Sunday, December 6, 2009
And so we’ve sunk another week into the backwater swirls and eddies, fodder for a rainy day or perhaps a remnant dendrite misfire a decade or two removed from the moment. I’ve got a bubbling crock of anglicized red chile and burger enchiladas aging on the counter, the husband is still conscious and the spawn? Well I don’t see appendages flailing from the back of the batcave, so I guess we can chalk up a filial ceasefire. Since the great Boehm castle disaster of 2009, the PC is now relocated to a spot where I cannot comfortably zone in on the screen and my favorite cyber addiction – the blog. I suppose that means I’ll either spend more time with my ample hindquarters creating a happy groove in my couch, or I’ll inundate the bandwidth with quasipentacostal faithlite cheese. Today I choose the latter. Yesterday, I suppose the former would have been the more viable option.
Not sure what it is, that toxic mix of hormone induced disphoria and epic career stress that makes us rightbrainers occassionally fink out but we do. Depending on our proximity to either a sharp object, a loving relative, or a delete key – often there’s messiness, culling and bloodletting. I make no other excuse for my presence now at wordpress as I considered cybercide of at least two other blogsites I frequent. Instead, I did the really stupid thing and opened another site. You see? I’m a writer by passion and lately it seems I’m writing for the dustbunnies under the desk as much as anything. All the mindless bandwidth emos have clogged the creative sieve at my favorite writers site, gumming up the updates with woetry and pornems and even my little blog haven seems more like a library or a dental office waiting room than my happy place. Suffice it to say, I’m restless, irritable, ornery. I need chocolate. I need a full body message. I need anejo tequila in a crystal snifter. Well, maybe not. I just need to write “me” again. After all, blogging is the equivalent of talking to oneself in the mirror (without the reality check of catching that bit of spinach in one’s bicuspid.)
And so, I’ve promised myself to return to my daily blogging. I’ve lost so much this year between the passing of my dad, the unbelievable schedule at work and the total tanking of my first novel “Bethany’s Crossing” (because I had no time to promote the thing)I am tired of sacrificing the part of my identity that brings me personal peace. Last weekend when I sat down at my keyboard, realizing I was 30 thousand words away from my nanowrimo goal and only had four more days to achieve it before missing the mark for a third year running, something snapped. When my dear but often clueless spouse raised his hackles about car maintenance, it occured to me that unless I am prepared to fight dirty for my craft, the world, the job, the kids and rush hour traffic will simply snuff the muse for good.
And so, the Tam ain’t playin. I will write. Poetry, blogs, the rest of my novels and whatever else I think of. I”m back and nothing is taboo.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Yes MA'AM! Tam's been standin' knee deep in the guano again. It all started yesterday morning. An innocent lapse of reason, a slip into domesticity, an innocuous moment of trimming a half dead plant...and it happened. Several hours later, a hot meal had been prepared, several loads of laundry were washed and folded, the curtains were clean and rehung, generations of dustbunnies were maimed and Arachnids Local 457 were picketing for better web spinning conditions...entire regiments of their leggy friends sucked up whole by my vacuum cleaner. I even wiped down the plant leaves....
This morning, still suffering from residual lunacy (I must have ingested a snoutful of clorox/windex/ajax/pledge...yeah...) I mounted an attack on several paper blobs residing in the vicinity of my computer...(who keeps Christmas cards from 2002?) only a gastric mutiny thwarted my pending advance on the hubs last bastion of living room chaos. ( a pox on red chile, potatoes and eggs on the same plate. I need ice cream now....any flavor will do. I'm going to sit in it.) His desk - or "extreme Jenga - stack the CD's and paid bills edition"
I remember when my dear hub worked every saturday and I would get up and clean my home in a couple of hours before putting on 80's LP's and succumbing on the couch to a hops and barley induced semi napping state. Life was good back then. Yesterday, it was a vendetta. I WILL HAVE ORDER IN MY LIFE! And that means no slugs under my computer, no spiders chilling on my printer, and no mounds of male debris scattered about my batcave.
The only problem now is: I have no excuse. I can actually sit down at my PC, put my funky feet on the floor underneath, and write. This may be a problem. I've been hiding behind my dad's death...my day job (which by the way, my copeep emailed me five times and called me once with 'emergencies' - so much for a day off. Good thing I don't go for the hops and barley induced napping anymore.) and the shipwreck my home has become. Of course, there are still small areas to reclaim...the mantle...the bathroom floor...but I have leverage. The men are bringing home an XBox. And we have a signed agreement with housecleaning clauses...(git the mop son, there's a spot there by the potty...)
And so. I spent a few hours catching up at WC...posting a few things. NaNoWriMo is in a couple of weeks....I should just go for it. I think I will. (pass me that battery cable. We're gonna zap this muse till she sizzles, boys!)
Saturday, February 7, 2009
So the corporate portion of prayer and fasting ended a night early for me as the Bigspawn had to be taxied from AllState choir practice to church and I was still at work - the HOH left the mutated one at home for a "Bleach" (some inane anime japinimation eye candy found on line) fest and I hunkered down on my sofa after the trek home and watched mindless reruns of Friends and Supernatural. I shoulda gone to church. It was awesome....sigh.
All it means is all it ever means and that means that I can now do some of the things I'd been meaning to do if only I had the means, meaning: back to my life in overdrive. While not the prime directive I at least have the recurrent thought that blogging, while purposeless and sometimes incendiary is a distraction I currently crave enough that I feel the pull to post a plethora of posturing and pleasantries on my personal page. And so I shall in three, two, one...
I'll start by saying this once and only once - unless I exercise that right hardwired in the DNA of every female creature on the planet usually reserved to spurn the amorous advances of every male creature on the planet and that is - iffin I was to change my mind - I just put it out like so much wrinkled Christmas wrap and turkey carcasses....I don't like Obama. Don't care how smooth, how educated, and how deserving he may be. Don't care how ready or how over due or how amazing it may be that he will be in less than two weeks our officially elected official - I don't like him. Just like I don't like Wheaties, reality TV and the late John Lennon. I don't like a lot of things, but in true Tamster fashion - I flatly refuse to get my nylons in a knot over it. You see, and here I can only profess my personal position with the understanding that many of you see the human condition as equivalent to meatsacks with lips and that spark of semi intelligence emanating from our orifices is only the transient manifestation of chemical residue - I believe we are more than bologna, turkey and steak on a stick. We are spirit, we have a soul, and we live in a body. (hang on, I'm gittin' to ya.) Our souls, composed of our will, our intellect and our emotions - while often in the drivers' seat when the body is sated, simply weren't designed to rule the meatsack. Our spirit, our divine spark - our groundwire to the Creator - that is the designated driver...but we while in our skins - engage in this continual tug of war for SUPREME control....letting our emotions run the happy mess right off the road. If I - with my capricious emotions and even my limited intellect let my soul lead - putting the emotional girl out front - while the ride might be wild -eventually I'd be single, repeatedly pregnant, drunk, beat up, and possibly even dead by now....many times over. Emotions, while wonderful were never meant to determine our destiny. Intellect and will, while formidable are equally limited...it is only the source that can provide uninterrupted power...meat spoils....Spirits don't. That being said. It doesn't matter one rip of intestinal air who a Tam likes or dislikes. Am I a Spirit with a soul, in a body - or a walking chub of bologna?
The fact is, Obama will soon be Mr. President - a title to which I will defer the respect, the honor and the prayer to which it deserves - because I am more than a meatsack. I'll check my emotions at the door. I'll consider my intellect. I'll use my will to speak life, and not death. It won't be easy - but it is completely doable. And thus concludes the religion and politics portion of my ponderings.
Suffice it to say, anyone who has known me more than five moments knows I'd much rather barbeque my kids and bemoan my status as maligned, bean countin', hebrew slave than wander off into the deep end of the politics/religion pool....unfortunately, that's where all the cool kids are lately - so I feel compelled, follower that I am, to flail around miserably until I swallow enough ool (hoping there's no p in the ool) to leave me spitting and coughing and dragging my weary self back over to the mushroom waterfall, and the happy orange tortoise family. Admittedly, my recurrent issues of life as I know it aren't going to change the world - but I write what I know and what I know lately is - I seem to be sprouting more fuzz on my face than on my....um...well...I suppose some things even I shouldn't approach in a blog, now should I? I guess I'm just grateful that my hubby likes both peaches....and nectarines. And thus concludes the TMI portion of my blog. Speaking strictly - one meatsack to another - aging is a cruel master with a sick sense of humor. I'll adjust...it's only my pride.
Peace. I hope to start back on Ephesus Offense...and for those of you who might be curious, I finally recieved notification that my book order has been shipped. (I guess authors don't get equal treatment as customers who pay full price...aint that a trip)
I'll be back tomorrow...and I won't talk politics...I promise. Hairballs tho....they may come up...no pun intended
Pressed wet with tears
Sacred spaces carried by hallowed hands
Whispered winds that hover
Can't cover this fragile soul
Fractured by the passage of years
Each stone a death remembered
Cyclonic before the storm
The walls we build
Never strong enough to stop the tide
Bubbles up to a silent sky
Potential of a life unlived
Slips beneath the surface
Swirling backwater memories
Heavy with fresh earth and leaves
Surrender the imprint
Of your body to oblivion
I can only wish you peace
I know will not come
My aching grasp
If I could pull you
Some secret place
An open heart
Sweet balm for your weary soul
I’ve lost you to the droning insanities
Shipwrecks and effigies
Cast up on the shore
You are forever dragging chains
Before the ripening
For barren ground
Always hungry for more
I scribble an epithet
Pressed wet with tears
Plastered prayers to fill the cracks
In my fractured soul
Surrender your memory
To the silent sky
Send them love....
Inspired by the Book "The Secret Life of Bees"
Saturday, January 3, 2009
So Dave and I were sitting there watching reruns of something too bland to register in my cortex, and he did what he does...switched over to the local Christian Station...Sigh...but WAIT! As I listened I heard the most amazing guitarist: Benny Prasad. I was totally blown away by this man's music and the instrument he designed, called a "bentar" - basically it is a guitar with two bongos and a 14 string harp added....he plays all over the guitar and it's amazingly beautiful.
This morning I rambled around on his website www.bennyprasad.com to find out a little bit more about him and through his YouTube links, I found him paired up with another guitar great: Phil Keaggy....OH MY LORD! So....here is my sampling for you...peace.
Benny studied in Santa Fe, NM (right up the road) and I had the pleasure two years ago of hearing Phil Keaggy in person. Peace.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Yes, the above photo was edited using whatever generator the budding comic had at his or her disposal. It really is of no consequence to me. I only posted it because it makes me smile. Sometimes the silliest differences in POV spark the greatest divisiveness between individuals...groups...governments...but I'm not in the mood to prostelytize today.
(Tam drops serious convo like it's hot)
So I slept in again this morning until almost dawn and let the spawn snore and drool as long as they desired which automatically gave me time to completely catch up on my marketing for Bethany's Crossing. (Tam pauses for a moment to break into spontaneous gratuitous singing and dancing ala Fame....What a feeling....) Focus, coupled with time is a powerful thing. I have begun to form a legitimate "writer specific" page on blogspot. If you got it, you may as well use it to its fullest capabilities, right? I'm still a tad undecided about multiply. Not sure what I'm doing there these days, maybe I don't have to be "doing" anything...IMAGINE how THAT rubs an anal chick like me. Writers Cafe is another outlier. I'll get to that in a moment.
So after scarfing a few cold pork ribs and a paper bowl of leftover green bean casserole, I've been pondering the complexities of things like why does my refrigerator sound like a deranged cricket on a sleepless summer night, how can the feline sleep with her tongue hanging out and her head twisted at least 240 degrees on her neck, and how come writers cafe ditched their journal option last year - leaving me to feed my blog addictions on multiple sites - yes, focus coupled with time is a powerful thing...
Suffice it to say I've been a bit blocked on the writing front since September of 2008. I can't remember the last poem I wrote or even the last couplet that danced through my dendrites. All the characters in my head are oddly silent and even the urge to purge has disappated like scant dew on sundrenched high desert chamisa. Perhaps it was the toxic blend of politics and anti christian sentiment on multiply. Perhaps it was an odd decline in reader comments at Writers Cafe...perhaps it was hormonal. I really don't know. But only I and my Creator can fix it and that is my intent.
Let's face it. I'm a blogger and blogging is as much a form of writing as anything else one might spill across the flickering screen. This amalgamation of verbs and nouns and random punctuation marks sometimes actually provides fodder for that stuff some of you consider "real writing" By giving up my daily "diversion" I've managed to cap the creative flow.
So...The Tamsters back and that includes ye old Writers' Cafe. I WILL be posting something daily and I'm not concerned whether its AMAZING and PROFOUND. There are plenty of prophets and preachers and politcal pundits out there...I'm just PEOPLE. Real, raw sometimes lacking in couth. Sometimes a bit naive. Sometimes just plain ole school stoopid. But I am. You know, if not for my little "blogging diversion" Bethany's Crossing would not exist. I never would have finished it...so....I'm picking up my keyboard for my daily dumping. You've been warned.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
I think I slept in longer than I have in years today, after staying up last night long enough to welcome the new year with a few friends and family. What was left of the morning was spent slurping corned beef hash and oohing and ahhing at the Rose Parade floats. I then spent most of the afternoon rambling about on the bandwidth doing my "free marketing" of Bethany's Crossing. I've posted the link for the book in over a hundred different blog pages over the past few weeks. It's a tad tedious but my publisher highly recommends it and since its a Joint Venture, I'm expected to do my part.
I've thought about posting the kitschy, lofty, unattainable list of resolutions. Like so many of you I endeavor to read the whole Bible forty times, memorizing a bazillion elements of key scripture (directly from the Hebrew and Greek texts, after I learn to read Hebrew and Greek) there's the committment to fasting and prayer which will last about twenty minutes on Sunday morning before my stomach EATS my spine and my mind wanders off on a tangent. Oh and that size twelve pair of jeans in the bottom of my closet...and the green suede mini that hasn't graced my hindparts (not even ONE THIGH) since 1994...I'm gonna own that look again....by March, right? And let's top it by being nice to my family, my boss, other drivers on the road, not cursing (I'll start that one tomorrow) and totally squelching the creeping insanity hormonal changes are bringing into my life. Oh yes, I almost forgot. In my spare time, since I'm totally giving up TV, I'll finish my second book, write at least fifty poems and get 12 poems published. Yeah.
Funny thing is, when I woke up to this new year, with this new list....in my bathroom mirror was the same old double chinned, graying chick, whose heart has been skittering in her chest all day....the weariness palpable, and that gnaw in my soul - I'm tired of symptoms. I'm tired of obligations. I'm tired the struggle. All the external lists and plans and goals mean nothing if the girl inside can't get a grip. And that is the real resolution this year. I want myself back. My faith, my courage...my sense of humor....my hope...I want that all back. It's mine. and now more than ever as the world spins faster and faster....I need it.
I wish the same for you.