I remember when my Grandpa died a couple of years ago. People came to the house, Mom cooked chocolate chip cookies, I got to stay home from school, got loads of presents from everyone like it was my birthday or something. I remember wishing a couple of more relatives would die so I could complete my miniature porcelain tea set.
Mom tried to explain. “Grandpa has gone away and isn’t coming back.”
“Where?” I demanded.
“He’s at peace now, Ruthie. He’s gone to the same place as your goldfish.”
“Ewwww!”
Running to the bathroom thinking they had flushed him, I imagined him just round the U-bend. I spent that summer stuffing bologna sandwiches and T.V. Guides down the toilet. Mom finally decided to call the doctor when she found me with my head down the toilet bowl telling him who Carol Burnett’s special guests would be that week.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Beautiful, If Not So Ugly - John Fetto
The troops moved by, not ten feet below the ridge where all four men lay, clinging to the flat land like men clinging to a cliff with only their fingers digging into the dirt stopping them from sliding off. Hawley lay off to Willie’s, peering over his forearm, not at the troops below but at orange black spider that was climbing his sleeve and was crawling along the fabric of his jersey. Each spiked leg, picked slowly towards the bare skin of his wrist. It would have been almost beautiful if it hadn’t been so ugly, black prickly legs stepping along to the beat of the troops walking down below. Anytime they could look up, see peering through the fronds, and if they did, Hawley and his friend would be pricked by bone shattering lead. No matter what they all must still and not make a sound. Hawley didn’t move, even as his eyes crossed watching the bug, and sweat ran down his cheeks. He didn’t move even as Willie reached over and with pinched the spiders head with fingers black with dirty, grimy nails. Thick ugly hands but just then they looked beautiful as the held the head of the spider and watched as it’s little legs kept wiggly until it stopped.
You're a Horrible Person, But I Like You - Donna Shomer
Fred Cohen taught us to
Find the good in people
And then right after that
You could give them ‘feedback’:
What I like about you
Are the shoes you are wearing
What needs improvement
Is the asshole standing in them.
My mother recited
This one poem to me
again and again –
About the little girl with the curl
In the middle of her forehead
And about how when she was good
She was very very good
But when she was bad
She was horrid.
You know that one?
I always felt sure that
She repeated that hellish verse
because she was trying to tell me something.
You know, first say something nice about the hair –
and then give the ‘feedback’….
I worried about a curl
that would somehow protrude ghoulishly
From my forehead
And I knew I was very very bad.
Find the good in people
And then right after that
You could give them ‘feedback’:
What I like about you
Are the shoes you are wearing
What needs improvement
Is the asshole standing in them.
My mother recited
This one poem to me
again and again –
About the little girl with the curl
In the middle of her forehead
And about how when she was good
She was very very good
But when she was bad
She was horrid.
You know that one?
I always felt sure that
She repeated that hellish verse
because she was trying to tell me something.
You know, first say something nice about the hair –
and then give the ‘feedback’….
I worried about a curl
that would somehow protrude ghoulishly
From my forehead
And I knew I was very very bad.
You're a Horrible Person, But I Like You - Shonna Anderson
I remember a friend back in high school. She wasn’t a horrible person by any means, but was so burrowed so deeply inside her shell that I would try anything to entice her out and be her friend. It was as though I was completely fascinated by her disinterest in having friends or being part of the “in-crowd”. For someone who tried so hard to be liked and to be accepted, to be around someone who seemingly didn’t care, was something I was drawn to. If I could become her friend I thought maybe some of that cool aloofness could rub off on me.
As I’ve gotten older though I’ve realized that what I perceived as being uninterested and unbothered by the cliques of high school was actually more likely a defense mechanism for her own lack of self-confidence. I find myself wondering sometimes what has become of her. Has she come out from behind the wall that she so carefully built around her? Does she let people into her world? Is she happy now?
As I’ve gotten older though I’ve realized that what I perceived as being uninterested and unbothered by the cliques of high school was actually more likely a defense mechanism for her own lack of self-confidence. I find myself wondering sometimes what has become of her. Has she come out from behind the wall that she so carefully built around her? Does she let people into her world? Is she happy now?
Imperfection - Judy Albietz
That afternoon, I decided to knit something other than a scarf. I’d already made scarves for my loyal family members. With big needles and big yarn, I could whip up a scarf in a few days. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t perfect. My mom always said that a flaw in the knitting proves that it’s handmade. Anyway, with something you wrap around your neck, a purl instead of a knit stitch really doesn’t matter. When everyone had a scarf, I was ready to move on to the next level. I wanted to make a hat for my year-old grandson. I headed over to the local knit shop. The owner was glad to outfit me with fine baby blue washable wool yarn, a book with an “easy” pattern, calling for narrow-gauge circular needles and four double-pointed needles. I told her I had never used any of these kinds of needles. She promised me it was a piece of cake. I just had to keep count of my stitches. She sold me a white plastic counter for that too. She said to come back if I had any problems.
It took me almost an hour to “cast on” correctly, getting the yarn firmly lined up—not twisted backwards—on the needles. The first rows took much longer than I was used to, since the yarn and needles were thinner and narrower. I told myself that working with this yarn was much more grown-up than the big yarn. The instructions showed me how to start reducing, to form the dome of the hat. Then, many, many hours into the project, I was breathless with excitement to get to the next stage: the double-pointed needles. I was very proud of myself in figuring out what the pictures in the book were telling me what to do to close up the top of the hat. Just as I reached the finish line, I saw it. In the 5th row, there was a tiny hole, probably a knit instead of a purl. I turned the hat around a few times, trying to see if it really showed. It did. But I wasn’t worried because the knit shop lady would know what to do. The shop door chimed merrily as I entered the store clutching my nearly-finished baby hat. The owner didn’t look as friendly as before as I placed the hat on her counter. I showed her the little problem with the hat. I asked her to show me how to fix it. She smiled, “Yes, dear. You need to rip it out and start all over again.”
It took me almost an hour to “cast on” correctly, getting the yarn firmly lined up—not twisted backwards—on the needles. The first rows took much longer than I was used to, since the yarn and needles were thinner and narrower. I told myself that working with this yarn was much more grown-up than the big yarn. The instructions showed me how to start reducing, to form the dome of the hat. Then, many, many hours into the project, I was breathless with excitement to get to the next stage: the double-pointed needles. I was very proud of myself in figuring out what the pictures in the book were telling me what to do to close up the top of the hat. Just as I reached the finish line, I saw it. In the 5th row, there was a tiny hole, probably a knit instead of a purl. I turned the hat around a few times, trying to see if it really showed. It did. But I wasn’t worried because the knit shop lady would know what to do. The shop door chimed merrily as I entered the store clutching my nearly-finished baby hat. The owner didn’t look as friendly as before as I placed the hat on her counter. I showed her the little problem with the hat. I asked her to show me how to fix it. She smiled, “Yes, dear. You need to rip it out and start all over again.”
Imperfection - Maria Robinson
Martha sipped a cuban coffee at Velasquez Cafe in Brooklyn. Stumbling out of the subway and up the stairs, the hurtling ride from Manhattan always felt like crossing a rough sea. Brooklyn had become her hideout, her London, a place as irregular as the City was regular. It was the perfection of the brewed Cafe bustelo, the blue corn mexican tortillas at Maria's, the brick ovens and baby greens filled restaurants, channeling San Francisco. she was drawn to the people, all of the expressionist New Yorkers who could create their own micro neighborhoods. What she was really looking for was another chance, another love. she knew she'd be unable to move to Brooklyn, leave the stability of the her mother's arrangements which included the care and education of her two young children. But something had to give from the perfect reconstruction of her life after her divorce.
Taken By Surprise - Nancy Cech
Wednesday 6:15pm, I’m sitting at my desk trying to wrap up the day and the phone rings. It’s my boss. I’m new to her team I asked for a re-assignment a couple of months ago to get some distance from a psychotic narcissist (you heard about him earlier in the week.) She’s great. I love her. She’s level headed, gives you room to think, appreciates good work and pretty much leaves me to do my job. But she never calls me after 5 so somethings up.
“Hi. How’s it going.”
me...”Oh great, just prepping for this new assignment we get to kick off tomorrow.”
We’re talking in code these days, with fake enthusiasm. See we just did get a new assignment for a project that we know won’t work. Basically we’re trying to woo back clients that decide to leave the firm. It’s sort of like sending flowers to your ex after you’ve signed the divorce papers, along with a letter that talks about how much weight we’ve lost, that we’ve learned to cook fine french food, and that we really miss you. It’s a little too late. But corporations are funny that way. We all agree to have a corporate memory lapse when the project comes down from the president with an emphatic get it done. Okay so there I am prepping for something that I know won’t work and she says “Well your work is going to get even more interesting. I got laid off today.”
My jaw literally drops. I always thought that was some exaggeration, but I feel the muscles get slack and my mouth open. Did drool just pool out? Thank goodness no one is around.
“That’s insane.” I say. Thinking about what this means. We are in the middle of a re-org and quite frankly don’t have enough folks with her depth of experience.
“Yep. I was asked not to say anything, but I had to tell you. You’ll be reporting into my boss and he’ll come by to talk to you tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry. I really have enjoyed working for you. You really bring a lot of value and I think it’s a big mistake. I was really looking forward to working with you this year.” I say this and I mean it. It’s one of the few things that was authentic that I said that day. And then the line everyone has to say “You know it will be better in the long run, everyone lands some place that makes them happier. And jobs are coming back online. Lots of them. Hey did hear about K. her new job is overseeing the European division. She’s going to Paris next week and is staying for 6 months.” We go on to chat about colleagues that have left, some on their own, most at the hand of re-orgs. Almost all have found work. Only one or two haven’t. The conversation ends on a congratulatory note, me to her. We do give good severance.
And with that I get to go to work today to have my new boss tell me the same story. And I look forward to my second interview for a new job at a different company next week.
“Hi. How’s it going.”
me...”Oh great, just prepping for this new assignment we get to kick off tomorrow.”
We’re talking in code these days, with fake enthusiasm. See we just did get a new assignment for a project that we know won’t work. Basically we’re trying to woo back clients that decide to leave the firm. It’s sort of like sending flowers to your ex after you’ve signed the divorce papers, along with a letter that talks about how much weight we’ve lost, that we’ve learned to cook fine french food, and that we really miss you. It’s a little too late. But corporations are funny that way. We all agree to have a corporate memory lapse when the project comes down from the president with an emphatic get it done. Okay so there I am prepping for something that I know won’t work and she says “Well your work is going to get even more interesting. I got laid off today.”
My jaw literally drops. I always thought that was some exaggeration, but I feel the muscles get slack and my mouth open. Did drool just pool out? Thank goodness no one is around.
“That’s insane.” I say. Thinking about what this means. We are in the middle of a re-org and quite frankly don’t have enough folks with her depth of experience.
“Yep. I was asked not to say anything, but I had to tell you. You’ll be reporting into my boss and he’ll come by to talk to you tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry. I really have enjoyed working for you. You really bring a lot of value and I think it’s a big mistake. I was really looking forward to working with you this year.” I say this and I mean it. It’s one of the few things that was authentic that I said that day. And then the line everyone has to say “You know it will be better in the long run, everyone lands some place that makes them happier. And jobs are coming back online. Lots of them. Hey did hear about K. her new job is overseeing the European division. She’s going to Paris next week and is staying for 6 months.” We go on to chat about colleagues that have left, some on their own, most at the hand of re-orgs. Almost all have found work. Only one or two haven’t. The conversation ends on a congratulatory note, me to her. We do give good severance.
And with that I get to go to work today to have my new boss tell me the same story. And I look forward to my second interview for a new job at a different company next week.
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