There is nothing poetic about Tax Season. Nothing poetic about getting up early and staying up late to rage through my homework so that I can contribute to the massive haul in one giant breath that is Tax Season. It's a rush of numbers and names, file folders, paper cuts. Staple, copy, file, scan, sign, file, send, stamp, label, file, type, check, pass, fold, file. I feel like a lacy hankie in a business suit tornado. It's strange to imagine how I ever ended up in this world of math, money, and "ice cream" breaks, but here I am, a lot, and I like it.
It's an awkward testament to the truth that life is always surprising you. I make the lame and disapointing assumption that I have some control over the direction of my life and then suddenly reality hits me. Skirting around an accounting office with files stacked up to my nose in my fluffy boots with a bow in my hair. What do you know? Another surprise. But if life limits it's surprises to crazy part time jobs and bad hair dye jobs, I think I can bend through them gracefully. All in all, even on my grumpiest day, I got it pretty good.
may my heart always be open to little birds
who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them, men are old
may my heart stroll about hungry and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it is sunday may I be wrong
for when men are right they are not young
and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there has never been a fool who could fail
pulling the sky over him with one smile
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
My dear parents, you may not know, were both born on farms. Farms. The outside kind, with animals and fields and things. If you know me, you know that the ability to be a "farmer" is not genetic. In fact the opposite genes seem to have won the primordial battle. In the rush to become my DNA was scattered and re-assembled in a way contrary to my ancestors. Contrary to outside in general if you get right down to it. For that reason and many others (including the rebellion inspired by rock and roll) our family has always been a city dwelling circus. My Momma is, however resilient, though the girl was out of the country, the country was not to far removed from the girl. In the car, on Saturday mornings, Country music was pulsing from the speakers. It seems to me now that it was some form of hypnosis. Why? I'll tell you. Last night, learning to dance a bit of country-swing, it all came flooding back. Mid twirl, halfway to a dip at near warp speed, my lips parted and out came a phrase I have not repeated in at least twelve years, " I"m a full grown queen bee lookin" for honey, ah ooo ooo, oh play somethin' country!"
Thank goodness I was spinning too fast for my partner to notice what had happened. (Or just to fast for me to catch him noticing.) My face was red enough from the little girl giggles inspired from said partner. The last thing I needed was something new to be embarrassed about.
I found solace in another tune from my past. "Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots, and ruined your black tie affair." Make no mistake ya'll, high speed chase though it was, I'm not such a bad dancer.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
For Christmas in 2010 our family received a most excellent present. We were all together. We don't have that chance too often these days, so we made the most of it. Alexandria, my oldest and most opinionated niece stayed here at Grammy's house and took turns sleeping in which ever bed she liked. Two days after they had all gone home to the sub Arctic tundra known as "Iowa" I kicked something hard at the bottom of my bed. After further investigation I discovered that it was a Battle Cat. That's right, He-man's loyal giant cat. Green with yellow stripes and a snazzy reddish brown saddle. Al had left the poor little guy behind and he has sought refuge under my covers. Now it's February, frosty cold, and no Al. No Scotty to snuggle, no Becky to eat chocolate with, no Danny to poke me during the prayer at dinner. Just me, the Battle Cat, and Norton (my constant companion and anthologies of various literature). So the other night, getting ready for bed, BC (Battle Cat) and I were chatting. I asked him if he knew of any plans He-man had made for Valentine's Day. Apparently it is an unknown holiday in Eternia, but BC promised me he could work something out. I'm hopeful. So, with the assurance that my Valentine's will be a happy one,(bordering on epic really). I now feel the extra obligation to wish ya'll one as well! Have a happy Valentine's Day! Remember the blessing it is to have someone you love near you when the winters of life get absurdly cold and the weather man's predictions let you down again. Love ya! Lizz