Life Among the Never-Winged

Once upon a time I was writing a book called, "Just Another Love Letter", about angels behaving badly. Now I just quietly ask myself each day, "What the hell am I doing?"

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Location: The Rocky Mountain Empire, United States

My friends always knew I was going to hell. My only hope is that God likes good jokes and bad redheads.

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  • Friday, March 30, 2007


    So I like making up words. Sue me.

    A meme, from Esereth.

    The last conversation I had with my mother
    M: I was so thankful that the electricity was back on when we got back to her house, because I just wanted to go home and I didn't want to take her with me. (laughs)

    ND: Yeeees.

    M: The doctor said he'd never seen anyone heal so fast.

    ND: (annoyed) Oh, God. Um, I mean...

    M: I know. I know! (nervous laugh)

    Followed by further discussions on the hows, whens and how-longs of our next visit out there. *shudder* She wants to see the boyos. She misses them. That's fine. That's good. But my visits back there are draining. Ask Popeye. He met a haunted, broken shell of a woman, after only two-weeks' stay. Ugh.

    The last conversation I had with my father
    D: Did you get the Panko breadcrumbs I sent you?

    ND: Yes, I did. Thank you.

    D: They don't burn like Italian breadcrumbs.

    ND: Nope. They're great.

    D: We're going to see an Agatha Christie play tonight.

    ND: That sounds like fun.

    D: I don't know which one it is...


    Do you regret the person or manner in which you lost your virginity?
    Nope. I'm still married to him. I just wished I'd been more relaxed. And sooner. I wish it'd happened sooner. Much sooner, like before marriage. I think O would agree...

    The thing your parents never found out about.
    Never found out about, or diligently plug their ears and la-la-la-la about? I have lists.

    But they never found out about the Latin Kings. Or getting lost in Cabrini Green.

    How much do you spend a month on groceries.
    Enough to save a small African country from starvation.

    The last lie you told.
    To my children, of course! I told them the grocery store was all out of root beer. Boring, huh?

    How often are your comments on other blogs made out of obligation?
    Not often. And never to the folks on my sidebar.

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    Mona's (actually Maggie's) Friday Word Challenge -- MELT

    Esereth, I'll get to your meme after this.

    A Quick Look Outside the Window

    Drip drip drip, the snow melts; it falls liquid from the eaves to the concrete, a puddle spreads, confusing a spider who's stumbling along the best it can in the cold.

    Yesterday was spring, was warm, was a mirage. That's what the spider thinks, but the spider can't look up into the trees with their tiny green leaves.

    Green or white, spring or winter, depending on where you look. A day like a baby with its mother's eyes and father's hair.

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    Thursday, March 29, 2007


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    Tuesday, March 27, 2007


    Thanks, Amusing, for the great meme!

    If My Childhood Plans Had Worked Out:

    (Well, I'll tell you one of them, one that actually takes place on THIS planet...)

    I would be writing my latest bestseller, a genre-crosser involving details gleaned from my earlier days as an astronaut, my world travels as a war corespondent, and my hot, doomed romances (no astronaut adult diaper jokes, please).

    I live in a beach house on Cherry Lane with my immortal black Siamese cats named Poe and Raven, my hedgehog named Pixie, my Florida king snake named Cassandra and a Jack Russel Terrier named Sam. My property is home to a warren of rabbits that never bother my gardens, foxes than never bother the rabbits, wolves that never bother the foxes, and a host of songbirds that certainly never bother anybody.

    The house is really more of a cottage, surrounded by cottage gardens that grow beautifully despite the salt air. I've grown everything from seed in my perfect greenhouse, and have managed to breed the world's only true blue tulips and roses. There are ancient oaks on the property, and beech trees, forests, meadows, a pond, a creek, a barn, a few guest houses and of course the wide white beach. Every year, the dolphins migrate past my 'yard' and I swim with them; that is, if I'm not on a world-wide book tour. I missed them one year when I was out with Dave Barry, Stephen King, Scott Turow, Amy Tan, Kathi Kamen Goldmark, James McBride, Roy Blount, Jr. and Matt Groening, singing lead in our rock group, The Rock Bottom Remainders.

    I have a butler named Hudson who oversees all my needs and has dedicated his life's work to me. I also have a masseuse and a cook named Mrs. Bridges (Hudson's wife of course) who clucks and fusses over me when I forget to eat because I'm so busy writing.

    All my friends have become successful artists, writers, actors, musicians and what have you, and they all live within walking or biking distance. I host parties all the time, mostly barn dances under the full moon. My buddy Dave Matthews LOVES playing these gigs. Tim O'Brien loves playing these quaint little affairs too, as does Bela Fleck, Allison Krauss, Neil Young, oh, too many to mention! Sting stops by often with Trudy and the kids, (he's a big fan of mine and admires my intellect) but has only performed a few times. Mostly we just sit in the library and talk.

    And after so many years of doomed romances, I think I've found The One. He lives in England, loves gardening, cooking, music, The Addams Family, Ray Bradbury, painting, horseback riding and sweeping me off my feet me with terribly romantic gestures. He's also wickedly handsome, terribly funny and occasionally brooding. But, I bring him out of his melancholia with my smile.


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    Monday, March 26, 2007


    So, here I blog from my puddle of pain. Something hormonal is going on, and I'm feeling like a guy who's getting kicked repeatedly in the balls, plus I have a stabbing, migraine-like headache. I've taken my painkiller cocktail – three aspirin, three Advil – my Bed Buddy is nuked and in my lap (not O; he doesn't fit in the microwave), and I've got a loverly glass of port, provided by the Clowncar-Hux family who got it from a friend, decided it wasn't their speed, and brought the bottle up to me, knowing what a port

    If I add to this my prometrium, SinusPM and Bonny Prince Vicadin, I bet I'll be asleep before my head hits the slab.

    I am feeling that pain dragon uncoil from around my middle, so p'raps I'll save(or) the prince for another night. I'm usually not this wimpy, but I overexerted myself today when I should have known better. But let me tell you, it was worth it. Jo and I took the boyos out for Thai and then to the park. And there wasn't a single tantrum today. Not ONE! Oh, the joy, the rapture! So, I'll take this pain any day, ANY day, if it means no tantrums. Hell, I'll gargle bleach and glass.

    My house is clean. Hoo-ra. O is off tomorrow, and I'm going out for sushi with the Babes. Hoo-ra.

    My Grandmonster survived surgery today. Boo-hiss. Meh, if you knew her you'd boo-hiss too.

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    Friday, March 23, 2007

    Mona's Poetry Challenge -- Step

    Mona's word for today is, STEP.

    With a tremendous nod to Bradbury and Emerson, Lake and Palmer (shut up, Clowncar) I give you:


    Step right up!

    Step this way!

    You've come to see the show!

    I know

    from the look in your eye

    you'd deny coming for the seven virgins and the mule

    wouldn't you?

    But I've a thing for you.

    Yes! You! You with the

    discriminating eye, hey?

    Step this way!

    For you we have

    a beauty untamed!

    Unnamed! Unframed!

    Just behind the curtain!

    Call her anything you like

    she'll take no notice -- entranced as she is.

    Oh, yes, my friend!

    Engaged! On stage!


    Step in, step in, make room

    prepare to swoon

    at the sight of

    one woman,

    one desire

    fulfilled! Spilled!


    There --

    she stands, she leans

    forward, reaches out

    and claims

    (your heart? Your dreams?)

    She doesn't even know we're here!

    The air is sweet

    amidst the dust

    as she

    takes it

    in her two hands;

    unshaved, the thick fuzz like fur

    stirs her to part her lips

    and savor...

    not the flavor

    --not yet, not yet--

    but the perfume, the essence.

    Pressing her open mouth

    to the skin

    you can imagine

    how her tongue must be

    flat against the flesh.

    (For a dollar more, I'll let you see.)

    Now quiet! She's about to


    And you'll want to hear

    clearly the tear

    of skin under her teeth

    as they sink into the rich flesh.

    Watch the juice sluice

    between her fingers and thumb






    Charmed by her harming, aren't we?

    Lifting heavenward that same arm

    to lick the nectar.

    She directs her

    mouth back to the bowl from her bite

    and drinks the juice that pools.

    As you fools


    upon your stools.




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    Sunday, March 18, 2007


    I'd be outside right now, but I'd wilt faster than the seedlings I took for a walk a few days ago. I brought them outside with me when I planted more seeds, set them in the shade, said nice things to them and then watched them droop in the space of ten minutes. Even the daffodil went limp. I rushed them all back in, where they perked right back up.

    It's going to be a loooong summer, I can tell.

    I have a fever right now, which I love. Had it for a couple of days now. In spite of that, I took the boyos to the park yesterday, and then out for hot dogs at the hardware store, because every now and then despite my cluelessness, I'm that mom. Besides, I love going to the park in the spring.

    It's the swings, man. There is nothing finer in this world than slicing back and forth through the air like a sheet of paper blown off a desk. You would think that with a fever, the experience would be disconcerting, unpleasant. Not so. I actually stopped feeling dizzy. I felt weightless instead. If there's a heaven, and in the even more unlikelihood that I will be allowed in, I hope heaven's a swing on a green hill in springtime.

    A couple of boys, no more than 12, approached the park. My boyos stopped their play and watched them. As the older boys came closer, I could hear them swearing to each other.

    “Watch it,” I mumbled, in my preternaturally deep voice.

    “Shit! I thought you were a kid!” One replied. Then they both took off running.

    Ah, just one advantage of being under 5 feet tall...

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    Saturday, March 17, 2007


    Seventeen years ago today, I stepped out of a car onto Colorado soil for the first time, running from one thing and chasing another.

    I went to a party and met a guy draped in an Irish flag and in dire need of aspirin.

    The rest is history.

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    Friday, March 16, 2007

    Mona's Poetry Challenge -- Dance

    Gosh. I couldn't let this one go by could I?

    Odd Pair

    If they left things a bit looser, a little more unspecified,

    most people would never know or care about them.

    But their steps were precise, etching the floor

    almost burning the wood.

    Tangos filled the room with brimstone.

    Imagine that you have an abstract

    and turn it into a dance.

    Why do we need all four steps?

    Can't we get from here to there

    with a leap?

    Is it more important to evolve the dance quickly,

    and perhaps throw together an odd pair --

    endangering her toes, his hopes?

    The memory might have been left exactly the way it was.

    But they spoke of it --

    ...No it was...

    ...Don't you mean..

    when they should have trusted their feet.

    1 2 3 step

    1 2 3 step

    and improvised outside the box.

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    Tuesday, March 13, 2007

    Drunk and in Charge of a Blog

    Well, not quite drunk, but definitely inebriated. A little. At 4:04 P.M. (the Lost Minute. The File Not Found Minute.). On hard cider. A perfect beverage for a warm day when cleaning one's kitchen.

    I have to wander out and retrieve my boyos in a few, but for now, I can cozy up to you for another lost minute. They are over at S.'s house, playing with their friend, A., the tickle-him-til-he-pukes-kid. Luckily, they are within stumbling walking distance.

    I like S. I wish I could be friends with S. I mean, do-stuff-together-friends. But she is from California, and I've found that Californians have this sunny shell that makes Brits look like tell-alls. I can't get in. There are things we have in common. There are things our husbands have in common. It should work. It should. But it...doesn't.

    I mean, she's nice. She's sweet like milk chocolate. I'm sweet too. But I'm sweet like ancho pepper dark chocolate that's been tampered with.

    And I have to figure out a way to tell her that I'm not sending the boyos on to Greenwood Elementary, the Limo School. Why does this have to be difficult? It's nothing personal. Why does this bother me?

    I think I'm losing it.

    Does anybody else have a person/people that you'd like to befriend, but just, can't?

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    I can see that

    a daffodil bulb I potted up two weeks ago will be blooming when I wake up tomorrow.

    Good night.

    Monday, March 12, 2007


    I live in a strange neighborhood. I mean, it's still Suburbia, but it's a bit on its ear. If I walk the length of two streets, and if my own ears are open, I can hear English, German, Italian, an African dialect I have no hope of identifying, Bosnian, and Farsi.

    And take the way people walk their dogs. There's my neighbor two doors down, Prime Bachelor Material, who was out walking this morning in a dark suit and yellow tie, one of his two Jack Russell Terriers racing around his feet. Then there was the day I watched a big stray round the corner, an SUV in pursuit. The dog slowed down, and I expected the driver to get out and coax him into the car. But the SUV kept pace with him all the way up the hill. The second time it happened, I realized this is how these people walk their dog. No, there wasn't a handicapped sign hanging from the rear view mirror.

    Then there are the weirdos with the twins...

    I have to decide which school to send the boyos to. They are in a small neighborhood school right now, and I want to keep them there, even though it is technically not their district. One of the reasons I want to keep them where they are is because of the house on the hill, off in the distance. It's a five an a half million dollar home. It's within their district. I understand that some of the kiddos arrived in limos to their kindergarten graduation. I can't even imagine the birthday parties.

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    Saturday, March 10, 2007

    Do not attempt to adjust your monitor

    Clowncar here. I am temporarily hijacking Ms. Dancehall's blog. Our children, as I type, have a naked plastic baby on top of stump, and are poking it with a stick. And laughing. Lord of the Flies in Suburbia.

    Me, I'm about to have a beer.

    We will now return you to your regularly scheduled progamming.

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    Friday, March 09, 2007

    Mona's Word of the Day – Tea

    Thanks, Mona!

    1. According to legend, a Chinese emperor discovered tea as he was walking through his garden. It was a cold morning, so he carried a mug of hot water to sip as he admired the plants and rocks and water that made up his surroundings. A gust of wind blew a handful of tea leaves into his cup. As he studied their dance on the water, they brewed. The emperor found the smell irresistible, and took a sip.

    2. O and I have amassed a collection of coffee and tea mugs over the years; the vast majority hand-made, some from Ireland, one from a friend in Africa. When friends come over, they choose a mug, and it becomes 'their' mug while they are here. There isn't much overlapping, which I find interesting. My pantry is stocked with 32 varieties of tea. There isn't much overlapping there, either.

    3. I've been drinking nothing but Yogi Echinacea Tea for the past week. Along with two aspirin, It's the only relief I've had from this head cold.

    4. Lil Hux stopped by one day with a friend she used to work with in Estes Park. C is from Canterbury and was in the country visiting old friends. We went to an Italian restaurant, stuffed ourselves with pasta salad, down a couple bottles of good red wine, and came back here, where C demonstrated the proper way to make a pot of tea. To thank her for the lesson, I drove her to the airport. We talked the whole way. It was like finding an old friend. That Christmas, she sent me a huge care package of tea and chocolate digestives, and excellent Cadbury candy. I still make tea they way C showed me, but it never quite matches up to hers.

    5. Go look at Gary's Pottery. I drool over the teapots with the little bunnies and elephants. I love this guy's stuff.

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    Wednesday, March 07, 2007

    Melting Snow

    The first of March, I did the thing I'm supposed to be doing, and wrote about the day that's haunted me, off and on, for 22 years. Really, I didn't think it would make any difference, but it did. I feel better. Much better.

    I'm out of that room now. I keep waiting to slam back into it, but I'm not. I'm getting things done instead. Smiling more. Planting seeds. Feeling good about it.

    D seems to be improving his behavior. We talked to a couple of therapists at school, who say he's fine, just a bit high-strung. I haven't talked about this, but I'll get around to it.

    And I'm doing something insane today and dragging the boyos into work with me. It's a diminishing gig, but I'll take the money while I can.

    Clowncar and lil Hux along with the girlios will be gracing our house this weekend, which is always a reason for celebration. I'll try not to play the part of Hungover Mother this time. (I swear if I ever form an all-girl punk band, I'm calling it Hungover Mother).

    So. My hair's about dry, which means it's time to pile the boyos in the car and go.

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    Friday, March 02, 2007

    This Bird Is Flying...


    North by Northwest, actually!

    So, listen up, all you Pacific Northwesterners.

    I'll be in Seattle in May. The evening of the 7th to the evening of the 9th, to be specific. I'd love to meet any and all of you, if possible.

    And, you'd have the opportunity to tweak Stucco's moustache. I mean, you CAN'T pass that up right? Not to mention, you'd be meeting Schmoop as well.

    It's a package deal! I'll even throw in the Merlot, gratis.

    Wow. I'm going to Seattle.


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