She was three

 

           

 

                             Shiny-Happy Vacation Bible School Kids

 

 

I guess most kids cut their own hair at an early age.  Kelly did this with a paper scissors at three.  (Age three I mean,)  at four p.m. on an April Tuesday while I was chopping walnuts for brownies in my blue chiffon and talking on the phone with Uncle Sylvester in Winnipeg about whatever happened to Grandmother's yellow hatbox and her autographed photos of W.C. Fields she kept in the fridge behind her not-so-secret stash of rum and pickles.

 

(Just kidding about the rum.)

The menu's probably pretty sparse, just green olives, tabasco, onions, pesto and fried feta with wasabi for dessert.  Only gin to drink.   Smells like black licorice.  No decorations.  No dancing.  No laughing.  Gino Vanelli on a loop.   Plus all that wailing and teeth-gnashing and such.  Gonna chuck that invitation in the bin.

                                 Yep, she's a real swimmer now!

It took me a while to get used to her code-speak of shooting straight past articles and prepositions to the marrow of her thought.  Terms like "in hospital,"  "down kitchen," "under sink,"  "up roof."  That was Lynn from Yorkshire.  Words, words, words.  I love words, last night I slipped away to coccoon myself in a thousand or so in one of those bookstore chairs you practically sink to the floor in.  Nothing like a heaping helping of fresh-baked poems.   Lime and cinnamon.   Fog and race horses.  Cold water flats and beer.

I love having a cat.  And a child.  And a husband.  And two dogs.   And a new genuine-imitation Tiffany (plastic!) shade.   And wine.  And lasagne.  And running water.   And a pretty guitar.   And a cool pair of pants.  And  flip-flops.   And a neat house.  And friends.  And family.  And a cute little car I vacuum twice a week.   And V7 pens.  And my Moleskine.  And a God who gave me all this stuff because for some mysterious reason he really loves me.

 

 

Puppies.  (Two puppies in a burlap bag.)  Ta-tas.  Bazoongas.  Hooters.  Melons.  Whoops, probably not what Jae had in mind when she sent me this seemingly innocent word.  Go away Kitty.  I'm trying to write about puppies.  Go dust the piano.  Go leap off the couch.  Let me get on with this hogwash.  Hogwash -  a new word I've just taught Kelly.  In fact, most of the words she knows - she learned from me,  like...  Breasts and Private Area, all she should know at age five.  Ah, puppies, puppies  - Jae probably came up with something fuzzy, warm and oh, so huggable.   Why won't my mind behave?

 

 

Here's what Gymnastics Show Week photos look like when your camera's rechargeable batteries are on their last legs.  Luckily, the nice lady who owns the place, whose kid is also in Kelly's class, got some good shots she's going to e-mail me, so I'll post those sometime.   By the way, Kelly was brilliant in her show, much improved since last year.  Hand-stands straight up in the air.

                                           THANKS, JAE!!!

All I wanted for Christmas when I was sixteen was an apple corer but when that didn't happen, I slumped down to the corner to drink beer and smoke cigarettes with the other losers.  They were menthols I think.  (The smokes, not the kids.)  When I got back after dark with my mittens all matted with snow, Mom was mad because I hadn't poured the gravy on Granny's mashed potatoes and tucked her chair in before I snuck out.  So my punishment was doing all the dishes, then pretending to smile and listen to Uncle Lou's 99th rendition of the 12 Days Of Christmas while Aunt Junie accompanied him.  She might as well have been playing "We Are The Champions" or "Don't worry, Be Happy" for all she knew of piano.  Later I slipped upstairs and flipped through the kitchen utensils section of the Sears Wishbook until I cried myself to sleep.

Yesterday Kelly and I walked many city blocks in the Texas heat to capture these gems of "The Live Music Capital Of The World" for YOU.   Here are 6 of the hand-painted Ten-Foot-Tall guitars that grace our city.  (View all 35 of the Austin GuitarTown pieces by clicking their site here.) 

          This one's pretty-much a WOW for me.  Yes, a real mosaic.

Fat chunks of solitude are great if they don't last so long you get lonely.  Solitude on tap - even in this room where two dogs, a cat and a child are flying on noisy paths towards heaven?  Good spots to be alone:   A forest with yellow leaves changing to dirt.  Somewhere on a train in Europe.  Aross the hall from footsteps at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  Inside a blizzard of jazz.   At a window in a corner cafe.  Anywhere with a guitar and a dream.  What was it Suzanne Vega wrote about solitude standing by the window with a flower and a flame?   Never did understand what she meant.  But the melody lingers.