NJ, I love ya, but come on . . .

Since I've been staying here (for two weeks now) we haven't really had a "Jersey Day". That's the kind of day when you wake up and feel the air outside pressing in on the screen window. It's the kind of day that doesn't go well, weather wise. Sometimes rain will fall, and if you've lived somewhere else where rain means a cooling down, you'll think okay, now it's gonna cool down. Likely it will not.

Today is gonna be one of those days, with an expected high of 88 degrees. It'll make me think of summer days long ago when I went from lap to lap trying to find someone patient enough to let me sit on them and add to their discomfort. It'll make me think of car trips with no air conditioning during which I also went from lap to lap as we set out for exotic locations like the Bronx and Long Island. And later it'll make me think about how my father let me sit on his lap on the front porch as he told scary stories to neighborhood kids gathered at his feet: stories he made up on the spot. I'll be sharing some of those with you.

I guess if you have memories like I have, even "Jersey Days" are good days.
MNYAGG

I'd Like To Share This With You

I decided to post my "This I Believe" essay because it captures my parents' marriage and how much they love each other.


My parents are getting old; even by our new techno-medically induced standards, at ninety-seven and eighty-eight, they’re really getting old. They still live in the same suburban New Jersey home where I grew up. I’m four hours away in central New York, that rust belt of broken down towns and tenuous local economies.

Sometimes I worry about my parents a lot; always I worry at least a little. I worry about everything from dishonest plumbers to slippery front steps and basement stairs. But somehow they keep going. When serious medical concerns come and go, they continue to prop each other up.

My parents met when my mother was invited to my father’s sister’s wedding next door to where she lived in the Bronx. My father, a soldier in WWII, was home on leave from the Philippines, and when he returned to duty they corresponded in letters now neatly bundled in the attic. They had three kids right away, left the city for New Jersey and years later had another child, me.

I grew up in the 70s, before the Garden State came into its own, when we were still ashamed to be New Jerseyians. In high school it was always a source of discontent; the sameness, the same lack of identity in every north Jersey town wore me out. So I left and went to the West and worked on my superior attitude. I rhapsodized about the openness, the big blue sky, later the feeling I got from raising my kids in such a safe place. My family put up with running commentary about Jersey’s dirty air and overcrowding when I came for visits.

But by the time I finished graduate school I was ready to leave the rural West; accompanying the big sky was a rampant conservatism that I just couldn’t even understand. So there I was at 42 years old, running away to home in a way, but things had changed. I am now the middle aged child of really old parents, not the overindulged much younger one.

Sitting on my parents’ couch I overheard my father say something that I know I’ll always keep with me, as sappy and nostalgic as that might sound. As he bade my mother goodnight, he said “goodnight my dear; dream only of me.” With those words, I, the interloper on the couch, was reminded that there really is so much more to life that what we see on the surface as we rush every day from one important thing to another: as we fill our lives with the trappings of success.

I believe sometimes it’s the things we overhear that have the greatest impact on us. I think when we’re reminded inadvertently that people love each other profoundly we gain access to something important we can remember when we worry or become disgruntled in this time of fear. I believe that right now in history it’s more important than ever to overhear because we might be thrilled and inspired with what our ears pick up.

Thanks for reading,
MNYAGG

My father . . .

was a very good man. I will miss him terribly. He passed away Saturday morning. When things settle down, I'll begin posting some things that I'd like you to know about him. Until then,
MNYAGG

Well, what can I say?

I'm in New Jersey with the Murphys. The hospice people are here. They are wonderful. My father is comfortable, on oxygen and morphine. I'm glad I'm here with him.

Imaginary Lover

If you read my blog, you know that I often make reference to a significant other, one "D". You may have wondered how come he never posts. You may have even begun to think that he doesn't exist, or is a cover for my closeted lesbianism (after all many people seem to think I'm gay when they first meet me), or that Clark is actually my boyfriend.

Yes, my significant other is a private person, but he does exist. Last night he cooked me dinner at my house because I didn't feel well. As a matter of fact, he came in, didn't bother me, and fixed dinner in my appliance-impoverished kitchen quietly and without complaint while I watched Up on my laptop in bed.

He's great, and I hope that any of you who know him will chime in and verify his existence. I'll give you bonus points if you can (without google) name the band from whose song my post title comes.

Tomorrow I'm putting up a little quiz I'm designing to see how "out the box" you are, so tune in.

MNYAGG

The 2 Cat Couple

I'm at D's house where I am listening to Miss Sophie (his cat) meow by turns pitiously and angrily because she is in the kennel about to go to the vet. Getting her in the kennel revealed what appeared to be an extra set of legs containing an extra set of claws that clamped themselves on the sides of the kennel door. I really do think I saw six legs, maybe eight.

Earlier today Vincent Murphy (my cat, not my father) decided to jump up and chase a bug or something -- on the curtains in my office. I wish I'd had a camera for the nanosecond his claws were stuck in the weave.

We are a two cat (and of course one dog) couple, D and I. How cosmopolitan, how twenty-first century, how middle aged. We love our pets, but I think we deal with their traumas differently. D apologized to Sophie all the way out the door just now, and no doubt he is gently tryting to calm her right now as he drives to the vet. I, on the other hand, put Vincent's carrier (which he too does not like to go into) on the backseat and tell him to "shut it" as I drive to our destination. Come to think of it, that's what I do with my father Vincent Murphy in the car (I'm joking!). One thing our cats have in common: they are both charmers once they get out of their carriers. They're that cute.

Do you have any cute pet stories? Come on, share why don't cha?

It's like thunder, lightnin'

Last night Missy was so upset about the thunderstorm that she couldn't eat the benadryl-loaded hot dog that I placed under the bed where she was cowering. Cowering, panting, shaking, hyperventilating, she was doing it all right underneath me while I was trying to sleep. When she eventually came to the side of the bed where I'd placed the hot dog, I grabbed her collar and pulled her the rest of the way out, out the bedroom door into my office, whereupon I closed the door to my room and tried to go to sleep. By then the storm was long over. So my little bundle of nerves got medicated after the fact, but I'm sure she had a good night's sleep. I am a bad pet owner.

I know I said I wouldn't be blogging, but thanks to Clinton's bird population, which rises early and noisily (5:30) I seem to have a chunk of time. Aren't I the lucky one.

Thank you Clark and Lena for reminding me that you're "out there", on the Internet that is.

Today is stating off humid and stuffy, as I remind myself that my love of humidity is what brought me back to the East. I am going to spend some time looking at my unpublished poetry (which is most of my poetry, after all) to select four to send to the Rattle poetry contest, even though I know:
I do not stand a chance of winning.
I am a fool who will be out $25.00 for trying.
My best poem has already been published and is therefore ineligible.
A better known poet will win.
I would sell both my children (easy to say when they're 29 and 27) to even get an honorable mention.
My time might be better spent walking the dog or weeding that one last flower bed.
I will enter anyway and be genuinely hurt and confused when I do not win or place.
Even as I typed all the above, I had a fantasy wherein I won and accepted a huge award as well as the cash prize they give. I MEAN HUGE!

That's the way my brain works, so conflicted it is.

Have a peaceful day wherever you are.

The Real Burnouts

played a great show at the Tram in Utica last night. They are so talented. Tofu Delux played after them, and they were great. And people say there's nothing to do in Utica!

Yes I love you, but . . .

I love my blog. I love it even though I suspect nobody reads it. It's a good "place" for me to come and talk about what's on my mind.

This summer I'm teaching two classes, jam packed into one month writing classes to be exact. So if you don't see me for awhile, that's because I'm either online doing bus com or in the classroom (3 and 1/2 hours Monday through Thursday) doing creative writing. I'm not whining (well maybe a little); I'm just saying I'll see ya blog, whenever I can.
MNYAGG

Too nice to blog?

I'm afraid so. Today we went to Green Lakes State Park. Thank you Governor Patterson for not closing it yet. Tomorrow is the series finale of LOST, and the Lost Tribe (as we like to call ourselves) is picking up a few extras for the event at my house that starts at 4:00. I'm making Lentils Iraqi style in honor of Sayid. We'll have mango pie and chicken enchiladas. Can you guess which characters those two dishes will honor?

If you haven't yet, get outside. I don't know what it's like in Idaho (Clark?) but central New York is stunning. If you wanna join us tomorrow, bring a lawn chair and a dish to pass.

Happy Weekend,
MNYAGG

Summer Reading

I always start a book when I start my grading. It's a bad habit that I started years ago, but somehow I think it works for me. Yes, I am jumping the gun because really I can't sit and read when there's a stack of papers to grade. But I can use the book as a carrot, my reward for finishing my grading.

That's what I did with the book First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers. It was hard to read at times because Loung Ung's story is so emotionally wrenching. But all in all it was worth reading.

Next up: Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer, who is fast becoming one of my favorite authors. I just finished watching the moving for the third time this morning and can't wait to get the book. I know I should be working on my online class, which opens for viewing today, but it'll get done. It's only 8:00 and that's what the rest of the day is for.

This summer I am also going to listen to my second book on tape, and maybe more will follow. I guess I should say book on cd. Last summer I drove around and on trips listening to To Kill a Mockingbird, a book I never would have read. Listening to it was a pleasure. So does anybody out there have suggestions for an audio book or two?

Well, it's time to get to work, ANGEL (the online system, not the television series) awaits me. Tomorrow I think I'll blog about LOST as we head toward Sunday's series finale.

Peace Out,
MNYAGG

Bustin' Out

in more ways than one. This morning I am going to get Missy from the kennel where she's been for over a week. Missy likes the kennel for several reasons. One is that my friend Cathy owns it, so she thinks she's going to Cathy's house. The other reason is that Missy can be close to other dogs without feeling threatened by them and therefore trying to kill them.

My other bustin' out is happening all over my backyard, as peas and lettuce come up in various locations. I soaked a whole packet of seeds because since I haven't had a garden in years I forgot that one packet is a small farm's worth. I have peas coming up in flower beds and alongside borders (of weeds, that is).

My online and f2f classes start one week from today, so today is a workday, devoted to rearranging things for the compressed version of what are normally 15 week courses into 4 week versions. Wish me luck.

In other news, I'm going to power wash the house this week, and you all know what that means. Soon I'll be testing the bonds of friendship by asking for volunteer painters. I know you can hardly wait.

If you visited my blog thanks to Clark's link, welcome. He gave me a plug for being a faithful blogger, which may be the reason I'm posting today. Say hello and volunteer to paint my house, why don't cha? It's safe enough to do if you're thousands of miles away.

But if you're viewing my blog from CNY, or even Connecticut or the Big Apple (Josh and Nick) get your painting clothes ready.

Before I go: Jeremy Petersen

MNYAGG

Back In Massachusetts

Since my trip to New Jersey wound up being a trip to Holy Name Hospital because Vincent Murphy fainted, I'm just gonna put up a picture of better days with the family. It was taken this year in January at my Aunt Grace's house.
MNYAGG

Jeremy Petersen

is one of my most talented friends and a music maven. He has a show, In House, on Oregon Public Broadcasting, and it's his job to find and play new music of the indie variety. I also recently found out that he has Google Alerts which tells him when somebody puts his name out there in the web of the world wide web.
So here I go:
Jeremy Petersen
Jeremy Petersen
Jeremy Petersen
Jeremy Petersen
Let's see if ho finds my blog, and maybe he'll even post a comment.

Well, it's snowing

When I was a fifteen years old and had just moved to McCall, Idaho people liked to tell me about how it could snow in June there. Lucky for me that didn't happen while I lived there. I'd never seen much snow growing up in New Jersey with its cushy four seasons. I swear springtime used to be more moderate than it is now.

When I moved to central New York I heard tell of snow in May, and so I thought the locals were just having their way with the new kid on the block who'd just fallen off the potato truck. Today I woke up to . . . well I think you can guess where this is going.

Yesterday was seventy mph winds and cold rain. There's a fifteen foot limb on the edge of my property that I hope the Village of Clinton will remove while I'm gone. I'm going to Massachusetts to spend Mother's Day with Pin Head, then to New Jersey to see the Murphys. Of course I had my snow tires taken off a month ago; it's spring right?

If you're a mom, or you're like a mom to someone, Happy Mother's Day. I'm lucky to have Mrs. Murphy and Aunt Grace doting over me still. They are the two left of the "Catholic Women's Trinity" as I like to call my mother and her two sisters. They made sure I didn't do anything dangerous when I was growing up, anything they knew about that is. The third in my Trinity has passed, and I miss my Aunt Eleanor every day. She taught me how to argue, which helps if you're gonna be a college English teacher. From Aunt Grace I got the ability to make friends on line at the grocery store and be positive in the face of adversity.

And from Mrs. Murphy? Well, besides life itself, I learned determination and the ability to take occasional pride in intellectual endeavors. She is my little General, and I am proud to be one of her battalion. She is also sweet and kind, in case you wondered. There is nothing in the world like hearing her say "oh you know we love you so much" when we talk on the phone.

I don't know what it means to be a good mother; there are just too many different ways to do it. All I know is that there's nothing like a mother's love, and I've had it times three. I'm a pretty lucky person.
MNYAGG

29!!!!!!!!

Alicia Vida Billman, aka Big Head, is 29 years old today. How can it be? Since I am also 29, something seems mathematically wrong here. Perhaps Z can explain that. Last year I posted some big mushy thing about her birthday, but this year I'm going to skip that because she never reads my blog, and because:
SHE'S COMING HERE IN JULY TO SPEND SEVEN WEEKS WITH ME!!!!!!!!
Happy Birthday AVB. I love you just as much today as I did when we met 29 years ago after 23 hours of labor.
MNYAGG

Good Lord NPR, what were you thinking?

So this is what I wrote today, and put up on NPR's community of posters, in response to Frank Deford's commentary this morning:

There are so many insensitive, disturbing and downright stupid elements of Frank Deford's commentary that it's hard to know where to begin. I'll say that he has clearly missed the point in his apparent acceptance of Roethlistberger'...s behavior. Sexual aggression and assault is violent no matter who the perpatrator. To give someone dispensation because he's dumb is ignorant to say the least. Sexual assault is an under punished crime in contemporary American society, and using the airwaves to assert that it is something that should be excused because of stupidity is disgusting. The rhetorical strategy of comparing a real person to a romanticized fictional character is a poor one at best. I turned off my radio and NPR has earned an indeterminate boycott; I'm just too angry to listen right now.

On the threshold of indecision

I spend a lot of time talking to animals. And today I decided that I must say the phrase "do you want to go in(out)side?" about 50 times a day, at least on a day off. Today I stood in the threshold of the kitchen and said both three times. One pet, Vincent the cat, was on the back (enclosed0 porch, and the other, Missy the dog, was camped out in front of the fridge because she'd decided she deserved another dog cookie. I should add that Missy thinks I'm going senile (or she is) and that she can get more than one dog cookie per morning.

So there I was, trying to get them to decide, and they weren't budging. I thought they'd both have fun on the porch, but Missy wasn't having it. I told Vincent that his girlfriend was out (he sits in the living room window and she sits under it making eyes at him), but he wasn't moving. Meanwhile, I had some David Sedaris to read and a peer review sheet to write.

One thing about my pets though is that they're compliant little people pleasers, for the most part. So after two or three minutes the cat gave in. But it did get me thinking about how often I say that phrase, so next weekend I'll count. I think I'm like a mom with little kids, but I don't say things like "do you want your binkie?" or "do you need to go potty?". I actually never gave them a binkie and never said potty. That's why my kids still suck their thumbs and wet their pants at 27 and 28. Kidding! Well, maybe not.

What phrases do you find yourself saying over and over?

Have a great LOST Tuesday,
MNYAGG

Goodbye little purple flowers . . .

hello suburban looking lawn. Today I mowed the lawn for the first time this spring. In central New York our lawns are covered with little blue and purple flowers in spring. They come back even before the lawn does. Every first mowing is sad because I wait as long as I can, but eventually I have to turn the field of purple into a lawn of green. I shoulda took some before and after pics. Maybe Jess will email me the ones she took last week.

Sometimes the purple splendor comes back, sometimes it doesn't. It must be related to how high or low the blade is set. I hope this time the flowers come back. I do what I gotta do to live in civilization.

Last night I ate my first Charlie Boys Crown Burger of the season, delicious. Oh and National Poetry Month is winding down, so here's a new poem. Warning: it has a bad, bad word in it.

Silence



Imagine this: a man suddenly falls silent

And we want only to hear his words

So we give him paper instead

He writes: mein Hut ist blau.

No, no, English we say.

He writes: I want to fuck that girl in the red dress,

And we are interested and want more, to read

About his pornographic thoughts. Attentive,

We watch as he writes: the world is coming

To an end soon.

And we take away his pencil.

An "Other" Patricia Murphy

I googled "poetry Patricia Murphy" and found this poem on The Microwave Project. I found a lot of poets named Patricia Murphy, and one of them was me, but this isn't:

Things’ Hurrah



I’m always all over

between things of

some awestruckness



although sometimes

tracks and things stick out

vibrations’ hurrah



I want a star not a man

a unicorn in unison

cords so discordant



or melodic whale

stomach flops

hearts skip throb



like a porcupine

wobbling a

kangaroo



forgot to hop

possibilities of

possible explanations



things get stepped on

squeezed out

collide with other things



companions make colorful

outer patterned layers

bloated red flowers

push off in space



Today I'm reading at SUNYIT at 4:30, where I will be joined by Tyra Twomey and Drew Sabol. If you're near the Gannett Gallery around that time, come on over.

MNYAGG