The Grandfather Clock

Sometimes I stare at the wall and try to see your face. I focus
beyond the bump of white plaster, beyond
the tick of my grandfather clock, and into the glow
of my own eyes--tired eyes that want to stare no more,
want to feel the loss of evening no more. I see
you---in the frame, somewhere, back in the month of minnows
and Minnesota bass. The day I sat
on rocks near poison oak and Aspen,
I watched you that day.
Your arms scared with winter
hunting, forced the fly rod back and forth
like the arms of my grandfather clock,
the line moved through the air,
and I waited for the buzz of the mosquito and the cool
shade of night when I'd no longer sit
on the edge. When you'd look
away from the folds of this river, and see me,
my fingers slimy with minnows. See me take
the minnows and lead them to the hook-- just like you
showed me: "hook to head,"
but your line moves through the air into the Mississippi
It's then when the night falls to day, and you
vanish with the chime of the clock.

An abridged Tale

It seems as if I went in a fog, I know I was there last week frolicking in the redwoods with my little girls, but it seems so distant today. I started grad school this week. I've been looking for a good preschool for my little ones.

Was my trip all just a good dream? What did I do in that dream?

Let’s see. I think I’ll go back and re-read Friday’s post so I can remember where I left off.

Oh yes, I think I’ll finish with the last of my messy business and then go onto the good stuff (or I'll do a short report on the good stuff because well it's boring mushy stuff).

While camping, I learned that all good deeds never go unpunished. I had just finished day one with my kids. We’d spent the day by a creek and I’d happily let them roll around in the sand and get all dirty. For my efforts, I was sandy, suburned, but relaxed-- and oh so content.

On the way back from the river, I met this old man who proved to me that chivalry still exists. You see, my husband had sent me with his better, more efficient camping equipment-- the tent I couldn’t set up and this one burner stove I couldn’t light. Not being shy, I hailed down the old man and asked for his help. He tried. Nothing happened. We read the instructions. We followed the instructions. Nothing. Finally we decided it just didn’t work. There must be a secret fireman’s code to get it to stay lit. But at least now I'd made a friend. He was nice enough to check up on me every once in a while and to shoo my 7-year-old back to my camp whenever she took to wandering in the forest.

And so, instead of using the stove, I went primitive and cooked over the campfire (for real). Way back when I was still young and all my parts hung out int he right places, I used to camp and cook over a fire. It was exhilerating to be that close to nature. Now, with kids I didn't want to do this because the girls my be their dad who loves to play with fire.

That night, I went to bed happy, knowing that I wasn't completely alone. This other person knew we were here --if the bears came in the night and ate us someone would notice before the stink set in.

Later that night I heard a growling noise. It was loud, rumbly and coming from inside the tent. Nikki’s tummy was apparently trying to eat her esophagus in her sleep. I should have let sleeping babies lie. She wasn’t asking for a sippy of milk. She wasn’t even awake, but I got this warm fuzzy good mother feeling and decided it would be a good to make her some Ovaltine by flashlight.

With flashlight in hand, I opened the trunk and the ice chest-- setting the flash light and keys on top of some newspapers ( don’t forget those keys, I thought to myself). And so I made the sippy, took out a jug of water in case the other two woke up thirsty-- and then I looked up at this amazing sky.

Way up there a million fireflies burned just for me-- wow.

And then I shut the trunk. "Beep beep" went my car, signaling that it was safely tucked in for the night. Did I mention my keys were still inside the trunk? Darn those auspicious stars!

Not to worry. I have roadside assistance through Subaru. And so, I snuggled between Abby and Nikki, knowing everything would be OK.

The next morning I got up early, wrote my roadside assistance information down and waited for the forest ranger to make his rounds. I didn’t have to wait long. This forest service employee (boy who looked like he’d spent too may days surfing) pulled into the bathroom lot and I ran up to stalk him as he came out.

I explained my dilemma and he said he’d call the ranger.

“Uh I can’t get a good signal,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Wait,” I said. “I don’t get cell service out here. Do you have a phone where you work?”
“Yeah, but I’m not going there right now,” he said.
“That’s OK I can wait,” I said. “If I give you the information, will you just call my roadside service and have them send someone out here. I can wait as long as I know someone is coming.”
“Yeah, I guess,” he said.
“Please, promise me you will not forget because I have three small children and we need your help,” I said.
“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
“Just don’t forget,” I said.
“Are you checking out today?” he asked.
“No, I’m leaving tomorrow,” I said.
“I’ve got you down for today because you owe $3,” he said.
“You didn’t have a campground host and I didn’t have change,” I said. “I went to the store last night for change, but it was late when we got back so I figured I’d settle up in the morning.”
“Well, I need that money or you have to leave by noon,” he said.
“I will -- if I have my keys,” I said. “Don’t forget to make the call.”

Moments later the ranger appeared on scene. I gave him my information and he said that apparently I didn’t have roadside service (which I do-- the receipt is in the glove box, but that is beside the point. I needed those keys.) I made the mistake of telling him how much cash I had on-hand (not that I think he is unscrupulous-- I just think he told the tow company-- who in turn charged me the exact amount I had on hand $140 for five minutes work).

But I had my keys-- yeah!

I drove the kids to Heddywoods State Park where we explored the redwoods.

We visited Casper Beach several times and I played with the girls in the waves, built sand castles and searched for sea shells and pretty rocks. We roasted hot dogs on Van Damme Beachduring the day and then returned at night to roast smores -- right there on the beach-- at night with the ocean breeze and a night sky that stretched to the edge of the Earth.

Other activities included: riding the Skunk Train, going to Glass Beach, Merkerricher State Park to visit the seals and visits/tours of a bunch of light houses.

Each one of these events could be a chapter or a post, but I know you all have busy lives so I’ll finished up with a short discussion on smores over the campfire.

I grew closer to my daughters around the campfire with the flames hypnotizing them into quietness. We talked like mothers and daughters should talk. We roasted marshmallows and I just let them do it. If they burned them, so be it. Blackened marshmallows are a delicacy, I said. It was so peaceful-- and in that moment surrounded by my loves, I knew I was doing something right. I am a good mother -- I think that is the first time I have ever thought that.

Memefied

Well folks SWFM memefied me so part II of my story will be put on hold until Thursday. Warning: I don't feel the least bit witty or interesting.



1. One book that changed your life? The River Why- the book was the bait that finally caught me. I was sick and my husband (then just annoying boy) brought me the book to read. I rolled my eyes-- opened the book and couldn't stop laughing. And so he caught himself a wife

2. One book you have read more than once?"Lord of the Flies" and I swear I'm living the book every day-- pass the conch shell

3. One book you would want on a desert island? Primitive WIlderness Living & Survival Skills: Naked Into the Wilderness

4. One book that made you laugh? Walter the Farting Dog (it's a kid's book)

5. One book that made you cry? "Gone with the Wind"

6. One book you wish had been written? R&J are Dead (not a fan of Romeo and Juliet--good monologues and scenes-- disjointed play-- sorry I swear Shakespear had to be joking and so if I ever write a book-- let's just say I'll pay tribute to the Bard and his little melodrama)

7. One book you wish had never been written? The Feminine Mystique-- interesting book but it made me bitter when I was younger. I don't know if I'd feel that way today-- or maybe Finnegan's Wake because if I open it, I can't help analyzing it and one page will take me days.

8. One book you are currently reading? Selected readings of Jose Marti-- for grad school It's a little dry and it rubs me the wrong way-- maybe it will get better

9. One book you have been meaning to read? the owners manuel to my printer-- it's not working

Honey I'm home

Did we get to where we were going? Did we find a place to stay or rot on the beach with the seaweed?
And so we were off to the races-- zooming for nearly four hours when I decided hmm? Things just didn’t look right. Where is the ocean? Where are the redwoods?
I was planning on staying at Navarro Beach or at Paul Dimmit Campground both of which are first come first served-- perfect for non planners like myself. When I arrived in Willits, I stopped in at a convenience store and just for grins asked where it was.

I swear I heard evil-sounding music playing in the background as the clerk smiled and said “it’s about a two-hour drive, but don’t worry it doesn’t get dark until nine o’clock.”

It was close to 6 p.m.

So I drive down the windy road from hell and swung in at every campground and asked for lodging. I now know how Joseph and Mary felt-- only I wasn’t in labor and I wasn’t riding on a donkey. No, I just had three hungry kids in the backseat who’d been riding for five hours. Such rejection.

One campground host gave me new directions, adding “Just don’t go over the bridge. Whatever you do don’t go over the bridge and stay on this side of the river.”

Now if you have ever been to Mendocino, you will know the two things it is not lacking in are bridges and rivers, so when I came to a bridge a half a mile up the road, I obediently turned around, drove for a while and then decided to try out every street on the right hand side.

I saw homes, woods, air ports, but no campgrounds with vacancies.

Then after saying some very unladylike words, I crossed the bridge. On the other side of the bridge was the answer to my prayers-- the street the campground was on (grrrr).

I got there just as the sun went down and promptly forgot how to set up my husband’s easier dome tent. I was used to doing construction when I set up my tent and he gave me something that just pops up. Finally I broke down and asked for help-- to which I heard “Where is her husband? What kind of woman goes camping without her husband?”

GRRRR! But they helped. There is a God and He heard my prayers.

And so I wiped up some oatmeal and sent the kids to bed.

It was a cold and balmy night on the Mendocino Coast-- so cold in fact that my children tried to use me for an extra blanket. Damn! Nobody told me it was cold here. I thought the coast-- warm in the day; chilly at night. Not-- must bring sweatshirts and real shoes. We are flip-flop and tank top kind of people during the summer. And so I must admit day one amounted to clothes shopping.

I think they should rename the area Spendocino because even the most basic sweatshirt costs $50 which I refuse to pay just so my kids could smear wet sand and marshmallows all over it.

Fortunately I found a Mexican imports store and bought the little ones sweat suits. My older kid wouldn’t go for it. Apparently the tween superficial enforcement agency has brainwashed her into name brand world of cool. She was destined for many chilly nights as I refused to bend to her ridiculous desire to wear O’Neil.

Three chilly days later she found an acceptable sweatshirt at a hip-looking souvenir shop-- either that or she was broken by the chill of night.

They wore those shirts until the shirts practically stood up on their own. Then I got a tip and went to Longs where we stocked up on sweatshirts and blankets-- does everyone in Fort Bragg shop at the pharmacy?

BTW Longs is apparently an acceptable clothing store for tweens because she didn’t even smirk when I threw the clothes, socks and underwear into the basket.

Underwear? You ask. Didn’t you bring underwear?

Yes, of course I did. But you see, nothing dries here in Fort Bragg either and I -- silly me-- left the spout open on the ice chest and it leaked all over my laundry (yes, mother I did laundry while on vacation-- it’s shocking).

Now Mendocino/Fort Bragg is known for its redwood forest, ocean and-- wine tasting? There are vineyards everywhere and I didn’t get a drop-- and boy did I need a drop.

The kids were too crispy for civilized people. We stayed near other crispy campers-- the ones I used to be afraid of when I went into downtown because I swore they were going to ask me for my spare change. Word to the wise-- they are just campers, poor shower-less campers and they all have soot on their faces and marshmallows in their hair.


Anyway you all didn’t come to hear about the pharmacy or weather habits of Fort Bragg/ Mendocino-- and quite frankly I don’t want to relive the weather, so I’ll break this up a little and will post more on Tuesday-- as well as catch up on reading blogs.

As soon as I get pictures I will post them too. I'm horrible historian. My digital battery was DOA and I couldn't recharge it, so I took some pictures with my cellphone and bought a disposable camera (which died with seven pictures left to go. I think I got sand in it). If anything comes out alive, I'll post it.

It was a fantastic adventure. I had a great time-- promise. It’s mostly hugs and kisses from here on out.

See You in a Week-- I hope

* If you get bored and miss me, you can catch my column this Saturday at www.paradisepost.com . Click on columnists. Hint I'm the one with the name Bonnie. This week's topic is 30-day guarantees on mattresses.

And now---

I have finally taken my head out of the oven and emerged with even fewer rational brain cells. Yes, I have decided to go camping-- again-- alone with the kids.

It's summer. I'm hot and I am incredibly bored. If I were to remain in my natural habitation (my computer room) I'd turn into Hewlett. You'd need a mouse to make me move and you'd have to talk to me in Java script. My kids practically already have to spell it out or I just don't comprehend. All conversations must be typed.

In the past I was only on the computer when I was working-- now I am "working" all the time. You all are an addiction, and I need to go into rehab.

And so, not because I don't love each and every one of you or because I don't find your daily habits to be an amazing study in darwinism, but because I'm starting to forget who is whom-- in my own house-- really I thought Nikki was Social Worker Frustrated Mother the other day. She is starting to look like the picture SWFM posts with her blog-- and so, I have decided I need to sleep with bears.

I need to get out of here and talk to my kiddies. They are my life's entertainment. My hearts happiness. And my eye's tears ( and crows feet) They've given me immeasurable gifts-- laugh lines. Frown Lines and big brown circles under my eyes.

It's time that I pay for all my gifts. We are off to make memories.

But before we go I will tell you one last story-- don't get too excited. It's not that great.

Once upon a time there was a perpetual planner who was terrible at her job. She really wanted to go to Oregon and check out the waterfalls, Mount Hood and the ocean. She really wanted to have a girls night/nobody's birthday soiree out with Kigogal.

She also wanted to go to Fort Bragg and walk on the glass beach, look at the redwoods and ride something called the Skunk Train.

But she was short on cash and didn't really want to camp because camping equated to work and work equated to frustration.
She really wanted to escape the dungeons of her master's castle. Her master was Lady Margaret and her two ladies in waiting, Nicole and Abigail. She really wanted to go to Fiji and get lost.

But her wages were meager. Her masters were demanding-- and they demanded that she take them with her.

And so she showed them pictures of all these exotic places and tried to sway them her way--but they didn't want to camp either.

She searched for some rustic cabins (cheap-- bring your own linens kinds of places).

And it was like Tinkerbelle came down from the sky- she found some in a lovely place called Sequoia National Forest. The land of the big trees you say. How lucky! No as it turns out, after our lovely planner paid for her passage, she discovered the trees were actually in Sequoia National PARK-- hours from her cabin which is really on a mountain top near Bakersfield (the armpit of hell).

With two days to spare, she paid a hefty fine, cancelled her reservations and found a place to stay for five nights in Fort Bragg.

Yes, she is camping. Only she never plans things easily. The five nights she could get are spread out at different camps. And for three days of her trip, she has no place to stay.

Yes, our little planner will be foraging for shelter for three of the nights she is away. You may see her family sleeping at the local rest stop with the truckers.

Will she come back in one piece?

Will she throw herself onto glass beach?

Will she stink up the skunk train because she forgot to bring quarters for the showers?

Will the ladies be pleased?

You will all have to wait because she hasn't planned that far ahead-- she doesn't even know how to get to Fort Bragg.

Take care and don't forget me. I'm planning on that.

My Mother Made Me Do It

It is true posting a picture of yourself and your family on the Net is indeed dangerous, and my dear readers I have proof. My picture served as a homing device for --- dun-dun-dah-- my mother.

I have now become the poster child for why you should never post your face on the Net-- especially that picture, according to her.

"Your children are much cuter than that, and you simply looked awful," she said. "If you are going to post a picture, post one that makes you look good."

To which I thought, "Hmmm? Those college year swimsuit photos-- would that be considered false advertising by today's standards?"

"It didn't even look like you," she said.

That was the point.

And so, my mother like any good mother who doesn't want her grandchildren represented as half-naked just washed babes with their hands in their mouths, started searching for the picture-- the only other picture in existence that has all four of us together.

This is the same picture I didn't want to be in (notice no make up-- I guess you can't because it wouldn't upload) but my Nikki kept crawling away so I was forced to sit and hold her down. This is the same picture I don't have a copy of because I gave them all away -- by accident I swear. I really didn't mean too. As much as I detest having my picture taken, I would like one of the four of us-- heck I'd even include my husband and have an honest family photo.

And so my mother ripped it out of her frame, scanned it, emailed to me and then proceeded to tap her fingers in time-- waiting its arrival on my blog.

Unfortunately, the picture is also the only picture Blogger won't upload. For real, I'm not holding back (promise mom).

Have no fear, I am sure my mother in all her motherly pride will start her own blog complete with photos chronicling the lives of her dearly beloved-- want to see me in braces- what about that 80s hair? Want to see me minutes after pushing out a 10 pound baby? what about an 8 pounder? 9 ponder anyone?

Want to know for certain that my kids looked like prunes after they were born? Want to know for certain that Nikki is absolutely beautiful with eyes that are up to no good or that Abby looks like Holly Hobby or a precious moments doll? Want to see what my husband looks like-- well all you have to do is look at Maggie and her infectious smile and broad shoulders (of course, you can't here because I don't have any posted-- yet anyway).

Wedding photos anyone? I got dressed in the front yard (for real) the lighting inside was terrible. Bees flew up my dress and bit me on my booty as I said I do.

What about the handsome man I married but no one really knows exists because he is rarely seen? My mother has proof I'm not an unmarried mother of three.

You can be assured these will be there-- along with my college bikini photos because what mother is more proud of her daughter than when she looks good in a two piece-- for a moment anyway. I am of course kidding. I think I took the beach photos with me so I could be assured they never surfaced again.

Come back tomorrow when my mother sends the computer geek straight to my house, infiltrates my blog and posts the picture.

Clean and Happy Start

After a crazy couple of weeks, I am happy to sayI washed all the stress down the drain and feel like a new woman (in a clean house).

I finished school and got an A in Spanish. My first Spanish column came out this week and got good reviews from those who read it.

Things are just better. I'm content and more relaxed-- and so I thought I'd introduce you to my little kiddies. Nikki is in the Tigger sweatshirt. Abby has a blue Tinkerbell shirt on and Maggie is in purple jammies-- I'm the lady in the polkadot jammies.

Please note: this is not a good picture. They are all much cuter in person and I am no where near as cute (picture Cruella DeVil with brown hair)

Part Two: How do I do it? You asked. And now I really have answered.

And so---

I have put the kids in lock down.It is late July and the first signs of Summeritis have set in.

While out camping, I realized the symptoms-- the whining, the hysterical crying, constant irritability, insomnia and a fear of being touched by siblings. Oh but it is much more serious than I first thought, not only do they not understand a word I say to them but that they don't follow hand signals either-- perhaps I should get them tested for something else.

I also discovered the reasons I have been forsaking my cozy bed (that I never get to sleep in) for the hard cold mountain ground and a sleeping bag (I don't get to sleep in either).

It is because:
A.) the whininess of end of summer boredom compacted with the incessant fighting has made me crazy

B) the incessant boredom causes them to destroy my house and make it uninhabitable.

C) I'd rather be in association with wild beasts who could cart my children off in the night than to have to look at their messy rooms and to have to clean my house.

When I am away, I know my house is clean-- no one is throwing their wet bathing suit on the wood floors or coloring on the retaining wall outside.

And so, realizing that neither my house nor their rooms would get any better, I decided to put them on lock down (besides the outside of the house was not exactly clean either). This little problem needed containment.

I needed to quarantine the kids lest they infect others.They have offically become my prisoners of war.

First rule: prisonization. To do this, I decided to take God's advice and teach my children about the Golden Rule (do unto mother before she does unto you). Scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. No, honor your mother (BINGO).

Here is how it goes: if they want to eat, they must set the table and clear it (otherwise -- the kitchen is closed). If they want to go outside, the inside must be clean first. If they want to come inside, the otside must first be cleaned (I'll change that because then they'd never come inside). If they want to come inside and keep their bike, the outside must be clean and the bike off my pre-sod lawn. If they want me to take them somewhere or do something with them, they must treat me with respect.

Second rule: Time off for good behavior/ rewards. The rewards are great for those who assimilate quickly, but unlike prison, they don't get $1 an hour for laundry duty and making license plates. No, I took away allowances. Yes, the sweet sound of pennies in a jar didn’t work.

In the past, allowance was optional and grandma -- the goddess of item procurement-- was just a phone call away.

But not any more. The phone lines have been cut. If they want to eat and to earn their state mandated hour of outdoor recreation per day, then they must follow the rules.

Control is now completely in the hands of the Maternal Dictator--- HAHAHAHAHA!

Oh, but don’t worry. The little darlings are no suffering too much, and they are enjoying the benefits of assimilation.

The other day, they helped me clean the house by picking up their sh--stuff and by following the guidelines for getting food. We went to Baskin Robins and I didn't make them get the kid scoop-- no they got milkshakes.Then Sunday, as a surprise reward for cleaning their rooms, we were going to go to family swim night, but to be honest, they forgot the respect your mother part as we got into the car (so I made them wait until yesterday afternoon).

Have I had it?

Oh yes. I cannot manage this house without their help. I'm outnumbered.

I can't.

I won't.

And so that is how I am.

Any questions?

Part One: With Hubbers Gone, how do I do it? You asked. I answered (well not yet. The answer comes tomorrow.)

The ground troops outnumber me and I no longer have the resources to meet their demands. I radioed for more reinforcements, but the supply lines are tied up.

There will be no reinforcements. I must brave the journey through sights no eyes are old enough to see-- booby-trapped plastic farm animals with their legs pointing up like three-day-old road kill and the horror of horrors naked dismembered Barbies. Barbie heads on Kelly dolls, one-legged Barbies and Barbies with their eyes colored over in bright blue ink. Naked Ken with his plastic underwear and missing earring.

But it is the animalistic screeching, the cacophony of voices, the moaning as if mortally wounded by the pinch of two-year-old fingers and the ruckus of wrestling bodies that made me fantasize about desertion.

The torture was unbearable.

Twenty-four hours of:

“MAAAAAWM! Nikki pinched me!” The tears fly. The body swoons and collapses as if the pinch came straight from Snow White’s stepmother.

“Mine!”

“Stop touching me!”

“No you stop touching me-- MAAAAAAWM, Abby is touching me.”

“No fair.”

“I had it first”

“No, I said give it to me-- now-- MAAAAAWM Abby won’t give it to me, and I had it first.”

“I love you mom,” (kisses from Abby-- and then the tears) “Maggie took my dolly. It's my dolly. She's being mean.”

I can’t take it. I must speak.

“It’s time for bed.”

“But MAAAAAAWM.”

“You heard me. It is time for bed.”

“OK but I have to finish coloring this page first.”

Ten minutes later.

“I said it is time for bed.”

“I heard you Mom. I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

“I need a drink.”

“Nikki keeps pushing me.”

“Maggie won’t let me sleep.”

“Can I sleep in your room? I’m afraid to sleep here.”

“WILL YOU ALL JUST GO TO BED!”

And so---

You will have to wait until tomorrow to discover how a peace agreement was reached without any help from the UN.