UNEMPLOYMENT

UNEMPLOYMENT SUCKS

NO MONEY, NO PLACE TO GO
HAVE THE PINK SLIP BLUES


Well, that's pretty clear.

Enjoy the picture.

No drinking or drugs

Condemned to spend each moment
completely aware

At a family dinner recently, my son-in-law mentioned how loopy he felt when he had to take Vicoden after the removal of some wisdom teeth. I realized that I had never had the experience common to the use of pot, or Vicoden, or other drugs. [Despite having grown up in the 60's and going to college then too, I have never tried pot or any other illegal drug. I don't smoke nor do I drink. (can't stand the taste of alcohol). Been in my right mind for my whole life.]

I don't mean to say that I haven't ever had to take a controlled substance/pain killer. Believe me, after 12+ surgeries and a bunch of other little things, I've had the 'opportunity' to sample some of the best modern medicine has to offer.

The first time I had Demerol (shoulder tumor removed) it made me loopy. After than, each time I got Demerol (generally before each surgery), nothing. It calmed me down a bit until I began to be wheeled into surgery. Wide awake!

I was given Morphine for the week or so after my near spleen surgery and death experience: Ha! it knocked me out for the first 3 days, dulled the pain and then made me dizzy and sick to my stomach after that.

Verset--don't make me laugh. First time I had it (to pop my foot back after dislocating it while I broke 5 bones in my ankle), well I can clearly remember how many hands were on my leg/foot and what was said. And how much it hurt. Really, really hurt. My last cataract surgery I got 3 doses of it, with the last one in mid surgery, the doctor told them to give me another dose--I tend to ask a lot of questions when someone has needles and stuff near my eyes.

Then there is Vicoden. (The one Dr. House is addicted to.) I've been prescribed it on more than one occasion, for more than one knee surgery, root canal etc. I take it and wait for the loopiness to begin. And nothing. Vicoden just takes the edge of the pain, and sometimes, just barely. I have never finished a prescription of it because after a few days, it's no better than glorified tylenol.

I recently had a cut, a deep painful cut, and after cleaning it out, smearing it with the appropriate goo and bandaging it, I could not find the tylenol. But I did find one lone Vicoden from the recent knee surgery. So I took it. Of course I knew the pain from the cut would subside before the drug kicks in (in the past that would be 20-40 minutes for me). I was curious to finally experience that loopy feeling.

So I waited. And waited. 10 minutes. 20 minutes. 30 minutes. 1 hour. Nothing.

Nada, nil, zip, zilch. Nothing. The pain from the cut was gone. And. That. Was. That.

The upshot, and reason for the haiku is that I have become resigned to the idea that this is it. No time-outs in la-la land. Oh well.

End of the baseball year, 1969

GO CUBS GO, WE SING
INEVITABLY GAME ENDS
WAIT UNTIL NEXT YEAR

40 years ago around this time, I was in high school. Junior year I think. It was a beautiful late summer day, and the Cubs were playing just a few blocks up Clark from my high school. (St. Sebastian's, long closed. My doctor's office is on the site. But that's another story.)

About noon, after lunch, my stomach began to "hurt." So of course, I went to the principal's office. (It was a small school of 140 or so girls. No nurse. Any problem and you saw the principal. No vice principals, or deans or whoever.)

It was a little dance we did in September. A nice day, the Cubs at home and I would begin to feel "ill." Far too ill to stay in school. So I would go to her and say I had to leave as I wasn't feeling well.

Sister would ask: "What was wrong.?"

"I don't feel well."

"Are you caught up for today?"

"Yes, Sister"

"Can you make up the work you'll miss?"

"Already have Sister"

"Is your homework done?"

"Yes, Sister. I've finished all my homework for the week"

"Ok, you may leave school early."

I'd turn to go, and she'd finish with: "Enjoy the game."

(To be honest, Sister Principal cut me a lot of slack as I was bringing in top scores in national tests and would be one of the first college bound students from a business prep school. I was her pet.)(Back to that day.)

And inevitably, I'd be so "disoriented" by my "illness" that instead of getting on a southbound Halsted bus, I'd find myself, somehow, on a northbound Clark street bus. Of course when I realized I was on the wrong bus, I got off. At Addison. And Clark.


Feeling far too sick to go any further, I looked for a place to sit and rest. And what do you know? Wrigley Field was right there! And although the game would be beginning in about 30 minutes, I thought I would just go in and rest awhile.

And on this particular day, that is how I found myself at Wrigley Field for the game between the Mets and the Cubs that would determine who went on to post season play. If I remember correctly, it was the last day of the season, but I was so "sick" that day, my memory might be off.

So I got a seat, and sat down for awhile. Got a hot dog and a coke, and felt better, but since I was here......and it was a very important game.....and I wanted to be there when the Cubs won and went into post season play.........

Do I need to state the obvious (besides I hate the Mets)? After the game ended, I just didn't know what to do with myself. That sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach had returned. (Evil, vile, Mets.) The only thing I could think to do was to leave.

But being so addled by the crushing disappointment and disoriented by my "illness", I found my self jumping over the wall and on to the field. Well, I knew I had to get out of there. I couldn't climb back over the wall. I didn't know where the door was to get back into the stands, or if there even was one. So I did the next most logical thing.

I ran to home base.

(C'mon, you know you would have done the same.)

Once there, I looked around and figured, so far, so good. No security was after me. [To be fair, I was one of maybe a couple of hundred other fans.] Tried to think, but my feet began moving and I found that I had run to first base. Then to second. I stopped and looked around: still no security, so on to third base. And there it was: home plate ahead of me. Mere yards to go. And......

You guessed it.

Security. "Everyone off the field!" They began herding us towards the eastern doors. I knew this was my last chance. I would never be able to circle the bases in my beloved ivy covered summer home. In a split second, I decided. I shot out behind the guard and made a beeline for home base.

If you know me, you can guess how this ends. Some big burly guard sweeping a 16 year old girl up and shoving her towards the exit.

Well, there was a big burly guard. But he must have remembered his own youthful dreams, because he looked the other way until I made it to home base, scooped up some dirt and threw it in my pocket. Then he came up to me and quietly said that I had to leave and pointed out the door.

I went. But I went with the biggest grin on my face and a pocketful of dirt. I don't think my feet even touched the ground.

To Sister Principal, thank you, May God rest her soul.

To whomever that guard was, thank you.

BRAVERY IN WATER

BACK AGAINST THE COMING WAVE
BRACES FOR IMPACT

Remember when you were younger, and you'd go to the beach with really high waves. Just short of the big waves that would make the life guards shoo you out of the water. And you and your best friend would stand there, maybe knee deep and the waves would come up to your neck or even sometimes over your head. You both would brace yourselves against the coming waves and see who could stand the longest before being knocked over?

Driving along the lakefront the other days, I saw big, gigantic waves, full of foam and excitement, splashing up over the rocks. The scene reminded me of how much fun I had standing against the waves, getting completely drenched, getting pushed around by the lake and that good achy feeling that came later letting me know that I had had a GREAT day.

I also thought about suggesting to my husband that we go to the beach later, after our errands, and enjoy the waves and the water. I really wanted to be that carefree again.

Then I shifted in my seat, and my bum knee twinged. I moved to ease that and felt my back ache just a little. And my foot. And my shoulder. And I remembered I was 10 anymore. So I took my aging body home, picked up my knitting and fell into my evening routine.

But -- that night in the semi-twilight before falling asleep, I swear I heard the waves, felt the spray and saw my best friend fall down just a second before the wave got me too.

DON 'T GO OUT AT DUSK
EACH ACTION HAS CONSEQUENCE
A THOUSAND BUG BITES

Well, this one has been floating around my head since a trip up to Zion to watch a meteor shower. Didn't see many meteors.

Did see the sun come up. Awesome colors! It's the only place where purples and oranges compliment each other beautifully. The photo I took during the sunrise.

Didn't see many bugs. But my arms and legs are proof that they were there.

ON THE AUGUST BEACH
BREAD, SALAMI, SUN COOKED
COATED IN WARM SAND

w
hen I was younger, during summer vacation, my mom and the neighbor ladies would pile all their kids onto the #76 Diversey bus and head down to Fullerton Beach. Sometimes there'd be 10 kids, our 4, the G's 3, the H's 4 or 5. I can imagine the bus driver must have loved seeing us all at the bus stop.


At that time the #76 ran all the way to Fullerton, and probably past it, but I don't really remember. We'd get off by the conservatory and walk the block or two to the lake. Never ever could we decamp in the first section, and if there was a day camp in the next section, we moved further down til we were in a relatively uncrowded section of the beach.


[For those unfamiliar with Chicago beaches, there are piers that occur at regular intervals and separate the beaches into sections.]


We never ever bought lunch at the concession stand. Far too expensive. The moms would have made sandwiches the night before and sometimes froze them. Other times, the sandwiches would have been made that morning and moms would try to keep them in the shade. They meant well.


We'd get down there about 9 or 9:30 am. The kids would spend most of the time in the water. After all, that was what going to the lake was for. That and tossing dead alewives at each other. [But that's another story.]


Lunch would come between 11 and noon. There would be a thermos of juice or water and out came the sandwiches. Our choices were bologna, salami or liversausage, or some combination of the three. There may have been jelly sandwiches on occassion, but frankly I don't remember them.


I think my favorite had to be the salami sandwich. Even if it had been frozen the night before, the sun always melted it and by time lunch came it was nice and warm. Not toasted or fried, just warm.


And being kids and in the water, we would be covered with sand by time we got to the blanket for lunch. No matter how carefully we rinsed our hands in the lake [yes, we actually used the lake water to wash up for lunch. And we're still alive!], there would be some sand on them by time we sat down.


We'd get a spot, get as comfy as one could in a wet bathing suit on a sandy blanket and dig into the sandwich. There always seemed to be a wind off the lake that would deposit a fine layer of gritty sand on the meal.


No matter how hard we tried to cover the bread, keep it out of the wind, whatever, the sandwich would have sand on it. Eventually, the kids came to realize it was a sandy sandwich or no lunch at all.


I gotta admit, I actually came to enjoy the warm sandy salami sandwiches. I remember them fondly. I've actually warmed up a sandwich a time or two in the microwave to try to recreate that taste of my youth. But oddly enough, I've never sprinkled sand over it......


Funny how things you would never think of doing now have made such great memories.

GIGGLES WITH PIGTAILS
GLIMPSE OF A FUTURE BEAUTY
GIRL PLAYS ON A BEACH

remember when sand in your hair didn't bother you?
remember when the sun was your friend?
remember when wet clothes were all part of your "work"?
remember when summer meant fun?

don't you wish you could be like this again?

Heaven's door

BLUE MELTS INTO BLUE
A THIN LINE: SKY MEETS WATER
INDISCERNIBLE

I took this photo somewhere on the shore of Lake Superior between Ontonogen and Porcupine State Park. It was where one of the innumerable rivers flowed into Lake Superior. The photo does not do it justice.

The only sound there was of gentle waves and birds. There were no sounds of cars, or trucks or kids on bikes or sirens. There was no one else around but my vacation companions who also seemed to be taken in by the beauty of the site. It was unearthly beautiful. I hope that this is what the entrance to heaven must look like.

DROPS SETTLE ON LEAVES
SSSSSSSSS....CHECKATA, CHECKATA...................
MAN MADE RAIN FALLS SOFT

It's hot today. Like a regular July day. Went up north a few suburbs to meet a friend for lunch, and took the scenic way up, driving through neighborhoods of big houses and even bigger lawns. And with big lawns, or small lawns, in the July heat, comes a wonderful sound--the sprinkler. The ones that spray the yard in an arc, and then notch the way back to the starting point before spraying another arc of mist. Kinda like: "chekata, chekata, chekata, sssssss......" A wonderful rhythmic song for July.

In the city, where I live, the houses so close that the spray often waters not only the yard, but the sidewalk too. There are a lot of folks who find this a nuisance. I can see how that might be if they're dressed in business attire, or are carrying papers or groceries. Then the chekata, chekata, chekata, becomes a grown up counting song, helping them to time their passage of the sprinkler so they won't get wet. Of course, the shoes have to go on wet pavement, but that's doable. Sandals......well this usually means means a detour onto the parkway or into the street to avoid the drops.

When I hear the sound though, I find myself looking to see where the sprinkler is set up. My inner child often takes over and like kids everywhere, I deliberately walk through it. Sometimes even going out of my way to do it. I get wet, and that first bit of cold water can be a tad uncomfortable (read surprising). But what a wonderful thing it becomes. Not only does a sprinkler cool me off and bring a little relief from the heat (and as anyone who knows me knows at this time of my life I'm always hot!), but for those few blissful seconds, all the pressures and questions and cares that clutter my life melt away, and I'm 7 years old again, not a care in the world, and living gleefully in the moment.

Isn't it wonderful?

DROPS SETTLE ON LEAVES
SSSSSSSSS....CHECKATA, CHECKATA...................
MAN MADE RAIN FALLS SOFT

a simple intro to haiku

I had a wonderful creative writing teacher in high school, some, (mumble, mumble) years ago. Her name was Sr. Marie Emmanuel, and she taught me at St. Sebastian in Chicago. Of course, like a lot of things from my past, Sebastian's is gone now, tho, oddly enough, my doctors office is in the same place.

(Just an aside, do you know how weird it is to being laying on the exam table, in stirrups, waiting for the ever-so-exciting pap smear, and look out the window and see the same d#$% sight that I stared at from Religion class all those years ago??? And how creepy it is? Another example of the odd things that seem to inhabit my world.)

Anyhow, Sister loved poetry. Especially Gerald Manly Hopkins and Haikus. Go figure. Though she did have her Doctorate in Poetry from what I recall. Motivated by a little hero worship of Sister, (she was one of the MAJOR influences on my life) I delved into his work a little more after I grew up. (Around 35 years old, I was) I came to appreciate Hopkins work.

I also wanted to write poetry. But, as much as I admire GMH's works, being, well, lazy, I decided to write haikus rather than emulate his work. (I did mention "lazy" right?)

Well, I wound up writing poetry most of my life, and have kept a lot of it. As with everything else in the universe, 95% of it is crap. But it's my crap....A few years back, I decided to see if I could master the art of haiku. Read up on it and realized what an idiot I am. (No surprise to anyone.)

I find it takes discipline to write the haiku, and to keep it as close as I can to the original intent. What most of us learn in school is the 5/7/5 syllable form and take it from there. But after some investigation, I've picked up a little more than the basics.

It should be about nature. Now I've got a book on traffic haiku, and redneck haiku. But that's more fun stuff. And although I occasionally do write a few non-traditional ones, (my Cubbies),
I like to stick to ones that are closer to the original intent.

Well, if you're still with me, here is stuff I've picked up along the way.
Oh, and one or two quick things:

1. Sr. Emmanuel loved to comment on my creative spelling and use of words. Why change a good thing?

2. The arthritis in my hands, specifically the little fingers, really really makes hitting the shift key a pain in the arse, so I've found that my use of capital letters is pretty much hit and miss.

2.98765. I'd say correct me if you want to. but constructive criticism (?) is not as much fun as you would think, so any "constructive" corrections might be stored in a virtual circular file.


NOW for some things i've learned

• Use concrete images
• Stay away from adverbs and adjectives if possible unless they evoke a sight, smell, touch, sound or taste. for example: 'Lovely' not so good. 'Long" better. the latter is quantifiable.
• Middle line contains essence of poem.
• Top and bottom lines are descriptive and together with the middle line, one of them should make complete thought. The other should be a kind of modifier for the complete thought.
• Now for the fun part: both the top and bottom lines should be able to be the line that combines with the middle to make the complete thought OR the modifier line. And this should be done in the same poem!
  

An example, using one of my own haikus:

LONG SUMMER HOURS
REMEMBERING PAST DAYS
CHESS IN THE BACK YARD

Can be heard:

I remember long summer hours playing chess in the back yard
AND
I remember playing chess in the back yard during the long summer hours.


My plan for this blog is to simply motivate me to write a little several times a week to keep the old gray matter alive and kicking. And maybe entertain or teach a little along the way.

The focus will be on poetry, mainly haikus, with other forms thrown in. And probably some self indulgent meanderings.

So check back often and do me a favor, click on an ad or two or twenty (I get paid by the click!) and I hope you enjoy my blog.

L.