Black History With Grandma Bell

"There was a horse...a bartender...and a gloryhole..."

Rolling In Poppies

You may remember me talking last year about the best seat in the house on Mother's Day? Well, obviously, I still feel that way. And I often feel more numb with each passing day that I remain so far away from my Mom.

So, it's Mother's Day here in the States. And as far as I'm concerned, everyday should be "Mother's Day". Or at least one day a week...or every other week...or at least once a month. All of us celebrating our Mothers with an awareness on a regular basis, whether they're still physically with us or not.

And actually, I'm not sure that many of us don't already do that in some way.

But, anyway, whether you're a mom or not, and whether you're fortunate enough to be celebrating with your mom or not, I hope that your mothers are happy and feeling loved today, no matter where they are... I hope that they know how much they're loved, as I love mine.

And I hope that they're as joyful and content as rolling naked in a field of poppies...minus the dirt, bees and ants. But, just basking in a peace and freedom.


"Girl In Poppies" by William Bezek. Oil on canvas (Private collection)

Everything

A little over a month ago, between mine and Will's family, we lost a cousin, an uncle, a horse and a dog. All of them were loved by us.

The cousin and uncle I hadn't seen in a long, long time. Their images from years ago are frozen in my mind, completely still, in time. I can remember their youthfulness and while my mind remembers their images, my heart can still feel their good nature. Their quick wit and easy, infectious laughter...And there they shall stay, in my heart.

The horse and the dog, Will and I saw and loved daily, regularly, over at Will's folks' place. I remember the deep, dark glow of Shiloh's glossy eyes (the horse, not Brad and Angelina's kid) staring back at me, trusting me...

And I can still feel the immense, unconditional love of Judah's eyes...The rescue dog that Will's mom had...I couldn't get enough of mashing my forehead to his and telling him how much I loved him, how much we all loved him. He was ALWAYS a big, wagging, lovely, ottoman of a lab. Yes, you read right, he was like an ottoman. A big, furry, wagging ottoman. The kind you put your feet up on to rest, not the kind that invaded the Balkan peninsula.

I shed tears over all of these souls. And at night, after I knew that Will had fallen into slumber, I would cry myself to sleep, aching that I wouldn't see those truly awesome muscles in Shiloh's neck again, and feel his trust. Or feel that soft fur of Judah's head upon my own, and feel his love. Both felt undeserved.

I've been reluctant to write this post, because I didn't want to cry anymore...like I'm doing right now...

But something prompted me to...Furious has lost his father. I'm devastated for him and his family.

And even though I know that death is as natural as birth, sometimes I'm paralyzed at the thought of how temporary it all is.

I don't subscribe to any one religion. I think that to imagine that god, or the universe, or creation, whatever you want to call it, could fit into one, into anything that the limited human mind can conjure up is ludicrous.

However, I do study philosophy from many different religions and disciplines. And I contemplate at great length on my own ideas.

They change and evolve, sometimes dissolve and transform again with the seasons. I ponder and wonder and meditate of what it's all about and most of the time, I'm okay with what I don't know.

But one thing that I do know, is that the word "nothing" is hypocrisy. There is no such thing as nothing. There is always something.

And by the very nature of science, energy and matter is always changing...always transforming...But the fact remains, that it's always there.

Whether it's water, which we're mostly made up of, that evaporates and gathers into the sky as vapor and clouds only to rain, or snow, or hail down upon the earth again. Or whether it's electricity that is fleeting in the form of lightening, or static. Or whether it's literally mulch, a ground up tree, feeding the earth and the plants and other trees, becoming part of them...

It all goes on. It always does. And the story is always, continued.

I wrote the below poem quite a while back, when I was suffering from the Wilson's disease and wasn't aware of it yet. It was as though something in me knew that I was dying... And Will has illustrated a collection of my work and hopefully one day, we'll publish it together. So, his illustration follows the poem. I hope that you enjoy both.

THE FAMILIAR BREEZE AND THE KNOWING TREES...

The rain that falls upon my face
One drop after another,
It is cold and it is wet,
My body emits a shudder.

The sidewalk that is slate I think,
Concrete, or maybe stone,
It really doesn’t matter
For I walk here all alone.

All streets become familiar
And to my soul they feel
As though I’ve walked upon them,
Stood still or did so kneel.

In any difference of this place
Or that one that I was,
A solitary figure,
Alone…that’s what it does.

Place to place and
Time and time some more,
It’s me who moves alone again
Along this fine ole’ floor.

If I walk, or if I run,
Or if I fly through air,
I do it by myself so much,
Do I feel despair?

This bird is see, the grass I feel,
The flowers that I smell,
The breeze that does blow by my lips,
This is who I tell,

Of secrets that I have
And dreams that I do hold.
No one to hear, but winds blow by
And this is whom I’ve told.

As years go by and my heart grows weak,
And ears, they come and go,
My one true love will still be there,
The wind will always blow.

Place to place and time moves on,
My shell begins to wither.
I’m near the end, my love does come
To hear my last good whisper.

By my lips the wind does move,
And picks up my last song.
The last I fear that you will hear from me
Now that I’m gone.

And so I die, or so it seems
And now I’m truly dust.
My love does come and carry me
Through trees and sky, it must.

And now I am apart of them,
Alone I shall not be,
The wind that does blow by your face,
Please smile, ‘cause it’s me.

Step-Ball-Step

So, last night I dreamt that some blind woman kept stepping on my balls.

1. I have no idea why I was lying on the floor, clothed, but with my legs spread apart. (Besides being a hussy, I have no other reason to have been doing that. I know, I know, being a hussy should be reason enough.)

2. Nor do I have any idea as to why this blind woman didn't REALIZE that she was at least stepping on SOMETHING...My balls aren't THAT small. The Bish. Maybe she thought they were cantaloupes. Or maybe she couldn't feel her extremities. I think it's more probable that she thought they were cantaloupes.

3. AND I have no idea why I didn't just tell her, "HEY, LADY!! YOU'RE STEPPIN' ON MY F-ING BALLS!! YOU AND YOUR GOD DAMN CANE SHOULD GO TRAMPLE SOMETHING ELSE!!"

And before one of you say that I liked it, and THAT'S why I didn't say anything, I didn't. Okay?

Not even a little.

Okay, maybe a little.

Sally Field - Boning Eva

Why can't all of the bullshit advertising for pharmaceuticals be like this??

HUH?? WHY CAN'T IT??

Sally boning Eva. Heh. That's dirty.

"Oh yeah...Eva like Momma Sally doing that? Huh? Yeah? Eva like? YOU NAUGHTY, DIRTY BIRD!! EVA'S GONNA GET A SPANKIN'!!...WELL, YOU WILL JUST AS SOON AS THIS PILL KICKS IN AND TAKES CARE OF MY FUCKING ARTHRITIS, YOU DIRTY, DIRTY BIRD!!"

what the hell is wrong with me?

Fritz Haeg Is A Total Badass

There are many things that I love the English for; The Sandwich being one of them and John Montagu, the Fourth Earl of Sandwich.

Or Earl Grey tea. And we can thank Charles Grey (Second Earl), who was a British diplomat on a mission to China for this lovely blend.

And of course I love the English for


David Beckham and what he does with balls. He can bend them...Yeah.

However, what I'm not quite that fond of that we've imported from the English have been our lawns. It's not really that I dislike beautiful green lawns. It's that I dislike the amount of energy, water and chemicals that go into treating a present day American lawn.

THAT, I not only dislike, I...I...STRONGLY dislike it!

So, there. And why so STRONGLY do I dislike it you ask? Well: Grass Cutting Beats Driving in Making Air Pollution for one.

And then, add in the amount of water and Chem-lawns to eradicate weeds and other "pests", and then weed-whackers and leaf blowers...It just strikes me as not only ridiculous, but destructive and toxic.

Somewhere along the lines, I think that some people have forgotten that the "Environment" is not a separate entity from us. And it's truly more our home than the houses we construct and inhabit.

Growing up, I often thought that we should just let ivy, or some other ground cover fill in the lawn. Or better yet, just plant more trees.

We rarely really used our lawn. For Frisbee occasionally, or tossing the football. My family occasionally used to have a football game in the backyard on Thanksgiving Day. And I understand having a little bit of lawn for recreation.

I don't understand polluting in order to do so, though.

In the United Kingdom, they're one thing. And the climate there can certainly support them. But, when I see the amount of lawns out here in the West, where most of the climates are dry and desert-like, it's just ludicrous to me.

Well, anyway,


Fritz Haeg is a total badass because he's declared war on America's lawns. And he wants to replace them with "edible garden estates". Hence, his Edible Estates Gardenlab project.

And not only has it succeeded in people growing and enjoying their own organic food, it's bringing neighbors together in Salinas, Kansas, and Austin, Texas and Baltimore, Maryland and...It's creating community.

And yes, it's "Greener Than Grass".

Will and I look forward to the day when we have a house with a garden to grow our own food. We're in a condo for the moment and we have a patch of patio that measures about 2 feet by 2 feet and is just large enough for us to go out there to take a piss. It keeps the coyotes away. They like really small patios.

So, we're looking forward to one day having a little more space to grow some vegetables and have some fruit trees.

And I've already begun contemplating what type of scarecrow we might have.


I think that something like this would work. No?


***6 ingredients for a green, clean home***

Fitzwilliam's Wish

When Panic Attacks (Part Dos)

Well, he DID speak English. And that was his way of telling me so.

As the puke simmered at the back of my throat and the saliva sat in my mouth waiting for its chance to pave the way, and I prepared to scream, "FOR THE LOVE OF GODZILLA, I'M GONNA HURL!!!", he introduced himself.

His name was Tomoki Ikeda and he was my savior.

Or at the very least, he kept me from puking on him.

He exuberantly showed me his Beverly Hills 90210 book and asked me if I watched the show and if America was like that.

I actually don't really care for television so much. And at the time, I didn't even own a T.V. So, I said, "Oh Tomoki, I don't watch that crap."

He looked disappointed, which made me feel bad, so I said, "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I watch it. I watch 90210! I do. And some of America is like that. But, no, not all."

This made him happy, which made me happy, which in turn, made my puke UN-happy, because show-time just got canceled.

So, then he asked me if I ate at McDonald's, which almost made me vomit on the spot. And I said, "Oh Tomoki, I don't eat that crap."

And, he looked disappointed, which also made me feel bad, so I said, "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I do. I eat McDonald's sometimes, but not often."

This made him happy too.

Tomoki Ikeda loved everything "American". Which kind of bummed me out. Here he was coming from this incredible, steeped culture, yet he wanted to be "American". Which our pop culture has always just seemed so fleeting to me.

Ah well, I'm sure that it's somewhat fundamental in the interest of something other than what we know.

Tomoki and I had developed a friendship and he really was a savior that night. We took the bus to the end of the line, then grabbed a cab together to my hotel, which luckily wasn't much further.

He wanted to make sure that I arrived safely at my hotel, going out of his way to do so. He was on his way home to his wife and children, but my piercing blue eyes, strong jaw line and other Adonis-like features led him astray.

He came up to my room, where we put on Kimonos, did each others' nails, and he showed me the land of the rising sun.

NO!! It was our hair we did, not our NAILS!! SILLY!

He just wanted to make certain that I arrived safely at my hotel. And it was truly kind of him.

In the coming time, we would meet for sushi, or drinks, and I would help him with his English and he would help me with Japanese culture. He would even take me sight seeing to neighboring cities.

The friendship was instant. And sincere. There was nothing but curiosity and respect between us. And it was simple and yet, remarkable.

Well, let us flash ahead 14 years leaving Tomoki with Donna Martin and his Big Macs to the other night when I thought my heart was going to blow through my boobs.

I awoke in the middle of the night with my heart racing. I was chilled and had an intense headache. I couldn't catch my breath as it kept leaping all around the room.

I woke up Will and told him what was going on. Where he then, as you know, replied, "It's probably an anxiety attack...Bish."

Nice.

So, unconsciously of course, to get back at him, I began to blow the worst farts EVER. They were awful. So, THEN, I became nauseous, because the stinkers almost made me puke.

(By the way, you may be noticing a pattern here...I puke easily. Which is fine when you have food poisoning. And not so fine when you're at a social event.)

Okay, so back to those horrendous farts. Let's just say, had someone lit a match near my hole, well...


you would've made a wish when you saw me racing against the night sky.

This was not a fun experience for anyone involved. Even the dogs were cross-eyed.

While not being able to catch my breath, I realized at one point, Will was holding my hand telling me to breathe. And it appeared to me like I was in labor.

I realized that my legs were bent at the knees, with the soles of my feet on the bed. Will was holding my hand, instructing me to take deep breaths, which I was.

I was going, "AAA--HHAAAAA, AAA-HHAAAA, AA-HHAAAA,"

I thought, any moment, he's going to yell, "PUSH!! PUSH!!! COME ON!! I SEE THE HEAD!!!"

I thought about telling him to run for blankets and hot water.

Why do they always run for blankets and hot water?? Why don't I ever hear, "HURRY!! GO GET SOME SCISSORS AND A CATCHER'S MIT, YOU WORTHLESS ASS-MEAT! THIS BABY'S GONNA BLOW!!"

No, you never hear that. It's always blankets and hot water.

So, anyway, I was huffing and puffing, my heart was racing, my head was throbbing, I was sweaty, then chilled, blowing big horrible farts and nauseous. Usually, I consider this foreplay, but this time it wasn't.

I scampered into the bathroom to feel the gorgeous cool tile upon my naked body and was looking forward to that cool feeling of lying my face down upon it, even if I came up with a beard of pubes. I didn't care. Again, normally foreplay. This time, not so much.

I ALWAYS look forward to that cool tile where I begin my prayer sessions to god, pleading for help and negotiating my penance before I'm going to puke.

Well, I didn't puke. And Will managed to get me to take some aspirin, which helped with the incredible headache.

I eventually crawled back into bed, pleading with kindness to make me feel better. And soon, but not soon enough, my heart began to slow, the gas continued to blow and I think that we didn't so much fall back to sleep, but we were more likely to have been knocked out...You know...From the toots.

In the morning, I woke up feeling exhausted and rather stunned that I had that episode. There was no baby lying beside me and luckily, I didn't shit the bed.

Besides the event with Tomoki, that was unlike me. But, there's been a lot going on in our lives lately. And I think my body is telling me to keep life in perspective and to live moderation.

Happiness and health of course, go hand in hand. And they're a balancing act. And it was a really humbling reminder for me to stay balanced. Or at least to try to.