[ Sunday, June 29, 2003 ]
www.madcackler.homestead.com/cody.html[ Tuesday, June 17, 2003 ]
~ Rebecca 5:24 PM [+] (0) comments
Ok. Just a quick note cause life is hectic, hectic, hectic.[ Wednesday, June 11, 2003 ]
Tomorrow we'll have a brand new cowboy on our hands. Lisa's being induced tonight. Delivery should be sometime tomorrow, the 18th. He'll be a Gemini. And a handful, I'm sure.
But I can't wait to see that tiny little fragile thing.
It's gonna be a rough night. But...my bags are packed & camera loaded with black & white film. I'm hoping to get some really great shots. ( Lisa doesn't like the idea that I'm bringing the zoom lens. I told her I'm gonna get a great shot of her uterus to frame. LOL. )
I'll post more later.
Send love & prayers this way.
~ Rebecca 12:02 PM [+] (0) comments
I'm a very happy girl. Tickled pink in all the right places.
Went to Mort's today...(local flea market / junk store / if you'll dig it out...you can have it fairly cheap.) Mort, who proudly proclaims his place Wal Mort, has fantastic stuff. If you want to dig through a whole lot of worthless junk & then wipe 20 layers of dirt off found object. I've been prowling this place for years, obsessive hoarder that I am & always, always have gotten great deals on the stuff I like. I've learned how to shop Mort. You find one high-quality item, then choose tons of little things. Mort, the angel that he is, usually just says in his little haggard way..."Ah...give me ten dollars for everything." Sometimes he boosts it up to $20.
Anyway, today I came out of there with a shitload of old spice bottles, a Paul Masson wine bottle ( which will make a perfect vase or toothbrush holder or whatever else I can conjure up), 4 old, old MATCHING spoons, an old biscuit cutter, a Mrs. Smith pie plate, a kick-ass basket & the clincher--a 40-50 year old? sheer, white eyelet-lace dress, the kind that buttons all the way up to the neck, with a dainty little collar & full, full skirt. Of course, it's a size -2, and yes, I mean negative 2. But it is beautiful & such a find. AND, I got all that for $15.00. How great is that man? Now I just need one of those wire dress molds.
I've been collecting since 13. This fascination began with two white ice cream chairs that I purchased for $25. I brought them home, re-bottomed them. Then came the fascination with primitive furniture. I've been on that for quite a few years now. There's is a beauty to aged furniture...to a rich patina. And I think, most of the fascination comes from wondering...how many hands have grazed a certain surface? How many mothers have stocked the cupboards I now own? How many tiny fingers have fumbled with the doors?
A couple weeks ago my grandma gave me her pie safe. I'm the ninth generation to own it. I could probably get 5,000 out of it, easily. But, knowing who made it...that it witnessed my dad growing up, my grandma growing up, me growing up & countless others....I couldn't sell it.
So. It's been a good day.
I drove through town this afternoon. There's this little guy that always stands on the street. He's really pitiful if you don't know him. Crippled, with the meanest looking face I've ever seen. Cusses like a truck driver. Bullshits with the best of them. I used to make up songs & sing them to him...Always inserting his name into the lyrics. He just gets this shit-eating grin & then acts like he can't stand it. Calls me every name under the sun.
Lis & I used to sing The Wanderer to him. We'd always change the lyrics to..." When they ask me which one I love the best, I tear open my shirt & there's Bobby on my chest. And then the 70's song...."Oh, that's the way, uh huh, uh huh, Bob likes it." And of course BRICK HOUSE. "Oh Bob's a brick house. He's mighty, mighty just letting it all hang out." Instead of My Sharona. Yeah, you guessed it...It's Bobarona.
Anyway...yeah. (I got carried away there.) He was walking down the street today & I rolled my window down & whistled at him. His face just lit up before he even turned to see who it was. He knew. He knew.
It tickled me endlessly.
A lot of people make fun of Bob. Shout hateful stuff out their windows as they drive by him. But I'm telling you, I'd go to bat for that boy. Anyday. Anytime. He's won my genuine affection.
Lisa's official due date is June 26th. We're all hoping he'll come on our birthdays. Mine's the 21st. Tammy's is the 26th. Lisa's is the 30th. All in June. I'm predicting that the 14th will be her day though. I think she'll go into labor Fri. night. I could be wrong. But I'm sticking with my predictions. She's already hit her cleaning streak. Took off work early today because she's hurting.
I'm excited. We all are.
"I just don't know what to do with myself" has been in my head for three days straight now.
Addictive. Addictive.
Much love y'all. ( I feel like such a hick tonight. )
~ Rebecca 11:32 PM [+] (0) comments
It's coming.[ Tuesday, June 10, 2003 ]
I feel it.
I'm dreaming about it.
Coming from kind old prophetic people, people who believe in spirits, in voices, in gut instincts...I've learned to trust what my subconscious is telling me.
Twice I've dreamt that I've been struck by lightning. The first time about a month ago. In my dream I was standing outside an old dormitory, barefoot while the rain poured down, with this worn pink-checked dress & a grey sweater clinging to me. A storm raged & I stood looking up at the windows of this crumbling building, at the sky. A bolt of lightning struck an electric pole next to me. The electricity combined and struck me in the belly, sending me to the ground where I shook. In my dream I was pregnant. And when I woke up from the shock, my hands cradled my belly, worried that my baby might not have survived.
Strange.
Just a few hours ago, I dreamt that I was at my grandma's house, standing on her back porch. Behind the house there was a pond & the sky turned absolutely grey with big gusts of wind rippling the water into big waves. The pond was fed by a creek which ran through the center of a canyon. I looked up at the sky. Every bit of it was grey & tumultuous, just churning, except for the portion directly above the canyon which I was facing. Dazzled & enthralled by the pink, gold, lavender flecks of color, I stood motionless just gazing up. The waves beside me kept rising...standing up 14-20 feet tall, then crashing down. The flecks of color began to move, rush toward me, slicing the grey. I knew it was coming for me. I didn't move. Didn't hide. Didn't run inside. I stood still while the wind & rain blew my hair in every direction & again, wetted my dress to my legs. Then it hit & filled me with this energetic shock. Not painful. Almost spiritual & orgasmic. When I woke up, I went in the house which was initially empty. My stepmother emerged from the corner with tissue & began to wipe my ankles. They were bleeding. I looked down at my arms & there were random flecks of blood scattered on them. Then on my neck. My belly. I was bleeding from every pore. My teeth were chattering. I was trying to explain what had happened. My body was still shaking.
I woke up.
Do I believe I'll be struck by lightning any time soon? Probably not. Is something brewing inside me / around me? Definitely. In all honesty, my spirit right now is churning. Every idea / belief which is at the core of me is shuffling around...trying to find proper placement.
For so long, I was satisfied, knew who I was...who I wanted to become...who I was destined to become. Now I've come to this place where I'm not even comfortable in my own skin. I've never been in this place before and it terrifies me. All I have...is what is inside me. Vision. Creativity. Words. Images. They've not been coming out like they should. I haven't nurtured the part of me that wants to create. I know that it has to do with avoidance. Because when I start digging, there will be no way to cap what might come out. And I just don't really want to deal right now with any of the issues I need to deal with. I'd rather fill my time with less thoughtful things. Laugh. Laugh. Laugh & never stop.
But the truth is, behind this goodtime gal creation...that I've so delicately mastered...is this gentle spirit looking for home & place & rest & understanding. That's the me in dress & sweater & bare feet. That's the me that sits in this peach chair in front of my computer screen writing to anyone, no one, everyone. Pretending that I might just have something imortant to say. That you really want to know all this. That my emotion...the bubbling of it, the absence of it, the emergence of it...might be,in some way, meaningful. I agree that it's selfish & vain. Or is it just typical of the human nature? To want to connect...feel seen...important...needed in some way. No matter how small or insignificant.
Maybe it's just the idea of sending this out, to whomever, wherever. Pretending that this might be an electronic version of The Perks of Being a Wallflower. That at some time...these entries might make someone smile a content smile...just like I smiled during, after reading those letters. For days.
Sometimes I wonder...who would I be if I were in a different city? If I were in a place where it was easier to connect? Would I connect? Or would I be this mysterious little girl with stained fingers & a notebook who walked in & out of your life with only a smile? Would you notice me? Like I notice you? Would my aura speak? Could you sense my baggage?
A guy once told me "You can't see Beck and not think about Beck. That's just the way it is."
I wonder if it was just a pick-up line. A way to lure me with flattery. The vain part of me hopes that it wasn't. That thoughts might actually settle on my skin like dust. That the conversations I've had with people still play out in their heads. That the random, spontaneous acts...such as jumping into a jacuzzi fully clothed on a whim, or running through huge puddles of mud on a dare...are actually thought about & smiled upon from time to time.
I hope he still thinks about me.
Like I think about him.
Although the type of love we had wasn't good for us.
I wonder...if the timing had been different, if we had met sooner, later.
If our souls were less timid.
If we had trusted more.
If we had believed more.
Would things have turned out different?
Would he have given up meth?
Would he have settled for me?
Could I have healed him?
He & I really were the only people in the world when we were together.
Nothing else existed.
I was the little girl who knew his little boy insides...better than I knew myself.
And maybe that, in itself, is terrifying.
Or maybe I just perceived thing wrongs?
Either way. I'd love to know. But I don't think I ever will.
I'll leave it at that.
Much love to all.
~ Rebecca 12:09 AM [+] (0) comments
Beautiful, random conversation today with my dad about love.[ Monday, June 09, 2003 ]
One of those discussions that just suddenly appears out of nowhere...and you're just stunned, mesmerized by the moment & perhaps, by the words coming out of someone's mouth.
We were on the subject of stepchildren...could someone love another's child as easily as they love their own?
Then the topic came to first marriages. First loves. What is love exactly?
Dad, in his quirky little vague way said "After you've been married to someone for 13, 15 yrs...nobody can take their place. You might love again, marry again. But I'll just put it this way, nobody else is going to sweep you off your feet.
Shwew. Talk about bringing tears to a girl's eyes.
I instantly applied that to our own lives.
And felt like such a blessed, blessed child.
The product of such deep, intense love.
I wonder sometimes, if anything I do reminds him of my mother. My aunt caught me clicking my flip flops one day & said "Barbie, used to sit & do that same thing." Little tidbits like that...make me full. When my dad tells me about her temper, her stubborness...how she walked out of Walker's Creek through two counties because he pissed her off & she wouldn't get in the car with him...how she threw a butcher knife at him when they first got married...how it stuck in the door...how he knew right then he had a hellion on his hands. I see myself in those moments. Having been told "You're a mean little shit, but I love you." I really can see myself walking out of that creek, madder than a wet hen.
I remember the kind, loving woman...who took everyone & their grandfather in. Our house was always open to people who didn't have anywhere to go. That type of kindness, devotion is what I remember about her. Christmas time--she painted every window, mirror in our house with winter scenes. Every Halloween we painted pumpkins & scattered them through the house & on the porch. Birthdays--nothing expensive, but she spent hours stenciling letters, making banners, blowing up balloons, baking cakes. And Scott & I really felt like...we were the most important people in the world on that day. Every day.
After her first spell in the hospital (She spent the winter in intensive care after gall bladder surgery.) Scott & I baked her a get well cake. I was seven. Scott, I believe was five or six. It was the ugliest thing...either of us has ever made. Blue & purple icing everywhere. A couple years ago, that image just stuck in the back of my head. Our little hands. And how we just wanted her to get better...to come home. How we just wanted to heal her. Or make her feel like the most important woman in the world.
In my old photo albums I have a picture of my mom & I think, one of my aunts...8 months pregnant, laying in the sun in blue bikinis. To me that is the most beautiful image...I could have been left with. Two young women, flaunting their life-giving ability.
Really...that's how we should view ourselves. We are so beautiful...because our bodies hold, cradle. Because our laps accomodate children & babies. Because our hands clasp other hands. Or wipe tears. Or check foreheads. Or hold hair back from a face. Because, despite what might be hurting us, when need is sensed...our bodies go toward it...gravitate. Just wanting to, in some way, alleviate the ache.
Touch is such a healing, healing thing.
Much love. I'm nostalgic.
~ Rebecca 1:51 AM [+] (0) comments
Driving home during heavy fog listening to The White Stripes.[ Thursday, June 05, 2003 ]
Thinking that Rogers might not be Rogers.
And that I might just be some fantastic creation.
Or at least, a different version of myself.
Fucking beautiful. All these small moments we participate in, create.
Just fucking beautiful.
Love.
~ Rebecca 3:45 PM [+] (0) comments
Clean sheets and Simon & Garfunkel make everything, everything absolutely okay.[ Monday, June 02, 2003 ]
"Let us be lovers
we'll marry our fortunes together.
I've got some real estate here in my bag."
I've always wanted to use that as a pick-up line.
Actually...I might have used it a time or two.
~ Rebecca 11:28 PM [+] (0) comments
silly girl
you wanted
l o v e
dandelions, peach wine
&
a forever
so full.
----------------------------------------------
there is no way to document
the woman i have become.
split inside myself, toe bejeweled, i
keep thinking about rain &
how the love we made
devoured all
our good intentions.
---------------------------------------------
sweep from my skin
this ash of melancholy
& i will be the muse
of humble mosaic
q u i e t.
--------------------------------------------
we are the mothers of healing rain.
the sisters of ache &
a gently breathing sadness.
~ Rebecca 10:25 PM [+] (0) comments
