Hard Freeze

Sounds like a thriller title, right? (It is. I just looked it up on Amazon, and there is a gun on the cover. 'Nuff said.) What it means to me - and any Southern gardener - is danger. All those fall blooms, all those tender plants - a freeze can be deadly. Which is why I have a trunk of old flannel sheets and blankets just for plants. Out they come, and I begin the process of tucking in the vulnerable ones for the night. (When we have freezes late in the spring and plants have already begun to leaf and bud, I get even nuttier. They get hot water bottles under their blankies - plastic bottles filled with hot water for the night.)

We've had four hard freezes in a week, and broken several records for cold temperatures in November. On one of those frigid nights, I went to my first book club meeting. The book was Nineteen Minutes, by Jodi Picoult - a novel about about a school shooting. It wades through the incredible pressures of high school, social hierarchies, sports worship, teacher involvement and kid cruelty, as well as parents' lives and what they miss. It was an interesting read, and sparked a lot of discussion. Many of the women talked about their kids and how they were dealing with high school. One member had a sibling who was always picked on, and even institutionalized, partially due to incessant bullying.

It was only after the meeting, when I got into my frigid car (love that Subaru heater!) that it occurred to me that my school years weren't all that easy. Due to my father's civil rights work, grade school in a conservative small town was pretty tough. I heard "nigger lover" more than hello. I had chocolate ice cream smeared on me, my locker, my books - any time it was served at the cafeteria. And since it was the time of black power, bus rides as the only white kid weren't much fun either. One cold morning, my seat mate wrote "I HATE CRACKERS" in the frosty glass of the school bus window. On the long drive into town, the moisture of the letters slowly gathered and dripped, until it looked like a poster for a horror movie. Kinda was. And that was just grade school. Middle school was an entirely different story, but no less challenging. And here I read a book on kids ostracising one another, and sat through an entire discussion on it, without once thinking of my own experience. Amazing how things go into cold storage. And stay there.

Reading: Exit Music

Listening to: Marisa Monte

Blooming - Pansies

All Fall Down

Last night my father fell. I was right there. I watched him, and couldn't catch him. The good news is that he was - and is - OK. "Nothing hurt but my pride," as he said. We were in the elevator and he reached back for the handrail - and missed - then fell - crumpled, really. He was mortified that it happened, that I and two of the caregivers saw him fall. He insisted he was fine (which he would do if his leg was in a tree chipper), but as we walked back to his room, he clutched my arm, and was shaking.

It was family night at his assisted living facility. A lively duo put on a caberet act for the folks, complete with costume changes and lots of hats. They sang a lot of show tunes and hits from the 40's and 50's, with a little Elvis in for good measure (this cellphone pic of the Elvis

getup does not do the the wig and glasses justice.)

My dad has Alzheimer's. His short-term memory is practically non-existant, so much so that when I called today at 1:00 to check on him and he said he had just come from lunch, it was worth celebrating - that he remembered having just eaten. He usually doesn't - I slowed on the room snacks because he often doesn't remember and just keeps on eating in the room. Not much else he wants to do, really. He isn't into the activities. He mostly naps between meals.

On election night, I went over to see him. He won't turn the TV on anymore, and recently, has a hard time staying focused on it (evolution, I would argue). I just figured that for a man whose entire live was focused on civil rights, race relations, and progressive politics, the night just might hold something special for him.

And it did. He was completely facinated by the ultra-white teeth of the presenters, and commented loudly and often on those who had gone grey or lost their hair. GETTING OLD! He would shout, and I would nod. I asked him several times if he ever expected to see an African American (OK, bi-racial) person elected president, and he said no, but didn't relate it to the evening's events.

When I rose to leave - I had worked on a couple of campaigns and had what I hoped would be victory celebrations to go to - he got up and gave me a strong hug, something that has not been in his recent vocabulary. "Thank you for coming over," he said. "Thank you.". "I love you," I said back. He nodded. It was what he'd said, too. Just in different words.

Reading: Nineteen Minutes

Listening to: Redbird

Blooming: Cassia tree

The Long and Short of It - Twitter Haiku

I have been exploring twitter, a microblogging tool that allows only 140 characters per entry. I stumbled across a twitter writing contest in haiku, and have been counting syllables on my fingers ever since. Parameters rock - it's great to have two giant walls to work between (or, betweet, as twitterers might say) 140 characters, and a rigid structure.

I need your help! I can only submit one....so what do you think? Deadline is Sunday night (11/16). Please comment here or on facebook, email me, send smoke signals....THANKS!

A haiku refresher....three phrases, broken up this way: 5 syllables / 7 syllables / 5 syllables

For example:

If you think haiku / you'll wake up at four thirty, / counting, like I do

They gave this example, found on twitter:

The furnace is fixed / breath invisible again / how much is the bill?

Here's what I have come up with so far:

Wilson, stop barking! / we're becoming bad neighbors / plus I need my mail

Why can't it be fall? / the calendar says it is / still sweating in shorts

One ring, two, then three / my hovering hand still shy / then only birdsong

Wide awake at five / even the dog rolls over / just leave time alone

I spent so much time / jonesing for community / then found twitterers

Killing mockingbirds / by waiting so long to write / holding fallen leaves

I wrote a haiku / in my head, before sleeping / now it's gone. Ah well.

buttering my toast / grateful for bread and butter / and a job...for now

is anyone else / as obsessed with haiku tweets / as I find myself?

young girl on wee bike/ wet day - her tires slide on leaves / fall, scrapes, tears, tears, tears.

Reading: 19 minutes

Listening to: Nickel Creek

Blooming: Spanish Tarragon

Blinded by the Light - a Visit to the Eye Doc

OK, no one likes the eye doc. It isn't as painful as the dentist or as uncomfortable as the gyno, but it's headache producing and you have to wear those awful eye-protector glasses when you leave. It always gets to the point when the question- which is better? A or B? One or two? - is unanswerable. They are indistinguishable. You squint to see if you can tell the difference, ask to see them again...it just feels like failure. But it's all worth it, cause you'll stop having those computer-eye-strain headaches (When was the last time you went, anyway? Two years ago? And you waited to fill that prescription, so how old are your lenses? Five years? No wonder you can't see) and maybe have a snazzy new pair of specs.

That's what I thought anyway.

I picked my new eye doctor because she built a tiny startup business into minority-small- business-of -the-year here in Savannah. I came back because her waiting room is one of the most integrated places I've been and her staff is made up of young women in a rainbow of colors. Because she's mad efficient and all teched up, with blinking lights in the halls, computers in each exam room, and headsets on all the staff. Because she's incredibly thorough and checks things no one else ever has before. Because she sees people from every income group. Because she exudes competence and kindness. What's not to like?

Weeeeeellll...it's the sales stuff. I start getting that sinking feeling the third or fourth time I'm asked about insurance (No I don't have any. Please.). When I leave the exam "corridor" I don't go to pay, I go to "optics", where I am told about the importance of non-reflective coating if I work on computers...and get eye-strain headaches ($115), polycarbonate lenses since I'm so frickin blind and otherwise my lenses will be so heavy ($69), and I almost chuckle when she brings up the "transition lens" which would turn these modern marvels magically into sunglasses ($150). I decline the latter, without telling her I buy the $3.00 J-Lo/Jackie O knockoffs and just wear them over my regular glasses when I drive. That $89 trifocal (yeah, they exist. The "progressive" no-line lens was $350, and anyway I tried 'em once and lived in a murky, blurry world that kept me nauseous for a week before giving up and going back to bifocals.) is now $250, and that's after my discount for the...whatever...program I signed up for to save money, and before my exam cost.

CRIPE! When I finally escape the twilight-zone vortex of her office, I have to keep reminding myself how much I like her, and that these sales people are just doing their jobs. Any maybe all that salesy stuff helps pay for the pro bono work. I could go elsewhere, but there would be sales people there, too, and no doc to fall back on if things go south with the prescription.

I'm using some frames I haven't worn much so it'll feel like a snazzy new pair of...trifocals. Hey, if the headaches go away, it'll all be worth it. And then I can vanish into eye-doc-free life for another set of years. Heaven knows what they'll be selling when I go back.

Reading: Sunday Papers
Listening to: Avett Brothers
Blooming: Salvia

Good Times = Bad Songs

The day after the election, two wretched songs played over and over in my head, and I couldn't have been happier about it:



"Oh what a night"

"It's the sweetest hangover, I don't want to get over"





Reading: To Kill a Mockingbird (re-read)
Listening to: Sparrow Quartet
Blooming: Confederate Rose

Things I learned on Election Day

I signed up to drive voters to the polls, but either A) the Democrats had more drivers than needy voters or B) most people found a way to get there on their own power. As it was, I had a day off from work (thank you, Mr. Boss) and no one to drive, so I did whatever was needed. I made calls to urge/remind people to vote, and to offer them a ride (no takers, but one person railed at me for 20 minutes about the train wreck of social security before saying he would flip a coin to vote). And - I held a sign at two intersections in Savannah.

It was a drizzly, gloomy day, but at Bee Road and Victory, I had a blast. It was a love fest for Obama. Most people honked at waved and gave me the thumbs-up. I was close enough to see their faces light up. Black, white, young, old, male, female - it was great. I smiled so much, my face hurt.

At Skidaway and Victory, it was a slightly different story. Still a lot of smiles, honking and waving, but also got flipped off, yelled at, and even spit at (they missed).

I learned:

1. Savannahians are more likely to display their football team preference on their cars than their Presidential choice.
2. People who are happy to see you have relaxed, open faces. People who are not happy to see you have pinched, scowling faces.
3. A lot of people took their kids to the polling location so that they could witness history. The kids were giddy - their faces looked like Christmas morning.
4. A lot of adults' faces looked like Christmas morning, including mine.
5. A lot of people driving work trucks were pro-Obama, a lot of people in economy and hybrids were pro-Obama, and SUV drivers were split - some pro, some very, um, vocally against.

Later, watching returns, I learned that
1. The word "hope" never gets old.
2. People are beautiful when they cry out of happiness.
3. Yes. We. Can.

Reading: Election returns
Listening to: Acceptance speech
Blooming: Change