Month: April 2019

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My Brain Says Odd Things

Bow Tie o’ the Day is proud to show off its circuitry. Hat o’ the Day reminds me I haven’t yet posted my initial impression of Tucson. When we drove away from the Tucson airport, and we could get a clear view of Tucson for the first time, I told Suzanne it looked almost like Albuquerque– where we had visited a few months before. Except, of course, Tucson has a whole lotta cacTIE. I immediately renamed the city– and will forever refer to it as– CACTUSQUERQUE.

I have never understood how my mind does that. Sometimes my brain moves at a pace I can barely keep up with– even when I’m not manic. I don’t think it has anything to do with my being bipolar. (Stay tuned for interesting, bigly news about a new thing I’ll be trying, in order to tame my rapid-cycling bipolar-ness.) My mind has always functioned like this. It cuts to the validity of what someone says, and/or it cuts to the joke. The perspective that humor can provide often shows a truth we otherwise couldn’t see.

For the past few years, I haven’t been writing many “new” poems. Instead, I have been combing through my notebooks– forming poems out of ideas, snippets, lines, and whatever I can mine from my basically indecipherable handwriting. I have spent the bulk of my time editing. I’m working to form sense and poetry out of what I wrote over the last decade. Sometimes, it isn’t pretty. It requires going back to what was happening when I scribbled these bits and pieces of language. That can be painful. Sometimes it can be exhilarating. One thing is for sure: Going back to those memories, from the perspective of where I am now, is always enlightening.

Looking at things I wrote long ago can also be mystifying. When I sat down at my desk this morning, I picked up a notebook and found some weird tidbits. Here are a handful of examples of the notes I discovered today:

“I ordered a tiara, so I can explore my princess side.” I have never ordered a tiara in my life. What could this sentence possibly mean? It is funny though.

“I never meant for that to NOT happen.” We could all make a list of things we tried to make happen, but couldn’t.

“Be angry when necessary– but always without carrying resentment.” That’s got some wisdom to it.

“My Tobasco heart” I’m thoroughly stumped about what I was thinking when I wrote this phrase.

“It’s a desert thing./ You have to be there/ In a truck,/ To get your clue/ That leads you to/ Your ghost/ Of many colors.” Puzzling, but I like it. I can probably turn it into a decent poem.

“Is there a patron saint of bipolar?” Must have been a particularly bad day.

“Scrabble and scrapple are not cousins.” WTFudge????

See. Strange. I told you so. I have my editing work cut out for me.

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I’m A Home Potato

It’s not an issue of codependence. It’s not that I can’t handle being in my own company. It is not that I can’t fill up my time with my own whims o’ plenty. But when Suzanne is out of town, I’m not quite totally “home”– even in my own house. Even while wearing Tie o’ the Day, I feel a kind of homesickness when I’m a bachelorette for a day or so. I walk around the entire time checking my pockets, looking through my notes, and generally feeling like I’m forgetting something significant. It happens every damn time Suzanne ventures off. The feeling is slightly irritating. It’s like a ghost pain. But I sort of like it. I know it will go away. I’ll find what I’m missing, as soon as Suzanne flies back to SLC International Airport Wednesday afternoon.

The last two years before Suzanne and I sold the Delta house, I spent most of my time alone there in Delta hanging with Mom. Suzanne spent time there when she could. At times when I was there alone, I felt like I wasn’t even wearing my own skin. I didn’t feel like my authentic self without Suzanne around to participate in my antics, or call me on my whatever-I-need-to-be-called-on. That was in my hometown, on my “home block,” in the midst of my family– next door to my mother. With all that homey-ness, I still wasn’t exactly ME. Not without my superior half.

Oh, I know who I am and how I am. I can more than competently take care of myself. I’m perfectly content with my own thoughts and games. I’m an independent gal. I don’t pout, or weep, or wail, or moan, or gnash my teeth. In fact, I don’t have a clue what it means to gnash one’s teeth. How exactly does one do that? It’s just that my inner GPS is a bit skiwampus when I’m on my own. I don’t really worry about it though. That little off-kilter feeling I feel when I’m on my own is what lets me know I’m creating a life and home with the right person. I’ll feel at home and on-kilter again when I pick up Suzanne and her bags at the airport Wednesday.

And then, that evening we will be feeling at home together at the P!NK concert in SLC. I’ve already packed my earplugs in my saddle purse for the bigly event.

BTW In keeping with the “home” theme of this post, I wanted my selfie to show me wearing a tie or bow tie showcasing a “home.” I discovered I don’t own a piece of “home” neckwear, so I’m wearing a “gnome” tie. At least the words rhyme.

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That Good Ol’ Middle Finger

These pix are re-posted from a couple of years ago, but I just had to use them again because of what happened to me early this morning.

This is my version of the “old man in the hat” driver. (At least, here he has a Tie o’ the Day.) You know the guy I’m talking about. He’s the old guy who drives a car larger than a barge. He’s the guy who isn’t quite sure where he’s driving. He’s the guy right in front you, but you can’t pass him cuz he can’t decide which lane he needs to be in, so he’s gliding from one lane to the other. Either his blinker is constantly on, or he doesn’t use a blinker at all. He brakes hard, and often, on the freeway for no apparent reason. At least he drives at a crawl so if he does hit someone his car can’t do too much damage. His creeping driving does not, however, keep wrecks from happening around him when drivers become afraid and disoriented while trying to decipher what he’ll do next.

I was reminded of the guy this morning as I was driving home from the airport after dropping Suzanne off for a flight to Portland. (Nope, I didn’t hitch a ride on the plane this time. Too short a trip.) I was driving home on Legacy Parkway, and I spied the bigly electronic, traffic message signs. Unless there’s a catastrophe on the road ahead, the signs usually display a catchy safe-driving message. This morning’s was timely. It said, APRIL FOOLS’ DAY PRANK: DRIVE THE SPEED LIMIT FOR ONCE.

I’ve done a ton of driving in a ton of places, and I have learned one thing is consistent: If you drive the speed limit, people will flip you off. The speed limit is considered too slow everywhere you go. It never fails. But after I saw the sign this morning, I decided I should try doing it again, just to see if drivers have become kinder and gentler recently. Nope. I got flipped off twice. And I got a dirty look from a cop.