E: “You notice how every conversation we have starts sounding like ‘What We Talk About When We Talk About Love’?”
me: “Yeah. Kinda funny. I love Carver.”
E: “We’re okay writers, but we’ll never be as good as Carver.”
me: “We could still try.”
(we both laugh, knowing there’s no hope.)

— conversation between E, my college lover, and me, circa 1989

“If this sounds like the story of a life, okay.” — Raymond Carver

“It’s a dangerous mission. You/could die out there. You /could go on forever.” — Tess Gallagher from “Instructions to the Double”

“You don’t know how strong you are until strong is your only choice.” — quote of the day, from my cousin’s friend

There is a good interview with Tess Gallagher (Raymond Carver’s widow) in today’s Oregonian. Jeff Baker wrote it — he always does a nice job with his stories. (His profile last month of author Katherine Dunn was great, too.)

Kinda funny, how much Carver has impacted my life. How? I cannot tell you, it’s private. I think of him when I write, when I cry, when I eat a good piece of bread. I think of him when I think of certain birthday cakes and certain bakers. I think of him when I see bad teeth, when I get scared out of my head, when I rage. I think of him when I read bad writing and I wish they were hitting it and quitting it instead of wasting my time. I read him for the first time, I loved his writing, I re-read him, my admiration for him got stronger, I edited the literary magazine at my college, I sent Tess Gallagher a note. Would she consider sending me a poem for my little magazine? She would. She did. It was a great poem. (“Why We Don’t Remember the Future,” Portland Review, Vol. 36, No. 3, July, 1990.) I thought to myself, Self, that is one classy dame. (Do you know her work? Do you know his? Go read them, they’re great.) (If their writing upsets you, please don’t blame me. They don’t write mushy-mushy, so get ready.)

Now I read that she is doing okay, has found new love, has her dogs, her writing, her work to keep Ray’s work in print, and up to their standards. She would like to see more of his original stuff in print. Original the way it was written, not the way it was slashed and edited. I admire her for doing this, for still being his partner, even 21 years after his death. (How can he have been gone for more than two decades already?)

It’s good that I didn’t marry E. I think of him sometimes, with good thoughts in my heart, not evil. He was so skittish; I was so worried, even then. For good reason.

On E’s desire to have a large family with me: “We could have 10 babies, and they’d wear shoes sizes 2 to 12.”

Yeah. I would have never married Steve, and had these two particular children. I like all three of ’em. What if I’d married E? I might have had double that, and possibly more losses than the two I’ve already had. Would I be able to write at all, if I’d had more children? Maybe. Would I have gone into library work? I love library work. Impossible to believe, even for me, but I love it more than writing. I’m so competitive with other writers in some areas, but as far as library work goes, I want to share all the love, all the time.

I will still write. Will I ever get a book published? Maybe.

For this afternoon, I’ll finish vacuuming the office. I just picked a huge bowl of ripe, juicy tomatoes. I bought bell peppers, garlic and onions at the store. I’ll take all that, plus salt, pepper, oregano, sugar and hot sauce, and make a big pot of marinara and add fresh basil when it’s done. I may run my son’s friend home; maybe his mom will get tired of waiting for us and come get him. I’ll think about pulling an old manuscript out of the box where it lives upstairs. Maybe I’ll redline it and do another re-write. I’ve sent it out so many times I don’t care anymore, but I’d like to leave something for my kids, anyway. Something more impressive than what I’ve got.

Me, just now, to my rowdy son and his rowdy friend: “Get out of here please, I’m trying to write.”

Yeah, I’m fine with Hockey God, the two kids, plus their assorted friends. My library work, my students, my writing, my garden. My tears. I am so lucky to have so much. For the first time in a long time, they’re tears of joy, not grief. That’s something. That’s plenty. The inscription on Carver’s grave reads:

LATE FRAGMENT
And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

Nice that the Mayor of my fair city does what I ask him to, since Hockey God won’t. hahahahaha.

Seriously though, y’all. There are a ton of kids going hungry in this world. Can we all do a something (little or big) to help with that?

Peace, and here’s to a chicken in every pot,

wm

Mayor Sam Adams, Amy Stephens from the Mayor’s office and everyone else who was involved, THANK YOU for helping to get 1,000 hungry kids fed Monday through Friday, now through the start of the school year. They pulled this one together and they pulled it together fast. (And they’re also working on a plan for next year, I hear.)

The free lunch in the parks program (funded with federal dollars, run locally) doesn’t start until two weeks after school ends, and ends three weeks before school starts! Did you know that? I did not like that math. That is a lot of hungry kids, for a lot of hungry weeks. And we’re not even talking about weekends. It is tough in Portland right now. It is tough a lot of places, and I know we can hang on and get through it, but it’s discouraging. We have a lot of people here who are out of work, and a lot of Oregonians are going hungry. That is heartbreaking, but especially when you’re talking about the littlest residents of the state.

Thanks to Luis Palau, Imago Dei and the Table, the Parkrose and Centennial School Districts, the Water Bureau and everyone else who is working with the Mayor’s office to bridge the gap so kids get fed. One thousand kids fed, five days a week, right up until school starts. Sam and everyone else came through. Indeed, yeah, I’ll say it — “Portland is better together.”

If you or your group is helping work on this, please leave me a note in comments or on Facebook so I can tell you thanks. It means a lot to me — but it means a lot more to the kids.

My son: “Quick! Everybody close your eyes and let’s play ‘Who Licked Me?'” (Grandma and me, quick!: “No.”)

My daughter: “We’re playing a game — ‘What’s That Dead Thing?'”) (Me: “That is not a good game.”)

My daughter: “He’s counting up the dead squirrels and I’m counting up the dead cats and we’re going to see who has more by the time we get home.” (Me: “No.”) (Cats would have won. Uh. Lost.)

Both kids: “Woooooo-ah-woooooooo-ah-wooooooooooo-ah-woooooooooooo…” (That’s the “Sound of the Ambulance” game.) (Steve and me: “Please stop.”)

Both kids, again: “Let’s play the ‘See Who Can Be Quiet the Longest” game?” (Me: “Absolutely.”)

The funnest game was the “Sexy” game. We saw a sign for Sexy something… no, not lingerie. Or ladies. “Sexy Lawnmower Repair” or something, coming back from Newport. The kids thought that was funny, because we have a place called “Sexy Coffee” in the neighborhood. “Oooooooh, Sexy Coffee!” So this game is easy — you just add “sexy” to the beginning of everything:

“Sexy Road Repairs Ahead”
“Sexy Spirit Mountain Casino”
“Sexy Elk Jerky”
“Sexy Portland 22 Miles”

You get the idea. Sexy.

How’s your summer?

wm

Wacky Boy: “I could eat the hell outta some cheese pizza.”

Just got back from bike ride — Sunday Parkways. It was hot and kicked my butt. Fun flying down Alameda Ridge. We’re out in the yard with the kids now, getting all goofy, telling them about their births. (What brought this up? I have no idea.)

me: “You were ten pounds plus (my girl), you were nine and a half (my boy). You were so huge, you were like preschoolers. You just walked on out and started playing.”

Hockey God: “Yeah, son, you were all, ‘I want sprinkles on my sundae’ and she was all, ‘Where the hell’s the whipped cream?'”

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

(ps there’s one more Sunday Parkways, those of you who are in Portland and want to go.)

I love being a mama because I get the hard questions. At 9 a.m.

“Is infinity a number?”

Um, yes. (Oh, wait. It’s an abstract concept, so it’s not a number?)

Didn’t realize I was settling a bet between two 7-year-olds.

Thank you, Wiki Answers.

“No, infinity is not a number, in the mathematical sense. It is a symbol for “unlimited”. As such it has uses in various theories in math and in physics. The simplest proof is adding a real value, such as 1, to infinity. Just as zero times any number is still zero, infinity plus any value will remain “infinity”.

Skewes number is much larger still.”

Wacky Boy, “See?”

Wacky Boy, “He thought you could make any number bigger by saying ‘pizza’ after it.”

I need another cup of coffee. That’s the answer.

Dear Bef tagged me for a meme, asking me to list five ways I love being a mama. Ready?

1)

2)

3)

4)

5)

I can’t think of any. I’m making a list in my head that goes like this:

1) I love when it’s summertime and we get out the wading pool — but they’re too big for the wading pool now. Yet they refuse to give the pool away, so there it rests, against the fence, gathering dead leaves, sticks and rain water. (Note to self: Take pool to neighbor’s house; leave in front yard.) Also, one kid loves going to the city pools; the other would rather punch you in the nose than agree to it. We go anyway and park him in the shade.

1a) I love when we all work together as a team and come to a family decision.

2) Every time I tell or ask my girl to take care of something (put the dirty socks in the laundry, take a shower, feed the cats, help set the table) as soon as I say, “Honey, will you please…” She responds, “No, I don’t feel like it.” She doesn’t feel like it! That is so precious.

2b) I love that the kids are getting older and more independent.

3) My son collects garbage. Excuse me. It’s what you and I might call “garbage,” but to him it’s “treasure.” (Dead things, sand, rocks, ants, earwigs, tinfoil balls, bullet casings.) (We live in the city.) (Yeah, we started having the “Don’t pick up any balloons! Or anything that looks like a balloon!” talk about six years ago.)

3a) I love the creativity they show.

4) Food. Vegetables offered, vegetables refused. Fruit offered, fruit refused. Mac n chz offered, mac n chz accepted.

4a) Every kid is different, eh?

5) Since I’ve been out on family leave, we can actually walk home from school sometimes. Theoretically, we could walk to school, as well. But who wants to wake up ten minutes earlier? “Oh, GOD, you WALKED? We have to WALK home???” (Other parents on playground hiding their smiles.) Then I am stuck listening to the kvetching for the next 15 minutes. And we can’t run by the library, like I had planned, because we need the car for that.

5a) I like being a mom, even with the chaos, the kvetching, the refusing to practice piano, do homework, pick up the Pokemon cards that seem to be on permanent display across the living room rug. I wouldn’t trade it for nuthin’. Besides, they leave for college in 8 years and four months and 11 years and four months, respectively. That’s not so long from now.

Happy clickin’.

wm

ps edited Monday night to say…

1) I love how sweet my kids are. I love the hugs and the kisses and all the goofy jokes.

2) I love when we watch videos from when they were babies and they “translate” for me . (“I was saying ‘I don’t like this book.'”)

3) I love 7 & 9 cuz they’re not little babies… but they’re not big kids yet, either.

4) I love when we play Uno and Sorry and I Spy.

5) I love watching them grow, play piano, garden.

It’s a wonderful life. Really.

wm

My son, having a conversation between his toy Land Rover and his toy pig:

Pig, facing down Land Rover: “Hey, don’t run me over, you like me, remember? You were my crazyass roommate!“

Hey. Bullets? Okay.

* My husband asked me out for lunch. Wasn’t that sweet? Then he bought me an iced vanilla latte. That was sweet, too. Almost as sweet as the mango custard we had with lunch. Almost as sweet as the kheer. (Had to sample that, too.) Almost as sweet as Steve. He’s pretty sweet. Hmm. Maybe I’ll do his laundry for him now.

*Lentil Garden, you are the best Indian buffet place around. I mean it. Smooch. Thank you for the “Southern Comfort” food.

* No, I haven’t studied yet today. (Edited to say: I opened workbook. It intimidated me. I closed it. I opened it up again and began to study.) (School at age 44 is a lot different than school at age 22. If you’re young and you’re thinking of dropping out, or “wrapping up that degree” later on, plz you will think again.)

* The nail tech next to me yesterday, to her client: “I’m taking this class and I’m thinking, What the hell? This is so frickin’ hard! For my final I wrote and wrote and wrote and my teacher wanted more and I told her, Too bad, I’m out of ideas.”

* hahahaha. For some reason, she is going to be able to get by with this and still graduate I just know it. Me? The prof would flunk my ass.

* Hmm. I did work out last night and this morning. You?

* Our son had a great birthday weekend. Seven is so grown-up. Six is still a little kid. Wow. I have a seven-year-old and a nine-year-old.

* They’re still not too old for the park, thank God.

* I’m still not too old for the park. My knitting, a mug of coffee, my girlfriends, all the kids tearing around, ahhhh…

* Really loving the sunshine.

* Happy Monday to you.

xxox

wm