rewrite

the world is topsy turvy on me now
and i am left to wonder
if my center is askew
or simply old
and hardened,
and seeing these new days with eyes
unable or unwilling
to adjust
from my accustomed way
of watching doing caring.
asking soft if i will need to (want to) (or be able to)
re-right (rewrite)
myself ,
or if the universe
will find her quiet balance
now
at last.
or maybe
we will both fly off our axes
toward
the twinkly
stars.

But I Loved that Man . . . .

Mark-Sanford-Piglets expI hate politics. Always have. There isn’t a sentence you could utter about any politician on earth that I wouldn’t believe, no matter how bizarre, how far outside the bounds of credible human behavior. Except Mark Sanford. I loved that man.

I uttered as much to the father of my children last week, and he replied, “I feel the same. He was my Tar Tudent. Character matters, and I hope he has boatloads. He’ll need it.” Indeed.

When the kids were 3 and 4, they attended Happy Time School in Georgetown, SC, run by the our local Teacher/Goddess/ Dispenser of Love and Emotional Health, Peggy Wheeler. Miss Peggy had a bulletin board placed at kid level as you walked in the door, with Star Student spelled across it. Each week, one of the kidlets was chosen to be the Star Student — not based on any accomplishments, but simply as a rotating honor. The children brought in photos of themselves, family, pets, vacations, drawings — whatever they wanted — and they were posted for that week surrounded by stars. When it was daughter Ashley’s turn, she excitedly reported that she would be the next Tar Tudent. We’ve used the phrase for Special People ever since.

Mike Sanford was one of those, a true Tar Tudent, and I knew it from the first time he was introduced to us by a mutual friend. Sanford was not your garden variety politician. In fact, it seemed he wasn’t a politician at all. A proponent of limited terms, tough love and straight talk, it seemed he was one of those lovely men of character who have better sense than to dally near the political arena. It seemed he was a candidate no party would support, because he refused to be a pretty face with a big smile and a push button for regurgitating party agendas. Mark Sanford was his own man and nobody’s mouthpiece. Dangerous? Only for the status quo, I thought.

When Hubby first mentioned the news last week, I immediately refuted the claim — didn’t even give the possibility a split second in my psyche before spitting the ludicrosity right back out. “No,” I said. “He would never.” And then my daughter, who, at 22, has grown a CNN appendage with a hearty Economist diet. “It’s true.” I stared at them blankly. But I loved that man!

A week ago, I scoured the news. I read transcripts of the curious press conference, Jenny’s boldly gracious response, and emails that made my teeth hurt. I tried to understand. Surely there was some emotional breakdown that obliterated his judgment, erased his memory of a wife so supportive that she served by his side as campaign manager, shrouded his dedication to four strapping sons.

After a good day cutting tile and shaping the colors into a glorious red as red heart, I walked up the front steps this afternoon with newspaper in hand, uncharacteristically glancing down through the bluish plastic rain cover. “Sanford Admits to More Liaisons,” read the headline. My jaw dropped. And then the caption beneath his chagrinned face, “SC Gov. Mark Sanford says he’s trying to fall back in love with his wife, Jenny.” Only the sight of our 13-year-old by the door kept the sound from my fury.

Momentarily.

Well fuck you, Mark Sanford. Fuck you. It isn’t enough that you’re whining about love instead of sharing it with your spouse and your children, it isn’t enough that you’re whining about the fishbowl of politics instead of governing the state, it isn’t enough that you’re flying your “trusted spiritual advisor” to New York for dinner with your curvy-hipped lovedrop, but you have the gall to say, publicly, as if this scandal isn’t pain enough, that you’re trying to fall back in love with your wife, Jenny. Just fuck you. I hope she douses you with gasoline and gives you one last kiss so electric that you burst into the flames of hell. And I’m not given to that sort of talk.

So there were others. I no longer care. I will no longer try to understand. I dump you into the scum pond of politicians who feel they are not only above the law, but above any notion of human character. American politicians have become the laughingstock of the nation, if not the world. The concept of service is dead. We could let them finish out their terms on I Survived a Japanese Game Show and get as much out of them as we do in Washington and our state capitals. I am ashamed. So very ashamed.

I loved this guy, and I’m not the naive type. I’m so not-the-naive type that trust is excruciatingly slow for me. I look, I listen, I wait, and maybe in five or ten years, I trust. But I trusted you Mark Sanford. And you are not a Tar Tudent. Turns out your character was somewhat less than boatloads. Too bad for both of us; for all of us. And now I’m done. Continue reading

The Menopause Diet

The Menopause Diet

My name is Pam, and I am in a Bad Mood.

If you’ve read Sex in the Fifties, you’re probably aware that I’ve been in a Bad Mood since that first hot flash in June 2006. I’ve heard that hot flashes can continue for 10 years. A very bad mood indeed. Continue reading

Oddly Passionate

I was waxing my way through Summer Pierre’s fab blog called An Accident of Hope (gotta love it), when I mired down in the post “30 Things I Feel Oddly Passionate About.” Of course that got me to wondering, what would be tops on my own list of odd passions? Of course I’m passionate about my family, art, respect, and a crucial pair of gladiator sandals from Anthropologie, but those hardly qualify as odd. And I’m passionate about things like open cabinet doors, spiders skittering towards my legs, and combing my hair before answering the phone, but I’m just going to go ahead and file those under OCD. When it comes to the quirkiness that makes me me and makes you you, what are the defining idiosyncrises? Shall we give it a look? Continue reading

Open Heart Mosaic

Open Heart Detail

Ta Da! Just finished this one in time to pack up for Mosaic Wonderland in Miami. I didn’t enter a piece for Mosaic Arts International this year, but I did manage to complete a small work for the Mini Salon, where members and guests will have the opportunity to peruse and purchase each other’s art. Continue reading

Free Rice Feeds Body and Mind

Free RiceAccording to the UN, about 25,000 people die each day from hunger or hunger-related causes. www.freerice.com donates ten grains for each correct answer on this get-smart website. Learn a little; give a lot. I admit to loving school as a child, so maybe I’m not a good judge of “fun,” but I played this for an hour, donated 1630 grains of rice, and learned Continue reading