Watching the Granddog, Day One

This is Davis.


He's 10 months old. He likes to sniff, chew, chase cats and rip stuffed animals to little tiny pieces.

He'll eat anything.

And he's living at my house for the next few weeks, while #1 son does his post-graduation See The World (or at least the western USA) trip, gets started in his new career and finds an apartment where he can keep this little feller, Jefferson Davis Jenkins. Mostly known as Davis.

I assume his name is meant to be ironic.

In a rather blatant attempt to jump on the Marley & Me bandwagon, I'll be posting about our adventures.

As you might've guessed, trying to write a poem a day during this crazy month proved impossible. Couldn't even manage a haiku once we got near graduation. I plan to pick that back up in January, so dear readers, you can look forward to another month of poems!!!


Yeah, try to hold that in a little. Your enthusiasm is dripping.

AFK

for a while, maybe.


Not that this is unusual for me, but I'm taking a sabbatical of sorts trying to kick start my dwindling creative process. In an effort just to get something going again in this old and tired brain, I am attempting to write a poem per day for the next 31 days. You can (if you like to watch train wrecks) find it over here. If you don't wanna, like the Terminator, I'll be baaaaaccccckkkkk.

I Love the Red Hot Chili Peppers

and I will die a happy woman should I ever get to see them live.


I've been caught up in Stadium Arcadium the last few days. Specifically, three songs from the Jupiter side: Dani California, Slow Cheetah and Wet Sand. And of those three, particularly Wet Sand. Two things I have gleaned about RHCP from the web over the last few days: 1) they really know how to write a chorus and 2) this song is perfect to 'die to.' Completely agree with the first and, while I will withhold judgment on the second until I am ready to die, I'm inclined to agree with that sentiment as well. God knows that I really tried - I think that's something we'll all be thinking in those final moments.

Anyway, that kind of got me thinking, as I listened to the song. The lyrics, like a lot of RHCP lyrics, sound really mystical and spiritually profound. I find myself believing in them, running my mental fingers over the complexities and profundities to be explored.


And then I run smack dab into 'you don't form in the wet sand, you don't form at all/you don't form in the wet sand - I do'. And what do I do with that? Wet sand? Form? You?

Fortunately, a fevered imagination will always overcome dull reality. Obviously, it's not literal. Well, not literal as in form equaling create. I see him (the sometimes handsome Anthony Kiedis, of course) walking on the beach, the sun setting, his feet at the water's edge. And the wet sand is a crystal ball of sorts where he's looking not just at his lovely footprints (that are quickly disappearing back into wet sand), but at his future, and whoever his 'you' is ain't gonna be there with him.

I can be deep, too.


The live version.

Cucumber Gap Loop - the Jenkins' Experience

Family hike #1 for 2008. Ok, most-of-the-family hike #1. Well, HALF-of-the-family hike #1, if you must be literal.

September 21, 2008.


Yes, I look like a man. And that's my favorite (and only) Nick Lowe tee (in a man's size large, coinkydinkly). My hand is on the Cucumber Gap trail sign, and it reads 2.9 miles to the Little River Trail. Our total mileage for the day was approximately 5.5 miles, and those are the last miles I will hike in those ragged out shoes!

I have a hard time letting go of favorite shoes.


So, it was a not-quite-summer, not-yet-fall kind of Sunday. My husband, being the optimist that he is, told me it would take us 'most of the day' to do this hike. And then he mentioned that this was the trail where a woman was mauled to death a few years ago. As if I wasn't already having enough trouble getting the kids in the van. Seriously, that little sign on the bottom there warns that there has been a lot of BEAR ACTIVITY in the area, a phrase more suited to a Great Smokies' bear jam perhaps.


So, we found a whistle, packed some sandwiches and headed out in the great outdoors. I was a little nervous, because this was my first time as a "hike leader" and I had never been on this trail and what if I missed the signs? Nothing to worry about, it turns out. Starting on the Little River Trail, we walked out of what's left of the Elkmont community alongside the Little River (I assume), a very gentle hike along an old road bed. At approximately 2.5 miles, the trail deadended and the Cucumber Gap trail (with great signage!) took off to the right up and over the mountain that shall not be named. I need a better map. This was a quieter hike (no babbly brook alongside), and a little harder walking. Nothing much to see except trees, until you pop out on the trail/road that is the Jakes Creek trail. Down, down, down the hill (so glad I plotted this loop the right way) and back through the upper remains of Elkmont, where they are (at last) doing some restoration work. The only wildlife we saw, with the exception of dead millipedes, were a few tiny snakes, maybe 4 inches long and dark gray with a white ring around their necks. Most were run over, but one was playing possum and we exchanged startlings.


A nice afternoon.


And then I went and walked 2 more miles with the husband!

Good News for Peace Queers!

Todd Snider's new ep, Peace Queer, is available as a free download here.


I've been listening to it quite a bit. It's got a little of everything: a toe tapper, a civil war ballad, some spoken word, an instrumental, a rocker. Best of all, it's full of Mr. Snider's signature good humor and intelligence.

I did not do this to change your mind about anything. I did this to ease my own mind about everything.

At least, go hence and read the Cokie Roberts bio for Peace Queer.


And anybody know how to snag that priceless photo?



is this thing working?


is this thing on?

Sad About Girls Signs

I know I live in a predominantly Republican county, in a predominantly Republican state. I *know* this. But as God is my witness, no matter how tempted I was (remember those "W The President" stickers? they enrage me), I have never resorted to vandalizing political signs. I gave some deep thought to doing something Christo-esque with them all during the last presidential election, but I let restraint be the better part of valor.

So how come all these Republican idjit punks keep messing with my boy Obama's signs? Some brave Democrat soul had put 2 up: one down by the voting machine warehouse where early voting is happening, one on the roadside near the dumpsters on Newport Highway. You'd think the warehouse one would be vandal proof, being almost in the center of town and on a very busy roadway. No. Someone, who obviously wants to prove the Deliverance stereotypes true, cut out the O. And the one down by the dumpsters? First another poster boy for modern dentistry put an "s" over the "b." You know, because he's a Muslim terrorist. That brave Democrat got his own can of spray paint and fixed that. So how does our poster boy react? He cuts out the center of the sign. There's a big gaping hole where Obama/Biden used to be. That kind of vandalism takes time. I'd say the chances of some person driving by and witnessing the deed were 50-50. Did anybody report it? No.

My fellow Sevier Countians, these cowardly acts of vandalism shame us all. I truly thought we could be tolerant of differing political views, at least in public. We don't have to agree with each other, we don't have to hold hands at the polls. But we do have to share the vistas and roadways and the aisles at Walmart. We're all in this together. I'd feel justified (by the Kindergarten Code, of course), in artfully re-decorating a few McCain-Palin signs. McPain, anyone? But I'm holding back. At least for now.

But like I tell the younguns, don't make me stop this car.

Asking the Age-Old Question

What's in it for me?


This blog, I mean.


Why do it?


Idiot that I am, I googled that question. And smarter and much more erudite bloggers answered much more succinctly than I could ever hope too. (And with a whole lot less parenthetical blathering). Smart reasons like '...participating in a world...which nobody owns, anybody can use, and anybody can improve.' Impassioned reasons like 'I want to write about things that make us feel human' or 'I blog because information is energy. I absorb it, maybe add to it and pass it on.' My personal fave: 'Because vanity plates are too restricting and Play Dough is no longer a viable option.'


But yeah, it's an ego thing. Self-expression is as necessary as breathing. I can't pretend to be political or journalistic. I can't even pretend to particularly care about politics or journalism, so take that, pundits! I'm not always sure what this blog is about. When I made those first tentative posts, I asked a handful - a literal handful - of folks I respected (and felt were not too well known for their "constructive" criticism!) to read it. One responded that he didn't like to read 'diary' blogs, and I thought, well, it's not my diary. But I guess it kind of is. My imagined diary, maybe. Like if I lived in a magazine, and all our beds were made. And it's about experiences that I hope sometimes at least touch on a common thread in a non-boring manner. Paraphrasing what one of those real bloggers said, it's the letter home I never have time to write.



Like Bob Marley said, this is my message to you.

One Fine Day

I had one.

Saturday.

August 23rd, to be exact.

On Friday, I daydreamed. Hallucinated? Perhaps. Anyway, for the first time this summer, I did not have to work on Saturday to get payroll done. And I was filled with a sense of possibility and exaltation. I visualized my Perfect Day. I would sleep a bit late, but not much because I wanted to get in my garden before it got hot. I would pick beans and clean up a bit and prepare for the next plantings. I would go to the library, and find some cool books about vegetables. I would go to Walmart and not overspend. I would fix a nice dinner, something I like (hamburgers) and not something I make because everybody else likes it (shrimp scampi). I would enjoy a few cold beers and a good soccer game. I would go to bed tired and fulfilled.


There's a song I can't remember (intentionally, I think) with a line about 'if I can see it, I can do it'.

I saw it, I did it.


Here's to the little things.

Vacation - all I ever wanted...

Today's Frolickin' Friday (TM pending) theme: vacation songs. I.E., songs you remember from vacations past, songs that make you want to be on vacation, songs that make you feel like you ARE on vacation, etc. See, it's SUMMER. And in the SUMMER, people go on vacation. And, just so it's on the public record, I want a vacation like the French do vacation. All of August, please.

So I wanted to make a suggestion or two (or twelve - the greater the number, the better chance of success) and I put my little thinking cap on for a stroll through the misty mists swirling over Memory Lane.

It's a wonder I'm not scarred for life - or, maybe, perhaps... I am - by the music I recall from summers/vacations. Driving through the beautiful Mississippi State campus (Dad's alma mater), I distinctly recall hearing Summer Breeze, that godawful Seals & Crofts song about the jasmine in one's miiiiiiihiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnd. I think I heard Saturday in the Park (yes, Chicago. the shame!) about a gazillion times the summer we arrived in Washington, D.C. And there was an Eagles tune that dominated the summer of '74 - one of the sappier, sad ones. Probably Best of My Love.

Then I heard the words 'road trip.' And I had my suggestion, my brilliant brilliant suggestion: Truckin', by the Grateful Dead.

No, *they* didn't play it. But I dialed it up on Napster, had a listen and took a good hard look at those 'other members like' recommendations. Time warp! I am 16 years old again, soaking up Neil Young's Harvest, which became the theme to the Summer of 1980, a/k/a the U. K. Invasion. (I'm sure, if I tried just a little harder, I could come up with a skin flick title involving the words 'debbie' and 'does', but we work hard here at My Mood Swings to maintain a certain level of decorum. Really.)


This is the first record I ever stole, the harbinger of all the illegal downloads to come. ;0

(j/k about the downloads, btw, my bffs FCC and RIAA.)

I stole it from my friend and neighbor Mike Moeller, while I was feeding his cat because he was away on ... you guessed it... vacation! And it came to have a lot of resonance for me. Not only because I was leaving the familiar and safe and comfortable for a strange land full of strangers with a strange English, but because there's a lot of lovely words and even lovelier truths within: You gotta tell your story, boy, you know the reason why; or I sing the song because I loved the man, I know that some of you don't understand; or the whole wispy dream that is Words (Between the Lines of Age).

So, thanks Steve and Jay. Even though you ignored my suggestion, even though you trashed my carefully selected personal musical totem, you managed to do me a favor. Ta mucho mucho, my brothers. And mangez la merde et mourez.

Obligatory Neil Young as Icon of Cool photoand I had a pair of boots just! like! those!

Long Time No Post

I guess I've been "on hiatus."

I'm back.

Not much has changed.



But I have.








I have always been environmentally aware, even if I didn't do much about it. I like to think that comes from growing up in national parks, with that protect and preserve mandate. My 8th grade science project was a working wastewater treatment plant. Recycling is important enough to me that I've been schlepping my steel cans and glass containers into Knoxville, because my own county had no recycling available, with the exception of newspaper bins. But I wasn't making a concerted effort really, just trying to keep from taking the trash out so often. It's been years since I brushed my teeth with the water running (probably since *I* started paying for it), but the only other water I conserved was the hot water I needed for showering.

Well, all that recently changed. First, our city fathers put out a magazine recycling bin. Then they took that away and put out a single freight-car style container for aluminum, steel, newspapers, plastics, junk mail and magazines. Wow! It's all supposed to be separated, but tossed into one bin. Yep, it's kind of a mess inside, but here's hoping it will remain. And, perhaps, be improved.

But, wait. There's more. It's like a switch has gone off in my head. I compost my vegetable and fruit scraps - and maggots are not necessarily bad things, just gross! I take Navy showers. I drive slower and as if I had an egg between my foot and the gas pedal. I take my own bags to the grocery store - well, mostly. But I have to have a few to tie up my recycles, right?


It's a new economy, folks.

USA v. England, 5-28-08: The Dream Team

Well, ok, the Dreamy Team.

My preferred starting 11: Timmay Howard in goal; Carlos Bocanegra and Oguchi Onyewu central with Jay Demerit and Johnathan Spector bringing the sexy back to defense; DaMarcus Beasley, Michael Bradley and Ricardo Clark making the midfield marvelous; Clint "Mostest From Nacogdoches" Dempsey, Landon "The Abs, Man" Donovan and Josh Wolff - that's some serious forward thinking, pardon the terrible pun. A completely delectable 4-3-3.



Too bad I don't know how to properly illustrate the lineup! You'll have to settle for this purloined USSF photo of Mostest and Josh Wolff. Would that I were the Towel Girl.

I say we whip those pissy Englishters! 5-0!!

Old Dog, New Trick

I'm attempting to aprender español.

No, really.

It's something I've been thinking about for a long time. Formal classes don't fit into my schedule yet and the total immersion trip to Spain just wasn't happening, so I did what I always do when confronted by the impossible: I shopped Amazon! Behind the Wheel got the best ratings for the $, and, bonus!, free 2-day shipping to boot. Monday through Friday, from the time I drop the younguns off at school until I park at the office, I am habla'ing to the best of my ability. Los días de la semana? Know 'em. Los meses del año? Know them too. Can I ask politely for a glass of water? Not yet. But such is the level of my dedication that I am trying to surround myself with the language, to disappear into it, to melt the ridges of my mind down until understanding is possible. Sounds very psychedelic, no? French happened for me that way. Of course, I don't remember much of *that* now. I've been consuming great quantities of tacos and fajitas, and I've surrounded myself with musica latina. Today it's the best in Argentine ska. Tomorrow, back to this continent and Ozomatli. Here's a sample - La Gallina, which means The Rooster, and reading between the lines, I think it basically says something like ''lift yourself up, quit dicking around, anything is possible (with Ozo)". Enjoy - it's quite the toe tapper.

What I do for fun on my lunch breaks

walk to the post office!


View Larger Map

America, Heck Yeah!!

Well, that's the PG rated version. Wish I could photo shop Danny Murphy in for Eddie Johnson, but then the Team America thing would lose some of its mojo. Big ups, Fulham. Although I am curious as to how these guys would have been dispersed, or if indeed they would have been dispersed, after the fall. Maybe I'll find out next year.

Big ups also to them Toros Rojas, smacking down the Gals in L. A.! Juan Pablo Angel gets his first goal of the season, David Beckham gets his first yellow. Methinks we got under his very lovely skin just a little. Bigger ups to Columbus for keeping the streak alive. I was mainly watching RB/Gals, but I would wander over to Crew/Quakes now and then. First peek, Quakes are winning 1-0. Next peek, Crew is up 2-1. Final score Crew 3, Quakes 2. I think I missed a great game.

A couple of suggestions: Left coast games should be played in the afternoon, so that they are not the Late Late Late show at my house. It was all I could do to stay awake. Also, could the Galaxy always play "skins"? 'Preciate it, MLS.

No Elvis Tonight, Or,

Wishes, meet cash flow.


Elvis Costello and the Imposters in Knox Angeles tonight at the Tennessee Theatre, my personal Jesus of area venues. I won't be there.


...



...


(big brave sigh)


Focus on the sunny hours, girl.


So, just in case Elvis needs to know, here's where the money went:

Some fancy duds for the Notorious K T J's prom. (Technically this was more than $100, but I won't hold that against Elvis). $35 on an updo. Did not have to shell out for shoes or jewelry, woo hoo!




Drugs. See? I'm still cool.

Only these aren't fun drugs, in the traditional sense. Enalapril for me and something for him I want to call Detrol, but not, because that's for bladder control. Letrol, maybe. Toprol for me and the mister. Because the couple that medicates together stays together.




Two tanks of gas. That's most of a month - at least 20 days, anyway. Do the bio-diesel thing, Elv. I've read green is your favorite color.




And groceries - I have grown ridiculously fond of eating over the years. And it shows.



So tonight I'll be home on the couch, most likely watching yet another re-run of Law & Order. Will it be Criminal Intent? Special Victim's Unit? Confession: I just spent 30 minutes trying to spell "victim." And I had to look it up in the end. I'll help Austin with his spelling. No, really. I'll herd Josephine into the bathtub and insist she wash her hair. I might do some laundry, I might pay some bills. This is NOT the adulthood I signed up for. It would be ten thousand times worse if I didn't know, deep down in my heart of hearts, that he'll be back.

This too shall pass.


Don't cry for me, Greater Knoxville.

Random Soccer Observations, MLS Week Six

1. Middle America gets no respect. Columbus is on top of the table, with 5 wins, one loss and zero ties. Are there photos on any of the major soccer news sites of their win Saturday night against Kansas City? Heck, no. *Some* of us would really like to see Adam Moffat shirtless.

2. The End of Rice-Eccles can't come soon enough. Dave, here, seems rather excited about playing on the Worst Turf in MLS, but viewing that match was painful. Glad I didn't stay up for the second half.

3. I do not understand the black outs. I couldn't watch the Red Bulls last Sunday which was on Telefutility (which I don't get) and blacked out on MSG and MSG2. However, I could "enjoy" Colorado/D.C. yesterday via Altitude. Just an esplanation, por favor. I'm feeling discriminated against.


End of bitching.


Happy Cinco de Mayo, y'all!

A Moment of Silence, Please

To mourn the loss of my Omron pedometer, Model HJ112. Alas, poor Omron, I knew him, Horatio, a pedometer of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. I hath born him on my waist a thousand steps and now how abhorr'd in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it...

Well, maybe my gorge doesn't rise, but my waistband is certainly expanding.

We had just recently rediscovered each other. I invested $4.29 (think of it as just a little over one gallon of gas) in a new battery. We were walking the dog, walking to the post office, wearing out Walmart on Saturdays. In fact, that's probably where I lost it. I was so excited last Saturday afternoon to check my total. I was dog-tired - we had soccered all over BFE, been to 4 different grocery stores AND walked the dog. But I'll never know how many steps we took that fateful day.

Because only one of us made it home.

Yes, I can go buy another one exactly like it, but it won't be the one I lost 6 pounds with. It won't be the one who was with me when we saw the possum. Or the box turtle. Or the one that made me feel brave the first time I walked to the post office (people stare when you walk around here). It just won't be the same.

Farewell, good and faithful Omron.

The Soccer Weekend: Rainbows and Lollipops, Sunshine and Roses

It was good for me, too, Landon.

The soccer, people. The soccer.

Three goals for LD in a rout over Chivas, which makes me Fantasy Queen for this week. Red Bulls win 1-0 over the resurrected Earthquakes! Columbus beats Houston 1-0. Houston - remember them? MLS champs last year, and the year before that. Now, they seem to be stuck in a moment they can't get out of. A bigger person would feel their pain. Not I.

Because I am savoring the thrill of victory, basking in the glow of sweet success, tasting the intoxicating flavor of winning. Yes, friends and neighbors, I, too, am a soccer winner this week. On the Real Field, not just the pretend one. The Sevierville U-10 Hokies posted their first victory under my stewardship. It was a well-fought game and, to be fair, it could have gone the other way. But we showed grit and determination, fought the good fight and won. I'd like to think it was my deft touch in substitutions, but since Coach Tammy already had them all figured out, I'll cling to my belief in my own special skillz as a placeholder. I was the orange traffic cone around which the team revolved; it was my pugnacious stolidity the team needed, and my earnest direction. Big kicks! Big kicks!

Words to live by.

It is my most fervent desire to retire undefeated.

And, immediately.

Jozy Jozy Jozy!

He had one heckuva goal Saturday night.





vote for him here

Earth Day 2008

Well, I've done my part, bringing this little bevy* of beauty to the circus on this day ten years ago - (insert photo of Josephine here when blogger decides to cooperate)

And that's not all. I bought a reusable grocery bag. I can't remember to take it shopping, and maybe I need to get 12, but that's really a whole 'nother issue. When my mighty mighty Maytag bit the dust, I replaced it with a water-conservative front loader. I've been walking the half mile to the post office and I've been replacing light bulbs all over the house with the CFL ones as the standard ones burn out. In the bathroom, in the kitchen, in the bedrooms, etc.

How about you?

Confession: I don't care for the light that the CFL bulbs cast. It's cold and sterile and has the ambiance of a gynecological exam. I succumbed to the Dark Side in Walmart a few weeks ago. I bought an incandescent 3-way bulb for my reading lamp.

And I find myself worshipping that glorious warm golden light.

Years from now, when Antartica has melted, when the corn fields of the midwest are a barren dust bowl, when the only kind of tomato you can buy has been grown hydroponically, incandescent light bulbs will be outlawed. And only outlaws will have incandescent bulbs.








*shoutout to Elvis, not calling my youngest schizophrenic at all.