I hate truth in art.

The Radiance

I talk to my inner lover, and I say, why such rush?
We sense that there is some sort of spirit
that loves birds and animals and the ants.
Perhaps the same one who gave a radiance to you in your
mother's womb.
Is it logical you would be walking around entirely orphaned
now?

The truth is you turned away yourself,
And decided to go into the dark alone.
Now you are tangled up in others, and have forgotten what
you once knew,
and that's why everything you do has some weird failure in it.

-Kabir

Translated from the Hindi by Robert Bly

Ouch.

-Pollywog

I thought we were past this, people.

Like the swallows to Capistrano, the teens have returned to the library. We don't see them during the summer months, but during the school year, parents will not allow their teens to be home alone in the afternoons. Can't see why, they are such angels. So, what do they do? Send them to the library where we can babysit.
But let's not go there. It's a rant for another day.
So, to do my best not to offend anyone for I'm the good guy here, you know how you sometimes know the second someone walks into a room that they are gay? It's just something about the way they walk and talk and so on. Well, there is this kid. I'd say he's about 14. Very effeminate. Always has designer jeans to die for. God, I sound very un-PC but the point is the young man is gay. We will call him boy 1.
This afternoon, I'm standing at the desk and I hear someone we will call boy 2 (not effeminate but stinky and ungroomed as young men often are) say to him "Hey, you talk like a gay guy." Boy 1, God bless him, looks up with such blank look. The look says he's battle-weary. He's heard this before. Boy 2 says "Hey, I just wanted to let you know what everyone was saying." Boy 1 gathers his things and walks away, head high. A victory in my eyes. Didn't give Boy 2 the satisfaction of a reaction.
Pollywog, on the other hand, had a reaction. Actually, I was very good. I went over and had a very stern conversation with Boy 2 involving the words policy and zero-tolerance for disrespectful conduct and consequences, blah, blah, blah. My inside voice was in the middle of some disrespectful conduct though, let me tell ya.
Point of story: I didn't know kids were anti-gay anymore. I really didn't. I thought we were over it.
Remember when tattoos and piercings and rainbow colored mohawks were frowned upon? Tell me, when will it finally be cool to not be exactly like everyone else? When?

Daddy.

Warning: Serious blog coming. Hey, isn't this blogging thing supposed to be cathartic?

Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of my father's death. One year ago tonight, I was sleeping quite nicely when the phone rang at 3:20-something. It was my sister telling me Daddy was in the emergency room and wouldn't make it through the day. I was up. Sister was on her way to get me for the two hour drive to my parent's town. I made one quick call to Boyfriend who, God bless him, was standing in front of me about 6 minutes later. I had an overnight bag on my bed and I have no idea what I was putting in it.

Sister was there about 15 minutes later. I climbed into the car with my overnight bag and bag Boyfriend packed. (Cold prime rib, stale Girl Scout cookies and a thermos of coffee. So cute.) Sister took my hand and we drove.

As we approached town, we learned via cell phone that Mother had gone home to get some things and we should pick her up and bring her with us to the hospital. We did and I drove like a bat out of hell to the hospital. I dropped Mother and Sister off at the front doors for there was no place to park. I then circled and circled up the top of the parking garage, parked, opened the door and ran. No time for elevator, down, down, down the stairs and through the doors.

I ran through the hall looking frantically at each sign. A kindly female janitor asked what room I was looking for and ran with me to the correct stairwell. She, forever, has my gratitude. I ran down the stairs and into my father's room.

It was like slamming into a wall. The run had been noisy, my shoes on the floor, my pulse in my ears, the people and hospital noises and then, silence. The room was dark and silent. My family gathered around my suddenly small frail father.

Forget the rest. Nothing to tell. He died. We watched. The duty of every child. The only moment in my 34 years that I definitively knew that I would never get to be okay again.

One year. Gets easier, right? But he is still the person I want to tell everything to. Every experience, every triumph, every failure, every day, my brain still cries "Tell Daddy." Seek his approval, beg for his laugh, search his eyes for a glimmer of pride. Push yourself, break yourself, beat yourself for the chance to hear a "How good is that." I knew he loved me always and completely. He never was unkind or cold. He was loving and supportive and smart and funny and we always wanted more, more, more. He was a drug. He was my true north.

All hope of living to please him is gone and there is definitely a hole. I've turned to my poor brother, his spitting image. I search his eyes for approval and pride but he gives it too easily. There is no challenge. Daddy was his drug too and he thinks we, the girls, his sisters will be okay if he gives what we sought. Doesn't work that way.

My God. My life is a Tennessee Williams play.

Goodnight. I'm turning the phone off.

What I learned on my vacation.

1. Colorado doesn't believe in guardrails. Apparently, an average of one car a year plunging thousands of feet off a snowy, icy deer-ridden road does not warrant an investment.

2. When they say that very painful multi-mile uphill hike will be worth it when you get to the lake that is an unnatural but brilliant beautiful blue, they are so right.

3. When you stay in a bed and breakfast, you turn into one of those bed and breakfast people who get excited by deer (even though you have those at home) and must ask everyone else staying there where they are from and what they do. You can't help it.

4. When you ask a bartender how many cops there are in town and he answers by naming them all because he's on a first name basis with all five of them, the town is too damn small.

5. At a nudist hot spring, the novelty of everyone being naked wears off really damn quick and suddenly, small talk with a stranger whose Mr. Fireman is right there for all the world to see is surprisingly less awkward than you suppose.

6. It takes about 32 hours into the vacation for the grumpiness that comes with overextending yourself on a daily basis to completely slough off.

7. Waterfalls make everything better.

8. Unless the waterfall is coming over the edge of the toilet. When water is at the rim, plunge first, then flush. Plunge then flush. Got it?

9. If the town doesn't have a ghost story, make one up and then charge tourists $3 to hear it.

10. And finally, when you are a 11 years old boy and there is a 6 foot tall oil painting of a naked woman in front of you, it is virtually impossible to look away no matter how hard you may try.

Kill me, kill me now.

I just turned in my last paper for my summer course. Ethics of Librarian Professionals. Egads.

My question is this...what the $@#* was I thinking going back to school? Do y'all remember school? Grades, people, grades. I'm being graded!

The pressure is incredible. How did I do this before? How is it that I have an undergraduate degree? Did I just not care? Granted, I wasn't working full time last time. Granted, I was young and stupid. Granted, there were dorms and beer and crazy antics. That may have helped. (There is still beer. I'm sitting in a bar right now.)

So I just wanted to inform my blogging pals.... you know that scene from Real Genius where the kid is studying and stands up and screams then screams some more and then screams again and runs from the room and everyone else briefly looks up and someone takes his seat? I feel like that 24/7.

2 more days until vacation. Breath.