Nothing like bringing out the intense, poetic hubris in me than rejection letters that say I am too deep for them.

Right??

“Hi, Tamarah. thanks for writing!  Sorry to add to the rejection thingy, but don’t think this quite works. It’s deep and a wee vague, we’re hands on and nitty gritty. Best, pam”

The problem with poetry is….

There are lots of problems with poetry.  Some problems are on the poet’s side, some problems are on the reader’s side.  Sometimes poetry is too obscure to understand on the first read.  Sometimes poetry is too simple, and it is just embarrassing how bad it is.  Sometimes the reader doesn’t understand how to read poetry, and sometimes the reader can understand it too well…and dismiss it as rubbish.  There is a lot going on with poetry, all in all.  The same reader who loves Robert Frost will hate Tracy K. Smith, while those of us who love Tracy K. Smith will still be able to see the poetic honesty in Robert Frost.

The relationship people have with poetry will never be easy.  In short: it’s complicated.

It isn’t too dissimilar to being a SysAdmin, I don’t think.  A SysAdmin is responsible for… honestly, I am married to a SysAdmin and I know what a SysAdmin does, but that is like defining what a mother does.

What does a SysAdmin do?  everything.

But I’m sure there is a better, clearer definition out there:

“A system administrator, or sysadmin, is a person who is responsible for the upkeep, configuration, and reliable operation of computer systems; especially multi-user computers, such as servers. The system administrator seeks to ensure that the uptime, performance, resources, and security of the computers he or she manages meet the needs of the users, without exceeding the budget. To meet these needs, a system administrator may acquire, install, or upgrade computer components and software; provide routine automation; maintain security policies; troubleshoot; train and/or supervise staff; or offer technical support for projects.”

That is a pretty good summary.  There is a lot more to it, like, “you need to know where everything is, how everything works, who is using everything, how to fix everything when everything is bungled, how to warp time,” etc.

 That is correct, Thor.  I, indeed, read all your emails.

SysAdmins are very much like Heimdall, the guard in Asgard.  “Heimdall is the god of light, the son of nine mothers . He was born at the end of the world and raised by the force of the earth, seawater and the blood of a boar. Because of his shining, golden teeth he is also called Gullintani (“gold tooth”). His hall is Himinbjorg, The Cliffs of Heaven, and his horse is Gulltop. Heimdall carries the horn Gjallar.”

“He is the watchman of the gods and guards Bifrost, the only entrance to Asgard, the realm of the gods. It is Heimdall’s duty to prevent the giants from forcing their way into Asgard. He requires less sleep than a bird and can see a hundred miles around him, by night as well as by day. His hearing is so accurate that no sound escapes him: he can even hear the grass grow or the wool on a sheep’s back.”

And I think Heimdall is also very much like poets.

He lives by himself and watches Asgard.  He guards the burning rainbow bridge called the Bifrost, which leads into the world.  He sees all, hears all, and is fiercely protective of what he loves.  He is overly dramatic and will stand his ground regardless of what god demands anything from him.

Tell me poets aren’t over-the-top dramatic like this, and I’ll tell you that you have never met a poet.

“The world revolves around me!” “Poetry is the verse of life!” “You just don’t get me, man.”

Yet, even poets are unable to truly define what it means to be a poet:

The definition-

“Poetry, in a general sense, may be defined to be ‘the expression of the imagination’: and poetry is connate with the origin of man. Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted. Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it. All high poetry is infinite; it is as the first acorn, which contained all oaks potentially.”  –Percy Blythe Shelley

The emotion-

“Poetry is not a turning lose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality.  But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.”     -T.S.Eliot
The ego-

“I wish our clever young poets would remember my homely definitions of prose and poetry; that is prose; words in their best order; -poetry; the best words in the best order.”    -S.T. Coleridge

“Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toe nails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own.”      -Dylan Thomas

And finally-

“Poetry is simply the most beautiful, impressive, and widely effective mode of saying things, and hence its importance.”    -Matthew Arnold

Poets are pretty impressive people, you have to admit.  They literally walk around the world with this hubris within them, as if it is totally normal to do so.

So, without further ado, and with much hubris, here is a poem I wrote last year.

The Buffalo In The Room

by Tamarah Rockwood

Sometime, in between, the beats of torn petals

we meet in the parlor, sharing

a mint mocha called a Snuggler

and scrape the soft, slightly melty chocolate chips

out of the nook at the bottom of the tall

glass, garage sale, cafe` cup.

Somewhere in between little chuckles and

bullish smiles, quickly hidden by a napkin,

we stare at our fingers.

Sequentially, beating the dance of our parents

on the timeworn wooden table, shuffling silverware

shoulder shaking the hustle to the rhythm of our screed.

A lifesize buffalo head looms over our table

as our spirit animal.  He remembers the days

of indulgent opportunity, the long days on the long American veldt

spent in slow ambulate with his tribe.

Minding the calves and entertaining the satisfied ladies.

With a glassy stare he could almost see the valley

filled with long shadows, thrown in billows over the tributary

leading to the Missouri River,

whose waters dried up after Jesse James was shot in 1882.

I ran across this quote the other day, and I really liked it.  The clothes definitely don’t make the woman.  The woman will always make the clothes.  In the same way, the situation will not make the woman…but the woman will most definitely make the situation.

Yesterday evening, I piled the kids into the car (it’s kind of an SUV. Don’t tell anyone.) to go pick Ben up from the ferry.

I love this drive across the island.  It gets me out of the house, I have to put on real pants for it, which sometimes is a bit of a struggle on comfy days when I am warm in my sweat pants, and it is a beautiful trip through the woods to the water every day.  Plus, I get to be seen with Ben (super hot).  It is a nice break in the day that I enjoy, for a number of reasons.

After I picked Ben up we hopped over to the store for a couple things.  Bread, apples, hand lotion (it is seriously dry up here), gluten free pasta for pasta salad, cotton balls and vaseline for a quick fire starter.  When we were done with our little shopping trip and standing in line, Ben and I noticed Alice looking particularly odd: In the middle of all the bustle of unloading the cart, which is the kids’ job, she was standing perfectly still, looking directly at Ben…and chewing furiously.

She had snagged a pack of Rollos next to the checkout line, shoved two into her mouth, and was trying to chew them as quickly as she could before we noticed.

Honestly, it was hilarious watching her small act of crime played out in such a quick moment.  Her eyes held a look of fierce determination to enjoy those chocolates as long as she could before they were taken away, which they promptly were.  We talked to her about stealing and took the roll of chocolates out of her clenched fists, and left it at that.  On one hand, it was surprising to me that this hasn’t happened before.  Maybe it has and I just don’t remember it; but given the number of kids, and the number of times we have taken them to stores, statistically this should be something we have seen often.  So, that’s a good sign!

I also got to eat the rest of the Rollos.  That was a little bonus on the side.

Stressful situations will bring out your true nature, whether you like it or not.

I was very proud that although Alice had a small moment of thieving, she accepted the consequences after and didn’t throw a tantrum in protest.  She knew what she did went against what we have taught the kids, and she didn’t feel entitled to the chocolates when we took them away from her.  It is wrong to steal, and that’s the end of it.  Despite her little stature, she bravely accepted the discipline that was appropriate for her actions, and that is commendable.

Right now, I am stressed out…and trying to hold a commendable spirit.

This afternoon a real estate agent is going to be visiting our property in order to “dig a parking spot” next to our property, so they can sell the forest behind us.  It is a weird piece of land back there, just smack in the middle of the hill and the only way to get to it is across our driveway.

To say I am not thrilled about any of this is putting it lightly.  The owners of the property have had it for 20 years, and it has been ignored for the entire length of the time.  All of a sudden, they want to send developers and landscapers across our driveway in order to begin permits on the land, and potentially chop down the forest to which we have just been introduced, and subsequently fallen in love.

The thing is, we just got here.  I didn’t move out into the middle of a forest to have traffic in my front yard.  We moved here to get away from it all.  I’m not sure what our recourse is, or what is going to happen, exactly; but we’ll definitely find out, one way or another.

The funny thing is, when faced with “life,” my initial response is to fight back.  I almost hate to admit that I have such a warrior’s spirit, because I don’t particularly enjoy fighting back.  However, I can just feel when my eyes get that look of fierce determination and I stare long and hard into my opponent’s eyes, and dare them to make the first move…

Tear down the forest?  I’d like to see you try.

The standard you walk past is the standard you accept.”

– Lieutenant General David Morrison

Life gives us challenges all the time.  Most of the time they are positive challenges, though, and the change is for the better.  But if you aren’t ready for change, or if you cannot see the challenge as a moment of change, then the challenge will become an obstacle, instead.

Lieutenant General David Morrison, Chief of the Australian Army, was addressing a spate of immoral behavior that was unleashed in the Australian Army a while back, and had a very stern warning to those who had caused, and propagated, the immoral situations.  He demanded of his Army that “If you become aware of any individual degrading another, then show moral courage and take a stand against it.”

The power to change the world for the better is always within our abilities.  Sometimes we can help each other, sometimes we can change situations…sometimes it takes time and patience to see the change that is needed.  I believe there is always a solution to challenges.  It may be an unconventional solution, it might be a difficult solution, or it might be a solution as simple as walking away from the situation, but there are very few times when there is no solution available.  The fact is, though, that not everyone will see their ability to find a solution, and every challenge becomes an obstacle: either an obstacle to succumb to, or an obstacle to turn a blind eye.

The thing is, as Lieutenant General David Morrison said, “the standard you walk past is the standard you accept,” and it takes a strong person to see the change in the challenge.

I will always know the strength of a person when I see them stop for the change.

Sometimes on a blog, you can get lost in your writing.

For the most part, the reader can get a good sense of who you are through your writing; yet, there are a lot of little things that make you up, on top of the big ones.  Sure, we homeschool and have a bundle of kids…but we aren’t the only ones who homeschool with a bundle of kids.  Are we doing Waldorf? Classical? Eclectic? Secular? Virtual? Charter?  What do we do and why have we chosen our curriculums, exactly?  I make all of our meals from scratch, but what does that mean in real life? Am I one of those neurotic women who obsess about food, and use buzzwords like kale, local or organic? Or is it just an interest?  If I do make all our meals from scratch, and we homeschool, and we have a bundle of kids, why aren’t I writing more articles on organization or couponing? (this is not going to happen)  I have been married for over 15 years, and together for over 20…why aren’t I writing about healthy relationships?

I like punk music, so why am I wearing mom jeans? (I’m not really wearing momjeans.  I’m really wearing green plaid pajama pants.)

I drink endless cups of black coffee every day…how is this possible?

I like Science Fiction, and shun the Twilight series.  Am I a snob? (yes)

I hate 99% of chick flicks, and I only watch a small handful of musicals.  Am I simply opinionated, or am I a hater? (debatable)

There are so many things that make up a person,

In person, am I really an altogether groovy chick, or are you going to feel incredibly awkward when you meet me?

Who am I, really?

This question plagues me, and it is definitely the fuel that keeps this fire under me going.  I have grown and changed so much in my adult life, that I wonder if I am even the same person I was.  Yet, when I look back…I have kind of painfully been the same person this whole time.  Some little things have changed, but the big ones haven’t.

I thought I’d break format a little today, and answer a few “Getting To Know You” questions from GoodReads.

3. What is your favorite subject in school?

English, obviously.  I loved reading literature, analyzing the material and writing amazing essays in the end.  It was like finishing a puzzle for me.  Very satisfying to complete.

4. What is your favorite flavor of jelly beans?

I am very particular with jelly beans, actually.  I like the bags of assorted jelly beans, but I eat them two at a time: coconut and lime, popcorn and cinnamon, apple and cherry.  I love mixing the flavors, but it takes forever to eat a bag when you are just eating them two at a time.

5. Which flavor of ice-cream do you prefer?

I am not an exotic ice-cream aficionado, but I am particular about what I enjoy.  The absolute best ice cream is Ben&Jerry’s Vanilla Caramel Fudge Swirl.  It is the perfect balance of creamy vanilla, and the perfect caramel and fudge texture.  This ice cream got me through quite a few pregnancies.

6. What do you think is your very best feature or characteristic?

I can adapt to just about anything.  Long term is a little harder, but short term is no big deal.  Snow? Water? Heat? No problem. Need and event organized? Got it.  Need some ideas? I got your back.  However, this makes “settling down” pretty tricky.

9. What do you usually do when you have leisure time on your hands?

I know this is going to sound crazy, but if I have free time I am either reading or writing.

14. What is your favorite home cooked meal?

Probably my rosemary and garlic roast lamb.  It’s pretty phenomenal.  Also my stroganoff.  It’s kind of out of this world.

17. How many siblings do you have?

2, and I’m the oldest.  I have “first child” syndrome in a big way.  Something is happening?  Here, let me take over.  No, I got it…no, no, I got it give it to me, I got it.  I’m learning how to back off.  Sometimes.

22. What kind of vehicle do you usually ride in?

I refuse, with all of my being, to buy a minivan.  I just can’t do it.  It feels like giving up something…so we have a Crossover with 3 rows of bench seats, and we can fit everyone in our car.  We just can’t fit anyone else in our car.

23. Do you have pets?

1 dog, 2 cats, 3 chickens.

24. When was the last time you visited a park and what did you do while there?

Last week I took the kids to the park because it was sunny, and I was talking to a grandma there about her little granddaughters, and then a mom of 2 under 2 who was losing her mind.  She was just tired, and she’s going to be fine.  Ah, all this experience with being tired.

27. What do you usually do when you meet someone for the first time?

I generally lead the conversation because I have found people will open up when the environment feels familiar, so I just treat people as old friends, and it is better for everyone.  Which is a total INTJ response to conversations.  But it works, and that is what I am going for.

30. Do you plan to go to college?

I went to college, and our kids are planning on going to college.  Glenn has already told me that when he is in his office, I can call him at lunch, but not before. Because he is working.  #melt

31. What job do you think you would most enjoy as an adult?

I would love to either be an editor, or go back to teaching in university…actually, I kind of like that idea better.  I love the classroom.  Give me a chalkboard and a projector, and I’m a happy camper.

33. What was the last item you cooked and ate?

Baked chicken with chickpeas and roasted tomatoes. It is the bomb for quick meals.

34. How many books did you read last year?

I….have no idea.  But let me put it this way: I have packed my kitchen, and I have 3 boxes.  I have packed all of our books, and we have over 10 boxes (I lost count).  So, there ya go.  Also: Kindle.

40. How many pairs of shoes do you currently own?

Maybe 5.  Or 7.  (counts on fingers) 2 tennis shoes, a couple heels and jellies.
41. Which one fashion accessory do you like better than others?

Earrings.  Hands down.

52. Have you ever been horseback riding?

Yep. I love horseback riding.

53. Have you ever been water skiing?

Yes. I freaking hate water skiing.

54. What do you most like to do in the snow?

To stay in the car.

55. What is your favorite all-time movie?

The Philadelphia Story, with Kate Hepburn

56. Can you change a tire?

Yes. But make sure your jack can actually lift the car off the ground. Otherwise it WON’T WORK.  #experience

57. Is your room more clean or more messy?

The house is okay.  My room is a disaster.  I feel bad about it.

58. Do you prefer a bath or a shower?

Shower. You can’t wash this hair in a bath.

81. Do you like drinking from the cup or a straw?

I kind of prefer a straw, because I have less of a chance of spilling anything on myself if I use a straw.  I am a little very clumsy.

82. Do you like ice in your cold beverages?

Sure, but only a couple.

83. What is your favorite sandwich?

Hands down: squaw bread, sprouts, provolone, thinly sliced tomatoes, spicy mustard, sliced turkey and avocado.

85. Where is the farthest you have ever traveled?

Beijing, China.  I would go back in a heartbeat.

91. Have you ever won anything? If so, what did you win?

I notoriously win the body lotions at bridal showers or baby showers…and I can’t stand body lotions.  I don’t really like rubbing stuff all over my skin, it just feels gross.  I also have trouble smelling, so they just don’t do much for me.  However, I will win them most of the time. And give them to someone who really likes them.

97. Have you ever been in a musical drama or play? If so, what was it?

Baby, I write the plays.

107. Do you know how to iron your clothes?

Kind of.

108. Can you sew a button on your clothing?

Buttons are easy.

109. Have you ever cut your own hair?

I have been not cutting my own hair successfully for the past million years (as in, I just don’t get it cut. Just let it grow forever. It’s getting pretty long at this point).  I do trim my bangs by myself, against all good advice from serious hairstylists.

You made it!  Cheers!! 

Sometimes in life, times can be hard.  We all go through these times, and it is through these times when we discover who we really are and what we are really made of.

I have found, during this past week of packing, that I am more willing to pack an entire house than I am to fold one load of laundry.

Case in point: 80% of the house is packed.  The laundry is still sitting next to my bed.

There is a definite comedic aspect to packing.

“Why on earth do we still have this…???”  “Why would I keep this…??”  “I don’t even know where we got this…” “Don’t give that to us…I’m not packing it.”

As we speak, I am packing my desk.  It…has been a while since I have brought a trash bag over here, it seems.  It isn’t until it is beyond the pale that you realize things have gone too far.  The craft projects I have piled and stashed around my desk is much too far.  I had to upgrade my grocery bag to a full on, ninja black hefty trash bag to take care of this defiled desk.

Preaching to the choir, Einstein.

So, to lighten the mood, and so I don’t fall into the pit of despair having to fully grasp how much I have ignored my desk and the ridiculous amount of fabric, glue guns, ribbons, spools of thread, paper clips, push pins, charger cables, baskets, paintbrush containers, and who knows what else I’m going to find…I looked for compatriots with whom I could commiserate.  I thought there would be more comedy sketches about packing, but I’m not really finding much out there. However, I did find one!

Brian Regan

I completely lost it at “girth units.”

“They’re boxes!  And they’re brown! And they have tape on them! Pick them up!”

Thank you, Brian.

Now back to packing my desk.

And ignoring the laundry.

Goodbye, old friend.

An Ode To The Busted Piano

by me

There was a time when play, song, and sound,

The piano, and every ordinary sight

To me did seem

Threaded in angelic light.

To the fragrance of dust in a dream,

It is not now as it had been before

when I was a child

Plunking on the keys in cream,

Sit upon the silent musician

as dust to dust.

(completely ripped off from Wordsworth)

These are the wheel marks from the busted piano.

And this was the place in which the busted piano had sat for the past 7 years.

I am sitting at my desk right now, and I have watched a few women taking their morning walks…and play the piano a little as they pass by.  All the kids had to play a few keys when they discovered it was outside, almost as if to poke it to see if it was actually dead.

To say we have all loved this piano is true.

I grew up playing imaginary songs on this piano, and my kids have done the same.  We have done a few lessons on it, but it was so out of tune, the songs don’t sound right at all.

There is something magical about a piano.  Even if it is busted.

Unfortunately, we were unable to rehome this piano.

I have spent 4 months calling music stores, putting it on Craigslist, posting ads in the classifieds in our local newspaper, offering it on Facebook and to homeschooling groups.  A few families have come over to look at it, but there are some sticky keys and the pedals don’t work.  My last effort was to contact the local music store and see what advice they had for me.

They said it was just a dead piano, and it was time to put it out to pasture.

It was a normal thing, and there was nothing we could do to save it.  Dead pianos get thrown away all the time, and it was okay to let it go.  We loved it for as long as we had it, and it lived a good long life.

It was my grandmother’s piano, and it lived in my grandparent’s house.  As far as I understand, it came down from Saskatchuan, Canada with them when they immigrated to LosAngeles.  There it sat, and I believe my grandmother played hymns on it when she was a Sunday School teacher at her Presbyterian church.  I, however, have never seen anyone actually play songs on it.

After my grandparents died, I was already living on my own, and I took the family piano.

Since then, it has gone everywhere I have gone.

But now that we are moving out of state, it is time to let my good friend go.

We have had good times together, and she has held books, picture frames and toys valiantly during her time with us.

So, with the fondest of memories, we set her out this morning to her resting place, graced with the angelic gift of silence.

And I can speak of this with lucid emotion…until this happened.

And then I completely lost it and started bawling on my front porch.

Even when you have tried every avenue possible, and have tried to resurrect its life … watching a good friend go is still a heart wrenching thing to witness.

But she was worth every year we had her.

“Is it a hill worth dying on?”

I actually ask myself that frequently. A Pastor told me this once, and it is something that has stuck with me for the long haul.   Back in the day when I was younger, I tried to fight every fight.  I had this silly idea for years, and I had the passion and energy to do it. I thought I could make a difference by upholding the honor of the fight.  Fighting for the little people, fighting for myself, fighting for the principle of something…it was worth it for the greater good, was it not?

It really wasn’t.  And I think the only change that I really made was in myself.

The Pastor told me that my passion was good…but I “can’t die on every hill.”

And that is enormously true.

In life, there is an endless volley of trials.  Although some days the Nerf-trials are easy to deflect, and they just bounce right off and you walk away unharmed, some days seem to have more spiky trials thrown at us than others; and they stick to you.  If not stick in you.  Those trials you can’t walk away from easily.

“If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion. “ Dalai Lama

The best solution to outrage is fighting it with compassion.

I have never seen one hill that could not be conquered with anything other than compassion.

Further, compassion is certainly not something you can understand by reading a pamphlet or a tract.  It is something you learn how to do over time, through both observations and experiences.

Practicing compassion is certainly something everyone should hear about at least once, just to get the ball rolling.

Jazz is my anchor to sanity this month.

This morning, while the kids were doing school, coloring, playing video games (and Ben was home), I realized it was the perfect storm:  the waters were still as a quiet morning and it would be the best time to hit Costco before noon.  Everyone was occupied with their own projects for another 2 hours, and plus we wouldn’t have to waste an evening grocery shopping.  I hate wasting a whole evening just going to the store.  I don’t always have the opportunity to leave the house during the day, so I was quick to take this open occasion.  This was a good plan.

Now, I will tell you this very clearly: I hate shopping.

I hate shopping for clothes, I hate shopping for food, I hate going to stores.

All of my Christmas shopping is done online, and it has been this way for years.  You could not pay me enough to deal with stores during the holidays.

It might be the social anxiety…which I am quite comfortable with and have no intention of curing.  It could be that I am lazy.  It could be germs. (it’s not germs)

It’s probably the social anxiety.

I just don’t like stores.

What I see is not a building that sells food.  What I see is a gigantic box with one, maybe two, little exits.  A gigantic box with forced air and unnatural white lights that flood the color of death onto your skin.  The interior of this gigantic box is constructed into a rat race maze, where you have right angles leading you to the edges of the box, hiding items of which you seek in corners and behind cardboard cut-outs in the shape of delighted spice containers or animated cracker boxes.  Cheese can be found in straight-left-left-straight.  Olives are straight-left-right-left-straight-left.  Except they rearranged the store again, so you go back-right-straight-right-left-straight to the beginning tile in order to find the canned vegetable section all over again.

I love people. In theory, I am afraid.  The overwhelming wave of anxiety of the being around “people” is mentally paralyzing, which I HATE.  Yet, that is the reality of the gigantic box, and clearly part of the territory of entering the gigantic box.

There are methods, though, that can be taken in which people like us can survive entering gigantic boxes.

Headphones.

I spent the whole Costco shopping experience with headphones shoved into my ears, and I listened to Miles Davis until I got to my very safe, and very private car.

This is the last month I will be living in California.  This week I will begin packing our belongings into boxes.  And we will leave this state of being.  All the while continuing to do school, grocery shopping, showers and meals; as if nothing dramatic is looming on the horizon.

In between the moments of panic, I am filling my soul with jazz.

Jazz will be my auditory anchor for the month.

Thelonius is such an awesome name.  

If we get pregnant again (we have never ruled it out…just put in some obstacles to make it more difficult), I am totally naming our next child Thelonius Rockwood.  How epic would that be? Theloniously epic.

I would also like to thank Heretic Brewing  for supporting this blog post, albeit unintentionally, by allowing bloggers such as myself to find their wonderful Evil Twin in local stores.