WORDS

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

My offering today is a poem. Please remember that the poet and the speaker are not one and the same. When the speaker talks about her mother, I'm not talking about my mother, who was the soul of generosity and could churn out pies with homemade crusts like nobody's business.

And I feel I must mention that we're now up to 94 followers. I'd love to have six more of you by Christmas. Remember when we only had 13 followers for the longest time?

No, of course you don't. You weren't following then.

Infinities of love,

Lola

Words

I did not go home when my mother was dying. I feared Her power over me so I could not go. She held me captive with Words. If I had gone, I would have heard Her Words. I waited until she was dead. Then I went home.

I thought I might be Safe.

I Studied Her in Her Coffin. I've always heard that people shrink as they age, particularly if they suffer protracted illnesses. She had aged. She had suffered a protracted illness. She had not Shrunk.

But Her Power wasn't in Her size.

I looked at Her hair. The same. I looked at her hands. The same. Ears, same. Skin, same. Clothes, same. Jewelry, same. Mouth, Not the same. No Words. I began to believe she had lost Her Power over me.

I was wrong.

I try to write. I hear Nabokov, Shakespeare, Fitzgerald, Joyce, and others in my mind. I hear my own words in my mind. I try to put the words on paper. They become pathetic, weak, puny. Their greatness disappears.

I know why.

Her Words still hang in the air, overpowering mine before they can drop to the paper. 

Yet I believe in words. 

I know words in all their ugliness and in all their beauty.

I know words.

I know the power of words.

Rereading this poem now, I don't think I like it. Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow if I get a little honest bloggy criticism, suggestions, and love.

BLOCK MOTHERS

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

My oldest sister left for The Big Time before the rest of us moved to the bustling metropolis of Topeka, Kansas. Oldest moved to Kansas City.

However, once she was settled in her home, she discovered the strangest form of discrimination. Some people's windows had signs in them that said Black Mother. Oldest was quite shocked.

It wasn't as bad as the klan burning a cross in the yard, but, still, she was appalled. Why would a city point out where black mothers live?

Then one day she put on her glasses.

The sign said Block Mother. A block mother was a person who agreed to help any child in trouble who couldn't get to his parents. Oldest felt quite relieved.

When we made our big move to Topeka, we had a Block Mother across the street from us.

She was not black.

I think the Block Mother program was phased out by about 1972 because moms were in the work force. They couldn't stay at home doing nothing except taking care of the neighborhood brats.

I think it's kind of sad that we don't have Block Parents now, who would at least be available to assist children when they could.

But the people who volunteered would probably be pedophiles.

And that's all the news that is news.

I'm Chevy Chase, and you're not.

Infinities of love,

Lola

TECH NO GEEK

Gentle Readers,

I admit it: I am not exactly a technological genius.

I can do the basics. I blog, text, email, google, jabber on my cell phone, poke people on Facebook, and have a Web site I created.

But currently I am on technological overload.

I had the same cell phone for several years. I loved it, but it was starting to fall apart. So I went to the AT&T store where nice, polite young Rad always helps me. I was due for a free upgrade on my telephone, so I got the same kind of phone Rad has.

The telephone is very nice. I have been told it will even do the laundry -- if only I can find the correct spot to tap tap.

And because of my dissatisfaction with my TV and internet providers, I decided to sign up for a U-Verse package, which was installed two days ago.

I could operate the old remote for my television in the dark, and now I'm learning how to use a new remote and I have to become accustomed to a different channel guide and different ways of setting up my close personal friend DVR.

I now have wireless internet, which I particularly wanted so I could make more use of my laptop. The computer is running well. But my laptop is so old that it can't do much on the internet. Rad says I need a new laptop. He told me to go to Wal-Mart and get an HP. I told Rad that Wal-Mart is Satan and I can't go there. Besides, I can't afford a new laptop.

I have also regressed in the sense that I now have a land line in addition to my cell. So my fax machine is hooked up and Someone I Love can send me the math problems she doesn't know how to do. I shall solve them and fax them back to her.

(The part about doing the math problems is a joke. She's getting her Ph.D. in math. I have no comprehension of what she does, but I'll never admit it to her. I have told her for years that it wouldn't be fair to the other kiddies if I helped her with her math.)

I'm very happy I got the U-Verse package. Everything -- TV, wireless internet, land line, new cell phone -- costs the same as my old cell phone, internet, and TV combined. Plus, the new stuff does so many things the old stuff couldn't do -- if only I can figure out how to use it all.

So, here I sit, head pounding, wishing I had a nice Valium or two. I realize this may sound paranoid, but I think the tech world is out to get me. Its glance at me quickly turns into a look of sheer disdain, kind of like the edge in the voice of the GPS lady as described in  ME 'N MY GEE PEE ESS. I know I'll learn how to do everything eventually. It's just that I want to do everything right now. At first, I couldn't even figure out how to answer a telephone call, and the directions do not include instructions for doing something as simple as answering a call. It turns out all I have to do is pick up the phone and say hello, is it me you're looking for? I don't have to press any buttons to answer.

And some day, some way, I will have a new laptop. But probably not this year because to put the icing on the fuckme cake, the school district has a teacher hiring freeze because of budgetary concerns. The district should hire me to fix their budgetary concerns. I bet they're already paying big bucks to consultants who are supposed to solve the problems. Hire me! Hire me! I can fix it all with three hands and a foot tied behind my back.

I'd start by making the schools more energy efficient. Makes sense, right? When I taught back in March, the AC was so cold that the students wore hooded sweatshirts and jackets to class and covered the registers with the literature text books. Why keep a building that cold? Waste, waste, waste.

Turn off the lights when you're not in a room. Turn off the computers when you don't need them.

Second, I'd cut all sports and offer private concerns the opportunity to rent the school gyms and stadiums and sponsor sports clubs. To participate, the kids would have to be enrolled in school, actually attend school, and have a GPA of at least 2.5.

I know cutting sports would make people insane, but they've already cut band and chorus classes, so cut the damn sports too, or at least insist that parents pay a fee if their kids participate in sports. I had to pay a fee every year for Favorite Young Man to play basketball, so it's not as if paying for playing is unprecedented.

Finally, I would cut transportation to magnet schools. If you want to send your kid to a magnet school, then you need to be responsible for getting your student there safely.

There. I think I just took at least 60 million off the budget.

Ah, well. I don't expect the school district will take me up on my offer to solve their budgetary concerns. I would make it all look very simple, which it is. School administrators prefer to make things seem complicated to justify their salaries, which are so much higher than what teachers earn.

Woe woe woe woe.

Infinities of love and woe,

Lola

JOB

Gentle Readers,

My new job is so horrible it is surreal. Where is Joe Don at WorkForced.com when I really need him?

Infinities of love,

Lola

SICK AND TIRED

The thing about working for the census, Gentle Readers, is that it all comes in one huge rush. All those people to train and send out knocking on doors because you, Gentle Readers, did not return the form you received in the mail.

Of course, I don't mind that you didn't return your form. Your lack of desire, motivation, your procrastination, or whatever - it gave me a job. So I thank you.

But I am tired.

Currently we are allowed to work 45 hours per week. It is late Thursday night, or actually early Friday morning, and I haven't finished Thursday's quality control. I don't mind doing the work, but I have already reached a little more than 40 hours for the week, which doesn't end until the end of the day on Saturday. So somehow I have to do the 20 hours or so of work required on Friday and Saturday in about four hours.

Hmmmmm . . . .

As some of you already know, I had a car accident last year and broke my back in five places. The orthopedist I saw in the state where I used to live said I should expect to have some back pain for the rest of my life.

Unfortunately, the pain suddenly increased on March 20th. Today I saw a new orthopedist in the state where I now live. He said the only reason for the pain to return in such force is that my back didn't heal completely. He is scheduling me for an MRI to confirm his belief. Or maybe he'll find out he's full of it and something else is wrong or maybe my back is just going to hurt when I sit in an uncomfortable chair all day - as I did on March 20th - or when I lift too much.

I'm not supposed to lift more than a pound. Ha! I doubt if my purse weighs less than a pound. Not many things I need to lift weigh less than a pound.

Fortunately, I can definitely lift my son's young lady friend's chihuahuas. They are very cuddly little boogers.

Now let's all go to bed and dream of boogers.

If you awaken with your finger in your nose, then you'll know what you were dreaming about.

Love,

Lola