January 11, 2003


Just damn good writing in this chronicle of a visit "home."

That's all. And that's a whole lot.

dream games

Confession time: My kid doesn't go to sleep by herself. Most nights I lie with her until she drifts off. I know, she should at five hop up the steps off to her bed on her own with a kiss over her shoulder and a hug goodnight. Doesn't work that way. Yet.

It's been a tough year with her father away a good part of it. I guess she and I have needed some extra cuddling time. And I guess I don't feel guilty about it. It can be a pain. It can also be amazing.

With this unwelcome habit, sleep time has turned into a welcome time for mom and daughter to stare at each other, talk to God, wonder about everything under the sun, then be quiet, wind down. Some nights the process takes longer than others.

We have a new thing we do--my attempt to focus her on getting to sleep, something she's never been very good at, not since birth.

In our new dream game, we tell each other one thing we're going find for one another in our dreams that night. We don't describe it though--not til the next morning, sometimes not until the next night. "What did you get me in your dream last night?" And we trade stories.

She's found me lots of treasures--a pink unicorn with a yellow horn and gold feet, a pretty purple blouse, a brown pony. All things I'd like very much. In my dreams at least. I've found her a shimering purple and pink dress with white lace on the hem, a brown pony (are we getting the pony theme yet?), and tonight I went off to find her a necklace.

As soon as I close my eyes and set off on my dream mission, the vision forms almost instantly. Tonight's necklace was so beautiful--I wonder if one exists. It looks like this: On a silver chain hangs a bright round stone sunshine pendant, and in the middle of the sunshine, a single tear drop, made of dark purple/blue shiny stone, outlined in silver. I'll tell her about it tomorrow.

How tears give way to sun, how night turns to day, how tomorrows get better.

She had a tough day. Overtired from our trip, she was a bear, the child you don't like to recognize as your own, yourself in your worst mood. Tough to watch.

Now she's sleeping, and I wonder what she'll find for me in her dream. Tomorrow morning we'll trade stories about our dream game. I'll get to hear about my treasure.

And tomorrow night I'll lie down with her again.

the band that's like a five-way boxing match

These guys are talking again. You just don't know. You just don't know my history as a band wife in this group. A history that goes back 20 years. George's history in the band pre-dates mine by years. One day we'll do a book. Because band dynamics, like family dynamics (actually just like family dynamics), are complex, firey, intense, joyous, torturous, and infinite. They are special. There is nothing just like it, because of the music.

Beyond the life of a band, the band dynamics persist. The wounds persist. The energy persists.

It's kind of frightening.

A Cabo Frio reunion may be in the works, something I'm sure George will talk about when and if it's time.

What I'm talking about is what their talking again--the phone ringing and hearing those familiar voices that wind back half my lifetime--means to me.

What exactly?

It takes me back. I'm 20 and dancing like a fiend in a smokey Rochester club, I'm 22 driving to Geneseo with George, wondering what kind of night they'll have. The inside jokes, the falling off my chair laughing, the dreams, hopes, dashed every single time.

I'm watching the man I love get angrier and angrier, watching the business end eat him up inside, looking on as the dynamics eventually wreck the music, or at least the music men.

How this era tortured my husband for two decades, his in-the-group, out-of-the-group dance. The fights, the bad business, the dirt, the record company rip offs. The endless work, the endless battles, the successes, the losses, and the music.

The music.

That's the part that puts a twinkle in my eye, makes me feel 20 again. They were something else live.

So the phone rings today, and I hear their voices, and all at once I'm cute and 20 and dancing again. I know the bass lines by heart. I know the drum fills. I'm childless, single, in my own apartment. I'm going out tonight with my best friend. Gotta see that bass player again. He makes my heart stop. The future isn't written yet. Everything is possible.

Ding Ding, Round 9 begins.

gary has thrown himself into his blogging.

...and this is the latest result. Or should I say, and this is the result?

Only Gary.

I'm still too afraid to show my fridge. Humbled by all the neat and tidy bloggers around the world, I still think they fluffed.

(you're not allowed to fluff.)

life without a net

So how was it not to blog for a week?

Wierd. Really strange.

The wierd part wasn't so much the not blogging, but not blogging physically.

I had no dial up access numbers, except for the Atlanta number, which would have been long distance, and with a 35-percent telephone surcharge at the hotel, no thanks.

At the beginning of our vacation, I thought about blogging all the time. The wanting to blog was overwhelming. I was forever blogging in my head. Wondering if I could simply telepath my posts to RageBoy, give him something for his blog for crying out loud. I actually tried a couple of times, but I think my wires got crossed and I ended up giving Marek a wedgie.

Sorry MJ.

So instead I did the natural next-best thing. Inner blogging.

That's when you go through all the steps of actual blogging, except you do it inside of your head.

In retrospect, I find this inner blogging quite magnificent. I'm not sure what to make of it. This posting and publishing in my head. Editing even. Linking too.

How did it work exactly? For example, there was this sign for Stavros Pizza in Leesburg. I immediately popped up the blogger window in my mind, I cropped and uploaded the sign from Stavros Pizza, plugged the img src code into my post, centered it, wrote the headline ("half with pepperoni, half with wonderchicken"). Then I wrote about blogging and pizza, a little ditty about all of us ordering pizza at the same time (is this possible with our varying time zones--heck I like pizza for breakfast) and blogging our virtual pizza party as we munch... Read the comments too. Shelley's in for veggie, Halley wants extra meat. Heh. You know. Stuff like that.

I even laughed out loud as I constructed imaginary email replies.

All without ever dropping a line of it onto paper or a keystroke into the laptop. The process ran start-to-finish all in my head.

Is this at all sane?

Inner Blogging.

Maybe not sane, but it's easier, and cheaper, and sure will do in a pinch.

January 10, 2003

the best thing about being home

is being home.

words from the road

"If I would have known that one day you'd be able to bend a note with the keyboard, I would have never quit piano."
- The bass man, George

"Are we there yet?"

Brother-in-law Nate to Jeneane: If you guys hang on ten more minutes, I'm sure mom will be back.
Jeneane to Nate: Bye then!

hello to those who remained

I'm coming to consciousness today. A glance at my referrer's page shows me that I lost 3/4 of my readers while I was away. Interesting. Usually by this time of day I'm in the mid to high hundreds. Today, 68 visitors. Yeh, I took vacation. I had no way to blog from there. So, how do you let other bloggers know that you're back? I guess you come out with some newsy post--I'm back and had a sex change operation while I was gone. Or, I'm back, fresh from rehab--wanna hear about it? Maybe, I was gone a while--had to do 30 days for a DUI. But here I am.

Well, I have no juicy tidbits. I wasn't in rehab, didn't give birth to a lovechild, am still female, and have avoided both prison and rehab so far. Nothing interesting to report. No daypop-busting inventions. Only snapshots of our life away from the computer screens. For those still interested.

I thought of my blog and my blog friends several times a day. I thought of my family here in Atlanta 4 times. What does that say? I don't know. I think it means we had fun. With moments of family stress intermingled.

Nothing new there. Not really.


You watch children in the country, and you know this is how it's supposed to be. Family insanity and dysfunction can't penetrate the thick borders of nature.

Inside the house, there isn't much sunlight, not much growth, stagnant. Destruction courtesy of adults.

But outside is the children's domain.

Run as far as you can, roll as fast as you can, climb as high as you can.

Dig holes that take you to new lands. Nothing but hands and knees and bare feet. Unearth treasures. Fly airplaines, chase soccer balls.

Moo back at the cows. Caw to the birds. Wind yoursef up, spin and jump, walk on your hands, and wear yourself out

When the sun sets and you go back inside, nothing can touch you. They can't break what nature built that day. Darkness can't get through. At least for this night. One night at a time.

jenna lands one

the view from Grandma's back yard. I miss it today.

January 09, 2003

home, tired, was going to write, not, remembering

I didn't write anything while we were gone. No pen to paper. No laptop. Took lots of digital pics, to come soon. Found some on the net, better than mine even, links included.

Rented a boat. Caught fish off a pier. Fort Island Trail Park. Beautiful.

Nuclear plant visible in the distance. Steam from cement towers. huh? Who's bright idea was this nuclear plant on Florida's nature coast? Stunned. Sad. Ugly horizon spoiler.

Then overjoyed to see a baby dolphin jump and play while we fish. I think he's laughing.

Jenna caught 3 fish by herself. Me many fish. George some. He caught a crab too. Big. Odd. Mad. Left in a bucket on Grandma Sessum's step. Shrimp to feed to him. Grow big. Eat him. Something.

The cows, the hundreds of acres behind her land. Nothingness. Quiet. Buzzards landing. Cows calling. Grazing.

Five kids running: 10, 10, 7, 5, and 2 years old. Soccer, fields, rolling, digging for treasures, climbing oak trees, skinned knees, jenna with a shovel to her head, bandaid badge of courage, keeping up with the country kids.

Hard sleep.

Cold. So cold. Night fishing. So cold at dinner. Me in the ladies room four times to turn the hand dryer on my face, neck, hands. Please warm me. Still. Hot inside. From the quiet. The water. I miss the water. God, I miss the water.

Crystal River. Where salt water meets fresh water.

Nature. Birds. Fish. Creatures. Note to self: win lotto and buy winter home on Crystal River. Who are these people with these amazing houses on the water? Do they drop to their knees every day? Do they sit and stare out their bay windows every morning? Do they know?

Our pontoon boat. Idling on Crystal River. Clear blue green, look down, shells, silver fish, and the manatees. A dozen manatees resting in 72-degree water, safe, munching, playing with our boat anchor. Baby manatee nursing on mama. Coming up, fuzzy snout blowing air-water mist. swim closer. he does. tickle my hand in the water lying flat on the boat bottom. c'mere baby manatee. he does. coming closer. I reach down, George reaches down, CONTACT.

Special, warm, hard, sweet, trusting, innocent, scars show our betrayal. And they trust again. What is that? Being Pure.

Above the surface rises the sunken boat, which residents hate, but the birds don't. I didn't. Half out of the water. Crystal River Pelicans make their home there, and buzzards, and egrets. SO many birds. Part of the river now.

Our first night, a drive through the nature preserve, what's that? OH SWERVE! Ugh. Killed an oppossum. Thank goodness it wasn't a wild hog. Still. First night. First bit of nature. Nailing wildlife on the road. Sorry little creature. You know. What do you do?

Family. Georges. So tired. Thought we were done. No sleep for 30 hours and drive back. Slept for 3 hrs. George's mom decided to drive up behind us (by a few hours) because his brother forgot a box. She's here. Got up. Went to dinner. George, his mother, his brother, me, jenna. Yum. Wierd. So tired.

Thankfully, we are home safely.

Drugs, sleep, tomorrow more.

Actual pics of our trip, and more stories, coming when we're conscious.


January 06, 2003

hello from the Wildwood, Florida Public Library

We're alive, well, having a nice time, and off to see the manatees this evening. Blogging from the Sumter County library. Man, I forgot how cool libraries are. They have books for free in here--you can borrow them and bring them back. What a concept. I thought all books lived on Amazon.com. Who knew? And they even have computers with Internet access here, which is how I'm blogging, for free.

Will blog more when we return to Atlanta, probably Weds. evening. Miss you all.