01 Jan 08 Tuesday
And a Happy New Year
Current mood: confident
Category: Religion and Philosophy
Does anybody else wake up New Year’s Day and think: “So what?”
I don’t wake up with hangovers anymore, so I never think: “Holy Christ! Someone’s left a hammer in my skull!” Or “My God! When did I lick the Scotch tape?”
This is about drinking. (I know I still owe you a blog post to finish what I started the other day; it’s nearly ready.)
A lot of people are surprised that I have no issues with going out to pubs and bars among people who drink. But why should I? The problem is mine. I don’t think that alcohol is the devil’s blood or anything like that. That’s ridiculous. That’s like saying cats are evil because you’re allergic to them. I’m not a proselytizing recovering alcoholic. I don’t try to convert the drinking masses to sobriety. I don’t count other people’s drinks. It’s none of my business.
Some people have told me I should not tell people that I’m a recovering alcoholic. I’m told it makes drinkers uncomfortable. I should lie, I’ve been told, and tell people I’m on medication and can’t drink. But if I’m lying about it, then I’m not being myself. If I’m not being myself, what’s the point?
I’ve always been open about myself. I wear my heart on my forehead (never mind the sleeve). I’ve been through a lot of shit and I’ve come out (mostly) all right. I’m proud of the fact that I’m a survivor. No. I’m damned proud of it. It’s taken a lot of work and determination. I’ve also always believed that hiding things like past alcoholism or depression is like admitting that these are things I should be ashamed of. Somehow it’s OK for me to tout my triumph over coming through two heart surgeries or my broken thumb, but it’s not OK to tout my triumphs over addiction and depression.
Bullshit.
The more people who’ve recovered from these things hide that fact, the more it reinforces the shame factor. It’s like hiding in a church basement in anonymity because your brain is a little broken (A.A. / N.A. / [fill in the blank].A.).
It doesn’t help to scream it from rooftops like you’re some sort of martyr either. Balance. It’s always about balance. A middle ground that rational people inhabit. But if you ask me what I want to drink, I’ll likely say, “club soda with lime.” If you ask me if I want something stronger, I’ll tell you that I haven’t had a drink in 14 (or however many) years. If you ask me why, I’ll tell you the truth. I’m not embarrassed. I’m not ashamed. If you’re embarrassed or ashamed of my past addiction, that’s not my problem.
See, I don’t think whispering and tiptoeing around misunderstood medical issues is the best way to bring enlightenment to the pig-headed masses. I don’t think using cute euphemisms to keep from making someone uncomfortable is the way to raise awareness. I do believe that making statements with confidence is the best way to send the message that illnesses like alcoholism and mental disorders are not to be ignored or hidden.
The more open we as a society are about these issues, the more likely we’ll be able to find treatments that actually work for all the people who have these diseases. Silence perpetuates myths and misunderstanding. Silence resolves nothing.
So, for the people who suggest I keep my mouth shut and pretend I’m something I’m not, I respectfully decline. Or maybe not so respectfully, but I certainly do decline.
I hope for only good things for all my friends and family in 2008. May you all find your voices and be who you are.
–Mary
Currently listening:
Where the Pyramid Meets the Eye – Tribute to Roky Erickson
By Various Artists
Release date: 19 October, 1990
01 Jan 08 Tuesday
More Backstory & the Open Letter Portion of the Proceedings
Current mood:recovered
Category: Writing and Poetry
Click here if you want to read the Backstory post that precedes this post.
Back to the backstory for a moment: When I first started writing, my main influences were songwriters, not poets. I read some Edgar Allen Poe, but poetry in general didn’t appeal to me. I suspect that had to do with the sanitized garbage they feed you when you’re in public schools. It wouldn’t be until I got to college that I’d discover some poets I really liked (and even later when I discovered Louise Glück, whom I really love).
My earliest influences were probably C&W artists like Johnny Cash and Hank Williams. Seriously. My dad was and continues to be a big C&W fan. I also remember listening to a lot Jim Croce when I was a kid, and I’m sure that was some sort of influence on me. Jim Croce has the honor of forever being tied in time to my mother because he died about a month before she did back in 1973. I remember being intensely sad about his death. Several decades later, Eric would play me a live recording of Jim Croce’s with a very ribald Scottish (I believe) folk song: “Balls to your partner/Your ass against the wall/If ya never been laid on a Saturday night/Ya never been laid at all.” (He might’ve sung “fucked” or “had” — I’m not sure.)
Other early influences were Billy Joel and Bruce Springsteen (who I had a pathological crush on, but what teenage girl didn’t?). As I started to find my own music (instead of music my older brothers had stamped with their approval), I latched onto Elvis Costello, Graham Parker and Nick Lowe. I suppose as a teenager, it’s easier to access music and songwriters that appeal to you than it is to dig through the < sarcasm > extensive < / sarcasm > selection of poetry collections in the school library (reading censored Emily Dickinson is like drinking alcohol-free beer). Remember, too, that very early on, I thought I would write songs (never mind that I haven’t got a musical cell in my whole being — the piano lessons were a disaster).
That’s the setup.
Electro-shock Treatment
My brain follows through
all electric impulses
which hit my tiny fingers.
Trip the wires —
I am into the
body jerk.
Speed of sounds —
tiny sounds —
tears
me.
I can’t scream,
my jaw is locked.
I am into the
body jerk.
(From high school)
In AA they say it takes the same number of years sober as you had drinking to get back to the neutral point. Basically, you can’t walk ten miles into a forest and expect to walk back out in five. According to my calculations, I drank for about 17 years, give or take a year (I don’t count from 11 years old because I don’t think the alcohol was a significant issue until I started raiding the liquor cabinet at about 13). In July 2008 I’ll be sober 15 years, so I’m getting near the forest’s edge. I suppose this has something to do with what I’ve experienced very recently. But I know there are other forces at work.
For many years my muse and music were silent. I don’t know why, but I didn’t listen to any music at all. It was a little odd for someone who had been obsessive about music for years. Maybe that was part of why my poetry dried to dust.
In late 2004 I started to listen to Ian Hunter. Eric and I had gone to see him in Hoboken and I was moved. Stunned, really. It wasn’t only the music; it was the fact that he was (at that time) 65 years old and still creating. I think “Michael Picasso,” which immediately reminded me of my mother, had a particularly powerful effect on me, too. Here was Ian, realizing that he needed to do what he’s here to do, in part because this man that he’d loved couldn’t anymore. It made me feel ashamed that I wasn’t writing. A creative gift is only a gift if you share it.
Ian has a long career and some great songs and some all right songs; but when he hits it, it’s poetry. Besides, he seems like a decent person. I’m not sure if that matters in the scheme of things, but it matters to me. What struck me most was that he referred to his songs as his children, his babies; I had always called my poems my children. I felt a connection.
So I tried to write. It was a struggle. The words came hard. But I felt like I was getting closer. I felt like I was somehow tapping into Ian’s gift by listening to him. I wanted it. I wanted his music to get my fire going, like Elvis Costello and Graham Parker’s music did for me when I was a teenager. But the need to write wasn’t there. Whatever I was writing was still tentative and forced. My soul could take or leave it without any remorse or withdrawal. It was work.
Still, Ian is one of the two people to whom all this is addressed. Without the start that he stirred, I might not have gotten any further. I find his music inspirational. It has a way of transporting me along from the start to the finish and leaving me somewhere else and somehow changed. His music opens up creative receptors in my brain. At least that’s how I think of it.
no title
I worry over you,
aging, aged
not frail
but nearing the edge
of fragility.
Afraid of losing
what I only now found –
afraid you’ll be gone
before I can absorb
enough of who you are
to change me.
It’s a greedy need;
you’re only the jewel
I covet.
2005
Despite the writing being difficult, I continued to have hope. I knew my living situation was not healthy for me, but I couldn’t pull myself out of it. I suspected that the marriage and the living in a converted garage amid piles of reminders of the failed magazine was taking the energy — the light — out of me. Sometimes creativity flourishes in the wreckage; sometimes it just lies there and bleeds uncontrollably. I was bleeding, getting weaker.
Since my marriage ended and I’ve been living in better circumstances, I’ve been seeking to surround myself with people who are optimistic and adaptable and have a creative spark — or any combination of the three. I’ve found a great many positive-minded friends among Ian Hunter’s fans. I attribute that to Ian’s being a decent person, as I mentioned a few paragraphs ago: he seems to attract some very good people to his music.
Now where are we? Getting my brain chemicals sorted out with antidepressants, getting nearer to the edge of the alcoholic forest, getting a kick-start from Ian Hunter and surrounding myself with more positive-minded people. All these things were converging and then …
It was a weird thing, really. I spent about a month over in the UK visiting friends and following an Ian Hunter tour. Your average autumn. Ian’s support act was Jesse Malin. I’d never actually heard of him, and never heard any of his music. Some of my Ian Hunter friends couldn’t say enough nice things about Jesse. In fact, Ian Hunter himself can’t seem to say enough nice things about Jesse. I enjoyed all the gigs. Ian and his band were in excellent form, and I really enjoyed Jesse’s sets. But it wasn’t until I got back to the States in early November that I had a chance to really listen to Jesse’s CD Glitter in the Gutter. I was awe-struck. While many songwriters choose the near-enough word to say what they mean, Jesse usually chooses the right word. I don’t think it’s something that everyone recognizes — or cares about — but I do.
Somehow something got turned on inside my brain. Somewhere around the middle of November, I started waking up. On November 29, I started a new journal after stagnating in the same one since February 28, 2005.
Comatose —
all these years
all the nerve
endings
dull, unused
to touch.
Awake —
in seconds
the thrill
of breathing
heart beating
the tingle
of touch.
Aware —
this warm aura
embracing me
reaching
for you.
Nov. 24 & Dec. 1, 2007
Praying for tears
to wash away this rough rage —
digging into
every point of pain,
wishing it was gone
while it tightly grips
the very parts
sore from this living.
Only a drop — one drop
slipping downward
can wash the day clear
of this mist.
December 17, 2007
I’ve started to write again. I need to write again. I drag myself out of bed just as I’m about to fall asleep because something comes to me. It’s not perfect. It’s not even back where it had been, but the spark is there. The passion. It’s like it used to be. I know the right word instinctively. I can get from the beginning to the end of the poem without losing the thread (though I do meander a bit). I can go back to a poem hours or days later and recapture it with almost no effort. It would be like a Christmas Miracle if I believed in such things.
Although I know the return of my voice and my poetry is the culmination of years of recuperation and a convergence of several factors aligning just so, I also know that I owe thanks to Ian and Jesse.
I may have had a very long hiatus — been in a creative coma — but I know I’m not delusional. (Yeah, that is what all the crazy people say.) I do have something. Whether it will ever bear perfect fruit, no one can know, but I believe it can. Perfect enough for humans, anyway.
So on this New Year’s Day 2008, I’m grateful that my path has crossed the paths of these two men. I’m grateful for this gift of fire. Whether or not either of them read these words doesn’t really matter to me, but I hope in some weird cosmic way that both Ian and Jesse will know that they are among the very special souls in the universe.
Thus ends my little acknowledgement. Now we can all get on with the new year.
–Mary
04 Jan 08 Friday
Ready To Scream!
Current mood: frustrated
Category: Web, HTML, Tech
I’m on my laptop again because my f*cking desktop will not connect to the friggin’ Internet! It connects to the network, but can’t acquire the IP address. I’ve tried reinstalling the wireless thingy (it’s a Buffalo Air Station USB wireless dongle-type thing). I’ve tried reinstalling the Buffalo drivers. I’ve tried removing the Buffalo client manager and just using Windows client manager. I’ve tried swearing like a sailor (this really didn’t help, but it made me feel a little better). I’ve tried “repairing” the connection. I’ve re-entered all the info for the network, the WEP key … the AHHHHH!!!
There is no apparent reason that this thing doesn’t work! It was fine. I did nothing different, and the connection just f*cked off to the ether!
James asks, “Why don’t you just use your laptop?”
Well, I don’t have the software on my laptop that I need in order to do work. I don’t have the files on here.
I’m so frustrated I just want to scream and break things. (Neither of which I’ll actually do, but I want to.)
Sweet Jesus! I hate technology sometimes!
–Mary
PS – The Robert Gordon/Chris Spedding gig last night was incredible! What fun! These guys are in excellent form — don’t miss them!
Currently listening:
Born to Run
By Bruce Springsteen
Release date: 25 October, 1990
04 Jan 08 Friday
My Car Again
Current mood: bitchy
Category: Automotive
I fear the worst for my poor car.
Twice now the coolant is gone from the overflow reservoir. When I was able to look at the radiator level (that is, the other day when I managed to get the effing cap off!), it was fine. So I added some coolant to the reservoir.
Now that’s gone. But I have no idea if there’s any gone from the radiator because I can’t open the stupid thing to see. Part of me is hopeful that maybe there’s a problem with the reservoir itself, because that’s where the puddle under the car is. Like maybe a hose has gotten loose or something (it hadn’t leaked for a few weeks and just started again now). But I fear the worst.
One part of my life goes up as another goes down.
–Mary
05 Jan 08 Saturday
Words
Current mood: rockin
Category: Writing and Poetry
I get this email newsletter called World Wide Words (www.worldwidewords.org). It’s published by a language maven named Michael Quinion from Bristol, UK. Boring stuff that only word nerds enjoy. Like me.
Today this appeared in the newsletter:
The winner of the Most Creative category was “Googlegänger”, based
on “doppelgänger”, a ghostly likeness or double of a living person;
a Googlegänger is a person with the same name as you who shows up
instead when you egosurf using Google.
(Note that in the United Kingdom punctuation goes outside quote marks; here in the United States we put punctuation inside the quote marks, where it’s safe from other words in the sentence.)
Do you have a Googlegänger? Are you going to go look right after you finish reading this? You know you can’t resist googling yourself. No one can. It’s perfectly normal, if irresistible, behavior.
I went 10 pages in on my “Mary Shefferman” search and it’s all me. I even jumped up to page 31 and the Mary Shefferman was still me.
“Mary Drews” has piles of Googlegängers. That doesn’t count the people named “Mary Drew.”
Fascinating stuff, don’t you think?
Speaking of words, I have some choice ones for my desktop computer (namely, “%@!*” and “&*^@+”). I have not been able to establish a working Internet connection all day. It will not renew my IP address. I have no idea why. Certainly my laptop continues to work (I’m here, aren’t I?), so it’s not Verizon.
Oh, right. My friend Susan and I saw Robert Gordon and Chris Spedding the other night at B.B. King’s in NYC. It was a fantastic gig! I saw Robert Gordon sometime in the mid-1980s at a club with an identity crisis in Oyster Bay. (FYI: A club with an identity crisis is one of those places that has one name and theme/type of music during the week and a different name and theme/type of music on the weekend.) I don’t really remember much about the gig back in the 1980s, but I do remember it was good.
Well, Robert Gordon still has a wonderful voice. Chris Spedding is still an amazing guitarist. The show rocked. I enjoyed it beginning to end. I know a couple of people who wanted to go but, for various reasons, couldn’t make it. I feel bad for them, but they should take heart, because RG said they were recording the gigs. Plus there might be some snippets of video on YouTube. I’m not aware of any, but if they exist, they’ll show up eventually.
A poem I wrote a long time ago is titled “Words.” I had a friend who’s an artist (Hi, Jay, if you’re out there!) and he painted the poem on the back of my motorcycle jacket. Back then I used to wear all black (I used to tell people I had “delusions of Johnny Cash”), an over-sized motorcycle jacket and boys’ jump boots, and I’d shave the sides of my head in a futile attempt to frighten “normal” people. I also wore a tiny hatchet earring all the time — even to work, where people wore suits. If anyone noticed the earring, I’d tell them I was attacked by hostile Lilliputians. The universal response to that by the people in suits was a roll of the eyes. Better than a pink slip, I suppose.
Anyway, Jay painted the poem onto the back of my jacket with a mirror-reflection of the poem as well. Maybe I should dig out the jacket and take a picture. The paint is sort of half flaked-off now, but you could probably get a good idea of what it looked like. I used to forget that I had a poem on the back of my jacket and I’d get paranoid and freaked out a little because people would stop and stand behind me to read it.
Anyway, here’s the poem:
Words
I have broken the universe.
It stalls intact for seconds
as I wait
for the thrill
of the crash.
What have I done?
Will everything fall
from the frame —
the shards of
a smashed mirror?
And who will sweep it up?
I am now a splinter —
small and sharp —
ready to slip
under black leather
night’s skin
to infect it
with light.
My Internet connection on my desktop now claims to be working, but no pages load. Effin’ technology. I think I’ll go read a book.
–Mary
Currently listening:
Between Thought and Expression: The Lou Reed Anthology
By Lou Reed
Release date: 14 April, 1992
06 Jan 08 Sunday
Tidal Wave
Current mood: amused
Category: Life
There I was, sitting at my computer, checking my email after a difficult shopping excursion. Usually shopping excursions are pleasant, but this one was not.
Anyway, I was thus occupied when I by chance glanced over toward my door, which was closed. I noticed that the carpet had a huge wet area that appeared to have originated on the other side of the door. That’s where the kitchen is. I opened my door and lo and behold: A flood.
It seems that someone left a couple of teabags in the sink and then did a load of laundry (the washer hose drains into the kitchen sink). The teabags functioned as a drain plug. They function quite well in this capacity, in fact. Something to remember if you’re ever in need of a drain plug. Water flowed out of the sink and down through the cabinets onto the floor. Under the refrigerator and stove. Into the silverware drawer.
So when I opened my door there was a small lake preventing me from going any farther. I bravely stepped into the lake (God only knows how deep it could have been! ) and grabbed my trusty sponge mop while shouting, “Oh my God! There’s a flood!”
James came in and grabbed several armfuls of towels and we set about drying the kitchen.
At least the floor’s clean now.
Now, back to that shopping excursion … on second thought, I’ve bored you enough for the day. Besides, I was just looking for an excuse to post Jim Carroll’s Catholic Boy CD as what I’m currently listening to. I hadn’t listened to it for a few years. I still love his poetry. Surreal stuff.
–Mary
Currently listening:
Catholic Boy
By Jim Carroll Band
08 Jan 08 Tuesday
Screaming
Current mood: frustrated
Category: Web, HTML, Tech
My “home” phone number is a Skype number. If I’m not online I have it forward to my cell. I’m pretty much always online because I work on websites.
I was just finishing a telephone conversation about 25 minutes ago and my desktop connection blew out again! It’s still gone. I’m on my laptop again. But what’s really annoying is that I’d written a thought-provoking philosophical blog post and it’s on my desktop computer. Thus, I’m writing this pile of crappy, whiny, complaining words instead of posting the very nice blog I wrote this morning.
And I’m screaming.
Quietly.
–Mary
Currently listening:
Easter
By Patti Smith Group
Release date: 18 June, 1996
08 Jan 08 Tuesday
My Dad
Current mood: silly
Category: Life
My dad is finally doing better. He was just here, as a matter of fact. He and my cousin Karl were dropping of a filing cabinet that I still had at The Parents’ house.
It turns out that his problem definitely was a sinus infection and he’s on some antibiotic or other for about 15 days.
That’s one stress gone.
Here’s something funny, though. I figured I’d be clever and transfer that blog post off my desktop computer via a floppy disk … but I only realized after copying it onto a disk that this laptop doesn’t have a floppy drive!
Technology. Hah!
You’ll just have to wait.
–Mary
08 Jan 08 Tuesday
From Last Night
Current mood: focused
Category: Writing and Poetry
I wrote this last night after the light bulbs in both my lamps went out within a few hours of each other. One was one of those fluorescent bulbs that I’d had in my desk lamp for a few years; the other was a regular incandescent bulb that I’d only put into the lamp a couple of months ago. Weird.
All the light bulbs go
dark in succession
until the midnight sky
seems bright –
I look up for answers,
anything useful,
but it’s all
a blank black canvas –
like 1960s velvet backgrounds
painted with unlikely bright
flowers or clowns.
The sky gives me nothing,
nothing I haven’t already seen
or taken –
I wanted more.
I wanted all of this
to be brilliantly colored,
lit like dark hours on the city’s streets
when neon and incandescence
make you feel surrealistically safe
no matter where you walk.
Instead I get the pitch
of country roads
on a moonless, starless night –
Where the darkness
bleeds into you
and makes you
its own.
I wrote several things today, but they all need more attention. One that I particularly like will not likely see the Internet. It’s about someone close to me and I really couldn’t bear to hurt this person. Not that it’s an angry poem; it’s a sad poem. If you want to read it, you can message me. I’m probably concerned over nothing. I don’t think this person reads my blog, but you don’t know these things for certain. I’m not on Earth to cause harm.
–Mary
09 Jan 08 Wednesday
Had it
Current mood: vexed
Category: Web, HTML, Tech
I cannot figure out how to fix my stupid $%^&! desktop computer’s Internet connection.
If you see a computer on the street by my house, you’ll know why.
–Mary
Currently listening:
Tattoo You
By The Rolling Stones
Release date: 26 July, 1994
09 Jan 08 Wednesday
Philosophy …
Current mood: relieved
Category: Blogging
Un-effing-believable
I rebooted my desktop computer because I decided I would print out and retype the post I wanted to make here the other day (was it only yesterday?). While I was at it, I tried to connect to the Internet. What the hell. I’d already settled into my frustrated, pissed-off, tech-cynical mood; what was there to lose?
I printed out the post and started retyping it here on my laptop. Then I looked over at my desktop computer and … oh, you know what it did. I immediately copied and pasted the post into an email to myself (and it’s a good thing I did). Then I made an attempt to post the post here on MySpace and out went the connection. So I’m back on my laptop. And here’s that post.
Getting High
Yesterday morning I got high. It was an endorphin high. It hadn’t happened in a while, but boy it hit me. I had done my lifting and then did a mountain trail on the treadmill. I was part way through the mountain trail and listening to Lou Reed go on about being oh so very vicious and there it was — the high. I was totally full of myself. It was like the high I used to get when I did cocaine (a long time ago in another life). Like I owned the universe. Only this high didn’t come with the crash afterwards. I just slowly floated back down to earth. All day long I felt like I could do anything. There’s nothing like that. Nothing.
Charming
It’s traditional to collect chips (like poker chips), gifts, lighters and such as you progress through your sobriety. I don’t know if people do this beyond a couple of years, but I do it.
For my first year, Eric got me a sterling silver charm bracelet with a pizza charm. Now I have an origami rabbit, a harmony bell, Piglet, Rodin’s Thinker, a yin and yang symbol, a typewriter with a movable carriage, a peace sign, two teddy bears, Mickey Mouse, a Volkswagen Beetle, and my one ironic charm, a champagne bottle and glass. I had a ferret, too, but I just noticed that it has fallen off my bracelet. So I just ordered another one.
Anyway, my theory has been that I become more charming every year more I’m sober.
Wait.
Stop laughing!
It’s not that funny.
Eureka!
For some reason, I’ve been thinking about my mom a lot. I don’t usually. I’m not obsessed. I think it has to do with living closer to the cemetery where she’s buried. I drive past it from time to time. That, and this past October was one of those years where the anniversary of her death landed on the same day of the week that she actually died — Sunday. It was a rainy day in London for me.
What this led me to today was remembering the day she died. (This is not morbid; it’s spiritual.) I remember feeling that something was wrong. My grandfather had taken my brothers and a couple of their friends to see a movie, but there wasn’t enough room in my grandfather’s car for my friend Katy and me.
I remember feeling restless. Nothing could hold my interest. I couldn’t get comfortable in my own skin. I lost a tooth that day, too. I remember trying to show my godmother my lost tooth while she was pulling me through the house to get to my parents’ bedroom, where she sat on the edge of the bed and looked me straight in the eyes. She said, “You know how Mommy’s been sick and in the hospital?” I either said, “Yes” or I nodded my head. She said, “Well, today Mommy died.” Only she’s English, so she said, “Mummy” not “Mommy.”
But what was important was that I knew it. I knew something was wrong in the balance of the universe. That’s where this is going … Edgar Allen Poe’s “Eureka: AN ESSAY ON THE MATERIAL AND SPIRITUAL UNIVERSE.”
Click this to read the essay. It’s long and convoluted, so I’m going to précis it here in the best way I recall learning it from one of my college professors.
In the beginning there was this energy mass that was, for argument’s sake, God. One day, God decided to experience everything, so God became the universe and all that’s in it. This started at one central point and is expanding, with the intention of contracting once God has experienced everything, so God can pull all the knowledge and understanding back to the central point (I love this part: it’s like a beating heart).
A bit of the big bang theory, a bit of pantheism, a bit of e=mc2, a bit of the concept of universe expansion and contraction. So far, so good.
By the way, Poe wrote “Eureka” about 70 years before Einstein proposed his theory of relativity. Think about that the next time you’re about to call some creative type a fruitcake.
Because God wants to experience everything, there must be good and evil. That was Poe’s explanation for evil in a universe that is, for all intents and purposes, God (which we tend to view as a benevolent essence).
But here’s the part that comes to mind when I think of the day my mother died: Poe talks about children being closer to the universe because they are, in the scheme of time, closer to the fabric (God) of the universe. They are closer to where they were physically in spiritual contact with the whole (if the spirit could physically connect, which it can because matter and energy are the same). They know things without having to learn them. Over time, children grow away from the whole, which is the point of existence — to experience everything. They lose that close connection. They forget what they knew, so they can learn from life anew, thus adding to the “everything” that God seeks to experience.
That’s why I felt something was out of balance in the universe before anyone told me that my mother had died.
But I don’t believe that only children can have this close spiritual connection to the universe. I believe that this connection is the source of all art. That’s why we can read a poem, listen to a song or look at a painting or sculpture and be moved by it: art is a meeting point.
The artist/poet/musician connects to the whole and brings back some bit of it. When a person experiences that bit of the whole, they recognize it on some level as being not only a representation of the whole, but a bit of himself or herself. The person has a sort of childhood flashback, if you will.
To the best of my recollection, the dying know the same sort of connection that children know. They come to terms. They know they’ll return to their origins.
Weird stuff, I will admit. It’s also something I hadn’t thought about for ages. I don’t know if it’s true or real, but it seems to me to be a reasonable enough explanation. It makes me feel at peace to think like this.
I like peace.
–Mary
11 Jan 08 Friday
Thoughts on Dating
Current mood: confident
Category: Romance and Relationships
I’ve been divorced for a little over a year; separated for 18 months. It wasn’t much of a traumatic divorce, but there has to be a grieving period.
Lately I’ve been thinking about dating. Let’s face it: I’m not getting younger (though the weight training is certainly doing wonders for my body). Like many people, I don’t like the prospect of being alone. I don’t mind being on my own. Most of what I do is very isolated anyway. Writing isn’t a group activity. But it would be nice to have someone with whom to share things.
I believe in love. Not just the slow-developing, organically grown-from-friendship love (which is, I think, the most sustainable), but the sudden-intense love. The second variety includes “love at first sight” and the kind of love that hits you in an instant because of a gesture or the way someone looks at you. Like suddenly awaking from a deep sleep.
Love is a horrible kind of wonderful until it settles. Then it’s just wonderful.
That’s what brings me to dating. I haven’t dated in more than 15 years. I’m utterly lost. All I want to do is be myself and see what happens. But some bonehead went out and decided there are rules and games and all sorts of bullshit that just makes the whole prospect of “dating” unappealing. It seems there are only three terrible outcomes:
1.
The other person likes you (which is bad if you don’t like the other person).
2.
You like the other person (which is bad if the other person doesn’t like you).
3.
You like each other (which is bad if you’re trying to navigate the ordeal via the Parcheesi board).
Cynical? Yes, I’ve been told I’m that at times. But I’m also optimistic. (I’ve only written that so I can paste one of my favorite quotes here:
Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes. – Walt Whitman)
Remember, I said I believe in love. I do. I also believe if love is meant to happen, it will happen. You can’t make it happen. You can’t will it into existence. It’s something that falls from the stars. It’s a lovely gift. It’s only a negative thing when it’s unrequited (which, I sometimes think, isn’t love at all, so much as it is obsession).
Back to the dating thing. The first two options are not the best outcomes, but they are fairly cut-and-dried. As long as the person who doesn’t like you has the courage to simply turn you down, it’s not a big problem. (Of course, that presumes that you have the courage to turn down someone you don’t particularly like.) Either way, it starts and ends and everyone gets on with life.
Option 3 is a little trickier. At least it’s tricky if you don’t know how to play Parcheesi or if you really can’t be bothered to learn how to play Parcheesi. (And who really plays Parcheesi in New York? It’s a Midwestern thing, isn’t it? Or for kids.)
Compounding the dating issue for me is the fact that the last time I dated, I was drinking. Since I had been drinking all of my teenage and adult life, I have absolutely no sober dating experience from which to draw any insight. It’s like I’m 15 or 16 years old. We all remember how God-awful that was. Though I suppose a huge difference – advantage? – for me at this point is that I’m not 16; I’m 44. I don’t need to gauge my value by other people’s affection for me. I know who I am, I like who I am, I know what I want (and don’t want) and that I have an intrinsic value that most people recognize if they bother to look. If they don’t bother to look, they miss me. That’s not my problem.
What is my problem is that I keep attracting the wrong sort of people to me. I don’t know why. I’ve always been a bit of a magnet for nutcases.
That’s untrue and unfair. I do attract some very decent people – more so recently than in the past (hmmm… maybe this sobriety lark is actually working for me). Perhaps the correct statement is this: I have a history of attracting the wrong sort of people to me. Or being attracted to the wrong sort of people. This concerns me about dating. What I want is to enjoy my freedom and the excitement of getting to know new people, without having to worry about whether it’s going anywhere or nowhere. I want more friends. I want more flirting. I want more kissing.
I do not want to repeat past mistakes. I do not want to start making new and improved sorts of mistakes. I do not want to play Parcheesi.
Am I being unrealistic?
– Mary
Currently listening:
The Pretenders
By The Pretenders
Release date: 03 October, 2006
11 Jan 08 Friday
Victory!
Current mood:SEXY
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes
I am now 114 lbs at 23% bodyfat.
Why am I posting this? Because I am goddam f*cking proud of myself!
I also hit that endorphin high again this morning during “Space Invader” by the Pretenders. I had done some weight training and then got on the treadmill. I’m determined to get to my ultimate goal (21% bodyfat) so I can wear a bikini this summer and not look like the auntie who’s kidding herself.
Oh, and I changed my default picture again. That’s me a few years ago with Balthazar. Bal was my baby. He was one of the best ferrets I’ve ever known. And he loved me, too. I miss him.
–Mary
12 Jan 08 Saturday
Death Race 2000
Current mood:psyched
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities
I cannot believe that Death Race 2000 is on TCM at 2 AM. It’s like a gift from the Verizon FiOS gods. Maybe they’re trying to make up for the screw-up with my desktop computer’s Internet connection. I won’t be bought off by David Carradine. But it’s a nice try.
Yes, it is a bit pathetic that I’m at home on a Friday night at 11 PM and planning to record a movie to watch tomorrow. But in my defense, I’ve had a bit of a headache from the rain and thunderstorms we had earlier today and I’ve drunk way too much chamomile tea.
–Mary
P.S. Oh … and Rollerball is on right after it! I’m going out to get some popcorn in the morning.
Currently watching:
Death Race 2000 – Special Edition
Release date: 13 December, 2005
12 Jan 08 Saturday
Weird Things & Odds & Ends
Current mood: loved
Category: Life
Weird Thing 1: I’m going back to the UK for a while, so I was surfing around looking for flights. I usually fly British Airways because they’re good and I’ve always managed to get a roundtrip (return) flight for near or under $500.00. Usually, I do well booking through the BA website.
The other night, I got to the BA website and discovered they were discounting fares by $40.00, so I’ll probably be able to get my ticket for about $510.00. Not bad. I do highly recommend British Airways, by the way. The food has always been decent and the flights uneventful. Also, they have their own terminals, so getting through immigration in the UK is a piece of cake. Back in the US, it takes a while longer, but it’s still not bad.
Weird Thing 2: I went food shopping today. Waldbaums. For some reason, supermarkets have CDs and DVDs for sale. Usually the CDs are cheap, and there are often some off-beat CDs you wouldn’t expect (for example, I got a Velvet Underground CD at a Pathmark a couple of years ago). I was in no hurry, so I decided to look through all the CDs (most of which were about $5.99).
If you read my blogs (and why wouldn’t you?), you know I mentioned Jim Croce the other day. I don’t actually have any of his CDs (though at some point I had an 8 track and earlier my brother Mark had the Life and Times LP). I came across a Greatest Hits CD in the rack at Waldbaums. It just seemed a little odd that it should be there when I’d been thinking about him the other day. I know, too, that it was the only copy of that CD there, because I looked through every one of those CDs. I also found a Rhino compilation CD called Greetings From the East Coast, which has Jim Carroll’s “People Who Died” on it. How often do you see that? For $2.50 it seemed like a nice little novelty to own.
Weird Thing 3: My car only intermittently leaks coolant. I’m baffled. Not a drop came out today, but when I was visiting my friend Danie the other day I lost pretty much the whole overflow reservoir. Spooky.
Odd 1: I took it very easy today. It was sunny and lovely outside. I shipped some orders and took a little break at the Starbuck’s in Smithtown (I’d gotten a gift card for Christmas). I brought in my journal and a collection of Lawrence Ferlinghetti poems (The Secret Meaning of Things). I haven’t read Ferlinghetti for ages, so it was a bit of a trip. I think it’s better when you’re not on lots of caffeine.
Odd 2: I had a nice long visit with my friend Danie the other day. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of years, so we had quite a bit of catching up to do. The odd thing, that stunned and pleased me, was this: Danie’s daughter Ashley is 7 and she has an imaginary pig … named Wilbur … who lives in her mouth … and occasionally takes vacations to Hawaii or Puerto Rico … and has even painted a room … in Ashley’s mouth.
How cool is that? I love children’s imaginations. Who needs drugs when you can talk to a child?
End 1: My new ferret charm arrived in the mail yesterday, so I can replace the one I lost from my charm bracelet. I can’t believe how quickly they shipped it. I didn’t expect to see it until sometime next week.
End 2: That’s it. I’ve got nothing more to say at the moment. I’m sure that’ll change.
–Mary
Currently reading:
The Selected Poems of Frank O’Hara
By Frank O’Hara
Release date: 12 February, 1974
12 Jan 08 Saturday
Devastation.
Current mood: pissed off
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities
My $%^ VCR didn’t tape the movies last night.
I am beside myself with … fill in any negative emotion you can think of.
Technology. Sucks.
–Mary
13 Jan 08 Sunday
Scary
Current mood: scared
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural
Constance (Our Drivin’ Sister) just reminded me that I’m scared. (She’s in the Twilight Zone with “Rock the Mike” Mitchell — they’ve trapped themselves inside YouTube, not unlike William Shatner in the diner.)
This is what scares me:
1. Vampires. OK, they’re sexy. There’s something about drinking blood that is really, really sick and sensual at the same time. So maybe I’m not really scared of them. Maybe I’d like to be one of them.
Next.
2. Werewolves. These really are scary. No redeeming value. They just turn you into something vicious. Like some women and men do to each other.
3. Dead things. When I was a kid I was told not to touch dead things. I’ve been obedient ever since.
4. Darkness. Unless I’m with someone. Then darkness is fine.
5. Scary movies. Like Texas Chainsaw Massacre (I saw about 45 seconds once a million years ago and I still freak out if I’m alone at night and I hear a chainsaw — or loud mosquito — in the distance).
6. Birds. They flap. Enough said.
7. Ghosts. I know they exist. For the most part, I believe they’re harmless. There was a ghost in one of the houses I rented when I was in college. I could smell her perfume from time to time. She also had a thing against my electric typewriter.
My Grandma Drews believed in ghosts, too. She said that one night when she was a girl in Czechoslovakia she heard her mother shouting, “Go away, John! Go away!” Her mother had had a baby — my Great Uncle Karel — after her father had left for the war. After seeing the ghost, her mother told my grandmother and her siblings that their father had died. She knew this because he’d come to look at his son. About a week later they received his personal effects.
8. Nightmares. Not that they come true, but I’ve had some that are very real. When I was in high school, I’d had a nightmare that I died and went to Hell. I had been given a choice of Heaven or Hell and I chose Hell because they served liquor there. (Yeah, my subconscious wasn’t very stealthy back then.) It was only after I’d made the irrevocable choice and all my friends (who were allowed to visit me during the day) had gone home that I realized the gravity of my choice. That dream was so real that in a panic and with no real hope that it was true, I started shouting to myself to wake up because maybe this was a dream.
9. Riding the subway in NYC. Nothing to do with the people on the subway; I just have no idea where I’m going when I’m underground. In London I have no problems at all. I think it’s because the NYC subway system is a little more chaotic-seeming than the London Underground. I’m also uncomfortable taking buses because they can end up anywhere. Go figure: I trust cabbies to get me to where I’m going.
10. Violence. Scared of it, but drawn to it. I like to watch Jackie Chan movies, among others. (No. I love to watch Jackie Chan movies — Drunken Master rocks!) But in real life it’s very disturbing. So much for the theory that violent movies desensitize people to violence.
Last time I was in Glasgow I saw a guy punch another guy. Knocked him right to the ground. It was awful. But I really didn’t want to look away. I can still hear the sound of the punch and see the little guy fall. It makes me shudder.
11. George W. Bush. OK. He doesn’t really scare me anymore. But I don’t like him. I’d like my president to have a higher I.Q. than I do (mine’s securely above average).
11a. Rudy Giuliani scares me. I thank God that he’s in favor of abortion; that means he will never be a viable Republican presidential candidate. This is the man who, with a straight face, compared ferrets to tigers. Indeed, he pointed out that ferrets are banned in NYC for the same reason tigers are banned. Though at least he didn’t claim that ferrets would escape and breed with rats, as one city councilwoman had proclaimed (right after she proclaimed her high level of intelligence.) FYI: Ferrets used to be used in NYC in conjunction with various types of terrier dogs as the preferred method of rodent control. Ferrets can be trained to be formidable ratters. Ratting is the primary reason ferrets were domesticated in the first place. In areas in the Northern hemisphere, where cats were not a naturally occurring creature, polecats (weasels) were used to rid houses and granaries of rats. It’s all right if you didn’t know that; the councilwoman who was speaking out on the matter should have known that. Intelligent people bother to learn about things before they open their mouths.
Enough of the fear thing for now. (I forgot to mention sharks. Damn Jaws.)
Who Are You?
I’m getting a little freaked out by unknown people reading what I write. I should be very used to this by now. Several years ago already the book I wrote for Howell Book House/Macmillan — The Ferret: An Owner’s Guide to a Happy Healthy Pet — had sold more than 50,000 copies (written under Mary R. Shefferman, go look on Amazon). Then they repackaged it and took my name off of it (thanks) and sold a bunch more (The Essential Ferret or something like that). God only knows how many people read any given copy of Modern Ferret. At the height of our publishing history we were printing 20,000+ copies of each issue. It was sold in Petco, Border’s Books, Tower Records, Hastings, and several other outlets. So it’s a little strange that I feel a little strange about strangers reading what I write.
But there’s a difference: That was professional writing; this is just a blog. It’s weird to sign in and discover that 15 people have read my blog today. It’s Sunday. Maybe it’s all just one person checking back several times to see if it gets any better (it doesn’t).
Anyway, I’ve flogged this horse before. No one has come forward to admit to reading this damned thing except for the handful of people who are actually subscribed to it. But that’s a handful of people. Not 15. Or 30 or 47, which I’ve seen on some days.
I’ve confessed. Now it’s your turn.
–Mary
Currently listening:
Stick to Me
By Graham Parker & the Rumour
Release date: 09 July, 2001
14 Jan 08 Monday
Why Did the American Cross the Ocean?
Current mood: busy
Category: Travel and Places
To see Ian Hunter, of course!
Actually, my upcoming trip serves several purposes. Only one of them is to see Ian Hunter. I have several friends in the UK and some of them need my help with things, so I’m going to go help. I’m nice that way.
It also helps me to get away from here. Not that there’s anything wrong with here. My family is here and is always important to me. Besides, if I tried to leave permanently, they’d hunt me down and bring me back. Or so I’d like to believe. For the most part, we try to take care of one another. That’s what trying times can do to a family, if they don’t blow it into a million little splinters.
I digress.
This is not a vacation for me. In case you were thinking that I take way too many vacations (the August trip wasn’t a vacation either). I will have my laptop with me and I’ll be toiling away on a couple of manuscripts, among other things. I’ll also be whipping up the most amazing CV/resume that anyone has ever seen, so I can come back here and find a real job. (BTW – Anyone looking for an excellent editor and/or copy editor with a lot of diverse experience, call me.)
In the meantime, I’ll be getting things in order here so I can fly out on February 4. I need to amass a pile of prescription pills that my insurance company will likely think I don’t need right away. I need to sort out the mail order part of my business. I need to get a haircut. I need to sort out some things with my name change. I need to brush up on my British slang so I don’t say things I don’t mean while I’m over there.
To work!
–Mary
Currently listening:
Seconds of Pleasure
By Rockpile
Release date: 27 April, 2004
14 Jan 08 Monday
Wow …
Current mood: sad
Category: Music
It’s startling how music can drag you out of reality and to a different place and time.
I had no idea this would happen. Now I can’t stop it.
–Mary
Currently listening:
Jim Croce Photographs & Memories: His Greatest Hits
By Jim Croce
Release date: 19 September, 1995
15 Jan 08 Tuesday
Not amused.
Current mood:Concerned
Category: Romance and Relationships
Apologies to all my friends and family who find this post confusing or cryptic. I assure you that this is directed to no one on my “friends” list. If you are on that list, the “you” in this post is not you.
It’s funny (but not in an amusing way) how one little thing can happen and every priority in your life is changed.
I don’t know if you’re reading this, but I assume you are. “You” being the person who has taken an action in the last 24 hours that has made things extraordinarily different. You know who you are. I know who you are. Several close friends are fully apprised of who you are and the unwise path you appear to be starting to take.
One incident is an isolated lapse of judgment. Two incidents begin to show a pattern. I urge you to discuss this with F.F. and be completely open about it. This is not what you want to do. Not for yourself or for me.
For now, this is all the action I will take. For now.
–Mary
16 Jan 08 Wednesday
Fibromyalgia
Current mood: sore
Category: Life
A few years ago I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. My brother Mark gave me some medication suggestions; my brother Mike said it’s not a real illness — it’s just symptoms of the depression I had at the time. My brother Mark then said that Mike’s not a real doctor. You’ve got to love sibling rivalry.
It was probably in 2002 or 2003 that I started getting widespread joint pain. My hands would be very stiff and achy in the morning. Then it hit my hips, elbows and ankles. I couldn’t sleep at night because the pain in my hips was so bad. Lying down hurt. I’d get intense pain in my left hand.
After taking about 40 gallons of blood and running every test known to man on it, the rheumatologist said it was not lupus, Lyme disease, rheumatoid arthritis or any other type of disease. He said it was fibromyalgia, based on the pain points (there are several tender points that occur in the vast majority of FM sufferers) and lack of any other evidence of disease. He wanted to send me to a pain management clinic where they would put me on all sorts of controlled-substance painkillers.
Until I told him I’m a recovering alcoholic. Then he tore up the paper and looked like he was going to send me away with nothing. This is where having brothers who are doctors comes in very handy. I asked him about Elavil (amitriptyline), a tricyclic antidepressant that is often prescribed to help alleviate FM pain. He said, “You’re already on antidepressants.” But I pushed and he wrote me a prescription for 10 mg of amitriptyline every day. It has made all the difference for me.
I tried once to stop taking it, but the pain came back within two days. I’ll add here that this is a super low dosage; it should have no effect. But, again, it makes a huge difference.
I also exercise. Nothing improves symptoms of a chronic illness like exercise. So I lift weights and I do cardio. I get enough sleep. I take B-12, malic acid and magnesium (these are specifically supposed to help with FM symptoms). I take fish oil capsules (Fisol — I swear by the stuff). I take a good multi-vitamin. Doing all of this keeps me symptom-free almost all the time. Almost.
Despite my best efforts, I occasionally get a flare-up of FM. Usually only two or three times a year. This one started yesterday afternoon. I suspect it has to do with an emotionally upsetting situation. Today I’m exhausted. I just want to sleep. My hands hurt. My concentration sucks. My body feels ‘flu-ish. But I don’t have the ‘flu.
I’m a very strong believer in fighting the limitations any illness might try to place on you. This is especially true with chronic illness. I refuse to lie on the couch and complain about my pain. I refuse to sit on the side-lines because I have asthma. These are not options for me unless one of the illnesses hits me hard.
Like today. But, even so, I have lifted weights and done cardio today. It was rough, but it makes me feel better. I’ll probably take a nap later. The sleepiness is by far the most disconcerting symptom I get. I feel like I’m wasting time but I can’t keep myself awake; I’m like a little kid who struggles just to keep her eyes from closing.
I’m hoping this passes in another day or two. I can never tell how long one of these flare-ups will last. But you can be assured that I’m going to keep pushing myself despite aches and sleepiness.
However, I do ask that you forgive typos, misspellings and grammatical gaffes until I’m in the clear again.
Thanks.
–Mary
Currently listening:
Punch the Clock
By Elvis Costello & the Attractions
Release date: 09 September, 2003
16 Jan 08 Wednesday
Weak …
Current mood: angry
Category: Life
Holy crap! I can’t get over how weak I feel right now. It’s disturbing. Granted, I just woke up from a nap (you can quit the old jokes now). But standing up is difficult. Hope I’m not dying of something.
OK. That was a melodramatic statement.
It really seems like fibromyalgia. Except for the severity of it. Other than eating oranges (my Aunt Helen & Uncle Sonny brought them back from Florida) and a disturbing event yesterday, I can’t think of anything I’ve done differently in the last 24 or so hours. I can’t imagine eating oranges would make me feel bad. They’re oranges, for cryin’ out loud. Besides, my hands have that fibromyalgia feeling to them.
The only conclusion I can find to explain this sudden onset of symptoms then is the emotional upset. Now I’m not only emotionally upset, I’m pissed off.
–Mary
Currently watching:
Punk – Attitude
Release date: 06 September, 2005
17 Jan 08 Thursday
Poems
Current mood: sneaky
Category: MySpace
While I was on the treadmill this morning I thought it might be a great idea to put up some recordings of readings of my poems. But I apparently can’t do that because I’m not a band. If I sign up on MySpace as a band I can upload songs, but they don’t have any “poetry” or “spoken word” genre. I understand that they don’t want people uploading songs and violating copyright (way too many people are completely clueless about copyright laws). But I should be able to put a couple of lousy poetry readings up on my profile.
As for my fibromyalgia (I knew you were waiting to hear about it), I think I’m a little better today. I slept like crap last night. I had a cramp in my left calf and my right leg kept jerking and spasming. (I get the jerking thing from time to time — I’ve been told that if it’s not a tremor, it’s nothing to worry about. But it’s bloody annoying!) I’m doing a green tea fast today (well, I have protein shakes and green tea all day instead of eating) in the hopes of clearing out some inflammation and stuff from my system.
Last night I came across a book on my bookshelf that I decided to read. It’s got a CD in the back of it, which I’ll check out later. I have a few books that I got as birthday or christmas gifts a while ago but that I never read. This Punk Diary: 1970 – 1979 is one of them. Another is England’s Dreaming by Jon Savage. I never read that one either. Maybe I’ll take it with me to the UK this time.
–Mary
Currently reading:
Punk Diary: 1970-1979
By George Gimarc
Release date: August, 1994
18 Jan 08 Friday
The World Explodes
Current mood: worried
Category: Life
We can’t predict the future. We can only learn from the past and apply it to the present.
Right now I have a problem. I do not know how big a problem it is. I can’t seem to see around the corner. But it is time to forge into the future in some direction. Any direction.
… Now I’m the Invisible Man … and you won’t see me.
Mary
18 Jan 08 Friday
My Heart Hurts
Current mood: numb
Category: Romance and Relationships
I bury things. I guess it’s a habit from my childhood. If something is too difficult to face, I shove it down under the ground and stand on it, hoping it will compost back into something fertile and useful.
It never does. Resentment is inorganic. It’s a plastic cup in a landfill, watching all the decayed bits settle around it, beneath it. Eventually, it works its way to the surface again, dirty and cracked, but intact.
But if someone gets behind the controls of a backhoe and starts excavating the detritus, that resentment works its way back to the surface with sudden speed.
If an email can be a backhoe …
I’m reminded of things in the past that I’ve never quite processed. Reminded of things I knew but refused to believe. Reminded that no matter how much frosting I put on top, it’s still a cake made of mud and clay and things that are wholly inedible, possibly dangerous, even deadly.
Perspective improves with time and distance. I’ve had time. I’ve had distance. These should be enough for the cup of resentment to come to the surface in its own time, at a time when I can look at it and realize that I need to destroy it in some other way. But there’s more than one cup and they’re buried at several different levels.
Then the backhoe; the email brought up all these cups at once and I sat here this morning unable to do anything but let the tears go. Was it fear? Was it rage? Was it embarrassment? Was it a deep gnawing pain that dug into my belly with such ferocity that I felt disemboweled in half the blink of an eye?
Yes.
I realized that denial is something at which I excel. Not the denial that the email suggested. The denial that I spent years in a situation that I was too afraid or too humiliated to admit was my life. To me or to anyone else. Of course, I suspected it. Even knew it. But I would never say it. Never accept it.
Until now. I realize that what I lived through was not trivial. It was not my paranoia. It was not someone else’s psychological quirks. It was a situation that, unintentional as I honestly believe it was, was abusive.
So now I’m drinking some chamomile tea after taking an Ativan (prescribed!) because I have to come to terms with what I allowed to happen to me. I have to figure out how to forgive and move on. Forgive because, as I say, it wasn’t intentional. I don’t believe it was intentional. Maybe I can’t believe it was intentional. So be it. The important thing is to know that I need to do things differently if I’m going to move beyond where I am. If I’m going to get these cups gathered together and destroyed.
And I will get them gathered together and destroyed.
In the meantime, however, my heart is in so many pieces and my mind has taken on that numb quality that I usually reserve for the dying. Maybe it is a death. But, like the Death card in the Tarot, it’s also a rebirth.
Somehow, everything makes sense again.
Mary
19 Jan 08 Saturday
Cheap DVDs and Chapbooks
Current mood: adventurous
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities
On the pretense of “getting out of the house” after a couple of trying days, I drove to WalMart. I needed napkins and dental floss (I also ended up with a Ramones CD and a three-pack of gum).
They have a $1 DVD bin. The prints are terrible, but it’s a fun way to get off-beat movies:
1. Nosferatu. Yeah, by now you may have noticed that I have a preoccupation with vampires. This version has an introduction by David Carradine and features a soundtrack by Type-O Negative. It’s even got a bonus music video! Somehow it claims the film is in color. Um … not likely.
2. Roger Corman double feature: Creature From the Haunted Sea and She Gods of Shark Reef. How do you pass up something like this for a buck? Really? Creature From the Haunted Sea is touted as a “not-to-be-missed ’60s comic-horror cult classic!” and She Gods of Shark Reef has the tag line “Shadowy horror haunts a bevy of beautiful girls on a lush tropical paradise!” ‘Nuff said, I think.
3. Another double feature: Edgar Allen Poe’s* The Tell-Tale Heart and Wes Craven’s Chiller. Poe is always good, but this Craven one promises lots of fun with a cryogenically preserved corporate executive who is brought back to life minus his soul! That’ll give you chills, I tell you.
I’m not sure when I’ll have a chance to watch these, but I’m sure I can find some opportunity before I go over to the UK.
On a completely unrelated topic, I’ve been thinking a lot about what to do with all my poetry. (Hey! I better not have just heard someone say “burn it!”) It seems that about 20 years ago I was going to put together a chapbook. Do people even do that anymore? I can’t imagine those little presses still exist, what with services like Lulu and Cafepress, where you can do decent books fairly cheaply on an as-needed basis. I doubt they have the feel of chapbooks of old, but I’m sure they function about the same.
Whoosh! A memory! What about broadsides? Does anyone do those at all? That was like a 1950s – early 1960s throwback that they were still doing in the mid 1980s. Wow. I guess now you could print poems on stickers from Cafepress and stick them just about anywhere. That could be fun — though it probably violates some vandalism law or other. Still, no one says you can’t put a poem on a bumper sticker and stick it on things vertically.
Also on the topic of poetry … after thinking about putting up an MP3 of me reading poems on my MySpace page (which I can’t do because I’m not registered as a band), I thought maybe I should look around for places that have open mic poetry readings. I think it’s reading about the early days of punk, when Patti Smith was doing readings, that’s gotten me interested in doing that sort of thing again. Back when I did do some readings, I was incredibly anxious about being up in front of people. So I’d drink and then it was just something to get through. After doing a couple of live TV spots with ferrets, I’m much more confident about speaking in front of people. Anything is easier than trying to look and sound authoritative while you’re trying to contain a wriggling ferret.
Back to work.
–Mary
*I didn’t even know that today was EAP’s birthday! Eerie.
Currently listening:
Greatest Hits
By The Ramones
Release date: 06 June, 2006
20 Jan 08 Sunday
Ramones Warning
Current mood:safe as houses
Category: Music
OK, so that title might be a little misleading. But I had a very close call while on the treadmill a little while ago. I want to warn others.
Everything was going along fine. I was keeping a good pace and getting that nice adrenaline-endorphin thing going when suddenly I found myself overcome by an urge to pogo.
Pogoing on a treadmill is a very bad idea.
Fortunately I came to my senses before I broke any bones, but I felt it was my duty to warn others about this potential hazard. I was fine until my brain started humming and I was “elsewhere.” Don’t let this happen to you.
Stay alert.
Be vigilant.
–Mary
20 Jan 08 Sunday
Czech Poetry
Current mood:Poetic
Category: Writing and Poetry
My Grandpa Drews and my Grandma Drews* (who was born Caprata) built the house where I now live. This is not about the house. Or about my grandfather. It’s not really about my grandmother either. It’s about where my grandmother was born: Czechoslovakia. She lived outside of Prague, which was and is a very creative city. I’m sad to say I’ve never been there. Yet.
Anyway, I was reading some poems from The Casting of Bells by Jaroslav Seifert, the 1984 Nobel Prize winner in Poetry. A Czech poet. The book is translated by Paul Jagasich and Tom O’Grady.
These two poems are from that collection:
WHEN WE ARE DENIED
When we are denied,
to recall
our mother’s warm blood,
again and again we can return
but to our childhood,
to that short-lived bliss,
which seems already to be the last joy
in our life.
At the mercy of life,
we are making but one big detour
from the first hurt.
Our eyes see light only once
until that moment when someone
covers them with a cloth
and a merciful darkness
envelops us again.
“NEITHER THE MARBLE TOWER…”
Neither the marble tower in Pisa
Nor Niagara Falls
Nor the moon on a dark night
Nor a bare sword in its sheath of gold
Nor that alabaster pillar standing rigid
Can match the beautiful nakedness of this woman.
And no writing
Not the private words of a letter
Or the dazzling tongue of Solomon
Can be as sublime
As that one song issued
By the singer Drno
On a dreadful night.
I’ve done some googling but have come up with nothing on a Czech singer named Drno in the 1960s (The Casting of Bells was originally published in the Czech in 1967).
So …
I wonder if my Grandma Drews ever crossed paths with one of the Prague poets. It would have been in her youth; before she came here to make a life. Before she was 13.
And I wonder if I can pull the poetry from her Prague roots up to my leaves, my fingers, and push it out through the barrel of a pen — ink like blood on everything that lies open.
Just wondering.
–Mary
* I had to edit this to point out that I’ve added a favorite picture of my Grandma Drews as my default picture. The pic is from 1938, probably that’s my dad’s little horse, gun and cowboy hat. The full picture is in my “Family” picture album. Oh, and her name was Mary, too.
Currently reading:
The Casting of Bells
By Jaroslav Seifert
Release date: August, 1983
22 Jan 08 Tuesday
In the News
Current mood: productive
Category: News and Politics
People who know me know I am not a fan of Rudy Giuliani. If you bear with this post, I’ll reprint an article we ran in Modern Ferret a little later.
Yesterday I was heartened to hear that Giuliani has slipped in the polls in NY. If you can’t hold your own state, you’re up shit’s creek.
“Here’s your paddle, Rudy.”
From today’s Newsday.com (link to article):
The WNBC/Marist Poll in New York shows McCain beating Giuliani 32 to 22 percent, followed by Mitt Romney at 14 percent and Mike Huckabee at 11 percent, with Fred Thompson trailing at 4 percent. Fifteen percent of 401 Republicans polled last week were undecided. The survey has a margin of error of plus or minus 5 percent.
A second poll, by Siena College Research Institute, found the former New York mayor trailing the Arizona senator by 12 points for the New York primary Feb. 5. Siena put Giuliani second, with 24 percent of support among Republicans, behind McCain’s 36 percent. Romney had 10 percent, Huckabee 7 percent, and Thompson 6 percent. That poll has a margin of error of 7.4 percent.
Giuliani once held a 33-point lead over McCain in the Siena poll, the institute reported Dec. 10.
I had been very concerned that Americans would place too much importance on Giuliani’s role after 9/11. That they’d see him in that haze as some sort of incredible leader in the face of adversity. However well he might have managed in the aftermath of the attack (and that’s debatable, as I’ve been reliably informed that he basically followed the steps outlined in the book created to provide guidance in disasters — though I’ll allow that 9/11 was a “disaster” of greater magnitude than that book may have anticipated), that is only one aspect of the man’s career. I’m very happy to see that people are looking into the candidates further and considering more issues.
I can’t remember if I posted about this before, so I’ll just reprint the Modern Ferret article here. This was written by Eric Shefferman, my husband at the time, but it reflects my feelings, too:
Ferret Legalization Update
by Eric Shefferman
On May 21, 2001, Mayor Giuliani said ferrets should be illegal in New York City for the same reasons that tigers are and he vetoed the ferret legalization bill. Mary and I were both there – Mary testified on behalf of ferrets and I photographed the hearing. We’ve attended every New York City ferret legalization event we could – and at every one of them one thing has stood out: No citizen has ever spoken out against ferrets. There are no “anti-ferret activist groups,” no citizens who want ferrets ousted, just a few entrenched politicians with a lack of love and compassion for other living creatures.
Mayor Giuliani did all he could to milk the ferret issue for all it was worth. By publicizing how he was saving the city from the dangers of ferrets, he hoped to distract people from all the scandal he had going on at the same time.
Of course, we now know that there were REAL dangers that New York City would soon be facing (as opposed to cute, furry nose-lickers).
It’s difficult to believe that anyone could listen to all the evidence presented in favor of the ferret and still believe that ferrets present the same danger to the public that tigers do. Yet Mayor Giuliani was able to make a statement like that to a roomful of ferret owners without even blushing. Thus Giuliani earned himself another day of the news being about ferrets rather than his extramarital dalliance. He’s one good liar. That’s something we should remember if he decides to use his new found hero status as a platform to run for another office.
From Issue 32 Modern Ferret magazine ©2002.
With the article ran a picture of the cover of People magazine from May 28, 2001, with the headline: “Inside New York’s Nastiest Split: The Mayor, The Wife, The Mistress.”
This article appeared right after Giuliani was named Time’s man of the year. We got a few hate letters: You know, how dare we criticize such a brave and heroic figure.
How dare we not question the motivations and actions of someone who wants to lead our nation? How dare we accept anything blindly? Especially in these years after 9/11.
So I’m very happy that Giuliani is losing ground.
The picture that is currently my default photo is my Grandma Drews. I don’t know how happy she’d be about this photo being made public, but to me it embodies the playfulness and joy that so well represent her in my memory. She was a good woman. Whenever I think of her, I think of the little Czech lady (she was 5 foot nothing) with the big heart and the loving soul. I love this photo of her.
I have a few other things I want to post today. Last night I had dinner at The Parents’ and I picked up a big plastic crate of my old writing. I stayed up a little later than I’d planned reading through some of the poems I’d written. Some good ones. Mostly from college and just after college. Some decent ones about a love/obsession I had. I’ll probably put these poems somewhere else and point to them from here. But that’ll be later today.
There’s also a post I started yesterday about MLK and my friend Katy’s family’s influence on me and my politics.
Later.
–Mary
22 Jan 08 Tuesday
Some Old Things
Current mood: creative
Category: Writing and Poetry
I’ve just put up a bunch of older poems on one of my other blogs, but I wanted to share them with all my friends here. When I say these poems are “older” I mean mostly from the 1980s. You can read these poems here (the link opens in a new window/tab):
http://www.marydrews.com/mary-poems-older/
Just as a sample:
Alienation
Morning’s dullness climbs
the sun’s arc through day.
Hours drift endlessly –
dreams on the edge
of sleep, too nebulous
for recollection’s touch.
Stars shift, planets
curl around their orbits –
a baby’s grasp reflex,
instinctive as a blink.
On the fringes, an eye
locks onto these
machinations, pours knowledge
into a mind — weary,
waiting for the dullness
to return.
Mary R. Drews
3/22/1990
I hope you’ll enjoy them (or whatever it is one does with poems). Comment if you like.
–Mary
Currently listening:
Up the Rock
By Diamond Dogs
Release date: 23 October, 2006
23 Jan 08 Wednesday
Ferret Pictures & Rambling
Current mood:undecided
Category: Pets and Animals
I put up a few more pictures of ferrets last night. I’d completely forgotten that I had a disk that had some pictures on it. The only ferret I don’t have a picture of is Trixie. But I will find a picture of her to share. I’m on a mission!
By the way, my default picture at the moment is Knuks. I just love this picture of her! She was a tiny and sweet ferret who loved everyone. “Knuks” is “skunk” spelled backwards, and I’ve always pronounced it “nucks” to rhyme with “bucks” (the “K” is silent).
[Insert Non Sequitur Here]
I’m contemplating going to — and participating in — an open mic night tonight. I haven’t read in decades. I’ve never been able to memorize my poems, which makes doing any sort of reading a little awkward. Song lyrics I can memorize after hearing the song only a few times, but things that I write? Forget it.
Anyway, it’s not definite. I still have a few hours to think about it.
Sorry there’s nothing fascinating or profound today. Maybe tomorrow.
–Mary
Currently listening:
Passion Is No Ordinary Word: The Graham Parker Anthology [2-CD SET]
By Graham Parker
Release date: 21 September, 1993
25 Jan 08 Friday
More Giuliani (heh heh heh)
Current mood: validated
From the AP:
The editorial also excoriated former New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani, saying that he “first shamelessly turned the horror of 9/11 into a lucrative business, with a secret client list, then exploited his city’s and the country’s nightmare to promote his presidential campaign.”
“The real Mr. Giuliani, whom many New Yorkers came to know and mistrust, is a narrow, obsessively secretive, vindictive man who saw no need to limit police power. Racial polarization was as much a legacy of his tenure as the rebirth of Times Square,” the board said.
He also can’t tell the difference between one of these:
and one of these:
More later …
–Mary
25 Jan 08 Friday
Modern Ferret Magazine
Current mood: tested
Category: Pets and Animals
In my previous incarnation, I was the co-founder and editor-in-chief of a little magazine called Modern Ferret. It was actually not all that small: some of our print runs topped over 20,000 copies and the page counts went from 32 in the first issue to 80 in later issues (we published a total of 33 issues).
To read a fairly concise background, check out this link:
About Us Modern Ferret Page
That website hasn’t been updated in a while. We no longer publish the magazine.
That’s the topic of this post.
Modern Ferret was doing well enough. It wasn’t easy, but we had some very loyal fans. Eric (that’s my ex-husband and the other co-founder of the magazine) and I did everything. If we didn’t know how to do something, we learned how. We had distribution into Borders Books, Barnes & Noble, Tower Records, Petco, and several smaller book and pet store chains.
Then Fancy Publications (you know, CatFancy, DogFancy et al.) decided to try their hand at ferret publications. At first they did an annual, Ferrets USA. No big deal. Not really competition for us.
Then they decided to create a bimonthly magazine, Ferrets. (Note that they didn’t even have the confidence to include their ferret publication in the “_Fancy” line — no “FerretFancy” for them, though the alliteration would’ve been nice.) This concerned us. We knew that they had their own distribution company and held exclusive rights to approve which magazines and books went into all the gazillion PetsMart stores. Fancy Publications/BowTie Press is a very big company.
The owner of Fancy Publications contacted Eric and me and invited us to dinner in NYC. We went. Basically he wanted to offer us some measly money for our magazine and intimated that there was no way we were going to make it once his magazine got out there.
We turned him down.
This did not sit well with him. It took a little while, but eventually our distributor into pet stores folded under pressure from Fancy’s distribution arm. This put us in a very bad position. We made a lot of our money from pet store sales of the magazine. We also picked up a lot of new subscribers because the magazine was in pet stores. Our only option to get our magazine into Petco or any other pet store was to sign up with Global Distribution Services, which is owned by Fancy.
What kind of fools do they take us for? They sent us a contract that we could not sign under any circumstances. See, most distributors will give you affidavit returns, which means someone’s monitoring the sales of your magazine other than the distributor. Global doesn’t do that. We would have to take their word for it. Yeah, that sounded like a great plan: we’ll give you a ton of magazines, which you can dump anywhere you like — or sell — and then tell us sales were much lower than they actually were. Everyone puts that kind of power in the hands of a company owned by their direct competitor. Sound business practice, I’d say.
Then Eric got sick. Then I got sick. Then 9/11 happened. And the next thing we knew, we were done. We just couldn’t keep going with Modern Ferret.
So you can imagine how I might have felt when I got an email today from an old ferret-world friend who pointed me to this little tidbit:
The March/April 2008 issue of Ferrets will soon reach subscribers. It is the final print issue of Ferrets. [emphasis added] We’re transitioning the magazine to online beginning in April when we launch www.SmallAnimalChannel.com. The new Ferrets magazine will be located at www.FerretsMagazine.com, and it will be free. We’re still going to be an information resource about ferrets, only in a different format.
Our plan is to offer new articles and columns every month, weekly news updates, polls, contests and more. It will be more interactive and readers will get more frequent updates than with our bimonthly print issue — and we’ll be saving trees by going digital.
Subscribers will soon receive a letter/postcard from our Consumer Marketing Department that will detail what choices they have concerning the balance of their subscription.
Our annual ferret magazine, Ferrets USA, will continue to be printed and new issues are available in stores every November.
Please note that the current look at SmallAnimalChannel.com and FerretsMagazine.com will all change in April. For an idea of how it will look, please visit our other BowTie websites: www.DogChannel.com, www.CatChannel.com, www.ReptileChannel.com, www.BirdChannel.com, www.HorseChannel.com.
- Critters Moderator
To quote a good friend of mine: Tee hee hee!
I do not usually take pleasure in the failure of others, but this guy really deserved this failure. It isn’t just about the business (ASIDE: A group of ferrets is called a business). It’s about the ferrets. When Eric and I were publishing, accuracy was key. We would not give advice to our readers if it wasn’t advice we would take and use for our own ferrets. We wouldn’t recommend products that we wouldn’t use on our own ferrets. We checked facts as if our ferrets’ lives depended on it. Because they did.
What we were doing meant something. Fancy Publications had a hand in destroying that. That destruction affected not only Eric and me and our ferrets, but thousands and thousands of ferret owners — and thousands and thousands more of their ferrets.
So, yeah, I’m taking some joy in the fact that Fancy is ceasing publication of their ferret magazine. Serves them right.
If you’re curious to see what a copy of Modern Ferret looked like, send me a message and I’ll see what I can do to get you a copy. I still have a good number of them that I’ve been selling off little by little on Ebay.
Now I’m off to rest. I had a somewhat trying day yesterday and today. The news about Ferrets magazine was good, but it hasn’t cleared up my vicious mood.
–Mary
26 Jan 08 Saturday
Sad, Scary Thing
Current mood: sad
Category: Life
I was watching TV early last night when James knocked on my door and said, “Stan’s house is on fire!”
Our neighbor across the road had a fire in his house last night. Fortunately, James and Amanda had just gone outside with Rufus the puppy when they heard Stan’s fire alarm and noticed the orange glow and the smoke. James raced across the road to make sure Stan got out of the house while Amanda called the fire department.
Stan was a little disoriented, but unhurt. James had to lead him off the property.
The sad part — other than losing some family heirlooms and antiques — is that Stan had two cats. The arson detective said that cats often do all right and get out of house fires, especially in a case like this where the fire was fairly contained to the den and garage. … Well, Stan and his friend John were just here and the cats died in the fire. They suffocated. Rest in peace little kitties.
****
The sick part is these public adjustors (is that what they’re called?) have been camped out in the neighborhood waiting for Stan to show up so they can pitch their services to him. Vultures. One of them was here last night. He just walked in the house and started talking. James had to ask him to wait outside because Stan wasn’t making any decisions about anything at this point. It’s despicable, showing up like that while someone’s still in shock and trying to get them to sign a contract. This morning our phone’s ringing every few minutes because our number was given out as a contact for Stan.
****
While I was writing this Stan showed up. He gave me the news about the cats. Apparently what wasn’t destroyed by fire was destroyed by smoke, soot and water.
Keep our neighbor in your thoughts.
–Mary
28 Jan 08 Monday
Sunny Day on Long Island
Current mood:elastic
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural
Things happen — or don’t — for a reason. Sometimes.
I like the idea of fate but not absolute fate. I don’t know if that makes any sense, seeing as right now I’m a bit heady from endorphins (another weight training + cardio session). But try to stay with me.
Everything is connected. That much I know (inasmuch as one can know the unknowable). Sometimes you meet someone or you see, hear or smell something that sparks a memory at just the right moment. Sometimes you know immediately, other times it takes longer to see what’s happening.
Before I left for the UK in October I got a call from an old friend. We hadn’t seen each other for a couple of years (she didn’t know I was divorced!). We didn’t manage to have lunch until about two weeks ago, and it was like no time had passed. I love when that happens.
It seems that we have come back into each other’s life (I feel like an idiot — here I am a copy editor and my brain will not tell me if that’s supposed to be “life” or “lives” … I’m thinking “each life” ?? but I can’t be bothered to go look it up) just as I need the kind of influence she has on me and vice versa.
Other events have happened (and people have come into or reentered my life) over the last few months that smack of fate and karma. But these seem to be taking longer to unfold.
For once, I’m enjoying the ride.
–Mary
Currently listening:
Armed Forces
By Elvis Costello
Release date: 19 November, 2002
28 Jan 08 Monday
Poems in My Parents’ Basement
Current mood: sleepy
Category: Writing and Poetry
This evening I went to The Parents’ house to get some things (I still have a bunch of my things — books, Modern Ferret magazines, papers — in the basement there). I also got to chat with my dad and have pizza with him. He’s feeling and sounding almost 100% now. It’s hard to describe how happy that makes me, especially since I’m leaving for the UK next week.
Among my things in the basement I found were a few folders of old poems. They’re everywhere — like an infestation!
The difference with these poems is that they’re the ones I’ve been looking for! Some of my decent high-school poems and some poems I’d completely forgotten I’d written. Some of these were published and I wrote where on them. Very neat stuff.
This is a poem from high school:
Today,
the water is fish-gray.
The sky is gray
like a dull knife — cutting,
gutting, scaling, filleting
the horizon. From its belly drop
land, rocks, me.
Sometimes I wonder what it’s like
to drown. I lean my neck in
my hands to stop the blood
to my brain. It’s warm — my face
turns red, blotched white. My
muscles get tense — tweezers squeeze
my nerves.
I have no gills — I succumb to air.
It takes away my suffocation. It grants me
life. But a gray life, a life
hard to breathe. I live
with pain, a faint beating
of blood over the knife’s edge. I live
with love in hours given
to death, and at every moment
lies.
Not bad for a weird kid. Now I’m off to sleep.
–Mary
30 Jan 08 Wednesday
I’m Sick Sick Sick! Heh heh heh
Current mood:psychotic 
Category: Writing and Poetry
When I was in high school, my friend Lisa and I collaborated on a few literary projects, along with the demolition of various bottles of scotch, wine, rum and other liquid refreshments.
I vaguely recall a very very bad poem that we wrote late one night out in front of The Parents’ house while waiting for a taxi to come take Lisa home. I also recall making a tape recording about a villainous plant called Killer Flower. But perhaps the most bizarre of our collaborations were the Doris stories.
Doris was a four-year-old girl who, when the Bloomingdale’s Santa Claus denied her a dolly, stabbed the old codger with a six-inch shiv she’d secreted somewhere on her little person. The stories follow Doris as she’s tried and convicted of her heinous act, locked away in Sing Sing prison, escapes said prison, shacks up with a truck driver named Fred, gets pregnant, dyes a leprechaun orange, fries the Easter Bunny on the third rail, and eventually murders her mother using a guillotine window (which she’d gotten as one of her wishes from the hapless leprechaun).
These are the stories — minus the mother-killing episode — that I found among the old poems and things I’d brought home from The Parents’ house the other night.
Tonight I read them.
Lisa and I were sick sick young ladies. I’m surprised Mr. Brush, our mild-mannered writing teacher, didn’t have us committed on the spot. Then again, we used to freely discuss setting a “brush fire” while we were in his classroom. Perhaps he felt it best to let dormant psychotics lie.
Anyway, some of these are quite amusing. I might type them into my computer just so I always have a copy of them. I can’t post them here without Lisa’s permission, and I won’t even ask her until I’ve managed to send her copies of the stories so she can reacquaint herself with our heroine Doris.
–Mary
Currently listening:
Ian Hunter
By Ian Hunter
Release date: 09 May, 2005