Oh For Fuck Sake!

Photo Via the Times

Like many people across the world, yesterday I took note of Senator Wendy Davis as she fillibustered Texas SB5. I checked several times. Yes, it is 2013 America. And, our brothers and sisters in Texas get to fight a battle from another century, from the deep, dark past, yet again. Oy vay. I grow weary of the patriarchy. All over the globe the rage against our mothers, our sisters, our daughters, and the sick, fucking notion that they are chattle, flows on and on and on. 

Mrs. G offers her take on attempts to legislate the vagina here. I left the following comment and wanted to record it here, because not speaking out against sexism and attempts to legislate women's bodies is a grave mistake:

"Love you Mrs. G. As I watched Senator Davis yesterday, all I could think was how desperately I wished our beloved Molly Ivins was here to offer her hilarious and lucid commentary on the Texas lege. Texas is home to so many great feminists. In the land where the swinging micro-dicks shout down anyone without a big checkbook, women like Ann Richards, Senator Davis, Barbara Jordan, Spinster Aunt Twisty Faster, and Molly are too often the only rational voices of humanity in a screaming mantastrophe of rage against women. Thank you for raising your voice in defense of all the rights of all the pussies. I've reclaimed all the words - quim, cooch, nunny, cunt, beaver, fanny, muff. Freud had it wrong. The essential issue seems to me to be VAGINA-envy."

I know my Mama won't be happy about the swearing. She is an elegant, gentle woman. She is also my greatest role model, my touchstone, and an ardent, life-long feminist. She raised me to speak my mind. So, for fuck's sake, I am exasperated by impotent old men and their frightened bed-fellows trying to drag humanity back centuries. These people fear women and  they are afraid to be held accountable for their own bullshit misogyny. I'm over it. And, of course, I'm not over it. Because, like that sneaky pile of dog shit your kid trailed into the house, the  stench of sexism and the fear of the almighty vagina continues to stink and must be scrubbed clean and washed out-even if you have to do it over and over and over again. 

I love you Molly and Mama and all you all.

And She Answers

 

How lucky I am!

When I Rest In Peace

I just turned 50 in December. It is so very fine to be 50, especially when the alternative is to not be anything except, if you are lucky, a memory.

I write the following with no sense of morbidity. The first time my father almost died, I joked with him about what our obituaries or tombstones would say as he was recovering (some people might think that is a bit insensitive or odd, but it worked for us).

My mother and I have also talked a few times about what makes a great obituary. I have read a few that I loved. Mrs. G posted a wonderful obituary to her blog and this reminded me that I had been determined to make a start on my own.

It is a tremendously difficult task to create a portrait in words contained in just a few paragraphs. I do think it is a task worth undertaking when I think it may be the only "knowing" of us that a  descendant may have.

Here is my first shot at it:

Kelly is eternally grateful for the great sex, delicious food, music, books, and most ardently for her family especially her wise and beautiful children.

Her life goals included:

becoming half as good a woman as her mama

sharing the bleak Irish humor she inherited from her grandfather John Kelly with those she loved at the most importunate times

eating all the cake

being an O.K. - enough human being to merit the love of her many fine canine companions

keeping her teeth and hair

practicing patience and kindness and ecstatic mental yoga

being loud

Depending upon which of her friends or family you speak to, she was either a great success or an abject failure at achieving her goals. All will agree that she was trying.

I'm Slow Cookin' Darling!

Pulled Pork Sandwich photo credit goes to the Food Network 

Mrs. G let me mess up the kitchen over at Derfwad Manor- home to a grand group of soul sisters and Gary. Care for a pulled pork sandwich with some savory sides of mancake, moi, and poetry? Of course you do!

Long Time Sun

may the long time sun shine upon you
all love surround you
and the pure light within you
guide your way on

2012 You Were Batshit or Was It Just Me?

Kisses lovers. This is what 50 looks like the day before it hits.

I squandered  49 in procrastination and sadness. How incredibly stupid.

I am  grateful everyday for my family. I have to keep my attention on fine details because the big picture right now makes it hard for me to breathe. I am trying to let go of fear. That is such a hard thing to do. I am sporadically creative and feel in my bones that therein lies my salvation. Where is the courage required to leap?

There have been years from which I ungraciously took my leave claiming I would not miss them. Hello 2009! But I will. Right now, feeling properly old (thanks Mama for the AARP membership including bright red retro fanny pack!), I see them for what they were. Opportunities squandered. And fuck that.

So, barring Mayan prophecy, 2013 will be wooed. No more waiting for perfect conditions. I'm leaping. And I know I'll land where I should. Like always, I'll land on my feet. Remind me to tell you about how I used to jump off my horse Marmalade at a run and stick a perfect landing every time just for fun. That's how I roll. I truly do love you.

Valley of the Dutch Babies and Mountains for Cowboys

I've been away. Caretaking. Driving up and down between 5800 ft and 8000 ft in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado where my father lived until he rolled his car and changed his circumstances.

One day, driving home from the hospital I saw this scene at the local Denny's. We are not in Portland any more.

I can't sort out all the emotions, ideas, revelations, and resignations of this trip just yet. Still in the midst of figuring out the fine points.

When I drove home down that mighty and magnificent Columbia river  gorge and rounded a bend to find the tip top of  my sweet Willamette Valley I could finally breathe. I tasted the moisture in the air. I drove down an everyday street in this beautiful place and saw every sort of person in every sort of dress. No cow ponies or cows at Denny's. But I did see a goat mowing a lawn and my own fine dogs dancing with joy. And, best of all, the people that I love who make this place home.

In honor of the fullness of that I made a dutch baby that my baby and I just devoured.

 

Moan at the cliche if you will, there is no denying that, for me, there is no place like home. And home is a green, wet, fertile valley that terminates at its northern border in a confluence of the Willamette and Columbia rivers and lies just a low, misty mountain pass away from the Pacific ocean.

To make a dutch baby:

Heat oven to 400 degrees f

Grab your cast iron skillet and cut up an entire stick of butter to toss into pan

Place skillet with butter in hot oven and melt

Meanwhile:

In blender or with a whisk and large mixing bowl beat 6 eggs, then add 1 1/2 cups milk, then slowly whisk in 1 1/2 cups flour and whisk/blend for a minute.

Quickly pour egg mix into melted butter in skillet. Place back in oven and cook for 20 to 25 minute. Dutch baby will puff up and become golden.

Top this golden goodness with a squeeze of lemon and powdered sugar or jam or maple syrup.

If you are wildly inspired, during the intial butter melt, toss in a couple handfuls of thinly sliced apples and a handful of brown sugar and let this cook for a few minutes in the oven before pouring over your dutch baby mix. My oh my! how your mama doing?

In other news, this is lovely and again, not news to anyone, but such a wonderful reminder. Also, via the ever lovely, often poignant Miss Whistle our beloved Stephen Fry on Kindness something my glorious mother with her generous wisdom suggested as my mantra for the trip.

Here was the view driving back to Ouray every night for the past couple of months. Spectacular.