Bad Things Olympics

There's no need to be offended that someone thinks one bad thing is worse than another bad thing. As far as I am concerned, it's all the same bad. Pick a bad thing, and do a good thing about it. But CERTAINLY don't hear about a bad thing, argue there are worse things, and do zero good things about any of aforementioned on varying levels of bad things!

Flowers in the park. Just bein' happy.

Italy: Part Four

The coolest thing about Rome is also what makes it one of the hardest places to travel: there's just cool ancient junk everywhere. It's exciting at first like, "Oh my. What is that huge marble thing! Let us take photographs and reference the guidebook!" But after half a day you're like, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Some important dirt clods." It's tiring really. There's a disease I began to catch called "over-taking-things-in."

That said, I enjoyed eating sweet bread in the shade a stone's throw away from where Cesar's house once stood. "He walked this road," Bisque said. "He probably ate his lunch here once or twice." It was exciting and the smallest bit heart-breaking to see directly into the Coliseum ground level. All those scared little gladiators. We made a lot of Russel Crowe jokes.

The catacombs were cold and creepy. The best was getting out into the country. The greens and the white flowers that bloomed everywhere. The same petals that fell in my childhood backyard. I hadn't smelled them since, and I pressed my face to the plants as we walked to bus stops.

Gelatos, The Spanish Steps. Allegedly romantic but bunkered with annoying peddlers. A good view. A good view. Goodnight, Rome.

Red Envelopes

So many young men have crumpled

backs from the wind,

clomping through Harvard Square holding

paper-wrapped bouquets.

Bisque points to a guy middle-age

outside the taco shop

penning a card.

"Last minute," he says

because his letter to me (the one with the s'more on it--

'I love you s'more every day')

is in his backpack

sealed, ready

for our date.

On Wednesday he left a vase of roses and

Reese's Cups on my kitchen table.

A tiny potted ivy for Ro. A pink flower for Rora.

Over high-end hazelnut cocoa

we hold hands.

We haven't been all day because there are children

to lasso. But they're all off

in the slushy streets. Doing

their own

stuff.

So we hold hands and we exchange red envelopes

(mine for him, two peanuts hugging)

with messages that sound

the same.

Every day is a better day.

The ultimate Valentine.

Wisconsin in June

Typing in the guest bedroom with the concrete floors, fluffy blankets.
Basement, corner of the house. Middle of the woods.
It's been cool here, windy. Wildflowers--hot orange, little purple kisses.
Out running in sunshine, but it feels crowded. Trees brilliant--
but they hang over me, casting shadows, hiding the lake.
A toothless man in a van pulls up next to me.
I usually do not stop for this type of thing, but in America's
Dairyland...He tells me there's a bear ahead, so I 180.
I look up to find a dragonfly halo.

In town I remember sitting on the bench at the marketplace.
The old time candy shop. I wish I could bottle the smell.
It hasn't changed since I was four. The barrels of Bullseyes,
taffy baskets, cashew brittle on wax paper. Jars of gummy sharks.

Late sun on the porch. Two big ol' dogs.
My dad eats a sandwich quietly across from me.

Cruise Happenings in No Particular Order

The very first night of the cruise, we boarded, moved into our cabin, headed to dinner, went through a safety training, and then Safe Haven was playing on a giant outdoor screen above the upper deck pool. It was 40ish degrees out, but for some reason I really wanted to see this stupid movie.  I cuddled under some blankets with a mug of cocoa and watched the mountains float by.

Pookie watchin' sea lions.

-Zumba with (as far as I can tell) all the Koreans on the boat. Koreans love Zumba? One day I persuaded my mom and sister to come. It was the day there was a routine to "Gangnam Style," and what I wouldn't give for some video evidence of that five minutes of my life.

-Attending and regretting an event called "Pastry Extraveganza." It sounds as wonderful and horrible as you might imagine.

-Spending time at a window desk in a teeny "Writing Room"! Writin' plays 'n' stuff! My thesis--she's in full swing.

-Magic show! Saw lady get sawed in half and levitate.

-Laying on a hot rock in the spa while the boat hit some choppy waters. Being swayed on a relaxation stone--not bad.

-Goat cheese souffle. Fresh papaya. Oh, hi, mushroom gnocchi.

-Seeing lots of rad wildlife: caribou, moose, bear, whales, sea lions.

-Glaciers chunking off. They are bluer than you think.
-The wilderness of Liarsville, flannel dudes playin' guitar.
-Walking the top deck while the boat went full speed ahead toward Vancouver, my sister and I nearly flew off into the ocean, carried by blasting icy winds. I yelled, "I'M KING OF THE WORLD."

I was happy to come home--no more pants please--but I am also very happy I went. Coming home is nice:

Hill's doing.

Flowahs from my dude.

You're here. There's nothing I fear.

Nobody Likes Horrible Things

So don't be a horrible thing.


Tulips outside my dad's house. April 2011.

Cups and saucers crashing in, but Houdini applauds the gag again.

Dead

It was my intent to recycle the bouquets I got from directing the improv comedy show and give them to my friends who were in the dance production this weekend. But they are all wilted. The pinks are greys and yellow blossoms have shriveled. Their stems are mushy and spreading out in the vase. They look like they are trying to escape.