The November sun was low, creating shadows across the pool, but it was still warm outside, like it can only be in California that time of year. She walked to the edge of the pool and stuck her toe in, to test the temperature of the water. She was skeptical that this would be a good idea--to squeeze in a swim and shower before picking up the kids, but the water was like glass and no one was swimming at that moment. She stripped off her clothes without even going into the locker room. She wanted the sun on her body that very minute.
She dove in and started swimming, her arms and legs cutting through the water with precision and after the first two laps, she knew that she was in the zone. That "thing" she read about in fitness magazines, which she had only felt a few times - once while doing a marathon and another time while hiking in the Sierras.
The water felt like silk, droplets flying in the air and landing on her face while she back-stroked, another lap doing freestyle, she thought her lungs might explode, but she kept going because she could. She was naked, flying through the water--back and forth, and had lost count of the number of laps.
By the time she pulled herself out of the water, it was dark, the air still warm. The boy behind the sliding glass window of the office gave her a thumbs-up as she wrapped herself in a too-small towel. She had imagined this, but never thought it would happen.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Leaving - Anna Teeples
The Mac Book sat on the nightstand next to her with a glowing light from the power source pulsing on and off as if a person with it’s own beating heart. Always a reassuring comfort seeing that light. She woke early in the morning before any noises from the outside world stirred her. Bella still snored a low purr and growl that was more inviting than any human snore she had heard. Chance felt her hands ache for the keyboard, her morning ritual.
That night she had dreamt about them both. It was the week before her only son was leaving for college. Jake had merely walked in and announced that he was leaving to. Nothing had prepared her for the double devastation. Her body became an instant frozen state, rigid and emotionless. It would take her months to feel a tear muster enough energy to trickle down her check.
That same week she walked in her zombie-state into the Apple store and bought a Mac Book. She did not need her therapist. She did not even want to talk to her sister, her closet confident. She just needed to pour every thought, word, feeling, and memory into a safe place. It had to come out of her in gushes, and heaps, whenever it needed to, all hours and nights. Her Book was always warm on her lap inviting her to say more and feel more. It had started the thaw.
Now she looked at the beat up, smudged on, scratched up white computer and felt the delight building inside her. She was so anxious to share with her latest secrets and experiences, still at her own pace and with the same abandon. She has found home.
That night she had dreamt about them both. It was the week before her only son was leaving for college. Jake had merely walked in and announced that he was leaving to. Nothing had prepared her for the double devastation. Her body became an instant frozen state, rigid and emotionless. It would take her months to feel a tear muster enough energy to trickle down her check.
That same week she walked in her zombie-state into the Apple store and bought a Mac Book. She did not need her therapist. She did not even want to talk to her sister, her closet confident. She just needed to pour every thought, word, feeling, and memory into a safe place. It had to come out of her in gushes, and heaps, whenever it needed to, all hours and nights. Her Book was always warm on her lap inviting her to say more and feel more. It had started the thaw.
Now she looked at the beat up, smudged on, scratched up white computer and felt the delight building inside her. She was so anxious to share with her latest secrets and experiences, still at her own pace and with the same abandon. She has found home.
What Changed - Maria Robinson
You've spent the last decade on Madison Avenue. A woman, bucking the men. You saw the future, rode the dot com boom and came out unscathed. Yet your partner of ten years, Neal, just walked out the door with half of the assets you built together. You head for France, as you always do when you're in need of indulgent leisure. You decide on Marseille as your decompression chamber. It's full of history, hot sun, soulful cooking from the sea and the hills of Provence. And besides, its half the cost of Paris , which means that you can stay for a month.
Ambling in the old quarter, reading the local " journaux",newspapers, spending hours in local cafes and bars, you imagine yourself one of those ex-pat Habitues, that ends up knowing a town better than the resident themselves.
You decide to splurge on drinks at the Sofitel Hotel overlooking Marseille's inner harbor and see an American trying to order a "pastis". His dark curls and humble eyes make you think that something has changed and that you really want to have an affair, but quickly and without strings.
Ambling in the old quarter, reading the local " journaux",newspapers, spending hours in local cafes and bars, you imagine yourself one of those ex-pat Habitues, that ends up knowing a town better than the resident themselves.
You decide to splurge on drinks at the Sofitel Hotel overlooking Marseille's inner harbor and see an American trying to order a "pastis". His dark curls and humble eyes make you think that something has changed and that you really want to have an affair, but quickly and without strings.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Regret - Maria Robinson
You never really wanted to know about his second wife. You were the first and you thought, the only. His Ph.D scientist mother had welcomed you into the family with such humility that you considered her a saint. His research dentist father had taken pictures of you in his rose garden with his new camera. You had all gone cross-country skiing on a blinding Buffalo winter day and then come home to Joan's German hot chocolate. You never wanted to live without these rarefied, if generous parents-in-law. Your parents had been hard and tight, very successful but without the intellectual curiosity that had, at least initially, drawn you to the son of this group.
Then you found out that all of the parent's scientific exploration had been transposed into their son as human experimentation. You were girlfriend, then fiance then just as suddenly, an uninteresting specimen for further observation. You became the first of what was yet to be five wives, all romanced, examined and discarded. You were grateful that you had acceded to his parents' wish for immediate grandchildren. And since you lived on to have a fruitful life, you were grateful not to have any regret concerning the relationship.
Then you found out that all of the parent's scientific exploration had been transposed into their son as human experimentation. You were girlfriend, then fiance then just as suddenly, an uninteresting specimen for further observation. You became the first of what was yet to be five wives, all romanced, examined and discarded. You were grateful that you had acceded to his parents' wish for immediate grandchildren. And since you lived on to have a fruitful life, you were grateful not to have any regret concerning the relationship.
Regret - Kate Bueler
There should be no regret in being a sports fan. No there shouldn’t be. But a few weeks ago when this all started and I donned my bright orange shirt in the mission women’s make. I stood alone. Except a few rogue guys. There is something about the mission that had made its residents think that being monolithic included not caring about sports, but the arts, and fixies, and coffee you pay 4 dollars for, and the next foodie food cart. But the reality is you can rock the mission lifestyle with a giant’s shirt as a female. There shouldn’t be regret in that.
And now now with the change in the climate. I am not alone but in a sea of orange and black. People strangers yell at me go giants and the score without me asking. I am not alone. I stand with the others in the sea of the underdogs. The abyss of my family’s team, the history of the forced games I watched while growing up and dating now by choice. By choice I have sat at a bar by myself to watch. The history of my father sneaking in our very own hot dogs in a thermos to save money but taking us to the worshipped game. And explaining the ins and outs. I still call him to clarify when I am confused. Sometimes I might know more than my male counterpart bar neighbor- only in the mission- only with the band guys.
But there is a strange sense of community that brews in feeling connected with strangers, with neighbors, with people you might never have high 5ed or picked up or spoke to. Isn’t it strange to believe in a team that dances around dirt and grass and slides and jumps and hits and breaks enough to make us forgot ourselves for a moment and remember we in fact are connected. Connected we always have been. Community in not just the orange and black but everyday, everyday but now we wear our uniforms and say our hellos and I just don’t want it to stop. To have everyone return to looking down at their personal devices or talking loud about nothing or just pretending not to see those next to them. My own fashion has suffered- I have two giants shirt in rotation and wear my shirt clean or not every time they play.
People talk to me. And sometimes there is an edge to their words. Sometimes the go giants especially after a 4 hour game and more beers thrown down their throats slows down and tries to be a come-on. Go giants in this sloppy sultry eyes staring attentively- go giants they say. Those guys outside of the bars. The number one pick up line is go giants. The mixture of winning and belonging and beer makes them want to score too. A man tried to exchange numbers with me through a closed window of my car. Go giants. I have been shocked by the ability for the homeless folks to have giant’s gear and wear it on the right game days. Impressive to say the very least. My city has changed. Maybe only momentarily. But enough for me never to regret wearing dirty shirts to watch baseball games at bars by myself. By myself I won’t be for long.
And now now with the change in the climate. I am not alone but in a sea of orange and black. People strangers yell at me go giants and the score without me asking. I am not alone. I stand with the others in the sea of the underdogs. The abyss of my family’s team, the history of the forced games I watched while growing up and dating now by choice. By choice I have sat at a bar by myself to watch. The history of my father sneaking in our very own hot dogs in a thermos to save money but taking us to the worshipped game. And explaining the ins and outs. I still call him to clarify when I am confused. Sometimes I might know more than my male counterpart bar neighbor- only in the mission- only with the band guys.
But there is a strange sense of community that brews in feeling connected with strangers, with neighbors, with people you might never have high 5ed or picked up or spoke to. Isn’t it strange to believe in a team that dances around dirt and grass and slides and jumps and hits and breaks enough to make us forgot ourselves for a moment and remember we in fact are connected. Connected we always have been. Community in not just the orange and black but everyday, everyday but now we wear our uniforms and say our hellos and I just don’t want it to stop. To have everyone return to looking down at their personal devices or talking loud about nothing or just pretending not to see those next to them. My own fashion has suffered- I have two giants shirt in rotation and wear my shirt clean or not every time they play.
People talk to me. And sometimes there is an edge to their words. Sometimes the go giants especially after a 4 hour game and more beers thrown down their throats slows down and tries to be a come-on. Go giants in this sloppy sultry eyes staring attentively- go giants they say. Those guys outside of the bars. The number one pick up line is go giants. The mixture of winning and belonging and beer makes them want to score too. A man tried to exchange numbers with me through a closed window of my car. Go giants. I have been shocked by the ability for the homeless folks to have giant’s gear and wear it on the right game days. Impressive to say the very least. My city has changed. Maybe only momentarily. But enough for me never to regret wearing dirty shirts to watch baseball games at bars by myself. By myself I won’t be for long.
Laughing Till You Cry - Barbara Jordan
It was the end of a 12-hour shift and Penelope was afraid that if she closed her eyes for a minute, she might fall asleep standing up. Her hair was a tangled mess, which she had pulled back at some point during the day, and her scrubs felt like they were sticking to her skin. She was attempting to listen to the woman sitting in front of her who was disclosing details about her husband's affair, her out of control teenaged daughter with an eating disorder, and some sort of vaginal discomfort that wouldn't go away. In her mind, Penelope was trying to piece the details together so that she could come up with one diagnosis and prescribe one pill that would handle all three problems at the same time. She just couldn't think straight anymore.
She excused herself and walked into the lab where one of the nurses was taking a break. "You look beat", said Leila.
"Yea," replied Penelope, as her back slid down the wall of the lab and she found herself sitting on the floor. "Tell me something, Leila," she continued, "is there a cure for a wandering husband, a skinny daughter, and an itchy vagina? "
Leila took another bite of her sandwich and scrunched up her face, like she was pondering the correct answer. They sat in silence, and Penelope closed her eyes and thought she might start to cry. When she opened them, she looked at Leila who was snickering under her breath. "What's so funny?"
Leila didn't answer. And as if on cue, they both started laughing, loud and hard--so hard that it felt like they would never be able to stop. There were pauses, where they barely caught their breath, but brief eye contact with each other would get them started all over again. Tears ran down her face, and her stomach hurt, but when she finally pulled herself together enough to go back and finish up with her patient, she felt compassion again.
She excused herself and walked into the lab where one of the nurses was taking a break. "You look beat", said Leila.
"Yea," replied Penelope, as her back slid down the wall of the lab and she found herself sitting on the floor. "Tell me something, Leila," she continued, "is there a cure for a wandering husband, a skinny daughter, and an itchy vagina? "
Leila took another bite of her sandwich and scrunched up her face, like she was pondering the correct answer. They sat in silence, and Penelope closed her eyes and thought she might start to cry. When she opened them, she looked at Leila who was snickering under her breath. "What's so funny?"
Leila didn't answer. And as if on cue, they both started laughing, loud and hard--so hard that it felt like they would never be able to stop. There were pauses, where they barely caught their breath, but brief eye contact with each other would get them started all over again. Tears ran down her face, and her stomach hurt, but when she finally pulled herself together enough to go back and finish up with her patient, she felt compassion again.
Laughing Till You Cry - Melody Cryns
“Mom, what are we going to do with Ratata?”
“What do you mean?” it was the middle of the night and I was getting ready for bed.
“He’s dead, the rat is dead,” said Megan’s friend – I don’t remember his name. He was a cute young guy with dark hair who apparently had a camera. He told Megan he was going to take photos of her. That’s what Megan told me. It wasn’t until later that I found out Megan’s new boyfriend didn’t know about this other guy.
“Mom!” Megan shouted. “Can you please see if Ratatata is okay? Maybe he isn’t dead…maybe he’s all right.”
I didn’t want to look, I dreaded looking. Poor Ratata, the rat whom my daughter Megan had adopted a couple of years ago when the rat’s owners couldn’t keep him anymore. Oh no, not another pet I’d said – we already had a dog and a cat. This reminded me of when Jeremy was young and he had this sort of “Dr. Doolittle” complex. At one point, we had two dogs, a cat, a rabbit and two rats.
But what were we to do? The rat needed a home – he was gray and white, and his hair had been dyed purple – why would anyone do that to a rat? He was already a full-grown rat, quite large – probably the same size as our dog Sydney was as a puppy. I of course had to purchase a decent cage for him to live in along with all the assorted thing one needs, bedding for the cage, rat food, a water bottle. I just couldn’t see keeping the poor thing in a small cooler which is where he lived when Megan brought him home.
Ratatata joined our family when we lived at the Avalon Apartments in Mountain View – I remember the rat hanging out with Megan on the computer desk and how the dogs really didn’t seem to be bothered by Ratatata at Jeremy’s 25th birthday party – Floyd-the-Dog was still around then too…
At first, I was afraid to touch Ratatata, thought perhaps he’d bite me – but it didn’t take long to find out that he was a friendly rat and loved to be petted and held – he was a little afraid of our dog Sydney because she’d go up to him and be all protective, as if he was a puppy, and one time he bit Sydney on the nose. And, it was my understanding that he didn’t like other rats. But he was the only one…he slowly just became a part of the family.
Whenever Megan would spend the night at friends’ houses, she’d text me, “Don’t forget to feed Ratatata!” He was always happy to see me, and he loved it when I gave him strawberries or sunflower seeds.
Ratatata went with us to the funky apartment in Mountain View and then to the house we now live at in San Jose.
So when Megan and I peered into the cage and saw that Ratatata was lying very still on his side, we knew – Ratatata had passed away.
Megan put her hand on her mouth when it finally hit her – she had laughed when her friend had said he thought Ratatata was dead because she didn’t believe him.
Suddenly I felt sad too – for Ratatata, for my daughter, for all the loss and changes in our lives…we both held each other and cried while Megan’s guy friend looked on.
“We need to figure out what to do with him – we should bury him,” Megan’s friend said softly.
“Yes, of course.”
Megan went to find a bag or a box for Ratata while I ran over to the computer because I had to do it – I had to find pictures of him, memories of our beautiful Ratatata who was so friendly – he would lick you on the hand. Megan loved him more than her hamster Medusa because Medusa bit her and didn’t like her, but Ratatata was always there for her. Our dog Sydney could tell something was up and she followed Megan while she looked for something for Ratatata.
Tears rolled down my cheeks and I was surprised because I didn’t realize I would be so sad about losing a rat. As I searched for photos, I remembered my beloved guinea pigs that I had as a kid and how attached I was to them – and how my favorite character in one of the first books I was able to read in its entirety, “Charlotte’s Web,” happened to be Templeton the Rat. He was a fat rat, always grumpy and looking for food – and he’d steal food from the other animals. I always secretly loved Templeton and thought he changed the most because he saved the day for Charlotte in the end and carried the sack with all of Charlotte’s babies in his mouth – and it wasn’t just about the food binge either.
Poor Ratatata, he was our friend – and now he was gone. Why did this have to happen? People come and go, we’ve moved way too many times – and now Ratatata has left us – that was after Megan’s boyfriend broke up with her the day before her 18th birthday. I finally found the photos of Megan with her wonderful pet rat mixed in with Jeremy’s birthday photos from 2009 – what an adorable fat rat he was – Ratatata. And today was also my mother’s birthday – she would have been 78 years old had she lived.
Megan cried softly as we stood outside at 1:00 a.m. and dug a small hole for Ratatata – and carefully placed his body into the hole. Good-bye Ratatata! Good-bye. We will miss you.
“What do you mean?” it was the middle of the night and I was getting ready for bed.
“He’s dead, the rat is dead,” said Megan’s friend – I don’t remember his name. He was a cute young guy with dark hair who apparently had a camera. He told Megan he was going to take photos of her. That’s what Megan told me. It wasn’t until later that I found out Megan’s new boyfriend didn’t know about this other guy.
“Mom!” Megan shouted. “Can you please see if Ratatata is okay? Maybe he isn’t dead…maybe he’s all right.”
I didn’t want to look, I dreaded looking. Poor Ratata, the rat whom my daughter Megan had adopted a couple of years ago when the rat’s owners couldn’t keep him anymore. Oh no, not another pet I’d said – we already had a dog and a cat. This reminded me of when Jeremy was young and he had this sort of “Dr. Doolittle” complex. At one point, we had two dogs, a cat, a rabbit and two rats.
But what were we to do? The rat needed a home – he was gray and white, and his hair had been dyed purple – why would anyone do that to a rat? He was already a full-grown rat, quite large – probably the same size as our dog Sydney was as a puppy. I of course had to purchase a decent cage for him to live in along with all the assorted thing one needs, bedding for the cage, rat food, a water bottle. I just couldn’t see keeping the poor thing in a small cooler which is where he lived when Megan brought him home.
Ratatata joined our family when we lived at the Avalon Apartments in Mountain View – I remember the rat hanging out with Megan on the computer desk and how the dogs really didn’t seem to be bothered by Ratatata at Jeremy’s 25th birthday party – Floyd-the-Dog was still around then too…
At first, I was afraid to touch Ratatata, thought perhaps he’d bite me – but it didn’t take long to find out that he was a friendly rat and loved to be petted and held – he was a little afraid of our dog Sydney because she’d go up to him and be all protective, as if he was a puppy, and one time he bit Sydney on the nose. And, it was my understanding that he didn’t like other rats. But he was the only one…he slowly just became a part of the family.
Whenever Megan would spend the night at friends’ houses, she’d text me, “Don’t forget to feed Ratatata!” He was always happy to see me, and he loved it when I gave him strawberries or sunflower seeds.
Ratatata went with us to the funky apartment in Mountain View and then to the house we now live at in San Jose.
So when Megan and I peered into the cage and saw that Ratatata was lying very still on his side, we knew – Ratatata had passed away.
Megan put her hand on her mouth when it finally hit her – she had laughed when her friend had said he thought Ratatata was dead because she didn’t believe him.
Suddenly I felt sad too – for Ratatata, for my daughter, for all the loss and changes in our lives…we both held each other and cried while Megan’s guy friend looked on.
“We need to figure out what to do with him – we should bury him,” Megan’s friend said softly.
“Yes, of course.”
Megan went to find a bag or a box for Ratata while I ran over to the computer because I had to do it – I had to find pictures of him, memories of our beautiful Ratatata who was so friendly – he would lick you on the hand. Megan loved him more than her hamster Medusa because Medusa bit her and didn’t like her, but Ratatata was always there for her. Our dog Sydney could tell something was up and she followed Megan while she looked for something for Ratatata.
Tears rolled down my cheeks and I was surprised because I didn’t realize I would be so sad about losing a rat. As I searched for photos, I remembered my beloved guinea pigs that I had as a kid and how attached I was to them – and how my favorite character in one of the first books I was able to read in its entirety, “Charlotte’s Web,” happened to be Templeton the Rat. He was a fat rat, always grumpy and looking for food – and he’d steal food from the other animals. I always secretly loved Templeton and thought he changed the most because he saved the day for Charlotte in the end and carried the sack with all of Charlotte’s babies in his mouth – and it wasn’t just about the food binge either.
Poor Ratatata, he was our friend – and now he was gone. Why did this have to happen? People come and go, we’ve moved way too many times – and now Ratatata has left us – that was after Megan’s boyfriend broke up with her the day before her 18th birthday. I finally found the photos of Megan with her wonderful pet rat mixed in with Jeremy’s birthday photos from 2009 – what an adorable fat rat he was – Ratatata. And today was also my mother’s birthday – she would have been 78 years old had she lived.
Megan cried softly as we stood outside at 1:00 a.m. and dug a small hole for Ratatata – and carefully placed his body into the hole. Good-bye Ratatata! Good-bye. We will miss you.
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