a letter that turned into a poem

cornered
your pants down
while from your mouth, pain
ricochets
from the wall to the mirror to your second son to me
like khet
with the eye of horus
splitting your 84 years of shit into angry lasers


no longer will i
after 5 pm
endure the bombardment of
vodka-laced two-way tasers
killing
your anubis

growing up is hard to do

I left my 10-year old son home alone (his brother was spending the night with a friend) for about half an hour today while my friend Elise drove me to my car. For the second Friday in a row, I had managed to lock my keys in the car. For the second Friday in a row, a friend bailed me out. Never mind the hows and the whys.

Before leaving the house, I hugged him quickly, told him to practice piano while I was gone, and of course, as always, no computer. He's a good kid. I trust him. I know it is impossible for him to lie to me. He wears guilt on his face like a caricature.

But today, I heard it in his voice. After successfully retrieving my car, and feeling a newfound sense of optimism, I called to check in with Grant.

- Hey, kiddo, I just called to tell you I'm on my way home.
- Ok. Did you get the car?
- Yep. I think I'll stop by Boriello's on the way home and get us a pizza to have during the movie.
- I'd rather have Blackjack.
- Well, I'd like Boriellos's.
- Oh, well.... I guess that's ok with me. Hey, will you call me when you get there?
- Sure, Bug. Talk to you in a little bit.
- Ok, Mom. Bye!
- Bye.

Suddenly, I just knew. The way a witch knows it's Samhain. The way my grandmother knew my father. The way you know without my insulting insertion of italicized adjectives or adverbs.

I've done this before: known things. Mostly with rather exhausting consequences. But this time, it's my own child, and it feels vastly different. I am in control. I know exactly what to do.

Dial up Blackjack. Drive straight home. Don't call.

And then there's that moment when you realize that you're no longer Sally in The Cat in the Hat. You're the mother. And you want the ending to be very, very different.

He intercepted me in the only-area-in-our-westside-bungalow-that-could-vaguely-be-called-a hallway with a hug. The kind of hug that says, "Hi Mom! I'm so glad you're home," while muttering, "Oh, please, please, stop right here... please don't go any further..."

I peered over his head, into the dusk-tinted living room, to the top of the bookcase where my MacBook should be. It wasn't. In the sternest, yet calmest voice I think I have ever managed, I asked, "So, where's my computer?" He hung his head, and stepped aside. I walked straight through the living room towards the faint bluish glow of radiation, reflected on the beige carpet, the orange walls and the back of the recliner. I picked up my computer, returned it to the bookshelf, and said, "Get your shoes on and get in the car."
"Where are we going?"
"Don't ask. Just do it."

I've never seen him move so quickly to comply with an order. On the short drive to pick up our pizza, I asked him why. His pure and heartfelt confession came spilling over to me in the dark from the back seat.

Through sobs and sniffles, he related to me how his desire to play Battle for Wesnoth had led him to "disobey" me. After his story, I really wanted to say something about him not taking responsibility for his own actions! But I couldn't.

I understood.

We talked about addiction, about feeling out of control, about how awful it feels, about solutions. It's so much less threatening for a boy to talk to his mama from the back seat of a car, I think. I let him know the consequences would come later. I actually think I heard him say something like, "Yes, Mom."

He understood.

I made him give the man behind the counter our name. I made him carry the pizza. I didn't open the car door for him when he asked for my help. Once we were home and safely inside the kitchen, I looked him square in the face and said, "Here's the deal. No staying home alone for awhile; everywhere I go, you are going with me. No computer all weekend. On Monday, you can use the computer, but no Battle for Wesnoth until a date that you decide on, and I agree to. Got that?"
"Yeah."
"Good, now repeat it to me."

Which he did, accurately, to the very last word, while successfully interchanging the i's and you's. Without prompting, he went straight to his own calendar (we hung it up just a week ago), came back, and said, "January 15th. Is that ok?" I said I thought it was perfect.

- One last question, Bug.
- What?
- Do you want to tell Dad?
- Not right now.
- Ok. He'll be home in a few minutes. Let's make it like a party in here!

After that, I didn't need to tell him a thing. He put the pizza in the oven, and set the oven to 250. He put his shoes and coat away. He cleaned off the coffee table (no small feat) and laid out 3 plates. With napkins! John arrived home. Grant gave him a big hug, and asked him what he wanted to drink. After he had poured the juice and set the pizza on the coffee table, he asked us each what kind we wanted, and served it up.

The Two Towers began, the three of us snuggled up on the couch together.

It was, perhaps, an over-eager and childish attempt at atonement. Yet it was also natural and beautiful and mature. We crossed into new territory today. I can't believe I get the privilege of watching my son grow into a man.

in between reality and fantasy

I am only slightly older than the expansion of Israel and slightly younger than the invention of the video game console.

Happy Birthday to me!

Here's to the continual evolution of video games and the eventual devolution of Israel.

obsession

The other night, as my husband and I were divvying up the evening's chores, he chose the laundry and I chose the kitchen. After loading the dishwasher and wiping down the table, I came into the living room and found him playing with his English ships. He said, (immediately in his defense because I was probably giving him "that" look):

"I folded the Pirates."

I looked over at the chair, and, indeed, the clothes were neatly stacked. But it was still funny. We couldn't stop laughing. And I still chuckle when I think about it.


There's a 100-point tournament this Sunday. They've already spent hours putting their fleets together. I have to admit, it really is a pretty cool game.

another bennettism

We told the boys today. The first words out of Bennett's mouth were, "Are you going to die?" Believe it or not, I did NOT break down in tears at that point, but answered him honestly and calmly, much to my surprise.

Later that night, while we were eating dinner at Il Vicino, we were talking about the lump and the boys were asking how big it was compared to Daddy's kidney stone. When I used the word "tumor", Bennett immediately asked, "Are there dead people living in it?"

Huh?!

All of the sudden, I had this vision of a bunch of miniature zombies wandering around inside the 2 cm marble in my right boob! Which then made me think that maybe cancer cells really are the "undead" of the corporeal self.

Anyway, I tried not to laugh, because I didn't want to hurt his feelings or make him feel bad (especially after we had just made a very strong point earlier about wanting them to feel free to ask us any questions they might have).

Despite our attempts to suppress it, John and I both started chuckling, and I think one of us finally asked him what he meant. He said, "Well, dead people live in tombs, and you have a tumor ......"

When we, as adults, enter the symbolic world of the written word, sometimes we lose the music. For me, because "tomb" and "tumor" are spelled so differently, they have absolutely no connection whatsoever. For a child, language is all sound and rhyme and rhythm and feeling.

I am pretty sure, however, that he really didn't believe what he was asking (the part about dead people living in my tumor)
No, I think he actually knew that he was making a pun.
Not only that, but he was doing it to make me laugh.

I'm working on my turn undead spell. Failing that, I'll just blow the fuckers to bits. (see pic below)

about right

Thanks, Mark!

erissa with dagger and grin

erissa the younger

Which one am I?








In three days, I will sit down at a table with four friends and play my first ever Dungeons and Dragons game. Something tells me this is just a teeny, tiny bit stupid. But another part of me says, "Why the hell not? It could be really fun!" I've done many things in the past year that I have never done before, like play the flute (more on that later). I've done many things I used to do, but haven't done in a long time, like read poetry in front of an audience (more on that later as well). It's been a marvelous year of newness and resurrection. My friend Noel coined the perfect term for me: "Mid-Life Isis".

On with our story. Erissa the Younger is a cleric of Eris, goddess of chaos. Here's part of her story:

I am a nomad, a love child born of a young, impetuous love affair. My parents never lived together. Because my mother was so young and the world was in such chaos, my father and his people, the elves, took me in to raise me. But they never understood my tempestuous, impulsive nature, and I couldn’t stand their serenity. So I went to live with my mother for a while. There, too, among humans, I was not welcome, but ridiculed. I couldn’t play their games or sing their songs. I hated them all. My mother could not protect me; indeed, she had no desire to.

And so I left. I wandered. I fought in battles, on all sides, with anyone who would accept me.…. not because I believed in any cause, but because it was something to do. And kinda fun. I saw people die. I died myself, but came back to join the living. I watched the stupidity of humans time and time again as they fought to destroy or defend things that were not worth destroying or defending. I perceived the futility in all actions. I knew that death was no end.

How I became a cleric of Eris shall remain a secret. Clerics of Eris have no monasteries, no organization, no dogma. I ordained myself. I answer only to my goddess and to myself.

I live to cause chaos, in the name of Eris, not necessarily to cause pain or suffering (although that can, of course, be the outcome of a prank), but to reveal some deeper truth or absurdity, and especially to bring enlightenment to the one being pranked. Mostly, though, I do it for my own entertainment!

My only motive is to make sure that others don’t take themselves too seriously. I work to reverse the Curse of Greyface.

If I had a car, it would have a bumper sticker that says, “Bumper Sticker”.

I despise most other beings, but I love the adventurous, the foolhardy, the insane, and the outcast.

I will kiss a man simply to make another man jealous. I will tell you to go left when I really think you should go right. I will contradict myself. I will never tell you where I have been. I will fight when I should run. I will lie if it will make you miserable. Or happy.

The only thing I have to watch out for is the reaction of Eris when I (as sometimes happens) take myself too seriously.

I am a culture jamming merry prankster who adheres to most of the tenets of Discordianism.

Uh, yeah, so there………

If you want to know more about gaming as social discourse, or to see the incredibly cool homemade map of where we'll be wandering, or to read about my traveling companions, go here.

flea lice

Myanmar. China. Two good reasons to play this game. As if there weren't enough already.

I usually make it to about level 40-42, but I never play longer than about 600 grains of rice or so at a time. I like the fact that if you miss one, it will eventually come back to it so you get the chance to get it right. Tonight I learned that a proem is a preface. I like that it's the word "poem" but with an "r" in it. I'd like to write a proem for a poem.

Re: The title of this post-
Everytime I think about "Free Rice", I hear it with a Chinese accent, so it always comes into my head (no pun intended) as

"Flea Lice"

So play. Let me know what level you made it to. Tell us how many grains of rice you donated. And try not to think too much about whether or not it will all get to where it needs to go.

One last thing: it really is much more fun if you play it WITH someone!

present for john, part 2

This is The Delusion, a 10-masted glow-in-the-dark ship that we actually DID get John for his birthday.


It's all part of their latest obsession. I love to watch and listen to them play, but have absolutely no desire to try and figure out the complicated rules and strategies. It definitely falls under the guy-geek-game category, which is fine by me. On Tuesday evenings, they pack up their ships and sail downtown to Compleat Games and Hobbies to play with all the other geeky gamer guys. I can see our life savings slowly widdling away as our house becomes overrun with pirate ships!

The Delusion in its non-glowing mode: