go into the bathroom immediately upon arrival and strip off my bathing suit. I survey my svelte 15-year old body in the full-length mirror and decide that my beautiful tan lines just might be worth all the agony of the day.
I shower, eat supper, and fall into bed. It takes a long time to fall asleep because the constant chopping of the hoes is too loud in my sun-baked brain to allow sleep. My last thought, before succumbing to sleep, is that I probably had been very close to dying from a heat stroke.
Calisthenics #1 Week #2
I am hoeing and pulling weeds in a peanut field because my father was afraid he couldn't pass trigonometry to get into the pilot training program in the Army Air Corps. I continue down another long row carrying my favorite light-weight hoe. Thank God, the hot July day is hazy, with cumulus clouds continually drifting and covering the blazing sun. I picture rich bitch Lynn lying on the quartz-white sands of Panama City Beach.
From ahead on his row, Daddy reminds me to be sure to get all the roots of the gigantic coffee weed that dared to shoot toward the sun on my row. Obligingly, I squat and grab the dirty stem low near the roots. I slowly wiggle it from the soil to keep it from snapping off and leaving roots that would have to be extricated with the hoe.
"Look, Daddy! I got it all!" I hold the intact plant up for his inspection and approval.
"Good work. You're learning."
I pull the plastic baggie from the top of my two-piece bathing suit and take out the wet wash cloth. I scrub the rain-splattered dirt clinging to the stem from my hands.
"Look at the princess! Too good for a little dirt!" my sister Phyllis shouts for all to hear.
"Shut up! The dirt on your hands will get so embedded your hands'll be stained forever. No one will ever ask you for a date with those filthy hands!"
I think of Lynn again and wish I could wash my hands in the saline-rich waters of the Gulf. My consolation prize is the "tanfastic" solar glow that will be mine. Thanks to the gift of melanin-rich skin from my Cherokee Indian great-grandmother, Susan Birdsong, I tan easily and rarely burn. I picture Lynn, her fair skin screaming with a painful red sunburn. Not that I'm sadistic, but I'm glad that I"ll have a tan, and not just the three dollars, for my hard labor in the field.
When the sun finally drops behind the oaks and pine trees, we hoist ourselves into the back of the pick-up for the short ride home. I go into the bathroom immediately upon arrival and strip off my bathing suit. I survey my svelte 15-year old body in the full-length mirror and decide that my beautiful tan lines just might be worth all the agony of the day.
I shower, eat supper, and fall into bed. It takes a long time to fall asleep because the constant chopping of the hoes is too loud in my sun-baked brain to allow sleep. My last thought, before succumbing to sleep, is that I probably had been very close to dying from a heat stroke.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
I think I did it!
Not sure, but I think I just created my first blog. I don't know if the class can access it or not, but I truly hope so. You students who are young enough to be my grandchildren cannot believe how difficult this is for me. This is one of the biggest stretches of my life.
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