Happy New Year
Happy New Year
Johnny wrote a stunning post about our time in Buffalo over at her blog roughly the same time I was writing this. Amazing, beautiful, generous human being, that Johnny Class.
Here's my take on the weekend.
I had J. with me for the weekend, and she had piles of homework due, so I tried to leave her alone to study while I went to visit my old friend Celia the poet-librarian. Celia and I went to library school together. Her dog Mariah, my god-dog, is now five years old. We like best doing things that involve making Mariah happy, so we settled on taking her for a walk, through an abandoned orchard out by an old closed down nunnery. We walked, we talked, and caught up a bit. I haven’t been around much lately, so it was lovely to just get some time in talking and catching up.
It was one of those so beautiful you look around for the camera moments, when you can believe in any number of gods just from the perfect slant of golden light down an apple branch. I stopped and wished I painted, wanting to engrave it on my memory. It is a gorgeous, wild place- full of deer and snakes and this time of year, fallen apples and people walking. Perfect late afternoon autumn light, smell of apples in the still green grass, the dog romping into puddles and out again.
I then went home, rescued J. from studying, and we hung out with Cyd and the kids. Rowan now knows how to say pumpkin- well, she says it 'bum-kin'. And she is at the stage where saying hello and goodbye are very important, so whenever she hears anybody move the gate
and walk down the front stairs to the door, she runs over, yells "Bye! Bye!" and blows kisses. She's into kissing everything now- the old, loud cat Zoe (Rowan calls her Floey) the ArtVoice as I was reading it, and so on. She can name every dog in the neighborhood, and
more- she can identify them by their bark. Her first word in the morning is 'doggie' or 'puppy', or the names of the dogs she knows, in order- 'Wiley, Ozzie, Sake, doggie, puppy, owoooo!' J. taught her how to howl after saying the list, so now she has to say all of it. She's also mastered Johnny's name, and runs around the house "Johnny! Johnny!"
I am still Za. I taught he how to throw her hands above her head and cheer Huzzah! But sadly, that's my name- she throws up her hands and yells Za! when she sees me. I like the clapping after, though.
So we played with the kids- watched them, Morgan and Finn and Rowan and Jack-Jack and Eliza, as Cyd snuck out to get her haircut. This was Saturday.
Then more studying, once Cyd got home and took over.
We retreated upstairs, she read her Autobiography of Malcolm X., I read a bad Michener novel I'm suffering through. Eventually I made dinner. We studied more.
Then there was quiet...the kids went to bed. Then there was noise- I went downstairs, and Tank, a little black mix dog I know met me and wagged her tail, expecting me to go find a flashlight. I always play her favorite game with her. She chases a flashlight like a
cat. I said, "Hello, Tank! If you are here, Phoenix
must be."
Phoenix being her human.
Phoenix is a voluptuous woman with bright orange hair, who wears mostly orange. And there she was- at the kitchen table with Cyd and Rebecca, drinking port and red wine, making boats for the Samhain ritual, the voyage to the island of the dead. The remembrance for all people who have passed in the previous year, as Samhain is the New Year. Cyd leads the ritual every year, and we go down to the lake in Delaware Park, put small candles in the
boats, and launch them.
They were having a heck of a time folding the paper boats. So J. and I sat down, and helped them. J. did the helping, being both dextrous and helpful. I'm crap at making the boats. J. tore the ArtVoice into paper squares easier to fold, the other three women drank wine and made boats, I hung out. Neither wine nor boats for me. I'd been waltzing with a headache for three days, stress over job related nonsense.
So we sat, and got sillier, and got to hang out with the women and laugh and have some Samhain time, as J. wasn't going to be here for any of the celebrations- she had class Monday.
It was near midnight, so we called it a day. She'd done some good studying, and I promised her that I'd make her read the History of Sexuality article on
Sunday.
Sunday, we slept in, well, she did. I haven't been sleeping much, so I got up, did laundry, paced, and she woke up and came down, got the baby on her hip, and found me. I made omlettes. We talked.
Gorgeous day, pure sunshine through the trees, and the family all went apple picking. We were alone in the house. I was supposed to make her read her Foucault
article. We just kind of said forget it, and ran back upstairs and made good use of the house to ourselves, and a shaft of sunlight on the bed.
However, at 3 we were due at the teahouse to hear Kastle Brill read some poetry, in an event Celia had organized. I'd told Celia we were coming.
So we got out of bed at five to three, slapped clothes together, ran off to the teahouse, and made the poetry reading. We had steamed dumplings and a pot of green tea, commemorating our
first real date, a year and four months ago. When she'd come to meet me, to spend the weekend, she'd gotten in to town late late Friday night- and we finally got out of bed late Saturday, to go meet Celia at the teahouse. I felt the same stunned joy at being alive last Sunday that I did on our first afternoon.
Celia was the first person outside of Cyd and family I introduced J. to, as my lover, and the
teahouse was our first outing. So it was a nice echo of that first afternoon. Heard Kastle read, and she was stunning.
Kate, Margaret Smith's daughter, turns 30 and is having a huge drag show/party next weekend, so I told Kastle we'd see her there.
Ok, no Foucault is getting read. We go home, we pack,
and drive back to Toronto- its Sunday.
Then I drove back to Buffalo for work on Monday, wasted more hours of time than I knew I had, and was off again, to run over to Stormand April's to hand out candy for Halloween, andstayed to hang out after. Jet is back in town, and itwas great to see them. I'd missed the pumpkin carvingthe night before, I'd been in Toronto, and that's a tradition I don't like to miss. Now I am here at work, wondering why I never sleep.
Johnny wrote a stunning post about our time in Buffalo over at her blog roughly the same time I was writing this. Amazing, beautiful, generous human being, that Johnny Class.
Here's my take on the weekend.
I had J. with me for the weekend, and she had piles of homework due, so I tried to leave her alone to study while I went to visit my old friend Celia the poet-librarian. Celia and I went to library school together. Her dog Mariah, my god-dog, is now five years old. We like best doing things that involve making Mariah happy, so we settled on taking her for a walk, through an abandoned orchard out by an old closed down nunnery. We walked, we talked, and caught up a bit. I haven’t been around much lately, so it was lovely to just get some time in talking and catching up.
It was one of those so beautiful you look around for the camera moments, when you can believe in any number of gods just from the perfect slant of golden light down an apple branch. I stopped and wished I painted, wanting to engrave it on my memory. It is a gorgeous, wild place- full of deer and snakes and this time of year, fallen apples and people walking. Perfect late afternoon autumn light, smell of apples in the still green grass, the dog romping into puddles and out again.
I then went home, rescued J. from studying, and we hung out with Cyd and the kids. Rowan now knows how to say pumpkin- well, she says it 'bum-kin'. And she is at the stage where saying hello and goodbye are very important, so whenever she hears anybody move the gate
and walk down the front stairs to the door, she runs over, yells "Bye! Bye!" and blows kisses. She's into kissing everything now- the old, loud cat Zoe (Rowan calls her Floey) the ArtVoice as I was reading it, and so on. She can name every dog in the neighborhood, and
more- she can identify them by their bark. Her first word in the morning is 'doggie' or 'puppy', or the names of the dogs she knows, in order- 'Wiley, Ozzie, Sake, doggie, puppy, owoooo!' J. taught her how to howl after saying the list, so now she has to say all of it. She's also mastered Johnny's name, and runs around the house "Johnny! Johnny!"
I am still Za. I taught he how to throw her hands above her head and cheer Huzzah! But sadly, that's my name- she throws up her hands and yells Za! when she sees me. I like the clapping after, though.
So we played with the kids- watched them, Morgan and Finn and Rowan and Jack-Jack and Eliza, as Cyd snuck out to get her haircut. This was Saturday.
Then more studying, once Cyd got home and took over.
We retreated upstairs, she read her Autobiography of Malcolm X., I read a bad Michener novel I'm suffering through. Eventually I made dinner. We studied more.
Then there was quiet...the kids went to bed. Then there was noise- I went downstairs, and Tank, a little black mix dog I know met me and wagged her tail, expecting me to go find a flashlight. I always play her favorite game with her. She chases a flashlight like a
cat. I said, "Hello, Tank! If you are here, Phoenix
must be."
Phoenix being her human.
Phoenix is a voluptuous woman with bright orange hair, who wears mostly orange. And there she was- at the kitchen table with Cyd and Rebecca, drinking port and red wine, making boats for the Samhain ritual, the voyage to the island of the dead. The remembrance for all people who have passed in the previous year, as Samhain is the New Year. Cyd leads the ritual every year, and we go down to the lake in Delaware Park, put small candles in the
boats, and launch them.
They were having a heck of a time folding the paper boats. So J. and I sat down, and helped them. J. did the helping, being both dextrous and helpful. I'm crap at making the boats. J. tore the ArtVoice into paper squares easier to fold, the other three women drank wine and made boats, I hung out. Neither wine nor boats for me. I'd been waltzing with a headache for three days, stress over job related nonsense.
So we sat, and got sillier, and got to hang out with the women and laugh and have some Samhain time, as J. wasn't going to be here for any of the celebrations- she had class Monday.
It was near midnight, so we called it a day. She'd done some good studying, and I promised her that I'd make her read the History of Sexuality article on
Sunday.
Sunday, we slept in, well, she did. I haven't been sleeping much, so I got up, did laundry, paced, and she woke up and came down, got the baby on her hip, and found me. I made omlettes. We talked.
Gorgeous day, pure sunshine through the trees, and the family all went apple picking. We were alone in the house. I was supposed to make her read her Foucault
article. We just kind of said forget it, and ran back upstairs and made good use of the house to ourselves, and a shaft of sunlight on the bed.
However, at 3 we were due at the teahouse to hear Kastle Brill read some poetry, in an event Celia had organized. I'd told Celia we were coming.
So we got out of bed at five to three, slapped clothes together, ran off to the teahouse, and made the poetry reading. We had steamed dumplings and a pot of green tea, commemorating our
first real date, a year and four months ago. When she'd come to meet me, to spend the weekend, she'd gotten in to town late late Friday night- and we finally got out of bed late Saturday, to go meet Celia at the teahouse. I felt the same stunned joy at being alive last Sunday that I did on our first afternoon.
Celia was the first person outside of Cyd and family I introduced J. to, as my lover, and the
teahouse was our first outing. So it was a nice echo of that first afternoon. Heard Kastle read, and she was stunning.
Kate, Margaret Smith's daughter, turns 30 and is having a huge drag show/party next weekend, so I told Kastle we'd see her there.
Ok, no Foucault is getting read. We go home, we pack,
and drive back to Toronto- its Sunday.
Then I drove back to Buffalo for work on Monday, wasted more hours of time than I knew I had, and was off again, to run over to Stormand April's to hand out candy for Halloween, andstayed to hang out after. Jet is back in town, and itwas great to see them. I'd missed the pumpkin carvingthe night before, I'd been in Toronto, and that's a tradition I don't like to miss. Now I am here at work, wondering why I never sleep.