Season's greetings! I hope each and every one of you is exactly where you want to be right now...and if you aren't, then I hope that this unfortunate situation will soon be remedied. I will now be taking a short break in my blog posts to bring you a couple of oldies but goodies. The following one is timely and is apparently a favorite of my delightful readers. Thank you for your continuing interest and participation in and of my reflections. Please stay tuned for these upcoming reflections... "Record Highes," "It's apparent envy." and "Cig(regrets)".
Yours Truly,
Tava.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Santa...jolly 'ol philanthropist or scary bearded sociopath?
Yes- it is in fact, the most wonderful time of the year....although I must say that Flag Day is creeping up to a really close second, especially since that one might be the only one that doesn't get taken over by either the retail market or the secular progressives...but I digress. But alas, during this hap hap happiest season of all, I have stumbled upon a bit of an issue which I admit, I did not see coming.Even though my girls are very young (2 1/2 and 1 1/2 for those of you just tuning in), I worry for their safety. They are so friendly and trusting, made evident just recently by my eldest when, while our household goods were being delivered, I looked up and panicked when I realized she was out of my visual range. Thankfully, about five seconds later, I saw her coming down the stairs, HAND IN HAND with one of the movers. And so began the Stranger Danger Talk...
Fast forward to the night before our squadron children's Christmas party, when I'm sitting down, eldest daughter on my knee, happily explaining what would be her first encounter with 'Ol Saint Nick. Raise your hand if you see where this is going...
So, after I'd gone into great detail that she would be sitting on this man's lap, telling him her name, whether she's been naughty or nice and accepting whatever gift or possibly candy this "Santa Claus" would offer, I knew the exact thoughts brewing behind those round, espresso eyes.
and then came my stammering soliloquy...
"Ok Lady Bug, everything I've told you about strangers still goes. Don't talk to them. Except at Christmas time..well, only if it's a man and he is giving candy and presents...no, only if he's in a disguise...no, when there are elves around? Crap. It's alright to sit on a strange man's lap if all of the other kids are doing it...no, only the nice kids...no, only if you've been nice?? Crap. Only sit on the lap of of a man who is Santa Claus, although he won't have ID, because he's not real...I mean, he is real... but he will have left his ID in the sleigh... Crap. Only if you're at a mall and he's dressed up like Santa and there's a photographer and he's not holding a bell, and isn't asking for money and doesn't smell like alcohol...and only if he has kind eyes and can name all of his reindeer without hesitation. Crap... (clear throat) Honey, unless Mommy or Daddy say otherwise, don't talk to strangers... "
Luckily she's 2 1/2 and probably only caught the word "candy" out of the whole thing... or else she'll be having nightmares about said scary, red man coming down our chimney...
Letter to the Editor (a blast from the past)
Dear Mr. editor, Sir-
I, well...
I am, uh...
I am writing to say
That there are moments when he makes me smile so hard
That I grind my teeth to powder.
Like last night
When we did a slow groove
Under a blanket full of stars,
Wearing towels that smelled of chlorine and a dry red.
They were warm, moist, and felt nice to drunken skin.
Undulating and pliable like clay
He
Made
Me.
It was the first time
I had wanted
Anything
So
Badly.
He tasted like wet spices and sugar,
Familiar and yet
Exotic
Somehow.
Yearning from under a tangled web of
Auburn
Toward tricky and relentless
Azure eyes
And you know-
Just when my skin felt ready to unravel
Those eyes-
They hid him in a mysterious cloak
Like
Some Forbidden
Prize.
Sir, I am writing to say,
Well...
About the whole affair,
He and I,
Me and...
Him-
Bent back, doing a rounded tangle of pretzel pirouette
On a too red, too overstuffed couch like two
Broken
Ballerinas...all the while talking about that one song,
What was it? Or that painting or
Apples.
Yes, we talked and it was like
Cold water falling nervously and anxiously on a
Desperate
Tongue.
I remember
As if it were stained henna on my mind.
We were in a church
Upstairs under a low, dingy ceiling
Walls with words celebrating Christiandom.
He introduced himself
And when I told him my name
I could feel the warmth of the word as it left
His lips.
I don't think he breathed...when he said it.
I think he sang it,
Notes that dripped from his tongue like something flammable
And he...
Set.
Me.
On.
Fire.
Uh, Mr. Editor,
You see,
That was then
And this is 6 years since
And my heart has diced through countless red lights,
(Didn't want to see 'em.)
Blown through intersections and cut all caution to pieces.
It is accelerating somewhere between 90 and a stroke,
And all of it just to be back where I was
6 years ago.
He is James Bond in a martini-
Except,
I'm shaken...stirred.
I'm giddy and dizzied and maniacal
And he,
He surrounds me like tightly woven bamboo poles
As he pretends not to stare at the fabric of my blouse.
But he does and it's slow, ivory seduction
As he falls onto my cherries jubilee lipstick.
He is
Absolutely
The same
After all this time.
But his eyes,
They're tricky and relentless
and azure.
I can feel the passages of my heart collapsing,
The blood evaporating into every deep breath that I take.
I am worse than nervous,
I am triple-dip terrified
In a waffle cone.
Yesterday was
The day after
The day
That something happened between us.
I don't think that I know what.
And the moment is tear gas tricky
I am having thousands of minute heart attacks
Jerking around my good sense
Looking every couple of seconds in the rear view mirror
Just to make sure that
I haven't
Disappeared.
I don't remember my name, or the day or
Why
This man makes me feel like smooth cognac
But he does
And then he does it-
He does
And I am stupefied.
You see, Mr. Editor,
Sir, I am writing to you because I am not quite sure
How to tell him
That his
Capital I, capital L,
Little o, little v, little e,
Capital Y
Little o, little u
Isn't enough.
I've heard that one.
We had a connection.
Mr. Editor, the problem is,
His eyes,
They're tricky azure.
I, well...
I am, uh...
I am writing to say
That there are moments when he makes me smile so hard
That I grind my teeth to powder.
Like last night
When we did a slow groove
Under a blanket full of stars,
Wearing towels that smelled of chlorine and a dry red.
They were warm, moist, and felt nice to drunken skin.
Undulating and pliable like clay
He
Made
Me.
It was the first time
I had wanted
Anything
So
Badly.
He tasted like wet spices and sugar,
Familiar and yet
Exotic
Somehow.
Yearning from under a tangled web of
Auburn
Toward tricky and relentless
Azure eyes
And you know-
Just when my skin felt ready to unravel
Those eyes-
They hid him in a mysterious cloak
Like
Some Forbidden
Prize.
Sir, I am writing to say,
Well...
About the whole affair,
He and I,
Me and...
Him-
Bent back, doing a rounded tangle of pretzel pirouette
On a too red, too overstuffed couch like two
Broken
Ballerinas...all the while talking about that one song,
What was it? Or that painting or
Apples.
Yes, we talked and it was like
Cold water falling nervously and anxiously on a
Desperate
Tongue.
I remember
As if it were stained henna on my mind.
We were in a church
Upstairs under a low, dingy ceiling
Walls with words celebrating Christiandom.
He introduced himself
And when I told him my name
I could feel the warmth of the word as it left
His lips.
I don't think he breathed...when he said it.
I think he sang it,
Notes that dripped from his tongue like something flammable
And he...
Set.
Me.
On.
Fire.
Uh, Mr. Editor,
You see,
That was then
And this is 6 years since
And my heart has diced through countless red lights,
(Didn't want to see 'em.)
Blown through intersections and cut all caution to pieces.
It is accelerating somewhere between 90 and a stroke,
And all of it just to be back where I was
6 years ago.
He is James Bond in a martini-
Except,
I'm shaken...stirred.
I'm giddy and dizzied and maniacal
And he,
He surrounds me like tightly woven bamboo poles
As he pretends not to stare at the fabric of my blouse.
But he does and it's slow, ivory seduction
As he falls onto my cherries jubilee lipstick.
He is
Absolutely
The same
After all this time.
But his eyes,
They're tricky and relentless
and azure.
I can feel the passages of my heart collapsing,
The blood evaporating into every deep breath that I take.
I am worse than nervous,
I am triple-dip terrified
In a waffle cone.
Yesterday was
The day after
The day
That something happened between us.
I don't think that I know what.
And the moment is tear gas tricky
I am having thousands of minute heart attacks
Jerking around my good sense
Looking every couple of seconds in the rear view mirror
Just to make sure that
I haven't
Disappeared.
I don't remember my name, or the day or
Why
This man makes me feel like smooth cognac
But he does
And then he does it-
He does
And I am stupefied.
You see, Mr. Editor,
Sir, I am writing to you because I am not quite sure
How to tell him
That his
Capital I, capital L,
Little o, little v, little e,
Capital Y
Little o, little u
Isn't enough.
I've heard that one.
We had a connection.
Mr. Editor, the problem is,
His eyes,
They're tricky azure.
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