Matthew

What can I say about Matthew. My first phone conversation with this little guy was his calling to tell me about seeing horses at a farm. He said (and I quote) "Horse. Pee Pee. Poo Poo." He hasn't outgrown the humor of bodily functions, but then neither has his uncle. What impresses me most about Matthew is his mechanical mind and determination. Instead of wanting to be a pilot, he wants to build planes. And he could too. He's smart and he's a mess, probably why I just adore him!

Updated Pics - Jonathan

It's about time I update some photos of the neices and nephews. I'll see what's cute that I haven't put up.

Jonathan is eight now, and getting to be more of a big kid every day. He's a lot like his uncle Geoff. He wants to climb every tree, visit every stream, and he is dying to go canoeing! I keep telling Geoff we'd better hurry up and get started on our own family, but on the bright side, Jonathan will be big enough to babysit our children by the time we have some.

Defending the Alpha Position

Sometimes it is tough to be the owner of two pit bulls. They don't rough me up by biting me like some people would probably think. Once Colson got so excited to get back into the house that he wrapped my arm around the posts on the entryway to my porch - I ended up in ER. Nothing was broken, but I was pretty swollen and hurt.
Another time I got a black eye - my only shiner ever! He just bumped me in the right spot to blacken it. And then there was the time one of the neighbor kids decided to throw a stick for the dogs and clobbered me in the head with it. I know that wasn't technically the dogs' fault, but it was a related injury.
And as I sit here typing this post, I have a throbbing tooth and a bloody lip. Soozie this time, bumped my tooth with her hard head, splitting my lip open. If I still have a headache this bad tomorrow, I'm going to the dentist. If I lose my front tooth over this, I'm not going to be too happy! But these are the perils of pit bull ownership I guess...

Dang! It Feels Good to be a Poet!

It feels good to be writing again. I've been into E.E. Cummings lately, and I think it shows. That and my post-modernist training, which I'm still coming to grips with. I love structure and syntax and twists and turns and strange words with double entendres and everything about language. Just love it. Believe it or not, this is a love poem. That's as much as I'll give away. I'd love to see commentary on it - of any sort - good, bad, or ugly. I'm interested in a, whether or not anyone's reading this other than my sister; and b, what you think...

(Non) SENSE

The smell of wanton sulfer -
his careless gentility -
an odor of undoing
and taste of starlit apple

he has a touch so malignantly
sagacious
(both alarming and familiar)

and still -
on the (almost
imperceivable) pauses
between comingandgoing

sober intoxication - and
inopportunity -
share between petals,
the thorns

My Sunshine

I had been thinking over this post all weekend when I noticed my sister wrote something similar this morning. I was thinking about what a stabalizing force she has always been in my life and how rare and neat it is to count your sister as your best friend.
Some of my earliest memories still make me smile and laugh. I remember her teaching me the words to "You are my sunshine" when we lived on Pennsylvania in Shreveport (I wasn't even 5 years old). I remember standing on the edge of the double bed we shared and falling backwards playing "TIMBER." I remember her pretending that she could fall asleep in 10 seconds and me trying to wake her up (she was such a good faker I could push her to the floor before she'd get mad enough to stick her tongue out at me).
I remember watching her through the glass doors as she played with Dylan on our jungle gym when I wasn't "cool enough" to hang out with them. But I also remember her sticking up for me on our walk to school when someone was picking on me. I remember her driving me to school and us getting lost during one of the first ice storms in Birmingham. I remember us sitting in the senior parking lot and her telling me to stop listening to depressing music because she was worried about me (It was her tape of Pearl Jam, but she was right).
She was the reason I had a date to prom my senior year. My date's grandma died and a friend of hers took me and I had a wonderful time! She included me in college, we got to know each other better. I remember when my grandmother's second husband died how she and I drove together and listened to Jim Brickman and how it felt funny to be as old as we were.
We fought alot, but I had her there to fight with, and that was always more important. We tattled too much, but we still somehow found it in ourselves to trust each other again, and I would still trust her with my life. We moved so much that I am just glad I was never totally alone. Sometimes people are lucky enough to find a friend who becomes a sort of sister. I have been lucky enough to have a sister who has become (and always was) my friend.

Dickonsonian Day

For years I have had a picture on the wall in my bedroom. The frame is cheap and the picture is of a teddy bear. On it is my favorite poem of all time, Emily Dickonson's "I Shall Not Live in Vain."
If I can stop one heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one life the aching
or cool one pain
Or help one fainting robin
Until his nest again
I shall not live in vain.
I know I don't have any punctuation right, but you get the gist.
Well, yesterday I got to have a Dickinsonian Day. I helped a little guy named Gabe. Gabe is a pit bull that some folks found a few months ago living on his own in the B'ham area. He has suffered a lot, judging by his excessive scarring and gunshot shards and bb's still lodged and seen on x-rays. And despite all of that, he is a doll. Anyone who has spent even a few minutes with him has fallen in love. This morning Gabe is in surgery. He is have a face lift, hopefully to put his lip back where it belongs so that he won't look like he's snarling because Gabe doesn't snarl.
I'll update with some new pics of Gabe later this week when I get a chance to go and see him in recovery.
If you're reading this for some reason and you want to help Gabe, go to www.turtlemoonrescue.org and you can donate to help cover his boarding and surgery costs...