Sunday, 3 a.m.

The sky sobs and the wind weeps
and I join them.
a weeping rage wracking my heart
torn between sobs and screams
dashed illusions and shattered dreams,
or is that dashed dreams and shattered illusions?
Confusion.

Insomnia, my new lover, is sleeping soundly
with a disrythmic snoring
masking the cries that shake my bones
ignoring
my muffled what ifs, maybes and perhaps's galore
he just snores.

I am alone to mend.
Well, me and the Sky and Wind
Ah wait -- who's that sighing?

Even the Man in the Moon is crying.

My Students

She greeted me on Monday, sans homework, but with an explanation: Her mother was killed on Saturday, could she turn it in tomorrow? Would that be okay?

On Tuesday morning he told me he wasn’t afraid of anything
That nothing scared him, hurt him, or could make him cry
He came and told me Wednesday, he discovered that fear was a gun held to his head. That he now knew; he was afraid of dead.

Her chair was empty Thursday, I didn’t know why until late
(Thank God she didn’t wait)
When her momma’s boyfriend blasted through the door, and momma fell (dead) to the floor,
she jumped out the window, baby sister in tow, and ran to safety of a neighbor she didn’t know.

Friday. Nothing bad ever happens on a Friday – I just pray they make it two days, and return on Monday, to the safety of my classroom.

Kill Bill, Volume 3
When I find Bill, I’m gonna kill him.
You think I jest or a jester be?
Ha – Watch me –
I’ll make Uma Thurman look like PeeWee Herman
-all gawky and amateurish.
I’ll have him
--make him crawl,
Have him
-- back pinned to the wall
“Look what you’ve created, what you’ve done
Left me mooning for that fucking sun in the east "
Not minding your dagger’s prick in the least.

When I find Bill, I’m gonna kill him.
Damn man – and his teasing words, and tantilizing hands
I may have that reversed
Curs-ed man could argue with one, and hold close with the other
I may have that reversed
But you might wanna call a hearse
Cause…
When I find Bill, I’m gonna kill him.

He had me falling for Cupid’s arrows and traps,
Laboring over love’s labor lost
Paying the cost
Time
and time
and time again
Thinking, maybe, just maybe this time it would be
Maybe this time
– it would be me
To sing Hey Nonny, nonny hey
But it was never my day
So
You might wanna tell him
Warn him, and his next of kin
When I find him, I’m gonna kill him.
-and not shed a tear –-
-gonna kill Bill.
Bill Shakespeare.

February 14th...

I Fell In Love With His Lips

So -- this one has been banging around the brain, and I've not been able to help it out. Words and actions -- contradicting.....I'm still looking at it -- and it may change, but I thought I'd share it:


His lips said, “You have a beautiful voice”
While his eyes scolded, “You laugh too loudly.”
Lips exclaimed, “I felt joy when we met”
hands screamed, “I can’t stand you near me.”
Lips purred, “You have the most amazing eyes,”
But ears burned, “Why must you be so intense?”
Lips praised, “I was so happy you said yes”
Legs stumbled, “Tho’ I’m more comfortable on the fence”
Lips whispered, “Your embrace is my haven,”
Arms pushed, “But your love is contrived.”
Lips begged, “I was afraid I’d scare you off,”
As feet faltered, “That’s why I didn’t arrive.”
Lips pursed, “You won’t be alone long”
Hips cursed, “You’ll always live in fear
His lips promised, “I am better with you,”
While his body cried, “I’m not me when you’re near.”

A Clean Shot

I've become a Facebook Whore. Or Addict. You choose. It is wildly entertaining, and I get instant gratification -- but my writing has suffered. So, here I am. I am going to try to write something at least a few times a month......

I was challenged by a friend to write a complete story in 101 words. For a wordysmith such as I, this meant edit, edit, edit. But here it is:

“I’m not nervous.” If you didn’t see the single drop of sweat on his forehead, you’d believe him. Slowly, he fingered the mechanism with his trigger-finger. “Just do it; get it over with,” he chided. The sweat drop paused at his eyebrow. “It’s your job! One shot, and out.” Resolvedly, he placed his finger back on the cold metal, and pushed. The sound ricocheted in the small space. The bead of sweat dropped into his eye as space before him filled with her fearful face. Her lips parted, pleading, but he cut her off, “Sorry, M’am, here are your foreclosure papers.”

It's That Time Again!!!

I have some GREAT excuses for why I've not been blogging:

1. I'm teaching three subjects (by my choice -- what was I thinking!?!?!?) and never have time to blog.

2. I have nothing to say.

3. It's getting close to Rogue Time again.

4. I've become a Facebook Whore.

Okay -- two of those are true....

But being a ho is still illegal -- so let's go with Rogue 2010....

Breathing

Surely it isn’t possible to have mistaken
heroin for oxygen?
Someone as intelligent as I
Could not be trapped by
Such an obvious slight
-of-hand…Breathe in, breathe in,

::sigh::

Of course! It is not possible to have mistaken
heroin for oxygen.
These ideas and dreams that have sprung to life
-this absence of strife
-this abundance of goodness…
A deadly addiction!?!?
Don’t be asinine. Breathe in, breathe in.

::sigh::

Surely it is not possible that I have mistaken
heroin for oxygen.
The skin I’m in
is healthy; wallet still wealthy
If this were drugs of a
dangerous faire,
(As opposed to simply normal air),
wouldn’t I cease to even care
about the state or fate of either?
Breathe in, breathe in

::sigh::

This cannot be!! It is impossible to have mistaken
Heroin for oxygen!
…but I’m getting no satisfaction from the air
As it tears through my veins…
…and I’m in constant anticipation
Of my next inhalation…
-which never seems to have the depth
of my previous breath.
Breathe in, breathe in

::sigh::

Surely….it isn’t possible….

::sigh::

Have I mistaken
heroin for oxygen?

One Night in Bangkok - er, make that Copenhagen

One night in Bangkok and the girls...

wait -- wrong country.

Wonderful, wonderful, Copenhagen...

I have just returned from Sweden and Denmark! The primary purpose was to attend my friends, Steven and Kajsa's wedding. --Which was fabulous!

But as usual, there was a secondary purpose -- HAVE FUN!!!!

First stop was Tivoli Gardens - the second oldest amusement park in the world. As I was strolling ('cause that's what you do whilst in Denmark - stroll), I was suddenly confronted by a little boy with HUGE Bambi eyes crying, "Pappa! Pappa!" Everyone else around was either ignoring or overreacting, so I knelt down, took his hands and started talking to him. Within a minute "Pappa" came around the corner (he was waiting on the wrong side of the ride for his son to exit). Bambi wouldn't let go of my hand. Hot Pappa thanked me, and asked me if I'd like to join them for a bite. Yes, yes, I was hoping Hot Pappa wanted me to bite him, or vice-versa...
-no such luck
-alas, Hot Pappa was actually Hot Widower Pappa -- of six months. Over the course of the next hour (eating and strolling), I realized that he was unavailable.
Not like that's new for me, eh? I am constantly attracted to unavailable men...

I bid Hot Pappa and Bambi, "Farvel" (goodbye).

I happened to be in Copenhagen during the Jazz Festival, so there was amazing music to be heard everywhere. As I headed (dejectedly) towards my hotel, my ears were enticed by the music coming from a corner bar. "Why not?" I propositioned myself. Hey -- no one else was, so I might as well pick myself up. I pulled up my big-girl-panties (figuratively, of course), headed in and took a seat.
The waiter mistook me for a local (happened more than once), and asked for my order in Danish. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm American, and only speak English."
"An American!" erupted the table behind me.
Preparing to bolt, and murmuring apologies, I began to rise -- until The Travelers (their name for themselves) explained that they had been collecting countries (!!!), and had yet to find an American for their group.
I became their American. We stayed there for a few hours, until the waiter told us we should head on down to an Irish Pub a few blocks away.
Irish pub + The Travelers + alcohol = Irish Drinking Songs gone wild.

One clothing change (hey, I was still in amusement park attire) and freshenup later, and we found ourselves with steins and voices raised.

I don't remember HIM walking in -- or HIM joining our group. But suddenly, I was aware of HIM. This hot guy sitting next to me, singing Irish songs, accidentally (not) bumping me, and talking to me:
"Excuse me, but - did you know - your eyes -- your eyes are the color of the Italian sky?"

Pull my hair, throw me on the floor-what happens in Copenhagen stays in Copen-

"Sorry? Are you talking to me?"

He repeated the analogy -- and by then I was a puddle of goo.

I was trying to get control of the goo, drag McHottie out of there by his hair, when I heard this soft voice in my other ear:

"Hello."

"Oh, APj - I want you to meet my wife. How would you like to come home with us?"

"Oh.....Oh my. Ummmm....thanks......but.....um......no thanks. I kinda like veggies...not so crazy about....the....fruit"

Yup - I left. Alone. What happens in Copenhagen -- happened without me.

Just another reason why....

Approximately 10 (or so) years ago, a baby Great Horned Owl fell from a nest on my property. We (the neighbors, my ex, and I) were unable to get her back in the nest - Mom and Dad were going nuts, and we were frantic trying to figure out a plan. We called "the bird lady" up in the foothills, who came down and took our baby home to nurse back to health. A few months later, she brought her back to release.



And she stayed. Over the years, she and her mate have resided here. Oh sure, sometimes months would go by without me seeing them, or talking to them.
Yes -- I said talking -- and no, I'm not crazy.








My city (and some of my country) friends thought I was nuts when I told them that my owls talked to me. When I would arrive home late, they would call to me -- her voice pitched a bit higher than her mates. I would answer back, and they would hoot once more.

This year -- they had babies. Three babies. And yes....the babies talk to me. Well, screech actually (as they don't hoot yet). I can walk right up to the tree, and they all stay. The other night, I was out talking to one of the babies, and the other two flew over to join baby huey (that's what I call the roundest one --the one that the stupid bluejays pick on the most).

I think I'm a good apple

This came in my email this morning:

Apples and Wine

Women are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they sometimes take the apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. The apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, the one who is brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree.

Now men...
-Men are like a fine wine. They begin as grapes, and it's up to women to stomp the shit out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

Freeflying or Falling

I stand, toes dangling over the edge
feel air race up my thighs, close my eyes,
Damn –
I swear I hear the Wind beckon me, “Fly!”

“Ahhh...Wind,” I reply,
“Freefall is relatively painless
But that last foot? Done wrong can leave you brainless.”

But it’s safe here on the edge;
and with eyes closed and arms spread wide
it almost feels like a skydive
Wind beckons again, “Fly!”
So I lean into it
but damn

- I still remember
that painful last foot. Should have been fatal
though it wasn’t. Snapped a femur and filled a lung
but I guess I wasn’t done.
Brushed myself off, and raced to back to the edge.

Have I told you?
It’s safe here on the edge,
And with eyes closed and arms spread wide,
It almost feels like a skydive…
Wind beckons, “Come on, damn it! Fly!”
So I lean into it
but damn


- I still remember
that painful last foot.
It certainly felt fatal
but it wasn’t.
Shattered my confidence, splattered
my heart on the floor of the shower,
leaving me feeling power-
less
but nonetheless,
brushed myself off, and raced back to the edge.

Don’t you understand?
It’s so damn safe here on the edge,
Eyes clamped shut and fists raised wide
It almost feels like a skydive
Wind beckons, “You have got to fly!
Just let go and try,
And besides
You know what they say about the third time…”

So I lean into it,
but damn-

-how do a I know which three
it will be:
a strike or a charm?
Happiness or harm?

So, do you see now?
Do you see why I perch here on the edge?

Because it’s safe.

And it almost feels like a skydive.


If only the Wind would stop beckoning me, “Fly!”

A Few of My Favorite Smells

Somehow, it all fits. I am nasally-oriented.

When I was three, I put a string of glass beads (Christmas decorations) up my nose. Just because they were pretty.

Shortly thereafter, I informed my brother, Satan, that I could fit three pussywillows up my nose. He dared me to try for four.
Yup -- I could.

Middle School found me hating boogers -- mainly because they made it so hard to breathe. In the midst of a horrible cold, I thought that if I kept blowing my nose, the snot would not stay. Blow, blow, blow.
bam! The busted artery story.

It's still all about my nose...

I love smells......

1. Orange blossoms
2. Vanilla
3. Lavender
4. Chocolate
5. Clean Sheets
6. Eucalyptus Tree
7. Grass (as in lawn)
8. Ginger
9. Gasoline (I don't get this either....I maybe be a secret huffer or something)
10. Man

Well....I may need to work on the order here....

I must have pissed of an Ent. Seriously. I don't know how. I don't know when -- but at sometime I must have.

I love trees. Some of you read this Ode to the Leaf. My love of leaves is obvious -- as (should be) my love of where they come from.

And yet -- they're out to get me. THIS IS NOT PARANOIA.

Remember this incident? How many 100 ft Acacia trees are there in San Francisco? But the one with wobbly footing decides to crush my car....

And then this morning.....I walk out to the garage this morning.
::crap::
I forgot to put the car in the garage! It'll be covered in dewy stuff and all....I might need to wash it--
::vvrrrooommmm:: (that's the noise the garage door makes)
::crap::
Wow! Those leaves and that branch sure look low -- they're almost
::crap::
I think the tree fell on my car. Again.



So.....I walk around to the other side.....


::sigh of relief:::







It seems to have missed the car. But I've got to go to work!!! Can I get the car out of the driveway? Pull forward. Turn. Back up, turn wheel tight. ::crap:: is that a scrapy noise? Pull forward, turn again. Back up, s-l-o-w-l-y, turning wheel t-i-g-h-t-l-y. ::crap:: Don't fall into the drainage hole on the left side.
::sigh:: I think I'm clear.





HOLY COW!!! I made it around that!?!?!?!?


Damn.....I'm good.





Anybody up for a chainsaw party?

A Teaching Moment

In addition to teaching 7th grade Language Arts, I also teach a Reading Intervention class - targeted at students who are reading 2+ years below their reading level. Most of these students have struggled with reading since 1st grade, and reading has never been something they enjoyed.
I try to change that.
I show them strategies to use while they are reading that help them retain the information. And we try to have fun.
This is one of my favorites
At the end of each chapter, I ask the students to write down 2-3 favorite lines from the chapter. They might like the figurative language - they might have a personal connection - whatever.
**I DO NOT TELL THEM WHY WE ARE COLLECTING THEM**

When we finish the novel, they cut out their sentences, select a few, and put them in a different sequence to create:

FOUND POETRY
Here is my example from the novel, "The Music of Dolphins," by Karen Hesse.
Note: This novel is written at a 5th grade level, but is 7-8th grade interest. It is written in a journal form, and reminds me a lot of "Flowers for Algernon."

I watch the red sun set into a choppy sea
I am on this beach of grass with no ocean, with no quiet, with no clean air to breathe.
Waves whisper onto the beach, sucking at my heels and my toes.
I must get back to the sea.
In the sea there are no locks or switches, no doors or walls.
I can leave my human thought on the beach
I swim out to them on the murmuring sea
-like the wings of the ray flying through the slow green water
What we are doing will not fade like a sunset.

Bambi - The Book, not the Disney Movie

This is my favorite chapter from the novel, Bambi. No Bambi, no Thumper, no Faline, no Karus. In fact, the characters don't even have names! But this chapter affected me then, as it still does today. I recently read this chapter to my students, who loved it (of course). I then thought I should share it with you. So, naturally, I had to make a little video to go with my reading...





Since reading this book (I believe I was around 10), I have never looked at leaves as "plain." I don't crunch them when I walk, I don't jump in them, and sometimes...sometimes I tell them they're beautiful....

Who's Your Mama?

So...sometime in March, I got a call from my friend Kate. "APJ, I've got a show for you."
these can sometimes be dangerous words...especially from Kate.

"What kinda show?"

"Well, Gilmour Floyd is doing a show at the Tower Theatre on April 11th. They're going to be recreating scenes from the Pink Floyd movie. And...and...and....well.....would you play "The Mom"?

Granted, I think I was in college the last time I saw the movie -- but I remember her as being...kinda scary.
"Sure, Kate! Sounds fun! What will I have to do?"

"Great, APJ! Don't worry. Becky will do everything.
Step #1. Becky got rid of my hair -- put it all in pincurls on top of my head. Ouch...but only a little.

Note: I thought this would be worth the pain -- that I would have beautiful curly locks the next morning. Nope -- frizzy and kinky....
- um -
Not "that" kind of kinky...




Step #2. Put do-rag on head, and loadup on the blue eye-doo.

Note: I don't know why Becky is making this face -- SHE did my face. Oh...maybe she's realizing I don't have my hair on yet.





Step #3 Hair and Costume time. 'nuff said.









Step #4. Go find my cute son. Who seems to be...quite fond of...my bodacious ta-tas.
Ermm.....obviously, breastfeeding him for five years may have been a mistake.









Step #5. Pose with everybody else. Everybody else who was able to get ready in, like five minutes. Me? 90 minutes. But, personally? I think I look FAB - U - LOUS!!

I like dreaming....

Some of you remember my friend, Steve from this exchange. He and his much-better-half now reside in Sweden, and are planning their nuptials for this summer.
-yes, yes, they do everything backwards: child, move followed by a wedding, instead of wedding, move, and then child. A beautiful child, Anja, by the way, whom, you may recall, knows her Auntie Jayne quite well

I plan on traveling to Sweden this summer, and the trip has been on my mind, and, obviously, in my dreams, as can be seen in this email I thought I'd share with ya'll....

Dearest Steve and Kajsa,

So, I had this great dream. I'm at your wedding/moving party

- Yes, yes, you're moving
-What? I don't know!!?!?!? You just are--
--hey that's not important- remember, it's MY dream


I'm sitting at the end of the table with Anja on my left, when these two hot guys jostle each other for the seat on my right.
and here's the cool thing-

I knew they were both hot for me.

Yup. In my dreamworld, I am not sextarded.

::dances around the room::
uh-huh, uh-huh,

love, the sofrickinghot APj

ps #1 name was Michael, so he's out. Didn't catch #2's name, but he had a chest like a sailor. Perhaps he's with the.... SWEDISH NAVY!?!?

APj Smackdown

Sometimes I forget that I'm a 48 year-old woman.
Not necessarily a BAD thing -- for example, if I were on a date with a hot 32 year-old, and he made me forget that I was 48 -- GOOD THING.
Brawling with thugs? Not a GOOD THING.


We had finished striking all the Rogue sets and lights, and were heading for Rogue Storage. I saw something fly through the air and hit the brickwall of a store. My sister thought it was a skateboard, kicked by one of the two teenagers walking on the sidewalk.
It. was. not. a. skateboard.
It. was. a. puppy.

I made a face, and that is probably where the incident would have ended.

-except-

One of the teens squared up on the cowering puppy, kicked and started swinging.

And APj metamorphosed into The Hulk.

Brakes and tires squealing, I threw my seatbelt off, and leaped from the car,
"Motherf#c!ker! Touch that dog one more time, and I'll kick the sh!t out of you!"

He stopped swinging at the dog -
GOOD THING.
And started walking towards me
BAD THING
saying, "You dint see nothin' b!t#h! You dint see nothin' "

By this time, he and his friend are right in front of me -- and I'm realizing that he is at least 4 inches taller than me --
--but hey -- I'm a whole hell-of-a-lot crazier than him -- so I walk right up to him, jab him in the chest and retort, "Yeah? I saw the whole thing, a##ho!e! You don't --"

At this point, he and his ugly thug friend started backing away, with a "whatcha gonna do, b!tch? whatcha gonna do?"

"What am I gonna do?" I pulled out my cellphone, "This, A##ho!e!" and dialed 9-1-1.

Yes, yes, I know - I should have taken a picture with my cellphone. Damn adrenaline. And yes, yes, I realize (in hindsight), that this was not the smartest move I've ever made.

But I'd do it again. Yup. I'm crazy that way.