Flannery O'Connor's birthplace

4.29.2007


Sent to me by a friend of mine.

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First part of my story

4.24.2007

At the end of the summer, the mayflies breed in Tennessee. Huge swarms of them. Not biting, but getting caught in people’s hair. Buzzing about heads and feet. Aunt Selma calls it the descent of the locust. Everywhere they buzz and pulse. Squirming, often times fighting for the same female. At night, Ted and Lenny would turn on the porch light and watch as a thick mass of them flew in, bumping their little insect faces on the bulb. Sometimes Poppa had them eat dinner outside, and he would light a citronella candle on the table. While this deterred the mosquitos, it did not have that effect on the mayflies, whose tiny copulating bodies got stuck in the hot wax until they were consumed there.
“Stupid bugs,” Poppa said, picking up two wriggling, half charred carcasses out of the candle. He burned himself reaching for them and cursed.
“Why do bugs like fire?” Lenny asked him.
“Hell if I know,” he said, looking down at his finger, still cursing. “Some things seem drawn to pain.”
Not all of the mayflies fell into the flame. Some kept a distance. Bobbing in and out as if they were continually changing their minds. Others lined the beams of the porch, their tiny eyes trained on the flame.
Poppa was still nursing his finger, sucking on it.
“I got you something,” he said, not quite looking at Lenny. He lay a tin of hard candies on the table. “I’m sorry I got so mad at you the other day. Guess I lost my temper.”
Lenny did not move.
“I’ll fix your door this weekend,” he offered.
“Say thank-you, Lenny,” Ted whispered grabbing her arm urgently.
Lenny glared and then mumbled, “Thanks Poppa.” She picked up the hard candies, and they made small noises as they tumbled over one another in the metal tin.

School had started which Lenny always relished. She played kick ball and foursquare. A breathless game of tag as the younger kids squealed. The crunch of the hard gravel as she raced there. The playground was made totally of wood. It was old and shaped like a castle.
Lenny’s best friend was Mary Lou. She was the only kid in elementary school who wore chains and black. She could also cuss. Lenny was very impressed by this. Heavy set and somehow nimble, Mary Lou could kick the ball farther than anyone else and had once punched Tim in the stomach for calling her fat. Lenny’s other friend was April. The teachers were always mistaking April for a boy, which didn’t seem bother her at all. April, Mary Lou, and Lenny formed what they imagined to be a gang.
Dodgeball was their particular area of menace. Lenny was thin and agile. She could bend and twist and never get hit. April could throw so hard that the boys would wince. Mary Lou, well Mary Lou could fight, which was reason enough to go easy on her on the dodgeball court. The PE teacher, Coach Humphrey, usually split them up when playing so that neither side would have an advantage.
None of them ever hit the girls. It was their pact.
Bam!
“Coach Humphrey, Mary Lou hit me in the face!” Tim ran off the court, his face red where the ball had bounced off it.
“Let me see that,” the coach reached down and held onto Tim’s chin.
“Out of the game!” Coach Humphrey yelled. “Mary Lou, you know there’s no hitting above the neck! Go sit by the wall until the end of PE class.”
Mary Lou shrugged, laughing. Lenny and April gave her a high five as she exited the court. Coach Humphrey didn’t seem to notice.
Lenny never had friends over. The house she lived in was in dire need of repairs. The roof needed replacing and the paint on the front door was peeling. The upstairs bathroom had a leak that caused the downstairs ceiling to sag and billow out in places. Once the water behind the bump was so bad that Poppa took a knife and lanced it like it was a blister. Murky water went everywhere. It smelled to Lenny a bit like the deer carcass she and Ted had found in the creek that summer. The corpse had been water logged, hairless and stiff. Lenny walked towards it cautiously, reaching out her finger. Just before she touched it, Ted pushed on her back lightly. She startled, screamed, and then punched Ted. He seemed to think he was very funny, and ran to the house laughing.
Lenny’s grandfather had built the house with the help of some men from town. It had a mostly strong foundation, but was built on clay, causing it to sink at points. As if the earth was gradually consuming it.
When things with the house became completely unmanageable, Poppa hired Tin Man to fix it up. Tin Man was a slightly balding man in his mid twenties, large brown eyes that made him look innocent. He was called Tin Man because he would amuse children by singing songs from The Wizard of Oz. Lenny hated being charmed, but Tin Man was so gangly and affable, she couldn’t help laugh at him when he performed his antics. Besides, she was lonely ever since her momma had left. Less than a week there and she liked him. They all liked him. Even Poppa seemed to mellow a bit having him around.
When she was home from school, Lenny took to following Tin Man around and helping him with his jobs. He always acted excited to see her.
“Well hello, Miss Lenny,” he boomed Johnny Carson style. “How are you?”
Lenny shrugged. She pulled a bit of grass from the front lawn and chewed on it, letting the blade protrude from her mouth. It tasted sweet. “Whatcha working on?” she asked.
Tin Man squinted and looked up at an old oak. “The branches of that tree are touchin’ on the roof, and they’re causing it to rot. I’m gonna have to cut 'em off.”
“Can I do something?” Lenny forced herself to stay still so that she wouldn’t look too eager.
“You wanna help with this one?” Tin Man laughed. “I don’t know that there’s much you can do. I’m gonna have to climb up that tree on a ladder. And your Daddy ain’t got no chain-saw, so it’ll take a while.”
“I can hold the ladder.” Lenny declared.
“Well, sure you can,” Tin Man said, pulling the blades of grass from her mouth to tease her. She grinned excitedly. Tin Man extended the ladder full length and laid it against the tree. Attaching his tools to his belt he said, “Come on pip-squeak.”
As Lenny held the ladder, bits of bark and sawdust came floating down on her and landed in her hair and eyes.
“How’re you doing down there, mouse?” Tin Man called down.
“I’m alright,” Lenny yelled.
“Just make sure you hold on tight,” he replied. “I don’t wanna fall.”
Tin Man started to throw down branches, and they hit the ground with a crash. It was slow going. Finally he called, “Alright, I’m coming down.” He stepped heavily down the ladder, sweat causing dust and bark to stick wetly to his shirt.
“What are we gonna do with all the branches?” Lenny asked him once he was down. She broke a twig in her hand idly.
“We’re gonna have to burn ‘em,” Tin Man said crouching beside her. “Some of ‘em are already dead wood, like that one over there with the brown leaves. See that?” He pointed and Lenny nodded.
“Others still have the sap in them, wet wood, and they’re harder to burn. We’ll probably need a bit of gasoline to do the whole bunch.” He paused. “Do you know where the gasoline is?”
“Its in the back of the garage,” Lenny told him.
“Go get it for me, wouldya darlin?”
The garage was full of dust and abandoned spider webs. It wasn’t that Lenny was afraid of spiders in principle, but Ted had told her that black widows like to live in cool dark places. Every spider in the garage seemed to have a bit of red on its stomach. Lenny found the gasoline behind a few old boards and reached her hand around to grab it. Thinking she felt a spider, she jerked her arm up, lodging a splinter in her hand. She sucked on her hand, but the bit of wood wouldn’t come out.
When Lenny brought the gasoline to Tin Man, she showed him the splinter.
“Does it hurt?” he asked her.
“Not bad.”
“Let’s get this fire started and we’ll see about that in a minute.”
He had gathered the branches up into a pile and cut some of them into smaller pieces. He slopped bits of gasoline here and there. “You have to be careful,” he told Lenny, “Cause gasoline makes it burn up real fast.”
He brought a flaming match to the edge of the pile and then backed away quickly. Once the blaze was going he said, “Let me see that splinter.” Lenny held out her hand. “Go and grab me a needle or a safety pin from the house,” he commanded.
Lenny found one in a drawer and brought it out to him.
Tin Man took the needle and held it in the flame for a second.
“What’s that do?” Lenny asked.
“It sterilizes the needle,” he said. “You know, gets rid of the bad stuff.”
Tin Man took her hand, holding it firmly. “Squeeze the skin around the splinter,” he told her. “This’ll hurt a bit.”
The hot needle piercing her skin stung and Lenny bit her lip. Tin Man pushed the end of the splinter out slowly, finally drawing it out. When her hand was returned to her Lenny saw a drop of blood, which she wiped on her jeans.
“Whoo-ee” Tin Man said eyeing the removed splinter. “That was a big one. You’re pretty tough.”
Lenny tried not to smile so that she would seem tougher, but she was obviously pleased.
“Lenny!” Poppa called from the front porch.
“I have to go to dinner,” she told Tin Man.
“Alright mouse,” Tin Man nodded. “See you later.”
She left, turning back once to see Tin Man juxtaposed in front of the still flaming branches.

Poppa had never really learned to cook. The chicken was dry, what Aunt Selma called “cotton chicken.” Lenny poked the broccoli and it seemed to bleed steam.
“How was school today?” Poppa asked her when they had all gotten their food.
Lenny scrunched her nose. Her mouth was half full and she swallowed quickly. “Ok, I guess. I did my multiplication tables fastest in the class.”
“Well look at that,” Poppa exclaimed. “Good for you, Len.”
“Don’t call me Len,” she told him cutting through the tough chicken.
“Why not?”
“I just don’t like it that’s all.”
Poppa’s speech stiffened. “You let Tin Man call you all kinds of names."
“That’s different.”
“Well how is it different?” He asked, his voice rising. Poppa checked himself and said with effort, “Fine. How was school for you, Ted?”
“I made the varsity middle school team for baseball,” Ted told him. “I’ll be playing with eighth graders.”
“Eighth graders. Well. What position did you try out for?”
Ted ran his fingers through his blonde hair excitedly. “I’m gonna be playing short stop this season, but coach says he might be trying me out at other positions later.” Ted looked alternately at Poppa and Lenny as he spoke, trying to balance the table.
Poppa sat back in his chair and stretched. “This is a banner day for our family,” he announced. “How would you two feel like playing miniature golf for celebration?”
They looked at him unenthusiastically, but Poppa just said, “Finish up eating and we’ll go.”

The miniature golf course had a psychedelic zoo theme. It started with a giant purple gorilla and ended with a polka dotted neon giraffe. Poppa stepped up to the counter and said, “We have three players here.”
“That’ll be 8 dollars for you and five dollars for each child,” the cashier told him. She was plump middle aged woman, her cheeks pushing down onto her nose. Her hair was in a bouffant and she had hot pink lipstick on.
“Eighteen dollars!” Poppa exclaimed. “You’re running a racket here! What does that even pay for? I suppose we have to bring our own balls, too.”
The cashier said nothing and pointed to a large bowl holding brightly colored golf balls.
“Smart ass,” Poppa cursed, throwing down the cash.
Lenny chose a yellow ball with the words “Groovy” printed on the side. Ted’s ball said “Far out.” They headed to the purple gorilla to start their game.
“For eighteen dollars we better have a lot of fun,” Poppa told them half jokingly.
You had to hit your ball between the arms and legs of the giant gorilla to finish the first hole. Ted gently hit his ball through to finish with two strokes.
“Way to go, Ted!” Poppa shouted, hamming it up. Ted blushed and smiled.
Lenny had her own strategy. She hit the ball hard enough that it careened and bounced. Eventually, she got it somewhere near the hole. She managed to get it in with five strokes.
“Now you kids watch how its done,” Poppa said, swaying his hips. He hit the ball straight under the gorilla and into the hole.
“Right on,” he grinned. “Give me five, Lenny.” She hit his hand hesitantly with a bit of a smile.
Disco music was playing in the background and when the song “YMCA” came over the speakers Poppa had them put down their clubs and dance. Lenny kept forgetting which way the “C” went, but it didn’t matter. Poppa was a good dancer and he showed them how to move. Pointing a finger down at the ground and then up to the sky. Ted was embarrassed and scanned the other golfers to make sure no one in his class was there.
It was dusk, the mosquitoes favorite time to be out. Poppa was sweating heavily and they seemed to be drawn to him. The game went smoothly until they got to the pink rhinoceros. To make the shot you had to hit the ball up into the rhinoceros’ mouth and then it would plop down through its stomach to the hole. Ted managed it after a few strokes as did Poppa. But Lenny was stuck. She tried hitting the ball hard, and the ball ricocheted into the grass. Then she hit it soft and it rolled part of the way up and then down again.
After several attempts Poppa said, “Just skip it, Lenny.” He pulled his bandanna out of his pocket and rubbed it across his face and bald head.
“I wanna get it,” Lenny said, lining her ball up once more. She missed the rhinoceros completely this time.
“You’re not gonna get it that way,” Poppa said stepping over to her. “Let me show you how to do it.”
“No,” Lenny protested grabbing her ball. “I can do it myself.”
“No you can’t Lenny. You can’t do any of these. Now just give me your ball and I’ll do it.”
Lenny did not release her ball and Poppa grabbed her hand and tried to pry it from her fingers. “For goodness sakes, Lenny, just let me see the ball!” When Lenny did not yield, Poppa said finally. “Fine, I’ll show you with my ball.”
He straightened up for the shot. He hit the ball up, but too hard so that it bounced in rhinoceros mouth and came back down. He didn’t say anything, but placed the ball firmly in the plastic turf. He hit it again. This time it ricocheted off to the side. Again. He nearly hit another family with his bouncing ball. They were beginning to attract attention.
“Poppa,” Ted said coming up slowly. “Why don’t we move on to the ostrich?”
Poppa shot back, “I did not pay eighteen dollars to come to this park and miss a very simple shot. So shut up and wait.”
He hit it again and missed. “Damn it!” he yelled.
The cashier came over to him, hand on the hips of her bell bottoms, “Sir, this is a family establishment. We don’t allowing cussing here.”
“Do you mean I payed eighteen dollars and I can’t even cuss when I take a goddamn shot?” he spat back.
“Sir, everyone pays the same rate. Now, if you don’t control yourself, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” Her voice was calm and patronizing.
Poppa’s face had gotten redder. “Come on Ted, Len, lets go to the next hole.”
“Don’t call me Len,” Lenny mumbled walking away.
In two strides Poppa had reached her and grabbed her by her ponytail. “I will call you whatever the hell I want, and you won’t say a thing about it. Do you hear me?”
Lenny nodded, wincing.
The cashier came right up to Poppa’s face and he let go of Lenny’s ponytail. “You can not treat your children like that on my watch.” Her eyes bore in on him, the deep blue eye-shadow piercing.
“Nobody tells me how I treat my children,” he roared. His face was wild, veins pulsing. “I payed eighteen dollars...”
“Sir,” the cashier said forcibly. “At this point everybody knows you paid eighteen dollars so you can stop repeating yourself. I’m telling you to leave.” A couple of other men had come over and stood behind the cashier, waiting to see if they’d be needed.
Poppa stepped back, took his golf club and slammed it against the rhinoceros. Bits of its pink plaster fell to the ground. He stormed to the car with Ted and Lenny quickly following.

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Rilke

Part One
XIII

Full round apple, peach, pear, blackberry.
Each speaks life and death
into the mouth. Look
at the face of a child eating them.

The taste comes from afar
and slowly grows nameless on the tongue.
Where there were words, discoveries flow,
released from within the fruit.

What we call apple--dare to say what it is,
this sweetness which first condensed itself
so that, in the tasting, it may burst forth

and be known in all its meanings
of sun and earth and here.
How immense, the act and pleasure of it.


-Rainer Maria Rilke
from In Praise of Mortality

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The new, the exciting, the fabulous Wynn Brown

4.22.2007




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Muddy Runners

4.19.2007










So Matt and I went running late at night here in NW Portland. It had been raining, which isn't saying much as its always raining in Portland. Anyhow, we found this fabulously muddy field and ran, jumped, and slid on our bellies. We got into a little mud fight in which I obviously got the upper hand partially because Matt has a philosophy somewhat akin to "There is no honor in slaughtering the weak." I just made that quote up. Its like Mr. Miyagi crossed with a Klingon. My philosophy is to clobber people who are being nice to you by not clobbering you back. I think Ghandi said that. Yeah.

"Victory or Death!"

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500 words on a friend who got you into trouble

4.17.2007

“Where is your head covering?” my mother hissed outside the church.

I fished it out of my pocket and sighed heavily. “I don’t wanna wear it,” I complained.

“Young lady you will not be going into worship without your head covered. Put that on immediately.”

“Why do I even have to go? Why can’t I stay home?” I whined.

“That is not an option.” Her tone was stern. I pinned the head covering on glumly.


When Nathaniel saw me he said, “I thought you were going to stop wearing that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Apparently that is ‘not an option’,” I said, making scare quotes in the air.

“Couldn’t hold out, eh?” he said punching my arm.

“Hey,” I countered. “No punching. You have to leave room for the Holy Spirit.” Males and females in our church were supposed to keep a certain distance between one another to keep from being tempted.

Nathaniel laughed, sticking his finger within an inch of my nose. “What does the Holy Spirit have to say about this?” he asked.

“The Lord will smite you down assuredly,” I told him.

Nathaniel was wearing jeans, of all things. “How did you get your parents to let you wear those?” I asked.

“I told them there was no way I was going to leave the house in slacks. They would have to drag me here.” He was bragging.

“And they went for it?” I asked incredulously. Nathaniel nodded.

“Look what I brought you,” he said reaching inside his coat. He handed me a book, Thus Spoke Zarathustra.

“Wow. Nietszche. Where did you get it?” I whispered.

“In the library.” He told me. “Do you have any idea how angry our parents will get when they find out we’ve been reading Nietszche?”

I looked around cautiously. We had read Vonnegut together, but our parents hadn’t known who that was. John Irving’s Prayer For Owen Meany sounded like a good wholesome book. But Nietszche. Everyone knew that Nietszche was the one who had pronounced God dead.

I fingered the pages of the book.

“Hey,” Nathaniel said leaning in. “Wanna skip church and read it?” He asked with a cheshire grin on his face.

“I don’t know. I could get in a lot of trouble.” I said hesitantly, still fingering the pages of the book.

“Just tell them you’ve been asked to help in the nursery.”

“What if they find out?”

“It’ll be your big chance to make a statement about the oppression of religion. Tell them its the opiate of the masses.”

“I don’t think that’ll go over too well.”

Nathaniel shifted impatiently. “Come on. What are you afraid of? Its not like they can ground you. You’re not let out of the house after nine anyways.”

“Well what are you going to tell your parents?” I asked defensively.

“I told my parents that I’m going to usher. When they ask me why they didn’t see me with the collection plates, I’m going to say that, at the last minute, there were too many volunteers. I had to sit in the back row.”

“Do you think they’ll buy it?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Probably. Now come on. Go talk to your parents and meet me behind the Sunday School classrooms.”

I hesitated, “Okay,” I told him. “But you better keep this in your coat.” I handed him back the book.

Nathaniel grinned. “See you soon, heathen.”


-Adelaide

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Dinner Party

4.15.2007



Threw a really fun dinner party with Matt this weekend.

But to tell the truth, I'm just making up a post so that I can put this cool picture up. The picture I took because I was pulling my hair about my story. Bleah.

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Here's to a very late Happy Birthday

4.13.2007

So someone was asking me the other day about my siblings and their ages when suddenly it hit me: I missed Edwin's Birthday!

So, rather belatedly, Happy Birthday Bro!

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Fern, Coal, Diamond

4.12.2007

FERN, COAL, DIAMOND

The intense pressure of the earth
makes coal out of ferns, diamonds out of coal.
The intense pressure of the earth
is within us, and makes coal
and diamond desires.

For instance, we are a river
flowing and flowing out to sea,
an oak fire flaring and flaring in a night
with no wind, or, protean,
a river, a fire, an oak, a hawk, a wind.

And now, at first light,
I mark the stages of our growth:
mark fern, coal, diamond,
mark a pressure transforming
even broken nails and broken glass into
clear molten light.


~ Arthur Sze ~

(The Redshifting Web)

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Way to go Matt Wong!

4.10.2007


This past weekend, I went to a beach house with a lot of great people. On the first day, Matt and I went down to the beach to go swimming. The water was so cold that when you dove into it, your head hurt. Matt is 6 feet tall and 200 lbs, and he would grab me by the hips and throw me up and over a wave as it crashed down. We were having so much fun until suddenly we were in a Reader's Digest article. Meaning, the water was getting deeper and we were getting pulled out--we were in rip tide. I couldn't touch and Matt told me to swim cross current. I kept swallowing more water and being pushed out farther. So Matt took my hand and pulled me closer and to a place where I could just barely touch. My feet kept getting knocked from underneath me and I kept falling back with only his hand holding me in. I was terrified. So then, in the single most manly experience of my life, he comes back and puts his arm around my waist and tells me to float so that I'm parallel to the ocean floor and he's pushing me in. When the water went down, I was hanging U shaped from his arm, and then the water would come back up and we'd try to surf the wave in together. He managed to effectively drag me in to shallower water. When we got on shore, people came running up to us, "Are you, ok?" "We've seen people drown out there." I was shaking all over and so Matt had me run with him back to the beach house to warm up. Then we got into the hot tub. I started crying a bit when things finally calmed down, which helped discharge some of that energy.

So there you have it. I now owe a debt of eternal servitude to Matt for saving my life. I really don't think I would have made it in on my own.

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500 words- a scene involving touch

It's challenging to compress something down to 500 words, but I'm enjoying it.


I had just graduated from massage school, and my mother decided that I should come down to Mississippi for the convening of the aunts at my grandmother’s house. Mommo’s daughters loved their mother with a dogged persistence, buying outfits to put on her lump of a body. “You look good, Momma,” Aunt Anne would exclaim, and Mommo, her stroke 20 years old by then, would turn and smile vaguely. And then Aunt Anne would repeat herself, “Mom, you look real good. That pink is a nice color for you.” By then Mommo had tired of the conversation and would look out the window or down at her right hand.
At some point during every visit there came a point when the loving was too exhausting. When having Mommo confirm, once again that she did not remember her children and especially not her grandchildren. Aunt Katie would say, “Bo has been playing football, Momma. He’s a real good line backer, a bit smaller than the other boys, but he makes up for it.” Mommo might drool a bit then and my aunts would say, “Oh Momma, you got a little something there. I got it. Just a little something.” Then they would retire, talking amongst themselves, laughing, and competing over who could do the most chores.
“Elaine has just gotten her massage license,” my mother announced to Mommo.
“Um hmm, hmm.” Mommo grunted and my mother brightened, hoping she had understood.
“She does great massages now,” mother spoke slowly and loudly. “I’m always hitting her up for one.” Mommo looked absently around the room. “Maybe you’d like a massage? Momma, would you like a massage?”
Mommo did not respond, but it was decided among the aunts that she would definitely like a massage. They arranged pillows on her bed and laid her on her side.
“Are you comfortable, Mommo?” I asked her. Mommo grunted, which I interpreted as a yes. My aunts kept coming in and out excitedly, “Oh, she’s going to love this. Now, don’t worry, I’ll leave you alone. I’ll keep everyone out of here.”
When I first touched Mommo, she started a little, unsure of what was going on. Her skin was thin, soft like the petals of the gladiolas that grew in her garden. I did gentle, long strokes on her back. Tracing a line from her hips up to the place where her shoulders formed a bent over hump. She let out a soft moan and smacked her lips. Stopping, I asked, “Mommo, is this ok? Do you want me to keep going?” She shifted impatiently, and I went back to work. About halfway through the massage, Mommo fell asleep, but I kept working. It was one of the few times I had ever been alone with my grandmother.
When I told my aunts that I was done, they rushed into room and woke up their mother. “It’s like a real spa treatment,” Aunt Eileen told her. “Now wasn’t that nice?” No one expected an answer at this point but the aunts kept going on.
“I’ll bet that was wonderful,” Aunt Deborah gushed. My mother stood quietly behind them, holding my hand.

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BC

4.08.2007

The creator of the comic strip BC, Johnny Hart, died today. This is, of course, very sad news for his friends and family. The upside is that now they won't keep producing that godawful strip. Now if somebody could just knock off the guy who does Redeye.









For more information, and a more reverent treatment of Hart's death go to:
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070409/ap_on_en_ot/obit_hart

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Yep, the beach house

4.06.2007




This is Adelaide not sleeping because she's excited about going to the beach house with a group of cool people.

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500 words establishing an interesting place

4.05.2007

1st assignment--limited to 500 words to establish an interesting place. Also working on a short story or novel to get workshopped.

***

“Amy,” Mary Lou whispered in her Mississippi English, “can you tell that I have candy in my bra?”

“What?” Amy cocked her head. Mary Lou leaned in closer speaking slowly and emphasizing each word of the whisper.

“Can you tell that I have candy in my bra?”

Amy couldn’t, and neither could the nursing aids when they did the bag checks before letting Mary Lou onto the van. The patients were allowed to leave the hospital once a week to pick up amenities at Target, and their bags were always checked as they left the store. Anything sharp was confiscated as well as alcohol in drinks or hairspray or mouthwash, and the patients were allowed only two servings of sweets per week. Mary Lou, a heavy and rather buxom woman had arrived at the store wearing a large sweat shirt. Immediately upon entering she bought two big bags of chocolates, ran to the bathroom, and put them in her bra. She had then pretended to shop with the other patients.

That night in the women’s dorm, we stuffed Dove chocolate squares two at a time into our mouths, laughing and trying not to gag. Sarah put two under her shirt and they stuck out like square nipples. She aped Mary Lou’s words, “Amy, can you tell that...” Amy had smacked her, but before Sarah could retaliate they heard the front door open and scrambled to put away wrappers and anything else incriminating. Louisa, the head nurse walked into the room. She knew something was up, you didn’t get a room full of middle aged women giggling on the couch and saying nothing if something wasn’t up. “I might have to do room checks tonight,” she announced. When no one flinched or protested, she sighed and went back to her office.

There was a black market for sweets at the hospital. One woman had her daughter tape candy bars to her body when she came to visit. Another had her friend send her a box of stationary with paper on top and Hershey's below. The alcoholics had it the best. They were taken to off campus AA meetings that usually sold snacks and ice cream. Before they left everyone would jam dollars in their hands, “Bring me back a Snickers bar.” The nurses tried to stop it, but they were only allowed to check bags and not bodies.

Of course, they were worried about sweets when they should have been worrying about sex. Even in the sparse Santa Fe landscape--thin wiry trees struggling to move out of the sandy earth--the patients found places to make love. It wasn’t that hard. You had to wait for a crisis--a suicide scare, someone to have cut themselves, or the ruckus that followed when a patient managed to smuggle alcohol onto campus. When the aides were busy swarming around a problem, the two patients would slip into a room.

“Can you believe what Jason and Pam are doing?” Sarah asked Amy after Louisa had left.

“I heard,” Amy replied hugging her stuffed dog, “but my inner child does not want to talk about it. We don’t like Jason.”

“I’m just saying they could get kicked out for that,” Sarah shrugged. Amy did not like Jason because he was loud and angry, still it was good gossip and Sarah had wanted to talk about it.

***

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Classes tomorrow

4.02.2007



A spot opened up in a graduate level course in the MFA program at PSU, and I decided to take it. The teacher, Craig Lesley, seems pretty incredible. Here's a quick bio:

"His work has received the Western Writers of America Golden Spur Award for Best Novel of the Year, the Medicine Pipe Bearer's Award for Best First Novel, and two Pacific Northwest Booksellers' Association Awards. He has been the recipient of a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship, a Bread Loaf Fellowship in the Novel, two National Endowment for the Humanities Fellowships to study Native American literature, and in 1996 Craig was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for his novel The Sky Fisherman."



http://www.webdelsol.com/CLR/works/lesley_intro.htm




Adelaide is only moderately terrified.

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Eagle Creek with Matt





All polaroids on an old camera.

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