Two Bits

Brother and Sister Hash it Out

“It’s better to have one,” said Simon.
“It is?” asked Maddy.
Simon got off the stool they used to reach the sink. “Yeah.”
“But why? I can pee good."
“I can pee standing up. You have to sit down. And I have something to hold,
and you don’t have anything.”
“But you have to sit down sometimes.”
“Sure, but we’re talking about peeing. And mine feels good. Do you want to feel it?”
“I don’t think so. Anyway, Mom doesn’t have one. I’m like Mom.”
“Right. That's what they said before. You and Mom have vaginas but Dad and I have peanuts. Okay. I gotta put my trucks away."

“Maddy, did you brush your teeth yet? It’s past bedtime.” said  Dory.
“Not yet, Mommy.” Maddy’s elbows rested on her knees, her head in her hands.
“Honey, are you sad about something? Was Simon mean to you?”
“He said it was better to be a boy.”
“And why did he say that?”
“Because boys had peanuts and girls just have a hole and it doesn’t show.”
“It’s not better to be a boy. It’s just as good to be a girl as to be a boy, and I want you to believe me about that because it’s very important.”
Maddy stood up and flushed. She stepped on the stool and reached for her toothbrush.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Good. ‘Cause it wouldn’t be fair.”

_______________________________________________

Me, Jane

My sex life started in the back of a bus
on the way home from a middle school football game.
Dickie Young and I smashed our lips together
until one of us had to breathe.

Tongues got busy in high school-
necking was serious business.
I first did it on my 18th birthday.
It was time, and anyway, I was drunk.

Two months later, on a roof-top in Manhattan,
I finally got the kiss that plunged
from lips to spine, groin to knees.
And I'm telling you, I'd had no idea!
Take me to the jungle, Tarzan.
I'm ready to swing.

Nonnie's Poetry Trip: Part 3

So…the poetry festival over, signed editions packed, laundry bag bulging, I left Delray Beach to start my trip home to Panama City Beach. The feathers in the pillow that is me had been plumped and I felt fat and happy. (Er, let me be clear. I'd actually lost a little weight-lots of walking, fore-going restaurants except for lunches, and yogurt.) If I'd any tendency toward bluishness, it was insignificant, because I wasn't just trudging home. I was on my way to spend a night with Yvette, who I've known online for six years give or take, but only met in person last year, and from there on to Cormac and Nancy's. I've known Cormac my whole life.

Before heading out, I asked at the desk of my hotel, and no, there was no way to get to Titusville from Delray without using I-95. The young man made his point, with lovely patience, when he said, "you'll have a horrible drive and besides it will be ugly." But, you know? Once I drove through the south Florida crush, the interstate wasn't bad. And I got to Yvette's in the early afternoon. This was a good thing, because we needed to talk non-stop for seven hours. Only Downton Abby's new episode interrupted the conversation.

We talked about: books, writing, men, dogs, cats, parrots, horses, childhood, children, photography, journaling, home décor, books, poetry, The Linnet's Wings's, (the magazine we both help edit,) World War 2, Holland, names, death, books, cooking, (Yvette's good at this-I'm getting better) the many parts of the country we've in common, drinking, not drinking, Zoetrope Virtual Studio, money, money for writing, other people's writing, men, friends, being a twin (Yvette is) ancestry, pets, divorce, politics (we are both liberal, fairly sensible, and women) health, treasures, dance, music, road trips, films, films from books, and family. We talked a lot about family. Then, after all the superb conversation, chicken curry, and Downton Abby, we collapsed. Yvette had to get to work the next morning, and because she had to be there so early, (normally she gets to work at 6am, but she was going in a little later) I'd called Cormac and told him I'd probably show up at his place by 7am and he'd said that was fine. In fact I didn't wake up the next morning until 7:30. I called Cormac, Yvette and I had a final coffee together, she went off to her re-arranged day at her lab, and I set off to find my old friend and meet his wife.

They didn't mind that I got there three hours later than we'd planned the night before. Cell phones are great for situations when you are running a little behind, don't you think? Ah, well. Beautiful, sleek, airy house. Nancy, who I immediately liked, plied me with coffee and offered eggs, but I settled for an English muffin. Jeez louise I had fun at Cormac and Nancy's! He'd been Tarzan to my Jane when we were little. (I'd always wanted to be Cheetah, but hardly ever got to.) My brother Drago performed the ceremony when, as Princess Sunny Feathers, I married Cormac, who was The Chief. We had the best neighborhood to play in! Woods, a pond with a swampy part, front, side and back yards that connected to each other, streets that were ours to play in until the dads got home from their NYC jobs, a mob of kids, and in winter, ice-skating, a huge, by our standards, sledding hill, snow forts, all of that. Everyone knew everyone and the grown-ups got together on Saturday nights for a party at one house or other. Cormac's mom was my mom's best friend. I hadn't seen Cormac since the 70's, so this was quite a catching-up session. Funny, sad, astonishing lives.

Nancy made me maps for my trip home on the cross-state road that Cormac suggested. Rte. 40 was an uncomplicated drive through Ocala horse country and beyond. The easy drive was a good thing, because, man, did I have stuff to think about! My head and my heart were full-up. I made it all the way to Perry late Monday afternoon, where I stayed in a spiffy new Holiday Inn (the first chain motel I'd been in on this ten-day jaunt.) Tuesday morning I woke up at 4:30 (!) and hit the road soon after. I was that anxious to get home to Drago and our cat and dog. There was fog for awhile, but the kind I could deal with, and then the lovely Big Bend of Florida's Gulf Coast. I was unpacked by the time Drago got home from teaching yoga.  Since getting home, I've seen two of my three doctors, started the damn breathing machine, and settled back in to my quiet life. I know my loved ones are relieved that I made it home safe and sound, and I am too, and I can't say I'm anxious for another road trip just yet. Not just yet.


 

When Nonnie and Drago were Growing Up

We had it all. Down the street was Mr. Swann’s place. He was a farmer, but we didn’t mess much with the farm itself. On his property, safe from development, was a pond, a stream, near-by woods and further away, scarier woods, Jerry, an old, white, sway-backed horse, and bad-tempered Snow Geese that thought the pond belonged to them. There was a dirt road that led to the forbidden sand dunes-fantastic hills of sand and gravel that the grown-ups called a quarry. Rich People, the Piersals, had a big house on a hill.  You got there by a long, shady lane. All these places were grown-up free almost all the time. Dunno. That’s just the way it was then.

Our various mom’s took sightings of our crowd from kitchen and upstairs windows, and I suppose at least one of them had a good idea where we were most of the time. All the Ranch style and Split-Level houses had yards, of course, but playing in some kid’s yard was for days when one of us was in trouble or had to stay close to home because we were going someplace with our parents, or because we had a new toy that we weren’t allowed to take out of the yard. Our mothers had a relay system for calling us when we were out of range of their voices.  Sometimes we ignored the calls, but not often. An older brother or sister sent to find us, or, the worst, one of our parents showing up, meant we were going to “get it.”

We were a gang of maybe fifteen girls and boys. No babies and no big kids allowed. Crybabies and bullies didn’t last long. Unless the weather was really awful, we played outside. Winters were for skating on the frozen pond, sleigh-riding on Piersal’s hill, snow-fights from snow forts, and building whatever we wanted to try for on a particular day. One great winter our dad built two dinosaurs and a giant bear in the front yard. There was a lot of snow in North Jersey that year.

The three other seasons were for roaming our neighborhood and playing, usually without toys, or only a few. My brother Drago was our Cecil B. DeMille. He’d direct the games and dole out the parts. Tarzan was a good summer game because the pond turned into a swamp, and we could swing across the stream on this rope someone’s big brother hung from a tree branch. Every summer there’d be a group of us who’d try to build a pirate raft for floating across the pond. One time the boys actually built a raft that would hold about five kids without sinking right away. Mostly we just got “soakers-” slimy, muddy shoes and socks which meant trouble when we got home. Drago excelled at organizing Circus in the summer.  He’d be the Ringmaster, and we’d all pick skills to hone. My best tricks were fence-walking and doing hard stuff on these two metal poles our dad hung between two wood supports and put up next to the swing and sand-box he built, and built to last, in our back yard. They are probably still there, behind our brown Split-Level on Allen Ct.  When Drago felt we had trained enough, he’d organize a parade though the neighborhood to advertise our Circus. Seems to me things generally fell apart after the parade and we rarely got as far as the actual event. It was hard to get everyone together at an exact time in those days, even for the kids who could tell time.

“Indians” was a good fall game, played in the woods, of course. All-season games were Spaceship, (we had a great fallen tree trunk, split in two big sections) Robin Hood, Soldiers and Nurses, Peter Pan, Swiss Family Robinson, and of course, bike riding and races of all kinds, even plain running.  Piersal’s lane provided us with a world-class scary Halloween challenge, and they also held epic 4th of July parties every year.  The Piersals were great Rich People.

Eeek! Going way past my usual blog length here. Sorry. It’s just that living with Drago again brings childhood back, you know? It’s just that we live in a fairly safe, suburban neighborhood, but we don’t see many kids outside. We don’t hear moms hollering out their back doors. Cars, rather than kids, have the right-of-way on the streets around here. We didn’t know we lived in kid-heaven, but we did. Good old Allen Ct. Thanks Mom and Dad.