Never never never never have I ever ever ever wanted vanity plates for my car
Never say never because now that I’m fifty, it’s either a second tattoo or vanity plates. Not really, but it sounds like a good threat, doesn’t it?
Now that I have a sense of what it must’ve been like to be a Dead Head, you know since I feel like I could follow Wilco all over the USA and be happy about it, I think I might consider the following license plate:
TWEEDY
or
QUEENPIN
but QUEENPIN is probably too many letters
maybe TWINKLY so you all know me when I drive by
From the Solid Sound Festival this year, the Friday night all-request show by Wilco. Although they played covers of others’ songs almost exclusively, this one is their own. You have to excuse some of the footage, but the sound is good, real good.
*what’s the asterisk for? It is so you know that I’ll be editing yesterday’s post—making some changes, probably by day’s end. Sometimes my enthusiasm gets the better of me and I forget what is precious and dear and private.
bones used to be free from the butcher, now I paid $2 for one
when I lived in Kent, Ohio, all those years (1981-2000), there was a free-standing butcher shop
it closed before I got a dog, so I never got bones there
it is hot outside, 95 degrees at least
this is another change since my youth
it seems my kids will never know what summers were really like
I sit inside in my air conditioning and it’s not that I didn’t do that before, it’s that the stretches of heat are longer and longer
I dreamed my ribs opened in the front, at my sternum
they became a boat in which I could lie down, the boat in the cool water and me cradled by my own bones, floating
I remember how little my children were, how fun, how fast the time goes, how it couldn’t go fast enough and how tired I was, how I barely slept
Now there are wrinkles and gullies, eyes pushed back into darker sockets, lashes shrinking. I am as vain as ever.
Hubby made this for me for my birthday. I love it. That’s John Hodgeman and Jeff Tweedy and my whole family in the crowd at Solid Sound 2013 singing Happy Birthday.
I love the one where I’m smoking because it seems like another lifetime. I almost forgot that I smoked.
I also love that I’m in a bikini piloting a boat because that only happened once.
I also love the one where I’m with my Oma. That was her little balcony off of her little apartment. I really loved my Oma but I didn’t get to see her very often, across an ocean.
I like the ones where my kids are babies and the one with my old dog Aggie.
My mother will be 80 in December. I never forget her age.
I will not be making TACO BALLS (a recipe I saw on pinterest) any time soon, not even since I’m fifty. You have to please yourself.
I had the BEST birthday ever! I got the best presents and the most Facebook wishes and nice people have come to lots of little events I’ve asked them to come to in honor of my birthday.
I’ve gotten to go singing sea shanties and Sacred Harp, to read poems, to listen to poems, to go out dancing, to hear amazing bands, to watch live theater outdoors. Going singing some more tomorrow.
More More More
sometimes I remember how blessed I am, sometimes I piss and moan
I got to go out dancing with my beautiful teenage daughters and my hubby and, you know, my girls LOVE to dance. What fun we had. How fortunate I am, what a happy night with cake.
CAKE!
I have never played a stringed instrument in my life. Just got my first ukelele and since I love Hawaii, maybe it will work out for me.
Here’s a new song that I love. I would never have known it if I hadn’t gone to a sweet little Open Mic at a co-housing complex in Northampton last week.
Maybe I’ll turn 50 again next July 15. It’s been so fun.
As if it’s not enough to have an abundance of breast cancer and pink ribbons, we in the West are so affluent that we must protect our expensive bikes from bugs and such with bras. I’m not saying one should not protect an investment that costs hundreds or thousands of dollars, but I do think it’s a sign of us all going to hell in a hand basket. Not only that, but there’s something disturbing about the way the bike bra looks, like bondage gear for a bike; or is it just me?
2. I did not realize until recently that the word pub derives from public house. DUH! I do know, however, from whence the word pube derives even if spellcheck says it’s not a word.
3. I had a client who told me the key to to getting what you want in marriage is to make your husband think he came up with all of the good ideas. I still don’t know how she did it; maybe I never really applied myself to see if it would work.
4. Another thing I learned late in life: that the suffix ham in a place name is short for hamlet.
5. How is it possible that it takes my teenage daughter 20 minutes to get ready to go to Home Depot with us, her uncool parents? HOME DEPOT for chrissake. It’s not like any cool boys are hanging out there, only single, lonely, middle-aged men (trust me on this).
6. Why was I raised to be polite to all men, even fucking perverts? Why aren’t men taught not to be fucking perverts to women and girls of all ages and stripes in the first place?
Today a man at the grocery store held up a HUGE carrot. I mean HUGE—8-9 inches long and 3 inches in diameter—and asked me to take a bite of it. I can’t remember what he said exactly, something completely stupid and simple like would you take a bite of this? WHAT THE FUCK, dude? Do you not understand being creepy or was that the point? I simply said no and politely chatted about the local carrots this time of year being very small because it’s so early in the season and that this must not have been a local carrot. I walked away and the fucker kept talking to me.
What is wrong with me that I didn’t tell him to fuck off in no uncertain terms, like by saying FUCK OFF YOU PERVERT. I could even have eliminated all doubt about what went on and avoid the swear by saying: YOU ARE BEING CREEPY AND PERVERTED, STAY AWAY FROM ME.
But I only think of these things in hindsight. I’m almost FIFTY for chrissakes. Will I please get this together by my birthday?
Red White Blue
Generally I am not a fan of the color red. Red is a hard color. Hard to use in decorating, hard to wear.
I did eat some amazing local strawberries today, from the same store where the CreepAss was, and they were a beautiful red color.
I did not go to fireworks, but I usually like to. I don’t feel like I’m missing out.
These are my kid’s nails. She can really rock the red, white, and blue.
Me? I’m too jaded to feel patriotic and I look like shit in that shade of American red.
twinklysparkles 
