Why is it that my daughter Polly finds slugs disgusting, yet she will hold a snail and declare how cute he is and can she keep him? I mean, does the shell make one cute? Would a cute little turtle be ugly without his shell? Never mind, I just answered my own questions. Turtles aren’t cute, and I think I remember seeing Franklin without a shell during the days when I had to read the same books over and over to my kids until I thought I’d scream and he wasn’t cute either. Of course I could have said no, but back then I was very worried about being a wonderful mom. Now I am just hoping In Treatment comes back on soon because I want Gabriel Burne , sexually. I am like one of his patients, except I am not a doctor.

Speaking of doctors, a coworker of mine had an asthma attack the other night at work and then he started having a panic attack because he couldn’t breathe. I snapped at him, asking where his inhaler was. He replied that he kept it at home because he didn’t want to rely on it. If I had asthma I’d have an inhaler around my neck on a dog chain. I’d probably carry another one in my purse in case of malfunction.

I told him my CPR was rather rusty and he laughed and I offered him a Klonopin. I probably made the right decision when I decided not to go to Nursing School.

Speaking of shells, this would be a great time for a “to circumcise or not to circumcise?” fight in my comments. I personally agree with the idea of letting your son make the choice himself. As for looking at penises, I am indifferent. I don’t really have much interest in looking at penises. When I was in second grade my eldest sister took me to Plaid Pantry and led me to the Kool-Aid section. I thought she was going to buy Kool-Aid and I was all excited because my Mom only gave us juice, water or milk. Or tea, or beer. Pop on special occasions.Forget it, I was writing about penises. My sister reached way back and pulled out some magazine and opened it up to a naked man. He was sitting there looking off to the side with that expression on his face, who me? I am not sitting on this chair naked. I screamed when I realized what I was seeing and pointed at the picture and yelled out, “Oh my god! It’s a slug!” My sister shoved the magazine back as she clapped her hand over her mouth to cover the laughter.

“We are stardust, we are golden,
We are billion year old carbon,
And we got to get ourselves back to the garden.”
Joni Mitchell

I highly recommend the gardening method set forth by Mel Bartholomew. In addition to the aforementioned website, his book is available on Amazon. When we first bought this house, I had visions of turning the backyard into a beautiful garden. After struggling with the rockiest, crappiest soil I have ever encountered in my life, I was ready to give up. Using the square foot method I was able to grow herbs and vegetables without breaking my back. I only wish I’d known about it sooner.

For those who want to garden but think they can’t with no yard, I recommend The Bountiful Container. Even if you just have room for one pot this book can help you learn to grow some of your own food. I know that I personally find gardening to be extremely therapeutic.

A lot of people have asked me how I manage to get my children to eat so many vegetables. One of the things I’ve done has been involving them in the process of selecting seeds or starts and planting their own food. Something about the tending of their very own plants helps to encourage them to eat vegetables. I also allow both of them to be a part of the selection process in the produce department and before meal times. Now that they are older I am teaching them to cook. Even as they struggle with some of the more complex procedures I try hard to encourage them. When they make something all by themselves they are very proud, even my fifteen year old son, who has no trouble putting on an apron and joining me in the kitchen.

One more thing, don’t be afraid to continue to serve things that your kids have previously said that they hate. Sometimes it takes numerous attempts before they become accustomed to a new food.

Oh, and if you can, start when they are very young. I feel as a mother that food battles are not something I choose to have in my house. There have been times when my kids have refused to eat, or when they have declared that they will only each such and such… When they were small we had a policy that they had to at least try one bite. Now that they are older (12 and 15) I don’t push food issues. I try to keep the house stocked with healthy foods and sometimes treats and remember that they will not starve to death.

Nathan reads S.E.X. by Heather Corinna

Polly reads the brand new Harry Potter book.

Summer is going well so far. I had forgotten how much more food our kids seem to consume when they’re off school. It seems as if they were born with hollow legs. Also, Polly has been having friends spend the night, and the addition of a few more mouths to feed has made it always time to run to the store. I have been hitting the farmer’s markets this year, as well as a store that I found quite by accident that sells items directly from farmers, resulting in huge savings. With the plan to freeze a lot, I went a little crazy. They had these huge bags of red and green peppers for sale for $2.99 per bag. I had planned to roast some, and then maybe make stuffed peppers. I ended up chopping a whole bunch to freeze so they wouldn’t go bad. Add to that chore the vast quantity of Oregon berries I just had to buy, by the flat, of course, and I have been spending a lot of time in the kitchen. Oregon strawberries are so good that I couldn’t resist. They are so sweet and juicy that they really put the California berries I had been buying to shame. I wanted to stock up, but with all of these kids to feed and the possibilities of numerous desserts, not to mention just plain snacking, and it doesn’t look as if they will be lasting as long as I had hoped. Maybe I should buy some more before the season ends. Alex and I talked it over and decided to buy a food processor. I had a blister on my hand from all of the chopping, so my “yes” vote was admittedly biased. It arrived today from Amazon and I haven’t tried it out yet. Alex mentioned that if we had more tomatoes he could whip up a batch of salsa, but I don’t want to go to the store again.

My Mom bought a house so she is very stressed right now. She closes in less than 30 days. It is a nice ranch style, three bedroom, 2 bathrooms with an attached garage and a beautiful yard. It is about 15 minutes from my house by car, but it’s walking distance to my sister Maria’s house, so at least we won’t have as much worry with her being so far away from family as she is now. I know that her tastes run more to the large 2 or 3 story Victorian style houses she has always been drawn to, but I convinced her that a one level house would be easier for her, especially in the years to come. She already has one artificial knee and her doctor has said it is only a matter of time before she needs to have the other knee done and also a hip. She just can’t have all of those stairs to deal with. I reminded her that she promised to pay someone to move her so I am secretly hoping she doesn’t even ask me. Why can’t my mom like rattan furniture? It’s so light.

Not much else going on here. We have decided to send Nathan back to high school in the fall. He needs the social interaction and I am not the best home schooler in the world. Trying to get a 15 year old with ADHD to study is hell. I did manage to get him to read a few books though, and I am happy to report he is now reading for pleasure. He even asked me to take him to Powell’s book store the other day and I almost passed out. Polly was mad that I was so excited because she is always asking me to take her to Powell’s, but Nathan has willingly read a book in years.

My camera is still in the shop and I am starting to get pissed. I want it back! Alex asked me if they had sent it to Japan when they told me they were shipping it out to be repaired to keep costs more economical and I had to admit that I hadn’t asked them.

We are going to the beach for five days next week and I am looking forward to getting out of town, even if it does mean shaving parts of my body that usually go neglected.

Human sexuality has always been a subject of great interest for me. Growing up I felt very isolated because in my family sex wasn’t ever talked about, except to say that it wasn’t to be done until we were married. At a church rummage sale, of all places, I came across a box sitting on the floor filled with paperbacks; it contained the Holy Grail for a young girl like me, a stack of Nancy Friday books and one book containing Penthouse letters. As my hands shook I tried to figure out how I was going to get these up to the table where the nuns, who were also my teachers, were taking the money. I decided the best course of action was to grab several more paperbacks and hide the books in the middle of the large stack. My idea worked. She just counted the spines quickly while they were still in my hands and told me they were a dime a piece. I managed to not get caught by my parents and when we arrived home I hid them under my bed. Over the years I would read those books until they fell to pieces and in the same way I devoured the copy of Anais Nin’s “Delta of Venus” that I picked up somewhere else.

While I had plenty of reading material to pour over, I was lacking someone to discuss my own personal sexuality with. Once while at a slumber party, during a game of truth or dare, a girl was asked to admit a secret that she was ashamed of, something she had never admitted to anyone. With obviously significant hesitation, she admitted that she had once had a dream that she was having sex with someone famous, and that she had become so excited she had touched herself when she woke up. The girls squealed and laughed in horror, some of them burying their faces in their pillows. To make matters worse, when she was asked who the famous man was , she admitted that it was Henry Winkler aka “The Fonz” ,from Happy Days. The poor girl spent her remaining years at that school having people look at her, make the double thumbs up sign, and say “Aaay!!!!”

What I should have done was hugged her at that slumber party and told her that I too had fantasies and dreams. I could have admitted that Chef Brockett from Mister Rogers turned ME on; he with the gravely voice, always whipping up treats in the kitchen.

As I aged things finally began to turn around for me. I found friends I could talk about sex with. Masturbation changed from something that no one would admit to into something just about everyone admitted doing. I began hearing, from friends and even coworkers I didn’t know very well, fetishes they had, and what they fantasized about. A lot of it was pretty basic, some of it was off the wall, but surprisingly, to me, only a few things really grossed me out. I am not saying that everything I heard was a personal turn on, just that it seemed natural to me that people would be aroused by different objects, or different thoughts. I was also fascinated by where these turn ons came from. I asked some people if they knew why they were turned on by feet, or lingerie (when their boyfriend was wearing it), or by having their hair pulled. No one seemed to know. They just liked what they liked. One woman broke down and cried because she fantasized about being raped and she had felt guilty about it her whole life. She had never been raped; she was certain that she’d be devastated if she was, but she couldn’t seem to stop her mind from those thoughts. That woman I did hug.

I used to imagine studying sexuality in college. When I enrolled for the first time I tried to take the class “The Psychology of Human Sexuality” only to find out that there was a waiting list with hundreds of names on it ahead of mine. I finally just broke down and got a copy of the textbook and read it. I found it interesting in parts, but lacking in many ways.

For several years my Mom owned a house that had been converted into a four plex. In the beginning only family lived there, but over the years as my siblings and I all moved out and then eventually had some sort of life crisis that required us to move back in (my sister Maria used to refer to it as The Hotel California), my Mom often rented out some of the units to other people. Sometimes I got along very well with these people; sometimes I avoided them at all costs. There was one woman in particular my sister Maria and I just loved hanging out with. In the mornings we would take turns making coffee and then sit on the front porch with our mugs. We talked about all sorts of things as we took turns holding Nathan, who was a baby at the time. One day this woman, I’ll call her Dee, mentioned that she had a thing for men in uniform. My sister started talking about how sexy she felt when she wore a tool belt. I wasn’t really interested in the conversation as I was too busy craning my neck, looking for the mailman. They finally started to chide me, “Come on. Cops, firemen, Marines?” I turned to them and replied, “No. Mailmen.” They laughed and laughed, my sister even going so far as to hold her stomach, as she rocked back and forth. “You’re attracted to our mailman?”

I tried to explain, “It’s not the mailman. It could even be a mailwoman. It doesn’t matter who it is. It’s not even the uniform. It’s the bag they carry, a bag filled with possibilities.”

At that point they stopped laughing and started listening to me. I had never verbalized this before, and I knew my “bag filled with possibilities” line was going to come back to haunt me later, so I tried very hard to articulate my thoughts. Everyday, except for Sundays, I looked forward to the mail. There was always that moment right before it hit my box that it could be anything. Of course it was almost always bills, coupons, junk mail, and the occasional magazine. Sometimes, however, the most exciting thing would happen and in my box would be a handwritten letter.

It mattered who the letter was from, of course. Getting a letter is always really cool, especially now that email and the telephone have almost done away with handwritten correspondence, but if someone I am attracted to takes the time to sit down and write me, it is a huge turn on for me. This might come from the one guy I had in my life who seemed to get what I was meaning when after he had written me an eight page letter in cursive, complete with little drawings down each side, I looked at him and said, “You give good ink.” The next day another letter was pressed in my hands, and then the next day and the next…

I also love paper. I have been pulled out of the office supply section by a bored friend or family member at more than one store. I love the clean sheets of paper, so ready and waiting for the flow of someone’s pen. I love that wax you can buy, melt, and drip onto the back of an envelope, pressing a stamp into the middle of it before it hardens.

Doing research on fetishes yesterday I was surprised that the third hit I got off of google was an article categorizing a fetish as a mental disorder. I mean, I can see how it could be. But if an adult is taking part in something that brings them pleasure, whether it is alone or with another consenting adult, why is that classified as an illness? I also came across this, which I found to be an interesting read.

I have come to terms with the fact that oftentimes things that I was curious about as a child will be things I will continue to wonder about as an adult. I used to think that age brought wisdom, which it can, but it can also bring more questions instead of all of the answers that I thought I would find. The only thing I am certain of is what I had an inkling of as a little girl. We are sexual by nature and it can be and should be considered normal and healthy. I hope that I have been open enough with my own kids to encourage them to grow into well adjusted sexually comfortable adults. And for those times when either I or my kids feels uncomfortable discussing a certain topic, fortunately there is the amazing Heather Corinna, who has poured countless hours into creating a book I recently purchased that I expect will end up as worn out as the ones I hid under my bed. She also has a website for teens that I wish I could have had as a resource when I was a teen.

I swear. I just had to say, Belle! Perry Como, I love him. Check this out . I was watching it last night and Polly came and sat down beside me. She watched for a few seconds and then looked up at me and asked, “Mommy, do you think he’s handsome?”I noted that she said handsome instead of cute or hot, which are her usual words for attractive. “Yes, I do.” I replied. She watched me watching the screen for a little while longer and then asked, “Does dad know?” I laughed, but I’m thinking he might soon, especially when I ask him to get me some Perry Como songs for my Ipod. He had a voice that makes me melt inside, seriously.

Also, I couldn’t read “Interview With a Vampire” either. My husband loved it so much that he wanted me to read it. I started it over and over until I finally gave up. I did, however, read every page of Anne Rice’s erotica.

I love these guilty pleasure comments. John Denver seems to be a common one. I was expecting Smokey Robinson, Neil Diamond, Julio Iglesias and maybe even a little Jimmy Buffett.

Ok, back to the real writing, if I can get anything done in between phone calls from my Mom, who returned from Ireland last night and has so much to tell me that my phone has been ringing all morning. I told her she should just come over, especially since she claims to have tons of gifts for everyone, and one of them just has to be a fine whiskey, doesn’t it?

Do I remember someone saying that talking about your dreams is one of the lowest forms of communication? I am going to do it anyway.

Last night my dream was the following. I was at a strip club with my all time favorite writer, Charles Bukowski. Instead of it being like a regular strip club, (well I’ve only been to one in my life and that was under horrific circumstances, but that is a story for another day perhaps), it was like an old theater with a stage and then the rows of seats. I was seated beside Buk, but leaning over, practically in his lap. I was rubbing up against him and he was telling me about the awesome food they had there as we watched the women dance.

When his plate came it had this huge juicy steak on it with a pile of vegetables on the side. The few of you who “know me” might remember that I am a vegetarian; I have been for twenty years. Although many have assumed that I do it for health reasons, like for the same reasons I smoke Camels, or because I care about animals; I swear to God anyone who has spent anytime hanging out with chickens or sheep will realize that anyone who eats them is probably doing the world a favor; the truth is I can’t stand the thought of eating dead animals. (Damn that was a long, poorly written sentence. I’m not changing it.) It just sickens me. Eating animals. Not writing crappy sentences, obviously.

So in the dream my mouth is watering and I wanted that steak so badly that I finally couldn’t stand it so I ordered one, rare. I drowned it in steak sauce, ate it quickly, and ordered another one. Bukowski told me that if I promised to have sex with him daily until he died he would give me 2000 dollars per month, buy me a strip club and let me manage it. I quickly agreed. I like that idea. I would train my dancers in the old style burlesque dancing, which was really so much sexier anyway. I would pass out free condoms at the door. I could hand out copies of the book “She Comes First”, and make sure the men took their drunken asses home to their wives in a cab instead of driving. I would go out of business in a week.

When I awoke this morning I was very hungry and I felt sort of strange about the dream. I don’t think I’ve ever craved meat in such a way. Maybe what I’m craving is A-1?

Did this entry have a point? Not really, huh? I am frazzled today. I have this notebook where I jot down ideas for journal entries. If my shrink got a hold of it he would probably change his diagnosis and up all the meds. I’ll have to start referring to it for ideas. Some ideas on the list: Rubik’s cube, Licking Spoons, Destined For Greatness, Breakfast of Champions $1.99 special, A Mom, an Aunt and some Q-Tips, Laughter at the Most Inopportune Moments, I have Better Hair Than You, You Ice Cream Cone Licking Bitch. See what I mean? Looks crazy, but every one of those sparks my memory and I could write an entry based upon my scrawling. If I don’t write it down soon after I think about it it is usually gone.

I found a book to read now that I’ve finished “The Names of the Dead”, which I recommend by the way. The descriptions of the war in Vietnam were very graphic and might be troubling to just about anybody, but it was a good read. The new book I am reading is “Sophie’s Choice”. Look at me with the feel good material! It’s on my mental list of books I feel as if I should have read by now, but I haven’t. When I was younger I used to lie when confronted about such books. Someone would mention Pride and Prejudice or something else that supposedly everyone has read,and I would lie, nodding my head as if I’d read it. Then I did read it and I thought blech, what was everyone raving about? That’s not the point though. Now I don’t feel as if I have to lie. I have never completed an Ayn Rand novel. See, try it. It feels so freeing. It’s the same with music. As a teen and a young adult I would cover up my true taste in music. Now I can admit that not only do I have some Fleetwood Mac songs on my IPod; I have some Bee Gees on there as well.

What secrets are you hiding in your music collection? Do you pretend that you finished War and Peace? Do tell.

to Karen for the link. I can remember when I first started writing this I couldn’t even imagine anyone reading my words; now I have people linking to me. It really does make me feel good and us depressed people can use all the help we can get in that department. Of course 99.9% of this I owe to the beautiful Jane who has encouraged me and sent readers my way, some of whom have stuck around.

No one suggested any books but don’t worry, it’s not too late. I am always open to suggestions for books as I absolutely must have something to keep me occupied on the bus. I found The Names of the Dead on my bookshelf and started reading it. It’s sort of a downer but I haven’t gotten very far yet.

I’ll try my hardest to get back tomorrow with a real entry.

I finished reading “ Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” by Hunter S. Thompson and then quickly read “ Dress Your Family In Corduroy and Denim” By David Sedaris. I am currently reading “ The Rum Diaries” by Hunter S. Thompson. I liked Fear and Loathing, although I noticed that accounts of drug fueled trips tend to make me a bit panicky. Perhaps I am remembering the old days when I used to take acid. For the most part I always had a good time, but I had a couple of bad trips that were enough to scare me off psychedelics for life. David Sedaris delivered exactly what I wanted him to. I laughed at a few of the stories and even laughed out loud at a couple of them. The Rum Diaries is interesting to me because Thompson started it when he was only 22, I believe, and you can see the early development of what would become his signature style. Plus, the descriptions of San Juan in the 1950s paint such a vivid picture. I wish that I could do a better job with that in my writing.
I will soon need to find a new book to read. I have several around the house that I haven’t read yet and I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t get anymore until I had finished the ones I’ve not read. Easier said than done, because books are sometimes given to me as gifts, but those don’t count, right? If anyone has any suggestions please leave them in the comment section. I could always use my trusty library card.
Nathan is doing well. I got some textbooks and we are studying together at home. This is just a temporary solution until we can get him into another school, but for now it’s working fine. Polly is getting ready to finish up sixth grade. I can’t believe how fast this year has gone.

if I am still breathing, eating, drinking, moving, cooking, cleaning, talking, recycling, taking the garbage out, feeding the kids and cats, going to the store, replacing the toilet paper when the roll runs out, loading the washer, the dryer, the dishwasher, answering the telephone, the e-mails, the kids, the mom, the husband, reading the newspaper, watching the news, making sympathetic head tilts and appropriate noises over sad news, chuckling over funny things, taking my daughter to school, picking her up again, thinking about the future, wondering if I’ll ever amount to anything, wondering if I have amounted to anything, growing tired of wondering, watching movies I’ve been waiting to see (Babel, Factotum, Stranger Than Fiction), planning what book to read next (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas),bathing, brushing teeth and hair, dreaming, remembering Birthdays, planning a garden, mopping the floor, remembering to get the mail, pay the bills, sign permission slips, pack lunches, play board games, pull weeds, pop pills each day. I must be okay then.