The Tide is High

Saturday, the 24th, was a day full of surprises.
In the morning, my mother and I hosted a garage sale in my front yard, something that I don't do. I'm not against garage sales, but I do feel as though I'm poking through a strangers' underwear drawer at their behest. My husband loves garages sales, and so does my mom so on that stormy and cool morning my cast off undies, so to speak, were on proud display in my front yard. Tulsans are quite vociferous in their appetite for these sales; I've never seen a town so in love with them. It's as though an ebb of used baby toys, paperbacks, lamps, prom dresses, marbles and other once loved items slides back and forth across the town, and the same objects are sold again and again. These sales also transports the buyer and the seller to the ancient marketplaces. There are no ticket prices. Each item is assessed on the spot according to the appearance of the potential buyer and the game begins. Thank god this is a novelty form of purchase; most people are better at it than me.

That afternoon, after we loaded what we didn't sell into the pickup and deposited it at Goodwill, my mom and I drew ourselves long across the couches and watched a tornado on TV. As the elder son was with his father, and the younger was taking his nap, we were free to watch whatever we pleased, and after surfing for a moment we came to a rest on CNN of all things. They were broadcasting live a tornado that was sweeping across Oklahoma less than one hundred miles away from me. I wasn't concerned that the storm was going to reach us. The storm was too black and swollen to cover the distance between us. What it did instead was put on quite a show for half an hour. Up and down went funnels of all shapes and sizes, touching down prairie mostly save one pig farm. There were no fatalities, human or hog.

In the evening my mother took the boys out for a night on the town, and my husband and I took our garage sale monies and did the same. Our diner was a dismal failure, a textbook case of bad management, Cisco goods, and bad seating. We were buoyed by the fact that, if our food arrived in time, we were going to see the new Indiana Jones movie and related our memories of the series over an empty table. In record speed we ate and drank and paid for all of it, had a quick smoke, and made it in time for the film. I don't think I'm spoiling anything for anyone by stating that the film is a disappointment from beginning to end. I am still reeling from the mediocrity of it. My question: if a bridge is supposed to carry you from one side to the other, and the other side looks, acts, and seems predestined to bore, why cross it at all?

At the end of the episode we were completely sober. Leaving the theater we went directly to our dive and commenced to rectify the problem. While doing so, a flock of girls flew in, one after another, in their 80's inspired mall finery. After much noise and booze out they flew again, and so did we. It was the end to a strangely electric day. Maybe it was atmospheric, or maybe it was the act of doing something completely out of character, but I feel as though I've taken a small step forward somehow. And that is exceptional.

Some Dreams

I am not a person who believes in predestiny, per se. I think that there are patterns that one falls or sublimates themselves into. What am I driving at? My dreams. OK, now, if you are the sort that laughs off someones dreams then you may leave. If you are not, and you may perceive certain truths that come forward only in the unconscious, then you may stay. Two dreams I have had recently have perturbed me:
1. My Father selling our land. You see, it is our land. This land. I am driving up to my parents home (at this point strangers usually ask, "Are we lost?" we are so far inland). There is a clover intersection over the creek, and many cars make the turn into our property. Further down, past the Big Pond, there is a tree without leaves which supports large stones. Behind my childhood home lies large Vegas-quese skyscrapers I am so distraught I sit down in the driveway. My Father comes and picks me up, as though I were a child, and tells me everything is going to be OK; lets go in. Tilda Swanson wants to meet me inside one of the casinos.
2. I am visiting my cousin Adam. Adam is a gay man living in Dallas. He lives in an adorable, yet shabby rental apartment. He has two joints; one for me and one for him. I think it's a little excessive, but pretend to go with the flow. Another friend of Adam's shows up and they begin to do heroin. I refuse, and after some time we all go for a walk. Descending into a stadium's staircase, Adam and I catch sight of a blonde woman in a business suit ascending. He and I, both Democrats, recognize Hilary Clinton. I turn to look at her as she turns to look at me, and we smile at each other. Then she turns and walks alone to the top and out. Adam and I are OMG'ing.
What does it all mean? It's a full moon!

Rattle It

This weekend the boys and I made the pilgrimage to Magum, Oklahoma to participate in the bizarre glory of the annual Rattlesnake Derby. It's grown a bit since I was a kid; there are more vendors of inflatable plastic children's characters, more funnel cake and corn dog eateries, and accordingly more fat lower middle class people than you could shake a stick (or a snake) at. My boys wanted one of everything. Rattlesnake head suspended in formaldehyde in a Mason Jar ($8 ea.)? A ride on the (dilapidated) kiddie roller coaster ($2 ea.)? A bite of deep fried snake with a sip of Coke ($4 ea.)? Check, check, check.
The first stop was the Snake Pit. After traversing the ambulatory of flea market goods, we dived right into the Pit, a large makeshift tent. Inside two cowboys equipped with microphones walked around an enclosed oval filled with roughly 1000 snakes (it's hard to estimate snakes-they are fond of the dog pile). As they walked they would pull random snakes up with their "snake sticks" to explain how one may determine the animal's age, sex, etc. Rattlers struck their leather boots indeterminately as they lectured. The boys, quickly bored, were ready for the midway.
Emerging again into the sunshine, we made our way to the Snake boxes. Like the Pit these boxes contained an ungodly amount of venomous reptiles. These pressed board boxes were free and open to the public however, and one was separated from the snakes by two layers of chicken wire spaced two inches apart. Still this was tiresome. We needed oily food, big and sugary quaffs of soda, and rides on spinning strawberries.
After the midway funds were depleted and substances were consumed, we made our last stop into the Butchers' Shop ($1 for adults- kid's free). This has been, and remains, my personal favorite. It is a small space; 1/2 of it is bare concrete covered by elderly bleachers. The other half, separated from bleachers by a press board divider, is where bad rattlers go to meet their maker. The butcher, a middle aged man who told the audience he'd kept company with the Captain all day, was assisted by a high school aged boy with yet another snake stick. A snake was extracted from the pit by the boy with the stick, the body was laid across a tree stump and with some fanfare it's head was removed with an ax. The butcher then took the body and strung it by a wire over plastic shower, skinned and disemboweled it as it still writhed. As he did so, this man cut out the still beating heart and ate it. Amazing!
The day was over after that. We retired to the ranch for some four wheeler fun and spaghetti. My boys were delighted, dirty, and full of strange food. What a story for their classmates tomorrow.

Southern Gothic

I love the American South. When I moved there at 19 it was like moving to a different country, where literally everything was Topsy-turvy. But what does anyone know when they are 19? I married a Southerner and periodically we travel there for family functions, as we did this past weekend.
I am not as pliant as I used to be, nor do I have such a deep well of energy and wonder. I prefer to be by myself. All of these conditions conspire against me during the Southerner Extravaganzas that are the birthday parties, national holidays, or the just-fors. Inevitably I depart from home questioning this foreign culture. For instance: why are women and men and children so separated? Why must we always, always eat and drink richly? Why does no one go outside? How is it that only white people attend the functions while only black people serve them? Why must women be painted and trussed while men are, well, not? Curious and curiouser.
The southern Bourgeoisie are the opposite of myself and the knowledge stings. I am a loner, an intellectual, a feminist, an atheist, a proletariat, as well as being of Mediterranean/Midwestern stock; I am very much of an iconoclast amongst the iconodules. It makes for awkward conversation around the feta dip. But all things come to an end, and I am safely ensconced once more in the heavenly bosom of Oklahoma. This is a place where I possess all of those nettling virtues but the culture sees me as a rare, exotic bird, not as Mikey's Stupefying Consort.

Welcome to the Club

My little sister, the one whom I protected against hostile Indians, pedophiles and myself is now a mama. Welcome to the Club sister.
As a member of the club you will be afforded many honors. You will be assisted in times of peril and hardship as well as in times of gladness. You will know your sisters of the Club by means of Knowing Eyes, Knowing Smiles, and Helping Hands. We are legion. Your daughter will be protected not only by yourself but also by members of the Club. We have faith in you, I have faith in you, our mother has faith in you. Welcome, little sister!

Vitamin D

I'm kinda bored. I feel like something is missing, or astray, or that I need to run for a moment or two and not look around to see if everyone is keeping up. Or how far behind I've become from everyone else. I don't regret my decision to stay home with my children. Also, I can see the light at the end of this very long, life transforming process by which I raise my children and they raise me. I'm so very behind my ex-contemporaries, I don't know where to begin. How do I leave here and regain my foothold? How can I make any sort of income? I used to have a plan, and that plan was going accordingly, but then came two kids who needed me. I like that they need me. It's adorable. I need them too. But the light is there, and I'm here, this close to decision time and goodbye time. Maybe I need to exercise more.

It's been a while!

So much has happened since I last checked in. Christmas, New Year, my Grandma died, Britney went crazy and I went back to work. But what did I learn?
I must listen to people. I need to stand, or sit, or slouch and turn off the inner voice and simply listen. For instance, this Christmas I hosted my family and my husband's parents at my house. The only way I coped with this potentially disastrous situation is that I disconnected. I just let everyone do what they needed to do and stayed out of their way, which is the same thing I do every Christmas regardless of location. Lots of people, in cowboy parlance, put me off my feed but I should have listened to their stories nevertheless. My boys have so much to talk about and I don't listen, my husband, my students; I tell them what to think or do.
On the other hand, I rocked the eulogy I wrote for Grandma's service and my students this semester are this close to falling under my spell.

Let the reign of holy Electric Light finally come…

Sweet God my power is back on. So cold and dark for so long....
The boys and I were stationed at the home base during the power loss from the ice storm for five days. We had it better than many. I've heard stories of people dying from carbon monoxide poisoning, from fire started by candles, from risking the Russian Roulette that is the Tulsa four way and losing. We were cold, put out and bored, but we made it through.
I tried to make it a game for them called Pioneer days. The food was kept in our garage and as it hovered around freezing everyday nothing was spoiled. It was novel to have food outside of the fridge for them. We stocked up on what candles (our house smelled like a florist shop!) and batteries that were available to purchase, and bought more minutes for the cell phone that was recharged at Mike's workplace (why doesn't the car charger work?). And everyone got his own flashlight, two lucky finds from the bottom of the Big Lots barrel. We have a gas fireplace in the living room that kept the house moderately warm, and a gas stove top and water heater so we were able to cook and bathe.
It was most tedious at night. What sunlight we had died around five o'clock leaving us in the relative darkness, save candles and flashlights, for hours. I brought out the Geotracks box from the garage which I am loath to do because there are hundreds of little pieces to this noisy little train set, but it kept the boys occupied which saved some of my thinning patience. During the day, once the streets were clear of the fallen tree limbs, we went to the mall, the aquarium, any where that was lit and warm; everywhere we went we met others in our situation. Literally everyone was affected.
Our power came back on during a trip to the laundromat. We ran around the house turning things on as if it was a miracle. Now there is snow on the ground, and we are barred inside again, but we have television, and computers, the coffee machine, microwave, and lights, lights, lights! Bless the power service people from Oklahoma and beyond who have been working 24 hours a day to restore us to electricity, and the tree people for helping us to clear the colossal mountains of branches and debris from our property.

It's my birthday!?

I keep getting older! This past year was very good to me; professionally I branched out in both avenues and personally I feel I've finally ironed out some wrinkles (no, this isn't an aging face comment!). Last night my family took me out to the Mac and we had a really good time. I love the chicken marsala, and the boys like to draw on the table, Mike likes almost everything they make. When we got home I opened this gift from my boys, and this from Mike. I'm taking them both back. What I will exchange these for will be what I asked for in the first place.
I tend to look back on my birthday. I see me as a kid who thought the world was Mama and Daddy and the prairie. Or me as a young woman who wanted to know everything, once I discovered the world was fairly large. Now the me in the mirror looks older, quieter, happier, less unsure and less afraid. What an interesting thing life is.

Little Boys

One day with my children and I become Ms. Hanigan. Everything around me is....little. And helpless. And needy. And petulant. And kissy. They are good boys, but they are boys, and I'm not used to boys at all. This morning I woke up to a large toddler crawling over me and yelling WAKE UP MOMMA! Honestly by eight o clock I'm done! Please don't misunderstand, I love my children. The sense of fulfillment and happiness they give me is amazing. But it isn't easy, and it isn't free.